Extreme travel
The plan: tour Georgia. The reality: ride the length of Turkey instead
I’D HEARD PLENTY of good things about Georgia, so I hatched a plan to head east and keep going beyond Europe, then explore the far side of the Black Sea and ride back home. Nice idea. Didn’t work out that way, but I still had a fascinating trip.
I prepared my elderly Honda CD250U for one of my biggest, most ambitious trips, with new Pirelli tyres, a full set of Givi luggage and some new Hagon shocks. It’s set up for comfort, convenience and reliability, and suits my sedate riding style well.
Riding through France, Belgium, Germany, Austria, Hungary, Romania and Bulgaria, it all went according to plan. I stayed in a variety of low-budget hostels and hotels, some better than others, but I find I can cope with pretty much anything when I know I’ve packed my small electric kettle, teabags and lots of those Dairystix milk sachets.
The idea was to sail from the Bulgarian port of Varna across the entire width of the Black Sea to the Georgian port of Batumi.
The only troubling thing about the ferry was the rails built into the ramps. The ferry takes train wagons as well as road transport and those rails could easily cause problems for the unwary motorcyclist.
It was meant to be a threenight crossing but we ended up staying on board an extra night because the ship’s berth at Batumi was occupied. That was no problem, as my fellow passengers were an interesting bunch, including a Russian motor racing team, some parascending enthusiasts from Bulgaria and – adding considerably to the atmosphere – four truckloads of live pigs.
Once we finally got on dry land, things stopped going to plan. I spent about £50 phoning around for insurance (which I’d been told in the UK I would have to buy in Georgia). Trouble was, I just couldn’t get it. Rather than risk the possible consequences of riding uninsured, I decided on a change of plan. Instead of heading east to explore Georgia, I’d head south, where the Turkish border was less than 20 miles away. It was a fabulous ride, but 17 miles was rather less than I’d hoped to ride in Georgia.
Usually when I’ve entered Turkey in the
past it has been from Europe, in the top left corner of the country. This time, it was from the former Soviet Union, in the top right corner. But one thing was much the same as ever: entering Turkey is always a bit of a faff. In fairness, it was one of the smoother border crossings, probably owing to all the equipment being relatively new and the staff being by and large interested in what they were doing.
So, new plan: ride along Turkey’s Black Sea coast, east to west. I had expected poor roads with near-biblical scenes of men on donkeys, with sheep or goats everywhere. But no. The eastern part of Turkey has caught up somewhat with its western part. There are new hotels, lots of building work going on, and life seems to be on the up.
I met only friendly people. One man who saw the GB plate came over simply to say “Welcome to my country” before continuing on his way. In the first Turkish cafe I stopped at, the waitress gave me two pears to take away with me. This kindness and consideration was entirely typical.
At Sinop, a cross between a seaside resort and a fishing harbour with boat-repair facilities, I took the opportunity to tap into the local expertise to get my bike serviced. I provided the Putoline oil, they did the work – and they refused to take any payment. They were fascinated by this elderly Brit on his 26-year-old Japanese twin. Sinop is a town where the Turks come out to play – and very few people spoke English, because there was no need to. I seemed to be the only Brit in town and certainly the only one with a motorcycle, but I couldn’t have been made to feel more welcome.
I carried on to Zonguldak, the last big place on the coast before Istanbul, I came across two Polish doctors at a wayside cafe. They were father and son, both on BMW GSS, and they were “doing” Turkey. They said they knew in an instant that I was British because of the umbrella strapped to my topbox. In fact, though the guidebooks had said the northern coast of Turkey can be very wet, I had nothing but hot and dry conditions. Even with my Buffalo suit in maximum-ventilation mode, I had to drink a lot of water to avoid becoming dehydrated in the extreme heat.
When I got to Istanbul itself I initially made a poor choice of hotel – too noisy, too far out of the centre – but then I moved and spent a couple of days embracing the full tourist experience: Grand Bazaar, Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia and all. After four days in Istanbul I decided it was time to move on again. I headed west through Greece, then took a ferry to Italy, went up through France and finally got home, for a proper cup of tea made in a pot.
“They knew I was British because of my umbrella”