Her Yerde Sanat is a non-profit association which uses art and circus as a tool for social justice and good. For Afghan, Iraqi, Syrian and Kurdish children who have witnessed atrocities which would give them no reason to smile or laugh ever again, Her Yerde Sanat brings joy and healing from trauma. Children are taught circus arts and in return they become teachers and mentors for other children.

Volunteer teachers and trainers come from all corners of the world for classes, workshops and festivals – all living and playing together in a 40-bed dormitory sharing just one bathroom and kitchen. September is one of the busiest time, hosting the International Circus Festival. Julien spent his days improving his juggling skills, whilst I played with the hula hoop. It will be a little while yet before we are ready for Cirque du Soleil.

We headed towards the gateway of ancient Mesopotamia, along part of the historic trade route of the Silk Road. The world slowly began to metamorphose. The architecture once grey now sand, with only mosques towering over the horizon. The road there was littered with agricultural fields: wheat, corn, cotton. A modern-day testament to the historical fertile crescent, a fertile plateau in an otherwise arid environment. The sun burns hotter. The air arid. The multiple calls to prayer of the minarets sing louder here. This region of Turkey is less influenced by European culture. You are stepping into the Middle East.

Women are more conservatively dressed. They no longer walk side-by-side with their husbands, rather a  few feet behind. Physical contact between genders is non existent with a forcefield seemingly keeping the two genders apart. We sat at a local cafe for a traditional turkish breakfast of menemen and bread. After our meal, Julien leans in closely and puts his arm around my shoulders. We are abrasively asked to leave. Our behaviour had offended the shopkeeper. His expression is full of distain, as if he had just watched pornography. It is definitely a culture we are not yet accustomed to.

If it wasn’t for the sound of fighter jets, and the widespread availability of modern technology, the culture and architecture may have tricked you into a degree of time travel. The fighter jets? We had been cut off from the news for a few weeks, but we could sense the tension in the air.

Since the border was drawn after the fall of the Ottoman Empire in WWI, there has been much conflict between the Kurds and Turks in this region. The Kurds are an ethnic group who have resided on lands which cover modern day Iraq, Syria & Turkey. Unfortunately, the English and French failed to recognised them and they were never offered their own land. So for decades, they have been squatting over 3 countries, sometimes separated from their own family by an imaginary line. Despite their disagreements, there had been some recent peace between the Kurds and the Turks with the signature of a peace treaty. But when their fellow Kurds began to fall in Syria, with the impending threat of the Islamic State, this inevitably placed tension on the fragile relationship between the two ethnicities.

We no longer met tourists, only journalists. They had travelled far and wide to catch what was unfolding in Kobane. We rested in Sanliurfa. There had been great tension further East in Turkey. Turks, Kurds and Islamic State sympathisers have had  extremely violent clashes. Several roads had been closed. Turkish Armed Forces mobilised to impose a curfew.

The National: Army imposes curfew after 18 killed in Turkey

Meanwhile, air strikes were going on 70 kilometres from where we were.

Despite the tension, we rested in Sanliurfa. Life was normal there as ever.

Sanliurfa is the proclaimed birthplace of Abraham (or Ibrahim in Islam). Abraham is an important figure for Muslims, due to his example of unrelenting faith. The second most important celebration (Eid) is dedicated to the story of Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his only son. In Sanliurfa, the legendary Pool of Sacred Fish (Turkish = Balikli Gol) tells the story of Abraham thrown into the fire by Nimrod. In this story (according to Islam), God (or Allah in Islam) turns the flames into water and the burning logs into fish. These fish are sacred, so no fishing or swimming with them. However, you can pay a small price for fish food and watch in excitement a feeding frenzy. Locals believe that if you see a white carp (in amongst the sea of black), you will be blessed in life. We didn’t.

Just next door to Balikli Gol is the Ayn-i Zeliha Lake. She is the daughter of Nimrod, and the story goes (well there are two versions to this story): 1. the lake are her tears for Abraham after he was thrown into the fire, or 2. she jumped into the flames with Abraham and God turned her into water. Like with many attractions in this region, the stories that follow are more impressive than the physical attraction itself.

Sanliurfa is also the closest port of call to Gobekli Tepe, thought to be one of the oldest temples in the world. If you have never heard of Gobekli Tepe. I suggest you do your own research. This theory throws into disarray the current view on the evolution of human civilisation. I will leave this at that before we enter all sorts of conspiracy theory debates.

Sanliurfa is also a port of call to the beehive houses of Harran. Various religious prophets have been noted to past through Harran. The design of these mud houses are inspired by old nomadic tents. However the uncanny resemblance to breasts and the phallic nature of the minarets makes me think, perhaps Turkey has a little Freudian tendencies hiding in its midst.

So far, in Turkey, most people want to know how old you are and whether you are married or not. For a female, it is always safer to say yes. If you are travelling with a male, pretend you are married or engaged, even if you’re only friends. And always sit in the back or closest to the door. Never sit next to a Turkish male, he might see this as you soliciting sexual advances from him. Crazy, but it’s very common.

If you’re name is Natasha or Tatiana, or anything remotely sounding Russian or Eastern European, consider making a fake name just while you hitch-hike. Turkey has a history of female sex workers coming from these parts of the world, so much that these names have become synonymous with prostitution.

And dress modestly, even conservatively. Denim short and a singlet top may not get much notice back home, but in rural Turkey, you will be turning heads.

With all that said, hitch-hiking is super fun and incredibly easy in Turkey. You will never be waiting for more than 15 minutes, and most often you’ll be picked up between 30 seconds to 5 minutes of sticking your thumb out.

I hitch-hiked with my partner this time in Turkey, and we were amazed at how easy hitch-hiking is in Turkey. Cardboard signs usually helped to communicate where we wanted to go, but also unnecessary. Muslims who practice their faith, firmly believe that you have to help someone who looks like they are in need. And guess what, when it comes to hitch-hiking, being in a predominately Muslim country like Turkey means you will always get picked up.

We learnt key phrases in Turkish such as: Hello. How are you? What is your name? My name is… How old are you? I am .. years old. Are you married? We are married. Do you have any children? No, we don’t have any children. Maybe later. Where are you from? I am from Australia, He is from France. We worked in a small hostel in Kadikoy, Istanbul. Where are you going? We are going to … I’m sorry. I don’t understand. I speak Turkish, only a little bit. Thank you. Goodbye.

I was always pretty quick with languages so I did most of the talking, as my French partner search through a French-Turkish dictionary we had bought in a second-hand bookshop in Istanbul, pointing at words and creating more interpretive but highly hilarious conversations.

Even though it is easy to hitch-hike, you still have to keep sharp. You’ll be riding in a cloud of smoke (everyone smokes in their car in Turkey), in some dodgy cars where the windows don’t wind down and it is almost 40 degrees outside, plenty of Renault 12 models, trucks delivering tomatoes and cucumbers across the country, the occasional drunk driver at 3pm, Turkish men evading the police (and don’t make jokes about your immigration status unless you want to further unleash their paranoia), Turkish men who think masturbating while driving is ok, and even a Turkish mobster in an Audi sportscar who needs to do a small detour to speak with his friend “Stefano” who owes a Ferrari with personalised number plates (you guessed it, also “Stefano”).

Mostly, it’s harmless, interesting and entertaining. But if you’re not up for the hitch-hiking experience, just use the local dolmus system.

It all sounds fantastic, until the tradition of every family butchering their own meat sends rivers of blood along footpaths, gutters and roads, and the screams and cries of lambs, goats and cows can be heard throughout the town. Especially for a vegetarian, this sight, smell and sound is not for the faint-hearted. Back in Istanbul, part of the Bosphorus ran red too, from all the blood that was spilt.

However, this special celebration does demonstrate the importance of family of local Turks. Grandfathers, fathers, uncles, sons, nephews, brothers and male cousins all gather together as they participate in prayer and slaughter, whilst the grandmothers, mothers, aunts, daughters, nieces and female cousins spend hours preparing feast upon feast in the kitchen.

We cooked our vegetarian micro-feast too, sharing in the celebration of family. We offer some to the family of our adoptive grandparents at Bahar Pansiyon (refer to previous post), who despite all understanding of our vegetarianism, had returned our offer with a dish of the meat they had slaughtered. After 12 years of vegetarianism, I wasn’t quite game to stomach it. But luckily, my other half was more respectful and ate all that was offered.

Hitch-hiking out of Uchisar the next day proved a little challenging. Not only was everyone on holidays and most shops closed, we dared not look further for cardboard signs when all the bins had animal offcuts, heads and offal engulfed by flies inside. Just opening a couple of bins was enough to say, we’ll just take the risk stick our thumb out and hope whoever stops is going in the same direction.

Ironically, Eid al-Adha coincided with World Vegan Day this year, where around 20 Turks protested for animal rights and against animal cruelty.

Here is the Hurriyet Daily News coverage. Warning: Graphic images may disturb some readers.

Uchisar Castle, Cappadocia

Cappadocia (turkish = kapadokya) is a unique region in central Turkey characterised by cave dwellings and fairy chimney rock formations. After meeting a fellow traveller who had come to Cappadocia specifically because of her studies in geology, I discovered that the unique nature of the landscape here is due to the collision of the Arabian and Eurasian Plates in the Cenozoic era (some millions of years ago) resulting in the formation of the volcanic mountains Erciyes, Melendiz and Hasan. The eruptions of these volcanic mountains left a layer of lava and volcanic ash in the surrounding area which over time was carved through erosion by the winds and rain flowing through the valleys. Human settlement carved out cave dwellings in these rock formations which leads to Cappadocia being a unique sight and a highlight for many tourists visiting Turkey.

We stayed in a charming place, Bahar Pansiyon, located in the neighbourhood of Uchisar. Interestingly, we found it through a listing on the internet but noticed that there was no internet available at the accommodation. When we arrived to check in, there was a cute elderly couple boiling an undiscernable sludge in a huge pot over a fire on the road outside the house. Later, we found out that this was pekmez, a molasses-like syrup derived from grapes. It was delicious! Ekrem, the father-figure, greeted us with a smile extending from ear to ear and kindly showed us to our room. It was located on the first floor, along with four other rooms, a common bathroom, kitchen and terrace. We realised we had just checked-in to our adoptive grandparents’ home. They lived downstairs in a unit surrounded by home-grown tomatoes, peppers and grapes. For only 50 Turkish Lira a night for a double room, it was an absolute bargain and one of the most delightful places I have ever stayed in during all of my travels.

Our adoptive grandparents at Bahar Pansiyon

We met Mustafa on the phone, a young family friend of Ekrem who was studying at Nevsehir University. He spoke some English and had been managing all of their online reservations and notifying them by phone. The question of an online listing without internet available onsite had been answered, although an online reservation is unnecessary for this accommodation. It’s simple enough to turn up at the doorstep, and be greeted as though your grandparents are glad that you’ve made an unexpected visit home. It does help to speak a little bit of Turkish though, as their knowledge of the English language is limited and their French extends as far as to greeting you as monsieur and madame. Nevertheless, their hospitality travels leaps and bounds beyond the requirements of a common language.

Uchisar is the highest point in the Cappadocia region, with many tour bus visiting just for the day to Uchisar Castle. The entry to the castle is a meagre 6 Turkish Lira, but also not necessary as standing on the highest town, you get an amazing view of the landscape and the sunset without having to climb the castle. There are also plenty of cave dwellings around the base of the castle for any young-at-heart adults to play around in. We met Mehmet, a local from Uchisar who used to live in one of these cave dwellings up until 40 years ago where all the locals were moved from their cave homes into modern homes courtesy of the government. He runs a quaint souvenir shop from his old cave home located beneath the castle, and will gladly sit and talk over some tea (turkish = çay). The terrain can be a little rough on the feet, so some good hiking shoes are beneficial for the adventurous in this region.

Mehmet’s souvenir shop and former home

There are numerous hiking trails in Cappadocia, and we managed to tackle most of them over two days. In most of the valleys, there is a clearly marked and easy path as well as a less clearly marked but more interesting river and tunnel trail. We initially opted for the easy trail to give up the best view of the landscapes as we hiked through the valley, then ventured through the tunnel trail when we sought a little more adventure and a different perspective. A word of caution, especially for those without the best sense of direction, such as ourselves, if a path looks too challenging, it’s probably not the right path and you will end up treading through thorny bushes, rock climbing and exiting the valley in someone’s backyard. Dangerously, we managed to escape death through one of these lost side trips through the valleys and back onto the main road where we were able to hitchhike back into civilisation. All that being said, the scenery was magnificent and well worth the hike.

Of course, you can’t mention Cappadocia without mentioning all those hot air balloons. It has been on my bucket list to ride one of these in my lifetime, and there’s no better place than Cappadocia to give it a go. Most companies quote 160 Euros for a one-hour flight, but if you shop around at the local agencies and barter (which helps tremendously if you know some Turkish), you can get the same for 40-50 Euros less. After saving some extra cash working in Istanbul, we only had to fork out 60 Euros to pay for our balloon flight of a lifetime. It’s hard to say what was the most magical, the sunrise slowly revealing the cracks and grooves in the valleys, the graceful rise and fall of the flight, the meandering through the unforgettable landscape or the vision of more than 100 balloons flying side by side.

Hot air balloons over Cappadocia

All in all, the short 5 day visit in Cappadocia was definitely one of the many highlights of my visit to Turkey this year.

Since 2004, Konya has hosted an International Mystic Music Festival, inviting musicians from all across the world to perform in this city ripe with mysticism. The 11th edition hosted artists from Indonesia, India, Iran, Bolivia, Pakistan, Tajikistan, Spain and Mayotte. Performers take stage in their traditional dress and enchanting the audience with sounds of their traditional instruments. My two favourites from the festival was the classical music from Persia, by the Namad Emsemble, and the dance performance from Aceh Indonesia, by Seni Budaya Nusantara.

To look sharp for the event, Julien accepted an offer for an old school barber shave.

5 Turkish Lira (AUD$2) for a beard tidy was an absolute bargain.

The performances began at 7 each night, leaving us plenty of time during the day to explore Konya and its surrounds. Konya is a traditional city, and perhaps one of the most conservative cities in all Turkey. More women wore black, and more women covered their hair. However, the children were ever more playful. An ever memorable experience is laughing and joking around with children as you all negotiate the language barrier. This photo was taken only moments before we were accosted by 30 students, all on their way home from school.

Did I mention how much I adore street food?

We had taken an overnight bus from Istanbul to Fethiye. The experience was similar to economy-class flying but on the road. The driver focused on the road ahead, whilst an attendant served us hot tea and snacks at regular intervals. My other half tells me that we made two toilet stops on the 12 hour journey, both of which I slept through.

We spent the morning in Fethiye. The city centre itself is like many other coastal tourist towns. We explored the lycian tombs just a short hike to the back of the town. From here, you also get a great view of the town.

For lunch, we headed to the market to buy a fresh fish (Turkish = balık). Alongside, there are many restaurants eager to fry it up for you for a meagre fee. A fresh and cheap meal, served with bread and salad.

With our stomaches content, we headed on. We decided to skip the tourist and expatriate hubs of Ovacık, Ölüdeniz and Hisarönü. We were headed further south for some more naturalist camping. The famous Butterfly Valley (Turkish = Faralya Vadisi) was host to a music festival this weekend, so we decided to stay at the quieter Kabak Valley instead. Only 20 minutes apart, both these valleys boasted incredible nature and descents to a picture perfect beachfront. Imagine sunsets like these every night.

For 100 Turkish Lira a night (AUD$25), we got this cute little bungalow all to ourselves; traditional Turkish breakfast included. We passed a couple of nights here in paradise.

From Kabak Valley, there is only two ways out: 1) back to the tourist and expatriate hub to catch a dolmus further along the coast, or 2) hike the Lycian Way to Alınca.

The Lycian Way (Turkish = Likya Yolu) stretches over 500 kilometres from Fethiye to Antalya. It is a collection of ancient paths, mule and caravan trails, forest and backcountry roads. With the ever so important guitar and umbrella in hand, we decided to hike.

It is a short 7 kilometres hike (and a steep 700 metre ascent) from the beach over the hills to Alınca. It is not for the faint-hearted with some narrow rocky paths hugging the cliff edge. But definitely worthwhile just for the views from the top.

Our trek was not over yet. In the isolated town of Alınca, we continued another 10 kilometres before we could hitch-hike out. We hitched a few rides along the road until Patara, where we spent the night. Finally at our destination, we rewarded ourselves with some delicious gozleme. Yum!

I first discovered Iznik after visiting Rustem Pasha Mosque (Turkish = Rüstem Paşa Camii) in Istanbul. Rustem Pasha Mosque is most famous for its expansive use of Iznik tiles, decorating the inner walls, mihrab, minbar and external facade with over 80 different floral and geometric designs. It is also an intimate mosque, tucked above the Strawmat Weavers Market (Turkish = Hasırcılar Çarşısı). A juxtaposition between the tranquility of this place of worship, from the bustling marketplace downstairs, along with the feeling of being the sole foreigner in a international city swarmed by tourists, travellers and expatriates from all corners of the globe; this was by far my favourite mosque to see in Istanbul.

So flash forward, a month later, to a 1 hour ferry ride to Yalova then a 2 hour dolmus journey to Iznik. This town splashes its history with pride. Every corner, mosques, libraries, schools, buildings and shops are decorated with Iznik tiles.

Even the street signs, street numbers and trashcans have been decorated in the infamous Iznik design.

The design is said to have Ottoman arabesque origins, mixed with elements from Chinese blue-and-white porcelain. Perhaps it was my Chinese origins which drew me instinctively to this art and this town. Now Iznik is the sole town in which I have a photo collection of trashcans.

There are multiple sites which make work exchange agreements easier to find:

www.helpx.net
www.workaway.info
wwoofinternational.org

Or there is always the old fashion way, keep in touch with the staff of the hostels you have stayed in previously, or link up with friends of friends who have done some form of work exchange in the past, and soon your work exchange network begins to grow.

I found that I was often asked by hostels if I would be interested in staying longer and doing some work exchange. With a bubbly and quite social personality, I often get along great with various types of people. This outgoing trait is highly sought after in hostel work exchange agreements. I guess it makes good business having fun and likeable staff creating a great vibe.

I stayed at Hush Hostel Moda during my visit to Istanbul, Turkey back in 2013. It came as a recommendation from a friend who had previously travelled through Turkey. Big note: Always try to find work at a hostel that you actually enjoyed staying in. If you didn’t enjoy staying there, you’re probably not going to enjoy working there. I kept in touch with some of the staff that worked there. And when I returned the following year, one of them had been promoted to be the manager. That made getting the job pretty easy, and most of the “interview” was done over the internet.

Hostel work exchange can be exhausting at times, living and working at the same place, you can often feel that you’re at work all the time. Often working reception overnight, which is not great for our circadian rhythms but provides a great opportunity to learn the local language (if the hostel has a large local guest market). Or waking up early to prepare breakfast for 50 guests, then making endless amounts of beds during the day and cleaning. Hostels almost seem like a 24/7 childcare centre, and you have 50 grown children to feed and clean up after. If you are thinking of ever having children, this is definitely a good training program.

Preparing a traditional Turkish breakfast of bread, eggs, meat, cheese, tomato, cucumbers, olives, fruit, coffee, tea and a huge bowl of honey.

Hush Hostel Moda has an eclectic group of people who chose to stay there. It is located on the anatolian side of Istanbul, a river away from the tourist attractions in Sultanahmet. Guests range across all age groups, all nationalities including local Turks, and from exchange students on Erasmus to adventurous honeymooners. It isn’t what you would call a party hostel. Those are infamous for people between the ages of 18-30, ample amounts of late-night drinking and a feeling self-entitlement to their hedonism with complete disregard to others. I only had to walk in on a one-night stand escapade (in a dormitory!), and clean up vomit 1 night out of the whole 2 months I worked, although it was projectile all over the walls and everywhere around the toilet but inside. But this isn’t too bad given how much worse it would have been at one of those infamous party hostels. Second big note: Just because you enjoyed your stay at a hostel whilst you were a customer, and notably drunk, doesn’t mean that you will enjoy working there sober.

Working at a hostel also gives you an interesting perspective into the human behaviour. Humans are exceedingly odd creatures, with fairly strange behaviours once you get to meet a large range of them in a relatively short period of time. Some are entertaining and not harmful in the least, like one customer who literally dances from point A to point B, I suspect he thought dancing brought more joy than simply walking, whilst others are borderline mentally unwell, like another customer who was found awake talking to themselves at 4am or another who pauses in time between movements, similar to the squirrel. Some people are the furthest from prude, wearing nothing but jocks in common areas, or walking around with raging erections. Obviously, some of these personalities are not welcomed in a shared accommodation environment, and thus there is a “black-list” for these types of people.

Something that you begin to appreciate is that minimum wage can mean very different things in different countries. Hostels often offer extra work, beyond the minimum amount (usually around 20 hours per week) in exchange for accommodation. This work is paid, but you can be paid anywhere from 50Euros for a night shift in Norway to 15Euros for a night shift in Turkey. Your pay rate is often lower because it’s “off-the-books” or “cash-in-hand”. This definitely made me appreciate the minimum wage of AUD$18.70 per hour that we’re so blessed to have back home. Seeing as you live where you work, you often find it easy to just work more and get some extra cash, to pay for a guilt-free once-in-a-lifetime experience later (such as a hot-air balloon ride over Cappadocia!).

Posing for a promotional photo-shoot for Hush Hostel Moda

All in all, hostel work exchange is a great way to save some cash whilst travelling, granted if you have the time and patience. Otherwise, you can always try couchsurfing or moving into a local artist squat.

When I tell others of my passions, my aspirations and dreams to travel, see and experience the world, be itinerant, homeless, possess nothing but treasure the immaterial, thoughts, reflections, emotions, connections, relationships, moments, and beauty, I am described as brave, out of my mind crazy, a little dangerous, and a rebel.

 To rebel – to defy or resist an established authority, government or tradition. 

But who is the true rebel, me who is simply living out my own dreams, or those who rebel against their own dreams and desires.

Perhaps tradition complicates this. We spend our whole lives seeking what tradition imposes on us, a white collar, suburbian life, with the perfect home and well-behaved children, without the realisation that life has many possibilities, more than the number of stars in the sky. We are all unique with different dreams, round pegs that don’t quite fit in square holes. Perhaps this is the reason we often don’t feel as though we have enough time. We spend our whole lives chasing dreams that are not our own.

I don’t mind being labelled a rebel, because I resist the social norm, I risk foolishness and failure in my courage to dream and live. I would rather rebel this than rebel myself, who I truly am.

I embrace change. And even if I don’t change the world, I can change my own.

Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They invent. They imagine. They heal. They explore. They create. They inspire. They push the human race forward. Maybe they have to be crazy. How else can you stare at an empty canvas and see a work of art? Or sit in silence and hear a song that’s never been written? Or gaze at a red planet and see a laboratory on wheels? We make tools for these kinds of people. While some see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do – Steve Jobs

And this thought, leads me to begin my nomadic life on the 24th July 2014, the day which marks the end of the first 25 years of my life, and the beginning of my dreams come alive.