Goreme (Turkey) – Van (Turkey)
I imagine that when geologists need to canvas for students (they are trying to convince teenagers to learn about rocks after all!) all they do is offer up a slideshow of Cappadocia and even the cool kids might be hooked – It is a truly wondrous and captivating place. We spent days just wandering the valleys that make up the area, endlessly enthralled.
This easily erodible landscape also lead to the construction of a multitude of underground cities in the middle ages as a means for the local christians to escape persecution - even more fascination & intrigue.
This easily erodible landscape also lead to the construction of a multitude of underground cities in the middle ages as a means for the local christians to escape persecution - even more fascination & intrigue.
The other unique offshoot of this surreal land is the world’s biggest daily sunrise launch of over a hundred hot-air balloons, that provide the ideal vantage point to take in the landscape, and they themselves are a sight to behold.
East from here heralded the beginning of a more wild Turkey – the high altitude Anatolian plateau, Turkish ‘Kurdistan’ and, as we ventured off, the reigniting of violent clashes between the Kurdish Worker’s Party (PKK) and the Turkish police and army. For a brief summary of history – the 35 million Kurds living in Turkey, Iran, Syria & Iraq are the fourth largest ethnic group in the Middle East and have never had their own state, even though it was promised after WW11…they’re understandably slightly aggrieved about this and for a long time the Turks have imposed harsh discrimination against them.
As usual, if there were mountains and back roads on offer I was heading for them, and so for 500km we did just that en route to the mysteries atop the mountain of Nemrut Dagi. It was tough riding littered with stark mountainous vistas, welcoming rural folk, intimidating and massive (but ‘mostly’ benign) Anatolian sheepdogs, searing heat (as the mercury rocketed into the mid 40’s) and cracking wild camp spots (well except for the one outside a casino that it would appear was a brothel).
As usual, if there were mountains and back roads on offer I was heading for them, and so for 500km we did just that en route to the mysteries atop the mountain of Nemrut Dagi. It was tough riding littered with stark mountainous vistas, welcoming rural folk, intimidating and massive (but ‘mostly’ benign) Anatolian sheepdogs, searing heat (as the mercury rocketed into the mid 40’s) and cracking wild camp spots (well except for the one outside a casino that it would appear was a brothel).
Twice on this leg we received amazing hospitality, the second of which left my mother & I feeling quite overwhelmed and ashamed of our now seemingly self-centred culture – We had stopped to ask for some water in a tiny village as the temperature read-out briefly soared to 50C. A local family immediately took us to their water supply and, as we soaked ourselves and were gathering our stuff to depart, they motioned for us to sit down and brought out mulberries to snack on. This family lives a subsistence existence with only the most basic of amenities which do not include power and running water and are clearly quite poor (monetarily anyway). Yet within 20 minutes they had set up a table and chairs outside and laid on a veritable feast as shown in the attached picture. It is inconceivable that they are able to eat like this regularly, and they provided this for two random foreigners with who they shared no common language and who they would never see again. Truly humbling indeed, and as they first Kurds we met, they left quite an impression.
The mighty Nemrut Dagi rising before us, we left at dawn to scale the 1500m to its summit before the heat consumed us. 5hrs of heinously steep roads later, amidst feelings of much accomplishment, we arrived at the final resting place of King Antiochus I Theos of Commagene. Ironically, given what was built in his honour atop this remote mountain top in 60BC, he was apparently quite an egalitarian ruler who happened to just have a rather inflated ego of his position in the hierarchy of all things, worldly or otherwise. This fact encapsulated by his central presence among the deities of the period in a set of massive rock sculptures set either side of a gargantuan tumulus mound (in which the late king is apparently enshrined) that comprises almost a million cubic metres of shattered rocks. As with similar ancient grand construction, how this was built is somewhat unfathomable.
Sunset and sunrise are the times to visit, as the statues are positioned on the East and West flanks of the tumulus mound to greet and bid farewell to our faithful star. As we camped there we got to experience both, moving experiences that won’t be forgotten.
Sunset and sunrise are the times to visit, as the statues are positioned on the East and West flanks of the tumulus mound to greet and bid farewell to our faithful star. As we camped there we got to experience both, moving experiences that won’t be forgotten.
The mountain gave way to the south eastern plains and a true test of my anti-dehydration tactics awaited – After 6hrs of riding in an average of 46C, stoked and utterly shattered, but not dehydrated, I collapsed into a chai garden amongst the now ubiquitous company of many men (woman are not socially permitted in these establishments).
I took off across the plains towards the ‘Kurdish capital’ of Diyarbakir as the ferocious sun set, in the hope of covering some distance in the cool afforded by its absence. Music driving my legs through the fresh evening air, I was contentedly ticking over the miles expecting to arrive around midnight when a car stopped and a friendly but animatedly concerned guy insisted he allow me to let him drive me the rest of the way. The language barrier heightening frustrations as I wanted to continue riding, I suddenly clicked when he found the word ‘terrorist’ amidst a flurry of Turkish or Kurdish. I had ignorantly and optimistically been ignoring the escalating unrest, but with two policeman killed that day in the city I was riding towards, and my proximity of 80km to the Syrian border, it occurred to me that maybe I was being a smidgen complacent! We settled on me camping at the next petrol station and, as he left clearly thinking I was an utter twat, I nervously rode away, thankfully finding a service station run by the usual friendly Kurds who welcomed me in to camp.
Perched on the banks of the Euphrates, Diyarbakir is an ancient city dating back to 1,300 BC with records of civilisation here dating back 10,000 years, its antiquity and significance clearly tangible amidst the imposing basalt city walls encircling the old city and large beautifully intact Caravanserai (a Silk Road trading post).
On the advice of the locals and the presence of armoured military vehicles outside our hotel, we headed out by train until we were well into the countryside.
Perched on the banks of the Euphrates, Diyarbakir is an ancient city dating back to 1,300 BC with records of civilisation here dating back 10,000 years, its antiquity and significance clearly tangible amidst the imposing basalt city walls encircling the old city and large beautifully intact Caravanserai (a Silk Road trading post).
On the advice of the locals and the presence of armoured military vehicles outside our hotel, we headed out by train until we were well into the countryside.
Cycling away from tracks we were mercifully headed for the high far eastern Anatolian plains that promised ‘cool’ mid 30’s temperatures, and two days later, after ascending through a fantastic gorge we emerged on the shores of the mighty endorheic Lake Van (no I didn’t know that word previously, it’s a closed body of water that doesn’t flow out via rivers into the oceans).
A rail ferry provided our transport across, which was most entertaining for a train nerd such as myself, and again my sea sickness was kept at bay by an 80km millpond.
A rail ferry provided our transport across, which was most entertaining for a train nerd such as myself, and again my sea sickness was kept at bay by an 80km millpond.
Another ailment was brewing though (a first for the trip), as a Delhi belly of sorts struck us both down for a few glum days in the lake’s namesake city of Van.
For most west to east travellers this is a last stop in Turkey before heading into Iran. However, after six months on the road, wanderlust rather than clocking up miles across the globe was my driving force and as the Caucasus region was a week’s ride north it was begging to be explored…and so thoroughly was it finally explored that it lead to a new mantra for the journey.
For most west to east travellers this is a last stop in Turkey before heading into Iran. However, after six months on the road, wanderlust rather than clocking up miles across the globe was my driving force and as the Caucasus region was a week’s ride north it was begging to be explored…and so thoroughly was it finally explored that it lead to a new mantra for the journey.