Despite the train bed being nicely firm and comfortable, there’s just one problem. It’s 2ft too short. Have to sleep in the foetal position all night. Or rather, I have to rest in the foetal position as sleep is not something that really happens. Text from a friend in the early hours saying she can’t sleep – I know the feeling!
Seem to be racing along and the cabin is a lot quieter and smoother than the Russian trains. Train scheduled to arrive Adana 0725hrs. At 0720hrs we’ve been stationary in the middle of nowhere for 5mins so assume waiting fo signals to enter Adana. Find location on Google Maps and realise that Adana is some way away. Far away in fact.
Search for a guard and told “Big problem, big problem….may be ten….half ten”. What?!? I have a flight to catch. Eventually arrive an hour and a half late into Adana. Taxi driver looks like an extra from Planet of the Apes as we drive to the airport.
Actually have 2.5hrs to wait for flight so settle down for a decent omelette and bread and catching up on diary (remember I’m running two books!).
Rucksack converted to holdall and day sack and think I’ve managed to hide holdall behind my back as I check in. Told the maximum limit for cabin bag is 8kg. Yeah, yeah. Boarding pass collected, turn and walk a few yards when there’s a “Stop, stop”. He’s seen the holdall. My holdall is too big. It weighs 17-18kg and he laughs that I’ve tried to walk on with it. Relieved of holdall, wait for passport control and then enter the departure hall.
It’s exactly like Simferopol (come on, keep up).
Flight is one of those that as soon as you’ve taken off you start the descent. Land at Ercan in Turkish Cyprus. Taxi to Ledra Street crossing. The driver is the sort to accelerate, then brake….accelerate…..brake…..accelerate….brake….all the soddin’ way to Nicosia.
The FCO warn that as I’ve entered the island of Cyprus from northern Turkish Cyprus then southern Greek Cyprus could treat me as illegally entering and prevent me or fine me as I cross from the north into the southern sector of Nicosia. I’d emailed the British Embassy in Nicosia to ask for clarification, to be told, “Should be OK”.
Chosen the Ledra Street Crossing as being the one nearest the hotel the other side. Fill in a white piece of paper that the Turks have obviously been using their John Bull printing set on – name, nationality, passport number.
Join the queue of tourists and hand over passport and white piece of paper. The paper is stamped and I walk along the UN Buffer Zone that is no man’s land. Which is actually a street with flowerpots down the middle. It’s about 50-100 yards to Greek Cyprus. Getting ready to be arrested as an illegal immirant, getting ready with all those arguments, getting ready with EU freedom of movement treaties etc etc. Getting ready with “I’m a British Citizen”. Yes, getting ready. I have my passport ready to hand over. But am waved on by the Greek passport control with not so much as a look inside. IS THAT IT?! All the fuss the FCO were suggesting. A simple wave is all it takes to cross the border. How utterly boring. Disappointing even. Huh.
Walk the 10mins to the hotel through the back streets. It’s hot. Oh yes. It’s very hot. 38C even. Thankful for a nice cold air-conditioned room. And promptly fall asleep for a few hours. You’ll have realised by now, there’s a direct correlation between an overnight train and a good old afternoon nap. I have been travelling for 18hrs on little sleep…..that’s my excuse….what’s yours?
