Sad to say goodbye to Antalya

What can I say? I’m in love with Turkey. Seriously, I really love the place and the people. We met a great guy, Muzaffer, it a petrol station. In his youth had been a biker and travelled across Europe and Nepal, and he gave me a little nugget of insight into Turkish culture. Turks think of visitors as “gifts from God”. Having lived in London for eight years and being little more than educated, cheap labour, this attitude to strangers is deeply touching. This is a country that has time in abundance: time to meet people, time to talk, time to drink obligatory cups of tea and time to be involved in other people’s lives. I have been treated with respect and care that I’m sad to say, I’m not used to, and will miss terribly when I leave. Who knows? This is a vast country, interesting and varied – I have loads of reasons why I’d come back again.

27 August: Turkey – Koycegiz, Olympos and Antalya

We arrived in Koycegiz in the evening and managed to find Tango Pension with relatively little hassle. It is a very small town so no surprise we only needed to be pointed in the right direction once (nice to not feel lost for a change). Koycegiz is a small town on a fresh water lake that is connected to the sea and that is actually quite a rare phenomenon. It is one of two in the world, the other is in South America.

The owner of the pension recognised that we were the South African friends due to arrive on motorbikes and ushered us to our rooms, pointing out our friend’s room nearby. Dee and Mario were due back from their boat trip shortly and in the meantime we could go for a short swim in the lake. The last hour seemed to be a long one, as it is when you are waiting – but the happy moment did finally arrive when we were able to embrace our friends. Both of them looked extremely tanned and were cool ‘n groovy as always.

It is only two months since we saw them last but there seemed to be so much to catch up on and talk about. Plans for the future were high on the agenda. I get the feeling we all have some exciting times ahead of us. I don’t know why but old friends give me such a comfy feeling – especially if I know they are kind of friends that are really up front, honest and like me just the way I am – with all my imperfections.

Dee pointed out that Paul and I have both adopted a strange walk. It is as if we lift our knees too high. I hadn’t realised this but I guess it’s because our biking boots are so heavy that when we take them off we start walking like string puppets with bobbing knees. Now that I know I’m doing it, I try not to, but can’t help it! Besides, in the boots I’m constantly tripping up if I don’t make an effort to lift my feet.

The next day we hung out together at the weekly market where Dee had the opportunity of perfect her bargaining style. Usually you can get about one third off the asking price. If you are Dee you can go for half and then resort to, “Come on!” which makes the guy laugh so much he can’t resist giving her a good deal. Bargaining isn’t easy when you are used to fixed prices on the label, but it should be fun. I think the key is to be prepared to haggle and have a laugh – I would try to also make sure that I genuinely want the item. I could be wrong but it appears that generally speaking Turks have a great sense of humour. This is not what I experienced in Tunisia where the price was 300 and on learning that I was South African, the price dropped to 30. I think things are a bit less extreme here!

By the afternoon we said good bye. There are some people that will be part of your life forever so I didn’t feel too sad to say bye for now… Besides, if things work out well then we will all be back in Cape Town before we know it.

I was still feeling really feeble and didn’t think that I could ride my bike confidently, so the next day we did a boat trip and just relaxed. Doing touristy stuff felt very strange, but as strange as it all felt, I was pleased to be lazing about and passively taking things in and simply doing what my tour guides told me to do. This included wallowing in a mud bath; then getting washed down by a blasting shower followed by bathing in hot springs that smelt of rotten eggs. I was supposed to be 10 years younger for the experience. Perhaps in the morning I’d have transformed into a twenty-something nymph – but I doubted it.


Just as I was beginning to feel better and younger, Paul started to get really ill with a tummy bug. In spite of this, we decided to move on to our next destination which ended up being Olympus. We had passed the most exquisite turquoise sea with white beaches and occasional bathers. Kas looked amazing and I was absolutely desperate to jump into the calm blue water. But we stupidly passed without even stopping.

When we arrived at Olympos I immediately could tell this wasn’t really my scene. Olympos is down a windy mountain road into a rocky river bed. The unique and trendy thing to do there is stay in a tree house. Only these aren’t really tree houses, they are precarious, badly built huts on stilts about a meter off the ground. You can choose between this mosquito fest option and an air conditioned bungalow with an en-suite bathroom. Being thirty something, we went with the bungalow option. Besides, Paul needed to get better and a bit of luxury would go a long way towards at least providing him with some comfort in his time of distress – and I hoped this would reduce his groans. It’s definitely an age thing but this hippie life is no longer cool in my books. I knew we would be there for two nights and the best thing to do in these situations is not focus on what we had missed: turquoise sea in Kas but I should get on with enjoying where I was. It was one of the most touristy and unrealistic experiences of the whole trip. The place existed solely so that back packers to be cool – and that just ain’t me (any more)! It’s supposed to be a place that you can really relax and unwind. I could do nothing of the sort.

My steering was feeling progressively wobbly and we needed to get our off road tyres sorted out and all of a sudden I felt a real gnawing neurosis about not knowing where my engine number was on the bike. I don’t know why but I had visions of the Egyptian border crossing getting very ugly and us being turned back. The problem would be worsened as we need to get a Sudanese visa in Cairo – the motorcycle nemesis of all places. Without a Sudanese visa we could not try to do the only other option which is to ferry from Saudi Arabia (and that is another visa that would be very difficult to obtain). We did manage to get to the beach for a couple of hours and the Mediterranean Sea is absolutely lovely. However, I read the Lonely Planet and fretted.

We had been lead to believe from the various people we had spoken to, that Antalya had a thriving motorbike industry and we could sort out tyres there. En route the heavens opened up and we faced one of the heaviest down pours yet. We faced the sheet water on mountain roads and the local traffic didn’t seem to be bothered at all, nor cared to slow down. There was poor little me with white knuckles and big eyes. I couldn’t get more wet if I plunged myself into a bathtub.

By the time we arrived in Antalya I was an anxious ball of nerves. I don’t know why I let things get to me because I like to think that mostly a cool cat and don’t stress too badly. Hey, things always work out as they ought to – even if it’s not exactly according to plan. I tried to drive slowly down the main road in search of a bike mechanic shop: a needle in a haystack in a rather huge city with extremely fast traffic driving around us in a frenzied manner on wet roads. I had one of those moments when I felt the need to ask for help. I said aloud in to my helmet, “Come on! You have to help us find a mechanic shop.”
About 5 long minutes later, we spotted a Continental tyres dealership and pulled over. Paul went inside to find out if it was possible to order bike tyres when a fellow on an XT pulled over to look at our bikes. I called out, “Mechanic?!” to which he smiled and nodded. Unbelievable! The Continental dealership had dug out an English speaking chap so I called the fellow over and said, “This guy says he is a mechanic. Is that true?”
His story was validated. What is more, he claimed that he could take us to a bike shop where all our problems would be sorted out. I don’t know why but I figured I should trust someone who looked at a motorbike as if he knew what he was looking at, rather than gawp, and was wearing a helmet.

Our XT hero then showed us the way to the bike shop. I was delighted to see lots of big bikes standing outside and the workshop was clearly well kitted out. No doubt at all we were at a proper bike shop with recognisable mechanics gear and mechanics. Eureka!

Language barriers are not barriers, just little hurdles, especially when English is widely spoken and someone is available and willing to help. In half an hour we had consumed numerous cups of tea, listed our problems and discussed solutions. It all became clear just how soundly we had landed on our feet. We’d run into not only a bike shop but a motorcycle club and the president of the club himself, Tolga, our translator. The guy who I guess you’d call the boss of the bike shop, Ahmet, is a complete wonder too. Not only does he clearly know motorcycles back to front and inside out but I noticed that he is incredibly attentive to detail.

The motorcycle club is small and strong – this is why they have the bonsai as their symbol. On Sunday we joined them for their Sunday ride out that turned out to be 250 km on mountain roads. Some of the roads were only wide enough for a single car, cut into cliffs with cliffs to the side and the other side cliffs going downwards forever… And slippery pine needles too. This was after Tolga told me how some friends of his had had an accident that catapulted his friend off the edge of one off these cliffs. The guy survived but sustained pretty horrendous injuries. On this same ride out, some of the guys arrived at the scene of an accident where a car had gone straight off the edge of the mountain and was perched nose first on a gradient of over 45 degrees steep. They found the driver and kept her alive until the ambulance arrived. Thanks to these guys going out of their way to assist at the accident, the woman is now fine. I’m not sure why but the night before I’d been reading about motorcycle accidents on the internet. The fact is that we are vulnerable. A motorbike accident is 10 times more likely to be fatal. All this reminded me how important it is to be careful, keep the bike in good shape and respect my own limitations. In any case, it helped not having luggage as I managed to handle the bike just fine. I don’t think I could have coped with the humiliation of having had to ask someone to help me and lord forbid, have someone ride my bike for me. The only time I felt I could be a girl is when I asked Ahmet to help move my bike when close to the cliff edge in gravel, I think that is fair, being a girl and all.

We have been here for four days now and have managed to sort out our tyres, my fuel problem, replacing Paul’s break pads, hopefully the GPS connection and found the engine number. There has been a lot of hanging about at the bike shop but it’s been tremendously enjoyable. There seems to be a constant stream of people dropping in to look at bikes, have a chat and cup of tea and get various jobs sorted out. Waiting has never been so much fun.

It is tough having to leave because I’d love to stay but reluctantly I remind myself of Lueder’s very sound counsel: that guests are like fish, after three days they begin to smell. So it’s back on the road for little gippo me.