After two weeks in Istanbul I feel it is time I returned to the journal to summarise the journey and share some final thoughts.
Since arriving I have made a few excursions around the city in between long sleeps and large meals. I feel very comfortable in Istanbul. I am living in Beyoglu, a cosmopolitan neighbourhood which has much in common with my favourite areas of London. The youth fill the steep streets with style and confidence, old men gather in clubrooms to take tea over tavla and colourful housewives peg washing out high up between close houses.
I spent much of my first day napping in the gardens of the Topkapi Palace complex. Since then I have been to see Aya Sofya and Sultanahmet Camii inside and out and have visited several other of the obligatory attractions. I have seen the Asian side of the city, the two grand bridges over the Bosphorus and the quiet, green Prince’s islands. In getting to and fro these places I have passed through countless districts and neighbourhoods each with its characteristic balance between the very old, the old and the new. Wherever I am, what I most like to do is sit with the old men for tea and play fast games of tavla with my host Mehmet.
Last Friday I went to a quiet little hamam and paid a few pounds for an old man to beat the last stiffness out of my limbs. The vigorous massage and the heat, steam and water left me limp and peaceful on the wet marble floor of the bathhouse. I stood up prematurely and my heart failed to get working blood to my brain. After a succession of stumbles and black spots I passed out in the corner of the toilets. In seven weeks I had made it across the breadth of Europe strong and healthy and it was a pat on the back from a geriatric in a loincloth which brought me to my knees.
The experience of moving across Europe by bicycle was of slow alienation. The first thousand miles took me through country very similar to that with which I am familiar. I was among people whose lives and language were substantially the same as mine. Moving into Italy, little changed but the quality of the coffee and I remained able to communicate with the people easily. When I passed into the Balkans things began to change more quickly. The most immediate difference was in the language. I found it difficult to decipher the several Slavic tongues. On a trip where the speed of my progress was to a greater or lesser degree dependent on discourse with the locals, linguistic difficulties quickly made me feel further from home. With Bosnia came the novel and regular sight of rural village mosques and in Mostar I saw for the first time in my life the scars of recent warfare. After a brief coastal holiday through Croatia and Montenegro I entered Albania, a country subject to consistent and vile xenophobia throughout Europe. The place and the people were the most welcoming of the trip and I was happy to conclude that all the hatred and horror stories were nothing but puff founded on fear and ignorance. This confirmation helped me shrug off any last predispositions for the remaining few hundred miles and after a long, hard push I was across the final border and closing in on the finish line.
I started the trip on the back of three weeks’ revision and examinations followed by a week off eating my way around New York. I hadn’t been on the bike for over a month. Even so, I knew I was up to the physical challenge, even if the first week was going to be a struggle. I felt far more threatened by two months of solitude. I had no idea how I would react to spending the majority of my waking time alone and arriving in unfamiliar places every day.
I was foolish to fear these things.
On the bike, my progress kept me company. I always had targets in mind and always kept myself busy breaking the day down into obstacles and taking these on one by one. My discipline was broken a handful of times, most notably by the four day headwind through Bosnia and by the rolling hills and endless gusts of the penultimate leg, and during these periods I did struggle to get my head round keeping going. For the bulk of the ride, though, I remained in good spirits.
Off the bike, the myriad kindnesses of numberless people helped to change my mentality from a timid prejudice to an easy faith and confidence in approaching and interacting with people I knew only fleetingly or not at all. For much of this change I owe a great deal of thanks to the CouchSurfing project. I stayed with twenty six different hosts and through them met dozens more from the community. The meetings and conversations I have had with these people elevated the trip from something to endure and enjoy to something to really value. I encourage everybody to get involved in the project, it is a good thing.
I owe a great deal of thanks to people at home. One of the major purposes of the trip was to draw attention to the work of the Cystic Fibrosis Trust. As I write this, we have raised £4,676.28 excluding Gift Aid supplement, just short of the £5,000 target. I hope that, with a bit more pestering on my part, we can reach and surpass this mark. I am due to receive what could be a considerable sum from a collection in June and will post the final figure shortly after. I would like to thank all those who have donated and are named at www.virginmoneygiving.com/marcdavies and Mrs. Debbie Edgington, Mr. Donald Leggett, Mr. Andrew Pearse, Mr. David Greenhalgh and the staff of KCS Wimbledon who have made generous offline donations. I would like to offer special thanks to Messrs. Jeremy Lowe and Matt Selby of St. George’s Hill Golf Club, who guided me and helped me to promote my cause at the club. The most substantial contributions to the pot came from my law school and my future place of work and I would like to thank Mr. Peter Crisp from BPP and the partnership and staff of Herbert Smith for their assistance and generosity.
My close family and more distant relatives have offered me unfailing interest, concern and support throughout the trip. My girlfriend, Holly, has been with me from a continent and an ocean away and I owe her a great debt of love and attention which I hope I can meet when we are together again. The care of these people steadied my mind in the hardest times and made my smile broader in the happier moments. I can’t wait to celebrate Kirsty’s marriage to James with you all on the 22nd.
I have set out below a few statistics and summaries to finish the journal. Thank you for reading, I hope you have enjoyed sharing my thoughts and experiences in the same way that I have enjoyed recalling and recording them. Until the next trip, farewell.
MD
Distance covered 2663 miles / 4286 kilometres
Days 47
of which cycling 34Average distance per day 78.3 miles / 126.1 kilometres
Nights on the road 46
of which Couchsurfing 34
of which friends 6
of which hostels 3
of which hotels 2
of which ferry cabin 1
Average cost per night ~ £4
Highest point 2284 metres, Julierpass, Switzerland
Highest speed 35.8 mph / 57.6 kmph Down the Edessa bypass
Blood None
Sweat Loads
Tears 2 or 3 escaped before setting out one morning, not telling where!
Bike repairs 5 punctures, 2 knackered cleats, 1 broken spoke
Bananas ~ 120
Oranges ~ 70
Chocolate ~ 10,000 g
Body weight
London 28.02.10 15 stone 2 lbs / 96 kg
Istanbul 15.04.10 13 stone 5 lbs / 85 kg
Best leg: Ljubljana to Zagreb
A fast and beautiful road winding down the quiet valley beside the sparkling Sava followed by a gift of a tailwind blowing me across the border and into the weekend.
Worst leg: London to Harwich
Wet, cold and slow with nothing but Essex to distract me.
Longest leg: Amygdaleonas to Alexandroupoli
Though it fell just shy of the Bitola to Thessaloniki leg for distance, the navigational nightmare of the Greek countryside had me on the road for 11 hrs
Shortest leg: Hoek van Holland to Rotterdam
A wee little baby leg along the dijk roads gave me the afternoon off to write my first couple of entries.
Earliest morning
On the road by 6.30 am in Ljubljana to get to class by seven.
Latest night
Arriving in Tekirdag after 9 pm following a late start from Alexandroupoli and hill after hill after hill from the border
Most scared
Harangued by a pack of strays in the pitch black just short of Tekirdag
Most excited
Looking west down the valley towards Chiavenna as the cycle computer clocked up higher and higher speeds.
Most distressed
Screaming again and again into the unabating wind around 20 miles short of Tekirdag
Most peaceful
Rolling out the last few flat miles of the day to Pogradec as Lake Ohrid lightly lapped its shore.
