One day, a few years ago, I sat on the ground of a tea plantation in the mountains of Burma and refused to move. I cried and cried. My ex-boyfriend, Tom, reasonably tried to tell me that I was acting unreasonably. I sat there like a stroppy teenager. I was burnt out. I was exhausted from travelling, tired of meeting new people every day, tired of constantly packing my rucksack.
Any traveller who has spent time in Turkey has probably heard racism directed towards Kurdish people. It is believed that 20-25 million Kurds live within the borders of Turkey. I am often told that south-eastern Turkey, which is predominantly Kurdish, is dangerous, and that I shouldn’t get into cars with Kurdish numberplates. This is, of course, nonsense. I have argued with people over their assumption that their government provides everything for Kurdish people, but that Kurds are never grateful. This common attitude can partly be explained because the Turkish government presents itself “as if it gives substantial concessions to Kurdish people never granted in the history of Turkish Republic while, on the other hand, repressing the Kurdish movement by “anti-terror” measures.” (document published by Michael Albert on ZBlogs)
Mats, Robert and I arrive in Turkish Kurdistan at night, and a lovely man lets us spend the night on the floor of a petrol station! We are told about a recent attack in the town by the Turkish military, killing over thirty people.
After a month in England and a quick visit to Germany, I arrive back in Olympos, Turkey, with a huge grin on my face. I am back in paradise. I am very lucky to have a friend, Yucel, who lets me stay at his pension. I spend a week swimming in the sea and making new friends.
I have spent five months hitchhiking east, and now I find myself in Georgia, where it is easy to get a ride (you never wait more than a few minutes) and where the locals are very friendly. I spend a few days walking in the mountains and hitchhiking around with my friend Françoise.