*** Turkish Excursion ***

July 12, 2012
Day 41 - Turkey Day 1
1:00AM

My initiation to Turkey began inauspiciously. Similar to the start of most bad events (i.e. horror movies), a flat tire, not normally perceived to be a good omen, redirected the trajectory of the very first bus I stepped foot on in the country. This multi hour detour was compounded by an already slow trip from the Iraqi border, and heading towards a Turkish town I never intended to go to, nor had heard of for that matter. The town I wanted to stay the night in, Merdin, was unavailable via bus late in the evening, so, I set off heading in that direction, settling instead for Kiziltepe. The mishap with the tire was made even more painful when I learned, after the fact, we had been only twenty minutes from the destination, but made a u-turn to the nearest town to wait on a replacement. When we finally arrived in Kiziltepe, it was well after 1am, and the streets were absolutely deserted. Once again, I was forced into doing what I despise most when arriving in a new country. If you remember from my first day in Iraq, I had to comb the streets, backpack and all, in a never ending search for a hotel; this time however, the task was undertaken well past my bedtime, and among empty streets. It had been a long day, to this point, beginning early in the morning with hitchhiking in Iraq. Where I had once been energetic during my hitchhike adventure, I was equally unenthusiastic by the time the bus rolled into Kiziltepe. Fatigued, sleep deprived, hungry and dehydrated, my mood was less than thrilling. My grand plan to plan nothing often places me in these uncomfortable predicaments, I do it to myself, but secretly, I enjoy it a little. I have noticed over the years, when faced with daunting and stressful situation, I often thrive, or am at least blessed with the fortune of good luck. With this attitude, I walk confidently into these situations with the expectation everything will work out in my favor. One might not have much on the open road, but maintaining a positive mindset is a necessity, there is no way around that. The other option is failure, disappointment, and a hasty trip home.

I spent fifteen minutes walking (it felt like half an hour) along the deserted streets of Kiziltepe before finally approaching a local shop owner, who I actually mistook for a hotel owner/attendant. Amused by my mistake, he politely offered me something to drink, flagged down two passerby's, and instructed them to escort me to the nearest hotel. "Dunaysir Otel", as it is named, is a self proclaimed five star boutique hotel in the city, although their printed stationary in the room is fashioned with only four stars. I presume they were recently awarded a fifth star, and the stationary is simply outdated (not likely). Regardless, to me, the "Dunaysir" is nothing more than a pillow to rest my head until the morning. After a swift negotiation in which I slashed the original quote by more than half, I agreed to occupy the room for $21 dollars. The room was actually fairly comfortable, and by far the best accommodation in my 41 nights of travel thus far. The deluxe bed was a delight, the porcelain in the bathroom was a nice touch, however, it was the quasi night light, purple mood lightening that was an absolute gem, and by far my favorite feature. All I needed was bottle service and scantly clad women (jk), and I could have operated a swanky lounge or disco tech from my room. Despite these amenities, I will disclose honestly, the deceleration of five stars is conceivably an exaggeration. Ever the critic, I award the "Dunaysir" the same four stars illustrated on their stationary. Perhaps under Turkish standards, or Kiziltepe's, they deserve a 5th star, but what do I know, I have just arrived. Nevertheless, as I envisioned, the evening concluded on a positive note, and I am off to propitious beggings in Turkey. I have been dealt a good hand, let us see how the cards shake out, let the game and fun begin.

July 14, 2012
Day 43
Turkey Day 3, Night 4

It is 9:35pm, I am beginning more or less my 4th night in Turkey, although I suppose my first night counts as only a half. My thirst for constant travel on the open road, which was left parched by an extended stay in Slemani Kurdistan (with the exception of my venture to the outskirts of Mosul), is being quenched now with a vengeance. Turkey is a vast country, requiring many long road trips to traverse the wide landscapes. Luckily for me, the bus system is very well developed, mildly comfortable, and fairly affordable at about $2.50 per hour long distance (no, this is not how they price it, it's just a point of reference). I intend to cross the entirety of the country, and some, eventually (more on this later).

I entered Turkey from the far Southeast, the least likely point of entry for most backpackers, or any non residential travelers for that matter. Contained within this region are the borders of Iraq, Iran, and Syria. For obvious reasons, many Westerns are avoiding these areas right now, and therefore it seems, sadly, skipping this part of Turkey all together as well. After leaving Kurdish Iraq, I traveled several hours west along the Syrian border (on the Turkish side of course), towards Kiziltepe, before pushing inland (North) to Merdin, spending a night in Diyarbakir and Malatya, with a side trip to Mt. Nemrut. Each of these journeys, except Merdin, which ironically was only half an hour from Kiziltepe, involved long hours on a bus, longer than the kilometer distance would indicate. Now, this evening, via what is meant to be a 10 hour overnight journey, I am cutting sharply east, heading almost the entire way to the Iranian frontier, for the lake town of Van.

I am quickly making headway through the country, I am on my own, completely by myself. I have not met, or even sighted, a single traveler since my arrival in Turkey; and, for that matter, I have yet to meet anyone speaking conversational English since my departure from Sulayminayah in Kurdistan, nearly a week ago! But this is the way of traveling, thoroughly enjoy one's company when you have it, and revel in those moments when you find yourself utterly and absolutely all by yourself. I am not feeling lonely during these moments, I am alone, but loving it. After all, like most dispositions in life, "alone", is a temporary phase. This state of being provides the opportunity to read, reflect, think, learn, conduct research introspectively, and develop. It is an opportunity to reconnect with yourself. Positive things arise from periodic junctures of self reflection and internalization, most notably, thoughts can be nurtured, and the time provided creates an environment where ideas can be manifested. I believe we all need this from time to time, for if anything, to decompress from the stresses evolving from the ever increasing demands of the modern World. I am lucky enough to have these moments while traveling through exotic, far away lands such as Turkey. I am very fortunate, I recognize this, there is no sense of entitlement in what I am doing. I do not take my travel experiences for granted. I have been blessed with the opportunity, ability, and foresight to travel the way I do, and for that I am very grateful.

Earlier this afternoon (Day 43), I hired a taxi from Malatya to drive several hours across barren landscapes, to a peculiar monument atop Mt. Nemrut. My literary capabilities are insufficient to reconstruct the awe inspiring panoramic views from the summit; therefore, I will not attempt to do so, instead stating simply, "it was powerful", and probably the greatest setting I've found myself on the trip thus far (rivaling even Bacherre, Lebanon). I never did determine what the monument relates to, or what its purpose was. There were no signs, and admittedly, I did no research on this one. I'm sure googleland has all the answers for anyone with 30 seconds to spare. I do know this however, my vantage point allowed me to see WAY off into the distance, and there was certainly not much to be seen in regards to civilization. I imagine at the time of construction, the land was even more inhospitable and inaccessible, therefore, providing great evidence to the dedication and perseverance the monument creators possessed. I have a lot of respect for people, past and present, who apply their mind and energy to an ambition, and proceed with passion and devotion until attainment or realization of that desire. It takes a lot of dedication to get things done in life, I applaud these people, whoever they were.

On a side note, I was hit by a truck in Merdin yesterday when a careless driver edged too closely to a crowded sidewalk, a sidewalk which I may or may not have been standing on. Luckily, or perhaps the reason I was struck, my large pack shielded me from the glancing blow, and I was absolutely unharmed. The vehicle was not moving fast at all, and the event only bears mentioning because it is the first time to my knowledge I have ever been hit by a truck! I would prefer it be the last time. I considered confronting the construction worker, and even had my chance when he turned around and headed back my way. I walked out into the middle of the road to make my plea, but my anger evaporated in the sweltering heat when, as he passed by, he had a sincere, contrite look on his face, and made an equally apologetic hand gesture. I waved and smiled, the matter was settled.

July 16, 2012
Day 45
Turkey Day 5

I arrived in Dogü from Van early this morning. Van is a decent city, possessing an elevated citadel overlooking gleaming turquoise waters of Lake Van. It was quite picturesque if I say so myself. Aside from this, two other notable events, albeit minor, occurred during my stay. First off, after several ominous clouds rolled in, about three minutes of light rain managed to eek its way out. Obviously, this is unimportant to anyone reading this, but since I haven't felt a drop of rain in over a month since my arrival to the Middle East, I found it worthy of mentioning. Secondly, it took just over four days in Turkey to come across a Turkman who spoke conversational English. It happened in the least expected place when I walked into a small shop to make a few purchases. I began with the normal short grunts and points which I have become accustomed to, before being asked forthright by the shop attendant, "do you speak English, speak English. I am English teacher." It was refreshing to speak naturally for a change, however brief it was, as it has been over a week since I left Sulayminayah (Kurdistan) and had a conversation exchange without strain. I would have liked to had dinner with this man, haha. Other travelers have been essentially non existent in this region of Turkey, and since I left Lebanon for that matter. Although it has been nice to be off the beaten path during this trip, a good conversion in the mother tongue is always welcomed.

I have attempted to keep a one city per day pace since my arrival to Turkey, and so far, it is working out that way. Dogü is home to Mt. Ararat, the highest peak in Turkey (although it was once apart of the Armenian civilization). I had considered making an attempt to scale the mountain, however, since I neglected to pack my pick axe and crampons needed to make the summit, I will have to wait until next time. Outside of the city limits is another notable relic, particularly interesting to Christians. I traveled by bus within 5km of the supposed site of the final resting place of the Biblical Noah's Arc. I guess this would be an admirable sight worth visiting, right? As I looked about the vast landscape, Mt. Ararat looming in the backdrop, it was hard not wondering where Noah would have began walking after the waters subsided. I also thought to myself, "what on earth did he do with all those animals?" After all, he would have been in the middle of nowhere, amidst harsh landscapes, and I can't imagine much food being available at the time (especially after a 40 day flood), as there still isn't much even in the present day. There are no trees, and no edible plants in sight, so, perhaps they all ate each other, I concluded? This notion is all I could conjur up, but obviously, the story is not told this way in the Bible. I have decided to brush up on this matter when I return home, but until then, I will assume there was a feast after 40 days and 40 nights of famine. Anyway, I decided to skip the site, I had other matters at hand. I pressed forward another 20km to a site that peaks my interest a little more, and has more modern implications, the Turkish border with Iran. I have never been face to face with a border I couldn't cross...until now.

As I elaborated on earlier, frontier regions are fascinating to me, I am attracted to them to no end. Even though I made the trip knowing I wouldn't be permitted to cross, my adventurous spirit and intrigue led me to check out the scene with my own eyes anyway. Since there is so much mystery shrouded around Iran and their hostile political relationship with the U.S. Government, I couldn't resist the opportunity to go knocking on the front door of the lion's den. It has been a desire of mine for several years now to make a visit to Iran, and I will one day, it just won't be on this trip. Some people may think I am crazy (possibly, but not likely) to want to visit such an American hating country, one that could prove very hazardous to my health and well being, but I disagree. Politicians and those close to the Government aside, Iranians are supposedly very welcoming people, and their culture is rich in history and tradition, which alone, makes it a desirable destination. I have met many travelers (and Iranians) over the years who highly recommend a stop over in the country. Backpackers I've spoke to have even gone so far as to claim Iran as the highlight of their traveling experiences. Not that I needed a recommendation to visit, this only confirmed my ambition to do so. As it turns out, the border was a little boring. There were no gun fights, no helicopters flying over head, no secret plots against the U.S. (at least not visible), no tension whatsoever. This is a joke for those who don't know, obviously I was not expecting any such things when I arrived, although they would have made for a much more interesting story. Although it didn't happen today, one day, Iran will join the "I have", rather than the "I have not", of countries I have visited, it is only a matter of time now.

July 17, 2012
Day 46
Turkey Day 6

Green rolling hills connected by semi-flat plateaus, dotted with herds of cow and sparsely scattered villages, shadowed by steep, jagged mountains in the distance. The sun beaming, the climate cool, puffy white clouds mingling amongst a sky of baby blue. Large mountains adorned with patches of snow along the summits, and flat plateaus showing signs of agricultural maintenance. The vast space possesses an inviting quality to it. The enchanting vista promotes happiness within, its magnetism isinescapable. This scene describes the surreal landscape that awaited me on my bus trip from Igidir to Kars. As the bus rambled through Northeastern Turkey, parallel to the Armenian border, I watched in awe, and couldn't help but think to myself, "this is why I travel".

Kars itself, flamboyant in its array of pastel colored buildings, is an interesting city, and my favorite in Eastern Turkey. The city's location has proved influential in its development over the years. Geographically, it is located near the borders of Armenia and Georgia, both of which are former members of the debunked Soviet Union. Impressions of these three civilizations resonate in the architecture and character of this quirky city. These features, combined with the imposing 12th century Seljuk fortress (later upgraded by the Ottomans in the 16th century) overlooking one end of the city, and spacious, rolling green hills on the other end, produce an aesthetically pleasing dynamic. Welcome to Kars.

At the Otogar (bus station) I met a Frenchman, who in his "real" life is an Art teacher from Paris on Summer holidays. Currently, he too is on an adventure, a cycling excursion encompassing the Eastern region of Turkey, and plans to cross the entirety of the Georgian Republic. He escorted me to the Azerbaijan consulate where I hoped to obtain a visa (to no avail), so we had a few moments to chat. Over the years, he has been on many such endurance trips, cycling from Turkey to Iran, through Syria, and at different times across Spain, Norway, and of course, France. Our conversation sparked an idea (not the first time this idea has sparked) that cycling a country might be something I enjoy doing in one day, so I put it on the list. This is the problem with traveling, the more you think you are knocking things off the "bucket list", the longer that list becomes in reality. I now have way more things I want to do with my life (ie, float the Amazon, ride the trans Siberian railway, cross the Gobi desert and the Silk Road, sail Oceania, etc. etc.), than I could have ever imagined when I first started traveling.

Although the feats of my Frenchman friend are certainly impressive, they are not all that uncommon. Over the years, I have met numerous travelers on such ventures. Most memorably, while backpacking through Latin America in 2008, I met a group of five guys biking their way from Alaska to Puerto Del Fuego at the Southern tip of Argentina. I met them in Panama, which meant they had already peddled thousands of miles to get to that point! I would like to know what ever became of them, especially since the next leg of their journey took them across the Darian Gap, a notoriously dangerous area for everyone, not just gringos. I personally opted to sail around the Darian Gap, which is a huge stretch of land connecting Panama to Colombia, and infested with everything from malarial mosquitos and snakes, to Narco traffickers and Para Military. To my knowledge, the Pan American highway ends at the foot of the Darian Gap, and there are no accessible roads through the hostile terrain. I believe my biker buddies intended to travel via the shoreline along the beaches. I am sure they must have made it safely as I never heard any news about five Western bicyclists disappearing in the Panamanian jungles. At the time, I was on a four month overland quest of my own, stretching from Southern Mexico to Northern Chile. I had an option of flying over the Gap, but this would have defeated the purpose of an "overland" trip. So I sailed, which I will justify as technically still being "overland", since water floats, over land. That may be a weak argument to some, but the events which prompted that sailing trip, and the things that occurred before and after highlight one of the greatest travel moments of my life.

Every seasoned traveler has their own unique way of traversing the countries they visit. Some cycle, others have motorbikes or hired cars, while some choose hitchhiking and public transportation (my preferred method at the moment). Further still, some choose to fly, sail, or even walk, although admittedly, I have yet to meet anyone walking a country. Everyone gets their kicks somehow, the point is, they all get out there and GO, they are seeing the World, one way or another, and that is what it's all about. The freedom to go and explore, and the choice to exercise that freedom is a powerful combination. Once you've taken the leap of faith to step out, it is hard to imagine life any other way, I know I can't.

July 18, 2012
Day 47
Turkey Day 7

Today began like any other day, on the open road that is, which in travel speak means expect nothing, and expect everything. There are certain days that will define a journey, an epic day always to be associated with a trip, a day unlike any other day, a day that will be remembered for the rest of your life. It are days like this that culminate and come to characterize your adventurous spirit within, and capture the youthful moments in your life you will look back on one day and say, "yeah, I did that!". Life is too short, live it up, go with the unexpected, go down the road less traveled, and go freely, your one chance at life happens now.

Forty five kilometers from the city of Kars are the ancient ruins of Ani. In its heyday, Ani sat as an economic hub of the Armenian civilization (although now it sits in present day Turkey), and was a major transit center for the legendary Silk Road. Even in its state of ruin, the historical site possesses an aura of importance that would have been otherworldly a millennium ago. Several of the structures, in ancient Armenian style, are still very much intact and impressive. Most of the fortress wall is dilapidated, and the bridge that once crossed a deep gorge is only a skeleton of its former self. Nevertheless, the site was striking, and took me back momentarily to the glory days of the region.

At the ruins, I met an American (my first since the Hemingway family in Kurdistan) from Colorado. We toured the grounds together and discussed a number of things from history and travel, to the rotary club (the organization he is affiliated with and paid for his studies in Istanbul), and the current and future state of civilization. This subject matter might seem a little irregular, but mind you, I haven't spoken to another traveler in weeks, therefore, a lot of catching up was necessary. My new friend spoke Turkish, among other languages, and I once again felt the surge of inspiration to learn another language. This goal is something that keeps speaking to me, and it's just about time I begin talking back.

Sometimes, one chance moment leads to a fateful encounter, that leads to another moment, which changes everything. As I prepared to leave Ani, my taxi driver handed me a cell phone, apparently I had a call. Since I dont know anyone in the country, I found this occurance to be odd. The voice on the other end instructed me to pay my driver immediately, a different taxi awaited to take
me back to Kars. I followed the mysterious instructions, located my new taxi driver outside the ruins gate (the driver also happened to be escorting my new American friend), and we set off for Kars. I had Mr. America translate to the taxi driver to step on it, I had a bus to the Republic of Georgia, and it was leaving in just under an hour. The wheels of life had been set in motion.

The taxi was cruising right along the empty landscape, not a village, building, or any sign of life in sight. We were about halfway back to Kars when suddenly a man appeared on the horizon, carrying a brown leather rucksack. As we pulled up, I recognized him straight away as a Westerner. As it turns out, Frank is from the Czech Republic. We offered him a lift which he accepted, and our taxi immediately began abuzz with conversation. We had so many questions for him, and vice versa. Frank had been on the road for four weeks, his primary method of travel has been hitchhiking, even in the most remote of areas. He had already traversed the countries of Georgia, Azerbaijan, Kurdistan (Iraq), and now Turkey. He was heading back to Georgia, and would begin hitchhiking his way there as soon as we returned to Kars. Frank was surprised to learn of a bus leaving for the border at 1pm, and reluctantly decided it would be more effecient to take a bus to Georgia. Since we were both headed in the same direction it was set, Frank and I would travel as far as the border together.

So it seems, there was no 1pm bus. Misinformation is a common theme when traveling, language barriers, alterior motives, lack of knowledge, etc, all contribute to this epidemic. I fell victim to it this afternoon. Or did I? Everything happens for a reason, for very seemingly negative event, there is a silver lining waiting for your discovery. A bus to the city of Posof and the Georgian border was not until 5pm, but my adventure had not stalled, I didn't recognize it at the time, but the journey had yet to begin.

Impatient and unwilling to sit around four hours in waiting, Frank and I boarded the first bus headed north, for the city of Damal, 50km from the Georgian frontier. We did this against the protests of the bus station attendants, who we later learned were trying to inform us there was no onward transportation from Damal to Posof. Since it had been these same attendants who misinformed me on the bus schedule just a day earlier, I was reluctant to listen to anything they had to say, so off we went. The minibus we took was more like a cargo container than a passenger vehicle. Every conceivable space was filled with as many people and goods as could possibly fit. The perfect storm of events was brewing.

When Frank and I arrived in Damal an hour and a half later, we were led into a small shop where a group of older gentleman were drinking cáy (tea) and playing backgammon. We were told here to wait, and I presumed someone would arrive shortly to assist us, afterall, by now, half the village knew we were trying to get to the border. Ten minutes later, the driver of our cargo container returned. He spoke something in Turkish, made several hasty hand gestures, stepped back into his van, and drove away, he was gone. Several concerned villagers made attempts to assist us with their own versions of hand gesticulations and uninterpretable language, but the message was becoming very clear, we would now begin our travels overland, on foot.

Frank and I walked about ten minutes along the empty road to Posof when two cars drove by. We gestured the international sign for hitchhiking (a hand waving down, not a thumb in the air), but the cars sped by in a flash. In fact, I heard one of these cars accelerate as he whipped past us. Five minutes later, a red tractor approached. Frank looked to me and amusingly asked if he should flag it down. With a bright smile on my face I exclaimed, "of course!". A minute later, we were whizzing (at a max speed of 15 kilometers an hour) down a curvy road, meandering through lush green rolling hills of Northeastern Turkey. We took this cramped transportation for nearly half an hour, before our driver turned off the main road, allowed us out, and we began our mission on foot again.

Our road ahead now ascended a long hill, snaking along all the way to the horizon. We moved in this direction for half an hour, several cars passing, but to no avail. Finally, a small bus pulled up, and we thought a stroke of luck had found us. Five minutes later, the driver stopped halfway up the hill, allowed several villagers to exit, and then attempted to extort us for a ride to Posof. A bus from Kars to Istanbul, covering over 1000km in distance costs roughly 80-100 Turkish Lira ($44 - $55). This opportunistic driver wanted 70TL just to transport us the remaining 25km to Posof, a direction he was headed anyway! Needless to say, we tossed our packs from the van, and once again proceeded with our quest to the border on foot.

By this time, we were high enough up the hill/mountain to see deep into the valley from which we came. Like little specks along the roadway, we made out a line of trucks slowly creeping towards our direction. We continued our trek up for more than half an hour before the first of these trucks began to pass. The truck as turns out was part of a small oil fleet crossing the range, headed for delivery in Georgia. The first two trucks passed, offering nothing more than sentimental hand gestures as consolation. The problem I noticed was the oil tankers were already struggling up the steep incline, so when the third truck began approaching, we sped up to a short, flat plateau preceding its arrival. As the truck crested the plateau, we were spotted, the driver slowly veered off the road, and an outstretched arm emerged from window. In his hand was a set of keys to the passenger side door, we had our lift! It didn't take long for my Czech friend to make an acute observation. On the license plate of the truck, he noticed a strange set of symbols. Five years ago, Frank had spent a month in a country who's people speak "Farci", he quickly recognized these strange symbols to be numbers from this language. We had spent nearly 2 hours walking, attempting to flag down drivers for a lift to Posof, and then onward to the border. Now we had found it, but from the most unlikely source, an Iranian fleet of oil men transporting pure crude from their motherland, across Turkey, to the Republic of Georgia! What a day, what a day, a storm was brewing indeed.

The ride with the oil man, Tahir, was slow, but comfortable. Sharp, winding mountain roads are not ideal for 18 wheelers transporting highly explosive materials. Tahir proceeded with caution, and at times, too cautiously I thought (but speeding faster would be a hard argument for me to win with any sane person). We made several stops along the way, first to check on a fellow oilman who appeared at first to be broken down (but wasn't), and later, to make a water stop at a natural spring and check on another truck appearing to be have issues (but didn't). It took several hours to finish climbing the mountain face and descend the valley waiting for us on the other side. This whole time however, I couldn't help but grin with amusement at my situation. With all the political turmoil going on between Iran and the U.S., and especially after the recent tightening of sanctions, including an embargo on oil shipments to Europe which continues to choke the Iranian economy, and here I was, hitching a ride with a fleet of the very drivers by Government is adversely impacting. I am not amused at the plight inflicted on their industry, as undoubtably these are honest, hard working men, I just couldn't help but see the irony of the situation. And later, when the truck driver appeared to lose his way, it was I who helped navigate the way, thereby us both helping each other, although admittedly, he was far more helpful to Frank and I than the other way around.

We pulled up to the Turkey - Georgia border at 8:30pm, and said our goodbyes to Tahir. Overall, it had taken us nearly 6 hours to travel from Kars to the border, a journey which with our own car would have lasted just two and a half. But this journey was not a bad thing. In my mind, I was a blessed to meet Frank, to be misinformed by the bus schedule, to take a dead end bus to Damal, to hitch my way to the border via a tractor, a hustling bus driver, and an Iranian oil tanker driver. These are the moments of travel lore, and never to be replaced in my mind. But this day of epic proportions had not yet concluded.

8:30pm Turkey time, is 9:30pm Georgia time, and unfortunately for us, the Georgian border closed at 9:00pm. Frank has been traveling with his tent the past four weeks, and during this time he has paid for accommodation only once, either invited to stay with locals he meets, or choosing to pitch his tent in secluded areas. We had already discussed the probability of having to do this if the borders were closed, so I was expecting as much when we arrived. I have camped many times before, never on the side of a road in a foreign country (unless you count the half dozen times I slept in my rental car in Africa), but I was more than willing to do so. As it would happen, the friendly border guards (perhaps out of pity), decided it was worth their time to open the border for one last set of strangers. In the end, they didn't even bother running our bags through the luggage scanners, simply waving their hands for us to proceed. "Welcome to Georgia", they exclaimed. Welcome to Georgia indeed, I thought to my self.

Although we were prepared to walk along the empty road and find somewhere out of site to sleep, a car awaited us outside the immigration office. His asking price was too high, so, as intended, we entered into the blackness. Several minutes later, the car pulled up behind us, and after a little wrangling on Franks behalf (he speaks some Russian which has come in very handy), we drove off for the town of , 20km away. We pulled up to the cheapest hotel available, a spacious communist era building, and secured a room. Parked in the lobby of the hotel was a lone bicycle, packed to the brim with saddle bags and gear. Confident this bike belonged to my cycling Frenchman friend, I asked for the room number of the bike owner, and knocked on his door. The man behind the door was certainly French, but definitely not the guy I met in Turkey, I apologized and he closed the door. Afterwards, I thought it was silly for me to have assumed it might be the same guy. After all, what were the odds we would be heading in the same direction in Georgia, and stay at the same hotel.

For Frank, this was only the second night he paid for accommodation. He chose the best night of all nights to make this decision. Sometimes the people we meet affect us, in both the short and long term. If I had not met Frank, I certainly would not have been hitchhiking this day, and he would have pitched his tent somewhere, which on this evening would have proved disastrous with dire consequences. Everything happens for a reason, we were meant to meet, and are far better of for it.

After checking into our Soviet era hotel, we set off for much need grub, it had been more than ten hours since I had eaten anything other than a handful of dates. At first, everything in town appeared closed, but eventually we found a small whole in the wall tucked away nicely in the basement of an old building. As we walked down the stairs into the restaurant, the experience was like stepping back in time. The paint on the walls was chipping away, exposing the large stones underneath. The linoleum table cloth was like something out of 1950's Soviet Union, and the gangly group of beer drinkers staring at us as we walked in was reminiscent of an Eastern European movie, right before all hell broke loose. And as it turns out, all hell was in fact about to be unleashed. We had just finished our meal of diced steak, fried potatoes, and a substance resembling dim sum, when a humming noise began filling the room. At first this rattle was barely audible, within half a minute, the faint humming erupted into a symphony of pandemonium. The explosive commotion was deafening, and the entire room went mad with excitement. Everyone rushed to the door to witness what was happening. The apocalyptic scene that unfolded in front of me is nearly indescribable. The dark night had turned white with rain, wind whipping like a hurricane, and large droplets smashing everything in site, I couldn't even see across the road anymore. I quickly realized the error in my thought of rain when one of these "droplets" flew under the overhang I stood beneath, and slammed into my abdomen. An acute pain shot through my body and I immediately feared another was on its way for my face. I immediately sought safety and took shelter in the confines of the restaurant. It was not a rainstorm raging outside, I had nearly walked straight into a blizzard of marble sized hail!

I have seen hail before, but never anything of this magnitude. Apparently my new friends hadn't either, because their facial reactions said it all. Surprise is a universally known expression, no language barrier there. The deluge of hail lasted almost twenty minutes, and by the time the storm ceased, Frank and I had switched tables to sit with our Georgian comrades. Shots of vodka and beer began to flow. Frank speaks conversational Russian, unfortunately, I do not. But this did not stop us all from conversing. Language had no bearing at this point, we were drinking, laughing, a crazy storm was going on outside, and manic energy had set in. Having a good time is also a universal experience, and that's exactly what we had for the next hour. Another round of shots was passed around, and the laughter intensified. The vodka finally ran out, the restaurant closed, and we spilled into the streets to witness the aftermath of the carnage. A layer of ice covered everything, a smokey haze crowded the streets, and lights from police vehicles reflected all around. A television crew was filming the scene, and asked us to join the shot. We were obliging to them, and went sprinting across the street, throwing handfuls of hail in the air. For the occasion, I was like a child again.

Genuine happiness from this days events filled my soul. I could have never imagined what laid in store for me when I rose from bed in Kars in the early morning hours. I was now traveling with a guy I hadn't known at the onset of the day. Even stranger, I only met him because he was walking down a desolate road and my can driver found that odd enough to stop and see if he was okay. Now together, we had gone on the craziest adventure across northeast Turkey and into Georgia; and what better way to cap it all off than throwing hail in the air with a group of drunk Georgians with a camera crew filming the spectacle of a destructively rare hail storm. This is the beauty of traveling, it brings out the youthful energy within all of us. Everyday is another chance for adventure, you never know who you may meet, where you may go, how you might get there, and what you may get yourself into. Traveling is powerful, the opportunities are endless, you just have to open your eyes and GO, you never know what you may see. After just one epic night in Georgia (I will return, I think), I am off to a country which twenty hours earlier I didn't believe I was allowed to visit. I was under the impression more paperwork than what I had was needed to visit this country, but Frank revieled this myth within an hour after of our meeting. My plan to plan nothing is paying off, with dividends, I am off for Armenia, Let's GO!