After an intense few days, it’s time to move on from the world of the Black Sea, tea plantations and hourly visits from our new friends Fatih and Enes. We could easily spend several weeks here exploring the area and learning the wonderful culture but sadly our visa restrictions push us forward. Enes is still in hospital but Fatih arrives bang on time to wave us good bye. After a lap of honour around Rize roundabout, Fatih shakes our hand, hug, tups us and hands us a gift. A proud and well worn local football scarf, what an honour.(Click on the photo’s to enlarge) 

For several miles we hug the coast before we turn inland on to the D925 at the town of Hazar.  We are greeted by a valley of small, trim bushes, all neatly clipped and standing at a uniform height on either side of our road. Tall trees rise from among the bushes to shield the tea pickers from the full glare of the sun. We pass more small tea factories and finally, a fuel station with fresh water. We fill up with fuel and water and empty the loo. Tonight our journey is short, the daylight fades and clouds rolling in in to the valley. We cross a small stone humpback bridge ornately lit with a chandelier and park up in the village of Guneyce. An early night is required.

Our Bumble wild camping spot Guneyce N040.821677, E040.476321

Our Parking View

Muezzins call from mist shrouded minarets. Sheaves of tobacco hang across clothes lines to dry, and maize cobs hang from scrolled wooden eaves. On the balcony to our side, an elderly gentleman covered in thick shrouds of cigarette smoke.  As we sit and wipe the sleep from our eyes, tap tap, a morning brew and a huge smile from our neighbour. 

As our motorhome rolls over the bridge and up the hill, the valley narrows behind us and a dramatic steep gorge appears. We find ourselves climbing through swirls of dust as tea wagons zoom back and forth to the factories. Its not long as the tea bushes are replaced by lush trees, which appear to be clinging on to the sheer rock face of the gorge. It is absolutely stunning. 

We look on at villages of brick, stone and wood houses. Tarpaulin roof weighed down with stones and rock.  Tiny plots of land, ploughed by hand, with nothing much to suggest anything has changed in the last few hundred years. Verdant, fertile country, but rural life is still on an intimate scale. At the bend in the river horses and donkeys are loaded with bales of hay and straw. Birds of pray circle high above, occasionally swooping to fields below. Bee boxes provide a splash of blue to the otherwise green landscape. Traditional humpback bridges look quaint and inviting much more than the makeshift swing and rope bridges. Occasionally, the temporary huts and pens of the nomadic herdsmen dot the plains.

We continue to climb, at 1000m the landscape changes to an alpine meadows.  At 1500m the emerald green fir trees starts to fade and by 2777m the views are sensational. The jagged peaks of the Kackar mountains ahead of us with not a cloud in the sky. Tiny purple and white crocus flowers line our view with the odd ding from a goat bell. The abandoned Ovit otel and restaurant provides shelter for wandering cows. 

The valley opens and for the first time we have a sense of the scale of what we are heading into. The 20 mile long wall of the Kackars with no fewer than twenty two peaks above 3,000 metres. We are close to the Altiparmac ridge at 3,400 metres but aim to be viewing Mount Kacker, which stands at 3,937 metres that is 2.5 miles high sometime tomorrow. This is sublime mountain scenery. Only Mont Blanc, reduced me to the same sense of inarticulate wonder.

As we roll down the valley the lunch time call to prayer echos all around. The road continues to be superb with not a bump or pot hole in sight. That is partially down to all the new roads and resurfacing of old. Construction lorries zoom by in swirls of dust. Some reinforcing the river walls, some preparing new roads and some transporting tons of rock blasted from the commencement of new tunnels. It is certainly an investment in infrastructure area.  

The Road Ahead

At Ozbag we turned off the D950 on to the D050. The first signs of a town appear on the horizon and we follow the road. We wiggle our way through the town of Isper and do a bit of shopping. First as A101 and then Sok. Neither of the supermarkets offer much in terms of variety but Sok does seem to be a little more stocked.  With fresh bread and cheese we drive over to the river for lunch at the pagodas. However, the idea was short lived when we were mobbed by flies and wasps. Strange because up until now we haven’t been bothered with mosquitos, flies or insects. 

Early evening and time to have a walk around the town, admire the views and chill. Leaving Vin we strolled up to the town main streets, where higgledy piggledy houses dating back 300 years lean together like drunken old men. Ornate carved doors and red tiled roofs breaking up the cemented walls. The streets were busy as we walked and it struck me, pleasingly, that there were no souvenir shops, no bijou galleries selling arty, colour washed photographs of Old Isper. No one has thought to turn these streets into a tourist attraction just yet, and that is what gives them their charm.

Where’s the beach gone?

On the way back to Vin, the sun hits the southern spires and ridges of the mountains and turns their tips the colour of molten metal. I only hope the Kackar can live up to the magic of the Grossglockner.