Magic number nine…

Nine hours is a long time to be surrounded by beautiful scenery and not much else to do but look at it.

Nine hours is a long time to have questions about what’s going on, but no one who speaks English (and our Turkish remaining negligible).

Nine hours on a bus is just a long time, full stop. But that was the only way we could get from Anatlya to Cappadocia, so nine hours on a bus, we did.

There’s only so long you can look out a window and admire the prettiness flashing by before you start to get, ummm, bored out of your freaking mind.. Even gawking at the people around you loses it’s fascination, and I’m a world champion gawker usually.

So we (sometimes just me) found ourselves tacking some of the big questions in life. The true, end of the world brain benders, if you will. With no conclusion to any of them. It’s tough being this insightful and curious…

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What is it with the frigging cats? Who owns them, why are there so many of them and surely someone must be planning on doing something about this! Turkey is overrun by cats (to prove it, my next post is just photos of cats I’ve collected along the way…) And also, since there are so many cats, why can’t E find a goddamn postcard of one to send to Jude?!?!

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Was it coincidence or consideration that all our stops coincided with prayer time (1pm, 5pm and 7pmish)? No one seemed to be doing any praying, just lots of eating from dubious Bain Marie’s found in the roadhouses we stopped at. And what is it in every one of those Bain Marie’s that looks brown and stodgy, but the locals on our bus continue to eat with great gusto?

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The second bus-break was literally a Turkish delight market. About 200 meters of shops filled with sweet drinks and Turkish delight (and halva). Do dentists make a fortune in this country? How is it Turkish people’s teeth aren’t falling out?

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Why is the evil eye called that? If it’s warding off evil, shouldn’t it be called the good eye? I thought giving the evil eye was a bad thing… (and reminder to self – must buy some for new home).

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Is Mickey Mouse really the right look for a kids playground in the middle of a beautiful nature park?

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Does that kid three seats back seriously have to stop the entire bus to pee again?! (okay, in my defense of criticizing little people, we were stopping about every 45 mins in addition to the scheduled stops, so this 3 year old could extract the insane amounts of juice that he w consuming. Having said that, the male conductors on the bus were all pretty adorable and would cover him by have at least one, often more, standing arond him as a modesty curtain).

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And when will this bus ride end? I’m bored of being surrounded by stunning panaromic views…. (insert spoilt child tantrum here).

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