Turkey - no paxo

I find it endearing and somewhat comical how the country where Mum found a sense of peace, serenity and happiness is named after the staple diet of her favourite time of the year, Christmas. Anyone who knew Mum knew that she was Mrs Christmas. I still have nightmares over the singing and dancing christmas tree, reindeer, snowman, elf etc that wouldn't stay quiet packed in her suitcase before one of her flights back to Turkey. Before I left the UK I went to visit Fran, Mums nearest and dearest friend in the Uk to give her the poem Mum had written for her and to see how she was after her operation. We talked of Mum, and I explained how she had written in her will simply Turkey as the place for her ashes to be scattered. I joked that since she had always wanted to show me Turkey, this was her way of ensuring that I would have to travel and explore as opposed to simply going where she said, and ultimately made the choice mine to make.

Of the five prior countries I and Mums bus had crossed, it was only Andorra I had never been to before and so Turkey was to be a complete unknown other than what Mum had told me. I really should have remembered that certain hand signals are viewed in a far more serious way here than in the UK, but then if they drove better my hands would of stayed on the wheel...a sudden recall of what Mum had told me ensuring that they did continue to stay on the wheel, except in the most exasperating circumstances when in all honesty I would of gladly waved a slice of bacon at them instead of suggesting they play with themselves to often...

The road from the border to Istanbul is long. Huge expanses flank either side with horizon reaching plains. Very long and certainly not winding, and often frequented by tractors in your lane. Which is fine. At least it would be if they weren't heading towards you. Yet in reality this pales into insignificance when you reach Istanbul, or should that be when Istanbul reaches you? Since leaving the UK I have driven through and around some of the busiest traffic infested chaotic cities I can think of, but Istanbul....it comes out to greet you like an all consuming hungered monster with its every which way type, shape and size of vehicle. Be it powered by an engine, animal or simply legs. I have never been on a motorway before where people walk along the lanes attempting to sell you nick nacks that are seldom more than 50p, or carry poles laden with bread rings, bottled water, paper towels. Alas no balloons on this occasion. Combine harvesters coming towards you, cows being walked, goats lolloping along, people waiting on the banks for the buses which randomly stop anywhere and everywhere without warning, signal or courtesy. All of this spread across five lanes of slow moving mayhem. A mayhem that took no less than seven hours to cross. The only good fortune being that the peoples admiration for Mums bus afforded me something akin to a force field where they feared to cross whilst all around I witnessed the bumps and knocks of the lane barging and hopping resulting in the Turkish tantrum and slap routine. Enter into the city itself and you'll find it no less chaotic, crazy or indeed passable.

As an aside the approach to Istanbul gave me a little surprise that confirmed my own stupidity. I had spotted the first mosque that was close to the roadside with a gleaming polished dome and thought I would stop and take a photograph or two. Whilst stood there admiring the architecture of said mosque and clicking away, a sudden boom of a rather loud voice emerged. Moron here promptly looks around trying to see where this voice is coming from, a little concerned that perhaps I have overstepped the mark by taking pictures only to see no one around. Perplexed I listened to trace where the voice was coming from to see loud speakers mounted atop of the minaret.......I had inadvertently taken my stop at call to prayer time.......enlightened idiot that I now am.

I had an open mind as to where I would scatter Mums ashes, the only loose plan being that I would continue to take 'her' to the places we had talked of. The places she had told me about with such fondness of where she had been before and those where she had never been and had always dreamt of going. Spoken of with her ever childlike exuberance and excitement, and to her 'home' to carry out the task of sorting. To see and experience the Turkey she had loved, and to meet people she had the good fortune to become friends with.

So from Istanbul I escaped via Izmit to round the lake Iznik Golu, onto the milder chaos of Bursa, then again running the coastline via Bandirma through to Cannakkale and the scene of the tragedy of Gallipoli. Stopping in Troy, which although still disputed as to its provenance, I am sure would of given Mum a smile at the sight of the mythical horse, and probably the same heart fluctuations as many women over a flash of Mr Pitt popping into their heads. Something which tickled me in Troy was the arrival of the coach from Princess cruise tours, since I had seen the very same people not that long before in Athens....

From Troy I took to the long seemingly never ending haul to Izmir. Collecting a pair of hitch hikers along the way. Since having seen them picked up earlier in the day and then reappearing at the side of the road somewhat later, I reasoned they really could do with a break. Although I do find it funny that in my experience Turkish hitch hikers are always reluctant to give you a destination as they are simply happy that they have a lift. It took a good 10 minutes of broken conversation to eventually get an answer as to where they would like to go. The sarcasm was definitely lost in translation whilst explaining that a lift is all well and good, but if you don't say where you want to go then how will you ever get there when you haven't a clue where I am going....

From Izmir I took to Ephesus, one of the most fondly remembered and indeed filmed places that Mum visited herself. I'll leave the pictures to talk, but the amphitheatre is colossal in size in comparison to any I have seen before. Should you ever venture to Ephesus, you will find that if you take the road behind and rise into the hills you will come to what is known as the last house of the Virgin Mary and a rare sight in modern Turkey.....Roman Catholic services being performed. I won't go into the story of how it was discovered, but should you be intrigued, it does make for interesting reading. I was touched to see that the wishing/prayer wall outside of the diminutive house now chapel, despite how it must need to have the wishes removed from time to time to allow for the ever increasing number, still retains to this day the small cards placed searching for Madeleine McCann.

On leaving Ephesus I took to the mountain pass and to Soke, Assessos and the beautiful Camaci Golu lake, then over the continual rises and falls of the mountains leading through Milas, Yatagan, Mugla, and finally arriving where Mum lived in Armutalan on the borders of Marmaris. I first drove into the square and saw the names of the places Mum had told me about. In fact, I had not been in contact with Katie at that time and unknown to me she was sat in her tour agency just across the street talking with her partner about the camper that had just turned up after he had said to her 'thats what you'd like to have'

This may sound strange. Although I had no fears of arriving in Armutalan, and inspite of the fact that I spent those final hours with Mum in her hospital room and watched in disbelief as she fought for her last breaths, this had been her 'home'. Even though I knew I would not find her floating across the square as if it was any given day, the re assertion of that fact by being there was no less real as I sat at a table that potentially she had once shared with friends in one of 'her' places, Mustys, and looked out across the square as the day carried on.

To begin with I placed myself up at a viewpoint behind and above the bay holding Armutalan. To then discover this was on the jeep safari route in the mornings, which is akin to being at a busy bus stop but with groups of what I describe as package holiday hell individuals. A point of note being the new accompanying male 'look' that appears to cross between nationalities without fear of reprisal. That look being of the man with rolled up polo shirt, t shirt etc to allow the loosed overstretched mid rift to burst free, cool and burn simultaneously. A true practical fashion statement, if a little off putting at breakfast time. The word simply being 'no' sprang to mind on several occasions. Still, all is forgiven when you get to share your morning coffee with a local goat herder whose varied hand gesticulations meant 'give me your plastic bag of rubbish to feed my goats'...

As I mentioned before, after meeting Katie, she suggested Akyaka and Gokova and so it was there that I retreated to. It is a place sat in a bay of its own, the water currents of the sea providing a strange combination of warmth below with a cooling run across its surface, whilst the winds on the other side of the bay keep the kite surfers in the air day after day from morning to dusk. Cleopatra island being across the bay with it's sand so heralded that I am told visitors are checked to make sure they haven't pocketed any. Strange world.

Once I had completed what I needed to do, and knowing for sure that nowhere that I had visited within the bay of Marmaris felt as if it was the right place to scatter Mums ashes, I made head way to Altinkum to visit Pat. I have already explained how I spent far longer with Pat than I had expected, and along with bringing us our now friendship, it also allowed me to visit where Mum had originally been when she first ventured to Turkey with Ellie.Places such as the Temple of Appollo in Didim, and also an inside view of how life as an expat in a place in Turkey with a fairly large expat population could be. I still find the coincidence of the brake cylinder failing literally on my arrival outside of the restaurant to meet Pat somewhat destined shall we say.

Due to Pat needing to renew her visa, we took a day trip to the island of Kos. It's difficult to explain the sudden alleviation of the tension that can be felt in Turkey. That isn't to say that the tension is intimidating or troublesome, far from it, but it is felt as the culture is far more restrictive in many ways in Turkey whereas Kos breathes a relaxed openness that we all take for granted.

When I finally had acquired the parts from the UK after a 36 hour round trip via coaches to Istanbul and truly discovered about being a 'yabanci'.....Um actually I have a name? You yabanci today. Turkey speak Turkish, you speak English, you yabanci. Thank you, thats Mr Foreigner to you.....I left Altinkum and made my way to Pammukale, another place Mum had loved so much when she visited. The waters are said to have healing properties and are visited from far and wide. The spectacle of the cotton castle topped by Hierapolis. What I can say is that perhaps it has diuretic properties, since my nephrectomy has led to a side effect of right here right now, which thanks to the hot weather had been very much a distant memory. Until I dipped my feet into Pammukale that is. After I left, two days of here and now, here and now, here and now, and repeat, regardless of fluid intake, suggests i'll stand and admire the view should I ever return.....

From Pammukale I headed to the south coast, down towards somewhere Mum had always dreamt of going, Olimpos, Cirali and the home of the Chimera flames. I'm going to mostly allow the pictures to speak for themselves. A thought whilst walking the beach of Olimpos. As we walk we leave our footprints in the sand. Should you turn and watch, you'll see the waves slowly smooth the sand, our footprints disappear. Yet surely the reason to smile is that you were there to make them, not to be saddened that they fade until gone.

The Chimera flames again are something that I wish Mum could of seen. The flames themselves are no longer as tall as they were once claimed to be when they were said to be used by sailors as a natural lighthouse to warn of the impending coast line. But that makes them no less impressive as they flicker and dance from the rocks around you. However, what is truly breath taking is to look up. There is next to no visible artificial light anywhere for miles, no light pollution sources of any kind, flames excepted. What this leaves you with is something akin to someone taking a pin and making a million pin holes through the dark blanket above you, leaving you with a night sky that sparkles brighter than any I can ever recall seeing. All the while being kept warm on the mountain side by the natural small bonfires flaming from the rocks. I remember Mum on our final motorbike ride together being amazed by the clarity of the night sky above Creech, but how I wish she could of seen from the Chimera.

I moved on from Olimpos through Antalya, chasing the ever changing and intriguing southern coastline of Turkey. One minute mountainsides cloaked in giant pines, the next open rock faces, then barren, dry, desolate, but with a turn of the corner the mass of pines returning all the while the Mediterranean Sea lapping to your right. The roads wind and twist. The small scatterings of local ramshackle cliff side cay shacks. The wives rolling out home made gozleme, dipped into the honey brought from the hives behind the trees. As you push on past Alanya and head deeper and deeper south towards the Syrian border, you can stop and pick bananas a short scrabble from the roadside, small, naturally misshapen, sweeter than any I have tried, collecting pomegranates for breakfast, following roads that are seemingly driving you straight into the sea or secretly wish they were a rollercoaster. Watching as the birds of prey circle around and around, diving over you as you pass into the trees.

I headed as far south as Tarsus, knowing that it was here that I would turn left, still not having found the place that felt right, and head to where I hoped would be the place that had sat at the back of my thoughts from those happy conversations Mum and I had shared about the places she dreamt of. As the place that I hoped I could honour and give to Mum her final wish and dream.