The wheels on the bus...

Following my three day stay in Istanbul, my plan was to meet up with Chloe and her tour group in Pamukkale. However, I probably hadn't planned this leg of the trip as well as I should have. As it turned out, I would arrive in a city called Denizli just as Chloe was leaving Pamukkale and heading onto the riverside town of Dalyan. Her group was changing buses at Denizli, so we arranged it so that I could just meet up with them there and travel straight through to Dalyan; I would have to skip Pamukkale.

With this plan in mind, I caught a shuttle bus to the main bus station at Istanbul, all the while mentally preparing myself for the 12 hour overnight bus ride ahead. I had about an hour to spare before my bus was leaving the station, so I decided to take a wander through the shops at the station. The first shop I passed had a huge glass counter with an impressive range of handguns and automatic weapons for sale. This in itself was disconcerting, but when I actually saw a fellow bus traveller stroll up to the counter and make a purchase, I quietly hoped that he wasn't on my bus.

The bus left right on schedule at 10pm, which I thought was a good sign. The seats were small but not uncomfortable. However, they barely reclined, so I figured I wouldn't be doing a lot of sleeping throughout the journey. I sat back and reclined my seat back the full 3 degrees and settled in to some music.

In what had seemed like no time at all, a couple of hours had passed, and we reached our first stop at about midnight. The bus had no bathroom, so I was expecting fairly frequent stops throughout the night. I was surprised though that the stop was for more than half an hour. When everyone re-boarded, I now had a young Turkish man sitting next to me. Obviously, I expected that he'd attempt to rob me fairly shortly, with or without the added bonus of a drink-spiking.

He introduced himself in broken English. His name was Ibrahim and he was going to visit his very beautiful girlfriend in Denizli. In case I didn't believe his claims, he had showed me about 4 photos of his girlfriend within about 30 seconds of sitting down. All of the photos were taken from a distance and out of focus, so I sat back and reserved judgement. Actually, that is a lie. I judged almost instantly.

We got chatting and I learned a thing or two about him:

"I study English at university. My English good for writing bad for speaking. I am very happy you speak English. Very happy. We will speak together all night and my English will be better.

I couldn't have been more excited at the prospect.

After we had spoken for quite a while, at least a minute or two, Ibrahim remarked 5 or 6 times about how handsome he thought I was. I smiled as I imagined how well that would go down on an Australian bus ride, noted the cultural difference and moved on. Or at least I tried to move on; he was very passionate about the subject.

In the two hours that followed, I discovered that Ibrahim was actually a genuinely nice guy, and also very interesting. I learned quite a bit about Turkish culture as well as getting some insight into his practice of Islam. He also suggested that I try a 'hamam' or Turkish bath:

"It is very good. Very relaxing. No clothes and man wash you with hot water."

I figured that something must have been lost in translation, because he wasn't really selling it.

On our next half hour stop, as we waited while the bus was washed, a couple of young women walked past us. Ibrahim instantly commented to me:

"These girls are very beautiful, yes?"

We shared a few minutes of awkward silence.

Despite the frequent 30 minute stops, the rest of the bus ride passed uneventfully. I managed a few hours of broken sleep and listened to some music.

The bus was supposed to arrive in Denizli at 9am. Apparently, bad weather and roadworks throughout the trip had caused the bus to be delayed. I think about 3 hours worth of stops at Turkish roadhouses had also played a significant part.

The 45 minute delay meant that Chloe and her group had already left Denizli for Dalyan and I would have to find my own way. Ibrahim had kindly offered to help, but I figured that I would be able to get a ticket easily enough.

I entered the bus station with my backpack on my shoulder and looking especially tourist-like. I was instantly mobbed by men selling tickets. It turned out that I had the choice of a few different bus companies for my onwards journey. In making my decision, I had nothing to go by but name; this was probably enough, as some of the options sounded decidedly uncomfortable:

I ended up finding a bus that left in 20 minutes time and enjoyed a morning breakfast of lamb kebab while I waited.

The bus to Dalyan was another 4.5 hours, and not particularly enjoyable, given that I was backing up a 12 hour ride on the previous bus. I was a bit worried that my ticket listed Dalaman as the destination rather than Dalyan. I checked with my driver and he assured me that the bus would stop at Dalyan.

Nearly 5 hours later, the bus arrived in a town called Orteca and the driver told me that it was my stop. I explained that I was going to Dalyan and he simply pointed at another bus. After about 20 hours and three buses, I was a broken man. The driver had lied to me. I was annoyed, but smug in the knowledge that undercover Turkish police would probably beat him shortly.

An hour or so later, I made it to Dalyan on a very crowded minibus. Everyone was very friendly, and I was given clear directions to the hotel. Actually, a boy came riding past on a bike and said he could lead me there. I paid him $2 and we set off. The hotel was only a few minutes walk away. I checked in, dropped my bags off, and the very friendly owners suggested a few places that I might find Chloe and her tour group. I set off looking for them, and thoroughly enjoyed being on my feet again.