Istanbul to Perth cycling trip Sept. ’14 to Mar. ’15

After a wonderful rest day in Trabzon where we treated ourselves to a night at a hotel, ate everything that took our fancy and had a good cleanse in the hamam where I was laid out on a marble slab and scrubbed, washed and massaged by a professional wearing leopard skin knickers until she was satisfied I was clean, we remounted our Trolls and got serious about getting to Georgia.

We continued along the Black Sea coast for 140km or so through the tea growing  region of Rize. Given the amount of Cay we have consumed over the past few weeks it was nice to see where it comes from. Every inch of arable land in the region is covered in tea plants. They even grow out of the drains on the D10! Loaded up trucks trundle along with leaves blowing out of them scattering the coastal road. The air even smells of tea thanks to the number of factories accumulated in the region.

But at Hopa and full of excitement we left the familiarity of Karadeniz (the Black Sea) and turned into the mountains! The first climb was a steep 15km to about 1000m in the heat of the day. Hard work. We stopped at the top for lunch and spent a pleasant hour or so chilling in the shade whilst watching a cow graze on a tea plantation. A fast decent took us through Borcka for supplies and onto a magnificent camping spot on a weir with stunning views and a decent sized hydro electric scheme.

We continued to climb and wind away into the mountains the next day, this time with a strong tail wind. At descending points we had to use caution as the wind cut some  gnarly shapes into the hairpins, funnelling us in head first, giving half a second to adjust weight before yeeha – a full sideways body slam buffets you out the other side. Don’t look down because the Turks are more interested in building dams than road barriers! At Ardin, the earthworks of a second enormous dam have led us to wonder whether the Turks are using their formidable architectural skills to quietly work away at energy self sufficiency.

Onwards and upwards. The next day saw us climb 1,898m in 37km to an altitude of 2,470m in searing heat. Absolutely brutal. I bonked just 1km from the top, but nothing a honey sandwich quickly prepared by Chris couldn’t sort out. A fast, hair pin free decent took us to the alpine plain town of Ardahan where we checked into a dirty hotel, too tired to camp. A Finnish cyclist, Seppo, whom we’d met the previous day turned up at the same hotel a while later looking equally disoriented from the climb.

The fun was only just beginning though. We said goodbye to Seppo after breakfast. He is going to Iran so our roads parted in Ardahan. Rolling through about 45km of beautiful alpine pastures where herds of content looking cattle and fat tail sheep grazed, took us to the foot of our next climb. This was a shorter climb with a 20km descent to Posof as a reward! Yippee!! The climb took us to our highest point of 2,550m. Epic on a touring bike laden with 20kg of panniers! The views were incredible. Spine tingling. The mountains of Georgia were in sight with dark thunder storms complete with spectacular bolts of lightening over them.

We started the descent, the part we usually love the most. Now Turkey, I need to ask you this: What the hell happened to your roads? They’ve been so good, but then you get to the town of Damsal just before our final climb and hit a good size pothole on entry because it’s either that one or the one either side of it before skidding across loose gravel into the next hole. And that’s the way it stays until a kilometre before the border. I don’t understand why loose gravel has been scattered across the road with a few splotches of wet tar here and there and just left. I know mountain weather wreaks havoc on roads and that you don’t have cyclists in mind when you are repairing them, but surely cars don’t appreciate this system of maintenance either? It put my nerves on edge! We started the descent with joy in our hearts that was short lived. My bike bounced crazily from pothole to pothole, three out of four panniers unhooked at the bottom and clanked against the racks, the road twisted steeply around the mountain giving views into the surrounding valleys, all with thunder storms that were closing in on our mountain. I was trying desperately to burn off speed but couldn’t seem to get below 50kph. Navigating the hairpins as best I could to avoid the gravel I had horrifying pictures in my head. Traffic was still moving past us in both directions and the bends, potholes and gravel were endless. Something felt wrong with my bike but there was nowhere safe to stop. Big drops of rain started to fall and great flashes of light followed by roars of thunder indicated the storm was over us. The pictures in my head got worse and the speed of the descent continued, sometimes having to skip to the outside lane to avoid the worst of the road carnage before hurtling back across to avoid oncoming trucks. The moment the road straightened I signalled to Chris I was stopping. He came up in front of me and asked what was wrong. Between thunderclaps I let out a few expletives about atrocious roads and near death experiences before saying there was something wrong with my bike too. I gave the handlebars a shake for emphasis and nearly dropped my front wheel on the ground as the skewer had come undone… Some things don’t bear thinking about too much, but I need to thank Saint Christopher as I’m sure he had a hand in keeping me safe against all odds on that descent. To sum up, lets just say I had a good sit down in Posof afterwards and Chris bought me the most expensive ice-cream without hesitation.

Another 20km of appalling but rolling rather than steep roads took us to the Georgian border for sunset and we entered our second country with friendly goodbyes from the Turks and hellos from the Georgians. So gule gule Turkey and thank you. You have been the best training ground we could have asked for as we commence our journey. Your people, landscapes and food have seen us arrive in Georgia happier, fitter and stronger, a little more aware of culture and certainly better at handling our bikes and camping stove. Your cuisine has ensured we are not leaving any leaner but we’re not complaining, it’s been a pleasure!

So we’re now in Georgia and for my first hairpin at speed I had to negotiate a rock fall and two savage dogs charging me head on. Thank you Saint Christopher for stepping in again. The dogs tripped over each other and both fell over long enough for me to speed past and find a line through the rock fall. Chris whose always looking back over his shoulder for me breathed another sigh of relief and we carried on. It’s a different country from the outset with a whole host of new adventures and challenges waiting for us by the look of it…

Istanbul to Perth cycling trip Sept. ’14 to Mar. ’15

My first impressions of Turkey have been that the food is fantastic, the drivers are considerate, nearly always giving a friendly honk and wave as they pass – in both directions, and the people always seem to be there when we need them. For example, on our second day on the bikes, we had planned to get to Bolu, a ski resort town which would be our first proper climb. We’d spent the day on the D100, a busy highway, doing rolling hills in 39c heat. As we approached the bottom of the climb at around 5pm I needed something to eat to keep me going. We stopped and turned around to go back to a bakery but no sooner had we turned the bikes than a guy called us over from a shop veranda for cay (tea).

He was sitting with a group of men conducting secret men’s business, which there is a lot of in Turkey, and they poured us cay and pushed the chocolate biscuits our way and even grabbed a handful of nuts from the stand out the front. We were grateful and did our best to converse in Turkish, English and sign language for a while. As it happened, none of the men who had called us over actually lived or worked at the shop and they gradually headed off in different directions as did we once we felt good enough to go on.

Not surprisingly, it wasn’t long into the climb before my head started to spin and I was not feeling confident of reaching Bolu still 20km up the mountain. Chris pulled over briefly to look at the view, where it appeared we had actually climbed a really long way already. A family was having a picnic by the road there and waved a bottle of coke at us which Chris declined before I could say anything. Back on our bikes and spinning hard on the granny rings, I lasted probably another twenty minutes, now in 34c heat at around 6:30pm, before it was all over for me and I hit the wall. Luckily it was the wall of a beautifully located et mangal (meat bbq restaurant) built into the side of the mountain. In desperation we asked the lady – camp? With a friendly smile she replied – camp and waved vaguely to an area of garden at the back of the restaurant. We had our bikes round the back and the tent up in about 5 seconds flat. Keeping a little space behind the tent which was hidden from the restaurant, I filled the Ortlieb 5L folding bowl I had insisted on bringing with water from the girls bathroom and in the last minutes of sunshine and overlooking the valley we had climbed out of, had the best wash of my life breaking out the bum flannel and face flannel for the first time on the trip. I even stuck my head in and washed my hair Too much information? Sorry, I apologise, but honestly it’s the basic necessities and the unpredictable ways they evolve that I’ve been appreciating the most in this first week as we settle into our journey.

We do seem to be finding a bit of routine. We set off early in the morning full of beans, rolling over the constant hills admiring scenery and thinking how good life is. Then it gets hot and we limp into our lunch stop around 12:30pm where we eat whatever is on offer before finding some shade to snooze in for an hour or so and then do our best to get through another couple of hours in the afternoon. I find there is always an uneasy period late afternoon where I’m tired, hot and bothered and don’t know where we’re going to end up for the night. It seems to be working out for us though, mostly thanks to running into the right person at the right time – and no I don’t always mean literally…

We have camped by a lake with a stunning sunset where the locals came down and partied til dawn, in the mountain restaurant garden, in a field behind a petrol station where the owner gave us ice-cream and let us use his shower, by a path in a random park and then this morning, we descended – at exhilarating speeds – into the beautiful Black Sea town of Amasra where we have treated ourselves to a rest day and found a beautiful room for 100 Lira above a market place. We’ve had a swim in gorgeous clear water, some good food, we’ve read our books sipping cay on a shady strip by the sea and now I’m writing this on our little balcony and it’s very atmospheric…

Istanbul to Perth cycling trip Sept. ’14 to Mar. ’15

It goes like this: Chris and I are walking down the main street of a town, Espiye, with our phones out looking for a cafe with a wifi signal. A man comes up and asks Chris (always Chris) where we are from. ‘England’ replies Chris. The man takes out his phone and makes a call, says a few words including England, and hands his phone to Chris. The man’s daughter is on the other end who asks Chris in limited English what we’re doing. ‘Looking for wifi’ replies Chris. He’s told to hand the phone back. The man finishes the call and taps the shoulder of the closest man sitting outside his shop drinking cay with friends and has a brief conversation including the words England and wiffee. The new man jumps up, runs to the other side of the narrow street, picks up a pebble and throws it at the window above his shop. A man sticks his head out and a shouted conversation including England and wiffee ensues after which the man comes promptly down from his office with his wifi code on a piece of paper. We connect to his signal and stools are drawn up for us on the pavement to join the three men already sitting there. The first man carries on his way job done, the other returns to his office, cay is served to Chris and I and a lively conversation is started in Turkish/English with our three new companions. We learn who they are, get tips for Trabzon sightseeing, are served Turkish coffee (which knocks your socks off if you’re not careful). We completely fail in our quest to find accommodation for Trabzon in two nights time because it’s impossible to search and continue the conversation, but we do learn a couple of new Turkish words to add to our growing vocab and generally have a pleasant time. And this is not a one off experience, but can happen several times a day, though not usually in the busy towns or cities.

We met Songul and her family in Cide.  Our bikes were being obnoxious about being taken onto the beach to camp and Songul ran down to offer help when she saw us struggling to push them onto the sand from her home across the road. She later came back with her sister Fatma and a huge bowl of watermelon for us. We spent a lovely evening on her beachfront balcony with her family. Her mum who was up early to pray the next morning even helped us load up and saw us off at dawn, giving me a good approving nod when I hitched my special long skirt up into shorts.

We met Isham in a tiny hill top village where he was waiting for his niece to arrive back from holiday by coach. He took us back to his farm where he made us a beautiful dinner of home grown, organic food, then invited some of his extended family around and we spent the evening sat on a rug on his front porch surrounded by drying corn cobs for the chooks, eating watermelon, figs and hazelnuts and drinking cay. We washed in his bathroom (with an amazing view through the open window) and slept in his living room.

Outside of Bafra, once again looking for a campsite, a group of kids wanted to  what we were doing. They showed us to the mosque where we could wash in a purpose built bathroom beside it but outside the mosque grounds and then showed us to their father’s field where we set up the tent, again with an awesome view. They even called their English teacher who came out to meet us on a Saturday evening and helped out with translating as Chris ran an impromptu bike coaching session for the kids.

The next day in Samsun, we needed our final (prophylactic) rabies vaccinations and found the right hospital after quite a lot of trouble. The hospital staff didn’t want to do the vaccination because they didn’t know if their vaccine was compatible with ours, but still they were friendly and as helpful as they could be, even getting an officer from the World Health Organisation on the phone to translate for us. As we went back to out bikes which we had left outside the staff canteen, the chef called us in and insisted on giving us lunch. A good hearty three course meal! Coincidentally our nurse, Sanma, came in for her lunch at the same time and sat down with us. She was such a nice lady. At the end of lunch she took us back to her office and set up Google Translate on her desktop. Then after being given the vaccine name, a call to our insurance company and another to Chris’ aunt Edmee, a retired GP, we deduced that the vaccine was fine and Sanma gave it to us for free, saving us £125 each.

That night we came across a likely camp site on the edge of a tiny rural village away from the main road. There was a man there watching his cows graze and after the usual sign language/Turkish conversation he told us it was fine to set up camp. His wife Sefika, a very happy lady, came out to see who we were. Sefika was brilliant! She loved our bikes, wanted to see inside our tent, had me chasing a cow around the field trying to milk it (turned out she didn’t even know how to but thought it would be funny!) and then had us into their place for dinner. They are hazelnut growers and it is picking season so they are working long, hard days. Poor Kamal, her husband was propped up at the table trying not to fall asleep. Kamal’s brother Mustafa lived on the same property but in a bigger house and seemed to run a bigger operation, employing his own pickers and sorters. He had come over to our tent separately on his way to the mosque with a torch and candle as he had seen us and was worried we didn’t have enough light. (We just weren’t using ours because of the mozzies). He also joined us for dinner after his mosque visit and although they spoke no english we managed to communicate well, had a really good, fun evening and went to bed so full I didn’t think I’d be able to keep my food down.

But then later this morning after writing this blog I think we gained a little more insight into Turkish hospitality. We stopped in the small seaside town of Eynesil for a snack and tea and met the resident Mullah. We had seen him walking down the Main Street greeting everyone and noticed that a lot of the people were gravitating towards him but didn’t know who he was until I later asked him whether he was a politician – oops. He came up to Chris and shook his hand and asked us to sit down to tea in the closest cay shop. Chris asked where the Ekmek (bakery) was and the man sent a kid off to buy bread for us. Not understanding we followed the boy but he bought the bread and wouldn’t let us pay. We returned to the cay shop across the street and great fuss was made of putting stools and a bigger table out for us and a few more people joined. They insisted we needed peynir (cheese) to go with the bread and a new tub of it appeared along with dishes of honey and olives and two big cups of tea for us and the standard size for everyone else. The boy who had bought our bread reappeared too with five more kids who transpired to be the Mullah’s grandsons. We chatted and took photos, wrote down Facebook and Twitter names etc. The boy wanted to know whether Chris had a housewife and I honestly couldn’t read his expression when Chris said it was me… Anyhow, once we had eaten as much as we could, the Mullah wrapped up the remaining cheese and bread for us, refused our offer of money and signalled that we had finished. It was another wonderful, if slightly surreal experience of Turkish hospitality and we gratefully accepted the generosity and kindness extended to us. I sensed though that the Mullah was also using the landing of strange looking aliens in his town as an opportunity to put into practice, for the benefit of his people, a teaching from the Koran.

Whatever the case, the Turks have proven to be phenomenally hospitable, interested and welcoming people and if this is what cycle touring in Turkey is all about then it is absolutely the way to go.