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| Talking Basketball |
KIRKARELI, TURKEY I was going to blog about lessons I learned on this trip, but that will have to wait. I planned to take the bus to Malko Tarnovo, a town near the Turkish border for $4.50, but no one could tell me how to get from there over the Turkish border and where I go from there. Anxious about what I was getting into, I allowed a taxi cab driver to talk me into taking me directly to the border. "Across the border, there are hotels, buses, and taxis," she promised me in very broken English. It was an hour drive and would cost me $50. As we approached the border, there was only wilderness, and then a solitary guarded gate. "Border," she said. "50 meters," Pointing to the other side where I saw no sign of civilization. I showed my passport to the guard and he waved me on. Schlepping my bags I encountered another post, and again they ask for my passport. I walked through eight passport controls, at one point I had to buy a visa for $20, and about half way through, a lone taxi driver started hustling me. A Turkish family took sympathy on me and told me not to listen to him, "He only wants to take your money. Wait for a tourist bus to come. They will give you a ride to the next town." I continued through the phalanx of passport checks; the taxi driver continuing to pitch me in unintelligible English. At the end of the controls, there was nothing but more wilderness - no sign of civilization. I decided to negotiate with the driver who I finally convinced to take me to the next town for five Euro where he promised me I could catch a bus. It was a remote rustic country village, about ten kilometers from the border, and well off the beaten track. We pulled up to a van, amidst a handful of buildings that served as the town center. I immediately knew my options were limited. The van was the bus he had promised. Two men were in charge of the van, neither of whom spoke English, except to say, "Twenty-five Euro to next town." I was in a fix; the weather, however, was beautiful and so I decided to sit down and get to know these guys. One of the three knew sufficient English to ask me where I was from. "San Francisco," I said and his eyes glistened. "America good," he said. "America and Turkey friends." I nodded in agreement and said, "Turkey Basketball good!" All three, excitedly, nodded their heads in agreement. The one who spoke some English eagerly explained that one of the Turkish players plays for the Chicago Bulls and another for the Miami Heat. After about fifteen minutes of trying to talk basketball, I said, "Ten Euro." The one who spoke the best English said, "Okay, get in," and without further comment other than to shake my hand and to say his name was Hassan drove me to a hotel in Kirkareli, a town where the adventure continued but in the interest of brevity I better sign off for now.
