My adventures in the mountains do not start and do not just end with the bad weather, which is my constant companion over the next few days.
Thick, gray-black clouds pass through the sky, taken by the strong wind, constantly changing their direction, and in the places where they gather, prepare another storm. I manage to avoid those clouds several times, in order to be just a witness of the rain somewhere in the distance, but sometimes nature overcomes me, they catch me and they haul at me.
Mountain climbing is not easy, especially with a bicycle, but after an exhausting climb I really enjoy the minutes I fly down the slope. So I go through dozens of small hamlets and villages, I get along with people, but I do not have time to stop and talk. I just do not want to lose the momentum I’ve taken and to waste more precious time.
Only a few days have passed since my stay in the lively coastal town of Alapli, but it’s feel like an eternity. The heavy trekking, the heat, the hunger and the thirst make me forget about the civilization and concentrate only on one thing – my own survival. Turn after turn, neighborhood after hamlet, I do not want to meet people, but to go through the distance and reach my next goal as soon as possible and move on.
Soon I bump into a small town called Gökçebey, where there is nothing interesting to visit. For me, however, it is an important transport point, because from here I can get on a train and thus travel a considerable distance to Karabük. The wait is definitely worth it, and just an hour later I’m in the wagon compartment. It creates a very pleasant impression the very setting, everywhere is very clean and smells good. A conductor passes and charges me only 5 liras (about 1.80 BGN) for an 80 km stretch. I have to pay an additional 5,5 liras for the bike.
On the way from Karabük to Kastamonu start some harsh times for me. I walk twenty kilometers on the almost straight but busy stretch of the road and finally I resolve to escape to the mountain again. After a few turns, I’m in the small village of Balçhikhisar, where the old houses are more than the people. On the main street I find a half-blind old woman who welcomes me and asks where I am from, where I am heading at and wishes me Godspeed. Just a few yards up the drifting highway from a little house, an old man stands before me, offering me an ice-cold watermelon with a huge smile on his face. “Bulgaristan, Bulgaristan”, he laughs under his mustache. I experienced a nice sensation after meeting these people, and although we live in two different countries, the language barrier here did not matter. We understood each other with a look, a smile, a gesture. I feel their kindness and respect it, because in the big cities you will rarely encounter such attitude.
After ten kilometers, I set off on a break and a late lunch, which eliminated a significant portion of my provisions. I believe that I will be able to find a shop to buy something to eat, but after every small neighborhood I visit I am convinced that this will be a mission impossible. The road is in an extremely bad condition, so I rarely get away with cars, even though I noticed a small truck carrying bread and essential food supplies. The time goes by and I have only one bundle of biscuits and two Nescafes which will allow me not to starve to death. I eat half the dinner and I hope to eat something more satiate tomorrow, but again I hit a stone. Hunger begins to torture me and I am slowing down the speed. Every slope seems more and more difficult to cross, I barely have the strength to push the bicycle, but I never stop telling to myself that my luck is just a few corners away.
Almost out of hunger, I arrive in the village of Bahçecik, where I encounter a few people sitting on a laugh. “Ekmek, ekmek”, I make a gesture with my hand that I’m hungry as hell. “Is there a shop here?” I repeat that a few more times, but I only see astonished gazes. An old lady feels sorry for me and takes me to her house, where she feeds me with a half-bread, homemade cheese and tomatoes. She pours me an ice cold yogurt as well.
Afiyet olsun (Good Appetite) – wishes to me the old man who comes to learn more about me. They are both watching me with a vivid interest and they smile at me from heart. They start to shoot questions at me which I can easily answer with full stomach. We speak Bulgarian-Turkish, we wave hands, but we understand each other. They graciously invite me to return one day. I smile and I feel really good after this unexpected new meeting with those wonderful people. With the smile still on my face I continue to ride the bike for 7 km until I reach the river valley, which shines in the distance below the village.
It takes me a day and a half to walk along the river and during that time I wonder if I should enter into the water for an improvised bath but the foam looks quite dirty and I quickly give up. The road is pebbled and covered with holes, to ride a bicycle on such a terrain is completely crazy. Finally I reach my next point on the route – the town of Korşunlu, which does not impress me much. There is just nothing to do here, except to drink coffee on the only main street and gossip, so I head to the station to catch a train.
It turns out that for unexplained reasons the station is closed, which makes me turn the pedals 20 km to the nearest station in a small village in the mountain. There, I am greeted by a dozen railway men who dine in the shade to the station and am thoroughly questioned about my intentions. Unfortunately, they report that there is a breakdown and today there will be no train which totally changes my transportation plans. The next 20 km along the main road are quite dynamic – after a grueling climb, I have to do a few miles of downhill and fly down the road with approximately 35 km / h. At last I’m in Çankiri, where I can take a few days off to recharge my batteries until the next stretch.
Upcoming: my stories from Georgia.
Original title: Turkey: The People Of The Mountain