Mr. Vertigo

Instead of walking through and through again in one of the most astonishing, historical and magical city on this planet, I'm sitting in the caffee of my favourite bookshop reading Mr. Vertigo. I've just finished and put it down. I can do nothing, I had the mood for this, reading day and night - and what happened? Again, the tears.

Cheating

I'll cheat - I'll take a bus. This is the plan, at least this is the plan now. I decided not to play the tough guy and I'll leave the south-eastern part of Turkey out of my trip - the bear-hunter-doggies, the mines, the kurdish riots. Instead, with one jump I take a bus to the middle, to Cappadocia (e.g. to Nevshehir), look around there, than ride south near the Ala mountains. These are the plans, as for now.

Turkish Horn

Istanbul. A little bit of being arrived. Nothing else, for now. Strange, empty feeling. During the three days I rode here from Edirne I totally got exhausted. When I rode up to to lake Belmeken, I wrote that was the hardest part. I also wrote in the last post that Istanbul is almost on the corner. And, hm, after this comes a "simple" 250 km, and kiks me out, but totally.

Thoughtbook

Turkey, Edirne. So far so good. The harder part comes now: here is the blinking cursor and I'm about to write something. But what? There are, again, too many things happened, inside and outside, it is almost impossible for me to catch anything of it. Well, I know this effect, and I'm trying to trick this. Beside my maps in my handlebar bag I am having a little thoughtbook and a pen, to have some brainwaves written down. Let's see if it helps.

Breaking In The Boots On Belmeken

I promised to try to avoid writing a usual blog like iwashere-itwassonice, irodealot-itwassohard. But this day, this day was really something I have to write about in a style like this. And also about how I got here. Here, where the flipflops and the SIDI (my cycling shoes) was not enough to handle the situation. I was waking up in Hotel Belmeken and put on my hiking boots (what are more like shoes, but never mind) to climb peak Belmeken.

Malko Po Malko

Sofia, again and again, and still Sofia - as I can't get enough of it! It's good to be here and every time I'm here it is just perfect. Oh, and I love Sofia, as I love Bulgaria and all the bulgarian people - I treat them deep in myself as close relatives somehow. I don't know, how, and why, it is just so. I can't do anything about it. Or, well, actually, I can. I can write about it and also about other things, slowly, little by little, malko po malko.