From Paris to Turkey on a Bike!!!
This is an email that was forward to me from a friend from college. The emailer is another graduate of Wake Forest who I've met, but I am not intimately familiar with. She is biking around the world having started her journey in Paris. This is similar to the Jim Rogers exploits, but significantly less comfortable and more risky. Currently she should be back in Turkey and recently treked through Syria and Turkey and is planning a trip to Iran. Here is her latest email from abroad....
Hello Everyone, Sorry that we haven't given you any tidings for such a long time. To fill you in a bit, we left Ankara (Turkey's capital) in mid-July and biked to Cappadocia, a region in the central Anatolian plateau known for its unique rock formations, underground cities, and cave dwellings.
TURKEY
We stayed with a family for almost a week, while we explored the valleys, gorges, and canyons by foot. Our hosts were Mehmet (the first guide of Cappadocia who spoke perfect French), his wife Binas, and his 14-year old daughter Tuba. This area of Turkey was very conservative. Just to give you an example, although Mehmet had been a guide of the region for 22 years, his wife and daughter have never seen the area. They didn't even know where the closest town was, which was only 5 km. away. The women stay at home, between the four walls of the house, while their husbands go to town to socialize with other men, to work, or to do the grocery shopping at the local market. We absolutely loved Cappadocia. The area must be one of the most beautiful in the world. Mehmet took us to the valleys to barbecue with his friends, they played the Turkish instrument called the saz, and cooked eggplant, potatoes, and meat in a large pot over a fire. One night, we hiked to the top of a mountain and watched the sunset over the fairy chimneys and then pitched our tent for the night, barbecuing chicken for dinner. We hiked through valleys, climbed up and down mountains, crossed rivers, and even found a mass grave in a rock church at the top of a mountain filled with old bones. Cappadocia was unforgettable.
SYRIA
Afterwards, we headed south for an unscheduled detour to Syria. We planned on biking the small country in two weeks, but were there for almost a month because of an injury I had to my neck. The injury was caused by something so stupid that I'm embarrassed to admit what happened, except that some of you may worry that it was a biking or car accident if I don't tell you. Actually, it was just caused by sleeping in a bad position for one night. From something so idiotic has come six weeks of neck and head pain, unending. The doctor said it may last months. We spent 2 1/2 weeks in Aleppo, Syria because I needed to rest. (And this is why you had no news, because I was between the four walls of a hotel room in 105 degree heat most of the time and didn't make it out to the Internet cafe). The first doctor called the condition "acute something". I think he must have meant "acute pain." Two doctors, one hospital, one massage therapist, and one X-ray later, and the diagnosis was that it was better for me to move. Biking would be fine, the last doctor said. So we finally left Aleppo and headed south and east towards the Syrian desert. One good thing did come out of our stay in Aleppo. We befriended a man our age named Abdul-Hamid, who had invited us to stay at his house upon our arrival in the city. After four days, we decided we couldn't lean upon his hospitality any longer, so we moved to a hostel. But he came every day after work to take us around the city, and took us to some of the must-see tourist spots in Syria on Fridays, his day off. Some of the laws in Syria are interesting. Abdul was told by the hotel staff that he shouldn't come to visit us as the hostel because it was illegal for Syrian people to talk to tourists in hotels. The government worries that they will say something bad about the government. One man had been caught talking to a tourist in the same hostel a week previously and had been carted off to jail for two weeks. The plain-clothes police officers came to the hostel every day at a different time and acted like tourists, joining in conversations and listening to what people had to say. Abdul insisted on coming anyway, and more than once, we had to leave in a hurry as the hostel staff warned us that the police were there. Then, the staff warned him that he could be arrested for talking to me because I might be an American spy looking for information about the Syrian government. Another time, as he and his friend Ali drove us on his motorcycle (with a sidecart) to a Byzantine citadel outside of the city, one of the men working at the site gave them a lot of trouble because they were with us. We had to enter and leave the site separately and meet them at the bottom of the hill so that no one would see us coming or going together (in case they might be giving secret information to us...). Ali himself has to change residences every six months because he is still hunted by the police for having spoken out against the government back in the late 90s. He has had more recent run-ins with them, but being a champion athlete, he can always outrun them. Syria was a mixed bag. The people were very hospitable - if you were from the right country - but sometimes their smiles would freeze when they found out I was American. The talk always centered around "Bush, Bush, Bush." "Don't tell anyone you're American," they would say."or people will hate you." Of course, they were always the exception. "Why? Will they be violent?" I asked one man. He didn't respond. The conversation, which had been friendly when he believed I came from France like Stephane, turned rather heated when he found out where my family lived. "France is good. America is bad." is something I got sick and tired of hearing. People seem uncapable and unwilling to distinguish between a government and its people. Although the people seem very hospital and welcomed us into their houses everywhere we went, I was ready to leave. (The political view changed in northern Syria, where the Kurds adored Bush and called the Arabs "terrorists". The war has allowed the Kurds to set up their own government in Kurdistan Iraq, with their own president, even though it is not recognized officially by the UN).
SYRIAN DESERT
We did enjoy the Syrian desert, however. 400 km. of biking through desert, on a little-travelled road, either staying with people we met or sleeping outside under the stars, as we chose. The days were extremely hot - up to 114-117 degrees - and there was always a strong breeze in the morning and at night, from the difference in temperature as the earth would either cool down or heat up. Pretty much the only company we had as we biked was the bedouins (semi-nomad sheep and camel herders), clothed in white robes and red and white checkered head scarves. Small dusty villages with make-shift tents were sparse in this arid landscape. On day 3, I found myself thinking about the ocean and the Jersey shore, and then about swimming in the river. Every day afterwards in the desert, I thought about the ocean. Even a drop of water would have been welcome. We stopped in the oasis town of Palmyra, hottest spot in Syria, where we explored the 2000-year old ruins. This was supposed to have been Solomon's city. We had a special invite one night to a special show at the Roman ampitheather. A Syrian fashion show (fabulous - from Cleopatra-type dresses and crowns to evening gowns to more modern clothing) and a Syrian dance troupe enacting the history of a Syrian princess become Roman queen. We spent one evening with a group of Syrian construction workers who were finishing work on a new hotel in the oasis (palm trees in the middle of the desert - there is water in the winter!). They sang and danced and clapped and Stephane was made to join in the synchronated dancing. Not me! There were too many men! We ate sheep meat and rice from huge bowls in the middle of the floor under a tent. Another night, we spent drinking tea and camel milk in a bedouin's tent. The camel milk was rather salty - I prefer cow milk. All of the men insisted a hundred times over that I would be very happy if Stephane would drink camel milk every day, as it makes men very strong, and thus they can make their wives happy all night long! I drink camel milk every day, they all said. One of the men offered to take us for a little tour on his camel. However, the saddle was made for only one person, and after a short time, our weight pulled the saddle backwards off of the camel's hump and we fell backwards off the camel as we were climbing up a hill! Only a few cuts and bruises, and I was happy enough that it wasn't worse! All I could see was the sky and the camel above us. In the desert, a man's wealth is measured by how many camels he owns. Most men brag about how many camels they own, and more than one told me that every time there is a camel on Syrian TV (like in the soap operas, for example), it was only his camels. Pretty funny. They also seem proud of how much they weigh (the more the better - the men were always proud to compare how much they weighed to how much Stephane weighs!). And proud also of how many children they have. Most families we stayed with had between 15 and 20 children. Sometimes this was with two wives. But several times we met women, who alone, had 19 or 20 children. They start young. Marry young. Have kids young. Kids having kids. And then, while they're still having babies, their babies are having babies.
TURKEY AGAIN
We're back in southeast Turkey and will be entering Iran on September 15. Between 3 and 4 weeks in Iran, then we'll be meeting Vince for two weeks in India. I can't wait! Two weeks with the best brother in the world!!! Hope you all had an enjoyable summer.
This is an email that was forward to me from a friend from college. The emailer is another graduate of Wake Forest who I've met, but I am not intimately familiar with. She is biking around the world having started her journey in Paris. This is similar to the Jim Rogers exploits, but significantly less comfortable and more risky. Currently she should be back in Turkey and recently treked through Syria and Turkey and is planning a trip to Iran. Here is her latest email from abroad....
Hello Everyone, Sorry that we haven't given you any tidings for such a long time. To fill you in a bit, we left Ankara (Turkey's capital) in mid-July and biked to Cappadocia, a region in the central Anatolian plateau known for its unique rock formations, underground cities, and cave dwellings.
TURKEY
We stayed with a family for almost a week, while we explored the valleys, gorges, and canyons by foot. Our hosts were Mehmet (the first guide of Cappadocia who spoke perfect French), his wife Binas, and his 14-year old daughter Tuba. This area of Turkey was very conservative. Just to give you an example, although Mehmet had been a guide of the region for 22 years, his wife and daughter have never seen the area. They didn't even know where the closest town was, which was only 5 km. away. The women stay at home, between the four walls of the house, while their husbands go to town to socialize with other men, to work, or to do the grocery shopping at the local market. We absolutely loved Cappadocia. The area must be one of the most beautiful in the world. Mehmet took us to the valleys to barbecue with his friends, they played the Turkish instrument called the saz, and cooked eggplant, potatoes, and meat in a large pot over a fire. One night, we hiked to the top of a mountain and watched the sunset over the fairy chimneys and then pitched our tent for the night, barbecuing chicken for dinner. We hiked through valleys, climbed up and down mountains, crossed rivers, and even found a mass grave in a rock church at the top of a mountain filled with old bones. Cappadocia was unforgettable.
SYRIA
Afterwards, we headed south for an unscheduled detour to Syria. We planned on biking the small country in two weeks, but were there for almost a month because of an injury I had to my neck. The injury was caused by something so stupid that I'm embarrassed to admit what happened, except that some of you may worry that it was a biking or car accident if I don't tell you. Actually, it was just caused by sleeping in a bad position for one night. From something so idiotic has come six weeks of neck and head pain, unending. The doctor said it may last months. We spent 2 1/2 weeks in Aleppo, Syria because I needed to rest. (And this is why you had no news, because I was between the four walls of a hotel room in 105 degree heat most of the time and didn't make it out to the Internet cafe). The first doctor called the condition "acute something". I think he must have meant "acute pain." Two doctors, one hospital, one massage therapist, and one X-ray later, and the diagnosis was that it was better for me to move. Biking would be fine, the last doctor said. So we finally left Aleppo and headed south and east towards the Syrian desert. One good thing did come out of our stay in Aleppo. We befriended a man our age named Abdul-Hamid, who had invited us to stay at his house upon our arrival in the city. After four days, we decided we couldn't lean upon his hospitality any longer, so we moved to a hostel. But he came every day after work to take us around the city, and took us to some of the must-see tourist spots in Syria on Fridays, his day off. Some of the laws in Syria are interesting. Abdul was told by the hotel staff that he shouldn't come to visit us as the hostel because it was illegal for Syrian people to talk to tourists in hotels. The government worries that they will say something bad about the government. One man had been caught talking to a tourist in the same hostel a week previously and had been carted off to jail for two weeks. The plain-clothes police officers came to the hostel every day at a different time and acted like tourists, joining in conversations and listening to what people had to say. Abdul insisted on coming anyway, and more than once, we had to leave in a hurry as the hostel staff warned us that the police were there. Then, the staff warned him that he could be arrested for talking to me because I might be an American spy looking for information about the Syrian government. Another time, as he and his friend Ali drove us on his motorcycle (with a sidecart) to a Byzantine citadel outside of the city, one of the men working at the site gave them a lot of trouble because they were with us. We had to enter and leave the site separately and meet them at the bottom of the hill so that no one would see us coming or going together (in case they might be giving secret information to us...). Ali himself has to change residences every six months because he is still hunted by the police for having spoken out against the government back in the late 90s. He has had more recent run-ins with them, but being a champion athlete, he can always outrun them. Syria was a mixed bag. The people were very hospitable - if you were from the right country - but sometimes their smiles would freeze when they found out I was American. The talk always centered around "Bush, Bush, Bush." "Don't tell anyone you're American," they would say."or people will hate you." Of course, they were always the exception. "Why? Will they be violent?" I asked one man. He didn't respond. The conversation, which had been friendly when he believed I came from France like Stephane, turned rather heated when he found out where my family lived. "France is good. America is bad." is something I got sick and tired of hearing. People seem uncapable and unwilling to distinguish between a government and its people. Although the people seem very hospital and welcomed us into their houses everywhere we went, I was ready to leave. (The political view changed in northern Syria, where the Kurds adored Bush and called the Arabs "terrorists". The war has allowed the Kurds to set up their own government in Kurdistan Iraq, with their own president, even though it is not recognized officially by the UN).
SYRIAN DESERT
We did enjoy the Syrian desert, however. 400 km. of biking through desert, on a little-travelled road, either staying with people we met or sleeping outside under the stars, as we chose. The days were extremely hot - up to 114-117 degrees - and there was always a strong breeze in the morning and at night, from the difference in temperature as the earth would either cool down or heat up. Pretty much the only company we had as we biked was the bedouins (semi-nomad sheep and camel herders), clothed in white robes and red and white checkered head scarves. Small dusty villages with make-shift tents were sparse in this arid landscape. On day 3, I found myself thinking about the ocean and the Jersey shore, and then about swimming in the river. Every day afterwards in the desert, I thought about the ocean. Even a drop of water would have been welcome. We stopped in the oasis town of Palmyra, hottest spot in Syria, where we explored the 2000-year old ruins. This was supposed to have been Solomon's city. We had a special invite one night to a special show at the Roman ampitheather. A Syrian fashion show (fabulous - from Cleopatra-type dresses and crowns to evening gowns to more modern clothing) and a Syrian dance troupe enacting the history of a Syrian princess become Roman queen. We spent one evening with a group of Syrian construction workers who were finishing work on a new hotel in the oasis (palm trees in the middle of the desert - there is water in the winter!). They sang and danced and clapped and Stephane was made to join in the synchronated dancing. Not me! There were too many men! We ate sheep meat and rice from huge bowls in the middle of the floor under a tent. Another night, we spent drinking tea and camel milk in a bedouin's tent. The camel milk was rather salty - I prefer cow milk. All of the men insisted a hundred times over that I would be very happy if Stephane would drink camel milk every day, as it makes men very strong, and thus they can make their wives happy all night long! I drink camel milk every day, they all said. One of the men offered to take us for a little tour on his camel. However, the saddle was made for only one person, and after a short time, our weight pulled the saddle backwards off of the camel's hump and we fell backwards off the camel as we were climbing up a hill! Only a few cuts and bruises, and I was happy enough that it wasn't worse! All I could see was the sky and the camel above us. In the desert, a man's wealth is measured by how many camels he owns. Most men brag about how many camels they own, and more than one told me that every time there is a camel on Syrian TV (like in the soap operas, for example), it was only his camels. Pretty funny. They also seem proud of how much they weigh (the more the better - the men were always proud to compare how much they weighed to how much Stephane weighs!). And proud also of how many children they have. Most families we stayed with had between 15 and 20 children. Sometimes this was with two wives. But several times we met women, who alone, had 19 or 20 children. They start young. Marry young. Have kids young. Kids having kids. And then, while they're still having babies, their babies are having babies.
TURKEY AGAIN
We're back in southeast Turkey and will be entering Iran on September 15. Between 3 and 4 weeks in Iran, then we'll be meeting Vince for two weeks in India. I can't wait! Two weeks with the best brother in the world!!! Hope you all had an enjoyable summer.
posted by Champion at 11:15 AM
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