Evening reflections on unexpected connections
It's raining outside, and I'm sitting in the comfort of my hotel room, watching the drops trickle down the window while Izmir's lights glimmer through the watery veil. The temperature has dropped to 6°C, but I'm warm inside with a cup of tea and my thoughts for company.
This morning, I met up with Sarah and Emma for our planned Ephesus trip. We gathered at the agreed spot near Konak Square at 8:20 (for an 8:30 departure), but our tour guide called to cancel due to unexpected road maintenance that would have made the journey much longer than planned. Apparently, some emergency repairs were needed after recent rainfall.
Instead of letting disappointment take over, we decided to make the most of our day in Izmir. The Australian women were surprisingly adaptable for people on a tight schedule. "Sometimes the best adventures are the unplanned ones," Sarah said, echoing something I've been learning over and over these past 175 days.
We spent the morning at the Izmir Archaeological Museum, where I was particularly fascinated by the ancient technology section. The ingenuity of water delivery systems from thousands of years ago made me wonder how many of our modern "innovations" are just refined versions of solutions people discovered millennia ago. There was a model of an ancient aqueduct that showed how precisely the gradient was calculated to maintain water flow - impressive engineering without computers or modern tools.
For lunch, we found a small seafood place near the waterfront where the owner insisted we try the local midye dolma (stuffed mussels) before our main meal. The three of us talked about our travels, and it struck me how different our approaches were. Emma and Sarah had every day meticulously planned for their three-week trip, while I'm now 175 days into this journey with 325 still ahead, moving wherever intuition leads.
"Don't you get anxious without a plan?" Emma asked.
I had to think about that. "Sometimes. But I've found that having too rigid a plan creates its own kind of anxiety - the fear of missing something or falling behind schedule."
After lunch, we walked along the Kordon promenade, where the rain started to pick up. We ducked into a café and ended up spending nearly two hours talking. Sarah is a nurse and Emma teaches primary school, both from Melbourne. They've been friends since university and try to take a trip together every few years.
What struck me most was their questions about long-term solo travel. "Don't you get lonely?" "How do you handle laundry for 500 days?" "What do you miss most?" Simple questions that made me reflect on aspects of this journey I've started taking for granted.
We parted ways around 4:30, exchanging contact information with promises to stay in touch that we all know might not materialize. Still, these brief connections are becoming one of the most meaningful parts of traveling. People enter your story for a chapter or two, change your perspective slightly, then continue on their own journey.
I returned to my hotel as the rain intensified, stopping briefly at a small bakery for a piece of börek to eat later. The shopkeeper noticed my height as I ducked through the doorway and commented something in Turkish I couldn't understand, but his gesture of measuring tall height with his hand was universal. We shared a laugh despite the language barrier.
Tomorrow I'll try again for Ephesus on my own. My bus to Selçuk leaves at 9:15, and I've already set my alarm to make sure I have plenty of time for breakfast and to reach the station.
As I look out at the rainy evening, I'm counting: 175 days traveled, 325 remaining. The midpoint of my journey is approaching in about a month. Sometimes I wonder if I'm actually changing or just moving through space. The landscape changes, the faces change, but am I different?
Perhaps transformation isn't something you can measure day by day. Like those ancient aqueducts in the museum, it's about creating the right conditions and letting nature do the rest.
The rain is coming down harder now. I think I'll enjoy my börek, review some photos from today, and get an early night. Tomorrow is another day of discovery, rain or shine.