The Minibus Would Not Move

Our hiking trips usually followed a familiar order. We left Ankara, ate something in the morning, walked for hours, reached the end of the route, and sometimes stopped at a local market before heading home. By late afternoon, everyone knew roughly what remained in the day.

On one trip, the minibus refused to continue.

The market disappeared from the plan immediately. People gathered around the vehicle instead. Someone offered an idea, someone tried to help, someone waited for instructions, and somebody inevitably found a reason to joke. I no longer remember exactly what was wrong with the minibus, and the memory does not need a mechanical diagnosis added years later.

What I remember is the mood.

We had spent the day walking the same route, but now the whole group had one small problem in common. There was no summit to reach and no schedule worth protecting. The delay gave us something unplanned to do together.

Nothing about the situation was serious enough to frighten us. It was inconvenient, but not dangerous. That made room for a strange kind of enjoyment. Instead of walking through a market and looking at things we did not need, we stood beside a broken journey and tried to get it moving again.

Eventually the trip continued. The market was gone, and I cannot remember what I had expected to find there anyway.

I remember the minibus.

The market had been on the itinerary. The minibus was the part that stayed.