Hunting Snarks: A Journey in 8 Bags

From Snarks

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;

 They pursued it with forks and hope;

They threatened its life with a railway-share;

 They charmed it with smiles and soap.

(Lewis Carroll, The Hunting of the Snark: An Agony in Eight Fits, 1874)

"In crook stories it is almost always the necklace,
and in spy stories it is most always the papers."

(Alfred Hitchcock on the McGuffin, interviewed by Francois Truffaut, 1966)

Often throughout this journey we have wondered why. Why are we riding all day into headwinds on sandy roads? Why are we camping on a bare hillside surrounded by goats? Why did we craft such an elaborate and outlandish way to occupy ourselves during our grand year off? The romantic in me would like to think that we were on a quest of some sort, for an elusive object that always remained strangely out of reach.

Turkey wrap-up

Total Kilometres: 1052

Cycling days: 21

Average kilometers per day: 50

Camping days: 11

Longest Cycling day: Mersin to Taşucu - 102km

Istanbul

From Istanbul

Istanbul must surely be the most richly imagined city in existence. Layer upon layer of exoticised accounts by centuries of western traveler-writers lusting for something other than their staid and grey origins. It has been the aim and the end-point of many journeys, a natural full stop to traveling.

Probably the most overused descriptor for Istanbul – ‘East meets West’ – colours the background of our Istanbul, though has become somewhat abstract merely through repetition. For us, these antique notions of place and relation are a long way from our multiethnic home neighbourhoods, but have long drawn westerners to see the East and continue to inform the ‘western’ longings of this city.

Last legs

From Antalya to Istanbul

We sorely needed a detox from our 4 days of shameful, resort-style indulgence (despite its being interspersed with some actual medicine and learning). Back to basics, we said. So we hightailed it down the road to Antalya and beyond, chasing reports of forested mountains rippling down into the sea. Only about 15km beyond the city though, we found the new daylight savings time bringing darkness upon us earlier than we would like and we turned off the road to the beachside.

A fully sick conference

After an uneventful (read: nauseating for Ali) hydrofoil trip back to the Turkish mainland we backtracked from Tasucu to Silifke. We had a date with an Eurasian Congress and needed to cover some quick kilometers by bus to make it in time.

We successfully killed 7 hours in Silifke with the following ingredients: One Internet cafe. Two books: News from Tartary and Kim. One heavily moustached barber and two delicious kebabs. In no time we were nestled in the bus, staring at our personal TV screens watching what we aptly named ‘bus-cam’. ‘Bus-Cam’ is only marginally better than watching Turkish sitcoms (in Turkish). Thankfully, our bus-driver harbours no desire to become a script-writer. We passed the night away with incredibly boring episodes.

Cyprus Wrap Up

Total distance: 441km

Distance on unsealed roads: 15km

Nights spent camping: 5

Days spent cycling: 10

Average distance per day: 44km

Longest day: 77km

Maximum speed: 56.3kph

Highest altitude: 1850m

Tips for travelers

Some tips on ferries, border crossings and passport stamping.

GAStronomy: a campstove cooking tour - Cyprus

From GAStronomy Cyprus

When it comes to nurturing, one of the fundamental elements of my grandma’s armory is food. Generous servings of lemon-soaked potatoes, fried eggplant and dolmades (rice wrapped with vine leaves) are a mandatory part of my visits. Not quite as frequent, but equally as delicious is yemista, vegetables stuffed with rice and mince. When we visited my grandma’s cousin in Nicosia we were greeted with Cypriot (Turkish) coffee and homemade orange short-bread biscuits. It was a style I was well acquainted with. For lunch we ate yemista accompanied with fresh white bread, olives and a simple salad of tomatoes and lettuce. The meal brought be right back to my grandma’s kitchen and when I was impored to pile more Greek Cypriot goodness onto my plate, my reminisce was capped off.

For this episode of GAStronomy, we cooked yemista and we’ve shared the recipe below. First though, let me deliciously digress for an entrée of halloumi.

Imeroessa

From Return to Lapithos

When you travel by bicycle there is a drive to keep traveling. You’re defined by your exploration on two wheels. Finding new places, new paths and campsites is part of the excitement. Joining up those uncertain dots by bike is the adventure. It is quite a luxury to come back to a place we know. To recognize the turns, the people and the final resting place is a comfort. This is not strictly the adventure, but its effect on us is strengthened by all the dots we join to get there.

Climb every mountain: an amateur’s guide to hills

From Mountains of Cyprus

Cyprus is what you make of it. Or so the sanguine Latvian waitress in Nicosia told us of her 6 year stay. Not planning to be there for such an extensive residency, we decided to make it short, sweet and steep. Our route away from the fleshpots and gambling dens of the coast and capital would lead us to the central mountains of Troodos and the Pafos forest, where conifers carpet the slopes and mouflon (a wild species of sheep) scatter rocks into your path as they scurry away. Despite the general feeling in Nicosia that we would need a rental car, as the roads were too narrow, steep and dangerous, we felt we were up to the challenge.

Cypriot almonds: a beginner’s field guide

Fresh almonds are a commodity to be seized upon. Thus after establishing a surefire way to be in possession a healthy bag of these appetizing kernels we felt it only fair to share the knowledge.

Bitches, pricks and ho's: recurring themes on a long-distance cycle tour

You know you’ve been cycle touring for a while when barks, barbs and brothels become a little mundane.

Avid followers of the blog (thanks, Dad) will remember our various entanglements with canines along the way. We gathered Mongolian rocks and harsh words to throw at the beasts that would launch from their gers towards us at a blistering pace. We learnt that stopping to square-off with a defensive dog was more effective than flight, unless you can hit about 35-40kph pretty quickly. Some cyclists have reported using water pistols with an ammonia or pepper component, but we found that barking back (we still do it in Mongolian) and keeping a rock in reserve was pretty effective. That is, until we got to Turkey.

Lapithos

See above post

Lapithos

The Road to Lapta

Cute little seaside cafes serving robust Turkish coffees to elderly gents. Winding ancient village streets giving way to isolated Mediterranean coastlines. A climb through orchards of lemon trees before reaching the quaint well-preserved town of my grandmother. Markets of ripe fruit, warm bread and fresh haloumi. Sounds a little too lovely? It was. Seems my idyllic version of my bike ride to Lapta was quite off the mark.

Cypriot History Lesson

In 1925, Angeliki was born in the humid Cypriot month of September. Sitting several hundred metres above the sea and perched at the foot of the Pentadhaktylos range, Lapithos gave some refuge from the thick Mediterranean heat patrolling the coastline.

Angeliki was born into a family of Greek heritage. Her father worked as a builder and her mother at home as a seamstress. Angeliki soon had 3 younger sisters and as the oldest helped her mother at home. It was in the family kitchen where she completed her mother’s apprenticeship in Greek Cypriot cooking. She was essentially responsible for preparing the family’s meals, and despite the workload from home completed her secondary schooling.

Finding Angeliki’s Cyprus

It was surprisingly easy to get to Lapithos. Especially when I think back to the planned border crossings, letters of invitations and visa applications required for the many countries we’ve passed through to get to this point.

It all fell together rather nicely. We pedaled south out of Cappadocia to the Turkish Mediterranean coast. Purchased a ferry ticket to Northern Cyprus. Cycled 100km to the port town of Tasucu and rolled our bikes directly onto the overnight ship. Border control was a non event. Then 16km and a few thick Turkish coffees later and there was Lapithos. The search is over.

Ç is for Çay

If there has been one constant in our cycle through the changing landscapes of Turkey it must surely be tea, or çay (ç is pronounced 'ch'). Throughout the villages and towns of Turkey are scattered tea salons and gardens (çay bahçesi) where people gather to sip this strong beverage and natter about daily life. Old men play cards, chain-smoking is the order of the day and çay may be the only item on the menu. In towns, tea-waiters (çaycı) ferry trays of small tea-glasses around the neighbourhood of their shop when they are called. For us, these tea houses were a welcome refuge, where we could sit under grape vines or watch the passing street life and give the Surlys a tea break of their own.

From Turkish tea

Puncture-rama

It was a cold 330am at the Kayseri bus station when the bikes were unloaded from our overnight bus. After farewelling the Black Sea Coast we had travelled by vehicle to the mystical land of Cappadocia. A couple of thick coffes saw us through to the dawn ezan, which marked the commencement of our morning’s cycling. Thankfully some kind tailwinds had us flying through terrain reminiscent of Mongolian Steppe. In no time 68km was behind us and a fine panorama of the pointy crimson Rose Valley was before us at our luxury camping ground.

My Beard and I

Ustalik beckoned me in with open arms and a thick well groomed moustache. His two-chaired barber’s salon was a cosy affair. Ferrari red leather seats, ample mirrors and an adequately sharpened tool kit occupied his domain. Salons like this are numerous in the sea-side town of Inebolu. Pide vendors, pastry sellers, cafes and barbers make up most of the commercial side of downtown. There are so many male grooming houses that the local gent must rarely have to lift his own razor. This is Turkey: secular, but strongly Islamic and yet another chapter in my beard’s journey from Mongolia.

Black Sea Climbing

It’s a good thing the Black Sea coast has a lot going for it, otherwise the arduous gradients would be near unbearable by bicycle.

The mountain belt running along the northernmost aspect of Turkey makes for an attractive patch of coast. Small coves and pockets of beach occasionally dot the landscape where fishing villages and petite harbours now reside. Infrequently a river will pierce the ranges and dive into the sea. Here road-makers have taken advantage of the topography to craft a road back into the centre of Turkey. Yet as waves crash on one side and rugged hills line the other, the Black Sea Coast is essentially separated from Central Anatolia (the big middle bit of Turkey). After the lapping sea and before the peaks get too rocky a narrow mountainous road laces its way across the coastline.