Last year, when I planned to cycle in Argentina, I took a rather nonchalant approach. I bought a plane ticket, packed my bike and prepared my gear for a month or so of cycling, looked at a few maps, and then decided I'd figure out the rest when I got there. That turned out to be an excellent plan, and so, a bit by intention and a bit because I simply didn't have time, I made almost no plans for this trip. Jess and I agreed to meet in Istanbul, bring our bikes and gear for six weeks of cycling, and sort out the details as we needed to.
Between tiny glasses of Turkish tea and tiny porcelain cups of Turkish coffee, we decided to start by taking a ferry out of Istanbul, across the Sea of Marmara to Bandirma. From there we would cycle south through the Aegean Sea region, choosing our route along the way.
We knew that we wanted to stay off main roads as much as possible. On our map, the side roads are marked in pink, and we soon came to call them the 'pink roads'. We reached our first pink road just a few blazing hot kilometers outside of Bandirma, and since it was quite a small road and gravel, we decided to stop at a nearby petrol station, fill our water bottles, and confirm that it was the right road.
The friendly - and rather bored - service station attendants offered us tea to enjoy with our cold water.
As I was preparing to fill my camelbak, I discovered that the tube, which I thought I had thoroughly bleached and cleaned before leaving Nairobi, looked like it had some horrid gray-yellow substance growing in it. Appalled, I tried to clean it, using a spare bicycle spoke to fish out all the nastiness. The service station attendants immediately observed my action and offered their services. Thus ensued a hilarious drama of them attempting to clean my tube with a ziptie and a wire, jamming the tube with what turned out to be a rubber lining that too much bleach had dissolved and caused to separate from the main tube, having to cut the tube, eventually removing all the rubber lining, patching the tube with the hollow body of a plastic pen, and returning the camelbak to me, clean and in perfect working order, sans rubber lining and plus a pen-patch.
Wheat fields dominated on our first afternoon.
Late in the afternoon we found ourselves pedaling on tiny roads through tiny villages without any idea of where we would spend the night. In the first village where we stopped to attempt to ask for a place to camp, we were offered a weedy, gravelly patch in the yard of a crumbled school building, directly in the middle of town. We passed it up and went on to the next village, where, after sign language and some waiting, we were brought an interpreter and the village manager, and we were given a space to sleep on the floor of the village manager's office.
The next morning we were invited into the mens' teahouse for a glass of tea before setting out.
The tea man...
The village manager and some 'friends'...
A sight that became the most familiar in all the villages we passed through - a quiet shaded spot filled with tables, chairs, and men drinking tea or playing games.
One of our absolute favorite aspects of Turkey - the water taps that can be found in almost every village, by the side of the road, in the mountains, by cemeteries, in the middle of town...Elhamdulillah indeed!
The second night we found a campsite by a river...
Up into the hills and through pine forests...
Small villages are scattered all through the hills and mountains, some perched on hillsides and cliffs far above the road...
We stopped for a few days of rest in Ayvalik, a picturesque town on the Sea with cobblestone streets and stone houses.
Stuffed zucchini flowers at a local cafeteria for $1.50/plate.
A bike ride took us across the causeway to Cunda Island, with a swim and views out to a ruined monastery.
Leaving Ayvalik, we headed toward Bergama and the ruins of Pergamom. Tractors were more common than cars on the roads.
A uniquely shaped cow...
...and a morning coffee break.
The weather got hot and hotter, and our water stops included not only drinks but dousings.
This delightful mountaintop cafe provided an afternoon of respite. As we pulled out our lunch supplies, the woman brought us forks, then plates, then bread, then tea...
Down a steep steep descent, flying along for 15 kilometers, we neared the town and caught glimpses of the ruins...
The Red Basilica as seen from our guesthouse terrace...it dates back to somewhere between the 2nd and 5th century A.D.
This Helvalari produced the most delicious helva; the hunks of paper-wrapped chocolate and pistachio varieties that we took away with us provided excellent energy for a number of days to come.
Local products...cheese, olives, tomato paste, pickled vegetables...
An attempt at a stealth shot of one of the ubiquitous men's tea gardens...
Wandering through the streets of Bergama...
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