we awoke this morning in old istanbul to five to ten centimeters of thick wet white snow and the mercury down around the freezing mark.
breakfast was delightful. they played mozart, string quartets. there was cheese, boiled eggs, olives, tomates, cucumbers, bread, coffee, yoghourt, honey. we ate in the glassed in top floor of our hotel and watched the blizzard pour in over the bosphorus. we slightly hurried, packed our bags and put them in the car with the leftover olive samples from the trade show, and headed out into the storm in the tiny sports car with racing tires.
the streets of istanbul were deserted -- the only cars were the taxis. it was more raining than snowing but it was definitely snowing. the bridge over the straights was glistening white and the wind was strong enough to push the cars in unison to the right, skidding along the crystalline bridge deck. white smoke billowed from one chimney. the only colour in the whole scene was the red of turkish flags in the terrible wind.
coming round a slippery corner, an early sign that our trip was ill-fated: being cut off by an ambulance, on its back doors the words: "be an organ donor."
we planned to take the ferry which would have been a shortcut, but every one was cancelled and we wasted an hour looking for the way back to the highway, and when we found it it was so slippery that no cars could get up it, certainly not ours. mehmet said, we are going to try it in reverse (the little alfa romeo is front-wheel drive). cars would go up the road, start to slip, then slide back and around. even a pickup truck could not make it. we kept way back. every time we did though someone would come around from behind us and go in front, then start sliding back into us.
finally there were no cars in front. we gunned it (not in reverse). we made it up onto the highway, but barely.
immediately out of istanbul there are mountains. the highway is a four lane highway with a concrete divider and on either side of the divider a deep channel for water to run down. we pressed up and up the road til we were sliding back as much as moving forward. just about every car was in the same boat as us. somehow cars continued to pass us and pull in front. we shouted. we gestured. there were cars in the ditch beside us, but somehow we held on -- onward, onward.
"don't you think there should be some work being done on this road?" asked mehmet. indeed, there were no snowplows, no sanding trucks, no nothing. in fairness, there were signs saying not to go forward without chains.
sliding down as much as going up -- finally we found a bridge and pulled in underneath to collect our thoughts behind a man putting chains on his fiat. a snowplow drove by. mehmet said, "that's it." so we peeled out and got in five cars behind the snowplow, and at last we could get some traction.
it was forty kilometers into a six hundred kilometer drive and we were doing twenty. it was ok, though, we were at least going forward. the cars that were not slipping off the road all pulled in behind the snowplow and soon there was a column perhaps fifty cars long trudging up this slippery mountain pass.
and then: a pickup truck pulled out from behind us, pressed up and past the leading cars, and passed the snowplow. his momentum carried him up the snowy highway. then he lost traction and slid back, back towards the snowplow, spun sideways, and hit the ditch.
the snowplow stopped. the cars behind stopped. we stopped. the column stopped. then slowly, like an iceshelf collapsing, every car in the column started sliding back. the little alfa had no chance. mo fought for control. the car spun. it spun right around and started sliding down face first towards the cars down the mountain. somehow mo got control and got the car angled off to the side. down we went and we hit the cement divider face first. the front tire jammed into the deep run-off trough filled with wet snow, and there we sat, panting. no way was the car moving.
"well," said mo, "at least we have olives."
"i hope you all went to the crapper before we left," i said.
we turned off the engine and powered down cellphones and generally thought about what to do next.
nothing we could do but wait, for now. so wait we did. then, like out of a dream a man came walking towards us from over the mountain pass. as he drew closer we could see he was carrying a duffel bag. from out of the duffel bag he took a plastic bag of round orange fruits. he came towards us. he motioned to mo to roll down the window. "take them," he said, "five lira." we said no. "take them," he said again. again no. but he was so insistent that mo eventually handed over five lira just to make him go away. it was a huge clear plastic bag of tangerines. mo rolled up the window. again silence.
we ate tangerines as the snow melted on the windshield.
"easier to stay warm than get warm," i said shortly, "we should get our warm layers out of the trunk. and make more space back here."
"man, i don't want to give up hope," said mehmet. "i am still hoping to be rescued." he wiped the fog from the window. in front of us were cars stranded as far as you could see down the highway. "mass rescue."
we waited perhaps a half hour more, listening to people honking their car horns. luckily it was not cold. raining, freezing, but not cold. seriously i have not seen a blizzard like this in canada and we have seen some impressive blizzards in canada.
we heard a diesel engine. a shape loomed in the fog of the windshield. we wiped away the fog. it was a truck-mounted crane. we were saved.
we were nearly at the front of the column so we got them first. we dug the car out enough to fit broad nylon straps under the frame. the plan was to have them lift us over the median and put us on the other side, where we could roll/skid back down to istanbul. we got the straps in position. the lift operator started the hydraulics. the straps tightened. he raised the crane.
the passenger door started to collapse.
scratch that. the plan take two was to just have them get us out of the ditch, which they did by yanking with the crane on the front tires, though that knocked the wheels out of alignment. they half dragged and we half pushed the car around the right way up the highway, and we were safe for the moment.
the highway behind was chaotic. a bus blocked the road. there were cars in the ditch and across the lanes. far in the distance a snowplow was trying to make its way up through this anarchy and get to the front of the column to shepherd us. everyone tried to push forward at once. women pushed while men worked the gears. people blared their horns. no one moved the bus.
finally mo and i started pushing the bus ourselves. half-sheepishly people started to help and at last we got it sticking to the ground and moving up and out of the way so the snowplow could come through. mo and i got soaked pushing cars up and out. we must have pushed ten. then there was no one left to cut us off so we pushed the little alfa forward and ugur got it going and then i jumped in and ugur jumped over the gear shift and mo jumped in and we were off and running, and soon we were over the pass and again touching a hundred as we whipped through the marginally less treacherous roads beyond.
you could see the fragrance itself in the tangerines. you'd peel one and all these little oil droplets would spray out. and they still had green stems and green leaves. all day it's been snowing. what a strange, what a strange trip this has been.
