The boring bits

I continued eastward from the Frigya valley. Unbeknownst to me I would slowly enter the most boring section of the trip to date. It would be me, on seemingly endless hills of harvested wheat, ever cycling at moderate gradients. It was brown and beige everywhere, and before I know it there were practically no more trees. The largest objects sticking upwards into the air were the poles carrying the wires for electricity for the occasional village.

Because there was just so much space, so incredibly much space, there was no particular order to the villages. The houses were built as if god threw a handful of houses at the hills, and if they stuck they would stay there. The occasional inhabitant walking outside would be very enthusiastic about meeting me, offering me some relief from the monotony of the day, but the language barrier prevented me from having a proper conversation.

The occasional sensible village inhabitants would've kept (or planted) some trees around their village, thereby making it a proverbial oasis for the eyes. There were some instances of that, which deepened my confusion about why not everyone was doing that. At some point I realised there was really just nothing there, so resorted to the decision that the only thing to do was to cycle long distances. In case you're reading this blog, and feel like I've been falling from one hospitable invitation into another spectacle of nature, allow me to correct the impressions that my writing might've created. Another cyclist on the internet put it more succinctly then I will be able to: If you're wondering what bicycle touring is like, the answer is that it is a hell of a lot of cycling. This isn't a bad thing. One simply cannot be, and perhaps should not be, impressed by their surroundings all of the time.

I put some interviews on my headphones to keep my mind occupied, and planned to make three days of 120 kilometers each, in order to reach Akseray on the 100th birthday of Turkey. My thinking was that I would be able to converse with some people there during the festivities.

An unexpected encounter

On the first day crossing the hills I ended up shortly chatting to a couple of construction workers who were very happy to share their lunch with me. I had a great big lunch of rice, bean soup, bread and beef, all eaten sitting on a carpet together around a big round table. I was very thankful, and as they went back to work I continued towards Akseray. After three days I was crossing lake Tuz, a big saltlike like I've never seen before. The landscape was slowly becoming more interesting after having crossed 250 kilometers. Likewise life around me started to consist of more than just tractors passing by. I once more started to see shepherds with mixed flocks of sheep and goats, often with the shepherds themselves sitting on the backs of donkeys with colorful woven bags hanging to each side of the pack animal.

On the other side of the lake I made my way into the hills to avoid the highway, and to my excitement (and I mean, real excitement, I mentioned in my previous post I was craving human interaction) I saw a touring cyclist going up one of the backcountry roads I was heading to as well! I quickly went into a higher gear (figuratively, and literally) and chased after this fellow traveler. I told myself that the moment I would catch up I should calm down a bit, as I imagined my excitement might be rather intimidating to someone else. After ten minutes of chasing I found the cyclist stopped in the middle of the road to pick something up, turning around, looking at me, then yelling: "no fucking way". It was the woman I met in Thessaloniki a month ago. We sat down in a nearby village to talk, were handed a huge bag of apples by three local children, and were munching on our "applestash" as we realised we should find a place to camp before night fell.

Finding that spot didn't take very long. We had a nice long talk, and as I went to bed I realised there was no more need to race to Akseray, as I found just the company I needed. The road provides.

Ilhara valley

The next morning we figured out we were both heading to Kapadokya, but I had the additional goal of going to the Ilhara valley as well. My new companion was willing to adjust her schedule and come along to that valley with me, the prospect of cycling together with someone for a while brought me a lot of joy. As warm and welcome as the Turkish people are, there is no real substitute for having a conversation in a language you're somewhat fluent in. We set off and had a good and easy first day, catching up on both of our trips since Thessaloniki, and ended up camping close to a bunch of farms (she had a different approach to wildcamping that I quickly learned to appreciate) that led to us being invited for some latenight tea, sunflower seeds and ayran by one of the farmers.

We awoke at our campingspot, close to Gokcen with our sights on mount Hasan, but with just rolling hills ahead of us. After the first couple of kilometers we figured out that the most impressive part of the Ilhara valley can be found in a valley with steep rocky cliffs bounding it, hidden from the distant observer by the simple terrain. There were impressive complexes of houses and churches embedded in some of the rockformations jutting out above the landscape, and found more churches and dwellings once we reached the valley close to Ilhara village. These places were once the home of christians who were evading prosecution by the roman empire, and I learned from my companion that these ancient inhabitants were also living in the Frigya valley I encountered earlier, and are the inhabitants of the Kapadokya valley we would be traveling to soon.

The Ilhara valley was breathtaking. We both put the experience into words that are usually reserved for fairytales. The steep cliffs were of a reddish color, bringing to mind images of the great famous canyons of the world. A small and calm stream, once mighty enough to carve out this valley from these lands created by the volcanic mount Hasan, gives life to grasses and trees that grow at the flat bottom of the valley. An explosion of colours due to the autumn discolouring the leaves. All the sights were so densely packed that the first hour our eyes were wandering left and right, up and down, to try and take everything in. But each sight was beautiful in and of itself, and much to my delight this concentrated beauty was hard to capture in photographs.

We made a small walk to look at all the churches hewn out of the rocks. Their individual creations spanning many centuries, hence their painted decorations ranging from basic and something one might consider childlike, to very detailed and precise. We came up with a childlike idea of our own and decided to camp in one of those churches that night, an idea that we enjoyed, and whose execution basically amounts to sleeping on a dusty floor.

The next morning we packed up, and headed out towards the Kapadokya valley. As we climbed out of the valley, through the village of Ilhara, we were asked by a family if we had enough water, bread and apples. Each question answered by pointing to one of our bags, and concluded by them asking us if we wanted any tea. We accepted, and were treated to tea, grapes and borek, but more importantly to a quickly improvised table surrounded by smiling people. After our bellies and hearts were filled we set off towards the famous Kapadokya.

Kapadokya valley

That first day of traveling brought us towards Nevsehir, the city on the edge of the valley. We had many nice conversations and enjoyed the ride, but ended the day relatively late and slightly underfed compared to our effort. That clouded our enjoyment, and it took a good meal before our hunger-induced irritations allowed us to see the day in its proper light.

After breaking camp we excitedly moved towards Uchisar, where you pass over a hill that rewards you with the splendor of Kapadokya spread out before you.

Like Ilhara, Kapadokya is a place that should be experienced to understand it, pictures of it create expectations that partly capture the impressions, but don't do it justice. Likewise I suppose my words won't do so either. The strange rock formations, and housing and church complexes are magnificent to behold up close. And take on a different but just as beautiful composition when viewed afar from one of the many ridges one may reach with the bicycle.

We quickly arrived at a camping where we opted to not do much sightseeing at all. We decided to rest for a large part of the day, shower, eat properly, and do our laundry. We met a Dutch traveler moving around in his van, and had a cozy last night and morning together. After that came the inevitable moment where we said goodbye to eachother. She would be heading south, planning to hike one of the many Turkish mountains, and I was headed eastwards to Kars and the countries beyond. But first I allowed myself to have two slow days in Kapadokya.

The first day was spent cycling in a circle towards the north of Goreme. The sky was cloudy, enhancing the sadness that overcomes all long-term travelers as they leave behind a new friend and end up traveling by themselves again. I had planned these two slow days in order to catch up with friends and family, and doing chores that needed doing. As much time as I have, having no real obligations, a lot of it is spent cycling. Time for other activities simply has to be allocated.

The second day was spent covering 15 kilometers, and camping early to call more people. Kapadokya occupies just a small area, but the landscape changes so rapidly that heading south of Goreme provided entirely new sights. I had a good night's sleep, but awoke to a body that wasn't feeling completely alright. As a small consolation the early morning's sky was filled with balloons floating towards the north. I had almost left Kapadokya without seeing one of the spectacles it was famous for, but the calm winds and my accidental early awakening permitted me to see them before I left.

Heading eastward

After those three days in Kapadokya I headed eastward on my own again. My stomach was slightly upset, perhaps due to a small illness, perhaps due to the change in diet, so it made the first couple of days harder than expected. After climbing a mountain out of Kapadokya I could put my sights on the first snow-capped mountain of the trip. I traveled through Kayseri, once more among the more familiar Anatolian landscape, until I reached lake Tuzlu. It took two days and my upset stomach made the traveling harder than usual.

The morning next to that lake was spent with an internal struggle. I felt like I should be getting on the bike, but lack of motivation prevented me from doing so. It took a while before I properly searched my feelings and concluded that I should give in to my weariness. I spent the morning and early afternoon in my camping chair, and traveled just 30 kilometers near the end of the day in order to generate some power with my dynamo for my depleted battery reserves.

I found a nice place to camp, and once more found that the road provides. As I set up camp, the night setting in, a four-bagged bicycle and rider rode up to my little campsite. "Mind if I join you?". Not at all. Traveling together makes the entire experience more enjoyable. You notice and talk about things that the other person hasn't noticed, you have someone to share your thoughts with, and ample time to get to know an entirely new person with its own motivations and stories to talk about. There is a complex component about it (for certain personalities, like mine) in that you are together for a long amount of time without a lot of personal space. But I've grown much better at claiming that space, and providing such space for another person.

Changing seasons

After a good night sleep, my stomach finally calmed down, I felt pretty good once more. Moreover my late-night visitor was going in roughly the direction as I was. So we decided to cycle a couple of days together towards Sivas.

The seasons are noticably changing. More and more leaves have left their branches. The days can still be spent in cycling shorts and a shirt, but the cold sets in as the sun sets, and in the mornings I find the condensation frozen into glittery crystals on my tent. It no longer suffices to retire to my sleeping bag in just underwear, I've been wearing my tights and mom-knitted socks as pyjamas the past few days, and yesterday decided a thin sweater will be required as well.

I'll see how the weather will force me to adjust some the patterns that I used to live by until now. Spending the mornings in my camping chair will likely give way to having breakfast inside the tent, and I suppose some thin gloves for in the morning will start to become a regular occurrence soon.

And its not just the weather that is changing. I'm not exactly travel-weary. On the contrary: I'm looking forward to all the countries I still want to experience! But I've noticed that I'm missing my friends, family, and my girlfriend. The plan was for me to travel slowly and meet up with my girlfriend somewhere for christmas, but I feel that I don't want to say goodbye yet another time on this trip. We've decided, weighing the alternatives, that I'm going to shorten the trip a bit and head home sooner than expected.

Being unrooted from my home country, and all of the people I know there, exists on one end of the scales of enjoyment. On the other end is this adventure I embarked upon, that I'm still enjoying and am excited to continue. But the balance is slowly but surely tipping towards being back amongst friends. It is a nice realisation, and am happy to learn this lesson on the road.