19/1/25
We slept well in our secure compound. We were fenced and gated in. It gave us the ability to really relax. In the morning we got the stove going again, for coffee and porridge. As we were enjoying the aromas of the Nescafé instant coffee, our hosts arrived back. They came bearing gifts of ekmek, sesame seed rings. We liked these.
We chatted with the man, we couldn’t remember his name, it was so unfamiliar we instantly forgot it. He and his wife had been cycle touring before, but now with a child they didn’t. Lots of mountain biking in the beautiful woods though. They were submersed in them. He was taking his daughter back to their home town near Cappadocia to go skiing. It was a part of Turkey we would have liked to visit but it was too cold now.
After they’d left, and the woman went for a run, we finished packing up and left too. Back up and down the track and then on the road to İçmeler. It was downhill or flat all the way. We zoomed down, stopping a couple of times, once to brush our teeth. After the bay we were headed to Özbek. The road started to climb first, which we were expecting, but then it dropped into the village. It was quiet at first, nothing was happening, and then round a corner the market emerged.
It was Sunday of course. We rarely note the days. We hunted for mandarins. But the only edible ones were tiny, we spent 10 minutes peeling a eating a kilo of them. Just as we were about to go we spotted some cyclists on the other side of the square. They shouted to us, ‘ÇAY?’, then in English, ‘TEA?’.
We duly rolled over to see them. They ordered us tea and we sat translating on our phones, discussing ourselves and journey. They were two men, rare Turkish winter cyclists, wrapped up in so many layers it seemed ridiculous when we sat there in our short sleeved clothes. Their bikes weighed next to nothing. We couldn’t wait to try riding something without luggage when we eventually got home. One of the men quietly got up and went to the food van behind us, he returned with a bowl of lokma. Deep fried dough, soaking in sugar syrup. Delicious. They generously paid for the tea and food. ‘We are their guest.’
We parted ways. They were taking the easier route back to Izmir. The route we were taking was steep. They gestured to show us. We were undeterred. Nothing was steep anymore. We were reaching that stage of knowing we could ride up anything that was paved and used by cars. As we’d already technically started the 6km long climb, and we’d had plenty of sugar, we were feeling pretty good.
The road went up through pretty pine trees, a familiar landscape we enjoyed. Occasionally it would get extra steep, 14% once or twice. Cars passed by, people on their Sunday drive. It actually went quite quickly given how far it was. Just before the top was an excellently placed final section of steep gradient. The top was basically a car park, a great place to sit outside. It’s amazingly refreshing how much the Turkish like to enjoy the outdoors.
As we started going down we immediately noticed how charred everything was. All the trees had been burnt to a blackness. There had definitely been a forest fire recently. It was odd how the other side of the hill hadn’t been affected. It was stupidly steep going down too. Our brakes were crap at this point. They’re supposed to be able to be tightened up, but they’re fiddly and with barely any pad left they really don’t work that well. We made do, pulling the levers as far as we could to the handlebars. Frankie’s hydraulics were a little better to be fair.
We’d crossed the little jut of land and rejoined the coastal road. We were really hoping for a clear place to cycle but it didn’t exist. It was either fast main roads or some combination of one way streets (us going the wrong way of course), messy cobbles, or a cycle path that was being used as a pedestrian path because there aren’t any cyclists. There were cycle paths though.
It was a densely populated coastline. We had thought Özbek was busy. This was hectic. After a long stretch of busy coastal road we stopped again for more mandarins. Jonathan was the one eating them all though. He managed to find a way to eat them while riding, the bag hanging on the handlebars and the peel soft enough to remove with one hand.
It was all a bit of a blur from this point. We spent ages on the main road next to an army base of some kind, then we eventually managed to find a really big park. This was the end of the ordeal. We slipped onto an azure dream path. It slipped us all the way into the centre of İzmir.
After having had to weave through the traffic we were grateful to have no cars to deal with. Only the occasional moronic pedestrian. At one point a small boy ran across the path and almost got flattened. He wouldn’t have recovered quickly from being run over by the black Surly. We took it as a warning sign and stopped soon afterwards to adjust the brakes. They made a ticking noise but they’d stop the bike at least.
The azure dream lasted an eternity. A good eternity but we tired all the same. It was interesting to see so many people put by the water. Just hanging around chilling, having a good time. But they weren’t drinking. Only smoking. They all smoke. It’s crazy cheap, like £1.50 a pack of cigarettes. They’re lots of counterfeit products too. A young man rode next to us for a bit, quizzing us on our journey. Young people here don’t have as good a grasp of English as we’d expected.
We were going to stay at a hostel. We hadn’t booked it, we wanted to see how safe it looked for the bikes. It’s called Shantihome. The streets looked a little sketchy but it’s probably the hip part of town. When we arrived there was another touring bike already locked up. A good sign. We took all our bags off, while the hostel manager waited for us inside. After we’d locked the bikes up, he showed us around.
When we went downstairs we met Bertrand, the other tourer. He’d cycled from France, but via Nordkapp. Pretty impressive. He also had almost 100 followers on polarsteps. Unheard of. We had less than 10! He was a quietly spoken Frenchman, and whispered softly into his phone to translate. We didn’t have enough French and he didn’t have enough English to do otherwise. He said he could potentially put us in touch with a Turkish family in Bergama. He’d stayed there for a month and a half.
We went off out to get money. The hostel didn’t take card. Apparently another bank called Ziraat Bankası lets you take money out for free. It wasn’t far, and it did. The supermarkets here were more expensive than we’d become used to. We found a few bits for our dessert, but there didn’t seem to be any ekmek left by this point. Instead of buying plastic packed bread we walked on and luckily found a big loaf in a little shop round the corner.
For dinner we figured it was too late to bother cooking anything. Being in a city there were places that might cater for us. Typing vegan into google maps yielded a falafel place close by. We greedily ordered a falafel wrap each, and an extra portion of something called ‘vegmacun’. Before we left we snagged an overpriced chocolate cake. Why not?
We took it all back to the hostel. We were knackered. We sat on the bed to gobble. It was nice to have something different to eat. The wraps lacked salad but they were tasty. For some reason we both felt a little ill, Frankie had had a dry cough for a while and now Jonathan was feeling funny too. We stayed up too late. We caught up with the adventures of all the people we’ve met on polarsteps. It was so interesting to see other people’s journeys. Some were going the way we had come. Others had gone the way we planned to.
Surly They Won't Make It 