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Australian greetings

Jules — Mon, 11 Aug 2014 02:18:04 +0000

Twenty one countries by bicycle, twenty one nationalities where all people seem happy to greet us. On a loaded touring bike the vast majority of people lose their road rage and antagonism towards the bicycle. We receive waves, gentle toots of horns, ( though they don’t sound so gentle, the toot toot of a truck horn in a kilometre long tunnel!) smiles, shouts of hello, hallo, bravo, squeals of delight, children running, high fives, the occasional hand clap…..and waving. Each country in turn had its own style of hand waving, perhaps differing slightly from country to country but each wave each hand greeting remains homogeneous amongst the residents. Yes, the hand waves remained the same unless a thumbs up was thrown into the equation.
Not so in Australia.
We have received, thumbs up, and then, like a lazy drawl….the pointing finger raised slowly off the steering wheel… also twinkle fingers where five fingers wave reminiscent of a wiggling spider. Thumbs up again, with pointed finger, sometimes thumb following pointed finger in a sideways arch like pointing a gun harmlessly to the side.
Many of the truckies like to use their entire arm, outstretched clenched fist, there is the outstretched arm, splayed fingers, and then there is the military salute.
There is the frantic wave, arms and hands flying widely in case we do not see them, waves common from backpackers, in combi vans close to bursting or from kids gazing at us as cars overtake. The queens wave, stiff arm, fingers, hand moving, rotating side to side.
There is the “rock on” thumb and little finger….the shoulder and hand lift like WTF?,… and you are definitely loopy with finger doing circles close to the temple….and the singular head nod.
Australians greetings are as diverse and sweet as the fruit handed out of car windows to travelling cyclists. Happiness, sharing, recognition, strangers, a wave hello or goodbye keeps our morale strong.

Augusta and Grey Nomads

Jules — Thu, 29 May 2014 14:04:22 +0000

We sped towards the most south western point of Australia. National Park Rangers had warned us of approaching adverse weather and rather than bulk and tie down in another perfect wilderness campground we wanted to watch the approaching storm from where the 2 oceans meet.
The wind howled….primarily from behind. Sun came and went behind grey forlorn clouds that moved swiftly above us. Eucalypts debris littered the roads and was caught in swirling eddies that lapped at our tyres, chased our tyres and then died into silence….before another onslaught from yet another direction.
As usual I was behind but I was bubbling with energy and excitement as the weather fuelled me and my imagination…..so yes….I sped on.
Cycle touring for as long as we have, it is far easier to brace whatever Mother Nature throws at us, rejoice in it…..or rather we could complain about the weather and go home.
We didn’t complain…but we did appreciate the undercover bbq’s and steaming hot showers upon arrival at Augusta…..then we waited. I rode 3km mostly uphill for a goon bag……snuggled inside a cosy tent, red wine and listening, feeling, while remaining dry…a raging downpour. Perfect thoughts….but as I left the bottle shop the heavens opened….someone up there with a multitude of buckets….thrown sideways with the gusts of wind that left me struggling to take a straight return route to our sweet home for the night. But no worries….until the last speed hump….goon bag launches up and over my basket, upon the ground like a burst dam trailing rivers of red…and the torrent running into the guzzling gutter that has no right to my hard earned imaginings of the indulgent night ahead.
One of the pleasures of traveling in Australia is meetings with The Gray Nomads….if you are not sure of these travellers the bumper sticker “adventure before dementia” sums them up nicely . When not towing a caravan these nomads will happily take their robust 4wd back up the 3km hill ignoring the onslaught of argameddon to collect another bag of red wine….if asked nicely…or assuming a look of soggy desperation.
So the storm came and went overnight….and it came and went again during the daylight. We strolled the rugged coast, then inland for 18km after a peaceful
nights sleep…. Perhaps I am use to the tent in all weather….perhaps it was the wine….and the coast, the forests, the giants, beloved karri….I would cycle 15000 km again for the love of it.

Goon bags and glamping

Jules — Tue, 20 May 2014 01:35:44 +0000

Another day setting off from Walpole towards a cyclist only hut 55km further east along the Munda Biddi
trail. We had slept the night by the inlet in the shelter of a gas BBQ picnic spot, happily dry packing up as the rain set in. The Munda Biddi is a mountain bike track crisscrossing through beautiful karri forests of giants, and scrubby sandy plains and mysterious grass trees …..on a fully loaded touring bike this is slow hard work. The rain became heavier in sync with the heaviness in our legs. When not slipping the track sucks at our tyres depleting us of energy. Downhill the rear tyres fish tailed and slid….on steep inclines the tyres slipped in pea gravel and sand. Maybe pea gravel is a mountain bikers delight…..it makes me quiver. There was a lot of determination, pushing….and yet incredible reward for every movement forward. South Western Australia is a cycle tourists’ dream….beautiful beyond imaginings.
After 10 km we decided to change course and head for the highway. We have to make Albany in time for Nick who has joined us for a stint, to catch a bus back to Perth and his return flight to the UK. So we will take the highway and head for a much recommended camp site on the rugged coast. We are drenched but increase our speed dramatically. It’s warm enough and our spirits are high as we leave a trail of spray lost into oblivion by overtaking vehicles.
Nick suggests we ask a campground if we can use their kitchen for shelter. Li and I are not that keen as it’s early and we want to make a few more kilometres towards our next home for the night. We reluctantly agree to our friend’s request….and quickly become soft. A wee bit of luxury quickly consumes. We meet Gareth the caretaker and share our meals. He whips out some wine and we are easily persuaded to join him. But we decline his wine in preference to depleting our own supply and to shed some weight….maybe 6 litres of wine is what slowed us down on the Munda Biddi? Yes we still carry the equivalent in water. Our route avoids towns for many days at a time and we like the luxury of a tipple at the end of a day. Aussie prices have proved expensive so we have found a taste for cheap sweet red in a “goon bag”….my sister says I have morphed into a bogan…..4 plus litres of cheap wine in a box and plastic bladder….we are fond of our goon bags. Less glass, more liquid. Anyway I am blissfully happy to go slow and merry amidst mother nature’s finest.
So we drink wine, share bread and are offered Gareth’s luxurious carpeted tent…..what the heck….let’s stay…..the rain will hide our pristine coast until another day and time is less precious having gained 2 days via the highway.
Merino sheep stare, we stare…. Sip wine, use a washing machine, shower and put on blissful clean clothes warmed in the dryer.
No need to pitch the tent we enjoy glamping with electric lights under thick watertight canvas and with carpet under our warmed feet.

A couple of hitches

Jules — Wed, 02 Oct 2013 04:32:07 +0000

Christmas came early in the form of Nick, bearing replacement credit cards, new hole less, clean and well fitting clothes and bicycle bits and bobs for our onward journey. Nick joined us in a ride from Kars in Eastern Turkey to Tbilisi, the capital of Georgia.
Li and I had arrived in Kars with 3 days to while away before Nicks arrival from London. We were in a quandary. Ani on the Turkish, Armenian border was a must visit……did we sight see in these few days or wait for Nick, but risk not enough time to back track back and pedal back into Georgia for Nicks return flight home.
We were told Ani was absolutely not to be missed. Nick should also see Ani as we were so close….ok…..we wait for Nick……also persuaded by the throbbing ache in my legs and Li’s dodgy elbow. I sat, legs throbbed, Li moved, elbow stabbed, results of the worst roads, constant vibrations and toughest climbs we had just and so far experienced.
The plan was to start early, see Ani, the ruined Armenian city and make haste towards Georgia. On a high due to having Nicks company the road to Ani was not difficult. We stopped several times to tweak Li’s bike set up following the replacement….new tyres….and to ease pressure on her elbow. We travelled at an easy and relaxed pace. Nick and I shared a tear in the eye as the skeletal, in in parts, fully intact ancient capital came into view. Ghost like and set amongst little inhabited steppe, we wandered the outside museum with only 3 other couples of tourist popping in and out of view. We camped, enjoying the view of the crumbling wall, castle, churches and mosque, and again as the sun rose highlighting our vista before we rode away. Nick had 3 punctures in close succession……then a headwind from hell…..slow progress….my legs had not healed and the 3 days rest I had considered sufficient was a fallacy. We should have cycled well beyond Kars however we made it no further, contacting our couch surfing host who was kind enough to let us stay despite not being home herself. We were becoming anxious about arriving in Tblisi on time and discussed our options….if need be we would have to hitch.
Another day……another strong headwind. Road works and the slow pace being the deciding factor in ditching the option of an unridden route. We would continue the way we had come. Temperatures were dropping quickly and we woke to a temperature of -5 degrees and frozen water in our containers. Like our first week on the road…..what feels a life time ago….condensation on the tent had turned to ice.
Quickly the sun provided warmth and no wind signalled perfect riding conditions…..however Li and I were familiar to what beast, the mountain, that lay ahead and realisation dawned that we would not be able to make it to Tbilisi. It was our preference that we hitched now in Turkey on a road we had already traversed rather than a panic hitching the last leg in Georgia and miss cycling a section of our journey. How did Nick feel not climbing the beast…..thankfully he had nothing to prove…..Li and I were physically knackered and Nick was carrying some of our luggage in an attempt that we would keep up.
30 kilometres in the back of a pick up truck was a breeze…..very breezy in fact, and as the incline increased, we covered a days ride in less than an hour. Next we flagged down a bus. 45 kilometres……and rather than feel disappointed at having to take transport, gazing at what we had climbed…..I was impressed. No wonder our legs were becoming increasingly sore. The bus struggled, we looked down in awe…..where we had ridden about a week previously was now covered in snow. The gradients were taking my breath away……and these mountains may be small in comparison to what will eventually come, but I felt on top of the world.
In the saddle again we crossed the border shortly before the sun set. then Li’s second puncture for the trip. A quick repair. We camped in Georgia, confident we would make Tbilisi and with a brief visit from the border police before a restful sleep.
Our legs still ached…..increasingly. But we had bursts of energy, spurned on by great company, incredible views. 2 1/2 days more days riding, no killer gradients, ruined castles, churches, snow capped mountains, a final push and thanks to a tail wind we actually flew into Tbilisi. Our reward some of the most scrumptious food, wine and equivalent of Turkish baths. Legs will have time to heal and…… unfortunately, time to say good bye……but I have nicked Nicks, very good pair of winter riding boots!

Returning to Turkey

Jules — Sat, 21 Sep 2013 08:13:31 +0000

The easy part is being delayed leaving Batumi. Monday morning Li struggles to walk to the consulate with me to collect our Azerbajan visas, having suffered server stomach aches for two days. We opt to remain in our super hostel D’vine another night……also avoiding a days riding in a sub tropical downpour. Tuesday is my birthday and Li suggests an impromptu treat at the 5 star Raddison hotel. After a 1 km ride to our new home for one night we bask in luxury and watch the sun set from the 19th floor overlooking the Black Sea and moody cloud encased mountains to the East. This goes down nicely with Georgian Sparking Wine gifted to us from our neighbours at the next table. We share the cake gifted from the hotel and listen to horrors of the Georgian roads we are about to embark.
Wednesday after a slow start making the most of a bathtub, again overlooking the sea, we set off at noon. 40 km not bad for half a days riding and the roads reasonable with the exception of the hazards of cows that are more interested in diverting traffic than eating grass. They stand in the centre of the road staring into oblivion an almost constant of the landscape, city, towns, villages and in between.
Thursday is slightly more challenging, more cows, higher gradients, but the roads are only slightly pock marked and stopping at 42km is due to the convenience of finding a perfect camp spot rather than fatigue.
Friday is challenging. The crash barriers cease to exist. Li is terrified of heights, feeling sick at the closeness of the precipice with the ravine on our side of the road. We stop at 7km to rest. A man approaches us, picking grapes, that proves also a challenge. Incredibly sour but we do not want to offend and consume our gift…..next comes ‘cognac’. Li says no……I always say yes…..it’s 9.30am……a very long toast which I assume is to Maria his wife in the grave site close by….down the hatch…..quick succession…..another glass…..Li says ‘small’…gestures ‘small’…3 large glasses down the hatch. We thank the man ready to leave…..he motions us to wait, comes back with fruit and the bottle magically full……3 glasses, down the hatch. We all go collecting walnuts, at this point Li is very much enjoying cracking them with her bicycle lock…..sometimes too enthusiastically…..3 more glasses, down the hatch. I think we consumed a litre between us before wobbling on our merry way…..Li is not so frightened of the road any more. At 6km we need to rest and let the alchohol abate. Sitting overlooking a village, some children bring us grapes…..and we are invited to lunch. In the early afternoon, feeling rather full, and with a slight hangover we make it less than a kilometre and spot a wonderful welcoming flea bag hotel…….actually we don’t know what bit us…..maybe fleas? I have a cold shower…..Li does not.
Saturday…..ah…..that’s what they meant by the treacherous roads……cows….of course…..renegade cow gangs….pot holes …..gravel ……sand ….loose ….rocks …..mud. When we were lucky not to be consuming dust and grit from passing vehicles, the vehicles too were struggling and we consumed black exhaust fumes. Don’t believe all you hear about Georgian drivers…..on this road they too must be terrified and drive with extreme caution and courtesy. The drivers were the least of our worries…..all up, up, up we did a full day and completed an entire 20 km with only one fall on my behalf. As I picked myself up I noticed a person appearing nonchalantly oblivious to my predicament……perhaps I should be worried…..the incarnation of death for he carried a scythe? The road was certainly perilous.
Sunday…….it got steeper…..we became tired of getting on and off the bikes…..tyres skidding, jumping, bumping, rotating, but spinning to nowhere. Li’s mud guards caked with mud….each time getting on the bikes it became harder to lift leg over the saddle….eventually legs hitting luggage….saddle….we pushed upwards13km. Altitude 2025 meters on a road designated a highway and major Georgian artery. Down another 13km at a snails pace, brakes squealing, arms aching, tension and concentration….even resting, coasting legs taught in anticipation. Close to 7800km since we departed and I am still crap at controlling a bicycle, track stands and “look mum no hands” beyond me….this road is for mountain bikers. After 26km the road miraculously became bitumen and we felt we were flying a final 11km before calling it a day.
Monday….after camping in a football pitch entertained by well mannered, hilarious children we continued on what I call a real road. Up, down, up , down, up…..but bum in the saddle and we finally put in some distance crossing back into Turkey at the Vale, Posov border without a hitch. 48km felt measly before leaving Batumi but with these few days experience have greatly lowered our expectations. Getting tired we find a perfect camp site just shy of a village…..before spotting tomb stones. Not sure of how offensive this may be we ask a local and are given permission to spend the night…..no problems from the past or present inhabitants of the area and we have a good nights sleep.
Tuesday….Down….bloody well means up! We have to tackle our highest mountain pass yet. The nights are cooler, about 5 degrees which aids a good nights sleep but sleep is not helping the legs one bit. -At least since riding in Georgia I can now keep up with Li on the inclines….or she is more knackered than me? We climb only 27km…..realising if we make the pass it will be dark, and flat, safe camping is appearing limited. We request water from the Jandarma base, and camp at first opportunity 6km before the top.
Wednesday we reach an altitude of 2550 meters, magnificent colours of the waking sun and views of mountains, lilliputian villages and clouds scattered bellow. We enjoy coasting for 6km before rolling mountains, following a picturesque river, resting watching fishermen, gifts of freshly cooked fish and a completion of 54km. We make camp in a pine forest consumed by rain, lightening and thunder claps. It is the first time we are caught out, wet on the bikes in months. I am stinky, sleeping bag sandy, gritty and pine needles stuck to my bum.
Thursday brings another mountain pass off 2200 meters. We ride mostly upon steppe…..beautiful to me….mundane and unchanging to Li. Progress is slow and we are exhausted. I push up where once my legs should be able to pedal. Then we resort to our earphones…..music….endorphins….becoming euphoric. I was beginning to lose pace with Li but now I overtake, mysterious energy and legs in time with the beat….61km we are so close to Kars…..more lightening, taunting head wind….I become spent. Li’s elbow has a shooting pain, possibly due to accumulative vibrations…..we need to stop. Desperate as we enter a village, open fields, no shelter, we see a bee keeper and request camping in his yard…..thankfully pitch our tent….pull down our tent as we are invited inside. The honey is glorious!
Friday……15 km to Kars……and rest till Tuesday when we ride back into Georgia accompanied by Nick who we are exited to have joining us.

Worms while traveling

Jules — Mon, 09 Sep 2013 04:47:47 +0000

I think I pooed ….yep….I crapped…. on a poor unsuspecting earth worm. Not sure who had the bigger fright….me or the worm. I seriously should consider not sharing this information….but i guess it’s important information to share with fellow cycle tourists. We aren’t able to wash our hands enough, our food enough, or we are eating undercooked meat…..some species of worm even enter you through your feet.
I am a hypochondriac, but also worked in Health and Safety….and am risk adverse. Prior to leaving we had every available vaccine. Rabies shots,….thanks Nick and Anne-Marie for the imaginative Christmas present….. hep A&B, tick born and Japanese encephalitis…..tetanus and typhoid….cholera vaccinations…..I forgot about worms!
After the poor earth worm incident and much time in the saddle….much time to think….I remembered my parents annual worming….oh yeah….and fluoride….I decided to google the risks. We have been fortunate to only have a few mild stomach upsets in the past 5 months. But stomach upsets are some of the symptoms, and our current life style increases the likelihood. I would much prefer not to be pooing worms and will take the tablets just in case.

Interpreters and the Jandarma

Jules — Tue, 20 Aug 2013 21:09:32 +0000

There is a machine gun between my knees……a bracket supporting it in front if me from where I sit in the back seat, traveling with the Jandarma to view some videos. I am thinking of the mountain we have climbed, the highest altitude to date and that we will have to climb all over again. I am thinking of how to document the most recent events. It is impossible for the negative stories to outshine the positive. I am somewhat uneasy about the future travels, but put at ease and in perfect company. A really crap day that was full of beautiful scenery, steep but comfortable climbs, bathing in idyllic streams and finally serious looking men with serious weapons that were caring, gentle and resulted in a prelude to more caring and hospitality, the Turkish way.
Yesterday, the usual, waking at 5.30am, mid morning we chose to stop for cay at a petrol station. The usual, curiosity, attempts at communicatio

Gifts

Jules — Fri, 16 Aug 2013 20:10:35 +0000

“Where did you get that!”
“From the man by the side of the road.”
“Did you buy it?”
“No…..it was a gift”
“I wondered why you were taking so long……where did you get that”
“From the man at the fruit stall….the policeman……the woman…..the farmer”.
Li is in a hurry, would not stop for the man at the melon stall…..5 minutes later I pedal along and he rushes out to hand me a honey dew…..lashes it to the back of my bike……it’s somewhat heavy so I can use it as an excuse when Li has stopped….is waiting at the top of the hill for me.
In Sarkisla, I wait with the bikes while Li goes to find an Internet cafe.
“Cay?”
I look at the bikes, back at the man who has spoken to me…..why not….. tea travels mysteriously from the other side of the street, into my hands…..Li comes back see’s me sitting smugly, a chair placed upon the pavement, drinking tea.
Li’s turn to watch the bikes as I go to get fresh fruit and vegetables…….I take a while…..back to Li and the bikes, she is rolling her eyes.
“What?……I was busy……getting hugs…..and the woman choosing my gift, the perfect bunch of grapes. She was only a decade older than me but makes me feel like a gleeful child. Squished and hugged, she is also glowing at my attempts to communicate, with her husband joining in on my welcoming.
Li is always faster on climbs and the past few days I have slowed down more, despite minor gradients. Li is usually waiting at the top of a hill…..sometimes ready to get back in the saddle before I get a chance to put my foot down.
Today was better…..she stopped outside petrol stations…..I arrived…..to tea…..honeycomb, kymak, bread, watermelon……and another stop……more tea…….a rest…..an encounter…..experience…..fuel…..rest…
Now we are in Sivas, I love it, vibrant, alive, full of history, markets that leave Istanbul feeling sterile. We go for a walk….tired….it’s late…..but insistent…..one more gift of tea.

Another day in Turkey

Jules — Tue, 13 Aug 2013 12:24:14 +0000

Another day in Turkey…….”it’s time to get up, the time is five thirty”….another day, again the alarm on the cheap Nokia phone speaks to us in a language I understand despite being hazy from sleep. I get up first, fire up the stove, a small, maybe larger than I would like, burst of flame as the petrol ignites. I jump…..water put to boil. Second drip filter coffee, Li gets out of the tent where she has been rolling the mats, stuffing, compacting, sleeping bags, pulling out grass teasels and the odd bug.
We hear, comment to each other about the sound of bells, questioning the distance, where the sound travels from. Eat a breakfast of burgar wheat, apricots, sultanas, sugar, no milk…..coffee creamer. The pannier bags packed, starting to load the bikes when a dog growls, barks, fortunately holds its distance 15 meters away. We pretend to ignore it and go about our business. More bells, dust clouds and sheep appear. Fat wobbly bums and tails not at all like sheep we are familiar with. Still ….sort of ignoring the dog….and another, then another, circling us as a shepherd comes into view. He shouts a command to the dogs and we greet him. Then goats…..then a donkey….all come to have a look….the shepherd moves on, then the sheep, goats…..the donkey comes close…..nibbling…..please….not the bamboo….a cloud of dust…gone…and eventually the dogs after a final inspection of us, we all move off in alternate directions.
A petrol station, we sit, pay for and drink our juice, fill our water bags and prepare to roll. Tea is gifted, so sit a while longer.
After some long but not so steep climbs with a magnificent snow capped mountain to our right, we leave the arid , rock strewn plains, descending into a green fertile valley. Passing numerous road side stalls of fresh produce we decide to stop to purchase grapes, which have become ever present over past 100 kilometres and tomatoes. The man at the stall offers a watermelon. We are now silly enough to carry one….not in need of another. We massage ourselves, rolling the the heavy skinned flesh over our legs in a pleasurable ritual prior to eating. One is enough, we decline, the man declines our payment for the other fruit we have chosen.
Rolling on we arrive at Kayseri. I need new tyres, our second priority after cold beer…..no longer Ramazan. In a park , drinking, we laze about the grass pondering a restaurant or hotel to acquire wifi, source tyres, visas, route. Li is feeling unusually tired and aching, sore, possibly a bug. A man arrives, speaking English, enquiring….he is wonderfully eccentric, a traveler, local, local business man. Accepting an invitation of food, yes we are hungry, cyclists are always hungry, we go back to his work place, seated amidst caterpillar parts Li chats and researches our needs on his office computer. I opt to go with his son and employe on an adventure. First the supermarket, lemons, parsley, hot green peppers, these are taken to the deli department where a butcher mixes some of the peppers and spices with selected meat.
Then the bakers, the food is handed over, remaining green peppers placed upon a tray with long wooden handle and slid into the wood fired oven. Dough is stretched and the spiced meat spread on top, slid into the oven. Shortly later our fresh steaming pide is being enjoyed by all of us with handfuls of parsley and fresh lemon.
We come across a bike shop, cheap nylon tyres, would suffice if desperate but I want something to last another 7000 kilometres. Another kindly stranger phones a cycle shop, then gives directions. We are lost, really lost and need wifi. Mado, a Turkish chain of dondurma (ice cream) and other treats has wifi if we purchase something. I eat my dondurma, sticky, thick, gloriously cloying with a knife and fork. We are not going to make the bike shop before it closes……it is open…..quality tyres, Li the bike experts, second choice. So I am happy as the Romanian plastic money used as a tyre boot to reduce the bulge in the tyre wall would not surfice indefinitely.
It’s late, Li is still not 100% and we decide to find a hotel rather than pedal on searching for a place to camp. I hate haggling, we only bother with accommodation despite the practice being, for most things, the norm here. I negotiate a reduction of the hotel cost by 10 Turkish Lira. 100 to 90 TL. Breakfast no longer included. Can I call that a successful haggle? It is not my sport and I contemplate the forthcomings of another day in Turkey.
Finally a short stroll to the bazaar, the mosque before bed. A man, a cap maker greets us, invites us to see his work place, mysterious unrestored Kervansaray, crafts people still at work despite the lack of light. We are invited, tomorrow, to breakfast.

Ramazan in Turkey

Jules — Tue, 13 Aug 2013 09:49:24 +0000

With the sighting of the crescent moon on our second day in Turkey, so begun the month of Ramazan (Ramadan) and a month of consideration and slightly different travel arrangements as a cycle tourist. Being a non Muslim, and also as a traveller we have been exempt from fasting as are the ill, elderly, pregnant or breast feeding mothers, Ramazan has still, for both of us, been a month of reflection as well as admiration and wonder.
We would not have surpassed the mountains, the heat, had we refrained from eating, more importantly, refrained from drinking between dawn and sunset. But we saw many hard working farmers, women washing clothes, carpets, in the heat of the day that did just that.
In tourist areas such as Istanbul food, drink, alcohol, was consumed out in the open, on streets, restaurant forefronts. Visiting the blue mosque in Istanbul just before sunset a volunteer invited us to a conference for tourists with a brief explanation about Ramazan followed by a meal. It proved a good environment to become informed, ask questions before moving east.
Things changed drastically once we traveled the rural areas. Some locals did not participate in Ramazan and a small proportion of restaurants and tea houses remained open. We sat upon invitation at petrol stations appearing deserted, crowds of Turkish men drinking tea hidden behind impromptu screens. And at other times, directed upstairs to our tables out of public view.
Places selling beer were generally closed, signs covered up, and when after several days we did find a fridge displaying an enticingly cold brew, the proprietor refused us. The heat made drinking beer less desirable but if found we would purchase a can or two, preparing ahead for when eventually the desire made even a warm beer an absolute pleasure.
During the month we traveled, rested, camped and predominantly self catered. For us attempting to respect the custom of Ramazan, this meant we tried as much as possible to eat and drink out of public view. Rather than opt for the shade and fresh water of villages we would cycle for a while, stopping, finding or erecting shelter from the sun at a somewhat secluded location. In Turkey there appears no secluded location! Rarely did we evade visitors, no matter how remote an area becomes upon a bicycle. Some Turkish people enquired as to why we were not at the nearby village, some brought food, water, some participated with us, some refrained, themselves fasting.
Sultanhani is a small town with the largest Kervansaray upon the Silk Road in Turkey. It is frequented by tourists that come in bus loads, stay a short while and proceed to the next attraction. Upon our bicycles we were a curiosity, invited to camp upon a hotel roof…..stay….for a special occasion. As the last tourist bus left, the sun set, us, two women, the only women, only foreigners, sat on laid out carpets in the company of, among 2000 men, Iftar, to break fast, enjoy performance of Mevlana: Music Of The Whirling Dervishes and share a spiritual meal in the lamp light of the Kervansaray. We were asked, to sit, eat, relax, look, enjoy, with pride, told we would remember, remember Sultanhani, remember Turkey. We shared traditional spiced yoghurt soup, sour cherry juice, meat, bread, rice, semolina halwa, no plates, from communal bowls. We were visibly, verbally welcomed, yet for a short time, as has been usual, we not stared at, as people satisfied their hunger. Again we were invited to a meal at 2.30am before the sun rose, however, used to sleeping through the routine drumming played to note this hour, we both slept through. Some villages employed a cannon, to wake, to mark this hour.
Once only, early on, when we were insensitive enough to devour a chocolate bar outside a store, thinking we hungry enough, but in reality?……a man approached us, shook our hands and in what little we understood, kindly explained it was Ramazan.
The crescent moon has again appeared. The drumming and call to prayer, had echoed off mountains, gorges, sung across plains to us, all the previous days.