Cappadocia Delight. Not exactly as planned.

Default image

We arrived in Cappadocia with bikes, bags, too much excitement, and one very important mission: find gas for the stove. Somehow, everything went smoothly. We reached Ürgüp, unpacked our bikes, prepared the gear, smiled way too much, and felt completely ready for the adventure.

The next morning started like a dream — lazy sunlight, birds singing, warm air, beautiful roads, and that dangerous feeling that everything might actually go according to plan. For a while, it really did. We rode through unreal landscapes, small villages, riverbeds, stone houses, rock formations, cave churches, and valleys that looked like another planet.

The next morning started like a dream — lazy sunlight, birds singing, warm air, beautiful roads, and that dangerous feeling that everything might actually go according to plan. For a while, it really did. We rode through unreal landscapes, small villages, riverbeds, stone houses, rock formations, cave churches, and valleys that looked like another planet.

We met other bikepackers, curious strangers, turtles, horses, and dogs with very strong opinions. The views were endless, the climbs were real, and the first mud arrived sooner than expected. Somewhere between tired legs, hot çay, bread, cheese, tomatoes, and the best juices of our lives, the trip started becoming more than just a route.

We met other bikepackers, curious strangers, turtles, horses, and dogs with very strong opinions. The views were endless, the climbs were real, and the first mud arrived sooner than expected. Somewhere between tired legs, hot çay, bread, cheese, tomatoes, and the best juices of our lives, the trip started becoming more than just a route.

What stayed with us the most were the people. Everywhere we went, someone smiled, asked where we were from, offered çay, food, shelter, directions, or help. We quickly learned the local philosophy of “no problem” — sometimes as a joke, sometimes as a promise, and often as the exact thing we needed to hear.

What stayed with us the most were the people. Everywhere we went, someone smiled, asked where we were from, offered çay, food, shelter, directions, or help. We quickly learned the local philosophy of “no problem” — sometimes as a joke, sometimes as a promise, and often as the exact thing we needed to hear.

Then the weather changed the story. Rain became a regular character. Gravel roads turned into mud, tarmac turned into rivers, and cold entered every layer we owned. We skipped the highest pass because of snow warnings, carried heavy bikes through rocks, slept with the tent under a roof next to a mosque, and were once rescued by a kind stranger in a tiny van when the rain, trucks, mud, and flooded roads became too much.

Then the weather changed the story. Rain became a regular character. Gravel roads turned into mud, tarmac turned into rivers, and cold entered every layer we owned. We skipped the highest pass because of snow warnings, carried heavy bikes through rocks, slept with the tent under a roof next to a mosque, and were once rescued by a kind stranger in a tiny van when the rain, trucks, mud, and flooded roads became too much.

We came back to Ürgüp one day earlier than planned. The route ended, but the trip didn’t. We rested, walked, ate, met people, went to a hammam, packed our bikes, and somehow still managed to wake up before sunrise to see dozens of balloons rising over the valleys. Cappadocia Delight was not exactly the trip we imagined. It was colder, wetter, heavier, and more complicated — but it gave us everything we came for: big views, tired legs, small victories, kind people, and stories we will remember for a long time.