Cycling through central Turkey

Posted on 29 November 2011

 

As ever, our journey continues to teach us such valuable and needed lessons. We continue to live in a constant state of amazement, fatigue, and discovery. On a very pedestalled-par with Albania, the people of central Turkey; of all ages, religion, and somewhat liberal stance toward the value of dentistry, have been the most inquisitive, approaching, and energetic hosts and new found friends. We barely have to do any more than simply be and we are constantly reached out to and made to feel an instant welcome. Day 99- Another first; our first road-side-whilst-moving-exchange-of-goods. And by exchange – our currency was as ever a simple thank you. The chorus of hoots and cries of encouragement have by now firmly etched themselves into the conventional and expected soundtrack of the way; yet, when this familiar greeting comes with it a screaming Turk, hanging precariously out of a fast moving car, armed with a juice-box and a sizeable hunk of steaming bread – now this is encouragement at its very culmination.

Unfortunately the weather has very much and very conspicuously turned. Our seemingly persistent summer has broken to spats of biting winds and cold snaps, and our nocturnal habits have had to adapt as such. Seeing as our tent, dearest Barnabus, is all too obviously supporting the scars of a hard life on the road; two broken poles bearing testament to this, nights have as such brought with them an added complication. Nights spent under the stars now result in mornings spent within ice clad sleeping-bags. As such we have all too frequently drifted into the somewhat fragrant realm of the great unkempt and unwashed.

Yet day after day the horizon has delivered yet more brilliant adventure and a road that constantly ribbons and twists through endless fields of Midas touch. The cycling has been persistently captivating; taxing climbs leading to rewarding descents, flanked on both sides by open plains disappearing towards towering walls of sharp mountains. In such a raw cinema of beauty it is easy to be distracted. We have passed through great valleys, toiled fields and mountain edges; all playing havoc with our focus and stealing our attention from the unpredictable road surface.

The sheer volume of curiosity and of dialogue – not necessarily understood – has increased beyond all expectation. On passing by sleepy town schools we would frequently become the curse of many a teacher as their flocks would suddenly vanish and begin scampering down the road in tail. When they would eventually catch up to our arrested progress our bikes would become engulfed by a plague of curiosity and eyes awash with bewilderment. ‘Hello! How are you? What is your name?’ came cry after cry. The circle would form, initially with some small radius of hesitation; maybe a meter or so, however in true mob spirit, once one intrepid gawper had either built up that meter’s courage or rather received a firm push from the weight of the crowd behind and had breached this inner barrier, any sense of personal space would be wonderfully invaded. The bikes would become the central attention of keen enquiry and mischievous hands. Straps and bags would be opened for no more than to reveal what potential treasures these two strangers could possibly want to carry so far. ‘How much? How heavy? Where you go?’ Our answers seemed so absurd that they even began to make little sense in our own minds. Now would come the teacher, rattling along on an age-old mountain bike that had very much seen its former glory. The children would be unsuccessfully rounded and herded; only with us disappearing into the distance could the teacher attempt to restore some locum of receptive order. What excitement we brought to the kids; new wanderers with machines of ample interest and wanderlust. For the teachers; the starters of frenzied energies and the reason behind a scattered playground. We can only imagine the inevitable joys of ushering a swarm of overly excited kids back into a overly crowded classroom – we are truly sorry.

Our days have become one long conversation with the Road and its characters. People stop us; cross highways; shake our hands; invite us in, simply to inquire as to where we are going and where we have come from. Forever enthused to come and join yet another set of local heroes and villains for some ever-ready Çay (the infamous Turkish tea – served steaming hot, with no milk but with an excess of sugar). So what is it that spurs generosity? That compels a perfect stranger to become the perfect host. To give and keep on giving despite the safety or assurances of familiarity; to take in two increasingly weathered strangers who cannot converse with you on a level footing; who have nothing to give beyond gratitude, thanks, and a fractious rendition of a journey that seems too absurd to be true. How can such openness and immediate trust be explained; and why now more than ever before? Is it because we are consciously looking for it now? Because we are putting ourselves in positions that might warrant such acts of extraordinary warmth. Perhaps; in fact, most definitely. However, what is brutally apparent is that there certainly is no correlation between acts of genuine generosity and the strength of one’s material standing.

And what part do we play in all this? We have most definitely changed. And for the more confident; if not more adventurous. We are now routinely putting ourselves out to such moments of interaction in ways previously unexplored; but, there must be something more. Maybe we have become more alien as we have ventured further afield; more of an unexpected and thus bizarrely appealing sight. But this does not warrant or even explain why someone who we had only met in the most fleeting of circumstances, and without a common tongue between us, would take us in to his family house – feed us, water us, make us feel so welcomed – and then give up his own bed with no acceptance of protest. This is far from a solitary experience; time and time again the arms of strangers have been both figuratively and physically out-stretched. So what is this fuel that drives people to open what they have and share in such unprecedented and selfless ways? Is it rooted in some cultural meme; in a social habit; or governed by a religious dogma. Maybe all; maybe none of these things – whatever it is, we will continue to try and understand it . And in doing so we will certainly remain both deeply humbled and in total owe of the kindness of the stranger of the Road.

As ever the common thread throughout this all – surely, the Bicycle. The perfect facilitator of keen interest and approach – free from pretension, barriers, or hurried passing. It invites curiosity and promotes a vivid sense of freedom that is both earned and paid for. Nothing comes for free on a bike; you work for every rotation and you feel it too; but the return that it gives you is so palpably evident along every moment cycled.








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