People write to me saying the pictures from Turkey are boring. I generally try to look for the new and interesting in everything. Usually, it turns out so-so, but you still have to keep yourself occupied, or else you might just go crazy. Anyway, our first few days in Turkey, if we look at them objectively, really were a bit boring. And you haven't even seen the rest of day two and day three yet – things are going to get truly tedious here. I've even found a special phrase for it: “Latgalian grass and a dusty highway.” What that means will become clear later.
Actually, you clearly can't get by here without some musings on human nature. Like this, for instance. Most people, strange as it may seem to me, don't at all share my passion for the new, the unexplored, and especially – variety. Lately, I've developed this life credo: different is good simply because it's different. This factor is pulled entirely out of thin air, but it's completely self-sufficient and needs no justification. This applies, of course, to the entertaining aspects of life, not the technical ones – in the latter, the main things are proven track records and reliability. Problems arise when they conflict. I'll explain what I mean.
For example, right now it's trendy to install the Windows 7 beta – it turned out great, they say. I, however, refuse to install betas on principle – why should I test potential bugs on my own hide? On the other hand, checking out a new version is still interesting. True, not as much now as a couple of years ago. Ultimately, an OS is just a utilitarian part of life. Therefore, the compromise between the humanities and the technical here is this: I'll wait another six months after the release to make absolutely sure they've finished everything, and only then will I evaluate the talents of Microsoft developers.
I hope I don't lose my train of thought in such intricate webs of facts. So, regarding boredom, we could also bring up the point of view presented by Shchukin. He says, in general terms, this: "suitcase tourism," where they show you pre-planned and artificial sights, is boredom and vulgarity. But if you travel "savage-style" god knows where, especially on foot or by bike, you see the "real" country and "real" people, not some sugarcoated postcard for visitors.
Not that I completely disagree with this, but there are nuances. For example, this one: when you're a suitcase tourist, you're guaranteed to see interesting things, and it's by no means a given that they're made up. Let's take Norway as an example. If you just go at random, and on a bike at that, you'll look at a couple of mountains and lakes, one fjord – and that's it. But on a bus, you'll see several of the most magnificent viewpoints over the fjords, waterfalls, glaciers, and on top of everything else – a bunch of museums.
Suppose you do indeed see a few locals on your bike, but what will that give you? What will looking at the same landscape from different angles give you? Shchukin, for instance, believes that nature doesn't repeat itself; it's always different and always beautiful. Despite all my praises for seeking out the interesting and the diverse, I can't do that – if the grass around is the same as in Latvia, that's exactly how I'll perceive it, as ordinary Latvian grass.
Which is basically what you observe in the photos – after leaving the city and descending the mountain, that very monotonous landscape began, which throws me into a bit of a funk. Not to say a deep one, especially considering the colors and the hills, but I still expected something a bit more inspiring.
And one more thing about types of tourism. First of all, I didn't notice any particular desire in my companions to interact with the locals; quite the opposite, in fact. That's understandable – the language and cultural barrier is high, and the joy of overcoming it is questionable. As for "looking" – what's the point of staring at regular people? They just sit in cafes ("büfe" or "lokanta") or go about their daily business, which doesn't differ much from that in Latvia.
The only thing that really catches your eye in Turkey specifically is that everyone stared at us and greeted us. It seems locals don't often get to see cyclists in full gear. Igor (the navigator) gave us a persistent piece of advice to greet everyone, especially in the provinces – saying that's the custom in the villages, to say hello even to strangers. Basically, it's a sound idea – why not, since everyone's staring at us anyway.
And finally, the finishing touch on boredom. Of course, when you're a "classic" tourist, there are also quite a few downsides – for example, impression fatigue, when you have absolutely no energy left to absorb countless museums, and even the most wonderful landscapes no longer bring joy. The average person's capacity to take in information per day is seriously limited. If I'm an exception, it's not a special one – for me, just like for Tyoma, nothing sticks in my head except what's been repeated many times, and naturally, not by cramming.
But the worst thing of all is when a person makes no effort to learn or see anything at all, for example, just sits in a hotel for a whole week. I'm completely incapable of understanding this – what's the difference between sitting at home at your dacha or in a hotel? Well, there's the sea, but the price-to-difference ratio is kind of poor.
And one final touch on "naturalistic" tourism. To believe that you are "learning about" a country this way, and seeing the "real thing," is undoubtedly an ordinary human self-deception, which is particularly well described in the literature of atheists and skeptics. Right now I'm reading Dawkins, he writes about this sometimes too, which is why I remembered. In principle, this self-deception is not without reason – it provides self-reassurance and joy from what was experienced. So, I'm glad I experienced some kind of variety and exoticism, even if it consisted of eating an ordinary döner, which all of Moscow is flooded with under the name "shawarma". And Shchukin here is glad he saw some regular peasants and colorful hills, even though their differences from Latvian ones are purely nominal. But all our conceptions of Turkey acquired this way are a simulacrum, just a different one than the "suitcase tourists" have. If you want "reality" – you have to move to the country and live there for about four years.
In the next part, it'll be about a girl with two names: Toma and Zyfyr, as well as a severe drop in spirits due to a natural cataclysm and the ongoing cognitive dissonance regarding what is expected versus what is perceived.