D was becoming addicted to hitchhiking. I was a bit too; being dusty and grungy and hiking through fields of barley and bright yellow flowers with the sun beating down on our heads making us sweat. Then the bubble of adrenaline when someone stopped for us and we ran to meet them and smiled, thank you, thank you, are you heading near Dipkarpas?
But this time I was being the jerk, the Problem, the Unforgiveable one. C had flown from Dubai specifically to meet me, to travel with me. Now I had backed out on him after just one week. No wonder he hated me so much. He would travel on his own until September and I would stay with my father in Nicosia until I flew home in May. The tension was palapable, the situation quite gruesome. C was "pissed off royally", as D told me. I didn't blame him.
Honestly though. Even if he didn't understand it yet, this was really for his own good. C was a very gung-ho, sleep in caves, go on month long camping trips kind of person. I am more gung-ho than lots of girls (evidence: the hitch hiking, travelling rough, sleeping in abandoned rooms) but not the typical atheletic outdoorsy type. Camping? Fine. But max a week. Hiking? Awesome. But I love a hot meal and a drink at the end, in a comfortable setting. And besides, C was head-over-heels crushing on me, like thought we should spend the rest of our lives together kind of thing. I needed to nip this right in the bud. And running away is what I do best.
Turkey was calling me. Every time I brought out the torn, filthy, ripped section of the Lonely Planet guide book I had stuffed in my bag, the descriptions of Goreme and Van and Eastern Turkey was a siren call I couldn't ignore. I still can't ignore. And so, I will store up these awkward memories of C to share and laugh with my friends when I get home, and go to Turkey tomorrow. Ha. Look at me being all mature.