And then...the sun

Tuesday, October 7              Alexandropoulis, Greece to Kesan, TurkeyIt was as if an army of angels had been sent down to aid me. It started almost immediately as I began the day. I made my post, “Thanks for listening…” and then opened Facebook one last time. In there was a message from one of my contacts in Istanbul. Hearing that my ferry plans had not materialized as I had hoped, she sent me bus schedules from Kesan (where I am staying tonight) to Istanbul. It just felt good that, at least for the moment, someone else was also trying to put some of the pieces together.I packed up my portable house, paid my hotel bill and began loading my bike in front of the hotel lobby. Just as I was finishing a man who looked to be in his late 70’s entered my space laughing and trying to share the source of his laughter with me. Next to the hotel was a camping store (sort of like Army Surplus). In front of the store, but hidden, was a caged parrot. I had heard it squawking from my room. Apparently as he was walking by the parrot whistled at him the way a flirt might whistle at a woman walking by (the parrot hadn’t been taught appropriate manners!). The man had searched for the source of the whistle (maybe even hoping some female was flirting with him), but when he discovered it was a parrot, he couldn’t stop laughing and just had to share the moment. I was the lucky target.Of course, I was not the best victim as I had only learned two Greek words in the entire trip. But, we played charades for five minutes. He pretended to be a parrot and I parroted (pun intended) his movements to let him know I knew what he was talking about. He whistled and I whistled. Then he saw my bike and wondered if I might be French. I let him know that I was from America and he started laughing again and pretended to swim wondering how I got from there to here. I smiled and started flapping my arms as if to say, “No silly. I took the plane.” We patted each other on the back, him still laughing and shaking his head at so much delight in the space of a few minutes. As he left he just said, “Good, America, good.”I rolled out of town and found myself whistling and singing my own silly compositions. For the first time in a number of days the sun was out and while it was not yet warm, the chill in the morning seemed to be missing. I had just gotten past the city limits when I saw three cyclists stopped on the side of the road. I quickly stopped like a dog who had spotted his own breed. They were all from Istanbul for an overnight cycling adventure. They had parked at the border, ridden to Alexandropoulis, ate seafood and drank beer like me, and were making their way back to the border and their car when I chanced upon them.I took off before them, but like my ride with Tom we started leapfrogging. I stopped for a picture and they passed me. I caught up and put some distance on them on the downhills (gravity can do a lot with an extra 45 pounds), stopped for another picture, they passed me up, and now I think you get the picture. Eventually, we ended up pretty much riding together to the border. We attempted to stop for coffee in the small town of Antheia, but couldn’t find anything open. We checked out one place that had tables, but no activity. It turned out that they usually were open, but they were preparing for a funeral luncheon. The man said, “Wait, give me 5 minutes.” Five minutes later he came out with Greek coffee for all of us and asked that we accept it as his gift to us.He and I discovered that we had something in common. I lived in the States and he had lived in New Jersey for just a few months before having his request for permanency denied. Then somehow the conversation shifted as we had Turkish, Greek and American fellows all standing together. With sadness he shared, “Greek, Turkish, we’re all the same. But, our politicians separate us. I have Syrian friends. I don’t know if they are dead or alive. I can’t find out. No communication between countries. The war, not good.” We took pictures, shared Facebook accounts, and hugged. He attended to his arriving guests and we got back on our bicycles.And through all of this the sun was out.The four of us continued to ride, but a new spirit was emerging among us. Now when I stopped for pictures they all stopped with me and we traded off taking snapshots of all of us in front of churches and under signs indicating how far Turkey was. We hung together in a group, me surging ahead on the downhills, they putting a gap between me and them on the uphills. At the border we parted ways and only had one last encounter a few miles down the road where they caught up to me in their car and we gave each other one last thumbs up and “See you in Istanbul!” cheers.The border crossing was much easier than I anticipated, but more involved than I first expected. I went through an initial booth much like the fruit inspection stops going into California. The man asked, “Where are you from?” “America,” was my reply and I added that I was cycling through Italy, Greece and now Turkey.” “Good for you,” he replied and handed me my passport and encouraged me to go as I stood there thinking there must be more to it than that. There was. I just didn’t know it.I saw a Turkey sign and wanted to get a picture, but men in army fatigues with military rifles were standing right there. I asked if I could take a picture of the sign and they nodded without cracking a smile. I took the picture and then the first one asked me, “You want another? You on Facebook?” I indeed did want another picture and I couldn’t believe he was offering to stand by the Turkey sign with his rifle slung over his shoulder. I wasn’t sure his superiors would approve of this kind of PR. But, he offered and I took the picture.I wanted to pass on the moment to my Facebook friends so I stopped on the bridge to make my post. Apparently I stood too long and another man with a rifle yelled to me and used his hand to indicate that I needed to move along. As I made my way over the rest of the bridge I saw why. I hadn’t finished crossing the border. In the next half hour I went through four more booths, each time the man in the booth wanting my passport and one time confirming my valid visa.And through all of this the sun was out.Tonight I am in Kesan (pronounced Kay-shun), eating cookies and other sweets after a delicious smorgasboard of food that left me still yearning for more. I might be getting the hang of this crossing the border thing. After a shower I went to work on getting Turkish lira (that's money, not a Turkish delight), finding the photo shop where I am meeting a fellow cyclist tomorrow, and getting data for my phone now that I am in Turkey. Funny thing about this last issue. It took five days before Greece caught up with me and terminated my phone plan because I was no longer in Italy. It took Turkey about 100 yards. I crossed the border and immediately lost connection with the outside world. The good news is that what had taken me a day or two to do before, I did in 90 minutes. I am starting to know the drill!I still have decisions to make about how to get into Istanbul safely. The bus may be an option. Also, my new Istanbul cycling friends said that it isn’t a problem getting into Istanbul on bike. That is the first time I have heard that. It does give me hope that if it comes to that it is possible. My hesitation, however, is that they may be speaking from the experience of living there and knowing how to get around after much trial and error. I have one shot at this and have to get it right the first time! But, I am less anxious than I was before about it.And through all of this the sun was out.