From Iskilip, we have cycled to Corum, well known for its Leblebi, roasted chickpeas, sometimes with a sugar coating. We had plenty of opportunities to buy a nice selection of them, but since it was 2 hours before nightfall and we had an immense headwind, we decided to move on quickly, to find a place to stay. Good thinking, as it turned out, for the road was going up as well, right after Corum. In addition to that, it turned out there weren't any empty places next to it. There were picnics, restaurants, police stations, gas stations, derelict houses, more gas stations.....wait. Derelict houses. It was a completely ridiculous idea to camp in a place, probably owned by someone, around the corner of a police station and perhaps a place where people would come at odd times to do dealings we don't want to know about. But at that moment, it seemed to be the best option we had to find a place out of sight and with some more or less flat ground. And so we camped in between the former living area of people we'll never know. The next day we found that it was indeed the best option, for the road went on without good camping spots for quite some time afterwards.

We had traveled the route to Iskilip, not because it was shorter or quicker, but because it would be less busy and probably more beautiful. And it was, so we were glad. But, beauty comes at cost, everywhere, anytime. It took us longer than the normal route would have taken us, thus, to make up some time, we decided to move to Amasya and from there on take a train to Sivas. The way to Sivas did not offer many options to derivate from the big road, so we thought we would not miss too much in this way. On the way to Amasya, we encountered two French men, 50+, traveling across the borders of the old Roman Empire. Besides this idea appealing to me, being schooled in Latin and ancient Greek, their bikes also made me think back to the times when I was still cycling on minimum budget. They weren't, for they stayed at hotels, but they had no front baggage and thin wheels and tires. It's much faster, but breaks down a lot more. Still, that day, on downhill parts, I wished I was packed like them again. The smallest of them will probably have weighed 30 kg less than Marius and I - bike included - but went much faster nonetheless. We rode most of the way to Amasya together with them, until we had to stop for a late lunch break. We agreed to meet them again that evening in Amasya, and so we did. Turned out the place they had recommended to us was already full, and we had to look for something on our own. So, we split again, leaving them to their (in our opinion ridiculous) quest for spaghetti, and us to a quest for a cheap hotel. We found one where a man also spoke quite some English, and could immediately help us with information about the train to Sivas. Bicycles could come with us, as long as the crew on the train would agree they would fit.

So, we went to the train station the next morning, and immediately found someone who told us the bicycles would indeed fit. To be sure, they called the train, which also agreed there would be space. Woe was the man selling the tickets, for he did not believe it. Instead, he decided we should wait until the train arrived, try to get the bicycles in, and if everything was ok, buy the tickets then. It would have been no problem if the train would not have been in a hurry. And it would still have been fine if this overly zealous officer would not have decided at the last moment that the bicycles also had to buy a ticket. We bought 8 tickets then, being in a hurry and unable to argue in Turkish. And the man on the train only stamped 4 of them. He was in a total confusion when we showed the other 4....what on earth would we need those for? Well, we didn't know either. Campfires perhaps.

The trip in the train was very nice, especially since the train did not follow the big roads, but had a separate track through the mountains. And when we arrived in Sivas, we were a bit rested too. Not rested enough to distinguish north from south though. We went completely the wrong way at first. Luckily, we realised it before we were out of the city, and turned around. Once out of the city, we quickly looked for a place to stay, especially with the bad weather that seemed to be coming our way. It was easily found, out of sight and with pretty flat ground. And lots of mosquitoes. We were too stubborn to put any deet on, and therefore ended up with bites all over. I tried to write something there, but couldn't focus at all. Bzzz, bzzzz, bzzzz. I must have killed over 50 of them that evening.

That night, we had quite some thunder, lightning and rain. No worries, we were in tents and in a pretty safe location, so I slept well. But when we got up, our bikes were covered with sand. Why, we didn't really know, but it must have come from the rain, there was no other option. And quickly during that day, we saw why. Not only was it still raining a bit every now and then, the clouds, the whole sky, was red. Not grey, red. As we heard only three days ago, this sand originated from the area around Tabriz, Iran, and made it all the way to Sivas. It's really an amazing thing to experience, though a bit frightful as well when the lightning starts to get closer than you want.

Underway, we stopped in a village of less than 4000 inhabitants, Ulas, (they handily show you the city/village population on the signs) for some shopping. Of course, we were invited for tea a couple of times, and accepted one offer. It was a guy who had had a girlfriend in NL for almost 5 years. Amazing to find such a person in so small a village. But when we left, and started telling each other what we heard from all these people who wanted to talk to us, we had to conclude that there were at least 5 persons there with direct connections to the Netherlands. How, I still don't know. It was all a different connection. One had worked there for 10 years, another had a wife there, the brother of someone was studying in Den Haag and the last one had worked in the fish industry for a while. 5 out of the 20 we spoke to, at least 5 out of 4000 people with direct connections to our country. The world truly is a small place.

After having done the necessary shopping, we decided to try a shortcut, and immediately find out how good the smaller white roads on our map were. Someone had told us it was tarmac, so we thought it would be fine. Apparently we went left a couple of hundred meters too early. We ended up on dirt roads and with the signs lacking, we decided to take the bigger road all the time. Which was a mistake. We ended up in the middle of nowhere, according to our map at least. Lucky for us, a Turkish guy from Germany was in Turkey for two weeks, visiting his father. He quickly showed us to his father's house, invited us to eat something, and then showed us which road we should take to get to Kangal. Turn right at the big factory, otherwise just go straight. Easy enough, but we went the wrong way three more times after that. Without signs or a detailed map, mountain roads can be pretty confusing. In the end, we went up a pass, quite steep, quite higher than the pass the main road would have used, and of course, dirt road. It was a heavy climb, but one with a big reward: snow. We ended up cycling next to a piece of snow for the first time this trip. Also, besides being difficult and unforgiving, the road was extraordinarily beautiful. And worth a notice: we were most likely the first cyclists ever to have done that pass. If about 2 cars pass each day, not many cyclists can have gone there. At the top, there were signs pointing right and signs pointing back. Back was not an option, so we went right and encountered a beautiful lake at which we camped. One of the many beautiful mistakes we had made that day, for the lake was very close to a factory around the corner, which apparently only operated at night. And the sign had obviously pointed to the factory, and nothing else, so the next day we had to turn around and find our way out of the mountains once more. Getting lost in Turkey, as we experienced, is darn easy.

We made our way to Kangal through some heavy headwind, did some extra shopping, and went on towards Divrigi. This town was supposed to contain a beautiful mosque, and lucky for us, was right on route to Erzincan. We passed through it the next day, and could conclude the students who told us about the mosque had not lied to us. It was old, richly decorated and simply very impressive. If only I could remember the name....

Divrigi itself turned out to be quite small a city, and the route we had planned towards Erzincan non-existing according to the inhabitants. There was another way however, a bit north of Divrigi, so we headed north. The whole problem with the route was the color on our map. White once more. Our previous experience with these roads had given us a fair warning about how much to trust the advice of locals concerning these routes. We were skeptical, but at the point where we were supposed to turn right, relieve came. The sign had one very nice name: Erzincan. So, we tried the white road once more, and this time with better luck. It was a beautiful road through many mountains, ending up between two ranges with mountains over 3000 meter. It was also quite a hard road for us, since we did 1700 altitude meters on the first day, and over 2000 on the second. After that, it was over with the severe climbing, and we arrived quickly at Erzincan, to take another train. Our entire getting lost story, and the hard roads to Erzincan had made us quite a bit slower than our schedule, and we had done as many km anyway. The train from Erzincan to Erzurum was a relief, since we were allowed to put our bicycles in the luggage car for the grand price of 2,5 euro per bicycle. The only thing that did slightly bother us was the top altitude on our route from Sivas to Erzincan. We had been above 1800 meter many times, even to 1970 meter. But we hadn't topped the 2k yet. Such a shame.

So far for chronological stuff. It must have bored you quite some by now. Luckily, there are some other things to tell as well. I'm not sure how much we've written about this, but an important part in our adventures is played by dogs. Or doglike beings, as I'd call some of them. From Romania on, we have seen dogs, and have been bothered by them. Martijn has brought a device which produces a high-pitched sound that most of us cannot hear. But the dogs can, and find it very annoying. It stops most of them. But, one dog buzzer for 4 people isn't that much, especially with a range of about 5 meter. So, Marius took some rocks with him in Romania and Bulgaria, which he could throw at the dogs. Not so much to hurt them, but more to distract them. And it worked quite a bit. But not enough, which made us decide to buy a small can of pepper spray for Aafke as well. Looking back now, there are two kinds of dogs on the road. The ones with a home, and the ones without. Let's start with the ones without a home.

Everywhere in Romania, Bulgaria and Turkey you can find dogs roaming the land. They wander around, lots of times at the main road, looking for some food. They are mostly harmless since they have nothing to defend. They just want food and they know they cannot eat you. So they beg or run away. One of them thought it was a good idea to follow us while we were cycling in Bulgaria, to see if we would throw him something. It was quite a miserable dog, but if we would be feeding all dogs we had seen, we wouldn't have had any food left for us. And the dogs would still be hungry. So we ignored it and rode on. Then, a car came, right when the dog thought it a good time to cross the street. It was hit by the car at at least 30 km per hour, which could be pretty fatal I'd guess. Instead, the dog rolled over the road, right in front of our wheels, ended up at the side of the road, got up, and simply continued running next to us for at least 1 kilometer. We were completely shocked, awed and amazed. These creatures are used to so much trouble that they just ignore any bad things that happen.

The dogs with a home are the trouble for us. They know cars by know and just bark at them. But bicycles are something completely different, obviously. So, they bark, bark some more, and then start running after you. At first, we thought the solution would be just to kick them if they got too close. But this proves to be quite an adrenaline-boost, and if they run after you 10 times a day you're certainly going to be a wreck in the evening. So, the new method was to just accelerate when they came after me, and it seemed to be working most of the time. They would recognize the effort of running away from them and be somewhat satisfied with it. But what now, if they are already waiting for you on the road? You can't accelerate into them, that's just stupid. One time when this happened, a car slowed down next to me and guided me past the dog. Thanks a lot to this smart man driving it. Another time a few trucks made such a noise that the dogs got off the road immediately. But when no one is near, and multiple dogs are coming for you, it turns into a different situation. The solution, in the end, is quite simple. Walk. If you walk your way towards the dogs, at a respectful distance from their house but still on the road, they recognize you as humans and non-threatening. They will watch you, perhaps follow you and a very zealous guard may bark. But they won't attack you. We already thought this might work long before, but just before Kangal we finally tried it. Kangal is famous for its dogs. Large, friendly, creamy white dogs, very good guards too. Just not always friendly to cyclists, and since they are very big, quite the scare to cyclists too. At one point a group of 5 of these dogs came running towards us, and we decided to stop and start walking. One dog is ok, two manageable, five is just crazy. They left us in peace, and after passing the house, we could continue riding towards Kangal.

Now, in Iran and also from the eastern borders of Turkey on, there have been no dogs barking at us, let alone running after us. I think they aren't so much of a problem here, so that saves us some trouble.

Oh, and another doglike creature I hadn't mentioned yet: wolves. One night, in western Turkey, we were surrounded by them, and twice that night we heard them howling. Quite an experience. It isn't so much frightening as it is special. Wolves are known for their evasiveness when it comes to humans. They don't attack them, and if possible don't even come near. One had apparently forgotten this rule, for a few days afterwards we saw one walking in the forests next to the road. Contrary to all the wild dogs, the wolf was easily recognized as it looked very healthy. And grey, of course. We couldn't take a picture, but I'm really glad to have seen such an animal in the wild. Martijn told us that in all his survival days in Canada, surrounded by wolves, he had never seen one.

Another thing to mention about our travels, another really important thing, is toilets. They come in all varieties now. With paper, without. With a possibility to flush or even without. Squatting and ‘normal' toilets. Plastic seats, foam seats, no seat at all, clean, dirty, somewhere in between, with a sink, with soap, without sink and without soap, with the option to have soap but it looks like it's never been used.....anything is possible. The general truth is that western toilets are getting really scarce once you pass Istanbul. And here in Iran, I've only seen three. Two at the house we're staying, owned by a german woman and an Iranian man, and one in a large public toilet, where I judged it better for my health to just use the squatting toilet instead. Ever since we left Istanbul, the toilet paper we carried with us for use in the wilderness has become important for the civilized areas as well. Many hotels don't add toilet paper to the room, even when they do add shampoo, soap and towels. Even when they have built a place to hang it, they don't give you toilet paper. Apparently they don't really need it or something. But we feel cleaner having it with us.

Now we heard there's another thing about toilets. Or maybe more about houses. In Iran, you're not supposed to wear your shoes in your house, or in someone else's house. This is a rule in many countries, and it makes perfect sense too. It saves a lot of cleaning time. But the worst thing you could do is not wearing shoes in someone's house. This is a bad thing to do, but it will be forgiven many times apparently. The worst thing to do would be to wear your shoes to the toilet, and come back with them. Having done that, Iranians would need to clean their house with running water, three times over. Everywhere you have set your shoes after that would need disinfection and a lot of water. Perhaps some perfume too. Even if it was a carpet, they will clean it with water. So, we'd better not do this I guess. And the funny contrast is with the things outdoors. When a place is not a house, it can be as dirty as people please. And the Iranians don't seem to care at all. The public toilets are so dirty that you just have to wear shoes there. But in your house, everything has to be as clean as possible. And cleaner.

By the way, this part was written in Iran, thus it is a bit ahead of the title.

Until the next writing

Douwe