The Tale of Three Silk Traders and an Onyx Egg

Posted on September 4, 2013 by Delia

So here’s the slightly embarrassing thing about our recent jaunt across the Silk Road from Turkey to China: We made for terrible traders.

Following the ancient trade route from the west to the Far East, we felt obliged to get involved with a little trading of our own.

So when we were in Turkey, the first post of the Silk Road on the west, we thought long and hard about what we could trade for some silk in the Far East.

What had traders never before carried across 7,000 miles of treacherous desert, remote mountain ranges and right across the Caspian Sea? What would be gazed at in awe as soon as we reached China and have our fellow merchants fawning over us to give their finest silk in exchange?

And then suddenly we saw it. The shiny, almost marble like onyx egg.

We were in Cappadocia at the time, admiring fairy chimneys and what-not, when we spied a man spinning onyx stone into egg shapes.

Yes, we thought, that will secure our fortune and reputation as great traders. So we purchased one at the bargain price of £5.

We lovingly wrapped it in the plastic bag that it came in and tucked it safely away in a corner of Matty’s day bag. The egg would make us rich, we vowed.

We carried it through Turkey and pulled funny faces with it.

In Georgia we took it all the way to the Gergeti Glacier.

In Amenia we showed it a large lake by a beautiful church.

In Azerbaijan Matty got a bit inappropriate with it.

In Turkmenistan we took it to the ancient ruins of Merv.

In Uzbekistan the egg saw the beautiful blue tiled mosques of Samarkand.

In Tajikistan the egg got all giddy at high altitude.

In Krygyzstan the egg got all arty among the rolling hills.

And then it got all the way to China… and enjoyed posing by the Bell Tower in Xi’an, our final stop on the Silk Road.

And it had its last moments with the Face of Ignorance…

And then finally the big day arrived. Four and a half months after making that fateful purchase Cappadocia, it was time to trade the egg at the far eastern post of the Silk Road; Xi’an, China.

Our first mistake was that we had grown unnaturally attached to the egg. It sort of felt like the fourth member of the clan, so to speak. It had seen everything we had… If eggs could talk. I fear this may have affected our professionalism.

Our second mistake was the egg was no longer in top notch condition. Truth be told the plastic bag didn’t quite provide the protection we had initially hoped for and as Matty threw his bag down after a few local special brews, we would hear it smash against the hard floor and cringe, hoping for the best.

Our third mistake, and I think this was where we really went wrong, was that someone had already taken onyx eggs to China. To our dismay we found rows and rows of egg shaped onyx creations, even onyx egg holders and other strange, elaborate statues that we fear somewhat undermined the status of our own little onyx treasure.

And finally, we couldn’t find the silk market in Xi’an so we headed to the Muslim quarter and hoped for the best.

After spending a couple of hours being distracted by the great street food and souvenirs that line the lantern adorned lanes of the Muslim Quarter we remembered our mission and hunted for a silk trader.

Eventually, by a stroke of luck as we made our way to the train station almost completely defeated, we chanced upon a lady selling silk scarves.

We played by all the old ancient trading rules – causally running the scarves trough our fingers, pretending we were only half interested. Well, until I cried: “This one, this one,” pointing enthusiastically at a piece of white silk with Chinese writing on it. That might have been another mistake.

So, the haggling started. She started the bidding at 100 Yuan (about £10), to which I came back with an offer we thought she couldn’t turn down: The Egg.

“This egg has travelled 7,000 miles from Turkey – it’s original onyx from Cappadocia,” I explained.

“We saw it being made by hand,” added the Mongoose.

We all looked towards her expectantly. And then something happened that I never, ever foresaw.

She laughed. She looked at our little old egg and broke into a great, mighty cackle.

“Ok, 10 Yuan and the egg,” I offered quietly.

More laughter. The bidding continued but she seemed to be more preoccupied with the money than the egg. It was not going to plan.

After a little while she softened and took the egg into her hand. She smiled.

“50 Yuan and the egg,” she offered.

Ok we agreed. We had a train to catch after all.

We took the silk scarf into our hands, which we plan to cut into three pieces because what better souvenir could three traders ‘cut from the same cloth’ possibly hope for?

As the exchange was made we watched in surprise as she placed the egg into her handbag instead of on the market stall.

“I think it will bring me luck,” she said smiling, still giggling a bit.

And we nodded in agreement. Financially it may not have been our best move – travelling the egg across the Silk Road cost us about £5,000 each, plus the £10 spent on the two transactions. We were left somewhat in negative equity.

But luck? Yes, the egg had definitely brought us lots of that.

Xi’an, China: The end of the Silk Road

Posted on September 2, 2013 by Delia

It all started on the stairs. The stairs of the great Constantinople walls in Istanbul.

These were not any ordinary stairs – these stairs were ridiculously steep and unfathomably narrow. There was room for your toes on each step but even the ball of your foot was left dangling off.

“It’s easy,” the Mongoose tried to assure me. “Just pretend its a ladder, climb it like you’d climb a ladder,” he said. But it wasn’t a ladder, it was a hard, brick staircase that screamed death.

“No,” I said. “There is no way I’m climbing those stairs. Not under any circumstances.”

Two minutes later my shoes were off and I was putting my right toes on the first ‘rung’ of the stairs. Matty was in front of me. The Mongoose was behind me. And slowly we made our ascent.

Before I knew it my knocking knees and I were standing on the top of the old Constantinople walls.

We turned and faced east – the road to China – the road I would spend the next four and a half months travelling.

We put our arms around each other. We took pictures of our feet. Our six feet that would travel more than 5,000 miles together. And we couldn’t imagine what the road ahead would have in store.

It was the beginning of the Great Adventures of the Three Must-Have-A-Beers. A throw away comment made by my dad as he bid his farewells to us in London, which quickly became our label – our motto – the sentence that made me do the things I was scared of.

“Come on Delia, we’re the Three-Must-Have-A-Beers, we have to do this together,” The Mongoose would say when I threatened to wait at the bottom of perilous mountains or treacherous staircases with the bags.

And that is exactly what got me up those stairs that day. Yes, I thought, I trust these loons, we’re in it together.

But that was some 7,000 miles ago now. Technically 5,676 as the crow flies but we certainly did not travel like crows – we zig zagged our way across the Silk Road like a trio of drunk moles lost in a forest. Up, down, across and up and down again we went in Kyrgyzstan. From Georgia to Armenia and back to Georgia again before Azerbaijan. No we did not travel like crows.

Although it often felt like we were flying. Or standing on the top of the world at least.

I had to remind myself I was not on Mars when driving across the desolate, high altitude Pamir Highway of Tajikistan, known as the “rooftop of the world”, I had to assure myself I would get back to Earth eventually when stuck at the top of a mountain in a flimsy tent during a 12-hour thunder and hail storm, and I had to pinch myself when staring into the burning fire crater of the Turkmenistan desert.

And after catching what must have been weeks of sleeper trains, days of buses and hours of taxis, we reached our final destination: Xi’an.
But our journey wasn’t complete the moment when our tired feets touched Xi’an soil after a long sleepless train from the west. No, our final destination was the Bell Tower in Xi’an.

And so we began the final walk of the Silk Road. We paced down a colourful Xi’an street before coming to a sudden stop at the end. For we knew that as soon as we turned our heads to the left we would see the end of our road, and we weren’t quite ready for that.

So instead we huddled together, put our arms around each others shoulders and shared a few words. The hugs got tighter, kisses were planted firmly on cheeks and then, with our arms still locked together, we turned the corner and saw it illuminated against the dark blue sky at the end of the road. The Bell Tower.

And it was more beautiful than I could have imagined. We slowly strode towards it, clutching our bottle of ‘Champagne’, and did not stop until our palms were touching the cool brick of the tower. We had made it.

We had completed the Silk Road. We had laughed, we had cried (well actually just me when I found out my friend’s baby had been born), we had travelled miles and miles together, without catching a single plane.

And it was with all this emotion that three of us placed our hands on the huge piece of wood swinging besides the large, ancient bell at the top of the tower, ready to create an almighty noise. But security stepped in and we were abruptly shooed away before some giant fluffy character took it in his hands while rolling cameras filmed him posing with it. Of course.

So instead we took pictures of our feet. And stared west – the road to Turkey – the road we had spent the last four and a half months travelling.

And after we climbed down the stairs of the bell tower, a far cry from those of the Constantinople Walls, we popped the Champagne and lit a cigar.

“To the adventures of the Three Must-Have-A-Beers,” we toasted.
“And to all that we’ve seen….
“And to all that we’ve overcome…
“And to each other…”

I love these loons.

A Video of a Silk Road journey: The tale of the Three-Must-Have-A-Beers

Posted on August 7, 2013 by Delia

Matty has made a video of our trip so far… It’s been on his website for a little while now but I wanted to share it with those of you who don’t follow him too. So, without further ado, in the words of Matty himself…

Here it is. The ups and downs of the last three months have finally been cobbled together into 3.5 minutes of celluloid gold.

It’s been gritty.
It’s been emotional.
But it has, quite simply, been the time of our lives.

Ani, Turkey: Our first Silk Road city in ruins

Posted on May 11, 2013 by Delia

My decision to travel the Silk Road was made while rambling around the Lake District with Matty and the Mongoose – hunting out film locations from the legendary British film Withnail and I. Truth be told, I didn’t really know what I was signing up to.

The conversation went something like this:

Matty and The Mongoose are walking ahead on a dusty narrow path, surrounded by trees. Delia is dawdling and looking at flowers and thinking about how to get into Uncle Monty’s Cottage. The boys have a conspiratorial air about them.

The Mongoose: So mate, it’s been four years since we pledged to travel the Silk Road together – when can we make it happen?
Matty: Well Delia has suggested that her and I travel South America in 2013.

The boys lean their heads together and talk in low tones. Matty then hangs back and waits for Delia while the Mongoose continues ahead

Matty: What say the three of us travel the Silk Road together in 2013 and then we do South America on the way home?
Delia: Ok.

Some squawking, high giving and general elation. Followed by a long pause.

Delia: Where exactly is the Silk Road again?

The following months involved me learning about this ‘stan, that ‘stan, another ‘stan and ‘stan, ‘stan. I soon had a huge list of places I wanted to see… The shrinking sea in Uzbekistan, the gold statue of the Turkmenistan president that rotates at the exact same speed as the earth so the sun is always on his face in daylight hours, the beautiful pony treks of Kyrgyzstan and the countless yurt stays in Tajikistan.

But still, when we set off almost three weeks ago, I wasn’t 100% sure what to expect.

Europe was a wonderful whirlwind and then suddenly we were in Turkey. And I fell in love with Turkey. A far cry from the tacky beach resorts of the south coast, we visited the fairy tale land of Cappadocia before taking a stunning train ride through the mountainous north-east of the country to Kars.

But it was a little place called Ani, an old ruined Silk Road city, that made me stop in my tracks, stand still and realise what this journey is about.

Once the stately Armenian capital that was home to more than 100,000 people, today Ani’s crumbling city walls and ancient churches are surrounded by nothing more than velvet green hills and a gurgling river.

With only seven other tourists also exploring the ruins, which are spread over acres of land, it felt like we had discovered it quite by accident. It was both eerie and beautiful.

We had more birds than people for company.

The dramatic landscape rolls right into Armenia, a border which remains closed to this day.

The Mongoose gazes out to Armenia.

As we climbed up an old mosque tower (a dark, enclosed steep concrete staircase with a local who liked to brush up against me), and looked out on the view below it was suddenly so easy to see it as the hustling and bustling Silk Road city it had once been.

This excavation shows a whole street of what would have been shops, trading their goods and perhaps selling the silk that had just completed its long journey from China.

The view out to Armenia from the tower.

It was the sort of place that took you back in time, and made you imagine another world, another place. It brought history to life.

It made me think about back to that windy day in Penrith as we trudged to Uncle Monty’s ruinous cottage, and how glad I was for giving that one word answer. Because Ani is just the beginning of learning about a rather special time in history… and for me, that is what this journey is about.

Travel tips

We travelled from Goreme, Cappadocia to Kars to visit Ani.

We caught the airport shuttle bus to the nearest train station called Kayseri (our lovely Hostel – Shoestring- organised this for us and spoke to the driver to make sure he also stopped at the station on the way to the airport) and then caught a 16 hour sleeper train to Kars, which was – without a doubt the best and most beautiful train journey of the trip yet.

You cannot make train reservations in Turkey for sleeper cars etc online or by phone – you have to just turn up an hour early and do it there. We were assured the trains are never full as the Turkish find them too slow compared to buses. Sure enough we turned up (about three hours early as shuttle bus did not go any later) and got tickets at the station no prob at all.

In Kars we stayed at Otel Mirac, which was a basic but nice enough guesthouse (although the rooms STANK of smoke) and the guy at the hotel told us it would cost 40 Lira (£15) to go out on the minibus to Ani the next day, which seemed to be the only minibus making the trip as we had the place to ourselves. It was worth every penny.

Shooting Star Jewellery: Cappadocia, Turkey

Posted on May 7, 2013 by Delia

Every epic journey should begin by wishing on a shooting star.

Just as we were about to climb Bali’s highest mountain last year, our guide took us to a clearing besides a temple and as we gazed up into the glittery sky, we watched a star dart into the distance and silently made a wish. There were many points on that climb when I counted my lucky stars.

And as we now begin our journey across the silk road from Turkey to China, it would seem that I have been again blessed with such fortune. Only this star fell from the sky about 5,000 years ago… and landed in Argentina. And instead of being just a flash before my eyes, this shooting star, or at least a tiny piece of it, is coming on the journey with us… around my neck.

I’m not normally one to spend time and money in jewellery shops when travelling, but there was something about Shooting Star in Cappadocia, Turkey that caught my eye. That, and the fact that for my birthday last year Matty promised to buy me a piece of jewellery on our trip.

Inevitably, I was like a magpie… there was a lot of ‘ooohing’ and ‘aaahhing’ going on. The beautifully presented shop, with exposed walls and rustic handmade wooden benches, was full of unique and original pieces of jewellery, using gorgeous stones from around the world.

Every piece was different yet it was all so reasonably priced. And as I wandered around with more than a handful of necklaces and rings that I was seriously considering blowing a month’s budget on, I couldnt help but wonder why everyone doesn’t make jewellery like this – she makes it look so simple.

She being Leonie Zikos, a Parisian fine arts graduate, who spends 10 months a year living in the fairytale land of Cappadocia, Turkey selling her beautiful wares.

It was at the point when I was clutching about five different necklaces and pointing at more in two different directions, that Leonie asked us if we’d seen her shooting star collection. By this point I was in a gem stone trance and just started at her slightly bewildered.

She led us across the shop, past some more fabulous designs…

And then we reached The Meteorite Collection. It turns out that Leonie works with star hunters that travel the world looking for meteorites. They head to known landing spots and look for the chunks that may have been missed when they first hit the earth – sometimes hundreds of years ago. While the larger pieces are sent to museums, Leonie will buy some of the smaller pieces and turn them into jewellery.

Leonie knows exactly where each meteorite was found and spends hours drilling holes through the dense metal to turn them into beautiful pieces of jewellery. Each comes with its own little certificate, membership number and details about when and who discovered it.

As I gazed at the the collection from space I reached out for a necklace that boasted a small, pointy piece of meteorite and the decision was instantly made. As Matty fastened the chosen ‘star’ around my neck, I closed my eyes and made a wish. Here’s to hoping it comes true…

Travel tips
Leonie runs Shooting Star Jewellrey in Goreme, which can be easily found if walking towards the Open Air Museum, from the Otogar. Her address is listed as: gafferli mahallesi müze caddesi No : 48 , 50180 Göreme.

You can like her Facebook page here. She also takes mail orders so you won’t miss out if you can’t make it to Cappadocia.

PS The meteorite on ny necklace fell in the Gran Chaco Gualamba region of Argentina. It is thought to have fallen 4, 000 to 5, 000 years ago and was first discovered in 1576. It is known as the Campo del Cielo meteorite, which means Field of the Sky.

Cappadocia, Turkey: Where Fairies and Pigeons are One

Posted on May 7, 2013 by Delia

I can think of only one thing worse than kissing a frog to find a prince… and that’s kissing a pigeon to find a fairy, but that’s just how things roll in Cappadocia, Turkey.

Having fostered a strong dislike for pigeons over the years, I found this tale especially hard to come to terms with. Pigeons (aka rats with wings) litter town centres across the UK with their filthy excrement while flying dangerously low, as if scoring points with their mates in the sky every time an elderly lady shrieks in fear or a gaggle of teens duck unnecessarily. They are ugly, menacing and downright dirty. And, unlike dirty burgers, dirty birds are not good.

But in the beautiful, fairytale region of Cappadocia in Turkey, which boasts huge swathes of deep-cut valleys with phallic boulders and hills that resemble Mr Whippy ice cream, the pigeon is of upmost significance. Or at least it was.

In a land where people created homes and communities in the caves they dug through the hills and inside fairy chimneys, pigeons were kept, loved and cherished. Little holes can be found across the hills where the pigeons were kept.

The story goes that once upon a time humans and fairies lived together in Cappadocia, but alas, they did not see eye to eye. However, against the odds one man fell in love with a fairy and they were determined to be wed.

The humans were angry, livid… Outraged. They cried things like: “How did that big, hairy oaf manage to pull a dainty little fairy?” and: “This must be stopped, their children will look like a cross between Tinker Bell and Chewbacca.”

So the horrid humans hatched an awful wicked plan to kill all the fairies. They organised a fake wedding for the pair and sat all the fairies together so they could be easily killed. But just before the genocide was about to take place the fairies, realising something was amiss, all turned into pigeons and flew out of the windows.

The horrid humans, on reflection of their ghastly behaviour, felt ashamed and embarrassed by their actions. So they built homes for the pigeons and looked after them very well… Until the tourism industry took off in the 1950s, that is, and then the pigeons sort of fell by the wayside.

But nevertheless for years, pigeons were the pride and joy of the people here – they were used to carry messages between communities, their excrement was mixed with other ingredients to make a paint to decorate frescoes in the cavernous churches, and they were even used as a bargaining chip in marriage. (I know, can you imagine?! Daughters up and down the land crying: “Dad, am I only worth two pigeons to you?”)

So as we wondered, cycled and climbed up the dusty paths surrounding the hilly caves, I tried to come to terms with the suggestion that pigeons might just be fairies. I tried to imagine their diseased feathers turning into pink, glittery wings and their crooked little feet with missing toes transform into dainty, tiny fairy feet.

And the more I walked, and climbed, and looked, and saw, the easier it became to believe. Because after all, nowhere can be quite this magical and not have been filled with fairies at some point.

So perhaps next time I am in Stevenage town centre surrounded by pigeons, getting dangerously close to me in the hope I may drop a smidgen of food, I will remember this story and see them in a new light. I don’t think I will kiss them though. After all, a fairy in Stevenage would not last long at all.

Travel Tips

Where to stay in Cappadocia?

We stayed at the cavernous Shoestring Hotel, which has an amazing cave-dorm where a bed will set you back a mere 25 Lira (£10). Bargain. But more importantly, the staff are wonderful. They helped us organise our onward travel and made quite a few phonecalls for us to save us from the terrible if-I-speak-louder-maybe-they’ll-understand-me scenarios.

How to get to Cappadocia?

We took the night bus from Istanbul to Cappadocia – run by a company called Metro. You can book it online but make sure it stops at Goreme (some will stop before that but provide a shuttle service – just be sure onward travel is included!) It was not clear online so we ended up booking one through an agent in Istanbul. It cost the same price as online – 65 Lira (about £25). It departs at 8pm and 10pm and also has a day service. The 10pm bus is quicker, and took about 11 hours. The buses are comfortable, and the seats recline quite far back… I slept well at least! There is also a hilarious ‘bus steward’ dressed in a dickie-bow who feeds you cake and pours tea for a midnight snack.

The best street food in Istanbul: The Islak Hamburger

Posted on May 3, 2013 by Delia

Sometimes you visit a city and need to tell the world about its crumbling city walls, stunning churches and mosaic mosques. Other times you need to eulogise about its food. Specifically a hamburger.

The Islak hamburger may only cost £1 and look like a heart-stopping combination of soggy bap and dirty meat, sold on unreliable street corners across Istanbul – but allow me to dispel such myths.

After purchasing said burger from a kind looking man at a stand on Taksim Square (where it had been sitting in a hot glass tank for longer than is probably worth thinking about), I was delighted to discover how soft the bread was. Biting into the warm, soft bap, a rich meat infused tomato sauce oozed out.

A few bites later, I was into the heart of the burger… a herby, spiced lamb mince pattie that made me make inappropriate noises and earn unfavourable looks from passer-by’s.

The Islak Burger is, my friends, the burger of kings, the king of burgers – the burger that looks down at Burger King from his hot, glass tank and mocks their dry baps and spiceless meat.

The pictures of me actually eating it are not suitable for public viewing but here’s me being all excitable by the stand.

However, if you are after something a little more fresh tasting then I can also heartily recommend making your way to the Gelata Bridge (that crosses over the Golden Horn) to one of the stalls where the fish is grilled fresh from the fishermen’s net. Meaty mackerel (or whatever the catch of the day is) is thrown into a crunchy baguette, drizzled in fresh lemon juice and topped with giant rocket leaves and crunchy onion slices, with a slight sprinkle of salt and paprika.

This will set you back just £2 – which means you can definitely go back for seconds.

Istanbul is a street food lover’s haven… We drank the juice of three freshly squeezed oranges (costing 50p) every day and munched on giant sesame seed sprinkled pretzels, costing about the same.

But it is the rows of dirty looking burgers that is the real secret gem in the city’s street food scene. Trust me*.

PS If you want to know more about the highlights of the city then take a look at my picture-led post from when Matty and I first visited Istanbul a couple of years ago.

*The hamburger was tried and tested after about four pints of Turkey’s finest Efes lager.

World in Pictures: Istanbul – The Accidental Holiday

Posted on November 18, 2012 by Delia

Travel is never without hiccups. Or at least it isn’t, when Matty and I are involved. I’ve already mentioned the time we got stranded up a Lebanese mountain, and now I’ll tell you about the time we were meant to be flying to Portugal and accidentally ended up in Turkey.

It was a cold frosty December morning when we arrived at East Midlands Airport and we were fully intending to run the Lisbon half marathon two days later. We had all our running gear packed, we’d been (kind of) training for months and we were sort of prepared and very excited about becoming “international runners”. Having been to Lisbon before, we had taken a fairly gung-ho attitude with the whole planning side of things and didn’t buy our city guide until we got to the airport, where we excitedly sat down and starting planning.

Sipping water (like athletes) we kept an eye on the flight board, which continued to show no information about our flight. Eventually we got up and asked someone.

“No, your flight has been cancelled,” we were told.
“All flights to Spain and Portugal are cancelled due to air traffic control strikes.”

Got to love the continentals with all their strikes. Scratching our heads and realising we would not be running in the Lisbon half marathon after all, we wandered over to the bar and sank a couple of large glasses of Sauvignon Blanc. Then we tackled the Easyjet desk.

It was like something out of a reality TV show – people doing their best angry faces, lots of loud phone calls being made in a variety of languages, there were even tears. Not from us mind you, we were just hoping they would fly us somewhere – anywhere a little bit warmer – plus I love airports, and felt like I was already on holiday (the Savvy B helped).

When we got to the front the woman looked up wearily and apologised for the cancelled flight.

“No worries,” we said cheerfully. “Where can you send us instead?”

She looked surprised, smiled and tapped away on her computer.

“Istanbul? Flight leaves in two hours,” she suggested.

Result. We were now flying twice the distance for the same price. So, clutching our freshly printed flight tickets, we headed back to WH Smiths to swap our unneeded Lisbon book with a much needed Istanbul one (much to the check-out girl’s amusement).

And that is why we ended up in Istanbul with nothing but the clothes on our backs and our running kits. And no, we didn’t run once.

Enjoy the pics x

Mmmm…. Turkish coffee should be adored by all

The markets are a dazzling array of colours

The super impressive Sultanahmet Camii (aka the Blue Mosque)

As if oblivious to the dozens of tourists in the Blue Mosque

The antique tram that runs down the main shopping throughfare Istikal Caddesi (and me)

Matty doing his research

The stunning interior of the Byzantine church Aya Sofya, which was the largest enclosed space in the world for almost 1,000 years (anyone know what is now?!)

Tee hee, this bird which was happily perched on a boulder at the top of the Gelata Tower, which offers superb views across the Golden Horn to the Old City, flew off after taking this picture… and landed on Matty’s head. Priceless.

City centre fishing: Dozens of fishermen line the Galata Bridge in Istanbul

The city has som fab street art…

Wicked arcitecture to be found at every turn

We fell in love with Istanbul, aside from its spectacular mosques and rich culture, it’s riddled with superb shops, bars, restaurants and cafes. The only city in the world to straddle two continents, perched across the Bosphorus that divides Asia from Europe, it really does feel like a wonderful mixing pot of many different worlds.

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