To the Syrian border

When I last posted I was in Tusucu... contemplating on my next move.

Syria or no Syria?


After a couple of days I decided the best thing to do would be to ride to Antakya, the bustling border city with Syria and get a feel from there on what people think.


Before Antakya I stopped off in Mersin as I had to change my tires. After about half an hour of searching I found a back street garage. Bulent (my new Turkish biker friend) arranged for my tires to be fitted at a very reasonable price. He decided to take me out to lunch, buy me tea and water and wouldn't let me pay for anything! Where in England does the garage owner take you out for lunch while your tires are being changed?
It would have been nice to stay with those bike dudes for longer but I needed to be moving on. Bulent and a few of the biker dudes decided to ride out with me to the motorway. Bulent's wife tagged along and as we pulled over by the motorway entrance she took of her necklace with a purple stone attached and gave it to me for good luck. The kindness of people....

Road to Antakya

I made it to Antakya late at night... my hotel was not easy to find but a group of Turks showed me the way. In Antakya nearly everyone spoke Arabic as there were loads of Arab tourists and Syrian plated cars. However it was not the kind of place I wanted to hang around. I stayed for two days and spoke to an immense amount of Turks over tea to see what they thought... not one said that I should go for it. I decided to find the Antakya bus station... and ask the drivers on which route they took to Damascus as the main road passes through the two most troubled areas (which on a daily basis report murder and killings).
I met a guy called Fidel (a super rich fur salesman, who lives in Dubai but has returned to Antakya for a family visit). He took 2 hours out of his  day to show me to the station, do all the talking, take me to a better hotel and arranged for a taxi friend of his to lead me into Syria the next day. He told me that he has to go in and out often, and that I should take his advice and please not visit...

I was stuck... my mind was torn. I had decided not to ride in with the Dutch boys as they're going to race through and into Jordan in a day. Whilst I wanted to intrinsically explore Syria and all it had to offer... I had even set aside 6 months for it specifically. I thought that once I got to the border all the fear-mongering that people were casting over me would disappear, it wasn't  the case.
My main rational was that: I am clearly not western looking and have a number of previous Syrian stamps in my passport. I would not have the leverage that a complete foreigner could pull. Secondly and more importantly is the bike... as no insurance company will cover me in Syria... if the bike got stolen or confiscated then that was the end of that. If the shit hit the fan I could not duck for cover in a shop or cab but would be married to the bike and it made the idea of exploration more difficult. Especially with the continuous reasurrance from just about every Syrian travelling Turk that checkpoints are prolific.


My mind was made up when a Turkish man with a 4 year old boy asked me where I was going. I told him Syria. The father conveyed this to his son. The boy looked at me for a moment and then looked up at his father with a sad face and said something in Turkish... The father then said to the boy 'say bye bye son this man is going to the clouds.... His fathers face was not reassuring.


I left Antakya and headed for the Nemrut mountain in Turkey. I would try another border with Syria instead.

I stayed about 1 km from the entrance to the mountain drive. As apparently your supposed to see the view at either sunrise or set. That night in the guest house I met a South Korean guy called Wali. Wali had been travelling for over a year continuously and had one year left. He started in South Korea and had made his way overland through China, India, Nepal, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, so on and so on all the way to Turkey. He was then headed through the Middle East and onto Africa. He had extensive, real traveling experience and we hit it off straight away.

 The road I had taken

 It was absolutely freezing up there in the morning. I was wearing shorts and flip flops and everything was numb. Wali was equally cold.

The next day Wali decided he was headed towards Sanilurfa. 
As it was really close to another Syrian border and we got on so well we decided to pick a hotel using his Lonely planet book and meet up in 4 hours.
At the Aslan Guest house in Sanilurfa we ended up staying for 3 nights. Our days were spent talking, eating kebabs and searching for (literally) hours for a backstreet shop that would sell beer. We sat ontop of the Sanilurfa castle, eating nuts and watching the sun set over the city. It quickly creeped to life with a million lights buzzing below us. - It was one of those times when you know you have made a friend that despite the masses of distance between your homes you will undoubtedly see again.

On our last night in Sanilurfa, we went out for lunch with two other dudes staying in the same guest house, Pierre and Valentina. After, me Pierre and Wali went to a Turkish bath house. The Turkish massage is no massage but in fact some sadomasochist Turk getting his kicks. It was fun though and seeing Wali's face when it was his turn had me crying of laughter.  


This is our departing photo, taken with Jetfadil, a worker at the guest house. He didnt speak any English but was a really nice guy. Every night he gave me a hand wheeling my bike into the reception of the guest house! The little kid sitting down is an annoying little git though.

We said our goodbyes at the guest house and headed off on our separate ways. For some reason I always enjoy the ride out from somewhere... the leaving of something, or someplace, each time gives you a new feeling of liberation. But also a few butterflies at the same time as you have no idea where your going or where you will sleep that night.  

I left Sanilurfa and took the long road eastwards... towards Iraq