I had to take off my dervish from on top of the front wheel. I was approached by a man, that told me that this is not just a dervish but THE dervish. Here they call him Mevlana from Konia aka Rumi. This would have been fine with me, I love his poems, but to be honest I knew little more about Mevlana. Here he is a holy man. Muslims hold the koran on the height of their heads (don't look down on it) and similarly my head should not be above the one of my Rumi statue. I was grateful he told me about this in a very polite way and apologized for my naivete and reassured him that I ment not offens. But now I will either have to tie the statue around my cap or find yet another mascot.
Cycling in the plane, a little up a little down, a little headwind, a little tailwind and a lots of sun. The large street and the little traffic was inviting to cycle with music and escape the monotonous effort with cycle-dancing (head shaking, hopping, arm waving).
There were a couple of lines that stuck. Firstly Keziah Jones sings: 'when we cry the river becomes a sea. We stand in grief for reality'. Hearing this line again made me almost squeeze a tear out of my eye. I got 'blue funk is a fact a long time ago' and here I am, still struggling with stuff that dawned once me when I started thinking.
Secondly there is a song of 'the cat empire' and its refrain goes like: ' lord unchain my hands. Let me sing inside the crowded trams. Let me dance among the traffic jams. We are going to sleep on the St. Kildare sands. Lord unbind my feet. Let me mingle with the good people we meet. Water rising into the street. Unbind my feet.'
I call it a travellers prayer. beautiful.
The landscape only caught my attention shortly before Nevsehir. Suddenly the road turnes to face a hill and then dives into the small valley south of it. On the hillsides there are these very old looking villages of which some houses are cut into the hill. The sun was already low and just lit up the east-west valley with soft late afternoon light scratching over the hill tops.
The warm welcome of Alkim in Nevsehir was a perfect end to the day.
Cycling in the plane, a little up a little down, a little headwind, a little tailwind and a lots of sun. The large street and the little traffic was inviting to cycle with music and escape the monotonous effort with cycle-dancing (head shaking, hopping, arm waving).
There were a couple of lines that stuck. Firstly Keziah Jones sings: 'when we cry the river becomes a sea. We stand in grief for reality'. Hearing this line again made me almost squeeze a tear out of my eye. I got 'blue funk is a fact a long time ago' and here I am, still struggling with stuff that dawned once me when I started thinking.
Secondly there is a song of 'the cat empire' and its refrain goes like: ' lord unchain my hands. Let me sing inside the crowded trams. Let me dance among the traffic jams. We are going to sleep on the St. Kildare sands. Lord unbind my feet. Let me mingle with the good people we meet. Water rising into the street. Unbind my feet.'
I call it a travellers prayer. beautiful.
The landscape only caught my attention shortly before Nevsehir. Suddenly the road turnes to face a hill and then dives into the small valley south of it. On the hillsides there are these very old looking villages of which some houses are cut into the hill. The sun was already low and just lit up the east-west valley with soft late afternoon light scratching over the hill tops.
The warm welcome of Alkim in Nevsehir was a perfect end to the day.
