About two hours later, with the sprawling edges of Denizli visible in the distance, I stopped at a gas station for a bottle of water and a snack. This was a well-equipped gas station, with an attached cafeteria and a covered outdoor seating area filled with wooden picnic tables, so I decided to eat more than the gas station convenience store junk I had originally intended.
I called out a hello to the man behind the counter and ordered some toast and çay. The man said he would bring them out to me in a moment, and he motioned to the picnic tables, inviting me to take a seat at one of them for the wait.
I took a seat at the picnic tables and struck up a conversation with a couple of men sitting at the table next to me. One of them said he was the owner of the station. He noticed my pack.
“Are you traveling by yourself?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Do you have a place to stay this evening?”
Wait a minute, I thought to myself, no way, is it really going to be this easy? For two weeks now I had been trying to figure out the secret handshake that was going to get me “in” at a gas station, and it seemed like no such secret handshake was necessary.
I held my breath as I answered. “No, I don’t have a place to stay yet.”
“Well, you should stay here.”
Oh my god, I thought, it’s true, there is no secret handshake! Apparently, it was not only expected but assumed, that I would camp overnight.
“I would be very happy to stay here!” I said. I tried to contain my excitement, thinking that if I looked too amazed the guy might get freaked out and rethink the invitation.
He pointed to a shady, quiet grassy area to the side of the station. I hadn’t noticed it when I first walked up.
“Set up your tent there. You’re my guest, feel free to clean up in the restrooms and have dinner at the cafeteria here. I need to leave soon, but we’re open all night, the staff will take good care of you.”
So I grabbed my pack and walked over to the grassy strip he had pointed to. I set up my tent and laid out my sleeping bag. It was still a little light outside, too early for me to turn in for bed. I took out my phone and snapped a screenshot of the map that showed where I was that night and posted it to Facebook. I had gotten into the habit of doing this at the end of every day. I called it my daily “hey Mom, I’m not dead!” blog post.
Within moments I got a Facebook message from Hakan, a Turk from İstanbul whom I had never met. He had been actively following my walk, but I hadn’t been aware of that. Hakan had messaged me to say hello. He attached a screenshot of that same gas station where I was now camping. He had seen my post, quickly found my location on Google Maps, and, as quickly, found a photo of the gas station and sent it.
I felt momentarily disconcerted that someone I didn’t know could track my location so quickly and easily, but then I remembered that that was the main point of posting my progress, and instead of freaking out at my lack of privacy I should seize the opportunity to make a new friend. So I messaged Hakan back that yes, he had found a photo of the correct station, and I was camped just to the right of the edge of the photo.
Then I lay back and nestled into my bag, satisfied with myself for having solved the gas station handshake question and graduating to a new level of hobo skills. As I drifted off to sleep I thought to myself that maybe it wasn’t such a big deal, being invited to camp at a gas station. Apparently, there was no secret handshake, no mysterious cult of hobo-ness, maybe the difficulty of it had all been in my head.
—
In 2012, Matt sold off or gave away almost everything he owned. He strapped whatever was left to his back, flew to Turkey, and walked across it. Every foot, from one end of the country to the other. Along the way he slept in mosque gardens, dined with strangers, and stumbled into refugee camps.
This is the story of that journey. We’ll be publishing one chapter each week from his book. If you would like to read the whole thing at once, you can purchase his book titled Heathen Pilgrim: Walk Across Turkey on Amazon.
