The Sultan Hostel in Istanbul was delighted that I had returned and the manager shook my hand vigorously, instantly recalling that I had been in Room 26 last year, but sadly noting that they had not received my reservation and they were now full. I hopped across the street to the Star Hotel and got a room for $25 with a window facing away from the street. I opened the shades and looked out, a family doing their wash looked right back, they were maybe five feet away. I closed the curtain.

The Sultan Hostel's rooftop bar was not full up so I went to rub elbows with my fellow backpackers and take in the view. Several mugs of Efes lager later, I was discussing the pros and cons of driving a diesel Peugeot from Amsterdam to Cairo with a Dutch guy who was on such a journey. Backpacking culture is like that; one makes fast friends quickly even if they drive slow cars.

The next morning, I was off to the Otogar (bus station) by Taxi. The Istanbul otogar is about the size of JFK, (the airport, and not the man) and is much more chaotic (than either). Through the miracle of the Internet, I had reserved a bus ticket and selected a seat on the 0830 express to Izmir via Varan. Through the miracle of human beings, my reservation was gone. I walked over to Kamel Cok (Good Camel!) and took the 0730 to Selcuk.

The bus was an air-conditioned Mercedes 403 and the fare was $3.50 for a twelve-hour bus ride. All big bus companies here use new, air-conditioned buses with ABS and all the goodies. Tea (chai) and cake (raisin) is served enroute. I napped most of the way to Selcuk.

The Backpackers Inn was really glad to see me; they know me well and by name. Mehmet, the owner, was delighted as I presented him with a carton of Marlboros and a bottle of Jim Beam. I must be on his 'good list' now. Snagged a couple of Aussie backpackers and went off for tucker (dinner) time. Wayne and his wife (mumble) are farmers from Perth who grow oilseed (rapeseed). Mrs. Wayne has a pet kangaroo. We discussed the care and feeding of pet kangaroos as we ate kabobs, then set off for some 'dondurma', local ice cream.

Morning came and I checked out. Mehmet refused payment. I got on the Fez Bus and my 'offsider' was Geof, a Kiwi whose parents apparently could not afford more than one 'f'. Off to Koycegiz and the Tango Pension we went, the Kiwis and the Aussies heaping abuse on one another, the South Africans keeping quiet, or at least until the entire lot realized that there was an American on the bus to abuse. Bad beer, bad bread, bad TV, McDonald's, driving on the other side of the road, what is there NOT to abuse with regards to our contributions to world culture? Heaps of fun by all, especially when I pointed out Australia's contribution to innovative musical instruments: a hollowed out stick (Didgeridoo).

Tango was great, the owner came out to shake my hand and welcome me back. We ate, drank and got silly until someone got this great idea to go off in search of ice cream. The Tango Pension has a fleet of dodgy mountain bikes to ride, and after drinking too much, it seemed like riding in the dark on unlit, unpaved, unfamiliar streets on Turkish mountain bikes might be just the ticket. The homemade cinnamon ice cream was the best, but the homemade honey/hazelnut wasn't too bad either. After each paying out 750,000 Turkish lira, we pedaled away into the darkness in different directions. That was not according to plan, so we reconvened in the middle of the street, only moving when an astonished van full of Police Officers came to inquire what the hell we were doing. We pedaled back to the hotel. When it came time to check out the following morning my room, dinner, drinks, breakfast, etc came to $24.00.

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