Mongol Rally 2007 - Windmill Giants official blog

A few hours after collapsing, exhausted into bed, we were up and at another day.  Eser & David drove across the Bosphorus into Asia, but were really to tired to take much note at the time of Rustinante’s triumphant crossing of Europe.  The car had outperformed all expectations so far, and seemed fit to circle the globe. 

They found secure parking, and after a futile search for camping gas that led them to a scuba store (curse you Jetboil website!), were on board a ferry to meet with Illiana on the other side of the city in Yesilkoy.  Illiana was successful in dropping off the passports at the Turkmenistan embassy, but despite the fact that we were likely the first people to visit that office in weeks, we were told that we could not pick up the passports before 6pm.  It was not up for discussion; those were simply the rules, probably chiseled in stone by Turkmenbashi himself, and there was nothing we could do to get on the road any sooner.  It was kind of silly that we were in such a rush largely because we had such a short window of time on our Turkmenistan visa, yet just getting these approved visas physically in our passports would delay us by a whole day. 

There are worse places to kill a day than Istanbul (as we learned later in the trip), so we headed to trendy Taksim for traditional Turkish food and stuffed ourselves good.  We left just enough room for sweets at the legendary Saray Muhallebicisi, which has a well deserved reputation for serving the best desserts in Istanbul.  After eating our fill of flaky, nutty, syrup-soaked deliciousness, we thanked Eser for his extraordinary guidance and support and made our way back to the embassy for Turkmenistan.   

While we had planned to just kill a little time, we ended up slaughtering it, and had to run from the train station to the embassy of Turkmenistan to get there before they closed.  A few bureaucratic obstacles later, we had our passports in hand with a three-day transit visa for Turkmenistan, not the five-day visa that we were told on the phone that we would be getting.  The Rally-ending potential of this turn of events on our time line was not lost on us as we ferried across the Bosphorus, retrieved Rustinante, got in a minor fender bender, learned the Turkish word for highway, and hauled ass as fast as endless stop-go-traffic would allow. 

We managed to put about 200 miles between ourselves and Istanbul before the previous night’s sleeplessness caught up with us.  We had enjoyed the comforts found in the homes of family, friends, and Couchsurfing hosts each night since leaving London, the time had come to rough it for the night at a Turkish rest stop.  We were clearly the only non-Turks at this all-night fuel and food stop somewhere near Gerede, but certainly not the only ones catching a little shut-eye.  Several families had spread out blankets on the lawn and slept under the stars while dozens of others snoozed in their cars.  So with our windows rolled down enough to let in air but not a hand, we leaned back our seats and allowed ourselves a few hours of desperately needed Zs.