The Good, The Bad and The Ugly Days of Traveling

Independent travel can be immensely rewarding with beautiful days full of exotic sights, sounds, tastes, and smells. Then there are the other days. The in-between days which are filled with dirty bus stops, angry taxi drivers, overpriced food, and constant confusion about where the hell I am how how to get where I'm trying to go. During the last week I have had both, luckily more of the former than the latter.

The trip from Tbilisi, Georgia to Trabzon, Turkey was one of the more miserable that I have had the displeasure of experience thus far on my trip. I tried to sleep on a noisy and busy train from Tbilisi to Batumi, arriving very tired before dawn. I wandered aimlessly for about an hour to postpone the inevitable bargaining and arguing with a taxi driver, which is absolutely necessary to get a fair price for the trip to the Turkish border. After a prolonged battle with a group of persistant old men who view me as an obscenely rich American, I finally got a fair fare to the border. Then the fun part began. For a variety of reasons, some sensible and others more malicious, getting into Turkey is always an ordeal. When I arrived at the border at 9 a.m., there were about 500 people waiting in "line" to get through the passport control. In fact, it was nothing like a line, it was a mass of hurried, desperate Georgians all pushing, shoving, and squirming their way to the small gate at which there were only TWO Turkish border guards checking passports. There were no bathrooms, no concessions and no orderliness to be found. My entire morning, and afternoon, were spent getting pushed, squeezed and elbowed by people of all shapes and sizes. It was so bad towards the front that an old man in front of me passed out and a young woman became hysterical, she screamed bloody murder until she was carried away. I can see how people die in stampedes and crowds in India and other populous places - the pressure of shoulders on every side was really incredible.

So the ordeal ended at around 4 p.m. when I finally got an little stamp on my passport. Then came more arguing, haggling and bargaining with a new set of cab drivers intent on getting as much money from me as possible. The first price I was quoted was 200 Lira to Hopa. That is $120 for a ten mile ride. Needless to say, I just laughed. I had to continue this from town to town, taking a shared minibus to Rize and then a large bus to Trabzon. I am always running into travelers who say they "just love to bargain" with the locals when they travel. I understand the necessity of negotiating a fair price, it is tradition in many cultures and economies, but I do not enjoy the process. A white man traveling alone with a large backpack is always targeted as an easy mark, so I immediately start at a disadvantage. In order to get a fair price, I have to not only be firm, but do the walking-away act at least two or three times until they get the point that I refuse to pay more because I'm American. This obviously frustrates and disappoints the vendor, so the process ends with me angry and the vendor disappointed - someone please explain how this can be fun. The worst part is that I usually have more money in my pocket than the locals earn in a month, so I always end up feeling a tinge of guilt about arguing about a few dollars with a person who is supporting a family on his or her meager income. Those few dollars are much more important to them then they are to me, but if I went around paying whatever the locals asked for I would have been broke in Bulgaria. So the bargaining continues, but only out of necessity.

I arrived in a cold and rainy Trabzon (don't worry, the entire post isn't a long whine; there is a happy ending) with some vague information about a Catholic convent which takes in travelers. I wandered, asking for Santa Maria whenever I saw someone who looked friendly. Finally I found it in the middle of the old quarter of town and knocked on the steel gates. I almost gave up after 5 minutes of knocking and yelling, but just before I went to Plan B (which I had not yet formed) two French guys opened the gate and greeted me warmly. They seemed surprised, but happy, to see me, and immediately showed me to my room. Since this was a Catholic convent, I imagined a cot in a basement with minimal accommodations; I couldn't have been more wrong. I had an entire guesthouse to myself. Shower and Western toilet in my room, full kitchen, washer and dryer, and a garden terrace. I almost wept out of pure joy. Remember that at this point I had not enjoyed hot water or a shower in a month, and this shower had unlimited hot water, lots of pressure, and a removable shower head! The best part of all -- it was FREE! Almost enough to convert me to Catholicism . . .

So I spent the next three days relaxing and enjoying Trabzon. I can not fathom why the guidebooks all give the city a lackluster review; the setting is beautiful, the people are friendly and it is all much cheaper and more authentic than Istanbul. Getting by with English isn't easy, but why should it be? The other Trabzon photos are here.

So now I am back in the touristy but incomparable city of Istanbul to meet with the fellow members of my Turkish work camp. We have a few days of doing the touristy bit in Istanbul before heading down to the coast to start harvesting olives for two and a half weeks. I'll try to post my Istanbul pictures before I head off to the camp because I don't know if I'll have regular internet access.