Travel Tips

Ali drove us to his home on the geographical side of Istanbul, though this web site, guide books and in general terms it is categorized as the Middle East, so Ill go along with that.

Ali had a gorgeous house with swimming pool and the soppiest Alsatian guard dog you could ever meet an hour outside of the city. We met his beautiful wife Buket and his son, Alican, whom I had met before in London and we were welcomed into their home like we were family.

Ever stayed in a Sheraton or Hilton? Oh boy, youre not even close! Buket is an extraordinary cook. And Im not just saying that because Ali may read this. Its simply true. The meals she prepared were some of the most exquisite and delicious food I have tasted anywhere in the world.

Ali ensured we had everything we needed and made some enquiries on our behalf regarding the visas we needed. Our mutual friend Nando, presently pedaling his way around southern Africa at the moment would be very jealous!

Alican dispelled any preconceptions I may have had about a typical seventeen year old teenager. He could not do enough for us, forever checking we were fine and not wanting for anything and became a very good friend. But all said and done, nothing I write here will ever be sufficient to describe our gratitude.

Each day we took the complimentary minibus into the city to attend to chores, staying over in a hostel for three nights to make early morning appointments.

Istanbul was still the huge, bustling metropolis I remember it as. Although it was my third time in Turkey, it might as well have been my first and, as usual, we were frequently lost.

Staying in the Sultan Hotel in the city we met Andrew, a typical fun Aussie trying to get home from London without taking any flights.

Christian was about to fly home from Austria having spent fourteen months cycling around Central Asia. He took us to a bike shop and persuaded us we needed to buy replacement and spare chains for the bikes. I also bought a spare (and rather rubbish) tyre, oil, second pump and a few other bits. There was a lot of weeping and wailing.

The Turks love their national flag. They fly them from hill tops, buildings, cars; everywhere. I bought two for the bikes, seeking sympathy from the truck drivers lest they tried to squish us for sport. Running over a cyclist is probably barely frowned upon, but to run over the national flag is almost certainly going to end up with death by firing squad.

Christian was so helpful with advise about the bikes. Im still an imbecile when it comes to maintaining them. He off-loaded all of his 'junk' onto us to lighten his load for flying home. Nuts and bolts, spares and tools. It was a treasure trove for us.

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