A Journey on Two Wheels
“When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: ‘If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.’ It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: ‘If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?’ And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.”
—Steve Jobs, 1955-2011
“Are you gonna see the cocks?”
—Adem
The initial plan was to head from Ankara to Nevşehir. I rode out and arrived there after a couple of hours, but the city looked so faceless and boring, that I decided to ride on and see where the road takes me. After a little more than 10 kilometers and passing a small mountain range, suddenly an extraordinary sight opened in front of my eyes!
Seriously, unfortunately I cannot shoot photos in a professional way that will grasp how immensely beautiful this place was! It is something you should see for yourself!
I checked on the map, and it said “Göreme”. OK Göreme, I will stay here! I rode into the town (passing camels on my way!), rode by a number of small cave-carved hotels until I came across the one that had a 450cc KTM parked in front of it. The name of the hotel was “Nomad”. Sounds about right! I walked in. The receptionist’s name was Adem.
“Single room, double room, dorm?”
“Single room please”
“That will be 50 liras”
“Think you could go down for me on that?”
“40 is my final price”
“40 sounds like a deal!”
“OK!” he registered me hastily, and opened a small pocket map of Göreme. “Do you know what you’re gonna see here?”
“No idea!”
“Are you gonna see the cocks?” he looked very relaxed, so for a brief moment I figured he meant the birds. “I mean, the penises?” he added. There’s no way out now.
I swear to God, even though the hotel itself is crap, it is completely worth to get the experience of getting a man you met two minutes ago to ask you if you are gonna see the cocks, and then quickly clarify that he actually means the penises.
“Which penises?” I inquired
“The ones in the Love Valley!” he made a circle on a particular area of the map with pen and wrote “L. V.” — “Love Valley!”
“What are these… penises?”
“They are strange rock formations. Everyone loves to see them! Some of them here” — he marked another part of the map — “have three heads!”
To say that it was an awkward situation is to say nothing. “Are they far away?” I asked
“Not so, but it is better if you take a bicycle. Go to Silk Road Bike Rent. Tell them Adem sent you. They will give you a good deal!”
Silk Road Bike Rent was around the corner. Some boy who looked 15 managed the place.
“Hi, I’m Areg, I want a bicycle, Adem sent me!” I quickly threw sentence after sentence.
“Adem? Tamam. I can give you a good bicycle for only 15 liras for 6 hours. Normally this would cost over 20”
“Sounds like a deal!”
I took the bicycle and went out to find the “penises” in the “love valley” that “everyone loves to see.”
After some wandering around, I found some trail and started following it. Soon I have noticed a strange stone with markings that I recognized — “L. V.”, and an arrow.
Looked like I was getting there! I followed the arrow. After a while, another sign.
Then another!
And finally, it all opened for me! I found the cocks! A valley full of phallic symbols — all natural — all carved by nature itself!
Pretty neat, eh?
I looked around and realized that I was literally surrounded by all sorts of them!
Thin and thick!
Some surrounded with trees… and bushes!
And just as I zoomed in to get a close–up, I noticed a girl who was chilling under the shadow.
She was with her boyfriend, and unfortunately did not speak any English. They were a very friendly Italian couple traveling in an old Volkswagen minivan. Her boyfriend’s English, was, however pretty decent. After exchanging some words, he offered me to take me back to town in his van so that I wouldn’t have to ride it all the way, and I gladly agreed — I love chances to get to know new people! So the guy loaded my bike (and me) into the van and we took off.
After some chit–chat, jokes, conversations about the van and why the girl is not allowed to drive it because the gearbox is too gentle, we arrived back in Göreme and parted.
Aren’t they cute? I have a 10-minute video of our conversation in the van that I will upload once I have decent bandwidth — they are sweet!
So back in town, I went to look for a place to write the day’s impressions on my laptop, came across a coffee shop and asked the manager if they had a power outlet. The man looked somewhat aggressive, and instead of answering me asked the painful question — “Where are you from?”
Generally, in these situations I say that I am American. It makes me feel much safer. “I am American!” I exclaimed. “So, do you have a power outlet in this coffee shop?”
“But you are not American!” he answered.
“Why not?” I was confused.
“If you were American, you would first ask me how I’m doing!”
Suddenly he was interrupted by a nice female voice from behind me. The girl actually did sound American.
“But why not? He could be American! You probably just wanna ask about his origins!”
I looked back. A hot American babe was sitting by the window and having coffee.
“Where are you from?” I asked
“Ohio!”
I joined her table and we had the first conversation since my trip had started that actually made sense to me. Traveling in Turkey for several months already, A. was a very attractive and straightforward person. I learned that she played scrabble and pool sometime and the way she said it was just drop-dead sweet. We talked for hours just about everything in life, from simple things to complex subjects, and then some gender discrimination, until the topic of sex emerged. She leaned towards me.
“You know, I wouldn’t say the Turkish men are very great at that stuff!” she whispered
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah! They talk their way through, use their charms and everything, and then at the end when it comes down to doing stuff, it is nothing impressive!”
“Hmm”
“Yeah! You lay there, and then you kinda wanna go like — is this all you’ve got? — Not knowing what to do with it!”
We tried to find some hidden relations between patriarchy and sex skills, and then somehow changed the subject. After it was really late, I walked her to her hotel but discovered on the way that I had left my phone at the cafe. We exchanged contacts and parted there, then I went and found my phone, and back in my hotel an email was waiting for me in my inbox. Here is the full text, names abbreviated, published with the permission of A.
From: A.
Subject: Turkish penises
Areg, before you start blogging about my romantic experiences (or lack thereof) here in Turkey, I want to clarify: penis size was not an issue! In fact, my liason in K. had a very nice cock (as big as these here in Cappadocia. lol) but was quite mechanical and lacking in passion. Chalk it up to the fact that he was a Virgo or, perhaps just a lack of chemistry. Nevertheless, that was what I meant by “not knowing what to do with it.” I would hate for you to put it out there in the blogosphere that Turkish men have small penises. Quite a dangerous proposition for an Armenian on a motorcyle tooling around the Turkish countryside! 😉
Hope you retrieved your phone!
A.
And so ended the day that shall always remain a day of cocks to me. Amen!
Oh, and you did not read this if you are under 18, did you?
Istanbul is enchanted. It is a magical city, and the magic is so intense that you can almost hear it in the air. This cannot be explained, as it is a completely different dimension, but it is not any less real. Every stone, every trash can (there isn’t many of those) and every bench, every dirty beggar, every tree, every wave of Marmara, every train, bridge and the bolts on them, every boy selling water, every Vespa and every roof are magical, filled with strange energy — not negative or positive, not like anything that can be described. It is a very strange kind of extraordinarily attractive energy — it fills you and wraps you and floats you away, in this amazingly sweet slumber, chanting soothing melodies to your ear, touching the most special strings in your soul, and going so deep that it cracks your very essence open to you and the city. It is a city that makes you surrender instantly — and completely. Surrender to being happy, for you are real.
I am forever in love, and I need not pretend. I desperately, hopelessly and endlessly love Istanbul.
Pathetically sentimental and poetic? I am one of the more cynical people out there, but one has to be a shallow douchebag to not feel the immense sorcery that this city is filled with!
When the night comes, the stars gently swim down from the sky into the Bosphorus and become mermaids, whispering tales of the great unknown and stealing your heart as you stand there, seduced, speechless, like a statue, your spirit floating above the dreaming city, caressed by the seas.
Tomorrow, I am going to hop on my motorcycle and head to Eskişehir. A piece of my heart, however, is forever going to stay here in Istanbul, between Europe and Asia, Marmara and Black Sea, somewhere along these curvy streets and wrapped around the heels of the gorgeous Turkish ladies. I have to come back, or I shall always be heartbroken. Thank you, Istanbul, for enriching me so much that I feel like I need a bigger body to host myself comfortably. Thank you for changing me forever, for making me so endlessly self–sufficient, and yet thank you for reminding me that I still know how to love.
I needed you so much.
“Bikes are like women: they are best naked.”
—Arbi
Because traveling on a motorcycle
Means a 2mm layer of dust on your face
And it means a rusty hotel
Where the shower isn’t really working
It’s like being a cowboy in 1800s
Except instead of stinking like horse
You stink like oil and tarmac
And exhaust…
It started with a sexy next-year sportbike model that caught your eye online or in the street. You started wanting one badly. Generally the black one.
You suddenly began noticing and hearing every motorcycle in the street, and with time your plans started shaping up. But then so did your thought process. You started “getting real”!
What if you get married and make ~40 babies? Even now, you already have a family that needs to be driven somewhere every now and then. You couldn’t ride your mom to a hair saloon on a motorcycle now, could you? Of course not!
More than the need to drive them around is the need to convince them you are going to ride. Of course, you could do that! You have the authority, you are self–sufficient and your word matters! But you calm yourself down — it’s just too much hassle… you respect your elders, you don’t wanna make daddy a sad panda!
Afterall, you also need to haul around some luggage sometimes. Heavy suitcases, personal computers, pillows, blankets, construction materials, livestock and nuclear warheads.
What about the winter? You can’t ride a motorcycle in the winter! Argh!
And you want to be safe. You want to be able to make mistakes. Airbags and crash tests!
Comfort is important to you. Who doesn’t like the good familiar bass line streaming out of the subwoofer, along with the flow of hot or cool air? Climate control! You want to be able to control the climate around you!
The apparel. What, you’ll need to purchase and wear special equipment to ride? But you love wearing your slippers out!
You love vehicle maintenance! Greasy hands are sexy in the music videos! But seriously, changing your oil and the brake pads, cleaning your carburetor and configuring the clutch, that’s more effort than watching a video!
The motorcycle has no doors. I mean of course, you’ve seen it has no doors, but whew — really? No doors? What if someone steals it? These are hard times we’re living in!
Then of course the parts! No motorcycle is an Opel Vectra, where would you order the parts? UK? USA? You get online for that? Uh!
How much fuel per 100 kilometers? 7 liters? Hey that’s almost like a car! I mean, my friend’s Cherokee burns only like 14! Nah, not when he’s pushing it of course. Still!
Finally comes the neighbor who knows someone who knows someone else who has heard of someone’s relative telling about his wife’s colleague’s lover’s neighbor dying in a motorcycle accident in 1981 on an unknown motorcycle. “I mean, the brains were all over the place!” he adds. The other neighbor confirms his words with a thoughtful nod.
And so you buy a car. Something reasonably aged, but not too old. Something you can convince yourself and the others is the coolest car one could ever own. You’re certainly planning to travel with it just as you would travel on a motorcycle, so you make sure it has a 4WD differential lock and throw in a sleeping bag into the trunk. “2011 X6?? Are you fucking kidding me? I would never ever ever change my 2001 Toyota RAV4 for that shit! My car is truly offroad and totally stylish, while X6 is just a pile of junk for wussies! I mean you can’t even ride X6 on worn tarmac, let alone gravel! Who buys that shit?! It doesn’t even look that good!” Some around you argue. Some nod. What matters is your feeling of self–righteousness.
Of course, you will get a motorcycle. Someday. Now is a little tense, financially. The stock market is going down. It is just not the right time.
You pick a date that is reasonably far away not to require any actions today, but sounds close nevertheless. Sounds to who? To yourself of course! Two or three years. Then it’ll be yours. You pick a model out of the blue — say, a Triumph Rocket III. There’s a dude standing in the promo poster that totally looks like what you would want to look.
“This shit is my favorite motorcycle!”, you tell your friends. Of course you’ve never even seen one on TV, just the Internet. “2,300 cubic centimeters! That’s 2,3 liters in the car slang! But I can totally speak cc’s!” You learn all the specifications of this motorcycle by heart and set it as your wallpaper for a couple of weeks, before the next cool game comes out or the next awesome abstract wallpaper is published on DeviantArt.
It is pretty much sealed — you will probably never ride.
Finally, after an enormously long break, I am back to motorcycling and of course my blog. After some storm, everything is getting back to amazing — and this certainly includes my life as well as the weather. I am back to my life and motorcycling with great ideas, great plans and great hopes. Some of these are so great that I contemplate and breathe them every minute of my daily routine. My following posts will cover these. The winter was relatively grim, as it is for every motorcyclist, but the perspective looks brighter than ever from where I stand.
And oh I already took my bike out of the winter storage. Riding in Yerevan, on February 17th. The air was chilly but the overall experience wasn’t as bad as during my last riding day on December 3rd. Only 76 days of not riding a motorcycle during the entire year in Armenia. How cool is that?!