Agnès on the road: a mystical motorcycle roadtrip across Turkey’s inner lands
This article follows a travel diary format.
Motorcycle roadtrip Turkey doesn’t start with postcards—it starts with real kilometers, real heat, and the kind of small breakdown that forces you to slow down and meet the country properly. Agnès’ ride cuts through the Southeast toward Mardin, loops around Lake Van under storm skies, breathes for three days in Cappadocia away from Göreme’s bustle, then drops to the Mediterranean for salt air and ancient ruins. A roadtrip like this is stitched together by contrasts: Aramaic chants in a Syriac church, balloon shadows over fairy chimneys, and the asphalt literally softening near Antalya.
When mechanics become part of the story
On the way to Mardin, the first serious issue hits: Jean‑Pierre’s bike shuts down and refuses to restart. Alain and Jean kneel on the roadside, troubleshooting ignition, coil, sensor—while a Harley mechanic friend in France talks them through the possibilities by phone. No miracle fix: the bike ends up on a local tow truck into Mardin.
The group splits naturally: a few hours of hands-on tinkering for the “fixers”, a walk in the bazaar for the others. Late afternoon, everyone reunites above the city—Mardin’s medresa rooftops glowing at sunset, minarets puncturing the light, the Mesopotamian plain stretching out toward today’s Syrian border. The call to prayer rolls in and suddenly the delay feels like a gift.
Unexpected detours, unforgettable encounters
With the bike running again, they head for the Tur Abdin massif and its Syriac churches—beautiful, discreet, and not always easy to locate on the fly. Stops at Altintaş and Anıtlı, where worship is still celebrated in Aramaic. Invited by the faithful, they share a meal with children and teachers: a lamb stew that tastes like the region itself—slow, warm, and generous.
Farther on, Hasankeyf is still visible above the Tigris. At the time of Agnès’ ride, a dam project threatened to submerge the site; families picnic by the river under the cliffs as if time were holding its breath.
Midyat: the kind of night you don’t plan
At the entrance of Midyat, they stop to have the coil checked. It looks fine. The bike restarts—then dies again after a few kilometers. Back to the same workshop. Two hours later: it runs… briefly. Third time lucky? Not quite. They return in a van that’s too short, the rear of the motorcycle hanging out, strapped down with whatever’s available.
Metin, the local mechanic, gathers help—translator, electrician, friends. The bike stays overnight, and the group stays too. Forced stop, perfect timing: they sleep in a stone konak high in the old town, honey-colored walls, carved details, terrace sunset. Dinner in town ends with local wines in a Christian-run cellar. By morning, Metin finds the culprit: a faulty ground wire causing intermittent failure. One last drink with the workshop crew—and back on the road with that quiet respect riders reserve for the people who save a trip.
300 km to Lake Van: heat, storms, and high horizons
A 300 km stage leads to Lake Van under thunderclouds and 35°C heat. They reach Ahlat, and the first reflex is simple: jump into the lake from the hotel’s edge—cold relief after a long day in riding gear.
Next day: the Seljuk cemetery, then the north shore where the scenery keeps changing—light sand beaches, flowered fields, quiet cattle. Above it all stands Süphan Dağı, still snow-capped at over 4,000 m. They stop often, because you do on a motorcycle roadtrip: the landscape is not a backdrop, it’s a reason to cut the engine.
They don’t miss Akdamar Island and its Armenian church, friezes carved with hunting scenes and biblical stories. On the way back, wind whips the lake into whitecaps, the sky darkens fast—classic Van mood. They wait out the worst near the dock, then ride again into that dramatic alternation of black clouds and sudden sunbeams.
Past Tatvan, rain intensifies. Visibility drops. They shelter at a tiny fuel stop—no proper refuel possible—men watching TV in what must be the office. Later, they push on toward Muş, then decide to sleep in Bingöl: a long descent, great riding, but the town itself has little charm. Sometimes the best part is simply arriving together.
Cappadocia, but quieter: choosing Uçhisar
Early start: çay, simit, pastries from the corner—then cool air at 1,800 m altitude. The roads are modern, wide, and fast. They pause in Darende—a small oasis—then try rafting nearby: helmets on, mandatory shorts, more laughter than rapids.
By early afternoon they reach Avanos, lively with weekend crowds. Instead of staying in the center of the tourist flow, they continue to Uçhisar, calmer than Göreme, with a wide view of valleys and fairy chimneys. The guesthouse feels immediate: multiple terraces, troglodyte rooms—simple, comfortable—and the kind of family welcome that turns three nights into a home rhythm.
Days here alternate between walking among fairy chimneys—pink, red, yellow rock—pigeon houses, hidden cave churches, and short motorcycle loops to villages and viewpoints. They’re often alone on the trails. Fresh orange juice appears at a shaded terrace in the middle of nature, as if it was waiting.
Thermal waters, backroads, and a storm over Derinkuyu
They ride to Bayramhacı, a thermal stop with separate pools for men and women; only men can access the hotter indoor marble basin. Evenings settle into terrace dinners: tomato soup, vine leaves with yogurt, grilled chicken, fruit—then World Cup matches on TV, sprawled on cushions.
One day loop: İbrahim Paşa, then a compacted track to Ortahisar and its rock citadel, then a good road to Soğanlı—a wide open canyon of carved churches. Lunch is under apple trees: bread straight from the oven, cheese, olives, honey, hot menemen, a small white wine, then yogurt with honey. The sky turns, rain starts, lightning cracks. They’re in light gear, no rain layers—so the group scatters for shelter: a gas station offering tea, a roadside overhang near the site.
They regroup for Derinkuyu, the largest underground city in Turkey. The descent is deep, corridors tight; meeting a small wave of tourists in narrow passages makes it feel even more compressed. That evening ends at Sarı Han with whirling dervishes—mystical, unsettling, precise: musicians, singers, five dervishes, a master of ceremony.
From balloons to Taurus: when the asphalt melts
They do what Cappadocia does best: a balloon flight at sunrise above the White Valley. Inflation in the cold morning air, lift-off with dozens of balloons around, and a flight lasting about 1h30. Smooth landing, a celebratory drink, certificates—warm, professional, almost ceremonial.
Next: Konya and Mevlana, Rumi’s resting place, a major pilgrimage site. Then the road changes again: a beautiful four-lane route through the Taurus Mountains, pines giving way to cedars with altitude. A speed stop ends with Bernard alongside police, wondering whether he’ll pay now or later at the border.
Near Antalya, traffic thickens and heat turns brutal—38°C. Agnès describes the asphalt making “stalactites” under her tires. It’s the kind of moment that reminds you: in extreme heat, spacing and pace matter more than pride. A missed exit separates the group briefly. They meet again at night in Çıralı after a long descent through pines on battered pavement. Twelve hours since departure, ears ringing, everyone goes straight for showers and cold drinks. Dawn swim, then gözleme on the beach.
Boat escape: Uçağız, Simena, and the sunken city
They ride toward Uçağız via Finike and Demre. Another glitch: starter failure. Jean‑Pierre uses the “magic yellow wire” and the Harley fires up again—nerves included.
In Uçağız they leave the bikes and take a boat to Simena. The guesthouse terraces overlook the bay—flowers, levels, calm. They swim near the half-submerged tomb, walk up toward the castle along a ridge of olives and Lycian tombs. Dinner is candlelit: they choose their fish, cicadas sing, and the evening lands perfectly.
The next day: a private boat trip along the sunken city, amphorae visible through a glass bottom. Swim stops in sheltered coves, a walk of about 30 minutes to Aperlai through wild nature, the air smelling of sage where farmers have been harvesting. In another bay, large turtles surface near the boat—slow, ancient, unbothered. Barbecue on board, tea, Turkish coffee, then the return to Uçağız and back to the motorcycles.
Kaş basecamp: short roads, big sites
15 km of small roads through scrub lead back to the main route and Kaş, where they stay two days. The atmosphere is lively and local, with few foreign tourists. From here: Kaputaş Beach, the ancient site of Xanthos, the Saklıkent Gorge—including the quirky fish spa with feet dipped like in an aquarium—then Tlos, a striking archaeological site backed by mountains (theater, stadium, baths, necropolis) in a natural setting. Along the road, simple stops offer çay, ayran, gözleme, and even refreshment showers for overheated travelers.
Planet Ride pro tip (one you’ll feel on day 3)
On long, hot stages like Van or Antalya, cadence beats speed: plan a real break every 90–120 minutes (water, shade, quick bike check). It reduces fatigue, keeps focus sharp in traffic, and prevents small issues (heat, loose cable, poor visibility in storms) from becoming trip-stoppers.
Mini-FAQ for a motorcycle roadtrip in Turkey
What’s the best season for Eastern Turkey and Cappadocia?
Late spring and early autumn usually balance temperatures and light. Expect cooler mornings at altitude and fast-changing weather around Lake Van.
Do I need to plan for offline navigation?
Yes—especially around remote churches and backroads (Tur Abdin, parts of the Van loop). Download offline maps and keep key place names saved in Turkish spelling.
How demanding are the riding days?
Days can stretch: Agnès mentions a 300 km stage and a 12-hour day near the coast due to heat, traffic, and rough pavement. Build buffer time and avoid stacking long mileage with late arrivals.
À savoir aujourd’hui
This road diary remains true to what riders feel in Turkey: fast contrasts, strong hospitality, and weather that can flip in minutes. What deserves a quick check before departure is practical reality on your dates—access conditions for specific sites, local navigation coverage, and any changes to ferry/boat logistics on the Mediterranean coast.
