Looking at the bright side of life
Day 354: The positive aspects of horrible events — Yenice, Turkey
I heard the other day that Life (or call it how you want) will always give you exactly what your shoulders are build for. I truly believe in this statement even if, sometimes (quite often, let’s be fair) when going through a hard time I do wonder “why me?” with a crying baby sound. Completely pathetic I know.
Afterwards, I need to talk about it to as many people as possible. As I moved way too much, the “many people” are basically my husband, my best friend and sometimes my mum and dad. But still, I am somebody who needs to express what I feel as to be able to understand what I am going through and get some perspective.
I am NOT asking for advice when I explain my problem. I just want somebody to hear me, complain with me, tell me I’m right (even if I’m not but don’t worry, I do question every little movement I have all the time so I will scrutinise what I’ve done many many times) and tell me to go and eat an ice-cream.
A really good friend of mine is basically the opposite. If anything happens to her, she will not talk about it. She will study the situation until she has all the parts and once she knows all about it (which can take years sometimes), she will disclose what has happened. As her friend, it is sometimes hard to have a conversation as everything is always fine and if I don’t ask a specific question about a specific event (like her ex with whom she broke up 3 years ago), I may never know the whole story about the breakup.
And you? What’s your way?
After this little circumvolution, let’s go back to Turkey, after I have been attacked by the bees. As I was walking, with no internet, I couldn’t see how bad or not it was to have been bitten by more than 10 bees. After having decided I should not stop walking for a while, as to not pass out on the side of the path, I also made up my mind that it had to be good somehow. When arriving in my hotel, at night, I actually googled the positive effects of bee’s venom. It made it way easier to continue walking thinking I was getting superhuman power from the bees instead of freaking out at my own death there on this road.
“17.06.2015
(…)
It’s hot as hell but I don’t stop. At noon, I haven’t eaten anything but my breakfast cherries and I stop. I’ve still got about 10 km to go. My hips are aching and I’d like to lie down, but I’ve stopped too late and can’t find a nice spot. Finally, I stop by the roadside, out of the sun. I remove some stingers from my ear and skull, gobble down a chocolate bar and a packet of cookies, smoke two cigarettes and set off again, under a blazing sun.
I want to get to Yenice fairly quickly, I need a shower, some rest. These bees have killed me.
A car pulls up. “No problem!” I shout, thumbs up. It passes.
Another 5km. Another car stops. I explain. No way. The old man won’t let me continue, interposing himself in front of me, raising his finger to point at the sun before lowering it, all the while continuing his vituperation, to point at the car seat. I complied and climbed into the passenger seat, wearily.
A few minutes earlier, I had come across a magnificent turtle.
The last 5 km go by like a flash, whereas it would have taken me at least two hours on foot. The scenery is as magnificent as ever.
Yenice is a small village by the sea. Two horns of green meadows seem to protect it as it plunges into a limpid blue sea.
I think my savior built the village playground, or maybe his house is nearby. I’m not sure I understand, but I think he’s going to take me to Bandirma because there’s no penzione or ôtel in Yenice. I give in, I don’t understand a thing.
Yenice. We stop for tea. Everyone wants to offer me some. By the third, I’m beginning to refuse, feeling an increasingly pressing need. No one speaks German or English.
I see them talking about me. Two cops sit down. They listen to my story, told by my savior. They ask me questions in English. They ask me for my passport. Which is obviously at the bottom of the bag, but I comply.”
“17.06.2015
(…)
Il fait chaud en diable mais je ne m’arrête pas. A midi, je n’ai encore rien avalé si ce n’est les cerises du petit-déj et je m’arrête. Il me reste encore environ 10 km. Mes hanches me font mal, j’aimerais pouvoir m’allonger mais je me suis arrêtée trop tard et je ne trouve pas de bel endroit. Finalement, je m’arrête en bord de route, à l’abri du soleil. Je retire de mon oreille et de mon crâne des dards, englouti une barre chocolatée et un paquet de biscuits, fume deux cigarettes et repars, sous un soleil de plomb.
Je veux arriver assez vite à Yenice, j’ai besoin d’une douche, de repos. Ces abeilles m’ont tuées.
Une voiture s’arrête. “No problem!” je crie, les pouces levés. Elle passe.
Encore 5km. Une autre voiture s’arrête. J’explique. Pas moyen. Le vieux ne me laisse pas continuer, s’interposant devant moi, levant le doigt pour désigner le soleil avant de l’abaisser, tout en continuant à vitupérer, pour montrer le siège de la voiture. J’obtempère et grimpe sur le siège passager, de guerre lasse.
Quelques minutes auparavant, j’ai croisé une tortue magnifique.
Les 5 derniers kilomètres passent comme un éclair alors que ça m’aurait pris au moins deux heures à pied. Le paysage est toujours aussi magnifique.
Yenice est un petit village, posé en bord de mer. Deux cornes de prés verts semblent le protéger en s’enfonçant dans une mer d’un bleu limpide.
Je crois que mon sauveur a construit le parc d’enfants du village, ou peut-être que sa maison se situe tout prêt. Je ne suis pas certaine de comprendre mais je crois qu’il va m’amener à Bandirma parce qu’il n’y a pas de penzione ni d’ôtel à Yenice. Je me laisse faire, de toute façon, je comprend rien.
Yenice. On s’arrête pour prendre le thé. Tout le monde veut m’en offrir. Au troisième, je commence à refuser, ayant un besoin de plus en plus pressant. Personne ne parle allemand ou anglais.
Je les vois discuter de moi. Deux gendarmes s’asseoient. Ils écoutent mon histoire, racontée par mon sauveur. Ils me posent des questions en anglais. Me demandent mon passeport. Qui est évidemment au font du sac mais je m’exécute.”
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