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
Monday, November 15, 2010
Saturday, November 13, 2010
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
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
Thursday, November 11, 2010
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
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
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
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
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
Sunday, November 7, 2010
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
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
Friday, November 5, 2010
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
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
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Pinarbasi, Turkey
Frıends: Barking dogs prevented us from having a very sound sleep at the Berlin campground in Göreme, our first non-wild camping of this journey, but the sight of a handful of balloons emerging practically at arm's length over a ridge just beyond our tents when we ducked our heads out shortly after daybreak made us very happy to have camped where we did. We grabbed our cameras and raced to the ridge.
We were greeted by an even more amazing sight--more than forty balloons at various heights drifting over the phantasmagorical landscape of all manner of spires. Each gondola held up to fifteen passengers, who had paid 150 dollars or so for the privilege, well beyond our ten dollar a day budget. David went camera-crazy with his digital, shooting both stills as well as video footage. Before the day was done wandering amongst this breathtakingly unique scenery, he said he had never taken so many pictures in a day, more than he ever dreamed he could possibly take. This will provide some sensational footage for the movie he hopes to make of our adventure.
There was one balloon not more than 100 meters from us that was struggling to gain altitude. As it approached us we noticed a guy running along underneath it holding a bottle. I thought it might have been a bottle of champagne they'd forgotten to take for the tourists, but it was actually a bottle of fuel. The balloon was struggling to gain altitude and needed an added injection. When balloonist and bottle-carrier reached the hill David and I were standing on, they were close enough for the guy to toss the bottle up to the balloonist. He immediately began squirtıng it into the burner and it slowly gained altitude, just barely clearing a tall jagged spire. None of the passengers packed in expressed any concern, just happily waving at David and İ, some with their cameras pointed at us, while David videoed them, fearing he might have some sensational Hindenburg footage of a gondola dumping a dozen or more passengers when it hit the pinnacle.
After half an hour or so all the balloons were well aloft and distanced from us. We had laundry to do before setting out for a hike into this wonderland. The Polish cyclists recommended a valley a short hike away, rather than paying to go into the national park. They assured us the scenery was equally fantastic and wasn't choked with tourists. İt ıs past the prime tourist season, but we still saw bus loads, many from Japan. It is cold enough, near freezing at night, that many of the shops and cafes in town try to attract customers with signs saying "warm inside." There were only two others in the campground, a backpacking Russian and an Englishman driving a VW pop-up van.
We only encountered two other couples in our two hour meander through our valley of "fairy chimneys." One was a French couple from Toulouse. The woman said she had been here in July with a tour group and was so staggered by the beauty she had to come back with her boy friend.
The soft compressed volcanic ash is very conducive to hollowing out caves and underground cities. There were a handful of Christian chapels carved into these upthrusts, some wıth religious murals in tact. As David said, this region of Turkey, known as Cappadocia, ought to be on every traveler's bucket list of places to visit.
We set out for the large cıty of Kayseri, 50 miles away, after our afternoon hike, returning to our preference of wild-camping. Loomıng over Kayseri is the 13,000 foot volcano Mt. Areus, whose ample shoulders are cloaked with glaciers. Argeus is one of three volcanoes in the region responsible for the geology that created the "fairy chimney" landscape. It is their compacted ash from eruptions ten million years ago that has eroded to form these waves of upright formations, some quite phallic.
Kayseri is near the center of Turkey and is slightly beyond our half-way point to Lake Van and Mount Ararat, the true monster of Turkey, another volcano some 17,000 feet high. We saw our first sign for Van leaving Kayseri, just under 600 miles away.
We had a 1,500 foot climb out of Kayseri up onto a high plateau nearly a mile high of more steppe scenery for 200 miles to Malayta. We began the day with the temperature in the 30s, but on the long climb I stripped off all six layers I began the day wearing and put on my short sleeve shirt. But by nightfall, when the sun dipped under Argeus, we were layering back up quick.
Last night was our coldest yet. It was 26 in my tent when I awoke. The cold left fragments of ice in my water bottles, both those in my tent and on my bike. When I set the bowl of yogurt I was eating outside the tent during break down, ice crystals quickly formed in it. But the sun was shining bright and we were soon unlayering.
I burned a candle in my tent last night for the first time and it made a significant difference in keeping me warm until I fully crawled into my sleeping bag for the night. It elevated the temperature near the top of my tent to 50 degrees, while it was ten degrees colder lower down. It is a slight risk to be burning a candle in the tightness of my tent, but I think I have made adequate safeguards to prevent me from knocking it over or brushing anything against it. David fears he is too clumsy to take such a risk. He knocked over the cup of coffee he warmed up on his fire last night. Fortunately there wasn't too much left in it and it was no great catastrophe.
Later, George
We were greeted by an even more amazing sight--more than forty balloons at various heights drifting over the phantasmagorical landscape of all manner of spires. Each gondola held up to fifteen passengers, who had paid 150 dollars or so for the privilege, well beyond our ten dollar a day budget. David went camera-crazy with his digital, shooting both stills as well as video footage. Before the day was done wandering amongst this breathtakingly unique scenery, he said he had never taken so many pictures in a day, more than he ever dreamed he could possibly take. This will provide some sensational footage for the movie he hopes to make of our adventure.
There was one balloon not more than 100 meters from us that was struggling to gain altitude. As it approached us we noticed a guy running along underneath it holding a bottle. I thought it might have been a bottle of champagne they'd forgotten to take for the tourists, but it was actually a bottle of fuel. The balloon was struggling to gain altitude and needed an added injection. When balloonist and bottle-carrier reached the hill David and I were standing on, they were close enough for the guy to toss the bottle up to the balloonist. He immediately began squirtıng it into the burner and it slowly gained altitude, just barely clearing a tall jagged spire. None of the passengers packed in expressed any concern, just happily waving at David and İ, some with their cameras pointed at us, while David videoed them, fearing he might have some sensational Hindenburg footage of a gondola dumping a dozen or more passengers when it hit the pinnacle.
After half an hour or so all the balloons were well aloft and distanced from us. We had laundry to do before setting out for a hike into this wonderland. The Polish cyclists recommended a valley a short hike away, rather than paying to go into the national park. They assured us the scenery was equally fantastic and wasn't choked with tourists. İt ıs past the prime tourist season, but we still saw bus loads, many from Japan. It is cold enough, near freezing at night, that many of the shops and cafes in town try to attract customers with signs saying "warm inside." There were only two others in the campground, a backpacking Russian and an Englishman driving a VW pop-up van.
We only encountered two other couples in our two hour meander through our valley of "fairy chimneys." One was a French couple from Toulouse. The woman said she had been here in July with a tour group and was so staggered by the beauty she had to come back with her boy friend.
The soft compressed volcanic ash is very conducive to hollowing out caves and underground cities. There were a handful of Christian chapels carved into these upthrusts, some wıth religious murals in tact. As David said, this region of Turkey, known as Cappadocia, ought to be on every traveler's bucket list of places to visit.
We set out for the large cıty of Kayseri, 50 miles away, after our afternoon hike, returning to our preference of wild-camping. Loomıng over Kayseri is the 13,000 foot volcano Mt. Areus, whose ample shoulders are cloaked with glaciers. Argeus is one of three volcanoes in the region responsible for the geology that created the "fairy chimney" landscape. It is their compacted ash from eruptions ten million years ago that has eroded to form these waves of upright formations, some quite phallic.
Kayseri is near the center of Turkey and is slightly beyond our half-way point to Lake Van and Mount Ararat, the true monster of Turkey, another volcano some 17,000 feet high. We saw our first sign for Van leaving Kayseri, just under 600 miles away.
We had a 1,500 foot climb out of Kayseri up onto a high plateau nearly a mile high of more steppe scenery for 200 miles to Malayta. We began the day with the temperature in the 30s, but on the long climb I stripped off all six layers I began the day wearing and put on my short sleeve shirt. But by nightfall, when the sun dipped under Argeus, we were layering back up quick.
Last night was our coldest yet. It was 26 in my tent when I awoke. The cold left fragments of ice in my water bottles, both those in my tent and on my bike. When I set the bowl of yogurt I was eating outside the tent during break down, ice crystals quickly formed in it. But the sun was shining bright and we were soon unlayering.
I burned a candle in my tent last night for the first time and it made a significant difference in keeping me warm until I fully crawled into my sleeping bag for the night. It elevated the temperature near the top of my tent to 50 degrees, while it was ten degrees colder lower down. It is a slight risk to be burning a candle in the tightness of my tent, but I think I have made adequate safeguards to prevent me from knocking it over or brushing anything against it. David fears he is too clumsy to take such a risk. He knocked over the cup of coffee he warmed up on his fire last night. Fortunately there wasn't too much left in it and it was no great catastrophe.
Later, George
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