Cycle Touring Turkey (3)
A Passage into Turkey18 September – 27 September 2025853 Kilometres – 18 Days
8 September – Batumi, Georgia – Hopa
Camping, Turkey – 30 km
Batumi lingered behind me as I
pedalled south, the Georgian sun already high. My departure was unhurried,
almost reluctant, as if the road needed coaxing. Fifteen kilometres on, the
Gonio Fortress rose like a sentinel of time. Built by the Romans as a military
outpost between the 1st and 3rd centuries, its bones whispered tales of
Apsaros, of emperors and apostles. I wandered its perimeter, absorbing the
layered history: Roman theatres, Byzantine reinforcements, Ottoman trade, and
the hushed possibility that Saint Matthias might rest within its walls.
The Byzantines further fortified the
site during the 6th and 7th centuries. Still, it was captured by the Ottomans
in 1547 and remained under Ottoman control until 1878, when it was ceded to the
Russian Empire.
The stones whispered all of it. I
lingered longer than planned, then crossed the border into Turkey. The
transition was smooth, almost anticlimactic. A few stamps, a few questions, and
I was through. Just beyond the checkpoint, I spotted a campsite nestled beside
the water. I hadn’t tested my gear in a while, and the spot felt right—quiet,
shaded, with a small restaurant nearby.
I pitched my tent, the fabric taut
against the breeze, and sat by the shore watching the light shift across the
waves. The Black Sea was still with me, but the language had changed, the signs
had changed, and the road ahead was new.
There was something satisfying about
stopping so soon after crossing. No rush. No need to push forward. Just a
moment to breathe, to reflect, to recalibrate.
That evening, a campervan rolled in—a
family from Iran, their warmth immediate. We shared stories and beer, and I was
grateful for the company.
9 September – Hopa Kamp Camping – Camping Limankoy caravan camping – 85 km
I was greeted with a warm cup of
coffee and a delightful breakfast, all thanks to my thoughtful neighbours. It
was the kind of kindness that lingers longer than the taste of tea.
Just as I set off on my ride, a gentle
drizzle began to fall—a drizzle that would keep me company on and off
throughout the day. Thankfully, the air was warm, and with my trusty plastic
raincoat, I pedalled on, the Black Sea a constant companion. If it weren’t for
that pesky headwind, the ride would have felt downright blissful, but, alas, a
stubborn headwind is always a party pooper.
In a way, the grey skies pushed me to
keep moving, as there's little motivation to linger in such dreary conditions.
On the bright side, the road was a marvel—wide, smooth, and forgiving, even as
the wind played its tricks. Tunnels offered thrilling escapes, even if a tad
intimidating, and the cliffs above, impossibly steep, bore the weight of tea
plantations. I marvelled at the effort it must take to coax leaves from those
steep cliffs, towering majestically right above the crashing waves.
As I rode on, I had my sights set on
the nearest campsite marked on my map. Just a few kilometres before reaching my
destination, I stumbled upon a town with a supermarket where I could refuel for
the night. Afterwards, I made my way to the campsite, where I found a
delightfully basic, yet perfectly positioned one right on the shores of the
Black Sea. To my relief, the reception had enough electricity to revive my
gadgets—thank goodness! So, I settled in for the evening, but my body had other
plans; food poisoning crept in, and the night unravelled into discomfort.
10 September – Limankoy
caravan camping
By morning, I started packing up with
all the enthusiasm of a new day ahead. But then, out of nowhere, my legs
decided to cramp up, reminding me of all the fluid I lost during the night.
After a moment of contemplation, I chose to stay put for the day. Honestly,
even if I had pushed through, I could tell I wouldn’t have had the energy to
truly enjoy the ride. Some days, it's just better to listen to your body.
It was miserable weather, so I stayed
cooped up in the tent. The camp owner’s refusal to accept payment for a Coke
was a small act of grace in a grey day.
I could tell I was on the classic
Europe-to-Asia cycling route, as I have seldom come upon as many cyclists, all
drawn to this Europe-to-Asia artery. At camp I met a Chilean cyclist with a dog
and his a German companion, and later a lone walker—all drawn to this
Europe-to-Asia artery. We shared stories, laughter, and the quiet understanding
of those without fixed destinations.
11-12 September - Limankoy caravan
camping – Trabzon – 97 km
Not
long after setting off, I spotted the Chilean cyclist and his German companion,
camped by the roadside. Their gear lay scattered, and the Chilean was visibly
unwell—food poisoning, perhaps from the same water that had felled me days
earlier. We shared concern, a few words, and then I pedalled on.
Rize
offered a brief reprieve, cash from an ATM. The sunshine broke through the
clouds, revealing a brilliant blue sky that coaxed a smile from me. The road
ahead rolled like a ribbon along the coast—not my favourite kind of road, too
smooth, too fast but it carried me forward.
As
I rolled into the town of Of, I realised my trusty power bank had finally given
up the ghost. A quick replacement, and I was back on the saddle, chasing the
promise of a warm shower and clean clothes in Trabzon. With the sun shining and
my spirits high, I pressed on.
After
100 kilometres, I reached the city. Navigating its bustling streets was a
challenge, but eventually, I found my hotel. The shower was bliss, the laundry
a small triumph, and slipping into fresh clothes felt like a rebirth.
But
as seen from the photos, I lost myself for hours wandering through the
enchanting, narrow cobbled lanes of the old town. Each twist and turn revealed
a delightful surprise, all steeped in history.
13 September - Trabzon - Tirebolu -
115 km
Leaving my room, infested with
bedbugs, was a relief. But the road ahead was unforgiving. As I hit the road,
my legs lacked the strength, maybe from the lingering effects of my ill-fated
attempt to tackle those pesky bedbugs. Ugh! My legs wobbled beneath me as I
battled against the relentless wind. "Toughen up, woman!" I muttered
to myself.
I contemplated calling it a day more
than once, but good campsites seemed to elude me. Sure, there were wild camping
spots tucked away in nature, but the thought of no facilities—no running water,
or toilets wasn't what I needed today.. Twice I ventured into nearby towns,
hoping to find a hotel with a budget-friendly price tag, but luck wasn’t on my
side. Just when I was about to settle for camping in less-than-ideal
conditions, my fortune changed!
Tirebolu appeared like a gift. The Ayana Otel was charming, clean, and
just $25. To my delight,
it looked completely bedbug-free! What a relief! I knew I’d sleep like a baby.
After checking in, I went on the hunt
for food. Back in my room, I indulged in a refreshing shower and as I stepped
out of the shower, I was greeted by the sound of rain pouring down outside. I
couldn’t help but chuckle, happy to be in a room instead of a tent by the
roadside! Tonight was turning out splendidly!
14 September - Ayana Otel - Ordu
Gülyalı Karavan Kamp Alanı - 80km
I hesitated momentarily to leave my
bedbug-free haven, but the promise of a hearty breakfast lured me out of bed.
As I savoured the delightful spread of a traditional Turkish breakfast—olives,
juicy tomatoes, crisp cucumbers, perfectly boiled eggs, freshly baked bread,
and a diverse array of cheese —it was right up my alley.
I set off along the stunning coastal
route, feeling invigorated and alive. Before long, I found myself deep in
Hazelnut country, mesmerised by the sight of farmers drying their bountiful
harvest along the roadside. I had to snap a few pics. Evidently, these folks
were well-prepared for a solid season of work.
While the Black Sea may not boast
dramatic tides, it certainly has its share of charming little wind-driven
waves. This coastline is also dotted with headlands, each adorned with its own
castle, though I decided to save those explorations for another day.
By around 3 PM, I stumbled upon a gem
of a campsite by the marina. This place was a dream come true—lush green lawns,
spotless restrooms, and a restaurant that promised delicious meals. Even though
I only cycled 80 kilometres, I couldn't resist the urge to stay. Who knew when
I’d encounter such a lovely spot again?
Just as I parked my bike, a fellow
camper approached me with a warm smile, offering me a bottle of water, a sweet
chocolate treat, and a fizzy drink. Their kindness instantly filled me with
gratitude.
Although I paid 350 TL for my
campsite, which is almost what I paid for a room in Southeast Asia, having
access to a toilet felt like pure luxury!
I set up camp primarily to charge my
devices, but the only electrical point was located in the caravan section, so I
had to make do with just charging my power bank.
15 September - Ordu Gülyalı Karavan
Kamp Alanı - Sebile Hanım Konağı Otel, Unye –96 km
I slept well, but then came the
unexpected wake-up call at three in the morning, when the caretakers decided it
was the perfect time to water the lawn. I jolted awake, thinking I was in the
middle of some torrential downpour! After a few moments of confusion, I figured
out what was going on, but by then, my tent was already drenched.
When I finally emerged from my
sleeping bag, the sun was shining, and miraculously, everything dried out
quickly. As for my day ahead, it promised to be incredibly beautiful. I chose
the scenic route rather than the main road that veered inland. It was hilly and
challenging, but every climb was rewarded with breathtaking views that made the
effort worthwhile. I found myself struggling up steep inclines before hurtling
down the other side at breath-snatching speeds. Villagers would call out “chai,
chai!” as I sped past them, only slowing down when I faced the next demanding
ascent.
The D010 highway once again turned
inland, but I was determined to stick to the coast. Later, I arrived in the
town of Unye, and with a desperate need for a shower, I caved in and booked a
hotel. My choice was a lovely little place that exuded charm, and I fell in
love with its quaint, old-fashioned setup. What a delightful way to end a day
on the road!
16-17 September - Sebile Hanım Konağı
Otel, Unye - Samsun Karavan Kamp - 94 km
I was somewhat reluctant to leave my
comfortable digs and lingered in bed well past my usual time. The sun streamed
in through the windows, the bed was comfy, and I could have easily stayed there
the rest of the day. Eventually, I dragged myself out of bed, and it was late
in the morning before I set out on a rather dull 90 km ride to Samsun.
As I left the gate of my
accommodation, I noticed a sign against the wall. It turned out my lodging was
indeed old.
The dullness of the ride was due to
the lack of smaller or coastal routes, so I followed the main road. I ducked
into a few towns, but they were busy, and moving through them was a slow
process.
The wind picked up, and I had my head
down most of the way. There's nothing worse than a headwind. On the positive
side, I found a perfect campsite at Samsun. It had piping hot showers, clean
toilets, electric points at each campsite and a laundry! Thoughts of staying an
extra day entered my mind.
And so, I did. I stayed in my tent
until the sun warmed the air. I did my laundry and then sauntered into town,
where I found a Decathlon store. I stocked up on a few essentials, including
leggings, as the nights were becoming cooler.
18 September – Samsun Caraven Park – Engiz Sahil – 40 km
I packed my clean laundry and set off,
but it quickly became clear that nature had other plans. The wind howled, and
rain poured. I crawled along at 10 km/h, soaked and shivering! Still, I forged
ahead, determined to press on. But knew I had to find shelter. Soaking wet, I
stumbled upon a picnic area that welcomed campers. However, it was too exposed
for my liking, and the thought of pitching a tent in that tempest seemed
utterly ridiculous.
As I pressed further down the road, I
caught sight of another camping area tucked among the trees, only to be greeted
with disappointment—closed. I was in a small beach village next to an airfield;
other than the A-frame bungalows catering to families, there were no hotels or
guesthouses in sight. The locals pointed me towards a hotel just 2 km away.
After battling the elements, I finally reached my destination. Sure, it was
pricey, but it was cosy and charming. I was desperate and booked a room to rethink
my plans, as cycling into the storm was clearly out of the question—especially
with the mountain climb still ahead.
September 19 – Engiz Sahil - Samsun –
40 km
The storm was relentless. Rain lashed the
coast, and the wind howled like a warning. I weighed my options and chose
retreat—back to Samsun, where shelter and sanity awaited. I pedalled into the
tempest, grateful for the tailwind that carried me swiftly along the main road.
But even that gift turned on me, nearly blowing me off my bike when I changed
direction.
Samsun welcomed me with a reasonably
priced hotel in the bustling centre.
I booked two nights, determined to
wait out the weather. I reminded myself I had nothing to prove. The weather
app—although it may not be the most reliable source— promised three more days
of rain before we were gifted with a glimpse of sunshine.
20 - 22 September - Sumsun
I stayed in Samsun, the symbolic
starting point of Turkey's transformation, as it is here that Mustafa Kemal
(later known as Atatürk) landed on May 19, 1919, on board the SS Bandırma to
organise national resistance, marking the beginning of the Turkish War of
Independence. At the time, Turkey was under the rule of the mighty Ottoman
Empire. This vast empire, founded in 1299 by Osman I, endured for over six
centuries and, at its peak, controlled a significant portion of Southeastern
Europe, Western Asia, and North Africa. Hence, it was no mean feat, and his
statue stands proudly in the city park.
The weather improved significantly on
the third day, but it was too late to reach Istanbul by bicycle, so I bought a
bus ticket and planned to catch the night bus to this mesmerising city the
following evening. In the meantime, I wandered the streets lined with shops,
and although I don't have a sweet tooth, the baklava was to die for. That
evening, a call from my sister suggested we meet in Cairo instead of Istanbul.
23 September – Samsun – Gerza – 125 km
The next morning, the sun rose in
splendour. I couldn’t resist. I ditched the bus and set off for Gerze—a
125-kilometre ride that reminded me why I travel this way. I never knew what I
would do the next day. Still, I should have cancelled the ticket, as the bus
company phoned me at least five times asking where I was.
The road took a delightful turn
inland, offering a lovely change of scenery as I rode through colourful
farmlands. The lush green fields and golden landscapes stretched before me,
creating a beautiful backdrop. Back on the coast, fishermen waved me over. One
handed me a chocolate croissant. Fuelled by kindness and sugar, I biked the
final few kilometres into Gerze.
24 September – Gerza – Sinope – 30 km
I arrived in Sinop with salt in my
hair and curiosity in my bones. The city, perched on a peninsula that juts into
the Black Sea, feels like a forgotten jewel—its cobbled streets and ancient
walls whispering stories of empires past.
My first stop was the Sinop Castle and
Fortress, its origins stretching back to the 8th century BCE. Built by Miletian
settlers, expanded by Romans, Byzantines, Seljuqs, and Ottomans, the fortress
stood as a palimpsest of power. From its ramparts, I gazed over the harbour,
imagining the sails of merchant ships and the clang of armour.
Within the castle walls, I stepped
into the Sinop Cezaevi—once one of Turkey’s most notorious prisons, now a
museum of shadows. The cells echoed with silence, their stories etched into
stone.
I tried to visit the Balatlar Church,
said to house relics of early Christian saints, but it was under renovation.
Still, the city offered its charms freely: men chatting on corners, vendors
hawking fruit and nuts, the rhythm of daily life unfolding against a backdrop
of antiquity.
Sinop held me for two days. I
wandered, I lingered, I let the city seep into me. But time pressed on, and I
finally boarded the night bus to Istanbul.
26 September – Sinope – Istanbul
It was a very long ride on the night
bus, and I arrived in Istanbul at around 10 in the morning. Istanbul's
population is estimated to be between 15.8 million and 16.2 million, depending
on the definition of its boundaries. This makes Istanbul the largest city in
Turkey and one of the most populous cities in Europe. Cycling 22 km from the
bus station to the city Centre was a nightmare!
Istanbul is not only massive but also ancient,
with a history spanning over 2,600 years. Its origins date back to around 657
BCE, when Greek settlers founded it as Byzantium.
While the name "Istanbul" is
relatively modern, the city has stood at the crossroads of empires, cultures,
and continents for more than two and a half millennia. It's one of the few
cities in the world that has served as the capital of three major empires:
Roman, Byzantine, and Ottoman. Surprisingly, it is not the capital today;
Ankara is the capital city of Turkey.
27 September – Istanbul
The allure of exploration tugged at
me, yet the crisp morning air kept me snuggled under the covers longer than I’d
planned. Eventually, I reluctantly emerged from my cocoon and hopped on my
bicycle, making my way to a nearby shop to have it boxed up for my flight to
Cairo. With that task complete, I meandered across the iconic Galata Bridge, a
vibrant artery that spans the Golden Horn and connects the historic districts
of Karaköy and Eminönü. Below, the lower level of the bridge was alive with
fishermen and busy fish restaurants, while the upper level thrummed with the
energy of pedestrians and trams, all woven into the fabric of this enchanting
city.
I lost track of time in Karaköy, one
of Istanbul’s most dynamic neighbourhoods, pulsating with life and rich
history. Here, the old and new dance together in a captivating harmony that’s
impossible to resist.
28 September - Istanbul
The subsequent day, I set off in the
opposite direction, wandering through Gülhane Park, where ancient trees whisper
stories of the past. I passed the crumbling ruins of the Orphanage of Hagios
Paulos and paused briefly at the awe-inspiring Column of Goth. However, many historic
sites were cordoned off due to ongoing renovations, and the queue snaking
outside the Topkapı Palace and the Basilica Cistern was daunting enough to
deter me. Even the majestic Blue Mosque was hidden behind an imposing wall,
thwarting my attempts to capture its beauty in a photograph.
Undeterred, I continued my stroll past
the enchanting Little Hagia Sophia Mosque and made my way to the Grand Bazaar,
but I found it closed as it was Sunday; from there, winding alleys led me back to
the Golden Horn and the bustling Egyptian Bazaar, where there are teas, bags
and fezzes for every taste. The market buzzed with activity, filled with a
kaleidoscope of colours and enticing aromas, while inviting corners offered a
warm and comfortable atmosphere to enjoy leisurely sessions with hookah pipes. It
was here that temptation snagged me, as I couldn't resist indulging in one of
Turkey’s most beloved confections: the famous Turkish Delight. These delightful
sweets come in an array of shapes and flavours, including Rosewater, Lemon,
Orange, Mint, and Cinnamon, with Pomegranate adding an intriguing twist. My favourites?
The ones studded with pistachios, hazelnuts, and walnuts. I might have gone a
little overboard, but I regret nothing.
29 September -Istanbul
The morning greeted me with a gentle
drizzle, creating the perfect excuse to sink deeper into my cosy blankets. Oh,
how delightful it was to pull the covers over my head and savour the luxury of
staying put! I couldn’t help but chuckle as I turned over, surrendering to
another hour of blissful snoozing.
But eventually, duty called, and I had
some not-so-fun tasks on my to-do list. I reluctantly dragged myself to the
ATM, a chore that’s always been a thorn in my side—along with the endless cycle
of filling up the car with petrol. Does it ever end? After wrestling with the
machines, I made my way to the phone shop to tackle my internet woes. The
connection at my hotel was practically non-existent—a frustrating situation for
someone who needs to stay connected.
With my stomach grumbling, I figured
breakfast couldn't wait any longer. I picked up a simit—those delightful
Turkish sesame bread rings—opting for the cheesy version this time. It was a
small treat that I could enjoy alongside a steaming cup of coffee once I
returned to the hotel.
Now, there was just one last task to
conquer: collecting my bicycle from the bike shop. The shop was only 300 meters
away, but carrying the bike through the narrow, winding, cobbled lanes was out
of the question. Taxis couldn’t navigate these tight streets, so I enlisted the
help of a guy with a hand trolley.
This turned out to be a pretty comedic
adventure! The moment he set off, his pace was so fast that I had to jog to
keep up. Off we went, a man with a trolley followed by a woman jogging behind -
past fancy restaurants where holidaymakers were having a drink. I couldn’t stop
laughing at the absurdity of it all. Picture this: me, giggling like a child,
trying to keep pace with a man hurrying to deliver a bike through the winding
streets. Before long, we arrived at my hotel, and I was still chuckling as I
imagined the whole scene as a cartoon.
30 September - Istanbul
Today, the sun came out, and after
dropping my laundry, I noticed the queue at the Basilica was far more manageable
and realised that the cruise liner had left. The Basilica Cistern is most
likely one of Istanbul's most captivating historical marvels. Today, it's an
underground palace of columns and shadows that tells the story of Byzantine
ingenuity and Ottoman adaptation.
Built in the 6th century, the cistern
was designed to supply water to the Great Palace of Constantinople and
surrounding buildings. The cistern spans 140 x 70 meters and is supported by
336 marble columns, many of which were repurposed from older Roman structures.
Two of these columns famously feature Medusa heads, one upside down and one
sideways. The cistern can hold up to 80,000 cubic meters of water, sourced via
aqueducts from the Belgrade Forest. It’s a marvellous sight to witness.
After the Ottoman conquest in 1453, it
continued to supply water to the Topkapı Palace. However, it gradually fell
into disuse and was forgotten—except by local residents who still drew water
from it.
1 October -3 October - Istanbul
I was intrigued by the walls; one can
see just about anywhere in Istanbul. Known as "The Walls of
Constantinople." They are a series of defensive stone fortifications that
have surrounded and protected the city since Constantine the Great founded it
as the new capital of the Roman Empire. These walls, which have undergone
numerous additions and modifications throughout history, represent the last
great fortification system of antiquity and one of the most complex and
elaborate systems ever constructed.
The walls encircled the city on all
sides, safeguarding it against sea and land attacks. As the city expanded, the
famous double line of the Theodosian walls was constructed in the 5th century.
While the other sections of the walls were less elaborate, I read that they
were, when adequately manned, nearly impregnable to any medieval besieger. They
were crucial in saving the city—and the Byzantine Empire—during sieges. Even
after the introduction of gunpowder siege cannons, which contributed to the
city's fall to Ottoman forces in 1453, the walls remained effective.
During most of the Ottoman period, the
walls were largely maintained. However, sections began to be dismantled in the
19th century as the city expanded beyond its medieval boundaries. Despite a
lack of maintenance, many parts of the walls have survived and are still
standing today. Enchanting as Istanbul’s past is, it faces modern challenges
that threaten its legacy. The weight of a soaring population, the blight of
industrial pollution, and the relentless push of urbanisation are casting a
shadow over these historical gems. Hence, the presence of what I call Turkey's
new national bird, the Yellow Crane, or as my friend Margaret pointed out, the Featherless,
Flightless Yellow Crane. A large-scale restoration program has been underway
since the 1980s, and these cranes can be spotted all over the city.
As I was writing, I felt the tremors
of an earthquake and realised that preserving history is not only threatened by
man but also by nature.
My sister postponed her visit, meaning
I had a few extra days in Istanbul. Fortunately, my budget-friendly abode was
well located and within walking distance to the Galata Tower, the Dolmabahçe
Palace, the Blue Mosque, the Grand Bazaar, and the Suleymaniye Mosque. I spent
quite some time at the Suleymaniye Mosque, which not only offers a magnificent
view over the city but is also an impressive architectural landmark that serves
as a powerful symbol of the Ottoman Empire at its height. This magnificent
structure was commissioned by Sultan Suleyman the Magnificent, who ruled from
1520 to 1566.
With so much time on my hands, I followed
narrow gobbled lanes through residential areas to the Aqueduct of
Valens, a monumental
aqueduct built by the Romans in the 4th century & spanning a busy
boulevard. In the afternoon, I hopped on a tourist boat along the Bosphorus and
saw the city from a different angle. On my return, I made my way to the Yeni
Mosque on Eminönü Square for my grilled corn and Ayran.
This was my last day in Istanbul and I realised
it will always linger in my bones—the scent of simit, the shimmer of the
Bosphorus, the echo of footsteps on cobbled lanes. My bicycle was boxed, my
laundry folded, and my heart both full and restless. The tremor I felt days
earlier—subtle, seismic—seemed to mirror something internal. A shift. A
readiness. Now, the road pointed south. Cairo awaited. My sister, too. The
flight would be short, but the transition felt vast—Turkey’s layered empires
giving way to Egypt’s ancient sands.
The road was never just about distance. It was
about presence. About being in the moment, even when that moment was muddy or
mundane or magnificent.
And so, with Istanbul behind me and Cairo
ahead, I whispered a thank you to the road. To the strangers who became
companions. To the landscapes that became memories. To the wind, even when it
pushed back.
4 October Istanbul, Turkey – Cairo,
Egypt
As my flight to Cairo was at the
ungodly hour of 3 in the morning, I organised a taxi for 23h00. Needless to
say, I never slept a wink as we landed in Cairo at around 5.30 – 6:00. By the
time I collected my bicycle and bag and found a taxi to take me into Cairo, it
was already light. And just like that, I was back in Africa and along the
mighty Nile.
