ThreeLeftHands are Three again

While Minne motivated the bus driver to get up with Doutzen for 24 hours straight, Henk and Mukkes decided to enjoy Minne’s absence in Izmir. It only took a few minutes before the brave duo was asked to come get a cup of tea in a cozy Jazz-café. Before they knew it, our heroes were led through a labyrinth of small doors and hallways to a shabby room not greatet than 3 square meters. There was no jazz here, but instead Henk and Mukkes got smartly rid of their money. Its a good thing we live without big money. When a gun lying on a table was noticed by Henk, the men made a wise decision and left for the centre, where Minne should arrive any moment. Because Izmir has no less than four busstations, this also went wrong. After a good half an hour of shouting and cursing however, the men could be reunited again.

Butterfly valley was the place to go

Unfortunatly, the Turkish coast is filled with biblical cities and Greek Mythology, so we couldn’t be blamed for spending the night in the ruins of Efeze. After being waked up by an alarm imitating police officer, the temple of Zeus at Eurosmos came in sight. While collecting some sands (some people do that.) and enjoying the mighty structure, a Turkish family invited us to a picknick. Besides excellent food we also got a free course of how to make your own olives, so we can enjoy our own olives somewhere in Israel. We found out the hard way that this little fruit tastes very bad when eaten fresh.

The valley we were heading could only be reached by boat, unless you’re a proffesional climber. Of course, we had to see this for ourselves and so it was first gear up the mountain. By this we also found out that our Doutzen is excellent for the Turkish mountains. Quickly a beautifull valley was spotted and as the brave men that we are, we started to climb downhill towards butterflies and sea. After quite a hike of thirty minutes Henk found out that a pair of armyboots would come in handy and some hippy camps could be discovered. The bearded local scum told us that our climb was useless, because we climed a vallay to far. The road back in the dark was a big challenge, so unsuprisingly we lost track. On this unfortunate climb Henk and Minne got stung by a red-yellowish kind of flying chicken egg, which caused an immidiate paralization. This lasted only for a week, and now only a big black open wound remains. We would like to know if someone can tell us the origin of this creature and how we can retain our limbs.

After the untrained alpinists got in to the right valley without a scratch, the butterflies seemed already to be gone. This setback didn’t kept us from spending a few nights in this small piece of heaven.  With the tourist season gone, the government wanted the wooden sleeping cabins broken down to the ground,  this was for us a nice opportunity to stick our hands out, while earning a comfortably bed with good food. So, next time when you fly as real tourists to the Turkey, take the effort to get in the car and drive one hour west of Alanya to trade your all-inclusive hotelroom for a wooden hut without any western comfort in a wonderfull atmosphere and beautifull nature.

On our way to Syria

There was a non-interesting castle in Alanya which was a fine campling place for our Doutzen. By accident the ruined house, which was parked next to our van, was for sale and has been tripled in price by our nightly visit. As Alanya being a hotel-city for tourists, there wasn’t much going on for us, so on we went. (MOOI WAT ON IN DEZE ZIN)

The next day we drove down the coast for a couple of hours, dropped down on a beach somewhere and started up our washingmachine-fire. Offcourse locals recognized us from far away as real popstars, which resulted in a big dance and a lot of fun. After that the local bar-owner Fahrid took us in like family, filled us with the local liquer called Raki and dragged is into the town-pubs with live music. Luckily the next morning he also arranged a good nutricous breakfast with a lot of Turkish tea, kindly solving Henks logical hangover. In the same town Mukkes and Minne took a dump in the mosque and came to the conlusion that the strange middle-east toilet tradition wasn’t so bad afteral. The toilet ain’t more than a hole in the ground and paper has been replaced by your left hand and  water. Hanging above the hole for a couple of times, we finally got the hang of it and are a little bit dissapointed when on next stop we discover it has a normal western-toilet.  With this we are not only saving tons of toiletpaper, it also feels more hygenic. This sounds maybe a little bit weird, but our daily habit is the discussion of our toilet experiences, from which we read our fysical condition. We can go further in detail, but summarizing we can conclude that the local food didn’t had a bad influance on us (yet).

Again further down the coast in Adana we seemed to stay in a national park, where our washing-machine was quite interesting for the local firemen. Luckily these man in pajamas came after we finished our meal, so we decided to get out of Turkey. Turkey has been good for us. A beautifull country, only with to high (fuel) prices.

After driving through the night, in 4 o’clock in the morning a couple of old cabins, closed gates and sleeping uniforms was the Syrian border. A superior veteran with a overgrown upper-lip told us that we had to pay a mighty 260 dollars to get Doutzen over the border. Offcourse we didn’t agreed with his statement and decided to sleep the morning on it, therefor promoting the border-crossing to the temporary campsite for our super-model.

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