It was late August 1991, and the Turks were still celebrating Ramadan. Giles, a French chef and mountain climber, was traveling with me westward on a multi-day train ride through Turkey. We had just aborted a climbing/archaeological expedition on Mt. Ararat to look for Noah’s Ark. Yes, that Noah’s ark.
Former astronaut James Irwin, of Apollo 15, had put this expedition together, as he had done several other times. He invited me to join the search since I had mountain guiding experience, and had been part of the 1989 Huston Explorers Club group. It was in 1989 that I had met Jim in Houston.
Giles and I were riding first class at the back of the train. Being explorers, we began to wander around the train on day 2. Giles said, “Let’s see how far we can go to the front of the train before they stop us.” It seemed like a good thing to do at the time. So we walked forward in the train wearing tank tops, shorts, flip flops, and only carrying our cameras around our necks.
One of the first cars we came to was the dining car. Turks stared at a Frenchman, and an American in a World Gym tank top, as they wandered through the car. Giles kept pointing to me saying “Bruce Springsteen!” in a thick French accent. I kept on telling them, “I’m not Bruce Springsteen!” The Turks were not impressed.
It is interesting to note, that in Turkey, you can get away with murder as long as you have a camera around your neck, and are taking pictures. Turks are egomaniacs, and will stop and pose for you, as if they are some wannabe politician or young movie star. So we moved forward through the train, smiling, and taking pictures. Point a camera at a Turk, and they are your friend for life. Additionally, they will scribble down their name and address in some ancient cuneiform, expecting a photo in the mail.
My companion and I kept moving forward through the train, smiling and taking photos. Finally, we opened a door to see the two conductors in a box car, with bunk beds and a table. One conductor was standing, looking over the shoulder of a sitting conductor. They glared at us. Quickly, Giles said, “Photos. Photos!” The frowns turned to smiles, and the conductors stood at attention while we snapped away. They beckoned me over to them, put a conductor’s hat on me and stood by me like we had gone to school together for 12 years.
The train was coming to a stop, and Giles pointed to the door at the front of the car. “Can we go through this one?” He asked. The conductors didn’t speak English, but instead, opened the big boxcar door, jumped out, and gave us a stool to get down.
“Let’s take a picture of the front of the train,” Giles said. So we walked to the front of the train, turned around, and got ready to take a picture of the Locomotives. As I’m looking through the camera lens, I yelled, “Giles! The train is moving!” Sure enough, they took off without us.
Have you ever been in central Turkey with no passport, money, or luggage? I have. However, being the survivor that I am, I wasn’t going to let it last for long. I started running beside the train engine, ready to grab the ladder. Giles, being a smart Frenchman, did the same. I climbed the front ladder on the second locomotive, Giles climbed the rear ladder on the first locomotive. Then Giles jumped from the first locomotive to the second, where I was. We were on the train! Woo Hoo!
The engineer opened the front door on the locomotive that we were on, and started screaming to us in Turkish. He was waving his hand wildly, beckoning us to come into the cab. We complied. I guess we went as far to the front as we could.
When we got into the locomotive, the two engineers were yelling at us like Marine Drill Sergeants. Then Giles calmly said “Photos. Photos.” The yelling stopped abruptly, and we began taking photos. I have photos of the men. I have photos of the engine cab. I have a photo of Giles driving the train with his hand on the throttle.
We were in that cab for what must have been an hour. We passed over several bridges, drove through rough canyons, and past mountains, plains, and sheepherders. The engineers wanted Giles camera, and tried bartering cigarettes for it. “No” was Giles only reply.
“We’d better get out of here,” I said, “They could take your camera, throw us off of the train on a high bridge, and everybody would know that those two stupid tourists climbed onto the train while it was taking off, and fell off of the engines into a deep canyon." We could become victims of the perfect crime.
So when the train finally came to a stop at a station, we smiled, said “Thank you!” and ran for the back of the train. The conductor met us as we boarded. He was pulling his hair out. Giles looked at him, smiled, and said, “Photos! Photos!” The conductor glowered at us, pointed to the back car of the train where we were supposed to be riding, and shouted, "NO PHOTOS!”