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噂の熱いバス🚌🚌🚌 #bangkok #タイ #バンコク #watpho #hotbus (Wat Pho)
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Let's admit that this is just a blog about domestic Turkish bus travel...
Should we change the name? Probably? Whatever. As you may have guessed, Jill and I rode on a bus yesterday. But it was not just another excruciatingly uncomfortable tourist transport mechanism that would have really benefitted from footrests. No, no, it was The Hotbus. It was not called The Hotbus; Ahmet, the short, fat, bitter man who sold us the bus tickets did not tell us that we would be spending five solid hours inside a moving heater. We had no idea what we were walking into.
We met Ahmet when we pulled into Pamukkale and I was, like, childishly holding back tears because I had lost my beloved Gillian Welch t shirt. He convinced us to spend the night in Pamukkale at the hotel where he worked and then booked a bus to Fethiye for the following morning. At our hotel that night, we made the mistake of I guess crossing him somehow? Like, we didn't go watch the sunset with him (which he had asked us to do because every man in Turkey wants to watch the sunset with us) because (a) just no and (b) we were hanging out with these way cooler, hotter German guys. Ahmet was clearly offended because he came over to our table specifically to tell the Germans that he hated people from Berlin, where they were from, and then asked us to go to a party with him. We were like, "Maaaaybe..." (internal dialogues were clearly both like, "Neveeeerrrr..."). We bought a bunch of beers from the market around the corner, which was frowned upon at the hotel where they were selling the beers for several more lira. I don't know, it was just awkward and Ahmet was pissed and we were drunk and then somehow we woke up the next day and realized he had literally saved us seats on a vehicle that, like, had driven straight up from Hell to shuttle Turks and tourists to Fethiye.
For starters, The Hotbus was small. And it was hot. There was no air-conditioning. The small vents in the ceiling were blowing HOT air on us. The heater must have been on? I don't know? Jill said maybe it was a bus for people on the sidewalk to get into if they caught cold in the tepid temperatures of Turkey in August. That was the other thing about The Hotbus--it was full when we departed from the station but that did not prevent it from stopping on the side of the road to pick standing-room-only passengers, which made it (shockingly) EVEN HOTTER IN THE HOTBUS. Every few minutes I would feel large drops of sweat trickle down my calves because I had to curl my legs up and put them on the seat in front of me to not be miserably uncomfortable. There was sweat all over my dress. There was sweat dripping down my face. I was just Sweat Incarnate. I was all sweat and no Lily. It was awful. The other thing about the Hotbus is that it is capable of going a normal speed but prefers to take its sweet fucking time. The Hotbus does not venture into third gear very often. Why would it when its passengers could languish in its soul-crushing heat? On The Hotbus, the Turkish bus snack service to which we have grown accustomed does not exist. The porter is mostly just there to stand out the open door and scream at passers-by in case they're feeling chilly and are also in need of a ride. The porter occasionally walks around and gives people water because dehydration is a real problem on The Hotbus; but it's hard for him to provide an adequate hydration service because maneuvering the aisles is difficult when they're full of people and babies and whatnot. Every once in a while you get lucky and the porter gives you TWO glasses of water at once because he can tell you're on the verge of fainting.
The Hotbus only stops at the dirtiest bathrooms. It just doesn't have time for any others because it's too busy going slower than the average bicycle. Seriously, guys, we kept thinking it would speed up and it never really did. Like, sometimes we would get going fast and I would think we were in the clear and then the bus driver (whose face I studied carefully in the rear-view mirror for signs of, I don't know, hysteria? craziness? malice? why would you ever drive The Hotbus? why???????) would just slow down and then seventy cars would pass us and Jill and I would talk, in detail, about how awful it would be when our friends and families found out that we died onThe Hotbus and it had driven our dead bodies straight back to the garage it came from in Hell.
Ok, ok, enough about the bus. I know you really don't actually care about the bus. I wanted this post to just be the reggae song we are in the process of writing called "Hotbus" but we don't have an instrument and the wifi here is sort of perpetually shitty and probably not strong enough to support a video. But if the opportunity affords itself you had better believe that we will sing it for you. We should probably just start a production company in Turkey, what with our Hotbus music video and our Efes commercial. Maybe we'll make a Sarah McLaughlin-style PSA about all the mangy cats roaming around this country. There are so, so many of them. I figure they're keeping the rats at bay, though, so I'm a fan. I'll put that in the PSA.
We've been in Fethiye for the last day and a half. It's a lovely city, really. Our hostel is a few blocks away from the marina where hundreds of pirate boats sit, waiting for large, red Britons to jump on and go for an island cruise (Fethiye is FULL of British people). The waterfront is teeming with restaurants and ice cream shops and food carts for things like "Chips Funny" (which are, from what we can tell, strange french fries on a stick?). I think we should talk for a moment about Turkish ice cream, because it's important for you to know that it is not only delicious but charming. The ice cream vendors stand behind counters on the street churning ice cream in fezes and vests and basically the costumes that monkeys wear in Indiana Jones-y type movies and they are just, like, clowns. They have this trick where they hand you your ice cream cone but pretend to drop it oh my gawd whaaaat and then catch it in the nick of time; or they, like, hand you a cone and then don't leave the ice cream on so when you grab it from them they keep the ice cream and then pretend to be confused about how you ate it so quickly. It's kind of bizarre but I'm into it. And the ice cream is great--it's got a fantastic texture going for it. Aren't these the things you've been dying to know about Turkey? The texture of its ice cream? Yes? So much? Glad I can be of service. I just don't know why you'd work on The Hotbus when you could be an ice cream clown, you know? Seriously.
Today Jill and I ventured on (you guessed it) a bus to Ododeniz (sp?? pronunciation? I've been here for a week and Turkish continues to confuse me more than most things), which is supposed to be a really popular beach. It ended up being not-that-crowded by, at the very least, California standards and we had a wonderful time jumping in the water and laying out on chaise lounges while a pirate shipped bobbed in the distance and Italians took weird Eurotrash pictures of each other in speedos. The Mediterranean is so spectacular--the water is so clear and glassy and cool and when you swim in it you feel like you're in a movie or something. You feel like what's happening can't be happening because how could this be your life? After spending a solid chunk of time at the beach we wandered around the adjoining town for awhile before heading back to Fethiye for dinner. Tomorrow we head to Olympos to hang out in tree houses and eat Turkish BBQ and walk around some crazy ruins. When we booked the bus tickets, Jill emphatically pointed to the A/C in the office and said, "Air-conditioning on bus?????!!!!" and they nodded so hopefully.......you won't have to read another 1000 word diatribe about The Hotbus.
Miss you guys!!!
xoxo,
L