Guardian: Will you be my guardian?

He was pleasant enough even if he wasn't all that eager to help. This was likely due to his lack of confidence in the language so I allowed him to explain the way back to Kusadasi in a mix of Turkish and broken English. Seemed simple enough - only two more kilometres hike on top of the 20+ I've already done up and down the other side of a mountain today. Once I had covered those two and reached the only road I paused, looked longingly at the coast just too far to cross, swim, return and still collect my all-important laundry before the next day's sunrise departure, and turned away from the national park's eventual dead end. Rather than stand still I carried on but turned to watch each vehicle as it passed, waiting for the dolmus (mini bus) that the pleasant man had promised would take me to town where I could find a real bus to cover the next 30km to the city. Cars, vans and tractors came and went, despite making myself look as weary and pathetic as I was the only vehicles to give me any notice were the damn kids on their motorbikes, hurling words at me and laughing as they continued past. On I went losing both faith and steam. Finally after 45 more minutes I reached a small village and on a restaurant stoop sat a wise-looking old man so I broached him with 'Kusadasi?' and though he stared directly at me he made absolutely no indication that he'd even registered, let alone a motion as to how I should get there. Exasperated I turned to see if there was anyone else around but nobody seemed concerned about the misplaced foreigner. Finally the waiter came over, seemingly out of obligation, and I inquired with him but he didn't have much good news. I could make out that the dolmus was no longer running, however when asked what I could do instead he just shrugged! There wasn't even a taxi around. When pressed he thought real hard and then spat out a list of directions in Turkish; not helpful. I had him slow down and focus on kilometres (that word translates) and what seemed like town names from the nearby street sign. With only a hazy understanding that I had at least 3 more kilometres before there was even a possibility that anything besides walking might happen I purchased a water and chocolate bar from the shop next door and forged on. How long will this take? My laundry! Ravenously I finished the bar in under a minute and only one minute more a car idled up behind me - a real POS. I'm not sure what they said but I took it to mean sit on top of the old man in the dated blue suit in the back. So I did and after a brief attempt to converse ending with him showing me a business card from England I just sat quietly and hoped this would work out. As I did that I observed how the freshly groomed, bearded blue collar driver egged on the old man who got heated up about everything. The passenger had the greasiest jet black hair I have ever seen and only spoke when spoken to. Along the route we passed a massive black wild boar lying dead still in a field. I smacked my first into my hand to simulate hit by a car and prom king 1954 agreed wholeheartedly - "Dolmus!" he exclaimed with glee. I chose to believe the dog in an equally prone position near it was just napping. Half an hour later we pulled in and the passenger had to get out to open our broken door handle where I spilled into the street. The geezer pushed me back in as he ambled off God knows where. Now sharing the backseat with only eight sacks and some trash we continued to Kusadasi indeed and as soon I'd oriented myself I too eagerly shouted 'OK' and he pulled over. I offered the driver a tenner for 'gaz' but he kindly refused. He also refused to let go of the shifter so I shook his left hand and departed to gather my garments.