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Published: August 14th 2010
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The Boys from Istanbul
A last photo post wedding before hitting the 2,200km ride back As they used to say of the roach motel “you can check in but you cant check out.” In Istanbul it seems it is easier to check out than check in. After a few days to orient myself to the place and the fact my sister lives in the western suburbs and I was heading west, it was a breeze compared to the arrival nightmare. So I was off across the peninsula that effectively connects Europe to Asia in the south. The waters of the Sea of Marmara were off to the left. Almost an inland sea it connects to the Agean Sea which then connects to the Mediteranean. I never did (or have) seen the Black Sea which was somewhere off to the right and somehow registers as a big disappointment. Don’t ask me why. The wind seems to blow hard and hot here. There are those unexpected gusts that wake a long distance motorcyclist from the daydream that Ewan McGregor has invited him on this next “Long Way …” trip as you suddenly start to wobble at high speed.
The bike temperature gauge measuring the ambient temperature registered between 38 and 42 Centigrade throughout today and I am
on my 3rd beer this evening to compensate for fluid loss. Back at the border (this is the only part of the trip where I retrace my steps) the queues were horrendous. Turkey’s failure to get into the EU thus far leads to all sorts of frustrations. I started politely, but then used the space between lanes to reduce my wait from 4+ hours to about two. The main holdup was the Bulgarian customs looking for drugs etc. They just waved me through with a grunt preferring to search the Porsche Cayenne with the stunning Turkish looking woman. A knackered professor with rivets of sweat pouring down his face and two panniers was no match.
Chatted with a Bulgarian gas station attendant when I parked near his Yamaha 400 cc to ingest my Bulgarian ice cream (Turkish ice cream is much better). He had been everywhere on the thing, Italy, Greece, fishing and hunting (sounded like while riding the way he described it). Made me feel like one of those people who think camping takes place in a $50,000 Winnebago. Rushed on when he wanted to ride the BMW and tried to forget that I am doing this trip on
one of the world’s great motorcycles. It is just as hot on the BMW so there.
While fear of Islam or some such nonsense might keep Turkey out of the EU for now, whatever the politicians might think the people are preparing for the day by building a better road down to the Turkish border from the capital Sophia. That is the good news; the bad news is it is not yet done. At one point a clutch of German cars and I were cast into a five way junction with just Cyrillic signs. With our collective GPS’s fighting for that satellite bandwidth we were all cast in different directions as if bits of shrapnel leaving an explosion on the A1.
Back on the right road it was a pleasant ride with the Rhodope Mountains on the distant left in the haze as a constant reminder through the afternoon that I was at least going in the correct direction. More fertile here. Rich black soil and lots of different vegetables growing. Occasionally got that whiff of Mother Nature at its best - the mixed smells of rapid summer growth amidst rotting of older vegetation. Sounds like life itself. My life as a brussel sprout I was thinking - must be the heat. Later in the afternoon the Rhodope Mountains joins a spur of the Pirin Mountains in southern Bulgaria. The highest peak is about 6000 feet but my guess is we did no go higher that 3000, but it was refreshingly cooler with the smell of pine. Finally we wound our way out with Sofia nestled at the base. The trusty GPS found me a cheap Best Western and I had three beers to deal with hydration. I new I had it since I had not been to the loo since Istanbul - Istanbul to Sofia without passing water once.
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