Cold Turkey

This week’s Mustard Seed follows us as we leave Europe, enter Asia, and traverse northern Turkey.
Crossing the Bosporus Bridge brought back memories of home and our iconic Lions Gate suspension bridge. We broached the third continent of our trip mid-span. After that, both circumstances and surroundings reminded us we were far from home.
With our resources strained by the Istanbul theft and temperatures dropping as autumn progressed we hastened our pace. Elevation played an increasing role as we climbed to Ankara at 3000 feet, Sivas at 4000 feet, and still upwards beyond. Just past Sivas it began raining. The clouds brought the temperature down further. After a few hours of miserable driving conditions the rain stopped but the roads remained wet and the damp chill endured. Night driving with headlights reflecting off the long,  dark, straight, shiny road was very stressful. Just outside Erzurum, at 6000 feet, I saw a sea of red lights ahead. I eased off the gas and downshifted as I approached the idling cars, trucks, and buses parked in front of us. As I closed in I pressed the brakes but, instead of stopping, our van began to spin and then slide sideways. The front was just inches from the steep swale dividing the highway.
     I held the wheel steady, slid, and prayed. Fortunately we slid straight along, gully a few inches ahead and a bus a few inches behind. We came to rest about two feet from hitting the last car in our lane. Shaken, I got out only to be surrounded by a group of angry men shaking their fists and yelling in Turkish. I was still too stunned to be scared. I just stood surrounded by the men and the noise until another man came to calm the crowd. He began directing them. The road was so slick they were able to spin our van on the spot. He then shooed them back to their vehicles, gave me a broad smile, and patted my shoulder. I was still too dumbstruck to respond. He walked away and I climbed back in the van.
     Eventually the jam cleared and we were on our way — slowly, now that I was aware just how treacherous the icy road was. We found a safe place to stop for the night and huddled together under all the blankets and jackets we possessed.
     The light of day made driving much better but the cold surpassed what our Volkswagen van’s heater could counter. A few hours on we were thankful to see a multilingual sign warning us, “FILL UP NOW! Last gas for 150 miles”. We pulled in and topped off the tank. The station 150 miles on was closed. We prayed and pressed on, sputtering to a stop just shy of cresting a long, steep hill. I calmed my sister and got out to hitch a ride. After quite a span with no traffic at all a pickup truck approached. I waved my thumb frantically. It stopped. The driver lowered the window. I proffered the Turkish word I learned from our waiter, Sammy, back in our favourite Istanbul coffee shop. Tesekkur — thank you. He motioned for me to hop in the back. One hundred yards to the top of the hill and a few downhill miles beyond that, we arrived at an open station. While his pickup was being refuelled, without our saying anything to each other, the driver borrowed a jerry can and filled it at the other pump. He passed the gas to me and drove back to our van. He waited as I poured the fuel into our tank. He took the empty can and tossed it in the back of his truck. I offered many more tesekkurs and humble gestures as he departed waving to us through his rear view mirror. Our ears, noses, hands, and feet were very cold but our hearts were very warm.
     Next week: Downhill Slide.
                                                            God bless.

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