The French Connection

The next morning I woke up. People were moving around. I figured that maybe I had half an hour to get ready.

I turned my head. I was still drunk. I got out of bed, and searched from some water. We had run out the night before, meaning I couldn't provide myself with the requisite two pints before bed. And we were still out. I don't get hangovers as a rule, but bearing in mind I was still pissed the morning was young.

I drank some Greek tap water. It was, I considered, the lesser of two evils.

We went out for breakfast, and after some bread, water, a can of coke and a few cigarettes, I felt sober. And I seemed to be in control of my stomach's destiny, which is always good.

Marie-Louise, however, was not quite as fortunate. She had gone an odd colour, a kind of pale green that was certainly not indicative of good health and long life. Throughout the day she was sick four times.

I had a brief chat with Karim, filling him in on the events of the night before.

"That's a f***er mate", he observed sagely.

"Tell me about it", I said. "It's like someone giving me a new pair of socks and then blowing my kneecaps out".

"She's been throwing up all day", Karim reasoned. "If she wasn't going to cheat on her boyfriend last night, she's not going to cheat on her boyfriend".

"I know, I know", I said. "I don't think she even remembers saying what she said. I don't even want her to cheat on her boyfriend. I'm just saying. I respect the whole boyfriend thing. It's good that she wouldn't cheat on him".

"Makes you like her even more, right?"

"Right - there's the rub".

"There indeed".

The train for Istanbul left at lunchtime. We were quite happy with this train - we spent the first hour convinced that we were in first class, because everything was so comfortable. We weren't though. And the train conductor guy was actually really helpful. He talked to us about when to get off, what to do, and how to get the connecting train into Turkey.

You see, because of the aforementioned Greece and Turkey 'not getting on' situation, their trains don't cross the borders. Instead, we would have to get on a Turkish train. We got off the train and our passports were taken from us by a nice man with a big gun. I've found that, in Europe, all men with guns are nice. Or else.

We were pointed onto another train, this one waiting patiently for us and the rest of the passengers from the Greek train - a good helping of backpackers and a load of locals that kept their distance. In fact, we were even shown to a carriage on the train by the conductor. Not bad service.

Although there was the smell to think about. It kind of smelt like it was used for cattle when it wasn't busy. Or maybe even transportation of the dead. But still, it was comfortable enough. No... that wasn't true actually. The seating in the carriage was at an exact right angle, so that it was completely impossible to even approach comfort. But it was.... dry. And that's what really matters.

The train got underway after a few minutes of jolting and shaking. We were just settling in when a Customs Officer came into the carriage with our passports. He also had a gun. He gave the Swedes their passports back, and asked us where we were from.

"England".

He leafed through the stack of passports in his hand. "England", he said.

"Yeah, sorry".

"England must get off at the next stop. England needs Visa".

"Do we?"

"Yes". And then le walked off. With our passports.

"I didn't know we needed a visa", I said.

"Why do you need a visa?" Linette asked.

"Don't know", I said. "Maybe their pissed off about the whole Greece thing". I gave a shrug that suggested she didn't want to open up that whole hornet's nest of political intrigue, which was good as I had no idea what I was talking about.

"We have to get off the train?" Karim said.

"Apparently".

"Are we going to be able to get a visa? Or are we getting sent back? If we get off the train, are we going to be let back on?"

There were questions that really needed to be answered. I was volunteered to go and find the guy and sort it out.

"Excuse me", I said as he tried to walk past me in the corridor. "We were just wondering what the visa procedure is".

"?" He said. I had never heard the question mark spoken before, but there was no other way of describing the noise that came from him.

"If we get off the train to get a visa, do we get back on? Because our friends are on the train, you see? So if we're not going to get back on the train we need them to know so they can get off with us".

About halfway through this he started holding his hand up for me to shut up. I finished anyway, but it was clear he wasn't listening.

"Wait there", he said.

Then he walked back down the corridor, popped into a carriage, and came back. "Now come", he ordered. I got marched down the train, past the other backpackers who were obviously wondering what the stupid Brit had done to incur the wrath of the Customs Official.

The guy got to another carriage and went in, speaking in Turkish. There was a young couple in there, and it finally dawned on me - he had found us a translator. He sat down next to the girl, and gestured for me to sit next to the guy. It was all very cosy.

"You speak English?" I asked hopefully.

"Yes", the young man said.

"Great", I said. Then The Customs guy interrupted, and starting blabbering in Turkish at the young man.

"OK, what seems to be the problem?" The guy asked me.

"Well, I just wanted to ask this bloke a couple of questions about the whole Visa thing. We've been told we need a visa and we need to get off at the next stop. I want to know if we'll get back on the same train, and if we can pay for the visa in Euros, because we haven't got any Lira yet."

"Right", the guy said.

The Customs Officer was waiting for a translation. No translation came. It was at this point that I noticed, now I was sat right opposite him, he had a kind of glazed look on his face. He babbled something at the young man in Turkish.

"I don't understand", he said, in English.

The Customs Officer pointed at me, and then at him, making it clear that he wanted his translation.

"Oh s***", I said. "You don't speak Turkish, do you?"

"No", he said. "We're French".

I tried not to laugh. The Customs Guy was still waiting. I could smell the alcohol on his breath now. And he still had a gun.

"He thinks you speak Turkish, and you're going to translate for me. I'm really sorry about all this".

"That's all right. We're getting off at the next stop as well, because we need visas. And we only have Euros to pay too".

"Great stuff", I said. "Thanks for your help".

I smiled at the Customs Guy and gave him the thumbs up. He still had the bemused expression on his face of a man with a gun who really needed more booze. Which was handy.

I thanked the Customs Guy a few times, trying to convey that everything was sorted, and then I left. Then I started laughing.

"What happened?" The others asked when I got back to the carriage.

"There's no way we're gonna get out of Turkey alive", I said, then I told them the story.

We got off the train at the next stop, and lined up with all the other poor souls that Turkey didn't extend a full welcome to. As well as The French Connection, we got chatting to an Australian called Linley, who, for some unfortunate reason, had a British Passport. The French Guy was called Etienne, but I can't remember his girlfriend's name. Nice couple.

Our visas were €15 each, and we got a nice stamp in our passports - our first so far. Then we were allowed back on the train.

It was all a lot of fuss about nothing really.

The train got back underway, and the journey continued. We were a bit annoyed about having to shell out €30 for visas, but it was just one of those things. It made our money situation even worse, but I still had one last packet of fags so it was all right.

Then the train broke down. In the middle of nowhere. This was quite annoying for The Swedes, who liked things to be quite reliable - and quite rightly. It was really the only way to behave. Anything else would be just stupid. After all, we were in deepest darkest Turkey, with locals looking at us from fields like we were some kind of new Zoo exhibit, wondering when we were going to start mating.

Karim and I found it was the funniest thing ever. It was, really. The locals up at the front of the train all got off to stretch their legs - obviously it was quite a regular thing. Then, about an hour later, another Engine Car turned up and attached itself to ours.

We were standing out in the corridor watching all of this, and were joined by The French Connection and two Australians - Linley, the girl unfortunate enough to have a British passport, and Lisa. We considered it our National responsibility to keep everyone entertained, and before long everyone was laughing about the sheer absurdity of the entire situation. Or maybe it was just at us. Yes, I think that was it. But still, we achieved our goal.

The train got going again, but before long it was flagging. At one point the driver leapt off, ran to a nearby house, and came back with a large bottle of water.

I started trying to find out who had the most food, and making friends with them.

But there's a funny thing - we must have spent at least three hours in total breaking down and changing trains and stuttering to a halt and laughing at the Turks. And you know what? The train arrived in Istanbul five minutes early. Genius.

A tout in the train station finally convinced us to stay at his hotel. There is something endearing about someone who won't take no for an answer. I said "Thank you very much, but no. We do not want to stay in your hotel", about six times but he still tried. He earned it.

We said our goodbyes to The French Connection and the Oz Girls, and went on our way. That's the way it goes when you're travelling - you meet people, become the best of friends, and then never see each other again.