162 | Cycling World
March 2017
12Stage
Sivrihisar – Gaziantep , Turkey
( 12 – 22 Dec )
Total miles cycled : 3,250 ( 5,230km )
We finally leave five hours late , at 1am . I discover I can ' t afford the food on board , so instead go exploring . With just 30 passengers , nearly all Syrian , most cabins and decks are empty . Through one porthole , I spy a sink full of swampy water ; through another , a group of crew members smoking . Not quite the QE2 – but at least I won ' t have to queue for the loo , I think cheerily .
I hope to get some sleep in one of the downstairs cabins , but am awoken at 3am by my female companion , who takes it upon herself to launch into a medley of rousing Arabic songs . Worried I might have some kind of Pavlonian Gloria Gaynor moment , I decide to up sticks and snooze elsewhere – but instead get talking to a man from Damascus , M , who is on his way to see his elderly mother in Atmeh refugee camp in Syria . Conditions there are desperate , he tells me . Everyone lives in flimsy , makeshift tents , in freezing temperatures . There ' s no electricity or running water , and deliveries of food frequently go missing due to robberies by mafia groups .
Christmas Day with my new Syrian friends , none of whom were happy to be identified
M , a Sunni Muslim , left Syria for Sweden several years ago , but returned in August 2011 for Ramadan . After he arrived , he says he was arrested as a foreign spy , hung from the wrists in prison and beaten with sticks . He never confessed , however , and after a month he was released . How does he think it will end in Syria , I ask him ? ' It won ' t ,' he says upliftingly . ' When the groups stop fighting Assad , they will fight each other .'
By the time we disembark in Tripoli , it ' s 3pm and we are seven hours late . This is normal , apparently , and nobody seems overly concerned . No wonder services never improve if everyone just accepts them , I think frustratedly – channelling my mother , as I seem to do more and more frequently these days . One woman is clearly upset they are being taken directly to the Syrian border , however . ' I have no money !' she wails hysterically . The guards simply ignore her .
And then , suddenly , I ' m alone in the growing twilight . To me , the city is a nebulous lair of unknowns , and I feel tired and tense . It was only recently that Tripoli was suffused in sectarian conflict between Sunni and Alawite jihadist groups : old rivalries exacerbated by the Syrian war . The fighting has now reportedly been brought under control – but has it really ? As Maud and I wind tentatively through the chaotic glut of flatulently honking traffic , attracting stares and comments , I feel myself bristle with wary caution . I don ' t know my place here yet . I can ' t gauge the risk .
It strikes me , as it has before , how intimidating it can be to arrive on your own in a completely alien place . I often find it tough – and I ’ m a white , middle-class English speaker with a huge support network . And I ’ m here by choice . What it must be like for those with no help or way out , it ' s tough to imagine . You must need phenomenal strength .
Follow Rebecca ' s journey on her website at thebicyclediaries . co . uk , Twitter at reo _ lowe , Instagram at bexio8 or Facebook at facebook . com / bexbicyclediaries . Rebecca is sponsored by Kona , Lightwave , Garmin , Arkel , Berghaus , Lenovo and Pedros .