I failed to mention earlier that the campsite gates were left open for us because behind them was a tuvalet, which means toilet in Turkish. Also, after a long search and some brainstorming, we discovered an extension cord leading from the WC, into which I immediately plugged my iPhone. It was usually in a half-discharged state, so I never missed such opportunities.
From the campsite we headed to the city of Tekirdağ, which has already been mentioned here. Of course, we didn't just go for no reason, but with the desire to taste those very same cylindrical meat balls, Tekirdağ köfte. Naturally, “meat balls” – is just an unfortunate calque from the English “meatballs”, which simply means regular meatballs or rissoles. Also, a cherry festival is held in Tekirdağ because fruits grow well here.
We have cobblestones like this on the main street in Daugavpils now too.
Soon populated areas began. In one of them, we bought a small melon for 5 liras – maybe we overpaid, but on the upside, there was a toilet nearby that we could use for free. Considering that a toilet in Istanbul sometimes costs a whole lira, it just about adds up to a melon.
We saved the melon for later, and then, completely out of the blue, a hellish wind picked up. What I had considered wind in the previous part was actually just a light breeze. This time it was storming so hard that it was almost impossible to ride. Nevertheless, we somehow made it to that very city of Tekirdağ, which is about the size of Daugavpils, by the way.
As we entered the city, we tried to make our way to the center – but according to the signs, a bypass highway led there, which we didn't want to take. We had to schlep 50 meters back against traffic. Such stunts never lead to any good – Igor (the Navigator) snagged a construction net with his handlebars and crashed into the dust. He got pretty scratched up, but survived. As far as I remember, it was the only fall of the entire trip, and much to our luck – at a low speed. Fortunately, Sergey (the doctor) finally got a chance to fulfill his duties and patched up the wounded. Oddly enough, all this took place on the seashore on a beach, but at the same time, in a stadium.
After patching up our fighter, we moved towards the center. While Maris and I were waiting for the rest of the guys, a sentry from a booth started blowing his whistle at us – apparently, the stadium was by no means for civilian use. When we rode further, it turned out that a fenced military compound ran along the left side of the road. In general, as I mentioned before, there are a lot of military personnel in Turkey (because they have nowhere else to put people, heh heh). Not to be baseless, and also to diversify the narrative, I'll share a few facts.
The number of soldiers is 1,054,750, making it the second largest army in NATO after the USA. Of those, 50,000 are on short-term readiness (I don't know the exact term, but you get the idea). Over 5 percent of the GDP is spent on the army (in Latvia – less than two). Turkey has over 4,000 tanks (Latvia seemingly has none, well, maybe a couple). In case anyone is out of the loop, a modern tank costs several million $. Besides all of the above, there are also 13 submarines, 19 cruisers (if I translated the word frigate correctly), 49 destroyers (I'm totally guessing the translation here) and 24 torpedo boats. As for aviation, the Turks have almost 500 military aircraft.
As for Tekirdağ, we did finally reach the center. The absolute most central square (because I decided so) was at the top of a hill, and a whole five roads intersected there. There was a decent amount of people, so we walked and pushed our bikes, elegantly maneuvering among the pedestrians. I looked as hard as I could for a place where we could park ourselves to try some köfte, but it's not that easy with bicycles. As a result, we went into a bistro – a local analogue of “Vesma”, but based on the “price per portion” principle. They piled all sorts of stuff onto our plates for a portion, because it's a bit hard to determine what kind of food it is by sight, and I only know Turkish in one direction – when I'm speaking, not when I'm listening.
Fortunately, everything was very tasty and diverse. Behind the prongs of the fork lies a layered börek pastry, or at least that's how my brain's image recognition software identified it. On the right is dolma, meaning something wrapped in grape leaves. Lunch without ayran cost 6 liras, which is 2 lats (ayran was another lira). Not bad, especially for a nice place with wrought-iron grilles practically in the center of the city.
And once we finished lunch, Sergey, out of sheer hunger, started gobbling down the sugar that was sitting on the table, free and out in the open. In connection with this, he came up with a theory very much in the spirit of my own myth-making. Supposedly, the waiter saw the process of devouring refined glucose and briskly offered us a pie, just so the terrifying bicycle athletes wouldn't eat all the sugar in the joint. The pie was delicious, though a medium-sized slice cost a whole 3 liras, meaning one lat.
Then we chatted a bit more with one of the serving uncles in English and Turkish (along with yet another explanation of where Latvia is). What exactly this guy was doing at the eatery was again unclear to me – which perfectly fits into my theory that they have nowhere to put people in Turkey and just shove them everywhere for no reason.
As for those infamous cylindrical balls, we never got to try them in their pure form, but I stole a photo from Flickr especially for you.
There isn't really much else to write about the city. On our way out, we popped into a local supermarket – it turned out to be a non-food store, and there was a metal detector at the entrance. That's how tough people live here. Therefore, we had to buy the chocolate bars (the purchase of which Igor the navigator was actively insisting on) at a nearby gas station. By the way, before I forget – the one and a half liters of gasoline we bought at the beginning was more than enough for the whole trip. So we'll know for the future that we can take less so we don't have to haul it around, especially since it leaks and smells.
At the risk of my own freedom, I took a picture for you of something they don't joke around about in Turkey, and which I wrote about above: they are transporting a tank on the truck on the right. It's a pity the photo didn't turn out well.
As a matter of fact, a bike mechanic from “Trek” was telling me how a bicycle traveler from Daugavpils went the wrong way in Turkey, woke up the next morning at gunpoint, and then spent several days under arrest. Be careful.