Sleepy Shuttle

Morning came way too early as we were preparing to leave the Cappadoccia region. We woke at 5:45am, showered, finished packing, went downstairs and waited for the doors to open for the 6:30 breakfast buffet. By 7:00 we were checked out and on our shuttle for the airport. We were booked on a morning flight to Izmir, which is a coastal town on the Aegean Sea.  From there we took a private shuttle for a one hour drive south where we began our next five night stay at the Doubletree hotel in Kusadasi. 

We had flown across the Atlantic ocean, went up in a hot air balloon, and climbed on precariously steep mountain caves and through underground cities, but nothing caused us as much concern as the morning's one hour bus ride to the airport.

The minibus was full. Bags filled the cargo hold and were piled all the way to the ceiling, which completely blocked the back windows. The remaining bags were placed in the aisles making it impossible for anyone to leave their seat. For the first time on this leg of the trip, we were the last to be picked up, so we were relegated to the very back seats with the tiniest legroom. We were packed in tighter than our suitcases. 

As we drove away from the hotel, the air was calm and a thin blanket of clouds hovered in the valley. In the distance the hot air balloons could be seen scattered across the horizon as the first light of day illuminated them from behind. On this day there were no bright colors. The balloons were monochrome, and looked as if someone had poked a hole in the bottom and let their beautiful colors drain out, leaving them lifeless and ashy. 

As we pulled away from Avanos and onto the highway, the interior of the vehicle was silent. A few passengers were watching the distant balloons as they slowly faded from sight, while the rest were gently drifting in and out of sleep, lulled by the soft rhythmic thumping of the wheels on the pavement. I too was being wooed by the warm comfort of the interior and the lifeless terrain of the morning desert landscape. 

From my back row seat I had a perfect view of the driver in the large rear view mirror. He was a young man, perhaps in his 30's, well groomed and courteous, and sporting a perfectly manicured, thinly cut beard. His skin and thick black hair hinted that his nationality was more Arabic than Turkish. I wondered about his story. It seems that everyone has one. Our waiter from the previous night's meal was a refugee from Afghanistan. He told us of his riveting escape. He witnessed the death of his 27 year old brother, traveled through several countries, and arrived in Turkey only nine months ago. 

As more passengers drifted to sleep, the bus was completely silent. I glanced at the driver just as he made a long slow blink. I raised my eyebrow ever so slightly. A few moments later, again, the driver blinked with a long gentle close of his eyes. My eyes widened. I stared intensely into the mirror as the drivers eyelids were taking their time,,, too much time. The sleepiness from MY eyes was completely gone as I stared into his. Perhaps I was just seeing things; I did want to be alarmed for nothing. Perhaps this man just has slow movements. Perhaps he was thinking of another life, back before his migration to this new land. Perhaps... perhaps nothing, he did it again! This time he followed the blink with a quick shake of his head back and forth. He was trying to shake off his sleep. 

The highway was still a bit dark as the sun had not yet peeked over the mountains. There was very little traffic, with only the hypnotic movement of the painted lines on the road whisking by. I poked Bryan and made him aware of my concern. We both watched as the driver raised one hand to his mouth attempting to conceal a long drawn out yawn. I knew now I was not seeing things. This driver was falling asleep. We then nudged Mark awake and soon we were all glued to the rear view mirror. 

Another long yawn ensued, interspersed with the constant resting of his eyes. He was struggling to stay awake. Traffic was slowly starting to increase as the terrain began to fall away on the other side of the highway guard rails. We couldn't have been more awake. At some point the driver slowly drifted off the road and got very close to the rail on the right side of the highway, and then slowly drifted back into his lane. My adrenaline was pumping at this point. A few semi trucks passed on the left, and shortly thereafter we again drifted off the road toward the guard rail. Again he corrected, and we were back in our lane. I looked at my escape options. The back was still piled high with bags, and the aisles were still full of them. The windows were permanently shut with no escape hatches, but on each side of the bus was a tool that could be used to smash the windows should an emergency escape be necessary. A third time the driver veered off the road and this time Bryan kicked into action and spoke up loudly, “WE’RE OFF THE ROAD!” It wasn’t loud enough for the driver to hear but he did alert some of the closer passengers. Luckily this time he was exiting the highway and we were moving into heavy downtown traffic but thankfully close to the airport.

We arrived safely, but it was a nervous ride to say the least. The thought of successfully navigating the dangers of our trip only to die at the hands of a sleepy driver was an unsettling thought. We couldn’t get out of that van fast enough.