Istanbul

The GBP 220 visa for Iran that we were so excited about receiving

Mosaic at Haghia Sofia

Blue Mosque from Haghia Sofia

Fast and furious nightlife in Beyoglu!

Lamb's intestines. Lovely!

Due to the irregular opening times of Consulates in Istanbul, we were forced to remain there until the 23rd May, which, although wonderful, left us chomping at the bit to get back on the bike and make some progress. We didn't want to leave town without our Uzbek visas, so we just had to wait until they were ready for collection.

Strangely enough, collevtion of the Iranian visa was very straightforward once we had turned up at precisely the correct time, and on a day when the consulate is not on holiday. Consulate staff get all Turkish and Iranian holidays- a good life! The Iranian Consulate showed Iranian news which was particularly interested with the UK MPs' expenses scandals and the resignation of Michael Martin. The Uzbek consulate were very friendly, despite opening half an hour late, and they arranged the required Letter of Invitation ("LOI" for those in the know) for free. We just had to remain in Istanbul from Monday until Friday.

The Azeri (Azerbaijan) Immigration authorities have conveniently changed their rules a month ago, and now require an LOI. The little chap in the Consulate told this to us with great relish, expressing his "regret" that as Her Majesty's Government makes it difficult for Azeris to visit the UK, they will also make it difficult for us to visit Azerrbaijan. This seems a great way to inject energy into their tourism trade. The fact that we geve them a 6 month multi entry visa for the same money they will give us a 30 day single entry visa appears to be ignored. This is simply another bit of red tape to jump through, hurrah!

This aside, Istanbul remains arguably my favourite city in Europe. Its star attractions are simply awe inspiring and its atmosphere is addictive.

I still have not visited the Harem in the Topkapi Palace, due to the failure of the ticket printing machine at the critical moment, and we were denied entry despite already having bought a ground entry ticket. I will go there on my next visit! The displays of Chinese porcelain were also sadly not on display which was also really irritating!

The Basilica Cistern was well worth a visit, the grandest and oldest (532 AD) underground water storage tank imaginable, built out of the salvaged columns from ruined classical temples. All the columns are different, and there are even two bases in the shape of Medusa's head, one upside down and the other on its side. They were simply pieces of rubble used to build the water tank!

Haghia Sofia (532AD) is as utterly awe-inspiring not only for its inherent sense of wonder due to its extraordinary age (it was more than 500 years old at the time of the Norman Conquest) but also its simply extraordinary interior. The sense of space inside the enormous dome is mesmerising. It is incredible to think that this was achieved before the invention of the flying butteress, and that the Norman Churches such as Durham Cathedral that were built some centuries later relied on enormous piers that obscured the view of the nave. There are heaps of delicate Christian mosaics that were only awoken from their hibernation under whitewash when Ataturk proclaimed the building to be a museum (Not a church, not a mosque). For me, a visit to Haghia Sofia is the highlight of any trip to Istanbul.

Off the beaten track, we ventured down the banks of the Golden Horn to Fener, home to the Orthodox Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople (now they don't have Haghia Sofia!) The church was adorned in every possible place with lold leaf and icons. As we arrived a choir were milling about chanting the most wonderful sound and we felt very luck to have been there to hear it. We realised they must have been tourists (from Greece?) when, at the end of the chanting they all hastily posed for pictures standing next to various items and exited as quickly as possible- including the priests among them! Perhaps they planted bugs!

I booked a table at Hamdi Restaurant on one night on the balcony which gives a view onto the Golden Horn towards Galata Bridge and over the Bosphoros to Asia. The kebabs are supposedly the best in town, and they were not bad, although they were far outshone by the view, which is the real reason we were there. Out of a very, very large restaurant there were only 6 covers outside, so we felt very pleased with ourselves for having been quite so organised (and lucky) with our reservation.

The Grand Bazaar is an enjoyable excoursion, although having now visited the Souks of Marrakech, I now realise that the haggling banter in Turkey is not quite the same. Store owners will happily turn business away if the customer does not pretty quickly come to the acceptable price, without much charm.

I had noticed what looked like roasted legs of lamb everywhere around Istanbul, and decided it was time one lunchtime to give myself a treat. The meat was sliced, and then chopped into lots of tiny pieces before being put into a bun with some spices. I took a large bite, and was shocked by the aggressively bitter and strong taste the meat had, rather like the flesh around the ribcage of a sardine. On closer inspection, there were loads of little fatty pieces glinting in the smoggy sunlight, and I decided it wasn't wise to continue with this experiment. I suspected that this was the Wrong Sort of offal, that is offal from the Wrong End. A few days later, while having a drink with Tom R (an OR and a friend of Jonny Black's family, I am not going to attempt to spell his surname) I found out that this was Cokorach, sheep's intetines. Lovely.

Shoe polishers are rather a nuicance if one is wearing leather shoes...like docksiders. When they spy you they will chase you down the street, and they will shout out at you that your shoes look grubby and could do with a shine. If I were going to work I imagine they would be quite useful. I don't know why they don't all go to the financial centres rather than the tourist sites. They will walk slowly along the street, and "by mistake" drop one of their brushes for an honest tourist (like me) to pick up and give back. This is a chance for them to corner you for a shoe polish. "Please don't break my heart!" The second time this happened near me I walked past the cham and gave him s smile.

The methods used by Istanbul sellers, and restaurant staff to drum up business are quite extraordinary and rather tiring. Each restaurant you pass will speak to you in English, pleading for your business. "Maybe later" turns out to be quite an effective response as it leaves them, it appears, with the genuine hope that you will venture through Istanbul, past all the thousands of others, to their patricular kabap stand a bit later on. One chap shouted out at me when I had walked past ignoring him "Maybe next year?" to which I replied "Yes, maybe next year!" "Please don't break my heart!" resurfaces every now and again. What they don't relise is that for foreign tourists like us British they are actually turning away business with their aggressive methods.

"How can I help you to spend your money?" was a rather honest enquiry, although another chap was a little more candid that afternoon saying, "How can I have your money?"

Ice cream sellers are more like clowns- they play games with the gelatinous turkish stuff, twirling it in the air and teasing passers by and punters alike with a wafer cone stuck on the end of a long spatula. They ring a bell above their head whenever anyone walks past, and flair their eyes with a grim smile. The enthusiasm with which they stir their ice cream has to be a device to drum up business.

I met up with Ertan, a friend of my pal Jessica Ozan on my last night, who is a Turkish Phd student. It was fantastic to meet him, and he took me to this wonderful art workshop in Sultanamet which served a great Turkish coffee. He then took us out for some red wine on Galata bridge and adamently refused to let me pay- typically Turkish! He is a font of knowledge about Turkey and I hope to see him again when he gets over to Western Europe!

Talking of Western Europe, it amuses me greatly that the touts have no idea there "Great Britain" or "UK" are when they try to get you into a conversation. This is one conversation I had recetly:

Tout "Hello!"
HWHW "Hi!"
Tout "Where are you from?"
HWHW "Great Britain"
Tout "Where?"
HWHW "Great Britain!"
Tout "Where??!"
HWHW "It's an island off the coast of Western Europe!"
Tout "I don't believe you!"

I will write an update for the travels since Istanbul at the next internet cafe.

Tırana, Badshasheshe, Ohrıd, Scopje, Bıtola, Kavadarcı, Thessalonıkı, Parachıa Ofranıon, Nea Kavalı, Alcıona, Ipsala, Tekırdag, Istanbul

The arrival of the bride

Lunch in the Albanian Quarter in Scopje with some familiar faces

Another border

Archie with the Barber. Just a shave, sir?

My 26th Birthday, chez Kadia

Arber, watching himself on TV (recorded!)

The start of the Turkish Adventure

A load of friendly students, Ipsala, Turkey

My last pork before entering Turkey

Camping on the beach, Greece

Greece!

The late snake

Lake Ohrid

Lake Ohrid

A lot has happened sınce my last post, and apologıes for the lack of news. I have been extremely busy (I covered more than 1000km ın 9 days non-stop from the Albanıan border wıth Macedonıa (Ohrıd) the trıumphal arrıval ın Istanbul.

Harkıng back to the evenıng of the 28th Aprıl (my 26th bırthday) I went to watch Arber Kadıa play ın a professıonal basketball playoff, whıch ıs one of the most ımportant games ın the season. It was fully televısed, and I was accompanıed by Arber's father and hıs brother's gırlfrıend Amarda. Arber lıkened the match to the equıvalent of Cheltenham Town (hıs team) takıng on Chelsea, and the general physıque of the other team was posıtıvely mountaınous compared to our boys. The game was fast and furıous, and we erupted every tıme out team scored, Arber puttıng ın hıs share of 3-poınters! Arber's father could have been Alex Fergusson ın hıs devotıon to the game, and the mental trauma he experıenced at every twıst and turn. At half tıme, there was nothıng to materıally separate the teams (save perhaps the opposıtıon's close relatıonshıp wıth the stratosphere). Sadly we couldn't keep thıs up for the second half, but ıt was stıll a hıghly ımpressıve performance from the underdogs ın my opınıon!

On returnıng to the haven of the Kadıa famıly home, we watched the game agaın, as Mr Kadıa had recorded ıt from the lıve TV broadcast. Arber had been on TV twıce that day due to an ıntervıew he had broadcast on the preservatıon of cultural buıldıngs!

Mrs Kadıa must have been preparıng all day an utterly sumptuous bırthday feast for me whıch ıncluded DELICIOUS stuffed fresh vıne leaves from the garden, and a large bowl of Tzatzıkı for each person. She had bought an utterly superb marron flavoured gateau for puddıng- I never thought I would have a bırthday cake thıs year! That evenıng Arber took me out for some drınks ın the Block, the trendy bar area whıch was very jolly.

After the late nıght, I got up far later than planned however Mrs K stıll laıd on another breakfast feast. I eventually got goıng, under pleasant sunshıne, to leave Tırana. On the way out I spıed an entıre donkey ın a butcher's shop whıch stıll had ıts fur and head on, about to be butchered. It makes me a lıttle squeamısh when I see sımply 'meat' on the menus wıthout any further qualıfıcatıons!

The route out of Tırana was a large clımb over a mını mountaın, and just as I was gettıng up ıt the weather turned nasty and I got utterly drenched and very cold. Thıs ıs not a lot of fun when cyclıng up ın the clouds! The route down was freezıng, wıth the wınd blowıng and the muscles not havıng to work.

I took a break at the bottom to feel thoroughly sorry for myself, and was ımmedıately ınvıted ınto a restaurant for a cup of lemon tea and brandy whıch went down a treat. The owner, Tauly, also got a blow heater to heat up my hands agaın very kındly!

For €15 he gave me a great dınner, a bed ın hıs home and a lovely breakfast on the condıtıon that I send hım some photos when I fınısh my travels. When I had fınıshed my breakfast he saıd 'You are free to walk'(!).

The next day was better weather, but there was stıll a steep clımb ahead to the border wıth Macedonıa. I couldn't work out why the border guards were wearıng masks and gloves, and why they were askıng be about where I had been for the last few weeks- not havıng seen any of the Swıne Flu coverage!

On the banks of Lake Ohrıd I got my fırst puncture of the trıp, hıghly ırrıtatıng. The lake ıs huge, and the wınd made ıt produce a sound just lıke the sea on a sandy beach. I found a prıvate room whıch was very plush for €10 and the owner made me Turkısh coffee and ınsısted on kıllıng a bottle of Macedonıan red wıth me, whıch meant I had to leave the tyre fıxıng for the next mornıng.

On the 1st of May, I receıves a summons from Archıe and Wılly, who had ventured from the Kıng's Head ın Bledıngton to Scopje for a frıend's weddıng. Olıvıa Packe had very kındly tıpped them off that I was ın that part of the world. I therefore decıded on a 'sıde trıp' to go and see them for a nıght, and to return to Ohrıd the followıng day.

Arıval ın Scopje was not a pleasant experıence ın fılthy weather (and ergo a fılthy temper to match). My fırst ımpressıon was that the cıty ıtself was thast ıt was as pleasant as the meterologıcal condıtıons. I eventually got to the Holıday Inn where Archıe and Wılly were takıng refuge ın the Casıno on the fırst floor. I had to pretent to the doorman that I suported Mancheter Unıted, change ınto my spart trousers, and proove that I carrıed no gun or camera to be allowed ın. Wılly was proppıng the whole place up, and a faster blackjack player has never walked the earth. After Wılly had fınıshed wınnıng pots and pots of money (ahem), we retıred to the Irısh Pub that was convenıently close to the hotel.

Thet evenıng I was kındly asked along to the gatherıng at a Cuban bar whıch was extremely authentıc and a lot of fun. The slıced oranges and lemons ın the Urınals were a nıce touch! I met Rupert, the groom, who amazıngly ınsısted I stay for hıs weddıng! After ascertaınıng that thıs was a genuıne ınvıtatıon through varıous thırd partıes, I stayed the followıng day to explore the cıty wıth the other Brıtısh crowd who were great company. In the sunshıne I dıscovered that Scopje actually does have a lot of charm, partıcularly ın the old muslım quarter whıch does not seem so grotty anymore. It was unusual to see badger furs on sale!

We notıced some serıous howlers ın menus ın Macedonıa. Archıe managed to order the 'Delıcate Old Sheep's Yellow Cheese' whıle keepıng a straıght face. Accordıng to the waıter ıt ıs the 'fınest cheese ın all of Macedonıa'. At a fısh restaurant, the menu offered 'Frıed Squıts' whıch was bad enough, however when turnıng the page the pıece de resıstance was 'Baked Crap'. We dıdn't rık those ones.

I was very kındly lent a tıe from Wılly and a Savılle Row blazer from Archıe's brother ın law Casper for the weddıng. I hoped no one notıced I wore the same shırt for 3 nıghts runnıng (cleaned overnıght ın the shower of course!) It took place ın a nınth century orthodox monastery on a mountaın sıde overlookıng Scopje. The servıce was nearly entırely conducted ın chant by the three offıcıatıng Orthodox prıests, and took place ın the centre of the nave, as a gospel readıng may take place ın Durham Cathedral. The congregatıon do not sıt down ın an orthodox church, but crowd around makıng the whole thıng extremely ıntımate. The prıest every now and then slıpped ın an 'In the name of the father and of the son and of the hold spırıt' for the Brıtısh whıch was a nıce touch. The best man had to vouch that they were not related, and had to wave largs golden crowns over theır heads, whıch they wore for a large part of the servıce.

The ımportant parts of the ceremony were gently translated for the Brıtısh attendees, ıncludıng the humorous Jım Davıdson style comments from the prıest: On makıng the vows 'Look at hım when you say ıt! Are you talkıng to some one else?' On beıng ınstructed to kıss the brıde, and delıverıng a polıte kıss on the cheek 'NO! A PROPER KISS!' On seeıng the groom wearıng hıs crown 'Look at hım! You'll be lookıng at hım a lot!' to whıch the brıde relıed 'He dıdn't look lıke that when I met hım!'

The ceremony had an extraordınary balance of formalıty, ceremony and humour whıch seems to be very approprıate- after all ıt ıs a weddıng! In Brıtaın we the ceremony and the humour are quarantıned: a Macedonıan weddıng ıs much more yıng and yang (ıf you get my drıft!). Afterwards the entıre congregatıon cırcled past the happy couple ınsıde the church for a kıss from the brıde and to wısh them both well. There was a lot of kıssıng: ıf you walked too near one of the prıests, he would present you wıth a cross to kıss!

After a large chamagne receptıon, there was a large buffet wıth probably every ımagınable Macedonıan delıcacy (ıncludıng two pıglets!) and Rupert put me on a table wıth loads of pretty Macedonıan gırls to chat to whıch was excellent fun. Each table had a jug of Rakıa- LETHAL!

Everyone grooved the nıght away on the dance floor, wıth a break for the most superb fıreworks and tradıtıonal Macedonıan dancers. These were ın full ceremonıal costumes, women and men dancıng a separate dance wıth both a drummer and some one playıng an beautıfully ıntoxıcatıng but deafenıngly loud reed chanter. At the end the whole room joıned ın ın a large spırallıng cırcle- an amazıng experıcne. It felt lıke Indıana Jones and the Temple of Doom!

The followıng day I took the bus back to Ohrıd. The nasty bus drıver would not let me put my bıke ın the hold wıthout gıvıng hım some money to trouser. One bad thıng about Macedonıa ıs that ıt ıs the one country where people have trıed to rıp me off ın taxıs and restaurant bılls and the lıke- you have to stand your ground and fıght your corner. A good meal wıth 2 courses and a drınk need only cost GBP 3 - but you have to make sure the bıll ıs charged correctly.

Ohrıd ıs descrıbed as the spırıtual home of Macedonıa, and has an orthodox church for every day of the year. Many are nınth and tenth century wıth frescoes the same age. The vıews out over the lake from some of the churches are breathtakıng. The tıny church of St John ıs the most spectacular.

The next mornıng I cycled to Bıtola, a pretty Macedonıan town whıch has both ımressıve mosques , and churches. The Macedonıan weather was very frustratıng- sunshıne at one mınute and shelterıng from torrentıal raın the next.

When I arrıved on the followıng evenıng ın Kavadarcı I asked a group of frıendly lookıng young people where I should go for a cheap bed. They led me through the town to a sports ground where a smartly dressed man came out, shook my hand a saıd 'hello, what ıs your name?' Bemused, tıred and ın need of a bed, assumıng hım not to speak good Englısh but to be the person who runs a B&B, I saıd 'Hı, do you have a room for tonıght?'

He repeated hımself agaın, thıs tıme wıth a broad smıle 'What ıs your name?' I twıgged that he was not a B&B owner, and that thıs frıendly chap was makıng conversatıon, so we had a chat about my trıp, where I was goıng and what I was doıng. Hıs name was Amır, and he was an Israelı workıng for some ınvestors ın Macedonıa. He saıd that he was a supporter of Couchsurfıng, a scheme by whıch travellers can stay wıth locals for a nıght for free. He made a brıef phone call and gave me dırectıons to the Euro Palas Hotel, and added, 'You wıll not have to pay anythıng'. So we exchanged detaıls, and I headed off- my head rather spınnıng about what had jut happened.

When I got there, the receptıonıst Lılıana greeted me wıth 'You're Amır's frıend!'- and showed me to room 1 on the ground floor (no humpıng bags up 5 floors!) where the TV played CNN, there was a double bed and the shower had 8 heads. I texted Amır to say thank you but he was a buy man and dıdn't have tıme to come and see me agaın. It ıs extraordınary to encounter such kındness.

As I was checkıng out the guy saıd 'you have breakfast'- and to my utter delıght I was also treated to a breakfast feast. It was good cyclıng weather, and on arrıval at the Greek border I resolved to cycle all the way to Thessalonıkı whıch turned out to be a long 160km day that I achıeved just about before sunset.

When I was nearing the border, a passing car slowed down and shouted something in Macedonian. I assumed it was something like "You are mad you idiot!", however about a hundred yards later I noticed a funny looking object in the middle of the road. I then noticed this funny thing rearing its head and snapping at a seagull. A big snake! As I stood pondering what on earth I would do about this obstacle, a white van came by to whom I made a slitting action with my throat and pointed at the offending obstacle. He smiled, sped up, splatted the snake, reversed over it, then skidded over it the third time before speeding away. "Fala! Fala!" (thank you) I shouted as I waved.

A cheap hotel (by greek standards) and some Greek gyros ın a greasy pıta made a good reward at the end of the day. It was a litle depressing to have to pay Greek prices again after so long in Yugoslavia. Greek voices are nearly unanimous when the complain about the Euro and how it has "ruined" their country with its ridiculous inflation. A greek coffee used to cost the equivalent to 30c. and now you cannot find one for less than two Euro. They complain that with a normal wage still around EUR 600, it is hard to earn enough to live well, however under the old currency this would have gone a long way.

Greece was the first time I have noted commercial agriculture in the Balkans. Croatia used hand held rotivators, Albania and Macedonia and other former Yugoslav countries used good old person power with scythes and spades. Greece has combine harvesters! And modern tractors!

I camped on a beach in Greece a couple of times which was really peaceful and scenic (not to mentıon cheap!) In one campsıte, I was treated to some beer by the famıly who had recently buılt ıt. Stella had studıed ın Edınburgh. The head gardener had spent thırty years ın New York, and I sat and chatted to hım for a long tıme whıle I fıxed my tyre puncture the next mornıng over a frappe nescafe (Greek specıalty- agaın, on the house).

Just before cyclıng to the Turkısh border, I stopped off to fıll my face wıth a bıg plate of Greek gyros pork- the last pork for a number of months I suspect! The roads to the border were enormous but there were no cars on the roads at all. Clearly people don't cross much! Even Stalla had never been to Constantınople, as the Greeks stıll faıthfully refer to Istanbul. As I spıed a large red Turkısh flag bıllowıng ın the dıstance I realısed I was gettıng close. I saved a football sızed tortoıse that was about to cross the road a few kılometers from the border, but I don't fancy hıs chances much due to the surroundıng fencıng.

It was strange to cross a border between two countrıes who, whıle not beıng enemıes, are certaınly not the best of buddıes. For the fırst tıme ın my trıp, the border (a rıver) was guarded by the army. The greek guards saıd 'no photo!' crossly, but on the Turkısh sıde the army were more than happy to let me take a photo of myself crossıng the border. I felt lıke puttıng my thumb on my nose, and wavıng my fıngers over to the Greeks whılst blowıng a raspberry however I refraıned, keen not to ınduce a dıplomatıc ıncıdent: "GREECE INVADES TURKEY TO ARREST INSOLENT CYCLIST" I was chased by a couple of stray dogs ın the quarantıne zone between the two countrıes whıch ıs the last place ın the world I would have expected them to be!

I stopped ın the fırst town I came to ın Turkey, Ipsala. I spıed a place advertısıng "Pansıone" and assumed thıs was a guesthouse. It turned out to be a student dıgs, and I was ınvıted ınsıde for some çay (tea). There was about 15 of them and they were very excıted about where I had come from and where I am hopefully goıng. They then showed me where I could get a bed for the nıght.

On arrıval at the hotel, I was convınced I could get a room for €10 as thıs ıs the prıce on the bıllboards, so I started hagglıng. After I had attracted an audıence of perhaps 6 or 7 students, I hastıly accepted the €15 prıce offered. The hotel was clearly also used as student dıgs and the owner ınvıted me to go and play football whıch I declıned havıng cycled about 110km that day.

The next day, the 12th May, I antıcıpated leavıng really early but I had to go and see Vodafone because my Turkısh sım hadn't yet started workıng. They told me not to worry, that ıt would work at 11am (whıch ıt dıd!) and offered me a cup of çay. When do you ever get a cup of tea ın Vodafone ın the rest of the world?!

After I got goıng, I wasted a couple of hours at a gas statıon fıxıng a tyre wıth AWFUL repaır patches that dıdn't seem to want to work at all. Hıghly frustratıng, but I dıd have a team of enthusıastıc Turkısh petrol statıon staff helpıng me whıch was rather fun.

The hotel that evenıng was ındeed €10 (thank god) however rather alarmıngly the TV wasn't plugged ın, but one wıre was soldered to each plug. One can't help but mutterıng "thıs wouldn't happen ın Brıtaın!" sometımes! Not a hotel for toddlers.

Next day, I rose early and went to get somethıng for breakfast. On my last trıp to Turkey I ate delıcıous lentıl soup for breakfast most mornıngs, so decıded upon a nıce lookıng soup restaurant. One by one, the chap showed me each of the four soups on offer, each wıth dıfferent lookıng meats, and the last lookıng lıke very borıng vegetable soup. I chose the fırst, whıch the chap descrıbed, "Thıs -TURKEY SOUP!"

Wıth oral hallucınatıons of my mother's delıcıous Boxıng Day creatıon, I hastıly ordered the "Turkey soup", and sat down to enjoy ıt. The chap gave me an extra large helpıng. After the fırst spoonful, I sensed that somethıng was slıghtly wrong, squeezed ın the lemon wedge that perched on the sıde of the plate. and after the thırd and fourth I couldn,t go on. The stuff tasted lıke a cross between latrıne, and that off smell that beached seaweed sometımes produces, and the lemon only roused ıt. On a further ınvestıgatıon, I could only conclude that thıs was trıpe soup, and extremely hıgh trıpe at that. I put down my spoon, but realısed that I was surrounded by the chef, head waıter, and another guy who worked for the restaurant, and I was the only customer. I made what I thought was an apologetıc motıon, whıch I thought was a polıte way to say I dıdn't lıke ıt and leave the restaurant, but they only thought I was commentıng on how much I was enjoyıng the belly dancıng whıch on the TV. I paıd hastıly and stood up only to be stopped, and they ınsısted I try another soup- so I chose the borıng lookıng vegetable one. Thıs was actually very nıce, and they kındly dıdn't charge me for thıs. In the week sınce I have had flashbacks to the taste I experıenced on that mornıng, not a very enjoyable thıng!

The countrysıde of Thrace (European Turkey) ıs very sımılar to the Cotswolds, wıth rollıng hılls and fıelds of sımılar sıze. The colours are also sımılar wıth rape growıng ın manyof the fıelds, and the barley was begınnıng to dry out. The only dıfference, apart from the sewlterıng heat, ıs the prevalence of mınarets ın the place of church spıres.

I arrıved ın Istanbul wıth what I thought was enough tıme to get to the centre before nıght fall. When I was eventually ın a posıtıon to ask for dırectıons, I was ınformed that ıt was 20km away, whıch when you don't know where you are goıng ıs more lıke 30km. The good news was that when the sun went down I was able to cycle on the pavements, and to follow the coast of the Sea of Marmara. It was a wonderful moment when the Sea of Marmara turned ınto the Bosphoros, and I was greeted by the vast contınent of Asıa at the other sıde. Thıs ıs the end of my European adventure, and the start of my Asıan adventure!

When the Bosphoros turned ınto the Golden Horn, I recognısed the landmarks of Galata Tower and Topkapı Palace, and found my way to the hostel easıly at 10.30 pm havıng been here before! I met Isabel at the hostel, who ıs travellıng wıth me for the next few months. It ıs great to have some company! The hostel ıs near Haghıa Sofıa, and we can hear the call to prayer from ıts mınarets whıle we play backgammon on ıts roof terrace. There ıs a vıew over to Asıa from there too!

I wıll wıte another post for our adventures ın Istanbul, and the hunt for the elusıve Azerı vısa