The high levels of air pollution produced by the coal works in Zonguldak do not make it the most appealing of places to stop but who cares at this stage? Waking up to a hearty breakfast, after a good night's rest and a warm shower is what we really want.
A police escort leads us out of Zonguldak. A coal works factory gives the area a miserable feel, where hardships were and are still possibly felt. The feeling soon passes as soon as we start climbing a steep tree covered hill, giving the route a picturesque view. The route card promises us around 20kms of downhill roads, something we are all looking forward to especially after the previous two days. But the downhill never seemed to materialise. The tarmac, which is excellent for cars, has an incredible grip forcing us to pedal even though we should be going down a hill. Some respite is felt when we reach relatively flat roads, enabling us to draft each other. Although the route is tougher than expected we are all in good spirits.
Today is a short day. Only 109kms. Our destination is Karabuk University residence, situated in the centre of the non-descript town of Karabuk. Accomodation is segregated and males are not allowed to enter the females' dormitory and vice versa. They are very strict with their rules and our medical team, all being female, had problems giving assistance to injured male cyclists. At Hulya and Soner's assistance, the security guard relents and allows the medical team to enter the building.
As always us females have to suffer more - our dormitory is further back from that of the males and from where our truck and kitchen are situated. Carrying our luggage into our designated rooms is not something we really felt like doing but the promise of a shower makes us walk faster. The shower is a bit of a disappointment as they are not clean. Nevertheless, the strong flow of water is welcoming and I feel reborn once I put on a change of clean clothes. As has become routine I wash my cycling clothes. The splashes of mud from the previous days' routes are fading away but irrespective of how many washes I give them I get a feeling they will be my best souvenir. All cyclists clock in by 3pm. By 6pm we are treated to a hearty supper followed by Fr. Pierre's mass.
Being in Karabuk means that we are close to a UNESCO World Heritage Site, so we are given the opportunity to enjoy some sight seeing. Safranbolu is a stunning tow of half timbered houses. Ancient houses line the slopes of the ravine presenting a smudge of dirty pastel coloured timber and red tiled roofs. Although very tourist oriented, it has managed to keep the old way of life remarkably intact. Apart from a bazaar of souvenir shops few concessions have been made to the twenty first century. Centre of attraction is the Izzet Mehmet Pasa Camii, an elaborate late eighteenth centure mosque. Our stopping to take a group photo generates a lot of interest from the children playing in the square, their laughter stopping briefly to look at what we are doing.
On our way back to our accomodation, Julian asks Hulya what the word “mudurgulu “ (or something of the sort, I can't spell it let alone pronounce it!) means as he has seen it in quite a few places. Hulya explains that it roughly translated it means “director”. Willie and I try to pronounce it but we fail miserably, jokingly I tell him “muglu guglu” and that was it. From that day on it was a very commonly used word. We did check with Hulya as to whether our interpretation was safe to use – the last thing we wanted was to say some rude or blasphemous word.
Another day comes to a close. From here, according to Gilbert's words during briefing things should start to get easier.
He was wrong.
Photos, unless otherwise stated, by Maria Vella-Galea
He was lying, the cheeky so and so! Paul C
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