A motorcycle marathon to the East: my motorcycle journey from Italy to Turkey

Reconciling business commitments with some personal breathing space, whatever form this may take, it’s no easy feat. When you don’t travel for a long time, the insatiable craving for new experiences gets the better of a thought-out plan with some proper downtime built in: When I drafted the itinerary, two weeks before my departure, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to respect it. 

Twenty-one days, of which three rest days, and 9,009 km racked up on a 2022 Honda Africa Twin 1100 motorcycle whose features (as we will see) are more European than Japanese. In theory, the highway stretches shouldn’t have been more than 1,500 km in total; the rest was to be secondary or dirt roads, or fast roads when in the proximity of large residential areas that I’d try to avoid in any case, unless I chose to spend the night there. 

My first journey to Turkey took the shape of a figure-eight route that crossed the Balkans in both directions, exploring the Slovenian, Croatian and Hungarian hills, taking me on the Romanian mountains and across the Bulgarian plains before entering Turkey, the real destination of this journey, where I pushed on to Şanlıurfa, the turning point at the barely glimpsed gateway to the East. Both an inspiration and a snare for the wandering mind of a traveler who’s always thinking about future destinations even when still on an adventure that will continue along the southern and western coasts before swiftly returning via Serbia. 

What to wear for a motorcycle journey to Turkey 

A brief digression on how I got ready for my motorcycle marathon to the gate of the East. As I would travel when the weather wasn’t going to be extreme, a three-layer outfit seemed like the wisest choice: Warm when cool, sufficiently ventilated when warm. On head and feet, adventure helmet and boots – an excellent choice, as I’d opted for several off-road ramblings. In addition, the indispensable waterproof outfit, as waterproofing is never enough when it really pours. 

I equipped the Africa Twin with three large soft bags, closed handguards (they help with the brake and clutch levers), safety bar at the engine’s sides, and a full suite of Mitas E-07 tires, a good compromise between durability and safety when off-road riding. A GPS support stand in the middle of the handlebar and I was ready to go. 

Eastbound: Arriving in Turkey 

The Balkans deserve more time and attention than what they get by those who dream of destinations much further away from home, considering the wide choice of different itineraries they offer when we often cross over them eastbound.  

A storm on the A4 highway, before Trieste, seems designed to wash away the thoughts and worries that are weighing me down, preventing me from flying away both in body and mind. I leave Italy and the highway, wandering through woods and boundaries and an optimistic off-road detour I then discover blocked just a few km from the road. After about 700 km, I unload the duffel bag from the luggage rack in the dark, in front of a hotel brazenly embodying a lifestyle that’s clearly much different than ours. A bit of grease on the chain, ćevapčići and sweet dreams. 

After Croatia , the following days see me in Hungary, from which I enter Romania, sleeping in the vicinity of the picturesque Corvin Castle in Hunedoara, a 14th-century fortress. When I wake up, I set a steadfast 180° southbound destination in the direction of Bulgaria, riding along the renowned Transfăgărășan (universally believed to be one of the most beautiful roads in Europe) and meeting some of its inevitable furry mammals. I stop in Bulgaria, on the lively main square of wonderful Ruse, after having crossed the Danube and, with it, the state line, riding along the impressive Bridge of Friendship (1954) over 2 km long.  

Trying to familiarize myself with the Cyrillic alphabet that presumptuously dominates on the road signs, I climb the hills to the southwest, where I’m mesmerized by the authentic feel of Veliko Tarnovo, its houses and its narrow streets; it’s the ancient Bulgarian capital, situated at an important transport hub. The Africa Twin nimbly meanders through forests, on asphalt roads in decidedly bad conditions and, in a rather isolated area, I reach Buzludža, the Monument House of the Bulgarian Communist Party, abandoned in 1990 yet still dominating the surrounding valleys. A brutalist behemoth in reinforced concrete that perfectly captures the refined grandeur of a more recent past – this detour to Buzludža was inspired by the genuine ardor that possesses us when we learn about a place, even if there’s no real reason or particular feeling to visit it. You just want to see it and that’s all, and my Japanese 1100 doesn’t mind the cool air at all, before going back to a warmer climate, toward Turkey, with a stop in Edirne. 

Finally, Turkey – between travel and tourism 

There are no delays at the border (the same can’t be said for the truck drivers, their queue is 8 km long) and finally I reach my destination, the Turkey I dreamed about for the past twelve years, when it first came to mind as a possible destination. Ritual selfie under the country sign before looking for a shop to buy a Turk Telekom SIM card and for a hotel, a posh one this time, to get some well-earned rest. As the currency exchange rate is favorable, I also take advantage of the underground garage to do some maintenance work, taking all the time I need. 

Catland: This is what I nicknamed Turkey, and especially Istanbul where, on my loaded motorcycle, it took me half a day to climb (with some clutch work) the steep streets to a small, slightly shabby hotel that, however, is strategically positioned in the very central Sultanhamet neighborhood (a valuable tip I was given by those who’ve been here several times). 

It’s finally time to rest and I spend the day sight-seeing in Istanbul, knowing I don’t really have the time to do so yet filled with the due reverence for a capital that has gained so much from its turbulent past in terms of history, culture and a little magic, and whose geographical position makes it what we ordinarily see as the real gateway to the East. And cats. Cats everywhere, even on the Africa, which on the morning of departure is still throwing a strop. It doesn’t want to start. As well as being the only Honda using up a lot of oil among those I owned until now, it doesn’t seem to want to leave the capital due to a starting problem. An issue I was aware of even before leaving, and already experienced in Ruse, but that is now getting worse. 

A British acquaintance made in Buzludža tells me about a Honda dealership, where they should have gone for the scheduled maintenance of their ATAS DCT, but then they suddenly go back on their good advice: Here, unfortunately, people are more familiar with small-engine motosiklet than the heavy beasts fashionable in old Europe. A lame horse is still better than walking, I think, so I go on (Inshallah). 

Finally, I leave civilization behind, knowing that I will sadly encounter it again – and overpoweringly so – in Cappadocia. I continue in a southeasterly direction, crossing passes at 1,600 m, which are a blessing against the summer heat (despite this being the end of September) and I descend to the small village of Sivrihisar, unexpectedly lively as compared to the surrounding ones, as here is where they film what’s been praised to me as the longest running Turkish TV series (Gonul Dagi): Dining with the cast in the building where I’ll sleep tonight adds a mundane touch to my motorcycle foray on Turkish land. 

Toward Cappadocia: Tuz Gölü salt lake, the Turkish “Salar” 

Cappadocia awaits me, but in the meantime I don’t want to miss out on the Tuz Gölü salt lake: My memories of the Salar de Uyuni are still very much alive and the appeal is very strong, though I’m aware that the scenery will never match that of the Bolivian Salar. However, I seem to have chosen a very bad day: It looks as if it’s about to rain and a wind and dust storm (which are nothing like sand however) hits me sideways. I try to slalom between the storm cells using the GPS and I manage to stay dry for several tens of kilometers then, on the dirt road that from the plains leads you to this fair-sized salt lake, I decide to head north, along a service lane for the salt pan.  

You realize you’re about to lose it when, with the adrenaline already in the air caused by strong winds and shifting storms, a vibration starts in your right wrist and quickly runs up the nervous system up to the nape of your head, and once the brain gives the order that shiver goes down along your back, making your eyes widen while the wrist turns the throttle all the way, and you fly in fourth gear at 160 km/h on this ribbon of dirt and salt. 

Soon after, ruts full of dry mud and some dips persuade me to gently let the throttle go, always leaning backward. It might not be Uyuni, but it was beautiful nonetheless, before finding evidence of the storm’s passage on the opposite side. I cautiously slow down on the muddy puddles and the slippery asphalt and reach Goreme in the evening, slightly exhausted as today’s lunch break was blown away by the wind. 
 

Cappadocia: Hot-air balloons, and more 

Cappadocia is exactly as you imagine it: It doesn’t let you down, both in terms of scenery and in terms of tourist infrastructure. Unfortunately. Because what I expected was indeed a developed tourist machine luring people from all over the world, and with good reason. The main lookouts and sites are all within a handful of kilometer and are crowded at all times, not only at sunset and dawn. Hot-air balloon tours, quad tours, trekking tours through rock formations that are as bizarre as they are fascinating. Humankind, too, has left a trace of its passing on ancient civilizations: Underground cities such as Derinkuyu, Kaymakli, Ozkonak, Saratli and Mazikoy (8th and 7th century BC) with narrow passages and well-designed ventilation shafts, dug by hand down to 85 meters beneath the surface, as well as a less known yet very beautiful monastery in Selime, a complex from the 8th or 9th century AD located 80 km south of Goreme, which could accommodate up to 5,000 people, close to the Ihlara valley where I advise stopping for a cool lunch break at the tables suspended over the stream that crosses it. 

The journey continues toward Eastern Turkey 

Almost tired out by the second day of “rest”, smothered by too much tourism, I flee to the west. I leave Cappadocia after reaching, via an easy trail, the Sultanhani Caravanserai, and from there I go back to asphalt, though I soon tire of it. Glancing at the Garmin, I see a secondary road that seems to carve two wide half bends tens of kilometers long, and I give in to temptation. Cell service vanishes as I go deeper into the Turkish countryside: Rough scenery, field stubble smelling of dark wet earth (due to controlled fires, here they still burn brushwood to sanitize fields) accompanies me along this trail, gravelly at times and dirt at others. From time to time, I see a shepherd settlement halfway through a slope, with fearsome Kangal dogs with their characteristic anti-bear collar observing me from afar when I stop to put on or take off the rain suit.  

Apparently, dirt roads call for storms – at least on this journey – and thankfully the breaks also turn into an occasion to drink some cay with some extremely hospitable Kurdish people in a service area. I spend the night in Divrigi, a Seljuk name that still survives today for a town whose origins seem to go back to the Hittite Empire. It’s striking, with its medieval fortress perched on the promontory that overlooks the town, and for its mosque, which is considered one of the most significant Islamic architectural works in Anatolia. I dine in a local restaurant, no sign of tourists, only I and the owner chatting via Google Translate or me nodding when they offer me some dishes whose name I think I recognize. I take my leave early and reach the small hotel situated along a steep secondary road. 

The next stages entail crossing the Kemaliye district and then arriving in Şanlıurfa, the real gateway to the East. The journey continues, and you can keep on reading about it here:  A motorcycle marathon to the East, the return journey: Riding from Turkey to Italy