DIA 295-303 - Enter Macedonians Stage Left

Istanbul - Kesan - Alexandropolis - Kavala - Peristera - Vergina Dt = 11651 Km

From Istanbul we catch a bus to a town close to the Turko-Greek border called Kesan. We are in a hurry to meet Piluca and Ester (Angel's mother and sister) in Thessaloniki. We ride like maniacs from Kesan to make it on time, and Thrace passes in a blur. But there is still a little time to think.




The Persian king Xerxes is the first historical figure to spring to mind. We are riding between the mountains and the sea. Did Xerxes march this route on his way to see to father Darius' unfinished business and defeat those pesky Greeks? I remember standing in the ruins of his palace at Persepolis near Shiraz in Iran. It has taken us almost two months to cycle. How long did it take Xerxes? How did he feed all his soldiers? There is some debate over how many soldiers were in the Persian army, but many scholars put the number at 250 000 men.

From Xerxes, it is an easy mental leap to Alexander the Great marching in the opposite direction. They are related in my thoughts ever since Persepolis. When Alexander conquered Persepolis in 330BC, he burned the place down. The fire started in Xerxes' palace and was rumoured to be revenge for Xerxes' destruction of the Acropolis in Athens over 100 years earlier. (Athens was completely destroyed. In a rare display of solidarity, many of the Greek states worked together to hold off the Persians. They failed to stop Xerxes from taking Athens, but he sacked an empty city. After the Greeks' defeat at Thermopylae, Themistocles, the ruler of Athens, made the wise decision to evacuate all the women and children, and the men retreated to Corinth, the next line of defence. The Greeks had Athens back in a year by using their navy to good effect). Nevertheless, I thought Alexander was an animal for burning a place of such staggering beauty when I was in Persepolis. I do not subscribe to the eye-for-an-eye idea when it comes to losing so much artwork!

When we are near Thessaloniki, we cycle up into the mountains to stay with Vasilios, a super-cyclist we have contacted through the Hospitality Club. Vasilios has cycled around the world. He travels between 2-3 times faster than us on his bike. We are impressed and also very grateful for his excellent hospitality and trip advice. He lives in a house he has made with his father on the outskirts of a little village called Peristera, and the views all the way to Thessaloniki and the sea are magnificent. His house is extremely relaxing and we get to sleep on a comfortable mattress. We leave our bikes with him for ten days, and go down to meet Piluca and Ester at Thessaloniki airport.


The four of us hire a car and head to Vergina. This is the site of Aegae, the ancient capital of Macedonia, otherwise known as the springboard for Alexander's sacking of the known world. So far, as you may have guessed, Alexander has not been my favourite historical bloodletter, but when it came to burying his father, Phillip II, the young man surprised everyone and stepped up to the plate. King Phillip, who paved the way for his son by converting Macedonia from a provincial backwater to a major Greek player, was assassinated in 336BC at the wedding of his daughter. Alexander gave his father the best burial ever and, as either luck or strategic planning would have it, Macedonian citizens were buried on top of Phillip's tomb. Grave robbers managed to get into surrounding tombs, but Phillip's tomb was left intact until 1984.

Everything found in the tomb and also the tomb itself are on display inside the original mound. The most important aspect of the burial was the supreme sacrifice of a young woman. Meda, one of Phillip's younger wives, sacrificed herself for her husband, and Alexander paid her the highest honour, giving her a gold crown, and putting her cremated remains in a box just as ornate as his father's to take with her to the underworld. This Thracian princess is now immortalised along with her husband - she made an interesting decision, but one that has paid off in the long term! A beautiful dinner set, washing implements, gold crowns and numerous precious items were also found in Phillip's tomb. Other tombs have also been discovered in this mound, including the tomb of Alexander's son, who was born after his father's death and assassinated as a little boy.

However, it is the tomb of King Phillip II of Macedonia in particular which offers us a window into Macedonia's golden age. It feels like the events which unfolded occurred in recent history rather than more than two millenia ago. Thank you Alexander. Nice to see you could do something more than lift a sword and light fires...

DIA 293-295 - Istanbul Not Constantinople

Sinop - Istanbul

Catching a bus to Istanbul is not always straightforward. Our plan was to catch a bus from Sinop since we were running low on time. Little did we know that Sinop is extremely attractive if you are a Turkish family looking for a beach holiday. All the buses were booked solid for a week. This made our journey to Istanbul quite interesting, albeit a little stressful.

We rode out of Sinop and hitch-hiked to another town, which proved to take a very long time. When we arrived at the next town only the 'drama' bus had room for us. This bus stopped at every one-horse town all night and whenever new passengers joined us everyone was forced to play musical chairs. A lot of shouting ensued each time, and one time the bus conductor hit a passenger in the face. Quite naturally, the passenger was upset by this turn of events. The only problem was that he was travelling with his mother who was extremely large, and the conductor managed to hide behind her in the aisle. The woman fanned her face frantically and looked on the verge of fainting as her son uselessly tried to reach over her to hit the conductor. This all happened about 3cms away from my left leg. Angel, who had been sleeping, woke up and tensed: He appeared quite eager to join in but wanted to work out first who to punch!

Getting to Istanbul was therefore a relief. The Golden Horn seen in the pink dawn light across the water was enough to start the butterflies in the pit of my stomach. But there was no bridge, we did not think to take a ferry, and the bus drove us away. It took us all morning to get back again (metros and bicycles do not mix well). When we found a dodgy hotel and recovered some semblance of calm, we planned our tourist itinerary. Here are the highlights.



Our first stop was the Aya Sofia Museum. It was built by the Byzantines in the 6th century, not by Constantine as I had formerly supposed, but by Justinian. Both men appear in the building: If you look back at the last archway as you exit, these emperors are immortalised in golden mosaic. Constantine on one side offers Jesus the city of Constantinople (held out in his hands), and Justinian offers Jesus the Aya Sofia on the other side.

For almost 1000 years no one could replicate the Aya Sofia's feat of engineering: such an enormous, apparently unsupported space under a dome. The architects, Isidore of Miletus and Anthemius of Tralles, were derided at the time for attempting the impossible. Indeed, their dome fell down in an earthquake after 20 years, so the sceptics got their chuckle. But not the last laugh. Isidore's nephew, Isodorus the Younger worked out some new logistics, and Jesus got his Aya Sofia back again.


What I love most about the Aya Sofia, the amazing golden mosaics and the impressive architecture notwithstanding, is the religious tolerance it displays. Well, religious tolerance between Christians and Moslems. (The place was sacked by fellow Christians during the fourth crusade in the 13th century.) When the Ottomans sacked Constantinople in 1453, scimitars swinging, Mehmet the Conqueror hoisted up a few Koranic prayers, repainted the ceiling of the dome with lots of wordy praise to Allah, blocked out all the low-lying Byzantine saints and miscellaneous greybeards, and declared the place a mosque. He did not burn the place down, he did not desecrate it, he simply left the virgin Mary floating in space with little baby Jesus perched on her knee, put Koranic prayers on either side of her, and started praying.



Our next stop was Topkapi Palace, but we spent so long in the Aya Sofia that Topkapi had to wait until the next day. This palace was begun by Mehmet the Conqueror straight after he told everyone to stop calling Constantinople Constantinople and to start calling the place Istanbul. Then all the subsequent sultans added extra rooms, especially in the harem, to show that they had been through. There are four sections in the palace: one for the public, one where the public could meet with the vizier acting on the sultan's behalf, one for the harem, and one reserved solely for the sultan.

All the sections are breathtaking but the harem is the most fascinating. The day-to-day life of all the concubines and the hierarchy amongst them is easy to imagine. The favourite of the sultan often wielded great power, and heads rolled as a result of pillow talk. Roxelana, the concubine/wife of Suleyman the Magnificent in the 16th century managed to convince her man to kill his competent first born son so that her incompetent son had access to the throne. Then she had him kill his grand vizier for good measure.

The Ottomans were clever: They had so many children by all their concubines that there was plenty of family to defend the empire. On the downside, brothers got suspicious of each other and some were forced to stay in the harem where they grew debauched with so much sex and soft living. A few of these made it to the throne, and then had a large number of people killed randomly, showing that lots of sex does not necessarily equal competent governance.

In sum, there is so much to see and think about in Istanbul, once known as the 'Great City'. Standing on Galata Bridge looking towards the Golden Horn, we thought about the rise and fall of empires. The sheer terror of the Byzantines, knowing that the Ottomans were going to win and sack their beautiful city, the dunbstruck awe of Istanbulites watching the Allied Forces sail quite literally into the centre of town in 1918. So much to Istanbul: a city with layered memories of greatness.

DIA 290-292 - The Black Sea Coast of Turkey

Samsun - Sinop Dt = 11175 Km


We have seen a lot the Black Sea coast of Turkey has to offer - from Rize (almost) in the east to Sinop in the west. The Black Sea is like a giant pond in the early morning and then the wind springs up and the ripples start. Maybe in winter the sea gets wild and bursts against the shore in a fury, but in summer you could almost use it as a mirror. The clouds are always present but always different. They play beautiful games with the light.

To the left of us as we ride along are lush green hills, the higher hills wreathed in cloud, houses dotting them sporadically with no apparent path leading to doors. The air is thick with moisture and our sweat does not dry. Breaths of air on our body are warm but sometimes we ride through pockets of cold air. The scenery to our left gradually changes from subtropical green to temperate green, and patches of blue sky increase as we travel west.

Usually we speed along the highway made from land reclaimed from the sea, but when we can take the old roads we do. These roads go up and down but it is more beautiful to be up in those green hills looking at the sparkling sea below. There are plenty of hazelnut farmers - it is the harvesting season and hazelnuts are laid out by the side of the road to dry. There are also dogs but, although they bark, their hearts are not really in the chase.

I dream as I ride along. How did this coast look to the ancient Greeks? My imagination is filled with their history. Pontos Euxine: The Black Sea. The Greeks came here for the first time around 1000BC. At first they were a little nervous of all the barbarians. Jason and the Argonauts (of Golden Fleece fame) were sailing the waters of Pontos Euxine, meeting with all sorts of adventures. The Golden Fleece is thought to refer to the custom in Colchis (present day Georgia) of sifting for gold using fleece. We cycled past a promontory now called 'Yason' where ancient mariners made a sacrifice to Jason before continuing their journey.

Then there were the Amazons who lived in the Delta around modern Samsun. The Amazons were supposedly one-breasted man-haters (they cut off a breast to better throw a spear), although the Turks around Samsun tend to depict Amazons with both breasts intact, in sexy clinging tunic dresses shooting arrows. Amazons appear in this region in random places as statues and on the sides of buses.

Xenophon, a student of Socrates turned mercenary soldier, also came to these parts in 401BC. He found himself in Trapezus (modern day Trabzon) when he was fleeing from defeat at the hands of the Persian king Ataxerxes II at the battle of Cunaxa. Cyrus the Younger had hired Greeks to fight against his brother Ataxerxes because he viewed the Greeks as superior fighters and, although the Greeks did fight well, fıve Greek generals were betrayed and executed. Cyrus the Younger was also killed. Xenophon wrote of the return of 10 000 men - although skeptics could accuse him of slight exaggeration (let nothing stand in the way of a good story!). He stayed in Trapezus for a month, resting and organizing everyone's onward journey back to Greece.

As is evident with Trabzon, most of the Black Sea city names are mutations of the Ancient Greek names. My favourite is Sinop. This name derives from 'Sinope', the name of an Amazon queen. Zeus took a fancy to her, and promised to grant her a wish should she accept his amorous advances. True to her Amazon man-hating one-breasted roots, she asked to remain an eternal virgin. Zeus, in an unusually gracious and sporting gesture, curbed his enormous libido and granted her wish.

The Black Sea coast of Turkey is filled with history, and these are only snippets, my highlights as I look out to sea and avoid riding over hazelnuts. The Romans were here too, the Byzantines, the Ottomans, and they have all left their mark. But my imagination wanders past them all...

DİA 285-287 - Samsun - Our Favourite Unseen City

Fatsa - Samsun Dt = 11005 Km

Samsun is a large sprawling city on the Black Sea coast of Turkey. We were lucky enough not to see it. Our beautiful warm host Banu gave us a much happier experience and lovely memories. She lives in Pelitröy about 20kms west of Samsun. The day we told her that we would be arriving, we rode 120kms and collapsed, exhausted, in an Internet cafe in Samsun. Banu came and collected us, negotiating our bicycles onto a local bus. She then asked a petrol station to look after the bikes at the bottom of the 2km steep hill (wall) which led to her spacious apartment.

The bikes ended up staying in the petrol station for three days. We were planning to stay one night but we were in heaven! A gracious hostess with whom we could have indepth conversations from Turkish politics to teeth (Banu was just finishing a thesis on orthodontics), the run of the kitchen, and two cats to keep us company. Well, one cat. Bıdık, the other one, spent most of the time in a kitchen cupboard, secretly knowing that we lived for the taste of cat flesh.

Banu was extremely busy - she handed in her thesis during our stay - but still found time to entertain us. On the first night we were invited to a scrumptious dinner at her university restaurant, and wish that we could remember the names of the dishes. On the last night, we feasted on fish which had the big thumbs-up from Angel, the fish connoisseur. During our stay we drank wine, we listened to Banu's great collection of Turkish and Brazilian music, we watched everyone but Australia and Spain compete in the Olympics. I even got to finish my book -I never seem to have time to read. As if all this was not enough, Banu took us to her favourite spot, a tranquil lake with clouds encircling distant hills. She then took us horseriding where we rode off into the sunset (and back again!).

Thank you so much Banu. We really hope to see you again in Spain or Australia, and also hope that those people you are going to in Sydney know how lucky they are!

La entrada en Samsun sobre autovia de seis carriles llena de trafico con prisas y sin espacio para nosotros remataba un largo dia lleno colinas. Buscamos internet para rescatar la direccion de Banu, nuestra hospitalera, y casi nos desmayamos al descubrir que se encontraba todavia a 20 km. y cuesta arrıba. Llamamos a Banu para decirle que nos sabiamos ni cuando ni como pero llegariamos. Su respuesta fue contundente: - No os movais, estoy ahi enseguida. Diez minutos despues entraba en el cibercafe con una suve sonrisa y mucho brillo en los ojos. Removio cielo y tierra para poner nuestras burras en un dolmus rumbo a su barrio y luego les encontro un establo donde pacer y a nosotros nos llevo a su calido apartamento. Mientras nos duchabamos arreglo una cama doble en el salon y pronto su casa era tambien la nuestra. Una estupenda cena turca a orillas del mar puso la guinda al dia.

Al dia siguiente Banu tenia que entregar su tesis en odontologia asi que paso todo el dia en la Universidad. Nosotros lo pasamos descansando y disfrutando de una casa de verdad. De una de esas que tiene de todo. En la cocina habia perolos de todos los tamaños; sartenes que no se agarran; vasos diferentes para vino, cafe, te, agua..; cuchillos grandes y afilados y hasta batidora!! para hacer mayonesa y triturar nueces. En el salon cosas mas basicas y mas esenciales como internet; unas cuantas estanterias llenas de musica; unas television donde ver los juegos olimpicos; y un gato y medio que deambulaban de aqui a alli (el medio era uno que paso la mayoria del tiempo escondido en un armario). Pero sin duda lo mas fascinante de todo se encontraba en el baño: rollo de papel higienico colgado de la pared; espejo; agua caliente; lavadora multiprograma (de esas con una puerta redonda que la abres, metes la ropa, le das a un boton y al cabo de un rato esta la ropa limpia); y una caja llena de bastoncillos para las orejas!! ay que baño!

Al dia siguiente Banu tenia un poco mas de tiempo y nos llevo, primero, a pasear por un lago, luego a montar a caballo y finalmente a degustar una cena de pescado fresco recien sacado del mar negro bien acomapañada de vino blanco, que cena mas tremenda! Una vez en casa, sobre los cojines de la terraza y con vaso de tinto en mano charlamos durante horas inolvidables de las diferencias y similitudes culturales del mundo. Durante toda la estancia no nos dejo pagar nada y a pesar de nuestras quejas y esfuerzos su rotundidad fue invencible. Pero sin duda el mejor regalo fue habernos hecho sentir como en casa, una casa que hace mucho tiempo que no tenemos. Muchas Gracias Banu.

DIA 284 - Hospitality Club

Bulançak - Fatsa Dd = 95 Km Dt = 10889 Km

Watch out Iran: The Turks are no slouches in the hospitality department and are a definite contender for gold medal! The Black Sea coast in particular has been a hospitality highlight. OK, to be honest, we have organized some of the hospitality in advance. For all those who do not know this wonder of the Internet, there is a hospitality club operating all around the world, offering anything from a piece of floor to sleep on, to a guided tour or five-star treatment.

In a town called Trabzon, the first major town we visited on the Black Sea coast, we met a man called Erjan who cheerfully bundled us into his car and took us to all the major sites. In the space of a few hours we had admired the building in which Atatürk stayed on his visits to Trabzon (and its immaculate gardens), the Trabzon museum complete with a two-dimensional bronze statue of Hermes (he was rather ignominiously crushed under a pıllar of his own temple), and the Aya Sophia - a late Byzantine masterpiece of a church innovatively blending Byzantine, Moslem, Georgian and Selçuk styles. After this whirlwind tour we sat down to have a chat over the compulsory cup of tea. We learned a lot about Turkey's recent history and Erjan, in his opinions and comments, underlined the red crescent/star nationalism constantly fluttering over our heads.

Giresun was the next city we visited and was home to Nuri - another member of the hospitality club. Nuri lives 12kms out of town and came on his moped to guide us to his house. He had jumped ship on a visit to the US and stayed for 17 years: He spoke English well. Nuri had come back to Turkey, bought a 5 storey apartment building and a grocery store, got married, had a daughter but, even after all this flurry of Turkish activity, he still had an eye on the western hemisphere. He had recently successfully applied for a Canadian immigrant visa, and was heading off again (this time with young wife and child in tow) to seek his fortune for a second time. Nuri was extremely generous, taking us for pides, buying us beers, cooking us a big breakfast of eggs, cheese and chorizo in the morning, and all the while talking non-stop in American slang. But the best thing for me was the shower: I had not seen such a beautifully clean shower since leaving Perth. Such a pleasure.

DIA 283 - The Day of the Chicken Barbecue

Görele - Bulançak Dd = 78 Km Dt = 10794 Km

While cycling towards Giresun we discovered that cycling on Sundays has its benefits. At lunchtime we stopped at a makeshift pavilion by the sea. Soon a family arrived for a Sunday picnic. We finished up at the only table and moved onto the rocks to write and drink tea so that the family could use the amenities. Soon a plate of barbecued chicken, some bread and melon arrived at our rocks. Fanta and plastic cups followed, along with grapes. Refusing was not an option. We ate a second lunch and, groaning, we waddled back to our bikes where they were parked near the pavilion. The friendly father pressed tea on us. We tried again to say no but he pretended not to understand, putting pastries into our hands for good measure (my pastry was swiftly placed in my front pack on my bike when the man was not looking).

We managed to somehow cycle through a haze of overconsumption and stopped for dinner at a picnic spot hidden from the road by tall leafy trees. There was another family lying in wait. The father wandered around drinking beer, his bare belly protruding over his shorts, saying 'problem' whenever he wanted to communicate with us. It was the only word he knew in English and he simply changed the intonation depending on his feeling. His wife was extremely short and bubbly. She was voluptuous and bottle-blonde. Their daughter was 18 and wanted to be a doctor, and their son was 15. The kids both engaged with us, practising the English they had learned in school. We found ourselves feasting on yet more barbecued chicken and drinking beer and bottomless cups of tea.

The day of the barbecue actually extended into the next day when we set up camp in a picnic area just outside of a small town called Fatsa. The extended family sitting near us fed us...you guessed it...chicken barbecue..but there was a slight variation on the theme when the meatballs arrived. This family also later invited us over to their picnic rug for tea. There were children everywhere - all age groups were well represented. The children were the offspring of three brothers, and the family looked very religious, all the women wearing headscarfs and the grandmother trumping them all with her burka. Although we thought that the lack of contraceptive use was a little alarming, the behaviour of the children was a dream: They were well-behaved and mature. No one could speak much English, but we managed to communicate a little. When I said that I was Australian I was honoured with:"Putin, oh my God! Bush, oh my God! Australia, I love you!" It is nice to know we are not being too annoying as a country at present.

DİA 282 - El dia de la barbacoa

Trabzon - Görele Dd = 31.7 Km Dd = 10636 Km

Domingo y encontramos un chiringo a orillas del mar con tejadillo, sillas, mesa y lo mas imprescindible de todo: bandera de Turquia. Una vez perfectamente instaldos llega la famlia Mohamed Dominguez con todo el equ.po: pelota, barbacoa, coj.nes, nevera, mantel a cuadros, bañador y perro. Pero no t.enen sitio, se lo hemos quitado. Se van a una piedra cercana y desde alli emp.ezan a enviar em.sar.os con uvas y croquetas para cortejarnos. Al f.nal nos tocan nuestro corazonc.to, acabamos rapido nuestro almuerzo, nos retıramos a otra p.edra y prem.o! Nos toca un plato generoso de pollo a la brasa. Habra que hacerle hueco. Preparamos te, leemos, escribimos, nos bañamos (no olvidemos que es domingo y hay que tomarselo con calma) y cuando queremos despedirnos no hay manera de rechazar el te y las pastas de la familia Dominguez. A punto de explotar pedaleamos no sin dificultad.


Hoy la suerte nos acompaña y a la hora de acampar encontramos un bosquecillo con una mesa de picnic tambien a orillas del mar. La familia Mustafa Dominguez lo ha visto antes pero se ofrece a compartir el preciado rincon. Son una familia feliz. El hijo y la hija (15 y 17 años) ponen a prueba su ingles sin miedos. Mustafa, el padre, pone musica en el radio-cassette del coche y la madre se anima a cantar y a bailar. Nosotros un poco cansados y todavia llenos comenzamos a preparar una ensalada que junto a unas olivas negras la pondremos sobre la mesa para compartir. Ellos no tardaran en poner su barbacoa: pollo y chorızo (de vaca, nada de cerdo).

Todos juntos compartimos la cena y cerveza del padre que una vez acabado el botellin se planta en medio del claro del bosque cual torero en medio del ruedo, pies juntos, saca pecho, y con todo su arte hace volar hacia atras el botellin. El ruido de cristales rotos cual clamor del publico le evita mirar hacia atras. Al tercer lanzamıento de montera-botellin la madre le llamo la atencion señalando la bolsa de basura (yo casi le lance un torero!!). El alcohol paso factura. Me dijo cinco veces que no me olvidara de apagar el fuego. Vale que tengo mala memorıa y no soy muy listo pero hombre que hasta ahi llego! Mis sospechas sobre su estado fueron confirmadas cuando se acerco hasta mi y, señalando la guindilla que picaba como un demonio e insistia en que me comiera, dijo: Sex no problem, good sex, sex no problem, good sex.

Nos despedimos con sonrisas y afortunadamente fue la madre quien condujo. Nos acostamos con el estomago lleno de comida de barbacoa por generosidad turca.

DİA 280-281 - Un İmperio en el trapecio

Arsin - Trabzon - Sumela - Trabzon

Mosterio de Sumela

Aya Sophia (Trabzon)

DİA 279 - Llueve sobre mojado

Ikizdere - Arsin Dd = 78 Km Dt = 10634 Km

Las invitaciones a te en Turquia caen por todas partes, desde el frutero hasta el gasolinero pasando por panadero. Siempre tentadoras ponen en grave riesgo el kilometraje diario. Hoy la tercera invitacion caia desde una gravera, justo a media mañana. No la dejamos escapar y nos sentamos bajo la marquesina de madera a disfrutar del te entre conversaciones fustradas. Nuestro amago de continuar valle abajo se vio neutralizado completa y rapidamente.

-Pero donde vais sin comer hijos mios! Que son ya casi las doce. Anda, haced el favor de sentaos aqui. (Pueda que la traduccion no sea del todo literal)

Sentados en el comedor de la empresa nos sirvieron una fritada de tomate y carne acompañada de arroz, sopa de maiz y yogur. Por supuesto bien de pan, que no falte. Acabada la comida como no, te otra vez. Empieza a llover y hacemos tiempo viendo los juegos olimpicos con el te en una mano y un trozo de pastel en la otra (el pastel fue cortesia nuestra). Finalmente deja de llover, nos despedimos y bicicletas hacia abajo.

Pronto empieza a gotear de nuevo mientras nos dirigimos hacia una nube que es cada vez mas y mas negra. Ocurre lo esperado: el agua empieza a caer con ganas. Es curioso lo de que llueva cuando vas en bici. Al principio el chubasquero te protege y tan solo son los dedos los que se mojan. Poco a poco tus pantalones se van mojando pero con el calor de tus piernas trabajando no importa demasiado. Pero despues de un rato bajo lluvia de verdad no hay chubasquero o gore-tex que te salve. El agua encuentra ese pequeño hueco que queda entre el casco y la capucha, te moja un poco el pelo, hace masa critica y se desliza por espalda y pecho robandote suspiros. Piensas en parar o no parar, sigues. El agua tambien sigue su camino y llega a esas partes intimas para hacerte cosquillas y entonces sabes que ya esta, has perdido. Al cabo de un rato estas completamente calado, se han acabado todas esas placenteras sensaciones y todo son ya comodidades. La ducha que hace tres dias se habia hecho imprescindible ya ha sido olvidada. Que tienes sed pues abres la boca y pegas un trago del chorro que cae de tu nariz. Y si de repente quieres ir al baño pues como en el mar, total un poquito de pipi entre tanta agua quien lo va a notar.

Como dos gigantes gotas de agua caiamos horizontalmente por el fondo del valle, compitiendo con las gotas del rabioso barranco y cruzando una nube negra rumbo al mar negro. Al fondo del valle se distinguia un poco de luz. Cuando llegamos a la orilla donde rompen las olas el sol se asomo timidamente y entre su timido calor y la tibia brisa marina nos fuimos secando lentamente. Para cuando montabamos campamento bajo un monton de avellanas ya estamos totalmente secos, limpios y seguros.

Aqui en la carretera costera del mar negro el trafico parecia poner fin, a pesar de la belleza, al paraiso cicloturista que veniamos pedaleando desde el norte de Iran. Carreteras pequeñas de trafico casi ausente con paisajes y gentes alucinantes y cambiantes. De los mejores tramos del viaje.

DIA 278 - Fresh (Soggy) Mountain Air

Ispir - Ikızdere Dd = 60 Km Dt = 10526 Km

We knew it was going to be a hard day. The day before we had ridden along a valley rising very slowly but steadily. The road went up and down, up and down steeply, always coming back to the river, similarly to the Aras valley. Today we got up early as usual but were more efficient in our packing up. Off we went at 7am. Sustained climbing this time - we were following a branch of the same river upstream, high into the mountains. The sun shone, the sweat trickled, then poured. Always the rush of the nearby river. Sometimes we were lucky and the steepness of the gorge blocked the sun.

It was slow going: We averaged 6kph. After 20kms we rode into an icy wind, which was great for about 5 minutes because it dried the sweat. After that, the fact that it was a headwind became its primary characteristic. We crawled on, past construction work and hills still patched with snow in midsummer. There were plenty of people in makeshift houses and a Muezzin calling everyone to prayer. Nothing was growing on the hillsides now and the wind was fiercely cold. We stopped for lunch, taking shelter on the leeward side of a small cottage.

When we set off again, the wind was so strong and cold that I was gasping for air (although it could have been indigestion - lunch was rather rushed). We could not stop because the conditions were increasingly uncomfortable. Tendrils of cloud were starting to snake towards us, and within a kilometre the cloud had become so dense that visibility reduced to less than 10m. I prayed that the traffic would go slowly because the road was narrow. The traffic did go slowly, which was a huge relief. Most of the cars had their hazard lights on as well as their normal lights - a fine idea. And never have I been so delighted to see cows on the road...they slowed down the trucks. Funny to see them emerge out of thick fog, and they are quite as silly as kangaroos, clattering along beside us in fright and then making kamikaze dashes in front of us.

Finally, we were at the top. We knew this even before we saw the requisite sign showing the altitude (2640m) because there was a Turkish flag the size of a house cracking and groaning, hoisted above the middle of the road. Angel did not see it until we were about 2m away and yelped in shock at the colossal shape looming above us. Here we were, most definitely in Turkey (let there be no doubt), at the top of one of their three highest mountain passes - well, impassable between the months of October and May. It was a little difficult to enjoy though. I could not remember the last time I had felt so cold, mainly because I was so unprepared - I was only wearing my usual T-shirt under my raincoat. We had ridden to around 2400m in Nepal without experienciıng such an enormous change in conditions. My hands were seızing up and I was completely drenched in cloud.

We started going down. The cloud did not stop. I could not feel if my hands were on the brakes - I figured that they were since I was going slowly. The cloud still did not stop. We thought we would be out of the cloud within 5kms given that we had entered it under 5kms from the top on the other side. It took almost 20kms of downhill to finally escape the cloud and recover visibility. It was amazing the effect the mountains had on the weather: 20kms down the other side we had been sweating like crazy in the hot sun. It appears that East Turkey lies in the rainshadow of those mountains. On the Black Sea side the landscape was so lush and green it looked subtropical. Tea is the staple crop of these parts and was all over the place.

It was drizzling. Our bodies had adjusted slightly to the new conditions, but we were still soaking wet and freezing. A hotel miraculously appeared, but they were charging sixty dollars US a night - more than we had spent in a week. We could not do it and rode on, teeth chattering. In the end, we found a bridge to sleep under. The only problem was a rather large dog who also thought that under the bridge was a pretty nice place to sleep. It ran through about three or four times during the night barking its head off, trying to frighten us away. In the morning it watched us from a distance as we packed up. We called to it and it wagged its tail - not unfriendly, just frightened of the tent.

So, that is the story of how we finally arrived at the Black Sea coast, the verdant soggy Black Sea coast so anomalous with the rest of Turkey. The mountains do a great job of cloud herding in these parts!

DIA 275-277 - The Valley of Arthur the Beetle

Nicantasi - Yusefeli - Ispir Dt = 10463 Km

Turkey's Father

There is a man in Turkey who is everywhere. His photo is above the window of the Internet cafe where we are sitting, it is in restaurants and bookshops. His bust adorns streets and museums, and is as much a part of the Turkish landscape as old Turkish men sitting around drinking tea and large groups of cows. Atatürk, or 'Father Turk', was the humble name he chose for himself. He was born Mustapha Kemal and took his last name as his first to make room for his patriarchal tendencies. And Atatürk more than lived up to his name considering his determined and ultimately successful fight for Turkish sovereignty after WWI.

I first became aware of Atatürk on my first trip to Turkey 10 years ago. I knew only one thing about the man and I liked it: He erected a beautifully worded memorial for all the Turks and ANZACS who died at Gallipoli. I thought it was a gracious gesture considering that the ANZACS were attacking him. And it was him personally they were attacking. He was one of the generals defending the Dardanelles against the Allied forces. The defence was successful, and he shone as a military strategist.

On this current trip to Turkey I have discovered more. After the war, when the Allied forces were occupying Turkey and the last Ottoman Sultan was acquiescing to rather compromising demands, Atatürk flipped the proverbial finger, and fought the French, Greeks and Armenians on three different fronts (the old chestnut of Turkey having plenty of fronts to protect). He won. In 1923 the Republic of Turkey was proclaimed and the Allied forces departed. Ankara became the new capital: The Allied forces had been occupyiıng Istanbul and wily Atatürk had made Ankara his base, knowing that he would probably have been executed if he had remained in the old capital.

So Atatürk was a hero, and he still is. It seems that his great strength was that he could see situations very clearly. This made him an excellent general and a powerful first president (the last Ottoman sultan fled, leaving a vacancy for top dog). He was autocratic, an adherent of the enlightenment, a firm believer in the separation of religion and government. He destroyed the caliphate (Selim the Grim - an Ottoman sultan of the 16th century - had won the caliphate for the empire), and Turkey became a secular state. He was also responsible for full suffrage for women, recognizing that Turkey could only become stronger with women's help. He attacked illiteracy in Turkey by introducing a new alphabet and promoting education: Prevıously only around 10% of the population were literate in Arabic and Persian.

However, as a charismatic autocrat, there were also disadvantages to his rule. When he died at the age of 57 ın 1938, he left a vacuum emphasised by subsequent political turmoil and corruption. His legacy has given the military a prominent role in the governance of Turkey - there have been coups as late as 1980, and the military still appear to remain an extremely influential group. His strong reaction to women wearing headscarfs has also meant that headscarfs have been banned at universities and in the public service, although this is now changing under the current Government. Ironically, the daughters of the current Prime Minister went to university ın the US in order to wear a headscarf. By advocating the rights of women so forcefully, he failed to allow freedom of choice. Perhaps in order to promote a new way of thinking, it was necessary to be so forceful, and the Turks have needed to rethink their legislation since. The cult of Atatürk has made this process challenging.

All in all, Atatürk was a very strong, perceptive man who concentrated on the big picture. His legacy still affects Turkey and could be seen as a bulwark against current Islamic fundamentalism. Erdogan, Turkey's Prime Minister, is an Islamist but has this secular aspect of Turkish nationalism as a foil. He is promoting reform and has been elected for a second time, concentrating on fulfiling conditions for accession to the European Union. Who knows whether this will happen (cynics say that it will not), but endemic corruption in particular is being tackled, which can only be good for Turkey.

DIA 274 - Marianne's Birthday

Balcesme - Nicantasi Dd = 48 Km Dt = 10263 Km

Here is the tale of a beautiful birthday...The day before this very special day we rode more than 20kms uphill, and set up camp just before a long downhill. We slept in until 6am (we usually set the alarm for 5am) when we were awoken by yells and the lowing of cattle. A large number of cows were on the move. Verdant grassland sweeping down the side of the hill where we were camped was getting steadily munched. A couple of men and young boys were energetıcally running and herding. Perhaps they did not use dogs because they did not want to get fat: We have noticed the lack of dog use in herding animals in these parts. Fair enough for geese herding, but dogs appear to be quiter useful for sheep/goat/cow herding. Another reason for operating without dogs is that it may take dogs away from their main duty: to attack passing cyclists.

Getting out of the tent I bemoaned the lack of privacy - I wanted to go to the toilet. Angel advised me to go behind a cow. I decided that the cow might move and marched up to the top of the hill instead. Peeing on top of the world. We were about 2500m up and it was lush and green. The hill dropped away steeply into a ravine and there were purple flowers everywhere. The beauty set the scene for the rest of the daty. Pine forests by the side of the road, soaring walls of rock, no wind, the constant burble of a river.

About midmorning we cycled into another cowjam as they were moved along the road. The cowherds greeted us as we rang our bells and wobbled our way around bovine curiosity. Then we found ourselves in a little town called Göle. We stocked up on beer and chocolate and started riding out of town. And there it was: a cake shop. The first I had seen on the whole trip...and on my birthday! İn we went and had some slices of cake. Angel balanced a candle precariously on the edge of the plate (the creamy cake looked liable to implode given the ınsertion of any foreign objects), and I managed to blow it out without setting fire to anything. This little snack was supplemented by a later invitation to drink chai. Our hosts - a truckdriver and his family - plied us with crusty bread and tasty, fluffy cheese called something that sounded suspiciously like 'penis'.

Around midafternoon we found a beautiful campsite and swiftly put the beers into the everpresent river to chill. There was no one around - it was a rare pleasure. One of the best days yet and on my birthday!! This region of Turkey/old Georgia is really amazing...difficult due to its mountainous nature, but worth the effort.

DIA 273 - Altiplano de burros y vacas

Kars - Balcesme Dd = 58 km Dt = 10215 Km