14 June — the report from Day 28.

Dawn came without a moment’s sleep.
Looking at the sunrise, the phrase “there is no night that does not end” comes to mind —
but we cannot see that light of hope yet.
The border problem in the way, and the broken ring gear.

Early in the lobby I found the local staff and, clutching at it, asked again.The answer that came back was a proposal to cross the border via Bulgaria on a series of transporters.
But a plan with no guarantee of safety or timing, and no real thinking behind it.
It would take us completely outside the organisers’ support.

With no options, and no capacity left to work out what was right, my mind wavered.

And then —

hearing the cost, the blood drained out of me and I came to my senses.
Three million yen.

I steadied the mind that had wavered for a moment, and said no.

At which point it was “good luck!” — coldly — and that was that.
It felt as though only we had been left behind, and with the irritation and frustration rising in my chest I could not get food down.

Hope at the workshop, in the thinnest of possibilities

Today we are meeting the people from the Turkish motor club at a workshop. Unable to say anything, I simply watched the hands of the clock.
We arrived early, and out of welcome came coffee that looked good — and even the coffee
would not go down. Pointing a camera at me and getting a manufactured smile: is that painful to watch?
Is that all right?

The time felt long.
They looked at the car, and the answer was the same.
The ring gear cannot be repaired; it has to be replaced.
Today too the call to prayer sounds across Istanbul. Inside it, all I can do is pray.

The hour of prayer in Turkey (video)

Even so, the man from the motor club said at the end that he wanted to help somehow, that he would work through the night on whatever connections he had — and hurried off somewhere.

The man fate sent? Meeting Florian again

With no solution found, I went back to the hotel for now, and met Florian again — he once lived in Japan and speaks a little Japanese.

Simply hearing the language calmed me, and for the first time here I felt my shoulders come down.
Florian had been fighting a breakdown too, with his 1975 Porsche 911S,
and had got this far by using a transporter, with everything he had.
He said, smiling, that he had accepted retiring and would aim for the finish in Paris in a different car.
His replacement car had already been driving for tens of hours from Germany towards Greece.
That such an option exists astonished me — but I cannot produce a replacement car.
For us, entered from Japan, the challenge of this rally is to reach that finish, whatever it takes, in the car we have.

Because we could understand each other, Florian listened closely and gathered friends and information for us.
But deep down a large loneliness is still turning.

Endless messages, still asking for help, refusing to give up

I have no intention of abandoning this adventure.

I am in no state to sleep and I am utterly worn out, but I go on hunting for information about the ring gear — and even if we cross the border, what happens to the car in Greece? The problems after that are still piled up.
Through the night, information passed on by friends in Japan and messages of support from followers around the world arrive on social media.
Frustrated at how hard it is to explain a complicated situation across a language barrier, I feel more gratitude than ever before to the people somewhere in the world who are cheering me on.

And as the morning light began to reach across Istanbul,
a miraculous message came from England.

A moment that took my breath away.

A replacement part for us had been found.
Whether the light we could half see was real, we did not yet know.

Because —

continued in Day 29 …