Good things can happen on buses

We get around in Izmir mostly by city bus or metro. We're fortunate that we live a couple of blocks from the south end of the metro (subway) line, so we can get a few places downtown quickly and easily, or go all the way out to Bornova at the north end of the line in 20 minutes. But the church is a fair way from a metro station, so I end up taking the bus quite a lot. And that's almost always an adventure.

Izmir has an odd fleet of buses. I suspect they're hand-me-downs from other cities. Downtown there are a few red double-decker buses that look like they came straight from London. Most of the buses out our way are long, articulated things. They're far too long for Izmir's crowded streets. It's not unusual for one to end up stuck in an intersection when the light changes - although red lights seem to provide no good reason to stop for our intrepid drivers. Only once have I been on a bus involved in an accident, though, and that was clearly the other driver's fault: he opened the door of his parked car right into the path of the oncoming bus. I wish my Turkish had been better then - I might have learned a lot of useful words.

The buses are heavily used and usually packed. We often have to stand - although young men and sometimes women give me their seats more often than not. I didn't think I looked that old. Is it because of my age or because I'm a tourist? Anyway, it's very kind.

Standing can be quite an adventure. The drivers are erratic at best - they take off from a stop like Indy drivers, pedal to the metal and God help anyone not hanging on. Then more than likely they have to jam on the brakes. Good thing people are usually packed in - we hold each other up. I've been caught by helpful people, and I've done my share of catching too.

People are much less shy about touching here than in cold Anglo-Saxon Canada. The other day I was sitting with an empty seat beside me, and an elderly lady (probably all of 65) was about to sit in it when the bus started up with its usual energy. I grabbed hold of her hand and helped her get into the seat, and instead of pulling it away in embarrassment as I probably would have done she gave my hand an extra squeeze as she thanked me. That was nice.

Another time I was sitting up front where I could watch people getting on. We pay the bus fare using a card read by a machine beside the driver. (It's a most useful card - you can get into most things run by the city with it.) A successful transaction gets one beep, but if you don't have enough money in your card (you can refill them at most corner stores) you get three beeps. An elderly lady got three beeps, tried again, got three beeps again, and just kept on going. The driver didn't say anything then (a young guy would have been out on the street pretty quickly), but a few stops later, when the lady showed no sign of coming up with the money, he turned around and said something like "Ablacım, are you going to pay me?"

The thing that got me was the word Ablacım. Abla means "older sister", and it's a nice way of addressing a woman who's probably a little older than you, or whom you respect. The ending -cım means "my dear". So he called this troublesome old lady "my dear older sister". I could forgive him a lot of rough starts and stops for that.

Before the old lady could come up with the money someone else came and paid her fare.

That's why I like Turkey.