Baku

Sep10

Baku was a curious place. Rural Azerbaijan was a very natural feeling synthesis of what we’d seen in Romania, Bulgaria, Turkey and Georgia, plus more apparently rich people, and a tendency to build ornate walls around scruffy areas. Baku was thus, writ large.

We came into Baku on a big busy highway, amongst increasingly smart, and large, cars & SUVs, generally driven quite soberly. They and the trucks must have been newish, too, as the air quality wasn’t so bad for a city. Buildings got smarter and newer, until in the centre, it felt very developed. There were gleaning new public buildings, malls, loads of swanky shops, and innumerable little phone shops. There were gleaming limousines, a Bentley showroom, and in the car park also serving the hotel, I spotted two cars fitted with the pricey option of the Valeo Surround View system I used to work on: Never seen so many in Europe!

We spent an unnecessarily long time in Baku, because we took a while to be ready to buy our ferry tickets. There were things to see and do, but to a lesser extent than Tbilisi. Here we are seeing and doing old Baku:

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Moving ahem, antique, samovars from SUV to antique shop

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Zaphorets, Baku

New Baku:

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Yes, those are London taxicabs: Baku ordered 1,000 of them a few years ago.

Human Baku:

Market

Checkout the teeth.

Slow trade.

Sold by weight, how sensible. We bought a big spoonful.

It does.

Clare in clover

Our first glimpse of the Caspian – through the gates at the old palace. An SUV, naturally, is in the way.

South of Baku are oil fields and supporting industry.

Moving ahem, antique, samovars from SUV to antique shop

Ah, a ZIL 130. Baku.

The sick kitty, and hotel receptionist.

Baku is not liked by every visitor. Perhaps it’s a bit raw. The new bits have no history yet, and the old bits are few, or it seems that way because they were often restored so as to look new. And perhaps there’s a suspicion it is trying very hard to look grand, but not doing so much for the locals. Yet it seemed a perfectly good place to just be. And reasonably safe to cycle around in, albeit in great loops because of the one way systems.

The hotel was the Guest House Inn, with a guest kitchen which helped keep costs down, comfy beds, and helpful staff. Hope the sick kitten made it! We used both 2Teker and Velosport (?) bike shops, conveniently they’re in almost the same road. Both a bit limited for cycle tourists, but we didn’t need much (although dry weather lube would’ve been good). Couldn’t find anyone selling “outdoor gear” although this shop situation was reversed in Aqtau.

And into Azerbaijan.

Aug29

It was like a home coming with all the beeps, hoots & honks, grins , hellos & welcomes we got. By contrast, many Georgians had seemed rather disinterested or just indifferent to us as we cycled along. They were perfectly helpful when asked but unlike the Turks, and it would appear the Azeris, they kept their distance. Back come the children too, running up, keen to say hello; hands everywhere & at least one pair of eyes looking for an opportunity to make a quick grab.

Taking the more scenic route towards our planned stop, Qax (Qakh), we were once again immersed in rural life: cattle under trees along the roadside, goats in the scrub land, flood plains are once again criss-crossed by herds of cattle & sheep, herdsmen in their wake. The plain between the mountain ranges is vast and flat. Non of the usual v or u shaped valley malarkey. The country looks more arid than Georgia, although streams and irrigation channels are still numerous. For the first two or three days we were close in to the base of the small, steep foothills, and couldn’t see beyond them to the bigger peaks. But to our left (south) the shadowy bulk of – presumably – the Lesser Caucasus range was present.

Kamaz Truck and cattle in the road – Azerbaijan I think.

The road is classified, by Garmin, as a secondary main road. Initially the surface is good, & traffic is quite light with little or no big commercial vehicles. It undulates along well graded hills, the steepest being when we need to cross a river. Unusually, we climb higher up the river to a point where it can be crossed as lower down the rivers fan out like deltas across the land. But we knew this wouldn’t last. True enough, half way through our 42km journey it deteriorated into a dirt/gravel road. It was a good one, and nearly level, but any dirt road is slow and tedious with 35/40mm tyres. Gone also are the views as our eyes are firmly fixed on the road avoiding lumps, loose gravel & large stones. Fortunately, after Qax, it all has been well surfaced.

It wasn’t flat.

Sometimes we looked South.

View up into the Greater Caucasus – and, oh, a Lada.

Everyone was in the same field. No parking problems.

Big spaces

Clare almost at the top of a big hill. Oh, and a Lada.

Azerbaijan river bed

We didn’t take this road.

We haven’t camped now since Cappadocia, in Turkey, resulting from a combination of factors: mountainous terrain, no where suitably quiet away from towns/villages, cheap hotels and guesthouses with showers, the threat of dogs & wild animals or roaming cows & live stock (we’ve been in a camp before where one tent was trodden on by inquisitive cows, breaking the tent poles and potentially kit inside). But looking out across the plain I was beginning to think the time had come again. At that point some road side stalls came into view. I expected to see a few tons of melons all stacked up or maybe a more interesting assortment of local grown fruit & veg. but no, this time smoke was wafting up. As we got nearer we could see the bread making ‘kilns’ with piles of bread stacked up on make shift tables. It became apparent that we’d come across a gypsy site as the woods behind the stalls were staked out into areas with shacks, children, chickens & a few sheep in the mix. The men, very thoughtfully, were under trees on the other side of the road playing backgammon, not under anybody’s feet. Shortly after this we passed another herd of cattle banishing any last lingering thoughts of camping.

Azerbaijan has oil money, and although, at least here in the sticks, there’s no sign of surplus wealth, things generally are in much better repair than Georgia, increasingly so as we go East towards Baku. The middle aged men are back to being slim, dapper, and moustached: So Gideon has to lose the tummy gained consuming the Georgian diet of greasy carbohydrates.

Getting into Azerbaijan, with our e-visas, was trouble free, but quite slow. It’s not a busy border, but there were a lot of checks going on in both directions, especially vehicles leaving Azerbaijan were examined with sniffer dogs, occasional use of an inspection pit & camera on a stick. But the staff were friendly and helpful. Once in, a plain single carriageway road took us East. The traffic was very light, although it got busier in the small towns. At the first town Gid got a bit stressed about finding an ATM. What appeared to be the only one was surrounded by 30 Azeris collecting their wages. Interestingly, the ATMs, once found, offer the option of dispensing USD.

The tight border controls (I mean trade across it looks difficult, and thus low in volume) keep the Azeris from following in Georgia’s automotive footsteps, and although there are a few imports on the roads, we were basically surrounded by Ladas and other Soviet Union products (later note: More imports as we move East). Gideon decided to pursue a photography collection of the distinctive and common ZIL 130 trucks. A few bikes are in the towns, and, at one point we were overtaken by a roadie with Azerbaijan written on his bum.

Here’s two to whet your appetite.

Tbilisi Matsminda Park

Lagodekhi

Azerbaijan is a moslem country, but after being communist (officially atheist) for nearly 70 years, it isn’t pronouncedly so. It was our second day here before we saw a mosque or heard a call to prayer; we saw a church before any mosque. Still, the older folk especially are modestly dressed, so we’ll try to fit in.

Qax readily came up with an hotel, of a type we recognise, large, simple and probably Soviet era, a bit in need of repair and redecoration. However, here there are signs that refurbishment has started. But one thing they’ve not done is replace the sagging, lumpy, awful beds. Clare has again resorted to the camping mats and the floor to save her back. Oguz had a row of three modern, modest looking hotels. We wandered into the highest up hill thinking that if it was lousy we could drift back down with little effort. It was fine, and good value; the product of competition probably – 30 manat (£15) including breakfast. Whereas the next day, in Ismayilli, being tired, we didn’t bother to explore beyond the first option: a motel by the main road. This really was a falling apart relic, and pretty squalid, but still 28 manat. Ouch!

It didn’t smell as bad as it looked. But the worst possible height.

Only a few of the rooms were usable

But the big mirrors on either side of a lobby still worked.

Interestingly, we’re not the first cyclists to suffer this, see mirror image of our loo shot here https://twohungariansandabritgoforabikeride.wordpress.com/2015/09/05/baku-to-seki-monday-13th-saturday-18th-july/

Midway through day 2 in Azerbaijan, we passed through Seki. We knew this was a tourist spot, and although out of step with our overnight stops, we had a very long lunch break there, viewing the lovely old caravanserai and the Khan’s winter palace, and picking up a few souvenirs.

Caravansarai

Seki Khan’s winter palace

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

After Seki, the road is a bit busier and the towns bustling. There are roadside vendors, who, like the Georgians, tend to cluster selling the same thing, be it, more recently, halva or bottled fruit. There are also lots of open air restaurants, which look as if they might have room for a tent, or even … Are those cabins?

A line of sheep and a few cows are grazing in the middle.

A brace of Volgas, at the top of 27th August’s big hill.

After that, things thin out on the road. We planned in advance to stay at Qobuland, which seems to be nothing but a small theme park mixed with a garden centre. We expected the hotel to be pricey; well, it was a bit (50 manat), but rather good and the next stopping place was way too far. From there it was a reasonably level dual carriageway blast past rather desert looking countryside; crops long since harvested and meadows baked under the scorching sun. Apart from a few big hills, that is.

Traffic got heavier (and expensive looking) as we got into Baku, but it wasn’t as dense, chaotic or smokey as Tbilisi. We’d earmarked, but not booked, a place to stay, which wasn’t hard to find. Now we have to wait to start the next big adventure.

A Last Bit of Georgia – And a Big Day

Aug29

Finally, having calculated, and re-calculated the interaction between the Azerbaijan visa period, the Kazakhstan visa validity, and travel times, we left Tbilisi (really late in a day, see previous blog post about postage), for a fairly horrible main road ride east. Can’t remember where we stayed that night, but towards the end of the day, the traffic was much less of a problem – it was all Tbilisi traffic, not long distance. The next day’s ride was pleasant enough but unmemorable (at least, I can’t remember much of it). Nino, our Tbilisi landlady had recommended a friend’s guesthouse in Sighnaghi, which apart from being up a big hill, was a fine choice. Well, the whole town was up the hill, and a very nice, if totally touristic, town it was too. In Georgia, it’s the town of love, and popular for honeymoons. The guesthouse made a bit of a thing of the family’s folk music, so in the evening, after we’d come back from a nice meal, there was Georgian wine, Georgian brandy and travellers from all over (especially Israel, including Vicky and Aaron we’d met at Nino’s). This sing-song was especially appropriate as it was CLARE’S 60TH BIRTHDAY! Happy Birthday my love!

Sighnaghi, looking north towards the Greater Caucasus

Every town has a war memorial, this one I hope was regional, as there were a lot of names on it. I think she may have been honeymooning…

It’s a tourist town…

Birthday Girl at the top of Sighnaghi

Lightly loaded

After a 12km winding route down hill we cruised along on the next day, crossing the flat plain towards the Greater Caucasus (see picture above). We experienced a new kind of road side stall.

Using a tree trunk as a cutting platform

Cuts of pig hanging long the roadside

A fridge unite. No idea how effective it was.

Hanging sides of pig. Cooling unit in background.

We stopped in the afternoon under a random tree for a swig of water and handful of nuts. Along just a bit someone was working in a bit of field. After our “gamma joba”, somehow, they decided we were worthy of inviting in for chai. We didn’t have much language to share, muddling by with a bit of Russian phrasebook, Google Translate, and pointing and laughing. The old couple showed us a postcard – they’d previously invited in a Swiss cyclist(s?): So, lacking a postcard, we had to sketch them one to add to their collection. Chai was on offer, these were Turkic folk, Azerbaijanis – if they’d been Georgians it would probably have been wine. It’s an interesting difference to Northern Europe, this: borders have been stable for at least 95 years, and in nationality terms these were Georgians – to go to Azerbaijan they indicated they need a visa. But one of the first things they said – about the time we said we were English – was they were Azerbaijanis. For all these Caucasus countries, statistics are quoted X% Georgians Y% Azerbaijanis, Z% Russians, etc. The ethnic identities are (I think) defined from the mother tongues, which is why in the early-mid twentieth century, the big governments (Turkey, Russia), made efforts to stamp out, or at least discourage, the local languages, and teach only the “empire” lingo. They also at times forcefully moved tens of thousands of people about, to achieve particular ethnic mixes to suit their purposes. Not so nowadays AFAIK, but a lot of the border troubles in the region must be because of the mismatch between culture/ethnicity, and state borders. Some of which is our own government’s fault (up to Mr W. Churchill’s generation), as the British Empire was very much a force in the region, and had a particular habit of setting borders to divide peoples, and create weak, manipulable states. Together with our lot, the Czars, the Ottomans, and the Persians were all meddling away in their “Great Game”, it’s hardly surprising the borders, people and politics are rather unsettled. Anyway, these folk were extremely friendly and generous, and I for one felt rather guilty we had no present to leave. Perhaps we should have a stash of postcards from Worthing. The old couple (err, well, they may not have been much older than us) lived in very humble circumstances. Their house was tiny and made of bits. Shady in summer but, if they didn’t move to town in winter, rather horrible then, I expect, even in the mild, plain winter. The kitchen area was out back and roofed, but unwalled and a mud floor, running water from a piped spring . Yet, it was a nice place to be, shady, with a cooling breeze, and everything vital close to hand (yes, including a mobile). They also offered us milk – fresh, but scalded & warm: This was delicious. It seemed to be a truly subsistence farming operation; the cow chewed the cud nearby, ducks on the pond, the agriculture looked like a smallholding, little bits of everything.

Round the table

The kitchen – stove a bit like our MSR, but probably more durable.. Cooking utensils & tool kit on shelving unit.

Next stop was Lagodehki, chosen as a town to let us cross the Azerbaijan border early in the day. It’s also the edge of Georgia’s easternmost national park, a remote area that runs up into the Greater Caucasus mountains and the Russian border. We knew there’d be guesthouses, and arriving mid-afternoon, were cruising relaxedly up one of the main streets, looking for somewhere to stay. We passed one or two but carried on. A young man seemed to be dozing on a bench, but leapt up as we passed, to ask (in Georgian) if we needed a guesthouse. Well, we didn’t understand the words, but the context made it all plain. The house was unsigned. This seems common for Georgian guesthouses. A cynical British view would suspect something to do with the tax system. In Tbilisi we’d been mildly scammed when a fellow enticed us into a restaurant, which afterwards presented an appalling bill (and didn’t offer change, when we certainly didn’t intend leaving a tip): Fortunately we’d only consumed one hot drink each, so the “appalling bill”, while infuriating, wasn’t actually much. So we were wary in this case, but with no reason. After a small delay while the landlady whizzed up from the village centre, we inspected, learnt the cost of (amazingly cheap, so we lazily opted for breakfast and dinner, which was still good value, especially as the breakfast was enough to doggy-bag for lunch), and were soon ensconced. Nino (most Georgian landladys seem to be called Nino) provided us with a self contained ground floor apartment. She also wielded a sheaf of leaflets, and indicated we were only about 500m from the National Park office, and how nice the park was, etc, etc, again all in Georgian, or was it Russian. It’s amazing how clear it can be without understanding a word. So after a shower, we wandered up to the park office for more information. Reassuringly, the stuffed & mounted bear was quite small.

… and replanned again, so we’d hike tomorrow, staying two nights not one, delaying our entry to Azerbaijan another day. The hike involved a 14km cycle to the start, blissfully unloaded. It was only a day hike, so only a picnic, camera, and swimmers were needed.

The hike had a few tiny scrambles, but the only challenge really was the log river crossings. Compared to the earlier Georgia hike, the logs were wider, and less high up, and the exercise felt less committing – so we managed to walk across them this time. At the top there was a lovely waterfall, a nice pool for a dip, and a dozen or so Georgians also enjoying the day out and a picnic. One suspects Georgians should be rather good at picnics.

We’re getting good at this now

It’s just a larf if there’s a handrail

Tourists in Tbilisi

Aug21

Heading into Tbilisi from Mtskheta we’d tried to miss the main road. The Garmin had come up with another route that seemed fairly direct. All was going well until it directed us to turn right onto a dirt track directly up a hill. No way! The total journey was only 26km but that could take us all day if we hit a really lumpy dirt road, and we were cruising along nicely without too much traffic.

Shortly after this decision the motorway merged with our main road; the traffic increased exponentially. With a few hair raising moments you’d expect when cycling in a city we made it into the tourist centre and from there to our accommodation.

We had a few days to kill, while waiting for our Azerbaijan visa to become valid. So off we went exploring.

Churches – the most prominent being the new cathedral built in time for the millennium (that doesn’t include decorating the inside, which may take decades). Others date from Byzantine times.

Jvaris Mama Church, 1793

Entrance to Cathedral

Tsminda Sameba Cathedral

Sketch for a frescoe

Tsminda Sameba Cathedral

Ball tower Tsminda Sameba Cathedral

Tsminda Sameba Cathedral

Chuch if St. Nicolas, nextto the fortress.

Church of St. Nicholas

The bow

The debate

Four’s a crowd

Revival of the steele

Balconies are a special feature of old Tbilisi.

Gold roof of the new cathedral in the back ground.

We also visited museums: one on Tbilisi itself, another on Georgia, and the outdoor Ethnographic museum (very similar to Sussex’s Weald & Downland Museum). We baulked at the 11GEL each for the music museum where it is compulsory to have a guide. Most of the museums, so far have had information within the cabinets in the home language, Russian, and English and we prefer to wander round at out own pace.

Easterly view from Peace Bridge

Gid in cable car going up to fortress.

Clare in cable car

Easterly view from inside cable car.

Westerly view from cable car.

View from fortress

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

The Flea Market is another feature of Tbilisi. It’s also good for buying original paintings, or at least, it appears so to our unschooled eyes. Generally the city wears its artistic endeavours on its sleeve, including where we stayed, in Nino’s Guesthouse, which is like a mini gallery.

You can buy almost anything there…

Pook!

There was its twin on another stall (NB: Bright green)

Don’t think the underlying Lada was for sale?

And there’s lots more to see, out and about on the streets.

A wonky clock tower in ‘theatre land’.

A nut snack with a caramalised covering.

A fairly typical minor street in the old town.

The bread shop was closed

Kartlis Deda (Mother Georgia)

Kartlis Deda (Mother Georgia)

Stairs are usually outdoors

Your headstone’s not straight

Taken straight out of the door of Nino’s Guesthouse

Save cats!

Cobbler, just down Chavchavadze Street from Nino’s Guesthouse

New Tbilisi arises in any big gaps. Glass, steel, new and classical shapes. Just as long as it doesn’t look remotely soviet.

Contrasts in Tbilisi

The Museum of Ethnology – most houses are between 100 and 200 years old.

Mud floor, central cooking pot.

Mainly wood construction houses.

Inside stone house, mud floor, central cooking pot, no chimney.

Baby walker

Wine press – capacity = 5 cubic metres

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Rug, lamp

Lamp, rug

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Have you heard the one about the bears and the porridge?

All in all, a thoroughly photogenic city, with lots and lots of cheap accommodation.

Day trip to Davit Gareji Monastery Complex (yet more caves)

Chapel in Lavra monastery

Chapel of Ressurection

Salt lake enroute

Lavra monastery

Azerbaijan on the left, Georgia on the right

Looking out over Azerbaijan

Fresco, and grafitti in Russian and Georgian

Inside a frescoed cave

Bit of a scramble

Spot the monk on the phone?

Errand

Finally, 19th Aug, we left Tbilisi. We had one errand to do first – post the Tbilisi souvenirs home. It took quite a while to find the Post Office, but as from Turkey on, the helpful chap serving wanted to know what was in there, for the customs declaration. Whereupon we came unstuck! The main item is a saddle bag, made in the same way as a kelim rug. Clare’s wanted one since Cappadocia. Normally, carpet shops claim they are “antique”, although often the age is faked, and want well north of $100 (yes, dollars, for some reason). However, Tbilisi’s flea market made no claims of age, and Clare beat the seller down to 110 GEL, much more realistic (about $40). Good. But. Both online and in Nino’s LP guide, there are warnings about the potential difficulty of taking out of countries, or sending, carpets especially and anything that might be part of the nation’s cultural heritage. So, post office man sends us off to the Ministry of Culture to get a letter certifying it isn’t old, and while we’re about it, also covering the two felt glove puppets. They obviously are not antiques, but to be fair, customs might have to open the package to see that. The ministry sent us on to the correct agency. All three are within about a square kilometre of central Tbilisi, but the bikes, one way system, and step-ridden pedestrian accesses, plus the moderate difficulty of finding the places, means it takes a while. The letter itself takes about 30 minutes, and a pleasant surprise is – no charge. Then, embarrassingly, it takes us an hour at least to find the same post office again. Now it’s lunchtime, so everyone is in there, except most of the staff. An hour queueing, then at least 30 minutes to send the thing (lots of forms). We finally set off from Tbilisi at 14:30. Good job we’d planned only a 55km ride to Sagarejo, where, fortunately, it was very easy to find what we think was the only hotel. Let’s hope the donkey bag proves as useful as expected once (if) it gets home.

Photograph by Agency for Cultural Heritage Preservation

The main post office in Tbilisi

Georgia – first impressions

Aug10

Already on the Turkish coast, as we’d read, the dry heat of inland Turkey was replaced by the steamy heat of the subtropical forest. As we progressed up Georgia’s coast it got more so: greenery abounded, the sun baked. But sweating didn’t work because of the high humidity; naturally, we sweated more as a result. So must the locals, as even before getting to the holiday resort, it was abundantly clear that Georgians don’t follow the dress codes of their Islamic neighbours. Gid could hardly keep his eyes on the road.

The Georgian side of the crossing was a sort of informally busy hub of transports and retail. It also revived memories of Budapest. Gone were all the Turks’ small practical Fiats, Fords and Hyundais and their archaic Renault 12s and 70s Fiats. Instead, it seemed every expiring 80s German big saloon had made its way to Georgia to die. The quintessential Georgian motor seems to be a blackish ’85 Mercedes E class, with the front bumper missing, some very dodgy paint repairs, and a really rough engine.

Is this old Volga still in use, or quietly rotting. Plenty are still on the road. Which apparachnik had it originally?

With more dough, an X5 or M class SUV is chosen, although again, bumpers are optional. The reason soon became clear. Traffic is fairly dense, but there are few dual carriageways and rarely are there Turkey’s generous hard shoulders. So Georgians put their foot down and overtake up the middle of the busy road. Thus it pays to have something big looking, fierce looking, heavy, fastish, with a loud horn and disposable. It also helps that gas is about €0.50 a litre.

That’s the cars. Georgia’s numerous minibuses, buses and commercial vehicles look rather like Turkey’s old ones; everything is a generation older than next door. That’s in the towns and on main roads. In the sticks we see the same, plus a lot more battered Ladas, Volgas, and other Soviet era transport, often ex military in appearance. Of course, Georgia was not only behind the iron curtain, it was one of the Soviet Union’s Socialist Republics. On a bike it has mostly manifest as being a bit more noise together with a lot more smoke and unburnt petrol fumes. Yuk.

The bread is slightly less fresh after he’s gone past…

When one Georgian sets up a stall, others will follow; selling the same product range.

Old military-type jeeps in the country towns. To be fair, the more modern Lada Niva is much more common.

Once we’d got over the initial scare of the overtaking, actually the traffic isn’t too bonkers. In town, Georgians are no less considerate than most Euro drivers, just a little less inhibited with right foot, horn, and what might count as parking. But the English-like traffic density on pretty narrow roads, and fume laden air, were very unwelcome after rural Turkey. In Batumi bikes were quite common around the seafront, including rental stands. Less common in the towns, and so far, we’ve seen just one on the open road.

We’re also struggling a bit with shopping. The little shops we pass aren’t as poorly stocked as Bulgaria’s, but we sometimes struggle to find variety for lunch, and especially, the “iced tea” that Clare has become very attached to. Plus of course, packs are marked in Georgia’s unique alphabet, often Cyrillic as well; in Batumi often Turkish or English too, but that is less so inland. Milk = რძე in Georgian and Молоко in Russian. Gideon OTOH now has the option of drinking beer again, though it took a week for this to take effect. We’ll probably get better at shopping, it may well be us, not the shops.

Our first stop was a 5 day collapse in Batumi, Georgia’s premier Black Sea Resort. We’d sussed out a few possible hostels beforehand, but ended up in a guesthouse next door: cheaper and more comfortable. We hadn’t realised how tiredness had built up: This was the first rest stop where we really did very little, over 4 days we achieved:

2 swims in the (warm) sea, one accompanied by a couple of surprises – eurrgh!
2 ambles round sights in the town.
2 or 3 thrillers read.
Extra laundry washed.
2 new chains, Gideon’s bar tape and bus-damaged brake cable replaced.
Slept lots.
Cooked evening meals with potatoes.
Failed to significantly improve our Georgian or Russian.

Batumi has clearly been building attractions over recent years, and is very clearly a holiday resort. It was pleasant enough wandering around gawping and failing to find any decent maps.

After Batumi we had initially planned to swing south before heading East. However advice in the hostel was this was a lumpy dirt road and very steep, so we rerouted north, up the main coast road, which was unpleasant, before turning East on more minor roads, which were nice again, except for interludes where topology forces us back to the main road, or the map deceived us into thinking a main road would be, well, a road. There are some hills, but it’s mostly river valleys. We can see steep, densely wooded hills in all directions, but most roads are well graded. The steamy heat makes them harder than they ought to be. On the third day from Batumi we did encounter some short hills of up to 19%, this was in an area flagged with brown signs for a vineyard tour. However locals regard us with bemusement, so we don’t think tourism is a great industry here.

As we progressed east, the climate gradually got drier. No less hot, but once we got to Gori we were definitely back to hot and dry again.

The bigger of the little towns have so far always managed perfectly serviceable hotels or guesthouses. Except once (Kaspi – Nothing!), so we continued 30km to Mtskheta, which turned out to be “not to be missed”, the historic cathedral of the Georgian Orthodox Church. We could rough camp, but showers are sooooo nice in this heat. Accomodation isn’t well signed, but asking around in the centre has worked so far. A rather smart, new, but underused (totally unsigned) hotel for 60GEL (€23) with aircon and an huge breakfast; then a rather stuffy double room in Bagdati’s hostel for 30GEL; then 40GEL in Kharagauli for a nice double, which also was stuffy, until the manager tapped on the door with a fan (really, really appreciated). In Bagdati there was a storm late evening and the town’s water supply was cut off, but this was foreseen by the staff who came to warn us so we’d already showered by then. In Gori, which has some tourist attractions including a (the?) Josef Stalin museum, a nice smart central hotel for 60GEL. In Mtskheta, which looked a real tourist trap, Lali’s guesthouse (unsigned but in the Garmin OSM) was very comfy with our own kitchen for 50GEL. The only mis-hit so far was near Surami, where, in gathering dark, exhausted by our hike and 40Km of really rough hilly road, we emerged onto the main road by a shop, and on asking folk where there might be a cheap hotel (iap’i sastumro), were directed above it. The owners (two or three middle aged ladies) seemed flummoxed by the idea, but eventually we were let in. It was only 30GEL, the room was basic and tatty, the washing facilities, without running water, primitive, and the toilet, well, Clare wasn’t impressed. But we slept well enough and nothing unexpected seemed to live in the beds.

The lower end. But no bugs. Unfortunately the main highway is 10m from the window. The picture is sellotaped onto the wall.

Winter arrangements are obvious.

In Kharagauli, we were, as often, trawling along the street looking for the hotel the locals indicated, and Gideon observed, 2 doors before, “National Park Office”. We’d not anticipated that from the maps (which, strictly, are of Turkey, except for the little tourist leaflet). Gideon did the shopping, and Clare went to the office to see what we might observe next day: She came back with a plan, which had better have its own post*.

*It does have its own post, blogged immediately before this one.

On the way to Tbilisi

Aug10

A constant dilemma is the balance between progressing on our trip and taking the time to stop and look around. Having ‘fast forwarded’ in Turkey we have the luxury of some extra days in Georgia before our Azerbaijan visa kicks in.

To see the countryside, Gid is really keen to get off the trunk roads as the traffic is heavy but the alternative main roads, shown on maps, have varied dramatically in quality. One has been 2 lane, hard surface all the way and we’ve made speedy progress while another has been fairly smooth compressed gravel, slower but not bad. The worst was a continual series of ruts, rocks, sand, lumps, bumps, gravel & groves which reduced our speed to 5 km / hr. Very demoralizing to put in all that effort and get nowhere. The advantage of seeing the countryside is lost as your eyes are firmly fixed on the road.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Having finished cycling at Haragauli, early, because we wouldn’t make the next town on rough roads, I was sent to see what attractions the National Parks office had to offer. I came back with an excursion sorted. Two days hiking up to a mountain shelter and back: 11 rivers to cross, a wooded trail to follow. A rucksack thrown into the equation and we were off.

We cycled up to the warden’s shack, which was to be our starting point. Sorted the kit, locked the bikes, handed in our permit and started on the trail.

It was to be four hours of winding our way up a track along side a mountain stream as it wound its way down – tumbling, crashing and swirling through its tree strewn path, gouged out of the rock.

We were crossing the river at regular intervals; sometimes on makeshift tree trunk bridges -we’d practised one of these on our way in with the bikes – at other times bum shuffling or wading. Some of the promised bridges lay in ruins, possibly taken out when the river was in spate, which meant that some crossings were deeper than expected.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

The mountain shack itself was perfectly pleasant; but because the ground around it was rather rough and stoney we plumped for a couple of bunks inside, sharing the hut with a German and an Estonia who were spending the summer as interns at the National Park Office, even though we’d carried the tent all the way up. This was a mixed blessing when , at 01:00 am. a group of new arrivals appeared, the lead figure clutching a large bottle of vodka. He generously offered Gid a swig when he came over to try and converse. The new arrivals did settle eventually & were gone early in the morning. Like most of the other folk we met on the trail, they were in a 4×4, in their case a little green military looking jeep. We were pretty impressed by the terrain they crossed. The hike back was equally delightful and challenging in smaller doses as we knew what to expect.

Because the cycling itself can be fairly demanding we rarely take detours from our route. It has to be very special before the extra X km makes is feel worth while; there is plenty to see and we can’t visit every castle, church or historic monument.

However, on this occasion, as we sped along the motorway unable to face another bone shaking day across the lumps and bumps of a dubious main road, we did succumb to the brown sign. It was a delightful little detour taking us through a small village to an ancient church. I donned the skirt and headdress, Gid preferring to change into his long trousers, to meet the dress code before entering. The interior was delightful; very simplistic in its decoration as all the Georgian Orthodox churches have been. Equally delightful were the people, especially the little three year old lad who followed Gid, coping his hands on hip type actions and the ancient nun who exchanged a few sentences in English.

Another excursion considered well worth the effort was to Uplistsikhe (on the pending list for inclusion on the UNESCO World Heritage site) , the cave city near Gori. Having visited 3 or 4 of these in Turkey we’re obviously now ‘experts’ and this one, dating from the iron age to the middle ages, was quite spectacular. The site is a bit of a national treasure because it is evidence of some of the earliest habitation in Georgia. Previously, in Batumi, we had seen evidence of human habitation in that area dating back to 1,800,000 years ago. Two human skulls on show were quite small and very flat.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Goodbye Turkey

Jul30

So, we bussed out of Dogubayazit, in a Dolmus to Igdir (50km, 16TL for us and 20TL for the bikes as they used all the Transit’s luggage space. Didn’t stop driver heaping more on top). On the bus we met Harun, a final year student. We chatted for a bit, struggling with Google Translate. He was also going to Kars, and offered to help us with the transfer. Most appreciated.

Unfortunately the Igdir to Kars bus was the worst possible type: a sort of mini real coach. Although it had a high passenger deck, the luggage compartments below were too small for a bike without extensive dismantling. So, this 150km cost an eye-watering 140TL, with the bikes taking 5 seats. And turning the bars put a kink in Gideon’s rear brake cable. But in we all went, anyway.

In the back of the bus. Harun on the left.

We then had a luxurious 2 days in Kars, in a 3 star hotel Harun’s friend had worked in. Being rather expensive, we don’t normally stay in that grade of place. Why 2 nights when we’d just stopped for a day in Dogubayazit? Well, after all the warnings, and several changes in response, our route and schedule were in a mess. It was 26th July: we couldn’t enter Azerbaijan until 19th Aug, Georgia is not big, and we were about 2 days from the border. Tbilisi is supposed to be pleasant, but probably not interesting enough to stay there 2 weeks. Equally, deciphering the Foreign Office website advice is very slow, it’s all place names which are off maps or spelt differently, one mandarin paragraph took an hour to relate to the map. By checkout time we hadn’t even decided where to go. We were also keen to check with the local police that the intended road was OK. By midday we’d got it sorted. The revised plan takes us 3 days up to Turkey’s Black Sea coast, then over the border and a few days in Batumi.

We had a potter around Kars castle, and Kars streets.

While wandering rather aimlessly, we espied a touring bike, well, a pile of luggage with handlebars poking out, wall-hanging outside an Internet Cafe (still common in eastern Turkey). Inside we met Engin, only our second meeting with a touring Turk (the first was on ex-Istanbul ferry, young fellow going to Iran, but untalkative). Engin was another student (and author), on a sort of circular trip, but like us, replanning, in his case cancelling a swing south. We chatted (in English) ending up in a cay shop. Engin was much tougher than us, normally wild camping. I think he was genuinely appalled at the cost of our hotel, well so were we – I write this in a Pansiyon costing 90TL less! Engin pointed out to us how much of Kars’ buildings and streetplan was Russian, not Turkish. We’d not noticed, although I had read that Kars was ceded to Russia as the Ottoman empire crumbled in the 19th century, only returning to Turkey after World War I. (Although Turkey was on the losing side, Russia was even worse off after its revolution, so Turkey gained some territory in the early 20s).

After the edgy feel of Dogubayazit, Kars felt normal. Life was civilian, the police weren’t armoured. There was little hassle from boys. It felt more prosperous. Curiously, around Muradiye and Dogubayazit, the usual Turkish throng of banger Renault 12s and 9s and FIAT 131 derivatives vanished, replaced by fleets of Fords – not so in Kars (however Gid did see his first GAZ Volgas there, a brace of Az registered 31105s !). The other vehicular curio is that since about Muradiye, we see occasional archaic looking trucks hauling tanker trailers. They have yellow plates with squiggles. Think these are part of Iran’s oil exports.

The attempted coup happened while we’re in Afsin. That evening and the following evening were both noisy. When we got to Malatya there were hectic processions during the evenings, big political gatherings we could hear nearby, with a distinctive thumps and a rousing, but rather oppressive tune (no, not Turkey’s national anthem), together with a very shouty, repetitive, one can only say rabble-rousing speech. We heard it some other places too, and so repetitive one suspects a recording. This was interspersed with other speakers, although one of these (female, at top of voice) also heard in other places, so it must have been video linked or recorded. One can only hope that the same very civil and courteous Turks we meet, listening to this, do not fall into any spell of intemperance from its awful tone. But the tune, and the recognisable bawling voices, were not heard in the Kurdish areas, after Malatya. From Ardahan the rallies resumed, but without the awful music and shouting. So one suspects we’re hearing the demarcation lines of Turkey’s political parties.

IMAG0307_BURST001

Kars is within the area with a substantial Kurdish population, although I’m not sure it’s a majority. In our southern Turkey travels we met quite a few Kurds, including some of the folk we mention in the blog. It is often an early part of their introduction, so it’s clearly very significant. I rather get the impression they really do feel somewhat trampled, and want to have a recognised homeland – but none of them suggested any support for violence, more usually the opposite. As we travelled in the Kurdish areas, we may have inadvertently caused some irritation by greeting people in Turkish, perhaps “Hello”, which is widely used, is more neutral. As so often when a people has a problem, some react at extremes, and a guerrilla / terrorist war has ground on in parts of Turkey’s southeast for decades.

The buses passed through areas of rolling upland hills and between Igdir-kars, one or two substantial passes. There was a lot of grazing land, but the view was rubbish compared to that on a bike.

After Kars, we headed – on Bikes again – north to Ardahan. Now we could see the upland grazing clearly, as our legs could feel the gradients. Adding bus and bike, there was probably 200km of it at least. Sumptuous grass full of wildflowers (and bee hives!). Rather shacky buildings probably only lived in in summer. Villages of white tents (and blue polythene). Herds of brown cows, with herdsmen. Flocks of sheep and goats, also herded. Quite few horses, sometimes pulling carts or hay making machines. Flocks of geese near villages. Small boys who never really managed to pester, but sometimes clearly intended to. There was visibly a lot of manual hay making, even scything, but also lots of tractors and balers. It seemed like all possible resources were on the hay making, as from our second night in Kars, there were occasional heavy thunderstorms.

We don’t have as many photos of this traditional life as we’d like: The small boys and the big dogs made us reluctant to stop for any time when near a flock/herd/village/camp, especially if the next km wasn’t downhill.

The Ardahan outskirts were busy with a big new bypass and splendid new university campus. Probably explains why first two cheap hotels were full. While in town looking for our next hotel (there are at least 7), it pissed down, and a very kind Turk from France invited us to sit it out in his new Chevrolet – how hospitable, how Turkish.

We knew Ardahan to Arthingworth would be tough, 100km+, and mountainous terrain. The first 20km was pleasant and speedy. We met Ando, from France, going the other way. He was right: Georgia (and China, his destination) were East; it was us going West that was odd. But it’s sensible for Batumi.

Livestock market on the road out of Kars

The next 25km were a well graded drag on a good road. This gained us the plateau, intermittently shrouded in low cloud. There were numerous herds and flocks. Then a rather disorganised looking village: old buffers drinking cay, younger men looking more industrious. Around and inside the village was boundary-less rough grazing, giving the village a sort of unclear edge. The climb continued another km maybe, rising gently, to a sign saying 2581m. (Approx. 3 hrs to reach the top.)

The next 25km or so were downhill, losing loads of height into a deep river valley (a tributary of the famous Coruh, for any paddlers reading). Although no higher than the side we’d come up (!), this terrain was totally different. The early part of road was seriously steep, with lots of hairpins, many of which were gravel strewn, so we went pretty slowly, with boiling wheels from all the braking. Whereas the road up was wide and well finished, the downwards one was narrow and sometimes only gravel or dirt.

The views on this downhill were stunning. Every slope seemed to be 45 degrees, and all shades of verdant green, steep forest as well as grass. Far below the sun glittered on the tin roofs of a village. So the descent was much slowed by photography. This took us into the town of Ardanuc. After that we cruised along a river gorge for a bit. A headwind started to blow up the gorge, at times we were in a low gear, going downhill. Then it started to go uphill again, still with a headwind…

After an hour or so of grinding away at this, around 16:30/90km in the day, a tea shack appeared on the left. We pulled over and flopped down for a reviving drink. There were a few chaps there, centred around an old fellow on a bench. We knew we were about 20km from Artvin, but our electronic and Turkey paper maps are all crap at showing height. So Clare started doing charades with the guys to glean how much more “up” lay ahead. 2km. Her face fell. Then, a huge grin, as one of the guys thumbed towards his pickup. Would we stoop so low?

YUP!

After finishing off the climb, we could almost immediately see Artvin. It looked about 4km away, if that. Trouble is, one of the km was vertical. The descent wiggled all over the valley, giving amazing views over Artvin and one of the new Coruh dams (beneficial for locals but cursed by kayakers, rafters, and I guess archaeologists). Artvin seemed one of those mountain towns where everything is steep. I didn’t much fancy exploring it! Eventually, the truck got to the river level, our benefactor pulled over and announced “Artvin!”. Then asked “Borcka?”… He was going to the next town. Would we stoop so low?

YUP!

Well, that saved 20km off each of 2 days, and an awful lot of steep climbs. It was easy enough finding a cheapish hotel (Oojooz Otel is the phrase), the bikes again in the laundry room.

After Borcka, most of the morning was spent trundling slowly up a river valley, until, inevitably, the road reared up and to the right, to get over the hills to the coast. At about this point, an unfinished twin bore tunnel stuck out from the hill. It must’ve taken an hour to climb the 600-700m pass, not including our last cay stop, and a cow-in-road photoshoot. The road was moderately busy (quiet by English standards), and lacked Turkey’s usual hard shoulders. But well graded, pretty smooth,and wide enough to avoid heart-in-mouth moments. Spectacular views at the top, and a whizz down to Hopa. Just before the town, we saw the other end of the nascent tunnels. Hopa initially presented industry and scrapyards, bearing out Wikipedia’s unenthusiastic writeup, but ended with a pleasant seafront for our picnic lunch.

In the afternoon, a fast flat cruise along the coastal main road was notable only for the nearside lane being full of waiting trucks, the numerous tunnels, and the lack of any view of the sea. Border processes were a little slow and convoluted, but trouble free. So, bye bye Turkey, next is Georgia.

Ignorance is bliss – Van Golu to Dogubayazit

Jul30

The big bus dropped us off in Tatvan, at the western tip of Van Golu, at about 5am.

_CTF0332

From there we cycled to an early stop at Adilcevaz. A small town trying to make the best of its scenic lakeside situation.

Van Golu (Lake Van)

The next day’s ride took us off the north-east end of the lake to Muradiye. We stopped on the edge of town to ask a man in a van where the centre or an “oojooz otel” might be. He turned out to be a policeman (yes, that is a holster!), and promptly led us to the town’s teachers hotel, for another comfortable yet economical night.

For a while now a few people have been saying cycling in Turkey is dangerous. But then so is cycling in Romania, India, the Stans and numerous other places. It’s been difficult to ascertain why! Firstly, it was Zoe and Adrian, who were selling their bikes in Istanbul and flying across Asia & going to continue their trip by hitch-hiking round India. Secondly, there was the man from Istanbul who thought we were mad cycling in his city but didn’t mention else where in Turkey. His concern was linked to the drivers. However, Secil, from the bike touring store in Istanbul, advised us to take the southern route through Turkey so that we could enjoy the sights with no mention of any problems. And indeed, away from Istanbul and especially it’s developing third airport, traffic has been light and the roads feel safe enough.

We’d also done our research on the British Government site too, checking where it was ‘safe’ to go but this info., although explicit in saying where we needed to avoid, did not expand on the information and give reasons. We had assumed it was linked to the Syrian troubles as the restricted areas are down south near the border and we’ve seen more and more refugee camps – all small – as we have travelled further south. So we had fast tracked, by intercity bus, out of the strip of Turkey that was between the marked problem areas on the UK site. Safe, we thought.

Ramo, our guide in Malatya, advised us not to go near Agri, north east of Malatya, because of trouble there but again, he didn’t say what kind of trouble. That swayed our decision to go further east & up the main road avoiding this town altogether.

We arrived at Muradiye, happy that we’d done the first part by completing the eastward section, and now we would be turning north. However, standing at reception of the teacher’s hotel, a man in hospital theatre clothes said, ‘Why are you here? Don’t you know what’s going on here in Turkey?’ I replied rather lamely, yes I did know what was going on in Turkey, overlooking the word ‘here’ , assuming that he meant in Turkey generally, and the attempted coup, as opposed to this specific area.

We set off the following morning, with a couple of sight seeing spots to visit on the way, in mind.

The first wedding party arrives

Wedding party crossing the wobbly bridge

Waterfall, key attraction

Party game, fire gun at balloons

Ancient bridge

Having done the visits and got the photos it was nearly lunch time. We stopped at the next town, Caldiran, to get some provisions.

While Gid was getting our lunch time feast, an off-duty policemen came and asked where we were going. I showed him on the map. His response was, ‘It’s over the mountains, did I realise it was over the mountains’. His English was very good so I joked saying, of course it was over the mountains, you can’t get anywhere in Turkey without going over mountains. He then explained that there was active guerrilla warfare in the mountains we would cross. He carried on to explain that we would be fine. They weren’t fighting tourists but don’t stop! If someone tries to stop you or talk to you, we must keep going and not stop. This he stressed several times. It’s not clear if our 5kph uphill speed counts as going or stopped. The trouble spot was 25 km away, he’d said. We would see soldiers on this route but that was normal, so not to worry about that. If we had a problem phone 155.

We didn’t manage to swallow much of the lunch. The pass reached an all time high for us at 2644m, but we took very few breaks, anxious to keep going. It’s amazing what adrenalin can do. At first we saw a watch tower high on the eastern hill top. This we now think may have been the Iranian border. Shortly after, we passed armed soldiers perched high up on an out-crop on the western side, who, like everyone else, called ‘hello’ and waved. Thankfully, although in two places the road was constricted, presumably to facilitate road blocks, there was some traffic on the road which felt reassuring. So, not many photos from this spectacular ride…

Arriving Caldiran

Near the 2644m pass. Nervous.

Farmland up near the pass

First view of mount Ararat

Ararat over valley farmland

As we passed through the higher part, the more immediate threat seemed to be dog attacks. We’ve had a few weeks of peace from dogs but today they were back with a vengence. The dogs, singularly, in 3s or bigger groups, didn’t get any closer than a metre or so away but that was far too close as they ran at us, often wolf sized and baring their teeth. Finally, Clare had enough and jumped off bike , grabbed her dog stick and went on the rampage. This seemed to do the trick until the next lot arrived on the scene, game for a chase. These were not random dogs, each mini-pack was associated with a small flock of sheep and, usually, the small boy or boys in charge. When there was an adult shepherd, we didn’t have a problem.

The children, at times now, rather than just being keen to wave and say hello, are begging: “money money, money”. Well the boys do, not girls, but in this part of the world it seems to be the 10 year old boys who are out and about. This was worst in the high pass, and got better as we descended, but it was capped, as we arrived at Dogubayazit, when two lads started off begging then progressed to persistently hauling on the backs of our bikes.

After a nights sleep we were determined to keep a balanced outlook so decided to visit the tourist sites just out of Dogubayazit. The Ottoman – Ishak Pasha Palace, built in 1700, was spectacular. No need for bikes, a dolmus was only 2TL each, each way. The over looking castle was curious as it seemed to be a wall, with occasional towers , around the mountain top, with nothing inside, but climbing up it gave spectacular views of the palace.

There were quite a few visitors, but all appeared relatively local. We got there in a moderately crowded dolmus. The top carpark was largely used for picnicking and Bbqs. We really did seem to be the only exotics, although we saw a French registered car there too, but likely the owner was a Turk who lived in France.

Ishak Pasha Sarayi

Ishak Pasha Sarayi – Grafitti

Ishak Pasha Sarayi – Shoes correctly stored

Ishak Pasha Sarayi – Is not small

Ishak Pasha Sarayi – Looking up from food store

Ishak Pasha Sarayi – looking west(ish)

Ishak Pasha Sarayi – Looking north(ish)

While there, we very definitely heard automatic-gun fire coming from the mountains. On returning to our hotel we rechecked government warnings. The UK website was still the same – we were safe! The New Zealand site, on the other hand, was more cautious and gave specific towns, a number of which we have passed through, as well as saying all of Turkey was high risk and to be avoided. Hmmmm. We decided to visit the local police station which is currently behind barricades, with armoured vehicles with guns on top, parked at the front, 50 odd metres from our hotel, for further advice. They were quite explicit that we should not be cycling in this area and were prepared to accompany us to the local bus station to help arrange bus transport out.

This we did the next morning – dolmus to Igdir, then a mini-coach to Kars in north east Turkey.

Out and About in Malatya

Jul22

Malatya and its surrounding area was probably second to Cappadocia in the “Must do and see in Turkey” lists on web sites.

Although we had set off from Goreme with every intention of ‘doing’ the Mount Nemrut area it started to look doubtful. Firstly there was our get out of Turkey quick response to the attempted military coup. Equally, we’d now struggled up one of the what appears to be many minor road 2000+metre passes and knew it would take us a long time to reach the area. Especially as Mount Nemrut itself was surrounded by 3000+ metre high mountains.

Plan B kicked in resulting in Ramo, recommended on the internet, picking us up from our hotel in Malatya to take us on a one day tour of the area.

First stop was the Roman bridge – Cendere Bridge. Having passed many dry river beds it was good to see water flowing. This gave the locals the opportunity to demonstrate Turkish car cleaning. Drive into the river and throw buckets of water over the car and the job’s done.

Our second stop was the ancient Kahta Roman castle. Looking anything but Roman; it was nearing the completion of a renovation program which was going to leave it gleaming. It had, in fact, been started during the Roman times and like many ancient buildings it had been expanded, redesigned and revamped over the centuries. We later looked down on the castle which gave a much better impression of how extensive it was and how it was built along a ridge.

Roman Calesi restoration

From here, just down the road, we visited Arsameia, summer residence of the Commagene rulers in the 3rd century BC. A number of rock carvings depicted scenes of the period and a couple of caves were well worth exploring. Being the highest point in the area, the views were stunning.

Finally we made it to the big one – Mount Nemrut. Listed in the UNESCO World Heritage site it demonstrates some of the earliest examples of rock carving. The climb up again afforded us stunning views. The east side is more organised with the statue’s fallen off heads, remarkably well preserved, in front of the remains of each statue. The west side, where we would be able to watch the sunset, was higgledy-piggledy but had better preserved heads.

The drive back, covering 80 odd km in 2 1/2 hours due to the steep mountainous terrain, led to a variety of conversational topics one of which resulted in us arranging a local tour of Malatya, with Ramo, during the next day as we were booked onto an over night intercity bus leaving us free during the day.

The local tour was great. We visited the local ancient mosque, an ancient market place, the beheading criminals ‘blood cupola’, the old town with Ottoman houses.

But the most interesting place was Arslentepe, where ancient civilizations going back to early Mesomopotamia had occupied the same spot for thousands of years. This was another site with global significance due to its mud structure, ‘cave’ paintings, examples of first swords suggesting the start of armed combat, and what acedemics have perceived to be the development of a structured society.

“modern mud house’

Archaeologists had been able to peel back the layers to find a throne with kneeling spot, a series of rooms – some with clay pots suggesting communal use, first swords made of copper, large clay pots for storage and seals suggesting a distribution system.

East Central Anatolia – Interesting Times

Jul21

Cycling across these rural, untouristy areas it was common for the menfolk to invite us to join them for cay. Increasingly small groups of younger kids would come up as well, try their English, and poke and prod the strange bicycles. Turkey’s harvest, and thus school holidays, are earlier than in the UK, and in many places we could see parents delighted something was diverting the kids. The kids are often pretty adept with Google Translate! They showed me how to enter Turkish characters that my EN keyboard doesn’t show.

Saris is a small town and probably only has one otel. The old chaps on the street corner called the otel owner and then insisted on cay, which absolutely wasn’t a problem. The otel owner ambled across the road and soon we were in the small, simple but very good value Otel Hilal, especially nice breakfast. We set off reckoning on another garage camp. However, the road proved especially arduous, very steep, especially the first few km from Sariz seemed to go straight up. The locals had warned us about this, and contrasted the twice-as-far southern route. We weren’t the only ones to struggle with this road – see the picture of a tuck that had been coming down before we got there. The picture does not show the 60 degree slope the other side of the crash barrier – they were lucky to be alive. The route was also mostly barren of supplies, even water, until near the end. Just before Hurman Calesi, we stopped at a riverside picnic area, and met a big family of friendly Turks, all travelling in Dad’s small lorry. The younger ones were really intrigued by the bikes, and filled our bottles from the clear stream that ran through. A few miles further, and we finally found a village shop. Although goods for sale were limited, they pampered us with extras… Tasty chickpea treats, salad leaves, ayran, watermelon, and of course cay.

The hills riding to Afsin were savage, it was hot, and few provisions available. Spot the post-coup flag on the bonnet of the typical rural Renault 12.

Near the top of the climb out of Sariz. Crew were collecting dripping diesel.

Another hill before Afsin

Trucks loaded with animal feed left after threshing are often stacked high and wide.

Hurman Calesi from west

Hurman Calesi from east

Getting towards Afsin, we decided we were too tired and dirty to rough or garage camp, and to seek an Otel. Going directly to the busy town centre, we quickly found…. Oh, that’s going to be pricey. We pull over opposite, and get out phones, but as usual in Turkey, a guy pops up willing to help. There’s a bit of miming and phrasebooking. Another guy appears, speaks some English. We’re in luck, he’s a teacher! We follow his car a short distance to the teacher Hotel, he checks us in and we chat for a bit. Although only separate single rooms are available, it’s comfortable and very good value. As evening turns to night, the town seemed to be having a bit of a party that night, lots of noise, hooting (pretty normal in Turkey) and maybe…. Guns fired into the air?

Next morning, early, Clare shows me a message from her big brother: “you’re in a coup!”. A look online, and yes, Turkey has had a coup attempt. It seems to have failed. At breakfast, and around the lounge television, older folk are tense. We check the UK foreign office advice, it says “stay in”. There’s no problem staying another night, so we do so. An enforced rest day results, so the blog gets more content! We also spent some more time replanning, of which more below. Gid nipped out for a few errands, including a beard trim, but otherwise we stayed in until it was time to find dinner. At which event, things seem normal, except for the young men parading on scooters and cars, blowing horns, playing load music, and, especially, waving Turkish flags.

Sorry – no photos – we though it rather unwise to wield cameras in the circumstances.

Next morning, online advice is things are pretty much normal, so off we go…. Due West. Because everyone in the town said “you must go and see the Seven Sleepers”. This is a legend common to Islam and Christianity, and others too. Unfortunately, although Afsin seems to be recognised (eg by UNESCO) as the likely location, other claimants are much more dominant online. Local directions were vague… Eventually we found out enough to set off.

Eshab-i Kehf was 5km West, all uphill, and the last bit steep. A mosque is built around the cave, and complex of other old buildings around that. Before the mosque there was a Byzantine church. It was interesting and peacefully lovely, a few other Turkish tourist and staff there, friendly and helpful and keen on sharing photos.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Eventually we had to come down and we set off eastward about 11.

This was a minor main road. After 20km or so to Elbistan, it was single carriageway and very quiet. There was quite a bit of flat, but toward the end of the day, a big climb. This took us up onto a relatively flat plateau, largely rough grass and rocky bits. It was a bit reminiscent of an upland Scottish moor, but drier and hotter. Then, the road dived down a grassy, scrubby, rocky valley which resembled a Yorkshire dale, except for the large, flat roofed houses. And the heat.

Just west of Darika, scenery resembled England’s in some ways.

The problem with this road, we’d suspected from the start, was it didn’t really go through anywhere, and was too long, with its hills, to do in one day. We didn’t fancy rough camping with the country so nervous. We decided to go on as far as the first garage the navi indicated, and try our luck there. We expected – without reason – a typical Turkish main road garage, which in UK terms, is a small service station, standing alone, or several together. The generous spacing means there’s usually room for our tent, and the restaurant means they can sell us dinner. It turned out to be a small petrol station and various small shops and a small restaurant, spread out along the dual carriageway, hemmed in by a steep slope. Anyway, we asked about, had a meal, bought supplies, asked a bit more… We could camp on a rough patch of gravel at the end of the village very near the road, this looked uncomfortable and unsecure. Or, we could kip on the floor of an office at the end of the row.

We chose the latter, it was fine, especially as it had its own toilet. We felt a bit awkward, because we’d definitely been scrounging, but we really we getting a bit desperate. We did offer to pay, but this was declined. We were settled in by the owner’s sons Oguzhan and Mevlut, and Google Translate. The shops closed at 11:30, and the shop owner, Durmus, then called by to ask if we’d prefer to move to his sitting room floor? But we were already comfortably camped, and Clare sound asleep.

In the morning, Durmus declined Clare’s attempt to buy provisions, and invited us in for breakfast. The flat above the shop was large and cool, compared to England, less furniture and much nicer carpets. Breakfast arrived on an huge tray, and we all sat around in a circle on the carpet and ate. We were impressed how much of the many cheeses were home made. It really was a lovely start to the day.

Lovely breakfast, lovely home, thanks folks.

Just as well, as again, there was a fair bit of climbing, as so often, on a broad, lightly used, dual carriageway. But after maybe 30km, we reached the plains of rich agricultural land around Malatya, and had a smooth run in to our biggest city since Istanbul, passing mile after mile of the famous apricot orchards.

Apricots drying in the sun on the way into Malatya.

Malatya wasn’t on the original plan. We’d envisaged going further south to historic Nemrut area. But at detail planning stage, we realised Nemrut by bike would consume many days to get in and out. The roads hairpin their way about 100km of steep mountains. So we cut out the Nemrut loop, and Clare fixed us up a motor excursion, from a 2 night stop in Malatya. The excursion has its own post.

We stopped in the hotels area in the city centre, intending to search around for a cheaper sort of place. But it’s a tough year for tourism in Turkey, and the staff ran out of the nearby Kent hotel, almost dragged us off the bikes, and agreed to our budget. Err, ok. And very comfy we were too. We would have been even comfier if someone hadn’t mistaken the AC remote for the TV, and tucked it out of sight. Malatya isn’t an intensive tourism centre, but it is a good centre for historical visits, and at least the hotel sector is feeling the effects of the abuse Turkey is presently suffering.

Malatya’s hotel area is very central, and the post-coup political rallies in Turkey are noisy, festive, but slightly intimidating affairs. Both nights we were in Malatya, people rallied in a central square just the other side of our block, lots of noise, speeches, chanting but didn’t stop us sleeping one jot. Again, no photos of this, sorry!

Now, confession time! At the same time we realised Nemrut by bike wasn’t practical, we confirmed we were running late, in terms of the timing of our Azerbaijan visa. Then the attempted coup underlined how Turkey is presently a bit tricky security-wise, especially in the south. So as we’d long thought might happen, we used public transport to speed things up, taking an overnight otobus to Tatvan, three or four days ride East. Even with some 90 minutes delay, this dropped us off about 4am. We then had an easy 65km alongside Van Golu to Adilcevaz and a Pansiyon.