After one night back in Istanbul we said goodbye to many in our group who were only with us for the first week and set out for our next destination: Beypazari, the little village that could. The trip was 200 miles of mostly mountainous countryside. Many times I thought I was driving on the Blue Ridge Parkway, until suddenly the terrain gave way to something more akin to Arizona. We were all amazed at this quick transformation.

My stomach was still giving me problems, so my traveling companions became more like moms, dads, sisters and brothers and began producing pills, powders and potions from their bags, all with guarantees to ease my discomfort. I was a walking pharmacy.

My first glimpses of Beypazari were what I was hoping to find – a picturesque traditional village with colorful buildings and narrow, cobblestone streets. Upon scratching beneath the veneer, however, I found a community of wickedly smart entrepreneurs who knew how to lure tourists and turn a buck. Don’t get me wrong – everyone was extremely kind and gracious, and the prices of their jewelry and handicrafts were exceptionally good. They just knew how to run the town as a business, and it was working. While we were there, the streets were filled with tourists and locals, and everyone was spending money. And while the guidebook says Beypazari is famous for its carrots, the only ones I saw were the carats that gleamed from jewelry store windows.

It was a pretty easy ride from there into Ankara. I even grabbed a nap, and made plenty of headway through the book I’m reading (SNOW, by Orhan Pamuk). My stomach was still the same at dinner time, so my traveling mates (aka, surrogate family) placed a special order on my behalf – boiled potatoes, plain white rice, and Turkish white cheese. While I ate this, I watched them feast on steak and salad.

Oh the wretched evil of the traveling bug.