182t福利

Roger Short Memorial Fund Travel Report – Piers Armitage & Isobel Jobling
Retracing Evliya Celebi鈥檚 Travels In The Black Sea Region, 2019

Introduction

We arrived in the Eastern Black Sea region of Turkey in early September intending to follow in the footsteps of Evliya Celebi by bicycle 鈥� to scout a potential tourist route and to consider his travelogues. We鈥檇 travelled by bicycle enough to know that such plans are at once a necessary framework for forward progress, and vulnerable to being derailed by landscape, weather, illness, or mechanical failure. We thoroughly planned a 1790km route with +35,000m elevation, but knew we鈥檇 have to be flexible.

A good thing too, as our ride ultimately bore little resemblance to this route. Besides almost-major injury and major mechanical failure, we suffered from ongoing illness and were forced to be pragmatic, making forward progress by any means necessary. We were also a little na茂ve about what 鈥榬oute scouting鈥� would entail, and the route held its fair share of surprises. It was wonderfully novel to travel in a region where the amenities and quality of a road are not immediately clear from a quick google search, and we had ample opportunity to contribute to OSM data in the region.

We ultimately linked together some exciting and remote gravel riding with hitchhiking, buses, a train, and even a taxi. In the end, we cycled approximately 1,130km and +27,984m. While initially frustrating, this multimodality added to the breadth of our experience. We still managed to see most of the places we set out to, many of which are of no touristic interest besides Evliya鈥檚 mention of them. We were always received with enormous warmth and hospitality.

An historical framework allowed us to engage with places on a deeper level than we are used to, and by the end of our journey we felt familiar with culture and geographies both regional and national. Hemingway said 鈥榠t is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best, since you have to sweat up the hills and coast down them鈥�. We felt this acutely on this journey, and believe Eastern Turkey has some spectacular hills to sweat up, and great potential for bicycle tourism; we hope that sharing the routes we managed to explore online will inspire others to see what the area has to offer. A cyclist鈥檚 companion to this journal – with more images and a heavier emphasis on the quality of cycling – will be posted on www.jobling.cc in due course.

We are immensely grateful to the Roger Short Memorial Fund for enabling this journey, and to the Turkish people for their unfailing generosity and humour, and especially for a never-ending supply of 莽ay in times of need.

N.B. We have combined our writing to a single perspective (Piers鈥�) for ease of reading and formatting – we were in agreement about most things, anyway!

10 September – Sinop to Samsun (few km cycled)

Our trip began at Sinop airport, where we reconstructed our bikes while fielding questions from the large number of curious soldiers on security duty. Though I was initially ill at ease with their presence, given one of them had the largest machine-gun I had ever seen, their questions showed a sincere interest in our trip and we got the impression they were glad we were there.

Evliya wrote extensively about Sinop, focusing largely on its castle. Standing before it holding our printout of his observations, the same morphology was evident. The castle walls, now containing a minibus terminal, made a shape 鈥榣ike a ship鈥檚 deck divided into three parts,鈥� the lowest part 鈥榳ashed by the waves on two sides鈥�. While this was pleasingly clear, the 鈥榝ive thousand and sixty ancient houses of stone鈥� and the castle鈥檚 鈥榮ix thousand and six battlements鈥� noted by Evliya were not; hyperbole was one of Evliya鈥檚 preferred literary devices. There was little evidence of older residential or non-military buildings. Sadly it appeared that in most places we went only the principal old monuments survived, often restored many times, while residential buildings were usually modern. However, the new vernacular frequently mimicked the old; this was immediately clear from photos we saw at Sinop鈥檚 ethnography museum.

Evliya describes Sinop鈥檚 history as much as its features. For Evliya, places like Sinop Castle were clearly imbued with meaning by their histories. He vividly and assiduously records incidents such as this: 鈥業n the time of Sult谩n Ahmed, on a dark night, the Cossacks took the town by escalade, and the great Viz铆r Nassif P谩sh谩, was put to death for having concealed it from the Sult谩n鈥�. Sinop鈥檚 semi-ruined castle – no longer in military use – clearly retains its symbolic power: it is 182t福利 to several statues, a gigantic Turkish flag in the main keep and several Turkish flags elsewhere along its battlements.

We enjoyed a seafront lunch of manti and k枚fte in Sinop before opting to take a bus along the coast to Samsun. The steep geography of the region means a lack of secondary roads and the huge coastal highway was our only cycling option. Such roads usually prove both nerve-wracking and boring; the bus journey vindicated our decision. Our bus rolled into Samsun at the same time as a storm cloud, casting miles of urban sprawl in ominous pink hues. Samsun鈥檚 otogar sits the other side of a steep and unavoidable hill. The air was damp and warm as we span slowly but surely to the summit on a dual carriageway. Scattered with large metal grilles and debris, the other side made for a hair-raising descent, and we were relieved to reach the centre in fading twilight, emerging onto an improbably lovely coastal bike path. A provincial capital, Samsun felt immediately cosmopolitan, and the large number of families out on the seafront development reminded us of Meditteranean Europe – owing perhaps to the subtropical climate.

Air travel with bikes often proves the riskiest part of a tour. On this occasion, both had emerged more or less intact, but mine had a bent disc rotor – a minor problem, but best fixed at a bike shop. Eastern Turkey has very few, but fortunately Samsun is blessed with a Decathlon. At 8pm, the mechanic was not around to help, but the sales assistants happily gave us access to the workshop, and between us we had the problem sorted quickly. To enter the mall, we鈥檇 had to pass through airport-style security with our bikes. We remarked on this to the young sales assistant, who spoke perfect English and told us we鈥檇 get used to it. He described it as part of the political climate and suggested there would be many security scanners, vehicle checkpoints and ID checks ahead; 鈥榠t鈥檚 working, though鈥�. The service was provided to us as a gift from the manager – the first of many such gifts. We then checked into our hotel to news of no hot water 鈥� the first of many such privations. You win some; you lose some.

11 September – Samsun to Ladik (100km聽 / +2,400m cycled)

After a Nescafe, we set out to find breakfast and some sights to see. There was no trace of the castle with seventy towers, neither Samsun鈥檚 pickled grapes and pears, nor its 鈥榝amous鈥� cables, ropes and resin. We did however find the old mosque, now considered the main historical sight to see, about which Evliya had written nothing.

Evliya also claimed there was 鈥榥o port鈥�, but in 2019 Samsun has not only a large port but an impressive restoration of the old Tobacco Dock, developed as a pedestrian public space, and featuring a model of the steamer on which Atat眉rk arrived in the 1919 struggle for Independence. There were banners all over the city commemorating the 100th anniversary of this event, and it became clear that this place was a symbol of modern Turkish independence which featured heavily in collective memory. Despite not housing many genuine artifacts of history 鈥� apparently a modern and fast-developing city 鈥� Samsun is a place where the physical reproduction of history creates a spatialization of the collective memory. Basa (2016) observes: in Samsun 鈥榞rowth and modernity is symmetrically combined with a desire for embracing its historical identity.鈥� While Basa argues this development can be seen to some extent as a reaction against current political discourse – which 鈥榚mphasizes Turkey鈥檚 Ottoman-Islamic past,鈥� – we did find throughout our journey that although glimpses of Ottoman history are visible everywhere, Atat眉rk鈥檚 memory dominates most public spaces. Still, we were impressed. If urban developments which considers its socio-cultural context tend to be more successful, central Samsun has done well.

We cycled out of the city along a river until its forest of well-kept tower blocks eventually thinned out and its industrial outskirts gave way to fly-tipping and stray dogs; we took pleasure in seeing the ugly hinterland of the city. We encountered several enthusiastic men who were keen to share 莽ay, and chat at length with us, despite our complete failure to understand them. Here we had a first taste of a few recurring themes: 1) unsolicited dogs; 2) unsolicited 莽ay; 3) our tragic lack of Turkish language ability. We knew enough to thank people though, and offline Google Translate goes a long way.聽 Leaving the main road, we began to climb.

I had not cycled in months, was not used to cycling on gravel, and did not cope well with the day鈥檚 heat. I therefore 鈥榖onked鈥� several times on the morning鈥檚 short, steep climbs. 鈥楤onking鈥�, for cyclists at least, who will be familiar with the term, is when any combination of poor fitness, heat, and insufficient sugar intake conspire to make forward motion near-impossible. It鈥檚 like hitting a brick wall. The morning鈥檚 50km entailed +1,600m and was one of the hardest cycles I had done in my life; I only got through the day because the gradients got easier after a lunch of kebabs and coke. Isobel鈥檚 morning commentary that the heat was 鈥榠deal for climbing鈥� and the hills 鈥榖eautiful鈥� and 鈥榲ery doable鈥� reflected a significant difference in perspective on the same landscape.

We arrived in Ladik as the sun was setting. There was no evidence of hotels in town so we were relieved when asking around (very 17th C!) led us to an under-construction pension where we engaged in a lengthy Google translate exchange and eventually settled down to a dinner of delicious pide and less-than-delicious Efes lager (also sourced by asking around) eaten off our hotel room floor. I was just pleased I had made it, and silently worried that unless I got fitter fast, the trip would prove near impossible.

12 September – Ladik to Amasya via Merzifon (96km聽 / +1,300m cycled)

We popped into a small shop to get some breakfast snacks before rolling out of Ladik, and its proprietor immediately broke bread – so fresh it was still warm – and laid it out on newspaper for us with olives, salty cheese and Nutella (a classic Turkish breakfast combination).

Our morning鈥檚 ride to Merzifon took us through misty rolling hills, that thankfully for my state of mind, gave a net downhill profile with a couple of fast descents. The morning would have been faster were it not for a service station gift of simit and Nescafe and a rural roadblock hugely overstaffed by bored, chain-smoking policemen.

We reached the small town of Merzifon by eleven and set out to find Evliya鈥檚 鈥榮ix hundred shops almost all occupied by dyers鈥�, and 鈥榤ust, pure as that of Aint谩b, sweet raisins, and the white bread of P铆rdedeh鈥�. Must, as far as we could tell, is a non-alcoholic grape drink. While the region was clearly still producing grape products, we couldn鈥檛 find the must – only vinegar and raisins.

Perhaps most interestingly, the town remained 鈥榓dorned with sh谩hnesh铆ns (projecting windows)鈥�. They did not 鈥榓ll look towards the kiblah鈥� but were a feature in buildings old and new; no matter how brazenly concrete new houses sought to emulate the vernacular projecting window, often part of tripartite first floor window arrangements that we saw across the region. Both Evliya and contemporary Merzifon architects and patrons therefore viewed 鈥榮h谩hnesh铆n鈥� fenestration as important to Merzifon鈥檚 identity.

The afternoon鈥檚 ride took us over an agricultural plain through a village whose streets were caked with dirt and occupied exclusively by tractors, and past a reservoir circled by a military helicopter. We learned that the bright red splashes on the beige landscape were synthetic sacks of onions, piled in fields mid-harvest, and sold directly from tractor trailers. A hot, thirsty climb past quarries and small villages brought us off a huge cattle ranch on the plain and onto a high ridge with expansive views of our descent into Amasya.

Unfortunately Isobel took a spill on the descent, swerving to avoid a large schoolbus coming up the hill and flying full-speed – about 45kph –聽into the verge. This is of course a much better outcome than full-speed into the bus, or full-speed off the mountain, and the immediate damage didn鈥檛 seem too great. The schoolchildren on the bus were convinced enough of her welfare to find the whole situation thoroughly entertaining, and the bus driver moved off. She gingerly stretched out her shoulder – which took the brunt of the impact – and we continued (slowly) on our way.

Amasya鈥檚 location is stunning, its river flanked on both sides by vertiginous cliffs and overlooked by an impressive castle. Evliya notes these features in passing, but what emerges most strongly from his account of Amasya is that he was writing with very different priorities. We reached the castle as the sun began to set, and like the Turkish couples and families around us on the ramparts, posing for Instagram, we were amazed by the castle鈥檚 views. At a time when Eastern Turkey was a contested frontier zone, Evliya鈥檚 main take away was that the castle is 鈥榚xtremely strong,鈥� though its seventy cannons were of 鈥榥o great calibre, as it is not a frontier fortress鈥�. While we have the privilege of being able to approach such places from a primarily aesthetic standpoint, Evliya鈥檚 description of the castle is a reminder that it was not always so.

Amasya displays its historic wealth in its castle, and in the large number of Ottoman period Yal谋boyu houses which line the river, making it the most scenic town we visited. The link could easily be drawn between the town now and Evliya鈥檚 description of its craftsmen, 鈥榗lever in all kind of handicraft鈥�, the 鈥榬iches of its cultivation鈥�, and its many palaces. This all lends to a charming centre to which Turks clearly flock. Amasya now – the most touristic place we visited – and Evliya鈥檚 Amasya are linked by a historic evolution in which today鈥檚 tourism lies on the relics of Amasya鈥檚 past wealth and military importance.

13 September – Amasya to Erbaa (96km聽 / +1,235m cycled)

Delayed by a dysfunctional聽hotel breakfast, disturbed by a particularly close 5am call to prayer, and worried by Isobel鈥檚 more diclofenac necessary shoulder injury we decided to take the flat route out of Amasya, abandoning our plans to zig-zag straight up a rockface and into the mountains. We formed the alternative route as we went, following what turned out to be a lovely hard-pack service road to the valley鈥檚 irrigation canal – perhaps the modern version of 鈥榯he water which Ferh谩d carried to the town from the opposite mountains鈥�. In contrast to the scrubby hills on either side, the valley floor was green and lush, consisting of apple and plum orchards and walnut groves, and dotted with wooden shelters for the fruit-pickers. The stench of rotting apples hung in the air, and well-dressed elderly couples rolled along on improvised looking quadbike-come-tractor vehicles to tend to their orchards.

Pulling up from the valley towards our original route, we took rolling gravel roads to the village of Yenidere, where we had hoped we might find lunch. It鈥檚 impossible to tell whether a village like this will have food. It鈥檚 rarely clear on Google maps or OSM and one has to take a look the size of a village in a satellite image and make a guess. Unable to find anything, we asked a local man where we could find food with our well practiced Turkish – 鈥榊emek?鈥� – and he directed us toward a large 182t福利 where a family was聽processing the walnut harvest. The grandmother of the family immediately declared Isobel her daughter, pinching her cheeks, and inviting us for 莽ay and an incredible 182t福利made lunch. We were lucky to converse with the whole family via two grandsons, one of whom was studying engineering in Istanbul and the other who lived in Berlin. We learned that per local lore, the valley had indeed been made by Ferh谩d 鈥榳ho cut these mountains like cheese鈥� – a pleasing continuity of myth from Evliya鈥檚 telling! 鈥楢masya is the friendliest place in Turkey,鈥� we were told; we must be careful riding further East toward Erzurum because people are not always good, and it gets cold. This was far from the last time we would hear this about the weather – perhaps the frequently recurring echo from Evliya鈥檚 stories.

We cycled off slowly from lunch, our bodies telling us in no uncertain terms that we had overindulged. The hills were rich for growing tobacco and increasingly lush and populated. After a short sharp climb, I noticed my front gears were no longer changing: a problem that would dictate the course of the next five days.

We were hosted in Erbaa by a local teacher who spoke excellent English and invited us to sleep on his couch, but not before drinking 182t福利made raki with his friends on a rooftop terrace. Conversation ranged from the Armenian genocide (ambivalent) to the Turkish education system (excellent, thanks to Atat眉rk; less excellent than before, thanks to Erdo臒an). This man was a passionate secularist who seemed generally frustrated with the acting government and with the weak Turkish Lira; keen for his children to leave for Europe, but not keen for Turkey to be European. We also heard all manner of folk tales and discussed Evliya, who seems to be widely known in Turkey, although thought of more as a wit than a great travel writer; 鈥榟e was a guy; he travelled I guess鈥� said one man with a shrug.聽 We heard the tale of a cat, freezing as it jumps between buildings in Erzurum, retold:

鈥楾hey asked a Dervish 鈥渇rom whence he came?鈥� he said, 鈥渇rom the snow of Divine Mercy;鈥� they asked, 鈥渨hat was the name of the place;鈥� 鈥淓rzer煤m,鈥� said the Dervish, which may be spelled Erezol煤m (cruel to man); they continued to ask 鈥渨hether he had seen 鈥渁ny summer there.鈥� The Dervish said, 鈥淏y God, I remained there eleven months and nine and twenty days, the people said that summer was coming, but I did not see it. It happened, however, that a cat, which ran over the roofs of the houses, became froze there while in the act of running, and remained so for the space of nine months, when the spring arriving, the cat began to thaw, cried 鈥楳ia煤!鈥� and fell down.鈥� This tale has become a common proverb. It is really a fact, that if a man touches a piece of iron with his wet hand during winter, they freeze together, and cannot be separated without tearing off the skin.鈥�

14 September – Erbaa to Samsun to Trabzon by bus (few km cycled)

The mechanical problem could not be fixed in Erbaa, as neither of the bike shops we visited were familiar with modern road bike gearing. We did our best to fix it ourselves, but it became apparent that the shifter itself would need replacing, and the part would need sourcing. So with heavy hearts, we backtracked to Samsun. We jammed our bikes on the back row of the bus and on arrival made a tour of its bike shops, eventually directed to The Only Man Who Knows About Modern Road Bikes. We were told a new part could be delivered in three days s we sucked it up, and waited it out. Rather than revisiting Samsun, we decided to instead travel five hours along the coast by bys to see Trabzon, as Evliya had written about it extensively.

15, 16, 17 September – Trabzon (few km cycled)

Trabzon is the kind of city whose main tourist attractions are verdant out-of-town destinations, advertised on billboards as tours and excursions. The capital of a region known for its highland culture, the city itself doesn鈥檛 boast many attractions, and our first impressions were none too generous: the bus station – as bus stations often do – sits the other side of a major highway intersection in the industrial part of town. It is close to the port, and nestled amongst vast industrial sites and some of the sleaziest hotels we鈥檇 ever seen, including the fittingly named 鈥楬otel Paradise Lost鈥�. The walk to our (slightly nicer) hotel crossed the hinterland of the pedestrian realm; 2ft. curbs,聽dangerous road crossings and poorly lit glass-strewn pavements.

We awoke the next day to the smell of frying fish from the street, and made a move from our not-quite-red-light-district digs to a relatively expensive hotel on the main square. This made for a relaxing couple of days while we waited for the bike to be fixed. Evliya writes that the people of Trabzon 鈥榯hink of nothing but eating and drinking, of amusement and pleasure鈥�; 鈥榓ll idle amorous fellows鈥�. While no doubt the people of Trabzon aren鈥檛 generally quite this idle, our hotel offered an excellent view of the comings and goings of the main square and it felt like a fun city; and we did our best to chase amusement and pleasure.

We ate well, and managed to source many of the foods Evliya mentioned. At the heart of Evliya鈥檚 account of Trabzon is its fish – especially the hamsi, a type of anchovy. He relays in great detail the various folk tales associated with the fish, and claims it is 鈥榓n aphrodisiac of extraordinary potency; strengthening and easy of digestion鈥� and also cures sore mouths.鈥� What鈥檚 more 鈥榠f the head of this fish is burnt, serpents and other venomous reptiles are killed by the smoke.鈥�

The hamsi remains a crucial part of Trabzon鈥檚 cultural identity. Fans of the local football team Trabzonspor 聽– a major part of Trabzon culture that Evliya certainly didn鈥檛 witness – are referred to as 鈥榟amsi kafali鈥� (鈥榟amsi headed鈥�). Just as Evliiya described, hamsi remains a seasonal phenomenon 鈥� it is fished in the 鈥榮eason of Khamsan (the fifty days when southerly winds blow)’. We learnt at the excellent city museum that fishing remains an important part of the economy and there are now around 5,000 fishermen in Trabzon. We walked past the fishermen鈥檚 huts and saw hamsi glistening under blue lights at market stalls by sea, though we did not witness the town 鈥榠n an uproar,鈥� and nor did everyone 鈥榚ven when at prayer, instantly cease, and run like madmen after it.鈥�

We enjoyed eating hamsi in all forms but were, as ever, less successful in locating the exotic fruits Evliya described – though we鈥檙e pretty sure we found the fine flavoured grapes and the very sweet figs. While Evliya gave little mention to the nuts of the region, hazelnuts are now visible for sale everywhere in town, and account for a huge part of the regional economy, as do corn and tobacco. The city museum also gave us an excellent overview of agricultural life in the region, and we got our first taste of plains culture. People take their cattle up onto high plateaus 鈥� yaylalar – to graze during summer, and this was where we were headed. The most visible aspect of yaylalar culture was the horon, a traditional highland dance said to be inspired by the shimmying movement of the hamsi. It鈥檚 possible this may have evolved quite recently, certainly after Evliya鈥檚 time, and we enjoyed watching people dancing the horon all day in the main square – apparently just for fun.

Evliya wrote at length about Trabzon鈥檚 鈥榯wo great castles鈥� divided into three parts鈥�. This was the best castle we saw on the trip, perhaps because it had seen such little renovation: rather, it, its outer walls and interior had been taken over by the centuries of urban development following Evliya鈥檚 visit. The main keep retained Ottoman windows as well as the mosque and some of the remains of the 鈥榖arracks for the garrison, magazines and storehouses鈥�. While the series of bridges from the upper to lower castles that Evliya describes were gone, it was pleasing to see fragments of the lowest sea wall indicating the old shape that is most clearly visible in the still-imposing upper walls around old upper castle.

Trabzon is dissected by steep valleys, and its castle sits between two such valleys: the Zagnos Valley park on one side, and an as yet undeveloped space, apparently cleared for a similar project, on the other. A vast swath of green public space, Zagnos Valley Park came as a surprise to us and appears incongruous; as one looks inland, it is swallowed up by a forest of modern tower blocks. In the rain, the space appeared deserted, unfinished, and inaccessible. Designed to 鈥榠mprove the quality of the environment鈥�, and make the area 鈥榤ore attractive鈥櫬� construction of the park entailed a huge slum clearance project – such informal settlements 鈥榗ontradicted the urban identity鈥� and contributed to air and visual pollution (Duzgunes and Sarac, 2018). What struck us was that development across the city as a whole appeared to be entirely unregulated, polluting, and generally chaotic. It was unclear whether this particular project was consistent with a citywide approach to tackling this, or specifically an excuse for slum clearance in a low-income area with touristic potential. In any case, G眉nero冒lu and Bekar (2019) find it has been executed rather poorly – the low usage of the space we witnessed not just because it was raining, but also to poor accessibility, and insufficient lighting, security, and amenities; it was a contrast to Samsun.

Beyond the castle鈥檚 old lower wall, on reclaimed land and in line with its main keep, stands the exposed shell of what will soon be Trabzon鈥檚 largest mosque. This huge building was a looming presence during our time in Trabzon. It promises to completely rewrite the landscape of the town, though significantly it sits at the bottom of the valley of Trabzon鈥檚 old town, and like the omnipresent Turkish flag on all major ruins, capitalises on older sites of significance for Turkey鈥檚 modern-day priorities.

Our time in Trabzon was a blessing in disguise. We were able to wait out some bad weather, heal up, and immerse ourselves more thoroughly in the culture of the region. We were able to reconsider our approach moving forward, given time lost – we consciously chose to count our blessings, lower our expectations, and let go of our plans a little.聽 However, we never intended to spend so much time in a city, and following collection of my bike, the hills beckoned urgently.

18 September – Trabzon to Dilaver Yaylasi (60km / +3,480m 聽cycled)

After so long off the bikes, we set off concerned we might鈥檝e lost rhythm. We pushed on up and out of town through diesel choke and concrete dust, tackling minor mechanical and physical difficulties before descending into a valley and finally escaping Trabzon鈥檚 clutches. After a short time on the highway, we turned off into the mountains. We were cooled by the fast flowing river which the road clung to and we stopped for lunch at a newly opening hotel that apparently had EU funding. At this point I was so hungry I was retching. Lunch was hugely restorative, though not enough to prepare us for the vicious few kilometers leading up to Sumela Monastery. The road was consistently at a 15-20% gradient, which gave passing tourists the opportunity to gawp at, photograph, and encourage us. It did not bode well for the rest of the climb.

The pass up to the plain was in the process of being transformed from a mixed-surface road to a wide asphalt one. Though much more manageable than the earlier climb, dust, altitude (over 3000 metres), exertion, and asthma combined to exacerbate the cold I had started to develop over the previous few days. I sounded like a dying man in a Dickens period drama, and walked my bike for the final 7 kilometres. Ultimately it was worth the effort – the plain was expansive in a way that I had never seen before; beautiful in the golden evening light.

We鈥檇 never needed 莽ay like we needed it on arriving at the only hotel on the plain.聽 Our only fellow guests were the road crews we had passed that afternoon, and there wasn’t enough hot water to go around. However, a dinner of hearty stew and canned soup was just what we needed: it seems the cycling tourist and road worker鈥檚 culinary demands are quite similar. While Evliya wrote largely of cities and their points of interest, we took a lot of pleasure in the in-between spaces: the villages with nothing to offer in particular besides the sense of being somewhere new; the musty hotels which have no competition for miles but which provided exactly the comfort we need.聽 It鈥檚 chilly at elevation, but we were asleep in seconds under heavy polyester fleece blankets.

鈥淣ights alone in remote western towns where I know no one and no one I know knows where I am, nights with the strange paintings and floral spreads and cable television that furnish a reprieve from my own biography, when鈥� I have lost myself though I know where I am. Moments when I say to myself as feet or car clear a crest or round a bend, I have never seen this place before.鈥�

鈥� Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost.

19 September – Dilaver Yaylasi to Bayburt (70km / +1,724m cycled)

After a friendly send-off from the hotelier and workers we set off across the plain in search of Nescafe and breakfast. The landscape in the morning light was spectacular and a lengthy gravel climb gave us plenty of time to appreciate it. Though I was not riding at full fitness, I felt a great deal better. The scattered permanent architecture of the plain was reminiscent of Scandinavia; pretty single-storey houses with corrugated pitched roofs in earthy tones, built to withstand winter conditions. Sustained purely by nuts and sweets, having failed to find a square meal all day, we emerged from the plains a bit worse for wear. We eventually settled down for a 3pm lunch of white bread and Dairylea. As we ate this at a service station, we chatted with a dapper local in French about the usual topics: where we were going; where we had come from; and what we thought of Turkey. He then relayed our answers to the few other locals refilling their tractors nearby, satisfying the bemused curiosity our arrival by bike had aroused.

The ride into Bayburt took us past mines 鈥� though not the silver ones which Evliya says made it rich – and past the skeleton of a half-constructed motorway above us in the valley. This, along with many other under-construction roads, gave the sense that the region was changing fast: the same tour as ours repeated in few years would likely take the rider over better road surfaces, or along bigger roads.

Bayburt itself seemed wealthy and scenic, on account of the huge castle that stood just above it. Though we could not verify if there were still 鈥榮eventy schools for boys, who are quick and clever鈥�, there did seem to be a lot of students around, which gave Bayburt quite a relaxed feel. Equally, we could not check that 鈥榯he old men live to the age of a hundred and fifty, who losing their teeth pronounce with difficulty the letter S鈥�, though, we would agree that there were, as Evliya said 鈥榮ome pretty faces鈥�.

20 September – Bayburt to Uzung枚l (99km / +4,205m cycled)

Fuelled by another sad hotel breakfast, (How many boiled eggs am I willing to peel, and how much bread to eat in order to avoid being hungry later? Is this cheese too powerful to stomach at 7am?) we were looking forward to a big day – not in terms of miles, but because we were going to descend the notoriously dangerous D915 鈥楤ayburt Yolu鈥�. Our favourite starting point for planning any bike trip outside of the realm of leisure cycling is dangerousroads.com, so of course 鈥楾urkey鈥檚 most dangerous road鈥� became central to our route planning.

Having coughed up my own weight in phlegm onto the outskirts of Bayburt, we span painlessly up 1000m to barren high plains with views back down to Bayburt, circled at all times by birds of prey. Buoyed by enthusiastic passing drivers, and a freshly paved road surface, we made good time and then enjoyed a steep gravel descent to the village of G眉nbuldu. There we had hoped to find lunch at a hotel, but it proved elusive, and we instead filtered water at the mosque (a familiar pastime by now) and ate snacks under the watchful gaze of the old women of the village, arranged on their respective wooden balconies.

As we traversed rolling gravel to the eastern plains, the scenery became become much greener, sheep became cows, and the villages looked much wealthier; houses were beautiful wooden constructions with first-floor barns.聽The roads remained terrible, however; steep, rocky, and slashed with deep rivulets. Slow progress, combined with a lack of foreseeable food and the prospect of the D915 made for a nervous day.

We reached the D915鈥檚 29 picturesque switchbacks in perfect light. They are carved into a near-vertical mountainside. It鈥檚 the kind of balcony road that fundamentally shouldn鈥檛 exist; a monument to humankind鈥檚 longstanding determination to inhabit and traverse landscapes that really don鈥檛 welcome us to. It鈥檚 poorly maintained – replaced now by a larger paved road to the East 鈥� and apparently has no drainage, so besides a poor surface it has large streams running down it in places.

In fact, for cyclists, the road is not too dangerous; its narrowness was not a problem for us and switchbacks meant the gradient was okay. The views certainly made up for the tricky riding and vivid autumnal colours were in full force. At the foot of the switchbacks we were tired but exhilarated, and continued down the valley, which with steeper drop-offs and more traffic, proved more dangerous. We descended through alpine towns that mysteriously had shops and tower-blocks, but no restaurants. This was probably the grandest valley we cycled in, with high-reaching pine forests giving way to dramatic ridges on either side. By 4pm we were pretty hungry and decided to skirt around one of these ridges to the tourist centre of Uzung枚l in search of food. This lakeside destination, advertised to tourists everywhere in Trabzon, promised both food and accommodation. The proprietor of Caf茅 Nebula 鈥� the first we came across 鈥� was pleased by the novelty of European (rather than Arab) tourists, and chatted to us at length about Black Sea culture. Lovely though he was, this delayed us, and we had to push fast up the climb to Uzung枚l. In rain and near darkness, the neon lights of hotels lit the shadows of pines through the mist, and a dusting of white was visible on the ridgeline. Arriving both sweaty and cold, we had a quick kebab, found our hotel, and passed out.

21 September – Uzung枚l (0km cycled)

Our planned day from Uzung枚l to Ikizdere was relatively short – about 70km over a single mountain pass, so we planned a lie-in and a late start. On waking, however, the rain appeared unrelenting, Isobel had inevitably caught my cold, and our limbs were aching from the previous days climbing (and braking). So, although we weren鈥檛 exactly charmed by the place, we took the day off in Uzung枚l.

Uzung枚l was not mentioned by Evliya, as it was an insignificant village of about 300 houses until the late 21st century when it began to draw in large numbers of tourists from Gulf countries and was developed to the point where it now consists mostly of hotels. We made the most of our 鈥榓parthotel鈥� to cook for ourselves and plan our upcoming route, and wandered Uzung枚l鈥檚 fake designer-wear shops and closed fairground. Isobel nursed a hot salep: a custardy drink made with Orchid flour and cinnamon, popular in winter and said to relieve chest congestion. We were told again by our hotel owner and others how nice it was to have non-Arab tourists in Uzung枚l. It seemed paradoxical that the residents of somewhere clearly profiting from Arab tourism might dislike Arabs so much. Equally, Uzung枚l鈥檚 Tripadvisor reviews were largely from Turks complaining of being priced out of the area due to Arab tourism.

22 September – Uzung枚l to Ikizdere (67km聽 / +1,893m cycled)

Fuelled by the last night鈥檚 leftovers, we wrapped up in all the clothes we had and left Uzung枚l sleeping under a clear blue sky. A cobbled climb vindicated our decision not to do this in the rain.聽 We passed a couple having breakfast at their small tea house and approached them, planning to buy 莽ay. Of course, they invited us to share their breakfast. Through Google Translate we chatted about the usual things while we drank glasses of fresh hot milk and shared in their breakfast of chips, sigara boregi with honey, soft-boiled eggs and tomatoes. They were hugely warm people, smiling and insistent we ate our fill of their breakfast. The woman pinched at Isobel鈥檚 waist, complaining she was too thin, and needed feeding up. They saw us off with emphatic 鈥榤ashallah鈥檚 (Isobel got emphatic hugs), and absolutely warmed the cockles of our hearts. We soon hit dirt, and then the snowline, which didn鈥檛 impede us but made for a very chilly climb in zero visibility, and an even chillier descent.

We emerged from sandy switchbacks and out of the cloud to the still-freezing lower reaches of the mountain, swathed in autumn colour. Reluctant to pass another day鈥檚 cycling without a hot lunch, we looked for food despite being just 30km from our destination. We found it at a logging village鈥檚 restaurant/ 莽ay house. We were offered a choice of meat or fish and enjoyed a pile of salty fried lamb chops, a single, deep-fried fish, bread and salad. We sat shivering throughout, which surely didn鈥檛 do Isobel鈥檚 cold much good. A speedy tarmac descent spat us out in Ikizdere, a fairly unremarkable highway town with a very high density of apiculture supply shops. We had daylight left to consider our route planning over 莽ay. We had planned the next day to embark on an epic and probably overambitious 3 day crossing of the Ka莽kar mountain range, which would entail untold distances between resupplies, potential bad weather at elevation over 3000m and sections of hiking trail. Considering how cold we had just been at elevation, and that we were in generally poor health and short on time, we decided to reroute the next day; Evliya never mentioned the Ka莽kar anyway! The 莽ay was on the house and we settled into our 脰臒retmenevi to await the designated hour of hot water. An 脰臒retmenevis is a teacher鈥檚 lodge; state funded for teachers, they also cater to members of the public and are a good option for the weary and frugal traveller. Often towns with no other accommodation will have an 脰臒retmenevi, and they were, in our experience, reliably clean and comfortable.

23 September – Ikizdere to Yusufeli via a short hitchhike (80km / +2,884m聽cycled)

Isobel awoke feeling at death鈥檚 door, so we decided to hitchhike over the pass and cut our day to an easy 80km from Ispir to Yusufeli, the gateway town on the Eastern side of the Ka莽kar. We were picked up in seconds, despite our bikes, by a pickup taking construction workers to the top of the pass, and tried to keep calm as our driver browsed T-rap youtube videos on his phone while overtaking everyone he came across on endless blind corners. We then rolled fast down to the quaint town of Ispir and enjoyed an underserved brunch of pide and lahmacun.

The road from Ispir was fantastically boring, carrying us alongside an enormous reservoir in a rocky valley devoid of any traffic, settlement, or indeed, interest. As we pushed on, there were glimpses of the higher Ka莽kar above the desert hills, but the dusty kilometres were taking their toll on Isobel, who had a dry chain, and an even drier throat, and we soon ran out of water. Eventually we came across the first green plant in 50km, and the landscape offered up tiny ruined castles, and a mosque where we could refill our water.聽 As we approached Yusufeli there was a great deal of mining for road and housing construction in evidence, which didn鈥檛 help with Isobel鈥檚 respiratory problems. Just 10km from Yusufeli we stopped for fizzy drinks, and were passport-checked by jovial policemen, just for the craic, it seemed.

On arrival, we wasted a good amount of time at its (full) 脰臒retmenevi where various, government-employed landscape engineers pretended to help us find accomodation while really just making an excuse to shoot the breeze. These men were employed as part of the enormous decades-long process of dam construction in the valley which will, by next year, result in the relocation of 20,000 people and completely flood the town of Yusufeli. The town鈥檚 residents have for decades mobilized successfully against it, but ultimately lost. It was curious to look around at all the life and history around us, knowing it would soon be gone. After hearing about the head engineer鈥檚 motorbike adventures in Italy, and being told to great amusement, on hearing that I was Scottish, that 鈥榓ll Turkish men are William Wallace鈥�, we made our excuses and found ourselves a very simple hotel to stay in for the night. Our dinner was also simple – we had the same as the last few nights: flame-grilled kebab with rice, though this time we watched the news with several old men, presumably widowers, sat alone on their respective tables.

Before bed, as I went for water, I was struck by how busy Yusufeli still was, yet how everyone out and about was male. In the shops, many 莽ay houses showing the football and in the hairdressers on our street, men of all ages were chatting with each other in a kind of public society that operated completely without women. This was an instance where I felt my Western gaze very strongly – it must have felt perfectly normal for the men chaining cigarettes and bumping into old friends to be in public spaces completely devoid of women: for me it was jarring.

24 September – Barhal Valley (40km / +1,900m cycled)

We treated ourselves to breakfast on the top-floor restaurant of the town鈥檚 best hotel-cum-cinema, before setting off on an undulating 30km climb up out of Yusufeli towards the Ka莽kar; we had a day to play with now, partly dedicated to our health, but wanted to get a better look. The valley was so steep it had zip-line lifts for goods and people up to mountainside villages, which were a charming recurring feature of Black Sea mountain life. We visited the very bare, quite reconstructed 10th C Georgian monastery – now a mosque – at Barhal, having passed several perched castles on the way there. Unable to find any staff at our intended hostel for the night, we had a late lunch and cycled down the valley to find a campsite.

On the twisting roads by the white-water stream, we had our second near miss of the trip: as I descended a minibus had charged round a corner on my side of the road, and, both going too fast to avoid each other, had knocked my pannier from my bike. He apologised profusely, and zip-ties replaced my pannier鈥檚 broken latches quite easily, however it was sobering to think how easily the encounter could have been much worse. I proceeded to the night鈥檚 campsite on the narrow roads quite anxiously.

25 September – Yusufeli valley to Tortum (110km / +2,000m cycled)

Having struck camp, we rolled down the valley back to Yusufeli, and over breakfast met some European engineers, whose work regarded the dam in some capacity, and who told us Yusufeli was a 鈥榲ery strange town鈥�. No wonder! From there we took main roads, flanked by Iranian and Turkish trucks, through many tunnels that made the steep red gorge passable. This was certainly some of our less inspired routing. The road to Erzurum at least had an incredible Iskender kebab to offer, theatrically served to us with butter poured from a great height for the benefit of the kebab house鈥檚 Instagram.

To our dismay and surprise, the afternoon had brought a strong headwind and so day鈥檚 final 30km of gradual climbing to Tortum was hard work.聽 Despite the encouraging honks of passing cars, we arrived our Ogretmenevi in Tortum early but miserable. We relaxed on the hotel roof awaiting hot water, and chatted about how cold Erzurum was to the man who appeared to be the hotel鈥檚 only employee. There, we have to confess, we came to the unpleasant realisation that we could not find the Tortum castle that Evliya mentioned in his account because we were 15km past the Tortum Evliya visited, in an eponymous but completely new town.

We cannot thus comment on how Tortum looks now, but can confirm that the locally grown 鈥榩ears, grapes and peaches鈥� which Evliya said were 鈥榤uch praised鈥�, were indeed quite nice when we ate them with breakfast. It was of course impossible to eat as locally as Evliya did. While fresh produce still seems to be relatively localised, cheaper transportation and globalised markets largely remove an element of travel that was important to Evliya in his estimations of places and their merits. While we tried to snack on local nuts and fruit, we were also slaves to haribo and suchlike.

26 September – Tortum to Erzurum by hitchhiking (10 km / 聽+403m cycled)

We 鈥榚njoyed鈥� a classic Turkish breakfast before heading out of Tortum, towards Erzurum, just 50km away on a rolling, but ultimately quite flat road. 50km, less than 1,000m climbing, how hard can it be? The answer was, as it turned out, too hard – the headwind from the day before had only increased, the road had widened to a four-lane motorway, and the tighter, green valley had given way to a vast beige plain. Having pushed on for a mere 10km we stopped for a service station coffee, and then a second, increasingly tempted by the idea of hitchhiking. Certainly we could cycle, but it would be miserable, and pointless, and this trip is already quite multimodal, and we鈥檇 have more time in Erzurum, and hitchhiking is fun, and well, go on then鈥�

Except we couldn鈥檛 get a ride! We pushed on, cleared the hill, and after a comically slow 鈥榙escent鈥� into a brutal headwind, stuck our thumbs out again. A man with a pickup truck who spoke almost no English, let us hop in, and we exchanged the usual small talk; throwing place names and football teams at each other, and gesturing about the weather and the cold. He then took us to an incredible kebab shop in an industrial estate on the edge of Erzurum. A friend of his told us that Erzurum was too cold to work for a full 10 months a year, leaving two in which everything was done, and when he returned from work in Dubai. Our conversation ranged from how skiing in Erzurum on Mount Palandoken was an activity that everyone did, to how outraged he was that tea was drunk in Dubai with milk and without sugar, and that petrol cost the same as water there.

We set up in a cheap, dated hotel over a 莽ay house and set out to explore the city, which Evliya had a lot to say about. Just as Erzurum鈥檚 altitude and cold climate had been constantly emphasised by everyone we met, so Evliya wrote: 鈥榠t has been known to snow here for ten or eleven months in the year鈥�, and noted that, 鈥榝rom Constantinople to this place we had constantly ascended towards the east, and all the rivers were flowing from that direction towards us; this will show on what high ground Erzer煤m is situated鈥�.

Beyond this, Evliya focuses most on Erzurum鈥檚 castle, palaces, and plant life. The castle鈥檚 main keep is well-restored on the outside walls, excavated on the inside; the most outermost walls are hard to trace beyond a few older gates that are visible from the main keep. We ascended the 鈥榠mmense tower reaching to the skies鈥� to get the lay of the land. Though it lacked 鈥榯en guns pointed from thence in all directions鈥� that, 鈥榠ntercept even the flight of birds,鈥� the number cannons on display as artifacts suggested there was truth to this. Erzurum huddles toward the base of a range of mountains, at the edge of a completely flat plain bounded on all sides by more high ranges. Evliya鈥檚 account, shaped by the temporal and geographic proximity to conflicts, naturally focuses on the military strength of Ezurum鈥檚 castle, noting the dimensions of its ditches and walls. As in Amasya we had the luxury of appreciating the site as a viewpoint and historical relic alone. The scrubland behind the Northern wall appeared to be a local meeting place for young couples, and somewhere to enjoy an Efes.

Erzurum is famous for containing a wide range of architectural sites from Turkish history including the Seljuk 12th C Ulu Camii mosque, the 14th C Yakutiye madrasa and the 16th C Ottoman Lala Pasa mosque, to name a few. This makes it well worth a visit, and these sites occupied us over the afternoon and the next few days. Alongside these, we can also recommend people-watching on the main square, where the teenagers do tricks rollerblading – a summer substitute for ice skating – couples court, and older men and women socialise separately; visiting Erzurum鈥檚 surprisingly reasonable museum restaurant; and shopping for fake Balenciaga trainers, which we regrettably could not buy as were travelling light.

27 September – Erzurum (0km cycled)

Having tried and failed to make the most of being in a big city by finding good espresso, and using the postal service, we bought our train tickets to Kars, 210km away via the plateau we had decided not to ride across because we鈥檇 become extremely averse to the bitter winds of plateau riding. In the afternoon we headed for Mount Palandoken, where we took a deserted cable car as far up as we could in search of flowers. Evliya had written that the mountain above Erzurum 鈥榓bounds in medical herbs, particularly in the T煤tia flower, the scent of which perfumes the air. The odour of aromatic plants and scented flowers fills the atmosphere鈥�. Probably because we had come in late September, we found little more than scrub and weeds, though the worryingly unstable telepherique had provided an enjoyable adrenaline rush, and the views of Erzurum from above made the trip worthwhile.

28 September – Erzurum to Kars (one train, 0km cycled)

Our day began with a spectacular hailstorm. We were pleased to shelter in a shop offering a wide range of floral and herbal remedies, just as Evliya had described – though we had no way of knowing which was the T煤tia! One train a day comes through from Ankara, and we waited patiently at the station for well over an hour, everyone else on the platform apparently confident that the train would show up eventually. An uneventful train ride later, and we arrive in Kars hungry. We finally got to eat one of the geese we鈥檇 seen so frequently by the roadside, and also try a type of sherbert – rayhan (basil) flavoured. We鈥檇 long been in search of sherbet which was drunk widely in Evliya鈥檚 time but is now a traditional novelty, largely reserved for occasions such as weddings and rarely available at restaurants. The town was alive with activity due to the Besiktas vs. Galatasaray game, and felt a lot more relaxed than Erzurum – which has a reputation as a conservative city.

29 September – Kars to Arpa莽ay via Ani (120 km / +1,254 m cycled)

We woke early to take a look at Kars鈥� castle. The architectural legacy of the city鈥檚 1978-1920 occupation by Russia was clear: the grid-based city planning and the dark stone buildings combined with bright skies and early morning chill to make us feel as though we were somewhere else entirely – perhaps a small town in Poland. Evliya wrote how the castle lacked in Islamic infrastructure such as 鈥榟ouses for reading of the Kor谩n or tradition鈥�; and said nothing about its position so close to Ani, formerly an important stop on the Silk Road. This position however is hinted at by his mention of 鈥榯wo hundred shops in which Indian and Persian wares are found.鈥�

We rode on to Ani – the large ruined city we had been looking forward to seeing since we began planning this tour. Evliya in fact had little to say about Ani but its historiography has since become laden with meaning, and the 10th century city on the Armenian border felt a good place to end our travels following Evliya. The site is now in Turkey, and looks out across a deep gorge (that made it so strategically powerful) to Armenia鈥檚 fences and watch-towers. It seems appropriate that Ani鈥檚 11th century bridge across the river is completely collapsed, given the Turkish border with Armenia has been closed since 1993. The site itself poses a problem for Turkish identity, as a powerful reminder of its diverse and contested history 鈥� Watenpaugh (2014) points to 鈥榓 telling irony: An谋 (with an undotted i) means 鈥渕emory鈥� in Turkish鈥� and 鈥榯he name change, the avoidance of the word 鈥淎rmenian鈥� in site interpretation, and the minimizing or erasure of the Armenian layer of Anatolian history contribute to a lacerating silence鈥�. Indeed, we read a few weeks before we arrived that the Turkish army had began patrolling the site once again in order to prevent intruders from flying the Armenian flag.

The Turkish and Armenian historiographies of the site are thus polarized and incompatible even to this day: Armenian authorities maintain that the Turkish government has deliberately underfunded Ani鈥檚 conservation, while the Turkish authorities accuse the Armenian quarry across the gorge of contributing to the site鈥檚 deterioration. It is notable that for Evliya the site presented problems also: despite being the largest ruins on his route in Turkey, and having undeniably important military and Christian ruins – frescoes and gigantic defensive walls remarkably intact even now – he talks only of 鈥榯he castle of Ana on a hill, a square mud castle, built by N煤shirv谩n, the inhabitants are Armenians鈥�. Just as Turkish authorities now erase the Armenian history of Ani, so Evliya brushes over this Christian site in his account that cares much more about Islamic learning and monuments. The continuity of erasure here is a striking example of the way selective memory molds places.

We recommend visiting the site – the verticality and intricacy of the ecclesiastical architecture foreshadows the Gothic movement that followed it three hundred years later, and the site itself is so huge that it cannot fail to impress – bounded on three sides by a deep scenic gorge, and protect by huge walls.

Interestingly, on the roads near Ani we saw the kind of houses that Evliya had recorded in Erzurum: 鈥榯he houses are built of stone; most of them are only one story high, because the air is sharp and the winter severe鈥� – presumably surviving in rural areas for the same reason.

After a fast afternoon鈥檚 ride across flat agricultural plains, through old stone villages and by the occasional military base or Russian-style ruin, we reached the destination of Arpa莽ay. This highway town鈥檚 only marked hotel was an Ogretmenevi which turned out to be full, so we were delighted to find an extremely cheap room above a 莽ay house despite its black mould and filthy shared bathroom. For dinner we ate at the only open restaurant in town and ate the only item it served: barbequed poultry of some kind with lemon and bread 鈥� just what we needed.

30 September – Arpa莽ay to Abastumani, ft. a taxi (84km聽 / +1,426 m cycled)

Our final day in Turkey was our coldest, and delivered yet another change of scenery, taking us by a beautiful high lake cast in a bright wintry light which reminded us of Scotland. We had hearty bean stew in bustling 脟谋ld谋r, and considering our slow progress in the face of a major headwind and Isobel鈥檚 post-viral throat infection, resolved to skip the highway we had planned to ride. Finding no buses, and no luck hitchhiking, we took a cheap taxi to Posof.

Having made the most of my last opportunity to have a Turkish shave in Posof, we cycled on through autumnal colour to the Georgian border. After a border crossing complete with a mislaid passport scare, we promptly got very lost on abysmal trails, but managed to reach Abustamani where we planned to stay that night. We were struck by the amount of older residential buildings聽 just over the border in Georgia.聽 Georgian dogs were more aggressive, and the drivers much worse, so we didn鈥檛 regret that we only had a full days riding there.

Nestled at the foot of the mountains of Borjomi National Park, the former spa town of Abastumani was beautiful, but lacked a cash point and turkish mobile signal, depriving us of Google Translate. Here, Isobel鈥檚 very basic Georgian and her emergency $100 bill saved the day, and we were able to once again share a meal and hotel with the local road workers.

1 October – Abastumani to Kutaisi (99 km / +1,880 m cycled)

Our last day鈥檚 riding entailed a 1200 metre morning climb, then a lengthy descent down to Georgia鈥檚 central valley and into Kutaisi. Under perfectly clear skies, it delivered brilliant views across to the Caucasus, and we were finally fit enough that the climb was more fun than suffering.聽 It was also a pleasure to do the pass while it was still unpaved; with a new resort hotel in the works, it won鈥檛 be for long. The straight two lane roads that led into Kutaisi lacked a good shoulder, and drivers frequently overtook into oncoming traffic, forcing the traffic 3 cars wide. Frequent roadside memorials, and a lack of bumpers on at least half the cars suggested this kind of driving is not without consequence.聽 On arrival in Kutaisi we enjoyed our first beer in two weeks, beautiful ancient monuments,聽 enormous servings of rich Georgian cuisine, and the satisfaction of having arrived.

Conclusions

We of course travelled very differently from Evliya: while we were two students unobtrusively arriving in cities by bike, Evliya went with a huge caravan containing dignitaries, valuable goods, and armed men. Evliya wrote of his travelling group that: 鈥榓s the procession drew near Erzer煤m, the fortress began to salute by firing the great guns from the highest tower, called Kessik Kala鈥櫭�, as a sel谩m aleikum, after which the Janissaries fired the guns of the inner castle, and so continued during the procession鈥�. Thus we had intimacy with our environment in a very different way from Evliya – while his language and social standing permitted him to meet and talk to w182t福利ver he wanted, wherever he went, our lack of Turkish put limited depth of conversation, and who we met was largely down to chance. An enjoyable aspect of cycle touring, however, is that it makes us uniquely vulnerable and accessible as tourists. Local people frequently approached us out of curiosity, allowing us closer proximity to a place, and enabling us to trust and relate to them. While Evliya was essentially self-sufficient, we were always reliant on other people for food and accomodation.

Unlike Evliya we are Western tourists, and Turkish people seemed mostly eager to make sure we liked their city of region, biasing our interactions. Our route also immersed us in nature, and we were always preoccupied with topography; Evliya talked rarely of the landscapes he saw, while for us these were the main event most days, and the bicycle offers a perfect pace to observe subtle changes in environment – flora; buildings; animals – between one valley and the next.

The main conclusion we鈥檝e drawn from 鈥榯ravelling with Evliya鈥� is that a country鈥檚 collective memory is carefully selective, and influences the way history is spatialized. Evliya breezed over Christian places – most notably Ani – in his accounts, focusing instead on meticulously recording the pious infrastructure towns did or did not have; a reflection of his own piety and the social context. To us, when history manifested Turkish public spaces, it often seemed to begin with Modern Turkey and the founding of the Republic: its flag omnipresent and Atat眉rk something of an icon. In multiple places, a house in which Atat眉rk had (however briefly) once lived had become the primary tourist attraction.聽 Features and historical figures that undermine or predate Turkish unity are somewhat overwhelmed by the promotion of an imagined, united Turkey. Still, beautiful ancient mosques remain, and the folk tales and myths retold by Evliya are still retold, such as the one of Amasya鈥檚 creation – pointing to a continuity of folk tales鈥� importance in the imagining of place. Aspects of place which are more naturally than socially constructed tended to appear pleasingly durable; the fruit a region produces, and the way a microclimate shapes the way of life, for example.

French historian Ernest Renan famously argued in 1882 that, as well as memory, 鈥楩orgetfulness, and I would even say historical error, are essential in the creation of a nation”: this appears to be as true for Evliya as it was for post-Revolutionary France, and Turkey today. Though this is perhaps universally applicable, considering Evliya鈥檚 travels as we explored Turkey made this clear to us, and inescapable – even as President Erdo臒an himself seeks to mould what is remembered and forgotten.

We look forward to sharing these roads in more detail with the gravel cycling community. We enjoyed reflecting on these experiences, and appreciated having an impetus to put them into writing, so that we may continue to look back on them for years to come. The RSMF鈥檚 aim to inspire an interest in Turkey was certainly met for both us, and we flew 182t福利 with great affection for Turkey鈥檚 people and culture, and a desire to return.

Some Tips for future Short travelers:

– Stay in 脰臒retmenevis. They are cheap, clean, and ubiquitous; a bit like YHAs, though not listed on booking sites

– Bear in mind that poor road surfaces like gravel will slow you down when planning to travel by bike, car or minibus into the mountains

– Bear in mind that many amenities outside of major cities will not be clear on maps or listed online. When they are, Google reviews are often too few to be useful; ask locals. We found some of our best meals this way.

– Try the soups and stews available at buffets! They tend to look less appealing than a kebab, but are always delicious.

– Always have your passport accessible for police checks

– Download a VPN application on your phone or laptop, or search 鈥榠pfs wikipedia鈥� to avoid the Turkish Wikipedia ban

– Bring a small water filter in areas where tap water is undrinkable. This is particularly useful when hiking or cycling, but also reduces plastic consumption and gives you the freedom to travel anywhere without worrying whether there will be bottled water available.

Duzgunes, E. and Sarac, E. (2018) 鈥楨valuation of urban transformation areas in terms of user satisfaction: the case study of Zagnos Valley (Trabzon/Turkey)鈥�, Environmental Monitoring and Assessment, 190(1). doi: 10.1007/s10661-017-6381-9.

Basa, 陌. (2016) 鈥楶roducing Representational Spaces for the Republican Memory in Samsun, Turkey鈥�, Turkish Historical Review, 7(1), pp. 1鈥�32. doi: 10.1163/18775462-00701001.

G眉nero冒lu, N. and Bekar, M. (2019) 鈥楨nhancing Environmental Quality of Cities Using Landscape Transformation Projects鈥�, Polish Journal of Environmental Studies, 28(6), pp. 4171鈥�4181. doi: 10.15244/pjoes/98987.

Heghnar Zeitlian Watenpaugh (2014) 鈥楶reserving the Medieval City of Ani鈥�: Cultural Heritage between Contest and Reconciliation鈥�, Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, 73(4), p. 528. doi: 10.1525/jsah.2014.73.4.528.

You can read Piers and Isobel’s travel journal with many more incredible pictures as a .

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Published: 12 December 2019

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