I’m barely a week in and Turkey is already breaking me in. Roads on the Black Sea coast spend more time going north, south and even west than they ever do going east and, as ever, the road seems to go up more than down. I’ve crashed the bike, my clothes are shredded and dirt stubbornly clings to the underside of my nails like black shower mould. The transformation from London office worker to ragged travelling bum is well under way, now if only my beard would hurry up.
I took a ferry north of Istanbul to Anadolu Kavagi with fellow snappy happy tourists. The roads from here are quiet and a light tail wind puffed me up the initial climbs and over towards the north coast.
I bumped into Oqan and his mum in my search for petrol which I predictably forgot to pick up in Istanbul. Oqan learnt english in America but had come back to work on the farm with his mum after his visa expired. He’d never seen a solo cycle tourist before and was interested to learn why I was travelling alone. I had been mulling over the same question just moments before so I didn’t have a straight answer for him. His parting words have stuck in my mind, “seriously, we will happily give you anything you need”.
I reached the coast that evening and camped on the beach. It was unremarkable as beaches go but it was mine for the evening and that was good enough for me.
The sea is still freezing and after stripping down for a swim I get knee deep and run back to my tent. Brr.
Turkey is coming out of a deep winter, the trees are budding but they’re still bare and the landscape is filled with greys and browns. The beauty of the area doesn’t smack you in the face and it would be easy to pass by quickly believing it to be dull or boring. The subtle beauty is best enjoyed at a slow pace.
Google Maps has been my guide and it has proven to be a cruel but rewarding mistress. The main roads are fast and busy so I’ve been trying to stay off them as much as possible. Google maps leads me into the back roads believing that all is clear and navigable but on the ground things get messy. The towns are there but whilst some of the roads are sealed, others are just tracks and some don’t exist at all. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve missed turnings, double backed and gone round in circles. But in the process I’m seeing and experiencing more of Turkey than I ever would blazing along the main drag.
I muddled my way along the coast up hills and then dropping down to small bays and coves. The sky is mostly grey and the horizon blurs with the sea, it can be quite eerie at times.
I stopped in Agva for lunch. The small tourist town was open for business but I seemed to be the only visitor around and had the beachside restaurant all to myself. Hasan my waiter made a fuss of me and told me the area is popular with Turkish and Russian sun seekers in the summer.
A generous portion of lamb kofte, chips and bread kept the legs turning.
I met this unlikely group of characters who were out hunting deer in their beaten up old Ford. We leapfrogged each other several times, they would all jump out and the large one would tell the others what to do. I haven’t seen any deer during my time in Turkey and couldn’t help but wonder if they were partly responsible.
Further east the road loses it’s twists and climbs but also it’s tarmac and I ride a few kilometers on track.
And then the road joins the main drag to Karasu, my hard shoulder came and went and I shuddered and cowered as traffic blasted past too close for comfort. By Kocaali I’m fed up, so with hills just a stone’s through away to the south I head into the backroads in search of twisty climbs and a slower pace of life.
No sooner have I left the road am I swept up by Kerim who sits me down in the nearest pide (a bit like pizza) cafe, pays for lunch and asks me to explain what I am doing. I spent an intense hour translating through his friend from Hamburg but it gave me an opportunity to question them too. They have friends in London many of whom work in kebab joints and struggle to make ends meet with the high living costs. The meal is soon welcomed as I find myself snaking up to 400 and then 500 metres.
The roads start off good but I’m quickly back on to tracks which wind along the ridge line dropping into small villages.
Things you notice when you’re travelling at 6km/h.
By this point I’ve taken so many wrong turns that I’ve given up trying to navigate and instead just ask directions to the next town at every turn or follow my nose.
I misjudged a corner coming down from the hills and my speed slingshotted me into the middle of the road. A quick tap on the brakes, my front wheel skids on gravel and the bike slams to the ground. I haven’t fallen off a bike since I was 16 but you don’t forget the feeling of helplessness. Sat on the curbside letting the customary waves of nausea pass this couple took me in and helped me dress my wounds. They wouldn’t let me leave until they had given me an enormous loaf of bread, piping hot from their wood oven. It was the best bread I’ve tasted yet.
Just up the road I got my first puncture and with my knee and elbow still oozing blood I tried to ignore the intense feeling of frustration. Those with nothing better to do on a Sunday afternoon gathered round to watch and I tried to put on a good show, but a mile up the road I had to repeat the process and dug a small shard of glass out of the tire with my knife.
Never a straight road.
A brooding storm had me worried as I’d be in deep doo doo if the tracks turned to tacky mud. Luckily the road turned back to tarmac just as the first few drops fell.
Welcome to Zonguldak, it’s as good as it looks, or so I thought. The city is the heart of the area’s coal mining industry and it runs off the stuff. It’s the only city in Turkey where burning coal is legal and most houses burn it for heating (and they like it hot!). You can smell it everywhere and a cloud of smog always seems to hang over the city. Just as I was thinking of moving straight through Yeliz and her mum approach and ask me what I am doing and if I need any help. Once again taken aback by the interest and open kindness the first few minutes were spent talking but also searching their eyes and mannerisms for ulterior motives.
Finding nothing but kindness I take them up on their offer of a place to rest for a day. They fed me until I was literally sick – very embarrassing – and now I’m overstaying my welcome by staying another day to recover. They’ve been amazing, giving me blankets and hot water bottles and trying to pander me to get me better. Her mum is worried about what they will say to my family if I die in their house, trust a mum to blow things massively out of proportion.
Finally feeling brave enough to leave the immediate vicinity of a toilet Yeliz took me on a tour of the city. To a deep cave system in which the cool moist air is supposed to cure respiratory ailments and where visitors walked up and down breathing like Darth Vader. And then we sat by the harbour side with the sun on our faces, drinking cay (tea), comparing lives and watching the ships being loaded and billows of smoke pouring over the buildings. The city seemed to come alive and everything was open and visible from the outside and nothing was hidden behind glass and steel. It’s strange how your perception for a place can change once you are shown it by someone who knows it best.
It has been a whirlwind of a first week and so much has already happened I feel as though I’ve been travelling for months. I’m back out on the road tomorrow riding to Bartin along the coast, but I’m going to miss Yeliz and her family. It has been great fun staying with them and we’ve learnt a lot from each other.
Did you pack a first aid kit?!?
As if my mum would let me leave without one lol…
Great blog so far gandy! love the photos!
Thanks Rupert, I’m trying to do more candid stuff but it’s difficult when you’re the centre of attention.
Sounds amazing Alex! Love the blog! Sounds like its hard going but your enjoying it. Can’t wait to read the next instalment take care.!
Great photos! There’s nothing quite like Turkish hospitality, (except Arabic hospitality) that I’ve come across, and your experience seems to confirm that. Hope you recover soon from your wounds, look forward to the next update!
Keep up the good work ALEX!!!! Your stories are inspiring!!! Dont GIVE UP and keep safe please xx
Thanks Anetta, and thank you very much for the donation :)
How do you do that picture (6 from the top) where you seem to be riding away from the camera in the distance? Do you literarily set the camera up on a timer, get the shot and then cycle back for it ?
Dave
Yup, you got it. It’s pretty time consuming and it usually takes at least two attempts, but I think it’s worth it.
Really enjoying the blog Mr Gandy, very inspiring and sometimes emotional – the bit about the perfect bread got to me! Amazing photos as well! Looking forward to the next update, ride strong my friend!
Thanks Fred. I’m sitting in Bartin waiting for this stomach upset to pass and that’s really perked me up :)
All that in just the first week – this promises to be an amazing and impressive adventure – keep going Alex and good luck to you all the way
Thanks Keith. I’m relieved to say that things have calmed down a bit and a routine seems to be forming. Hopefully a further update coming soon.
when ı met irem bartına water bottles filled out hello alex
Your a great story teller Gandy! Stay safe and on the bike!
Really well-told, had laughs and even a tear. ‘d like to read more. ‘d like to do sth ride like this, on my own. Do you think they would be as hospitable, friendly and helpful also to a woman? Thank you for sharing your experiences.