Turkey Part 5: Istanbul (Hagia Sofia, Sultan Ahmed Mosque / 'The Blue Mosque', The Grand Bazaar)...and then home.

(...Continued from Turkey Part 4.)

With cold extremities and heavy hearts we finally turned up in Istanbul. Norm parked Roxy up in a car park on the sea-front and, after a bit of faffing around and scrambling about for rucksacks and belongings, everybody filed out of the back of the truck for hugs and kisses in the car park. (Stan Collymore was nowhere in sight!)

It was all pretty bizarre – as goodbyes always are: I’d got to know all of these people pretty well over the course of the year. We’d gone through trials and tribulations together and, to use a cliché, it had been an emotional rollercoaster: malaria, dengue, thieves, worms borrowing into your feet, Al Qaeda scares, riots, corrupt police, sky-diving, bungy-jumping, cage-diving with great white sharks, extreme heat, extreme cold…not to mention all sorts of dangerous wildlife - from petite and poisonous to big and bitey.

With all of this in mind, the goodbye was somewhat unceremonious…for some, the end had been a long time coming. People were eager to get home and as everybody walked off either on their own, in pairs or in threes to their individually booked accommodation, it became clear pretty quickly that our days as a travelling family were numbered.

That was the last I saw of Yoichi. As much as he pissed a lot of people (everybody) off at some point or other on the trip, at various points (when his stubbornness wouldn’t get in the way) I’d taken him under my wing. It was sad that you could be around somebody for that long but never really know them. It didn’t seem to faze him though: A few days later, I would leave a note with the receptionist at his hostel (Big Apple Hostel) explaining how to get hold of us and where to meet us to say goodbye to Berbs and the others, but his mind was elsewhere. He’d arranged to reconvene with a Japanese girl he’d met in Damascus and they were both due to stay at the Big Apple. I wasn’t about to get in the way of the moment when Yoichi’s self-confessed “challenge” of ten months of abstinence from “solitary romantic time”, finally found a release.  Banzaaaaaai!

Most of the others had a couple of days left of exploring Istanbul before their flights home, so before Son, Ish and I strolled off to our hostel, we made sure we got the names of everybody’s hostels.

It took a lot longer than we thought to find our hostel. Ok, it was a bit further out of the way than the hostels the other guys were staying at (on the street where we’d left them) but the whole process of finding it was exacerbated by the fact that, despite us being back in Europe, the local’s comprehension of English was limited. After a few red herrings, misunderstandings and wrong turns, we ended up at our hostel absolutely knackered after what seemed like an hour or more of walking uphill with all our gear…probably the most exercise we’d had in months.

No sooner had we settled in then it was time to get showered and go out and meet the rest of the gang for some grub and some booze as a kind of final blowout.

After a good feed, the booze continued to flow along with the stories of highlights and lowlights of the previous ten months. All this to the soothing sounds of a bubbling shisha pipe…(well, when not drowned out by the bass of the house and hip-hop that was thumping out of the large speakers).

Spirits were high and we were just getting into the swing of things when somebody suggested we hop across the road where there was better music, more girls, cheaper booze and a better atmosphere in general. Disappointingly, the chosen venue failed to deliver on all of these promises but we carried on puffing the peace pipe and drinking undeterred.

After one drink too many, our numbers began to dwindle and those still left behind moved on to the karaoke bar next door. Before I went to join them, I said my goodbye to Marjane – who was taking the truck off to a workshop out of town. I thanked him for everything he did for us over the course of the trip. The guy’s a year younger than me and was already on his 7^th year in Africa and his second Trans Africa trip. He’s a qualified carpenter, skilled driver, resourceful mechanic and on top of all of that, was ultimately responsible for all of us reprobates and had to put up with our crap for ten months. Legend.

As Marjane’s silhouette disappeared in the distance I reluctantly joined Dan, Berbs, Ish and Elisa in the karaoke bar. No sooner had I entered then it was time I made a hasty retreat: the largely overweight and sweaty local patrons started thrusting the microphone in the faces of unsuspecting newcomers. I think Dan was in the middle of “Summer of ‘69” as I left…

Another day went by and it was time to say more goodbyes…Spencer and Allison left on the 7^th Jan, as did Berbs…and Marjane’s trusty Homeless side-kick (Kyle) left us to join him too. Kyle’s adventure wasn’t quite over though: him and Marjane were aiming to work on the truck before starting their drive through Europe and finishing up in Spain where the next Ultimate Trans Africa trip would start.

Now it was just Gab. Dan, Ish, Son, Elisa, Kim and I. With Kyle gone, Kimbo was without her partner in crime so she came and joined Ish, Son and I in our hostel for a couple of nights.

Son and Gab were next to leave (from memory, I think they both left on the 8^th Jan). Before Son left, she treated Ish and I to a meal at a Mexican restaurant, we’d kept passing with a curious glance over the previous few days.

Now that Gab had returned home, there was another damsel in distress (Elisa) without her other half. With Son gone too, there was a spare bed in our room again…so it was now Elisa, Kimbo, Ish and I in a room with Dan in another hostel relatively nearby.

During the dying days of our trip, we busied ourselves strolling the grounds of the awe-inspiring mosques and museums (particularly the Hagia Sofia and the ‘Sultan Ahmed’ or ‘Blue’ Mosque); drinking coffee in whatever Bohemian wee coffee shop we could find (or failing that, a Starbucks); gorging ourselves on kebabs and Pide and exploring the Grand Bazaar where we would barter for last-minute souvenirs. (The latter comes highly recommended.)

By Jan 10^th, it was Just Ish, Dan and I left…the last three in Istanbul. We spent the afternoon together before one last Efes (Turkish beer) on a roofed terraced bar with spectacular views of the minarets of the Hagia Sophia - the multi-coloured spot-lights showing them off in all their beauty. A good time to reflect.

I said goodbye to Ish and Dan that night – despite Ish staying in the same place as me, he was up and out early in the morning and we both knew an early wake-up didn’t need to be endured by both of us.

On Tuesday 11^th Jan, I was on my own with just my thoughts for most of the morning until my taxi arrived to take me to the airport. It’s fair to say that I did Istanbul a bit of a dis-service as all I could think about was home. I wasn’t particularly homesick…I was just road-weary…. Tired of living out of the same backpack; wearing the same old, stinking, sun-scorched, starched, faded and stained clothes; tired of moving on every couple of days;  As a result, I really didn’t see as much of Istanbul as I should have done.

11^th January happened to be both my mum’s and Lara’s birthday and I had planned all along to come back and surprise them both on that day. Whilst I’d been away, my little bro, Elliott ‘Wormboy’ Kennedy had passed his driving test so I’d arranged for him to pick me up from the airport. I didn’t know that my dad had organized a birthday meal for my mum and, with no real excuse for leaving the table mid-way through, the only justifiable alibi Wormboy could conjure up was “I have to go home. I need a dump and can’t go in public toilets!”

Wormboy was waiting for me in the arrivals hall and we gave each other the big brotherly embrace that a year apart deserved.  15 minutes later, a surreal feeling past over me as we rolled up to the front door of my parents’ place. I’d figured as much would happen: the whole African experience was so different to everyday life in Guernsey that it didn’t even feel like the last year had been real.

As I walked through the front door, I was overwhelmed with feelings. I was sad as I was all too aware of the symbolism involved in crossing the threshold of my parents’ home: My African odyssey was well and truly over. I was also anxious, nervous and excited about seeing my family after so long. On the drive home, Wormboy had confided that he’d had the same feelings of nervousness when waiting for me in the arrivals hall at Guernsey airport.

Feigned or otherwise (evidently brothers tell their girlfriends who tell their sisters who tell their mums…!), everybody seemed suitably surprised to see me. The only member of the Kennedy Clan missing for my homecoming was Morgan (aka Big Mo). It soon transpired that just a week prior to my return, he’d left on his own travelling adventure. So whilst I finally put down my laptop and put this blog to rest, I’ll leave you in the safe hands of my bro. He recounts his travelling tales over land from Berlin to Russia, China and then South East Asia in his blog here: 


http://wisteriaboys.blogspot.com

Home in one piece.

AK

Kenya Take Two – Part 2 – Kembu Camp, Fisherman’s Camp (Lake Naivasha) & Karen Camp (Karen, Nairobi)

So I woke up at Naiberi Camp on the morning of 8^th October feeling a little bit older and not one little bit wiser. As I brushed my teeth in the mirror, I swear I saw a new wrinkle pop its way into existence on my forehead. A few more white hairs were noticeable in my otherwise ginger beard and my hairline on my forehead had made good overnight progress in its race to get to the back of my head. The good news was, I woke up after my 30^th birthday without a hangover...the same couldn't be said for Chris and Homeless...who stayed up at the bar being entertained by Raj until about 4am...we weren't due to move on until early afternoon anyway, so the fellas had time to recover.


There was very little cleaning up for us to do after The AK Party as Gab had got up early and done everything so the gang spent the morning exploring the grounds or chilling by the pool. I found a chameleon on the path down to the pool and freaked out the superstitious local bar staff by wearing him on my shoulder. They told me he was poisonous but I was pretty sure I was safe.


Finally on the road again, we drove to a place called "Kembu Camp" - a campsite on a working farm overlooking the Great Rift Valley. (If you look on their website, it says: "Altitude 7250 feet i.e. no Malaria." In other words, it was a cool place both metaphorically and literally.) Kenj and I (cook group that night) flipped some awesome burgers for everybody (tuna steaks for the faux veggies) which were scoffed down as Chris told us about a possible excursion the next day – a game drive in Lake Nakuru National Park. About half opted to go for this, whilst the other half (including Lara and I) chose to stay with the truck and head straight to Fisherman's Camp on the shores of Lake Naivasha (where the others would eventually catch up with us again after their safari).


The guys who were going to the Lake had an early start in a minibus but none of us heard them leaving. However...there was some kind of international kids cross-country meet going on and it seemed like most of the schools were also staying at Kembu Camp. When they got up, any chance for a rare lie-in went out of the window as hoards of kids on the cusp of puberty ran around the place in excitement at all of the farm animals. I couldn't decide what was worse: the cow that was mooing incessantly overnight as it had its leg caught in some rope, or the over-enthusiastic young lad running around, seemingly leading the charge with the other kids but in desperate need of some ball droppage. The morning wasn't all bad though: Chris had arranged for some fresh milk to be brought to us...straight from the cow's udders! You don't know how good this was in our tea after months of the powdered stuff.


Onwards we went to Fisherman's Camp where we spent the day chilling under the tarp on Ruby's side (it thundered all afternoon and it threatened to rain but the clouds never delivered) and taking in the surroundings (the food here was really good by the way – the fishburger is highly recommended).The rest of the passengers arrived late in the afternoon and joined us in the bar to watch a bit of sport (it usually ends up being rugby given the Antipodeans have the majority vote on the truck).


Laraldo and I were just chilling when Kay beckoned us over to where she was sitting at the bar...long story short: she got talking to the girl next to her who happened to be from Guernsey and happened to be the younger sister of a girl Lara and I know very well! They say it's a small world and this sort of thing has happened a few times to us now (at The Sleeping Camel in Mali we met a guy who used to work with my old man in Guern and we met a Jersey guy on another Af Trails truck in Zambia) but Guernsey is a very, VERY small place for 70,000 people to live. If you're a Guernseyman and happen to bump into somebody from Guernsey on your travels, chances are that if you're not related to them ("ma mother's ma sister" - said in a hick accent) you'll know them or know of them. Before long we were eating dinner – an absolute feast cooked up by Pat and Kimbo.


After dinner, Berbs, Kenj and I went back to the bar via the camp perimeter at the lake shore. Kenji's LED Mag-lite helped us see an adolescent hippo just chilling within metres of the fence. He didn't like having the torch shone on him so we didn't hang around (our regular driver, Marjane has an horrific story about hippos from this campsite).


The following day, a few of the bozos went off on some of the various excursions that were available from the campsite (e.g. cycling around Crater Lake or doing a 'game walk' with an opportunity to see fish eagles being fed – the photographers on our truck salivated at this latter prospect). Again, having had our fill of wildlife and game parks in recent weeks, Laraldo and I didn't feel the need to fork out for these so again chose to stay at camp. I'm not entirely sure whether I regret turning down activities like this – you may think we're mad if you're reading this from back home, but the east coast leg of the trip has been so eventful and excursion-heavy that you sometimes need a break...or at least your wallet does. The reviews the other passengers gave us for these trips were very mixed, but we got the impression that we didn't miss out on anything too spectacular.


Once everybody was back at camp, we shot off back towards Karen (where we'd stayed for one night before going into Uganda) via an awesome viewpoint (called "Escarpment Viewpoint") over the Great Rift Valley (where a few of us bought some wooly hats from the local shepherds) for our week long stay-over in this Nairobi (-an?) suburb. This was a momentous occasion – it was our last journey in "Ruby".

Son gets the iPod ready.

The whole trip we'd known that Ruby was the last of a dying breed. The Af Trails fleet had been slowly renewed over the space of a year or so and Ruby was the only veteran left (the nature of the Ultimate Trans trip is that she's on the road too long to make it easy to 'retire' her). As we neared Karen Camp – Son hunted down 'Ruby" by The Kaiser Chiefs (our anthem) on her iPod and we literally blasted the thing out of the truck stereo. All 17 or 18 of us (I've lost count of how many of us there are) sang the chorus at the top of our lungs, stomping our feet and punching the roof in time with the beat; head torches were worn and put on flash and red mode to add to the ambience. I think we played it about three or four times in a row; the other guests at Karen Camp surely muttered "There goes the neighbourhood" as we pulled in. The hairs on the back of my neck were genuinely standing on end – I (and in fact, all of us) have personified Ruby throughout the whole trip and this fitting send-off marked the end of an era.

 

RUBY! RUBY! RUBY! RUBY!

Kay in mid-chorus!

Kimbo and the boys (Gab, Berbs & Pat) banging the roof to the beat in the back and the girls singing in the foreground.