We are in Turkey. It already feels a bit insane. And adventurous and exciting and impressive and…wet and windy. We curve back out of Ipsala a little warmed up and halfway dry and very soon find ourselves on a dirt road. Aha. The roads marked white on the map seem to be no longer necessarily tarred in Turkey. Since according to the route planning we should soon meet a bigger road again, we decide to dare the few kilometers of unpaved road despite the weather. The few kilometers turn out to be an endurance test: The gravel road soon turns into a mud road and the mud soon turns into clay-like mud, which accumulates between the wheels and the mudguards. Repeatedly we stop and pick the sticky stuff out of the gaps as best we can. Soon the wheels are completely blocked and progress is impossible. I am absolutely stuck and can neither push nor lift my heavy bike. Only one solution remains: unload all the bags and carry them a few hundred meters further, where Louie takes my bike apart and cleans the stubborn mud out of the moving parts as best he can. In the meantime it has started to rain again, it is properly cold, windy and the situation is more than uncomfortable. The stress test is complete and we are more than happy when we find our way back to the main road after hours. Our route leads us on small roads over fields and through small settlements. The people here have a surprisingly dark skin tone, seem to be exclusively engaged in agriculture and the settlements look very simple. Later we find out that part of the population in this corner of Turkey originally comes from Bulgaria and Greece and belongs to the Roma ethnic group. In the small village of Türkmen we let ourselves be beckoned to a small restaurant to warm up, eat our first Köftebrot (minced meat patties), drink Ayran (yogurt drink) and collect first, authentic impressions.
The odyssey on the “white” roads is not over yet. As it gradually gets darker and our current route mutates once again into a muddy road, we bundle today’s insights into the following essences:
1. muddy roads are a “no no”.
2. we use white marked roads only if cars come to meet us and thus prove the passability.
3. from now on we ignore the route suggestions of our map apps, turn around tomorrow and take the main road towards Gelibolu.
It gets dark quickly and we have no choice but to set up a damp and cold camp on the side of the road.
The drive back to Keshan the next morning also costs us more calories than expected. Although we are now driving on paved roads throughout, the strong headwind slows us down to a miserable 9 km/ h. Equipped with a Turkish sim card, warmed up by donated Çays and well-fed after a Turkish “buffet”, we set off after noon to get some more distance under our wheels. Driving on the expressway takes some getting used to, but it’s okay, since the larger roads here are equipped with wide emergency lanes. For once it is called headphones purely, head down and compete against the strong, icy wind. Pretty hypothermic and exhausted we save ourselves in the evening after 89 kilometers in a Pansyon. In addition to the desired hot shower, we unexpectedly enjoy a delicious Turkish evening and morning meal.
The next day we soon find ourselves in Gelibolu and thus on another car ferry, which takes us across the Sea of Marmara to the southern side of the same.
The headwind and the view of the foaming Sea of Marmara accompanied us today. Shortly before it gets too dark, we hold our “Magic letter” under the nose of a gentleman at the roadside.
“We come from Switzerland and New Zealand. We are cycling through Turkey. We are looking for a safe place for our tent,” it says (hopefully). Erdogan briefly consults his wife Remsie and we are beckoned into the autumnal garden. We roll our bikes under an impressive bottle-neck gourd canopy behind the house. Pretty rugs are laid out under a canopy and additional couches provide a cozy sitting area. We get to pitch our tent on the rugs, and Çay Çay Çay! In quantities. Erdogan soon brings us a whole thermos full of tea. In addition, there’s the obligatory sugar and we try to talk to him somehow with Google Translate. Erdogan explains to us with sweeping gestures the names of the fruits he soon brings from every corner of the garden. Pears, quinces, grapes, figs, apples and unap. “We have food with us; we are cooking for us,” we try to tell him. It does not take long and the cheerful remsie brings us two plates filled with bread, cheese, olives, tomatoes and cucumbers. We are also briefly introduced to the 100-year-old mother.
We spend a relaxing night here on the carpets. The trucks thundering by hardly disturb us and we can hardly believe the enormous hospitality and genuine joy of our hosts. The next morning we have just finished cooking our porridge when Erdogan – still in his pajamas – stops by with a plate full of homemade burek. Before we say goodbye, we are invited into the house for tea and are amazed at the simple coziness here. We count four sitting areas with sofas and rugs; all in different rooms. The main room is heated to summer temperatures by a wood stove.
The goodbyes drag on fondly. We’re only allowed to leave the property after Erdogan Louie has given us a short, raucous tour and really stuffed us with delicious fruit from his garden. To top it off, Louie also gets the pockets of his rain jacket filled with the delicious unaps. All of this, of course, despite our continued grateful refusal. Much laughter and unbelievable hospitality we were allowed to experience here. We will not forget these two lovely people so quickly!
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)