012 CYCLE TOURING ETHIOPIA

Photo by Ernest Markwood

ETHIOPIA
716 Kilometres – 15 Days
9 November 2007 – 30 November 2007

MAP

Photos

e-BOOK

 

9-15 November – Cape Town, South Africa - Addis Ababa, Ethiopia (2400 asl)

My return to South Africa from Amman, Jordan was due to a dire need for a new passport. To my surprise, Ernest was there as well, but he had an entirely different reason. He left nearly all his belongings in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia whereas I'd all mine. So, following a month of eating and drinking with friends and family, I collected my shiny new passport. This time, it was a maxi passport containing more pages.

After much deliberation, Ernest and I decided to join forces. We flew to Addis Ababa and I was happy to be back in Ethiopia. Not only was Ethiopia home to some of the fastest marathon runners in the world, but a country with a captivating history and religion. Ethiopians mainly belong to the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church, which claims to possess the Ark of the Covenant, kept under guard in a treasury in Axum. Ethiopia is further home to the famous rock-cut churches of Lalibela dating to between the 7^th to 13^th centuries. Legend has it that angels helped carve out the churches within twenty-four hours.

Furthermore, Ethiopia was the home of Haile Selassie, seen as a messiah among followers of the Rastafari movement, and Bob Marley thus considered Ethiopia his spiritual home. Most of all, Ethiopia is home to coffee from the Ethiopian highlands and injera, a traditional, sourdough-type flatbread or pancake. Traditionally, injera is made from teff flour, but any grain can be used. The flour and water mix is fermented for several days before being baked into a giant, flat pancake with a slightly spongy texture. Usually, a variety of small amounts of stews are scooped onto the injera. When eating, small pieces of injera are torn off and used as utensils to scoop up the food using one's fingers.

An entire week was spent in Addis exploring all the city's attractions, including visiting the famous early hominid "Lucy". Lucy is the 3.2-million-year-old fossilised remains of a female skeleton uncovered in 1974. Surprisingly short, she only measured 1.1 metres tall with an estimated weight of a mere 29kg.

Much time was spent organising visas to Egypt and Sudan, a long and frustrating process. Performing these mediocre tasks can make anyone feel transported into another dimension as, in Ethiopia, time starts at sunrise. Hence an hour beyond sunrise is 1 a.m. Moreover, the Ethiopian calendar is a solar calendar beginning on 29 or 30 August in the Julian Calendar, adding to the confusion. At the time of our visit, the Ethiopians were celebrating the millennium. Albeit 2007, Addis was a blaze of colour and light as they celebrated the year 2000.

In Addis, I bumped into Wondey, one of the 2005 Tour D'Afrique guides. What a small world.

 

16 November - Addis – Muka – 80 km

Seven days passed before biking out of Addis to pedal the relatively short distance to the Sudanese border. I'd become surprisingly unfit, or maybe I'd forgotten how hilly Addis was. The countryside was colourful and the farmlands were in different shades of green and yellow - November is an excellent time to visit Ethiopia.

Eighty percent of Ethiopians are farmers, and the road north leads past fields, where farmers still use oxen and wooden ploughs. The hills encountered virtually killed me and, exhausted, I reached Muka a mere 80 kilometres away.

 

17 November - Muka – Fiche – 38 km

Even though Fiche (situated at an altitude of 2,780 metres above sea level) was only 38 kilometres further, my backside wasn't used to cycling, and it was best to make the ride a short one.

As expected, Ethiopians were fascinated by us. The children called, "You, you, give money!" and, if ignored, stones came flying. Yes, kids did throw stones at cyclists, but I don’t think the act was ever intended to hurt but more a way of getting a person's attention. These kids are pretty good at aiming; they wouldn't have missed if they wanted to hit you. It’s, however, a habit that remains highly annoying.

 

18 November - Fiche – Gohatsion (Goha Tsion) – 76 km

The 76 kilometres to tiny Goha Tsiy was wonderfully colourful but hilly and, thus, slow going. Soon, the famous Blue Nile Gorge came into view where overnighting was at the rim of the gorge, which came with a view of one of Ethiopia's most dramatic landscapes.

The Nile is considered the longest river in the world and consists mainly of two tributaries, the Blue Nile and the White Nile. The White Nile begins somewhere in Rwanda or Burundi (no one seems quite sure of the exact location). The Blue Nile originates at Lake Tana in Ethiopia. From Ethiopia, the Nile flows through Sudan where it meets up with the White Nile and then flows into Egypt, eventually draining into the Mediterranean.

 

19 November - Goha Tisy – Debra Markos – 70 km

In the morning, the route descended into the legendary Blue Nile Gorge and, to our surprise, we discovered the 1500-metre descent half-paved, making the ride a piece of cake. However, the sharp 1500-metre climb out was still under construction. Workers had put down a thick layer of gravel, making riding somewhat tricky. Having already biked this section previously, I saw no need to cycle it again and opted for a ride on a truck to the top. Ernest was, however, determined to cycle.

Debra Marcos was our overnight stop and allowed for plenty of time to shop. At the market, we uncovered dried beans, potatoes, onions and chillies, which Ernest concocted into a stew - something different to injera eaten almost daily.

History has it that when the Italians arrived in Debra Markos in 1936, they told astonished villagers they'd come to free them from their oppressors. This news left them baffled as they were unaware of said oppressors. I giggled at this information, imagining the surprised look on the Ethiopians' faces.

 

20-21 November - Debra Markos – Finote Selam – 85 km

From Debra Markos, an undulating road ran 85 kilometres to Finote Selam where a room with a piping hot shower at 30Birr ($1.13) became home that night. Vegetables were hard to get hold of; maybe November was the wrong time of year to buy vegetables. But, at least, the market offered plenty of bananas and oranges.

I found Ethiopia more interesting than ever; not only is it Africa's oldest independent country but a country that had never been colonised, apart from a five-year stint by Mussolini. Amharic, Ethiopia's official language, is equally fascinating and is written using an abugida, or syllable alphabet, based on the Ge'ez script. Unfortunately, there’s no formal method of translating Amharic writing into Roman or Latin characters and thus the reason for the variety in the spelling of town names.

 

22 November - Finote Salam – Dangla (Dangila) – 99 km

From Finote Salam to Dangla was a pleasant and comfortable 100 kilometres accompanied by the usual, "Where you go?" from kids, before demanding money, clothing and even the bicycle at times.

We finished the day's ride in Dangla. Though a tiny village with a mere 25,000 inhabitants, the town had a long history. The city was said to be the centre of the African slave trade route back in 1930 when the British maintained a consulate in town.

Supper was firfir, my favourite food, being injera fried in butter smothered in a hot sauce. By the time I went to bed, I knew the meal was a mistake.

 

23-24 November – Dangla – Bahir Dar – 80 km

The next day became a most challenging ride (I will not go into detail), and the 80 kilometres to Bahir Dar felt like a lifetime. Finally, and to my great relief, I crawled into touristy Bahir Dar in the late afternoon. The place wasn't exactly swarming with tourists, but it had a few hotels and restaurants.

The Dar Gioa Hotel offered camping along the edge of beautiful Lake Tana. Still, I weakened at the thought of a comfortable bed as I had no energy to pitch a tent. Still feeling unwell, an additional day was spent in Bahir Dar. Little did I know whatever I'd contracted would linger a long time. Again, feeling sick, nothing came of my plans to explore the island monasteries or the Blue Nile Falls. I felt disappointed at this lost opportunity.

 

25 November - Bahir Dar – Addis Zena – 88 km

The route to Addis Zena stretched along Lake Tana and was thus flat and scenic. Addis Zena marked the end of the day's ride and had a superb location at the foothills of the Simien Mountains and the start of the immensely impressive Ethiopian highlands. By evening, Ernest offered to cook spaghetti as I still wasn't up to Ethiopian cuisine. We ate our food while admiring Mount Asaba, Addis Zena's famous landmark.

 

26-27 November – Addis Zena – Gondar – 100 km

Spectacular views greeted us as we pedalled the 100 kilometres to Gondar. The following day was spent roaming the streets of Gondar, an old town offering plenty to explore. The town was further our last chance to buy essentials prior to heading into Sudan.

Gondar is a historic city and was once the capital of Ethiopia (1632-1667). As a result, there were plenty of remnants of ancient castles and fortresses.

The walled Fasil Ghebbi fortress is a vast complex of forts and palaces measuring 70,000 square metres. It contains numerous restored castles and other buildings and has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site. However, the main attraction remained the immense 17th-century castle of Emperor Fasilides, as it included a surprising mixture of architectural styles.

 

28 November - Gondor

Ernest headed to the border, but I decided to stay an extra day and take a bus as I'd already cycled this stretch not too long before, but never had time to investigate the area.

I popped into the Debre Berhan Selassie Church, famed for its elaborate murals and ceiling. At leisure, I wandered the streets and markets of Gondar, giggling at school kids greeting me with a sing-song, "Good morning, teacher".

 

29 November – Gondor – Metema (by bus)

The next morning, a bus took me to the town of Metama, home to the Ethiopian/Sudanese border. The trip was quite an experience. In true African style, the driver charged for loading the bike as well as offloading it. We overtook Ernest, and I expected him to catch up when the bus broke down. I got to Metema dusty and maybe more saddle-sore than on a bike, as the seats were rock-hard.

Metema, being a real border town, was dirty, dusty, and lined with pubs and brothels. I located accommodation consisting of a mud hut containing only a sagging bed. The electricity came on when the generator started and went off when the generator switched off or ran out of fuel. With the lack of individual switches, I kept a torch handy as the toilets were a distance away behind a rickety, corrugated iron sheet.

 

30 November - Metema

Ernest arrived the next day, covered in dust and sweat, and we located a different room (not much better but at least a tad more spacious). We enjoyed our last beer as our path crossed the border into Sudan the following day.

Being a conservative Muslim country, alcohol was forbidden and women were seldom seen outside. This explained the considerable number of pubs and brothels as Sudanese men frequently popped across the border for a bit of R & R.

 

1 December – Metema, Ethiopia - Galabat – Doka, Sudan – 88 km

Not being early starters, it turned out late in the day before crossing the border from Ethiopia into Sudan. The immigration office was no more than a mud hut under thatch. Upon emerging from the dark and dingy room, one found oneself in super conservative Sudan.

The day was hot and windy and, not feeling 100%, riding became a struggle, only reaching tiny Doka towards the end of the day. The tents were pitched in the vicinity of a police checkpoint at the turn-off to the village. Camping close to the police wasn't the safest place, as the trouble in South Sudan was ongoing and police were continuously under attack. The only reason for camping near the checkpoint was the availability of water. Checkpoints had plenty of water; we could thus wipe ourselves down and have water to cook and fill the bottles.

Water is a significant concern in the desert, and the police, mercifully, didn't mind sharing. Before setting up camp, Ernest and I first rode to the market. But, as Doka was no more than a few simple homes, a mosque, and a small market, only a few potatoes and tomatoes were available.

Laying in my tent, I grinned as never in my wildest dreams did I think I would cycle Sudan twice! 

010 CYCLE TOURING SYRIA (1)

 

SYRIA (1)

570 Kilometers – 23 Days

22 September – 14 October 2007

MAP

 PHOTOS

 

22-23 September – Atakia, Turkey – Aleppo, Syria – 110 kilometres

Leaving Atakia, Turkey, I nervously approached the Syrian border, wondering if visas were issued on arrival. However, what could only have been the visa gods must have been looking after me, as I met four motorbike riders travelling overland to South Africa. They introduced me to Ahmed, a tour guide, who was helping them obtain Syrian visas. Ahmed was incredibly accommodating and helped me complete the forms and then disappeared. Three hours later, I had my visa and was en route to Aleppo, Syria. Sometimes I couldn’t believe my luck, and I knew I was tremendously fortunate to meet the motorbike riders as well as Ahmed.

My first thought cycling into Syria was, “What have I let myself into?” Syria was entirely different. It had a different culture, language, landscape, food and housing. Not only was it a conservative Muslim and desert country, but one of the oldest inhabited regions in the world. Archaeological finds indicate human habitation dates back 700,000 years.

Little happened during the day, apart from cotton fields and typical Syrian communities consisting of a mosque, a market, and a few modest courtyard homes. Traditionally, these homes appear unimpressive from the outside but could be quite lavish on the inside. The houses further offered total privacy as well as a communal family area, often fitted with a water feature or even a pool. I was so impressed by this type of architecture that I swore that if I had the opportunity to build a home, it would be a courtyard-style home.

Biking into Aleppo, one of the oldest cities in Syria, was at 18h00, thus in peak hour traffic. By then, I was quite aware that traffic rules weren’t the same in all countries, but the horrendous traffic in Syria made no sense whatsoever. I had no idea Aleppo was such a large city. As it was Ramadan, thousands of hungry people were on their way home. Being a woman on a bicycle, I felt I was at the bottom of the food chain. As if that wasn’t enough, it started bucketing down and the entire road flooded in seconds. While trying to stay out of harm’s way, I rode through a puddle and my front wheel got stuck in a drain cover. I nearly destroyed a part of my anatomy, which I believed could still come in handy later!

Miraculously, I made my way to the city centre where a reasonably priced abode was uncovered. The aptly named Hotel Tourist was centrally located and clean. Achmad, from the hotel, was immensely helpful and offered to walk me around town.

The following day was spent in Aleppo exploring the citadel, market and museum. Upon returning, I needed a GPS to find the way along the numerous narrow, identical-looking alleys. By evening, Achmad offered to show me more of the town. It turned out an interesting meander ending at a typical Syrian eatery. What a friendly bunch the Syrians are.

 

24 September - Aleppo – Idlib – 66 kilometres

Upon departing, Achmad presented me with a watch. I had no idea what to make of this generous gift, but I thanked him and cycled out of Aleppo. That was just weird! My first full day of cycling was between Aleppo and Idlib, about 60 kilometres straight into a strong headwind.

In Idlib, I enquired about accommodation and, in the process, met Ahmad. He invited me to stay with him and his wife. I was given an entire apartment and was invited to supper. Also present were his brother and sister-in-law. It was a pleasant experience; they did not merely sit on a mat but used no utensils and ate solely with their fingers. Even though Ramadan, Somod (Ahmad’s wife) went to great lengths to create various delicious dishes. It was a lovely evening, albeit Ahmad the sole member who spoke English. Still, we communicated and enjoyed each other’s company. They showed me how to sit correctly when eating and laughed jovially at me, struggling to eat using only my fingers. Afterwards, I returned to my room well-fed and grateful for such a unique opportunity.

 

25 September - Idlib – Latakia – 130 kilometres

From Idlib to Latakia was a hundred and thirty kilometres. The going was slow as the road led over a mountain range and was coupled with a headwind. However, the people I encountered were immensely accommodating. Still, asking for directions remained tricky as only a few could read an English map. That said, for the best part, Syrians observed me, mouths agape. Their astonishment was primarily due to me being an unaccompanied woman… on a bicycle. Still, virtually all were keen to communicate. In the process, I was offered more food and drink than anyone could consume.

Towards the end of the day, it took cycling through hectic traffic and into a stiff breeze before reaching the historic port city of Latakia.

 

26 September – Latakia

Syria’s traffic was astounding. There appeared no rules and, if any, I hadn’t caught onto it. The driving seemed aggressive and the constant hooting deafening. Everyone seemingly did their own thing, surprisingly without any accidents - quite astonishing really. Syria was home to the three-wheel pickups. These vehicles carted anything, from people to building rubble. It was pretty easy to keep up or even overtake them, usually to the children’s great delight.

Latakia warranted a day of investigating as the site had been inhabited since the 2^nd millennium BC. Still, the city was only founded in the 4^th century BC under the Seleucid Empire’s rule. Eventually, Pompey saw the Seleucids as too troublesome and made Syria a Roman Province. Latakia was subsequently ruled by the Romans, the Ummayads and the Abbasids, all between the 8^th–10^th centuries of the Christian era. One would think it was enough for any city, but it wasn’t for Latakia. Following World War 1, Latakia was assigned to the French, and only reintegrated into Syria in 1944. Phew!

Strangely, not much remained of its troublesome past except a Triumphal Arch and the ruins of the Temple of Bacchus.

 

27 September - Latakia – Tartus - 85 kilometres

I emerged to brilliant weather and was eager to get underway. The ride was pleasant as it ran next to the ocean until reaching Tartus, situated further south along the Mediterranean coast.

I came out in lumps and bumps, all terribly itchy, and instead of getting better, it seemed to worsen. Irritated, hot and tired, I booked into an overpriced chalet only to discover the place infested with creepy crawlies. It was a day I felt incredibly sorry for myself. Albeit next to the coast, the coastline was filthy and littered with all kinds of rubbish. I thought better of it to swim, not purely because of the garbage but because I was afraid of offending the conservative Syrian Muslims.

 

28 September – Tartus

The following morning, I woke with a swollen eye and even more itchy bites – not something I considered possible. In no mood to explore, I still looked around the historical centre inside the Crusader-era Templar fortress walls, but few old buildings remained. Still, the city was home to a smattering of interesting sites. Unfortunately, the surprisingly few tourists made me stick out like a sore thumb and in no mood to be stared at, I scurried back to my room.

 

29 September - Tartus – Homs – 110 kilometres

My route continued to Holms via a busy highway where my arrival was reasonably early, thanks to a good tailwind.

Still, I could make no head or tail of the traffic. Despite the red lights, no one stopped, and traffic police were required to help regulate the madness.

Later, I took a taxi to a recommended restaurant. The evening turned out rather bizarre as the taxi driver stayed and joined me for the meal. He spoke no English, which made the evening somewhat uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to buy my taxi driver a meal. Whatever the culture, it would’ve been far more comfortable eating on my own.

 

30 September – Homs

As little of Homes was seen the previous day, it justified an additional day. I walked the ancient markets, ate overly sweet pastries, and drank tiny cups of strong coffee. It was sweltering hot and I wondered how the women managed being completely covered in black. The men, at least, looked marginally better off in their long white robes.

The city was a jumble of noise and colour. Hooting seemed part of driving and the numerous mosques called people to prayer ever so often.

 

1 October - Homs – Damascus – 80 kilometres

The scenery abruptly changed as the route swung inland from Homs to Damascus. The only thing visible was a vast desert. Gone were the olive trees, pomegranates and figs and nothing but barren land surrounded me. A ferocious wind picked up and visibility was down to a few metres of a grey/yellow haze. I battled onward but knew I wouldn’t get far in such unforgiving conditions. I had my head down to try and keep the sand from my eyes and scarcely saw the van parked alongside the road. A sweet French couple stopped to offer me a ride to Damascus. I succumbed to temptation as this was too good an offer to decline and jumped in. In no time at all, we were in Damascus.

They parked their van in the backyard of St Paul’s convent, and I pitched my tent in the convent’s herb garden (hopefully I didn’t flatten the parsley).

 

2-6 October – Damascus

Departing the convent was early as the gardener started watering the garden. After waving goodbye to my saviours, the way into the city centre was in life-threatening traffic. The inexpensive abode uncovered needed cleaning before settling in to wait for my sister Amanda’s arrival, coming to Syria on holiday.

The plan was to use public transport to travel to Syria and Jordan. With a shock, I discovered my passport was practically full. On inquiring, I learned it wasn’t possible to order a new one in Syria, Jordan or adjacent Lebanon. Another lesson learned. I stared myself blind at the expiry date and never considered the number of remaining pages. This left me little choice but to return to South Africa, order a new one and hopefully be on my way a.s.a.p. A costly lesson, indeed.

 

7 October - Damascus

Amanda arrived in the afternoon and, almost immediately, the two of us set out to the old part of town sporting narrow, cobbled pedestrian lanes. Being the oldest continuously inhabited city globally, Damascus was steeped in history, and ancient markets and beautiful mosques abounded. The markets were fascinating and the traffic horrendous. Crossing a street could solely be achieved as part of a human wall.

 

8 October - Maalula

Following breakfast, a taxi took us to the Shrine of Saida Zeinab, ten kilometres from Damascus and rumoured to contain the grave of Muhammad’s granddaughter. Once done, a minibus took us to historical Maalula, roughly 56 kilometres from Damascus, where houses clung precariously to the cliffside. Maalula was one of the only places where Aramaic was still spoken, a language Jesus Christ presumably spoke.

It didn’t take long to get used to Syria’s lifestyle, where nothing opened until ten. Breakfast was usually served until midday. Shops closed between four and six and remained open until late, which suited my dear sister’s lifestyle. It was thus late before finally turning in.

 

9-10 October – Damascus - Aleppo

An early morning bus took us to Aleppo, where historical records indicate the area has been occupied since 5,000 BC. I was excited to show Amanda the covered souqs in the old walled part of the city (a UNESCO World Heritage Site). It’s said to be the largest covered market in the world. Hundreds of long narrow alleys run approximately thirteen kilometres; all jam-packed with people and goods. With its warren of stalls, the Al-Madina Souq formed the city’s beating heart. Here one could find anything – from spices and traditional sweets to textiles, carpets, and the famous Aleppo soap made from olive oil. To the citizens of Aleppo, the souqs weren’t simply places of commerce but also places of social gatherings to smoke, drink tea and gossip.

We sauntered around the old citadel dating to the 3^rd millennium BC. The Citadel of Aleppo, right in the centre of town, sported grand vistas over old Aleppo, dating to the 10^th century BC.

 

11 October - Aleppo - Hama

When not travelling by bicycle, getting around was much faster and we moved on to Hama. Once there, no time was wasted grabbing a taxi to the Krak des Chevaliers castle. The castle is the best-preserved medieval castle globally, first occupied by Kurdish troops in the 11^th century. After snatching a few pics, we returned to Hama.

In Hama, enough time remained to view the world famous and oldest surviving water wheels (norias), dating to the medieval Islamic period. There remained six of them along the Orontes River and, amazingly, were still in working condition.

 

12-14 October - Hama – Palmyra

By morning, we were ready to roll and boarded a bus to the oasis town of Palmyra, an ancient city founded in the 3^rd millennium BC. Famous as the place where Queen Zenobia ruled and for the ruins of the “Pink City”, once one of the most important cultural centres of the ancient world. In those days, Palmyra was a wealthy caravan oasis due to its prominent location on the trade route between Persia, India and China. One of its principal features was a colonnaded street measuring 1,100 metres in length. On our visit, Palmyra’s ruins still rose out of the Syrian desert. It revealed the remains of roads and the temple of Ba’el, considered one of the most significant religious buildings of the 1^st century AD.

Palmyra was where we befriended a chap who invited us to visit his family living in the desert. The trip involved a camel ride to a Bedouin camp. We hurriedly packed our belongings and soon rocked across the vast desert by camel. The trip took the best part of the day and we reached camp in the afternoon with sore backsides. Although interesting, the situation was slightly uncomfortable as no one understood one another. Amanda and I were unsure of what was expected of us. We foolishly smiled at them and them at us. We were clearly the topic of conversation, if understood correctly, as we received an offer of a few camels. Hahaha. It couldn’t have been many as we were way past the age of receiving any reasonable offers!

By evening, we accompanied the family to a waterhole to give the camels water. On returning, a sand-bearing wind (or Khamsin) raised a wall of dust, quickly engulfing the entire region, and darkening the sky. One could see it moving in from a long way off, and by the time it reached us, visibility was reduced to only a few hundred metres.

At camp, I was surprised at how insulated the tent was. Inside, the tents were beautifully decorated with woven carpets on the walls and the floor. Amanda and I sat with the men in the main tent. At the same time, the women (complete with traditional facial tattoos) lived and cooked in separate smaller tents. This arrangement made me feel awfully uncomfortable. Once done, the food was brought in on large trays. Traditionally, the men eat first, and the women what is leftover (another awkward moment). We were served rice topped with a chicken thigh. Being a vegetarian, I didn’t want to offend and thus closed my eyes and quickly consumed the chicken thigh, hardly chewing the meat. To my hosts, this action translated as hunger and, to my horror, I was promptly given a second portion!

The next morning, the camels returned us to Palmyra. A truly unforgettable experience!

Barely enough time remained to do a small amount of shopping before resuming our bus journey to Amman, Jordan, another ancient country with a long and fascinating history.

009 CYCLE TOURING CYPRUS

 

CYPRUS

120 Km – 8 Days

14 September – 22 September 2007

MAP

PHOTOS

 

14 September – Girne, Cyprus

I left the Baltic cycle group as they headed to the Greek side of the island. Vidmantas, a friend of Sigitas (leader of Baltic Cycles), offered me his house as he was away for the weekend. Staying in Girne while having his home all to myself was thus a no-brainer.

Cyprus, officially called the Republic of Cyprus, is situated in the Mediterranean Sea. It’s the third-largest island in the Mediterranean and a popular tourist destination. The Republic of Cyprus claims to be the entire island’s legitimate government, with Nicosia the country’s capital and biggest city.

In reality, Cyprus is divided into two main parts. The area under the control of the Republic, is in the south and west and comprises about 59% of the island. The north, administered by the self-declared Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, covers about 36%. The remaining 4% forms a UN buffer zone. The international community considers the island’s northern part (occupied by Turkish forces) illegal under international law.

I stayed on the Turkish side as obtaining a visa to enter Greece was practically impossible.

 

15 September – Girne (Turkish) Kyrenia (Greek)

While in Girne, my time was spent enquiring about a Syrian visa. Sadly, the Embassy was on the Southern side of the island and, hence, the Greek side, a no-go area to me. No one in Girne appeared able to help, and instead, I’d a leg wax and pedicure. Things would sure sort themselves out.

 

16-17 September – Girne

While having the luxury of a room, I explored the coast around Girne by bicycle. Cyprus was immensely mountainous and barren, but the shoreline was lovely and dotted by many fantastic beaches. Regrettably, many new developments spoiled the rural feel, but there’s no stopping development. These developments further endangered the nesting places of the sea turtles, which have been breeding along the Cyprus coast for centuries.

An additional day was spent in Girne to contact the Syrian Embassy. Vidmantes offered to get the correct telephone number, but still, no answers were received. I decided to leave it and try my luck at the Syrian border.

 

18 September - Girne – Kaplica – 60 kilometres

The next day I thanked Vidmantes and cycled out of Girne in the direction of Famagusta. An idyllic spot on the beach featuring a bar and restaurant got my attention. I considered it a good enough place and pitched the tent. Being September, it was getting to the end of the summer season, and only a few super pale Brits in their Union Jack swimsuits remained.

 

19 September - Kaplica – Famagusta – 60 kilometres

The following morning, I abandoned my little paradise. Instead, I biked over the mountain (nothing like a mountain pass first thing in the morning). Even though there were campsites outside Famagusta, a hotel close to the harbour was an excellent place to park off. The ferry to Mersin departed at 8h30 in the morning and the ticket office opened at 7h00.

Famagusta turned out fascinating as it was from here Silk Road merchants transported goods to Western Europe. The historic centre is still surrounded by walls built by the Venetians in the 15th and 16th centuries. Hours were spent wandering its ancient ruins and the streets of the old walled city. Unfortunately, I was severely bitten by mosquitos (I think) and had itchy bites all over my face, arms, and legs. Irritated by the itching, I returned to my abode.

 

20 September – Famagusta, Cyprus - Mersin (Mainland Turkey) - By Ferry

Early morning, I loaded the bike and pedalled off to the harbour only to find the ferry at 8h30 pm and not in the morning, as stated in the email. It was easy to spend a day in Famagusta, wandering its Salamis Ruins dating to the 11th Century BC. There’s still an amazing amount intact after destruction by enemies and several earthquakes. Then, off to the harbour where I met 2 Nepali guys biking around the world. I later wondered whether they were, indeed, cycling or merely using public transport to score free accommodation and food.

 

21 September - Mersin – Atakia - By Bus

The ferry came as a shock as it could only be described as a rust bucket. I doubted its capability of reaching the mainland but at least it had seats where one could sit and sleep. The trip didn’t take 9 hours as the ticket stated (not surprising, taking the state it was in), and we only slinked into Mersin the next morning at 9h00. En route, we’d our fair amount of drama as a man fell overboard and (rust bucket or not) the ferry promptly spun around and picked him up. Not an easy task in the dark, hats off to the captain!

The two Nepali guys were also heading towards Syria. Once in Mersin, we decided to take a bus to Atakia, situated on the Turkey/Syrian border. If impossible to get a Syrian visa at the border, I wanted enough time to remain on my Turkish visa to make alternative arrangements. In Atakia we located excellent digs at Sister Barbara’s where we stayed the night. After waking to one of the Napoli guys fondling my breast, I yelled at him, took my stuff, and moved to a bed in another dormitory where one could lock the door. The little bastard!

The following day, I packed up and cycled to the Syrian border and luckily never encountered the Nepalese guys again.

 

22 September – Atakia, Turkey – Aleppo, Syria – 110 kilometres

I arrived at the Syrian border apprehensively and met four motorbike riders travelling overland to South Africa. They introduced me to Ahmed, a tour guide, helping them obtain Syrian visas. Ahmed was incredibly accommodating and helped fill in the forms and then disappeared. Three hours later, I’d my visa and was on my way to Aleppo, Syria. Sometimes I couldn’t believe my luck and realised I was extremely fortunate to have met the motorbike riders as well as Ahmed.

My first thought cycling into Syria was, “What’ve I let myself into”. Syria was an entirely different world, different culture, foreign language, alien landscape, food, and housing. Not only was it a conservative Muslim and desert country but one of the oldest inhabited regions in the world. Archaeological finds indicated human habitation dated back 700,000 years.

Still, little remained to be seen along the way except for cotton fields and typical Syrian communities consisting of a mosque, a market, and a few modest courtyard homes. Traditionally these homes appear modest from the outside but could be quite lavished internally. These homes further offered total privacy as well as a communal family area, often with a water feature or even a pool. I was so impressed by this type of architecture that I swore if ever I get the opportunity to build a home, it will be a courtyard-style home. 

 

008 CYCLE TOURING TURKEY (1)

 

Photo by Ed Carter

TURKEY (1)

881 Km – 18 Days

27 August – 13 September 2007

MAP

PHOTOS

  

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

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

Turkish people are some of the world’s kindest, and while waiting, offers of tea, watermelon, as well as coffee were received. Unfortunately, the rim took longer than envisaged to repair. By the time all was done, it was raining and we opted for accommodation in Kirklareli. Turkey is a transcontinental country straddling eastern Europe and Asia and was thus 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 - Karklareli – Safalan – 96 kilometres

By morning I was eager to go exploring. Turkey is not flat; the best part of the day was spent cycling up and down hills, heading in Istanbul’s direction. A picnic area featuring a restaurant and toilets indicated the end of the day’s ride.

 

29-31 August - Safalan – Istanbul – 137 kilometres

Seeing a long distance remained to historic Istanbul, we packed up early. Cycling into large and busy Istanbul, Turkey’s economic, cultural, and historic centre, was a nightmare in the horrendous traffic, especially during peak hours. Unfortunately, none of the campsites indicated on the map still existed, and by 21h00, we found alternative accommodation. But, at least I’d my first glimpse of the Mediterranean. As stressful as the ride was, I was happy to be in this beautiful and historic city.

The following morning, and in daylight, locating a backpacker hostel was much more manageable. The place 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 thus filled to the brim. The only beds available were on the hostel’s roof, where beds were piled in, leaving no spaces between - resembling a huge communal bed. It thus came as no surprise to run into the Baltic Cycle Group.

The day was mostly 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 Cyclists as we headed in the same direction.

 

1 September - Istanbul - Bodrum - By Ferry

There was no sleeping in on the roof and I walked in the harbour’s direction to purchase a ferry ticket to Bodrum. As the boat left at 14h00, I returned to the hostel to collect my stuff and say goodbye to the Baltic cyclists departing as only 15 riders continued towards Cyprus.

The ferry was a pleasant surprise as it was more substantial than foreseen and sported a pool, gym and restaurants. The ocean resembled a lake, and most of the day was spent on the deck at the pool. The restaurant onboard was costly, and we could barely afford the necessities. 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 cloudless and the weather pleasantly warm.

 

2 September - Bodrum – Datca (by boat)

The next day was mainly spent swimming and lounging about until reaching Bodrum at around 15h00. Once at Bodrum, we hopped on a ferry in the direction of Datca, where our arrival was about 19h00. As it was already late, camping was on an open lot near the harbour where a small shop provided 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. Albeit hilly and hot, the scenery and beaches were spectacular. En route, stopping wasn’t purely to have breakfast but also to swim. The Turkish breakfast mainly consisted of a basket of bread, cheese, tomatoes, cucumber, and olives washed down with a glass of ayran.

Not much exploring was done, as even though Marmaris has a long history, the 1957 earthquake destroyed the city and left only the castle standing.

Marmaris’s campground was right 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 degrees C. We churned our way up and over the mountains to Mugla. The heat and hills made exhausting riding, but the route is blessed with picturesque views. The small community of Ula was reached around midday, and where I decided to get a haircut, something that turned out an interesting affair. No one spoke English, and all communication was done in sign language.

Burent, a cyclist from Mugla, met us along the way and led us into Mugla and through the old part of town, where we were offered tea and a bike repair service. The old quarter of Muğla is home to cobbled streets and houses dating from the 18th and 19th centuries, many of which were restored. These houses typically had courtyards and double-shuttered doors as well as chimneys.

Camping was at the public swimming pool, a first for me, and a place that came had a lovely green lawn and more than enough shower facilities to accommodate everyone.

 

5 September - Mugla – Koycegiz – Dalyan - 75 kilometres

Burent was there at 8h00 and led us out of the village and along rural roads through forests towards Köyceğiz. Koycegiz lake is joined to the Mediterranean Sea by a natural channel known as the Dalyan Delta. 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 easy exploring. We swam at Turtle Beach but never saw any turtles. The ancient harbour of Caunos, had tombs carved into the rock high on the cliff face, was even more fascinating.

We camped at Dalyan, where the rest of the evening was spent on a timber deck drinking wine.

 

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

Baltic Cycles was a fun group. During the day, each did their own thing and arrived at the camp in their own time. Most cyclists were Polish and spoke limited English; only Bob from Scotland and Saline from New Zealand spoke English. Talking to them was thus easiest. Ella, from Poland, was lovely and managed by using sign language and a dictionary. Cycling was seldom without stopping to devour a Turkish pancake or Gozleme, a savoury flatbread smothered with various fillings.

Our path led along the Turquoise Coast, a beautiful ride and stunning views of historic Fethiye and its Amyntas Rock Tombs.

 

7 September – Fethiye – Patara

The Turkish were exceptionally hospitable and generous and often stopped to offer lifts, tea or watermelon. The previous night, and 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 mainly were driven by using only one hand while the other held a cell phone or hung out the car window.

 

8 September - Kas – Olympus – 90 kilometres

The route between Kas and Olympus was immensely mountainous, but the scenery was so impressive we hardly noticed. 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 because of the food, people’s friendliness, or even the magical Mediterranean coast but 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 about en route 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

An additional day was spent in Olympus, relaxing on the beach or cushions on a timber deck. By evening a short walk led up the mountain to where dozens of small fires constantly burn from vents in the rocks on the side of the hill. The fires are fuelled by gas emissions and have been burning for at least 2500 years.

 

10 September - Olympus – Antalya – 90 kilometres

Ninety kilometres further was historical Antalya, established in 200 BC and bound to sport more impressive ruins. The city thrived under Roman rule and left a monument like the impressive Hadrian’s Gate, built in honour of the Roman emperor Hadrian, who visited Antalya in 130. The Hıdırlık Tower is another landmark believed constructed by the ruling Roman Empire in the second century CE.

 

11-12 September - Antalya – Side – 74 kilometres

The following day, we ambled along the coast toward the ancient port town of Side, known for its beaches and Roman ruins dating to Antony and Cleopatra’s time. One couldn’t help but stroll the ruins of the 2nd-century Antique Theater, which seated up to 15,000. By then, we were all “ruined out” and didn’t explore much- except lounging about doing as little as possible.

 

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

After our last excellent Turkish breakfast (a basket of bread, tomatoes, cucumber and olives followed by a glass of ice-cold ayran), we biked onto the Alanya harbour, from where ferries departed to Cyprus - a 4-hour boat ride away. I left the Baltic Cycle group as they headed towards the Greek side of the island. Greece and Turkey shared Cyprus and I stayed on the Turkish side as getting a visa to visit Greece was practically impossible.