Kusadisi is still a pit, and the signs still say nothing about the proprietor.

-25-

      After wandering in circles for an hour, trying to escape the warped carnival atmosphere of Kusadisi, we have dinner with Wendy at a dreadful seaside restaurant. We bid her goodbye as we laugh our way through a recounting of our quest. She’s been a great travel companion, valiant gladiator, and good friend along the way.
      The authorities clip us for another ten Euros each for “port tax” on our way out of Turkey. But we’re neither surprised or particularly upset.

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