The Square-1985

Venice was the first Italian city we stopped at. We actually stayed outside of Venice in a roadside camping ground. The price we paid included use of the showers, a place to pitch the tent and an area to wash clothes. In the morning we drove closer to Venice.

How fascinating to be in a city where your only means of transport is either by boat or by foot. St. Mark's Square, how do I describe it? How can I bottle up the sensations which washed over me as I stood in the middle of the square? I didn't want to do anything except lean against a wall absorbing everything around me....the laughter...the life...Everyone so exuberant. People marching across the square in a hurry to go no where. Others lingering by the columns chatting, laughing and enjoying life. Where did so many beautiful people come from? These were not necessarily beautiful people in the sense of their facial features; these were beautiful people because of how they carried themselves.

Closing my eyes I allowed the voices to flow over me. The sounds mingling together to create a wonderful symphony. I didn't want to move. Unfortunately in life, we can't just stay in one place no matter how wonderful it is. There was sights to be seen, stores to shop at, bridges to cross and alleyways to explore. There would be no Gondola ride, as it was not in the budget. A lovely pair of Italian shoes managed to 'make it' in the budget. Budgets are funny that way; they dissolve when necessary.

My dreams were invaded by thoughts of Venice for weeks afterwards.

Turkish Delight - 1985

How can I describe the amazing journey through Turkey? Trundling along in the wee Morris Minor we would pass people who stopped their work to wave at us. Everyone had a smile for the three crazy foreigners squished in the friendly car. The road to Ankara just blends together because we were rushing to reach the capital. I do remember camping on snow. Turkish police asking us to pick up camp, we drove down the road a bit and then circled back to re-pitch the tent. Money was of the essence so we could not afford to be looking for a traveler's lodge.

Ankara proved to be a paradise of sorts. Stephen had a distant relative who lived there. They were working with Shell. We were to hook up with them and stay at their house while we worked on visas for Greece. What do I remember of their house? Hot showers, lovely beds and delicious food are just a few of things I remember. I recall their wonderful hospitality and now looking back, I am amazed by their open greeting to three scraggly travelers. Ankara held wonders I couldn't wait to explore. Museums and other great attractions beckoned me, but first we had to work on visas. All our attempts at procuring visas were dead ends. I was actually supposed to end my journey at this point, but I can't remember how I changed my mind and decided to continue all the way to London. This decision was to change my life forever.

After a couple of days in Ankara, we knew we had to move on. We drove down to Konya and planned to drive along the Mediterranean Coast through Antalya and then up to Ismir. This was one of the most spectacular parts of our journey.

Turkey-1985- day one

A cold shower which turned my skin blue. This was the first morning in Turkey. After the shower, I headed out to explore. There was a hill behind the 'hotel'; a mound might be a better way of describing it. The view from the top of the mound took my breath away. I stumbled on a scene from a fairytale....cobble stone streets....horse drawn carts full of hay and other merchandise.

The streets were lined with little shops. Do memories have smells? I swear I smell the bread from the little bakery. There was a butcher shop, a carpet shop and oh my the coffee shop! Not coffee shop as in 'starbucks'-- no, no, no, this was a shop which actually sold coffee for you to take home and make- brew or whatever. The owner offered to make me some "Please try"-- I was game. Little did I know what I was in for. Turkish coffee was something I had never tasted before. When the man handed me the tiny cup, I thought it was so cute. Oh my, how can looks be so deceiving. The cute, little cup of coffee packed a punch like I've never had before. It was powerful. Put me on a caffeine high for hours- maybe even days.

Back up on the mound, I turned to look at the magical town. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. All I wanted to do was have the imprint of that memory forever etched in my mind. I didn't want to lose the brilliant colors, the rhythmic sounds, and the warm smells. Now 23 years later, I close my eyes and the memories flood over me. I take a deep breath and smile.

Iran -1985

Iran was a bit of a blur. When we finally did get in with passports properly stamped, we were told we needed a police escort. Someone who would be IN the car with us. As it was, the 1958 Morris Minor was stuffed to the gilly wigs with three young adults and miscellaneous things. We tried to reason with the border officials.

"Where will the guard sit?"

I think they understood when they peeked into the vehicle. However, there was no choice, we needed to have a police escort. It just so happened that 'The Bus' was going through-- this was a bus tour from England to Kathmandu and back again. The bus was filled with young people who seemed to be having a great time. This bus was the answer to the dilemma-- the police escort would be on the bus and we must follow behind. Our passports were given to the police escort on the bus; this was done to make sure we stayed close to the bus. Unfortunately.......

Just outside of Tehran, I happened to be driving. I must not have been paying attention to the fuel gauge. Everyone was sound asleep-- as it was in the wee hours of the morning. There was no stopping on this trip. It was a straight through drive. The car spluttered to a stop. The bus zipped off ahead and there we were out in the middle of nowhere. Stephen managed to get a ride on a tanker to the nearest petrol kiosk....he was back shortly ...well, let's clarify shortly....remember the last time he left us alone he was gone for five days, so now a few hours was considered a short time. The car was refueled and we were on our way. The only problem was....we no longer had a police escort AND we had no passports!! There were check points to go through. My memory may not be serving me correctly but I seem to recall gunning our way through a couple of those check points.

The nerve racking part of the whole episode was knowing the Iran/Turkey border was looming ahead and we had no passports. I still don't know how we finally caught up with the bus. I vaguely remember hurtling down the roads and finally reaching the border to see the bus in a long line. We did manage to retrieve the passports and leave Iran in one piece.

With the whirlwind trip through Iran there was not much I can remember. I do remember huge sign boards- propaganda style- mainly anti- western. Also, I remember lots of people on picnics. It looked so pleasant seeing families and groups of people everywhere enjoying the outdoors. So in the midst of bombing....war....people were still able to enjoy each other. It left us with a good feeling, despite the bus leaving us stranded in the middle of Iran.

Islamabad, Pakistan- 1985

It all is a bit fuzzy now; after all, it has been 23 years since I was there. The flight from Delhi to Islamabad was of no consequence. Actually, I was supposed to be driving across the border but due to the 'rough' relations between the two countries only one person was allowed to drive across- so I flew over to meet the car in Islamabad. The car was supposed to be there when I arrived, but there was no car. So I'm in a city I've never been in before and I have no phone number or address. Stranded in this city which although just a country away from India appeared so different. The one striking difference was the lack of females. (This would be something I would never get used to as I drove further into Pakistan).



The friendliness of the people sure did help to make my introduction to Pakistan be a positive one. A talkative taxi driver wanted to know if we were the ones waiting for the White Morris Minor. It could be a coincidence since there were so many Morris Minors around, so I pushed him to describe the driver. His description was perfect. My friend and I plunked ourselves down on the side of the road and waited. We waited and waited and waited. Soon the cheerful Morris Minor chugged up the road to where we were. Now the trip of a lifetime was to begin.

I saw a picture on another blog which brought back such memories. The picture was of a huge sign post telling the drivers how many miles there were to go to say...Islamabad...or Pershawa...etc. I just remember when we were driving those same roads there were very few signs- and we had to find out directions the hard way-- by stopping and asking with cross cultural, improvised sign language of course.