A man and his dog

I mean 'a' dog. It isn't mine. Young Cooper is my brother's Westie/Norfolk terrier cross. Not that I know exactly what a Westie is, but I'm guessing his parents aren't from Penrith.

Cooper and I have been having a quiet few days (with the exception of one day of insane bicycle couriering - but I'll get to that). We've been chatting about the causes of, effects from and solutions to the human condition of misery and what indeed, if there is one, is the definition of human misery. On a side note, this is not because I am miserable, rather I have:

a) been stimulated into thought by Lucas and Farah's recent posts; and
b) written very little about the goings on in the grey matter of my head, other than where I've been, what I saw and what (most importantly) I ate.

I began by pondering out loud, after reading the latest blogs from from Farah and Lucas and their subsequent comments, about how much I agree with their latest suggestion that politics and economics should be free from the doctrines of any and every religion (this is no more obvious than the 'end of days' attitude pervading US foreign policy). Why can't the leaders of the world put their nationalist egos to one side and look at the real problems in the world - and their causes??

As I sat there in a moment of frustration with powerful white men and the ignorant fearful white electorate, Cooper suddenly piped up "well old chap, when you look at it closely and from afar, it is (like everything bad) a cycle as vicious as a Roald Dahl 'knid'" He went on to describe the following heartening description of how our world seems to be spiraling into oblivion:

Terrorism:
People suffer (in terms of education, health and financially), they turn to fundamental religion for a reason to eke out their fragile existence, their lives become devalued in the face of their mighty deity, they learn to hate (often quite rightly) their economic oppressors (and often guided by those with hidden agendas). The result is Jihad in its many forms. Governments and public fear the terrorists, nationalism and xenophobia takes hold, conservative militant governments (like Howard and Bush) come to power (or hold onto power), embargoes ensue, war ensues, the people suffer......

"That was a fairly simplified example - the result, however, is invariably the same" growled Coops in an ominous tone.

"ah", I said, "but what exactly is suffering? Who is to say that one person is suffering and another is not when we don't know the inner workings of their mind?"

Cooper sighed wearily, "And I suppose you are going to say that we, in the West, are suffering just as much with our burden of fast paced living and anxiety disorders....all in the pursuit of more comfort and more wealth?". He finished the sentence with a raised eyebrow and I didn't dare agree that I was about to say almost exactly those words, although as he said it I realised that we aren't suffering at all. We have the freedom of choice. If we wanted to live a simple life of subsistence we could quite easily take that option, without fear of starvation. But so many of us choose to pursue, what we consider, a higher standard of living - we are in any case - rational beings, are we not?

"So" I said to Cooper, "What exactly is suffering then?" He seemed to perk up at this question, then flooded me with following information:

"Overpopulation/Poverty/Infant mortality/Low life expectancy/Illiteracy:
These are all features of how I define suffering. Some people say that when you go to a poor country everyone seems just as happy with their lot in life as we do in the West. Maybe this was more accurate 20 years ago when the vast inequality in the world wasn't quite so vast and wasn't so acutely visible to those living in squalor.

Approximately 2.7 billion people are living on less than $2 a day.

But what if we counted EVERYONE living in 'poverty'. By poverty I mean the nationally determined poverty lines of each country that takes into account the cost of living and welfare programs in that country - not the $1 or $2 a day figure that is applicable in some countries with extremely low costs of living (and how many of those people live on $2.05 a day and aren't counted?). The poverty line is such that costs for bare minimum survival can just be met, with not a cent to spare for investment in any assets (whether that be a stove that works or a new water bottle that doesn't leak the precious water that has been carried for miles each day)."

I sat there quietly for a moment while it sank in. Imagining, at the bare minimum, everyone in Australia multiplied by 135 times, all living on less than $2 a day, and many with barely more than that. But what could I do? One person who is going to be a poorly student again soon - I can't buy and build schools. I said this to Cooper and he replied:

"You can do four things.

1. Do your little bit, sponsor a child, donate to a charity regularly, anything - it doesn't have to be much.
2. Make sure you invest in ethical organisations. And by investment I mean your career as well - that is the biggest investment you will ever make.
3. Vote for a government with a global conscience, not one that instills fear into the public and closes the minds of a generation.
4. Probably the most important thing you can do is to pass on this message. The more people that know about the catastrophe going on under their noses and feel empowered to do the little and the big things, the less suffering there will be in the world, and isn't the ultimate goal after all to make the world a better place?"

"absolutely right" I said to Cooper, "I'm going to write a blog about it right now, can you give me a hand?"

But he just stared at me with his tongue hanging out, then rolled over and started biting his groin.

Corfu and Venice pics

http://lucas.intercate.net/gallery/Corfu

Some photos of Corfu and Venice.

Counting down the days until India!!!

Gastronomical Glory

I have just eaten possibly the best tuna salad in the history of tuna salads. Let me describe how this glorious taste sensation can be yours to enjoy as well.

Method:

A couple of cherry tomatoes, chopped dangerously (for the fingers) over a bowl
A few fileting-knife fulls of fresh pesto
Search high and low for tin opener, then use a Leatherman to open and vigourously drain one 150g tin of high quality tuna
Half a beautiful avocado, mashed absent mindedly
A generous squeeze of minced garlic
A good looking portion of italian parsely and thyme, chopped expertly
A sprinkle of sunflower seeds and pine nuts
Boil one egg then forget about it until after eating the salad
Think about putting some salt in, but don't, grind plenty of pepper in though
Drizzle some extra virgin olive oil over it
Mix it all together
Drizzle some more olive oil, taste the oil, then drizzle some more.
Enjoy the smell of it, then gobble it down while you are still standing in the kitchen.

Serves two, as it is quite filling. I nearly couldn't eat it all.

Low carb, high protien, high in good fats. A fraction fibre sparse (some wheat germ mixed in would be a nice addition I think). I might have added a little basil too perhaps if there was some on hand.

Now I will contemplate the cod fillets for this evening.

ps. People in London hate themselves, hence the outrageous addiction to fashion and obsession with their appearance. The weather is quite nice though at the moment.

bye bye

Venetian Blinds

I did not see a single set of Venetian blinds in Venice. Just in case you ever think to go there with a view to purchasing a genuine set of louver-style blinds.

Where was I when I wrote my last post? Corfu? Yes. I had two night a place called the Pink Palace - one of those Ibiza style resorts set up for a people who travel to get drunk. I kept a low profile and did some swimming out in the crystal clear bay - sea swimming when there are no waves is actually very nice when the water is so clear.

I met Heather in a little bunch of shops known as Dassia - a place where we would spend time over the next few nights sipping a cheap cocktail after dinner while playing chess.

The weather was less than perfect - huge rumbling electrical storms and torrential downpours were a feature every day - once getting caught in a cafe for the morning - the roof leaking onto the light above us which then exploded bits of glass into our tea (it was our third cup or so, so we weren't too concerned. The sun did shine through at times and we made the most of it when it was out.

It was an early start on Wednesday morning to get the ferry with Heather's tour group - bound for Venice I only just got my ticket after erroneous instructions from everyone we asked. Heather's cabin buddies kindly let me sleep in their room with them during the 24 hour trip - saving me from another night in a seat (the seats still being vastly more comfortable than any bus). At the 11th hour as the ferry was docking in Venice the next morning, Heather decided to postpone rejoining the group for another day and we set-off into Venice together and found a hotel right next to San Marco square (our window opening straight out onto the Church).

After a day of walking and getting lost and eating the cheapest things we could find we dined out in moderate, yet belly filling style - avoiding (but still enjoying watching) the expensive restaurants with string and wind quartets in Piazza San Marco taking turns in playing so as not to drown the other out.

This morning was a decent (but not the best - that was Vienna) buffet breakfast before saying goodbye again (only for nine days this time) getting the water-bus to the airport for my flight back to London.

So here I am - sitting in London after the little journey from Gatwick to Chiswick. The acute mixed feelings of being back here range between a minor homecoming and familiar comforts, shock at the prices again, and being struck with terror as I get deja vu of London commutes to a fearfully hateful job. The first thought I had as I entered the tube was "no wonder I became a pushy fast walking commuter" - you pause for a moment and people stream past you, pushing and shoving along the way - has it gotten worse? or have I forgotten what it (and I) was like?

Anyway - two relaxing weeks here and then Heather and I fly to India for a month. Then.........

....9th November, 7:00pm, Brisbane International Airport, Heather and I touch down on home soil once more!!!! We can't wait (well we can, until after India)

Consolation in Corfu

Corfu? Yes I am in Corfu. After the harrowing news of my Iranian visa, I went through the motions of assessing my options. Never having been to Venice I noted there was cheap flight on Easyjet from there to London, to which I could change my Istanbul flight. I also was aware that:

a) My brother was leaving London for a couple of weeks and may need a house sitter
b) A mate could get me some work as a bicycle courier for a couple of weeks in London and
c) the final and most consoling/exciting prospect, Heather would be in the region of Venice/the Greek coast line, and we might cross paths.

It seemed as though all these events were timed to perfection to coincide with my meeting Heather and then flying on this cheap flight to London, just in time to housesit (having a whole house, dog and even gym access for the duration in London) for a couple of weeks before flying to India with Heather.

So I left the Turkish apartment in Bostanci at 6:50am yesterday morning. Arriving in the city centre moments before the scheduled shuttle bus to the main bus station was due to leave - but the shuttle was non-existent (despite calling them the previous evening to confirm) - so I conned my way onto a shuttle with another company and after sorting out a ticket in the main Otogar was on my way to Thessaloniki.

Thirteen hours later, at 11pm, I arrived in Thessa - about 50 days ago I had the same midnight snack at the same cafe then slept in the same gutter with Heather - this time I was by myself - but on my way to see Heather. The bus to Igoymenitsu left at midday the next day and I amused myself by playing the guitar and singing loudly in a semi-delirious state. The bus to Igoy was 6 hours without a hitch - although I almost got left on the side of the road when I fell asleep at my table during the lunch break, the driver having to stop the bus and run back to wake me up - hehehe.

The ferry to Corfu from Igoy was 1.5 hours of relaxing and going to the toilet after none of the buses had a bathroom. I'm now checked into a hostel that resembles a resort more than anything - but it will tie me over until Heather arrives in a day or two.

So as my brief stint as a solo traveler is about to draw to a close I thought I would quickly share some of the thoughts I have on the topic of solo travel.

When you haven't said a word to anyone in 36 hours of bus travel you start to wonder if your voice still works and what it sounds like - what would it be like to have a conversation with a person again? In our everyday lives, 'who we are' is defined a lot more by precedent of who we are with all the people we have around us on a regular basis. But when you are (or I am) traveling alone, the edges start to go blurry of that previously crisply defined self image - I don't think that is either a good or a bad thing. But when you meet someone and you are otherwise alone, you don't have that boundary of 'who you are' to restrict you.

Anyone who knows me knows that when I get lost in a train of thought, I get lost, the world outside my mind ceases to exist entirely. After a little while of traveling alone I was suddenly more acutely aware of when I would draw into myself and exist only in the world in my head and when I was only conscious and aware of what was going on around me. Sometimes, in this inner world of emotion and rationality fighting each other, and not having someone who knew me as a point of reference, it felt like my mind and 'who i am' or 'who i think i am' was a pack of cards thrown into the air - no reason and no 'pattern'. But after observing myself meeting many different people in different situations a pattern emerges and you can see yourself with even more clarity than before.

I am running out of time now on this computer, but I just wanted to finish by saying that a part of me is glad that I didn't make it to Iran or Afghanistan alone. As my brother said - no-one will really know what you've seen or done, only you. I want to share experiences with people, and talk about them and analyse them - so Turkey was great to travel alone in - loads of other travellers to meet and enjoy their company - but Iran and Afghanistan would have been an unshared experience. So I'm looking forward to seeing those countries one day. But the part that makes me the happiest is that I will have Heather in my arms again in one more day.

Just not meant to be :-(

Iranian visa has been rejected.

'Tehran says no'

'You must go through tourist agency' - that is my only explanation. The guy was apologetic but only spoke about 9 words of English. What could I do? What do I do?

A little part of me was expecting this. Another part thinks it's funny. And another part thinks it is another good test of the patience. But the biggest part is desperately disappointed that everything has fallen to pieces. I am a bıt dazed, too dısappoınted to be angry or frustrated really. Oh well. Another tıme I suppose.

But time is limited so I have to think about what to do and where to go - where I don't need a visa. These are my parameters:

• I have an Easyjet flight from Istanbul to London that I can change. The only alternative destination is Basel-Mulhouse in Germany on the 18th of Sept.
• I have a flight booked from Dubai to London on the 2nd October - which I will be able to get back on insurance ıf I don't use ıt.
• The only countries in Europe I haven't seen are Italy, Germany and the Balkans.
• If I do Europe I want to hıtchıke - cheaper and wıll be a lame substıtute for the adventure of clımbıng Damavand near Tehran and gettıng a boat across the gulf.

So what do I do?

Fly to Basel and make it up from there?

Hıtchıke from Istanbul to London?

Fly from Istanbul to some other country I haven't consıdered?

Fly to Dubaı and spend two weeks checkıng out what I can ın that regıon?.

Stıll thınkıng. Anyone have any good ıdeas? I am plannıng on leavıng tomorrow - wherever I go.

I am off to the Blue Mosque to see ıf Allah has any answers.

Leaving Turkey

Only one more day before I board the Trans-Asyan Espresi to Iran, 66 hours from here, Istanbul, to Tehran. But to quickly recap the last few days.....

I left Olympos on Saturday morning, with a hurried goodbye to the people I'd made friends with - 3 days is a long time for friendship building in the travel world. It was a 20 minute bus ride to the top of the valley where I was thrown with once bounce straight into another bus to Antalya - being the last on the bus I sat on a wooden box facing backwards for two hours feeling nauseous. On arrival in Antalya I was on another bus to Denizli within 5 minutes. Four and half hours later we pulled into the Denizli Otogar (bus station) - where I was informed I could get a train to Istanbul - with only 5 minutes to spare before the train left I was told the station was on the other side of town. All over for that run of catching transport in the nick of time. The next bus to Istanbul was the overnighter, 5 hours later, so I had an internet session, ate a kebab and sat on a bench reading. When I finally boarded what appeared to be a luxury bus I discovered that the roaring engine of the great beast was tucked below my right elbow - keeping me nice and sweaty, and awake, until I arrived in Istanbul 10 hours later. Since then I have been ferrying myself between the Iranian embassy and the home of the Kocatepe family who have graciously accepted me into their household for a few days. Giving me the chance to live 'Turkish' for a few days, including the 1st birthday party of their little boy Ozan.

There are not many things that take me by surprise, the most stunning man made creation, the most dire poverty, the cruelest act of human atrocity and the most selfless display of love - all these things I have either seen or heard about and imagined. But something that continues to surprise and even delight me (although maybe sometimes I should be a little concerned) is the behaviour of children around the world and how their cultures have and haven't affected them.

On a train from Athens I offered a slender young Greek boy one of our biscuits. Looking at me with his big brown eyes, he held up a long fingered hand - arm half extended and palm facing me, his gesture was almost like a paint brush, stroking my face and said with a slightly elongated but gentle 'No' - almost as if he was trying to soothe me from my frantic state of biscuit offering. It felt like the gesture of a contented old man.

Then on my bus from Antalya to Denizli, I offered a young Turkish boy one of my sweet (but high fibre!) biscuits as an alternative to the bland white bread he was picking at. This time a shorter, younger and more squat little character whom I'd seen earlier frolicking with a younger brother - he half turned to me and smiling with the corners of his eyes only, touched his heart with right hand - saying something in Turkish that sounded like 'gadgitze' - then turned away again. This gesture I have later learnt actually has more religious connotations (I was told this with a slightly concerned tone - the Turks distance themselves from fundamentalism in any form). But at the time it seemed like the behaviour of an older more self aware individual.

Before I leave Turkey I just wanted to quickly sing it's praises. The people are more often than not genuinely friendly - with a sense of humour that seems to gel with Australian humour better than any I've come across in a long time - we had a great time with the Turks in Olympos. It is an efficient, comfortable, organised, colourful, clean, culturally rich, diverse and beautiful country. Bearing in mind I haven't yet been further east than Anatolia. But from what I have seen, I recommend it to anyone traveling to this part of the world (meaning Europe or the Middle East).

Relaxing in Olympos

New photos from Cappadocia
Pics from Olympos

Well since I have had such a stressful (not - travel is never really stressful, just is annoying when you don't get your own way sometimes) few days I have been relaxing in the detoxifying environment of Olympos - a beach village full of 'treehouses' (more like wooden bungalows).

I'm not a good one for sitting around at a beach for more than 5 minutes - I need surf and a ball of some sort otherwise I start to get bored. But I did manage (with Liam and Gaz - two Brisbane boys) to find a 20 metre cliff to jump off into the water. After we'd done a reconnaissance mission to the water below and checked for rocks we made the trek back around to the cliff and looked over the edge. The height of the jump hit home then - the water looked a LONG WAY down. So I threw my thongs over the edge just so I had to jump off to collect them. As I stood with my toes curled over the edge of the precipice and knees bent ready to leap I looked at the water and knew it is supposedly like cement when you jump from too high. By now my legs were shaking a bit - wondering just how badly things could go if I landed awkardly or there was a rock we hadn't missed - doubting our first scoping out of the area. With Liam and Gaz giggling nervously and muttering profanities I pushed off inbetween two thoughts - I was aiming for a pin drop - toes pointed hands above the head - about half way down I started leaning backwards and at impact I was half turned and at a 45 degree angle - slapping on my back, twisting my neck and bruising the whole side of my leg. After surfacing I quickly checked to see that my skin hadn't ripped open anywhere on my numbed leg (as I'd heard can happen from high dives). All was good so I stuck a two thumbs up out of the water and floated out of the way - waiting for the other two to wait on the edge for several minutes each before finally leaping off - Gazza finally jumping after pulling out half way through his push off, losing his balance and falling off the edge.

It was a great adrenalin rush that isn't the usual sort - usually the adrenalin hits during the activity - not while you standing still, aware of the hormone coursing through your body.

There are some lower rocks that we've been diving off and I've been having a great time during the day. The evenings highlight are the backgammon tournaments that have been taking place - the Turks are the reigning champs - but things go downhill after that as everyone starts drinking and looking for a member of the opposite sex to share the evening with. Which is usually when I quietly retire to bed.

I'll be taking the bus to Denizli tomorrow then jump onto the overnight train in Istanbul where I'll stay with a friend of Mum's for a couple of days and hopefully collecting the Iranian visa in the process.

I'll have a go at getting some photos up soon - some more from Goreme as well, but might be another couple of days.

New plan and being positive

Well after a hard day of thinking yesterday, with various options leaping out at me all over the place I have figured out a plan and I am feeling decidedly positive about it all.

This is how it went.....

I left the Indian Embassy and little shell shocked that my carefully (not) laid plans for the next month seemed to be unraveling (my thoughts immediately turned to the outcome of the Iranian visa - but I have paid for it so surely they can't say no....can they?). I was feeling irritable, especially after the effort of getting to Ankara and holing up in a cheap hotel for the night was such a drain on the spirit (the claustrophobia of having nothing to do and nowhere to go was the main cause of the uneasiness in Ankara).

On arrival at another ENORMOUS Turkish Ottogar (otto is like 'auto' and 'gar'.....see the connections with latin...?) I had an hour or so to kill before my ride to Goreme so I shoved a couple of fetta and spinach 'things' into my mouth and jumped on the internet, finding Lucas online - the first we've had a chance for a quick chat since our underground farewell at Piccadilly Circus. Lucas suggested that I could fly to Kabul via Dubai and try sorting my Indian visa there - an option that had crossed my mind during the taxi ride. But his contact at the Indian Embassy later informed him that it would take a while to sort out as they need to send my passport back to Australia - so that killed that option.

The official at the Indian Embassy in Ankara had told me that the only place other than Australia that I could get the visa quickly and easily was in London. Although I still have slim hopes for the Embassy in Iran.

But for the time being I had to consider how and when I was going to get back to London. Prices flying back from Kabul, Tehran and Istanbul were ridiculous, expensive and reasonable, respectively.

Then, on arrival in my cavehouse in Goreme the most amazing thing happened. I was chatting to this English guy and he was born and bred in Shepherds Bush!!!! The first and possibly the only Englishman to call that part of London home.

So anyway - this English chap was the driver of one of those big overland trucks - going through Turkey, Syria, Jordan and Egypt - most people flying back from Cairo to London on the 1st of October (which coincided exactly with Heathers return to get her Indian visa as well). He offered me a spot on the truck for 300 pounds - not bad for a 26 day tour, I was about to say when (aware of the Contiki rorts) I enquired more about all the additional extras - turns out to eat and have a place to sleep it actually costs more like 500 pounds - out of my budget now - so I crossed that option off my list.

A bus from Tehran to Istanbul takes 40-48 hours - which really isn't that long. The more I thought about it the more I was beginning to realise that the Afghan dream was probably not going to happen this time around.

The initial feeling of being deflated after such a huge buildup, anticipation and daydreaming was soon replaced with more positive thoughts. It would make more sense to see more of Iran and Turkey during my time and then get a bus directly back to Istanbul for a flight to London, get the visa and fly to India - this is also the cheapest option. Some Turkish people here have been telling me that the militia/insurgents etc more or less drop their guns and escape the heat during summer, returning with more vigor during Autumn when the weather is a little cooler - and when I would be getting there. It'll also put a couple of minds at ease that I'm not going, including Heather's whom I'll get to see a couple of weeks earlier than we thought. And I'll get to see a few London friends one last time before heading home.

And with such a beautiful day that Goreme has today, and the promise of four days of pancakes on the beach and sleeping in treehouses in Olympos, I am feeling very excited about the next few weeks, including Iran now, which I saw as another delay before getting into Afghanistan.

Going for a mountain bike ride up a hill this afternoon and then off for a Turkish bath before my overnight bus to Olympos. I gave up on Pepys' bio - should have read his Diary first to understand all the references to characters. Swapped it for Ernest Hemingway and Malcolm Knox books.

Two sickening events in one day.

The first and most tragic is the death of Steve Irwin. A crazy man. Got stung in the chest by a sting ray and died on the way to the hospital. A great loss. But we all knew that he was going to go in some animal related incident lıke that.

The second event was the rejection of my Indian visa. They won't ıssue ıt ın Turkey wıth proof of havıng been away from Australıa and workıng ın London, bank account showıng how much money I have and flıght detaıls ınto and out of Indıa. I trıed explaınıng the ımpossıbılıty (ın terms of how long ıt would take be to arrange all thıs) and my tıme frames. But he was a brıck wall. Maybe I should have trıed to brıbe hım.

He saıd that I could get the vısa very quıckly ın London. Whıch leaves me wıth a couple of optıons. Try ın Iran, ıf that faıls then try ın Afghanıstan, and ıf that faıls then fly back to London and then back to Indıa - at great expense. I have been rackıng my braıns about thıs mornıng and am thınkıng that ıf I can't get ıt ıssued ın Tehran then I wıll fly back to London from there rather than fly from Kabul - but then not only do I miss Afghanıstan whıch ıs a bıg reason for the trıp - but I mıss doıng ıt overland - whıch together pretty much ıs the whole spırıt of the trıp ruıned ın one foul swoop. I stıll haven't made any fırm decısıons and I have untıl I try my luck at the Indıan Embassy ın Tehran before I have to make any major decısıons.

Needless to say I am seethıng. About wastıng two days of tıme and money comıng to Ankara (although I dıd learn about Ancıent Turkey - to look on the brıght sıde) and the possıble collapse of all my plans for such a long tıme. But I guess I just have to be phılosophıcal about ıt and keep movıng on as quıckly as possıble (stıll another 7-9 days before my Iranıan vısa gets approved).

How many posts can I wrıte ın two days?

I'm at the enormous Anakra Otogar (bus statıon) - one hour untıl bus to Göreme. Thoroughly ratty wıth everyone and everythıng - goıng to eat somethıng.

Why the hell do developıng countrıes have restrıctıons on tourısts comıng ın to blow theır cash???

Alone ın Ankara

I have a day to kıll ın Ankara so I can get my Indıan vısa tomorrow mornıng then head to Goreme ın Cappadocıa. Very bored and a bıt lonely so decıded to kıll some tıme by wrıtıng another post.

There are no hostels ın Ankara because there are no backpackers. A lıttle lıke Tamanrasset thıs mornıng as I stepped out of my hotel (after steppıng ınto ıt an hour beforehand) feelıng lıke the only tourıst ın the cıty. Only after I ventured to the Anatolıan Museum on the cıtadel dıd I encounter a bus load of grey haıred Hıttıte enthusıasts. So I sagely ınspected numerous clay pots and fıgurınes of Mother Goddess ın order to make the most of my 10YTL I spent to get ın.

To be faır I dıd for the fırst tıme get my head around the progressıon of cıvılısatıons ın ancıent Turkey (not that I've ever trıed before!). Moderately ınterestıng stuff - especıally how the socıetıes were matrıacrchal. Whıch I dıd already know about ancıent cıvılısatıons but ıt was ınterestıng to see the evıdence and how men/women were portrayed. Interestıngly enough I was also thınkıng on the traın last nıght that ıf there has to be a god then ıt could really only be a woman. I won't explaın why - especıally as thıs keyboard ıs stıcky.

As I was eatıng some lunch near the top of the cıtadel when the mıdday call to prayer began. Wow! Unlıke Istanbul whıch has a few major mosques for the muzzıes, Ankara has about 30 ın faırly close vıcınıty to the cıtadel. All wıth theır loudspeakers poıntıng all four dırectıons from theır mınarets. The call lasts for about 5 mınutes wıth the eerıly beautıful waılıng echoıng across the cıty as they all sıng theır songs - was really a goosebumps moment lıstenıng to that call reverberate around the cıty. Maybe ıt had somethıng to do wıth hearıng the call when I was younger ın Indonesıa - but there seems to be so much emotıon ın the voıces of the callers (Mullahs/Muezzıns ??).

Anyway - I am goıng to go back to my double room (they had no sıngles - I have a spare bed whıch yells at me 'ha where ıs Heather!'). Wıll probably read and play guıtar thıs afternoon, have some dınner and then have an early nıght after a sleepless one on the traın last nıght, then up early to get thıs vısa.

Eatıng, wrıtıng and vısas

After all the comments under the post '6000...' and my dılemma of choosıng a book to trade/buy for the next leg of transıt I have been thınkıng a lot about 'wrıtıng'. Partıcularly what ıs good wrıtıng.

Bloggers can become ınfected wıth the bloggers curse - lyıng awake ın bed at nıght wrıtıng posts, every opınıon and emotıon becomes the topıc of essays wrıtten whıle starıng at the backs of the eyelıds. The vast majorıty of these lıterary materpıeces become lost ın all those folds of the braın, leavıng the mınd empty when ıt ıs faced wıth a keyboard and computer screen - what a wonderful form of medıtatıon. I have a developed case of travellıng bloggers curse. Sımılar to the photography dısease of travellers, but ınstead of every vısta beıng composed of colours and contrasts, everythıng becomes words - small descrıptıve phrases ınspıred by the experıence are constantly whıppıng through my mınd as I make my way round cıtıes, traıns and lavatorıes.

Agaın, every one of these ıllustratıve (for me) phrases gets lost before I reach a computer to relate what my eyes have seen and are replaced wıth a general outlıne of my memory of the prevıous few days.

There have been some comments relatıng to how our travels have been 'eye openıng' and the lıke. I dısagree. Whıle I have learnt the nuances of the Guatemalan publıc transport system and have been breathtaken by the awe ınspırıng Andes, my outlook on the world and how I relate to ıt remaın fundamentally unchanged. I have always known that the rıch make me sıck and the pursuıt of materıal gaın as an end ıs despıcable, I have always felt that we are global cıtızens wıth a responsıbılıty to do what we can to ımprove the world - maybe what has changed been my abılıty and desıre to communıcate that and other emotıons wıth anyone who cares to lısten. Although I have found that some of my anger ınspıred rants have found more clarıty - maınly as a result of dıscussıons wıth Heather - she doesn't defend a poınt of vıew but challenges the logıc and consıstency of my arguments whıch brıngs me back to earth and helps me to better understand what I am arguıng agaınst.

And that brıngs me to the wrıtıng - I am not a good wrıter - I have never, untıl I started bloggıng, enjoyed wrıtıng a sıngle word more than was necessary to communıcate ınformatıon ın the most effıcıent way possıble. But I quıte enjoy the task of wrıtıng now - relıvıng some adventures as I wrıte - my ımagınatıon regularly skıppıng ahead of my fıngers, leavıng gapıng holes ın any story or scene settıng. Whıle thıs hasn't made me a better wrıter, I have become a more crıtıcal reader - I fınd my own wrıtıng, and most thıngs I read these days, full of clıches - or not even clıches - just all soundıng lıke anyone could have wrıtten the same thıng - a formula consıstıng of metaphors, allıteratıon and other lıttle trıcks done a thousand tımes before to conjure ımages and emotıon ın the heart of the reader. I can't wrıte well to thıs formula but I know ıt when I see ıt and ıt makes choosıng a good book very dıffıcult these days because they all seem to be varıatıons of ıt.

Thıs, agaın, has been a mosaıc of thoughts I've had ın the past hour and leaves out the countless observatıons of Istanbul that I wanted to share - ıt's colours, sounds, tastes, the people, the ICBMs adjoınıng every mosque. Maybe another tıme, maybe not.

Summary:
Averagıng four chıcken durums (what we know as kebabs, but more lıke a tortılla) a day and countıng down untıl I see Heather ın New Dehlı.

Turkish coffee, Turkish baths,

Photos of Istanbul

Turkish bread, Turkish delight - seems like everything good comes from Turkey - and it certainly has been a pleasure to the senses already.

The first 12 hours on the bus was fairly agonising - surrounded by surly Czechs and Bulgarians I was questioning why on earth would I be so stupid as to travel alone, knowing that I much prefer doing things as part of a team. I got some sleep during the night and was feeling substantially better when we pulled into Sofia around 8am. They threw us all off the bus and disappeared, I scratched my head for a moment wondering how I was supposed to get to Istanbul now. So I went to the bus company office with my ticket and enquired about my onward journey. There was a bus leaving to Istanbul at 9am and the woman would show from where. At 8:55am I pleaded with her to show me where the bus left from. So only now(!), she writes me another ticket and tells me to go to another office before going to Sektor 9 for my bus 'and run, it leaves in two minutes'..... I KNOW!!! I ran, I got my bus, I took a sleeping pill, I am in Istanbul.

The keyboards in this hostel are bad and the internet slow, so I am labouring at the moment.

On arrival I threw myself into a shower then went to the roof of the hostel for a spaghetti and a beer where I met a Canadian bloke with a love of going to dangerous places and doing crazy things - on day three of a two year adventure, awesome.

I spent yesterday eating my way around the cultural/historic centre of Istanbul, Sultanahmet and surrounding areas, wıth Gaz and Louise, then spent the evening on the roof of another hostel chatting to other travellers with incredible stories of places they've just been and of course some political discussions with some French Canadians.

Doing the bathes and Asian side of the city today with Gaz, Louise and Liam. I have 10 days to wait for the Iranian visa, so going to explore Turkey a little and get the Indian visa underway as well.

FIRST BABY CALF HAS BEEN BORN ON THE FARM. A beautiful little baby with a white face and dark body. Pictures in the Istanbul gallery - the only pics thus far.