Thrace

Day 1: Angels & Demons (Thursday August 17th)
By the time i made it through immigration, the bike and gear were waiting for me at carousel number 8 (three cheers for Turkish Airlines!). I packed up and changed into riding clothes, setting off from Attatürk Airport by 1:00 PM. Headed north on a highway, enjoying some of the toughest urban cycling ever: no real lanes to speak of, lots of noisy, smoggy, honking chaos. Eventually found myself tracing an enormous clockwise loop because i couldn't cross the off-ramps... I decided to buy a map of Istanbul (quick note on Istanbul: officially has a population of 10 million, but that in reality has closer to 20 million). So i went into a store looking for a map and instead i was treated to the awesomest cycle-touring encounter ever: The shop didn't have maps, so the owner grabbed his from the car, taped it up, gave me a coke while he drew directions (utter shit, BTW) on the back of a carton of Marlboros. He then ordered some Döner Kebap, cracked open another coke and called his buddy who spoke a bit of English to translate the directions (they were shit in english, too)... all of this free of charge! When it was time for me to go, he walked me down to the nearest roundabout and sent me on my way (the wrong way, mind you). My heart was warmed from this encounter but soon i was sweating like a pig and going around in circles again. I gave up on finding a good route out of the city and instead headed north west on whatever streets i could find. This eventually paid off, as i started leaving the urban sprawl behind. That's when i got honked at for the 100th time. A few kms down the road there was a truck pulled over and the driver was gesticulating wildly. I folowed his gaze and was dismayed to see that one of my saddle bags had fallen off. He made me understand that he'd seen it some 2 kms back (hence that particular honk!). I went back and fetched the bag and after another half-hour of riding i pitched the tent on a strangely empty field (nothing but burnt stuble, bullet casings and piles or rubbish). I enjoyed a spectacular sunset and sunrise, due to the exceedingly dusty and smoggy air.

Day 2: Free Çay!
Woke up at 6:00 and hit Hwy 020 (the road i will be following to Bulgaria) in time for breakfast. While i was munching outside the gas station i was treated to my first turkish tea (çay, pronounced "chai"). When i stopped for a snack in Kestanelik i was again treated to tea, and the owner insisted that i should take the one seat in the shade. In the afternoon i stopped at what i thought was a restaurant to score some Döner Kebap but, alas, it was a tea house so i spent the better part of an hour chatting with the owner and regulars while they kept buying me tea. When i finally made it to Saray for dinner, i again made the mistake of walking into a tea house but this time i realized my mistake before sitting down and the owner walked me over to a (rather well hidden) kebab stand where i stuffed my face. I was eating my desert of ice cream and fanta on a park bench when i was accosted by a group of youngsters eager to practise their english. One of their sisters eventually got involved, writing questions on a bit of paper and throwing it down from the balcony. I was happy to finally interact with a turkish woman, since they seem much more shy arround strangers than the men (and i can only imagine that the situation is worse in any other muslim country...). Biked a ways out of town and pitched the tent at a rest stop. There are heaps of rubbish, holes full of shit and a spring with drinking water coming out (used by cows as well as humans). Three cheers for hygiene!

Day 3: Bring on the Hills!
When i last wrote you, i was being pampered in Turkey, being offered food and drink as i sat at an internet cafe. From there i pressed on towards "Bulgaristan", as they call it in Turkey. As tends to hapen, the border between these two countries is rather hilly (I suppose the French/German border is an example of what happens if your border is nice and flat). I spent my last night in Turkey camped in a beautiful field with the ringing of cow bells helping me to sleep. I awoke once to see the Milky Way staring down at me, which was sweet, then again when the dogs started howling at the waning crescent moon rose above the horizon, which was even sweeter. The call for morning prayers (shortly before dawn) in a nearby town told me it was time to pack up and hit the road...

Day 4: Beautiful, Bumpy Bulgaria
Hit the Bulgarian border after a particularly righteous climb. The crossing was suprisingly easy and the guards on the Bulgarian side spoke decent English and told me which roads to avoid because they were "bad". Those bad roads must indeed be pretty shit because i have yet to see a half-decent road in this country! Appart from the Ladas packed with shirtless, sweating guys whizzing past me on the roads, my first impression of Bulgaria was that the people are a lot more surly than Turks. That said, i was still able to get some food and local currency without much hastle. I was hoping to spend the night at a proper campground (and hence shower) near Burgas but i got rather lost and by the time the sun set i was bouncing along single track along the beach, looking for a place to pitch the tent. (On a technical note, this bike works quite well offroad, because of its trully low gears and straight handlebars. The extra weight on the back alows me to stand up while cycling up really steep terrain, a marked advantage over most mountain bikes...) I ended up pitching the tent when the bike got stuck in the sand.

Day 5: Lost in Varna
Woke up on the beach outside of Burgas determined to find a hostel where i could shower (i was getting pretty stinky at this point). I set off north, first on a highway, then on smaller roads. These were all depressingly bad: the roads in Turkey seem like bike paths in comparison. The roads here rival those in Patagonia in terms of utter crapiness. Unlike Patagonia, however, there is a lot of traffic here, and the cars go fast. It seems Bulgarians were born for rally racing, driving their small cars at 120-150 kph down narrow, winding, torn up roads. Needless to say, that is not good for cyclists. For lunch i stopped in a small town where i chatted with a Swiss ex-pat, Thomas, who described to me how the locals love nothing better than getting drunk and driving their cars and motercycles at breakneck speed down the local roads. The tourists in Mercedes, BMWs and Volvos are no better, IMHO. I eventually made it to Varna, after being solicitted by a dozen prostitutes on the mountain roads outside of town. I suspect they would not have tried so hard if they'd gotten a good whiff of me! I found the place where the hostel was supposed to be, then spent the next few hours finding where it actually is. I shat, showered and shaved and went drinking with some of the other hostelers.

...which brings me to today! The cycling in Bulgaria is not enjoyable unless one has a death wish. Unfortunately, i have heard that the roads and drivers in Romania are considerably worse! I suspect that if i was cycling with a partner i'd be willing to press on a bit farther but riding on alone seems a rather poor vacation to me. So i'm switching to Plan B ("You've always gotta have Plan B"): I'm going to ship my bike back to Seattle, then i'm returning to Istanbul to spend a month exploring it. Worse things have happened ;-)

One final note: i've named my new steed. As i found it to be stallwart companion which never once jumped despite all the close calls and huge potholes. It never got a flat despite some trully rough going and it only occasionaly emmited squeals of pleasure (easily silenced with some lube). Although i have been frightened many times on its back, it has always steered me clear of danger. So i've named this worthy companion "Dreadnought".