Continuing the cycle from Tbilisi to Baku, from the border of Azerbaijan. Things become increasingly dry and arid as I head east, ultimately crossing a desert to reach Baku.
You might not be able to find what you need in a shop, advertised anywhere or on the internet, but somewhere, somebody “knows a guy.”
3 nights, 4 days and 0 showers later I majestically cycled down the hill to Tbilisi, sunburnt, smeared head to toe in a shiny, grit-covered, suncreamy goop.
There’s a fine line between someone looking at you out of curiosity and that of an imposter. I’m quite used to the first by now, but here in Armenia there seems to be a lot of suspicion about who I am and what I’m doing here.
I really don’t care if I got lost here. Trees, mountains, cows and random invitations from Armenians in Gerogia.
Everything is fine and dandy in Turkey. As long as you’re white. Heterosexual. European. Oh yeah and you should have a penis.
Cycling over the 2200m (7217ft) Goderdzi Pass in Georgia. I realised it was going to be difficult when I started pushing my bicycle through a river.
Stay in a hotel for a night and make packed lunches or sleep on a pier and eat like a king?
Cycling from Cappadocia over the (rainy) mountains to the Black Sea.
Did I just cycle to another planet? Oh wait, there are Turkish flags everywhere.
Cycling from the west coast across central Turkey was more difficult than I thought, and very mountainous!
Camping in Salda lake. Have you ever camped in a volcano before?
I arrived to Ayvalik. The boat had capacity for about 150 people but there were maybe only 10 of us on board. Alluding perhaps there aren’t many tourists in Turkey right now…
So I’ve somehow become trapped in this rather peculiar city. A city on the brink of a perpetual, never-happening revolution. It lies somewhere between lovely and horrible, hope and despair. And right now I can’t think of being anywhere else.
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