I left Istanbul on 23 Nov. Rode to the ferry at Pendick. Crossed over to Yalova. Rode to Cinarcik.
The ride to Pendick was my first day of riding with Loretta fully loaded. Last time she had all her bags on and I was going more than thirty miles was back in Northern Ireland in September. The route to the ferry was the same one I took a couple times to get to the islands so I was mostly familiar with it. I knew parts of it would be hell. Maps.me takes me on mostly bike friendly routes but sometimes there is no alternative but to stick me on the roads with traffic. After being here for nearly a month now I am perplexed at how generally cool the people are versus this absolute deathrace approach to motor vehicle management. I mean, I know I'm an oddity. I've seen not one other female cyclist. Certainly none in spandex with a half shaved head sporting a ballcap with a skull on it. People look when I ride past. I smile, wave, and generally they smile in return. Just about always, everyone: old men, young men, old women, teenagers, groups of youngsters. Lately I say merhaba (hello). And the kindness shown to the dog and cat populations says a lot.
So what happens when a Turk gets behind the wheel of an automobile? Where does the nice animal-loving, bike-freak-tolerating person go?
No idea.
Anyway.
At the ferry ticket counter in Pendick the agent asked me for my phone number. I provided my U.S. number. No, he gestured, a Turkish number. I haven't a Turkish number. You must have a Turkish number to buy a ticket.
Fuck!
Normally I would remain calm but after the debacle with KLM in LA I now know that the worst can happen. And the worst here is that I miss this ferry, have to buy a spendy hotel room in Pendick and in the morning get a TK SIM card. I thought for a minute. I showed him the WhatsApp number on my phone of the hotel staffer who texted earlier welcoming me. Can I use this one? He inputted the number and I got my ticket. Damn that was a close one. I now know that outside if Istanbul proper, one needs a TK phone number. Heres why: all tickets are sent to ones mobile phone. The QR code is scanned in lieu of a paper ticket. In my case I just show a receipt. Combined with my Aw Shucks Will This Do? bumbly demeanor and American accent I get through.
Arrived in Yalova around dark, 6ish. On a map, Cinarcik, where my hotel was located, appeared to be a resort area with no market outside of a corner store so I stocked up on provisions in Yalova thereby adding as much to my bike and backpack as I could without falling over. It was a simple enough ride to the hotel.
On a map.
In practice if it wasn't for the Antabuse I would have pulled over at the first opportunity after the first of the hill upon a hill on top of a blind turn with another fucking hill on it in the dark to buy and guzzle half a bottle of red. I was crying inside. I had to get off and push Loretta up a few times.
By the time I arrived I just wanted to unpack, unload, and be alone. But the main ambassador of the hotel staff insisted on walking me to my room, carrying my bags and asking for the x time if there was anything else I needed.
They upgraded my single budget room to a two BD 2 BA suite with a terrace for it being my first trip to Turkey. I suspect it was also cos I was the only one in the hotel, from what I could tell. Anyway after two weeks in a hostel bunk it was fucking paradise.
I stayed five nights in Cinarcik. Oh, and there were supermarkets every three blocks. I just hadn't zoomed in close enough on either map program it seems.
The pics below are the ride to and then a collection of rides I took hither and yon in and around Cinarcik.
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I stopped to photograph the kittens playing in the rocks and this cat totally hijacks my shit.
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