Paula Kota - Short travel tales

[Paula K]

Hi everyone,

My name is Paula (Kota by nickname) and I'm from Portugal, a beautiful country in the western end of europe.

Since I remember that the sound of a motorcycle shakes me. Started very young riding a bike and never stopped. For a few years I was a young reckless/unconscious, then came my daughter and life changed course. Now the adrenaline is consumed from 9 to 7h and the attitude on the road is quieter.

I love traveling, see the world, experience different cultures. I like to write. I started writing diaries of my trips to remind of all the emotions I felt. When I decided to share the experiences I realized that my "writing" was pleasant to others.

I have only 2 weeks’ vacation per year. So, my ride reports are just Short Tales. By suggestion of Mr. Grant, I will start publishing here my ride reports, places where I've been as Turkey, Morocco, Spain, Scotland, India, Himalayas or Africa.

In each of my tales is a bit of my soul …

I start with the ride report of my Turkey Holidays (2014)
I was thinking that Turkey was a complicated country roads in the style of Morocco and the Middle East problems. Things we read in the newspapers. I was wrong flat. I found a fantastic land of hospitable people, a clean and organized country, dreamy landscapes and cuisine for foodies. All this with a strong aftertaste of east and exotic.

In Page 2 starts the ride report of Morocco (2012)
A Solo trip in Morocco, between 22 April and 3 May 2012. A fantastic adventure, a land of friendly people, a journey that surprised me.



Hope you enjoy my tales




PS: Sorry for my English. I used the Google translator. Hope that the translation is enough to express my travel feelings.

.

[Paula K]

TURKEY
April / May 2014
(solo ride)

Just two weeks of vacation and a target 5,000 km away. To drive there takes six days for each side and I burn the holidays. Solution? Catch a plane and rent a bike.

Life is about choices and travel plans also. In a country eight times bigger than Portugal I must select a region. I chose the South Mediterranean coast and Central Anatolia, a path with an Ottoman aroma that I can do in two weeks.

I found that a motorbike rental price in Istanbul is pornographic. It is cheaper to take my bike there. But as always, out of the "famous" tourist circuits things are different. In Antalya I found several motorbike rental companies at a reasonable price. I choose one with no reason. Just because their Internet page was well made, had good customer reviews and because it was one of those things we call "feeling". Rented a Yamaha 660R at good price that allows me to drive any type of road.
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Landed in Antalya near midnight. It was the cheapest flight I found. Mr Guven is waiting for me. Its part of the bike rental service pack the airport transfer to the hotel. He recognized me for the helmet bag hanging on my shoulder.

The way to the hotel is by wide avenues, well lighted, roundabouts and traffic lights working. A modern cosmopolitan city. I’m feeling a bit ignorant. I thought I would find a traffic chaos in this country. Mr. Guven, in reasonable English, explains the history of the places we pass. When we arrived at the Hotel he had lost the ceremony and bombards me with questions about my plans.

Show him the route map I want to do. We talk until very late. Insists to explain me how Turks are. Tells me that in touristic places no one will bother me but further inland, where they are not used to tourists, surely I will be harass with questions, with the aggravating circumstance of being very rare to see a woman in a bike alone. Advised me to be careful, not to talk too much. But tell me I should not be afraid. Turkey is a very safe country.

PS: He just forgot to mention one word: They're boring, don’t stop asking questions. However quickly give up at the first frown.

In my travel plan is scheduled to stay one day in Antalya. To familiarize with the culture and prepare departure. Arrange to pick the bike after lunch and deal with paperwork.

I take the morning to visit the city. Antalya is a popular tourist destination. A city facing the Mediterranean, a small historic centre well preserved with strong Roman presence. Ruins spread around the city and surrounding areas. One enters the old city by Adriano door, an arch built in honour of the Roman emperor who visited the city in 130 AD. Like any Arab country, trade takes up the streets, tourist shops with rugs, colourful ceramics, trinkets, articles (identified) as fake, spices artfully arranged in pyramids lined in colours and many, many restaurants. It smells of kebabs.



















The Turks are aggressive negotiators. The Morocco negotiation tactics don’t work here. The method is more psychological. They start by calling us with a smile. Then, they wrap us with compliments and flirting, do a very interested look about our country, offer tea and Turkish delights and if we are not shop vaccinated we leave the store full of trinkets and with no money.

The small marina is full of pirate’s boats that make coastal cruises. All in wood with statues of movie pirates, mermaids and sea monsters. Cruise sellers call tourists. Hundreds of tourists in slippers and with red skin invade the shops. Japanese, Germans and Russians.









When I picked the bike had another one of those "feelings". This registration can only promise good vibes. Do not know anything about numerology but this combination appeals to me. I will make a good trip.





Leaving Antalya was a nightmare. According to the indications, just go down the avenue and right over there I find the coast road. So close that it took me two hours to leave the city. Yes, it was easy, the avenue was wide, but had 20 km of blocked traffic and traffic lights. I begin to think that in here everything is big and far. Only 50 km after leaving the town I felt on vacation. Finally, a road without traffic, open countryside.

The Turks drive quite pushy. A bit chaotic for our well behaved Western habits. Yes, there are traffic rules they meet. But they only stop on the intersection limit line. Until I get used to it I caught a few scares. Honked like a crazy. Sometimes afraid, others in rage, because of the overcoming raids that made. The trucks are kings of the road. No, not old and rusty. Recent and modern, silent and fast machines, in line behind each other, filling the road. The most prudent is to go out of their way. Take it slow.





(....)

[Grant Johnson]

Welcome to HU Paula! Looks like you have some great photos and stories, I look forward to reading more!

[Paula K]

TURKEY
April / May 2014
(solo ride)


The 1st travel stage is short. 200 km to Kas, by a road always along the coast, sometimes climbing hills, sometimes by the sea. I stop in a small town where St. Nicholas, Bishop of Demre lived, whose sarcophagus is in a church built in his honour. According to the legend, St. Nicholas was famous for its miracles and generosity. His remains were taken to Italy by merchants and his holiness led him to become patron saint of Greece and Russia. Devotion of the patron St. Nicholas gave rise to the Santa Claus character we know today. In the city centre there is a statue with an explanatory tombstone.







Very close to Demre are Myra Tombs, an intricate network of ancient tombs excavated in the hill dated back to IV AC century. Later the Romans built an acropolis which the theatre is still well preserved. The road access to the ruins is full of St. Nicholas religious souvenir shops and sacred stones from the ruins. It’s 10 Lira to visit. I leave the bike near an orange juice stand. The boy says he lookout, no problem. Says I must be very strong to ride with such a big bike. Widens his eyes looking at it.













Arrive in Kas in the evening. The road goes down the hill with a superb view. Small islands near the coast, a harbour full of boats. A beautiful fishing village. The esplanade by the sea is full of foreigners. I only hear English speaking. I ask for a tea and wait for the British couple who kindly invited me to spend the night at his house. David and Juliet are retired and told me that travelled the South of Portugal and Spain looking for a house to buy. The prices were so expensive that they ended here. Love living here. Life is much cheaper and people very hospitable. In the area there are thousands of Englishmen who have adopted Turkey. It was the 1st surprise of the day. In the course of the conversation they comment that the island, just ahead of us, belongs to Greece. We can reach it swimming. No wonder that the Turks have itchiness having the Greeks by the door. Ancient wars.













When I travel alone I like to start at dawn. There is no traffic, the morning light is fantastic. The road from Kas to Kalkan runs always by the sea. Wide, well signposted, delicious windy road curves. Awesome. Feel like doing it back and forth several times. The sea is blue-green, calm waters, broad horizon. It’s called the Turkish Riviera.

David ride with me to Kalkan. Has a bike just like the one I rented. He knows well the area and occasionally disappears to appear later in the top of a curve with the camera in hand. Took fantastic photos.

The greatest difficulty of anyone traveling alone is to appear in the photos. I am often asked why I take so many pictures of my bike ... well, because there is no one around to take pictures of me.



Photo by David Bird


Photo by David Bird


Photo by David Bird


Photo by David Bird


Photo by David Bird


Photo by David Bird


Photo by David Bird



In Kalkan I took the road inland towards Pamukkale. It starts to rain, a flood that accompanied me through the 300 km to the famous "cotton castle". I planned to visit the complex in the afternoon. But it doesn’t stop raining. Change of plans. Spend all afternoon talking with the friendly hotel owner who offered to take me up there tomorrow.

Dawned sunny. On the back seat of an electric scooter that has seen better days, with no helmet, the Hotel owner took me to the south gate of Hierapolis, 6 km from the village. It took me over 2 hours to visit the majestic ruins and many others wandering in the terraces and pools of warm water. It is mandatory to walk barefoot through the pools. The ground is soft and white. The water runs warm.

Pamukkale, a UNESCO heritage, is a complex formed by thermal hot calcareous springs that along the centuries formed pools and terraces on the hillside. They say the water has medicinal properties and cure various diseases. At the top of the hill are the ruins of a roman city - Hierapolis - including a thermal pool known as Cleopatra's Pool, a monument built on the site where it is believed the Apostle Philip was crucified, a Roman theatre and other ruins.

























(...)

[Paula K]

TURKEY
April/May 2014
(Solo ride)

When I finished was past lunch time. Quickly eat up a sandwich; put on the bike equipment still soaked from the previous day rain and hit the road. The initial plan was scheduled to arrive in Cappadocia today. It is no longer possible. Thankfully did not book any hotel. I am free to stop wherever I want.

By mid-afternoon starts to rain again. Strong downpour, hail and wind. The road is overflowed; streams of water turn into waves blew by the wind. It reminded me of the sand waves that snaked on the road when I ride through the desert in Western Sahara. Spooky. Difference is that in here they are of water and join the waves that jump of the trucks wheelsets. I feel wet, cold and miserable.

Its only 4: 30h pm. I'm exhausted and sick of rain and wind. I decide to stop in Egirdir, a town on the edge of a great lake, covered by black clouds. I'm so desperate that I stop in the 1st hotel I see. It’s a 4 stars. What the hell. I ask the price. 23 Euros. Hard to believe. I'll indulge me in a spacious and warm hotel room. Hang the equipment on the heater and go for a hot shower. I only made 200 km.

A journey into the rhythm of the rain.








When I go out for dinner the rain stopped. I walk in the village and getr the opportunity to buy gifts. Outside the tourist season is always cheaper. So cheap I don’t need to bargain. Found a restaurant full of people. With so many clients, it must be so good. Can’t read the menu. I can only point to a picture with a looking good pitta. Employees do not speak English. They try to make conversation but it's hard. The only thing they speak is "where r you frome?" Answering is useless. I shrug. An old man in the background shouted something and the employees stop nagging.

[Paula K]

Originally Posted by Grant Johnson

Welcome to HU Paula! Looks like you have some great photos and stories, I look forward to reading more!

Thank you Grant.
Yes, I have a some photos I will put them here with the ride tales.

Hope someone like it

[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

[Paula K]

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]

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]

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]

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]

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]

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")








(...)

[Paula K]

TURKEY
April/May 2014
(solo ride)



This trip is happening in the pace of the wind and chance. The storm follows me and narrows my plans. I still cannot comply with the schedules or the stops I planned each day. Everything is happening to me and I always end on different place than I had thought.
I begin to think that this not a touristic trip but a life experience.

Wake up with the sound of the rain falling. I think I will have to adjust the plans again. At breakfast I encounter the friendly German couple. The lady says in jest - you better go back to sleep it’s a nasty weather to go up to the mountain. No, I answered. I cannot let the rain stop me from doing things. I have breakfast slowly always looking out the window. The rain slows down, slight raindrops. I decide to risk. Put on the rain suit and ride the 17 km till the top of Mount Nemrut. Square tidy stone road, soft curves, so different from the escarpment I drove yesterday. Up there the wind blows so strong that I almost fall to the ground. A badly slop road where I hardly managed to park the bike against the wind. I think it will not be easy to get it out of here.

There is a small cafe that also sells souvenirs and carpets and tea and there is a nice gentleman who greets me. He signals that keeps the helmet. There is a walkway with steps to climb to the top. A chain of walkways go around the hill. We go up by one side, go down by the other. I am alone, there are no tourists. Light rain. Strong wind. I climb up, slowly. I'm at 3,600 meters altitude. I get tired quickly. The wind does not stop. Part of the walkway is of gravel and stone steps. Sometimes my boots slip. I try to keep myself right against the wind. Half an hour climb to get the 1st level. The statues are here. Looking at the endless horizon.

Classified by UNESCO, the king Antiochus I Tomb ruins consist in 2 terraces and an altar. A roofless temple full of giant statues - lions, eagles, the gods Apollo and Zeus, the half-god Hercules, the goddess of fertility among others.













The rain stopped. Undress the rain suit. I'm sweating. Alone at the top of the world only the wind and I. Blows in my ears, speaks in a language I can understand. Or I'm getting crazy. I start talking with the wind, answer him, talk to myself. I laugh of my appearance. Take lots of time taking pictures of myself using the camera timer. Can’t get a good one the photo catches me halfway running to the spot. Finally I manage some reasonable photos. And I laugh. Good thing I am alone. My look would shock any tourist in the area.

Just me, the wind and the top of the world where I feel a strong energy, coming from the innards of the earth that surround me and stifle me. I’m sweating. I laugh. Is this dementia? I don’t know, I just know that I feel good. My eyes spread across the landscape full of clouds. Freedom. Endless horizon.

Two weeks a year are mine. No responsibilities, no jobs, no schedules, no clock, with a destination but no course. And a huge world to discover. Free. Happy.






Go around the hill and start going down to the 2nd level. More statues, heads rolled out of the bodies and spread on the hillside. A king’s outcome that was probably as crazy as I am. Ordered the construction of these statues that watch the horizon, virtually to save or protect the world. Time made the heads fall. Kings, animals, Saints. Icons of a civilization from ancient times. Other beliefs.










It is time to get down. It's easier now there are no gravel paths. In the small cafe I sit down to rest. The owner offers tea. I'm psyching myself to go down the hill, the steeply slope in this wind. With gestures, I ask for help to turn around the bike. A man that must be a driver of one of the vans that arrived meanwhile speaks a little English. Came to help.

Down the hill, the wind is softer. I stop at the hotel to pick up my bags. I’m in the restaurant talking with the young hotel owner and I mention I’m going to fuel in the gas station that had seen down there the day before. He laughs and says that post only have diesel for tractors. No petrol. The nearest station is 50 km away. I get nervous. The bike tank is almost empty.

No problem, he said. Grabs the phone and after a phone call tells me to go down the road till the 2nd village. I'll fuel in the local grocery store, a plastic bottle of 1,5 Lt. This is Turkey. Everything is solved. No problem.

I was thinking that there were gas stations everywhere. True only in main roads. In these rural roads, petrol stations only have diesel for tractors and trucks. I was lucky. Back on the road.





The last target of my trip is Sanliurfa, just 200 km from here. Heading for Kahta to fuel and have lunch. Just when I’m getting out of the city the storm bursts. Hail, thunders and lightnings so strong that I have to cross the highway in the opposite direction to take shelter at a gas station on the other side. The sky collapsed. I look like a wet duck, running as much water as the rain falling from the sky.

The employees, three old men, invite me to enter the office and of course offer me tea. They don’t speak English. Friendly. I’m sitting with a cup of tea watching Turkish dances on TV waiting for the storm ends. But it does not stop it seems it’s getting worse. I decide to go back. It will be difficult to achieve the plan today.

I enter Kahta searching for a hotel. Through the main avenue, I drive slowly looking for a sign that says "Otel". A van starts honking behind me. Pull over to let it pass. Stops near me and the driver asks if I need help. It’s the man who helped me turn the bike around on top of Nemrut hill. I'm looking for a hotel. He signals to follow him. His brother has a hotel 50 meters away. Nice looking. The rain doesn’t stop. I decide to stay. The price is good. The bathroom has a real shower. And hot water and hairdryer. I’m missing a hot shower in a proper bathroom.

Random chance or there are no chance. It had to be. By the rhythm of the wind and the rain things are happening. There is a star that shines through the storm and enlightens my path.

Spend the afternoon writing in the esplanade under a nice roof. The owner comes to talk to me. Speaks bad English. He is with another man, migrant in Italy. Between bits of English and Italian we spent hours talking about Portugal, Turkey and religion. They are moderate Muslims. He asks about my religion. I answer that I am Buddhist and I do not understand religions because men kill in its name. Accepted the explanation but insists to tell me the whole Islam story. The conversation ends because men went to pray. The mosque loudspeaker began to sing.

I check the weather. It will be raining for the next days. I must take a decision. It's silly to continue with the planned itinerary under the rain. I will return to Antalya earlier. It’s still a thousand miles to get there.

In the morning, ready to leave, the man runs for me. Brings me a gift witch offers with deference and wishes Allah to guide me on my trip. Couldn’t be more surprised. This world is full of wonders!







(...)

[Paula K]

TURKEY
April/May 2014
(solo ride)


200 km to the South there is a highway towards Tarsus. The sky is full of grey clouds. I will try to make as many miles as possible. Before the motorway I stop in a cafe. Rain is starting again. The owner explained to me that the tolls are all electronic and I have to buy a payment card. Do not worry, it's easy, he says. On the way out, before the toll there is an office where you can buy a card and pay.

Another 270 km riding under heavy rainfall in a motorway of endless truck queues witch splash water. I'm so tired. In the checkpoint I have to give the passport and driving license to issue the card and pay. It is a small service post with a guichet. Can’t take my helmet off such is the amount of water falling.

I enter Tarsus looking for hotel. There are few people on the streets because of the rain. They walk sheltered in shops awnings. I stop at the door of a barber shop and signal to a man who was looking out the window. It must be something never seen here since everyone came outside to talk to me.

They indicate me a cheap hotel, on the main street, 100 m. ahead. I enter the hotel draining water down the hall. The reception old man smile and disappears. He went to get a mop to clean the floor. Only after he speaks to me. By gestures I ask for a room to sleep and ask about parking for the bike. Ten euros for the room and he says I can park the bike in the hallway.

I unload the bags and the old man helps me to put the bike in the hallway. The handle cannot fit in the glass door. A policeman and the parking supervisor show up. They say it’s OK to leave the bike on the side walk. No problem, no one will touch the bike. They will walk around here all night and know that the bike belongs to a Portuguisi that is traveling alone.
















Very early, I have breakfast and load the bag in the bike. The elastic bands to hold the bag are missing. It must have been in yesterday's confusion trying to put the bike in-house under that weather. The reception old man realizes my disoriented look. By gestures I try to explain that I cannot tie the bag to the bike seat. Smiles and makes a waiting signal. Goes up the street and back again in few minutes with two strong and colourful rubber bands. I can imagine that there is a bike shop near. Problem solved by € 2.5. He shakes his head and repeats joyfully - No problem.

Yes, in Turkey it seems there is never any problem. Everything is solved. I like it!

I have two ways to return to Antalya. Along the coast by a slow road, dangerous and blocked with trucks or by the fast lane that will take me back to Konya. The old man points to the map and signals NO by the coast. Stamp with his finger on Konya. I will drive more 100 km far but it’s a few hours short. I follow the advice. There, I'll have to cross the windswept lowland again.











In the afternoon it starts raining again. I have not even managed to dry my clothing of yesterday's rain and I'm soaked again. 3 days that my boots are soaked. I'm sick of rain and wind and trucks. I drive until I bear out. Before crossing the mountains that separate me from Manavgat I enter a small town. It should be easier to get accommodation here that in a very touristic place. Ride down and up on the main avenue looking for hotel. Just nothing. I decide to enter a shop and ask. They indicate me a 2nd street on the left.
I am greeted by a nice lady. The hotel doesn’t have garage but there is no problem to let the bike stay at the entrance under the surveillance camera. I still have time for a walk around the city. There are no tourists here.

Everyone is looking at me curiously. In the restaurant, in the middle of dinner, the kitchen boys come and ask to take a picture. Very happy and proud they pose beside me. I must be an alien here. A woman, wearing a huge colourful jacket, dining alone. The praxis question "where r you frome?" And then they can’t say another word in English. They let me take a photo of the kitchen.
















Today the itinerary is short and I’m planning to visit some tourist sites. I drive up the Taurus Mountains under a grey sky. Damm, the rain is always threatening. The road is twisted and crosses several passes. When I cross to the other side of the mountain I see white and fluffy clouds. The sun shines. On the horizon prevails the blue. It’s so good to feel the warmth. I park by the roadside. Under the sun. I take of my coat and hang it on the rail. Take of the boots. I lie down on the floor in the sun. Finally, it’s not falling water from the sky. I do not know how much time passed. Just know that the boots are dried up and I have a red face. Few cars passed.

The worst part of traveling is to realize that is ending and that the time is flying very quickly. It seems like I just arrived here yesterday and within two days I have to go back. A feeling of complete satisfaction because managed to get here and complete dissatisfaction because I want more.














(...)