I’ve pretty much given up on dating. Something about being unemployed, broke, and rarely in one place for more than 3 days doesn’t scream “boyfriend material.” (Can you imagine?) Still, there are perks. Like sleeping alone in a tent with no one’s knee jammed into your ribs.
There’s a freedom to it. No coordinating schedules, no apologizing for spending valentine’s days parked up in a hotel where the en-suite is a hole in the floor and they don’t provide TP. I can eat boiled chicken out of the pot and hang my wet towel from the ceiling of the tent without offending anyone's sense of hygiene. And when the rain comes down hard, when the mud creeps in, and I smell like Turkish cigarettes and BO and possibly something dead I rode past two days ago—well, it’s my mess. And only mine. And that’s oddly comforting.
Or it was, until Uncle Glen suggested Bumble. So I downloaded it. Swiped. Matched. On Bumble, the girl has to message first. And she did:
I’m deleting this app tomorrow, but if you’re coming to Ankara and want to meet up, let me know.
Ankara didn’t thrill me. I had heard it was the sterile cousin to Istanbul. Plus the mega cities make it harder to find authentic travel experiences. The real stuff happens in the connective tissue—in small to medium-sized towns where you’re still a novelty. Where it’s easier to strike up a conversation, get invited for tea, slip into someone’s normal life in small but meaningful ways.
But I went. And met Sahide.
We linked up. Swapped stories. Shared chai. Then said goodnight.
That was the beginning.
The next day we met up again. And then the next. The last two days we spent more time together than apart. I met her friends, her brother, her parents.
Sahide gave me a glimpse into Turkish culture that’s almost impossible to find—even in a small town. And I appreciate her from the bottom of my heart. No romantic ending here, but I did gain a new friend. And I reckon that’s all it is supposed to be. For now the tent is still mine, chicken is still boiled, and the towel is still hanging where it shouldn’t be.
Route Recap
Start: Lisbon, Portugal
End: Tokyo, Japan
Key stops so far: Lisbon, Barcelona, Rome, Thessaloniki, Istanbul, Ankara
Key stops coming up: Cappadocia
Last Week’s Videos
025 - Pink Pony Club
026 - Two Violently Different Sleep Situations
027 - Tik Tok Style Fit Check - What Clothes Did I Pack?
028 - What Does it Take to Bike Across Iran?
029 - Day in the Life of a Fulltime Dirtbag
Traveler Tip of the Week
The Google Translate app on your phone is seriously good. It can translate over 200 languages. There is a conversation mode, which works like a dream. Or you can use the camera to read menus, signs, grocery store nutrition labels. Still underrated in my opinion and often a lifesaver.
Progress on the Map
Last week’s distance ridden: 271 miles (436 km)
Total distance ridden: 2,935 miles (4,723 km)
Looking Ahead to Iran
The Islamic Republic of Iran can take up to 30 business days to process a visa — and they’re known to use every single one.
So, I’ll keep pushing toward the Bazergan border crossing. If and when the visa comes through, I’ll stash the bike in a hotel lobby, catch a bus back to Ankara, handle the paperwork, then bus back to wherever I left off. From there, I’ll ride the final stretch and meet up with my Iranian tour guide.
It’s a bold plan — I’ll admit that. But what other choice do I have?
Gear I’m Using
(Not sponsored — I paid for these — but I earn a small commission if you buy through my links, at no extra cost to you.)
Have a lovely week,
Ian
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