At some time, it must still be deep night according to my inner compass, I dare a look through the window. Indeed, on the eastern horizon the dawn is spreading.
But it's just way too early to get up. However, at the back of my mind, a nasty little devil announces itself, reminding me that we have a long stage ahead of us today.
Anyway, I turn to the other side and fall asleep again ...
A few hours later …
And so the inevitable happens. Not only do we get up too late, we even wash the dishes, take a shower, take care of the car, all in all - it looks like we don't have anything particular planned for today.
Yet our destination today is Ankara, just about 500 kilometers away.
So it's half past ten when we finally set off, right across the city of course, and that means it's already noon when we finally have a clear run. However, looking at the traffic today in the monstrosity called Istanbul, what we have to suffer today is a piece of cake!
Well, we may have left Istanbul behind, but that doesn't mean we're at peace now. The traffic up to Izmit is murderous, we only make slow progress in the throng of millions of other vehicles, but then, we breathe a sigh of relief, it suddenly gets better after Izmit.
Greetings from the boxer engine
Perhaps a quick note about our engine.
Don't think everything is fine just because there is (almost) nothing noticeable to tell at the moment. It runs pretty smoothly, purrs like a lush cat, but the engine consumes a liter of oil a day.
I took the trouble to study the relevant section in the owner's manual.
The result is considerably unsettling. Terms such as crankshaft, connecting rod bearings, cylinder head gaskets now show up, all pointing to potential horrors. Our beloved engine might play some serious tricks on us in the near future going far beyond what we have experienced so far.
But what the heck, we're just leaving civilization. Places where you can have your engine mended, where there are experts who recognize the problem and fix it. What lies ahead of us, however, is wasteland, desert, with a few scattered towns and villages in the middle. In between - nothing.
No problem at all, we just mustn't think about it.
The Anatolian semi-desert
Past Izmit - we have now definitely left the sea behind us - the characteristic semi-desert of Anatolia begins. Sand and stone hills, endless dead-straight roads going up and down, sparse vegetation in between, with a few sheep occasionally grazing.
Sometimes a Turk stands at the side of the road, waving for cigarettes, then again not a living soul for miles.
Sometimes wild dogs running after us for a few hundred meters, you don't want to meet them in the open field.
But if we stop somewhere in the middle of nowhere, in the firm belief that the place is uninhabited, suddenly, as if by magic, a few mustachioed men appear around our car.
It takes a little getting used to at first, but with a cigarette they become our friends in no time and would probably invite us to dinner. No joke - Turkish hospitality is famous compared to ours.
The unfamiliar passes over time, that's why we're here, to learn about the unfamiliar, to recognize that something unknown doesn't equate to danger.
And so we drive through the unfamiliar and unknown, amazingly relaxed. One could think that we are on a trip to the Bernese Oberland.
But what it isn't, by no means.
Driving in the dark night
The bill for all sorts of delayed actions is now being presented to us.
In the rearview mirror, the sun is cautiously but ceaselessly approaching the horizon, but this evening we lack interest in this daily miracle. After all, we are still very very far from Ankara and the roads have not improved in the meantime, on the contrary.
In addition, the traffic is again heavy with all kinds of strange vehicles on the road, the majority of which are not at all or only dimly lit. The trucks, of which it is teeming again all at once (of all things!), are occasionally not illuminated at all, which means that they suddenly appear in front of us as if by magic and drive the adrenaline level to unimagined heights.
The opposite is the trucks, which are so brightly lit that they look like moving Christmas trees, obscuring the view for a minute.
I can still feel the stress many years later.
In a gloomy village (all villages are gloomy, not only because of the darkness) about 90 kilometers before Ankara we give up unnerved, before a blind or blinding truck pulls us out of traffic. And once again we park at the roadside, it gets dark eventually, far away a dog is howling its pain out into the silent night.
The colder continental climate is making itself felt - the night chill is working its way up the legs, making sleeping disturbingly frosty for the first time. We are slowly approaching eastern Turkey, an area notorious for its freezing temperatures.
It might happen that you think you're in Siberia at temperatures of around 30 degrees below zero. But eventually, we will end up in areas where cold is a foreign word.
The area – Same same
In contrast to yesterday's very relaxed start (which caused us a few problems, as mentioned), we are out early this morning. Being woken up by some strange people is not what we desire for the morning.
Anyway, we suppress - for the time being quite successfully - the increasing problems with the oil consumption, and head east. Sivas is today's destination, a city in the center of Turkey, from there on the third world begins, so we were told. Or as we also hear, the true farewell to everything we know.
The area, however, although far in the east, changes little. We are now so far in no-man's-land that we feel a bit like adventurers. Hey, all around strange, unknown, sometimes scary landscape with people who seem to come from another universe. Mustachioed, strangely hard faces hiding distrust and dislike. Or are we just telling that to ourselves because we are simply overwhelmed?
Hills, more hills, brown, gray, yellow hills. It's kilometer after kilometer straight ahead, up and down, past an region that is becoming increasingly lifeless. Sometimes a village, a small town, all with strange, unfamiliar names. Hasanoglan. Kirikkale. Cerikli. Yerkoy …
Driving as a Formula 1 pilot
Driving the old bus is a hassle.
The engine is far too weak to handle faster speeds or steeper inclines. It means I have to shift gears more often than Formula 1 drivers did before the introduction of modern shifting technology. In short, I'm constantly changing gears and I feel like Ayrton Senna at the Monaco Grand Prix.
We have also decided that I alone will continue to drive in the future. I've already gotten used to the risky environment with the unconventional driving habits. And most importantly - I'm a really bad passenger.
And so we drive on, on and on, always east towards eastern Turkey, driven by an incomprehensible, absurd desire for adventure, for discovery, for the unknown.
This is how we feel today...
Boredom? Or not?
What can you say about something that is not happening at all? An environment whose uniformity has a lulling effect, like a sleeping pill, like one too many glasses of red wine? But we feel good, we make good progress, in between a stop, a picnic, a coffee, a glass of water. And many glances at the surroundings, although they do not show us much sympathy.
Sometimes a bird or maybe some other flying creature strays across the skies, without the roar of the engine we might hear a plaintive cawing. It is in search of life, food, anything worth flying to.
And even more rarely a stop, apparently there is a bus. Hooded figures seek shade while waiting to depart. This mere sight is a distraction, even a half-ruined hut on the hill is enough to arouse our curiosity.
The villages change, sometimes a lake, a river meandering calmly between the hills. Then again, nothing for a long time.
Once more gloomy black night
We drive the whole day, supposedly making good progress, but 60 kilometers before the day's destination, Sivas, darkness descends on us again.
It is a new kind of darkness, it does not come quietly as it does at home, it pours unannounced on the country as if it wanted to cover it with a cloak of braided black. It costs us our last nerve.
So once again we fight our way through a night conspiring against us. Our dim headlights try to break through the impenetrable darkness. For a moment everything is quiet, then a donkey appears in the middle of the road, then other animals that seem to get a kick out of roaming around on the lane.
And the other cars, like last night, barely lit, appearing like phantoms out of the dark night, flying past us without leaving a trace. Without a trace? No, because every encounter raises the pulse to dizzying heights.
When we arrive in Sivas we are exhausted.
The Mocamp
Mocamps in Turkey are campsites created as a joint effort by the government and BP petrol stations.
Today's is just outside Sivas, consisting essentially of a miserable meadow and costs 15 lira per night. And it's quite populated. Buses and campers and all sorts of strange vehicles from all over the world have gathered. Most importantly, they are all on their way to India. All hippie trailers, albeit of different ages.
There is an elderly Belgian couple, two even older English couples, a family with a baby. You might think we're on a Sunday outing.
So, for the first time, it looks like some paths will cross from now on.
Matching song for the matching year: Stevie Wonder - Living for the City
And here the trip continues… to the border with Iran
