Istanbul (Turkey) – Kastamonu (Turkey)
Within minutes of riding off the ferry Istanbul smashed into us – restaurant touts thrusting out menus, bazaari’s flogging their wares, cars and taxis flying & honking through tiny cobbled streets and people everywhere – all our senses thoroughly and immediately assaulted. After the physically arduous but sparsely populated journey of the past two weeks, we almost packed up and left the moment we arrived, only finally settling into the chaotic vibe of the city two days later. Only then did we begin to delve into the long influential history of this great city and the huge impact it has had on cultures many thousands of kilometres east and west of its strategic position on the cusp of Europe and Asia. The grandeur of the great mosques and Topkapi Palace around which the city is built are fitting iconic symbols of the city and have to be seen to really appreciate their grandeur.
With Ramadan underway the central role of Islam in the Turkish culture was made clearly apparent. Supposedly a secular country, but with a $2 Billion budget for the religious ministry (or Diyanet) that exclusively promotes Sunni Islam, Turkey is very much now an Islamic state contrary to the consitution (much like the USA is a Christian state, against the constitution laid down by the founding fathers). This was borne out in many interesting, generous and frustrating experiences along our journey, but for now, in the great city, this played out with masses of late night fast-breaking picnics, chador clad woman, enthralling dervishes dancing and excruciatingly long expeditions to find beer.
There were numerous routes heading east, but eyeing the mountainous & forested coastline of the Black Sea, there was only one choice for us. A ferry again relieved us of Russian roulette in the Istanbul traffic and we chugged away up the Bosporus straits away from Europe for the last time.
The scenic ferry ride straddling the two continents for 3 hours triggered a contemplative state – Was the journey as I expected it would be riding out of Bristol 5 months previously? Had I developed in some of the ways I hoped I would or unexpected others? Now firmly my lifestyle, what were my sentiments towards it and how did I want it to progress from here? And were there niggles or traits still lurking that I wanted remedy?
Overall I was really stoked with the journey – I had had many doubts and insecurities when embarking and had felt pressure for it to take various forms (i.e. an around the world journey with miles being constantly racked up, etc.).
· I used to avoid being alone for long periods, now I relished the solitude.
· I used to feel the need to tick off the kilometres and make consistent progress that was tangible to others, now although some relics of my competitive past remained, I usually sought enthralling experiences over massive miles.
· And whereas I used to find interacting with strangers intimidating, I was now largely at ease even across language barriers.
· And probably most important, I had left because I wanted to seek out a different way of living that was probably going to be quite removed from my western upbringing and I really was feeling the deceptively strong social pressures we face (and often don’t recognise) starting to slide away and be replaced by a strong conviction in my own beliefs, ideas and motivations.
· A few gremlins still remained – I often felt jealous or inadequate reading of others travels and questioned whether this lifestyle was selfish. And so I resolved to work on these and left the boat buoyed with optimism at how far I had come and palpable enthusiasm for what might lie ahead.
Straight off the ferry the route began as it was to continue for many hundreds of kilometres – brutally steep climbs set amongst lush forests, regularly interspersed with small villages containing friendly interested locals, who almost always had chai on hand to welcome us with, even if they couldn’t join us in a cuppa in the daylight hours (being Ramadan).
Overall I was really stoked with the journey – I had had many doubts and insecurities when embarking and had felt pressure for it to take various forms (i.e. an around the world journey with miles being constantly racked up, etc.).
· I used to avoid being alone for long periods, now I relished the solitude.
· I used to feel the need to tick off the kilometres and make consistent progress that was tangible to others, now although some relics of my competitive past remained, I usually sought enthralling experiences over massive miles.
· And whereas I used to find interacting with strangers intimidating, I was now largely at ease even across language barriers.
· And probably most important, I had left because I wanted to seek out a different way of living that was probably going to be quite removed from my western upbringing and I really was feeling the deceptively strong social pressures we face (and often don’t recognise) starting to slide away and be replaced by a strong conviction in my own beliefs, ideas and motivations.
· A few gremlins still remained – I often felt jealous or inadequate reading of others travels and questioned whether this lifestyle was selfish. And so I resolved to work on these and left the boat buoyed with optimism at how far I had come and palpable enthusiasm for what might lie ahead.
Straight off the ferry the route began as it was to continue for many hundreds of kilometres – brutally steep climbs set amongst lush forests, regularly interspersed with small villages containing friendly interested locals, who almost always had chai on hand to welcome us with, even if they couldn’t join us in a cuppa in the daylight hours (being Ramadan).
And so for two weeks, drenched in sunshine, it continued as such, and each night we would collapse shattered but fulfilled as Turkey offered up the goods and its people made a great experience all the more special. After the relative anonymity of Europe, life as a bike traveller in Turkey is one with you as a curiosity amongst welcoming hospitable people, and as we progressed it was to have quite profound impact on us.
Somewhere while labouring up another sweltering climb ensconced by hazelnut plantations my mother made a pertinent point about the life of bike traveller: It’s often romanticised as being an exhilarating culture immersing journey that liberates oneself from the stressful scourge of a western lifestyle, and there are many “ah I wish I could do that” comments cast in your direction while watching another video collage of the highlights of someone’s year on the road. Now while most of that statement is very true, mother also felt it imperative to note that in amongst all that warm feel goodness is a tough existence. And that is not to suggest that tough means negative, indeed for me it’s quite the contrary, but it is constantly physically and often mentally demanding, with long hours in the saddle and every type of season and weather coming your way.
With days turning to weeks we headed inland through even bigger mountains and searing heat heading for the large town of Kastamonu to find a ride south to the wonders of Cappadocia. With the heat and humidity climbing I plunged into yet another soul destroying bought of dehydration…But at last, after 15 years of disintegrating when exerting myself in the heat, and knowing what we would face further south, we did some research and found the, embarrassingly simple, solution to the problem. Which for someone who leaks sweat like sieve, happens to be salt along with water – Duh, I may have some academic intelligence but common sense is seemingly in very short supply!
Mother on the other hand excels in the heat, had found her biking legs, and was fully in the game, not a day would go by where a local would be in utter disbelief that this 68 year old woman was smashing out the tough hot mountainous miles day after day, and they didn’t even know that she also spent most nights camped out rough in a tent. The cool hardcore mother award has been won.