Tuesday, 20 September 2011

Letter home part 4

 Part 4
One thing I could not work out about Italy was the fact that, although they loved eating pasta, there was always antipasta on the menus. If they are anti it why do they eat so much of it?
I have a healthy contempt for authority, and love beating systems wherever they raise their ugly head. When I visited Turkey before, there was a delay at passport control. I thought how clever it might be to walk through without being checked. This is exactly what I did, smug in my defiance. However, this was payback time.
“what’s this?”
“An entry stamp.” , fairly obvious one would have thought.
“Where’s the exit stamp?”
“I’m glad you asked that question.” country with 2 entry stamps was astounding.
“Go back!”
“Go back!”
The art of passing some filthy lucre into his palm had not yet been acquired by me at that stage. I was philosophical about it all, after I had stopped crying.
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It was a turning point. I had become increasingly intense, something I normally only do when camping. Every day had become a ritualised routine of wake up, cycle to the nearest café for breakfast, then lunch, then dinner, then crash. I felt relaxed as I headed by ferry to Thasos.
I enjoyed chilling on the beaches. One evening I heard terrifying screams coming from a girl. I looked up and saw her brother chasing her with an octopus in his hand. Priceless!

It was at a small restaurant where I devised my cunning plan. I turned the pages of my passport and noticed a similarity to another stamp from a different country, which was partially washed away from when I went swimming in Cuba, a stupid moment. A lightbulb switched on inside my brain and, with carefully moistened tissue I gradually erased the Turkish stamp and scrawled across in biro and I was in business. Fortunately, Midnight Express was not starring me this year and I arrived on Turkish soil.