2/2/25
When we poked our heads out of the tent in the middle of the night it was completely clear. The wind had picked up and the fog was gone. Even the tent was mostly dry. It was possibly undue optimism, but it might be that we wouldn’t be cycling through fog again, and it wouldn’t be wrapped around us as we went up the 250m of climb we had coming.
The cat tried to steal more of our food during the night. Frankie caught her in our food bag. As long as she didn’t rip the tent, we were fairly relaxed about it. We got up earlier than usual, though we didn’t have much of a choice once the prayer call went off at a balmy 6:45am. On a Sunday no less. We packed down quickly, having now perfected the process and our roles to a fault.
We boiled some water, using the last of the spirits, and split a single coffee sachet. We wanted the boost for the climb. An old man came by, wondering how we could possibly be cycling in the cold. We laughed. It was always the same question. After our coffee we set off back on the highway.
The shell garage wasn’t far. We found a middle aged man who for his part tried to help us all he could. He called the ferry company and confirmed the departure but he didn’t seem to grasp that we wanted him to book tickets. There were about 50 seats left out of 400. The attendants agreed we could buy our tickets at the port.
We felt in more of a hurry now. Not the best feeling with 6km of ascent ahead of you. It wasn’t foggy. The Sun was out. There was nothing to complain about. It started off steep and half the elevation was done in a couple of kilometres. The rest of it undulated a bit but of course it was mostly up. At the top we felt the wind. We did think that the plateau, of which we had 20km to cross, would be exposed.
There were some nice views down to the sea, but it was mostly mundane farmland. Not an exciting route. The whole route from Çanakkale had been a little disappointing. More of a last slog than a highlight. There weren’t any ruins, there hadn’t been any minor roads to amble on. We’d been surrounded by trucks for 3 days. With friendly drivers who gave us room and waved. But still noisy trucks. It was hard to know what to make of it, but it still felt like an achievement to endure it.
The time went by slowly. We stopped for a bit in a bus shelter, the only sheltering piece of glass was broken, and ate more sticky hazelnut paste wrapped treats. Then it was back to the ever increasing wind. It was forecast for Monday but it was definitely arriving now. There was a warning on the Turkish meteorological site. It explained there was colder than average weather coming to the north of Turkey. Perfect timing, kind of.
There were wind turbines, and boatloads of industry. Interspersed with the farmland. When we passed one factory a man was standing outside filming us and waving to us. We were celebrities. We hadn’t seen another cyclist. So we were probably unusual to see. It was nice to feel so supported, hearing the horns and the waving hands made us feel warm and fuzzy.
As we approached the end of the plateau there was one more mini climb. It felt like the hardest hill we’d ever climbed. The wind was relentless. With the additional force blowing us back it was as though it was 15%, and we were cycling through treacle. The wind buffeted us enough, but when a truck passed it introduced completely new wind directions. We were so close to dropping into Bandirma we could taste it. But we could equally hoss our bikes in front of the next lorry and dust our hands off.
The descent was mediocre, but at least it meant we didn’t need to use our brakes. The wind was enough. We followed the signs for the ‘feribot’. Dropping 150m in about 3km. Avoiding the uphill at any cost, we took a one way street along the docks to arrive at the port office. Eagerly we darted in, wheeled our bikes through beeping metal detectors, and approached the ticket desk.
The port workers chimed out ‘you have two passengers’, laughter on their faces. We were asked for our passports without even mentioning our destination. It was obvious apparently. Tickets secured we ate some bread and sun-dried tomatoes. Then we went out to find a cafe. As we left, a policeman approached us. Very friendly, with a smile on his face, he asked us for our passports. A little odd, but sure. He offered us çay and we sat down with him.
It was odd, he was clearly interrogating us, while also being greatly interested in us. Two glasses of tea later we’d found out that he had already had 9 teas that day himself, and he was there to protect against illegal immigrants. Of which there weren’t any in Bandırma, so he just questioned foreigners and drank tea and coffee.
Back in the ferry terminal it was all getting rather busy. It was definitely going to be a busy journey. We stood around for another 40 minutes before the boat arrived and there was an open door. It took a while but eventually we were outside waiting for instruction. Eventually we were sent to the front of the boat. Luckily we always have our bungee cords, because they don’t have anything to secure the bikes but goodwill.
It was another passenger only ferry, more like an aeroplane. We found our assigned seating, in the middle seats of a middle row in the middle of the lower deck. It was already apparent that the people were different. Different clothes, more women, a little more to themselves. City folk were upon us. The ferry capsule is just that. There doesn’t seem to be any ventilation on these vessels. So the windows fog up, and it feels like you can smell everyone all at once. A great place to catch an illness. Let’s hope we don’t.
It was actually quite a long way across the sea of Marama. Had we actually cycled to Istanbul? It was 2.5 hours later when we finally arrived and were treated to some fresh air, it was like breathing again. The port was unassuming, nothing of any grandeur. A long line of shops and we were onto the main highway. There was potentially a cycle path somewhere.
After using the road briefly and passing the entrance to the Eurasia tunnel, one of the newer Bosphorus crossings, we negotiated ourselves onto a wide concrete runway next to the water. It was quite something to soak in, Istanbul was indeed massive. We could see it spreading out over the channel of water through the middle. Lights sparkling all around us. It was hard to know where to look. Closer to us there was the usual sad evidence of the divisions of wealth that come with the city.
To avoid any hill climbing we stayed close to the waters edge and rounded the protruding land south of the Golden Horn. We almost went the wrong way through a tunnel but backtracked to cross the culturally significant Galata bridge. Apparently the card game ‘Bridge’ got its name from here. The bridge itself was a hotspot for people to be fishing and cars were parked along the entire length.
On the other side the traffic was dense which suited us perfectly as it’s easy to navigate through stationary cars. It wasn’t much further before we dismounted and covered the last few hundred metres on foot up the one way roads. The house we were staying at was down a quiet street. We hadn’t been able to secure 7 nights in the same flat, so we staying one night
then moving downstairs.
We lugged up the bikes. Nothing was too hard to get up now. The flat was spacious and modern. Really comfortable. We hoped the one downstairs would be the same. After a nice hot shower we went to get dinner. We asked at a local pide shop if they’d make a vegan one for us and the young man, who seemed to have lost his voice, was happy to help. Frankie nipped off to buy some fresh salad.
We took them home and made ourselves comfortable in front of the TV to watch more reality bullshit, this time The Apprentice. We were feeling fairly pleased with ourselves. We’d actually made it to Istanbul. We’d managed to cycle around 2000km more than necessary but, fuck yeah. It was a gratifying moment to relish.
Surly They Won't Make It 