I didn’t want to move all of my shit so he could sit down – that’s me being 100% honest.

but there was nowhere else for him to sit.

I made it a point of putting my feet in front of my backpack on the floor – never mind that it was technically in his space. I had an expensive computer in there that he couldn’t afford to replace if he kicked it.

had I known the stop to get out at, I would have thrown my iPod on and looked out the window, but I didn’t, so I couldn’t.

he would look at me occasionally, then look at my shirt, my hands, my shoes – fair enough, he was sitting there facing me, but I still wasn’t over the fact that I couldn’t stretch my legs out anymore.

the ferry had been canceled due to bad weather, meaning a 45-minute trip had turned into a 5-hour one. I wanted to get there. I wanted to put my bags down. I wanted a beer. I didn’t want to be looked at by someone who ruined my comfortable position.

he kept staring.

finally, I stared back – eyes a little wider than they usually are. It was a point that would be made back home.

but not here, obviously.

he motioned down to my written-on hand.

‘cumalikizik?’

it’s what was written on my hand.

‘yes’.

this was where we were going and I had written it down on my hand because I kept misspelling it.

he would then ask a few more things, most of them with an incomprehensible accent, but he was making an effort to speak English, and in his mid-60’s, so I answered back politely.

‘you know where to go?’

‘no’, I said, shaking my head.

which made me realize that this place was up in the mountains and something told me that this long bus carrying locals wasn’t headed up there.

which then made Adela shoot a quick ‘you boarded this bus like you knew where you were headed’ look.

[more incomprehensible Turkish-English].

‘no problem’ he said, opening up his little bag and offering me a cookie.

I took the cookie because I was hungry, but was now trying hard to figure out how we were going to get to this hidden place with no visible directions.

the bus pulled over, as buses do quite often.

‘okay!’ he said, getting up and motioning for us to do the same.

we got up and got out.

‘wait here, 5 minutes. mini-bus take you.’

worked out well, us being on his stop – and yes, I was beginning to feel slightly bad about out initial exchange.

‘you go too?’ I asked, offering a cigarette, knowing it would make me feel better than it would make him.

‘no, I go home!’ he said.

‘where’s home?’

‘back. back 2 kilometers’ pointing to the area we just came from.

I really wished he would have taken that cigarette.

‘mini-bus is here!’ he said, flagging it down and telling the driver what the driver needed to know.

as we pulled away, I saw him pull his little jacket closer together and cross the road to the opposite bus stop.

it was raining, but there wasn’t any covered waiting area.

no cover, just a guy.

a guy who randomly sat down in front of a tourist on a bus.

a tourist with a penchant for rolling his eyes and exhaling loudly when met with having to move his comfortable position.

me.

…

…

…

I really wished he was a smoker.