Biking the Islands: Heybeliada and Kinaliada

I am always up for an adventure, no matter how absurd. Last year, Nacho and I embarked on a four-day bicycle trip around Lake Iznik, an idea that started as a tipsy conversation on my summer balcony and became a reality a short time later. Despite some bike gear issues, uphill roads that were basically highways, last-minute anxiety, and lack of daytime meals because of Ramadan, the trip was a success.

Of all the traveling I did during my Trapped in Turkey Tour, this leg seems to impress people the most. That’s the cool thing about bikes, though– as long as there is a road, not much stops you from taking off and exploring. We passed through towns and countryside we never otherwise would have seen, and all we used to plan was Google Maps and the recommendations of friends.

So when Nacho asked if I wanted to take a day trip and climb a mountain with him, of course I said yes.

However, when we sat down to plan the trip the day before, we quickly realized we’d miscalculated the time we’d need. We decided to save the trip for later this summer and make it a two-day excursion; instead, we pulled the bikes out of storage and decided to have another cycling adventure– except this time, it would be local.

Istanbul is so massive that it includes nine islands, four of which are readily visitable by ferry. No cars are permitted on the islands, so biking is the travel method of choice. Even though I’ve lived here for more than two years, I’d only ever been to Buyukada (the big island), and not since 2013.

Nacho and I hoped to spend the day biking around Heybeliada, the second-largest and the one that I’d heard had the most character. Our lack of planning complicated things: the islands are extremely popular on summer weekends, and our boat to Heybeliada was already full when we arrived. The next one wasn’t leaving for an hour and a half.

In Istanbul, there’s always another way. A different ferry company–I like to call them the “off-brand” ferries– was departing for the islands sooner, but only for Buyukada (where I’d already been) and Kinaliada, the smallest island. So we recalibrated, and hopped on the boat to Kinaliada.

We knew nothing of what to expect from the island. And upon arriving, we realized this was probably for the best— the island is much less developed (and much less green) than Buyukada, but that old-fashioned ramshackle feel actually made the place more endearing to me. Groups of boys splashed in the water while women sunbathed on the rocky shore; girls in headscarves raced on their bikes and men sat around sipping tea. The island was quiet. We set off, biking up and down Kinaliada’s hills, briskly making our way around the perimeter of the tiny island.

“This place feels like it’s stuck in the seventies,” Nacho observed. The ubiquitous Turkish chain cafes haven’t made it to Kinaliada and the whole place does feel like it could have been transported from a different era. Nacho was less keen on the place, but I liked it– Kinaliada really felt like an escape from the city.

We realized pretty quickly that none of the cafes and restaurants sold beer (we have our priorities), so we decided to grab a bite and then catch the ferry to Heybeliada, our original destination.

We arrived at Heybeliada and I was quickly overwhelmed by the crowds– this island is much more popular than little Kinaliada. We decided, due to our limited time, that we’d just bike around the island and not bother venturing into its middle, and we were off, weaving around strolling tourists and horse-drawn carriages. Heybeliada is much lovelier than Kinaliada, and the view of its harbor made me swoon. How I would love to spend summer days sitting in those boats, sipping lemonade and reading a good book.

At the end of our loop, we found a restaurant I’d heard only good things about: Heyamola Ada Lokantasi. We stopped in for beer and meze: a yogurt with hot peppers, and yogurt with salmon roe. Both were unusual and delicious. Two beers in, we were feeling pretty awesome, and decided to prolong the biking day– we’d go to Bostanci, a stop further up the Asian shore, and bike all the way back to Kadikoy.

This was one of the best decisions of the day. While the islands are all hills, the seaside is flat and lined by a bike path that, incredibly, pedestrians stay out of. We whizzed down the road, with the Sea of Marmara sparkling on our left and the grassy parks filled with people on our right. The whole scene felt like a big Fourth of July picnic, but this is just a weekend evening on the Anatolian seaside– everyone wants to sit outside, watch the sunset, be together.

At the end of the day, my muscles were sore and I was covered in dust– but I couldn’t stop smiling. There’s always an adventure to be had in Istanbul, even on a bike.