The seaside town that was visible in the last photo is called Şarköy.
Here is a panorama for you.
When we came down, we asked an old dude at the bus stop for directions to the center, but he reacted somehow sluggishly. We made it to the center anyway, and crashed an eatery, where they grilled some meat for us and stuffed it into the omnipresent döner. Although it was smaller in size than the one in Lapseki, it was juicier and had a larger amount of veggies, though a bit too salty for my taste. Of course, it came with the omnipresent ayran. I don't think I've properly explained what that is yet.
Theoretically, ayran is a drink created by the fermentation of lactic acid bacteria. That is, it's produced similarly to yogurt — to make yogurt, you have to take milk and add yogurt to it. I made homemade yogurt that way last summer: you let it sit in the warmth for 5-8 hours and put it in the fridge to thicken. Ayran is made similarly. But in different places and countries they use different starters, and the details on the internet aren't very clear. It seems that the same yogurt can become ayran, or even kefir or milk. The thing is, ayran is usually diluted with water and salted, and in that case, it's really hard for a non-specialist to distinguish between different types of fermented milk products. In principle, you can make ayran at home: dilute yogurt with water, salt it, and add herbs or garlic to taste. I like ayran, but moderately: some of the team didn't like it at all, I'm ready to drink it sometimes, especially when it's cold in the heat.
When we finished lunch, they brought us tea and even a dessert on the house. We couldn't establish the name or origin of the latter. Judging by the consistency, yellow color, and sweet aromatic taste, it was quince jam — the second most famous jam from Turkey after the rose one. But I still have my doubts, it was way too thick.
After lunch, we stocked up a bit on water (you can never calculate how much of it you need) and headed further. Our path now lay through quite touristy places: that has both pros and cons, but well, I've already listed them in one of the posts. Everything looks cute — the whole coast is strewn with little white houses, and there weren't even that many “for sale” signs here yet, compared to further on. Our path lay to the city of Tekirdağ, which is Tekirdaa. The last letter in Turkish isn't read by itself — sometimes it lengthens the previous one, and I was too lazy to learn and understand the other cases. Next up will be a lot of pictures, because there's not much to write about, but there is already plenty to look at.
Of course, maybe I'm bragging for nothing: there are many objective reasons why it was easier for me.
Due to the fact that all my gear was light and small, I took very little with me, it was easy and pleasant to ride, and I didn't get very tired, despite all the difficulties, which were far from over. But I have 30 extra kg of my own, so it's not a given that the weight counts — except maybe the center of gravity ends up in a different place, which is probably a plus after all. But the most important role in the ease of pedaling, it seems to me, was played by the bicycle.
I have a sporty-touring hybrid with 28-inch wheels — it's harder to find parts, but it rolls incomparably easier than an MTB, that is, the regular mountain bikes that everyone buys nowadays. Of course, it's not just the wheel diameter that matters — tires play a huge role. Toothless and narrow tires called "slicks" or "semi-slicks" make life on asphalt much easier. It's also good to pump them up to the max — for me, that's 6 atmospheres, on a mountain bike it's usually 4.5. And recently, when I went to the repair shop because of a stripped thread, it turned out that my cranks, meaning the sticks the pedals attach to, are 175 mm, whereas bikes usually have 170. With long cranks, you supposedly can apply more force (the law of the lever), but on the other hand, it's easy to catch them on the asphalt in potholes or on a curb. Besides, the lever itself doesn't possess any miraculous power. It merely transforms force into time — it's easier to push, but takes longer. So I don't quite get why it should be easier with long cranks — you could just as well put on a different gear.
The girl initially looked at me hostilely — apparently, she didn't want to be associated with the grandpa on the donkey. But after my radiant smile, she melted and smiled back.
In the next part there will be stuff about the real beauty, for the sake of which we dragged ourselves to Turkey, as well as the tremendous efforts we made to overcome this very same beauty.