The bus trip from Trabzon to Sinop was another of those ‘Exterminating Angel’ experiences in which you enter a situation and there is no end to it. We left at ten and expected to be there by four, given the new road and the advice of Hüseyin’s friend. Our actual arrival time was nine at night but it was one of the most interesting and enjoyable bus trips, so things could have been worse. The bus left early, but only to go first to the old otogar (bus station), where we waited for about ten minutes while our driver went into the traffic police office. Many towns have relocated their otogars to areas outside the city, so this unloved and rusting set up looked like a ghost town and was one, except for the single operating office.
The road followed the coast so we were straining our necks trying to catch the views of the mountains on one side and the Black Sea on the other. Now and then we passed castles or perfect little bays, where a house was built almost on the sand and vegetable plots ran back into tiny forests.
Almost as soon as we had started, our neighbour from Iran began talking to us, as did the man in front of him. We didn’t have a common language but we now have some words and I recognise some often asked questions in Turkish, and our topics were very basic. We showed them our photos and the Iranian man, Mustah, gave us a photo of himself to add to our album. He also was keen to have our address, although it is hard to imagine when he will need it, and our phone number, which will definitely be useless.By this stage the driver felt we were in need of a break – we had been travelling for an hour. We stopped in a tiny town where the baker makes a specialty round bread with a twist along the top and a slash that opens up during baking. There were two drivers and a steward and they were enjoying a copious morning tea. They gave us some chocolate helva and the special bread to taste, and organised me so that I could take close up photos of the baker at work. We bought one of the special loaves.
When we got back in the bus, the second driver slid into a compartment between the luggage and the seating where there was a bed. It was like a letter being slipped into an envelope, the fit was so neat. After this break the man behind us reached over and gave us cheese sticks to eat. Later he passed simits and chocolates, so we were really spoilt. His name was Bastey and he had introduced himself by pointing out a castle for us to photograph. From then on until our arrival in Sinop, we, Mustah and Bastey engaged in the slowest conversation ever. They would say something to us and we would look up words in the dictionary to understand their comments and to reply. They were knowledgeable about the areas we passed through. We learnt about the crops of hazelnuts and rice and about the processing of many foods in factories. A banker and a sheriff, they were both retired and very friendly.It was now time for another stop, this time of half an hour, so we ate the delicious bread beside a fountain next to the bus station. Pigeons fluffed up their feathers in the spray.
Back on the road, we discussed our travels and our plans and everyone looked at the map. We still seem to be a rare commodity as tourists, so we are obvious and of interest. Keith drifted to sleep for half an hour or so, waking as the bus stopped for another half hour break. This time we were at a large centre with shops and a statue of an Amazon, in the area of the town of Terme. The Amazons are supposed to have lived here and to have been fearless women warriors. They cut off their right breasts to facilitate shooting arrows. The Barbie doll Amazons on sale had no disfigurements and would never have been able to shoot straight. Dressed in clothing of the local weaving, they were on stands which had little piles of hazelnuts, like droppings, behind the dolls. Best to put everything into the one souvenir, someone had obviously thought. We bought some hazelnuts, minus a doll, and they certainly were scrumptious. At each break the resting driver joined the others for tea and refreshments before slipping back into his cocoon.
The last stop for us with that bus was at Samsun, where we waved to our friends as they drove on and we waited for a dolmush to the otogar. The second last leg was on a third bus and with silent travellers who, like us, may have been travelling all day. It was still daylight as we drove through scenery very like Gippsland in Australia. Rolling hills were cleared and planted in some places and forested in others. Pretty villages nestled in valleys and on curves in rivers. 
Keith likened the hissing of the bus to a mighty dragon letting off steam as it blasted its way across the country. I thought it sounded like an artificial lung machine being occasionally kicked into action in a shambolic country hospital. How our minds do differ.Finally we arrived at Sinop, where we hastily jumped on to a dolmush that would take us the last seven kilometres or so to the town centre. What a day!
Of course we had no idea where to get out but a kind couple took us under their wing. They walked us some distance to our pension and were simply happy to have been of assistance. This was to be the pattern with people we met in Sinop. The friendliness of locals to visitors was even mentioned on the Sinop tourist map as a feature of the district. Our pension was run by two octogenarians; courteous gentlemen who dozed off between encounters with patrons. The beds were so comfortable and it was a surprise to have a bathroom with a separate shower recess and a pedestal toilet.
Turkey is about to bring in tight laws about smoking so hopefully scenes like this will be a thing of the past, but it's hard to imagine a nation of smokers suddenly restricting their habit to the extent that will be prescribed in a few days.
The fashionable hairstyle for young Turks is having the hair sweeping up towards the crown and held in place with plenty of gel.
Redidential blocks of flats often have shops on the ground floor.
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