Stories, thoughts, observations, rants and dribble. Just another of my attempts to keep the interested people informed ...

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Episode 13: In which we get a free "pick-up" and some "valuable" advice

Location: Göreme
Date: 02/04/2006
The longest, most uncomfortable, sleepless night bus I can remember led us to the cheerless town of Nevşehir in Cappadocia.  I looked out at the rain and wondered why I'd bothered journeying so far out of my way.  A few kilometres later we turned into Pigeon Valley and I got my first look at Göreme and the phenomenal surrounding landscape.  That glimpse was enough to justify anything!
We arrived at the accommodation office at the bus station.  It is very organised and the man in the office will call any pension (guesthouse) and arrange a pick up or further instructions.  We decided on the Paradise Cave Pension (on recommendation from friends), and organised our free pick-up (after a small misunderstanding).
Whilst waiting, we started chatting to a Canadian woman in her 50's (I am guessing), who was travelling with her husband.  I told her that she was getting a free shuttle to the Shoestring Pension, and she was quite forceful in her "Well I'm glad it's free!".  When I offered the rain and the distance as good reasons for a free shuttle, she said that no, she was just sick of being charged three times more than everyone else because she was old.
She realised we were a little confused, and elaborated.  Apparently most people think that they are rich old (white) Americans, and try and scam them for as much money as possible.  She sounded so bitter that she seemed not to be enjoying her two years of travel at all.  Mazz and I were a little taken aback and decided not to talk too much to her anymore.
When the Shoestring shuttle arrived, we let her know it was there.  She arranged her luggage and came back to us, not with a farewell as expected, but with this adamant gem of wisdom:
"Don't ever travel when you're old!"
I'll travel when I want to, thanks all the same.  Besides, hopefully I'll never be mistaken for a rich old white American ...
A little later, our pick-up arrived - in the form of a skinny Turkish man called Habib hurrying through the drizzle.  Strangely enough, he didn't carry Mazz back like she asked.  Thankfully it wasn't a long way for us to haul all our things ...

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