[Expat Voice] All aboard the İstanbul express

    “Will I want to take trips every weekend?” I asked. “Ankara's a big city, isn't it?” My friend laughed. “You'll see,” he said. “Ankara... it's not the craziest place.” He was right. While I didn't take an excursion every weekend, I did feel the itch to abandon Ankara with some frequency. And while the train had its charms, the Otogar beckoned. I soon caught the travel bug.

    Unfortunately, the travel bug's expensive. By the time Ankara's limitless charm had worn off and I'd packed my bags for İstanbul, I had depleted most of my travel funds. I started pinching kuruş -- buying one lahmacun instead of two, forgoing the ayran with my lunchtime döner and so on.  My thriftiness, though useful, occasionally got me into trouble. Like this night, where Abdul and I are shivering in the vast expanse of the Otogar, nervously eyeing each other, stealing glimpses at our alleged bus driver. "These guys for real?" I ask, nodding over to the huddled Turkish men in track jackets. They don't have an Otogar booth, and their business model seems to revolve around shouting that they're going to İstanbul for TL 25 -- five less than everyone else.

    That's the offer which drew me, a poor college student looking to squeeze every last yeni from my remaining Türk lirası on my way to İstanbul. I don't know what drew Abdul here. But considering he arrived from Sudan two months ago and carries all his worldly possessions in a plastic bag, I imagine he has much the same reasons I do.

    "I think so. I hope they're real," he says. "I don't have any more money." We might have reason to worry. All the passing Turks, the "locals," ignore these guys. Our tickets bear no reassuring "T.C." stamp, not even a company name. Mohammed, my friend in Ankara, hadn't been sure either. He peppered the jacketed Turks with questions, finally deciding I could buy my ticket. "But," he told me, his voice grave, "you call me the moment you get on the bus. Lazım. It is necessary."

    I've come to enjoy riding Turkish buses. When I arrived in Turkey, my first stop was the İstanbul Otogar. İstanbul's charms beckoned, yes, but my program, my lodgings and (most importantly) my friends were in Ankara. In Turkey, friends come first. I chose for my journey the Metro bus company (TL 30). I chose not out of any brand preference. They just happened to be leaving first. The charm of the Turkish bus hit me immediately. A woman smartly dressed in a Metro uniform, complete with blue and orange hat, guided me to my seat. She bravely poured water for each of us, not spilling a drop, despite the bus' jags and jitters. And… was that tea?

    "Of course it's tea," the cab driver next to me said. "After all, we're Turks. More sugar please," he said, smiling at the stewardess. “Tea, water, friendly faces and free snacks," I thought. "Turkish buses are the best in the world." My continued travels, in my attempt to escape Ankara, had continually proven this true. Now, as I hustle through the Otogar with Abdul at my side, it occurs to me this bus journey may not be as relaxing as I'm used to. Apparently, our bus is about to leave without us, and our salesman yells, "Gel, abi, gel -- hızlı," as he sprints up a flight of stairs.

    Abdul and I frown at each other. I thought I knew this station pretty well. Aren't the bus piers in the other direction? But it turns out we're not going to the bus piers. We're leaving the Otogar, hustling toward an abandoned car lot. An old Benz van from the '70s is warming up. Our ride. It still seems a bit sketchy. (A word, incidentally, I've found myself unable to adequately translate into Turkish.) But it's a bus. I dutifully call Mohammed. Then, ignoring the cramped seats, weird smell and lack of tea, I drift toward sleep. When I wake up, one of the jacketed men from the terminal is in front of me. He has a smile now, and he wishes me a good sleep as he pours perfume on my hands. Suddenly, the bus smells a little better, and the seats feel a little less cramped.

    Turkey. Always ready to shatter your expectations. However, next time I may splurge on the 5 extra lira for a Metro bus. After all, they have tea.