Friday, 14 September 2007

008 CYCLE TOURING TURKEY (1)

 

Photo by Ed Carter


TURKEY (1)
881 Km – 18 Days
27 August – 13 September 2007

 

7 Turkey

881 Kilometres – 18 Days

27 August – 13 September 2007

 

27 August – Bulgarian Border – Kirklareli, Turkey – 50 kilometres

I have spent nights in some unusual places, but never in a hospital. So, before leaving, I felt it was necessary to ensure that all my organs were still intact.

Eddie and I arrived in Turkey, a country with a long and fascinating history, at the end of August and in sweltering heat. Once across the border, we headed towards the nearest town and bike shop as Eddie’s bicycle rim was cracked, making it impossible to continue.

Turkish people are exceptionally kind, and offered us tea, watermelon, and coffee while we waited. Unfortunately, the rim took longer than we had envisaged to repair. It was raining as the repairs were completed, and we decided to stay overnight in Kirklareli.

Turkey is a transcontinental country straddling eastern Europe and Asia and was bound to throw us a few surprises. Still, I was amazed to learn that our first town, Kirklareli, was one of the first settlements in Europe.

 

28 August - Kirklareli – Safalan – 96 kilometres

By morning, I couldn’t wait to start exploring. Turkey is not flat, and the best part of the day was spent cycling up and down hills, heading toward Istanbul. We ended the day's ride at a picnic area equipped with a restaurant and restrooms.

 

29-31 August - Safalan – Istanbul – 137 kilometres

We packed up early because a long distance remained to historic Istanbul. Cycling into bustling Istanbul—Turkey’s economic, cultural, and historic centre —was a nightmare, with horrendous peak-hour traffic. Unfortunately, none of the campsites indicated on the map still existed, and by 21h00, we opted for alternative accommodation. But at least I had my first glimpse of the Mediterranean. As stressful as the ride was, I was happy to be in this beautiful, historic city.

Locating a backpacker hostel in daylight the following morning was far easier. It was well situated in the tourist part of town, close to the Blue Mosque.

Istanbul is an immensely popular destination, and most budget accommodation was filled to the brim. The only beds available were on the hostel’s roof, where beds were piled in, leaving no spaces between beds—resembling a huge communal bed. It was, therefore, no surprise to run into the Baltic Cycle Group.

The day was spent exploring Europe’s most populous city. We pushed and shoved our way through the city’s markets, jam-packed with a warren of stalls where the smells, colours and sights were intoxicating. We visited Istanbul’s famous mosques and watched hopefuls fishing in the Bosporus strait, marking Europe and Asia’s dividing line.

Eddie headed home from Istanbul, and I decided to tag along with the Baltic Cycle Group as we headed in the same direction.

 

1 September - Istanbul - Bodrum - By Ferry

There was no sleeping in on the roof, and I made my way to the harbour to purchase a ferry ticket to Bodrum. As the boat left at 14h00, I returned to the hostel to collect my gear and say goodbye to the Baltic cyclists, with only 15 riders continuing towards Cyprus.

The ferry exceeded expectations, boasting amenities like a pool, gym, and restaurants. The calm ocean mirrored a lake, and I spent my day lounging on the deck by the pool. The restaurant onboard was unaffordable. Still, I had a beer while watching the sunset and hung around until past midnight, watching the night sky, as there wasn’t a breath of wind, the sky was cloudless, and the weather pleasantly warm.

 

2 September - Bodrum – Datca (by boat)

The next day was mainly spent swimming and lounging around until we reached Bodrum at 15h00, where we boarded a ferry toward Datca, arriving at about 19h00. As it was already late, we set up camp on an open lot near the harbour, conveniently near a small shop selling beer and snacks.

 

3 September - Datca – Marmaris – 70 kilometres

From Datca, a scenic coastal road ran along the Mediterranean to the touristy port town of Marmaris. Despite the challenging hills and heat, the scenery and beaches were spectacular. En route, we stopped for breakfast and a refreshing swim. The Turkish breakfast consisted of a basket of bread, cheese, tomatoes, cucumber, and olives washed down with a glass of ayran.

We didn’t explore much of Marmaris, as the 1957 earthquake left little of its historical charm, with only the castle surviving.

Marmaris’s campground was directly on the beach, with excellent vistas across the bay. Watching the sunset, cold beer in hand, I thought life couldn’t get much better.

 

4 September - Marmaris – Mugla – 54 kilometres

Again, the day was a scorcher, and the mercury hovered around 46°C. We churned our way up and over the mountains to Mugla. The intense heat and steep hills made the ride gruelling, but the route offered picturesque views.

We reached the small community of Ula around midday, where I decided to get a haircut—an interesting affair. With no one speaking English, we relied entirely on gestures to communicate.

En route, we were fortunate to meet Burent, a friendly cyclist from Mugla who kindly guided us through the old town. Upon reaching Mugla, we were warmly welcomed with a cup of tea and offered bike repair services. The old quarter of Mugla is a charming area with cobblestone streets and houses dating back to the 18th and 19th centuries. Many of these houses have been restored, and are characterised by courtyards, double-shuttered doors, and chimneys.

Camping was at the public swimming pool, a first for me, with plenty of shower facilities and a lovely green lawn.

 

5 September - Mugla – Koycegiz – Dalyan - 75 kilometres

At 8h00, Burent led us out of the village and along rural roads through forests towards Köyceğiz. Koycegiz Lake connects to the Mediterranean Sea through the Dalyan Delta, a natural waterway.

Our early arrival left enough time to catch a boat across the lake to popular Dalyan and Turtle Beach. The entire area was declared a wildlife sanctuary, and a boat made exploring easy. We swam at Turtle Beach but didn’t see any turtles. The ancient Caunos harbour, with tombs carved into the rock high on the cliff face, was even more fascinating.

That night, we camped at Dalyan, where we spent the evening drinking wine on a timber deck.

 

6 September - Dalyan – Fethiye (Oludeniz) – 75 kilometres

Baltic Cycles was a fun group to be a part of. During the day, everyone did their own thing and arrived at the campsite at different times. Most cyclists were from Poland and spoke limited English, so talking to Bob from Scotland and Saline from New Zealand was easy. Ella, a lovely person from Poland, communicated using gestures and a dictionary.

While cycling, we often stopped to devour Turkish pancakes or Gozleme, a savoury flatbread filled with various ingredients. Our route took us along the Turquoise Coast, with breath-taking views of the historic Fethiye and its Amyntas Rock Tombs.

 

7 September – Fethiye – Patara

The Turkish were exceptionally hospitable and generous, frequently stopping to offer lifts, tea or even watermelon. The previous night, following a few vodkas, it was decided to see how easy it would be to hitch a ride. In the morning, we split into pairs and set off. Bob and I teamed up and, in no time at all, got a lift. The day passed quickly as we got into all sorts of vehicles. These vehicles were mostly driven one-handed, with the other hand holding a cell phone or casually resting outside the window.

 

8 September - Kas – Olympus – 90 kilometres

The steep and challenging route between Kas and Olympus was immensely mountainous, but the scenery made the effort worthwhile. The ride was littered with swimming spots, and the day flew by. Turkey is easily one of the most interesting countries one can visit. Not only because of the food, the people’s friendliness, or even the magical Mediterranean coast but primarily because of its history. From the ancient runes of Göbekli Tepe, dating to 9130–8800 BC, to the massive heads of Gods at Nemrut Dağ, dating to 69–34 BC.

A day in Olympus revealed the ruins of an ancient city, scattered picturesquely along the path to the beach. Many moons ago, around 43 AD, Olympus was a massive and important city and harbour. In 78 BC, the Romans captured Olympus after a victory at sea, and by the 15th century Olympus had been abandoned. Today, it has a hippy vibe, a lovely beach blessed with crystal clear blue water, and a mountain backdrop.

 

9 September – Olympus

We spent an additional day in Olympus, relaxing on the beach or on comfortable cushions on a timber deck. As the sun set, we embarked on a short hike up the mountain, discovering dozens of small fires burning steadily from vents in the rocky hillside. These flames, fuelled by gas emissions, have been burning for at least 2,500 years.

 

10 September - Olympus – Antalya – 90 kilometres

Antalya, a historic city established in 200 BC, lay 90 kilometres away and boasted even more impressive ruins. During the Roman rule, the city thrived and left behind many monuments such as the grand Hadrian's Gate, built in 130 AD to honour the Roman emperor Hadrian's visit to Antalya. The Hıdırlık Tower, another iconic landmark, is thought to have been built during the Roman Empire around the second century CE.

 

11-12 September - Antalya – Side – 74 kilometres

The following day, our path followed the coast toward the ancient port town of Side, famous for its beaches and Roman ruins dating back to the time of Antony and Cleopatra. Strolling through the ruins of the 2nd-century Antique Theatre, with its impressive seating capacity of 15,000, was simply irresistible. By then, we were all “ruined out” and didn’t explore much, opting instead to lounge around and do as little as possible.

 

13 September – Side – Alanya, Turkey – Girne, Cyprus - By ferry

After enjoying an excellent Turkish breakfast of fresh bread, tomatoes, cucumber, and olives, accompanied by a glass of ice-cold ayran, we cycled to the Alanya harbour. From there, ferries departed to Cyprus, a four-hour boat ride away. I parted ways with the Baltic Cycle Group as they headed towards the Greek side of the island. Though Greece and Turkey share Cyprus, obtaining a visa to visit Greece was nearly impossible, so I chose to remain on the Turkish side.

Sunday, 26 August 2007

007 CYCLE TOURING BULGARIA

 

By Eddie Carter

BULGARIA
507 Kilometres – 9 Days
17 August – 26 August 2007

 

 006 Bulgaria

507 Kilometres – 9 Days

17 August – 26 August 2007

 

17 August – Oltenita, Romania - Silistra, Bulgaria – 85 kilometres

After a breakfast of fresh tomatoes and paprika from Peter's garden, we hurried towards the Calarasi border to cross the Danube River towards Silistra. I was worried about my Romanian Visa, as I had exceeded the two-day limit stated on it by staying 20 days. However, I said nothing and handed over my passport to the border officials. The officials took my passport and disappeared behind a screen. After a while, they returned and returned my passport without saying anything. I was relieved that everything went smoothly.

I noticed that communicating in Bulgaria would pose a bigger challenge. Bulgarian is a Southern Slavic language that uses the Cyrillic alphabet. It was the first Slavic language to be written, and a new version was standardised after Bulgaria gained independence in 1878. However, I found it particularly confusing that nodding one’s head actually means ‘no’, while shaking it side to side means ‘yes’. It was tough to get used to. I first encountered this behaviour when I was trying to find accommodation. The lady initially shook her head, which I assumed meant no rooms were available. However, she then produced a room key, causing me much confusion.

 

18 August - Silistra - Balchik - 136 kilometres

Bulgaria covers an area of 110,994 square kilometres, roughly the same size as Malawi - a country that I consider small. Eddie and I decided to head towards Balchik, a Black Sea coastal town and seaside resort. We chose this town because of its prime location along the shores of the Black Sea. Our route took us 136 kilometres through farmlands, cornfields, and vast fields of sunflowers.

We arrived in Balchik late in the evening, only to find that the town lacked camping facilities. We had no choice but to cycle another fifteen kilometres to Kavarna, which had a beautiful campsite on the lake's shores. The place was idyllic, and we wasted no time submerging our sweat-soaked bodies in the lukewarm waters of the Black Sea —a blissful end to a long day of cycling.

 

19 August - Kavarna

The next day, we spent the day at the beach and unexpectedly reunited with the Baltic Cycle Group from Bucharest. It was a fun night of drinking and trying to communicate, as almost everyone in the group spoke Polish, and neither Ed nor I spoke the language.

Initially, I mistook the Black Sea for a lake, only to realize upon studying a map that it connects to the ocean through the Bosphorus Strait. The waters of the Black Sea first flow into the Sea of Marmara, which in turn is connected to the Mediterranean through the Strait of the Dardanelles. I was surprised to learn that the Black Sea is a vast body of water, spanning 436,400 square kilometres and reaching a depth of over 2000 meters in some areas.

 

20 August - Kavarna - Kancija via Verna - 96 kilometres

The following day, we continued our journey towards the Turkish border. However, navigating proved difficult as most signboards were written in Hungarian.

Despite this, we found a basic campsite in Verna, which had a decent beach. While there, we again met the Baltic Cycles, who were also in search of an inexpensive place to camp. We had a great time together that night, partying and enjoying the company of these cyclists who were equally good at cycling as having fun. The restaurant owner later offered us Rakia, a potent fruit brandy, along with homemade wine. I guessed the alcohol was offered to help us tolerate the mosquito-infested campsite.

 

21 August – Kamcija

We spent a leisurely day chatting with fellow cyclists. Communication seemed to improve proportionally to the amount of vodka consumed, and they quickly became good friends.

 

22 August - Kamcija - Nesebar - 104 kilometres

We had established a comfortable camping routine of packing up and cycling to our next destination. During our stay at the campsite in Nesebar, we met a 70-year-old German man travelling around the world with his bike and trailer. He had started his journey a year prior to our meeting in Germany and was still going strong. Curiously, his bicycle lacked pedals, rendering cycling impossible even if he wanted to.

The campsite in Nesebar was so good, and we had so much fun, that we decided to spend two days.

 

24-25 August - Nesebar - Yuk Camping - 96 kilometres

I was grateful to the Baltic Cycle Group for sharing their camping location, as it turned out to be one of the best options in the area. On our way, we stopped at Pomorie and Sozopol, which were great places to swim and cool off from the hot weather. While my fellow cyclists moved on, I chose to stay at the beach and work on fading my awkward cycling tan.

 

26 August - Yuk Camping - Border – 75 kilometres

Bulgaria has diverse terrain, including a coastline along the Black Sea and a mountainous interior. Once we moved inland, the terrain grew steep. Since it was August, and thus mid-summer, most days were sweltering, adding to the challenge. Flies also added to the problem. They buzzed in hordes around our heads, strangely reminding us of biking in Ethiopia.

Shortly before reaching the Turkish border, Eddie and I rode into a small village to get some refreshments but decided to stay. Unfortunately, the town lacked campsites or accommodations. However, we were directed to the hospital, which doubled as a guesthouse.

 

Saturday, 18 August 2007

006 CYCLE TOURING ROMANIA



ROMANIA

959 Km – 19 Days

30 June – 17 August 2007





MAP


 PHOTOS


 

30 July – Szeget, Hungary – Arad, Romania – 78 kilometres

Eddie and I departed Szeget powered by a stiff tailwind that became a near gale force crosswind, making it challenging riding. The road was further congested by trucks and heavy traffic and I feared for my life. Upon arrival at the border, I found my Hungarian visa wasn’t what I’d envisaged, but 2 x 10-day visas (where did that come from?). I thus overstayed and following being shunted back and forth from building to building; I was eventually allowed to leave. Phew!

I was immensely excited to see Romania. It finally felt I was on my way and since a child, I was intrigued by gipsies and understood there were still real gipsies in Romania. Add to that the mystery of Dracula’s castle and place names like Transylvania and I couldn’t wait to explore.

As always in a foreign country, the language remained a significant obstacle, everything (as expected) was in Romanian, and truly little English was spoken.

Arad was reached late and searching the campsite indicated on the map revealed only an abandoned field. By then, it wasn’t simply raining but also dark, and we weakened at the sight of a pension.

 

31 July - Arad – Bârzava – 60 kilometres

Arad was a bustling town, sporting many old buildings, which for the most part appeared to need TLC. Fifty years of communism left its mark. There were numerous apartment blocks, all very unattractive and in a state of poor repair. Arad further appeared an industrial town and a transport hub.

Countries vary tremendously, and just as one became used to the how-where-and-when of one, it’s time to cross the border, where everything is vastly different. Suddenly, campsites were few and far between. Instead, budget accommodation was found at truck stops, who typically served inexpensive food and offered basic rooms.

 

1 August - Barzava – Deva – 100 kilometres

In the morning, I fixed the slow puncture that had been giving trouble for some time and then made our way in the direction of Barzava. The countryside was intriguing and dotted by small communities, real-life gipsies complete with horse carts and elderly ladies dressed in black. It reminded me of something from a forgotten era. However, the gipsies were a tad disappointing as they weren’t dressed like the gipsies I’d in mind. Think long, bright flowery skirts, blouses adorned by gold coins and headscarves.

Cycling was challenging and sometimes downright dangerous as the traffic was hectic and the main road jam-packed by trucks of all shapes and sizes. Nevertheless, the rural villages were quiet, and residents found us as different as we found them. Generally, communities only had basic facilities. Water was collected from a communal well and farmers worked the field by hand. Filling our water bottles resulted in stopping, lowering the bucket into the well and then bringing the full bucket up using a pulley system.

Overnighting was in Deva, situated on the left bank of the Mures River and dominated by the ruins of a citadel perched atop a hill.

 

2 August- Deva - Geoagiu Băi – 27 kilometres

Departing Deva was by following the tremendously busy and poorly maintained main road, making a nerve-wracking ride. At the soonest opportunity, we turned off onto a smaller path. A sign pointed towards a Roman thermal bath, and as it was a mere 12 kilometres down the drag, I thought it worth exploring. Geoagiu Bai was a small but lively town where camping was in someone’s backyard amongst chickens and dogs. The only facility was a rudimentary long-drop as a toilet.

 

3 August - Geoagiu Băi – Blaj – 91 kilometres

The following morning, we proceeded along a dirt track, past numerous small villages, farmlands, cornfields and even vineyards. The countryside was scenic, as the route twisted and turned over wooded mountains and across scenic rivers.

 

4-5 August - Blaj - Făgăraș – 135 kilometres

It wasn’t long before finding ourselves firmly in the heart of Transylvania. The name conjured up images of scary-looking villagers, wooden crosses and howling wolves. This mental image wasn’t entirely incorrect. We often encountered askew graves and wooden crosses where bunches of garlic hung from gates and doors. I was excited as a child to be in Romania and couldn’t wait to go exploring. The country offered fantastic riding through densely wooded mountains, medieval towns and fortresses associated with legends.

Fagaras didn’t disappoint, located at the foothills of the Făgăraș Mountains, it was home to the Făgăraș Fortress.

 

6 August - Făgăraş – Bran - 63 kilometres

Before getting underway, we attempted to find breakfast but at 9.30 am, it seemed too early to eat but not too early for beer. Individuals were drinking beer at pavement restaurants but at enquiring about food, the reply was, “Don’t know at this hour”. The ride was beautiful through heavily wooded mountains and along raging rivers. Upon arrival in Bran we anticipated finding clues to Dracula’s Castle but merely found the ominous-sounding “Vampire Camping”.

 

7 August - Bran

The following day was spent in Bran where a visit to Bran Castle revealed its real history. I learned the castle was constructed in 1388 and built atop a cliff offering panoramic views of the nearby hills. The castle served as a customs office and a fortress and was used to stop the Ottoman Empires expansion. Although the castle had many owners, it did indeed belong to Vlad Dracul or Vlad the Impaler, the inspiration for Bram Stoker’s vampire named Dracula.

 

8 August - Bran – Campulung – 59 kilometres

Eddie and I biked over the scenic Carpathian Mountains via Bran Pass. A stunning ride and the dividing line between Transylvania and Valencia. The language remained a problem. Not solely did I buy yeast instead of butter but a fountain pen without ink instead of a ballpoint pen and cream instead of yoghurt. The learning curve was indeed a steep one. Towards the end of the day, accommodation was at a pension in historic Campulung. Virtually all the places encountered had a long and fascinating history. Campulung was no different and had a multitude of beautiful buildings dating to the 13th century.

 

9 August - Campulung – Targovista – 65 kilometres

The route towards Taragovista, home to the Chindia Tower built by Vlad Dracula in the 15th century came with a brilliant descent. Reaching Targovista was early, but we considered it better to overnight instead of continuing to Bucharest still about 80 kilometres away.

“Pension King” became home that night but it turned out not much of a palace as the name indicated, as it was situated in the back streets next to a scrapyard.

 

10 August - Targovista – Bucharest - 98 kilometres

Biking into Bucharest was hair-raising, as is the case with nearly all cities, and came with horrendous traffic, especially on a Friday afternoon. However, a helpful taxi driver gave us directions to a campsite, located on the city's opposite side. Unable to find it, we popped into an internet cafe and found the campground. This meant retracing our steps to where we came from. The campsite was lovely but mozzie infested - at least it had plenty of trees.

Another look at my passport revealed my Romanian visa was granted for two days (valid for three months) and not three months as envisaged. There wasn’t a great deal I could do and intended to deal with it once at the border. Lesson learned, always check your visa. Who gives a visa for two days, anyhow?

 

11 August – Bucharest

Casa Alba Campsite had a convenient location and we did the usual, shopping, laundry and a tad of sightseeing. Included in our wonderings was a visit to the city’s iconic landmark, the massive communist-era Parliament building with its 1100 rooms, said the world’s second-largest building. Far scarier was we learned more than 10000 people were bitten by stray dogs in Bucharest each year.

Bucharest is a fun city with a long and fascinating history and a crazy mix of communist-era, neo-classical and art deco buildings predominantly adorned by oyster shell-shaped canopies. The hundreds of grey high-rise blocks of flats from the communist era were of particular interest.

 

12-15 August – Bucharest

I used the time to apply for both my Bulgarian and Turkish visas. Upon returning from the city, I found the campsite invaded, by what looked like hundreds of little tents. It turned out the well-known Baltic Cycle group, on tour from the Baltics to Cypress. They mostly spoke Polish, except for one Brit and one lady from New Zealand.

At the Turkish Embassy, I was informed a visa application had to be made in my home country. After phoning my sister Amanda in SA, she returned with the news that the Turkish Embassy in SA promised to contact the Embassy and I should try again in the morning. The next day I returned to the Turkish Embassy, and by 5 pm, I’d my visa. Hallelujah! I further phoned the Bulgarian Embassy and, yes, the visa was granted, and I could pick it up the following day.

 

16 August - Bucharest – Oltenita – 98 kilometres

The next morning, I was at the Hungarian Embassy at ten o’clock sharp, where I found a crowd of people milling about. There seemed no rhyme or reason in the procedures. After a while, an official pointed at me and took me to the front of the queue, where I was handed my visa. A 15-day visa was granted fair enough and by noon Eddie and I were on our way to the border. Instead of taking the highway to Giurgiu, we opted to cycle to Oltenita via a much smaller path. Still, we found no immigration office as indicated on our map. It seemed we couldn’t get out of Romania.

In the process, we met Peter, a Romanian chap, who invited us to stay at his house, a tiny 2-room wooden shack without a bathroom or kitchen. One could, however, take a wee in the garden amongst the chickens. But, unfortunately, I couldn’t quite figure out what to do about the bowel movements.

 

17 August – Oltenita, Romania - Silistra, Bulgaria – 85 kilometres

After a breakfast of fresh tomatoes and paprika from Peter's garden, we hurried to the Calarasi border, before the veggies kicked in. Luckily a ferry operated across the Danube river to Silistra, Bulgaria. As can be expected, I was apprehensive about my Romanian Visa dilemma. By then, I was in the country for 20 days instead of the two days indicated on my visa. I didn’t say anything simply handed over my passport to border officials. They disappeared behind a screen and later reappeared and returned my passport. All without a single word. I was relieved, to say the least.

I could tell straight away communication in Bulgaria would be an even bigger problem as Bulgarian uses the Cyrillic script. Add to that Bulgarians nod their heads for no and shake it sideways for yes—I anticipated a few misunderstandings. 

Monday, 30 July 2007

005 CYCLE TOURING HUNGARY

 

By Eddie Carter


5 HUNGARY
810 Kilometres – 19 Days
11 July – 30 July 2007


11-12 July – London, UK – Budapest, Hungary

Our flight touched down in Budapest early on 11 July. From the start, I was smitten with this beautiful city with its plethora of gracious old buildings, cobbled streets and views of the mighty Danu River. I instantly understood why it’s referred to as “the Capital of Architecture”. To this day, it remains one of my favourite cities as it is beautiful, culturally rich and the people immensely friendly.

Hungary is the land of paprika, cabbage and sausage, and the food was delicious and the beer good. In fact, nearly all the food in Hungary includes paprika in some form, from the homey goulash to the Porkolt (meat stew) and Halaszle (fisherman’s soup).

An additional day was spent exploring the city’s famous attractions and buildings. First thing in the morning Eddie and I sauntered across the chain bridge, the first permanent connection to span the Danube between Buda and Pest. Once on the opposite bank, a funicular took people to the castle district and Buda Castle. Finally, we strolled towards the Fisherman’s Bastion with its panoramic view of the city, from where we feasted our eyes upon Budapest’s magnificent architecture.

If today, I would’ve lingered longer, but as was my nature, I’d bees in my bonnet and wanted to move along. As is the case with nearly all “new” cycle tourers, I was destination minded. It took me years until I rid myself of the habit and could enjoy the touring part of cycle touring, which, in my mind, is what cycle touring is all about.

 

13 July – Budapest – Esztergom – 80 kilometres

Following a day of exploring, we cycled out of Budapest. At first, our path followed the famed Danu River past vast fields of sunflowers and timeless villages. Then, our chosen path spat us out in Esztergom’s ancient town, where the day’s ride ended. However, there was no missing the city as a massive basilica (the 3rd largest church in Europe) dominated the city. It sits atop a hill above this bustling town and overlooks the Danube River.

Esztergom’s history goes back many years. The town was established around 972 AD and was the first Hungarian King’s birth and coronation place. Esztergom was further the capital of Hungary till the 13th century. As a result, there is an abundance of old buildings of both Royal and religious nature.

 

14 July - Esztergom – Győr – 95 kilometres

The route between Esztergom and Gyor was picturesque as it ran along the Danube through countless settlements. In these communities, we filled water bottles from wells using hand pumps. The ride led past vast fields of sunflowers, making a pretty picture against a cloudless sky.

 

15 July - Győr and surrounds – 80 kilometres

As the campsite in Gyor was comfortable, we stayed two days, allowing exploring the countryside. It became a fun day cycling past tiny hamlets, farmlands and more fields of sunflowers.

 

16 July - Győr – Papa – 58 kilometres

The next day our route left the river and headed toward Lake Balaton. Being mid-summer, the weather was sweltering. Again, the friendliness of the people impressed us. An older man who spoke no English must’ve noticed us suffering in the intense heat. He promptly invited us in, offered us ice cream, and gave us two slices of smoked meat; how kind of him.

Papa is a historical town with an ensemble of old buildings. The entire town centre is today a protected area. Papa is also famed for its thermal baths, but the heat was too intense and instead, we opted for a cold beer on a shady veranda in the historic part of town.

 

17-18 July - Papa – Balatonfüred – 64 kilometres

Eddie and I left lovely Papa in the morning to cycle the final stretch towards the lake. The day was another blistering one and relatively hilly. I’d no idea the mercury could rise to such levels in Hungary. Balatonfured is the oldest of the towns situated on Lake Belton’s shores. It is another city renowned for its spas, but this was no time to visit spas.

 

19 July - Balatonfüred – Badacsony – 48 kilometres

The oppressing heat made riding exhausting, and we could only manage a half-day of biking. Upon reaching Lake Balaton, drenched in sweat, we called it quits and set up camp at Badacsony, a small village with a population of barely 2000. The lake was immensely touristy, and the beaches were littered with campsites that made easy overnighting. I wasted no time diving into the lukewarm water of the lake. Sunset was a perfect time to sample the region’s good wine.

 

20 July - Badacsony – Fonyód – 56 kilometres

Packing up was at leisure as there was no rush to go anywhere. However, the heat remained debilitating. It took practically the entire day to cycle the short distance to the resort town of Fonyod. The road made its way along the lake’s shores and the heat made cycling in bathing suits and stopping numerous times to swim and drink beer. Finally, the day’s ride finished in Fonyod, where camp was on the lake shores. Once the tents were pitched, we could enjoy the town’s well-known mineral water (bottled nearby) before moving on to their renowned wine.

 

21 July - Fonyód – Balatonszemes – 32 kilometres

The next morning, we emerged to a tad of a breeze, making the unrelenting heat almost bearable. Then, unfortunately, the wind picked up, which made grinding into the wind to the next campsite. But once in Balatonszemes, the wind subsided, and we were back in paradise.

The campsites, 20 all around the lake, were well equipped with access to the lake, shops, bars, restaurants, and loads of entertainment, especially for children, including waterslides, games, cable skiing, and paddle boats.

 

22 July - Balatonszemes – Siófok – 32 kilometres

I thought Lake Belatan was the closest place to heaven. Blue skies, lukewarm water and no wind, made the place swarming with tourists. The lakeshore was extremely shallow and excellent for floating in its lukewarm waters. Shops, restaurants and bars were scattered about, adding to a great holiday atmosphere.

 

23-24 July – Siófok

Siofok meant we’d cycled around the entire lake and thus spent the day lounging around and enjoying the sun. Siofok is the largest town along the lake, with a beach stretching nearly 20 kilometres, making it an extremely popular holiday destination.

 

25-26 July - Siofok – Budapest – 110 kilometres

Once around the lake, we returned to Budapest to collect my Romanian Visa. Again, it turned out a day of easy riding. We thus slinked into Budapest in good time, where it took weaving through the traffic to find accommodation. The following day I collected my visa and we once again strolled Budapest’s cobbled streets.

 

27 July - Budapest – Kesckemet – 90 kilometres

With passport in hand, we cycled out of Budapest in the direction of Romania. The ride was a pleasant and relaxed one, in perfect cycling weather. Kecskemet sported an immense and beautiful City hall and an extremely convenient campsite in the centre of town, signalling the end of the day’s ride.

 

28-29 July - Kesckemet – Szeged – 65 kilometres

The way to Szeged was another enjoyable day of riding along a flat road. Szeged, home of the paprika, had a smattering of old buildings of which the Saint Nicolas Serbian Church, built in 1781, is the oldest. Szeged further had a great location along the Tisza river with an excellent campsite and a thermal bath. Hungary is well known for its thermal baths. At the town of Szeged, we set up camp and stayed two days, floating in the warm water of their well-known thermal springs before crossing into Romania.

 

30 July – Szeget, Hungary – Arad, Romania – 78 kilometres

Departing Szeget was with a stiff tailwind which became a near gale force crosswind, making it challenging riding, especially with the many trucks and heavy traffic. Upon arrival at the border, I found my Hungarian visa wasn’t what I’d envisaged, but 2 x 10-day visas, (where did that come from?). Therefore, I overstayed and after attempting sign language and being shunted back and forth from building to building; I was eventually allowed to leave. Phew!

I was immensely excited to see Romania. It finally felt like I was getting into my stride. Since childhood, I’ve been intrigued by gipsies and understood there were still genuine gipsies in Romania. Add the mystery of Dracula’s castle and place names like Transylvania and I was virtually bursting out of my skin.

As always in a foreign country, the language remained a considerable obstacle, everything (as expected) was in Romanian, and truly little English was spoken.

Our arrival in Arat was late, searching for the camping spot indicated on the map. Still, all that remained of the campsite was an abandoned field. By then, it was raining and dark, and we weakened at the sight of a pension.

Thursday, 12 July 2007

004 CYCLE TOURING THE UK - IRELAND

 


4 IRELAND
793 Kilometres – 14 Days
8 June – 11 July 2007

 



MAP

PHOTOS


 

8 June – Glasgow, Scotland – Belfast, Ireland – 6 kilometres

Getting to Ireland, involved cycling from Esther’s house to Glasgow Central station to catch a Stranraer train. The day started promising, but upon looking around, I was horrified to see Esther on the ground bicycle on top of her, resembling a beetle, legs kicking in the air. All this happened in peak hour traffic, but Esther was undeterred by the staring eyes. She stood up, dusted herself off, looked them in the eye and laughingly declared, “Take three”.

At Stranraer, the ferry to Belfast took us across the North Channel. Our arrival was around 16h30 (peak time) and Esther proceeded to fall over once more. The reason for all this falling over was Esther’s bike being too big and her legs too short to swing over the middle bar. By the time her foot was on solid ground, the bicycle was past the point of no return. It was hence not so much falling off the bike but falling over. We laughed so much, tears were streaming down our faces and thus, surprising, we managed to cycle the 6 kilometres north to set up camp. By evening Esther referred to her bike as Silver. He bucked and kicked and appeared somewhat unwilling to see Ireland.

 

9 June - Belfast - Cushendall – 69 kilometres

The next day, it dawned bright and sunny. The weather was beautiful, and there wasn’t a breath of wind. With Ol’ Silver loaded and packed, our route followed the coast, an incredibly scenic ride, especially in such glorious weather. The road continued past numerous coastal communities and steep white, limestone cliffs. The coast was littered with ancient ruins from the Red Bay Castle to the ruins of the Ardclinis Church

Esther must’ve fallen over at least five times before arriving at the coastal village of Cushendall. At camp, she didn’t bring the bike to a halt as most would but instead flopped over, to the surprise of the other campers. Good thing, she wore a helmet. Still, 43 miles (70 kilometres) were managed that day.

 

10 June - Cushendall – Ballycastle – 32 kilometres

Packing up took forever, and late by the time the two of us cycled out of camp. Shortly beyond the village of Cushendall, a sign indicated a scenic route via Torr head, which sounded rather lovely. However, the warning, “Not suitable for caravans and coaches” should’ve forewarned us. This part of the Irish coastline is separated from Scotland by the North Channel and the views were spectacular. Still, our chosen path came with incredibly steep hills. Esther claimed she didn’t fall over that day as she walked her bike the entire way, resulting in blistered feet.

The descent into Ballycastle, a small seaside town at the north-easternmost coastal tip of Ireland, was pure pleasure. After waiting at the bottom longer than usual, I rode back up to see if I could find my friend. I came upon her walking down the hill due to a flat tyre. The surprises were never-ending as we soon discovered Esther’s bicycle wheels had no quick release and thus required a spanner. Not much one can do but walk the bikes into town and onto the campsite. Every man in camp had a suitable spanner, and soon the wheel was off, and Esther was given a lift into town to buy a new tyre and inner tube.

 

11 June - Ballycastle – Castlerock – 64 kilometres

The following morning started in its usual way, with Esther providing all the fun and drama. Loading up Ol’ Silver, a bungee cord slipped and hit her upon the lip. She was covered not only with bruises and scratches from falling over and lumps and bumps from the “Wee Buggers” (mosquitos) but also a fat lip. Leaving Ballycastle, the first stop was at the bike shop to purchase a spanner and new front tyre for Esther’s bicycle, which looked equally worn.

The coastline of Northern Ireland is magnificent, and we stopped at Giants Causeway to explore this fascinating area. The causeway consists of about 40000 black basalt columns resulting from an ancient volcanic eruption. Weathered by 60 million years of wind, rain and storms, these unique rock formations form perfectly shaped horizontal sections. However, I found the legends of the area even more intriguing. The story goes, a giant Finn McCool had trouble with his Scottish rival Benandonner. Furious, Finn grabbed chunks of the Antrim coast and threw them into the sea to form a pathway for reaching Benandonner. Benandoonneer was, however, larger than expected, and Finn fled with Benandoonneer in tow. Finn was saved by his quick-thinking wife, who disguised him as a baby. On seeing the baby’s size, Benandoonneer thought better of it and returned to Scotland.

After a particularly long hill, Esther declared the trip was killing her and it would’ve been easier and quicker to have taken an overdose at home. Still, she continued a further 40 miles, and spotting a campsite at Castlerock, we packed it in. The lady managing the campground looked at Esther’s face and allowed us to camp free.

 

12 June - Castlerock – Quigley’s Point – 32 kilometres

The following day, feeling refreshed, the first stopped was at the Mussenden Temple, built in 1785 as a library; this tiny building was modelled after Rome’s Temple of Vesta. A short ride led to Magilligan Point, from where ferries departed to Greencastle. Unfortunately, our map indicated a track beside the ocean, which was non-existing and left us slightly lost. Reaching Quigley’s Point, the tents were pitched at the first opportunity to give Esther’s backside a rest. Once camp was set up, there wasn’t a great deal more to do but frequent the pub for a pint.

 

13 June - Quigley’s Point - Portsalon via Letterkenny – 91 kilometres

It rained all night, and on emerging, it took packing up in the rain, reaching Buncrana sopping wet. We intended to take a ferry to Rathmullan. Still, to our dismay, the ferry only started operating in three days, and I thought June was mid-summer.

I loved the foreign-sounding names of towns as we biked from Quigley’s Point to Portsalon via Letterkenny, a remarkable distance of 91 kilometres. Esther was getting stronger by the day and wasn’t falling over as much. Ol’ Silver was nevertheless still creaking and squealing, and extremely unwilling on the uphills. Still, Esther showed no mercy, and pushed on. From Rathmullan to Portsalon, the distance was only about 19 kilometres. Still, we took the scenic route and encountered a few nasty hills before a serious descent into Portsalon. By then, Esther’s one hand was numb and entirely useless.

 

14 June – Portsalon

The weather turned even fouler overnight, and the conditions weren’t only cold and raining in the morning, but an icy wind blew in from the North. Nevertheless, the weather made it easy to stay put, and we both crawled back into our sleeping bags, zipped up the tents and read books for the remainder of the day.

By 5 o’clock, we had enough of lying in the tents and headed to the pub. The place consisted of a shop and pub (all in one), where a few people were sitting at the bar. Soon the singing began and the evening became a jovial affair. It was three in the morning before arriving back at our tents. I guess it will suffice to say we had a good time.

 

15 June - Portsalon - Melmore Head – 59 kilometres

For obvious reasons, there was no rushing in packing up and 12h00 before eventually getting underway. The weather was horrendous; it drizzled, a strong wind blew, and the weather became bitterly cold. Still, we proceeded to tiny Carrickart, where we received information about a hostel not far from there. In arctic conditions, we headed in the direction pointed. I was frozen stiff; even Esther was in long sleeves. The Hostel was considerably further than led to believe. Still, we soldiered forward up a steep hill to an extremely basic and remote hostel. At least inside, the place was warm as toast.

 

16 June - Melmore Head - Letterkenny - Belfast and Larne – 72 kilometres

Esther needed to get back to work, and we made our way back to Letterkenny to see what public transport was available. Once in Letterkenny, a bus departed in 20 minutes to Derry and another bus straight to Belfast. A shock, however, awaited in Belfast. Belfast was packed full; each little nook and cranny was fully booked due to a major international boxing event. Every B&B and hotel was fully booked, from the cheapest to the Hilton (we even considered that one). By then, the time was ten o’clock and the weather freezing. I suggested cycling the 6 kilometres north to our first camp, but Esther refused point-blank to get on the bike. The staff at the train station was extremely friendly and directed us to a B&B in Larne to get a ferry to Glasgow. They even phoned to book the B&B and the ferry and helped us on the train. Wonderful people.

 

17 June - Larne - Oxford Island – 91 kilometres

We emerged to a lovely breakfast at the B&B; what luxury. Our guesthouse had a great location across from the harbour, making easy access to the ferry. Esther hopped on the 10.30 ferry. After waving her goodbye, I pointed my mobile home toward Belfast and onto the road leading south.

The weather was good and being Sunday plenty of cyclists were out, all stopping to have a wee chat (as they say in Ireland). I took the recommended path south, which followed the River Lagan, to Lisburn. From there a minor route ran via Moira to Oxford Island and onward to Lough Neagh. I even came upon the Orange Order marching, band and all, in one of the smaller villages. I couldn’t believe they existed in real life. I would’ve thought their supremacist values illegal in our modern-day. They most likely were practising for the annual march held around 12 July.

 

18 June – Oxford Island – Ballyronan – 72 kilometres

Fortunately, most Irish are friendly, even offering dope. What lovely people.

Lough Neagh is a freshwater lough and one of the largest in Western Europe. I thus decided to follow its shore to Ballyronan, situated along the northwestern shore of Lough Neagh. The path continued along tiny country lanes and minor roads, past small settlements, and farms. The lake has an interesting legend. It claimed the lake formed when the Irish giant Finn McCool scooped out an earthen clod to toss at a Scottish rival fleeing Ulster via the Giant’s Causeway. Finn’s shot fell into the Irish Channel and formed the Isle of Man.

 

19 June - Ballyronan - Kesh (Lough Erne) – 101 kilometres

As usual, I packed up in the rain, but the weather soon cleared, and it became a glorious day of riding. The route headed west, sticking to the foothills of the Sperrin Mountains, via Omagh to Kesh. In tiny Kesh it took biking, up a serious hill to the campsite, only to find the place wasn’t a campsite but a mobile home park with no camping facilities. Bummer. The owner was accommodating enough and allowed me to camp on a small patch of grass. He even unlocked a mobile home to use the shower and toilet.

 

20 June - Kesh and surrounds – 32 kilometres

Kesh is tiny, with a population of less than 1000, but with its location on Lough Erne, the village had a lively tourist trade. I decided to stay in the area to explore and cycled down the hill to another campsite where one could take walks around the lake and through the forest. I uncovered dried fruit, yummy, and proceeded to eat the entire bag. Talking about food, I considered myself the Queen of carbs. Still, I had nothing on the Irish, as I found them serving macaroni cheese accompanied by a portion of French fries. I kid you not! Another dish I thought surprising was a baked potato topped with beans, something I considered a carbo overload.

 

21 June - Kesh - Donegal (Dun na nGall) – 72 kilometres

The way to Ballyshannon followed Lough Erne, and aided by a tailwind, the route appeared downhill. At Ballyshannon, I turned northwards along the coast to Donegal, still with a tailwind. My arrival was reasonably early and I set up camp at a hostel.

Soon afterwards, Eddie arrived by car. As he wanted to travel Ireland but didn’t bring his bike, we loaded the bike onto the roof and explored the rest of Ireland by car. Afterwards, I was sorry as the chances of ever getting back to that part of the world to cycle is practically non-existing.

In London, I tried my best to obtain a European visa, but all to no avail. I soon discovered the Schengen visa (for me at least) one of the world’s most elusive visas. Not only was it necessary to apply in one’s home country but the application needed a full itinerary and paid accommodation.

I felt frustrated as nothing was going to plan. As my idea of cycling Europe fell through, it was time for plan B. After much deliberation, the next best option was to fly to Hungary (which didn’t require a Schengen visa) and cycle Eastern Europe and see where the road led. So Eddie took time off work, and the two of us packed our bicycles and flew to Budapest, Hungary.

 

11-12 July – London, UK – Budapest, Hungary

Right from the start, I was smitten with beautiful Budapest and its ensemble of old buildings, cobbled streets and views of the mighty Danu River. I instantly understood why it’s referred to as “the Capital of Architecture”. To this day, Budapest remains one of my favourite cities.

If today, I would’ve lingered longer, but I had bees in my bonnet and wanted to get going, as was my nature. Unfortunately, as with most “new” cycle tourers, I was destination orientated. It took me years before I rid myself of that habit and enjoyed the touring part of cycle touring, which, in my mind, is what cycle touring is all about.