The Long and Winding Road

An old new country today. I am returning back to Turkey, for the final chapter in my journey. I'm content with what I've seen in Aleppo, so I set my alarm early and make my way to the new, nearby international bus station. It's 4.45am when I wander through its gates in the darkness. Ticket in hand, I rumble up the stairs and find my seat on a very empty looking bus. I drift off on my Thermarest 3000 travel pillow...

The attendant wakes me all too quickly in order to complete border formalities at both sides. Syria's one of these countries where, even at land crossings, you have to pay to leave. It's all a bit daft, akin to going to a disco for a boogie and a drink, and paying the bouncer on the way out. Our final check in the proceedings is the Turkish baggage search. "You better not have any tea! It's like having heroin!!", declares one fellow passengers as our bags are searched. This is principally because (like most things) Syrian Tea is so much cheaper and the Turks don't like to see it enter the country. Thankfully, I don't. Don't have much of anything really.

Changing buses in Antakya, what turns out to be a marathon bus journey gets under way. It isn't helped by the frequent roadside stops for passengers or food breaks in the middle of nowhere. The journey starts off expediently enough driving through a city which boasts impressively wide avenues and open parks. The architecture here is decidedly different to that of Syria. It's more modern, a lot less concrete in style, and far more colourful, with contrasts of pastel and primary colours.

The journey continues and I sleep, converse and read. My neighbour is a Syrian called Salah, who speaks fluent English, having lived in London for 18 months. He's a cake maker by trade and specialises in weddings and family occasions. He proudly shows me his best creations on his Sony Vaio. I also get to see images of his father's visit to London and their taking in of the London Eye in the rain. By now, our journey's landscape has changed and the roads have become more windy, pinned in by imposing rock faces. Although we are closely following the Southern Mediterranean coast of the country, we barely get to see it as our path takes us to higher more rural settings. We sometimes drop down to sea level and, for stretches, we pass orange and lemon groves and Mediterranean styled houses once more, all located in around conspicuous, sandy coves. It all feels a world away from the behemoths of Bodrum and Antalya. Eventually, the night arrives and we lose sight of everything. The bus gently rocks us about as we wind and climb, wind and descend.

I use this time to tentatively discuss Syria's issues with Sallah. I ask him what the big difference is between Turkey and Syria. "Government", he declares succinctly. " Our President studied in the UK and took home the language, but, somewhere along the way, he left the freedom." I have often been reticent to discuss such topics, for fear of putting people in awkward positions and upsetting the proverbial "Orange cart". The worst that would result for me in such a situation would probably be having to leave the country. But, what for the Syrian?? I don't intend to paint an unfair picture of Syria or perpetuate an imaginary climate of fear. However, people can't express themselves or make choices like in your average western nation, and there is a collective unhappiness about it.

I've often wondered what people in Syria think about foreign travellers like me who just breeze into a country and say how wonderful everything is, simply to drift out again after a few days or weeks like the tide. I guess we should all be careful even when we are paying what we consider to be compliments. I'm sure locals must look at us westerners and see people who take concepts of democratic freedom, and economic choice almost completely for granted. If they though less of us for it, I can't say I've noticed. Salah wants a very different future for his country, after having tasted the idylls of another part of the world. For now, he must focus his efforts on his adopted homeland of the UK and the court battle he is currently involved in attempting to extend his work visa and remain in London.

It's been a long journey today, and, by the time we pull into our terminus, it's 1.30am- 16 hours since we left Aleppo. Just like the very first night of my journey back in Greece, I am resigned to not having a clue where I am (other than the bus station) or more importantly, where I am going. I decide to bed down on the most comfortable looking metal bench in the quietest part of yet another large, modern looking bus station. I'll consider my options tomorrow in the cold light of day.