Oct 28 - Leave the hotel at 6:30, while it is still dark. A tram and metro ride gets us to the main bus terminal (Büyük Otogar), to the west of downtown. The bus complex is like a ring around the metro station, with hundreds of bus gates on the outside of the ring. It can be a bit intimidating to see for the first time, but the gates are numbered and bus companies are labeled clearly.
For whatever reason (traffic?) we first go west and then sweep north, crossing the Bosphorus at the Yavuz Sultan Selim Bridge. It is also the newest and northernmost bridge, from which the Black Sea is visible. It is one of the tallest suspension bridges in the world, and opened for transport in 2016.
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Soon after this, we turn south and go over another monumental bridge, the Osmangazi, that passes over an inlet of the Marmara Sea.
Even 30 years ago, I remember being impressed at the scale of things in Türkiye. Even the bus lines, with the big lettering and large fleets, seem amazing when comparing it to public transport of many nearby countries.
Much of the western coast is dry forested hills, very much within the bracket of a Mediterranean climate. This is the standard view as we go south, through Bursa and Balikesir, before offloading at yet another gigantic bus terminal in İzmir. The trip, including about 30 minutes refueling at a gas station, lasts eight hours.
İzmir Otogar is way out from the center of town, so we take a chance on a nearby dolmuş (minibus) and the driver lets us of generally in the neighborhood we are looking for. Wandering the streets, an old man stops us and wants to know where we need to go. I show him the address and he runs off to get us a taxi. A dollar later, we are at the door of the hostel.
It is a lively place. With hostels, you never quite know how it will be. Some are just like little apartments where there is no sense of community. This one does a good job of drawing people together, with a garden outside, music, and of course a bunch of cats. We talk at length with several travelers, including an older man on a motorbike who has been on the move for the better part of 40 years. Some North Americans here, along with a Maltese, French, Chechnyan, an oddly dour Brazilian woman, and others.
The Basame District where we are staying has many African immigrants, and is quite vibrant with small shops. The narrow streets are a chaos of scooters and displays of food in the storefronts.
“This is the most secular city in Türkiye,” says a British volunteer working at the hostel. It seems like an odd factoid start with. In early evening I hear the call to prayer anyway.
I plan out tomorrow’s transport options, but other than that get very little done on the computer.
Türkiye III