capitulo dos

Chapter Two.
Because it does feel that way...
Behind are the rides next to the sea, behind are rides crossing valleys, and those endless up and down the mountains. It feels like i went up a mountain a few days ago and have stayed there since. The embrace of this mountain - embrace, warmth and kindness - have taken me to the highlands, a huge plateau broken at times by rivers and gorges.....
Another way of looking at this is to say I've gone from Tantuni, Adana Kebap, Kunefe and Bici Bici to Baklava, Katmer, Urfa Kebap and Cig Kofte ... different ways of saying the same thing ;)

The "choice of one road" while riding, the one road choice going West to East has broken into many choices, many of little roads, much like a vein going across the body: from a big one, a smaller one to another smaller one to then 10thousand of mini ones.
And that way, from small to smaller, I ride from village to village.
Waving at each smile, marvelled at the sight of fruit and the sound of birds.

I can ride no more than an hour before someone stops me to invite me for tea :)  and then puts a bag of pistachos in my pockets :D

and the roads goes along crops as it turns and whirls....
reds and whites and greens and yellows... all together for a symphony of food...

and I ride high into a mountain... and stay there when the lights go out....

to then come down and find a beautiful jewel of a city






and riding into a city is now almost a historical experience. The doors of Mesopotamia in front of me, crossing the Euphrates by boat and then plunging in it as they did 5000 years ago....
Just like 5000 years ago, I'm also looking for something to trade. Even if a smile or a story.
Or a pair of shoes :)






In the cities, the streets are narrow. Small hills make getting lost an exciting experience. Lime colours reflecting the sunlight, small drains that carry rain water that hasnt come in months...


while other cities are sand everywhere, sand dunes covering the first university in the world....


 Mosques semisubmergeed in water, cities almost forgotten by time, sunrises with not one around to see them, and even wildlife trying to cross the roads...

The (new) experience continues....

Tahtalı

y tenemos nosotros los ciclistas estrategias para cuando pedaleamos. Sobretodo para cuando pedaleamos cuesta arriba. Saben, esas cuestas que cuestan pues no importa ni cuanto ni que tan fuerte se pedalee, la cuesta sigue igual. Nada cambia, ni el panorama ni la vista, solo el sudor que se acumula..
y eso, psicológicamente, mata...

Y para no pensar en ello, hay algún ciclista que canta, otro que pone música, uno otro pone música mientras canta, alguno más se distrae en la anticipación de la dulce cuesta abajo, y nunca falta alguno que trate de resolver problemas serios en su cabeza (como reducir el calentamiento global o como deshacerse de Mc Donald´s)...

yo me distraigo pensando en comida...

aquella probada y aquella otra por probar...
esa que se probó en tal o cual sitio. Y así, me lleva al sitio, a pesar en con quien comí la comida, que se hizo después, con quien se bailó para celebrarla, en fin, una buena comida :) 

Pero hoy, la subida mas que llevarme a algún lugar, me lleva a algún tiempo...

Dejando Fethiye y Kas atrás, a las espaldas de la sinuosa y aparentemente infinita rampa que sale de Cavuskoy y trepa hacia Ciralis se encuentra Tahtali Dagi, el Monte Olimpo.  Aquella montaña en cuya cima se hallaba el Panteón de los Dioses, el lugar preferido para que con sus hijos, y con nosotros también, Papá Zeus juegue. O por lo menos así me lo describía mi abuelo.

¡Cuantas historias oí creciendo!

cuantas leyendas adornaban mis juegos de niños: las hazañas de Hércules, los amoríos de Afrodita, el encimamiento de los dioses contra Jason, y otras más. Pero la palabra Olimpo trae un recuerdo aún más latente a la mente. Me trae ese recuerdo de la historia que contaba el Cachito cada vez que venia el Tio Giusti a casa:

"¡Anda saluda al 'Olimpico', no seas malcriado!" y así empezaba la historia....

corría el '36 y con Hitler a la cabeza, Berlin organizaba los juegos Olímpicos. Perú también asistió.
"Que delegación teniamos! uy, si la hubieras visto! teniamos de todo, basket, futbol, voley, karate, tiro, judo, y de los buenos, no como de los ahora q no se entregan...." y de verdad parecía ser una buena delegación pues en varias preliminares se ganó y hasta a Austria le dimos en basketball, pero eso "al Kaiser no le cuadro para nada"...
....y luego cobrara nuevos aires la historia, pues levantado la voz "¡imaginate! ¡nos hicieron repetir el partido!! pero para mostrarle quien es quien, ¡fuacatán! les ganamos de nuevo, pero luego, el muy concha de Hitler (esa palabrita si me la recuerdo clarito) pidió repetir el partido una vez mas, ah no! eso si que no. Tampoco es para que nos traten de mamertos. Así que alguien se puso los pantalones en la delegación y ordenó la retirada, sí, ¡la retirada de todos!. Toda la delegación se retiro, no importaba que el voley había ya entrado a los cuartos de final, todititos nos fuimos..."

y a ese punto empezaba la subidita de tono, y tambien de color, seguidito de "traele su gaseosa al Olimpico de Berlin!..." ... ah, que dias aquellos....

A pesar de haber oído esta historia tantas veces, difícil fue todo esto recordar. La memoria no me ayudaba. Pensé chequear los datos en la internet y así ayudarme a recordar. Pero desistí. La historia de datos y hechos no es la que me importa. La historia que me importa es la que me contaba mi abuelo, pues a veces no son los hechos los que hacen la historia, son los recuerdos los que la hacen.....

y hoy los recuerdo a los dos, al Cachito y al Olimpico, como siempre, sonriendo....

comida 1

which peruvian, proud to be called so, can disassociate names of cities with the names of their traditional dishes?
How could one hear Arequipa without inmediately thinking of a nice rocoto relleno or a cuy chactao? or if passing by Tumbes, not yearn for a taste of conchas negras? o la rica selva con su tacacho y su cecina mmmmm
desde ya, se me hace agua la boca
....
.....
Turkey, this beautiful land I have the pleasure to be travelling through at the moment, is no different.
Different areas mean different exquisite dishes.
And being the good Turk I pride myself in being, I've made it my mission to try and sample them all :)
I find myself in Mersin today and Mersin is known for its Tantuni, but fate, being the jokester she is, will have me spending my afternoons around a different type of dish. A tad sweeter.




Fate dropped me off in an ice cream shop one afternoon and then, she turned around and left.
Mustafa picked me up from there...
He sat me down, gave me a piece of baclava, then some icream and then the conversation started. A person that loves his job is so difficult to find but, when found, it is so refreshing to talk to.
It was a pleasure almost as big as the pleasure of eating his ice cream... To tour his shop, to hear him talk about ingredients, and fruits, and freshness, and and and and ... just to watch him talk drew a smile on my face...

and made me go back later.
and then the following day :)

I wouldn't have guessed this area was so sweet ..... bici bici? Karsanbac? anyone?

matricidio dos

After a long ride, the plan is to find a good place to sleep and start again early the following morning...
but if you want to make Bhagawan laugh, tell him your plans....

 19:30 and the sun start setting. A beach a few kilometers off the road seems like the ideal place to set camp: a long sandy beach, a grassy area right next to the sand with some benches and even gazebos around it. Truly ideal.... ideal for a wedding as well...

Sound precedes sight: tires screeching and loud horn noises let us know the couple is coming...
then sight: a long procession of cars with headlights flashing come towards us, and then, from the front vehicle, a big as ever white dress steps out...
and sound again: claps, cheers and screams complete the scene: the couple has arrived! and with everybody here we can all run (or not) to our places:
me, an observer and not a guest tonight, sit right accross from them. To my left, a sea that starts getting darker, to my right an (almost) full moon that has started peaking in. Them too, sea and moon, enjoy the view as observers...
Bride and groom move to the centre of a circle made by chairs, close family and friends walking around them, throwing petals and papers, photographers encircling every time closer with flash after flash. In a bigger circle, outside that one made by the chairs, children run...


Change of music, change of scene.
The couple sits down and young men step in to dance to their choreographic moves. Someone brings fruit to the couple, children break into two, the ones running around the ones crowding the ice cream lady....

New song, new scene. It's the ladies turn now to move into the dance floor. All of them at once, old and young, with the old ones barely moving and the little ones bouncing in place. The young men congratulate the couple. All the children crowd now the ice cream lady.
Some older men, seeing their chance, inconspicously move to a place out of the circle, and almost in darkness ,they chat.
The couple dances now and will keep on doing it till they can no more...
2 am now. Journalist duties completed, I make way for my tent.
Bhagawan keeps on laughing