The Cold Mountain and a tortoise

Bıg Mılage

Turkey ıs huge.... massıvely huge. Sometımes I rıde for hundreds of mıles and at the end of the day, ı sıt there drınkıng my tea lookıng at my Turkısh road map thınkıng wow that was some crazy long rıde. But then I look at my zoomed out overall map of Turkey and I suddenly realıse that I havent even moved! Its that bıg. Every so often though I have to cover some bıg mılage to get somewhere when I decıde that I dont want to vısıt anythıng ın between... So ı thought I would wrıte out thıs report so you guys could see a typıcal, solo rıders ordeal whılst crossıng some long lonely rodes ın the East.

So, the camera is partially fixed and I can take a few photos but the quality is poor and it depends if the camera feels up to it. So unfortunately I can't decorate the blog with pictures as before! I'll try though.

After entering Turkey I made my plans to ride all the way north to Georgia. I was banking on the weather holding out until I got there. I had the option of two routes to Tatvan, my destination for the night. East or west, west being a long old ride over some serious mountain roads and the east being quicker and straighter. As there had recently been some heavy shelling on the east by the Turks trying to flush out kurdish terrorist groups hiding there I thought it would be smarter to take the western road. It felt like I was continuously ascending for 6 hours. I met and saw all sorts of interesting people along the way. I rode through villages that were extremely rural. As usual, the thumping sound of my bike would mesmerize and attract the attention of the village kids who all run to the road to watch the bike pass through. Occasionally I would stop, otherwise I would slow right down and wave to the children. To the congregated men sitting in groups drinking tea I would nod, put my hand to my heart then to my head as a mark of respect. This was always met with a reciprocal action.

I did stop to take a photo of this handsome dude. I had not passed a single car, vehicle or person in over an hour but then saw him happıly trottıng along. He had a huge smile on his face when I passed so I though I would stop for a chat. He walked with me to the othersıde of the road and shouted something out loud... I looked down and saw another guy emerge from the bushes carrying grapes and nectarines. We all sat around eating freshly picked fruit and laughing at I don't know what. I tried to swap my bike for his donkey but he didn't want to. Maybe the donkey was worth more.

After solitudely riding for hours and hours I really got into the mountain riding and the twists and turns, the sweeping bends, ascents and descents. You kind of develop a rhythm after a while where you become synchronized with the road. If you stop the bike or break your rhythm even for a moment you have to start all over. I was thinking that I'm not stopping for anything, I was in the zone baby. Then I narrowly swerved past a moving rock... Then I had to stop... Rocks don't move? I rode back and sure enough there was a tortoise slowly crossing the road. Bear in mind this is really high up in the eastern mountains of turkey and no where near water or anything other than sand. A couple of miles back I had passed a load of lorries and this little dude was going to get run over. So i parked up, picked him up and went and dangled my feet of the side of the cliff edge with Turk (I thought it was a good name). I had a couple of nectarines left over and so cut one up for my new friend. He popped his little head out of his shell to eat. We both sat there gazing over the mountainous terrain that lay ahead of me eating fruit... 

10 miles from Tatvan the weather became unbearably cold. I was freezing my ass off and the wind was becoming pretty strong. I didn't want to pull over to put more clothes on because it was getting dark and I just wanted to get there. I made it and found a dark and dingy motel in the centre. A guy that resembled Eagor showed me to my room. As the foyer was so small I couldn't wheel my bike inside. Instead I chained it up outside. The guy behind the reception desk was a complete nutcase. I asked him if my bike would be okay and safe outside as he was copying down my passport details... His reply was:

"If ANYONE fucks with it... I WILL FUCK THEM!!!" And as he shouted those last four words he punched the air then slammed my passport down on the table, breathing heavily....

My reply was "okay brilliant... well, goodnight then"

The next day I set of for Van. The weather became very bad. The rain was absolutely bucketing it down and the wind was again very strong, the cold mountain air compounded this. I pulled into a petrol statıon to check my map and ı was hungry. As ıf they knew, I was quickly ushered inside by the petrol pump workers and was fixed up with a big breakfast and boiling sweet tea. Of course thıs was all free, I was their guest for breakfast! It was all laughs, tea and smoke inside the petrol station office for breakfast, I believe the over- landing biker gets a kind of special treatment as they can appreciate how tough it can be navigating and dealing with the elements solo without a guide or gps just a soggy old map. To back this theory up: a tour bus arrived on their way to Van, when it arrived with foreign tourists and their plastic rain coats whıppıng ın the wınd, the staffs smiles dropped and i saw them hazily walk outside and deal with the customers as quickly as possible with absolutely no interest and no genuine politeness. When they got back ın they grunted whılst tıltıng theır head towards the bus ın a dısmıssıve way ,urgh... tourısts... then we all laughed.

I rode pretty much the whole way to Van. By the time I got there I was freezing. My fingers were numb and my legs were soaked. I have owned my bike boots for 4 years and they have never leaked, that was the first time my feet were wet too. I pulled over on the side off the road and told myself to make a decision right there. It was only going to get colder northwards, the tour bus driver told me that they had come from the north and it was layered in snow. I was not enjoying it, I had not packed properly for winter riding, I have nothing to prove to anyone and have done a great deal of snow and ice riding in England so I know whats ınvolved. This is kind of like my holiday and so I made the decision that this was not the right time for another hell ride and I would rather have fun in the sun. I set a new course heading south west to Cappadocia.

It took around 3 hours to get out of the raın and for the weather to return to a reasonable temperature. It was aslmost an ınstant change ın weather after passıng through one gıgantıc tunnel through a mountaın. On the other sıde of the mountaın the sun was shınnıng! I couldnt take any photos of the condıtıons of Tatvan or Van as the camera would have got soaked... I dıd take thıs congratulatory, vıctory stance photo once the weather cleared though after conquerıng the freezıng mountaın!

I visited and stopped off in Malatya and Diyarbakhir before making my final push to Cappadocia.

The road to Cappadocıa from Tatvan was extremely long and took me 3 days of rıdııng... on these types of rıdes whıch have to be done every so often, one must entertaın the mınd!

I also decıded to start takıng photos of the countless overturned lorrıes and trucks I fınd all over Turkey; by doıng so i am not ınsınuatıng that the Turkısh lorry drıvers are not capable skılled drıvers.... no not at all....

heres a couple;

Just outside the city of Kayseri I stopped at a tiny little taxi booth. There was one guy sitting inside with his taxi parked up. Pulling up next to him caused him to rush out. Typical looking Turkish taxi driver, he came out to see what I wanted. Once I took of my helmet and said "hello, how are you?" in Turkish, a huge smile immediately drew across his face as of course he could tell I was a foreign overlander. He immediately shook my hand and gave me the traditional Turkish greeting of touching each side of his head to yours whilst shaking hands. Like the European kiss on each cheek but instead there's no kissing and it's just your temples which touch. I fınd I am contınuously greeted lıke thıs all over Turkey whıch ıs quıte nıce. I was pulled inside his tiny little shed which could fit possibly 3 men as it had a stove and a little couch and a chair inside. Hot coffee was brewed to warm us both up. I ended up talking and joking around with Aftik for about an hour, despite the fact that he could not speak a single word of English. He wanted me to stay with his family that night but I had to push on that day and politely declined. Very nıce bloke though, we dıd have a laugh!

 The wonders of motorcycle travel!

Erbil, Apple's and a Turkish Interrogation

Iraqi Roads


It took me four hours to get from Dohuk to Erbil. However this time frame included a stop for lunch, about a dozen military checkpoints, passport check's, countless stops for the police as they want their photo taken with me, slow riding for thirty minutes during the sandstorm and wind, figuring out my route as some of the road signs were in Arabic and I had no map of Iraq... Just a scribbled note that a hotel receptionist gave me (which was completely useless) and a few stops to talk to the locals.


Really annoyingly my camera decided it wasn't my friend anymore whilst in Iraq and would only switch on when it felt like it. Unfortunately I missed out on some great photo's. I remember one time I saw four huge military pick ups with massive machine guns on the back and kitted out to the max. There were a dozen soldiers standing around them, I had to pull over and say hi to those guys! You just have to right? Anywhere else I would expect soldiers to be somewhat pompous, you know... Because they have a gun and you don't... But not in Iraq... Here they want you to drink tea with them! My camera decided it couldn't be bothered to take a photo... Some of the army dudes did instead on their phones, maybe one day I'll see one floating around on the net?


Me and Anthony had arranged a meeting place in Erbil's centre.... Which is where I met this trio of super helpful dudes.... They took time out of their day to show me the way!

Anthony is quite into his couch surfing and had arranged for both of us to stay with an American teacher living in Erbil. Bonnie, 64, lives in a secured complex in Erbil along with a surprising amount of other foreign teachers who all teach at the University. They have a sweet deal as they each get their apartment and utilities paid for and the apartments are huge! The first night the three of us went out and caught a cab to the Christian section of the city.... Why the Christian section? Because they sell booze obviously! We ended up in an Australian owned bar filled with expats and foreigners working in Iraq.


Bonnie had some crazy stories to tell and it was interesting staying with her for three nights. Two that spring to mind: She was one of the hostages kept in Iran duringthe 79 revolution and was held for 400 and something days, whilst a prisoner her back was slashed with a bayonet. She was in a car which was blown up by a roadside bomb in Kabul, Afghanistan and nearly lost her arm!


Remember in my last post I wrote about the Iraqi who paid for our pizza and told us to call him if we visited Erbil? Well we ended up calling him. He came to pick us up at night with his big Toyota Hillux and took us up into the mountain for a long drive to overlook the city. he bought us tea and then later ice creams, when it got late he dropped us of back at the apartment complex and would not accept any money.

Whilst Erbil was interessting it was not my favorite in North Iraq as to me it just had that all too familiar big city feel and cities are places I tend to always try and avoid. We spent 3 days there and then decided it would be a good idea to meet up in Zakho, a little city right next to the Turkish border. On the ride back İ only had my passport checked a couple of times as on all of the other checkpoints the soldiers recognized me. At a few checkpoints İ was however pulled in for a chat. İt was nice to see the soldiers as they were all a friendly bunch and they all loved making jokes. As a tip for angone riding through... They absoloutly LOVE it if you ask them if they want to jump on the back seat and ride back to England (or wherever your from) with you and imitate them carrying and shooting their guns from the back seat... Nearly every soldier İ spoke to said to me 'welcome to my country' I felt they they had a real sense of pride for their homeland. And again there was no pompousness, none of them were trying to act cool, hard or tough, no one was showing off, they were just genuinely happy to meet me and talk! Sometimes this would hold up all the cars behind me, sometimes I would move to the side for a longer chat. Big groups of them would come out of their barracks to speak to the crazy foreigner from England, some of them wanted to visit London, some wanted to talk about food, some wanted to talk about football and they love Barcelona (which became my new 'favorite' team) and I remember one soldier telling me it is his dream to become a rapper, that sentence was met with hysterical laughs from his comrades.


In Iraq, it is very easy to meet and hang out with the locals, just sit in a tea shop or shisha cafe, within two minutes someone will be sitting next to you. This person will be one of three people,
Either they have studied English and are keen to practice with you or
They have lived abroad in an English speaking country or
They used to work for the US Army as a soldier, special forces guy or if they're young then as an interpreter.




I pulled up outside the Apple Bar in Zakho. I waited for Anthony there. The owner Sarbast welcomed me in. The Apple bar sells freshly squeezed fruit juices and I was given an orange juice but was not allowed to pay. We spoke until Anthony arrived and then we went in search of a cheap shared room. We found one but it didn't have a lobby where I could wheel the bike inside so I went back and told Sarbast. I was then instructed to follow him to his house where i left my bike inside his Gated driveway. He then drove me back to the hotel. Me and Andy checked into a double room for peanuts. That night we explored the markets and went back to the apple bar to visit or new good friend Sarbast. After more fresh fruit juice which he wouldn't let us pay for the warm night suddenly turned into a massive thunderstorm, it was such a quick transition from a cool night to heavy rain. Sarbast decided to take us for a drive around Zakho and for a chat. He was such a nice guy and if you ever visit Zakho definitely go say hi!

I left for the border pretty early the next morning after saying my byes to Sarbast.
I reached the Kurdish border and as I arrived there were two helicopters equipped with huge machine guns getting ready to take off... Their blades were thwacking the sky, blowing wind, dust and rubbish all over the car park. I must have been less than 20 meters from the birds and if I'm honest I felt like an excited little kid.... My camera didn't load up in time and I missed the shot I wanted.


I did manage a crappy shot later on when another one flew over head

The Kurdish side was quite interesting. I went through the normal procedure of stampings and questions. Then I rode off. I was promptly stopped and asked for a ticket! Apparently it's a yellow ticket which needs to be purchased for 25USD... I did see cars purchasing those but decided it might be an idea to see if I could get through without one... So the police inspection people asked me for it.... My reply was 'I support barcelona' .... That didn't work... So I told them that the police at the previous checkpoint told me I didn't need one because I'm an Englishman (this of course was a lie)..... Their reply was ummmmm.... So I went with one dude to an office to speak to his boss... And he said I had to speak to his big big boss... Off I went with my new police friend to the big office, I could tell that this dude was important as there was no shouting outside his office and it was surrounded by armed guards.... This dude's name was Mustafa, and the young policeman did not ask him about the yellow ticket but about my paper work. The big man said I was cool and could go.. I believe he was assuming I had a ticket already as i was asked one question by him 'ticket'? my reply was yes. I got back to the police and said Mustafa said I'm cool... So they let me go. I was stopped again three times on the way to the Turkish side an each time I said Mustafa said I'm alright to go without paying! Each time I mentioned Mustafa's name they quickly said oh okay, go go no problem, I'm guessing he's the big cheese.


The Turkish side was a complete pain in the ass. A narcotics agent demanded from me another form of ID, other than my passport. There is no other form of ID, my passport is sufficient, what are you talking about... He didn't believe me and this went on for half an hour. My bags were emptied, my pannier rummaged through, I was searched and told to wait for another half an hour. Eventually I was taken into an office to be questioned.


What's your name, where do you live, for how long have you lived there?
What's your mothers name, what's your fathers name, what's your job, did you study, where did you study, for how long, (obviously I didn't tell them I studied war and peace), why did you visit Iraq? Where did you go in Iraq? Where did you sleep? How did you communicate? Don't you know its dangerous? Who did you meet?
Why are you so young and on a bike? We don't have motorcyclists coming this way? Where did you get the money for your bike if your a student? Ae you rich? Where are you going now? Why do you have so many Syrian stamps in your passport, why did you visit Syria so many times, where do you stay in Syria, can you speak Arabic, do you know what the PKK is? So on and so on and so on.... For an hour.... Until he was sure I wasn't part of the PKK. Once he was happy with me it all became more relaxed. I told him as I was leaving to tell his narcotics officer that the passport is sufficient enough ID for the English and we don't carry this other form that he was looking for, just incase other bikers come through. The man with a thousand questions apologized for the other officer and said he would have a word.






North Iraq was a fantastic place to visit. It was especially rewarding because people are not visiting it yet, there are travllers venturing in but no where near a big scale. This has meant that the Kurds are still interested in travelers and tourists as it is a kind of novelty for them. I don't believe the country and people will be the same once it becomes (if it becomes) a tourist hotspot and so I feel privalleged to have seen it now. Whatsmore I would urge other intrepid travelers to visit and experience what I have.






As a ps. as i was rıdıng back to Dohuk, a car kept passıng me and then slowıng down, passıng, and then slowıng down for about 20 mınutes. The reason for thıs was that the kıd ın the front seat was fascınated by my bıke and was screamıng out of the wındow and contınuously wavıng. I decıded to pull over. The father brought hıs chıld over to where ı had parked up and we saıd our hello`s. He dıd not speak any Arabıc and my Kurdısh was lımıted so for the fırst tıme I couldn`t communıcate ın Iraq. However, I belıeve he was tryıng to explaın that hıs chıld could not speak properly and had a mental problem. To me he looked lıke the happıest lıttle kıd ın the world. We shook hands and he could`nt stop squeelıng wıth happıness when we sat hım on the bıke. The father ınsısted on gıvıng me a present. I of course refused as they both looked very poor. He dıdn`t have much to gıve but a bıg smıle drew accross hıs face when he found a 17 ınch spanner and gave ıt to me. I refused half a dozen tımes... but he ımıtated fıxıng my bıke wıth ıt and presented ıt to me lıke a Japenese samuraı sword. I had to accept out of polıteness.

The Road to Iraq

Iraq and the Kurdish people

I slept the night in Silope, the Turkish/Iraqi border town. The next morning I rode to the border. The Turkish half was chaotic. 

There was one tiny booth with one Turk sitting inside it. Around his miniature window was a mass huddle of Turkish men, totalling approximately 20 all the while more adding to it. They were like a swarm of Turkish bee's fighting over the worlds last flower. I noticed one guy standing about 3 metres away from the mayhem so I got off the bike and walked over to him. A scruffy looking Frenchman named Fredrick. He looked relatively calm, we spoke for a while. I was confused as to why he wasn't getting in there, was he waiting his turn? Of course, like many traveler's into Iraq he was in a taxi and it is protocol that the taxi driver takes your passport and does all the pushing for you. Whilst I was on my bike I had to do it for myself. I walked over to the booth and in a moment realized I could literally be there all day, with all these men waving their passports in the air, aggressively barging one another and shouting in each others faces. There was only one thing for it... I got stuck right in. I pushed and I shoved, I rammed my way to the front, people put their arms on me to pull me back but I stood strong and shoved them out of my way. Within a minute I was at the front. A barrage of profanities were thrown my way with guys shouting in my face and elbows being rammed into my side. All I could say or do in reply was put my finger to my lips and say Sshhh.... (they liked that). In the western world this was deemed as 'pushing in' but here it was a necessity, the normal way. They were all doing it and I realized if you couldn't hack it you should go home. It was a weird feeling though having grown men fight over a little window. We were so close together I could not lift my left arm up. Imagine being crammed so tightly in the middle of a bunch of Turkish blokes that you physically did not have the strength to lift an arm and wave it in the air as all our bodies were continuously pushing another. I slammed down my passport on the table and grabbed onto the window otherwise I would have been literally washed away by the sea. I was in and out in about 3 minutes.

The Iraqi side was a different story. It was very relaxed and very calm, professional men in large booths asked me questions as to why I was entering their country and purpose of travel. I was stamped in and sent on my way. Just as I was exiting, a soldier with an AK stopped me, he extended his hand and so I reached for my passport. He shook his head and smiled, I realised he just wanted to shake hands. As we did, he said "Welcome to Iraq, my friend".

I rode into Iraq and towards Dohuk. Not knowing what to expect. All I knew was that I had to be careful not to take the wrong turn and end up somewhere like Baghdad.

I made it to Dohuk, a small city and quickly found a hotel. The owner wanted $40 for the room. I told him I would not spend over $20. His reply was no problem, 20 will do. I had to stay in such a place as I wanted to have my bike in a hotel's reception instead of out on the street (a necessity in the cities). 

I showered up and was eager to explore Dohuk and meet the Kurdish - Iraqi people. I had been walking around, drinking tea and eating kebabs for a few hours when I spotted a western looking guy walking past me. I met Anthony, 40, from the USA near the bazaar in Dohuk. We decided to go and get a cup of tea and talk. Anthony turned out to be one interesting dude, he has been traveling for 4 years around the world and has no plans on stopping. We spoke for an hour or so before a Kurdish guy decided to join us as he spoke some English. We had 3 tea's and he insisted on paying, it was our first taste of Iraqi hospitality.

We decided to meet up later that night for dinner. Three Polish film makers and photographers, Anthony and myself had dinner and then spent an hour or so smoking the shisha pipes and drinking tea. 

Two of the Polish guys went home after, but me Anthony and the other decided to go find some beer. Before we left we grabbed a rolled up, delicious pizza style thing from next door to the Shisha shop. Before we could pay, an Iraqi who noticed we were speaking English, introduced himself and told us he used to live in Canada. He payed for our food and wouldn't accept our money. He then gave us his number and told us to call him if we visited Erbil.

The next day me and Anthony decided to grab a cab and visit Al Amadayah. A village perched upon a mountain. 

We walked around the village and noticed one garden had a particularly nice view over the mountains. I asked the guy if we could come in to take some photo’s and we were greeted with water. The guy turned out to be an Iraqi 1^st Lieutenant and showed me his military card. It said ‘Lions Division- Authorised personal weapon: YES’. So naturally I immediatly reached my hand out and felt the side of his stomach, sure enough there was a pistol under  his shirt. I asked to see it and so he showed me! I LIKE GUNS. His brother who was standing next to him was also a soldier but in the Kurdish army and a Seargant.

After we had enough of the village we decided to embark on a long trek back down the mountain to another village where we had lunch. We thought it would be a good idea to see if we could hitch hike a lift home. Quite a lot of cars stopped for us but weren’t going our way. Eventually two dudes stopped and gave us a lift an hour away to our hotel.

The next day we decided to make our way to Erbil, Norhtern Iraq’s, Kurdish Capital. Anthony took a taxi and we arranged a meeting place in the city centre. Erbil is a 3 hour drive from Dohuk.

Dohuk itself is 80km from Mousul, one of the worlds most dangerous cities. To get to Erbil I had to ride right past it. As I dont have a map of Iraq I had to rely on specifically stopping and asking directions and the road signage which was predominately Arabic.  Leaving Dohuk I asked a policeman for the right way, in his broken English he looked at me and told me the way but warned me:

“If you take bad road... then” To which he put his finger to his throat and made a slitting motion, he then poked his tongue out for dramatic effect.... and finally pointed at me.... “so careful Mr”.... ‘Well thats pleasant’ was my reply.

All along the way to Erbil were military checkpoints. At each one the army chaps looked more and more confused to see me. Each time, I was pulled over and asked what the hell I was doing. After telling them that I support Manchester United (which I obviously don’t) I was freed.

About  ¾ of the way through the ride I come accross three Army/police guys sitting on plastic chairs by the road. They beckon me over to sit with them.  

We sat chatting for five minutes, when I noticed that in the East the sky was bright blue, pretty much cloudless. However, in the West there was no sky but a mass haze of yellow, the whole of the west was covered in it and visibility was poor whilst in the east I could see out for miles. I asked the guys and they shrugged.... Hmmmm.........

One of the police guys hat flew off and tumbled down the road, the empty chair was thrown after it and the trees bellowed.  My bike was 10 metres away from me and within a second I could not see it. That massive haze was a sandstorm. It had completely covered my bike and I had to run to it to make sure it hadn’t fallen over. The wind was phenomenal. Dust and sand was everywhere and we took shelter. I quickly realised it was going to take a long time for it to pass, it was 3 o clock and I did not want to arrive in a huge city after dark. I had no choice but to jump on the bike and outrun it... the police shouted after me ...”slow, slow Mr... go slow”. My reply was my exhaust can whacking off into the cloud of dust.

The wind was so bad I was literaly riding at a 45 degree angle. For half an hour the sand and wind blew me from lane to lane. Bear in mind there were no towns or villages to pass through, just desert all the way from one city to the other, this made it worse.

I will have to post the next section on Erbil and leaving another day as it’s kebab time.

In Summary. Since I have arrived in Iraq, I have had a completely unique experience. One that I have never had before. Kindness and generosity here is like nothing back home. Nothing. When I walk into a shop or restaurant here to buy a bottle of water they literaly refuse to take my money. Why? They say it is a gift for you. It has never been a one of but continuous. In many restaurants. When I was sitting on a step and taking a break, a group of guys came up to me, just to sit with me, offering me endless tea, smokes and water. When we ordered those pizzas that kurdish man insisted on paying for them. The guy in the hotel let me stay for 20 whilst speaking to the other guests I realised they were paying 40. When I left the hotel he gave me presents including after shave.  When leaving a restaurant the owener did not want to accept any money he was saying no, no no. A man we just met took us for an hours drive up into the mountains, bought us tea, delicious ice cream and then dropped us off back home. As I was walking to the internet cafe today I stopped at a fruit stand and grabbed a bannana, again they wont accept money.  When we had tea in a tea shop and went to pay, someone had already paid for us? Where do you get that on a continous basis in the west? Where are people interested and happy to see you every single place you go?  

Northern Iraq, Under Kurdish control is extremely safe. More so than any western city. However, due to mainstream media and the western indulgence in it, it is difficult for people to comprehend that a place in Iraq is safe. As the word Iraq is synonymous with terrorism, war, destruction and insurgency. It is a shame for those who will not visit but an advantage for those who do. As they get to experience this unique Kurdish way before, eventually the masses arrive. By then they will understand tourism and I doubt very much the giving nature will be extended as freely as it is now.

I decided I had to have a photo with these cool dudes... Although, the two on the far sides made sure that the photo did not capture their feet as they were wearing flip flops and im guessing they would have got into trouble!

Peace