On the way out, we were defeated in our hunt for campsites. Lake Eğirdir in particular was frustrating, because we knew there was a campsite but we couldn’t find it in the dark. We scanned the water’s edge back and forth for an hour before giving up and heading forty kilometers south (off our planned path) to Kovada Lake, where we knew there was another national park.

We get to Kovada and there’s a huge sign with a boar on it reading DİKKAT (‘Warning’). We were OK with coyotes and wild dogs at our first campsite, but wild boar are a different story. We head back north to rejoin the road and then we strike east. It’s nearly midnight and we’re scanning for free camping spots. Unfortunately, every time we see a good field—and there are plenty of orchards—an industrial-agriculture truck tromps through doing night work.

We’re pretty far east by now. This region is too rural, conservative, and poor to have official camping spots. We find a hotel in the small town of Gelendost.

Full. What? It’s apple season, he tells us in Turkish. Everybody’s in town to work. Maybe the other hotel in town has a room.

Yes, only one, and the proprietor refuses to let four of us sleep there even before we tell him our party is mixed-gender. We drive on. At two in the morning we find an overly voweled town (Şarkakaraağaç, or ‘<sharka, whatever that means> black tree’) with a hotel that is willing to extort us for a room. (On the plus side, in the morning, the town square became a virtual parade of fascinating transportation options for the locals: donkeys, tractors, motor-trikes, BMX bicycles for men in suits, bicycles with kids in a trailing cart, half-dismantled cars from the 1970s.)

So, on our way back from Kapadokya, we rallied our strength (well, our mobile internet research skills) and made sure to know precisely where Eğirdir’s hideaway lakeside campsite was.

TENTS

Let me tell you a story about setting up our tents. We were hungry, and thus made a rush job of it in order to get back into town for dinner and exploring. Yeşilada (‘green island’) is gorgeous in the moonlight. On our walk back via the land bridge, I noticed it had become quite windy. Gusty, in fact. I wish I had prepared for that with better gear. A heavier jacket, perhaps. At least my tent would keep me warm tonight against the weather.

My tent.

On the lake shore.

That I hadn’t staked down.

That I’d purchased just this summer for several hundred Euro.

We hurried back (and I should note, my companions’ tents were un-staked as well), but really, what would be the point? It’s at least ten minutes to get there, and the wind’s been going for fifteen. Two minutes won’t make the difference. Saying insha’allah is all one can do.

We get to the site and I see one tent. We had three. The attendant is there waiting for us. Failure.

“Sorun var,” I say. There’s a problem.

“Sorun yok!” he says. No problem! I had been looking at someone else’s tent. Our three tents were further in, standing sturdy against the wind. The attendant points to each corner: he has staked our tents with nails. So, thanks, Altinkum Plaj & Camping guy. You’re the best.

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