I leave Akif and his wonderful family after three great days. After having climbed the highest pass so far – 1,600 meters – the road winds down along a river for the rest of the day. The road is continuously lined by petrol stations and roadside restaurants – the heavy traffic making it feel unusually unsafe to camp at any of those. Instead I visit the local police in Pozantı, who allow me to put my tent just outside their gates. Slow evening chatting about; lots of tea.
I try to invite for something of what I’ve got – olives and grapes – but it’s useless. The Turks will impossibly accept anything that a guest brings. Instead, they usually interpret it as if saying that there isn’t enough food on the table. Soon, one of the policemen comes with a pomegranate for me, and more tea of course. I hope that they at least understand my thought, even if their pride and tradition hinders them from accepting it.