You're Crazy! No, You're Crazy!

It all started with Atlas Travel. No matter who I attempted to rent a car with moths ago, I got redirected and denied by Atlas travel. They seemed to control every possible car rental outlet. A good old fashioned monopoly!

Finally, on my fifth attempt (seriously), success! Car Del Mar who outsourced to CarTrawler who outsourced to Thrifty who outsourced to Dollar who outsourced to some local office in the town centre (seriously).

Sarah and I landed three hours before the others and had big plans of picking up the car, seeing the town, and maybe even grabbing some car snacks. It was all not to be.

The first sign things had gone awry was at the airport, when there was no Thrifty desk, no person holding a sign, nothing. Thankfully the guy at Sixt called the company for us and informed them they had clients waiting. "Oh, you arrived already! Okay, I'm coming!"

Fifteen minutes later we were zooming to their office, snafu behind us. I confirmed that we had a Fiat Doblo or similar waiting and he looked perturbed. "We have five people," I told him. "FIVE PEOPLE," he exclaimed, fearful eyes wide. Sarah and I looked at each other. This didn't feel good.

Upon arriving at their office (at 5:30pm) we were rushed inside and offered tea, coffee, water, anything. "No thanks," we insisted," just our car. We need to get going."

"Five minutes," the agent told me. "Trust me, no problem."

45 minutes later there was clearly a problem. An Italian family had come and gone, their rental involving a great deal of yelling in a great number of languages. Sarah and I had finished off two bags of Doritos, some hazelnut wafers, and a bottle of water, left entirely to our own devices in their wildly over furnished office. Our patience was quickly waining.

"Where is our car?" I asked in a clearly irritated tone. "You see," he began," we don't have that car. Or any car, really. Our confirmation doesn't have a car type so we don't have that car. Nobody wants that car. It's slow and ugly and uncomfortable and nobody wants it" (note that the Fiat Doblo is the best selling car in Turkey. One in ever five cars is LITERALLY a Doblo. One look just outside their shop offered a visual on no less than FIVE of them).

"See, on our confirmation we get it doesn't say the car you requested so we don't have it." He handed me the confirmation and sure enough, the last line read "car type: mvrp," only just below that it said "page one of two."

"Where is page two," I asked. "This says page one of two. I want to see page two." He definitely didn't expect this level of thoroughness. After staring at me with a guilty face for a good twenty seconds he looked me right in the eyes and said "nobody wants a Doblo."

At this stage we were fed up. It had already been over a hour. "Look, we have a reservation that YOU confirmed for a car that will fit five people with five bags. This is the car you promised by confirming my reservation so find me this car or something bigger immediately," I demanded in a calm and rational voice. "Let me ask my manager," he said as he scurried away.

Fifteen minutes later he returned wearing a smile. I assumed this meant resolution. False. Instead, he offered us a tiny sedan or a Nissan Juke, which I hadn't heard of but which he insisted was "larger than the Doblo. Also," he insisted, "you can't stack luggage above the windows anyway so it's all the same." This did not see like a real law.

Sarah and I went outside and inspected the sedan. Not only was it small, it was really old. And covered - literally covered - in chewed sunflower seed shells. Sarah took one look, turned to me and pronounced, while wagging her finger in the air, "There is NO WAY we will fit in this." With that he said he would bring the Nissan Juke here "in five minutes."

Forty five minutes later it was now nearing 8pm, which is when we were meant to be picking everyone up after picking up our car we reserved MONTHS AGO. Instead, the others were going to hang out in the airport cafe and we still had no vehicle. Finally - FINALLY - he came over and said the car was ready then began to pick up our bags as if we were supposed to be going somewhere. "Where are you taking our stuff," I asked pointedly. "To the car. It's five minutes away. We will drive there."

"But if its not big enough we aren't taking it so you need to bring it here," I said forcefully. "But that is impossible and we must go now," he said with a newfound sense of urgency. Sarah and I agreed after formulating a side plan. Should this car be too small, we were going to claim squatters rights in the large 11-passenger van they were driving us to the Nissan Juke in. I would get out and assess the car and she would hunker down just in case.

Suffice to say, the drive was not five minutes. It was FORTY MINUTES AND 55 kilometers away. We drove on three different highways before pulling off at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere. "This is like the start of a horror film," Sarah said thinking out loud.

As the van approached the Nissan Juke it was obvious there was no chance five grown adults and five bags would be fitting in what looked like a car for Barbie and Ken. In fact, I don't know if I've ever seen a smaller SUV in my life. I got our two suitcases out of the van while Sarah stayed to "occupy" the van in a similar way to how the occupy Wall Street protesters did it - peacefully but not taking any crap from anybody.

I opened the back and attempted to put just two suitcases in the "trunk" and not even those fit. At all. Whatsoever. The bags made the SUV look like the size of some kind of remote control car that I had as a kid. Or a power wheels. "This obviously isn't going to work," I said to the guy. "And now I'm furious. This is ridiculous. I want that van there and I want a full tank of gas because it clearly has worse gas mileage so you will make up the difference in cost."

His jaw dropped to the floor, his eye widened, and he shouted at me, "ARE YOU CRAZY?!" This is when all hell broke loose. In the parking lot of a rest stop. Next to the world's smallest SUV.

"NO, ARE YOU CRAZY?!" I yelled back. The next fifteen minutes are mostly a blur. I was shouting at him while his manager - who spoke no English - was shouting at me. They were saying we couldn't have the van because it was already reserved. I explained that I too ha a reservation and I didn't really care about anyone else's. He told me I was being unreasonable and that he gave me "two good options" and that I should "trust him" which obviously wasn't remotely possible.

Our back and forth was punctuated by regular interludes from Sarah, who would hop out of the van, run over, say something poignant, then run back to the van to reoccupy it. Her best comments included asking if she should just sit on the roof or perhaps leave one of our friends at the airport. Hyperbolic irony no doubt did not translate, as they all just looked totally disturbed and the English speaking guy said confusingly, "no, there are no seat belts on the roof. You can't sit there. That is ridiculous."

I slowly made my way back to the van to double our occupation campaign. Sarah and I then patently refused to move. With this protest the owner, speaking in English for the first time, pointed at us and said "your reservation CANCELLED," which just reignited another round of shouting, pointing, and crazy talk.

At this stage, we had to consider our situation. We were at a rest stop in the middle of Turkey with - right now - a cancelled rental car reservation, three friends still waiting at the airport, and no real options (this was certainly their plan). As such, we begrudgingly accepted the tiny sedan (which was of course back at the office) and vowed to fight the car rental broker instead.

Hopping into the Barbie and Ken Juke to go back to their office, the English speaking guy started in on how hard he works and what music we liked along with other small talk. I ignored him though Sarah was playing good cop and laid out our itinerary for him. "For me a vacation is sun, sea, and relaxation," he started. "Where you're going is just dust and dirt. I don't know why you would go there." Helpful.

Another 35 minutes later we arrived back at the office where he suggested we try other companies quickly. Why we hadn't tried this three hours ago I have no idea. A neighboring company happened to have a VW SUV and an enormous Mercedes sedan. We inquired on price and they were the same.

For a split second we thought we may actually get what we needed but of course this story wouldn't be worth writing if there was a happy ending. Our guy came back outside with the details. "Actually," he began, the VW is Steve's car," pointing to a guy on the sidewalk who waved at us. "You can rent it from Steve but there is no insurance because its more like borrowing your friends car. So if you break something you have to pay Steve for it. And the same for the Mercedes. That is Bob's car," as he pointed at another random guy on the sidewalk who waved at us. "So we would literally be driving around in some guys car," Sarah asked. "Yes, sort of," he replied.

Needless to say, we didn't take that option and instead rolled up to the airport to pick up the others FIVE HOURS after we first sat down to pick up the car. I did my best to cram our bags into the tiny truck, shoving excess small stuff on the back window sill (which we soon learned was not illegal and instead one more lie told by the car rental company), under seats, and between legs.

We started off on our drive three hours late, only to get lost in such a way that left us driving on what turned out to be a closed highway, chased by a pack of wild dogs and stuck behind a very creepy looking 16-wheeler.

Thankfully, we have a great story to tell. And a car company to ruin. A holiday with a purpose!

-Kyle Taylor



- Posted using BlogPress from my KyPhone

Location:Mehmet Akif Ersoy Bulvarı,Akköy,Turkey

Hot Water & Lining Up

It's no secret. Life in Europe and The USA is comfortable. Infrastructure is in place. Things work. While that's easy, it makes us far removed from our basic needs. For me, a basic need is a hot shower in the morning. I don't think twice when trying to accomplish this in London. Not so here. While there was an instant boiler in the bathroom it for whatever reason wouldn't engage when just the shower was running. This led to a flashback to my China days when a hot shower required turning the kitchen sink tap on cold and the bathroom sink tap on hot. This began the great water [wasting] experiment of 2014. I had the kitchen tap on trickle, the bathroom sink full blast, and a blend on the shower temperature. Turn this one down a little and the boiler would click of. Turn this one up to high and you'd lose all pressure in the shower. It felt like flying a plane, spinning all these nobs backwards and forwards. Eventually, when the bathroom was on a trickle of hot and the kitchen sink was medium speed cold and the moon was in its third phase and my shakras were aligned then both pressure and temperature could be maintained and victory was mine. It's these small wins that deliver the biggest smiles and most satisfaction.




The same goes for fitting in while forming a line (or not forming a line, to be more accurate). Now, I of course live in the nation where lining up is a national past time. See a queue of people? Not sure what its for? Who cares! Queuing is fun. Lets join in. It's certain to be good!

Most of the world, as I very easily forgot, does not operate on such a system. This is particularly true when doing things where you are GUARANTEED to get what you're after. You know, like boarding a plane. It's as if there are limited seats and if you don't push, shove, dismember the weak and feeble like children and old ladies, then you may not get on board. I'm now back in "China mode:" Head down, elbows up. You either have to fit in or get out and I say "bring the heat grandma. I will CRUSH you."

-Kyle Taylor

- Posted using BlogPress from my KyPhone

Location:Avanos,Turkey

Welcome to Turkey. In Canada Pot Okay.

For the first time in nearly two years I boarded a plane headed for a developing country. That's right, for the last 22 months it has been only easy, English-speaking, fancy pants places where the roads are paved, the water is hot and you don't have to worry about getting gastro every time you eat or drink something. I know what you're thinking - where's the fun in that?!?!

I decided to ease back into it in Turkey alongside some of my best best friends. Call it backpacker light. Taking off from London - the developed world's most cosmopolitan city - and landing in Istanbul - the developing world's most cosmopolitan city - after only 3 hours on a plane was surreal. The sights. The sounds. The smells.




Their swanky new airport was a near seamless experience and my baggage carousel was shared with a flight arriving from Baghdad, which was fascinating, but then came catching a cab.

Now, perhaps I'm overly hardened by years of travel but from Sydney to São Paulo and everywhere in between, I'm convinced that all taxi drivers at airports are trying to screw me. This was no exception. There is just something fishy about them. Like they know you don't know a damn thing about getting to your destination. Not how long it takes, not how far it is, nothing. Then you're hopping in a car - in a foreign country where you don't speak the language - that says its meant for public hire with some guy you don't know who will supposedly drive you directly to your unknown destination. Would we ever advise out children to do such things? Absolutely not! That's some dangerous stuff. But when you're an adult it's "an adventure." And my ride certainly was.

The driver took my bag and swung it into the boot, miming that it was extremely heavy (the lightest I've ever packed, so a little upsetting).

We got in and I pointed at the meter indicating that we would need to be using that. "No problem my friend," he said to me. I then pulled out the address on my phone screen to which he shook his hand vigorously and said "no letters. Phone?" And thus began my first round of charades on this trip. "No phone," I said. "No Turkish," deciding I should then attempt to read the address out loud, which when as well as you'd think. I struggled through and when I finished he laughed, pointed at me and said "you no Turkish." Indeed sir. Me no Turkish. So I said the generic central square, he nodded, and we were off.

Minutes later he said "music?" so I gave a thumbs up and he cranked up the Saturday night jams on Joy FM. Next it was where I am from, and this is when it got AMAZING. "Canada," I said, heeding the advice of a professor from my trip to Turkey in 2004, when the invasion of Iraq pissed off most of the world. We had been in the Grand Bizarre and a seller asked us if we were Canadian. My friend said "no, American," at which point the shopkeeper pulled out a knife and chased us out of the market. Therefore I felt for reasons of safety it was prudent, on this trip, to be Canadian.

"Ohhhhh, Canada!!!" he exclaimed, waving two thumbs up vigorously while steering with his knee. "In Canada, smoking pot is okay," he explained, while mimicking inhaling from a doobee. "In Turkey, not okay." Um, okay.





On that note the car fell silent and we allowed the thumping bass on the radio to fill the void until the drive shouted out of nowhere, "RED BULL! RED BULL!" while mimicking sipping from a can. I gave him a thumbs up, indicating that yes, red bull was indeed a thing." This somehow translated as "let's get some" and we were soon careening across 3 lanes of traffic to pull into a gas station and, you guessed it, buy some red bull.

As we ground to a halt and he went to hop out I pointed at the meter, waving my hand as if to say "stop the meter if you're making a pit stop." He looked at me, laughed and said whilst waving his hand "it's okay. No problem!

After disappearing in the shop for what felt like ages as I watched the meter tick over he emerged with a red bull for him and a schweppes mandarin in a glass bottle for me. "Heyyy!!! Canada!!! Red Bull!!! It's okay!!!"

This is where my past experience anxiety reached new highs. We are at a service station. He's just bought us sodas. The meter is running. It's midnight and people are waiting. It's been two years since I've done this. I don't remember my old "full time traveller" skillset. Oh god, what do I do.

Just then he popped up the bottom of his seat to reveal a bottle opener, a corkscrew and plastic cups. This guy wasn't trouble, he just liked to entertain. Strangers. While moving.

He popped the bottle for me and we were off, once again zooming towards the city center. The music was blasting, the drinks were cold and the wet hot air of summer was rushing across my face. This is what I've been missing so much.

We road in silence the rest of the way, enjoying the music and the beverages. As we approached the square I said to him "thank you in Turkish." English is thank you. Turkish is..." and without missing a beat he responded, "gvaz."

"Gvaz," I said to him. "And hello," I inquired. "Gvaz," he said. That's easy, I thought. Same phrase! "Goodbye," I asked. "Gvaz," he answered. Okay, like aloha, I thought. "What about please, " I wondered allowed. "Also Gvaz," he replied. This is one useful word, I thought. I stopped there for fear of having to learn a new word if I asked too many questions. When in doubt, I thought, just say Gvaz.




He dropped me bang on the centre of the city. We shook hands, "I said gvaz a few times," he said "gvaz" a few times, and away I walked, having reentered for a moment in time the world I love so much. One in which everything isn't always clear and stuff just sort-of happens. Plus, I'm now nearly fluent in Turkish, which is fantastic.

Gotta run! Gvaz for now!

-Kyle Taylor

- Posted using BlogPress from my KyPhone

Location:Kağnı Yolu Sokak,Nevþehir,Turkey

The Best 7 Minutes Of Your Day

Let's start with me admitting I was a blubbering mess watching this, but so was Keith Urban and half the audience.  I can make logical arguments as to why this was extremely significant for the gay rights movement - a rapper, with a global reach and international audience, gave his airtime to use contemporary music as a vehicle for change, nothing about it seemed token, it wasn't over the top, etc. etc. - but it's mostly that watching it gave me this feeling we're going to win.  There is no turning back now.  Change has come.  I rarely think mainstream art leads.  Instead, I usually find when it's picked up in the mainstream, we have arrived.  Okay, I'm off to re-watch it 500 times.

A Case of the Mondays

I've given writing this blog a go several times in the last six months and never seemed to be able to stick with it.  I couldn't figure out why.  Was there nothing interesting to say?  Was there no political commentary to be made?  Had I lost my comedic streak?  Was I just not "seeing" the world anymore the way I used to?  One major impediment is that I can't write about work for obvious reasons (politics and all).  The other reason, I only just realized, is that the rest of my life is fairly boring.  By fairly boring I mean, for me, really boring.  The most exciting thing that happened to me today was getting an amazing deal on fresh ready-made deals at the supermarket.

I do believe I have a low threshold for boredom.  If I'm not being pulled in 3 different directions, learning something totally new, consuming news in real time, watching a TV show, and planning my weekend while on a moving train, plane, or bus I generally feel bored.  This is my reality.

As it's a new year, I'm recommitting myself to beating the bored out of me.  It may take some time, as waking up and having your first thought be when you can next get into bed is still somewhat appealing.  Also, it doesn't get light until 8am so it's not the most inspiring situation in the AM hours.  But hey, I know that's a load of excuses.  While I scheme, at least I know I'll be eating healthy, in controlled portions, and on a budget, so that's something.

-Kyle Taylor

P.S. This is NOT a New Year resolution.  It's just something I'm doing.  Resolutions are overrated and hardly ever last.  If you want to do something, just do it. Right?

Syria Isn't A War, It's a Moral & Human Obligation

What happened in Syria - the use of chemical weapons - is a moral atrocity.  It is an explicit desire to inflict pain and suffering on people and in this case, it was performed by a government to its OWN people, which is even more shocking.  What I'm saying is, there is no need to use them.  They don't do anything more than regular weapons to kill people, they just make the death more horrific and painful.  There is no point to them.

This is the argument that has been used to suggest it was "the rebels" and not the government in Syria who used the weapons, despite the fact that there is extensive evidence to show that the government has such weapons, along with a fairly decked out military.  That versus "the rebels," who are made up of several different disparate groups who aren't organised, aren't being supplied by foreign governments or groups (as opposed to the Syrian government, who is being armed by Iran and Russia).  Three international governments have ruled near conclusively (it's never possible to be 100% sure but knowing that in one incident the weapons were dropped by fighter jets pretty much rules out the rebels, no?) that the Syrian government was responsible.  Most recently, Germany.

I've been confused by the lack of public support for any action at all when you consider what has gone on and how much less we've gone to war for in the past.  Iraq - No WMDs in existence, much less used!.  In Libya, much of the same.  And yet guns were blazing in the USA for the former and around the world for the latter.  Now, this time, we have concrete evidence that a leader is brutally murdering his own people and the world is like, "no, not this time." Huh?  Here are my four points:

1. If there was ever a conflict this century to act on, it's this one.  The Syrian government has violated an obscene number of international laws, used chemical weapons to kill their own people, and caused the displacement of SEVEN MILLION PEOPLE, 2 million of them across borders.  When people are fleeing TO Iraq you know something's seriously wrong.  That's one third of the entire population displaced.  Not even the conflicts in Afghanistan or Iraq can match that.
2. We're not "helping Al-Qaeda" by taking action.  One of MANY groups fighting Assad is Al-Qaeda and in fact, the most powerful ones are secular groups in the south.  Also, is Assad's government not a terror group itself at this point, dropping chemical weapons on civilians?  Also, doesn't it offer some semblance of good will and shift the perception of people when the international community intervenes for the right reasons?
3. Um, folks, whose side do we want to be on here?  I believe it's Iran, Russia and China who are backing Assad at the minute for whatever reason.  None of them are really superstars as of late when it comes to basic human rights.  My guess is their team isn't the best choice.
4. Nothing I've written really matters because of the moral obligation we have as human beings to help other human beings who are being senselessly slaughtered by their own government using cruel and unusual methods.  I mean, dear god, how is everyone not wildly and unbelievably outraged?  This is a violation at the most human level and if something like this doesn't drive us to act my bigger fear is for humanity in general.

Hot Dog Crust Pizza & Other Ways We Know We Have Enough

Living in central London, we get about 4,761 leaflets under our door a week.  Recently, TWO pizza places have been offering their "Hot Dug Stuffed Crust Pizza," using an arrow to show exactly where the hot dog goes inside the crust for those of us who have never even heard of pizza.

We all know that in "developed" countries we have, generally, enough food (of course there are also those going hungry in the developing world, which further reinforces my point).  We know this because we have overweight and obese people, suggesting there is a significant excess of food available to us.

With that in mind, WHY ARE WE PUTTING HOT DOGS INTO THE CRUST OF PIZZA?  Some would say "why not?" and go into a long speech about how this is the American Dream and freedom and blah blah blah.  All of those arguments are absurd.  We as a society have proven that decisions like how much to eat can't be left up to us because we make bad choices and that affects everyone (healthcare costs, for example).  As such, it's time to be an overreaching government-loving liberal and call for the immediate ban on all foods that combine two foods that are terrible for you into one food.

On that note, I'd also like to ban useless crap like this strap-on knee pillow.  For those of you considering purchasing this fine piece of useless sleep accessory, please spread your legs, take on of your head pillows, and place it between them.  Close.  Done.  I just saved you $16.  You're welcome.

-Kyle Taylor