What is a border more than a line on the map, a sign on the road and a change of language or currency? In Schengen Europ,e borders are quickly fading away in their assertion of power, being relegated as reminders of political situations in the past. Between Austria and the Czech Republic a monument reminds us of the iron curtain, but the boom gates have been removed a long time ago. On my last day in the European union I crossed another border that only vaguely resembled cold war conditions: between Bulgaria and Greece a handful of smiling guards wave through the cars.How different was the situation on the border between Greece and Turkey. I would have happily showed you the sanitary cordon on the Turkish side, but several signs strongly pointed out to me that photography would be a bad idea. Several machine guns and a battalion of recruits guarded the customs house, but I guess you have to station all those boys in military service somewhere. Finally again annoyed officials were barking at me in a language I didn't understand, sending me from desk to desk in a ritual dance in which each person attending has their part, from the fat stagnant chief to the slow moustachioed old man with cane.
And not only the border itself showed a marked difference: quite soon road rules disappeared, as well as clear lanes or road signs indicating destinations. Hooting increased suddenly, regional roads were nowhere to be found. And evenly sudden waned the English language. People proved very keen to speak with me, but a common language was hard to find. All the Slavic words I had piled up over the countries were at once worthless, so the only thing left to do was learn Turkish and train my miming in the meantime.
And Istanbul is huge. With the sun out again after some horrible Dutch November days, the Eurasian onion is waiting to be peeled in more agreeable conditions. The bike is parked for a few days until I get to the heart of it.
