Chairman Mao and the Curse of the Black Pube

Chairman Mao is sat on my knee, his polished, evil, old-man-in-a-mac face staring up at me. Not the real one you understand, just a biography of him. (But i do like the idea of having a little Mao bouncing around like a child as we zoom through the turkish countryside, giggling and asking for an ice cream. What would he do if I refused I wonder? Cut my sack off probably.)

Its been a while since the last blog, or since i wrote in my journal. There's been so much to do recently that its hard to find the time. What with, eating sleeping, sleeping, eating again, wandering round the streets of Istanbul, eating kebabs, drinking apple tea, buying a guitar, having a Turkish bath, sleeping, eating, sleeping and reading, eating etc. Life is hard, but we're all managing to struggle through in our own ways. C is very quickly becoming a honed carnivore, managing to sniff out a meat seller from over 3km away. She also giggles a lot. Others are snoozing, drinking or reading. I am sleeping more and have decided to drink less in an attempt to get fit for Everest.

I know that last sentence sounds like a joke, but its true. I even went for a run two days ago with Andrew, Mike T, Edel and Carolyn. We were staying in Goreme in Turkey, a beautiful place reminiscent of Tatooiine on Star Wars (False trips are advertised around the place – they're lies, it was never filmed there.) Strange rock formations flow down from the hills, or jut from the ground like stone mushroom towers. Over the centuries (from the Hittites onwards) they've been carved out and lived in, and people still live in them today. We had a tour around the rock faces, gawping at the ancient slabs like children. (Secretly I wished I was one again – I could have gotten away with leaping and climbing around on them if I was 9, rather than 29. Did it anyway. Felt great.) The run took us through the valley floor, between rock towers, wide-hollowed tunnels, dried river beds (and past confused tour guides with their sunglassed German herds.) As a first jog in about a year, it was amazing. I felt like Indiana Jones (only in shorts and out of breath.) Unfortunately I totally knackered my right foot and am resting it over the next two days of travelling. So much for exercise.

It didn't stop me dancing the other night however. We attended the “Turkish Cultural Evening” with a vast crowd of different nationalitites: German; Dutch; French; Japanese. On arrival we descended into a stone amphitheatre, a large domed underground space, with 5 long branches extendng from the centre. Each branch contained two long tables, one of which we took and sat down to a selection of tasty meats and veg starters. The idea of the night was for us to see a variety of different Turkish dances with as much booze and food as we could quaff for 35 lira. We began and finished in style, with several of the group being involved in dancing exhibitions. The memories of the night are vague (thanks to the God of Raki, an elusive and persuasive entity,) but I've tried to list the main recollections below:
1. Playing “The guessing game of foods” with the starters. Only one correctly identified.
2. Having wine, beer, raki and vodka lined up next to my plate.
3. Smiling.
4. Watching the traditional “Whirling Dervishes” (“Whirling?” More like Ambling. “Slow Ambling Dervishes in a circle perhaps) and being more interested in the green light shining on a mans head on a different table, and wondering why the music had a subtle dance beat – didn't realise drum loops were an ancient Turk invention.
5. Watching a wedding dance and, thanks to the Raki God, and for all you recently engaged people, being overwhelmed by the image of men and women dancing in unison in celebration. (Paul I have bought you the costume, but it does mean you dancing around in a fashion much like The Ministry of Silly Walks. Katie will love it.)
6. Drinking more Raki.
7. Being involved in a Wedding Dance and nearly wetting myself with laughter as Mike T did push ups to impress the ´bride´.
8. Terry, in competition with a foreign midget, dancing with the Belly Dancer. More laughter and raki.
9. Kirsten slightly miffed and red in the face, shaking her bits to the massive roar from our crowd. (She's sat next to me now, and she's still not happy about it!) Video available.
10. A massive Raki-shaped blur of lamb meat, dancing, minibus ride, ipod appropriation agaın (must must must stay away from Vengaboys) and waking up in a strange place.

So much for drinking less. It was the best night so far however, and there have been a lot. But the pace has slowed down on the travelling, meaning we have longer to do and see things. For example in Goreme we have been on an all-day tour, been running, had the “cultural night,” saw carpets being made, had a turkish bath, slept in and eaten amazing food, and today, before leaving for the coast, went up in a hot air balloon for an hour over the rock formations and old cities.

Unbelievable things hot air balloons. Like graceful jellyfish. Or sky whales. Something aquatic and beautiful at least. We hopped into the basket and with a few blasts we were up, drifting high above the earth as the sun breached the horizon, catching the folds in the rocks and turning the ground pink and cream. With well over 15 balloons in the sky at once, and with the suppose Star Wars scenery, it felt like a sci-fi movie. We drifted over trees, saw wild foxes, span lazily in air currents, stared into the sun.

There's much more to tell you about the past few days such as camping by the sea outside of Istanbul, feeling like a human flapjack as a layer of grey skin is removed by a moustached hairy turk with a scouring pad and a grin, or a perfect Kebab that I nearly wrote a love-poem to. But I must now tell you about a dreadful curse that has befallen the Odyssey Overland trip.

The Curse of the Black Pube.

Now looking at the title I can imagine what you're thinking. Its not a rip off from Pirates of the Carribean. Its not a random black pube that has cropped up on plates, or in clothes, or on seats over the last 3 weeks (Although that may become an issue as more shorts are worn.) Its not even the purse of the black pubes mispelt because
a) my spelling, whilst usually poor on foreıgn keyboards, is o.k today
b) why would anyone want a purse full of pubes? Seek help you wierdo.

No. This is a story. And this story is about Mike Treanor.

Mike Treanor is one of our intrepid travellers. He is Irish, sporty, hilarious and likes his Jamesons. He ıs also very gınger. Looking at his face you would not think he harbours a secret. But beneath that ginger exterior lies something evil. Something dark and dangerous. Something that has cursed our trip with bad weather and possibly worse to come.

You remember that ancient Greek myth about Theseus? How he had to go to Crete to fight the Minotaur. Every year his father had to send 7 virgin males and 7 virgin females as a sacrifice, to avoid war. The sacrifices would be released into the labyrinth whereupon the hideous horned beast would hunt them down and feast on their fresh flesh (possibly with a side salad, and some feta – this ıs a Greek myth.) Theseus hid himself as one of the sacrifices ın order to kill the Minotaur. Upon his successful return Theseus had promised his father to fly a white sail to show he was alive, but for some reason didnt, and flew a black sail instead. Standing on the cliff top his father saw the black sail on the horizon, and beliveing his son dead, hurled himself into the foaming waters below. (Idiot – why not wait to check?)

Well now. Back to reality. Mike has a secret. (Well I say its a secret, but its not really.) Amidst his ginger locks lies a dark and terrible omen, a black sail if you will, that I believe has brought a storm upon us. Amidst the ginger depths of his pants he has one terrible, ominous, thıng.

The black pube.

İt ıs this black pube that has cursed us, just as it has cursed many an Irish nightclub crowd upon its appearance. You see the pube can sometimes take over Mike's brain (especially after Jamesons) and reveal itself to the world. Our group has seen this terrible creature agaınst our will a few nights ago. Who knows what this evil beast is capable of?

Maybe I'm wrong, maybe its just the weather. But as the sky continues to darken, our eyes turn menacingly towards him, and Edel (his girlfriend) is pinching together her fingers. Hopefully she can relieve us of our torment.

The pube may not last the night, but will the weather?