A hand-bike and two mountain bikes with a trailer and wheelchair in tow make an unusual sight anywhere, but even more so on the twisting roads of Turkey’s Turquoise Coast.
The coast of southern Turkey is a continuum of scenic roads, meandering via pine-forested hills, steep cliffs and dramatic peaks broken with bright shores and lapping turquoise. Superb scenery is perfectly interspersed with ancient ruins, sleepy fishing villages and distinctly non-sleepy tourist hot-spots.
Out-of-season, it offers the Cordon Bleu of cycle touring—varied and inspiring views, archaeology, friendly people and most days, a burning yellow ball of joy overhead. Karen Darke, Melissa Gerrard, and Ruth Hall toured the coast and collected cycle mitt sunburn circles on the back of their hands.
Turkey has a collection of coastlines to choose from and some fantastic natural inland attractions. Choosing a cycle route wasn’t easy. After flying to Istanbul, some quick research of the guide books and conversations with the locals, words like sunshine and warm turquoise sea tempted us to head for the southwest coastline.
But the first we had to tour the capitol’s bike shops in search of a new wheel, tubes, and tyres after these essential parts were mysteriously missing from one of the bikes upon collecting our baggage from the plane. There is no shortage of bike shops, but parts are difficult to come by, especially quality parts; it took us two days to rectify the problem!
Internal transport was logistically easy with the bikes, but ‘overnighting’ on a long-distance bus with eastern radio sounds and a blasting heat system was an endurance. In the dark hours of the morning, we landed in a heap of metal parts begging to be turned into bikes. We obliged, and cycled the freezing dawn to Pamukkale in search of Turkey’s most famed World Heritage Site. Various dog attacks on route played havoc with our pulse rates, but at the sight of the gleaming white cliffs catching pink from the rising sun, we soon mellowed.
The spectacle was formed by deposits from the warm calcium-rich waters that cascaded over the cliffs. The waters are said to have curative powers; the ancient Roman city of Hierapolis was built at their crest so that visitors could bathe in the pools. A soak in the waters was a perfect start to the cycle holiday.
Our token bit of tourism completed, we were eager to mould our saddles. Another endurance bus journey, dodging the perfume sellers (goods of dubious origin) and deafened by the competing cries for custom from the various bus companies, we arrived in Marmaris. An idyllic setting in a sheltered bay, the picturesque old town was marred by its surround of sprawling concrete constructions, amongst which a large-scale map of the forthcoming coastline was impossible to find. We gathered any map we spied along our route, all telling a different story, and few relating to reality. We enjoyed cycling the roads in both directions quite often!
Traditional Turkish images of sultans, harems and oriental splendour are dated impressions of a rapidly modernising country. Our first night ‘on-tour’, in search of a camp-spot amongst fields and orchards, “Turkish Ali” (as he strangely called himself) and his family introduced us to modern Turkey. After eating their orchard oranges to the point of explosion, we were invited into their abode for hot tea.
The naked concrete walls were softened by brightly coloured blankets and cushions scattered around the room. An open fire crackled on the floor where Ali’s wife hunched and made tea. The peace of the scene was broken by Ali’s mobile phone, and world-wide media action from a wide screen surround sound TV. The abundance of technological gadgets seemed to us to be at odds with the open fire and rudimentary toilet. Multinational marketing hasn’t missed a corner—Coke, Nokia and Toshiba are everywhere.
Before embarking, Ali and family insisted we visit the Hamam (Turkish baths). It was a cultural and muscle-soothing experience we couldn’t refuse. A bumpy jeep ride took us to an intricately tiled circular hall, beautiful beside a glistening lake, and host to steaming pungent thermal waters. The Hamam replaced the ancient Roman steam baths, and are a highlight for any tired cyclist.
Our route from Marmaris to Antalya continued to be challenging on the thigh muscles and biceps. Arm-power often left me straggling behind legs on the long hot climbs, a point that seemed to draw sympathy from locals. I politely declined numerous offers of lifts, until one particularly long sweaty mountain pass, when a passing driver stopped. Quick to assess the situation, he produced a water-skiing rope and gestured to tie it from his tow bar to the front of my hand-bike. Not wanting to delay the others too much in waiting for my arrival at the summit (honestly, it had nothing to do with my quivering biceps), I reluctantly (hmmm) agreed to his crazy plan.
The twitchy steering of my hand-bike and the sporty driving of the water-sports instructor were a scary combination, but weighing-up the potential for sustaining an injury this way, against the probability of grinding and straining my arms on the hand-crank, I decided it was worth it. Cruising down the other side through a pine-panorama of cliffs with distant blue, the pain of the climb was forgotten.
If we’d done our homework and realised how cheap and available bed and breakfast would be, we wouldn’t have trawled the route heavily laden with bursting panniers. Tents, stoves and sleeping bags were all unnecessary. It wasn’t difficult to find wheelchair friendly (in the broadest sense of the term) pensions, with hot soothing showers, evening feasts and breakfast for less than the Lire equivalent of five pounds each. The tents did however give us the flexibility to stop pedalling exactly when our bodies screamed “enough is enough.”
We journeyed through a string of villages, mostly picturesque, and mostly awakening if not fully initiated into package tourism. Memorable were Gocek, for its harbour of tinkling yachts squashed in a bay at the foot of steep mountains; Olu Deniz, with its sheltered lagoon and long spit of perfect sandy beach surrounded by pine; and Olimpos for its rustic tree house camps in a steep-forested valley, with a surf-sprayed beach and 2388m Mt Olimpos close to hand.
The route from Marmaris to Antalya follows a stunning stretch of coast, rich in culture, history, natural beauty and warm people. It can’t fail, out-of-season (spring or autumn) to supply a memorable, fun and varied destination to mould your saddle. If you get the season wrong though, it could transform into a traffic- and tourist-jammed, super-sweaty nightmare on wheels. We had a fantastic time, but if you are time-constrained, it might be a good idea to fly to the local Dalaman airport rather than Istanbul to avoid the gruelling long-distance bus journeys. However, the ornate Islamic towers and mosques of the Istanbul skyline are definitely worth a visit.
Logistical Information:
When to go: Spring or autumn to avoid the main tourist seasons.
Climate: Expect sunshine, but be prepared for rain. It should be a perfect cycling temperature on the coast most of the year round.
Flights: Istanbul or Dalaman airport, the latter taking mainly charter flights.
Accommodations: There are plenty of cheap pensions and guest houses, so unless you are an addicted camper, it’s not worth carrying all the gear.
Bike Spares: Take them—it was difficult to find spares in Istanbul, and near impossible elsewhere.
Maps: Try to get hold of anything you can before leaving home. Decent large-scale maps are difficult to find in Turkey.
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