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**personalMotographic** · #1 28 Mar 2015

Good to see a Portuguese "face" around here, Paula. Welcome.
I'm sure your tales will be much appreciated.

José Bragança Pinheiro
using Tapatalk

**Paula K** · #2 30 Mar 2015

Quote:

Originally Posted by personalMotographic

Good to see a Portuguese "face" around here, Paula. Welcome.
I'm sure your tales will be much appreciated.

José Bragança Pinheiro
using Tapatalk

Thanks José

**Paula K** · #3 30 Mar 2015

TURKEY
April/May 2014
(solo ride)

Starts to be a pattern. Dawns sunny. Sunrise in the lake is fantastic. Leave at dawn trying to make up the time lost in the rain yesterday. I no longer think of travel plans. Whatever it may be. And I'm enjoying a wonderful road that skirts the lake and reveals a grand landscape; the water reflects the background mountains. Some km ahead another lake - Beysehir. I'm in the lakes region, a very fertile area, cultivated fields, reed beds margins, villages and tractors, green until the horizon. Like the Swiss and French lakes with the only difference that instead of churches there are mosques and signalling is written in strange characters.

Passing through a small village I caught the scent the bread and cakes. I suddenly realized that I was hungry. Bakeries in Turkey are works of art. Various types of bread, baked delights without artificial creams. The windows are irresistible. A temptation that widens the eye, stuffs the nose, involves us in the memories of Grandma hot bread smell. Couldn’t resist. Three cakes and pastries and tea. All for 60 cents. I love these Pastanesi. I have packed lunch for the rest of the day.

I’m in the expectation of visiting Konya and the famous museum of Mevlana. At the top of the hill, near the extinct volcanoes I look out at the city that spreads on the horizon. Huge. I will spend the rest of the day lost in a city of 1 million inhabitants. Give up, I am slightly allergic to big cities. I like open spaces, with few people. Ride on.

To Cappadocia, the road is a straight line of 150 km. Call this region the Turkey barn. A lowland of wheat fields, windswept, an endless highway. Today has not rained but the blast almost lead me through the air. An hour later I'm tired of being beaten and drive in sloping mode. Looking for a service station that has a restaurant. I need a tea. But this area is almost deserted. Only petrol stations and no services.

Starving I stopped at a station that had a wooden table with long benches in front of the office. I took the cookies bag and a water bottle that I carry all the time. I sat in my picnic with the company of two chickens that walked by. The station employee came out and realized I did not want to supply. Went in and out again with a warm mug of tea. Placed it on the table without a word and left. Left me alone in my feast. When I tried to pay he refused and did a good trip gesture. Unusual.

In Turkey all is Big. The men are tall and strong, cities are huge, the distances connecting two points of interest are gigantic. Between Pamukkale and Cappadocia they are 600 km, more than going from Porto to Faro.

By the end of the day I arrive at Goreme in the heart of Cappadocia. In the tourist office a rude and disinterested lady announced that there was no accommodation available in the area. All booked. It cannot be, I thought. I only have an hour before nightfall. Went looking for a hotel that I had seen a traveller site. Also sold out but the receptionist says he knows a place that has residential rooms. And that belongs to his mother. Yes, I felt that the matter was settled. Right in the village centre, a simple house, a modest and clean room, a loving lady, includes breakfast, all for 17 euros. The fortune favours the daring.

A mime conversation with the house lady and discovered that the central restaurants are all expensive. She pointed to the left side of the street. Followed the advice and landed in a small restaurant, mother in the kitchen and son at the tables. An absolutely delicious Anatolia soup and a plate of Toutinni. After dinner took a walk around the village. The souvenir shops occupy the streets and close late. The supermarket is still open. Many Russian and Japanese tourists. Travel agencies advertising tours around the area and buses bound for Istanbul and other sights at affordable prices. A crowd of young backpackers are waiting to travel overnight.

**Paula K** · #4 1 Apr 2015

TURKEY
April/May 2014
(solo ride)

Wake up in the middle of a lunar landscape. Breakfast is on the terrace where we can admire strange pointed shapes that point to the balloons flying over the area. This region is characterized by geological formations shaped over the centuries by wind erosion and by deep valleys where rivers still run. The soft volcanic rocks allowed the excavation of houses and shelters. The result is a desert landscape, misshapen, almost apocalyptic.

Two days to explore the area. I went to all the places published in tourist itineraries. Pigeon Valey, Ihlara Valley, Selime Monastery, Rose Valey, Love Valey and many others which I don’t remember the name. I went down to the underground city of Derinkuyu. I ventured by dirt roads through rocks of capricious shapes and inhabited caves, wandered quietly on a different planet.

Pigeon Valley owes its name to the thousands of pigeon houses carved into the soft rock since ancient times. The pigeons were used by the Romans as mail messengers between regions and pigeon droppings are very popular among farmers as fertilizer. From the top of the Valley we sight a fantastic landscape of jagged rock formations known as fairy chimneys.

The underground cities served as refuges for the people in the wars of the Byzantine era, the Roman persecution of Christians, or, more recently, used by the Cappadocian Greeks to escape the incursions of the Ottomans.

Intricate mazes of tunnels and caves with several floors underground that could accommodate up to 20,000 people. The underground city of Derinkuyu has a barn area, stable, cellar, dining room, school and even a chapel on the lower floor (five floors below ground). In all tunnels we can feel airflow coming from a complex system of ventilation shafts. Many of these cities are connected to each other through long tunnels.

Selime Monastery is a monastery-church located 28 km from Aksaray. It was also the headquarters of the region. Carved in the rock, in great height, is the largest monastery in Cappadocia, with a large cathedral church where still remaining traces of old ceiling paintings. It was also used as a stopover of the great caravans of the Silk Road where merchants look for refuge overnight. We enter by a ramp and very steep stairs not advisable to dizziness. Upstairs we can enjoy a fabulous landscape.

(...)

**Paula K** · #5 1 Apr 2015

TURKEY
April/May 2014
(solo ride)

The trail was advised by the Hotel Lady, in a mime conversation (she does not speak English and I don’t speak Turkish), pointing to locations on the map. She advised me the cheapest restaurants, paths to stroll and the shops to avoid. We were a whole afternoon talking through gestures and laughs.

The day I left the bike was doing a weird little noise. I realized that wrapped around the handlebar, had a Turkish embroidery ring with a sort of eye stone (called Evil Eye - the eye symbol is regarded as a powerful amulet for protection against the forces of evil).

Each time we step on the village intersection centre the guy's motorbike rental shop shouts something to me. In the late afternoon of the 2nd day, when I went for last minute shopping I heard a 'Can I help you? ". I stop and look at him - Yes, you can!

I explain that I need to lube the bike chain but as it does not have central support I can’t do it alone. He stares at me for a few minutes in silent. Then his face opens in a smile. He calls the mechanical. They lubricate the chain, check the tire pressure and oil level. Offer me tea and fill me with questions of where I came from and what I'm doing and where I'm going. Don´t know where is Portugal but I speak about Ronaldo and his eyes shine. Haaaa .... Portuguisi (I find out that Portugal is a country called Portuguisi because Ronaldo is Portuguisi). Now I understand why when he said that I am from Portugal nobody understood me. I know nothing about football but that makes life easier for travellers, it does!

(...)

**Paula K** · #6 1 Apr 2015

TURKEY
April/May 2014
(solo ride)

When I planned the trip I found several references of Munzur Mountains, an inhospitable region of central Anatolia crossed by the river Euphrates, bordering the birthplace of major civilizations of Mesopotamia. I felt like going there. It’s only 500 km.

Part of the road belongs to the ancient Silk Road, the trade route between the East and the West through which passed the caravans loaded with goods. There still remains the "Kervansarais", hostels fortified by the roadside that served as landing and shelter to merchants.

As a tourist spot, around this caravanserai grew a village with several shops and restaurants in the middle of nowhere. Admission is 15 lire. Didn’t feel like going. I stayed by the outside.

Through the great plains of central Anatolia by a highway that crosses a dry, almost desert land. Tufts of vegetation alternate with white hills of earth with strange cuts. There are no houses, villages or people, just the highway, trucks and service stations. After two days of good weather the sky is loaded with grey clouds today. By mid-morning rises a terrible windstorm. The trip becomes a torment. I have to stop at a service station.

There is a restaurant where no one speaks English. In gestures I explain that I'm hungry. They make me sign to sit and serve me a delicious soup, a salad and beef stew. Watching a TV cookery show, I´m waiting for the wind to calm. Me and a few truck drivers who also did a safety stop. A couple of hours later I see the truck drivers leave. The windstorm calmed down. I continue my trip. As I approach the mountains the fields are greener, the road gets narrower, there are flocks of sheep and cows and sheep dogs that bark and run after the bike.

It rains again and the wind continues to fustigate. At the entrance of a village I stop in a service station. I'm soaked and cold. None speaks English. A boy called me behind the counter. Google translator is open and we talked trough the keyboard. From now on is a rural road, many curves, up the mountain to the gorge of the Euphrates River. It's almost nightfall. I think it is too late for such adventure. Luckily there is a hotel in the village, next to the mosque, where the pilgrims stay.

The receptionist doesn’t speak English and the hotel has no restaurant. The closest is in the town centre 2 km away. The hotel has wireless Internet and turn on the Google translator on my phone. I could explain to the old man that I am exhausted and hungry. Outside it’s pouring with rain. He’s going to ask a restaurant to bring a kebab at the hotel. Shortly after Renault parks outside, big, slender, shiny, a well-dressed young boy leaves the car with a tray with a full menu, plate, cutlery, cup and yogurt. The receptionist improvises a table at the reception. All of this for 4 euros. I have dinner thinking that this is not just a trip; it is a life experience where the unpredictable reigns.

The mosque loudspeakers scream the call to pray. I fall asleep with the chant and wake up with the same song.

Dawns. No sun, no rain. I will ride until weather allows. A narrow mountain road, steep and twisted climbs phenomenal green landscape. Down below, in a canyon runs the Euphrates. The road runs along the bed of the river, goes through tunnels carved into the mountain. Far away an iron bridge crosses the river. I'm sitting on a rock by the roadside breathing nature and thinking if I do the 70 km of a road that is called "Stone Road", a dirt road that runs always by the river. There is a sign that says the road is dangerous.

The sky darkens very quickly. Suddenly a thunder crash is heard. While I put on the rain suit a military column approaches. One of the officers speaks a little English. He asks me what I'm doing there. Says there is a village a few km ahead and has a Hotel. I enter the village escorted by several trucks of soldiers (later I was told that in more remote areas there is no police, military forces are keeping order).

At the Hotel nobody speaks English. I point to the restaurant. They make me a sign to sit. In the middle of lunch turn up a girl sits and on the table in front of me. It is the school's English teacher. Someone call her to talk to the stranger woman who arrived by motorcycle. Stays the all afternoon with me. After all, that "small" town has 10,000 inhabitants, is well known for organizing international trekking events and to have a unique feature - the doors have two kinds of door-bell, each one with a different sound, one for men the other for women. Thus, the hosts know which one to go open the door.

She takes me to visit the secondary school, a huge modern building. It has a natural history museum that is the envy of the Lisbon museum. Several rooms with fossils, stuffed animals and local flora exhibition. It’s the students who maintain the museum. Every year there are raids across the country, in locations where they excavate relics accompanied by teachers. All this state funded. Fantastic.

After dinner we stroll around the bars. This small town has many young people and, therefore, late night bars. One is in an old church that was transformed. The altar is the bar, in which drinks are served. She tells me that is the most popular. It reminds me when I was in Ireland in a bar that was an old English church. This thing of religion makes me confused.

The waitresses are all young women. I am curious and ask about the lives of women in a Muslim country. Explain to me it's still complicated. In large cities and towns women play a more active role, have more freedom. No longer use the scarf to cover the hair. The problem is the remote areas, small villages where still reign ancient times.

They call coincidences to facts of life. If I had followed the road of stones I would be caught by the rain in the middle of the mountain, on a dirt road squeezed between the rock escarpment and the cliff. Fortunately the beauty of the landscape "forced me" to stop and the military convoy did not “give space” to think in off-road odysseys. Sometimes the enthusiasm takes away common sense but fate takes care of guiding us. What's not to be, does not have to be.

(...)

**Paula K** · #7 6 Apr 2015

TURKEY
April/May 2014
(solo ride)

Wake up very early. The sky is beautiful blue. Today I can recover the km I didn’t do yesterday. And thankfully did not. The experience was fantastic.

Driven by curiosity, yet I entered the tunnel that leads to the famous road. I just drove 2km and returned back. It was enough to realize that the road would be dangerous for someone like me alone and with no off-road experience. But the scenery is fabulous

To exit the mazy of curves and hills took me a few hours. The landscape is spectacular; from top of the mountains we see the canyon and the river down there running sluggish. All in harmony.

In the first village I stop for a snack. The smell of pastries call for me. Two Lira (€ 0.60) for tea and cakes. I already have packed lunch again.

Today’s destination is the Nemrut Mountain, in the South. Another straight endless road to Malatya. I’ve seen on Google maps a road from here to Mount Nemrut. At the entrance of the city I stop at a gas station. Fuel and was offer tea. As usual. Ask the way. No one knows and no one speaks English. One of the employees makes a call. Hand me the phone where someone on the other side speaks English. I explain what I want. Answer me a man, in good English that he organizes tours to Nemrut and I could go with him. He handles everything. (trying to sell a tour). I say yes and during the conversation I realize that there is a road and in good tarmac. Yes, I will meet you in the centre town. I left laughing. Yes, he could sit and wait for me. (

)

Just outside the town there are signs to Nemrut. I follow the signs, climbed another steep mountain, a terrible downhill. A local kind of Stelvio. Suddenly, at the top, the road ends. Only a small hotel and a van parked outside that had seen coming before me. Nothing else. The owner greets and asks if I have reservation. I do not understand any of this. Where am I? Where are the statues?

Just realized that there is no connection to the south side of the mountain. The road ends here. The statues are 10 km further up, by a trail. I'm lost. The owner tries to convince me to stay in the hotel. The price is exorbitant. I make up a story about having some friends waiting for me on the South side. He tells me that only way is returning to Malatya and go around. It’s about 200 km. I must have made such a desolated and unhappy face that I think took pity on me. Tells me that there is an alternative - make a 4 km track from the last village down there and then I will reach tarmac again. Go around the hill, for 40 km of rural roads and I will be on the other side.

Now what? I fear trails. I imagining myself lost alone in the middle of the mountains. Tired, sweaty, after doing almost 300 km, at 4 pm, the last thing I feel like is doing is off-road.

I looked at the van and had an idea. I asked him if the driver could go with me through the trail until the next tarmac road. We negotiated a fair price. And here I go slowly on a dirt road with scare curves, up and down. I can´t see anyone on the way. Only the van in my rear view mirror. One of the curves is so tight and down that I gestured to the driver help me get the bike by hand. Then I have to wait for the van to make the curve. What kind of adventure.

Not even feel like taking pictures. I just want to get out of here. I'm looking at the miles indicator to see when this torment ends. After the 4 km the track does not end. Almost 10 km of track and fright. Finally we reach the tarmac and my companion went back. I have a map drawn by the hotel owner with the following villages I should go by to get to the intersection of Nemrut.

Only when I returned home I discovered that I had a camera recording the whole time. When I watched the movie I realized I made a road with a fantastic view. In the film the track does not seem so bad. I was so nervous that didn’t enjoy the ride. Just thinking the day before I had this insane idea to ride the stone road .... Only in these occasions I miss having company on the road. It would be safer to have someone around or it would be fabulous to be a movie star and ride with a production team behind.

The reality is that ... there are limits to the adventure if we want to be sure to get back home safe.

I arrive at nightfall. Rain is starting to fall. I ride up the hill seeing unsightly pensions. I found one with looking good. I park. A smiling young man to gets out and greets me. Speaks reasonable English and announces that has rooms and serves dinner. A Western couple passes by and talk to me. They are German and say this place is nice, is the 2nd time they stay here. Until dinner we stayed talking and drinking tea.

The room is basic, a bed and nothing else. The shower is on the wall and works poorly. For the price, it’s all that can be arranged. But the boy is a sympathy and dinning with the Germans helps to turn the evening more comfortable They are retired and live in Alanya. They visit Portugal and Spain looking for house but it was all expensive (I've heard this story). Love living here (later I was told that there are so many Germans in Alanya area that is called "Little Berlin")

(...)

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