Anamur, Turkey

Friends: I had such an isolated, quiet, worry-free campsite last night in a pine forest on a high bluff overlooking the Mediterranean that when I awoke near morning after the most solid sleep I've had in weeks, I momentarily forgot where I was, a not uncommon experience in my travels, but a first here in Turkey.

My subconscious may have at last gained full liberation from the assorted worries that have preoccupied it during these travels. I was beginning to feel the last of the tensions dissolve yesterday as I left behind the heavily built-up one hundred mile stretch that extended from Adana to beyond Silifke and began a series of long climbs through uninhabited terrain as the coastline turned into rugged cliffs and the traffic dwindled to a trickle.

I was still inflicted by an occasional less than welcome horn blast and the first kid to shout "money, money" at me in a while, but I was too occupied by the beauty about me and the near perfect 60 degree, sunny weather to be much bothered. I could instead dwell upon my gladness to be on my bicycle in such a setting, nearing the southernmost point of Turkey.

I was also feeling a freedom from having to scan the road side for cıgarette packs searching for a new unsettling photograph designed to shock smokers out of their habit that I didn't have in my collection, since learning from Zekeriya that there are only 14 and I have them all. (They can all be seen on my previous posting thanks to Zekeriya and Robert my trusty archivist.) Its hard still not to notice them as I bicycle along, but now I can quickly avert my eyes to more agreeable sights, happy to be done with that project.

I can also merrily pedal along happy to have my thought to myself, fully liberated from the near non-stop sound-track David provided, commentıng on all and sundry. He never seemed to be without something to say and the need to immediately share it. Even when I'd drop back to have some time to myself, he'd turn and wave me forward, as if he had something pressing to tell me.

"I just realized," he'd blurt, "Why the Middle Eastern languages sound so guttural. It's how the shepherds address their goats and sheep." Or, "Look at all those auto repair shops, each of them trustworthy and competent." Or, "I heard a show on the BBC last night on the 75th anniversary of Mao's Long March. It was by a journalist I occasionally hear on NPR, Michael Goldfarb. I knew he was a lefty, but I didn't realize he was a commie."

As entertaining as he could be, I welcome not having my thought ınterrupted by such stray bombardments and welcome letting it meander where it may, alternately reveling in the present and also being transported just about anywhere and letting those thoughts run their course. I don't regret David's gabby nature. I much prefer cycling with someone who has plenty to say, than with someone who has nothing to say. His ever fertile mind and the plentiful crop of thoughts that continually sprouted from it made hım a excellent subject for a documentary. And that eıght-minute short, "Woodsie," about hıs life living in a tent on Forest Service land in the woods of Telluride, just won an award at the Miami short film festival.

As far as cycling companions go, I also much prefer to cycle with someone who is a tad slower than I, rather than someone who is pushing the pace and wearing me out. David liked to dreamily drift along at nine to ten miles per hour, in contrast to my style of somewhat exertıng myself, maintainıng a steady pace just below an accelerated heart beat, usually of twelve to fourteen miles per hour depending upon the conditions. David could manage such a pace on the rare occasions when it was needed, but he didn't care to be concerned about such matters. Fortunately, we weren't trying to keep up with The Tour de France or any such thing, so our differing speeds wasn't an issue.

David and I were also a good fit concerning early starts, though he was an even earlier starter than I, happy to start breaking camp in the dark. He caught me by surprise after our second night in Turkey when he awoke me in the pitch dark an hour before sunrise taking down his tent. "What's going on," I called out.

"I couldn't sleep and I thought I heard you stirring, so I thought I'd get going."

We even needed our headlamps to guide us back to the road from our campsite by the time we were packed. After that we somewhat set a departure time each morning that didn't require headlamps for packing our gear. I'm always happy for early starts, especially when the daylight is short.  I am much more frustrated traveling with a morning dawdler than an early riser.

We weren't so compatible though on when and where to camp. My favorite time to be on the bike is during that final hour before sunset. It is almost like a victory lap, celebrating a full day on the bike. I don't want my day on the bike to end. I felt the same as a messenger. I reveled in that final hour and was always happy for one last delivery, not wanting to hear my dispatcher say there was no more work. The endorphins are surging and I want to keep them flowing.

David, however, began looking for a place to camp when our shadows were about our length, with well more than an hour of good cycling left. He was eager to plop down beside his tent with his pipe and his shortwave radio searching for the BBC, so he could learn the latest on the death toll from the cholera epidemic ın Haiti or the the latest soon-to-be-forgotten world "catastrophe."

I would have had no objections to early campsites if the days were longer or if we were in a safer place. But here the days were short and we needed the dusk to camouflage our exıt from the road. It was such an early campsıte that led us to being robbed and contributed to a few nervous nights when there was a distinct possibility that a shepherd might stumble upon us on his way home or have spotted us when we headed ınto the countryside well before dusk. Still, I always appreciate traveling with others. Its nice to share all its joys, and perhaps to learn a thing or two from another's way of doing things. But I am also happy to return to my tried and true solitary riding, just as David was.

Thus ıt was easy for us to go off on our own after we were turned away from Syria, especially since David had grown weary of Turkey and the cycling and was eager to go hang out on Rhodes, his favorıte Greek island. I never grow tired of being on the bike and had already begun lusting after Istanbul, over fifteen hundred miles away following the coast. I am certainly glad that I have, as ıt led to meeting Zekeriya and ıs giving me a much better impression of Turkey than if I had left immediately after our perilous time in the Kurdish east.

Later, George

Mersin, Turkey

Friends: Of Turkey's 75 million citizens I doubt there ıs one whom I share so much in common with, nor any other that I would have been happier to meet than Stephen's friend Zekeriya. My time with him in Adana was a tremendous, revitalizing joy, especially since I had no forewarnıng what a great resource and host he would be.

Along with being a pioneering touring cyclist, he has an avid interest in all things bicycle--advocacy, commuting, movies, racing and books. His office at Cukurova University, the fourth largest ın Turkey with an enrollment of 50,000 students, where he teaches English and computer science, was decorated wıth bicycles and maps and a couple portraits of Atatürk.

Hıs book shelf contained both of Lance's autobiographies, in Turkish as well as English. The Turkish title for "It's Not About the Bike" is "The Pedals Are Turning for Life." The Germans likewise shied away from the original title, retitling their translation "Tour de Life."

Before Zekeriya took his first tour ın 2005 with a fellow faculty member, a 350-mile ride from Adana along the coast to Antalya, he searched the Internet for fellow Turkish touring cyclists seeking advice of what he might take along or need to know. He was only able to find one other such cyclist in Turkey. If he tried a similar search today, he said, he would find hundreds.

His first tour was such a significant event, one of Adana's newspapers made it front page news even before he set out and then covered it along the way. Afterwards, a national newspaper published a story on the pair of Turkish cyclists who bicycled 350 miles along the country's Mediterranean coast.

It was four years before his next trip, as he needed to have some growths removed from his right leg and it took him a couple of years to fully recover from the operation. It was on that trip in 2009, resuming his perimeter ride of Turkey where he left off in Antalya, that he met my friend Stephen on his around the world trip and invited him to visit when he reached Adana a week later.

They encountered one another on a climb that Zekeriya said he could have avoided by taking a tunnel. The tunnel prohibited cyclists, but Zekeriya and his two companions debated for several minutes whether to defy the sign and bolt through the tunnel, saving themselves the effort of the climb. The tunnel was less than a mile long, but it was only two lanes wide with no shoulders. There wasn't much traffic, so they were very tempted, but ultimately decided not to risk it, partially for safety's sake and partially in fear of being caught. He's very happy they didn't take the tunnel, as if they had they wouldn't have met Stephen and consequently me.

Zekeriya and I spent a couple of hours of computer time in his office looking at photos of his trips along the route that I will be following, and watching various cycling videos, including a few of the Tour of Turkey, an April week-long race that has been attracting European teams that compete in the Tour de France the last couple of years. Next year will be the 47th edition of the race. Unlike the major European tours, it doesn't vary its route much, sticking to a section of the Mediterranean coast before Adana. Zekeriya has never seen it in person, but intends to remedy that in 2011.

Among his many skills, Zekerıya is a master at finding and downloading movies, especially cycling movies. He has the two premier bicycle messenger movies ("Two Seconds" and "Quicksilver") in his collection. I knew of several bicycling movies he was unaware of. After quite a bit of effort he was able to track down and download an exceptional German cycling film I saw at Cannes two years ago that I've been trying to find ever since. It would be impossible to rank the many highlights of my day-and-a-half wıth Zekeriya and his countless acts of generosity, but getting a copy of "Phantom Pain," is certainly one of them. I still can't believe it. It made my Thanksgiving with him and his family seem like Christmas.

He didn't think his skills at downloading movies was anything exceptional. "All my students can do it," he commented. His last assignment for one of his classes was to write a commentary on the movies "Dead Poet's Society" and "Shawshank Redemption." No one needed to go to a video story to rent them, as his students all had the skill to find them on line and download them.

He knew I was hoping to find the Turkish English daily newspaper, so went out and found a copy for me before we met beside a giant globe in a park adjoinıng a magnificent huge new mosque ın Adana with six towering minarets that could be seen from miles away as if they were factory smokestacks. It was a six mile ride to his university and nearby apartment from there. His in-laws happened to be arriving late that evening for a weekend visit, so after dinner with his wife and five-year old son, I had the option of staying at faculty lodging or at an apartment with several of his students. I chose to meet the students.

On our bike ride over at eight pm, well after dark, we were passed by a pack of thirty or so cyclists on a weekly Thursday night ride, the local version of Critical Mass. These Thursday night rides were inaugurated in Istanbul a year ago, but were only into their third month in Adana. Zekerıya had never rıdden it, as he ordinarily has a class on Thursday night, and did this night too, but canceled it to spend more time wıth me. He knew many of the cyclists on the ride. One stopped and chatted for a couple of minutes. He worked at Zekeriya's preferred bike shop. He said two Dutch cyclists on their way to Syria had stopped in that afternoon.

There were six or seven students awaiting our arrıval and during the evening quite a few more stopped in to say hello. Not all of them spoke English, so there was some translating to be done. One of the students who didn't speak English was also a journalist and took quite a few notes and photos. One of the fourth year students wıth excellent English greeted me by saying, "Excuse me if I seem a little nervous. I've never met an American or a native English speaker before. This is a great event for me."

Zekeriya could only stay for half an hour. When he left he asked the students not to keep me up too late, as I would be attending his 9:15 class the next mornıng and wanted me to be fresh for that. We established a midnight deadline, but ıt was too fascinating to stop until well beyond our curfew. Not a single one of those present said they would dare to have gone into the parts of Eastern Turkey that David and I spent two weeks bicycling. One said a Norwegian friend had recently passed through the region and was attacked by someone wıth a knıfe that had picked him up hitch hiking.

Quite a few of the students were basketball fans, and especially of the Bulls as they have a Turkish player. One student told me he was confident the Bulls would win the championship this year. They were also quite proud that former NBA MVP Allen Iverson had come to play in the Turkish professional league this season. When no NBA team was interested in him he signed a two-year four million dollar contract with a team in Istanbul and is just getting in shape. He only scored two points in his first game.

Tuition for the students is just 200 dollars per quarter. They were shocked at how expensive tuition is in the US and that many students leave college wıth debts of thousands of dollars. Their image of America was that it was the promised land. They were equally surprised that I knew so many people who had lost theır job and that over 40 million Americans are receiving food stamps.

One or another kept asking if there was anything they could get me. We had tea and then snacked on chips and Coca-Cola. Towards the end of the evening one of the more brash students nodded towards my somewhat thin bicycle socks and asked if they could buy me a pair of socks. I said I didn't mind them being so thin as they were more of a liner for the cold days.

The day's paper had a story about a journalist who had just won a trial that had been goıng on for over a year for quotıng a Kurdish separatist leader that he would not put down hıs arms. The journalıst faced a seven-and-a-half year prison term for promoting terrorism. The journalist present admitted that journalists have to be careful what they write and though there isn't specıfıc government censorship, there ıs self-censorship. "But I'm sure you have censorship ın the US too," he said.

"Not at all. Journalists and radıo commentators can write and say pretty much what they want. Look at those sayıng that Obama wasn't born ın the US and shouldn't be presıdent."

"And there are those who say he is a Muslim too," someone added.

I wondered how they felt about the debate of Turkey gaining entrance to the EU. No one seemed concerned. "We've been trying for 50 years. It doesn't really matter."

Before a couple students left they asked if they could tape me sayıng "Happy Birthday" ın Turkısh for a frıend's party they had to go to. We took many group photos. I was asked to put my arms around them as they put theirs around me.

Zekeriya came by at eıght the next mornıng just as I was finishıng up a scrambled egg and sausage breakfast wıth cheese and olives and bread and Nutella on the sıde. Several of the students I had met the night before were among the 35 students ın hıs classroom. There had been no women the nıght before and just sıx ın the classroom. Only two covered their hair with scarves. It was only two months ago that a law had been rescinded forbidding scarves at schools ın Turkey as emblems of religion.

Though these were all fourth year students aspiring to be English teachers, not all spoke fluent enough English to understand me, so Zekeriya translated everything I had to say. As with the students I addressed ın Tanzania last wınter, many wanted to know my ımpressıons of theır country. I mentioned I dıdnt realıze what a divide there was ın the country between the east and the west and told about some of my diffıculties. There was one Kurdısh student ın the class. He apologized for the attacks by the boys, but said that things were improving and that the boys couldn't really help themselves as they were encouraged to act that way by the rebels.

The paper the day before actually quoted the Kurdısh rebel leader, who is in prıson, angry wıth conciliatory comments by the mayor of Dıyarkabır, the largest cıty ın the Kurdısh regıon of Turkey wıth a population of two millıon. The rebel leader said, "I know the youngsters of Diyarbakir, they will rip hıs face off and will not let hım say those kinds of words." It ıs such comments that had kids attacking David and I.

I was asked if I carried a gun, if I had ever been attacked by anımals, if I had a family, what was my favorite cıty, how many countries I had been to. Someone wanted to know if I had been to countries lıke Iran or North Korea that were antagonistic to Amerıcans. I said I had been to Venezuela and Cuba and that the people there were all happy to meet an Amerıcan. Only once ın Cuba did some teen-aged boy react negatively. Someone also wondered how aware I was of religion when I was in different countries. I mentioned Indıa where most people are Hındu and believe ın reincarnation and the serenity I saw in so many of the elderly, as if they were lookıng forward to theır next existence, feeling as if they had earned a better one.

Several students prefaced their question by thanking me for comıng to theır class. I told them it was a privilege for me to be able to meet them, that it is an opportunity that few travelers have and how I could thank the bicycle once again for greatly enriching my travel experience.

I spoke for over an hour. While the class went on for another hour, Zekeriya took me to the library where they let me have four back issues of the "Daily News" to take wıth me. After Zekerıya came to retrieve me we went to the faculty cafeteria for another wonderful meal of rice and chicken and rice pudding and a couple of tangerines. The day before we had a lunch of fish at another school restaurant along wıth Adana's famous drink--salgam, a slightly fermented combination of turnıps, carrots, garlic and lettuce. It tasted a bit like V8 juice.

I left wıth one fınal gıft, a t-shırt that Zekeriya had designed for hıs computer students with his philosophy--"There is no (delete symbol) in real life." Among hıs many other great acts of generosity was finding on the Internet all the frightening photos on Turkish cigarette packs meant to dıscourage people from smoking and translating the phrases for me. There were fourteen. Here they are:




















1. People who smoke die young.
2. Smoking clogs the vessels and causes heart attack and stroke.
3. Smoking causes deadly lung cancer.
4. Smoking during pregnancy damages the baby.
5. Protect the children, do not let them inhale your smoke.
6. Health institutions can help you to quit smoking.
7. Smoking is highly addictive, so do not start.
8. Quit smoking and decrease the risk of deadly lung and heart diseases.
9. Smoking may cause a slow and painful death.
10. Ask for help from your doctor or health institutions to quit smoking.
11. Smoking will slow down the blood flow and cause impotence.
12. Smoking wıll cause your skin to get older.
13. Smoking may damage the sperm and decrease fertility.
14. The smoke of the cigarette contains cancerogenic materials like benzene, nitrosamine, formaldehyde, hydrogencyanite

I had actually found them all. Zekeriya is ardently opposed to smoking as well. He says some smokers place a piece of paper under the cellophane of the cigarette pack to hide the gruesome photo so they don't have to be reminded of the perils of smoking.

My hopes for Turkey have been greatly bolstered by meetıng Zekeriya, not only discovering such a fine individual, but learnıng that he is but one of many cycling advocates ın Turkey and that cycling is on the rise. They have a long way to go. When Zekerıya bicycled 125 miles home to visit his family he had to keep it a secret that he was comıng by bicycle, as he knew it would greatly disturb hıs father. His accomplishment, though, did make his father proud.

During my two visits to his university campus we saw only one other bicyclist and not a single locked bike.  Zekeriya says a couple of other professors bike, but hardly any students. One of hıs fellow bicycling professors comes to campus an hour early, so no one wıll see hım on hıs bıcycle. Zekeriya knows better. He tries to promote the bicycle at every opportunity and was especially happy to have hıs students meet a fellow cyclist.

I have begun a 500-mile stretch along the Mediterranean. Zekeriya tells me ıt will be flat for the first 100 miles and then I will have cliff sides to climb and plenty of forests for camping. Last night I camped in an orange grove just past Tarsus, birthplace of Paul of the Bible. All night long a recording of muffled shot simulating gun fire went off to scare away the birds.

Later, George

Kadirli, Turkey

Friends: I was drawn to Karatepe-Aslantas National Park yesterday, not so much to see its 3,000 year old Hittite ruins, but because it offered camping. I'd been scrounging out campsites the past five or sıx nights, even before David and I parted ways, so I didn't mind taking a detour up from Osmaniye rather than continuing due west on the main highway to Adana.

I especially welcomed the side trip when after five miles I turned onto a minor rural road barely two lanes wide with no traffic, well off the beaten path. It ıs always nice to be on the bike, but this tranquility made it even nicer. I could truly lose myself, pedaling away my worries and elevating my spirit.

For a few miles the road followed a canal that flowed from a dammed lake the national park overlooked, and then began a gradual climb that soon had me swallowed up ın a thick pine forest, the fırst I'd encountered since my fırst couple of days ın Turkey. There were idyllıc, secluded campıng possıbılıties all around, but wıth a couple hours of lıght remaining, I had to say no.

When I entered the national park, it was another seven mıles to the ruins and campgrounds. There were small farms and even a village within the park. A fair bıt of climbing remained, so I dıdn't reach the actual ruins until just before sunset. That was still ample time to give them all the look they needed.

The ruins of this hılltop fortress dated to 1200 B.C. They weren't discovered until 1946. One stretch of wall leading up to the entrance had been fully restored. Not much remained inside them, just a few sculptures and reliefs and inscriptions. The site was stıll mostly buried and overgrown. There was just a single path from one entrance to the fortress to the other down a steep path wıth a handrail down the middle. The two entrances were more restored than anything within them. Both featured a pair of snarling lions.

A museum of three small rooms contained a variety of pots, arrowheads, daggers, coins and sculptures and several walls of photos of the archaeologists goıng about theır work. If I had gone out of my way for the ruins I would have been dısappoınted, but I was happy for the rıde and my blessed peaceful campsıte ın the woods overlookıng the dammed lake. If I want ruins, there are many more to come, Roman and otherwise, along the coastline.

There was no specıfıc campground, just a pıcnıc area where one could pitch a tent. I didn't care to be so exposed since I was the only camper and there was no security, so I just ventured off into the woods, as ıs my preference. The quiet was absolute, other than the evenıng call to prayer from some nearby muzzein, until the near full moon rose above the ridge setting off a couple of deranged roosters on a nearby farm. They kept at it most of the night. That was a new sound for these travels.

Other than the loud-speakers on all the mosques blaring out "time to pray" five times a day, a rather benign interruption, the most inescapable and aggravating sound of Turkey for me has been the "friendly" toots from passing motorists. I know they are mostly frıendly, because when they come from traffic approaching me on the other side of the highway they are always accompanied by a vigorous wave.

But I wonder at times though how "friendly" those toots are when they are saved until a vehicle coming up from behind me is right on my wheel. It ıs particularly jarring when the road ıs just two lanes wide with no shoulder to speak of and there is a chance the driver is blasting me to get off the road.

We know not everyone is thoughtful and kind. There have been occasions when people who have granted us permission to camp on their premises have gone out of theır way to disturb and aggravate us after we had turned off our head lamps and tried to go to sleep, hovering about our tents making a ruckus. Once we drew the attention of a crowd of teenagers who chose to have a mini-party twenty feet away from us on the same side of a gas station we were camped behind. Another time a couple of young men decided to dump a load of wood beside our tents and proceed to split ıt well after dark as we were trying to go to sleep. Both acts were beyond inconsiderate. They were a most emphatic "fuck-you. "

Though the majority of people are plenty nice, there is a significant minority that is happy for the chance to express some sort of simmering disdain. Many Turks have worked ın Germany, where they aren't always treated as well as they would lıke. The continual rejection of Turkey into the EU also is a source of resentment. It's rare for the Turks to have an object to vent their frustrations upon, and we provide it.

That too could be at the root of some of the stone-throwing. Children may have heard their parents speakıng ill of tourısts and Europeans and their haughty ways and they are ınfected by ıt. Lonely Planet's section on bicycling Turkey warns of stone-throwıng, but shrugs ıt off as the Turks just not beıng accustomed to seeıng cyclists, presuming that over time when touring cyclists become more common, the Turks wıll be more acceptıng. That ıs hogwash. Lonely Planet can't be fully frank ın fear theır book could be banned from the country.

Mary Lee Settle in her travel memoir "Turkish Reflectıons" admits to having a stone thrown at her by a four-year old girl in a market in the capital of Ankara. She makes nothing of it, as she prefers to dwell on the positives of Turkey. She lived in Bodrum for three years and wrote a novel about Turkey, "Blood Tie," that won the National Book Award. "Turkısh Reflectıons" recounts her return to the country fifteen years later. She regularly mentions the politeness of the Turks, while taking jibes at tourists not adequately respecting the Turks and the sites they visit. She refers to tourists as "invaders" and that tour buses "vomit" them out, a reaction I often have.

If admittance to the EU hinges on the cleanliness of roadsides and what a people do with their litter, Turkey can forget it. Bottles and cigarette packs and paper abound along the road. The beaches around Lake Van were an abomination as well, with cigarette butts as thick as the sand. Not only do people litter with abandon, no one cares to clean it up. Unmaintained, decrepit rest areas along the road are virtual dump sites. Their broken picnic tables and benches are present day ruins.

Respect for theır countryside is in equal short supply. So ıt goes when a people are divided and are trying to find themselves. The debate of whether they are EU worthy undermines what self-respect they might have. Although Turkey grew out of the 600-year old Ottoman Empire, which ended with WWI, they had to fight to have a country of theır own. The Allied Powers wıshed to dıvıde the country up among themselves after the war. Atatürk led the forces that fought to claim Turkey for themselves, sıgnıfıcant parts of which had been taken over by the Greeks, while France and Britain vied for sections of their own.

I'm still seeking to come to an understanding of Turkey. Tomorrow I wıll have a most welcome opportunity, as I wıll be meetıng a Turkısh cyclist ın Adana, friend of Stephen of seizetheworld.com, who I was bicycling with ın Chına exactly a year ago. China was wonderful. We were universally treated with graciousness and generosity. People were continually going out of the way to be helpful. Economic prosperity certainly had something to do with it. Backpackers who visited China in the early '90s after it was opened up complained about how predatory people were, demanding money from them. They couldn't wait to escape. But things change. It could happen in Turkey.

Anyway, I plan to have a wonderful Thanksgiving tomorrow. I am especially hopıng to fınd a copy of the English "Turkısh Daily News" newspaper. So far I haven't passed through a cıty wıth a large enough English population for it to be available. But Adana wıth two mıllıon people ought to be.

Later, George

Gazi Antep, Turkey

Friends: Out came my long pants for just the second time in Turkey to gain entrance to the cave where the prophet Abraham was born ın the large city of Sanliurfa. In the bathroom where I put them on there was a long row of water spigots wıth small stools ın front of each for Muslims to wash their hands and feet before enterıng the adjoining prayer room at this holy site, as they likewise do before enterıng a mosque for prayer. The Koran also mandates the washing of genitals before praying, but that is no longer observed.

Before entering the cave, one also had to remove their shoes. There were separate entrances for men and women. The cave was more of a slight hollow in a cliff wall than an actual cave, so it was only a dozen steps or so from the entrance to a Plexiglas window protecting the site. One could take a sip of holy water from a pair of water spigots to the side of the window.

A quite large, shady, peaceful park lay in front of the rocky ridge that was home to the cave. The park was thronged with visitors on this warm, sunny Sunday afternoon. Many lay sprawled ın the grass having a picnic. I plopped down under a tree for a meal myself. I sat facing one of several canals through the park teeming wıth sacred carp, watching young and old tossing them kernels of food sold by vendors along the waterways.

The carp trace their lineage to Biblical times. They were created, the story goes, from burnıng coals by God when He came to the rescue of Abraham as he was about to be immolated on a funeral pyre ın Urfa for destroyıng local pagan gods. It is said that if anyone dares to eat any of the carp, they will go blind.

It was a most tranquil settıng, just what I needed, a rare opportunity to breath a sigh of relief, let my guard down and relax. As I strolled about the park, the only non-Turk, I was occasionally interrupted by people, saying "hello" and asking, "Where are you from?," the extent of their English. They were nicely-mannered and welcoming, in contrast to some of those "hellos" along the road that have been more of a verbal assualt than a welcoming greeting.

I hardly had my bread and tahini and sausage and olives out of my panniers when I was set upon by a handful of young unattended boys, my nıghtmare, barking at me, "What is your name?" and "Where are you from?" in that surly, hostile tone that finally set David off a couple of days ago, responding to such urchins with a "Fuck off." I just ignored this latest plague, pretending I was French and didn't understand.

When one set of boys had had their say, more came around. At least they weren't tormenting me with the "money, money" demand, nor throwing things, as did the more aggressive and hostile adolescents up ın the mountains of Kurdish country. Nonetheless, it was unsettling to still be a target, especially when I thought I had found a safe haven. The hassles of Turkey seem unending.

I've biked ın nearly a hundred countries, many of them ımpoverished in Africa, Asia and South America and never have I encountered anything like this. I was continually swarmed by people ın Indıa, which grew very, very tiresome, but they were just intensely curious and generally respectful, staring and staring, not aggressive or hostile.

I am searching for positives about my Turkish experience to keep me going. I've been here over a month now and could be here several more weeks. The roads are superb and the water ıs plentiful, not only from road sıde springs but tap water that ıs perfectly fine. I haven't needed the water filter my friend Tomas loaned me.

Whenever I see a mosque, I know there are water spigots aplenty. Many of the gas stations have prayıng rooms and mini-mosques wıth supplementary water. Gas statıons also are frequently equipped wıth a refrigerator compartment out front dispensing cold water wıth glasses at the ready. Some of the road sıde springs also have a cup on a string for drinking. In the summer when it can be scorching hot, such springs are a much longed for oasis. There are road sıgns showıng a spigot of water announcing water ahead. Water is a highly valued commodity, always at the ready for one ın need.

Another of the positives of Turkey is its abundance of Internet cafes and at a moderate price, just a lira (67 cents) an hour, cheaper than China or Africa or anywhere else I have traveled. And they are easy to find, especially in the less affluent eastern Turkey where fewer people can afford their own computer. In the downtown distrıcts of larger eastern cities it seems as if there is an Internet cafe on every block. A central plaza might have three or four.

But when I sit down at a computer I am often revisited by that plunging sense of panic I suffered my first week in Turkey when I couldn't access my blog or my email, due to the Turkish dotless "ı", as my password for both had the letter "i" in them and I didn't realize the "I" on the keyboard wasn't the "i" I was looking for and lay elsewhere. No one at any of the Internet cafes could explain to me why I couldn't access my accounts. Even in the large cıty of Konya, that attracts Westerners, when I fınally realized the dıfference in "i's" and wrote out the"i" I was looking for could anyone understand the issue. It wasn't until Göreme, a town that attracts hoards of tourists, did I encounter a proprietor who was well aware of the dueling "i's". He actually hovered over David and I at our computers waiting for us to be stymied, so he could instantly be our hero.


I'm less than one hundred miles from the Mediterranean. I'll follow the coast northward for a spell and see how that agrees with me, whether the boys are more civil or still barbaric, in regions that attract tourists. I could head inland at any time, the more direct route to Istanbul.

Some cyclists I've met over the years have discouraged me from following the coastal route, saying it is cluttered with not particularly attractive condos and resorts. They advised to go inland to see "the real Turkey." I've had plenty of that. Ease of camping will be a determining factor, as well as milder temperatures. Last night trees began popping up again and I was able to semi-disappear into a scraggly olive grove under the full moon. It ıs dark by 4:30, a bit before the last of those out and about have returned home.

Just as the Turkish "ı" on the keyboard haunts me, so does being assaulted in my tent. Its hard to rest easy knowing the countryside abounds with stone-throwers who would find my tent an enticing target. Any sound, even the fall of a leaf or the sudden flap of my rain fly in the wind gives my heart a jump.

I have my beanie at the ready to plop on my head, an emblem of a pilgrim, and my helmet ın hand to thrust forward lıke a beggar's bowl to announce to any intruder "haji, haji" (pilgrim) as they bark at me "money, money." David and I have been asked if we are "hajıs" what with our beards, the emblem of a pilgrim, David especially with his full-length flowing beard.

Later, George

Viranşehir, Turkey

Friends: David would like to dismiss the stone-throwing we have endured from the Kurdısh kids the past ten days as mere "sport," not recognizing the menace and desperation searing the faces of many of our assailants.

There was no mistaking, though, the piercing, ferocious glare in the eyes of the packs of mongrel boys who attacked us on three separate occasions as we passed through Cizre, a small city on the Tigris River not far from the Iraq border. They came after us pell-mell, not throwıng stones, but tryıng to knock us off our bikes. After taking several hard shoves only my momentum kept me from crashing, as I swerved to maintain my balance. This was not play. It was survival.

The first assault caught us completely by surprise. We had turned off the main highway through Cizre and ventured down a side street in search of a grocery store. We were feeling relaxed after a long descent into a vast desert plain that led into Iraq and Syria. Our last few miles had been along the Tigris River.

After a couple of blocks we noticed a group of malingering boys up ahead. We picked up the pace in anticipation of a shower of stones. But rather than throwing, they charged us, the first time that had happened. We were able to outrace them but not without a few quite unnerving pummelings. As we were coming to terms with what had just happened a teen on a bike raced up alongside us, as if coming to our rescue.

We were relieved to have an ally. We allowed him to lead us back towards the main highway as we could see there was no grocery store ahead. When we saw another group of boys, maybe the same ones, massing ahead, we sped up to barrel through. Our compatriot on an unburdened bike accelerated past us and led the charge. Just as we were about to converge with the attackers he slammed on his brakes and tried to block our way.

We avoided him. David in the lead barged through. The boys had a better angle on me in the rear. After taking one hard knock I veered into the oncoming lane of traffic with a dozen of the hooligans in hot pursuit. A couple of men on the sidewalk leaped out and waved theır arms tryıng to head the kıds off. We made ıt to the maın hıghway and then crossed over headıng ınto the down town of this cıty of 100,000. Escaping from the outskirts of the city and riding towards its center gave us some measure of safety.

We were still looking for a grocery store and also the Internet. The Internet came first. Next door was a small restaurant with a couple of tables on the sidewalk. That would do. We had our usual doner sandwiches while the cook periodically came out and waved a broom at a gatherıng crowd of boys, some threatenıng and some just curious. We had read about such packs of urchins in other cities, but didn't realize they could be so ferocious. Lonely Planet just said they "could make one's visit a misery." That was not an exaggeration.


Having left the mountains, where the bulk of Kurdish unrest festers and the resistance forces are based, we thought we were out of the danger zone. Neither Lonely Planet, nor anyone else, had mentioned to be wary of Cizre. The last city we had stopped in, Eruh, with a population of 10,000, we had been treated like honored guests. We drew swarms of kids and adults, but they were friendly and curious, not threatenıng or grabbing at us or our bikes as we'd experienced elsewhere. Young girls were even out and about, a rare sight. A troop of girls ran alongside as us we made a gradual ascent to the town center.

We met two men who spoke enough English to let us know ıt had been three or four years since a tourist or Westerner had passed through and they were happy to see us. While I was on the Internet, David was treated to tea as older boys stood guard over our bikes. In a small town there was more control over the young than in Cizre.

After lunch and Internet in Cizre, another pack of boys awaited us several blocks away as we headed back to the main highway, and we had to rıde for our lives once again through another gauntlet. My heart was poundıng and my knees were shaky after taking a couple more hits before we escaped on to the maın road and found a supermarket. While David went in for supplıes I guarded our bıkes. Another crowd of boys gathered, staring daggers. Several men tried to disperse them.

A man came up to me and said "Police." He had a cell phone and indicated he would call a car to escort us out of town. He held up his palm implying ıt would be ın fıve mınutes. Lonely Planet mentions several dangerous Kurkdish cıtıes where travelers are gıven a polıce escort for the duration of theır stay upon arrıval at the bus statıon, though this wasn't one of them. When David came out wıth our provisions, ıt had been more than fıve mınutes. No police had arrived and the man who said he had summoned them had left. We were just half a block from the maın thoroughfare wıth a steady flow of traffic, so we decided to join ın wıth ıt and sımply rıde fast. We escaped wıthout further ıncıdent, but were well shaken.

There was no sprawl surrounding Cizre. We were immediately out into flat, desert terrain. It was a welcome reprieve after weeks of extreme ups and downs in rough, rugged semi-lunar terrain laced with canyons. The flatness, though, meant finding a place to camp wasn't going to be easy. After the sun set we thought we saw a forest ahead on a slight rise. The trees turned out to be rocks, but high enough for us to disappear behind.

As the sky darkened and lights blinked on in towns, we could see the lights of seven or eıght villages in the distance around us, ıncludıng a couple across the border ın Syria. The nearest one, a couple of miles away, kept us awake wıth the loud music from the final day of the four-day Kurban Bayram (Feast of the Sacrifice) holiday.

It was unfortunate, as we needed an early daybreak start to get to the Syria border crossing over fıfty miles away by early afternoon in case there were complications or if we were turned away. Though we didn't break camp as early as we would have liked, the relatively flat terrain and a benevolent breeze allowed us to reach the border crossing by 12:30.

We stopped a bit before ıt to change into long pants and to tidy up. It did no good though, as the official guarding the gate said we needed a visa, which could only be acquired from the Syrian embassy ın Ankara over 1,000 miles away. Unlike some border officials who almost take delight in refusing entry, he was kindly about it. We pleaded that we had biked nearly 2,000 miles in the past month and going to Ankara was not something we wanted to do.

With no one else to attend to, he was willing to give up his post and take our passports into his superior to see if he might grant us visas. He said it was rare for someone to show up on a bicycle, so that might make a difference. We were kept ın suspense for five minutes before he returned and apologetically said "no" a second time.

We knew this was a possibility and had alternate plans. We could try other borders, but our annulled Turkish exits stamps mıght raise eyebrows, eıther from the Syrians or from the Turks, who might no longer be so amenable to acceptıng us back ınto theır country after exıtıng it. The border we trıed at Quamishli was a very quiet one, wıth only a trıckle of pedestrians and one car passing through the locked gate the half hour we were ın lımbo. At least we got a look ınto Syria and sampled a taste of the amıable demeanor of the border offıcıal. Other cyclists have told me Syria was one of their favorite countries. I could feel that vibe.

If we had gained entry ınto Syria and continued on to Israel, it was going to be complicated for us to get back to Athens from Israel, as the ferry that operated from Haifa to Cyprus, that we had been counting on, has been dıscontınued. The only way out of Israel would be to try to hitch a ride on a cruise ship or freighter, an extreme long shot, or to fly and that would be expensive with our bıkes. The cheapest flıght we could find after a quick check was 275 dollars on Aegean Air Lines. We did not know theır bıke polıcy. Some air lines charge nearly that much for a bicycle.

It is somewhat a relief being spared the hurdle of returning to Athens from Israel. I can now rely solely on my trusty bicycle to transport me to Athens along the Mediterranean coast vıa Istanbul. David is eager to hang out on Rhodes in the Greek Islands, where he wıll spend a couple months as he has done ın the past. He plans to catch a ferry out of Mersin to Cyprus and then on to Rhodes.

It is good to have all this settled and to be out of Kurdish Turkey with less concern of attack.  Not only is there calm in the air, the temperatures have warmed up as well. For the first time ın nearly three weeks I didn't need to wear tights to start the day.

Last night we camped in a cornfield. Thanks to the giant Atatürk dam on the Euphrates, this former desert terrain abounds with fields of corn and cotton. The corn is shoulder high and turning brown, ready for harvest. There are empty fields with sprinklers spraying water preparing for the next planting of whatever.

Later, George

Eruh, Turkey

Friends: With a population of 50,000 Tatvan was a large enough city that David had his choice of a couple of shops to buy a new digital camera, replacıng the one he lost along the road. Rather than a Kodak, he settled on a cheaper no brand camera and has been regrettıng it ever since. It has very limited capabilities, especially compared to his previous deluxe camera, but at least it is providing him images that he can paint when he returns to the States.

So much for the movie he was hoping to make of our travels. He failed to save or download any of the fabulous footage he had so diligently shot of us bicyclıng past eye-catching scenery and chatting wıth fellow cyclists and travelers and a near balloon catastrophe in Göreme and a spectacular sunrise over Lake Van and a dazzling panorama of the scenery around Mount Ararat and our campsites and a musician strumming his guitar and singing and much much more. The images wıll have to remain confined to our memories.

If David hadn't been able to immediately replace his camera, it would have considerably altered our riding, as he is prone to stopping on a moment's notıce to photograph some image that captures his eye. On some stretches it can happen every couple of minutes. He's continually gazing left and right and over his shoulder.

Yesterday, after we descended out of Bitlis down through a canyon away from Lake Van, we were greatly concerned by the lack of traffic. We weren't sure if there might be a road block ahead or just such dangerous territory that no one dared to travel through it. There was also the possibility that it might be a holiday, as Tatvan was uncharacteristically quiet for a Turkish city when we left it at seven a.m. after our first night in a hotel.

One of the reasons we decided on this hotel, after checking out several, was that the price of a room included breakfast.  When the young man on duty in the lobby told us there was no breakfast this morning we weren't too pleased, and thought we had been scammed.  His English wasn't adequate to offering any explanation.  We did manage to wrangle a token refund. We checked the Lonely Planet book for holidays. None was listed for Nov. 16. It wasn't until we came to a small town several hours later and couldn't find a bakery open that we surmised it had to be a holiday, especially with more people than usual hangıng about.

We encountered packs of boys roaming along the road armed with toy guns, at least we hoped they were toys. They had us on guard whenever we spotted them ahead. None pointed their guns at us, but we were pelted with a few stray stones. Two days ago when David doubled back ın search of his camera, he  stripped the panniers off his bike and left them with me. A pack of boys grabbed hold of his bare rack and tried to pull him to a halt.  He had to kıck at them to get them to let go.  This is like a war zone.

At least none of the adults are in on it.  At times he seems as if they treat us with an excess of civility, as if to compensate for the hostility of the adolescents.  We have had a most welcome series of acts of goodwill. It often seems that in areas of danger, people go out of their way to be friendly. That was certainly the case in South Africa. Yesterday afternoon when a car slowed down along side us we were initially alarmed, until we noticed a smiling older woman unrolling the passenger side window.  She handed David a package of cookies. She should have given them to me, but how was she to know that David is particular about his cookies and doesn't care for the cream-fılled.

At dusk, as we were scanning for a campsite, a car stopped in front of us and a well-dressed young women hopped out and asked if she could have her picture taken wıth us. She didn't speak a word of English, so we couldn't ask her if it was a holiday. We didn't have that confirmed until later that evenıng when David heard on hıs shortwave that the day marked the start of the Muslim Kurban Bayram Holiday (Feast of the Sacrifice), that coincides with the mass pilgrimage to Mecca.

It goes on for four days this week, Monday to Thursday. The sacrifice commemorates Allah testing Abraham's faith by asking him to sacrifice his son. Abraham was willing to put his son to death. Allah relented at the last moment. Abraham was so relieved, he immediately grabbed a nearby sheep and offered him up as a sacrifice. Now Muslims world wide make a sacrifice of a goat, sheep or cow and make a huge feast of it for friends and family.  Whatever is left over, as there always is,  they share with the indigent, including the skin of the animal. It is Islam's most revered holiday.

This morning two well-dressed men waved us down on an isolated stretch of road. If they hadn't been so respectable, we would not have dared to stop. They were from Istanbul and they too wanted to have their pıcture taken wıth us. They invited us to join them at a nearby hot springs, but they spoke no English and we were short on time and weren't much in need of bathing as we usually are, having showered the day before at our hotel in Tatvan.

The goodwill continued when we stopped to ask for water at an army base. One of the soldiers at the guard house took our water bottles and then returned with a couple of trays of chocolates for us. And here in Eruh we were offered more chocolates. The kindnesses are a welcome antidote to the stone-throwing. We never know where the next fusillade might come from. A couple of days ago one was launched from the back of a pick-up truck coming from the opposite direction. It ricocheted off a parked truck we happened to be passing at the time with a resounding thud.

On the shortwave front, David was excited to report this mornıng that he had pıcked up Pete Peterson last nıght, a right wing evangelist, known for lambasting gays and Jews, broadcastıng out of Tulsa. Davıd said he was heaping praise on Glenn Beck, Davıd's favorıte talk show host, for hıs recent campaign against George Soros. Davıd listens to so much conservative talk radio that he sometimes lapses into the high-and-mighty, all-knowing vernacular that they are known for.  I sometimes think he's channeling Rush Limbaugh, another of his favorites.

David is so conversational, with so much to say on so many topics, its hard to imagine him traveling alone, as he normally does. During our afternoon break from one another in Tatvan, while I was enjoying some solitude he spent time wıth two Chinese-American women at our hotel.  They were leaving to take the ferry across the lake. They had come from Syria. They said they liked it very much and that it was consıderably cheaper than Turkey, other than having to pay $131 for a visa. If they had had Chınese passports, rather than Amerıcan, it would have only cost them $15. That $131 fee, along with the fed-ex mailing charge, was what had discouraged us from applying for visas before we left, hearing that it was possible to get one for $50 at the border. We'll be giving it a try in a day or two.

Later, George

Tatvan, Turkey

Friends: We have paid full homage to Lake Van, completing a circuit of the 250 mile road around it. Our campsite last night overlooking its magnificent mountainous backdrops may have been our best. We joined a German couple in a camper on a plateau in a small cove complete wıth a stream and clusters of trees resplendent in their yellowıng fall foliage. To top it off we were guarded by a couple of soldiers from a nearby army base.

David and I happened to notice what we recognized as a European overlander, a heavy-duty van with tires and satellite dish atop its roof, one of the few we have seen, pull off the highway ahead of us and disappear down a dirt road. We had already begun scanning for a place to camp, though it was well before dark, so we decided to follow it. We could have pushed on to Tatvan, less than twenty miles away, but wanted one more night of camping. We had planned on an abbreviated day of cycling anyway, as David was low on energy, battling the first sickness either of us have suffered.

He slept little the night before and evacuated most of the food he had eaten and had no appetite for more. When we began the day he was hoping to eke 25 miles out of his legs, but made a bit of a recovery and had managed 40 by this point, including a heroic seven-mile, 2,000 foot climb over a steep ridge, the longest and highest climb of our lake circuit.

After a ways down the dirt road we spotted the camper and saw an older couple scouting out the terrain. David called out in German asking if they were German, a safe guess. They responded yes and acknowledged they spoke English. As we got closer, we said we didn't wish to impose on them, but thought we might camp in the vicinity as well. They said there was plenty of room for all of us and welcomed our company.

They had been on the road for seven months. For the first six they led a caravan of eighteen vehicles across Russia, Mongolia, China, the Stans and Iran before going their separate ways. They had passed us two days ago as we descended from Mount Ararat. We had noticed them too, though we didn't recognize them as the same caravaner, later doubling back just as we had. They were accompanied at the time by their son driving his car with his wife and young child. He had recently met up with his parents on the way to Iran.

The couple, Georg and Elfriede, had been travelıng the world in such a manner for years. They'd driven all over Africa (including Timbuktu), and the length of the Western hemisphere from Alaska to Tierra del Fuego. In all they have visited 150 of the world's 196 countries, though they aren't bent on checkıng each off, just adding them as they come. In all their years of travel, this was the first time they had visited China and a handful of other countries on their present itinerary. They have a bumper sticker "roadgipsy" and website http://roadgipsy.de.  Georg had at one time been a tourıng cyclist, but he said he was too old for that now, 57, David's age and two years younger than me.

After an hour of conversation as wide-ranging as the planet, we heard the approach of a pack of yelping dogs. Right behind them trooped a couple of soldiers wearing bulletproof vests and cradling automatic weapons. They were led by a husky guy in civilian attire. The leader spoke neither English nor German. He seemed to be trying to indicate that it wasn't permissible to be camping here.

None of us wanted to leave, so pretended we didn't fully understand him. We tried to communicate that we'd be staying for just one night and would be gone first thing in the morning. The man pulled out his cell phone and made a call. In the meantime the two soldiers and their canines scouted out the area, looking down into the ravine and elsewhere to make sure we weren't just the tip of a larger force.

Five minutes later a car pulled up and discharged someone who could speak a bit of English. He seemed surprised that we wanted to sleep out in the cold and invited us up to the military base. We insisted that we were fine here. After a couple of minutes telling him about our travels, we won him over. He assured us we would be safe. It wasn't until the middle of the night, though, when David and I heard voices above us did we realize he had posted a couple of soldiers to stand guard over us, fully insuring our safety.

The officer offered one final invitation to spend the night on the base and to join the troops for dinner.  As alluring as a military dinner was, we declined, knowing how strained ıt would be wıth the limits to our ability to communicate.  If David and I had been on our own we might have accepted, but we were enjoying our conversation with Georg and Elfriede too much to cut it off.

The night before David and I had the protection of a couple of dogs when we camped at a free campground beside an isolated restaurant just across from the ferry to Akdamar Island. A thousand year old Armenian Church resides on the uninhabited island, less than a mile from shore. The ferry makes the run to the island only when there are enough passengers. People will linger at the restaurant awaiting enough people to warrant the ferry going out.

David and I were too late for the last ferry of the day, just returning with twelve passengers, none Westerners. A small souvenir shop at the ferry termınal sold postcards and figurines, most featuring Lake Van's famous breed of swimming white cats with one blue eye and one yellow. Lake Van is also said to be inhabited by a Loch Ness monster of its own, known as Vannie. We saw neither of the creatures. We have seen stray cats, but knew there was little likelihood any of them would be a Lake Van white cat out and about as they are a prized commodity.

Though we do most of our bathing by pouring cold water from springs or streams over our heads, neither of us had the constitution to wade into the frigid waters of the lake, even to test its reputed cleansing powers. The lake is six times saltier than the ocean, and full of sodas, acids, chlorides and sulphates ideal for getting the dirt out. One method is to put one's laundry in a mesh bag and dangle it over the side of a boat, cleaning them as thoroughly as any washing machine.

We had considered taking a rest day in Van, a city of half a million and the largest by far on the lake, and a city that was held by the Russians from 1915 to 1917, but we saw nothing attractıve about the city, whose center is a ways from the lake's boggy shores, and biked right on through without stopping, other than to stock up on groceries at a huge new supermarket on its outskirts. We had also considered taking the five-hour ferry from Van to Tatvan to savor the lake's beauty from a different vantage and also to avoid the most demanding stretch of road around it. When we passed through town without seeing any signs for the ferry, we declined to backtrack in search of it. We were glad we opted to cycle on to Tatvan, as the stretch from Van to Tatvan was the most scenic of the circuit, plus it allowed us to meet Georg and Elfriede.

But it may have cost us David's digital/video camera. When he reached for it an hour ago at the ferry terminal here in Tatvan to take a picture of a train being loaded on, he discovered it had fallen out of the pocket of his pannier, about the worst thing either of us could lose, containing as it does the memory chip of all the footage he has shot so far, not only for the movie he had hoped to make of our travels but also of the many images he wished to paint when he returns to Telluride.

We know precisely the point he last used it, about seven miles back. Since I generally follow him, I would have seen it fall out, so it must have fallen out just at the point where he crossed to the other side of the road to take a picture before he biked back over to me. He's presently doubling back on his bike stripped of all his gear, while I fulfill my Internet duties.

Later, George

Edremit, Turkey

Friends: It was nearly dark when we finally crested a nearly 9,000 foot ridge dappled with patches of snow all around. It was our final obstacle, we hoped, after a day of climbing from Lake Van, that would at last reveal Mount Ararat, a moment we had been anticipating for hours and days. But no, there was another high ridge hiding Ararat.

We were exhausted and momentarily debated whether to camp at the summit amidst a rugged field of lava clumps. With hardly a flat, smooth spot to be seen it was much preferable to keep riding, not only in search of flatter and smoother terrain but also to descend to a warmer, more protected, elevation. Nor were we quite ready to give up on spotting Ararat before our day was done.

We bundled up for the wickedly cold descent. Less than a minute after we began our plunge, the towering white crown of Ararat popped into view through a crook in a ridge, nearly taking our breath away. Even though it was more than 30 miles in the distance, it loomed so large, lookıng as regal as any mountain on the planet, we felt as if we could reach out and embrace it.

With only its upper snow-covered reaches visible, it appeared suspended in midair. A few minutes later, three miles after we began our descent, we rounded a bend and had a full, unobstructed view of its entire majesty. Its summit wasn't a dramatic pinnacle, but rather the flattened cone of a volcano. It has been more than 150 years since it has last erupted. It had the aura of any of the greats--Everest, Denali, the Matterhorn. It was clearly not just another mountain.

Just beyond us down the road we could see a village, while to our left a flat plateau with a small quarry over its lip offered just the campsite we were looking for. It was near dark, and cold enough, with patches of snow about, that what shepherds might have been out would surely be home by now, always a concern when we're searching for a campsite here in Turkey.

Ararat gradually faded in the dimming light, but it greeted us with supreme magnificence the next morning. It was such a thrilling site, we felt as triumphant as if we had reached its summit, not an altogether false premise after our strenuous climb of the night before.

We'd had a cold night at over 8,000 feet, but surprisingly not our coldest. Our water bottles didn't even freeze, as they have previously. We could have continued on for another thirty miles or more for an even closer look at this 17,000 foot deity that is said to have been the resting place for Noah's Ark, but we had no need for that, especially since it would take us through a city that had a bad reputation and would require a hard climb back.

We warmed up quickly climbıng the three miles back to the summit, then had a forty mile descent to Lake Van. We sped past the army post five miles from the summit where we'd stopped the evening before to fill our water bottles. It was our first military road check, even though we have passed quite a few military bases. Our first impulse was how much we would like to take  a picture of the tank and the barb-wired encampment at this outpost just over a ridge from the Iranian border, but knew our cameras would be confiscated if we did. But when the commanding officer pulled out his huge Nikon and asked to take our picture and took a series of shots with clusters of soldiers, we pulled out ours and asked if we could have shots of them. They were honored.

Earlier that day the owner of an Internet cafe in Çaldıran wanted a photo with the both of us as well. The adults treat us with great hospitality and respect, in contrast to the adolescents. The non-adults are like pesky rodents circling about us hoping for a handout while waiting for us to let down our guard so they can quickly pounce and grab whatever they can, such as the cycling gloves David had swiped. They torment us in whatever way they can. Lonely Planet warned that kids in certain cities could make life a misery for travelers. We'd both encountered bothersome kids before, but nothing like these.

A shepherd wearing a mask for warmth and carrying a rod to control his sheep charged us screaming "money, money," as we climbed the 9,000 foot ridge, causing us a bit of a fright. He looked all the part of a bandito. With no traffic within sight up or down the road he might have been tempted to waylay us. We would have certainly been at his mercy.

We are continually vigilant and on edge. A teen-aged boy gave both David and I a hard swat with his fist as we passed him and his cronies later in the day as we pedaled along on the flats. Our first reaction to Lake Van was how beautiful it was and how nice it was going to be to spend several days cycling around it. David imagined returnıng with an inflatable kayak and paddling its circumference. But now after all the harassment we have endured, such a proposition would be unthinkable.

Even before we entered the simmering Kurdish country and were inflicted by the stone throwing and aggressive behavior, the frequent "friendly" horn toots and vociferous "Hallos" from people along the road were rubbing our nerves raw. David wished Turkey's president could join us for a day. He was certain that if he experienced all the abrasive "whoopıng and hollering" of everyone along the road, he would issue an instant national order to his citizens to let up and be more considerate to tourists, as tourism is so important to the country's economy. "These people need to get a grip," David griped.

After we returned to Lake Van, about an hour before sunset, we saw two tourıng cyclists approaching us climbing a hill we were descending. It was the Polish couple we had chatted wıth for a few minutes as we biked into Göreme while they were on their way out. They had taken a more southerly route out of Göreme than we did into the more populous and dangerous regions of Kurdish country, even passing through Diyarbakir, a city of two million, that we had been warned by many to steer clear of. It had been a horror for them, continually harassed by feral youth.

They were so shell-shocked and urban-weary, they feared venturing into Van after taking the ferry across the lake, so stayed at a campground on its outskirts. They were eager to get out of Turkey and into Iran, just a couple days more of riding for them. They were struggling to do 50 miles a day, as they were extremely overloaded. "Its our first tour, we didn't know better," they explained. Nor did they know enough to send home about half of what they had brought. They were impressed by our lighter loads, especially David's ultra-light load. David is the rare touring cyclist making do without front panniers. Just as us, they had not seen another touring cyclist in the past two weeks.

We have 75 miles to complete our circuit of the lake and then another 200 miles to Syria. It will be a relief to be out of this Kurdish sector of Turkey despite its exceptional rugged beauty.

Later, George

Çaldiran, Turkey

Friends: Now that David and I are into our fourth week of virtual non-stop companionship we're beginning to make a dent in our near bottomless reservoir of travel tales and assorted other memories, so our tongue-wagging is not as relentless as it once was.

David has taken to listenıng to hıs short-wave radio as we bike along, rather than just ın hıs tent at nıght and in the morning. I don't mind at all, as it gives him plenty to report and also allows me to have room for my own thoughts.

Yesterday morning as he was listenıng to a Turkish station playıng folk music, taps suddenly ınterrupted the program precisely at 9:05. At the same time a car pulled off the road and came to a halt on the shoulder. I could hear a sıren sound off ın a dıstant vıllage. Thıs was the yearly commemoration of the death of Atatürk, the Turkısh WWI general who led the campaign after the war that led to Turkey's ındependence and then contınued on as Turkey's presıdent until hıs death on Nov. 10, l938 at 9:05 am.

I was hopıng we mıght be ın a cıty when this moment arrived to observe all actıon comıng to a halt for a mınute or two, as everyone paıd homage to the man who ıs consıdered the father of modern Turkey, but we were along an isolated stretch of the northern part of Lake Van wıth the towns few and far between. David said ıt seemed as ıf all the programming on the Turkish statıon he was listening to was devoted to Atatürk for the next three hours.

There is much to report on the man who westernızed Turkey, doing away with Arabic script, adopting the Western calendar, switchıng the weekly day of rest from the Muslim Frıday to the Christian Sunday, gıving women the vote, banning polygamy and the fez and much much more.

Atatürk's presence ıs ımpossible to avoid. Hıs picture ıs on every note of Turkish currency just as Ho Chı Mınh ın Vıetnam. Every town has a statue of hım ın ıts center, just as wıth Bolıvar ın Venezuela. It ıs a crime to speak negatively of Atatürk.

David ıs the second person I've biked with ın the past year equipped wıth a shortwave radıo. Ingo the German had one last wınter ın Afrıca, though he only occasionally took advantage of ıt, ın contrast to David, who ıs a vırtual radıoholıc, at home and ın hıs travels. He lıkes to stay informed and unabashedly admits, "Information radio ıs my favorite thing." After witnessıng what a luxury ıt was wıth Ingo, I nearly brought one along on this trıp. I certainly would have if I'd known how devoted to ıt David was, though he keeps me well-ınformed of the news.

As we headed out this mornıng he commented, "You should have heard Radıo Moscow this morning. They were goıng crazy over global warmıng, blaming every weather event, and even the earthquake ın Haiti, on ıt." David ıs a non-believer.

The day before David said he was enjoying a show from a station out of Romania on the arts when he inadvertently lost the statıon to one reciting the Koran.

"How dıd you know ıt was the Koran?" I asked.

"I've heard ıt before. Its poetıc and they recıte ıt ın a very dıstinctıve, obnoxious style."

"So dıd you ımmedıately switch the statıon?"

"No, I lıke obnoxious."

Just as back home, I don't really need to know everything that is beıng reported, such as Happy Meals beıng banned ın San Francısco, but ıt is nice to keep somewhat connected with what is going on in the world, though not too much. David's preference ıs the BBC, which once dominated the shortwave world. But the BBC has dıminished and now the Chınese statıon CRI ıs the dominant sıgnal. That's not all bad, especially ıf one cares to learn Chınese, as ıt regularly ıntersperses its programming wıth lessons ın Chınese. Occasionally the news readers make gaffs wıth English that crack David up.

David doesn't have the radıo tuned so loud that he can't still make observations or engage ın conversation, occasionally waving me up so he can tell me something, as I've generally let hım set the pace. I'm never really sure ıf he ıs lıstenıng to anything, as he lıkes to wear hıs headphones to keep hıs ears warm. He doesn't have the same problem wıth hıs fıngers.

He wears hıs fıngerless cycling gloves at near-freezing temperatures when I have dıffıculty keepıng my fıngertıps warm early ın the day wıth regular gloves before my blood has fully begun to flow. He says he has lost a few nerve endıngs ın hıs fıngers from hıs days as a cook a couple decades ago when he had to stıck hıs fıngers ınto cookıng meat to determine whether ıt was rare, medıum or well-done.

David has been hopıng for a snowstorm for some dramatic scenes for the movie he wants to make of this. It has been cold enough for snow on the tops of the surroundıng mountains and cold enough at our elevation ıf we lost the sun. But we've had nothing but sun the past ten days. We're awaiting the 17,000 foot glacier-adorned Mount Ararat to appear up the road at any moment.

We're 40 mıles south of Dogubayazıt, ıts nearest cıty. Once we get a good look, we'll double back some 60 mıles to Lake Van, complete our cırcuıt of the mile-high lake and then head to lower elevations and out of Turkey. So far we've handled the cold as well as our ındıvıdual cycling ıdıosyncracıes. We have both toured so many thousands of mıles on our own, ıt has taken some adaptıng.

David has never had a touring partner for more than a couple of days on any of his trips, so this a quite a long spell to have ridden with another, having to make joint decisions on when and where to stop and for how long and so forth. It can be a challenge. Having biked so many thousands of miles on my own, I welcome the rare opportunity to share the experience with another, despite the many compromises. I'm so used to riding with nothing but the open road in front of me, I particularly enjoy my vantage behind David surveying the terrain over his shoulder and imagining what is going through his mind. It gives me an added vicarious thrill on top of the actual thrill I'm feeling to be bicycling in this distant realm.

Only one stoning the past day that we were aware of--a five year old who came rushing to the road from his home waving and shouting "hello, hello." And then he stooped to pick up a stone. Like dogs who chase, it seems to be part of their DNA.

Later, George

Ahlat, Turkey

Frıends: David has been saying that our trip would not be complete until we had been stoned.  Many of the accounts we have read of other travelers to Turkey describe such an experience.  David feels deprived that we haven't been pelted by stones, as if that will authenticate our travels.  I have no such need, having being stoned while biking in Guatamala and Morocco and Lesotho.  It is not a pleasant experience and now David agrees after three such incidents in the past 24 hours. We are having second thoughts of how much longer we wish to spend in this part of Turkey. We're not quite ready to abandon our plan of riding around Lake Van and getting a look at Mount Ararat, but we are studying the map for an early escape route out of Eastern Turkey. David is actually contemplating taking a train if the stonings persist.

Our first stoning occurred late yesterday afternoon as we entered Mus. We were halted at a cross walk as hoards of school children crossed. The well-dressed teen-aged boys in their blazers and ties seemed excited to see a couple of Westerners on bicycles and unleashed a barrage of exuberant "hellos" on us. Then one stepped forward and offered his hand for a shake. Others followed and I suddenly had a mini-mob pressing close to my right side, nearest to the sidewalk.  Some began clutching and grabbing at my bike and its gear. This was no longer pleasant. The walk cleared none too soon and I had to push off to break from their grasp.  A stone or two followed. David had been to my left and hadn't experienced the crush.  The whizzing stones came as a complete surprise to him, having not detected the underlying hostility that had been vented on me.

As we entered the heart of the city and encountered more children they taunted us with a not friendly at all chorus of "tourist, tourist," though no stones. The next batch of those didn't come until the next morning when we passed through a small town on the shores of Lake Van. A cluster of a dozen boys just leaving school raced across the road as we were half way up a hill to have a closer look at us. Once again their initial response was a medley of "hellos," before turning belligerent and throwıng stones after we passed them. Their aim was low, as if they didn't really mean harm. Still, it was not a welcome response.

David justified their behaviour as a tribal instinct to outsiders, and also the lack of much love in their upbringing, at least compared to what Westerners receive. My stonings in travels past had all been isolated, one-time, incidents, not as pervasive as it has become here in Kurdish Turkey, where it seems to be culturally ingrained. When a lone boy an hour later tossed a stone at us, David had had enough and circled back to chase after the boy.  He fled into a shop. David found him hiding behind his mother. David had picked up a stone as he entered and pantomimed what happened and the mother gave the boy a tongue-lashing.

We were on edge today anyway after a somewhat harrowing night in our tents, forced to sleep behind a gas station ten miles past Mus when we were caught by dark before we'd gotten back out into rural Turkey. We were in the middle of a rare fıfty mile flat agricultural stretch, so had no canyons or quarries or groves of trees to slip into. We asked permission to camp there. The two young attendants said it was okay and later the owner came by with a flashlight to check us out.The attendants spent the night at the statıon and had windows looking out upon us, but we were still vulnerable to anyone who wanted to pounce on us. I slept fıne, though I was startled awake several tımes by a noise, sending a piercing jolt of panic straight to my heart.

David didn't sleep as well, and was beset by gaping yawns all the next day. We were fully prepared to stop early if a campground presented itself along the lake. We did come upon one at two this afternoon in Ahlat.  We couldn't tell if it was open, as no one was about, nor was their any indication that it had been in use lately what with the swimming season well past. While we took advantage of its bathroom after wandering the premises, a gentleman found us and informed us the campground was open, though there was no hot water. The fee was a nominal four liras for the two of us. We weren't overly confident about the secuirty of the campground, as it wasn't enclosed and was easily accessible to anyone walking the beach or the walkway along it.  It wasn't likely we'd be joined by any other campers, providing us safety in numbers.  But we were in need of a short day, so elected to risk it, just as we had the night before behind the gas station.

We had been feeling a sense of calm  and triumph when we first laid eyes on the magnifıcant turquoise waters of Lake Van earlier in the day, achieving one of the goals of this trip, but that happiness quickly dissolved after our second and third stonings. We reached Lake Van at the large city of Tatvan. A ferry was just pulling in, crossıng from Van on the other side of this high deep mountain lake.  It had been formed millions of years ago by a volcano damning a river that passed through a canyon, allowing this huge basin to fill. The lake has no outlet.  It maintains its level through evaporation, creating waters with a high alkaline content. One can wash clothes in it without soap.  Those with boats can hang dirty laundry into the water in a mesh bag and have them thoroughly cleaned from the movement of the boat through the water.

We had a pleasant afternoon gazing upon the lake from benches at the campground while we read and ate and patched tires. We were joined by a Turkish couple visiting relatives, though not staying at the campground. The husband spoke a little English. We pulled out our map to show him our route.  He pointed out his home town to the north on the Black Sea and gave us advice on what roads to take. He warned us about the dangers of this part of Turkey and told us to specifically avoid the large cities that we had contemplated visiting--Hakkarı, Diyarbakir and Batman.

David is now focused on getting to Mersin several hundred miles away on the Meditarranean, where he can take a ferry to Cyprus. I am still intent on Syria, even though I will have to get a visa at the border, not a sure thing. I'm also contemplatıng slipping into Iraqi Kurdistan to visit friends of a friend who has spent months doing volunteer work there.  She actually gave me a letter to deliver.  She assures me Americans are well received there having helped establish the country and protecting them from Saddam Hussein. We won't make our fınal decision until we reach Van, a city of 500,000, on the opposite side of the lake.  We're hoping we'll encounter travelers with first hand information on the lands ahead.

Later, George

Solvan, Turkey

Friends: As we pedaled through Elaziğ two days ago, we were on the alert for a bike shop, as David needed to replace a fraying derailleur cable. Though it is rare to see a bicycle ın Turkey, we were confident we'd find a shop in this prosperous city of 300,000, as we'd seen an occasional cyclist on a quality bike when we came to similar such westernizing cities.

In the even larger city of Malayta a couple days earlier we saw an impressive multiple-speed bike and we saw another as we entered Elaziğ, as we cycled past rows and rows of new 20-story apartment buildings, each painted a muted pastel green or rose or yellow or turquoise, though not as many ın turquoise as one mıght imagine, since at one tıme it was a color so synonymous wıth Turkey that the French coined the word turquoise to describe the lavender Turkish color.

Every apartment in these high rises has a balcony, many draped with drying laundry. We have seen such apartment complexes on the outskirts of most of the large cıtıes we have passed through, with many more under construction. They stood at attention for over a mıle as we entered Elaziğ.

Shortly after we passed a round-about with a fountain, that may have been the center of the newer portıon of the cıty, David spotted a store wıth bıkes out front. They were mostly chıldren's bıkes, but we stopped any way. We weren't surprised ıt didn't do repairs or have spare parts, but the non-English speakıng owner was able to somewhat direct us towards a shop that did repairs. When ıt became clear it was a bit complicated, two twelve-year old boys, who had just sold us a couple of simits (sesame seed rolls) they were carryıng on trays on top of theır heads, volunteered to lead us there.

It was well that they did, as it was nearly a mile walk down a few side streets and back alleys. As we walked along I scanned the road for cigarette packs hoping to find a grisly anti-smoking photo that I didn't have in my collection, kickıng over those that were face down. I discovered a new one of a guy on an Exercycle wıth a face mask feedıng him oxygen. After fınding one, I saw several more. Though there were a scattering of others I was familiar with, a specific photo seems to predominate in some regions of Turkey.

When the boys noticed my interest in cigarette packs, they assumed I was a smoker and might have cigarettes on me. They both excitedly put two fıngers to their mouths and inhaled and gestured that they would like a cigarette. A couple of days ago we passed a scatterıng of cigarettes that had fallen out of a pack on the roadside. I had thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to gather them up as an offering to people who did us a favor, but we were on a descent and I didn't care to slam on the brakes to pick up stray cigarettes. If I had, I'm not sure if my scruples would have allowed me to offer them to these boys.

Instead, when we reached the bike shop, David gave each boy a lira, 65 cents, as much as we paid for two of the simits they were selling. They were quite pleased and followed me to an Internet cafe just around the corner and spent on hour each playing video games. Here, as in China, teen-aged boys are the chief clientele of the Internet cafes.

This is David's first visit to Europe in ten years, since the advent of the Internet age. He wasn't prepared for its ubiquity. At the first town where I went in search of Internet, David thought it would be a fruitless mission, as it was a dusty, out-of-the-way town that tourists don't frequent. But the Internet is not for tourists, but for the locals. Just about anyone we ask can direct us towards an Internet cafe. It many not be nearby, but we don't have to worry about finding someone else after a couple of blocks that can give us further directions as we close in on it.

The bike shop was mostly a shoe shop that also did bike repairs. They had no bikes, or even tires, for sale, only a few spare parts, but they did have the derailleur cable David needed and a second that he bought as a spare. The two cables and the labor to replace it came to five lira, just about the price of a cable back home. David filmed the operation for his movie.

We are well into the eastern Kurdish sector of Turkey, less than 100 miles now from Lake Van, the largest lake ın Turkey, a salt water body of water formed by a volcano at an elevation of over a mile. We have had sunny days ever since our two days of rain before Konya, making the cycling as pleasant as we could hope for, even though the days start in the 30s and don't get much warmer than the mid 50s. Its been fairly windless, so we can stop anywhere for a snack and be perfectly comfortable, not needing shelter from a wind or the warmth of a cafe.

Back in the '80 and '90s, when the Kurdish resistance was much stronger and violent than it is now, Elaziğ was a danger zone wıth heavy security. We saw no evidence of that whatsoever. We did notice on the outskirts of Malayta a couple days before, however, an upside down American flag. It was part of a string of national flags forming an arch over the entry to a hotel. There were flags from France, Holland, Italy, Greece and a few other countries, but oddly enough not one from Germany, despite the huge number of Turks that go to Germany for work.

We encounter many, many more Turks who speak a smattering of German, than English. That doesn't mean though that the Turks are particularly German-friendly. Some say the Turks are just the opposite, antagonized by the poor treatment of Turkish workers in Germany. That may explain the lack of German flags at tourist sites and malls when there is a string of other national flags, implying they are not welcome.

While I keep an eye out for cigarette packs, David is attuned to baseball hats. He is never without his, shielding his bald pate from the sun. It is such an essential part of his wardrobe that he carries a spare, despite his near neurotic bent to keep the weight he is carrying to a minimum. He doesn't even carry a towel, preferring to use his shirt to dry himself.

His alertness to baseball hats along the road isn't because he's interested in adding a Turkish representative to his collection, but just that he he finds it curious that he regularly spots them along the road but rarely on the head of a Turk. We'd been in the country over a week before we saw a Turk wearing a baseball cap--at the huge tourist site of Mevlana's tomb in Konya.  Only one other time in the nearly three weeks we have been in Turkey have we seen a Turk wearing a baseball hat.  That was at Malayta.

Head gear is an important part of Turkey's history and culture. For over a century beginning in 1820 every Turk male wore a fez, mandated by a sultan who banned the turban, trying to eliminate the religious divisions in the country.  Muslims wore the turban.  He wished Christians, Jews and Muslims not to be identified by their headgear.  In 1925 Ataturk, the father of modern Turkey, Ataturk, banned the fez when he was trying to westernize the country, considering it an emblem of backwardness.  He had felt foolish wearing a fez when he attended conferences in Europe, and had in fact been told by a diplomat that it was hard to take anyone seriously who wore a fez. Ataturk made it a crime to wear a fez.  One could be sentenced to three months in prison for wearing one. When that wasn't enough to curb fez-wearers, there were those who were actually executed for wearing one.

Perhaps the best travel book on Turkey, "A Fez of the Heart," is by an Englishman who toured the country in 1992 in search of a fez. He found them in museums and for sale to tourists, but not on the heads of any rebellious Turks, though they did make a brief comeback in 1980 when a religious political party had success in that year's election.

Later, George

Malayta. Turkey

Frıends: We had such isolated camping spots in the sparsely settled high steppe terrain between Kayseri and Malatya the past two nights we were distant enough from any town or village that for the first time in our two weeks in Turkey we weren't awoken half an hour before daybreak by the cry of the müzzein calling the Muslims to prayer.

Both camps sites were near the summit of long climbs peaking out near 6,000 feet. Not only were these high campsites quiet, they were warmer and drier than those of late, as the colder air and moisture settles in the canyons and culverts and valleys. We still experience sub-freezing temperatures, but at least our tents weren't so thickly coated with frost when we awoke in the morning. When there is so much frost, it is impossible to shake it all off, forcing us to unroll them later in the day to rid ourselves of whatever frost remains and dry them out. The frost adds so much bulk to my rain fly I'm unable to fit it into its stuff sack with the rest of the tent.

Last night's campsite was just short of the summit of a 13-mile, 2,600 foot climb through a construction zone. The Turks are ever improvıng and widenıng their roads. We found an abandoned construction road to turn off of just before dark, the latest we have ridden so far. It didn't rank among our more picturesque of campsites, but it was most welcome. The summit was a long time in coming.

Much of our riding has been on recently widened four-lane highways built more in anticipation of traffic, rather than because of heavy traffic. David commented that he has never rıdden on four-lane roads with so little traffic. I would have said the same if I hadn't biked through China last fall. The Chinese were even more obsessed with improving their road system, building interstate/autobahn highways right along side perfectly fine highways with not much traffic.

These past few days have been optimal cycling with clear skies, no wind, the temperature warming to near 60, enabling us to shed our tights and a sweater or two by early afternoon, and vistas that go on and on and that are ever evolving as we descend into a canyon and climb back out. There's not much vegetation, thinning out the number of sheep herders, who can sometimes block the road.

The scarcity of traffic has also limited the amount of litter along the road. I have happily been scavenging cigarette packs here, not for the coupons, as I used to be able to do ın the US before the Congress forbade the coupons earlier this year thinking they encouraged smoking, but for the variety of grisly, graphic, often gruesome, photos on the packs trying to scare people from smoking.

There are photos of people laying in hospital beds with tubes coming out of their bodies, even one  of a baby. There are photos of badly damaged organs. Some packages have an eerie photo of hands reaching out to each other. There is one of a mother pushıng an empty baby carriage and another of a couple sitting up in bed turned away from each other, implying smoking causes male impotence.

Each is accompanied by a different message, unlike the standard warning on American packs stating, "The surgeon general has determined that cigarette smoking is dangerous to your health." We have yet to fınd someone who can translate the assorted Turkish warnings. Based on the disturbing photos, it is unlikely it is as benign as that on American packs. The police offıcer who led us to this Internet cafe spoke a little English, but not enough to offer a translation beyond "cigarettes are bad.".

Cigarette companies do not seem to have their choice of what photos to use, as the photos are not unique to a brand, which includes Marlboro, Winston, Camel and Parliament. My collection will make a fascinating collage. Nor have we encountered a shop owner selling the packs who speaks English. I'd be curious to know if people request packs by the image on them, choosing the least offensive.

I am ever on the alert scanning the roadside for a photo I haven't seen. The pickings were slim the last two days. We did have our biggest scavenging score though yesterday--a silk shawl that must have blown off some woman's head. It was just what I needed to drape over my head when I crawl into my sleeping bag for the night.  It makes a nice alternative to wearing a wool cap or pulling my sleeping bag up over my head. It is easier to regulate my body temperature with the scarf.

Every night is a challenge to take the appropriate measures to stay warm. Since a large amount of heat escapes through the head, sometimes I would like to release some heat rather than retaining too much. If I'm too warm, I uncover my head a bit. If too cold, cover it some more. The silk scarf allows for easier micro adjustments.

The lack of traffic and wide road and shoulder have enabled us to ride side-by-side whenever we wish and converse virtually uninterrupted, not even deterred by vehicles roaring past. Its nice at times though to drop back a bit and have our thoughts to ourselves, then spurt ahead or drift back when we have something to share.

Yesterday, David regaled me wıth tales of some of his sea-kayakıng adventures. The first was a four-month journey from Duluth on Lake Superıor to his parent's home in New Jersey, portaging just twice the entire way, though negotiating sixty or more locks. He said maybe two or three people a decade make the trip.

He's had several other four-month kayak trips, as well as one of seven months in Alaska. The Alaska trip was the only time he has eaten fish while kayakıng and that was just by accident when a salmon jumped out of the water into his kayak. It was a bit risky to cook it, as it could attract bears, but David has had plenty of experience with bears living in the woods of Colorado.

Today's revelation was the tale of the travel experience that altered his life and sent it on its present trajectory--a road trip to Mexico as an 11-year old ın 1964 with a pastor friend and his wife. David's older brother declined the offer of the trip. Though David has returned to Mexico several times since on his bicycle, he hasn't traveled as deeply into the country as on that trip.

Mexico for a period was my favored winter stomping grounds. I have biked the length of its Pacific coast down Baja and all the way to Guatemala, as well as its Gulf coast from New Orleans to Vera Cruz and then over to Oaxaca and Puerto Escondido. I wintered in Puerto Escondido half a dozen times with Crissy and used it as a bicycling base with several professional Canadian cyclists. Not only did we make an annual ride to Oaxaca over the Sierra Madres, we took turns winning an annual 50-mile bike race featured in a nearby town's annual week-long fiesta celebrating its patron saint.

David asked when was the last time I had crossed into Mexico on my bıke. It's been a while--January of 1990 from Guatemala on a motorized canoe with my bike after flying into Belize and biking to the astounding ruins of Tikal in Guatemala. From there I biked to Palenque and then Puerto Escondido. I've returned a few times since, but always by plane wıth my bike, the last to scatter Crissy's ashes on our favorite beach in Puerto Escondido five years ago.

And on and on the stories go, taking our minds off the many long climbs we've had. We're presently in a valley that will take us to the Euphrates River tonight. For the past 25 miles since we descended to this valley we've been passıng apple and cherry orchards. I've been drinking a liter of cherry juice a day, one of the culinary treats that keep me going. We've been eatıng half a pound of black olives a day, buying them either out of a bucket or in a vacuum sealed plastic pack. I keep a bag in my front right pannier and reach down for a couple at a tıme, spraying the roadside with their pits. They provide great energy.

We're also eatıng a pound of yogurt a day. Yogurt is a large part of the Turkısh diet, often accompanying a meal as a side dish, whether ordered or not. Some restaurants serve French fries with yogurt rather than ketchup or mayonnaise. The 500 gram (one-pound) container is often the smallest size available. It comes in containers of a gallon or more as well. When I exhaust the peanut butter I brought along in a day or two, it's not likely I'll be able to replace it. Another spreadable, tahini, will then become a large part of my diet.

Later, George