Tom
Andy and I have been soaking up Istanbul for a fair while now. We’re
both itching to get on the road again, and I’m excited and a little
apprehensive at the prospect of seeing through the winter in Central
Asia. But we’ve had more than our fair share of hiccups, and they are
still preventing us from leaving. So here’s a run-down of how fate, or
the process, or luck, has treated us in recent weeks.
The first disaster struck back in Bucharest about 4 weeks ago. As we
were leaving the city, I realised that my wallet was not in its usual
place. A return to our host’s flat and a thorough scouring thereof
revealed nothing. I was naturally dismayed at the sudden disappearance
of 2 debit cards, 2 credit cards and 170 Euros in cash. To this day I
still can’t explain how I lost my wallet - forcing the sad conclusion
that someone in the street ‘lost’ it for me.
Cards were duly stopped and replacements ordered with a quick and
easy phone call - no problems there. The loss of 170 Euros was a
slightly bigger blow, however. Just my luck that I’d put the money in
my wallet the previous day, rather than stashing all but my day’s
supply as I usually do. I think a guy called Sod invented a law about
that. 170 euros could easily keep me on the road for a couple of months.
A few days later, riding through an autumnal mid-October landscape in
rural Bulgaria, I happened upon Andy - a surprise, as he doesn’t bother
to stop and wait for me very often. He wore an expression of ferocious
contemplation, if such a thing is possible. He gestured towards his
rear wheel. I looked down and beheld a 6-inch crack in the braking
surface of the rear rim. Not just a little crack, either - it bulged
outwards, exposing the inner tube, and looked like it wouldn’t last
another day before caving in completely and comprehensively shafting
our chances of cycling to Istanbul. Disaster number two had occurred.
“We have a problem,” he stated dogmatically. “A really, really big problem.”
By all accounts he was right. But it wasn’t a totally unexpected
problem. It was one we foresaw long ago whilst researching rims for
heavily-loaded touring bikes. A mix-up at the wheel-builders meant that
Andy set out on a pair of Mavic XM721 downhill rims, rather than the
Sun Rhynolite rims that we’d ordered two sets of. (For the record, I am
still running these Sun rims with no problems so far.)
These particular Mavic rims are notorious for cracking on tours like
this, as testified by many other cycle tourists. We had expressed
concerns prior to leaving, but then forgotten about the issue as we
were swept up by the new lifestyle and the associated adaptations it
brought to us.
The rest of the day was spent in a state of suspense as we tried to
ascertain whether or not the rim would hold out. We spent the next few
days swaying erratically between an optimistic determination to
hitch-hike to Istanbul and a reluctant desire to cycle the whole way.
Thus it happened that we found ourselves in a Bulgarian pick-up truck,
skipping a particularly traffic-saturated section of the coastal road
through Burgas. As we thanked the driver and wrestled our bikes and
luggage onto the verge, the third disaster reared its ugly, wart-ridden
head.
Andy’s trailer attachment was still on the side of the road, 25km on the wrong side of Burgas.
A quick decision was made, and 30 minutes later, I was pedalling
onwards, my trailer significantly heavier than usual. In front of me,
Andy wobbled precariously along on his buckled back wheel, with two
exploding panniers, a bursting 60-litre dry-bag, and a 26-inch ‘extra’
wheel bungee-strapped to the back of his bike. The remnants of the
trailer lay in a hedge, where it probably still lies, turning slowly to
rust.
How we managed to get from this point to Istanbul, by bicycle, I
have no idea. The hills of Bulgaria were steep and unrelenting. Gaffa
tape was the only thing stopping Andy’s wheel for imploding. It’s a
testament to the mystical wonder that is Gaffa tape, and the durability
of the Tubus rear rack, that we managed another 500 or so kilometres
without any further problems.
That is, until an ATM ate Andy’s debit card, three days’ ride from Istanbul.
Four disasters and counting.
That night, we were offered some broken-up cardboard boxes to sleep on
by an employee of a BP petrol station, which just about says all you
need to know about the depths of despair we’d sunk to. We were reduced
to the level of tramps! Incidentally, this is not necessarily an
unfulfilling place to be in life. George Orwell chose it (and then went
on to write Down And Out In Paris And London), as did David
Klein, the Everest mountaineer who we stayed with in Budapest, and who
described the 6 months he spent begging in India as the happiest he’d
ever been.
An extraordinarily disastrous period would not be complete without a
final, stomach-lurchingly unexpected blow to demolish one’s soul in a
spectacularly comprehensive fashion. This happened yesterday, here in
Istanbul, and it’s responsible for the fairly black tone of this
article.
I sit down in the internet cafe. It’s been 4 days since I
checked my email, as there’s no internet connection at my hosts’ flat.
I run through the usual list of addresses - my Ride Earth webmail
(check), our website (still no podcast), Facebook (oh, I deleted my
account, didn’t I), GMail… hmm, that’s odd. Wrong password. Double
check. Still telling me wrong password… did I forget my username after
4 days? No, it’s definitely that… Did I change my password… no memory
of that… (slight panic and quickening of heartbeat)… did I drink too
much? No, of course not.
What the heck?
Did I leave my account logged in somewhere…? Impossible, I’ve
only used 2 computers in the last 2 weeks and they’re both in the same
flat, with friends… (a moment of irrational suspicion)… no of course
they wouldn’t, how could I think that?! And no-one knows my password.
Do they?
That leaves only one possibility… I can’t believe it! I can’t
believe my security-conscious, computer-savvy mind has let this happen!
A virus, or Trojan, probably a key-logging trick in an internet cafe or
on an unsuspecting host’s computer, is the only explanation. I try to
reset my password, but someone has actually gone in there and changed
my password and my security questions. I am completely locked out. And…
oh, crap… my online banking details are saved in there!
This is what went through my mind. This is what turned a carefree
wander around Mecidiyekoy market area into an all-consuming, living
nightmare. I was completely comatose, as my mind ran through the
potential repercussions, which of course seemed the only ones possible.
Memberships to countless web forums, online shops, eBay, my entire
contact list, all my emails for the last 4 or 5 years - all of this was
lost! Communication with countless people I’d met on the road was
instantly severed. My online bank accounts were left wide open to
anyone with a bit of sense to work out the primitive clues I’d
disguised the most sensitive information with. I felt like someone had
reached deep into my personal stuff, fundamental parts of my life;
clutched ignorantly onto the strands contained within, and ripped them
clean out without a second thought.
Then I realised that the trauma extended further. In Google
Documents, the accounts I’d diligently put together to work out our
shared funding of Ride Earth with was gone. The drafted article for
Geographical magazine was no more. And to cap it all, the ‘Help’ pages
of GMail that related to what had happened to me were curiously
missing. A large quantity of salt and an open wound spring to mind.
Now, 24 hours later, I’ve finally locked down my bank accounts and
every membership site I can think of. In doing so I discovered that the
hacker had accessed my eBay account, used it to list a number of Dell
laptops (doubtless non-existent or stolen) and attempted to use the
credit card details on file to register a number of new accounts.
Overall, this decisively brought to a head the nightmare run of bad
luck we’ve had, in complete contrast with the overwhelmingly positive
experience we’ve had of Turkey, Turkish people and Istanbul in general.
I’m still waiting to hear back from Google about getting my password
reset and getting access back to my account. I made it clear how much
sensitive information has been compromised. Ebay and my banks were
efficient and helpful and I was secure with them within minutes.
Google, get your act together!
In all of this I’ve learnt some important lessons. Never rely on
technology. Back everything up in a tangible way. In the Real World.
Commit sensitive information to memory and keep it there.
This sounds like Internet Security 101. I thought I knew better. Not
this time - I’m a victim of deeply ingrained, long-forgotten
over-confidence and laziness when it comes to my passwords and my
attitude to security on the internet. Time to make some changes,
although there’s little point closing the gate once the horse has
bolted, as the saying goes.
I’m still waiting for a replacement debit card. It was never sent
when I cancelled the lost cards 4 weeks ago, as I discovered today on
the phone to my bank. (So much for that quick and easy phone call in
Bucharest.) We’re also still waiting for a set of wheels for Andy and
two new prototype Extrawheel trailers to test on the road. But at least
it happened in a big city, where we have contacts to receive our
various replacement bits and bobs.
Events seem to conspire to keep us put in Istanbul for at least
another week or two. We don’t mind too much, as there’s plenty to see
and do. We have enough pocket-money to buy basic food, and more than
enough people in our network of friends here to help us out with
somewhere to sleep - which really is all you need, if you strip your
lifestyle down to the bare essentials. It’s a shame we’re still reliant
on money and material objects to keep the wheels of Ride Earth turning,
but there’s little choice - save for becoming beggars in India, that
is, which is starting to feel like a worthwhile option…
