Having walked over 50 miles in a period of three days, I was more than happy to spend the majority of the day resting and scarfing down hot food in Kennedy Meadows, the final trail “town” before heading into the remote wilderness of the High Sierra. Due to high snow levels in the mountains, even in late June the place was still relatively full of hikers. After a massive pancake breakfast (complete with fruit and M&Ms) I pitched my tent behind the local general store, took a rudimentary shower, and collected the food supplies from the box I had previously shipped to myself. A juicy burger and several beers later, I had a great time meeting people, watching the women’s world cup and just generally hanging out.
In the evening the store set up a projector for an outdoor screening of “The Princess Bride”, only half of which I managed to stay awake for before passing out at 9pm (aka hiker midnight). Unfortunately my ambitions for a good night’s rest were thwarted as the party continued long into the night, culminating in the breakout of a fistfight at 4am. Everyone eventually calmed down and went to bed, and I managed to sleep for a couple hours before the rising sun called me back to the trail.
As I was sipping some tea and making breakfast at the creek (where I forgot my lightweight titanium cup, a mistake that would leave me cupless for the rest of the trek) I met two more hikers: Bubblewrap and Pioneer, from the UK and South Africa, respectively. They invited me to share breakfast at a nearby campsite with picnic tables, striking a friendship that would continue as we crossed paths throughout the rest of the California section of the trail.
Pioneer and Bubblewrap wisely chose to wait out the afternoon heat under the shade of a jury-rigged tarp, but lacking a tarp of my own and with the few trees rather stumpy or burned and dead, I pushed on through the stifling heat to the next water source. The intense sun combined with attacks by biting flies every time I tried to take shelter next to a tiny bush forced me to continue, but I was eventually rewarded with an amazing rest break at a beautiful little oasis where the trail crossed Manter Creek. After drinking my fill at a small waterfall flowing into a grass-filled pool, my spirits lifted and the next few miles to the Kern River passed quickly.
I spent the evening quenching my thirsty feet in the cool river and watching the shadows slowly lengthen as the sun disappeared behind the cliffs to the west.
While I missed the majority of the desert section of the PCT by starting at Walker Pass, my few days spent trekking among cactus and joshua trees on the way to Kennedy Meadows gave a glimpse of the awesome beauty that this region can offer. Luckily, my timing coincided with the blooming of these prickly pear cacti, which lined the trail for much of my second day.
I also met my first fellow thru-hiker, trail name Diesel, while filtering water at a small stream surrounded by bees. We chatted while the insects hovered around us and kept flying annoyingly close, and continued to jump past each other on the trail through the afternoon as I attempted to make up for my late start the previous day.
To my surprise, toward evening the desert flora suddenly gave way to pine forest as I crossed over a ridge. The stark difference between the southern and northern flanks of mountains would be a continuous theme on my journey along the trail.
I got off to a late start after waiting out the midday desert heat in an air-conditioned burger joint in the tiny town of Inyokern, just a few miles east of the trail in southern California. Climbing up to the ridgeline from the highway beneath circling vultures, I was soon rewarded with expansive views of the arid Indian Wells Valley to the east. As the sun began its slow descent westward, the mountains took on pink, purple, and bluish hues. I spent a windy, sleepless night up on that ridge on the side of Mt Jenkins, but the striking sunset and then early morning sunrise over the mountains made it well worth it.
Hello everyone! It has been quite a while since I’ve updated this site (almost three years in fact), and a lot has happened in that time. I was waylaid on the Black Sea trek and decided to hike the Lycian Way on Turkey’s Mediterranean Coast instead, which ended up being an incredible experience. I moved to Seattle and got a master’s degree. I trekked 1,800 miles of the 2,600-mile-long Pacific Crest Trail. And finally, I got a job at Stanford (my alma mater) and moved back down to the Bay Area in February.
Since I am now spending much (read: all) of my time at home due to the COVID-19 pandemic, I have decided to get back into writing. I hope to continue my travel blog posts on experiences in Turkey and elsewhere, but I will also try out some different formats as I get my very rusty writing chops back into shape. In that spirit, today I was inspired to begin a series of photos with commentary, one from each of my days on the PCT. Enjoy!
Today’s photo is from my starting point at trail mile 652 (south to north), Walker Pass.
The location of the Black Sea, courtesy of xfluro.com
While first planning this trip, I envisioned a grand journey traveling around the entirely of the Black Sea on foot, through Turkey, Georgia, Russia, Ukraine, Romania, and Bulgaria. This was later modified to include only Turkey and Georgia, and then later only Turkey’s Black Sea coast. I chose this region as I had spent very little time here in my previous stints living and traveling in Turkey, and I wanted to see and learn more about the unique culture and history of the region. After arriving in Istanbul in early April (and meeting up with some friends there), I bought a tent, sleeping bag, and hiking poles, gathered some food and medical supplies, and dropped off some excess luggage at my friend (and fellow Fulbrighter from Balikesir) Greg’s apartment. I chose the tiny town of Anadolu Feneri (Anatolian Lighthouse) as my starting point.
Starting the trek at Anadolu Feneri
On a dreary grey morning I boarded the Istanbul metro (after some minor questioning by the security guards as to what I had in my giant backpack), changed to a bus under a nondescript overpass, and eventually found myself in Anadolu Feneri. After taking in the views at the historic lighthouse (1830) I began what I imagined would be a two month adventure walking and enjoying the beauty of the northern coast. I ran into my first obstacle almost immediately, as the road I had planned to follow east toward Riva ran straight through a Turkish military base. Looking at the map, I despaired at having to detour at least seven kilometers out of the way to go around. A mile down the road, however, I spied a dirt road heading east that wasn’t on the map, and confirmed at a nearby restaurant (after being invited in for multiple glasses of çay, of course) that I could follow it past the base back to the coast road.
Meeting new friends on the road
Leaving me with some cookies and a warning of sheepdogs ahead (I was prepared for this after numerous aggressive dog encounters on the St. Paul Trail four years earlier), I said goodbye to my newfound friends and started out on the dirt road. I soon came to a logging camp, where the workers pointed me back to another village road, saying there were only soldiers allowed ahead. Wanting to avoid any unnecessary encounters with the Turkish army, I turned back and eventually found myself walking through a tiny village. With no GPS and the road splitting into multiple paths, I asked a couple farmworkers (who turned out to be brothers from Uzbekistan) for the road to Riva and they promptly invited to the table for a meal and, you guessed it, more çay. The Turkish family who owned the farm, along with several neighbors, joined me at the table and were rather incredulous when I told them my plan to walk all the way to the town of Sinop, 600km to the east.
The path ahead, complete with beehives
Full of delicious homemade Turkish food and energized by two glasses of the caffeinated black tea, I continued along dirt roads, passing bunches of beehives, to another tiny village where I was almost set upon by a pack of local dogs before some villagers called them off. An older man greeted me and started a conversation, quickly concluding that I was a spy after I told him I was American and where I had come from that day (he still gave me food and tea, thank goodness for Turkish hospitality!). I finally walked onto a paved road and then the main road to Riva, going by the Turkish national football/soccer team academy and finding a hotel for the night. I had only gone about six kilometers along the coast, much shorter than my intended 20-25 kilometers per day pace. As the sun set over the sea, I sat at a beachfront fish restaurant drinking an Efes beer among a group of leather-clad bikers, pondering the long road ahead.
“How happy is the one who says, I am a Turk” – famous Atatürk quote
I arrived in Bodrum on a drizzling, overcast evening. After finding some reasonable lodgings (enjoying the $1 to 3.5 Turkish lira exchange rate following the pain of the euro in Greece) I wandered into a nearby fish restaurant for my first truly Turkish dinner in almost four years, ordering hamsi (sardines), mushrooms, fried zucchini, and spicy ezme spread, washed down with a tall glass of the Turkish national spirit: rakı an anise-flavored liquor similar to ouzo and arak. Needless to say I enjoyed my meal.
A meal fit for a traveler
The next morning came bright and sunny, and I hopped on a bus to the small provincial capital of Balikesir, where I had taught English at the local university for two years between 2011 and 2013. Many things had happened in Turkey since that time, something I was immediately reminded of while passing through gendarmerie security checkpoints both on the way into Izmir and into Balikesir. I had previously encountered highway checkpoints in the southeast of the country, near the borders with Syria and Iraq, but this was my first experience seeing them in the western part of Turkey. Though given the attacks in recent years, it is certainly understandable. I also happened to arrive just a couple of weeks before the referendum on changing the government to a presidential system, and campaign posters and vans blasting advertisements for one side or the other from roof-mounted loudspeakers (more for ‘yes’ than ‘no’) were everywhere.
Central square in downtown Balikesir, with referendum campaign posters
Finally in Balikesir, I was very happy to see that there was still a lot of life in the streets and all of my old haunts (the place where I used to buy bread, the local pide restaurant, döner stand, etc.) were all up and running. There was a discernible difference in the mood, however, with people appearing a little more withdrawn and melancholy compared to four years before. Despite this, Turkish hospitality was alive and well. It was a wonderful feeling to reunite with old friends and start speaking my rusty Turkish over innumerable glasses of çay (tea). I visited my old apartment, strolled through Atatürk Park, and played several rounds of the classic Turkish pastime of backgammon with former university colleagues (while, you guessed it, drinking tea).
Statue of famous local wrestler, Kurtdereli Pehlivan, in central Balikesir
I also had the opportunity to visit a couple of the university campuses where I taught: the NEF education campus in the middle of the city, the main campus about 10 kilometers outside, and the vocational campus located in Bandirma, a smaller industrial city north of Balikesir hugging the shore of the Sea of Marmara. I met a couple of my old students in Bandirma for çay; I had helped teach their first year of preparatory English before starting their major program, and now they were just about to graduate. It was great to see their progress and to learn that one student had been inspired to study abroad in Poland for a semester through the Erasmus program. From Bandirma I caught the evening ferry to Istanbul, crossing the breadth of the Sea of Marmara back to the timeless city that had first introduced me to Turkey many years ago. I would spend most of the next week there preparing for my long anticipated trek along the Black Sea coast.
Visiting the Balikesir University Education Faculty, where I taught students studying to become English teachers themselves
After a busy few months on the road, I am back in Tahoe for a couple of weeks and finally have some time to catch up on the blog (apologies for the long delay!) The next few posts will follow my adventures through Turkey, beginning with visits to Balikesir and Istanbul and then setting out on an ambitious trek along the Black Sea coast, before switching paths to hike most of the Lycian Way on the Mediterranean. My travels then lead to Konya, Cappadocia (complete with hot air balloon), back to the Black Sea region and even to the far eastern expanses of Doğubeyazit and Mount Ararat. So stay tuned during the coming days for updates, adventures (and misadventures), meetings with colorful characters, and a whole trove of fun photos!
Following some vague instructions I found online, I walked to Athens’ bus station “B” and bought a return ticket to Delphi (and a quick spanakopita and yogurt for breakfast. Having just arrived from East Africa, I was amazed that the bus actually left at the scheduled time!). Located on the slopes of Mt. Parnassus a couple of hours drive from the capital, Delphi was the summer location of the famous oracle of Apollo, consulted by kings and oligarchs on all matters from war to harvests. Not realizing the site closed relatively early at 3pm, I was just able to explore the length of the ancient city, ponder life next to the temple of Apollo, and make a quick stop into the disappointingly uninformative museum before everything shut down. However, the afternoon was absolutely beautiful and I spent a few hours strolling along the road and admiring the sweeping views of the valley and sea below.
View from the slopes of Mt. Parnassus, Delphi
The next evening I gathered my belongings in Athens and took the metro down to its historic port, Piraeus (this time thankfully without any attempted pickpocketing). I boarded the massive Blue Star Ferry to Rhodes with its hotel-esque reception desk and found my cabin. A few minutes later my roommate for the voyage arrived: a friendly, businesslike car parts salesman from Athens. We chatted for a bit (his brother lives in California) and then I went up to the top deck to watch the ship depart as the sun dipped below the horizon. The rest of the 15-hour journey was uneventful. I fell asleep to the rocking of the boat and the scratching of my roommate’s pencil as he worked well into the night.
The sun getting low over the port of Piraeus
When I woke in the morning we were passing the island of Kos and opposite, the mountainous coastline of Turkey! It was the first time I had laid eyes on the country since completing the Fulbright program five years earlier; a wave of elation and energy swept through me the dark grey sky slowly began to lighten with the new day. I would take the ferry across the strait in a few days, but first I wanted to spend some time exploring the island of Rhodes. Once home of the Colossus, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, Rhodes is the largest island and capital of the Dodecanese and contains one of the best preserved medieval towns in the Mediterranean. The Knights of St. John, crusaders who had been expelled from the Holy Land, took control of the island for two centuries before it was conquered by the Ottomans and then taken by the Italians, only becoming a part of modern Greece after the Second World War. We docked, I found a friendly hostel to stay at and began taking in the city.
These two short towers supposedly mark the spot where stood the Colossus of Rhodes
I walked the full perimeter of the medieval city walls, venturing into a few of the dark, twisting tunnels underneath that were unexplicably left open and ungated (one thing that would never happen in the US), wandered the narrow, empty streets of the old town (it was very early in the season) and tasted some of the local dishes which suspiciously reminded me of Turkish food. There are still a number of Ottoman mosques in the city, along with some Italian-designed buildings on the waterfront and the crusader architecture of the palace and old hospital (now housing the archaeology museum). One day I took a bus down to the town of Lindos (“the Santorini of Rhodes”, according to the hostel guy, and indeed the white houses covering the slope beneath the castle reminded me of photos I have seen of that island). I planned to hit the beach after clambering around the castle and enjoying a rooftop lunch (with ouzo), but unfortunately the cold, rainy weather was not conducive to diving in so I settled for soaking my feet for a bit in the chilly Mediterranean.
Lindos beach, town and castle, Rhodes
My timing with the ferries was off again, so instead of sailing straight to Turkey I caught a boat back to Kos (stopping by the beautiful port of Symi on the way) and bought a ticket for the evening crossing to Bodrum. This left me a few hours to check out the Kos castle and a few parts of the old town; there is a lot of history there as well and I would love to go back and truly get to know the island. Waiting for the ferry to Turkey to depart, I watched as a dark thunderhead edged its way towards the port and wondered if I would be spending yet another extra day in Greece. But we soon set off (straight into the middle of the thunderstorm), feeling both exhilarated and apprehensive as rain soaked half the vessel and lightning struck the turbulent waters around us. Thankfully we made it through, the weather calmed and we sailed smoothly next to Bodrum castle into the port. After a short wait at passport control, I was back in Turkey.
My flight out of Africa left from the Entebbe airport, just outside of Kampala on the shore of Lake Victoria (and the equator!). Thankfully there is a direct bus with the same company that Meredith and I used to travel from Nairobi to Kampala, and as I sat in the office waiting the inevitable 45 minutes for the bus to arrive, I struck up a conversation with the man sitting next to me. He was from Kenya and traveling all the way to Nairobi, but had gone to graduate school at Berkeley! We had a fascinating conversation about the different mindsets and economic outlooks of Rwanda, Uganda, and Kenya, and were later entertained (and only a little frustrated) when his seat back broke and the bus attendant proceeded to fix it with duct tape.
Western Uganda countryside
On my final day in Kampala I visited the Baha’i House of Worship for Africa, one of the eight major Baha’i temples in the world (the others are located in Chicago, Panama City, New Delhi, Santiago, Samoa, Frankfurt, and Sydney, along with the Universal House of Justice located where the prophet Baha’u’llah was imprisoned and died in Akka). A relatively new faith, Baha’ism sprung up in the 1800’s in Iran. It’s key principles include universal peace and education, the oneness of humanity, and the single foundation of all religions. At the temple I met a young man from Iran who had studied petroluem engineering in the US and would be moving to Houston two weeks later; he was just finishing up a short period of volunteer service at the temple in Kampala. We talked about politics in Iran, Turkey and the US and I learned much about the basic organization and history of Baha’ism in Africa and worldwide. After our discussion I wandered the green grounds of the temple, a true haven of peace in the midst of Kampala’s general chaos.
Baha’i House of Worship, Kampala
One final meal with Mike and then I was off to the airport for a 4am flight to Cairo and then Athens. I had visited Greece a few times before while living in Turkey (some of the islands are just a stone’s throw away) but this was my first time in the capital. As a warm welcome someone tried to steal my wallet while on the metro to my hotel, but luckily I noticed the hand in my pocket, gave a shout and the guy dropped the wallet and pretended that nothing had happened. From there I went straight to the Acropolis to admire the famous Parthenon and the sweeping views over the city.
View from the Acropolis, Athens
Unbeknownst to me, the next day (March 25th) just so happened to be the national holiday celebrating the start of the Greek War of Independence against the Ottomans in 1821. As I wandered down toward Syntagma Square, I found my path blocked by a solid row of onlookers and the avenue being cleared by police on motorcycles. And before I could even think to ask what was happening, tanks started rolling down the street to the cheers of the flag-waving spectators. These were followed by armored personnel carriers, anti-aircraft missile launchers and all sorts of other military hardware, while jets and helicopters flew by overhead. As I watched groups of face-painted soldiers marching and singing in tandem, I thought back to the US military’s denial of Trump’s request for a military parade just a few weeks prior. Different cultures, indeed.
Rolling through the streets of Athens
While in Athens I also partook in the quintessential Greek pastime of drinking coffee for hours at a sidewalk cafe. I always made sure to order ‘Greek coffee’, although even the hostel guy in Rhodes later admitted that it is actually Turkish (or Ottoman, really). My final time in Athens was spent touring the Panathinaiko Stadium (which hosted the first ‘modern’ Olympics in 1896 and is built entirely of marble) and walking the streets of the historic Plaka district. The next ferry to Rhodes didn’t leave for another day, which left me just enough time to make a pilgrimage to the oracle at Delphi…
Russell on the Road 