Friends: After a one hundred mile stretch of virtual wilderness along the coast through rugged terrain made even more rugged by several long hard climbs of five miles or more to over 1,500 feet, I'm back on the flats for one hundred miles of tourist blight to Antalya, a city of nearly a million, where I'll have to decide whether I want to continue on to Istanbul via the coast or head inland. It would be considerably shorter going inland, 500 miles rather than 800, but I would sacrifice the balmy coastal temperatures and an assortment of historic sites, Biblical and otherwise, including Troy and a replica of the Trojan Horse.
Alanya was the first genuine tourist city I passed through late yesterday. Though it is well past peak tourist season and swimming weather, I saw my fırst bunches of tourists, mostly German, on the loose. Earlier in the day I encountered the first travelers I'd seen in over two weeks, a 60-year old French couple on bikes. They'd been at it for over six months, starting in Portugal. It was theır first tour and they were loving it, with no set return date. They hadn't encountered a touring cyclist in over a month themselves, not since the Ukraine, their favorite of the many countries they have passed through.
I've made a leisurely ride of it since leaving Adana, stopping whenever the whim strikes to peruse the five Turkish English newspapers that Zekeriya sent me off with. They have been a gold mine of information explaining and confirming many of my impressions of Turkey. They have covered it all--dogs, cigarettes, scarves, juvenile delinquents, admission to the EU, the Kurdish problem, the economy, the week-long Muslim holiday and many other lingering issues I was unaware of from Cyprus to Israel.
Stray dogs have been more of a nuisance in Turkey than anywhere I've traveled. Many municipalities put out strychnine to lessen their numbers. There are private organizations sympathetic to the dog who try to handle the problem in a more humane way, as death by strychnine is slow and painful. An Englishman has funded a program to neuter dogs--called Neuter and Release. Most dogs appear healthy and well-fed, as the Turks care enough to put out food for them, but they don't care enough to adopt them.
Zekeriya pointed out a park on his campus that was swarming with dogs that the students randomly feed. They are docile during the day, but a terror when Zekeriya bikes past them in the dark.
I came to Turkey somewhat concerned about the Kangals, a mastiff-type of sheep dog that grow to over 150 pounds. They are bred to be kindly towards humans, but I've still had a couple of less than pleasant encounters with them. A feral pack of three set upon me in that wilderness stretch along the coast. I was on a steep climb, just barely maintaining my momentum, leaving me utterly at their mercy. They were huge. When they came charging after me, I wasn't fearful of a nip in the calf, but rather a gouge out of my thigh.
The leader sank his fangs into one of the bags on the back of my bike and didn't let go, bringing me to a halt. I hopped off the bike opposite him screaming with primal ferocity at the top of my lungs and looking for rocks to throw. It was as terrifying as being attacked in my tent by gun-wielding bandits. He backed off, but with no lessening of his ferocious barking. A passing car helped to save the day, scattering he and his gang. I dreaded looking at the damage to my gear, fearing what he had punctured--my tent or down sleeping bag or Ortlieb. Miraculously, he had simply latched on to a dangling loop on my day back, nearly pulling it out from under the bungee cords holding it down.
Another time when I ventured off on a side dirt road at dusk towards a forest, a half dozen territorial dogs set upon me, giving me another fright near the top of the scale. They barely gave me the space to turn around as they swarmed about me.
During my question and answer session with Zekeriya's students, someone asked if it was true the Chinese eat dog. I said that I hadn't been aware of dog-eating in China, but that it was quite evident in Vietnam. It made the dogs very well-behaved. Dog wasn't a common menu item, but I frequently saw caged dogs being transported to market on the back of motorcycles or in trucks. I also saw hanging butchered dogs in the market. There were no grimaces or groans from Zekeriya's students as he translated my answer, just a burst of laughter at the end of his translation. He turned to me and explained that he'd added that he wouldn't mind sending Vietnam some of Turkey's many extra dogs.
All the construction and road-building and quality of the roads in Turkey bears a semblance to China. It is a clear indication of a thriving economy. The newspapers all confirmed this. The economy is so robust, expectıng more than an eight per cent growth rate for 2010, that "hot money" from investors dissatisfied with investment opportunities elsewhere has been pouring into the country. Turkey's national debt has actually fallen in the past year.
Just as in China, many companies have aspirations of cracking Fortune Magazine's list of the top 500 companies in the world. One is the fast food chain Simit Sarya, selling Turkish pastries and sandwiches. It was a great moment in the company's history when its number of franchises in Turkey surpassed those of McDonald's and Burger King. It is growıng strongly ın Germany and Holland where there are large Turkish populations. Turkey is also an Internet leader, among the top fıve countries in the world creating spam, along wıth the US, Korea, India and Brazil.
Its strong economy makes it an ever attractive candidate for admittance to the EU. It has also been tryıng to enhance its case by improving its treatment of ethnics and religious minorities and increasing press freedom and rights of women. The Turks have long had an uneasy relationship with Greece and somewhat blame Greek Cyprus, one of the 27 equal partners in the EU, for holding up its approval.
I also learned more about the week-long Muslim holiday Kurban Bayram (Feast of the Sacrifice), that made it difficult for David and I to find food one day. It coincides with the annual huge pilgrimage of a couple million pilgrims to Mecca. It commemorates Allah's test of Abraham's faith by asking him to sacrifice his only son Isaac. At the last second, just before Abraham is about to sacrifice his son, Allah intervenes and says he was just testing him and he needn't kill his son. Abraham was so relieved he sacrificed a nearby sheep. On this holiday Muslims sacrifice a goat or sheep or cow sharing it with a gathering of family and friends and also giving a portion of the meat and to the needy. In the larger cities there aren't always enough qualified butchers to go around to butcher the animals. Amateurs are often hired to do the butchering out on the street.
Since the holiday in effect goes on for nine days through two weekends many people travel back to their home towns, as Zekeriya did, resulting in a surge of traffic deaths. The Turks have a higher accident rate than most countries, though it hasn't seemed so treacherous to me. There are regular campaigns trying to get the Turks to drive better. The latest was accompanied by the slogan--"Don't be a traffic monster." Many trucks and buses have "Allah Korusun" above their windshield--"May Allah Protect Me." Traffic accidents are so common in Istanbul some drivers have their blood-type stenciled on their bumpers.
My reading also informed me that over one million teen-aged boys were convicted of a crime in the past year. It is a growing scourge and not wholly concentrated among the eastern Kurds.
It was just over a year ago that a law went into effect banning smoking in public places. The battle continues with a new law not allowing cigarettes to be sold openly on shelves, but rather hidden behind the counter, forcing buyers to ask for them.
Next June there is a presidential election. Campaigning has already begun. The wearing of scarves is an issue. One of the opposition parties is trying to get the president to commit on whether grade school girls should be able to wear scarves. He says he is sick of the topic and doesn't care to make it an issue. The same opposition candidate was recently campaigning in eastern Turkey's largest city and said how wonderful it was to be able to safely walk its streets, something a politician couldn't have done until recently. He was of course accompanied by legions of security. There are those not only protesting scarf wearing but also the mandatory Sunni Islam religious course given in school.
Author V.S. Naipaul and film director Emir Kusturica were also in the news, as both had to decline invitations to attend high profile art events that were to feature them, as ardent Muslims were angered by anti-Islamic remarks both had made in the past.
There wasn't a newspaper that didn't have at least a couple smiling photos of President Obama. Turkey was the first country he visited after becoming president, indicating how important he considers Turkey. There is still concern that relations between US and Turkey are not the best, as Turkey turns more Islamıc and somewhat stands by Iran. Ten per cent more Turks consider themselves Muslim than did five years ago.
Later, George
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
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
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
Friday, November 26, 2010
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
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
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
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
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
Monday, November 22, 2010
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
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
Saturday, November 20, 2010
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
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
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
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
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
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