The bright red material of Turkey's crescent and star flag flapped in the breeze above the busy border post. An aura of tension swirled around the Land Rover as we climbed out and faced the first of five Arab countries, which we'd been continually warned may not take to us kindly. We waited patiently to enter a country that would remove us from the familiar but still offer some sort of bridge between the West and the Arab world.
With Turkish visas stamped in our passports, we headed off along the narrow sliver of land between the Black and Marmara Seas, bound for the ancient capital of Istanbul.
We made our way to a small campsite on the outskirts of the city, home for a few days as we explored this incredible centre of the ancient world.
The call to prayer echoed through the old capital, the setting sun painting orange hues on towering minarets. People shuffled off towards mosques, while other arranged mats carefully on pavements and began their evening ritual on the spot.
Hallo mate, want a cuppa, came an English accent from behind me at our humble camp one evening. James and Heidi, two British doctors would become the first fellow travellers we'd meet en route. They were bound for Cape Town in a rusted old Land Cruiser, recently picked up for £500 at an auction. Packed to the roof with cardboard boxes, these two laid-back Brits had left England a week before us planning to reach Cape Town by the end of the year.
You know a bit about mechanics, so where do I check the oil and water on this thing? came James' first question, slapping the rusted bonnet of their old vehicle.
We parted ways the following morning, wishing each other luck and wondering how much closer the old Cruiser would get these two incredibly chilled people to Cape Town.
A few days later our Landy climbed the arch of the massive expansion bridge that links Europe's landmass to Asia. Crossing the Bosphorus Straights put Europe well behind us. We meandered through the craggy mountains of Western Turkey, moving from one Ancient Greek and Roman civilisation to the next. Places like Ephesus, where 2 000-year-old marble remains still rise with great authority from the landscape, enormous fluted columns and decorated facades which have witnessed the rise and fall of empires still retain their powerful grandeur.
Snow continued to fall on the highlands of central Turkey. Following huge front-end loaders, clearing the tiny tracks of snow was our only means of crossing the highest peaks. Notions of hostility quickly dissolved as Turkish hospitality enveloped us with continuous invites for chai (small cups of spiced tea served with sugar and drunk in copious amounts). No conversation in Turkey takes place without it. Road workers invited us into their tiny shacks for meals, huddled around old furnaces. The walls were covered with posters of new tractors and naked woman. Turkey was clearly an introduction to a man's world.
Every village centred around a chai hall - massive smoke-filled rooms for men only, the hum of male conversation interrupted by the slamming of playing cards onto the flimsy plastic tables. Although Halszka was always made to feel welcome and even invited into these establishments as an honorary guest all conversation was through me, pulling the reins in tighter on her independence.
Mud turned to dust and warm sunlight shone down on the eroded larval deposits of Cappadocia. Like no other place on the planet, Cappadocia is dotted with pockets of strange eerily eroded volcanic stone, jutting out of its landscape like overturned ice cream cones. What adds even more interest to these formations, is that when Christianity was introduced to the region in the first century, by burrowing deep into the core of these formations the Christians established entire settlements and monasteries, interlinked with underground tunnels, all still visible today.
The landscape continued to become drier and flatter as we moved through southern Turkey, an area dotted with small settlements and citrus orchards. At the small village of Killis, we bad farewell to this beautiful and amazingly diverse country. The open and welcoming attitudes of the inhabitants of this part of the world were to be no different on the other side of the very run-down and virtually deserted border post which formed the gateway to Syria.
Welcome to Suria, came a deep voice from the other side of the wooden counter, its owner's huge hand slamming a massive rubber stamp onto a blank page of the open passport. Please eat with us, as he pointed to a metal tray of various bits and pieces and a huge pile of flat circular bread, his bushy black moustache smothering his smile.
Approaching the city of Aleppo, livestock, vehicles and people jammed the streets. Our plan of actually finding a place to stay clearly wasn't going to work without help. I flagged down a tiny yellow taxi.
No troubles Welcome Suria!" shouted the driver as he sped off. Desperately trying to keep up with him, we wove the Land Rover from side to side through the cluttered narrow streets.
On the Lebanese border, we looked out over beautiful green hills from Krak des Chevaliers, a hilltop castle described by TE Lawrence as the finest castle in the world. Built by crusader knights around the middle of the 12th century, the castle kept us well entertained for hours as we climbed turrets and explored dark passages.
Deep into the eastern desert of Syria, lies one of the far boundaries of the Roman Empire.
Palmyra, another mass of Roman rubble rising straight out of the desert sands, glowed orange in the setting sun. Its road heads directly towards the Iraqi border, with distance markers to Baghdad offering constant reminders of our proximity to conflict. Sleeping out in the desert alone filled both of us with a strange feeling of being very far from home and almost out of our depths.
Goats littered the increasingly rocky landscape as we left Syria and entered its wealthier neighbour, Jordan. Border posts turned from tin shacks into smart offices. Sniffer dogs surrounded the Land Rover as an official hand rose up telling us to stop.
My friends, I welcome you to Jordan! came the now almost expected response from anyone we interacted with. We were given endless advice on what we should see and do under the watchful eye of King Abdullah, whose portrait dominates the walls of all official building and shops.
Good tar roads covered most of the country, making the going a bit smoother. The cost of fuel was the lowest we'd had to date, at about 70 RSA cents a litre. Filling up at petrol stations often involved the pump not even being switched off between the vehicle and the jerry cans, while the attendant would continue chatting holding the hose away from him with diesel gushing freely into the sand.
It's Jordan's natural beauty that would inspire anyone to continue exploring this stunning place. From barren, rocky landscapes to towering red rock rising from the desert floor, Jordan enabled us to explore remote regions in absolute peace. Days rolled slowly by as we camped in the hills above the Dead Sea, looking out over Israel on the far banks.
Armed with a machine gun, a military guard stepped out into the road as we descended from the barren hilltops.
Casually flinging the weapon around he flicked with one hand through our passports. Taking a deep draw on his cigarette he looked up and said: You are African, my friend?"
From South Africa, came my nervous reply.
You are not a black man how is this? I started to explain
Corporal! he shouted to another soldier. We must drink tea. Please join us, we must learn about your country, he begged us.
Over the mountains lay one of Jordan's gems, the ancient Nabataean city of Petra. Hewn from towering walls of solid red rock, enormous façades, intricately decorated, rise about 40 to 50m up the rock face. The only access to the city is along the 1.2km2, a naturally split mass of rock, towering about 200m above the desert floor with a distance of 2 to 5m between rock faces. Entire avenues of façades and royal tombs line the steep valley walls of this massive city. A full day enabled us to cover only about a quarter of the area.
Leaving Jordan along the Wadi Rum enabled us to escape people once again and head off into the desert along the Saudi Arabian border. One day became five as we continued to find idyllic camping spots among the giant masses of rocks whose tones and colours change with every movement of the sun.
The Middle East had filled us with doubts and fears before leaving England, fuelled by warped rumours of hostility and aggression towards Westerners.
At Aquaba, about to board the ferry to Sinai in Egypt, memories of tea with the military, meals with shop owners and gifts handed to us by perfect strangers flooded though my mind. This was to be the safest, most welcoming area we'd travel through on the entire journey.
Across the Gulf of Aquaba lay Egypt. Soon we'd plant our feet firmly upon African soil.
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