Just one shot

From the moment Austin and I set out we knew we only had a single shot at getting to Jordan. As you folks know from older blogs the political situation in the Middle East has been even more troublesome than during my parents trip. I certainly have chosen the most inappropriate time to visit the region; the fallout for the Iraq War, the Syrian Uprising and the Arab Spring were already issues before Austin pulled out of the driveway.

During the weeks we trundled happily south and eastwards Israel and Egypt fell out seriously as the former shot three Egyptian soldiers at the border. As Austin and I began a tour of Cypriot garages the Turkish prime minister Recep Tayip Erdogan, who was angered by Israels attack on shipping visited the new Post-Arab Spring regime in Egypt and as a result, for the time being the chances of crossing from Egypt into Israel, and ultimately Jordan, were scuppered. This week has seen Lebanon make it's formal bid at the UN to be recognized as a country which has has upset the Israelis no end.

But ultimately what stopped us from going any further was the troubles between Northern (Turkish) Cyprus and (Southern) Cyprus. In 1974 Turkey sent it's troops onto Cypriot soil after a Greek backed coup (The Greek Junta had taken power in Athens the year that mum and dad passed through, 1967). The fallout is still deeply felt through the island and as a result Northern Cyprus state is only recognized by the Turkish government. So technically Austin and I had entered through an illegal port and as a consequence would have to exit through that same point. We could not in any shape or form leave Cyprus and head to Israel, nor could I leave Austin and take a passenger ferry or fly. We would have to leave and return to the north. 

Once there we couldn't travel to anywhere but back to Turkey. And once there we could only exit back into Greece (or Hungry or Armenia, or Georgia). 

Sorry if it's complicated, but it took weeks of searching, calling and talking to people to get all this information. Eventually when the last email came in to say that in no uncertain terms could Austin and I leave Cyprus by any other means than back into the north, it was time to make some decisions. And to be honest these issues have been ongoing for the last fifty years, since Dad and Mum were here, there were very unlikely to change in the next month (especially with Tony Blair sticking his beak in) so sadly Austin and I have decided to return home to the UK and get on with the hard bit- writing the book. 

Thanks for all the support and love from everyone. 

The blogs will continue so stay tuned in and please stay in touch.

Have a good week folks

And again soz if there are any typos.

Cheers Matt

Lost In Cappadocia

Hoopoes, invisible in the bleached grass, lifted into the air and glided away as I startled each of them as I walked through the sun filled Ihlara Valley. Here in this most perfect of gorges I stopped and took a moment to breathe and relax.

For weeks Austin and I have been barrelling across the continent heading ever south and east. With the exception of a pause to dry out in Slovenia, we have kept on pushing through the miles. Istanbul and Bursa had been a tough section, tougher than I could have imagined, but as we passed mum and dad’s finish line there was a greater freedom to step away from the restraints of their original mission.

The view from Kirk Damalti Kilisesi (St. Georges Church)

Pulling into the dusty car park of the Piri Pension, in the even dustier village of Selime, I had no idea of the beauty and serenity that was hidden only metres away. 24 hours later I sat high in the cliff face in the Kirk Damalti Kilisesi (St George's Church), an ancient Byzantine church carved directly into the rock, happy, excited and yet strangely peaceful. Above me, eagles soared high in hot thermals and rock lizards dashed about arguing over territory at the mouth of the cave. Below, the stream wandered slowly and absent-mindedly through the twisted willows and larches. A more beautiful and peaceful place I have never seen before. Before I set out, during the whirlwind of chaos that I called planning, a mate had insisted that I take the time to 'smell the roses' during the trip. I had made an effort to pause and appreciate what I was lucky enough to be doing but in the Ilhara valley, with its wonderful wildlife and fascinating history I had the best day of the trip so far. By the time I went to bed my face hurt from smiling.

Sumbullu Kilise, Rock churches in  Ilhara Valley

A few days later Austin and I rolled eventfully into Goreme, the centre of all fun and activities in Cappadocia. If you have ever taken a moment to look at a brochure or site dedicated to Turkey then you will have seen Goreme and its fairy chimneys- fluted rock formations that for centuries have been the homes of peasants and priests alike. And, as Austin drove around the corner and began to wind down through the twists and turns, and above all steep, roads of Goreme, he chose this excellent moment for his brakes to die. So with a racing heart rate, my fist clutching the handbrake and in second gear we made our slow and terrifying way to the valley floor then up the other side to Kaya camping.

The View of Cappadoica from Kaya Camping

For ten days, while I sat out the tail end of Ramazan (Turkish Muslim holiday) and Beyram(another Turkish holiday), I would be awoken, just after dawn, by the dragon yawns of burners filling hot air balloons and by the time I had crawled out of my sleeping bag and rustled up a cup of tea the balloons began to rise out of the valleys and fill the skies. Then for an hour or so I would watch the slow parade of balloons pass along the valleys like a shoal of ambling jellyfish and by the time the last one disappeared it was time for breakfast.

While the mornings were filled with balloon gazing, the evenings were spent eating with Roger and Susan and Michael and Angela. Angela and Susan whipped up a storm every night and I hadn't eaten like that since I had left home, in fact, I think I started to put weight back on again. But as wonderful and much needed as this was sooner or later I was going to have to face the brakes problem.

The first mechanic told me to take out the offending part and drive to him with it, where he would judge whether he had the correct part and then we would take it from there! Yeah, okay, time for another mechanic. So with a kick up the bum from Roger and Susan we jumped in Austin and handbrake in hand, headed to the next village to find someone else to help. Thirty minutes later Austin had a stopping distance somewhere less than fatal and we were off back to the campsite and yet another fantastic Angela/Susan dinner.

As Susan told her family on Skype-today I have had two rides in an Austin Cambridge; once without brakes and once with.

So much to tell and so little space, off to Cyprus…
There a new Cappadocia gallery over at the Facebook page.


Have a good week folks
And again soz if there are any typos.
Cheers Matt

Insane-bul.

'I think you shouldn't drive through Istanbul. No one in their right mind does that' said Ahmet while his lovely wife Ayse nodded in agreement. They had already given me their map insisting I have it, as it was better than the one I had.

The view at Kartel

Not driving through Istanbul was sage advice, and parroted by everyone and every source, which is why I could have punched myself in the facefor not following it as I found myself stopping again at another set of lights in the crammed orgy of traffic.


I had called in at the airport to see if the tourist info could narrow the search for Mum and Dad's campsite in Kartel. Turkey is a wonderful hospitable country, but their tourist information is the worst in the world by far; rude, lazy and unhelpful. Not a great advert for the country. The lazy clerk behind the counter couldn't be bothered to stand, he gave me tourist map and said there 'might be' campsites in Kartel. There were none printed on the map.


At the end of a hot, six hour drive Austin was had to endure first several hours lost in Istanbul's insane traffic followed by several more in the even greater insanity of the commuter traffic heading to Kartel and the surrounding suburbs. I won't go into the detail but by the time we reached Kartel both of us were ready to knock the whole trip on the head. It was absolute purgatory.

Jimmy and Dad in Istanbul

When the Originals paused this way looking for a few days in the souks of brilliant Istanbul, there were still beaches at Kartel. They were even able to park right outside the Blue Mosque when they went sightseeing. There hasn’t been a campsite in Kartel for twenty years, apparently, and no beaches for decades. Now the city spills unsuppressed all the way along the coast and the beaches are either parks or industrial areas.


Istanbul is one of my favourite places in the world, but Kartel is not. I collapsed into the first, and only, hotel I found.


The situation was almost completely mirrored on the run to Bursa. The info guy was rude and unhelpful, the traffic a nightmare and the end result was an expensive hotel. The only difference was that Austin threw a bit of a wobbly and we had to sit beside the road while he calmed down.

The Ulu Camii in Bursa

'And that is that' I thought later as I sat in the old market eating dinner. 'I have reached the last point of my parent’s journey'. Here they were stopped by the shockwaves of the Six Day War, the shockwaves of the Mudurnu earthquake and the shockwaves of a dodgy kebab. They called it a day and headed home.

You wouldn’t recognise the Bursa of their time to the sprawling city of today (the fourth largest in Turkey). The closest place to camp is twenty miles away from the outskirts in the ski resort of Uludag milli Parki. So as I ate my Iskendia Kebab, in the busheling market and the Call to Pray rang about the eves, I took a moment to congratulate Austin and I on getting this far, of course we still have to get back…

There a new Turkey gallery over at the Facebook page.

Have a good week folks
And again soz if there are any typos.
Cheers Matt