Project Runaway

We were back on the road again and this time headed for the Cameron Highlands. The highlands are the highest area in mainland Malaysia. The area is known for its tea plantations and rolling green hills reminiscent of the English countryside. After another grueling multi-bus ride, we arrived at Father’s Guesthouse feeling like we had just spent a day inside a clothes dryer with a load of rocks. I truly wanted to kiss the ground when we arrived.

Father’s Guesthouse is on a small hill in the town of Tanah Rata and this situation makes it quiet and removed from the town below. It used to be a mission for French priests thus the name ‘Fathers’. It is a friendly and organized place and boasted its own cafe where the 2 cooks prepared excellent curries. After our sketchy and dirty accommodations in Taman Negara, our scrupulously clean rooms made us giddy. It truly is the simple things after a while. Like toilets that work, clean sheets, cold beer, and kind hosts.

We decided to book a guided tour for the first time. It was a half day tour to a tea plantation, a trip to the top of Mount Brinchang, and a hike in the Mossy Forest. Our guide was a young Indian guy who knew his stuff inside out. He made learning about the cultivation and production of tea interesting. Really.

BOH Tea Plantation

So here are some ‘Did you knows’:

• The tea bush is actually the camellia sinensis bush
• All tea comes from the same bush, it depends on how it is processed
• To make Black tea the leaves are fermented fully, then dried, Green Tea is unfermented, it is withered then dried
• Fermentation is what makes the tea leaves dark, if you skip it then the leaves stay green. Are you following me?

Our guide also knew the famous Mossy forest inside and out, it was like an interactive National Geographic documentary.

Every inch of the trees here are literally covered in moss. It grows in huge, squishy clumps, as wet as unsqueezed out sponges. There are even huge clumps of moss near the tops of the trees which make it look like it is growing upside down. Moss hangs among the trees and long tendrils of it sway in the breeze.

See any Hobbits?

The moss is always wet and feels like you are walking on cushions. If it is not moss you are sinking in, then it is red slippery mud. The trail was narrow and the branches hung low so you had to bend over the entire time. It was like being in Boot Camp and doing a muddy assault course.

When Malaysia was a British Colony, the Brits would come to the highlands to do some hiking and refresh themselves in the cooler climate. This was exactly why 4 Canadians went there and I would say ‘mission accomplished’.

How many people can say they have actually been in a tropical rainforest? A jungle that is over 130 million years old. That has been untouched by any natural or unnatural disaster and has been around since the time of the dinosaurs? When you try and imagine the jungle, images from every movie you had ever seen flash through your mind. But nothing can prepare you for the raw primeval beauty of it. It draws you in, shows you its ancient secrets and then thrusts you out, humbled. Of everything I have done in the last 6 months and everything I am still to do, our trip into the Taman Negara will still be the highlight.

We almost didn’t go originally. As SE Asia was not on our radar when we left Canada, it was not like we had jungle trek wear. No high sided trek boots, or long sleeve shirts, no leech socks, or flashlights, or anything that remotely resembled appropriate jungle wear.  When locals said that we should go, and that it would be something we would regret, we decided to go for it.

The trip from Kuala Lumpur (nothing all that positive to say about this city so I will just skip over our days there) consisted of a bumpy over air-conditioned bus ride to a non-descript town called Jeranut, where we took a shuttle to a jetty and then onto a long wooden boat for 3 hours up the river to the village in the jungle. The boat ride was fabulous. Relaxing and comfortable as we saw water buffalo, otters, and monkeys. Already we felt the chaos of KL and the horrible bus ride fading quickly into the past.

Mama Chop Taxi Service

We arrived in the village and were taken past the floating restaurants to our rooms. They sucked. I know, I know, it is the jungle, but we were shown photos of the rooms and these were not those rooms. As there did not seem to be any better option we decided to grin and bear. I mean, who needs a working toilet?

We had heard to be wary of booking a tour as you end up paying too much for not much. We decided to do one of the hikes up the hill ourselves, along with a new Venezualan friend, Jacky, and then pay the 5 ringitt ($1.57 cdn) for the canopy walk. Others paid 40 ringitts to have an indifferent guide take them there. We felt smug in our savings. So, there we were in our regular clothes, with our absent gear, just a camera and some 100 Plus drinks. Jacky even had on flipflops. We looked like the relatives who showed up at the family reunion in the Hamptons in new KMart duds. We sailed past the other trekkers in their fancy gear like they were standing still. 6 months of travelling and trekking does tend to make one quite fit. We were smug in our fitness. That did not mean we were not sweating and gasping when we got to the top, just that we got there first, and that was what counts.

Welcome to the jungle, baby!

The Taman Negara is also know for its leeches so most hikers had the leech socks or their pants tucked in. You hear many stories about the leeches and we were prepared to have a few bites. We vowed we would be steely and not try to pluck them off (big no no, leaves teeth in your flesh). We saw locals with fresh bites and other travellers with fresh bites. We had our loins girded, we were ready. Long story short, we didn’t end up with one bite. Not any of us. I felt strangely disappointed.

After our hike and canopy walk and fortifying lunch we hired 2 boats to take the 5 of us (we still had our buddy Jacky) to take us up a river into the park where you can swim near some small falls or a cascade. The boat ride up this river was the ultimate highlight of the trip. The rainforest seemed to be trying to swallow the river and it was so breathtaking. When I looked back at the faces of my family I saw such pure joy. The boats drop you off as close as they can get and then you hike up a trail to where you can swim.

Boat Ride to Lata Berkoh

Jacky had an underwater camera and everyone swam and goofed around, washing away the jungle stink and sweat in the water. I realised that sometimes you just have to wing it and if we didn’t we would have missed out on this experience and yes, we would have regretted it.

We started our Malaysia travels with a bus ride from Singapore to Melaka. I decided that along the way there should have been towns where the rules and regulations of strict Singapore slowly disappeared one by one, and the bus would stop at each one, allowing you some time to adjust.  Whereas in Singapore you feel as if you are being watched over by a strict but benign parent, in Malaysia, you feel as you are being grudingly babysat by the neighbours indifferent teenager.

As soon as we got off the bus the impact was felt. We were back  to the noise and chaos of Istanbul. To even cross the street here is a lot like being a gopher and trying to dodge across Highway 2 between Calgary and Edmonton. There are no doubts that we are in Asia now, not some squeaky clean amusement park city.  Our advice, take a big breath and just plunge in.

Melaka was our first stop. It was a Dutch town for many years and has been declared a UNESCO heritage site. It was charming and elegantly decayed/rundown and we loved it. We stayed in a guesthouse on the river in Chinatown. The building was once a shop or warehouse and is long and narrow with high ceilings and a terrace where you can watch boats go by and monitor lizards lounge. Our hosts Mani and Ray were exceptional and thoughtful and told us all the dishes we needed to try and where the best place to get them was.

Malaysia is a country that has Malay, Chinese and Indian people. The country is Muslim but there are many different religions here also and all seem to live in harmony with each other. Where in Turkey you did not see the women in the workforce, here Muslim women hold all manner of jobs. As a result of this diversity, the food is diverse. You can have Indian, Malay, or Chinese. So we did! Indian for breakfast (banana rotis, yum), Malay for lunch (Baba Laksa, double yum), and Chinese for dinner. We ate and ate in Melaka. And then… we ate some more!

One of the most interesting places we ate was Capitol Satay. There are huge boiling pots of spicy peanut sauce in the middle of the tables attached to propane tanks under the table. (Definitely would not fly in Canada!) Then you get a plate and fill it with skewers of raw meat, seafood, veggies, and (for the brave) all sorts of weird unidentifiable mystery foods. Then you cook your skewers in the peanut sauce. It is messy but very delicious and you can’t go to Melaka and not try this twist on fondue.

We wandered the streets soaking the smells and sights, getting our bearings on a place so different from our last. Now for those of you with a keen sense of smell this can be a good and bad experience. I have the nose of a bloodhound. I think many women have this blessing/curse. So for me it was like overload at times. The scent of a spice, then the hit of  raw sewage, a few more steps and the scent is mouthwatering, a few more and then a bizarre and horrible and unidentifiable reek. God lord what was that? It takes many days before I realize that the disgusting toe curling scent is durian fruit, the ‘king of fruits’.  I will not be able to avoid this smell, and even worse, yes, I will not be able to avoid trying it. But we will get to that later…

Sorry for the delay! Hard to post a blog from the middle of the jungle!

The streets are spotless. There is no graffiti on bridges, sides of buildings, fences, anywhere. Modern glass and steel buildings with spotless and hushed courtyards abound. People wait patiently and quietly to cross streets. Banners proclaim ‘Low Crime Doesn’t Mean No Crime’. In sleek modern underground stations people patiently wait to get on the MRT. Signs remind you to be gracious to others. Television monitors show videos asking that we all remain vigilant and look at our fellow passengers for suspicious behaviour and bulky bags. A soft female voice tells passengers to ‘Alight’ at stations, and ‘Mind the Gap’ between the train and platform. Public washrooms have signs depicting the proper and sanitary way to use the toilet. Food courts have signs reminding people of proper hygiene when working around food. Don’t pick your nose while cooking, do not double dip in shared dishes, do not spit on the floor. There are fines for littering, spitting, jaywalking, chewing gum, not flushing the toilet, farting ($50 small/$100 large), or voicing an opinion. Sound like a plot from a Sci-Fi movie? Expecting Harrison Ford and Sean Young to be running past you? Guess again, you are in Singapore.

But as sterile and as unappealing as that sounds, if you try hard enough you can find Singapore’s soul. And that would be their food. Singaporeans love to eat. Where football is the topic in Europe, food is the main topic here.

To find the best of the best you need to go to the hawker stalls. Large covered buildings which contain small individual stalls, each one specializing in specific dishes. The regulations for cleanliness are stringent here (no surprise there), and you will see ratings on the stall of A, B, C.  It is noisy and busy and the food rocks. The Maxwell Center has the best Hainanese chicken rice. The Newton Circus has the best chili crab and bbq sting ray. It is here where we got to know Singapore and see the best of her.

• 30+ trains
• 6 long haul bus rides
• 5 plane rides
• 3 ferries
• 2 car rentals
• 1 long ass taxi ride
• 15 Hotels/Pensions
• 6 Self Service Apartments

It is the halfway point in our journey. We have battled homesickness, language barriers, food poisoning, hair frustrations, the dreaded budget, and even each other. We have had to wrap our heads around 3 different currencies and navigate through 5 different ways of life. Along the way we have to understand and accept (sometimes grudingly) our strengths and weaknesses. We love, laugh, and fight with all we got, and when the dust settles we are always still standing.

We are in  London, Westminster to be exact, smack dab in the heart of it all. Our distinguished old hotel is next door to New Scotland Yard. Buckingham Palace is a 5 minute walk. Big Ben, the Thames, and the London Eye are a 10 minute stroll. Pubs abound everywhere, filled to overflowing with dark suited business persons discussing their work, football, and politics.

We have had several days of crisp clear fall weather, and we have walked through St James park kicking up leaves and laughing at its most famous resident, a large (and I mean LARGE) pink pelican. London is lovely in the fall and we have found that we have liked the city more than anticipated. We had given ourselves a strict daily budget while here and it has been fun watching the kids plot and budget their meals and split costs when they can.

Nicole’s eclectic fashion sense finally has a home and a name. It is pure London style. She fits in here like a glove and I think she has fallen for this city the hardest. She went out with a friend from Canada, Greer, who is going to school here. She had been under budget and used her allotment to go out partying London-style on Halloween.

The next morning Dwayne and I swung by their room to get the computer, and this is how it went:

I knock. Nic says ‘We are watching T.V.’ ‘So, I want the computer’ I respond. There is giggling and shuffling and then Luc opens the door a crack and slips me the laptop. I wedge a toe in. ‘I need the cord’, I say, getting suspicious. As he turns to get the cord, I manage to get my head in the door to have a look at what is going on. There are 2 heads popping from under the covers in Nicole’s bed, and one is not Luc. ‘There are two people in Nic’s bed.’ I say to Dwayne. He now thrusts his head through the door. Nic squeaks ‘This is Simon, he needed a place to go last night.’ Oh, well, of course. She is just being a good Samaritan. Dwayne asks Simon, who is still covered up to the neck in bed, in fact all 3 are like this now mainly because the room is as cold as a meat locker for some reason, where he is from. Simon tells us he is a good Victoria boy here visiting Greer. “Well, then that’s a relief’, Dwayne comments dryly, ‘I was worried you were from London.’

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Today, the lady I am staying with showed me something that smelled like my family. She then flipped it over and read off the back in a language I was not fully understanding, but the picture on the front was very nice. It really just sounded like ‘blah, blah, blah’ to me. She does this a lot. The only thing I really understand from her, is that if I sit on my bed she will feed me. So, I try to sit on my bed as much as possible in hopes of being fed.

I let the man come out with me a couple times a day, I am doing great with making him understand all the things I like – swimming is my favourite – but he is always pointing the camera at me – it is a little distracting and leaves me wondering what he is doing with all those pictures.

I have noticed that the lady is pretty clean, she is constantly at the man to pick up things and put them away. So I have been helping out around the house where possible. My favourite chore is helping clean the kitty litter. I am getting really good at this. I have even managed to learn to empty the back part.

I thought when I got to Spain that it would be a lot like Italy. In some ways it is, and but in many ways it is different. Spain has a more diverse ethnic community. Our area has Muslims from Turkey, North Africans, and South and Central Americans. In a way it makes me feel more at home as Canada is such a melting pot. In Italy it was fairly easy to pick out the Italians from the tourists and rarely was I ever mistaken for a local. But Spaniards do not really have a defined look. They are dark, they are fair, they are tall and slim, they are small and stocky. So everywhere we go here it is assumed you are Spanish and everyone speaks to us as we are locals. Often, I get a mix of French and Spanish spoken to me. Especially ‘Merci’. Flattered I assumed that I was being mistaken for a sophisticated Parisian, but it turns out that it is part of the Catalan tongue. Catalan was born from ‘vulgar’ latin and has influences of French and Italian. As long as I can get my beers and tapas ordered than it is all good.

Same-sex marriage has been legal here since July 3 2005, 17 days ahead of Canada. You can grow and smoke your own weed, but do not get caught selling it as Spain’s laws against trafficking are the most severe in Europe.

Wild Boar is king in Italy, in Spain, Pork rules with an iron trotter (term for the foot of the pig). The grocery stores have entire sections devoted to pork products. There are shops that only sell pork. You see rows and rows of cured legs of ham, trotter included. The best are from black Iberian pigs that are acorn fed and can fetch up to 200Euro or about 300CAD. Nothing else is wasted, they eat every bit of the pig even its snout. It has been said that pork became popular during the Inquisition to prove that one was as true Christian. And as Muslims were known to be big on bathing, the stinkier you were the more Christian you must be.

Driving here appears a bit saner than Italy, and definitely Turkey, but they do still lean on the horn. It is just not a continuous cacophony as it is in our previous travels. Scooters still rule here, but they are not obnoxious and do not have the habit of parking in the middle of the sidewalks.

But yet, Italy is still fervently Italian and I respect that as the south coast of Spain has become too touristy, catering to the, yes, dreaded UK tourists. [Author's Note: To all the lovely UK friends I have made, I know that this phenomenon has NOTHING to do with you!] Thus it has lost its Spanish identity in those areas. Both countries know how to enjoy life with their siestas and fiestas. The pace is easy to fall into. They do their living on park benches, at tables outside cafes, standing shoulder to shoulder with their neighbours at the bar. Everywhere the young and the old, children, parents, and grandparents, laugh, gossip, and debate on the streets. It makes me feel more alive being around it and with a twinge I realise we will be leaving all too soon.

Of all the things we North Americans could learn in our large homes with our large TVs and surround sound, all things we take for granted, it would be the sense of community that pervades every corner of these countries and makes me hunger to stay longer, to return, to never leave.

Thanksgiving Girona style

I know I said that I could live in Italy, then I said I could live in Istanbul, but ignore all that because Barcelona is where it is at. It is nestled between mountains and the sea, a perfect combo, and it is the cleanest city we have visited. The streets are broad with bike lanes in the center and are well laid out. The buildings are well maintained and architecturally interesting. There are green spaces everywhere, with sculptures, and even the lampposts are works of art.

Our apartment for 5 nights was a block from Antoni Gaudi’s bizarre cathedral, the Sagrada Familia, which has been under construction since 1882. Gaudi left his mark all over Barcelona designing parks, lampposts, and apartments. Barcelona was home to Joan Miro and Pablo Picasso, and modern art mixed with history is everywhere. We went to the Picasso Museum where we saw work from when he was 9 until his death. He was a genius and I must say a real horn dogger. He had produced many naughty ink drawings, which were..er…well..my favorite part. O.K., whatever, think what you want of me.

Barcelona also has a very good zoo and an aquarium. Tired of Roman ruins and dead guy stuff, we all headed to the latter for a fun afternoon. It is a very good aquarium. It is well thought out which seems to be par for the course for Barcelona. The cherry on the Barcelona sundae is the endless tapas bars. I love love love tapas. Whoever decided that closing shop at 2:00 pm and then going to a bar for drinks and savory little snacks for a few hours deserves a medal. And if that same person also invented sangria, then quite frankly they deserve a sainthood.

After 5 nights in Barcelona, we headed to Girona. The trains in Spain are in better shape than Italy, and seem to keep to a timetable as well. Girona is about 1.5 hr by the train and is bigger than Lucca. It is known as the place where many cycling pros come to train. Lance Armstrong even owns a house here. So it is Dwayne’s turn to be as happy as a pig in shit. There is plenty a good biking in them there hills! So far he has been on 2 big glorious rides, one of which was 7 hours and took him to the coast of Costa Brava.

Our apartment has no Internet or TV, so there is always a card game or several noses in novels. The community centre next door offers free wifi and Internet, we merely had to sign up with our passports. It has a little bar/cafe and I sit here sipping a beer and typing my blog. It is beyond civilised. As this is a working class neighbourhood, many do not own a computer and I observe many new immigrants and families using the computers.

Across the street is a gym owned by a couple who were a former Mr World and Miss Universe. For a really low fee Luc and I got one month unlimited, a personal trainer, and access to all the classes, like boxing and spinning. We have been there everyday. Reaching the keyboard is about as high as my arms go right now.

As Dwayne rides off to find Lance Armstrong, the rest of us are planning our next few weeks here. We plan on a few more trips to Barcelona, a trip to Cadaques to see Salvador Dali’s villa, and a bike trip to the Costa Brava to see the beaches. We took the train up to Figueres, where we spent an afternoon in the Dali Museum. It is almost unexplainable, except to say that if anyone is ever near the area, they must go. Genius? Yes. Nuts? Oh, yes! It is like one huge theatre of art and installations, a funhouse for all, a running commentary on the absurdness of life according to Dali. It is brilliant for those willing to open their minds. We all loved it. We can just imagine what his house will look like.

It is surprising how I find we all can settle into a routine so quickly and turn our current abodes into a home. I enjoy futzing around the apartment while Nic concocts yummy dishes in the teeny tiny kitchen, Dwayne plays with his bike and plans his routes, and Luc is back to being a voracious reader (to her credit, Nic is also a huge bookworm as well now). It is a cozy nest and I wonder if at the end of the month if we will be ready to be pushed out of it for the next adventure.

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When you read about Istanbul you learn things such as it is the 5th largest city, has over 12 million people, covers 7 hills, bridges Europe and Asia, covers 1800 sq km. What you don’t read is that you will fall in love with it the minute you arrive. You could spend weeks here exploring all that this city has to offer, but we had only 9 days.

We had rented 2 apartments, dividing our time between the Beyoglu and Sultanahmet areas. Our first apartment was at the base of the Galata Tower in Beyoglu. It is a historic flat, circa 1825ish, and has a charming old world shabby elegance. It was how I imagined a Paris flat would look like. The Beyoglu area is a bohemian spot said to be where the heart of Istanbul beats. The main avenue there is called İstiklal Avenue and it is famous for its boutiques, restaurants, cafes, bars, and shops. At night the side streets are filled with people eating, drinking, smoking, and listening to live music. There is a fish market called Balık pazarı off the main İstiklal Avenue, where we went and got some seafood and spices for a real home cooked meal.

Across the Galata Bridge, where you walk past dozens of men fishing off its railings, is Sultanahmet. This is the oldest part of the city and contains the Aya Sofya, Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace, and the Grand Bazaar. Our apartment on this side was newly renovated and modern, but had the speaker for the call to prayer right outside our windows. Definitely wasn’t mentioned in the advertisement.

The first site we visited was a mosque that our cabbie had pointed at on the way in from the airport. We thought he said ‘Blue’. All mosques, other than the Aya Sofya, are active and visitors are limited to a certain area. We took off our shoes, us girls covered our head and shoulders, we walked in quietly and sat and gazed at the amazing blue tile work. We somehow thought though that it would be bigger. Hmm. 2 days later when I read the map properly, I realise we were in fact not at the Blue Mosque. The cabbie had said ‘New’. The New Mosque was completed in the 1600s, thus making it new compared to others. Oh well, it was still pretty cool.

The actual Blue Mosque, which we did get to, is large and impressive with columns and 20,000 handmade tiles. Due to Ramadan it was full of worshippers, and due to its touristic lure it was full of tourists who were taking photos and chatting and generally being insensitive. People can be such jerks. We didn’t stay as long at this mosque as it was hard to be still and contemplate with all that was going on.

The Grand Bazaar is a huge covered market with over 1000 shops and covers something like 58 streets. It is West Edmonton Mall on crack. There are sections for gold jewellery, silver jewellery, leather, rugs, and so on. It is packed with people, so if crowds are not your thing stay away. Everywhere you see the same thing over and over and there are shoppers haggling a price and shopkeepers looking oh so offended, how can they make a living if they sell it for that? It is a kaleidoscope of colour and sound and your head is spinning by the time you find a way out. I recommend going immediately for beer after a day at the Grand Bazaar. Just to take the edge off.

After the chaos of the bazaar, the Aya Sofya was sanctuary. Once a church, then a mosque, and now a museum, it is a bona fide ‘old’ site. Built in Roman times it is a wonder to see. The brilliance of the architect who hid the massive columns in the walls making the dome appear to float is fantastic. It is in desperate need of restoration, which they are in the process of, but still impressive in spite of the decay. I can’t help wonder what they are restoring it to? Church or Mosque? For under the Islamic designs are 1500 yr old Christian mosaics. With his Cheshire cat’s grin, we saw the infamous feline made celebrity after President Obama petted him, warming himself and stretching in the spotlight, literally. He seems to be nonchalant and slightly smug about his fame.

Next to the Aya Sofya is the Topkapi Palace. This was the Ottoman sultans digs for around 400 years. It covers several acres and consists of several buildings all flowing from one courtyard to another. Each courtyard allowed less and less people with the last one being just for the royal family. The sultan could have 4 wives and up to 300 concubines (if he could afford that). His mother (called Valide Sultan or Queen Mother) wielded immense power and helped rule the empire, if the sultan was incompetent or a child the Queen Mother basically ruled. As the firstborn son was not automatically the next sultan there was a lot of plotting, scheming, and murder amongst the wives, even the most famous Queen Mother was murdered. They all lived together in the Harem and no one but them, the sultan, and his eunuchs were allowed in the building. The palace is fasincating and the Treasury with all its wealth really shows that these guys had money and liked to show it. There is the famous Topkapi knife with it’s emeralds and the 86 carat Spoonmakers diamond. The sultan even had solid gold and jewel-encrusted water bottle which was carried around at all times by a servant. As the men read this and think that this guy had it made, just ponder this, at any given time how many of these women had PMS and/or were plotting to kill him. The latter often being brought on by the former.

One of the most best things I found in Istanbul was my girlfriend Gillian and her partner Jason. Gillian and Jason are on a journey of their own, traveling around the world and our dates miraculously linked up (www.one-giant-step.com). We met down at the ferry terminal and then went for the famous fish sandwiches that are cooked there. After that we wandered up to Beyoglu for beers and to show them the upgraded posh apartment we were in for our last 2 nights. Then we went up to the top of a hotel near the Galata Tower to watch the sunset and have some Raki. After that was a fun and noisy dinner. It was a great day and there is nothing like catching up with old friends and sharing adventures, especially while smoking apple smoked tobacco from a nargile.

This was the end of our time in Turkey. We had fallen down the rabbit hole and loved every minute of it.

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I had a very strong déjà vu the other day. When I mentioned it, Nicole looked at me and said that it meant I was on the right path. It was such a wise and beautiful statement and resonated strongly within me. More than once, one of us has commented that the flow of our travels seem to have a predestination, that we wonder if we are planning the trip, or if we are being subtly guided along it. There just seems to be too many coincidences and happy accidents to discount.

Like our trip to Çıralı. It is a small village on the Turquoise Coast, a stones throw from the ruins of Olympos. We stayed at the Hotel Canada, owned by Carrie, a Canadian, and her husband Saban. Carrie is from Calgary and went to the same high school as Dwayne. Yet another coincidence. The hotel is situated in a valley against beautiful rocky hills, and when you are lazing by the pool you can see wild goats on the narrow trails. After Ovacik, Çıralı is a breath of fresh air. It is low key, quiet, and slightly hippyish. The town itself is small, just a dirt road with some restaurants and pensions. The beach is long and stunning. At one end is the start of the Olympos ruins. The Loggerhead Sea Turtle (Caretta caretta) travels there every summer to lay their eggs. In the evening you can hike up a hill just past town to see the Chimaera, which are fires coming from the ground due to a still unknown combination of gases.

One day Dwayne and Luc went on a scuba diving excursion and got bitten by the diving bug. The boat was a wooden sailboat and the instructors were all handsome Turks with edgy dreadlocks. Hmmm….why did Nic and I not go? It was on this trip that the boys met Amelia, who is from the UK. Amelia and her husband Marcus helped seal the deal on the next phase of our travels. I am still not sure how it happened, just an off hand remark from one of the kids about Thailand, and a response from them that Southeast Asia is their favorite place in the world and that we really really should go. Turns out they are both travel consultants, who have extensive experience and knowledge in that region. So as we were enchanted by their 3 little girls, Millie, Poppy, and Leila, as they played in the pool, Amelia and Marcus spent 2 days writing out an itinerary for us. Given that they had promised a friend to read his screenplay, and had only got 3 pages in, it was extremely generous for them to do this for us. Again, just too much of a coincidence.

Now SE Asia had been on the table quietly for awhile, Europe is expensive and we want the Project to continue for as many months as possible. The kids have always had a fascination and a desire to go there and this new development, and confession on our part, has sent them over the moon. Luc even tears up about it, he is so excited (Probably best we do not tell him I mentioned that). 

But this is still about Turkey, and Cirali, and our amazing hosts and fantastic dinners and sea kayaking and more old rocks, but this time wild with vegetation and very Indiana Jones. And  now it is time to hit the road again, this time inland to Göreme, in Cappadocia. We take a 9 hour day bus from Antayla to Göreme, this time we get to experience one of the large ones. The attendant serves us tea and snacks endlessly, and the trip is smooth, the scenery interesting, and the time slips by. 

Our bus stops midway in the city of Konya. As we pull in to the station nearly all passengers disembark except us. We stay on as the driver explains he is going to move the bus to another spot for 30 minutes, then we will continue on. As he drives across the parking lot of the large Otogar (bus terminal), an incident occurred between our bus and a midibus. We do not know what traffic faux pas transpired, but words ensue between the drivers. Apparently, our driver is gravely insulted, the age old slur regarding mothers, and he, wielding a bludgeon (that he just happened to have?), and the attendant give chase.

A huge brawl starts, with grown men, in dress shirts and slacks, from all corners of the Otogar getting involved. The other driver gets into his bus and narrowly misses running over our guys. then he turns around and comes careening back toward our bus, which contains 4 wide-eyed Canadians, who think he is going to ram the bus. He parks at the main terminal and immediately gets drop kicked by our attendant, who had chased the bus. More sticks appear, some are metal (OMG!), and 30-40 men appear to be trying to stop it while simultaneously joining in. At one point as the mob appears to be getting on our bus, as the door is open the entire time, Dwayne and I are both thinking he may just have to drive the bus to the terminal as I try to figure out how to close the f$#%ing door! Somehow the driver pops out of the mob to park the bus, and then he pops back into the melee. Eventually either the police or security manages to haul all the guilty men away and we sit there gobsmacked and driverless. A replacement is found we are sent on our way again, never to see our 2 guys again. We all feel slightly off balance, like the ground had shifted sharply for a moment, before levelling again. 

Once we arrive in the surreal town of Goreme, the violence we had witnessed is quickly set aside. Goreme is a Tim Burton meets Bedrock landscape of fairy chimneys, pink icecream cliffs, and phallic rock columns, all formed a millennia ago by a volcano eruption and Mother Nature. The town is quaint and has a nice main street with a canal down the middle. It is more traditional and almost all the women have their heads covers, some even have veils. The Ramaddan drummer is back and this one even sings to ensure we are all wide awake. Our favorite dish is Testi Kebap, where meat and veggies are sealed in a terracotta pot and cooked for hours, then broken at your table.

We toured the Goreme Open Air museum, which consists mainly of churches in the caves from an ancient monastery. Yes, more churches, but I the gimmick of being in a cave was too much too resist for my gang. And today we finished our trip off with a 2 hr horseback trip through the Rose and Red Canyons. The horses are wild horses that the local horse whisperer caught himself in the mountains. He often gets ones that need some medical aid and then releases them back in the wild. They are small and sure-footed and very smart. I am happy to be back in the saddle again. It is the best way to see the canyons, and I learned some new techniques going up and down steep paths. Tomorrow, we leave for Istanbul!

Here are pictures!!!

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