August 2011 – One Hell of a Ride

Experience: Driving in Turkey

Driving in Turkey is challenging. Although the roads are mostly very nice, the driving habits of the local drivers are outrageously bad. According to Lonely Planet: Turkey, Turkey is statistically the world’s number one when it comes to the annual number of motor vehicle accidents.

Now, by saying bad driving I do not by any means imply reckless driving. Or fast driving. Or outlaw driving. I mean just that — bad driving! There is driving outlaw, when you break the laws but still know exactly what you’re doing. And then there is just simple bad driving — when you have no idea, do not check your mirrors, drive in the middle of the lane without being aware of the surrounding vehicles, break unexpectedly, and, perhaps most annoying of all, honk your horn twenty milliseconds after the traffic light turns green. Give it a second!!!!

Yielding? Forget about it! Turn signals? I think the total amount of times I’ve seen anyone use their turn signals on an intersection for a week in Istanbul did not exceed 10. No, I am not missing a zero there!

I always thought that the Armenian drivers are really bad. We definitely break the rules when we feel like we realize what we are doing, and we like driving fast. But driving in Turkey is like a race of survival — there is absolutely no way anyone anywhere can convince me that a bus driver who pulls his wagon straight on a motorcycle at his right possibly knows what he is doing. He just does not appear to give a damn even to check his mirrors. And the worst part is, the police does not seem to be doing anything about it. They just accept it as a fact of life.

If I were to be the head of traffic police in Turkey, I would declare all driving licenses void and start a new process of harsh driving exams. You know you are doing something wrong, when in a neighboring country where the vast majority just buys their driving licenses without any exam at all, people drive better by degrees.

However, speeding on a freeway is punished harshly. When a policeman gives you a ticket for exceeding the speed limit by 3 km/h, you just wanna scream your lungs out — “Dude, have you been to Istanbul?!” But he writes the ticket anyway, and I have noticed that a lot of Turks get the speeding tickets. Also, it goes without saying, there does not even remotely appear to be any corruption when it comes to driver–officer interactions.

The pedestrians are a different story. You think in Yerevan people cross the street wherever and whenever they feel like? Meet Istanbul. It is like an arcade game called “Dodge the Kamikaze”, and it gets pretty old and stressful after several minutes. If I had to live in Istanbul (which I would absolutely love to) and commute on a vehicle to work every day, after about a month I would probably become some sort of a disturbed psychotic maniac.

Now the good news: the roads, on the other hand, are mostly extremely nice. Their quality may vary inside towns, but the freeways are very good, and the signage/markings is great. Closer to Istanbul area they are nearly perfect. After driving for about 3,500kms, I did not encounter a single pothole. It just impresses you when you see the process of laying down the roads in Turkey. I know some Turks complain about the quality of their roads, but they should know that their roads are not worse, if not better, than those in California..

One thing to watch out for on the roads is the reason of my accident. This is, in fact, a good tip, that I would appreciate to have before starting my journey.

In cities where it does not rain very often, the exhaust gases from the cars’ pipes come out and accumulate on the tarmac. I do not understand why we don’t have that problem in Armenia, but in cities like Erzurum or Malatya at some point you feel like riding on ice, not asphalt. For cars it is perhaps not a big issue, but for a two-wheel vehicle it is very easy to skid or lock the wheels. Always watch out for that and drive slowly on slippery surfaces!

Also I am assuming that if rain started with the road being in that condition, it would just be wise to pull over and wait for about 15 minutes till the nasty layer of chemicals is washed off the surface.

And the final tip is, when driving in Turkey, stretch your imagination and expect everything from every member of the traffic. I mean it.

Driving in Turkey has definitely made me sweat. But it was also a good exercise of defensive driving and good reaction. If you are into that kind of stuff, you may actually come to enjoy it!

Day 17: Erzincan

Erzincan looks like a very typical small American town, if there ever was a small American town with muslim population.

Chariots and horse carts are not allowed on the main street!

Somewhere along the road I came across cars that looked like lottery prizes. Turned out they were actually wedding cars.

See the boys in front of the car? Those are the “çocuklar”! They have nothing to do with the wedding, they are just there — street kids — to ruin the party.

How do you ruin a wedding party as a çocuk? Easy! You jump on the hood of the cars!

One of guests of the wedding finally lost his temper

The çocuk army was dispersed in a blink of an eye!

Just as the cars started moving, however, the çocuks resumed their attack, catching up after the cars in traffic and… jumping on their hoods on the fly, right there on the 3rd lane!

The way the surrounding people reacted to that made me realize that this was a standard çocuk procedure, or perhaps a scheduled squad training.

Time to eat something! Oh wait, not really… Time to eat something is at about 7:30pm.

The thing about relegious fasting is, in my understanding, that people should exercise humility and disregard hunger. They should behave and feel in a way that they don’t care about food, and take some pride in that. That is my understanding, and it might be subjective (as all religious affairs for that matter). But that is not the way things actually stand here!

Starting from about 6:30, almost all tables at all restaurants are occupied — not even reserved! Folks sit around tables and do nothing, anticipating food.

There is nothing on these guys’ table except for water, which they don’t touch. The time on my camera when I took the photo was 7:06pm. Guess what they are looking at — kebabs being rolled to be ready just in time to break the fast!

Erzincan is a pretty active and loud oriental town. But you should see, or rather hear it, the second people are allowed eat something. A noisy town a minute ago, suddenly not even the dogs bark! Everyone starts eating!

And so do I.

Yum!

Day 16: Malatya

The planned leg from Göreme to Malatya was the longest in the journey: more than 415km. Google Maps’ directions was giving me an estimate of 6 freaking hours for arrival, but I wanted to get there much earlier, so I was driving a little fast.

Somewhere in the middle of my path, I noticed an automatic speed radar and dropped my speed to about 100 km/h. After the accident, my speedometer gauge did not work, so I had to figure the speed out purely based on perception and experience.

About a kilometer after the radar, the police pulled me over. Just like that — a cop pointed at me with a finger and said in a mike — “Sıfır dört üç dört APA”. That is “Zero four three four APA” — my license plate. I knew I had to stop. There were three policemen again.

“Hi, I speak English, what is the problem?” I greeted the policeman

“Merhaba” This time around none of them spoke any English.

“Hello! Is there a problem?”

No response, shows with fingers that he wants my driver’s license. I give it to him.

“Motosiklet?” he wants to understand whether or not I am allowed to ride a bike.

I point at the “A” letter under my photo, then turn the license around and show the legend for “A”: motorcycles, mopeds and other motorized vehicles on two wheels.

“Tamam!”

“So, what is the problem?”

(no response, talks something with his colleagues)

“Problem?”

“Speed.” he then makes a gesture suggesting that I get off the motorcycle, take off my helmet and follow him.

As we approach their car, he takes a piece of A4 paper and writes “99” on it, then draws a circle around it. “Limit!” he says.

“OK, I know, but what was my speed?” I point at myself

“102” he writes on the paper above 99.

What the fuck, seriously! Is he kidding me? I put a minus sign between “102” and “99” and write at the bottom — “= 3!”

He nods.

“Üç (3) kilometre!” I say, amazed and pissed

“Evet, üç kilometre” (Yes, 3 kilometers)

“??!”

“Üç kilometre — problem! Bir (1) kilometre — problem!”

“Amerika — problem yok (no problem), Almanya (Germany) — problem yok, Ermenistan — problem yok, ama Türkiye — problem?? Üç kilometre!!” (Yes, my Turkish is that good at this point.) I get really upset. Usually, +5–10% is always disregarded everywhere in the world!

“Evet, Türkiye — problem. Bir kilometre — problem.”

I ask him to follow me. I show the broken speedometer gauge. Then I take out my accident report filed by the Turkish traffic police. He reads it attentively, and nods.

“Speedometer yok!” (No speedometer) I say. “Ama üç kilometre — problem yok!”

He nods in empathy. Tells my story to his colleagues. But they don’t change their minds.

“So how much do I have to pay?” I make a gesture with my fingers of paying money

“Hayır!, Hayır!” (No!, No!) I think he gets me wrong. He shows me a document where it has instructions in Turkish and English. The 3rd point says that foreign drivers pay the fine at the customs when exiting the country. Then he writes on the paper — “TL 140”.

God damn it!

Some time later I arrive at Malatya. The roads are as slippery as they were in Erzurum, but I feel myself a seasoned rider now and there is no way I will have an accident. The city looks crappy starting from the moment you enter it. The streets are dirty, people look somewhat annoyed and the whole environment feels unwelcoming. I stop and open my Lonely Planet book to find a good hotel. Then put the address in my Android and navigate to it using Google Maps. The place where I arrive does not even remotely feel like there could be any hotel there.

I get off the motorcycle and approach some people to ask for a hotel. Nobody even answers my “Hello”, as if I don’t exist. Spooky!

I get on the internet, and find allegedly the best hotel in Malatya. Ride there through really chaotic traffic, and woah!

Malatya is what Yerevan’s Malatya market would be, if it was separated as a town on its own. It feels like a huge dirty market, that is so intense that even in front of the best hotel in the city some folks are selling sport shoes, and you actually have to twist around if you wanna enter the building.

This photo is not just a random view. Even the first floor of the mosque looks like it hosts a market of goods of some sort.

Downtown Malatya

Some unknown motorcycle — Kanuni Tiger!

I think this is Mustafa Kemal, although I am not sure.

The central square reminds of some Armenian town, but I can’t remember which one exactly.

Bicycle and motorcycle general mechanic

Chicks in Malatya

And of course, red apple! Target the right crowd for your outfit!

I was extremely hungry, so I stepped into some steakhouse, where they said that all tables were reserved although it felt like they were just giving me shit because my hair looked messy. I went to the restaurant next to it, where I had 2 crappy lahmacuns and was asked to pay 25 liras for that — most I ever payed for food for one person anywhere in Turkey, including Istanbul.

I walked back to the hotel and decided to never visit Malatya again. Simple as that.

Ayran is the best fucking drin…

Ayran is the best fucking drink in the world. Can never get enough, and it’s so cheap! #orex

Uh, I think I’m gonna be a veg…

Uh, I think I’m gonna be a vegetarian for a while after my journey! #orex

Day 15: Cocks

“Are you gonna see the cocks?”
—Adem

The initial plan was to head from Ankara to Nevşehir. I rode out and arrived there after a couple of hours, but the city looked so faceless and boring, that I decided to ride on and see where the road takes me. After a little more than 10 kilometers and passing a small mountain range, suddenly an extraordinary sight opened in front of my eyes!

Seriously, unfortunately I cannot shoot photos in a professional way that will grasp how immensely beautiful this place was! It is something you should see for yourself!

I checked on the map, and it said “Göreme”. OK Göreme, I will stay here! I rode into the town (passing camels on my way!), rode by a number of small cave-carved hotels until I came across the one that had a 450cc KTM parked in front of it. The name of the hotel was “Nomad”. Sounds about right! I walked in. The receptionist’s name was Adem.

“Single room, double room, dorm?”

“Single room please”

“That will be 50 liras”

“Think you could go down for me on that?”

“40 is my final price”

“40 sounds like a deal!”

“OK!” he registered me hastily, and opened a small pocket map of Göreme. “Do you know what you’re gonna see here?”

“No idea!”

“Are you gonna see the cocks?” he looked very relaxed, so for a brief moment I figured he meant the birds. “I mean, the penises?” he added. There’s no way out now.

I swear to God, even though the hotel itself is crap, it is completely worth to get the experience of getting a man you met two minutes ago to ask you if you are gonna see the cocks, and then quickly clarify that he actually means the penises.

“Which penises?” I inquired

“The ones in the Love Valley!” he made a circle on a particular area of the map with pen and wrote “L. V.” — “Love Valley!”

“What are these… penises?”

“They are strange rock formations. Everyone loves to see them! Some of them here” — he marked another part of the map — “have three heads!”

To say that it was an awkward situation is to say nothing. “Are they far away?” I asked

“Not so, but it is better if you take a bicycle. Go to Silk Road Bike Rent. Tell them Adem sent you. They will give you a good deal!”

Silk Road Bike Rent was around the corner. Some boy who looked 15 managed the place.

“Hi, I’m Areg, I want a bicycle, Adem sent me!” I quickly threw sentence after sentence.

“Adem? Tamam. I can give you a good bicycle for only 15 liras for 6 hours. Normally this would cost over 20”

“Sounds like a deal!”

I took the bicycle and went out to find the “penises” in the “love valley” that “everyone loves to see.”

After some wandering around, I found some trail and started following it. Soon I have noticed a strange stone with markings that I recognized — “L. V.”, and an arrow.

Looked like I was getting there! I followed the arrow. After a while, another sign.

Then another!

And finally, it all opened for me! I found the cocks! A valley full of phallic symbols — all natural — all carved by nature itself!

Pretty neat, eh?

I looked around and realized that I was literally surrounded by all sorts of them!

Thin and thick!

Some surrounded with trees… and bushes!

And just as I zoomed in to get a close–up, I noticed a girl who was chilling under the shadow.

She was with her boyfriend, and unfortunately did not speak any English. They were a very friendly Italian couple traveling in an old Volkswagen minivan. Her boyfriend’s English, was, however pretty decent. After exchanging some words, he offered me to take me back to town in his van so that I wouldn’t have to ride it all the way, and I gladly agreed — I love chances to get to know new people! So the guy loaded my bike (and me) into the van and we took off.

After some chit–chat, jokes, conversations about the van and why the girl is not allowed to drive it because the gearbox is too gentle, we arrived back in Göreme and parted.

Aren’t they cute? I have a 10-minute video of our conversation in the van that I will upload once I have decent bandwidth — they are sweet!

So back in town, I went to look for a place to write the day’s impressions on my laptop, came across a coffee shop and asked the manager if they had a power outlet. The man looked somewhat aggressive, and instead of answering me asked the painful question — “Where are you from?”

Generally, in these situations I say that I am American. It makes me feel much safer. “I am American!” I exclaimed. “So, do you have a power outlet in this coffee shop?”

“But you are not American!” he answered.

“Why not?” I was confused.

“If you were American, you would first ask me how I’m doing!”

Suddenly he was interrupted by a nice female voice from behind me. The girl actually did sound American.

“But why not? He could be American! You probably just wanna ask about his origins!”

I looked back. A hot American babe was sitting by the window and having coffee.

“Where are you from?” I asked

“Ohio!”

I joined her table and we had the first conversation since my trip had started that actually made sense to me. Traveling in Turkey for several months already, A. was a very attractive and straightforward person. I learned that she played scrabble and pool sometime and the way she said it was just drop-dead sweet. We talked for hours just about everything in life, from simple things to complex subjects, and then some gender discrimination, until the topic of sex emerged. She leaned towards me.

“You know, I wouldn’t say the Turkish men are very great at that stuff!” she whispered

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! They talk their way through, use their charms and everything, and then at the end when it comes down to doing stuff, it is nothing impressive!”

“Hmm”

“Yeah! You lay there, and then you kinda wanna go like — is this all you’ve got? — Not knowing what to do with it!”

We tried to find some hidden relations between patriarchy and sex skills, and then somehow changed the subject. After it was really late, I walked her to her hotel but discovered on the way that I had left my phone at the cafe. We exchanged contacts and parted there, then I went and found my phone, and back in my hotel an email was waiting for me in my inbox. Here is the full text, names abbreviated, published with the permission of A.

From: A.

Subject: Turkish penises

Areg, before you start blogging about my romantic experiences (or lack thereof) here in Turkey, I want to clarify: penis size was not an issue! In fact, my liason in K. had a very nice cock (as big as these here in Cappadocia. lol) but was quite mechanical and lacking in passion. Chalk it up to the fact that he was a Virgo or, perhaps just a lack of chemistry. Nevertheless, that was what I meant by “not knowing what to do with it.” I would hate for you to put it out there in the blogosphere that Turkish men have small penises. Quite a dangerous proposition for an Armenian on a motorcyle tooling around the Turkish countryside! 😉

Hope you retrieved your phone!

A.

And so ended the day that shall always remain a day of cocks to me. Amen!

Oh, and you did not read this if you are under 18, did you?

Day 13-14: Ankara

Hopefully this will be my only post where I cover two days with a single entry. Afterall, initially I had planned to stay in Ankara for only one day before going to Nevşehir.

Ankara is Turkey’s capital and one of its largest cities. Some people I met in Istanbul referred to it as the “Workers’ City”.

It does look, in some ways, more solid than Istanbul.

People definitely drive better than they do in Istanbul. In fact the traffic here is more or less bearable, although you do occasionally stumble across drivers entering one-way streets from the wrong end, and jumping the red light is of course a usual sight. The streets here are the nicest of all the other places I’ve seen in Turkey.

There’s a handful of large business buildings and the business life looks really active.

Besides that, there seem to be a lot more young crowd in Ankara than in Istanbul. This might in fact be bullshit, but I did come across a lot more young people in Ankara. Another good thing is, I also met much more people who spoke God’s language — English. People were a lot more sociable and open than elsewhere in Turkey. I asked some lady in a bus to let me know where to get off for Kızılay, and she did. After I got off and we parted to different directions, several minutes down the road I suddenly saw her running towards me.

“Hey, hey, I am really sorry!” she caught her breath

“What happened?”

“I forgot to ask!! Do you need any more help?”

That was super sweet.

Although the city has a very strong Soviet feel about itself,