Saved from the storms near Sivas

I was getting my last lap of cycing in before diverting south for a few days on an Otobus to meet Helen, my girlfriend, in Antalya. I decided to try and make either Erzincan or Erzerum before setting off on my ''holiday''. Erzerum would be a push but Erzincam was do-able with a days safety margin if I made 120km a day. 120km is well within my range barring mishaps even given the climbs involved... Eastern Turkey gets very moutainous and to get to Erzincan I had to cross two passes at around the 2200 meters level.

This meant when I hit a light shower in the town of Sivas after doing 80km that day I only briefly considered stopping in a comfy hotel there before choosing instead to try to push on to some lakes 50km away with the intention of making camp there. By the tıme I got to the outskirts of Sivas I had a good tailwind. Nice! A little while later, when I'd climbed a steep climb and was a bit further out, I looked back. Ah. It didn't look good. Not good at all. I could see the rain pouring down on Sivas. I was tempted to turn back but the headwind was going to make it difficult and whatever happened I was going to get soaked. I decided to run with the wind and went for it. Made it some 30km by which point the sky to my right looked like the photo below. Actually, the photo does not do it justice. One section of the sky was pitch black except when the lightening ripped through it. Cursing myself for a fool for not stopping earlier I redoubled my pace and started to look for somewhere to hole up.

As I passed through a small village of some 30 houses the wind veered and the storm hit. Suddenly small bushes and dirt were flying across the road and the rain began. I stopped and asked two farmers scurrying back from the fields if if was OK to camp by the trees there. Yes, it was OK they mimed but wouldn't I rather come back to a solid house? Well, yes as it happens!

We scooted the bike back to one of the houses and put it in the barn under the house as the rain began to lash down with a vengence. I was whisked up from the underfloor heating that the cattle provided for the living quarters and deposited in the main room of the house which trebbled as living room, dining room and bedroom for uncle and gran. The last of the çay (black turkish tea) was brewed up for me although the family who all dodged in and out had none as it was Ramazan (Turkish Ramadan). The family consisted of gran (aged 80), uncle (55) and two brothers (in their late 20s), pictured below. There was also the young cousin, who did drink the çay but then he was a cheeky sod who took great delight in ringing one of the brothers phones until it was picked up to be answered at which point he rang off.

So çay was drunk as the rain bounced off the building then some small pears and apples produced followed by a yoghurt soup placed for me on the table. We tried to communicate but my Turkish was as good as their English so it was miming all round. After an hour or so the rain started to ease off but I was now their guest and they wouldn't dream of letting me leave. Instead, when the rain finally stopped they took me for a tour of the village. Small, traditional and very very rustic would be one way of describing it.

As evening drew on the static filled TV was put on with the Ramazan Special. A ticker on the screen marked off the places where dusk had officially fallen as the fast breaking meal was laid out by gran. I was resigned to eating meat at this point as no way could I, or would I, explain about being vegetarian. Dinner was a yoghurt cucumber and onion dish, a very thin lentil soup and ratatouille like vegetables and rice, all served with plenty of bread. So as it turned out there was no meat anyway. I don't think this is anything to do with Muslim tradition, instead it's more to do with the dirt poor farmer tradition of not having enough money to buy meat regularly. Having said that someone had been sent out whilst I was being prominaded to borrow more tea (must have been borrowed as there wasn't a shop in a five mile radius) as this was all accompanied by copius amounts of tea. Desert was a sweet a little like baklava except bread was used instead of pastry and there were no nuts or such like in it.

After dinner we sat and communicated with varying degrees of success. Most effective was showing each other photos which is how I learned of the brothers dead father, their military service (on brother was a commando who fought against the PKK for example) and a myriad of other details. They got to see my bike in various locations and some nudibranchs. Go figure. About nine o'clock I was shown to my bed for the evening. Not sure whose it was (possibly the cousin who'd been sent off) but it was in the brothers room, and comfy it was too compared to my tent.

I was soon fast asleep. But not for long... it's Ramazan!!! Two AM and time to get up for breakfast! Uhhhhhhh... OK. First, more çay of course! Then food of bread fried in butter, crumbly white cheese, cold apricots stewed without sugar and lastly a small bit of processed meat that I politely turned down with the excuse that I was full. Which I was as every time I stopped eating gran would sharply reprimand me and shove another piece of bread in my hand. Chain smoking commenced as the countdown to dawn drew near then it was time for bed again.

I awoke at eight and was going to go on my way but first the only other person awake, one of the brothers insisted I have breakfast and çay of course. More bread with jam, fresh yoghurt from their cows, butter (likewise) jam and olives. This was served in the general main room with gran and uncle still asleep.

You know, my prose does not do this hospitality justice and I'm still deeply touched by it. People like this have got a damn sight more common humanity than 99% of Europeans or Americans and that defintely includes me. We who've got so much are so scared of being ripped off or taken for a ride or just using up our valuable time that we see to forget the important things ike hospitality. See. Told you my prose wasn't up to it.