DIA 329-332 - Italia: The Land of Lycra

Split - Ancona-Jesi-Gubbio-Foiano de Chiana-Siena Dt = 12948 Km

We catch a night ferry from Split to Ancona in Italy and wake up in Europe. I try not to contemplate the next mountain range we have to ride over - the Appenines. Luckily, there is not too much time lost in contemplation since we ride over the Appenines in a day. I am still not sure how that happened, but we came shooting down the side of a mountain into rolling hills around late afternoon.

The next day is spent cruising along a valley. This is where we start blending with a crowd. It is Sunday and the hardcore Italian cyclists are out and about, zooming past us at great speeds, clad in full-body lycra with plenty of publicity across their chests and the usual clashing of colours. So we do not blend quite as well as we do in my imagination, but at least they are on bicycles! They shout out a 'ciao' as they become specks on the horizon.

In fact, it is not just the Tour de France contenders who ride bikes in this country, it is everyone. Which makes a wonderful change. Cyclists have been few and far between since India, and here in Italy we are accepted on the roads as opposed to being chased off them by buses and trucks. In little Italian villages every age group pedals about, although some nonnas have electrified their bikes, so they whizz past with only a few desultory pedalling actions. The villagers tend not to cycle in lycra, however. The lycra club is reserved for males who are capable of cycling a 10 second kilometre.

So the roads are narrow in Italy as well, but we all fit. It is still a novelty hearing car horns which are not directed at us. The other novelty is drinking a mid-morning coffee that is not so strong that it has an amphetamine effect for the rest of the day (In the Balkans, everyone is completely wired on coffee!). Italy is truly a civilised cycling destination.

DIA 328 - The Split of Diocletian

Stari Grad - Split

DIA 325-327 - The Quiet Islands

Dubrovnik - Drace - Sucuraj - Stari Grad Dt = 12674 Km


Croatia has a coastline littered with islands. Yachts sail tranquilly between these islands, and mountains reach skyward. Cycling is common here, but there is friction between cars and bikes because the roads are narrow. When there are no cars, the scenery and the peace are enchanting. We ride through vineyards and olive groves, up to the top of mountains, then whistling down to the sea, then up again. The average tourist is middle-aged: You need to have earned some money before coming on a civilised retreat such as this. Most people do not dive into the bushes as the sun sets and camp, like we do...

Today we are on the island of Hvar, said to be the greenest of Croatia's 1000 or so islands. It stretches at right angles from the coast. Last night we slept in an olive grove and there were no clouds so we could star gaze. Perfect. The islands are large - Hvar is more than 80kms long. It is an island for people who crave serenity on their holidays. There is little to do but stare meditatively at the turquoise sea (it is too cold to swim) or kill yourself cycling up and down mountains. Most people choose the former option, but we have met more fellow cyclists here than anywhere else on the trip....although they are not such long haul travellers!

The only downside of the Dalmatian coast is the rain. When the sun comes out and warms the pine needles up in the mountains enough to produce a heady aroma, and fluffy clouds scud across the sky and wrap themselves around the higher coastal mountains, and the sea twinkles far far below, it is paradise on earth. When it rains, it is cold, and it is hard to keep things dry, and the squeak-squeak of a bike chain washed free of grease reminds you of the unhappiness of your beloved steed. Today it is fine and we are in heaven.

DIA 323-324 - Dubrovnik (Ragusa)

Cipili - Dubrovnik

I am a 16th Century Venetian Cloth Merchant

Hello. My name is Pietro Dandolo. Women love me for my charming manners and my fine length of leg. But I am even better known as a talented and highly successful cloth merchant. The only cloth merchants more successful than I live in a Godforsaken city named Ragusa. The merchants of Ragusa thieve our trade, and must be stopped.


They have 200 merchant ships in their fleet. It is the biggest fleet in the world. We need to rule over them once more so that we may share in their good fortune. In the Year of Our Lord 1205 we took their city, and they were forced to pay us tribute. We also took freely from their supplies of silver, hides and wax. The position of rector of the city was allotted to a Venetian. However, we lost our claim to the city in 1358 - Ragusa fell into the control of the Hungarians.


The situation worsened when the infidel Ottomans began terrorising Europe. One day they will be judged by God, just as the Byzantines were judged and found wanting, but that day has not yet arrived. The citizens of Ragusa pay a thousand gold coins to the Porte, and these handed over with the honeyed words of the shrewd diplomat. The Gran Signore (our name for the Sultan) left them alone, and their unholy alliance has given them trading rights with the infidel. They trade freely with the East and with the West, all the way to Syria, Egypt, France and Spain. They specialise in glass-blowing, weaving, textiles, and they have recently started trading in salt. They put their consulates all over the world - they know the latest intrigues and sell others the political information they have gleaned. They would no doubt deliver up their grandmothers if the price was right.


True, their city is beautiful, in similar tradition to Venice. In 1292 regulations were laid down, and everyone must abide by these, from successful merchants like me to lowly butchers. Windows and doors must be just so and houses made of stone. Their sewage system has lasted over 100 years and perhaps will last into a new millenium. The main street is paved and plays with the light in the most delightful way. A huge fountain near the entrance of the city brings in water from eight miles hence. The city holds wheat silos filled with wheat, and the citizens continue to construct additional fortifications to protect themselves against our might. The Fransciscans, Dominicans and Benedictines all have churches within the city walls.


Nevertheless, I pray to God everyday to let justice be done. These so-called Catholics do business with infidel. I would never sully the beauty of my rolls of cloth by allowing ungodly hands upon them. The citizens of Ragusa may pride themselves upon their diplomacy, but I predict that a man named Napoleon Bonaparte will take the city in 1808, and that the city will later be ceded to the Austrians. My intuition tells me so. God always judges in the end.


Now I must leave you. The brothel calls, and it would not be gentlemanly to keep the ladies waiting.

DIA 320-322 - Montenegro: Cycling Over a Cliff

Koplik - Podgorice - Lovcen - Cipili Dt = 12433 Km

Up and down, up and down, all the way from Thessaloniki, but a lot more up than down. All of this gradual ascent led us to Monte Negro, the mountain after which the country is named, and then over a cliff, down-down-down to the sea far below. There are more than 25 switchbacks the drop is so steep, and the view from the top, just as the sun was setting is overwhelmingly beautiful.

DIA 317-319 - Albania: Riders in the Storm

Struga - Elbasan - Rinos - Koplit Dt = 12235 Km

We are sitting in a tiny roadside restaurant in Albania while the rain pours down outside. The restaurant is cozy, but my legs in soaking wet bike pants are freezing. Thunder growls. We have just finished eating a huge plate of lamb cooked on a covered spit outside, a generous salad, chips and plenty of freshly baked bread. Amazing how much you can eat when you are cold!

The two people working here look like brother and sister. They are the best-looking Albanians we have seen all day - we rode over the FYROM-Albanian border this morning. They smile constantly. At the moment they are outside with a fresh goat, but it gets hung from a tree, waiting to be prepared for the spit. The old man at the next table is ploughing his way through the head of the last spitted goat. He has eaten the eyes first.

The restaurant is a small outfit with only four tables and a red lino floor. The side facing the street is encased in glass. The kitchen is tiny. I followed the sister in earlier to point at what we wanted to eat. The brother is cutting the innards out of the goat hanging from the tree. It is still raining heavily.

It is Sunday today and we notice that everyone is wearing their Sunday best. Strange in a predominantly Moslem country. During the long Ottoman occupation many Albanians converted to Islam, and many of those who preferred to stay Christian Orthodox went to Italy. Albanians were then generally treated well by the Turks, and often helped the Turks in quelling Orthodox uprisings in the region.

We stay in the restaurant for two hours waiting for the heavy rain to abate. It doesn't, so we finally head off downstream. The three days we spend in Albania are stormy. Albania will be forever etched in my memory as the land of the long black cloud...

DIA 315-316 - "FYROM"

Niki - Resen - Struga Dt = 11988 Km

En route to Thessaloniki a policeman was angry with Angel. The conversation started pleasantly enough, and the policeman asked Angel where we were headed after Greece. Angel said 'Macedonia'. Wrong answer. The policeman told us in no uncertain terms that we were in Macedonia and we were headed to FYROM (the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia).

The Greeks have a right to be angry, considering that original Macedonia is an extremely important region in the national psyche. It is not even correct to say that the whole of FYROM was conquered by Alexander the Great, thereby becoming part of Greater Macedonia: He only conquered a small part of the region which currently constitutes FYROM. We agreed with the Greeks on the issue, and were curious about the choice of name. We then also became worried about the people when a woman near the Greek-FYROM border told us that the people in FYROM would try to rob us, and it was unsafe to camp.

It was therefore an absolute delight to find the people of FYROM warm, friendly and helpful. It took two days to ride through the country, but only because we tried to prolong our stay. There are a mere two million people, which leaves the roads relatively free of cars. Horses and carts and tractors were also regular features - nice when you are travelling by bike because they travel at the same speed! Many people have ties with Australia, and one man bought us both a drink because I was Australian. Food was tasty and very cheap - real coffee cost 50 euro cents. Internet worked and Windows was in English for the first time on this trip (not great for the Macedonians that there is not enough of a market for Macedonian version, but great for us!). The mountains were beautiful and lush. It was hard to leave in the end.

So yes, the right of the Macedonians to borrow a Greek name and heritage is dubious (although, when they first started fighting for their independence before the First World War, the region DID include what is currently known as Greek Macedonia. Greeks were apportioned this land by the Great Powers after the defeat of Ottoman Turkey). But the country itself? A real pleasure. We vote FYROM our favourite Balkan country!

DIA 312-314 - Rumbo a Yugoslavia?

Peristera - Pella - Edessa - Niki Dt = 11877 Km

DIA 304-311 - Mount Olympus

Vergina - Meteora - Pelion Peninsula - Mount Olympus - Peristera

I have dreamed of Mount Olympus since I was little. Ever since my imagination was set on fire by Greek mythology, the home of the Greek gods was a shadowy place, majestic and unreal. It was, and still is, difficult to believe that one can ascend its peaks with no superhuman powers - just sweat and sturdy knees.

There is a village called Litohoro which lies between Mount Olympus and the sea. We followed the advice of our Greek host Versilios, and began and ended our three-day hike at this popular tourist destination. The beginning of our trail lay about 7kms out of town and we camped in a secluded spot nearby in order to get an early start the next morning. An early start meant 11am due to interesting breakfast conversation, and the usual feast of Spanish jamon and cheese brought over by Piluca and Ester.




Off we went, plodding up the mountain, finding a rhythm. Not unlike cycling up mountains: slip it into the lowest gear and no rapid movements. The views were magnificent. We could see all the way to the sea. I have never been up so high (outside an aeroplane!) and been able to see all that sparkling blue. Black pines gave way to a more alpine landscape above. Mountains are the most beautiful of places. I always feel such a sense of peace...and suffering! But there is no place I would rather be.


Mount Olympus is the name for the whole area and the highest peak is called Mitikas (2917m). There are two refuges about 300m lower than the peak and we stayed in one of these. It was bitterly cold due to the fierce wind, but in the night the wind dropped. I needed to go to the toilet around 2am and the landscape took my breath away. The air was still, the silence complete, and the stars arching across the heavens as bright as I had ever seen them.

The next morning we set out to scale Mitikas. The final 200m are a scramble and it is wise to leave backpacks below. Arrows point the way up the rock. It is easy climbing but formidable for anyone who has never climbed before. There is plenty of exposure, loose rock and, as Banjo Paterson would say, any slip is death. Piluca and Ester, both of whom have no climbing experience, did impressively well. It was wonderful to witness Ester's elation at making it to the top...which constituted a tiny little space filled with a cheerful group of climbers. There was a Russian couple who cracked open a bottle of champagne. It just had to be the Russians! We had a few sips of champagne to commemorate the occasion.

Going down, as usual, was harder than going up. Then, when we started descending along the path carved into the side of the mountain, it became more painful than scary. When it got dark, we hobbled as quickly as we could to a suitable camping spot close to a river. We slept in the open air, which was a delight, although my too-vivid imagination conjured up beetles living in the leafy groundcover crawling into ears.

In the morning, ears mercifully free of beetles, we set off, legs aching. It was the day of the Mount Olympus marathon - people almost completed what we were doing in three days in four hours (and two knees). It took our friend Versilios five hours, the lazy bastard! The first runners we egged on enthusiastically, especially the girls. But after the 100th runner on the narrow path, we decided that these sort of events destroyed the serenity of the mountains.

When we staggered into Litahoro like bedraggled (and smelly) rats, it was Piluca who was the most cheerful, thinking that we had been telling her how strong she was to encourage her, only realising belatedly that the 'youngsters' where in as much pain as she was!

And the gods? I hear you ask. The burning question. Are Zeus and Hera and Athena and all the rest really there? Or are they just a huge pile of...myth? The answer is yes, they are there. Not at the top of Mitikas - it is way too cosy up there for all twelve gods and goddesses. Not even up high when the mountain becomes alpine and the trees disappear. And not down below where the beeches grow. The gods live in the shadows of the black pines just below alpine level. If you stay still, or walk very quietly, they are all around. But they come to you only if you let them.

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)