Welcome to Turkey: No Parking Allowed
We arrived* officially in Turkey after 5 checkpoints, an attempt at a vehicle X-ray and 16,000 stamps.
You think I exaggerate? Alright, maybe a little. But not by much. After the last border check, we saw our first Turkish mosque. Welcome to Turkey.
The drive across the country was smooth cruising.
After dealing with Czech, Romanian and Bulgarian roads it wassoothing.
Unfortunately, not much of much to see unless you really enjoy flat landscapes or are a bush fanatic. We did manage a few pics, like this one:
It wasn’t until the outskirts of Istanbul itself that things got a little stressful. There are lines in the road here, but I’m sure they’re for decorative use only. Lanes? What lanes?
The Turkish have their own unique driving style, for sure. It’s insane.
It took an hour or longer to reach the center, then another hour for finding the hostel we had a contact to. We found it, all was well. Next on our list: find a parking space. Simple.
We hadn’t arrived here with much (planning on working/earning here) as it was, but parking overnight- for one night- was beyond our budget.
So we drove. And drove. Let me correct myself. Poor Armando drove. And drove.
Then there were the horns. Screaching, honking, chirping in some cases. But constant. Armando joined in within a very short time, the frustration was so great.
Nothing else to do really, if you can’t beat them- join in the chaos.
San Francisco’s sister city has got to be Istanbul, only worse. One-lane windy 90 degree angles with no one paying much attention to whether it’s a one-way street or not.
Lots of heinous corners, where you could have barely fit a pinky between Mork and the wall/parked car/taxi.
It was 6:30 p.m. entering Turkey, it was 12:30 a.m. by the time we parked. Oofdah.