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.

There is a highway between Edirne and Istanbul, which is a no-way for me. Parallel with that there is a road for the trucks what doesn't want to pay tolls - thanks, I don't want that. And there is a way slightly on the north, out of sight, a low-traffic one - let's ride it! Well, out from Edirne I ride, the fine cover from the road disappears. OK, I can go slightly slower (feels like riding a dirt road with the mountain bike). After it, I get on the top of the first little hill - and the Black Sea (it doesn't matter I can't see it), blows her wind into my face. OK, I can go slightly slower. Slightly. Well, I was pushing hard, downhill, on the smallest chainwheel, and still I can go with fifteen. What? Fifteen, forcefully, downhill? Okey, yes, there are only 240 kms left, that's not too much.

Leaving Edirne

Comes from the opposite direction. Smiling, waving with his hands. Pulling about sixteen tons, he comes with nineteen kms/h. Waits till he gets beside me, than he releases it. All the nerves from head to feet in my body gets shocked in the same moment. I know I shouldn't react on his horn, but my body doesn't know it. Not yet. I know he doesn't want to upset me, nor his truck-driver buddies. I'm not in their way, I don't piss them off. They just simply horn, that how it goes here. Passing me by or coming from the opposite, no difference - sometimes they do it just because it is a habit, or just because they are these kind of funny, nice guys. They don't know how it feels to catch it on the bike. They don't ride the bike. Well, almost nobody.

Before Vize

But me, I do. And I do shout. Oh, where is the calmness what I had staying in the line in the shop in Craiova? Where are the tons of patience I had after leaving Sofia? Where did it all go after hearing this horn (well, not only this horn, but thousands of horns)? Not reacting, huhh? I'm shouting! I'm doing my best finding the most suitable words for them (not the nicest ones). Sometimes I show it to them. I'm saying it them for minutes, as a monolog. Oh, if they were understanding just parts of it! And, in the meantime, fifteen, downhill. On the flat it is eleven. Small chainwheel, like up to the Belmeken. What's happening?

Near Istanbul

Ah, the landscape, don't forget to deep dive into the beauty of the landscape! The Big Nothing. Nothing to see. OK, it is not true. There are some things to see. But they can't be photographed. Fences with nails. In every village. With camuflaged Land Rovers, with hard faced young guys in brown uniforms with guns, with trucks, with sand-sacks, with guard-towers, with long, long fences. No, they are not abandoned, historic sights - this is living stuff, continously prepared and armed for I don't know what, in 0-24. Just to feel safe, or what.

Istanbul - suburb

My first cycling day in Turkey, and I'm kicked off totally. Nerves wrecked, and I'm having 88 more days, as my visa sais. Till now, 120 kms, did it with full muscle power, with full nerve power, with full bone power, from early morning till dark. Finally I get to Vize, my CS host is waiting for me. I'm more, than the hundred guest of him, he's been to CS for long. Mountain guy, he knows very well what I do need. We are curving our spine over the map till late night, making signs on it, what to see, what is a must see. He is telling about his travellings-without-money, how he can do it for several weeks, by hitchiking, by getting food from others. Now he has a job, has money, so I can't get him to let me pay the bill - he invites me, so I'm on the tesekkürler-way, saying continously thank-you, offer him datoyas, raisins and almonds from my first-aid kit, giving him my Bulgaria map - at least something I can give. Next day when I'm waking he with his friend left already, I'm leaving with just shuting the door behind. Somehow they don't worry that I take their goods. Still I try to take their goods, their values with me - these values what I'm looking for, sharing, giving all I have...

Istanbul - suburb

I'm putting myself together again somehow, atom by atom. My stomach had been out somewhere, I'm also feeling kicked out. I don't even had the power for some hysteric acts with truckdrivers and their horns - I begin to get used to them. Slowly, Gergő, just slowly: remember, Malko Po Malko, there is no other way. Okay. I don't push it, if I go with ten, I go with ten, who cares. I get till I get, who cares. I have a tent, I can find some place to sleep... I don't fight.

Still suburb

Late afternoon: a bufet, I throgh in a toast with cheese. The smaller son of Bud Spencer sits beside me, the bench almost wrecks - but not. Doyouspeakenglish began, whereareyoufrom, whatareyoudoing. I'm also asking. He sais he is a farmer, learning industrial agriculture in Edirne, and in the meantime running the family farm. Nice guy. After finishing our toasts, we almost at the same time begin to clean the small bread pieces from the table. He warns me: in Turkey the religion sais not to leave any little bread behind, because that is what you were working hard for, and if I leave it, somebody could have a bad eye on me. I say I do this cleanup without any religious practice, so don't worry. Only after riding away for 10 kms from this place it comes into my mind: I'm so sorry that their beautiful religion doesn't say any word on throwing the garbage out of the car's windows, poisoning the beautiful land what gives the beautiful wheat what shouldn't be left on the table. Well, nothing can be perfect, hehe.

Istanbul-Budapest - arrived

So, another new day - the wind gets stronger, the clouds get darker, there is more sand in the face, there is more dirt and garbage on the side of the road: I'm approaching to Istanbul. Thanks for my dear host in Sofia (thanks, Stojanka!) I am having a GPS in my mobile, with the offline map of Tukrey. A friend is waiting for me in Istanbul - I type the address, I'm following the stupid and senseless commands of the GPS. Finally I get to the place - a beautiful, warm and friendly flat in the inner part of Istanbul. A word for their hospitality: I'm recieving a key for the flat. I'm arrived for a little. I'm happy, we are happy, nice to see each other, nice to be with these shining, smiling people, nice to have a shower, a macaroni, a salad, this flat, this warm welcome. Still, I'm totally without feelings, just dead tired, burned out. I'm someone, who, instead of jumping into one of the biggest, most alive cities in the world, next day is only capable of sleeping and taking a few hours walk in the nearby.

Stressed desserts

But he will get himself together slowly, calm down slowly, recharge his batteries slowly, and begin to look around, how things are going on in this Istanbul-thing. Later he'll be back.