Bamboo Odyssey » Turkey | Bamboo Odyssey

Traveling by bicycle

Jules — Fri, 24 Jan 2014 11:20:05 +0000

Have you ever been painfully attracted to someone…..but don’t particularly like them…..blissfully enthralled by their company.? That feeling for me, i can liken to the feeling of hill climbs when on my bicycle. But in between the lust there is the whole journey,….euphoria. A feeling so strong it can be like marriage, like being with someone You can not be without. I am in love…..not with Thailand which is beautiful, desirable, full of passion….. colour, taste, touch and smell….a country and people that can fulfil many persons dreams. Thailand is indeed wonderful.
But I am in love….. in love with riding my bicycle…..Travelling by bicycle. It is a difficult relationship….but in contrast….so easy. A country changes as you pedal with your own steam, while you don’t always have the time to see the “must” see tourist sights. The bleak and unmajestic becomes alive, blowing through your hair (when I am fast enough) blowing through your hair ( if the headwind is horrible enough) , muscles, joints, skin, mind, tingling with effort. And the people you meet….they all appreciate the effort. And You….you appreciate the effort so that everything is new, the unseen, forgotten or just ignored is in full bloom, vibrant and alive. One moment in the middle of undocumented nowhere becomes more impressive, more magical than any “wonder of the world”.
Sometimes I listen to music to help with the climbs….or take me from my monotonous mind…..so that when I pass a bar, cafe, blazing stereo from a car…. Or more likely rickshaw…when I hear a particular tune I am taken back in time. Once apron a time to the dance floor, a euphoric moment with friends, loving, happy memories…but now these memories are intertwined, I am taken back to a mountain pass in Turkey…..a desert plain in Kazakstan….I am taken back to a different, more lonely, individual but equally euphoric moment, a moment i will forever treasure of traveling on my bicycle.
I am still not particularly good at climbing, dreading the climb until I love it. I am not particularly good at riding long distances, just many, many short distances…..but what I am good at….I am good at….loving what I do….Yes, travelling by bicycle.

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.

Today we leave Erzerum

Jules — Thu, 29 Aug 2013 04:59:11 +0000

Today we leave Erzerum after a days rest……well sort of…..a day of phone calls and the Internet after the bank made a mistake. Cancelling my credit card, they left Li’s stollen card active for a week.
We are heading north to Batumi on the Black Sea coast in Georgia. After much procrastination we have decided to skip Iran. The visa process is tricky, expensive and there are rumours we need a guide from border to border if entering by bicycle. Thanks to other tourers blogs it appears some cyclists are being let through but frankly we don’t want the head ache and are reading, hearing rave reviews about other possible routes. Skipping Iran means we don’t need to enter Turkmenistan on a transit visa, dashing across the country, around 500 kms in 3-5 days dependant upon the visa they bless you with.
Batumi is apparently, hopefully, a laid back easy destination to arrange visas for Azerbaijan and beyond…..a ferry across the Caspian Sea looks promising. So we head to Georgia, back to Turkey to meet a friend who will cycle with us back into Georgia as well as bringing us replacement items and thank goodness…..our credit cards.
On our rest day we also discovered you can not courier cards at all into Georgia, the bank will not courier cards into Turkey, and after the banks mistake, at least another week before the most important card arrives at our UK address. Thank you base camp Battersea!
So after riding our highest altitudes to date, 2190 meters and more mountain passes there about, we are going down hill. Then Back into Turkey, up again to higher passes on our way to Kars……Then the rest of Georgia, we will again be contemplating our winter clothes.

A long way to go

Jules — Wed, 28 Aug 2013 19:14:31 +0000

Smelly, sweaty, dusty, dust sticking to sweat….clothes full of holes, baggy and now ill-fitting…..hair resembling road kill…..we should know as have seen a lot! …..tired…..cycling practically all day….who has desire….energy for sex? And they still ask! Are these men stupid…..they are certainly desperate.
After some unwanted advances, experiences, we have tried to curb our behaviour, have asked many locals for advice. We are not so smiley, do not offer our hand unless offered first. (A friend commented we are too polite, maybe, but i try to give the benefit of the doubt.) We overt our eyes….avoid eye contact. Place our bodies facing away, from him, them. We cover up more than we did previously when getting off the bike.
I say I am married, no…..no children. Have even said my husband is meeting us further down the track……I do not say, I sincerely hope you are not some poor woman’s husband.
At least the last man was polite enough to “ask” Li for a kiss and left her to depart unhindered when she said no. One man who stopped his car, offering us a lift, turned up hours later, another place on the road, wanting a photo, with a kiss. So insistent, unrelenting, I kissed him on the cheek so he would finally piss off…..photo evidence, no doubt, that he is such a “man”.
As already noted we meet many respectful men, hospitable men, helpful and honest men. Unfortunately too many that need a mighty kick….such behaviour breeds fear, absolutely no respect, shame on their country and their sex the world over. We pedal along , knowing the country is irrelevant…..safety…..joking…safety….black humour…..that we still have sex appeal…..and a long way to go.

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.

Camp cooking on tour

Jules — Sun, 11 Aug 2013 07:10:59 +0000

Turkey….I purchase the amount of eggs I want, usually 4 or 6 which are carefully placed in a plastic bag. (The first time we saw eggs uncartoned in Bulgaria we assumed they we pre hard boiled like those available in much of Europe- Li had an accident!) I love buying one, two, whatever food we chose unpackaged, only the requirements for a day…..nothing to go rotting and forgotten in the bottom of a fridge, or now, in our case, the rack pack above our rear wheel.
Tomatoes are like manna, everywhere tasting like heaven. We buy them , markets, side of the road, eat them, fresh, raw, unlimited ways to cook, eat them practically every day. There is not a lot of choice, but what is available is fresh, bursting with flavour and recently picked from the farms we pass by. Always cucumbers, onions, garlic, green peppers and capsicum, eggplant or zucchini, melons, apricots, peaches and sometimes parsley and dill. With yoghurt or cheese these few supplies married with carbs give us unlimited options for salads, egg dishes, stews, sauces, fryups. We rarely prepare the same thing twice and the flavours are so far glorious influenced by the countries so far traversed. We carry at least 2 types of carbs for options, bread is carried, regional and usually purchased, or gifted, hot. Cous cous, bulgur wheat, whole or cracked, pasta, rice…risotto rice.
These, cooked with fresh or dry fruit, cinnamon and honey, yoghurt or even milk powder, our breakfast fuels us until midday.
Fresh meat can be difficult in this heat however spicy sausages are in abundance and delicious, tinned fish and beans, turkish baked beans so much more exciting than Heinz, our other sources of regular protein.
Then of course we carry a pepper grinder….yes other cycle tourists laugh at us. Our food bag is quite heavy….pomegranate molasses, oil and vinegar, but to reduce weight we mix them in a single container, for salads, or skimming the oil off the top for other necessities. Chilli, honey, jam or peanut butter, pekmez (tahini and grape molasses). Nutella or its equivalent.
Life would be easier, the hills at least, without such a varied pantry but cooking, eating is not just essential but has become a pleasure, an important part of travel, cycling, enhancing our days. And each purchase an other encounter….and we laugh at the cycle tourists, fast, light, eating stale bread for supper.

Turkish hospitality

Jules — Thu, 08 Aug 2013 10:02:50 +0000

Riding up a mountain in the early hours it is still hot when we approach a tiny village. Hoping to buy the days supplies we are only able to purchase sweet biscuits and soft drink. No problem as I am feeling more positive than the day before and my body , my mind adapted to the first major climb. We will find fresh produce elsewhere, worst case scenario, eat pasta and jam, spice it up with pepper, why not sooner than later?
“Ekmek?”….bread….do we need bread?
“Ahhhh….yes please…..tesekkurler”
“Peynir?”….cheese…..yes
A bag is presented….bread, cheese, olives, tomatoes, red and white onions, garlic, bottles of water……I go to pay……
“No…..no……gift……ice cream?”
I explain the best I can that I can not eat ice cream in the village during Ramazan. We are encouraged to choose an ice cream to take with us and eat just outside the village….the day’s supplies and a treat done…….ok……actually that is many treats done! “Tesekkur ederim”…kind laughter at my pronunciation…..then shouts! Mother, many children, father in the backgtound. We have gone the wrong way…. So we coast back down the mountain after a brief stop eating ice cream under the shade of a tree.
Another day I select tomatoes from a market stall…..No! I think I am not allowed to buy them…..actually he will not allow me to pay. Another day a truck stops, then another…..tomatoes…..apples. A man on a tractor stops as we search a place to camp for the night. Silently he hands us some cucumbers and then is on his way.
Flat, maybe more undulating as it is still hard, still so very very hot. In the baking heat we find the only tree visible on a vast horizon. Soon…man pulls up on the side of the road. A watermelon! We have craved these melons for months but the weight makes it impossible by bike…..with the exception of home delivery! We eat the entire thing, sweet, crisp and cold. Maybe we are delirious, giggling as we caterpult seeds from the spoons used to dig deep into its flesh. Our Stomach ache, 4Kgs of divine watermelon each,so much but so good, we still giggle. Later the man pulls up again…..ekmek, bread…..and again later….cold water in bottles. We sheltered for 6 hours that day, the middle of nowhere, isolated if not for the home delivery man.
And of course there is cay….we have followed farmers by car into petrol stations at the invitation of tea, or pulling up unannounced cay is always proffered. We can not drink it all, accept it all, we would travel nowhere. The Turkish hospitality is generous, un conditional and un relenting.