Point2Point

And so my trips to Ankara started.

The Midnight bus was on time, and it was quite comfortable, complete with chocolate cake and drinks. Really honestly Eurolines I hate you. Take lessons from Turkish buses, they are the best buses I have ever taken, better than some airlines.

My first 5am arrival into Ankara's giant multi layered bus station was quite good. I had an ultra cheap breakfast of cheese, juice, bread, potatoes and soup at the station for a meager 3 Euro. A good start as I headed off to my embassy to the Iranian Embassy.

I bought a 10 trip ticket for the took the Ankaray, the direct metro/train to the center of Ankara, Kızılay. And naturally upon exiting I followed the TB's map and ended up heading for 45 minutes in the wrong direction. I have a compass TB!!! And still your map points in the wrong direction??!!! Having said that a little Turkish man also sent me in the wrong way. Finally a simple street vendor or two pointed me the right way and soon I was walking along a long boulevard, still lost, but at least noticing plenty of plush embassies indicating I was at least in the right area.

I stopped once more to ask a local looking chap if I was indeed heading in the right direction, and it not only turned out that I was, but also he happened to be Iranian! Inshalla!!

By 8am I was outside the Axis of Evil's embassy, just as it started to rain. Thankfully Allah was watching and as I pushed the big red button to get in, a big smiling man slide open a mirrored hatch. I greeted him with a big "Salam", and he returned the gesture.
"How are you today?" he beamed.
I shrugged my shoulders as the rain began heavier, "Well, I am getting wet, and could do with a tourist visa?!!"
He nodded with a bigger smile "so, you better come in then."
Well I was in and that was the main thing. The main room was white, quite bland, bar the huge wall sized one way mirror infront of me. Very KGB!!

I waited my the equally huge, and high, glass protected reception area. Pressing the buzzer did little, so I remained subdued and innocently smiled at the one way mirror. Finally a skinny youthful Iranian arrived, and scowled at me. I requested a tourist Visa, and he continued scowling, I said please, and the scowl continues. Step 2, I mentioned my phone call to Sadi. The skinny Iranians eyes changed to suspicion now, so I told him Sadi had asked me to come in today. He submitted and shuffled off.

5 mins later Sadi appeared, as large pot bellied Iranian with a similar scowl, perhaps they have lessons for the scowl at Iranian Embassy school. A few formalities and passport checks later and he handed me a piece of paper with a local banks name and an account number on it. 55 dollars, it seemed needed to be deposited into it. So off I went. The police in Turkey are quite nice, and always pointed me in the right direction. I deposited the money into the Supreme Leaders personal account, got my receipt and headed back. Sadi took another hour, but finally appeared with my passport, inside a yellowish sticker with my 30 day visa written on it.

I gleamed at him in that stupid way one does when you just got something you know is not easy to do. "Yeah, I am going to Iran!!" I spluttered.
For the first time Sadi smiled, "Yes you are, well done."

At this time I felt the courage to ask if I could use the Iranian embassies toilet too, before I left. I was also granted this privilege.

Next stop my embassy, this took an hour to find, all with the help of bus drivers and frantic looking flower salesmen. Upon arrival I was glad to see only a secretary. And 30 mins later I walked out with a Letter of Introduction for Pakistan and India. And also the knowledge that an Ankara Taxi would only charge about 2 Euro to take me anywhere.

The rain was seriously falling now, and I was quite wet as the Taxi let me off at the Pakistan Embassy. Here things changed and I was eyed suspiciously by all guards and even had a little Pakistani man chasing after me as I walked around the back of the embassy looking for the visa section, which I did find to my horror.

The tiny little room was overflowing with what I can only describe as Pakistani refugees. Tall skinny Asian men wrapped in thick brown blankets were all tightly packed together, with the seriously heavy warm smell of damn human enveloping all. My mind blindly flashed on the idea that this is what Pakistan might be like as I squeezed in. I was tanned after the Turkish sun, so aside from the lack of blanket or smell blended in quite well. Naturally People took no notice of me as they all bustled around the visa counter, so I did what any self respecting person would do. I put on my finest British Accent and announced my arrival and request for a visa.

It was like Moses at the red sea (hey its in the Koran too), the group by the counter parted in two. Bright eyes stared at me from behind scarf covered faces as I walked through the crowd towards the counter, rain water dripping from my coat. The visa man grunted as I greeted and requested a Visa. I barrage of questions followed, to which I had all the answers and pieces of paper. Unfortunately I did not remember the person I had spoken to on the phone's name, and was told to come back tomorrow. My plea's of living 5 hours away fell on deaf ears, and I knew the argument would be fruitless. So I made a point in asking for who I should see the next time. It was an older gent in the background, so I gave him a big goofy wave so he would remember me.

I think I panicked security a the Bus terminal in my quest to find a bus back to Goreme, but again all were helpful though they did put me on the wrong bus at one stage. 5 hours later and I was back in Goreme by 11pm that evening. Very wet, very tired, but still buzzing over that sticker in my passport.

I let 2 days pass before heading back to Ankara. The Pakistani Embassy was less crowed now, and took all my documents and I did another bank deposit for General Musharf's pension fund. The same fat bloke said I could come back at 4pm. It was a chance as the bus left at 5pm. I nodded and headed out for a day in Ankara. I searched for a bookstore, and found only english teaching stores. But did enjoy Burger King Turkish style and then the sunshine as it beat down on the large westernised city. Walking, and window shopping in the heat.., I was not prepared... Friction burns returned.... not good.

By 3.30pm I was back at the Embassy, this time having a chat with the Soldiers outside as by now they wee curious about the westerner who keeps showing up at their embassy. Nice chaps who offered me tea and chocolate. Inside I was greeted by fat Pakistani removing two Koreans with visa denials. I nodded to him and sat obediantly in the corner until I was summoned... bollox, if I get denied it means Afganistan here i come...

"No visa," he spluttered, I cringed and began to think of who else to ask for as he continued "come back tomorrow."

Hope! Apparently the Ambassador was away until then. I smiled politely and headed out. What to do now? Stay in Anakara was the best option. But by now the pain on my thighs was agonizing. It was rush hour and the traffic was heavy. No option to walk to find a cheap hotel.

I can say now this was one of the most painful things I have had to do for years. My thighs were burning like they were being rubbed raw by razors with each step, I was truly in agony. So much so, I stopped at a chemist for bandages and then a clothing store on the way to a hotel to buy new combats and to stay still for a while. The soft new fabric worked a trick with the bandages. I found a hotel for 17 Euro, and settled in for a night of TV and giant take away kebab, but was soon asleep.

I spent most of the day sitting in the park reading. But did head off to the Indian Embassy to get all the necessary paper work. I was hoping they would also take an application today, but it seemed bureaucratic bullshit reigned here too and I would have to come back after the weekend as Friday was a holy day... utter bullshit. India = Hindu majority = Friday holiday: Pakistan = Muslim majority = work on Friday... my first taste of Indian logic.

I sat with the soldiers again, and was asked the usual questions on how much everything cost in Europe, and ate more chocolate with them. By 4pm I was inside, and much like yesterday fat Pakistan visa man was removing a Japanese lady from his office, this time telling her to come back tomorrow. And again I sat like an obedient school boy in the corner, only this time he glared and did a slight head wobble at me as I nodded to him. Was this a good sign, the head wobble?

I was soon beckoned to come to the desk where upon he handed me my passport with a green and dark black visa for Pakistan stuck into it. I grinned, and said. " I guess I am going to Pakistan, Inshalla!"

Visa man actually smiled, "Inshalla".

I headed back to Goreme on the night bus, and again I was put on the wrong bus. But this time I had the double pleasure of randomly taking out my passport to look at the two illusive visas sitting in them. Only India remained, and that should have been he easiest to obtain. Only now Turkey had just declared war on the Kurds in Iraq...

The weekend was quiet in Goreme. Most of us simply watched the Turkish news as it was set up with better special effects than most war movies. Guns blazed and soldiers marched to music similar to Rambo or Commando as tanks and airships sent rockets blasting into Kurdish mountains. The Turkish media certainly knows how to put on a show.

I was in Ankara again, this time to deliver my passport to the Indian Embassy, a nice place, with lots of security regulations, and no security personnel. Only the happy Visa man was far too worried about me being in Turkey without a passport for 5 days. Apparently he felt Islamabad would be a better place to get the Indian visa as Turkey was going to war. . . Why?!! Why?? Would Islamabad be safer?? I mumbled a lie about not liking Pakistan and not wanting to stay there as I was told it was dangerous there. His headed started to wobble... ( I have to figure this head wobble thing out). He phoned the deputy commissioner for advice. Then wobbled at me again saying something about security in Turkey, I lied again and said I stayed at a 5 start hotel with much security, and then tried a head wobble back at him. He wobbled back at me, and I felt a connection. Two minutes and 55 dollars later I was walking out of the embassy with a promise of a visa in 5 days that kept me content on my bus trip back that night.

During this time Turkey was of course on full scale military alert it seemed and I was soon helping out at the hostel as the final Fex bus drove in. Only this time there was one small ray of hope. Wendy, a western Japanese girl had hitched a ride with the bus at some stage. And we spent a few days going around Goreme with her. She reminded me of the Silly and it was quite difficult sometimes. We watched the Hot air balloons one evening as they gracefully hovered above the Goreme Valley during a sunset from one of the surrounding hills. It was here I also saw my first "Moon Rise". I never thought there was such a thing, but as we were joined by a couple of local dogs and Carl and American from our hostel I sat and enjoyed the wonderful spectical. We then pledged the next morning to do the sunrise too.

And so it was at a dark cold 6am Wendy, Carl, our two dog friends and I climbed up to watch the sunrise. In the mountain blackness we saw yellow lights flicker, and the distant coarse bellowing of flames in the valley. Golden colors gently peaked the mountains and caressed us with the tantalizing sights of 21 hot air balloons slowly rising from rest to the line the wide canyon they disembarked from.

I headed up to Ankara for the final visa trip and collected my Indian Visa without incident, though they did only give me a two month multiple entry. Still That was it, I had done it. I had scored all three visas in a matter of 2 weeks. I had met others during my 3 weeks in Goreme and en route, all of whom had either failed or been refused one of the Visas. Call it, divine help, craftiness, timing, planning or sheer luck, but I had done it. I was going to India for sure, that is if I made it through Pakistan. But next what awaited me was George W. Bush's "Axis of Evil". . . Iran here I come...

What can be said about the Goreme Hostel Helper "Harum", nice guy, shame about the brain?!! No, I nice guy, but really he needed a helping hand to do so much as have breakfast in the morning. So when I go to Ankara Mega bus complex to both collect my Indian Visa, and to get the 7pm bus to Dogubayazit I smiled in vex as the ticket counter man told me there was no 7pm bus from Ankara to Dogubayazit, but in fact there was one leaving from Neveshir, back next to Goreme... Grrr.

I took matters into my own hand and immediately but on the panicked tourist look and was soon rescued my a student speaking limited english. This then ended up with me having 7 tickets to Dogubayazit! 20 mins later and I left with only my requested 1 ticket leaving at 7pm, plus a kiss on both cheeks by the bearded student. Let me say at this time that I do not like the feeling of another mans beard on face!!

Clutching my 55 Lita 19 hour bus ticket I headed off to the Indian Embassy. And along the way to the tiny little outdoor store to purchase a new pair of hiking boots. I hate Mendiel Boots, (well actually I don't, but they still broke so I do). The little man inside instantly saw dollars, and I parted ways with 148 Euro worth of new leather Italian boots. . . Yes a small fortune, but it was that or plastic flip flops. I really did not expect Iran to stock good quality boots, neither Pakistan, even India, so the next time I could buy a pair would be Nepal. Gut instinct told me the current boots would not make it that far. And so it was that outside the Indian Embassy I removed the Meindel's for the last time, swapped insoles and put on the much lighter Italian pair and hoped for the best.

Getting my passport back was no hassle, it was sitting atop the reception desk as I entered. So I simply smiled, reached over and picked it up. Hmmm, maybe the Canada Passport underneath would have been a better choice...

I hurried back to the Metro station, and began to feel the new boots tear into my feet in all sorts of places... here we go again. . .

The journey itself was up to the usual high Turkish standards, chocolate cake and coke all the way. And as usual I got giant fat person to sit next to me. And again my punishment was to have his fat slobbering mass slouch over to me as he nodded off. IT wouldn't have been too bad if the fat prick took off his oversized jumper. I final straw broke at about midnight when his head began falling onto my shoulder, earning him a very sharp elbow into his protruding stomach and a waving hand from me.

My morning time I felt the heat of the night bus had flared up my bloody friction burns again and as the bus pulled in for breakfast I hobbled off to the bathroom to do an emergency bandage job on my thighs. This truely was turning out to by the curse of my travels. Still as I stood eating a sandwich a local was busy throwing up in an empty oil drum beside me, so I think his morning was worse off.

As I also fended off a man behind me trying to read my map of Dogubayazit I looked up and saw a mass of white fluff blowing by the window. Snow. Lots of snow. In fact it was blowing at a near 90 degree angle. I looked at the altitude on my watch 7800ft. We were going through a mountain pass near Atiku and the bus was suffering nearly as much as my nerves as we tore around the mountain bends through the icy blizzard. It was here I got my only glimpse of Mount Aryat, well at least the bottom of it. Not an Ark in sight unfortunately. I was sensing my time in Dogubayazit was going to be short.

We pulled into the bus station and I headed off to locate Hotel Tarham in Dogubayazit which I found thanks to a tour guide wanting no money. And was mildly surprised to get a double en suite room for only 18lira. All the singles were booked out and they weren't so busy. There was also a German and French male duo there, similarly heading into Iran, unfortunately they were not at all chatty. Still I was already well and truly in solo mode and headed out for some local kebabs.

Dogubayazit has the true feeling of a grungy border town, and I think that's why I look back and enjoyed my brief time there. It was nearly like a preparation town for those heading to new uncharted waters by themselves. It rained for the day. The streets were dirty, the sky dark yet all the while shopkeepers and the like maintained a happy expression in this dreary looking town. I entered a kebab shop, and ate a giant meat shish, couscous, 3 flat bread and a salad for only 3 lira. The local chef seemed amazed to watch me continuesly point at his meat counter and order heaps more. I mentions Iran, and through our miscommunication we laughed about the need to eat well.

My attempts to locate the border bus failed on this my first day when I ended up on the main road my a gas station surrounded my excited children, all pointing me down the road to the east... I think they wanted to see the dumb tourist walk all the way!

Seeing all this mass confusion I was approached my a moustachioed man wielding a police badge, bollox I was going to be arrestted for being to stupid to find the bus stop. But "Hemrit" must have taken pity, or curiosity on me and thankfully offered me a lift to the Bus stop in his little LPG car, passing all the smiling idiots along the way who had sent me in the wrong direction. The bus office was closed, but a little man outside old me the times and prices quite happily.

I then got more misinformation and actually found the post office to be opened and managed to post off my "Travels in Afghanistan" book to a silly person. I then headed into a Pharmacy to purchase more bandages and was politely accosted my Kurdish Pharmacists who I sat with for a while and drank tea. It was here I really realized how much I was missing of Turkey. The Kurdish/Iraq/Turkish tensions were really heating up, and the western Turkish hatred for the Kurds was flowing over to everyday life. Yet I truely enjoyed the company of these men, so friendly, warm and interested to know what the rest of the world though of them. What could I say? So I told my opinion of the truth. Know one really understands what's going on! I left my thanking them in Turkish, only to be dragged back in again and given a lesson in Kurdish, sometime later I left thanking them with a big "Spasmodica!!"

That night I lay on my big double bed and thought about Turkey... I had missed out on so much just to secure the visas for three countries. Yet at the same time this in itself was a unique experience. Yes I had missed out on Troy, Olympus and all the ancient sites. But I had accomplished what in todays political world was not so easy to do. And somehow, leaving a country with my passport full of visas, and no heavy Afghanistan, Tadzhikstan etc travel was an accomplishment. Then I realized what was bugging me.

I was not going to see central Asia on this trip. No wild jeep rides with Afgans, nor no real uncharted territory crossings. It was off the plan, and I liked the idea of this. Yet if I had gone down that road I would not have accomplished the Iran/Pakistan/India/Nepal route, no Axis of Evil... this was something I wanted to Experience... and what of Pakistan... I knew nothing of this place really. Should I pass through, or travel it. Again, I had no idea that it was about to explode into the chaos of emergency rule... yes in hindsight I was about to have a once in a lifetime experience...

After researching out our hostel ahead of time, we soon found ourselves marching up the street. At first glimpse it still looked like Goreme was a tourist hotspot, brightly painted restaurant signs offer all manner of dishes lined the streets. A big Tourist info office stood outside the bus stations, or rather the collection of bus companies. However one thing was missing.... tourists!! Ok a few roamed around the place, but nothing compared to the swarms around the road down to the valley. Could we have landed in that rare of places that means tour companies usually arrange day trips rather than overnights?!!

We arrived at the hostel, a swimming pool, free breakfast, single beds and friendly staff, perfect. Whats more there was an Irish lady there who had info on an elusive Visa!

Yes indeed Lorna was a near permanent resident, and it seemed partnered with Hamez the friendly owner of the hostel. It seemed she was on the way to Iran too. We sat for a while and chatted, this is when it came to light that she had alread called the Iranian Embassy in Ankara and spoken with the Visa head "Sadi". It was allegedly only going to take 1 hour to issue the visa... something to do with Ireland being on the Iranians good side as they imported Beef from there. More to the point I had a contact name... And yes I did try to speak to Sadi, and yes he confirmed that I could get a Visa in only one day if I called him before hand. YES!!! It looked like the first hurdle was over!! Iran here I come, but never count your eggs till the chickens finished laying them eh?

Time to celebrate the first victory in the "visa rush". So Reagan and I headed off to downtown Goreme for a night out. In truth Goreme was not so big, so the choice was limited. But we did settle down well in "Flintstones Bar", yes it does sound cheesy, but it was a good place. Indeed the two long haired Turkish owners were fairly chilled. So Chilled that they left us in charge of the Bar for an hour as they left for a long waited Dinner after a day of fasting. We caused no damage I swear.

Next day Reagan was up for a tour of Goreme, by bike... mountain bike that is. 5 Euro later and we had two aging mountain bikes at our disposal for the day, along with a map of the surrounding area. 42km later on our 30km tour, plus one puncture later, and we were back in Goreme. I knew the next day would be sore.

And yes it was. my Ass was bruised... really bruised, so bruised I had that funny walk. We spent the days wondering around and enjoying the cave dewellings people have now converted into hotels, or sub hotels, and most nights we spent at Flintstones. Bar Reagan's last night, this was when we surrendered to a Fez bus expedition to Turkish Night.

We were carted off to a fairly posh restaurant and fed a not so all you can eat meal, and for sure made work of the all you can drink. In my case lush turkish red wine, and shots of roxi, a fierce local fire water. Belly dancers came, and we all participated in strutting our stuff. Well at least the make contingent were subjected to it... funny that.

One of the Fez group was Muslim Turkish girl, and I took the opportunity to begin by soon to be entry into the world of Islam. Her German friends were quite taken back, as normally she would shy away from men. But thankfully my little reading and knowledge did well in her eyes. So much so we even managed to persuade here to come back to a bar with us in town, unfortunately it was not Flintstones, and unfortunately I started on the Vodka Redbulls now. Meaning the mixture in my stomach was effecting all judgment and I instantly forgot how to play pool, but somehow thought I was a great dancer.

Reagan was also having a very successfully night with Amy the Australian, that is until she mentioned she was gay.

Everyone left bar the few hardcore drinkers, and unfortunately that meant I was there too, hey no alcohol in Iran next week remember!! To say that I removed the contents of my stomach later that night was an understatement to say the least. But at least we gave Reagan a good send off.

So yes did not end up at that "rare' type of Hostel, I did indeed end up at a Fez tour bus destination. Indeed the club 18-22ers arrived every Tuesday Thursday and Saturday pretty much between 7-8pm. But at least it meant I was excepted into the inner fold of the hotel management, and usually ended up having dinner with them.

I now concentrated on the Visa issues: Iran was a near done deal, Pakistan Embassy located and they also said it would be ready in a day, India would take one week to process. Better news again, there was a midnight bus from Goreme to Ankara every night for 16 Euro. And so began my visa runs to the capital...

Itchy Beard, Reagan and myself all arrived at Istanbul' giant bus station. This thing tops my list at being the biggest bus station I have ever seen. It's a mini city unto itself. Shaped like a giant football stadium, brightly colored signs advertised bus companies from all over Turkey on this 7 level metropolis. Notice I mentioned bus company advertising and not destination advertising, and so this was our first introduction into the Turkish bus system.

Vendors called out city names from open doors, people hustled by with suitcase and three backpackers were stuck in the middle of all this in search of just one company that would take us to Goreme, Cappadocia. It was 8pm an we d been ensured at the hostel that it would be no problem to get one. But this was Ramadan, and we couldn't find any. Itchy grumbled about going straight to Ankara and then to Goreme, but I dismissed this instantly. It made no sense, this many bus companies and nothing going to Cappadocia? We enquired in a host of companies, and through mis pronunciation and full seats were bounced back and forward across the giant mini city.

Finally I found a little Turkish man who not only spoke english but also had what we were looking for, kind of. He was offering us a ticket to Aksaray, from where he assured us we could catch a 7 am bus directly to Goreme, but like many vendors he hastened to add the bus was nearly full. I consulted the TB and then was happy to see Aksaray was not listed on the map. Mini Adventure time, I put my money on the table as we agreed for three tickets. It was then as the ticket e didn't want to go now! And he forgot his money?!!

I should mention here that a few hours before our stringy bearded companion was once again on the verge of eco self termination for the amount of oxygen he was consuming. He also mention a new element, a girl had emailed him and he wanted to meet and live with her in Turkey... This all out of the blue. Though there was mention of another girl somewhere in Turkey too... Even with all this, he agreed that Cappadocia was a better and cheaper place to be than Istanbul, so he checked out, packed up and came with us to the station.

Now I really did not care. Itchy Beard had finally added the proverbial straw that broke the camels back. Without even the hint of persuasion I kindly apologized to the ticket man, and asked that he remove one seat. If Itchy wanted to come, then let him do it by himself. I was not risking the loss of our seats or another change of plan.

Reagan became the justice of the peace here, and started to work on persuading Itchy to come, but even he had become tired of the Eco warriors lack of stability. We headed into one of the many stalls and ordered Kebab's. Itchy Beard followed us, and then we said out goodbye's to him. A nice, harmless guy (aside from his companions blood pressure), but I do not think I have ever met a person so unplanned and indecisive as a cross eyed Lemming.

Reagan and myself are Kebab's and pondered on our night buses final destination, were we being led astray or would be end up in Syria? After a slightly chaotic scramble for the bus we were off, on the Nevasher Bus companies large A/C monster, squished down the back in the fully occupied bus. This was made a little more barely by the fact that this was one of the best buses I have ever been on. (read this Eurolines). Aside from being on time, and the drivers speaking more than one language. The A/C worked and a little man came around to give us hand sanitizer, followed by a glass of water. Not satisfied with just that, our next spot of Turkish luxury came in the form of soft drinks and chocolate cake!!

My only complaint would be concerning the plumb Turkish man sitting next to me, and the large pile of Turkish porn comics he read through. Nonetheless with Rambo 3 playing on our tv sets we headed off to sleep on the way to to some obscure town.

We arrive on time at Aksaray and quickly learned that a direct connection to Goreme was not feasible, we had to get another bus to Nevashir, another town bordering the little cave valley we were trying to get to. We waited around the tiny bus station for 1.5 hours, watching locals chase pigeons and contemplating whether the kebabs we had stored away in our daypacks the night before were good enough for breakfast.

Our next giant bus came, and once again we were treated to hand sanitizer, sodas and cake. The scenery outside our window was one of dryness. But still nothing compared to Morocco. This was still disappointing to me, but to dwell on it was not going to help. Out bus driver asked where we were going, after some more mispronounciations he jammed on the breaks, ran outside and proceeded to wave another bus down. Was our attempts at saying Goreme that bad he wanted to be rid of us? No, it was Turkish hospitality, he was in fact waving down a bus heading directly to Goreme for us. This is something that no longer happens in Europe. Hence I was no longer in Europe.

My first glimpse of the mountainous valley's of Goreme was from our tiny little local bus as it weaved its way down into Rock Valley. Along the way we past giant tour buses, strange conical shape rocks, tourists on foot and a camel with a tourist on top of it. Hmmm. Our little bus adventure had ended, and as the conical shaped rocks grew larger, and little windows started to appear in them I began to wonder if it was a mistake to come to Goreme. 5 Euro hostels were great, but not at the price of tourist hell. What would this place really be like? And why had I sacrificed Olympus, Troy and Eupsuses for this little valley. Much like Europe I found myself moving ahead like an unstoppable freight train, the only thing that mattered were the VISAS. A mistake???

After climbing up the hill to Old Sultanahmet we arrived at the hostel our French friend had recommended...well not exactly but it was in the same area, more importantly it was away from the majority of hostels. After checking in we left Itchy Beard to his grumblings about finding a little old lady with a room for 3Euro (dream on) and Allen, Reagan and myself headed out to explore the place I had heard so much about.

Now if I were not so tired maybe I would not have been so unimpressed, but even so I was disappointed at first. Blame it on my lack of research or new found hostility to tourists. The main square was surrounded by giant two tier mega buses, each emblazoned with giant company logos. And no matter where you looked, or for that matter walked, there was always one or two of the bemoths powering down a pedestrian filled street. The square surrounded with closed food stalls offering some hope of a nights feast, it was the end of Ramadan after all. Still I had expected less, a more Morocco feel. Instead it felt more like a theme park.

We followed Allen's American style "Let's see everything, and then latter compare it to what's better in the USA", well at least for the former. We followed the old wall, with its new buildings, looked on at the giant Blue Mosque (it looks bluer at night), and then finally entered Sofia. Here I have to admit I was impressed. Having been built by the Byzantine Emperor Justinian in the sixth century as a monument to Christianity, it was later turned into a mosque under Sultan Mehmet after taking control of Istanbul from the Byzantine. Mosaic's of Christ emblazoned in Gold leaf are one of the most striking sights. As is the truly giant dome, archways and marble flooring. And for me I started to learn about the Islamic worlds recognition of Christ and Mary.

By now Reagan and myself had had enough of Allen's whistle stop tour, and we part ways. Beer in the hostel over looking the Bhosphorus, it was obvious we would be heading somewhere else in Turkey together. It also became obvious that the nights were getting very chilly, winter was coming.

The next day Itchy Beard decided it was time for him to head off to find a little old lady by the bus station that would offer him a room for 3 Euro. Emm, I did for the record continuesly remind him that this was not going to happen here and thathe should be concentrating on visas instead. Suffice to say Itchy Beard was lost in his eco world so I headed off in search of Embassies galore. Of course following a TB map is never as straightforward as it seems, Reagan followed me along, and after many wrong turns I started to feel sorry for him.

Eventually embassy search day 1 was over and we headed out that night with Itchy and Allen to find some food and a little trek into Asia. Yes many will debate whether Turkey is Europe in whole, or in part, but when you are there its much better to think about crossing the bridge and setting foot in a new continent. And this is just what we did. Past multitudes of open market sellers and far too many small fish sellers for my liking we arrived in Asia. Of course this was still turkey, but it was New Turkey. Marred only by Itchy running into various run down hotels looking for his 3 Euro room, apparently there were no old ladies by the bus station. I started to feel a little better about Istanbul now that we were out of that Tourist zone, never mind about the huge luxury cruise ship beside us. Instead I enjoyed the Mosques by night as the fishermen cast their lines in hope for more tiny fish for the kebab sellers to cook up.

We got as far as the main tower when both Itchy Beard's complaints about no 1 dollar food stalls and Allen's perpetual moaning forced us back a while to the bridge where countless restaurant touts hassled us. Reagan was harassed the most to both my and Allen's amusement, but in fairness he did manage to score a free bottle of wine dinner for us. Bar the fact that both Allen and Itchy thought it was a scam. So yes we trudged back to Sultanamet and the chaos of a Ramadan feeding frenzy. Anyone who knows me well can testify that keeping me away from food for an extended period results in a serious mood change, and so it seems the same happens to Reagan. This resulted in me getting very pissed off with a woman overcharging for a cheese pancake thingy, made worse by Itchy paying for it after she refused to give me all my change. For all their arguing Itchy and Allen finally settled on 3 Euro baked potatoes, while Reagan and myself ate large 2 Euro Doners.

The next day we waved goodbye to Allen, and I once again hit the streets on the Embassy trail. This time I was once again accopanied by Reagan and a German cyclist who had checked in the night before. Apparently having cycled from Italy to Turkey, and one minor crash. I think by now we had all given up on Itchy, so we left him with his laptop, studying something about Afghanistan USA relations. Also Bong, a S.Korean guy showed up in a similar search for visas, this guy would eventually end up being nearly as unplanned as Itchy, but slightly less frustrating.

The day led to many revelations on Embassies, and my time in Nigeria surrounded by diplomats had me prepared for many of the results. Sufficed to say I started to get the impression Istanbul was not the best place to start the application process. Aside from escorting me to Embassies we also found ourselves in the Grand Bazzar, and more disapointment for me. It was spotless, clean, well cared for and sold everything from high level jewellery, clothing, silverware and other high end items. Nothing so good that the memories of the giant open market in Marrakesh Morocco.

All my embassy searching also paid off in other ways, as we had found Tikent in the Asian side, the hub of young Asian Istanbul. The main pedestrianised street was teeming with people, bars, modern malls and not a shroud in sight. We sat at a cafe and enjoyed an open air beer, surrounded by young Turks drinking tea and playing what seemed to be the national past time, backgammon. Spurred on by this non touristy side to Istanbul we vowed to come back later in the night. It was Ramadan, and a Monday night, but, we were still determined. Jokes abound about what a Turkish nightclub or bar followed suit. "Backgammon, can you teach me?"

After a prolonged catnap by the German we eventually made it back to our livelyist street in Istanbul, only to find it deserted. A few people were walking around, but on a determined path home. Garbage truck roamed around emptying trash containers, and that was as about exciting as it got. German cyclist was determined to celebrate his adventures cycling conclusion with a nightclub, but the best we found was the sound of Vanilla Ice pumping out of a rather empty looking bar.

Reagan and myself were slowly trying to edge in the direction of the European side, knowing this was a fruitless attempt. But the German continued to pace up and down all the streets, not good for my friction burns which were re-burning. It was just as even he was about to quit that a lone man approached him with the usual Turkish opener "Where are you from?" The German fell for it and for the next 5 minutes Reagan and myself walked on listening to the German falling into the tourist trap. The mention of girls, all night bar, cheap drink and around the corner had the German jumping up and down. I also heard the word taxi mentioned. Surely he would not fall for it??

We shouted, shook our heads and waved for him to come back. But the German Cyclist was already brushing us off and jumping into a yellow cab with the balding older Turkish man as the taxi sped off. Reagan had gone slightly pale as we headed back down the road. Talk of trying to follow them, would he be drugged, mugged, rapped or even all three filled our conversation. It was then we found a small folk bar with live music. Nothing like a beer and a conversation about a young arylet being molested to take us into the early hours.

I have to say that the music was good, and the atmosphere was enjoyable. 30 minutes later and we were joined by our young arrian friend, panting, sweaty and laughing with a slight hint of nervousness. Apparently the bar was empty and that was all he was saying...

I suppose it was during this period that I knew Istanbul would not be the best place for me to find the elusive visas. Reagan was heading off the next day as was I. Olympos, fire mountain of the God's...or Cappadocia cave houses and a short 5 hour trip to Ankara, home of all embassies?... I wanted Olympus, Reagan, stuck for time, wanted Cappadoccia. Hmm, I spent some time and thought hard. I was not enjoying myself too much because of these damn visas, so I decided to stop enjoying myself altogether and just get them over with. So to the land of Troglodytes, Fairy Chimneys, and Cave Houses it was. As so often happens when travelling, we were a little out of touch with the news. Little did we know, but we had just missed a failed terrorist bomb attack on an Istanbul to Ankara train at the train station we had been at a few hours before, and 12 Turkish soldiers had just been killed by Kurdish rebels. Turkey it seemed was preparing to go to war...