The rain didn’t seem to stop, so after 2 hours of waiting we decided to mount our steeds and get out of this small town. We tried to keep the morale high, singing our rain songs playlist, but after thirty kilometer’s we all agreed we couldn’t hear any more ‘Purple Rain’s and ‘Raining Men’, so we stopped when we reached Cide. Everyone along the way is warning us for snow further in the east, but we always wave this away easily: “Soğuk? Kar? Problem yok.” (Cold? Snow? No Problem)
Just like basically any other town along the black sea coast, we never heard of Cide. But we will remember this town’s name for a while for a very particular reason… As we arrived, completely soaked, at what we thought was a regular chai café, we we bounced into a bunch of students. We explained we were looking for a dry place, not necessarily warm, and before we could finish our sentence they gestured to follow them and showed us what would be our home for the night.
Next, they guided us back to the café where we took the correct amount of selfies with the group of students. After selfie-time was over, it was time to dance! Turkish Black Sea music and the traditional dance to me more specific. At first it seems like a circle of people just having a lot of fun, but actually there is quite a special technique to it. Some kind of tip-toe dancing and fingersnapping like a madman that is. They appreciated our attempts, and we all had a good laugh, so almost everyone was happy. Why almost, you ask? Well, because Anton noticed the waves had grown large again and wanted to go for a cold swim and play. When the locals saw him sneaking off with his swimming gear, they followed and busted him twice, strongly urging him to not go into the swirling cold waves and rip currents. We all fell asleep with the sound of those waves crashing into rocks, while the first snow tried to spread out its carpet. Too bad it still was a bit to warm out, or the landscape would have been covered in powdery white snow.