A stormy crossing of the Aegean Sea on a
ferry that had seen many better days brought me to Selcuk on the west coast
of Turkey. There began a busy and fascinating three-week tour of the
country. Whilst pedalling some 550 miles, I also found time to visit a
number of tourist spots, including the ancient city of Ephesus; the calcium
"ice-mountain" at Pamukkale; the salt lake in the mountains at Yesilova;
Keilici and Side - two ancient settlements on the Mediterranean; and the
wonder volcanic landscape of Capadoccia. This was capped by a flight in a
hot-air balloon to watch the sun rise at Goreme.
Less than perfect road surfaces and intense August heat made the cycling
in Turkey fairly arduous. On one desolate dusty highway in western
Anatolia, the temperature memorably touched 100 degrees. How do I know?
The water in my bicycle bottles started bubbling....
Turkish hospitality and warm welcomes greeted me everywhere. One hot day
in the mountains, I had misjudged distances and terrain, and found myself
with no food or water, 20 km from the nearest town. No matter. A Turkish
family, having their lunch on the basic verandah of their mountain hut, saw
my predicament and at once invited me in. They plied me with tea and
insisted I eat their meal of chapattis, and chips soaked in tomatoes, and
filled my water bottles. One of many examples in this most hospitable
country....
To continue my interest in food - (I have already had one bemused reader
wondering why my travels seem to centre around eating sticky buns, rather
than crossing croc-infested swamps!) - I am constantly intrigued by the
widely diverse interpretation of the content
of "breakfast' around the world.
Cereal and a fry-up in England; croissants and jam in France; cheese and
salami with bread in Holland and Germany; sweet cakes in Greece; and in
Turkey? Well, this is the traditional Turkish breakfast, all served on the
one plate:-
black olives, cucumber, tomatoes, boiled egg, goat's cheese, ham, toast
and cherry jam, water melon, and cups of cay (tea). And very
nice it is too....
The questions I was asked most frequently by local Turkish men? "Are you
alone? How come? Where's your husband?" etc etc
The first thousand times it's ok; after that it becomes tiresome.
A change of plan came about in Turkey. I was not particularly looking
forward to the heat and secret police in Syria, when I met two ex-patriot
English lads from Cyprus, who said, "Syria? You must be mad. Go to Cyprus
instead - it's lovely."
So I did, and it was.
This necessitated taking a ferry from the Turkish coastal town of Tasucu,
to Girne (Kyrenia) in northern Cyprus. I planned a circuitous tour of the
island before taking a flight from the southern town of Larnaca to Tel Aviv,
to resume my route in Israel.
Now those of you who know something of the political situation in Cyprus
will know of the difficulties in crossing the "Green Line" dividing Greek
Cyprus with the disputed Turkish territory to the north. FCO advice
indicated that it was possible, even though I had entered into the
"unrecognised" northern port of Kyrenia; rumour and gossip from locals and
tourists suggested that it wasn't possible. My plans of course depended on
being able to reach Larnaca to fly out to Israel.
I approached the border in Nicosia nervously. The Turkish guard waived
me through. Then came the Greek Cypriot immigration official. He demanded
"Where are you going?" I told him, Larnaca, trying to look wide-eyed and
innocent.
"But you can't - it's not possible" he said.
So, there is a problem, I thought. All my plans.... I can't go South.
Indignantly, I asked him why not.
"Larnaca? By bicycle? It's too far. It's not possible. It will take
two days."
Relief! I waved him goodbye, and three hours and forty miles later I was
sitting on the beach at Larnaca.
Whilst there, I became aware that two of my friends, Jackie and Johnny
McCreanney, were on holiday back in Kyrenia! I had no hesitation in
retracing my steps to spend two great days with them.
Getting past immigration officials to enter Israel is a challenge in
itself. As I regaled the official with details of my trip and my plans, and
tried to explain why I had a return ticket to Cyprus (because they wouldn't
sell me a single), she was clearly becoming more and more incredulous and
suspicious. I was saved when she asked me if I had a business card to prove
I had a job in England. I was grateful to be able to pull out my police
warrant card which I had decided to take with me at the last minute. It did
the trick. After that, she was full of smiles and helpful hints on where to
stay and what to see.
I reached the high point and the low point of the trip within a week -
literally, that is. In Cyprus I pedalled from the sea to the top of the
Troodos Mountains, at a height of 1960 meters.
In Israel, on the road to Tiberius, I passed a sign on the road,
indicating sea level. But I had to descend a further 207 meters the reach
the shores of Lake Galilee, the lowest fresh water lake in the world.
I spent almost four weeks in Israel, and very happily, until the constant
security checks wherever I went, finally wore me down. Body and bag
searches accompany the Israelis in banks, post offices, bars, shopping
centres, hotels and on roads, buses and trains. It is easy to become
sceptical about their necessity, but as a timely reminder, I was staying in
Eilat, just 5km from the Egyptian border, on the night of the bombing of the
Taba Hilton Hotel on the Egypt side of the border itself, apparently
targeting the many Israelis on holiday in the Sinai.
With the second intifada now approaching its 5th year, Israel's famous
pilgrim sites were devoid of visitors. A sign in a Jerusalem gift shop
summed up the position: - "Discounts for brave tourists - we welcome you."
As one of those brave tourists, I was able to enjoy in tranquillity, and
often complete solitude, such biblical places as Nazereth's Basilica of the
Annunciation, the site of the Wedding feast at Cana, the shores of Lake
Galilee, Capernaum, Jericho with its Mount of Temptations, Bethlehem's
Church of the Nativity, and the Garden of Gethsemene on the Mount of
Olives. The story was little different in the amazing old city of
Jerusalem, where I was able to be at the Western (Wailing) Wall to observe
the worship on the holiest Jewish feast of Yom Kippur.
As if to prove it is the country with everything to offer the visitor,
even in troubled times, whilst in Israel I also packed in a camel ride, a
swim with Dolphins, (if you ever get the chance, DO IT!), snorkelling in the
coral reef of the Aquaba Gulf, and floating surreally in the Dead Sea.
Changing my planned route to take in Cyprus meant that I missed out on
cycling through Jordan. But I couldn't resist a day trip to Petra, the
"Pink City" hidden in the Jordan desert. I tried to capture it on a photo
for the website, but I don't think any camera could do justice to the
changing colours of the famous mausoleum facade when see in real life.
Any cycling going on this month?
Well, yes, I actually turned the pedals for 300 miles in Israel, and a
further 200 in the Sinai, much of it in mind-blowing temperatures and
desert-scape. 42 degrees at the Dead Sea, and 40 degrees in Eilat, where
the English-speaking presenter on Radio Jordan described the "mini-heat
wave" they were having. A mini-heat wave in the desert.....oh, great!
The concept of cycling round the world is a difficult one for some people
to grasp.
Talking to a lady from Ethiopia in the hostel in Eilat about my trip, and
where I had been, she asked me if I hired a bike in each different country.
I told her I had my own bike with me. Looking confused, she said, "Well,
how do you transport it around with you, to all the places you go?" I told
her I sit on it, and pedal! The penny dropped, and her face was a picture!!
The Taba Hilton bomb resulted in the Israel-Egypt border being
temporarily closed. When I finally did cross it to cycle south along the
Red Sea coast of the Sinai Peninsular, the dramatic effect of the bombing on
the tourist industry there was obvious.
An estimated 15,000 Israelis spend their holidays in the Sinai; - it
seemed that every one of them had returned home. Mile after mile of
completely deserted beach camps and hotel resorts greeted me. I stayed in
one in Nuweiba. I was the only guest. The owner told me he feared his
business was finished....
At Dahab, I had a reminder of what it was like to work a night shift!
Setting the alarm for 10pm, I joined a small group of Czech tourists for the
2-hour drive to Mount Sinai. From St Katherine's Monastery, set deep into
the Sinai Desert, we climbed for 3 hours to reach the top of "Moses
Mountain" in time to witness a wonderful sunrise. Back down to the
monastery for breakfast, and back to bed to try to sleep through the day. I
was never any good at that..
I am now having a couple of days rest at Sharm el Sheik, before crossing
to the Egyptian mainland to meet up with friends in Luxor.
I spent 75 days in the Near East on this stage of the journey, cycling
1401 miles, taking 127 hours to do so. Accommodation options were so cheap
and plentiful, and the weather so hot, that I dispensed with my tent, and
spent 38 nights in hotels, 12 in pension/bed & breakfast, and 24 in Youth
Hostels. One night was spent on the sleeper train from Luxor to Cairo.
My bike behaved impeccably throughout the stage with no punctures and no
other problems. As a reward, it now has 2 brand new tyres, and some clean
bright red handlebar tape!"
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