Salt of the Earth

The travel guitar, ¾ sized for easy transport into Europe, rests on Sam’s knee, quiet a moment. Jamming with trashcan percussion, harmonica and guitar to Sam’s limited repertoire of sing alongs; the incessant honking of Turkish drivers laying on their horns even in the late night breaks the momentary silence through the open window of our eight person hostel dorm room. Andrew and Madeline take the moment to say good night and head down the hall for the evening. Two German students traveling together through Istanbul befriended us with broken English and so we stayed up that first night smoking apple rose nargile and learning playing backgammon and sipping the cider rich apple cay between hands of cards, the live music of local instruments keeping spirits and energy high late into the night. We arose and with warm embraces parted way as Madeline was heading next to Ethiopia and Andrew into Berlin. Ukraine’s finest tri-athlete, Daniel, spoke up next suggesting a cigarette. Watching as the smoke hung heavy on my friends' lips and slowly dissipated into the humid sticky evening air or clouded around the single bright bare bulb lighting our room I had to laugh as I remembered Daniel’s farcical swimming cap and ‘leave nothing to the imagination’ skin liberating Speedo. Each bare chest however, catching judging glances from passerbyer’s in this modest Islamic country. No shame in Danny’s eyes stripping to near nothing; the same self assuredness apparent as he refuses to get in ‘dis cold water, I get a cold and sick is bad for triathlon in Tarsus’ and so lights another cigaro to pass the time while we swim. Danny’s boisterousness was offset by the wonderful food he had made and packed from Kiev, and we were glad to have him in our crew for the eccentric flavor it added. With the nights last song enjoyed I entered into attempted discourse with Vincent from Boudreaux concerning subjective and objective reality and its bearing on the meaning of human existence. Phil, the Australian chef drifter, offering his own simple philosophies to the discussion in an English more indecipherable (albeit suffering from his philosophy of choice for the evening, ‘why not have a beer, when you can have a beer?’) then the Frenchman’s. (Mismatched pack of Vagrants) Fitting, that in a city of cultural crossroads our comrades come from diverse lands. Epitomizing the character of easy going, our new friends have proven to be invaluable aspects of truly enjoying and experiencing our travels. Good bye’s said—although not in actuality; a Canadian named Andrew meshing into our small group of American students for the trip to Athens, and plans made for Phil to stay and cook fine and real dinners for us on his way through Athens—we commenced our arduous journey to Athens.

(Turkey waving goodbye)