in Ataturk's country

For the first time since the beggining of our trip, we get our bags searched through at the border. And again 20 km further. And again a bit further until, tired of it, they just let us go without searching us. They might have passed the word to each other that those 2 cyclists are not dangerous. Unless they just let us go because of the big queues of vehicles waiting themselves to be searched, and this every 20 to 40 km. Serious searches too, going as far as dismantling tyres of buses and searching spare wheels of trucks. In the background, we can hear the sounds of morter fire. And of course, the ever-present tanks, the barbwires, the rifles that appear on top of the sand sacs and baricades, and the choppers that go back and forth in the sky. Here we are in the most militarised zone we have crossed yet. Eastern Turkey might well be more opened and accessible than it used to be but tension remains high.

We cycle up and down, in narrow gorges or over passes and we finally get to Van, the main centre in Eastern Turkey. There again, we are greeted by more tanks. The day before, demonstrations between the police and the kurdish population have turned violent and have resulted in one death. To be added to the 30000 deaths of the previous few decades, in a war that one vaguely thought was over. The manager of our small hotel is a kurd. One of his employees was beaten by the police during the day before's event, and is now in hospital. We are interviewed by the Sabah newspaper. The kurdish journalist still has stored in his digital camera the pictures of the day before. Some Turkish soldiers wave us down and invite us to have tea. A bit further, a Kurdish family also waves us down and invites us to have tea. It seems that we - human being living on earth - all like and appreciate the same things: welcoming a couple of cyclists and giving them a cup of tea, sharing a good meal with family or friends, discussing, laughing and having a good time... Whether they are kurds or turks, or whatever else, they love their families, they share their experiences and their life's stories and learnings, they build, they dream... But they also fight. For a piece of land, a religion, a heritage. Lead, encouraged, used by those who have power and money. Who play with and take advantage of the populations' hope and dispair, their lack of knowledge and perspective, and above all, their fears, to manipulate and reach their objectives.

In the end only leaving behind torn families, destroyed experiences and life stories, burried dreams and a cup of tea that tastes sour.

We leave Van city to follow its lake. How good it is to go for a swim in there! Along the road, in between dead donkeys (!) and beautiful turtles, we stop every so often (regularly!) to have tea. And hear these stories, all unique but so similar that they are in fact only one story. They are all young. They have spent 2, 3 or 4 years in France or in Germany, illegally. They have worked, here and there, or haven't. Generally on construction sites or in dockyards. Integrating themselves in the local communities to different degrees (their level of French or German varies from very good to non-existant). And then one day, the police caught them. They got sent to jail for 5 days, up to 3 months. And then got put on a plane to Istambul, from where they have gone back home, and have been doing very little. "We drink tea, we chat, we play, we drink tea, we eat, we drink tea. From time to time, we kill a sheep". And for now, they wait. Mainly they wait for their country to become a member of the EU (one day?), so that they can legally go back to that European eldorado. They might wait for a whole lifetime, or half or it, or 2 lifetimes. Maybe even the eldorado will never become reality. But still, they wait.

The more we go towards central and western Turkey, the more we get the feeling we are in a machine that goes back and forth in time. At the same moment, we can see a donkey pulling a wooden cart with wooden wheels, a tractor, a brand new latest model mercedes, and women pushing their wheel barrows full of crockery to the nearby river to do the dishes there. The donkey and cart, the tractor, the mercedes car and the wheel barrows all use the same road, side by side. Next to it, colourful buildings spring up like mushrooms, left, right, centre, with no apparent planning. The signs of a rapid, accelerated development are everywhere. Although it does not looked planned nor controlled. What issues - environmental, pollution, traffic, community services and community life related - will Turkey face in 10 years should it keep on developping like this, at this pace?

Turkish drivers being somewhat hot-blooded, we avoid riding on main roads. In central Turkey, just after Ankara, we are tempted by a small yellow road on the map - yellow meaning unsealed - that seems to go over a nice pass. Yet again, we find ourselves volontarily looking for the higher passes, the wilder, mountaineous terrains, and the bumpy roads. These are difficulties that make us a bit happier at the end of the day, that give chocolate a slightly better taste and the idea of going to sleep that night a delicious feeling. We camp above Ankara's night-time lights, a splendid view that we share for a while with a shepherd and his 100ish sheep who have come to pay us a visit. "Come and stay with me in my little hut! It is way too cold out here!" he tells us, sceptically looking at our tent. We politely say no. Solitude and silence under a stary sky, with Ankara's lights in the background are a spectacle it is hard to turn down. Early the next day, we cycle up the last few kilometers of our pass. At the top, it is 14 degrees. A farmer is waiting for us, or so it seems, with his hunting rifle in one hand, his dog and a great big smile. He offers us tea. And, like many before him, when he understands we have come up the little yellow road, and before that crossed a good part of Asia, he looks at us with shiny eyes and a huge smile, joining the 5 fingers of his hand together, kissing them and exclaiming "Mash'allah!"

Off we go again. As we climb up the next mountain, we get caught by rain. Winter is catching up with us! Rain, colder temperatures, clouds... We decide to pedal a bit faster, the idea of riding across Europe in the rain not being that appealing. It is with emotion that we arrive in Istambul, cranking our first pedal strokes in Europe! In a few days, we will be met by Yvoine's 4 brothers and sister in law... We celebrate with wine and champagne - what would stop us now? -, we crazily introduce them to our bikes, we go through all our gear with them, and discuss the details of our trip, with a certain pride. We share our 17500 km with our companions who have come from France, with sparks in our eyes and our heads lost in clouds...

And together, we discover a city that has changed so much since our last visit on a family holiday more than 10 years ago... On some streets, one would think one was in just about any modern capital city of the western world: cafes, prices that have gone through the roof, design and art, bars... Istambul lives, explodes even! We cannot help but watch with surprise the women who go in short skirts and small tight tops, leather boots and high heels in this muslim country. The bars with music pumping. The night clubs and chic restaurants. To us, Istambul sums up what we have been feeling since our first pedal strokes in Turkey: Ataturk has done an incredible job in Turkey. After our experiences in Iran and Pakistan, what else can we be but in awe at what he not only was able to achieve in Turkey in his time, but also at the way he so cleverly ensured that his legacy would remain and continue in the after-Ataturk era. Even if everything is not perfect, it would have required a real amount of courage, vision and determination to be able to do what Ataturk did when he was at the head of Turkey. As we share these thoughts with our friend Sinan, he nods and exclaims "what a shame he did not get time to finish the work!"

After a few days, we are off again: them in a taxi taking them to the airport, us on our bikes, under a sky loaded with rain. Under a bridge, as we leave Istambul, a transvestite in his sunday's outfit waves at us and screams out colourful "good byes!" to us. We find sun again as we ride along the Marmara sea, where we meet the "beau velo de Ravel" party ("Ravel's beautiful bike"): some 20 cyclists from Belgium cycle touring around here for 10 days. There is no doubt about it, we are getting closer to our old European continent! Here again, we share our adventure in a frenzy of questions and wonder! How good it is to speak the same language and to be able to explain, share, give more details!

A few kilometers from the border, we meet Alain. He left Nantes, France, a few months ago. He travels by foot, and has so far walked some 7000 km. He is headed to Bethleem. He is impressed by our trip. We are by his.

With a nice tail wind and a smile on our faces, we get back on the road, and fly across to Greece.