I stopped at this improvised tent and asked the old man inside if there was a place for me to camp. He invited me to sleep in the tent. We drank çay, ate dinner, and tried to make a conversation out of two very different languages.
Then as I was about to fall asleep, I felt a hand caressing my leg and his foot getting a bit too friendly with me. So I got up to take a piss and when I returned, I took my sleeping bag to the opposite corner of the tent.
The next morning as I was preparing to leave, the old man was not smiling as he was yesterday nor did he offer me any çay. And as I pedaling away, he was started belligerently yelling at me.
Anyway, I continued cycling through Nemrut Park, with that negative experience overshadowed by the natural beauty of this area. The road up to Nemrut Mountain was crazy steep, and the weather changed with the altitude from warm and calm to blustery frigid winds and even snow.
Reaching the mountain top was probably the most physically exerting time of my life.
And at the top I met Isa, a belgian cinematographer, and Antone, a devout typist who is also from Belgium.
They were the only 'tourists' at the top and immediately I could sense something special about these two.
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