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Dover to Istanbul

This part of our trip was really just to get us to the start of the trip - Istanbul.

Meet the group

On the morning of the 28th September 2001, after a sleepless night (thanks to the central heating, traffic noise and false fire alarms) at the Premier Travel lodge Dover , I ate breakfast and lugged my pack to the ferry port. Here I met up with the truck, crew (Mia, our driver / trip leader (late twenties), Ash the co-driver (mid twenties)) and the other passengers. Our numbers had been reduced by six, thanks to 911, so there was only six going on the trip - Richard, an Englishman and student (18yrs); Kerryn an Aussie going home (mid twenties); Ray an American (mid fifties); Helena (pronounced Heleeena) an Irish woman (mid twenties); and Phil a convivial Irishman (late thirties). Oh, and of course me, a stressed out ex-IT professional (mid forties).

As per usual on Dragoman trips, the crew did the joining paperwork first. Our travel insurance was checked, next of kin's address noted, passports and visas checked, and a briefing was given on how to get on and off the truck (this really shows how overlanding has changed since I first did it back in 1993. Then it was a case of "this is not Disneyland, you could get hurt, so keep your eyes open"). I suspect that this briefing, so early on in the trip, was caused by somebody of a litigious nature hurting themselves falling out of a truck.

While waiting to be loaded onto the ferry I got to chatting with the family in the queue next to us. They were on their way to the continent with their two young (about 10 to 12 years old) sons. One had a broken arm, and it turned out that they were both motorbike motocross riders. The break had happened when they had been racing each other. Oh well, as the Americans say, stuff happens.

It's these little chance encounters that make these trips for me.

Ferry to France

It wasn't long before we were loaded onto the ferry, and setting sail for the quick crossing to Calais. After an uneventful crossing, under glorious blue skies, we quickly disembarked and drove the short to our first campsite (on the outskirts of Calais). The idea of the first day was simply to get underway, camp early and get the usual start of trip admin out of the way.

Mia showed us around the truck, showed us the ubiquitous grey boxes (the Dargoman trucks are designed around the dimensions of these large grey plastic boxes. These boxes carried all our food and crockery, and lots more else. Packing them was an art form), and then how to pitch a Dragoman tent. This I had done, literally, hundreds of time before, so I showed off by racing Ash to see who could pitch a tent first. Our evening meal was, for simplicity's sake, take ot (delivered) pizzas. A great way to start a trip, no worries about cooking, just laying back eating pizza, drinking cold beer (bought on the ferry) and sipping some of Phil's excellent Irish whiskey.

The next day dawned fair, and, after breakfast and packing away the camp, we set off for the local supermarket. Here we did our first food shop. I had teamed up with Helena, as far as cook groups were concerned, and we were up first for cooking. In what seems to be a habit of mine, we didn't really buy enough meat (chicken), even though there were only eight people to cook for (on other trips I've had to cook for as many as 24!).

We then started the trip proper and drove south east, towards the alps and Italy. During the drive we passengers started to get to know each other. Richard, though the youngest (at 18 years) on the trip was easily one of the most mature and easy going people I've had the pleasure to meet. He'd paid for the trip, which was in his gap year, by stacking shelves at his local supermarket. Ray, a married Chinese-American telecoms engineer was, perhaps, feeling a bit out of the group, we did try to involve him in our talking and card playing, but he spent a lot of the trip sat up front by himself. Phil was like me, a confirmed bachelor working in IT, he was, I felt, the modern face of Ireland. He had done a few of these sort of trips before, and regailed us with horror stories of being the only male on a femail dominated trip. Helena (for some reason it took me days to get her name and its pronunciation right), who had been educated by the nuns in Ireland, and then trained as an accountant, was like talking to someone from 20 or 30 years in the past. The rightful advances in women's position in the west seemed to have passed her by, even though she had spent three years working in London. She had a sharp tongue, and an argumentative competitive nature, and almost childish (not childlike) side to her. She was my stereotype of the old Ireland. Kerryn, was also trained as an accountant, had an odd way of always, in jest, saying the opposite of what she actually thought and meant. She was travelling back to Australia, after working in the UK for three years. Ash (short for Ashley), our trip's co-driver, hailed from Tasmania (it was his descriptions of that place that had me going there myself), and had gotten into overland travel by seeing the Americas by a bus that he bought, did up, and drove. This was his first trip, and as well as assisting Mia with the truck and driving, he became my backgammon partner for part of the trip. Our trip leader, Mia, had a very positive outlook to life. She had done this and similar trips before. She not only drove the truck, fixed the truck, and dealt with officialdom along the way, but also put up with us lot, kept us amused, fed, watered, and basically made the trip happen. One heck of a lady.

Cooking

Our next campsite, in the middle of France, was wet and stony. No sooner had we pitched our tents then we had to pitch the cook tent. This can be a simple quick process, but as we hadn't really formed any sort of team or hierarchy, it took ages. Each of us thought that we knew best, even though it was only me and Phil who had ever pitched one before. Once up, and out cook tables and cookers installed, it was up to me and Helena to cook the evening meal. It was now that I realised that I had made a big mistake in choosing her as a cook group partner. Our personalities grated against each other. The resulting meal (chicken casserole, or stew as Helena called it) was a disaster. But everyone was polite enough to eat most of it and to say it was fine.

Tunnel to Italy

We drove as fast as we could through France, we were not there to do any touristy bits. Our exit from France was via the Fréjus tunnel. We stopped just outside the entrance, to change money, and take in the snowy mountain views. The tunnel, 12 km long, had us all, by the end, choking from all of the exhaust fumes of the other vehicles. Fortunately we travelled slightly downhill, through the tunnel, which made our journey easier than if we had been going the other way.

The weather in Italy was an immediate (as soon as we emerged from the tunnel) improvement over France. Off came our fleeces and moods rose. We came down out of the mountains near Turin, and then continued our journey southwards. Our first Italian campsite was a lovely tree lined site. We pitched tents, ate and drank in the balmy evening light. Kerryn caused some commotion, when she found a mouse in her tent. She turned out to be petrified of the little rodents, so we all helped her clear her tent (after having a good laugh at her expense). The next day, after a short drive, we stopped in a campsite just outside Rome. We stayed here for two days, which allowed a full tour of the major tourist sites. The centre of Rome was a short suburban train ride away, from a station some two hundred metres from the campsite. In Rome we had a coffee (perhaps one of the best that I've ever had) in a small hole in the wall type of place next the station, before splitting up and going out to see the sights. I rejoined the group just outside of the basilica and we went on a free tour of St Peters. I must admit to being annoyed at St Peters (I felt it was an attempt at intimidation) and disappointed with the Sistine chapel. The whole of the Vatican city was chocked full of nuns and priests, which is not that surprising, but still very odd. The Coliseum wasn't as grand as I had expected. But the general feel of Rome was great. I couldn't get over how fashionable and stylish the people were.

Soap

While at the campsite, I took the opportunity to buy a bar of laundry soap, in the small supermarket across the road. It might seem odd for me to mention this, but such small items become very important while on the road. Laundry soap, for hand washing clothes, wasn't available again til India.

Breakdown - get out and push

The exit from our campsite was onto a busy dual carriageway. We had to cross the nearside lane to be able to turn left and carry on with our trip. We set out just after the rush hour, but the road was still very busy. Just as our truck had got out of the gate and was broadside onto both nearside lanes, the throttle linkage broke and we stopped. We weren't going anywhere. We all got out and pushed our 14 ton truck back into the campsite, clearing the road and allowing the irate Italians on about their business. While Ash and Mia figured out what was wrong and how to fix it, an Italian driving a campervan turned into the camsite. He could see that we were having problems, and accepted our apologies, but this didn't stop him from sounding his horn, as if this would speed things up. After 15 or 20 minutes, the linkage was re-attached and we set off again, this time we kept going.

We spent our time on the road either reading, chatting or playing games, and basically getting to know each other. I have got to be honest when I say that I was having real trouble dealing with Helena. She behaved like an overgrown spoilt brat, much of the time. I did my best to ignore this woman, not easy when your in such close surroundings. Fortunately, for me, she turned her attentions to Phil, this poor chap had his trip (holiday) ruined by her.

Not that I'm trying to make out that I was a perfect travelling companion, I'm not. At the start of this trip I was suffering from stress, and had difficulty putting together two words in conversation, or in remembering things. I do know that I managed, through cack-handed attempts at humour, to annoy both Kerryn and Mia, and I don't think that either of them thought that much of me. I'm glad to say, that I managed to change both of their minds by the end of the trip, by which time I was no longer stressing out and was enjoying life again (that's one of the reasons why I take these trips).

Ferry to Greece

Our next port of call was the ferry port of Bari, where we got an overnight ferry to Greece. EU law stated that the crew (Mia and Ash) had to be able to get a night's sleep, so they got a cabin. As to the rest of us, we had the choice of paying extra for a berth, or a seat, or of sleeping in the open out on the deck. I chose the deck, which I shared with a man taking his rather large dog to Greece. Very early the next morning we arrived on the mainland of Greece and disembarked.

Meteora

Our next "target" was the monasteries at Meteora. These have been made famous in many films - hangliders rescuing kidnapped daughters, James Bond villain's hideout. We visited one that is open to the public. The truck took us up from our campsite, and then it was a short climb to the monastery. In days gone past, the only way up had been by donkeys and then a basket attached to a rope, hauled up the shear cliff face, but now we tourists used stone steps carved into the rock face. At the top we could hear tapes of the monks chanting, which really made the atmosphere. The chapels themselves within, the monastery, were small and on a personal scale. Their walls had been painted by the monks, who, although nowhere near as skilled as the artists who had painted St Peters in Rome, had managed far more effectively to portray the emotions of those who worshipped there. Parts of the walls were covered in what can best be described as a slasher movie, such was the bloodshed and torment shown. All in all I much preferred these places of worship, to the overblown huge St Peters or the smaller Sistine chapel, back in Rome. Here there was no attempt to overawe or intimidate you as there had been in Rome.

Bridge to Turkey

All to soon we were leaving the EU and driving into Turkey. Here we had to buy our first, of many, visas. The cost depended upon your nationality - Irish being the cheapest and Australian the most expensive. The land border crossing was not as well organised as it should have been, for a country with EU membership pretensions. Mia, who has travelled widely in the Arab world, was quite offended by the rude and off-hand way in which we and she in particular, were treated by the border officials.

Istanbul

Istanbul was our first destination in Turkey, and the proper start of this trip. Here we stayed for two days in a rather basic backpacker style hotel close to the centre. For economy reasons, we all shared a room, while Mia and Ash had their own (which gave them time away from us passengers, but there was nothing, as far as I know, more to them sharing than that)

Both evenings we met, as a group, in the roof top bar of the hostel, which gave us wonderful views of the Bosphorus, before heading out into town.

I could easily have spent a couple of weeks in Istanbul, there is so much to see and do. I visited the usual tourist site, the blue mosque, the Topcappi museum (nothing like the film of the same name staring Peter Ustinov), and also wandered around some of the less salubrious areas. The postoffice, near the railway station, was a wonderful throw-back to grander times. The magnificent roman columns at the entrance gave way to a far less grand interior, where, as far as I could tell, very little postal work was going on.

Thanks mainly to it being late on in the tourist season, the street sellers weren't as much of a nuisance as they usually are.

Breakfast, in a small street cafe, each morning consisted of hard boiled eggs, olives, and some bread and jam; together with a small cup of coffee (tip: never stir Turkish coffee). Like many places in the middle-east, Turkey was not big on breakfasts.

Aerial war in Afghanistan

On the second evening, while enjoying a simple meal with a few of the group in a cafe, we noticed that the locals were pointing at a TV screen, mounted on the cafe's wall. It showed a fuzzy dark green picture. We came to understand that the aerial bombing of Afghanistan had begun. How this was going to effect our trip we were not sure.