where, cheap, and rather fast. That’s what we heard.It seemed too good to be true, and alas it was….sorta. What they don’t explain in the books or at the travel agencies is HOW to ride the bus. The Turks are an open, hospitable, savvy culture that also has an edge of sinister. Our first taste of Turkey bus protocol happened when we were going from Kusadasi to Pamukkale. We were the first ones on the bus, and have a fair amount of hand luggage, so I took the front seat to myself, and Cat occupied a double seat in row 2. That was fine until we got to the next bus stop. A family boarded, and took seats behind us. The woman talked animatedly to the driver in Turkish, and got approving nods from her family and other riders. At our next stop, the driver asked me to move, and join seats with Cat, which I complied with because, well, he’s the driver. The old woman promptly took my front row seat (with extra leg room), and I piled in next to Cat. As we rode along, I got more and more indignant and angry, and hoped that every over weight, smelly new passenger would sit next to the old lady that had bilked me out of my seat. After a couple of hours, she did have to share a seat, but by then I had lost feeling in my toes, and was miserable.
Lesson #1 – there are no innocent old ladies in Turkey. They are all undercover agents for the Turkish secret service.
Our next bus ride was an overnight (painful) ride from Pamukkale to Cappadocia. We had assigned seats, so we thought we had to stay put. But, as the night carried on, there was a game of musical chairs played at every bus station. Every three hours, the bus stopped at a new station, some people got off, and others boarded. We were crammed into our assigned seats while all the Turks were lounging across the isle, or in the “penthouse” back seat row for a fully horizontal sleeping experience. When we exited the bus in Cappadocia, we were haggard and needed chiropractic attention (stat) while the Turks emerged sprite and chipper.
Lesson #2 – if you see an open seat, snag it.
Having learned a few lessons going East in Turkey, we applied our knowledge to the ride West, back to Istanbul. We arrived an hour early for our bus, and went to the bus company desk to check our gate number. Cat reminded me to also try to change our assigned seats, and get the “penthouse”, which I successfully did without a problem. We sprawled out in the back row like the Sultan (Sulteo??) and the Queen. But, the driver and his assistant (eg. flight attendant) were evidently pissed that two strangers had the back seat. So, they repeatedly came to the back and told us to sit up and cram together. We complied for a few minutes, then promptly sprawled, just like we had been taught by the locals. When darkness settled in, the assistant, motioned to the driver, and asked us to move up a row, and let a Turkish gentleman have the penthouse. Cat dug in like it was the battle of the bulge. She pulled out our tickets, and ranted that these were our assigned seats and we weren’t moving for anybody. After about 5 minutes of Turkey and English verbal sparing where everybody was talking and nobody understood a word, the assistant gave up the chase, and waved his hands at us in disgust. “Keep your damn seats”, he motioned. Later on the assistant plops down in the seats in front of Matt and begins to
strike up a friendship. Truce had clearly been called on the seat war and peace began. Awhile had passed and at one point the daily ritual of playing cards began. Cheering, knee slapping and such was taking place among the three of us when we received our final blessing. Mehmet, the assistant now turned travel comrade, leaves only to return with a bottle of vanilla scented spray. Smiling broadly he begins to douse Matt and I and the whole back area otherwise known as the penthouse with this spray. Nothing like the honesty of a true friend...we stunk and thanks to Mehmet we were now vanilla fresh inside and out.Lesson #3 – get assigned seats in the penthouse, and never give ‘em up no matter what the driver says or wants.
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