… knocking and voices outside the door… “Go away!”… sleep… wakefulness.
Where am I? Am I at the hostel? Am I still out? What time is it?
I check my phone. Its 7am. My shorts are around my ankles. My shoes are soaked in something. I quickly clean up and open the bathroom door. So I am still in the club. I’m the only one. The lights are off. The place is empty. I walk to the door. It’s unlocked but there’s a shutter over the entrance.
There’s a step down to the road and about 5 inches of clearance underneath. I try to pull the shutter up. Nothing. Shit. I should be panicking but instead I find it really funny. I need water. I have a quick scan for another exit. Nothing. I’m thirsty.
My head looks like it can fit through that gap under the shutter. I try. Hey… I just fit. I squeeze myself out, shirt buttons scraping on the tarmac, then I pop out into the morning sun of the 7am commute in Istanbul.
There’s a guy outside smoking a cigarette. He’s shocked. He says something in Turkish. “Sorry” I say. I wave and jog off through a street. I go into a shop to buy water. It’s 20TL (around 60p), finding myself 5TL short I give him five euros instead. Then I’m off, drinking, walking and half jogging. 20 mins later back at the hostel I have enough presence of mind to get my wet washing put in the dryer.
Then I go up to bed. It’s 7:30 am and I feel ill. I try my best to sleep.
***
I wake around 10 needing the bathroom. I could sleep for longer but my body won’t let me. Instead, I choke down some pills and head up to breakfast just before 11.
There I meet Becca and Tom, and a British guy called Jack to whom I recount my story. They all found it funny, especially Tom. I ate a little food and drank less tea. Jack was getting the same flight as me so I took his Whatsapp. I re-packed my bags and worked out the airport shuttle.
My vans were soaked in piss. I don’t know whose. At first I tried cleaning them, but eventually decided that at last, the time had likely come to bin them. I tied them to the outside of my bag and wore flip flops.
Jack met me at the entrance at 12:20. He was a god send. He helped me carry the bike 7 mins around the corner to the bus station. I bought a ticket for the airport shuttle then went round the corner to a shoe shop to hurriedly buy some shoes. I picked some trainer like “Hammer Jacks” essentially at random and my hurry resulted in me paying sixty euros for them. If only I’d bought some cheap ones the day before. Ah well.
I got on the bus wearing new shoes and that was the main thing. It took 45 mins to get to the airport. Jack and I chatted most of the way. On the other end he paid 25TL to get a trolley to carry my bike. Great guy. He also moved the barriers out of my way as I was in the queue to check in.
I checked in my bike, then the guy told me to take my panniers as hand baggage. Fine… I guess. I went through passport control and left the country. Then I realised my pannier contained liquids, tools, a fucking knife! No way that’s getting through security. I went up to an officer and told her what’s up. She got me stamped back into the country (a miracle!)
Back I went to the check in desk and this time persuaded them, after a little argument, to take my pannier as hold luggage. I left them laughing, and almost went through passport control again when I realised I’d left my phone there. I must still be in a brain fog. I got it back and went back through passport control – a helpful attendant letting me through despite my boarding pass having already been used – through security and into the airport.
Jack had already gone through and had disappeared into a fancy café. I was craving a burger so got Popeyes in a food court. Well needed. I met Jack again and we went to the gate. There I chatted to some more brits who had seen my box and asked about my cycle, and to their dad, who was a suave, suited, gangster type, who had been an avid cyclist until recently.
I said goodbye and thanks to Jack as I headed to the plane. I had a window seat and got chatting to the two guys next to me – a Brit and a Dutch guy. The chatting never ends. Despite my tiredness I slept little during the flight.
Air traffic delays meant we landed around 8, and we waited 30 more mins due to a medical emergency on board (a stroke maybe?) and an ambulance pulling up. At last we were let off and I got through passport control and into baggage reclaim. The Brit next to me on the flight (Laurie maybe?) who had helpfully lent me a sim pin earlier, now helped me carry the bike into the main Gatwick lobby.
There I set up by the wall and rebuilt her. She’s survived the trip okay. I filled up my water and got a sausage roll at Greggs, then I carried her down the steps to catch a train to London Bridge. Once there I took a cycle through the city and reached Jack (my oldest brother)'s place around 11.
I took my bike up to the flat then chatted with Jack for an hour or so. The air in this country is so familiar and bracing. In many ways it’s nice to be back. Around midnight I finally got some much needed sleep.
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