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Storkview

Anticipation

sunny 24 °C

So I ended up leaving the guesthouse I was at, in favour of staying at a different hotel in town. It all started by meeting Mazen...

I was at the cafe across the road from the hotel I am at now, drinking tea and writing in my journal. It started to get cold, suddenly I felt a heaviness on my shoulders, some random person has just dropped a leather jacket on my shoulders. He disappeared as I uttered a weak "teshekuler" in thanks. Moments later he was back, introduced himself as Mazen and we began to talk. He is a Dutch guy, originally from Syria, staying at this hotel in town. Bonus points: He speaks Turkish.

So we got to chatting, he showed me the hotel and we got to know each other. Had dinner at Edjer resaurant, owned by mutual friends of ours. We then went out for nargile, to smoke water pipe and have some drinks at a local bar. We played checkers, time flew by, and I thought I should be getting back to the guesthouse. I thought nothing of it, seeing as my guesthouse owner, Shayne, said I was free to come and go as I pleased.

So Mazen walks me back the dark streets of the gypsy quarter to the secluded guesthouse. The door is locked. Uh oh. He tells me it's okay, he can get me a free room at his hotel, no problem. Even one with the famous "stork view" rooms, (a view of the stork nests on the ruins of the roman aqueduct that go through the town.)

We tiptoe past the snoring man at reception, and I am shown to a beautiful room. In the morning I was woken by the dawn call of prayer, the eerie sound filling my cold room deliciously and lifting me out of my dreams. I opened the curtains to see the storks preening and nesting, about to switch shifts with their partners. Beautiful.

So I walk back through the gypsy quarter in the early morning, a smile on my face at the goats and cats scampering in the streets. I arrive at the guesthouse door, nervous to explain where I was the night before. The door is still locked. I don't want to wake up Shayne. I wander around, check the back door. Hmm, maybe if I can just sneak in over this wall... it's pretty low. I find an old three legged chair and lean it up against the wall. I look around, no one. Putting one foot on the centre, I place my hands and one two three, heave! Snap! The chair buckles and I drop to the ground, suddenly hearing a screaming woman. I turn around, and there she is, pointing and yelling. I try to walk away calmly, knowing there is no way I can explain myself! So I round the corner to walk away, and there is Shayne's mother! The old woman yells at her, she yells at me, I look desperate and confused, they both yell some more. I hear the word, "polis!". Suddenly Shayne bursts open the door bewildered in his pyjamas. The women yell at him, then they all yell at me... while I am calmly trying to explain the whole thing to Shayne.... oh god. I felt horrible. It is funny now.

ANYWAYS, I decided to leave the guesthouse. I felt ashamed after that. But they had been a little odd before that anyways, they locked me in alone, served me separate meals... everyone was a bit curt except Shayne's mother, bless her senile heart. So I left the next day.

Now I've been at this hotel in town, eating very well, and socializing. I learned two new styles of checkers, bought a lot of souveniers, made a lot of friends. Visited the nearest beach at sunset, yesterday went to the small greek village to taste wine and experience the quaintness. Helped Murat talk to girls online in English. It's nice, it really is.

Posted by mythxation 00:56 Archived in Turkey Tagged backpacking

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Ange, cool story. The one good thing about being my age is that the embarassment factor is someone diminished. Turkey seems like a really neat country. I am very curious about it.
We had our Darfur benefit dinner last night. 80 people attended and it was a huge success. Dr. Kevin O'Connor from Mindemoya gave an hour-long slide show as he has just returned from the area working for Medicin du Monde. It was really informative and very sad and frustrating, that the world is just standing by.

by blacke

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