Secret agents, closed border, military pursuit, saved by a coincidence

One more tour through Artvin and a quick rest with Ferda in Olimpos.  That was the last of my plans for Turkey.  I estimated three days from Kemalpaşa to Meydancık, not realizing just how big the climbs were.  Aren’t I used to these mountains by now?  Day 1 was a tiring 900m steeply up from sea level.  Day 2 — 1700m, and day 3 — 1800m.  Seriously?!  That kind of itinerary is possible, but not for me, not on a heavy touring bike, not so quickly.

It certainly felt like the tropics here by bryandkeith on flickr
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Cycling in Trabzon?

When cycling started to get popular in England and France in the late 19th century, people were stuck in the cities.  Transportation to the countryside was expensive, but the bicycle offered a relatively cheap alternative.  There was an extensive network of back roads beckoning the cyclist to explore.

I see a parallel in Turkey today.  There’s an incredible network of deserted back roads, deserted partly because cars and petrol are rather expensive.  People don’t travel around in private cars like in North America.

DSCN1076 by bryandkeith on flickr

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Cycling the Eastern Black Sea Mountains

Doğu Karadeniz Dağları.  The Eastern Black Sea Mountains.  Spectacular.  Unbelievable.  In order to get my mind around the magnitude and magnificence of these mountains I try to compare them to other places I’ve been.  Maybe Kaua’i.  The climb up Waimea Canyon is lush, green, full of good views if you’re lucky enough to get it without the clouds.  The same description describes the climbs here from the seaside, but at 1200m Waimea Canyon is small.  Also Kaua’i has perhaps 3 or 4 four roads that climb similarly.  Here there are dozens if not hundreds.

Another phenomenal campsite in the Eastern Black Sea Mountains; of course I couldn't see a thing when I put my tent here by bryandkeith on flickr
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A small corner of Kurdish Turkey

I’m not sure where everyone started speaking Kurdish.  If it wasn’t Ardahan, it was certainly Kars.  Kurdistan on our route continued through Kars, Iğdır, Ağrı, and onto Karayazı and Tekman İlçes in Erzurum.  Back now in the city of Erzurum, it’s nice, given my language skills, to hear Turkish spoken on the street.

Being Kurdish for some people is specifically not being Turkish while others are happily Kurdish and Turkish as part of the Turkish Republic.  Still other Kurds will barely even acknowledge that they’re Kurdish instead insisting that everyone is Turkish, and it doesn’t matter.  I’m not sure how directly these attitudes correspond to political support.  I certainly felt more comfortable dissing Erdoğan in the Kurdish parts of the country.  No one seemed very fond of him.

The Kurds are mainly represented by the Barış ve Demokrasi Parti (BDP; Peace and Democracy Party) in parliament.  Some folks in Kurdistan (a term that Turks generally disapprove of) voiced support to me for the PKK, which is officially a terrorist group according to the Turkish government and has no members in parliament.  How analogous the BDP and PKK are to the PLO and Hamas is unclear to me.  In Dağpınar I happened to meet the only member of parliament to represent Kars, a tall, skinny woman, dressed in pants and not wearing a headscarf.

The superb, famous Turkish hospitality continued.  However, there was a twist, a dichotomy, let’s say.  No where else in Turkey have I been greeted with “money, money” by the boys.  Telling them it was shameful (ayıp) almost always got them to stop and often look embarrassed.  A couple times adults even asked me for money or, once, for chocolate!  If others folks heard this, they would often apologize for their neighbour’s behaviour.

On the other hand people would give us food and once even a beautiful bottle of olive oil, cheese, bread, basil, homemade jam — I can’t remember what all was in that bag.  That in the same village where young men had persistently followed us pestering us for money.  In one tiny village, Işıklar, a small boy offered me one of his treasured cakes that he was carrying around.  How touching!

In Karabağ a couple kindly invited us to stay at their house where we enjoyed iftar (breaking the daily Ramadan fast) together at the end of the day.  In the morning, however, the man wanted us to fill his motorcycle with petrol — not an inexpensive treat with petrol running around US$9.33/gallon.  Such odd behaviour.

DSCN0915 by bryandkeith on flickr
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The highway to Anı

After our epic crossing of the Kaçkar, Sage and I took some mellower roads to leave the Black Sea.  Like highways.  Certainly the most highway riding I’ve done in Turkey has been the last couple of weeks.  I am reminded that highways have advantages:

•  You meet other cyclists on highways.  Climbing out of Artvin we met Tomas and Patrick, French and British, who are returning to Europe after riding through Central Asia.  Near the crossroads at Dağpınar we met a young Swiss couple from Basel, Timon and Nicole, on their way to Central Asia.  And climbing out of Iğdır, we met Vahid, an Iranian from Tabriz, spending a couple months meeting his neighbours in Turkey, Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan.  Ironically Sage and I also met cyclists on the train to Erzurum.  That was Céline and Philippe, a young French couple on their way to India.

A Frenchman and a Brit one their way to Europe after a tour of Central Asia by bryandkeith on flickr
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