All aboard the KL08!

Now let me say this from the start, I am not a brave man. Which is a shame, as in Antalya there are so many exciting things to do, paragliding in Konyaalti, snowboarding in Davras, white water rafting in the mountains all are fine examples. However, there is one extreme sport that I hurl my body into once a day, one that gets the heart racing and the blood pumping. An experience so thwart with danger that even the most hardened of Turks turn their noses up at it. The extreme sport locally known as travelling on the KL08 bus from Konyaalti to Lara!

I am just to cowardly to drive in this place where indicators are only to be used if you have broken down, not always though. Wing mirrors are for tying tea towels on in times of weddings and sunnet parties and traffic lights are for making the streets look pretty at night. Last year when the World Rally Driving Championship came to Antalya, the organisers were astounded when a local guy called Mehmet won it driving a souped up Lada. They were even more surprised when his co-driver was his unbelted seven year old son !. As a bemused Mehmet sprayed the winning champagne all over the gathered world's sporting press he astounded all by declaring " I am not sure what the fuss is about I only popped out to pick up some baklava as we have guest coming!"

Mehmet's winning Lada

The KL08 experience is the gift the keeps on giving. Between the hours of 5.30 and 7.30 every weekday evening, people queue up all along the route to partake in this most memorable of experiences!. Just like the bull run of Palermo, many just stand and stare at certain stages thinking "wow if only I had the balls to attempt that". The journey I take on it starts at a relatively slow pace, usually as I pay my entrance fee for the" ride of your life" there are just some early participants already on board. All sitted, all silent and all staring at the newcomer who has just joined the throng. I can read their minds "uff..he is skinny, lacks the experience for the battle ahead, a foreigner, easy prey". With poker eyes I stare at them all, already taking in their body shapes and hand luggage" all information being stored away in the memory bank for the hour long campaign ahead!. These are no ordinary first time passengers though, they are experienced, wise, calculated. With their wisdom they have all bagged the best seats, some already playing the " I am asleep, do not disturb" card!. 

I sit, near the front, not a good starting position. The window seat has already been taking by a young pro I have spotted many times. We glance at each other respectively nodding, both acknowledging   what lays ahead. Sitting near the front, both male, both with shoulder bags, we both know we are at an immediate disadvantage .He also has youth on his side , I don"t!

Am amateur ready to experience the battle 

The KL08 sets off, everyone on board taking in water, chewing on energy bars trying to conserve their stamina. First stop, the new multi story shopping centre. We know what is coming. Amateurs!. Just how many amateurs though? How many are old? How many have children with them? All questions that dart through the minds of the seasoned campaigners on board!. Women going home after a days shopping, not experienced, lacking in the skills to enrol in this type of engagement. I can"t see outside, my view blocked by the lone tourist in front. I need info quickly " How many are there?" I enquire from the window seat guy. "Ten-fifteen max" he responds without taking his eyes away from the throng. " shopping bags?" I respond. " Yep, lots of". Being practised in this, I have already calculated there are only seven empty seats already. Leaving up to eight to take the early standing positions. The last eight wind on the KL08. They are young though, too young for the rules of etiquette to kick in and for me to offer them my seat. They move to the back!. "Oh God No" my seating partner whispers. I glance out. An old woman, hand in the air, running in small shuffled steps towards the entrance. Old enough for the etiquette rule to kick in . The seated male of the species scrutinise all  around, looking for the youngest, a sacrificial seater. All eyes are on me and my companion!. We glance at each other, he has the window seat and knows it - it will be me who has to offer my seat. I preserve my energy, breathing in slowly, knowing that to stand this early on the KL08 is a bad fate to behold on someone. The old lady reaches the door, "are you going to Kepez?"..The driver is in first gear and with doors closing to a millimetre of her face before shouting "No to Konyaalti", fate is upon me, my seat is safe , but for how long?

Small stops are made on the way, no problems, young men, some college girls, the odd businessman and woman. Nothing to worry about. They all have to stand, all taking the best standing positions around the side of the bus that the earlier shopping women were too inexperienced to take. Now, getting pushed to the back, the shopping women are finding it tough already. They have bags, far too many. One hand above eye level on the yellow plastic hooped hand holder and one hand below on their days gains, it"s too much! We can see the signs, the beads of sweat forming and the denial of stress to their friends " No Fatma, I am fine really". The whole bus knows though, she is falling behind, her calf muscles being tortured, her hand being cut by the immense weight of her shopping. Some sit and admire the woman for her endurance under distress while others sit and think" Give up woman, we have barely started and  to quote Scotty from Star Trek "she canna take it! "

It"s coming, the professionals know it, Dogu Garaj is within sight. Those in the know force themselves into tightened positions. Those not in the know stay where they are, their positions exposed to the rush that is about to hit them. I also know, this is my last few seconds on the seat, no doubt someone elderly and frail will aboard. My time has come, I flex my legs under the seat whilst glancing back for a decent space. There is none. I sit, quickly thinking to myself "play the speaking on the phone and not paying attention" card. I am English though and proud, and  raised on good manners and taught to play by the rules, chivalry and courtesy are still in my blood......I take out my phone!

My seating partner also knows, that his time has come, he glares at me knowing I am talking into thin air " yes, no problem I will come tomorrow"..."yes, yes no problem". He knows! and what is worse I know that he knows. He looks at me, shakes his head and my game is up. I close the phone and look up at a wiry faced old man with a bushy unkempt beard. " Please take my seat" I stand at the same time as my partner as his is seat is sacrificed to the old man"s wife. We are partners no more let the battle of the KL08 commence!

It"s going to be a tough one!. Dogu Garaj is in the centre of the city. This time of day nobody gets off. Whilst the office workers, city centre shoppers, children with school backpacks all get on. Lots of them!. I jostle for  position, just one decent one to be had. A standing spot facing outwards with a single seat between the space and window, now occupied by one of the shopping woman. I see it at the same time as a girl , younger than me. We both move for it at the same time, decorum is out the window now. Girl or no girl, I want that space.  She is quick though and hustling the man between her and the spot. The man is like  a rock though, unmovable. She can only stand and glare enviously, as I take up the one square foot of space. Early days though, as the KL08 manoeuvres out of Dogu Garaj. Humankind all around me, pushing; shoving, elbowing for position. I grab the handrail on the back of the woman"s chair in front of me, along with a tuft of her long  peroxide dyed hair. Whilst my other arm is pressed steadfastly against my side by a slightly rotund man next to me.  

Miraculously , I am OK, locked in, but in comfort apart from my nostrils being tortured by the paco rabanne aftershave that the rotund man next to me seems to have showered in. A devious tactic! I can even glance back and see the the shopping bag lady from before. Her situation is not good, she is wilting badly, her head rolling to one side, the armpit area of her light blue blouse now dark with sweat. Her shopping has now long been abandoned. With both hands grasping the vertical rail near the back with her body coiled around it she has now taking on the appearance of a motionless pole dancer. "No Fatma...I...am...fine really?" The old hands of the KL08 look at each other in respect for her resistance and pain! We would applaud her but putting one hand against the other is a task that was declared impossible since Dogu Garaj.

"People could you please move down the bus there is plenty of room". The request of the driver is met with astonishment by the untrained and with anticipation by the trained. I am not moving though, I am fine, safe, comfortable, playing by the rules and winning. All that changed in a split second, as my lower back felt an intense pressure sending my midriff forward within kissing distance of the shopping lady in front. The force also propelled my head upwards at a 45 degree angle, so now, with body bowed I am staring at the ceiling. I had been " ruled out of action" by one of the small schoolchildren who had boarded earlier. His back to me, however his backpack forcing me into this distorted angle. The pain was intense, I could hear the Chinese whispered voices of those around me "the foreign guy is done for.....the foreign guy is done for". My head whisked from side to side, as the driver found himself on the dual carriageway and now raced the KL06 towards Konyaalti. I glanced from side to side and saw the "press if you want to get off" button above me. I stretched my tongue the tip just barely touching it. My back now twisted and my genitalia thrust embarrassingly to the shoppers cheek which in turn pressed her other cheek tight against the window!. "Ding dong..Ding dong"....the "bus is stopping" sound was music to my ears, someone was getting off....or was it another load were getting on. Not aware of where we were,  I just stared at the ceiling in petrified anticipation. In desperation I draw in breath and ask to nobody in particular " please tell me where are we?". A girls voice , unseen responds back " Government hospital" I cry with happiness, nobody ever gets on here, in fact people get off. Just as I had suspected my body returned to it's natural shape unfortunately the laws of motion kicked in and the "for every action there must be a reaction" came into operation as my head whip lashed forward headbutting the aforementioned shopping woman. More luck, as she emptied her seat and made her way to the hospital conveniently directly outside. 

Room, we have room not a lot, but I can feel blood returning to my feet. However still the untrained are trapped in the back. Pressed in tauntingly by the well seasoned, who toy with them until Migros " Yes.......... Fatma..... I am..... fine really" I turned to face the back. The motionless pole dancer is not fine though, her blouse is torn and her left breast is now exposed, she has long passed caring!. She is also delusional, Fatma was lost in action somewhere between Dogu garaj and the Old Cemetery. She fell with honours!

There is one last obstacle to face 5M Migros. Now this could go both ways. Were those left getting off there to do their evening shopping, maybe taking in a film. The more worrying factor is even if they were, Migros bus stop will be packed with home goers ready to make the short journey home on the now battered KL08 with it's cargo of battle scared occupants. We arrived, the news was fair. some enlightened, limping and crawling out the exits. Unfortunately, they were substituted with new participants. Fresh, fit, unscathed!. Part timers really compared to the few remaining riders including me. By this time I was still on foot, held tight in the middle in a crowd of experienced. Just then, the skies darkened, and a tension filled the air as the campaigners fell silent all staring in one direction towards the front. One lone voice piped up. " Oh My God Ozlem Teyze is coming we have no chance". I had heard her name before in terrified whispers. Apparently her husband was lost in the great speed bump crush aboard the KL07 back in 2009. Her reputation went before her and here she was about to take on all comers.The whole bus turned eyes front as Ozlem Teyze pulled her massive 130 kilo on board followed by the nemeses of all travellers, the shopping trolley. We were no match and those remaining surrendered the front of the bus to this bulk of a woman. Damm, she was so adept to the battle that she never even sat down, just standing, staring, as all those that remained clang to each other in  fear. The battle was over...She was queen of the KL08 and we all knew it!

The KL07 speed bump massacre of 2009

I finished the journey in peace, Ozlem Teyze pulled her frame and trolley of not too far from where she got on. The more experienced declaring that her journey was only made to warn anyone that was tempted to take her crown from her...One by one, my fellow battlers ejected themselves from the area of combat, licking their wounds as they returned home to their families with another days tales of the Seige of the KL08!

My stop was last, I spent the last kilometre laying exhausted on a seat made for two. Slowly standing, as my stop came into sight.I pressed the stop button and the driver slowly came to a halt. The doors triumphantly opened, I had survived again, more experience growing by the day. I shouted "take it easy" at the driver who had seen it all before, he raised his hand in acknowledgement  As my face was cooled  by the evening breeze. I turned to face the KL08 of torture as it slowly pulled away, I caught the glimpse of a dishevelled woman, her hair tangled and sticking to her face. " No Fatma...I am............." I didn't hear the sentence ending!

Westy