'Istanbul (not Constantinople)'
Nov 1st Turkey!
302km 41'00.420,28'58.874 The young soldier from the Grecian army gives me a friendly smile and wave as I leave Greece and enter into no-mans land, basically a bridge across a river. The Turkish border formalities take only an hour including having to go back to customs to get an extra stamp they 'forgot' to include in my passport. Whether this was just to make me run around or test the guy who did the final checks I'll never know. For the first 20km Turkey appears a sparsely populated farming area with tractors crossing the dual carriage motorway freely. Biggest initial shock is the price of fuel showing 2.93 on the pumps although this is Turkish rival it brings the price up to UK standards. The first service station I stop at to grab some food appears to be shut so I use my Point-it book to ask for a banana from the petrol attendant but shakes his head so I ride on. The head waiter, Enver, of the restaurant of the second station welcomes me and explains all the options to me. Initially I am wary thinking of this help as hard sell but the food looks and tastes great and the chef who can't speak English comes up to the till and is very proud of his fare and I have to agree. While I eat my lunch Enver joins me to discuss motorbiking and not only orders and pays for a black tea for me but gives me a Turkish flag pin for my jacket. The Turks seem very proud of their flag which flies everywhere and he says it will help me. We spend more than an hour chatting and he and his colleague, recommend a safe route for me through Turkey which is most welcomed. But then a coach turns up and he must return to work after a quick photo call. The E90 to Istanbul looks to have been recently made into a dual carriage and has neatly split many villages and towns in two. Thinking Istanbul is a long way I look for the camping on the coast about an hour short of the city. I see one campsite but it is too late and the dual carriage way means I can not turn back for what seems like 5 km or more. In the end I give up and push on to Istanbul as the light is just on myside, knowing it will be a manic city I had hoped to camp and then tackle it in the morning with good light. My target destination is the Istanbul Hostel having selected it from the Lonely Planet guide book. The traffic gets more snarled up and the VFR engine fan is coming on more and more as we crawl along. Eventually I let it cool and pop into an internet café but like last night's it is so smokey I'm soon back on the bike. The hostel is located very close to the famous Blue Mosque in the old part of the city. At one point I'm directed up a steep cobbled street but an old van is coming down it and so the transit ahead of me stops. I feel the front wheel struggle for grip and the bike begins to slide backwards requiring the rear brake to halt it.
302km 41'00.420,28'58.874 The young soldier from the Grecian army gives me a friendly smile and wave as I leave Greece and enter into no-mans land, basically a bridge across a river. The Turkish border formalities take only an hour including having to go back to customs to get an extra stamp they 'forgot' to include in my passport. Whether this was just to make me run around or test the guy who did the final checks I'll never know. For the first 20km Turkey appears a sparsely populated farming area with tractors crossing the dual carriage motorway freely. Biggest initial shock is the price of fuel showing 2.93 on the pumps although this is Turkish rival it brings the price up to UK standards. The first service station I stop at to grab some food appears to be shut so I use my Point-it book to ask for a banana from the petrol attendant but shakes his head so I ride on. The head waiter, Enver, of the restaurant of the second station welcomes me and explains all the options to me. Initially I am wary thinking of this help as hard sell but the food looks and tastes great and the chef who can't speak English comes up to the till and is very proud of his fare and I have to agree. While I eat my lunch Enver joins me to discuss motorbiking and not only orders and pays for a black tea for me but gives me a Turkish flag pin for my jacket. The Turks seem very proud of their flag which flies everywhere and he says it will help me. We spend more than an hour chatting and he and his colleague, recommend a safe route for me through Turkey which is most welcomed. But then a coach turns up and he must return to work after a quick photo call. The E90 to Istanbul looks to have been recently made into a dual carriage and has neatly split many villages and towns in two. Thinking Istanbul is a long way I look for the camping on the coast about an hour short of the city. I see one campsite but it is too late and the dual carriage way means I can not turn back for what seems like 5 km or more. In the end I give up and push on to Istanbul as the light is just on myside, knowing it will be a manic city I had hoped to camp and then tackle it in the morning with good light. My target destination is the Istanbul Hostel having selected it from the Lonely Planet guide book. The traffic gets more snarled up and the VFR engine fan is coming on more and more as we crawl along. Eventually I let it cool and pop into an internet café but like last night's it is so smokey I'm soon back on the bike. The hostel is located very close to the famous Blue Mosque in the old part of the city. At one point I'm directed up a steep cobbled street but an old van is coming down it and so the transit ahead of me stops. I feel the front wheel struggle for grip and the bike begins to slide backwards requiring the rear brake to halt it.
The Sultan Ahmet or ‘Blue’ Mosque is probably Istanbul's most famous landmark, and was built by some of the same stone masons who helped construct the Taj Mahal in India. Known as the Blue Mosque for the blue tiles adorning the walls of its interior. With more than 20,000 handmade ceramic tiles, made at Iznik (the ancient Nicaea) in more than fifty different designs. The tiles on the back balcony wall are recycled tiles from the harem in the Topkap? Palace, when it was damaged by fire in 1574.
Mighty relieved to get to the top of the hill after a few scary maneoveurs I pray it is not raining when I come to exit this part of the city. The Istanbul Hostel is my first hostel experience and at 41 years old maybe I am living a young man's life but I instantly like the chilled relaxed attitude and it seems pretty clean which for 10 euros a night beats camping and it includes breakfast, towels and free wifi. I spend the night in the bar writing, eating, talking to two London lasses and even having a 30 second dance with a girl from Poland when a particular favourite jive track of mine is played. At 10 I leave the bar and return to the 9 bed dormitory I'm sharing but no idea who with. Being an early riser normally I wonder how best to cope with the young party animals coming to their bed later so am flabbergasted to find the light is out and some beds already occupied with sleepers.
Nov 2nd waking up with 5 girls
53km I wake to find I am sharing with 5 girls and 3 blokes, the older of which snores. Unfortunately his bed is nearest mine, I try hard to resist wearing earplugs after learning wearing them for 20 hours a day does not allow fresh air to get around the small hairs in the ear canal and can be risky but with the snoring and some running water outside I give in at midnight and install the plugs again. It is my first hostel experience having not done backpacking or similar but do find it a bit strange to be sleeping in the same room as many strangers who've I've not even seen their faces let alone no their names. The Honda main dealer is located in the Asian part of the city and with vague directions and no map it took me over 2 hours to find them. That included riding along a zebra crossing on a dual carriage as it was the easiest way to get to the other side. Trouble is the highway code does not state who should give way when a motorbike meets a moped on a zebra crossing. My aim had always been to get the bike serviced and new tyres fitted in Istanbul so I am very relieved when unannounced the very, very helpful staff at Honda Mutluhan are able to fit me in. Although they did not have tyres they had some shipped from another part of the city.These did cost nearly 50% more than they would have done in the UK. It is, however, still a relief to have them as the rest of the way to India there are no more sports bike dealers. While waiting I shared their lunch, chatted with the police bikers who came and stayed for a couple of hours as it was raining pretty horrible then. The police gave me some good tips on possible routes to take to get to Iran even giving me a route around the snow which was much welcomed.
Music by Nat Simon Istanbul was Constantinople
Now it's Istanbul, not Constantinople
Been a long time gone, Constantinople
Now it's Turkish delight on a moonlit night Every gal in Constantinople
Lives in Istanbul, not Constantinople
So if you've a date in Constantinople
She'll be waiting in Istanbul Even old New York was once New Amsterdam
Why they changed it I can't say
People just liked it better that way So take me back to Constantinople
No, you can't go back to Constantinople
Been a long time gone, Constantinople
Why did Constantinople get the work
That's nobody's business but the Turks
There are only two bridges between the European and the Asian sides of Istanbul, having learned my lesson in the morning of trying to use them I took one of the many ferries back to SultanAhmet. Tired, I park the bike where it was the day before and a guy walks up and explains he'd seen the bike with all its messages of good luck written all over it and had been trying to find me. Jami Naukkarinen is a Finnish free-lance chemical truck driver in his mid twenties with a long blonde pony tail who has a passion for motorbike touring on his Yamaha R1. This I consider to be even more ridiculous a bike for touring on than my VFR. Nick Saunders has, however, use the same bike to do a lap of the world in 19 days but not recognised by the Guinness Book of Records as most of it was at non legal speeds. Nick Saunders books make interesting reading talking more about his thoughts and life than the biking to the extent that I have three signed copies back in Lincolnshire. Jami, I learn over a drink later, is only a bit more sane than Nick, having done more than 60000km touring with his bike over the last three years in between driving the lorries as he needs to. Jami had met George riding a Yamaha TT600 trial bike from Jersey to Africa a few days back and they'd teamed up so later George joins us and the conservation is bikes and travelling' great night!
53km I wake to find I am sharing with 5 girls and 3 blokes, the older of which snores. Unfortunately his bed is nearest mine, I try hard to resist wearing earplugs after learning wearing them for 20 hours a day does not allow fresh air to get around the small hairs in the ear canal and can be risky but with the snoring and some running water outside I give in at midnight and install the plugs again. It is my first hostel experience having not done backpacking or similar but do find it a bit strange to be sleeping in the same room as many strangers who've I've not even seen their faces let alone no their names. The Honda main dealer is located in the Asian part of the city and with vague directions and no map it took me over 2 hours to find them. That included riding along a zebra crossing on a dual carriage as it was the easiest way to get to the other side. Trouble is the highway code does not state who should give way when a motorbike meets a moped on a zebra crossing. My aim had always been to get the bike serviced and new tyres fitted in Istanbul so I am very relieved when unannounced the very, very helpful staff at Honda Mutluhan are able to fit me in. Although they did not have tyres they had some shipped from another part of the city.These did cost nearly 50% more than they would have done in the UK. It is, however, still a relief to have them as the rest of the way to India there are no more sports bike dealers. While waiting I shared their lunch, chatted with the police bikers who came and stayed for a couple of hours as it was raining pretty horrible then. The police gave me some good tips on possible routes to take to get to Iran even giving me a route around the snow which was much welcomed.
"Istanbul" 1953
Words by Jimmy KennedyMusic by Nat Simon Istanbul was Constantinople
Now it's Istanbul, not Constantinople
Been a long time gone, Constantinople
Now it's Turkish delight on a moonlit night Every gal in Constantinople
Lives in Istanbul, not Constantinople
So if you've a date in Constantinople
She'll be waiting in Istanbul Even old New York was once New Amsterdam
Why they changed it I can't say
People just liked it better that way So take me back to Constantinople
No, you can't go back to Constantinople
Been a long time gone, Constantinople
Why did Constantinople get the work
That's nobody's business but the Turks
Nov 3rd Forced to be a tourist
0km
Most of the dorm is woken by a kitten that comes in through the open window and miaows and miaows but at least it is a laugh trying to catch it as it goes under all the beds. Damn, the Iranian embassy is not open on a Saturday as my guide book says and it is possible it will take 3 further days before my visa is ready so I resign to becoming a proper tourist.
The Basilica Cistern really appeals to my engineering and artistic mind. With mellow music playing and low lights I enjoy its inner depths meeting again Medusa. Wandering around dressed in my bike gear, since there are many little laundry shops near the hostel and all my other gear is being washed, works really well as all the touts ignore me.
The Basilica Cistern also called the Yerebatan Sarayi, is the largest of several hundred ancient cisterns that still lie beneath the city of Istanbul, Turkey. Its dimensions are 143 by 65 metres, and it is capable of holding 80.000 cubic meters of water. It has 336 columns each 9 metres high.
The bases of two of the columns located in the northwest corner reuse earlier blocks carved with the head of a Medusa. The origin of the two heads is unknown, though it is rumoured that the heads were brought to the cistern after being removed from an antique building of the late Roman period. Another mystery is why one of the heads is upside down, while the other is tilted to one side. It is commonly accepted by scientists that they were placed that way deliberately.
I also notice a new phenomenon to me, namely the down and outs scavenging the bins for plastic presumably to take somewhere for recycling which is quite a neat solution to the problem to the complete lack of recycling I see.
The Topkapi Palace is highly recommended by both the Lonely Planet and Emily and Lucy also staying at the hostel, aswell as being less than 5 minutes walk. The 10 lira to get in charge followed by another 10 lira for the inner harem seems steep as I wander around. Yes it is nice but like many palaces, churches, cathedrals they will never succeed the natural beauty of a wonderful landscape or the like of the awesome rocks of Meteora and I wonder if being a proper site visiting tourist is really my thing. The bikers, George and Jami, have met up with Warren, his wife Sofia and their one year old son who are all in a very well kitted out landrover ready to tour North Africa. After meeting up with them for an afternoon apple tea we meet again later for dinner all six of us at a local place 30 seconds from the hostel. The discussions are around who's done what preparation and who's taking what. I've no cooker, George has a small petrol fired one where as Warren and Sofia in their landrover have two in case one fails! With three of the party being heavy smokers I opt out of the post restarant drinks as I'd smoked enough second fags by that point.
0km
Most of the dorm is woken by a kitten that comes in through the open window and miaows and miaows but at least it is a laugh trying to catch it as it goes under all the beds. Damn, the Iranian embassy is not open on a Saturday as my guide book says and it is possible it will take 3 further days before my visa is ready so I resign to becoming a proper tourist.
The Basilica Cistern really appeals to my engineering and artistic mind. With mellow music playing and low lights I enjoy its inner depths meeting again Medusa. Wandering around dressed in my bike gear, since there are many little laundry shops near the hostel and all my other gear is being washed, works really well as all the touts ignore me.
The Basilica Cistern also called the Yerebatan Sarayi, is the largest of several hundred ancient cisterns that still lie beneath the city of Istanbul, Turkey. Its dimensions are 143 by 65 metres, and it is capable of holding 80.000 cubic meters of water. It has 336 columns each 9 metres high.
The bases of two of the columns located in the northwest corner reuse earlier blocks carved with the head of a Medusa. The origin of the two heads is unknown, though it is rumoured that the heads were brought to the cistern after being removed from an antique building of the late Roman period. Another mystery is why one of the heads is upside down, while the other is tilted to one side. It is commonly accepted by scientists that they were placed that way deliberately.
Nov 4th
As I decide to have a jacket potato I spy a line of eight or nine ladies selling freshly cooked stuffed pancakes. I walk the line and let each lady show me her wares. Then I return to the stall where the pancake looks thinner and the lady looks most traditional with a nice smile. As she cooks a cheese and spinach pancake I explain I chose her because of her ear-rings, which enhanced the traditional look to me. She understands and tells her neighbours who smile and laugh with me but I wonder if they will all have golden dangly ear-rings the following Sunday.
Next I cross town, a simple 3 or 4 km distance that takes me the usual 2 hours and 20km, to the Eyup Sultan Cami the 4th most holy place for Muslims and a place visited by young male Muslims on their circumcision day.
I see good capitalist practices outside and inside I see bad environmental practices as the devotees take their shoes off and place them in plastic bags while they go to pray, discarding the bag on exit. Some do reuse a previously used bag but not many. Strangely there are many people of all ages but a complete lack of pretty girls. It takes me a while to realise how important a flowing locks of bouncy hair must be to my eyes since there headscarfs reign and no hair shows and finally I understand the role of the headscarf. Though I also note many of the females have the long straight nose which ends below the junction of the nose and face instead of the pert upward facing noses of the European bella bellas. The men wash their faces and feet at various taps in the outer court yard, while the women queue to get into a room I can only assume for the same purposes. At least three newly wed couples come to visit the tomb of Ayub Ansari while I'm visiting. Dressed all in white with made up faces at least they raise a glimmer of hope for the hot blooded male. The grooms have the slickest black hair dos.
There was quite a change of people in the dorm today and I invite a young student, Ed from London, to join me and Jami as we go search for food. Determined to get out of Sultanahmet for at least one night we wander down to the Golden Horn area and take a restaurant under the bridge. Somehow my 12 lira roasted mackeral with a bottle of water turns into a 20 lira bill. I had checked to make sure there was no table or cover charge only to find there was a charge for the 'free' bread. The waiter tried to pretend a further 10 lira charge was the 10% service charge which of 80 lira I was determined he would not con us further out of 2 lira (about a quid).
The Bosphorus is the twenty mile long straight which joins the sea of marmara with the black sea and separates the continents of Europe and Asia. Two bridges cross the Bosporus. The first, the Bosphorus Bridge, is 1074 metres long and was completed in 1973. The second, Fatih Sultan Mehmet (Bosphorus II) Bridge, is 1090 metres long, and was completed in 1988 about five kilometres north of the first bridge.
After making more use of the free internet access at the hostel (saving me almost the 10 Euros per night the room costs) to learn about the emergency rule situation in Pakistan, the sun comes out and as it is Sunday the traffic is a little lighter so I go to explore Ortakoy Cami just below the famous Bosphorus Bridge. The Ortakoy Cami is a pleasant waterside area surrounding a mosque where a street market of arty bits takes place on a Sunday. In the hustle and bustle of Istanbul and mid-morning it is a nice relaxing place and the food stalls sell huge jacket potatoes stuffed with everything.
As I decide to have a jacket potato I spy a line of eight or nine ladies selling freshly cooked stuffed pancakes. I walk the line and let each lady show me her wares. Then I return to the stall where the pancake looks thinner and the lady looks most traditional with a nice smile. As she cooks a cheese and spinach pancake I explain I chose her because of her ear-rings, which enhanced the traditional look to me. She understands and tells her neighbours who smile and laugh with me but I wonder if they will all have golden dangly ear-rings the following Sunday.
Next I cross town, a simple 3 or 4 km distance that takes me the usual 2 hours and 20km, to the Eyup Sultan Cami the 4th most holy place for Muslims and a place visited by young male Muslims on their circumcision day.
I see good capitalist practices outside and inside I see bad environmental practices as the devotees take their shoes off and place them in plastic bags while they go to pray, discarding the bag on exit. Some do reuse a previously used bag but not many. Strangely there are many people of all ages but a complete lack of pretty girls. It takes me a while to realise how important a flowing locks of bouncy hair must be to my eyes since there headscarfs reign and no hair shows and finally I understand the role of the headscarf. Though I also note many of the females have the long straight nose which ends below the junction of the nose and face instead of the pert upward facing noses of the European bella bellas. The men wash their faces and feet at various taps in the outer court yard, while the women queue to get into a room I can only assume for the same purposes. At least three newly wed couples come to visit the tomb of Ayub Ansari while I'm visiting. Dressed all in white with made up faces at least they raise a glimmer of hope for the hot blooded male. The grooms have the slickest black hair dos.
There was quite a change of people in the dorm today and I invite a young student, Ed from London, to join me and Jami as we go search for food. Determined to get out of Sultanahmet for at least one night we wander down to the Golden Horn area and take a restaurant under the bridge. Somehow my 12 lira roasted mackeral with a bottle of water turns into a 20 lira bill. I had checked to make sure there was no table or cover charge only to find there was a charge for the 'free' bread. The waiter tried to pretend a further 10 lira charge was the 10% service charge which of 80 lira I was determined he would not con us further out of 2 lira (about a quid).
Nov 5th sitting in the Iranian embassy, Istanbul
Hagia Sophia (Ayasofya) is one of the greatest surviving examples of Byzantine architecture. The vast nave is covered by a central dome which has a maximum diameter of 31.24 meters and a height from floor level of 55.60 meters.
The dome is supported by pendentives which are triangular segments of a sphere, taper to points at the bottom and spread at the top to establish the continuous circular or elliptical base needed for the dome. The pendentives not only achieve a pleasing aesthetic quality, but they also restrain the lateral forces of the dome and allow the weight of the dome to flow downward.
Waking I find a postcard from a young shy Swedish girl giving me her email address as she left the dorm in the night. Sabrina had been travelling with her brother but it seems they gone their separate ways. Seeing she was looking quite sad on Friday morning I had taken her under my wing in a fatherly way, as it seems I am that old now, asking her each morning and night what she'd had planned and how it went. Presenting myself with passport and authorisation code it should be a quick check on the computers of the Iranian embassy and I would be away. Instead speaking through a window grill which is neither the right height for the official or the client, so one can not hear the other, I am told to sit down. In response to my question how long I hear '10 minutes then I will begin to research' knowing this to be a complete and utter fabrication since there is a queue of 5 or 6 behind me and more joining, I take my seat and get out my book wondering what level of efficiency the embassy achieves. A lady from Iran talks to me as we wait, later I meet her husband and he tells me some good places to visit. I say good bye and thank you in the customary English way by a friendly smile and hand shake. Ah but the Iranian lady being Muslim can not touch me. This makes me feel dirty. Two hours later there is no progress so I go to the counter again. The guy looks through a pile of papers, seems they have no computers, then says he can not find my authorisation letter. Someone is mucking me about here and there are three parties involved so it is difficult to know who to blame. I return to the hostel to hammer the website guy I used into action.
There are only a few sights left in Istanbul I have not done. It rained all day so a quick visit to see the Blue Mosque before paying to go into the Aya sofya. Finally I have found something that is really impressive and worth the entrance fee. The sheer size of the dome and its lack of internal supports in a 1500 year old building is fantastic. It is also unique in having Christian and Muslim religious artefacts together.
The dorm has changed again and is now all blokes and has a different feeling about it. In one sense more relaxed but also with more interaction. After a light snooze, shower and the third shave of the trip, I head down to the bar to eat and meet up with Jami, Ed, two new guys from the dorm, Irish truck driver Philip and young Finnish Mice.We also join, Andrea a girl also from the hostel. Mice is keen to get out of the hostel and takes us to a more lively bar close bar. For once the conservation is not bikes but trucks and trucking, as well as the usual travel stories.
Hagia Sophia (Ayasofya) is one of the greatest surviving examples of Byzantine architecture. The vast nave is covered by a central dome which has a maximum diameter of 31.24 meters and a height from floor level of 55.60 meters.
The dome is supported by pendentives which are triangular segments of a sphere, taper to points at the bottom and spread at the top to establish the continuous circular or elliptical base needed for the dome. The pendentives not only achieve a pleasing aesthetic quality, but they also restrain the lateral forces of the dome and allow the weight of the dome to flow downward.
Nov 6th visiting Iranian embassy again
0km Once again I traipsed through the drizzle to quiz and cajoule Mr. Naghelou at the Iranian embassy of Istanbul. Again the authorisation letter was not there even though my agent, iranianvisa.com, insist they have chased the Minstry of Foriegn Affairs in Iran to resend the fax. Today though it is a public holiday in Iran so nothing it seems can be done. I trudge back to the hostel to lambast my agent over email. Andrea, the Auzzie girl, and Micko are not doing much so we hook up to explore the Grand Bazaar. Finding neither duct tape or even an envelope I escape its grasps with no wounds from bargaining with the vendors. In comparision to Morocco the venders are respectable and the Grand Bazaar is a clean, airy and really quite pleasant place. The stationery shop hunt takes nearly two hours until I trip across a whole street dedicated to stationery shops. During the hunt I discovered a street dedicated to motorcycle parts and purchased some bits I needed which was quite a relief. I could understand all the motorbike shops being together so they can compete on price and service but I really am not going to go from stationery shop to stationery shop comparing the price of an envelope so failed to see why they should all conregate together. A small local restarant is the host to eight of us from the hostel for the early evening. My choice was meat casserole, beef I think, for 12 lira about £5 and actually not too bad at all. The others go on to a bar for more drinking, not being a big drinker infact nearly tee-total since I'd rather have petrol than alchohol, I leave them to it and go find my fellow bikers, Jami and George. Intrigued to see two new Ducati corsas outside their hostel, on entering the bar it is easy to spot Robin and Meto the Ducati riders as they sit talking with Jami and George. Robin, a tal? mid-thirties white South African and Meto, a equally tall Italian, have somehow managed to persaud Ducati to loan them two new bikes to ride to Africa on in exchange for some good photos and postive write ups. Jami and I explain we have minimal spares as we are both riding more reliable Japanese bikes. We all laugh as Robin explains how the Ducati side stand is designed too short so that with the luggage on the bike falls over. More fun as Robin adds the spares man at the Ducati factory had to fetch a car to bring all the spares he wants them to carry. George has heard southern Turkey is due for 10 days sunshine and he and Jami are riding that way. It would not be the most direct route to Cappadocia but we are all heading that way so I go to bed considering my options after reviewing again the likely weather in late November in East Turkey and West Iran.
0km Once again I traipsed through the drizzle to quiz and cajoule Mr. Naghelou at the Iranian embassy of Istanbul. Again the authorisation letter was not there even though my agent, iranianvisa.com, insist they have chased the Minstry of Foriegn Affairs in Iran to resend the fax. Today though it is a public holiday in Iran so nothing it seems can be done. I trudge back to the hostel to lambast my agent over email. Andrea, the Auzzie girl, and Micko are not doing much so we hook up to explore the Grand Bazaar. Finding neither duct tape or even an envelope I escape its grasps with no wounds from bargaining with the vendors. In comparision to Morocco the venders are respectable and the Grand Bazaar is a clean, airy and really quite pleasant place. The stationery shop hunt takes nearly two hours until I trip across a whole street dedicated to stationery shops. During the hunt I discovered a street dedicated to motorcycle parts and purchased some bits I needed which was quite a relief. I could understand all the motorbike shops being together so they can compete on price and service but I really am not going to go from stationery shop to stationery shop comparing the price of an envelope so failed to see why they should all conregate together. A small local restarant is the host to eight of us from the hostel for the early evening. My choice was meat casserole, beef I think, for 12 lira about £5 and actually not too bad at all. The others go on to a bar for more drinking, not being a big drinker infact nearly tee-total since I'd rather have petrol than alchohol, I leave them to it and go find my fellow bikers, Jami and George. Intrigued to see two new Ducati corsas outside their hostel, on entering the bar it is easy to spot Robin and Meto the Ducati riders as they sit talking with Jami and George. Robin, a tal? mid-thirties white South African and Meto, a equally tall Italian, have somehow managed to persaud Ducati to loan them two new bikes to ride to Africa on in exchange for some good photos and postive write ups. Jami and I explain we have minimal spares as we are both riding more reliable Japanese bikes. We all laugh as Robin explains how the Ducati side stand is designed too short so that with the luggage on the bike falls over. More fun as Robin adds the spares man at the Ducati factory had to fetch a car to bring all the spares he wants them to carry. George has heard southern Turkey is due for 10 days sunshine and he and Jami are riding that way. It would not be the most direct route to Cappadocia but we are all heading that way so I go to bed considering my options after reviewing again the likely weather in late November in East Turkey and West Iran.