Well we finally arrived in Turkey on the 9th of September after a crossing which could only be described as luxurious.We had a cabin for four all to our selves, airconditioned and everything, oh the hardships we have gone through.Cesme is a typical Turkish Mediterranean resort, everyone speaks faultless English and the menus have chips witheverything. The Hotel was a bit of a find as we got the room for a mear 15,000,000 which is only around 6 pounds,so cheaper than camping in Europe. Next day we asked for directions and were informed by the staff of the hotelthat the route was very 'tranquil'. Ha! They were obviously taking the mickey. To get out of Cesme you have toclimb a slope of around 20% (to non cyclists that means 'bloody steep') in temperatures of up to and around 38degrees celcius (to those who still use farienheight double and add thirty for approx.). By the end of the daymy shirt had turned into a mobile salt mine, covered in salt crystals.

The slopes began as they obviously meant to continue, we would sweat our way up some steep bugger of ahill only to see at the top that it plunged down to sea level. Whenever we reached the bottom and werejust changing gears the local dogs would then decide to attack. I now know the meaning of the phrase'hair standing on end with fear' much better. By the end of the day when we arrived in Sigacik (78km)we had climbed and descended a vertical kilometre. Sigacik was strangely like the west coast of Scotlandright down to the bobbing boats in the harbour and the hotel being owned by German retirees.

The next day our target was 80km to Selcuk (Ephesis), as the day unfolded into the same seriesof slogging up and down we were flagging badly by luchtime. Stopping at a shop we bought breadand tomatoes and were invited to sit and eat them by the old lady who ran the shop. Next thingshe appears from the back shop carrying plate loads of stuffed vine leaves and stuffed aubergines(a new one on me but extremely nice all the same). So fueled up we shot off into the heat haze.

As we approached the plain that covers what was once the now silted up harbour at Ephesis I wasbeginning to flag again. Just glancing to my right, there cut into the hillside was the mostperfect Roman amphitheatre. After all the rains and headwinds through Europe, all the squattingoutside of supermarkets eating lunch in the dust all the punctures and repairs it all seemedworthwhile. Simply stunning from a distance.

The Homeros Pension turned out to be a real find, not only cheap but run by one of lifes truelywonderful people. 'Oya' not only provided excellent rooms but fed fed us delicious food andfree wine but most importantly made us feel very welcome (so we stayed for 3 days and 'did'the sites). Ephesis is beautiful, however the thousand of coaches who flock there have killedwhatever magic the place once had. Tour guides with loudspeakers and braying voices destroy whatlittle atmosphere was left. Disheartened we found ourselves a quiet spot and had our customarypicnic lunch and watched the package tourists at 'work'. The scramble for 'that' photo is theultimate goal, ignoring reality and what was around them. Sad very sad. The day was finished offwith a free glass of home made wine (bears not relation to those dandelion or eilderflowerconcoctions so beloved of British wine makers) sitting on the roof watched the sun set.It was only by accident that I noticed that in the foreground of the sunset was the Templeof Artemeis (one of the 7 wonders of the Ancient world, can you name the others?). Bang oncue, as the sunset reached it full purple and crimson climax the call to prayer from the mosquesaround began to echo off the mountains. It's moments like these that I have to pinch myself toremind myself that this is 'me' doing this.

The next day on th bikes we started off a bit stiff from out 3 day lay off,a short steep climb out of the valley soon warmed us up, we were not reallylooking forwards to a day of climbing again. Turkey had a hidden delight for us,after that first climb the road began to descend very gradually (the surface beinglike glass we were doing silly speeds for most of the day) and continued to do so formost of the day. So, two very happy cyclists pulled into the industrial town on Nazilli (104km)that night, we knew it was not pretty and our Lonely Planet had warned us the only hotel in town was for businessmen and probably about fifty US dollars per night (our budget for Turkey is thirty dollars per day between us). It turned out to be ten, with TV and air conditioning. Turkish TV is so bad that Geri Halliwell (the artiste formerly known as Ginger Spice) had her own game show, need I say more? But we got hooked on the music channel, Turkish pop is a vastly over produced blend of traditional and modern, with belly dancing lovelies thrown in.

The following day the 'all you can eat' breakfast stayed inside me for all of thirty seconds,so a couple of rest days were need for the colonic flora to readjust themselves. Not a bad placeto get stuck, the huge double glazed windows allowed us a view of a massive storm that blew inabout ten minutes after we arrived. The lightning strikes put out the electricity to the wholetown except the mosques who by the grace of Allah and their own generators still kept theirilluminated minerettes lit up. Very surreal indeed.

Pamukkale was around 90km away so an easy day, or so it seemed at first.We left Nazilli on the smooth road and scooted along at great speed loving every minute. Suddently we musthave crossed a local authority boundary as the road quality turned into a complete nightmare.The road instantly deteriorated into a series of potholed hummock and dips, the surface became made out of huge chips which slowed us down by around 5km and hour. So the 'easy day' turned into a long slog. We had been warned that Pamukkales' tavertine terraces have been so misused that they were now grey and deteriorating instead of the white the tourist photos show. The ant like line of Japanese tourists marching their way up the face of the terraces could be seen from miles away, closer it was no better. Definitely not worth the effort, until we got to the top for sunset.

The sunset was nice but better still was the ruined Roman city Heropolis on top of the terraces.The setting was amazing with a superb view out over the wide fertile valley below which must havesupplied food for the settlement even two thousand years ago.

We were faced with a quandary the next day, do we go for a long day or two short ones,we decided to opt for the one long. After only about 20km we were knackered, barely ableto speak we stopped for lunch. The problem was the old cycling favourites of headwinds and hills. We managed to plough on past a couple of salt lakes before we threw in the towel and headed for Dazkiri (90km), a tiny town we knew nothing about but hoped had a hotel. It did and and internet cafe run by someone from Melbourne, bloody Australians get everywhere.

130kms into headwind the next day saw us arriving at the lakeside holiday resort of Egirdir(used to be called Eigirdir, but supposedly ten years ago they changed it, Eigirdir means 'bent'in modern Turkish and the army boys from the Commando base were getting annoyed with the mickey taking). As I descended over the pass into the town I had a bit of reminder who was the power in t his very army town. As I was gingerly descending on th gravel I kept hearing whistles from the army camp next to the road, the only other road vehicle was a car parked at the side of the road next to the army base. Next thing the sentries are down on the ground pointing their machine guns at the car, only one problem, a cyclist was in the way, I was about to become what the Americans call 'collaterral damage'. No, I didn't stop to see what happened, at that point I became Lance Armstrong (only much much faster). Fear should be banned by International Olympic Committee as a performance enhacer.