Kia Ora Gaza Convoy Diary - Part II

Thursday 23 September – Bologna to Ancona, and the ferry to Greece

Our truck-stop did not have internet… or maybe it was just the truck-stop B-group landed at….as the leaders, we somehow lost the rest of the convoy en route in the dark!

So after a relatively comfortable night sleeping on the floor of the ambulance (compared to, say, the floor of a well-used cattle-truck!) we set off for Ancona, and the ferry to Greece. Finally, I plucked up the courage to drive – no mean feat when, being an English ambulance, the steering wheel is on the right, the side of the road you must drive on is the right, and the left-side view is obscured by a large Kia Ora Gaza sticker and a blind spot the size of a small truck….changing lanes is definitely a two-person operation, with the co-driver peering out a rear side window and screaming which vehicle the driver can move left after…”I said the white CAR, not the white van.” Marriages have probably foundered on less! We did however arrive unscathed, even if several hours ahead of the rest of the convoy, who apparently overnighted at a different truck-stop, also on the outskirts of Bologna. Note to self: large European cities have more than one truck-stop on the outskirts…

Confined to the wharf by Ancona Port officials until the rest of the convoy arrived, we passed the intervening hours sporadically trying to convince port security to let us out and back in without tickets (they were in the possession of Z-group), trying out the squat-toilets, and debating birth and death, the males present finally (but not without protest) bowing to the supremacy of women’s views on birth, convinced by the argument that we are the ones who actually do it, so just might know what we are talking about. At 5pm it was onto the ferry, and a night of comfort in a real bed with a mattress – luxury!!

Friday 24/Saturday 25 September – Salonika

We disembarked in Greece at 8.30am and headed for Salonika, arriving early afternoon in the parking lot of a Go-Kart track adjoining the Sports Stadium whose grounds we planned to camp in. A group of Palestinians was there to greet us but the local Deputy-Mayor was not so welcoming – he tried to prevent us entering the stadium grounds. A few hours of negotiations later the stand-off ended, and we were permitted out of the parking-lot and into the stadium grounds and buildings, where we were fed by local Palestinian support groups. Many convoy people soon returned to the parking-lot, having discovered that it had a free unsecured WiFi connection, while there was none in the stadium!! It turned out the man who owned the Go-Kart track supported the convoy, so he opened his connection for our use, something all the media readily and appreciatively made extensive use of …I’d hate to see his bill when it arrives! This sort of generosity by ordinary people, apparent in every country, indicates the high level of support for the convoy amongst the general public.

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Mousa and Gazan refugees in Salonika

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Parked up in the Go-Kart car park

Next morning we paraded through the city to a reception on the waterfront (pic 3), after which we had a few hours to look around the city and have lunch. I went with my co-driver Pat and two Malaysian women to a waterfront café where we had an exquisite eggplant salad, tasty potato salad, a genuine Greek salad with fantastically creamy feta, grilled cheese the like of which has never before graced my palate, and various grilled tentacled creatures such as octopus and squid, whose lives were not sacrificed in vain, as evidenced by our groans of pleasure as we ate. The only imperfect moment was when we received the bill and discovered the creative accounting of the maitre-de, who had added a couple of dishes and a beer to our bill…we may not speak Greek, but we can count!!

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Convoy at the waterfront

On returning to the camp we discovered the Deputy-Mayor was not one to gracefully admit defeat - we were locked out of the stadium, again! After some negotiation, portaloos were provided and we were able to stay one more night in the grounds, but without access to the stadium and its showers. That inconvenience was more than compensated for by the generosity and friendliness extended by the rest of the locals, Greek and Palestinian alike, restaurant staff excepted (probably the Deputy-Mayor’s sons….!)

Sunday 26 – Alexandropoulis

A slightly smelly convoy headed off this morning for Alexandroupolis, filling up our tanks on the way out of town. I was driving again, and the service station attendant took the keys to fill the tank, then refused to give them back until I paid. I had seen the pump so tried to pay the amount showing but he insisted it was twice as much and tripped the pump, returning it to zero. I asked for a receipt, which he refused. Pat interceded, to no avail. Eventually they wrote a receipt taking the details from another pump and made me pay that amount – about ten euro more than what we had received, but we just had to wear it, and drive like maniacs to catch up with the convoy. Greek pump attendants join restaurant staff at the bottom of my popularity list….!

Late afternoon we arrived at that night’s accommodation - a camping ground by the sea furnished with showers, and a choice of squat or sitting toilets – now that’s being spoilt! We pitched our tents, many swam in the sea, and everyone showered! Darkness fell quickly, and some set off with local Palestinian university students to explore, while Pat and I headed for the city centre several kilometers away hoping to find a chemist to stock up on rehydration salts, get a Greek coffee and some local food, and maybe even a local beer. After driving around the block about five times looking for a parking place we gave up and did what the locals do – parked on the footpath in a side-street! As we walked towards the main drag a man walked past and made his fingers into a gun and pointed it at our heads and shouted at us in Greek. At first we thought it was our parking that had drawn his ire, until he reached the corner and turned, shot the ‘gun’ at us again, complete with more Greek expletives. We thought perhaps he was drunk or mentally ill, so walked more slowly to let him get ahead, but he waited around the corner and let us have another few ‘rounds’ (which included the word ‘Gaza’) before he joined some people in a sidewalk café – he was neither drunk nor mentally ill, just violently opposed to the convoy…needless to say, we gave that café a miss, and ended up in a takeaway, where we bought local sausage in pita bread with salad, but the only coffee on offer was Nescafe – aaarrrgghh!! Pat immediately returned to get our vehicle, being concerned that our trigger-happy ‘friend’ might take it into his head to do some real damage, while I went to the chemist. No beers tonight!

Buying the rehydration salts was an exercise in very bad charades, judging by the length of time and number of items presented to me (moisturizing lotion, bath salts, cough mixture – even hemorrhoid cream!) before another customer who spoke English entered and put me, and the shop assistants, out of our collective misery. Heading back to the camping ground, we discovered it had relocated itself in our absence…Pat is obviously much better at charades than me – it only took him two minutes (and much hilarious laughter on their part) to get directions from three young women who spoke no English, and soon we were safely under canvas once more, knowing we had not only a long day’s driving, but also the notorious Istanbul traffic, ahead of us tomorrow.

Monday 27 – Istanbul

Pat took over the wheel for this leg as whoever was driving when we entered Turkey had to be the driver when we left, and there was a possibility I would be on admin duties again when we reached the border… I was more than grateful as it meant I would not have to deal with Istanbul traffic, known at this stage only by reputation but as we would discover, far surpassed even our worst imaginings…The countryside was dry and brown, and we couldn’t help but marvel at how they managed to grow such delicious fruits and vegetables in such an inhospitable climate.

After three hours of paperwork at the border we finally crossed into Turkey – and an open-armed welcome from crowds who had obviously travelled a long way to welcome us, as the border is in the middle of nowhere! Then it was back on the road – this time with a Turkish police escort.

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Welcomed with open arms at the Turkish border

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Police escort

The landscape might be dry and unfriendly but the people certainly aren’t – everywhere along the way there are people waving and cheering us, tooting their horns, and otherwise letting us know we are doing something very important – and very much appreciated. It is quite disconcerting to realize the depth of feeling about the plight of the Palestinian people, and how much goodwill there is towards them – it is very real.

We arrived on the outskirts of Istanbul at dusk where several hundred people had gathered to welcome us (again!!) and after speeches and greetings we headed into the city. The police had their work cut out for them - trying to keep a convoy intact in the dark in the middle of Istanbul rush-hour (ie 24 hours a day!!) was a feat even they were unable to master – the convoy became separated into several parts, who wandered the streets for several hours before finally limping into our accommodation in a sports complex. Leaving the vehicles under guard we straggled along to join the others in what turned out to be a very fancy waterfront restaurant, where despite the late hour we were served a creamy mushroom soup followed by salad, chicken and rice, accompanied by numerous delicate glasses of Turkish tea, and of course, plenty of Turkish bread, all courtesy of Turkish human rights group IHH - a just reward for surviving a very long and strenuous day’s driving. The celebrities present all gave speeches, the most well-received being Viva Palestina founder George Galloway’s, then it was straight back to the stadium and sleep, which was fast in coming despite the marble floor for a mattress!

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Welcome to Istanbul

Tuesday 28 – Istanbul

As we were to be in the city for two nights, all vehicles requiring mechanical attention (including ours) were left at the sports complex with the road crew. After a scrumptious breakfast of bread, four varieties of cheeses, the best black olives in the world, and a selection of raw vegetables - at the same restaurant as the night before - we piled into the remaining vehicles and drove to a press conference in the heart of the city, where George Galloway spoke and many convoy members were interviewed by various national and international media. It is clear that George Galloway is held in very high respect here – he is practically mobbed everywhere we go! I did my first ever stint as a body-guard, being assigned with two other women to cover his back as he tried to exit to his car. Then it was on to the cemetery to visit the grave of one of the people murdered by the Israeli Defence Force on the Mavi Marmara, and pay our respects to his family. It was a very emotional event, especially for those who had also been on the Mavi Marmara, and it brought home what we ourselves might be facing in the not too distant future…it is hard to imagine that should the worst happen, our families would receive anything like the national support and attention that the families of these men attract.

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Breakfasting in style…

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Victim’s father at the graveside

Our Turkish hosts then insisted on leading us on what they said would be a one-and-a-half hour tour of Istanbul. Pat and I were lucky enough to find ourselves in an air-conditioned Mercedes van – not least because we were to spend the next seven hours in it as the temperature outside soared. We never got to see the Blue Mosque…but we did see numerous bridal boutiques – several times each!

The police finally rescued us and escorted us to an even swankier restaurant than the night before, complete with crystal chandeliers and a magnificent view of the Bosporus Bridge in all its night-lit glory. Hosted by the Mayor of the municipality, we dined like kings, but were too exhausted to do justice to the three-course feast of spicy pumpkin soup, more chicken and rice, salads, and a delicious dessert which I could only manage a mouthful of (a sure indicator of the level of my exhaustion!) all washed down with gallons of various fruit nectars, and Turkish tea. Despite our best efforts, we have yet to taste a real Turkish coffee…which just might have stopped us falling asleep while sitting up!

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We quickly learnt to sleep upright

We hit the marble with relief, hoping our vehicle would be ready for our departure for Ankara in the morning, a few hundred kilometers closer to our goal.

ENDS

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