Riding East

Stats: Countries

2011-04-16T20:31:00.009+01:00

GPS tracker log of the past 14 months

Eastbourne - London - Harwich

3 days, 148.1 miles

Netherlands

The Hague

3 days, 120.3 miles

Belgium

Antwerp - Liege - Bruges

7 days, 177.5 miles

Luxembourg

2 days, 110.9 miles

France

Metz - Nancy - Besançon

9 days, 428.2 miles

Switzerland

Geneva - Montreux - Sion - Simplon Pass

8 days, 206.6 miles

Italy

Domodossola - Lake Maggiore - Bergamo - Lake d'Iseo - Lake Como - Lake Garda - Bassano del Grappa - Trieste

9 days, 499.2 miles

Slovenia

1 day, 26.7 miles

Croatia

Rijeka - Zadar - Split - Dubrovnik

9 days, 383.1 miles

Bosnia

1 day, 12 miles

Montenegro

Bay of Kotor

4 days, 130 miles

Albania

Shkodër - Tirana - Elbasan

5 days, 148.7 miles

Macedonia

Lake Ohrid - Bitola

6 days, 108.4 miles

Greece

Edessa - Thessaloniki - Alexandroupoli

5 days, 326.4 miles

Turkey

Keşan - Istanbul - Ankara - Cappadocia - Kayseri - Kangal - Erzincan - Erzurum - Doğubeyazıt

39 days, 1373.8 miles

Iran

Tabriz - Zanjan - Qazvin - Tehran - Qom - Natanz - Esfahan - Meybod - Yazd

30 days, 1085.7 miles

India

Amritsar - McLeod Ganj - Manali - Mandi - Chandigarh - Panipat - Delhi

60 days, 652 miles

Vietnam
Hanoi - Halong Bay, Cat Ba Island - Ninh Binh - Huế - Da Nang - Hội An - Nha Trang - Mui Ne - Hồ Chí Minh City - Châu Đốc
57 days, 1420.9 miles

Cambodia

Phnom Penh - Siem Reap - Sisophon

21 days, 328.8 miles

Thailand

Sa Kaeo - Nakhon Nayok - Bangkok - [Ko Chang]

36 days, 139.6 miles

[Non-cycling]

Hong Kong

Kowloon - HK Island - Lamma Island

7 days

China

Shenzhen - Beijing - Tianjin - Xi'an - Huangshan - Hangzhou - Guangzhou

61 days

Japan

Kobe - Osaka - Kyoto - Nara - Tokyo - Hakata/Fukuoka

15 days

Korea

Busan - Gwangju - Seoul

7 days

[Cycling again]

Germany

Berlin - Dessau - Goslar - Aachen

18 days, 231.5 miles

[Second-visit Belgium and France days and miles included above]

...And Home

2011-04-10T09:48:00.010+01:00

Four hundred and sixteen days and eight thousand one hundred and thirteen miles later...

So to get the final trip facts out of the way before feelings: I eventually left Berlin on Tuesday 29th April after a few days of running all over the city trying to find suitable parts to rebuild my rear wheel which had cracked somewhere between Bangkok and Berlin. Thanks to that delay I spent a full 2 weeks in the city, hopefully not the last of my time there - I love it.

From Berlin I jumped back on my bike again for what, by now, was the first time in 4 months (yes, this was a bike trip). Thankfully everything, metal and muscle, worked as well as it had before though in terms of the latter just a little more sluggishly. I rode through the centre of the city from the East, along Karl Marx Allee and Unter den Linden, under Brandenburg Gate and out through Tiergarten to the West. I was following the Europaradweg R1 which, incredibly, stretches 3,500km from St Petersburg in Russia to Boulogne-sur-Mer in France, mostly on bike paths and away from traffic. After 60, 70 and 80 mile days on this I decided its winding gravelly nature wouldn't get me home as soon as I wanted - the 3 nights wild camping in the forest being harassed by wild boar made me realise I was over the adventure for now, my mind and body accustomed to more (relatively) luxurious living. I fast-forwarded on the roads for a couple of days of solid south-westerly winds, consistently riding in the same direction as the 100s of wind turbines were facing, seemingly generating at full capacity. I was happy to be back on my bike and enjoying the freedom, but happy to be heading home.

I'd set myself a goal of reaching Bruges to see the start of Belgium's version of the Superbowl, the Tour of Flanders, but with the roads and headwinds I'd have arrived about 5 days too late so I jumped on the train in the west of Germany to skip there for the big day. Bruges is a lovely city, apart from all the tourists, and what with the race and a Scout jamboree it was packed. I was up at 6am to catch all of the pre-race excitement and get my close-up photos of the pros, saw the start and spent the afternoon with a Duvel watching the race unfold on TV in a local bar. Come the finish, feeling slightly drunk (Duvel is 8% beer and I am a lightweight) I rode out of the city for 30 miles to find somewhere to camp, thankfully sans boar.

From Germany (my last new country) back to the Netherlands, Belgium and France, I headed for Dieppe and the ferry back to Newhaven, headwinds persisting and huge HGV traffic on small country roads reminiscent of Vietnam (no beeping though). The riding in northern Europe was as uninspiring as on my journey south and breaks to buy stuff from patisseries and then breaks to eat stuff bought from patisseries occupied most of my day, which following the changing of the clocks were long ones, not really being able to set up camp until dusk set in at 8pm. Then I'd cook pasta, and sleep.

Even over the last few days I continued meeting lovely, friendly people - to name just a few, the sweet German-Turkish girl leaving Berlin (I'm sorry I forgot your name! Let me know how it all goes planning for Australia), the disabled lady on the hand bike who rode with me till I got back on track on Germany, David in week 3 of his trip to Russia and Skandinavia and Ian on his first day on the mainland on his way to Hong Kong and around the world (I was pleased to feel no envy whatsoever!) Mariusz (?!) the very excited Polish truck driver in the ferry terminal and the friendly police at the UK border who were half interested and half intelligence gathering on my time in Iran. Forget the cycling, the people really have been the central part of this trip.

With the feeling of adventure gone (in me, and in the fact that riding in Europe is a bit simpler than riding in Turkey, Iran or India) I was very happy to find myself cresting the hills of the South Downs on a beautiful sunny spring day and knowing that home was just around the corner.

Eastbourne!

So that's a brief summing up of the last of the cycling on this part of Riding East - over the next few weeks I'll add a few posts with thoughts and moments and highlights of the past 14 months, and what is to come for the future.

Beijing-Bangkok-Berlin

2011-03-23T12:07:00.005Z

A whirlwind change of state it definitely has been. I reluctantly left Beijing on March 9th, the day my visa expired, but after a night on a southern China airport bench I crossed the border a day late in Guangzhou, thankfully to no remark. Then it was Bangkok again, the familiar, warm, memory-filled city I arrived in way back on November 18th. Curries eaten, flights booked, bike boxed with the help of Marc, another great, thought-filled dinner with friends Tyler and Tara, and fleeting friendships with more interesting people (Martin, Stef, Lindsey and Kyle), I left on March 15th after 5 days in the heat. Huge excess baggage charge paid, a night in Moscow airport passed quickly with yet more new friends (thanks Line and Jasper), I arrived in Berlin on the 16th. Welcomed by another, even more thorough search and drugs check than in Japan, lasting an hour and requiring my lovingly packed bike to be unpacked in the middle of baggage claim, and resulting in me (wrongly) testing positive for heroin or opium but nothing being found amongst my 42kg of luggage, despite the excitement of the sniffer dog. Ahh, Europe!

Berlin has been my favourite city to date without a doubt; the place I feel I could spend a few years. I was supposed to have got back on my bike on Monday and be a couple of hundred kilometres away by now, but thanks to the huge number of things I want to see and do (the usuals; Brandenburg, Reichstag, Holocaust Memorial, The Wall, Jewish Museum, etc. etc., as well as the slightly more alternative; Tacheles art squat, all-girl Roller Derby, an undercover mission to the Cold War era 'listening dome' atop Teufelsberg), I haven't even managed to unpack my bike yet.

Departure is now slated for Friday but is likely to change - the details of the above along with a selection of the already 500 photos from the city will have to be filled in from home.

For now though, just a couple:

Tacheles - art squat, social space, beautiful atmosphere, but possibly soon to be demolished.

The unfortunate crucifix reflection on the GDR-designed and built TV Tower, with the omnipresent Berlin graffiti. This shot taken from the 'death strip' behind the Berlin Wall.

Inside the 'listening dome' atop the Teufelsberg Cold War era US comms. interceptor, one of Berlin's many underground, alternative attractions

Catching Up with Photos in Bangkok 2

2011-03-11T06:33:00.015Z

Crazy Lantern Festival Fireworks in Beijing

Qin Shi Huang's Terracotta Army in Xi'an

The eponymous hazy, polluted Chinese city, replicated many times over - it's incredible how quickly the lack of sun, or even sky, affects your mood.

Inside a mosque in Xi'an's Muslim Quarter - a really interesting mixture of Arabic and Chinese influence with a minaret pretending to be a pagoda.
This mosque also has a tablet inscribed by Zheng He, the eunuch admiral of Ming Emperor Zhu Di who, according to the controversial but persuasive book 1421,
set sail and mapped much of the world before Magellan, da Gama, Columbus, Cook, et al.

Cycling atop the 14km of old city walls surrounding Xi'an

Catching Up with Photos in Bangkok

2011-03-11T05:32:00.007Z

So here I am in this city for the third time, only this time it is with a head full of Great Memories rather than one full of Great Expectations. Accompanying that though is the least clear picture of what I want to do or where I want to go that I have had on this trip. While I sweat my way through a few Thai curries, regain some of my tan lost in the wintry north, and foster a plan, I'll just post a selection of the many photos that I've been promising while in China, starting at the top with Japan, then Korea, The Great Wall, Crazy Beijing Fireworks and the Terracotta Warriors in Xi'an.

The Japanese shinkansen, Bullet Train, that took me from Tokyo to the port of Hakata

Hiroshima

Downtown SeoulKing Sejong the Great (I think) and the incredible part aztec/part sci-fi Korean characters

Ancient Temple Guards (Seoul)

Bustling food market in Seoul with great BBQ and fried snacks

The imprisoned North Korean cheerleaders mentioned in this post, and the names of numerous others suffering the same fate

The Great Wall of China at Jinshanling

This Time Last Year... Day 16 on Day 381

2011-03-02T06:48:00.002Z

Tuesday 2nd & Wednesday 3rd March 2010

Malbuisson, France - Col de la Givrine - Geneva, Switzerland

Woke up before the alarm. I guess my body is adjusting. Cereal and coffee for breakfast. Faffed a lot for some reason - no real target for the day (still 1 night before Geneva) and it was rainy and grey. Changed route plans and headed back east to Vallorbes where I sat in the sun a while and enjoyed not pushing on. Entered Switzerland and made for Lac and Vallee de Joux which after some hills was lovely - houses with a lake to the front and ski lift to the back! Sun was in and out but generally pretty nice. Sat in the village for a while eating lunch by a stream, quite hot in my black jacket and wooly hat. Les Rousses back in France was my target and I had thoughts of a long lie-in and short day into Geneva, however as well as being a stop on the Tour de France this year it turned out to be a pretty big ski resort, and apparently it's the holidays here so everywhere was complet! That was that - bought some supplies (gnocchi) and headed out of town in the snow - stopped at an Auberge Jeunesse 1.7km down a hill in the wrong direction - €38!!! No way, wild camping it is. Pulled into a small side road not far away and pushed the bike along a cross country ski track, finding a decent spot underneath some wood machinery. The snow was thigh deep so I stamped it all down to make space for the tent - set it up with water poured on pegs (to freeze them in) and guy ropes to trees, it was perfect! Gear in the vestibule, sleeping mat and bag laid out, cooked dinner (v. tasty gnocchi, chorizo (from Toul) and Passendale cheese (from Belgium)). Ate biscuits, wrote, text and got to sleep early. I woke a couple of times (about 03:30 and 06:30) but was toasty warm the whole night. Heard skiers and a piste-basher but no bother.

Got up at about 8am to start packing up - tent was down by 08:45 and I was up the road by 9 - v.chilly, 6 layers needed. Turned out I'd camped about 100m from the top of the Col de la Givrine at 1232 metres! I thought I had the Cote de Nyon to climb but on passing through St. Cergue and buying a pain au choc (CH francks, oops!) and putting on more layers I realised I was at the top and it was all down hill - confirmed when I rounded a corner to see the snowy peaks rising above the clouds, and on closer inspection Lake Geneva below! A perfect breakfast spot - orange juice, coffee, baguette, butter, jam, honey. Perfect? I'm not sure, but pretty damn nice!
The descent off the actual mountain was about 5 miles, my first real proper mountain descent, but it was just so cold! I was shivering pretty violently by half way but enjoying it. It was another few miles of downhill to the lake shore and then a nice cycle lane along the main road that skirts the water. I'd pictured this to be pretty beautiful but with the big houses shut away to the left and various houses/flats/garages on the right there wasn't much to see apart from the odd glimpse of the lake and some boats. I still had a good few hours to spare so rode very leisurely into Geneva, stopping to eat and take out some Swiss Francks. Found it pretty tricky to get around the city but found the fountain and had lunch - Reblonchon and sausage baguette. Had a few people stop to chat, then the rain started. I set off for Leandra's with plenty of time to spare as I had no map or directions, just a rough location in my head from a memory of a Google Map. As it turned out I'd passed by within 50m but missed the road name - Mum helped me out from home with the help of Google Maps!
I was welcomed by Leandra, her boyfriend Andrin and best friend Laura - they helped me with my bags and I settled into Leandra's bedroom - she'd given it up for me : D I checked in online for the first time since Luxembourg, showered and had a lovely pasta dinner. Leandra and Laura both went out for sports/dancing so I caught up on emails, and then we played Uno and ate cereal 'till late. Great to be here.

An excerpt from my hand scrawled day-to-day diary.

Back in China: 1 Year Anniversary on The Great Wall, Lantern Festival in Beijing and Solo in Xi'an

2011-02-24T12:04:00.004Z

After arriving back from 3 weeks away with much excitement I celebrated my 1 year on the road anniversary (if I can still call it being 'on the road') with a walk along the Great Wall of China with Cecily, an experience that is among the few to manage to live up to my expectations and an incredible way to mark the 366th day since I cycled away from home in Eastbourne!

Que more lazy days in coffee shops and quandaries about what to do from day 389 onwards...

In the meantime, I survived an evening out in the firework-and-debris strewn Beijing streets, when regulation and sense are left behind for the last legal opportunity to set off fireworks in the city. The Lantern Festival falls on the first full moon of the new lunar year and marks the end of China's, and much of Asia's, mammoth 15-day New Year festivities.

Close your eyes and you could be in a war zone. Open them and you still could be.
The firework displays I'm used to involve a couple of trained pyrotechnicians in a 200-metre exclusion zone. These are boring. My new favourite firework displays involve a guy who had 150 yuan in his pocket and a cigarette (the firework lighter of choice). Plonk the jumbo box down in the middle of the road without fanfare, light the fuse (is it lit? maybe? better check...) and retreat to the safe distance of 3 or 4 feet. People nearby? They'll be gone once the first one explodes. Part fear, part awe, everyone then stands for the next 60 seconds and watches the fireworks explode into the neighbouring buildings, sparks returning to earth unextinguished, stray non-vertical eruptions threatening us all but, in a Russian Roulette kind of way, that is part of the fun. And it was fun; I couldn't stop laughing with excitement the first time I saw it on my way to the shops. Whaaaaat?! It's a great example of the lack of rules and regulations, but the aftermath is all you need to realise why the rules and regulations exist. Every year at this time those that forget to close their windows find their apartments gutted - this year's toll: 194 fires (in Beijing), 388 injuries (in the first 6 days), 40 deaths (nationally), and 5,945 fires nationwide in 32 hours.

Cecily is currently visiting one of 'the world's most polluted places' for her work so I have finally managed to leave Beijing behind for a few days in Xi'an, the city at the end of the Silk Road and home to the Terracotta Warriors. Shrouded in the eponymous Chinese haze that has been noticeably absent for most of my time in Beijing, Xi'an is crowded and polluted and historically significant, an ancient capital and political, economic and cultural centre of China.
I'll have to post a mammoth photo update of the Great Wall and the Warriors once I'm free of the bounds of China's internet control, which will come with my visa expiring on March 9th, as, like the Great Wall, describing them in words is a pointless exercise.

Korea: Busan, Gwangju, Seoul

2011-02-13T10:35:00.004Z

From Tokyo I caught the awesome-looking but average-velocity shinkansen Bullet Train over 1000km south to Hakata/Fukuoka (the 5 hour journey would have been impressive if the Chinese equivalent I took a few weeks before wasn't 25mph faster and a lot less than £160, but it did have wifi and lots of leg room). After 1 night there which involved forcibly getting drunk on shochu and sake at the behest of 2 epitomical Japanese businessmen, I took a ferry across to Korea.

The visit to Korea for me focused on the capital, Seoul, thanks to the incredibly catchy advertisement that has been in my head for months since I started watching CNN on hotel room TVs, and a stop-off in Gwangju to visit Chris who I originally met in Delhi and bumped into again in Bangkok, and is now in Korea on behalf of a female (small world for sure, in more ways than one). More time was spent playing pool or asleep and/or hungover in Gwangju than I would like to admit so aside from having the company of Haena who is Korean, my insights only went as deep as the realisation that the young folk here are incredibly attractive and incredibly fashionable, with their lens-less black rimmed glasses and crazy hairstyles.

Seoul is a massively popular city with a huge number of Brits, Americans, Canadians and Australians there to teach English, and along with the fact it's pretty inexpensive, safe and has a lot going on, not to mention that the Korean girls seem to find something remarkable about Western guys (whether that is for better or worse; the continual giggling may have been genuine hilarity, or maybe it was just my beard), makes it a fun place to be.
With the long bus ride there and a flight booked to coincide with Cecily's return to Beijing from her hometown for Chinese New Year, I only had a couple of days to explore the city and brave the cold, but they were pretty full and took in a couple of palaces complete with changing of the guards ceremonies as they happened centuries ago under King Sejong the Great and generally getting a feel for Seoul's particular 'vibe', which even in the cold and quiet of the New Year celebrations exists along the pretty riverside in the centre of the city, and the bustling shopping and nightlife districts around Hongik University and Myeong-dong.

Most affecting though was a chance visit to an exhibition entitled 'Where Love Does Not Exist', displaying and describing life within North Korea's Prison Camps which, in my ignorance, I didn't realise existed. Thanks to the media and Team America I saw Kim Jong-il as a deluded but funny character to make fun of until he dies, but with stories of imprisonment in 'Complete Control Districts' and treatment reminiscent of Nazi Germany, I will think again. The most shocking story for me, in amongst many both tragic and graphic, was about the North Korean Cheerleading Team (I know that sounds like an oxymoron) - 21 girls sent to the South for the Asian Games in 2002 and imprisoned on their return for 'breaching their pledge not to divulge anything they have seen or heard during their trip'. It appears they are still imprisoned in Taehŭng concentration camp for political dissidents where, if all is to be believed, they are treated incredibly badly, however with the controls the North has on such issues the only sources available are dissidents who have escaped.

"I was born in a political prison camp and lived for 24 years without knowing who Il-Sung-Kim and Jong-Il-Kim were. I have never heard the words 'love', 'happiness', 'contentment', 'unfortunate', 'injustice', 'resistance', and only discovered the meanings of these words in South Korea. These words are words that do not exist in political prison camps. Socialised with the bare minimum of words and emotions to perform addition and subtraction, and to follow work instructions, we were bred under physical violence as labouring slaves."

-Former prisoner of the 14th Gaechon Completely Control Zone Camp from Dong-Hyuk Shin's memoir.

Other stories included inmates having to eat rats and snakes just to survive,and punishment for breaking any of the prison rules being death.

So then I had coffee and read some Dickens.

That lead to another experience of hospitality and kindness to strangers reminiscent of Iran, as I was accompanied on my trip to the N Seoul Tower by new friend and Doctor of Oriental Medicine, Subeom. It was dark and misty so the view wasn't spectacular, but from 500m up (the tower is on top of a small mountain) the extent of the city on the Han River was impressive.

Seoul is a friendly city and Korea is an interesting country with an interesting history, ancient and modern, sitting somewhere in between Japan and China not only geographically but also socially, with people looking both ways and drawing on both modern cultures, however I couldn't quite place it or get a full perspective of it, whether because it is hidden beneath the mixed culture or the Korean culture just has blurred lines between it and its neighbours, or maybe I just wasn't there long enough.

Back in Beijing now for the remnants of the New Year celebrations (i.e. avoiding death-by-firework) before paying a visit to some other parts of China. As usual, photo posting is not working so will follow sometime.

Photos from Tokyo

2011-02-07T08:16:00.002Z

Shibuya Crossing, one of if not the busiest crossing in the world, overlooked by one of the busiest Starbucks in the world. This is also the location of Shibuya station where Hachikō the dog (star of the movie with Richard Gere) waited for his owner at the same time everyday for 9 years following his death.

Having seen other photos of the crossing, this Sunday evening was apparently a quiet time.

Even so the crossing reloads with people with each-and-every phase of lights.
Tokyo is also home to the world's busiest station in Shinjuku, with an average of over 3.6 million passengers per day, which along with over 200 exits makes getting anywhere fast pretty tricky for the inexperienced.

The view over huge, sprawling Tokyo and across to the mountains from the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building in Shinjuku.

And that is Mt. Fuji, which you can see in the wide shot above under the cloud in the left third.

A more peaceful side of Tokyo in Asakusa, the ancient Downtown entertainment district.

The 634m 'Sky Tree', atop which are 2 crane operators who deserve a lot of money.

The rather strange bouffant-and-pointy-shoe look of the 'hosts' in Tokyo's Kabukichō red-light district - these guys all stand out on the street to 'catch' female customers, and who wouldn't be tempted? From Wikipedia; "a night of non-sexual entertainment could cost $500 to $600. A women's studies professor explained the phenomenon by Japanese men's lack of true listening to the problems of women, and by women's desire to take care of a man and be loved back".

Tokyo, and Thoughts on Japan

2011-02-03T12:53:00.002Z

Cecily summed Japan up better than I could hope to in her comment on my last post: (ignoring the part about watching US sitcoms, I don't know what she's talking about there as I am clearly a committed cultural explorer) "It shows the mixed culture of Japan: adopted modern culture, well-preserved tradition, bustle and peaceful. Mysterious as it is always. It is Japan".

I think most people's thoughts on Japan include the hyper bustling megatropolis of Tokyo (most likely the iconic view of Shibuya crossing) alongside a peaceful Zen Buddhist temple. Both views are correct and in reality not always that separate.
There's a distinct similarity between the Japanese cities I visited and I think that extends throughout the country - on any brief stroll you can see women in traditional dress alongside girls in decency-defying modern outfits, 6th Century Shinto shrines enveloped and overlooked by 21st Century business buildings, neon alongside lanterns and cyclists alongside supercars, and packed pachinko (pinball) parlours and seedy host/ess clubs alongside... well, there is no ancient mirror for that, I suppose they are a modern extension of an evening of entertainment with mahjong and a Geisha. Wherever you are, walking 1 street away from the well-trodden paths of tourists and locals alike can see you in a peaceful street of traditional homes lived in my stooped old men and women for generations.

As for the people themselves, as contradictory and fascinating as a modern Western people can get to a modern Westerner - the surface is placid, with a thick layer of incredible politeness and sensitivity to feeling and ego, respect and reverence for other people permeating all aspects of daily life. The conductors and food-trolley stewardesses bow on entering and exiting train carriages, all members of staff welcome each-and-every customer to walk through the door of any restaurant, shop or bank, friends young and old part with multiple bows, and all talking seems to be littered with excuse mes and thank yous. The subway is silent; everyone is using their mobile phone to text or browse but no one is talking or letting it ring aloud, and there are no audible conversations. More people seem to be asleep than usual, which I suppose hints at the long hours spent working and studying - 'Salarymen' working 12 hours a day and clinging onto a job following the economic bubble-bursting of the early '90s. This along with the unique way of interacting it seems has lead to the culture of men and women paying £30 to sit with a member of the opposite sex for nothing more x-rated than a chat - every red light area is packed with these and they seem to be patronised fairly regularly. Add to these the 'Maid Cafes' and Chikan (pervert) Bars: mocked-up train carriages where you can grope the 'sexy commuters', acting out what is a big problem on Japanese trains at rush hour - and the more underground, social repression-enforced quirks and perversions begin to appear below that placid surface.

Photos from Tokyo and words from Korea to follow, as it's late and beer awaits.

Osaka, Nara and Kyoto

2011-01-29T12:54:00.006Z

Osaka: 'America Village' topped by the Statue of Liberty, a weird corruption of the US fashion world beloved by Japanese youth and a great place to people watch. Dotombori, middle and left, bustling shopping arcades on canals with the kind of girls wearing the kind of clothes that leave you with eye and neck strain.

"Is Buddhism for me?" A wild deer of Nara, the original Japanese capital, visits one of the many temples.

Todai-ji temple in Nara-koen, a hugely impressive temple with a huge and impressive Buddha even for someone who has seen a lot of temples and Buddhas. Apparently the biggest wooden building and the biggest bronze Buddha in the world.

The very tame but still wild deer of Nara are all over the city, hassling children for crackers and knocking over the elderly.

Water for purification at the entrance to all Buddhist temples.

Kyoto: A geisha, whether genuine or model, in the ancient geisha district of Gion. There are fewer than 100 in the city and 1000 in Japan.

The cobbled streets of Higashiyama, in Kyoto, are lined with original wooden latticed Japanese homes and restaurants and walked by women in kimonos and wooden sandals, the only giveaway of the current year being the cables and the cameras.

Kyoto: Japanese lanterns and characters are now noticeably different from their Chinese cousins.

Kyoto: A bamboo forest in the hills above the city. I walked through a deserted temple and up here for a great view across the city to the mountains opposite, surrounded by family shrines and undisturbed by the people below.

Trinkets left at the shrines above the city.

The Ryōzen Kannon memorial in Kyoto commemorating the Japanese soldiers who died during WWII, seen through a metal grate as it was closed.

Sun setting over Kyoto with the silhouette of the Kyoto Tower on the left, my landmark for finding my way back to the hostel without a map after a long day of exploring.

65 Hours to Japan

2011-01-23T05:58:00.011Z

The Yan Jing, my home for just over 2 days

I'm now saying konichi wa with a bow instead of ni hao with a handshake, and domo arigato instead of xie xie. From back home I would have put Japan and China firmly in the same box, my knowledge of the 2 contrasting countries having been about the same as the 6 year old me stood in the local fish and chip shop chanting 'Chinese Japanese' whilst pulling the corners of my eyes up and down in front of the stainless steel counter. The 6 year old me I will forgive but the 23 year old has been very much enlightened.

But to begin from the beginning... How hard it was to leave that nice warm bed and that beautiful warm person at 4:50 on Tuesday morning. I don't think it needs to be emphasised how much I've enjoyed this chance stay in Beijing, and that the only reason for my departure is my visa's imminent expiration. The journey began with a taxi, and then a 210mph train ride to the coastal city of Tianjin, followed by a 2 hour taxi ride to the port which included a lot of shouting and confusion and my first realisation of how much I've been sheltered from the inconvenience of unshared language for my time in China. With the childish drawing of a ship on the ocean I finally arrived at the terminal to board the ship that would be taking me across the Yellow Sea to Japan.

I was the 1 and only laowai (old foreigner) or gaijin (outside person) and the only solo traveler aboard a ship of 200 mainly Chinese and a few Japanese, mostly young people making the journey for work. What with my mood at having left Cecily and my temporary home behind and the attention caused by this, the first few hours were spent quite uncomfortably, not to mention dealing with the unappealing thought of being stuck aboard this ship for more than 2 days. A few fellow passengers found the courage to approach what was probably a pretty unwelcoming face hidden in a book, but when they did the typical warmth and friendly curiosity was hard not to warm to. I was given Chinese tea (drunk by almost everyone traveling, usually in a clear bottle 1/2 filled with leaves) and some to this day unidentifiable vacuum packed food-like substance. My new buddies returned later for another 'chat' but we had exhausted all communication last time so they filtered away to the karaoke, not to be seen until they were offering me vodka in bed - bed being a bunk in a small and far too hot room with 15 other guys. The next evening it was the turn of a very drunk Japanese student to interrupt my film watching but again it was nice to talk with someone else for a while.

After 54 hours on board I disembarked in Kobe only to be welcomed into Japan by a customs check that only just stopped short of examining my insides with a rubber-gloved hand. Everything was unpacked and searched to the last possible hiding place, Jelly Babies and Cadbury's Mini Eggs were taken for x-ray and chocolate-filled sponge cakes were broken open and checked inside. When the chemicals dripped on some 'leaves' tweezered from the bottom of my backpack failed to turn either orange or purple I was free to leave the 2 apparently disappointed customs guys behind. In 22 border crossings, being checked at all was a first.

The view from Kobe city up to Kitano and the hillside

With 2 more trains and a great deal on confusion in navigating the Japanese subway I made it to my first stop, a total of 65 hours door-to-door.
Kobe is a great, small and friendly city, but as even the Lonely Planet says it isn't packed with things to see so it's only thanks to a head cold brought from the ship that I'm still here on Sunday. After enjoying the interest in just seeing the simple differences in people and society, behaviour and language, I made my way up to the Kitano Ijinkan area on the Kobe hillside which was home to some of the first foreigners in Japan at the end of the 19th Century and still displays the architecture of the UK, France, Austria, Denmark, etc., at that time. This is the same Kobe hillside that was largely destroyed by the earthquake in 1995 so in between these buildings which were rebuilt piece-by-piece there are those that remain destroyed but uncleared.

The ijinkan houses of Kitano

Evidence of the earthquake of 15 years ago - I don't know how this stained glass window survived in the destroyed house above

Saturday saw a visit to a local sake (rice-based alcohol or nihonshu, as sake just means 'alcoholic drink' in Japan) brewery to enjoy some free samples which temporarily saw off my cold.

Tomorrow I am finally moving on to Osaka, the place name that for some reason it was apparently very cool to print on t-shirts in the UK for the past few years, and then Kyoto, a city of 12 centuries and home of the treaty, before the megatropolis of Tokyo.

Below are some of the photos from Beijing that I couldn't post from China...

Tian'anmen Square looking north towards the Forbidden City (top) and south to the Monument to the People's Heroes, celebrating revolution, uprising and opium destruction, and the Mausoleum of Mao Zedong

Monks and speed skaters - the gate on the right is the old entrance to Beijing

Spongebob

What I thought was a nice old shopping street and hutong but is actually faux-old after knocking the original buildings and alleys down.

Mao's Mausoleum and a happy visitor

So cold!

Inside the Forbidden City

Reluctant in front of my own lens (Photo courtesy of Cecily Huang Photography©)

Power in words and building

Snowboarding at Nanshan

中华人民共和国 / Zhōnghuá Rénmín Gònghéguó / China

2011-01-12T11:26:00.005Z

Despite being a child of the technological age I've been defeated by China's internet censorship and the temperamental server-jumping workaround, and as such can't post any other photos than the 4 below. Aside from finally getting around to visiting Tian'anmen Square, The Forbidden City and The Chairman himself, most of what I've been doing is pretty un-Beijing-specific so I was going to let the photos speak for themselves... Ah well.

There's a metaphor in here somewhere - Dear Leader Mao obscured by National Flag in the pursuit of perfect symmetry.

Very cold guards patrol everywhere, and you need a security check just to enter the public square - the World's biggest

Mao Zedong's giant portrait hung on the 'Gate of Heavenly Peace', the entrance to the Imperial City

So, Tian'anmen Square was the windiest and coldest day for a long while which may have contributed to its underwhelming impact. Not as big as I'd believed, though apparently 4 times bigger than Red Square, it's presided over more by 2 huge screens playing proud Chinese moments (some would say Nationalist propaganda) than Mao's kindly face. It takes some hard thinking to draw up images of the events of 1989 - the famous Tank protest occurred on the incongruously named 'Eternal Peace Street' crossing the north of the square. To the east the National Museum of China, closed for expansion to make it the biggest in the world - nothing's worth having unless it's the biggest. To the west is the Great Hall of the People, from wherein China is ruled by the Communist Party. South lies a huge building housing Mao's preserved body which sees a constant procession of adoring Chinese and curious foreigners, and north is the centre of old Beijing, the Forbidden City.

Like so many places, the grandeur and history of the 600-year-old home of Emperors and Empresses and government past is hard to appreciate or visualise through hoards of shouting, happy snapping, flag following, identically dressed tourists, though it is at least positive to see so many domestic tourists - China's burgeoning as a 'socialist market economy' (or maybe just capitalism without democracy) is a long way from the imagined reality of a 'communist country', and people seem constrained by the more Western ties of money, status and 'success' than state oppression, though that in itself is likely a sign of the State's success in control...

The architecture of the walled city and its nearly 1000 rooms is incredible, but the real interest comes in taking a broader look at the 21st Century city created around it. The old City Walls are now Beijing's busy 2nd Ring Road, punctuated by place names ending in men, meaning gate: sites of the old entrances into the city. The city's hutong (ancient alleyways) - the ones that found enough favour to escape the painting of 拆, meaning 'demolish' - are now bursting with cool independent clothes shops, cafes and bars, some in the old siheyuan courtyard homes dating back 2000 years. These are overlooked by the Drum and Bell Towers which sounded out the time (using a drum and a bell) over the same hutong centuries ago.

The city is nothing like I expected - it's huge and busy but without the chaotic, hemmed-in feeling of Hong Kong. The streets are wide and skyscrapers relatively few so on a sunny morning it feels more like riding through a town than one of the biggest cities on earth. As for China itself, I've only seen 7 of its 22 provinces - 6 from a train window and only a narrow spectrum of Beijing itself - all I do know is just how much I don't know. Spending all my time with a native has opened a lot of doors that would otherwise have remained closed, but in this case more into the life of China's more outgoing and broadminded or Western-born or educated mixed-heritage citizens, rather than gaining any insight into the seething mass of the 1,300,000,000 population. What I've missed out on in true everyday experience has been made up for with fun - snowboarding 45 minutes from the city at Nanshan; ice skating on Beijing's old canal network; drinking with the city's more affluent inhabitants in overpriced boutique bars and dancing to international DJs in the ex-home of a 20th century warlord's government...

Reluctantly that is coming to an end as my visa expires on the 19th - the fastest 30 days of my life - so the next update will be from the hopefully more internet-lenient shores of Japan following a 2 day boat ride from Tianjin. I've met some incredibly lovely, interesting people here and I hope on my next 30 days in the country (date TBA) I can combine that with seeing some more of China's varied landscapes and meeting more of its varied people.

Seeing in the Arbitrary Beginning of a New Solar Cycle

2011-01-03T09:59:00.002Z

The New Year celebrations were a super fun end to the party season here in Beijing. Considering Chinese New Year is still a month away plenty of locals celebrated alongside expats and tourists in this part of town. Our plan had been to head to the super cool factory setting 798 art district for some hardcore techno warehouse raving (I even had my emergency military glow stick) but following a large amount of wine and fondue and a couple of deadly Duvels not drunk since February in Belgium (the most expensive meal of the entire trip it should be noted, though worth it for the interesting company of Dutch embassy staff and Japanese journalists), midnight crept up on us in another bar and the rest of the night was danced away there, to far more civilised music played by the world's oldest and coolest Chinese DJ, and long-held dreams of the moment the clock strikes... were fulfilled. Exhaustion set in at 4am and thanks to luck and a piggy back all returned safely to Happy Village II (or Xingfuercun in Chinese).

As the UK was seeing in midnight I was waking briefly, dry mouthed and thumping headed. As the UK was waking up dry mouthed and thumping headed I was in Dongyue Temple learning about the work of the Taoist's 'Department of Wandering Ghosts’ and the ‘Department for Fifteen Kinds of Violent Death’. Quite different from most previous New Year's Days.

The weather here is generally around -1 but often with wind chill (or when cycling) it's more like -18, which is making me long occasionally for the non-stop sweating and 3 showers a day of Thailand. I've just returned from playing the first organised football for about 8 years for which the 8000 miles of cycling helped precisely zero and I was wheezing all over the pitch, not helped by the dryness of Beijing's air - pollution definitely doesn't seem as bad as expected, and certainly not on the Delhi or Tehran scale, though undoubtedly it's there on the larger scale.

I have something of a feeling akin to having come home being here, and, not helped by winter, Cecily's apartment is very hard to leave - Tiananmen Square and The Great Wall still remain unvisited and instead an armful of DVDs have been watched and a bunch of hours have been whiled away in bed. Not the best use of time but, I think, perfect.

Christmas in Beijing

2010-12-26T18:35:00.006Z

[This post coming to you over China's 'Great Firewall', thanks to a Virtual Private Network and some perseverance...]

Leaving Hong Kong on Tuesday 22nd I caught the subway from my base in Tsim Sha Tsui and connected with an MTR train to the mainland China border at Shenzhen. Once through immigration and across into China Proper I found my way onto the long-distance Beijing train to take me, in 23 hours and 45 minutes, 1 whole latitude and 1500 miles north to Beijing West train station. One bus and 2 more subway lines later I emerged shivering in Chaoyang District to be met by the smiling face of Cecily, 2 months and 10 days after saying goodbye in Nha Trang, Vietnam. As reunions go, this one was highly anticipated and as warm and comforting as they come.

The ensuing week has been a blur of meeting people, subways, sushi, walking, shopping, freezing winds, city cycling, Christmas tree buying, cat feeding, classic movie watching, Chinese learning, Lomographing and late-sleeping loveliness, with a Christmas as wonderful as it could have been away from home and family thanks in large part to the cooking of Cecily's flatmate Prudence and the international company of Ivy (Hong Kong), Will (Texas), 2 Chinese girls including Ceci and Pru herself from Essex.

The universal, cross-border procession of Christmas day: drinking, eating, sleeping.

Upcoming activities include New Year's Eve partying, ice skating, snowboarding, city sightseeing, eatingreadingsleeping, as well as planning which of China's many neighbours to visit for my 'visa run' and which of this huge country's many provinces to visit for the remainder of my stay.

For those bound to be wondering, I do miss my bike but I don't miss riding it every day (or SE Asia for that matter).

1 Day in HK

2010-12-18T11:02:00.004Z

The view from the proper Peak above Central on Hong Kong Island

The best pool in Asia?

Looking to the marine typhoon shelter and the International Commerce Centre on Kowloon, HK's tallest building

Nature continues to grow above Man's creation

I didn't expect to see a water(trickle)fall, though it does belong to the Island's water board

The afternoon sun on the city as it sets behind The Peak

Descending the steep path back down into the metropolis

This city literally is an Urban Jungle - trees, bamboo and palms grow all around the flyovers and skyscrapers, with the HK Zoological and Botanical Gardens even finding a space on the hillside

From solitude and peace to bustling crowds and noise - HK is a great city if, like me, you enjoy both

The HK Cultural Centre

The ever-incredible HK Island skyline (The Peak is right behind the buildings shrouded in darkness).

Hong Kong - Contrast Like No Other

2010-12-15T07:50:00.006Z

The view from my pillow in Mirador Mansions, Tsim Sha Tsui

Wow. What a city. I've not even been here 24 hours yet but have already taken in a lot of this pretty unique place; Special Administrative Region of China, ex-British pied-à-terre in East Asia, home to people from every corner of the planet. After flying in I've already sailed the Star Ferry from Kowloon to HK Island, taken the MTR, ridden the bus and walked in the cold sea wind - the city is at the same time prohibitive to pedestrianism (like in Bangkok, getting to a point 10 metres away requires 200 metres of walking and 50 stairs) and incredibly easy to get around without a car, though the Rolls Royces and Ferraris have plenty of multi-lane bridges and flyovers to speed along.

I get my Chinese visa on Monday and leave for Beijing on Tuesday so have a few days to continue exploring. Coming here from the beauty and peace of Ko Chang (and the relative quiet of Bangkok's backstreets) is certainly a shock and totally the wrong way round to do things! It's so coooold!

The few days back in Bangkok passed quickly thanks to the company of Ben, Caro and Steffi - we (eventually) met on the bus back from the islands and I had a fantastic time with them in the city. Thanks to their friend Simon and his fellow Italian buddy I got to see a new side of the city that I otherwise wouldn't - RCA, or Royal City Avenue, is the place for affluent young Thais to party, a street full of door-to-door nightclubs and bumber-to-bumper Porsches and Mercedes. The Italians had the necessary style (as you'd expect), as did the girls, but Ben and I were lucky to be allowed to join in wearing shorts and flip-flops. This was just as good a way to gain some cultural insight and the difference between this and my earlier Cambodian experience was huge, the result of (relative) peace and years of economic development.

So after arriving on the 18th of November to dismay I left almost a month later to good feelings and happy memories of Bangkok's tourist hub, and its hidden realities. Now in Hong Kong, feeling once again like a real person and not merely a tourist, I'm missing the easy availability of tasty, filling food for 80p and a bed for £3, and the beer which has become a staple part of my diet recently is now out of the question! I said an emotional goodbye to my bike, now adorned with the 20 country flag stickers along the toptube which will be gathering dust in a Bangkok guesthouse for the foreseeable future, and am, truth be told, loving the alternative freedom that only carrying 15kgs of luggage brings.

Hiatus: Chilling on Ko Chang

2010-12-07T14:32:00.004Z

Sunset on Lonely Beach

Sunset on another beach...

...and another.

Another island, another scooter.

Sunset with a beer (repeat each-and-every night) - the view from our Bungalow

Plenty to keep an eye out for though - this and a baby crocodile/monitor lizard are our neighbours, along with a platoon of huge red ants

Back in Bangkok - Playing sepak takraw in the park with the locals

The old guy and the child were 100 times better than us 3 Westerners, but at least we gave people a good laugh

Not a huge amount to write - my bike is now dismantled and resting comfortably in a Bangkok guesthouse, along with about 30 of the 40kgs of stuff it and I have been carrying from home. I'm now living free and easy with just 1 bag and the only non bike travel appropriate stuff I have. Warmer clothes are slowly being accumulated or their shipment arranged in preparation for the 40°C drop in temperature which awaits.

I am also resting comfortably in a beach bungalow on the west coast of Ko Chang. As sure as the sun sets beautifully over the same fishing boats each evening, Tibo and I sip a beer and relax even more than the daytime allowed for. Aside from renting scooters, an island theme, there is little to do but swim and read and relax, which is all I really need. Tibo has spent the past 5 months humping 70kg banana bunches about on a farm in Australia so he is enjoying the minimalist lifestyle just as much.

My bus to Bangkok leaves on Saturday 11th, so the same will be true of the remaining 3 days.

Bangkok, and a Change of Plan...

2010-11-24T16:49:00.007Z

From this...

...to this, in just 12 hours.

Chilling at the pool by day

Partying by night

Arriving in Bangkok, eventually

Buddha in Bangkok

Performers in front of royalty for the festival of the 'good old days'

The meat market that is the infamous Khao San Road, Bangkok

Even Buddha needs cash - there's a good few $100 here

Loi Kratong festival on the full moon

Chinese lanterns fill the sky for the festival, from the roof of my favourite (non-tourist) bar

Lots of pool, beer and relaxation

Free Muay Thai outside Bangkok's MBK mall - a lot of blood and 1 TKO

The uniqueness of travel by bike was made stark last week, as the photos above demonstrate - one evening I was enjoying cocktails till the early hours with a bunch of great people, 24 hours later I was eating dinner alone before retiring to bed at 8:30 pm. The latter was par for the course in the first 2 months of the trip from home to Istanbul but hadn't been a factor again since then. I remember now how dull and lonely it can be.

The scenery is beautiful - Cambodia's huge palm tree dotted paddy field horizons and roadside life, Thailand's wilder, less utilised land and forests - the difference between the 2 countries was stark, though too subtle for the couple I overheard in the immigration queue at the border who saw both sides as being identical. Immediately Thailand was more Western than 100 metres back in Cambodia. People live away from the main highway, and the connecting roads are mostly tarmac rather than dirt. Shops are less makeshift and stock more than a handful of products, and fancier houses abound. The highway is silky smooth and 4-6 lanes wide compared with Cambodia's maximum of 2, and there's no dust. It was hot, and though the 70-mile days passed quickly all the interest was within my mind, thinking ahead to what I will be doing next. I was making a beeline for Bangkok, though on arrival I wasn't sure it was the place I wanted to be.

Khao San Road is infamous as the centre of backpackerdom, where you can do and see things that don't generally take place back home - I won't go into details, but ping pong balls are involved in the most common offering, minus the table and bats. After 2 nights amongst this I retreated to the quiet alleyways and allowed myself to walk through the madness of an evening and retire to a cheap and quiet room at night. This place is the epitome of the much uttered phrase 'corrupted by tourism'. No longer a home to Thais but clearly a place where some of them make a lot of money. For the longer-term traveler it's a novelty to be briefly indulged in but the inflated prices and lack of sincerity quickly make it necessary to move on. Luckily I met Chris, a fellow long-term resident of Nirvana Hostel in Delhi, along with Tibo and Julian, a couple of similarly-minded French guys, so have been exploring the city with them for the past week and enjoying the realness that it is possible to find here.

So, to moving on. Back on the road towards Bangkok I considered my options. The one certainty in my life at the moment is my desire to spend time with Cecily, in Beijing. That person who was briefly alluded to in an earlier blog from Vietnam following our meeting on a beach and subsequent, incredible date together, has now taken up a pretty strong position in my life. We'll be spending Christmas together, and who-knows-how-long after that - so clearly I'm going to China, and clearly I'm not cycling there. On arrival here Singapore was still 30 days' ride away, so I took the easy option of 30 days of not riding and flying from here instead. Judge me if you will, but at least I made it to Asia before being waylaid and finding something more important than the bike - some feared it would happen before I was out of Holland!

I fly to Hong Kong on the 16th December so I have 3 weeks left in Thailand - another one in Bangkok and a couple on an island in the Thai Gulf, before leaving behind the heat that has been with me since April for a cold, snowy winter. Excited is not the word!

What happens next I'm not sure. I'm at the mercy of Chinese visa politics and the far more complex laws governing relationships - even though the Riding East has technically halted, I'll keep updating (assuming it isn't censored).

Siem Reap and Angkor Wat, Effort and Reward

2010-11-10T05:39:00.006Z

The beautiful, friendly, staring children of the roadside food stop

Sharing and laughing with Tara - Photo courtesy of Tyler Kellen of Going Slowly

While being a huge tourist attraction the temples of Angkor are also holy Buddhist sites - these guys have a lot of flesh to try not to look at!

The Khmer Bayeux Tapestry, beautifully carved ancient stories in stone

The classic photo of nature reclaiming what is hers

The ancient and the modern in a different form

Friendly young monks

The 3 monkeys, my Angkor companions

Two tough days of riding have landed me up in Siem Reap (or Siam Defeated), the city base for the Temples of the Khmer Empire, SE Asia's premier tourist attraction (besides the place in Laos where you bar-float along the Mekong in a rubber ring getting steadily drunker).

Day 1 out of Phnom Penh ended up at 103 miles and 8 hours, my second longest day of the trip so far. It was flat and the temperature never rose above the mid-30s but keeping up even a modest average of 13mph on a 60kg bike whilst waving at all and sundry took it out of me - I stopped at the first hotel I'd seen all day by 16:30 and devoured all the food I could find in my bags, before dinner and sleep. The children here have to be the friendliest of anywhere, the constant barrage of hellos makes the Vietnamese seem positively antisocial - more fool the person who doesn't deign to respond to even one, as the hello gets louder and more aggressive until it is finally answered out of fear from 200 metres further down the road. It took some effort to emerge from my hypoglycaemic stupor and interact with the 10 children staring at me shoving banana after banana into my face (they're so small here you need about 10 for the potassium content of 1). Emerge though I did, eventually, and the maturity, self assurance and consideration of these 4-12 year-olds melted my heart. I have no trouble believing that the lives they are forced to live, and these are the lucky ones who get to go to school, makes them far more grown-up than many twice their age in other more privileged societies.

Day 2 was a tad shorter than the one before at 93 miles and just over 7 hours, but with a headwind most of the way it required Coke stops every 25/30 miles. I hate how much I depend on it to keep going but it's better than petrol I suppose. Surprisingly Cambodia seems to be a bit more expensive than Vietnam, and with the relative scarcity of food and drink stops 3 meals of bread and peanut butter were devoured - the food here is great but sometimes an empty stomach wants more than rice or noodles. The final 10 miles into Siem Reap were whizzed along at 16mph on a high of having reached the place that 2 days ago was 200 miles away, and with the prospect of meeting up with some friends made back in the first few weeks of Vietnam.

Friday was a rest day and I allowed myself to do nothing more strenuous than turn the pages of my book and raise a coffee cup to my lips. I didn't actually feel too bad - my legs are used to it and the rest of me can cope, but I enjoy guilt-free laziness the most. That evening though I was lucky enough to meet up with Tyler and Tara from Going Slowly - I started following their blog in 2009 as they set off on their bikes from Scotland (having flown there from the US) to ride the World and it helped me to overcome the fears that I had before setting off myself. They've since visited 20 countries including Russia, Mongolia, Finland and Tunisia, and through some incredible stroke of luck we found ourselves in the same town at the same time 18 months later. They are just as nice in real life as their excellent writing leads you to believe, and it was interesting to swap experiences and compare thoughts over dinner - we have done things very differently, traveled in different directions at different speeds and with different mentalities, but the bond between people who have immersed themselves in the world and realised they love it was clear. Sadly the non-stop nature of the ensuing days meant we didn't get the chance to meet up again, but hopefully we will find ourselves sharing time and space again one day.

The following day was Temple Day 1 of 3. Having heard some negativity on the splendidness of Angkor Wat (you know who you are!) I was worried the place would become a victim of over-hyping, but that wasn't to be the case. Along with Romy, Sonia and Courtney, the 2 lovely Aussies and 1 lovely Canadian I'd met in Vietnam and again in Phnom Penh, we explored for the next 3 days, first by bike and then by tuk tuk. It is certainly possible to get templed out but the majority of them are incredible places to be. Facts such as the Khmer Empire, at its height, being a million-strong community while London was a village of 50,000 (so it's thought, anyway), and the simple sight of such incredible buildings, intricate carvings and signs of complex civillisation make it more than just a visual experience. At points we found ourselves trapped by hoards of happy-snapping Japanese tourists which, while still entertaining, detracted from the experience, but in the moments where we had a temple to ourselves it was easy to feel the past. Sitting on an ancient carved stone watching the warm light of the setting sun to no other sound than the birds chirping was pretty cool.
While the attraction of so many tourists is doing wonders for Cambodia's recovery and general overseas appeal, the greedy hands of corporations are again taking advantage. Our $40 fee for a 3-day ticket sees $4 going to the maintenance, preservation and restoration of the temples, while $7 goes to to hotel chain-cum-petroleum conglomerate who have signed a deal with the Cambodian Government, who themselves take control of the remaining 73% or so - to spend on social care for landmine victims and the elderly, I don't think. Having had a look into this it seems the deal has recently been renegotiated with more favourable terms for the temples, but as always someone is waiting in the wings ready to take a nice fat slice of someone's cultural heritage.

Anyway. For the final day we decided to see the sun rise over Angkor Wat itself. Being awful at dragging myself out of bed at 4am it seemed sensible simply to not bother sleeping, so following a lovely meal inside a not so lovely swarm of light-drunk bugs, a bunch of banana daiquiris (so manly, I hear you say), a jug of gin and tonic and, thanks to the enthusiasm of Kerry, Hayley and the embodiment of happiness and fun in human form that we shall call Canada, a good few hours of dancing like a loon in a Cambodian nightclub, we made it through to 4am - just enough time to ride home (look, no hands!) and charge my camera battery for what is going to be one of the world's most beautiful sights, while trying to stop my head from lolling into the wall. Back on the bike for 5am and sat on the grass at Angkor Wat by 05:45 - of course it was cloudy. By this point we were all more concerned with sleep so following the dejected walk away from nature's failure to comply we found some hammocks for an hour or two's nap before a solid 7 hours of tuk tuk riding (far from relaxing) and 3km of mountain hiking. On second-wind number 4 and no sleep for almost 2 days we eventually made our way back into town, the girls refreshed after a quick pummeling under a cold waterfall and me by sweating out the gin in the jungle. Still not time for bed though - finally, come midnight, my head hit the pillow and that was that until the following midday.

After 1 and a half days of idleness I'm just about recovered but still not ready to move on. I want to make the most of the good company and nice vibe here (the hotel has a garden courtyard, good food and is only $5) so will wait a few more days before departing for Bangkok. Thanks are due to Courtney, Romy and Sonia for some of the best days of my trip so far : D

Out of Vietnam and into Phnom Penh

2010-11-01T09:21:00.008Z

A few of the 17,000 inmates who passed through Tuol Sleng Prison, S-21.
1.7 million were killed in the 4 years under the Khmer Rouge

Formerly a high school, it was turned into a prison for the torture and interrogation of anyone - men, women, children - even vaguely subversive to the Khmer Rouge regime

With the atrocities occurring only 2 generations ago it is important to preserve the memories of the worst acts of Pol Pot and his regime so it can't happen again, at least in Cambodia

One of the prison's security orders

One of the 4 buildings is completely encased in barbed wire to prevent escape or suicide

Some cells are large - these are where the bodies of the final 14 victims were found in 1979

A former teenage worker at the prison - many ended up as prisoners themselves, or faced an exiled life when the regime fell and the truth of what they had been a part of was revealed

Some classrooms were divided up into individual cells not big enough to lay down in

Internal walls were knocked through

As with Vietnam and the war, everyone you meet is linked to this past somehow, but normality is fully resumed

Nothing like the small of meat hanging in 40 degree heat

Nothing goes to waste

Like Saigon, ancient architecture exists alongside the modern

Choeung Ek - The Killing Fields. Teeth and bones litter the entire area

The skulls and bones of around 5,000 of the nearly 9,000 killed here have been exhumed from mass graves and are on display in an 11-tier Buddhist stupa. Some feel uncomfortable taking photos but the government and the people want the realities to be known

After 2 months in Vietnam we caught a boat from the deck of our hotel in Chau Doc in the south-west of Vietnam, up the Mekong and in to our first experience of Cambodia, the infamous Phnom Penh. A city known across the world, where it is even known at all, for drugs, prostitution, paedophilia, genocide, and friendliness.

Outside of the main backpacker area, where you struggle to walk a metre without offers ranging from marijuana to opium, acid to women, there is little evidence of this. The city is prosperous considering its past, and there is a lot of money in the country - though expectedly it seems to be in the hands of the Lexus-driving few. Government buildings and banks make up the best on the skyline, a common thread in this part of the world.
Tourism is playing a big part in keeping the momentum of the country's recovery and the people are very friendly; far more engaging than in Vietnam, and happy to chat, though still with the aim of getting an extra dollar or two. The development isn't all good, however - the Lakeside area I am staying is scheduled for 'redevelopment', which means the forced eviction of its residents for the building of something fancier. Over lunch on Sunday I awkwardly sat and watched the owners of the restaurant I was in selling off and packing up their chairs and tables, plants and photos, in preparation.

The currency is US$, with the 'cents' being Khmer Riel. At just over 4000 to the dollar it takes a bit of thinking about when checking change. Life isn't easy and a lot of the tuk tuk and cyclo drivers live in and on their bikes - walking the streets at night you see fans of hammocks spanning from trees to tuk tuks as they sleep beside the road.

I've spent a week in the city so far. It was once the jewel of French Indochina and some facets of that remain - the vibe that was at first intimidating and unknowing has vanished, and aside from the murky underworld that is occasionally evident (old grey-haired white man with barely legal Cambodian girl, foreign corporate takeovers of the country's past, power in uniform and the subservience they demand) it's a nice place to be. Ban Ki-Moon and Hilary Clinton have been in town over the past few days, the UN here to talk about the ongoing Khmer Rouge trials and the US affirming their relationship with the country. The UN would like to extend the trials to bring to account lower ranking officials of the regime, but with the current Prime Minister being an ex-official himself and some of his allies potentially being the ones facing the dock, he'd prefer them to stop at the 4 individuals under Pol Pot who are scheduled for trial, and the one, Duch, who has just been sentenced to 19 years for war crimes and crimes against humanity. I think the UN see the power in the symbolism of bringing more people to account, but with so many involved maybe moving on is preferable.

On another not insignificant note, after 52 days with Georgie we've decided to go our separate ways, for the sake of both our sanity and our friendship, so, Whitesnake interlude here... here I go again on my own. She will have company for the remainder of her trip, however, so no need to worry about me leaving her alone in Cambodia! After leaving home and riding as far as Istanbul on my own I've not spent a single night alone since the end of April, so getting to sleep on the first night was a strange experience. Thanks to Kris, Courtney, Sonia, Romy, and last night Ed and Philip, the incredibly cool and camp teenagers of Phnom Penh and their amazing street dancing, some wine and a few beers, and the hours spent on Skype with a very special lady in Beijing, all is well with the world. This trip has always been about finding out what I want from life, and, in life as in science, a negative result is still a good result.

Now I'm off to collect my passport with its newly acquired Thai visa (i.e. my ticket to sit on yet more beautiful beaches) before 2 big days' riding to Siem Reap tomorrow - 320km in 2 days will test my legs, but it's all flat...

Prey Nokor, Saigon, Ho Chi Minh City

2010-10-22T16:53:00.009+01:00

The Trio - Colonial Hotel de Ville, Modern Diamond Plaza, and moldering urban Vietnam

The brand new - Bitexco Financial Tower (helipad on the other side)

The Caravelle Hotel overlooking the Opera House on what was Rue Catinat (now Dong Khoi). I think this is the spot where the car bomb exploded in A Quiet American.

The People's Committee Building - its modern incarnation made clear by the Ho Chi Minh statue in front

One of the city's few green spaces, very well used - Vietnam has the same vitality of life outside the home as most of the more eastern countries I've seen.

The chaos is thrilling, but bad for the soul if you were to live in it.

Uncle Ho in the city of his name. I'd love to know what it says as there is socialist propaganda all over the country.

Shoes, shoes, shoes. The Asian market is interesting, but not so atmospheric as the Bazaars back west a bit.

Spaceship.

Wait patiently, then GO!

This is a 'Tiger Cage' used to house 'problem prisoners' by the Vietnamese during the war. I've not talked about the war or the museum below as both are far better covered online elsewhere, but the War Remnants Museum is a must-visit.

Class from a cockroach's perspective.

Mellow in L'Usine.

From a bridge on the Mekong Delta.

The city with three names and 3 faces. Past, present and future coexist on every street in what I, along with most of the locals not in government uniform, prefer to call Saigon.

The past exists in the French colonial buildings, especially the old Hotel de Ville and the Continental and Majestic hotels on what was once Rue Catinat. The future, just a few roads over, is the Bitexco Financial Tower, Vietnam's tallest building complete with side-mounted helipad, and the Diamond Plaza mall. The present is these two put together, and it makes for an interesting city.

Although our primary pastime over the 4 days we were there was drinking coffee, the city had an indescribable allure from the 1st Cappuccino on the unfamiliar ride in, and by the last Flat White before the now familiar ride out I knew it was a place to which I'd probably return.
There's nothing in particular to see or do - the place is packed with temples and pagodas, but like mosques in the Middle East, I've seen enough. There are museums - we picked one, the brutally honest War Remnants Museum, and that was all. There are the generic entertainments of any other city, and we made the most of them, but none stand out.
Saigon though is a city of interest above and beyond the quantifiable; it has a friendly, energetic air about it, and it’s just the right size to feel like you know it well.

Tracing the steps of Fowler in The Quiet American added another dimension to the ordinary. Drinking coffee in the Catinat Café, opposite the Majestic Hotel and just down the road from the Continental and the Opera House, was all the more interesting having read the book and watched the film on this trip (both recommended). With a bit of effort you can imagine the city full of journalists and photographers, or G.I.s looking for some ‘entertainment’ in between missions, only 4 decades ago. Or earlier still, you can imagine it resembling an island of Paris in the surrounding Vietnam.

Then there was L'Usine. We couldn't have found a side of Vietnam further from what we were used to. Conceptual art space, coffeeteacakeheaven, super cool clothes and accessories store, Mac-tastic wifi-using ex-pat patrons. It's easy enough for a city to progress enough for a generic Gucci or Luis Vuitton store to appear and succeed, and plenty have here, but for someone to go to the effort of creating an independent, slightly more subversive place like this, and for it to be busy - that's when you know things are changing.

The Hotel de Ville is now the People's Committee Building. The old US Information Service Building is now the War Remnants Museum. Vietnam seems to have the ability to preserve its past by simply changing the role of its buildings and otherwise leaving them as they are.

We’re now a million more miles from all of this, back in the countryside and riding through the Mekong Delta towards the Cambodian border. The bridges spanning the big rivers running from the Mekong (Mother River) to the sea are pretty new – one built with the help of Australia in 2009 and another thanks to Japan the year before, so I don’t know how we’d have ridden this route last year. It's pan flat, but the bridges are surprisingly steep!

We were very lucky to miss the recent flooding that swept some of Vietnam away. As I watched the story unfold on CNN we were only a week, or 300 miles or so south of the devastation. When you see how much of the country is within inches of water - houses, roads and railway lines - you realise why coastal and delta areas are so under threat from rises in sea level or more extreme weather events.

And finally. Supermarket shopping in small-town Vietnam has turned out to be rather entertaining. We are more than used to being stared at out on the street - I haven't really blended in with the crowd since leaving Italy in March - but in the supermarket, thanks to its confined aisles and possibly slightly higher social class of patron, I can hardly concentrate on which biscuits to buy because out of the corner of my eye at every turn I can see people excitedly (but slightly more self consciously than usual) tapping their friends, parents or loved ones on the shoulder and pointing in our direction. I've not been looked up and down so much in all my life. The entertaining difference from on the street is the presence of people who have realised that it is rude to stare, and buck the trend of their fellow countrymen and women and quickly look away once they've been caught. It's hard not to laugh, and it's good not to be too self conscious. I've learned to deal with people laughing at me every day so staring is not a problem.

On to more of the same in Cambodia, no doubt...

From the Sea to Saigon; 8 months and 7000 Miles

2010-10-18T03:17:00.012+01:00

The view from our beachfront balcony

A duck wrangler

The volume of bikes at school closing time puts Amsterdam and Copenhagen to shame. Unfortunately in a few years these girls will be recreating this scene on a scooter instead of a bicycle.

Two fishermen laying their nets in a break from the squalls

My first attempt at wakeboarding. Coolness factor minus 10 for the cyclist tan

Do I go left or right? Remember: if you look at the obstacle you hit the obstacle.

A regular sight, along with pigs, chickens and ducks. I tried to confirm with the rider of the scooter that these are on the back of whether they were for eating or if he worked for the Vietnamese RSPCA. He seemed to say yes, very tasty. I was relieved though to learn that 'chien' on the menu means 'fried'...

Approaching a town, riding home with the happy, enthusiastic kids

Another 1000 down and we're in Saigon! A sweaty 1248 miles and 24 days of riding from Hanoi has encompassed 2 mountains, 4 beaches, 2 historical towns, 1 beautiful bay, 3 battle sites, more noodles than any one person should eat, more mystery meat, animal fat, whole chickens, honking and scooters, rice drying in the sun on the highway, monsoon rain storms that hurt, blistering sun, terrifying trucks, friendly roadside food stalls, shared vodka shots with locals, overloaded and underattentive riders, horrific karaoke, hotel rooms and tiresome breakfast and dinner missions, lots of bartering, condensed milk coffee, arguments, chance meetings and re-meetings, áo dài wearing bicycling schoolgirls and race-me boys, 2 punctures (mine), 1 crash (mine), 1 stomach bug (mine), very little English, and very much attention.

Vietnam has so far been the easiest and safest country I've ridden through. There exist none of the water scarcity issues of Turkey and Iran and none of the food scarcity issues of the same. None of the spice and hygiene (and later on, bowel constitution) issues of India. None of the continual mountain climbing of the Himalayas, Turkey, The Balkans or the Alps. None of the extreme dry heat issues of the desert, and none of the accommodation issues of the more scarcely populated parts of the world, as well as none of the navigational problems of anywhere else. This leaves the adventure a little wanting, but saves a lot of energy by cutting out the worry. I think Cambodia will heighten the adventure a little more, but we are still in the heart of backpacker and gap-year territory so the only real stress is self-created.

Nha Trang, a few days' ride south of the previous post, provided a welcome beach break and a chance to scratch my boardsports itch a tiny bit with half an hour of wakeboarding. Other itches also scratched to a greater or lesser extent include the wine drinking itch and the romance itch. Let's just say my eyes have been opened and China is now firmly back on the route plan...

Another few days' ride south was the smaller version of Nha Trang, Mui Ne. In typical tourism style the actual town of Mui Ne is 10 km away from the Mui Ne that we visitors know, where the resorts and tourist amenities have been slowly growing. Luckily with our route in and my poor navigation (congrats to Georgie for getting it spot-on and letting me lose graciously) we got to see the real fishing village as well as the alternately white and red sand dunes out of town, allowing a guilt-free day on the beach with no pressure to see or do anything for fear of missing out.

Saying farewell to coastal Highway 1 which has been alternately a beautiful, tedious and infuriating path to follow, we followed the ever decreasing kilometre markers to TP. HCMC which began way back in Hanoi at 1719km. The traffic increased steadily to the point of gridlock and we flowed downhill threading the needle with eyes only for our last hotel before the final morning push into the city.

Now, after arriving safely and promptly yesterday through the (relatively) quiet Sunday streets, thanks in part to our impromptu scooter guide in pink, it is time to explore the streets of Graham Greene's Saigon in The Quiet American. And drink some proper coffee.

10,000 km, Hue and Hoi An, and the Monsoon Strengthens

2010-10-04T14:31:00.008+01:00

Challenging the Macedonians and Turks for World's Biggest Flag

The Imperial Enclosure within the Citadel in Hue, home to Emperors, Eunuchs and Concubines

Very hungry fish at the Citadel - great idea of the employee to give them the plastic bag that the food came in to eat as well

Crafts- and tradesmen are still rebuilding and replicating the Citadel after it suffered heavy bombing by the Americans

Chinese influence at the tomb of Khai Dinh - the Chinese alphabet only stopped being used in the country last century, a change that helped Vietnam become almost entirely literate

These guys knew how to grow a beard, though weirdly mine gets so much attention and most of the population seem unable to cultivate even a 'tache

Paddy fields and mountains have been our accompaniment since Hanoi, though it wasn't until Danang that we had to climb over one

Look closely and you'll see the colour-coordinated figure of Georgie half-way up this 7 mile, 8%, 40° climb along the coast

A sweet old lady selling bananas? You want me to take your photo, and you want no money? OK. Click. And bam - photo money, buy bananas. Eeevil.

Someone enjoying solitude in the cramped and bustling market in Hue

6,200 miles for the British and American amongst us. I’ve been riding with my speedometer set to miles-per-hour since leaving the UK despite the fact that every sign post and distance marker has been in kilometers since getting off the ferry in mainland Europe. This involves a lot of mental arithmetic while riding and results in a far less impressed stranger when I show them how far I’ve ridden, and then try to explain it’s not, in fact (only a mere) 6,200 km.

While I’m on the subject, since being welded back in Switzerland after only 1/10^th of the current mileage the bike has held together impressively – I changed the chain and cassette back in Tehran, and the bottom bracket in Hanoi, and have done nothing but lube the chain since. Only 4 punctures and a handful of broken spokes despite carrying a bit too much weight and riding on some awful roads, as well as the freehub implosion – the abundance of sweat and humidity have rendered my leather handlebar tape a mould breeding ground but it’s nice to have the company.

So we’re currently somewhere in the vicinity of the site of the My Lai Massacre, where American soldiers killed 504 unarmed civillians before covering up the whole affair at every level, military and government. 42 years ago is very recent history. Could it happen today? I can’t help but wonder what all the toothless old ladies, straggly grey bearded old men and elderly amputees have seen, from Independence to colonisation to Independence again to starvation to war and an old age under communism. I wish we shared a language as there is so much I’d love to know and so few genuine sources to hear it from. Iran was such a special experience because the ability was there to ask questions and learn from the man and woman on the street. Despite apparently being on the increase as a second language, English at any deep level (i.e. deeper than those sentences dealing with financial transactions) seems very sparse and pretty much nonexistent outside of the tourist centres. I can’t even get people to understand my pronunciation of ‘bread’ so aside from the simplest of pleasantries my Vietnamese is never going to develop.

So a fun time was had playing the tourist in Hue, Vietnam’s old capital and ‘intellectual and cultural heart’. As always with these places it seems that the future has spoiled the past and history is covered up by snack foods and fashion – every second shop sells one or the other. We glimpsed some of the country’s varied past, from Emperors and their eunuchs and concubines to the Chinese, the French, independence, war, communism, theism and atheism. Does anyone remember the immolating Monk in the Sixties? We saw the car he drove to the site of his immolation in to protest about the repression of Buddhism in favour of Catholicism.

Georgie and I gave up our independence for a day to be lead around the city’s spread-out highlights, and while enjoying not having to find our own way for a change we both resented the lack of freedom. After 2 days we were ready to move on and take the short ride down to Hoi An. An incredibly pretty old trading town and home to no fewer than 200 tailors, out of approximately 250 businesses, with the other 50 being restaurants and hotels, or so it seemed. Chicken and the egg, Catch-22 – a place has a genuine reason for interest, people visit, people capitalise on those wanting to visit and before you know it the original reason to visit has been all but wiped out. Hoi An must have some kind of preservation society as things hadn’t run away too far, but strolling around the narrow streets of the Old Town while being serenaded by ‘hey you, come in my funky shop’ and the less refined but refreshingly upfront ‘BUY SOMETHING!?’ it was hard to get into the mind of a fellow doing the same a century and a half ago. Still, we made the most of these 21^st Century ruinations and enjoyed a hotel with a swimming pool, a ridiculously decadent chocolate tart and the best dinner I’ve ever had that wasn’t cooked by my Mum.

We’re now into the beach-focused leg of the trip and will hopefully spend a few days lounging on one of the many white-sand and clear-water beaches the southern coast has to offer, in between the bursts of monsoon rain that make the temperature plummet to a chilly 25 degrees C (can you imagine?) before hitting the chaos of HCMC which is currently 520 miles away.

My waving and helloing energy is seriously depleted so I hope the Cambodians are significantly less friendly or else I won't make it to Singapore! Adam, where are you when I need you?!

Hanoi, Ha Long Bay, Cat Ba Island and South

2010-09-22T11:23:00.007+01:00

The stereotypical image of Vietnam exists everywhere

Ha Long Bay - Nature vs. Tourism

Ha Long Bay's floating communities

...and their treatment of their environment.

Cat Ba Island, in Ha Long Bay, from the National Park

Georgie strolling to the beautiful beach

Assaf, Michael, Julita, Me and George. The bay and the Tonkin Gulf in the background

Only the Vietnamese can make riding these things look cool

Look closely and you'll see this family's living room and bedroom in this 'restaurant'. The child was later plonked naked on one of the tables. Life is certainly not lived behind closed doors in this part of the world.

Seafood and beer to follow sun and beach

The view from our $10 hotel room - watching the colour of the sky change at night was astounding

We've ridden past birds, dogs and pigs being transported by bike - not for the feint-hearted, but incredibly impressive nonetheless.

Tam Coc, the Ha Long Bay of the Rice Paddies - a nice 2 hour boat ride after a tough 68 mile bike ride

These ladies had a very impressive foot rowing technique

While I was taking this photo Georgie was trying to convince our rower/driver that we really didn't want to but any tablecloths thankyouverymuch, row on.

Week one back on the road down, along with 177 miles, in spite of the fact that where we sit now is only 56 miles from where we started. Georgie’s addition has made this feel like more of a holiday than a punishment, which it can feel like at times, so I happily rode 3 times the distance to take in Ha Long Bay (it is a World Heritage Site after all) and Cat Ba island. The chilling on the beach part is my forte, but the riding out of my way to get there isn’t.

Riding out of Hanoi was as hectic as expected but surprisingly manageable once you understand the concept: ride wherever the hell you want, just keep going in a straight line. Georgie did incredibly well considering it was her big Day 1 and she was an extra 3 feet long towing the trailer behind her. We navigated out of this small and friendly city having had a great introduction to Vietnam, and immediately hit the paddy field and bamboo hats that thoughts of the country conjure up. Ha Long bay was 2 days away at our gentle, introductory pace (gentle, that is, for me – Georgie was eager to carry on past the hotel at 42 miles but I wanted to get off my bike ASAP; the 7 weeks off (the longest I’ve been off a bike in the past 4 years) now seems like less of a wise move and my body is rebelling).

On arrival in Ha Long City, or in reality Bai Chay, which to the Lonely Planet writers is the same place but for us is a tiring 5 mile bridge crossing doubleback, we decided to do things independently rather than going for an organised 3 day trip, so the following day we kept everyone waiting whilst loading our 2 bikes and 8 bags and trailer onto the boat before cruising off into the bay for 4 hours, on the way to Cat Ba island. The scenery was expectedly spectacular and the notorious trash filling the water was less apparent, though clearly respect for the water isn’t on everyone’s minds (see image above).

The Vietnamese/tourist relationship can be strained at times. They’re enterprising people filling niches and servicing needs, but when there is money to be made their knack for telling you what you want to hear is second to none (giving truth to the ‘same same… but different’ SE Asian mantra). When booking the boat to the island, and handing over money, the distance from port to town was 15km, flat, along the highway. Upon arriving at the island, when buses were being booked, it had miraculously become 45km, and hilly. It turns out the latter was the closest to the truth. Following an hour or so of dirty tricks (locals telling the local, 15,000 dong/50p bus not to stop so we’d be forced to take the 700,000 dong/23 pound private one) and hardcore, righteous bartering courtesy of our newly made Israeli friend Assaf (no stereotypes please), 6 of us and 2 bikes piled in at a knock-down but still rip-off price of 2 pounds and 50p each. The road was long, mostly uphill, and certainly not a highway. If I ever meet that liar again I will be sure to let him know what a scoundrel he is.

This series of stresses behind us our new group of 6 had a great few days on Cat Ba island, sharing a hotel, hanging out on the beach together, eating together – to Assaf, Mick, Julita and Pavel, thanks for your company and I hope you all enjoy the rest of your trips.

I spent yet another day on a motorbike, this time a 125cc Yamaha scooter, the staple vehicle of Vietnam, riding through the stunning scenery of the National Park. Not the manliest of beasts, especially when twinned with a glittery fake Nike peaked helmet, but the feeling of cruising effortlessly at 25mph and zooming up hills was intoxicating. Next trip…

Fighting the feeling to stay on the island and spend another 7 weeks sitting on the beach, thanks as well to Georgie’s encouragement and eagerness to get more miles under her bum bag, we departed on the hydrofoil back to the mainland. Another 2 days of riding in ever increasing heat and intense sun has landed us up in Ninh Binh, a base to see Tam Coc – the Ha Long Bay of the Rice Paddies – and rest. This we did today, after a very tough afternoon of riding yesterday. Thinking I’d got yet another bout of food poisoning from the eggs/rice/fried insect/ice at lunch I felt increasingly ill and Georgie was leaving me in her wake. It seems bizarre but after spending weeks in the heat and the deserts through Turkey, Iran and India, the sun got the better of me in humid Vietnam and I had what I guess was heatstroke, to go nicely with my British tourist sunburn. Whether it’s the humidity or the nearing the equator I don’t know, but 42 degrees here is far more intense than the 42 degrees I’ve ridden in anywhere else.

This morning we spent 2 hours being rowed along a quiet river between limestone cliffs and through caves, a lovely way to counteract the previous day’s punishment.

Now Highway 1 is upon us and we follow it from here all the way down the coast to Saigon, or Ho Chi Minh City as someone unfortunately renamed it. Our only concern in this very safe, easy country in which to travel is how long we can stomach the noodles and put up with the ridiculous worse-than-India beeping.

The Third Evolution

2010-09-13T06:35:00.005+01:00

'Junction' is a word to be feared

Georgie in the rain at the Confucian Temple of Literature

From West to East, Churches turn into Mosques which turn into Temples

Ho Chi Minh's best bud, Lenin

How pavement badminton hasn't caught on in the UK I'll never know...

Life by the tracks in Central Hanoi

Scooters. So many scooters. Everywhere.

The green light stampede - Do Not Run!

Life is lived on the pavement. Walking is made harder.

So here we are. The moment that kept me riding onwards during some miserable days in Eastern Europe has arrived. Georgie is here! Taking her place as Riding East's second addition and beginning the 3rd distinct stage of the trip for me (Stage 1 being the two months riding solo from home to Istanbul; Stage 2, the three months riding across the Middle East with Adam), she'll be documenting things in her own way here. After more than 7 months apart things picked up pretty much where they left off as I met her at the airport - it felt like we'd only been apart for a week or 2. For those that know us, that also includes stresses and arguments - it'll take a few weeks to work each other out and develop the right tactics for dealing with life on the road, but with us that's half the fun.

Thanks to Georgie's arrival and expectedly high level of enthusiasm I've been a tourist in Hanoi after 2 weeks of avoiding it. Many miles have been walked and, being a pretty compact city, most of what's there to see has been seen - Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum, though he's currently in Russia being cleaned; his Presidential palace adorned with photos of Marx and Lenin; the Confucian Temple of Literature, a university dating from the 11th century; a bunch of rockets and a Mig used to shoot down Americans in the '70s; the French Quarter; the Old Quarter where the real (though tourism-corrupted) Hanoi is, and Hoan Kiem lake and its temple complete with giant tortoise. Today was the day to apply for visas, so far just the Cambodian one at a bargain price of $20, and get back on the bike to test it our after 7 weeks off - my body finally felt at home for the first time since dismounting in Delhi on the 22nd July!

Tomorrow is Day 1 and our departure on the way to Ha Long Bay on the Tonkin Gulf coast. Both of us will need to ease in to the riding gently so the 100 miles or so will take 2 or 3 days which will give us a chance to asses what riding in Vietnam is like in terms of food, water, roads and accommodation, the situation with which is so different in every country.
I think we're both looking forward to it - stay tuned to see how it goes!

A Breath of Fresh Air - Hanoi

2010-08-31T16:49:00.001+01:00

~~Big fat cheat~~ Flight number 2 completed smoothly. Smoothly that is apart from the £200 excess baggage charge and the near run-in with immigration when it emerged my visa was scheduled to begin the day after I arrived. Thanks are due to the super-friendly Thai Airways check-in ladies, the lenient (i.e. couldn't care less) Vietnamese immigration staff, and the Kingfisher check-in guy for pretending I was only 10kg overweight, not 30. Another case of Iran being better than the rest - the lovely folks at Imam Khomeini International saw fit to charge not a penny for the same amount of stuff...

This is my first time in South East Asia, and my first impressions are good. From the airport in Bangkok and the streets of Hanoi there seems to be a pleasing overabundance of females, and a strikingly high percentage of stunningly beautiful ones. Elegantly riding bikes as well as the Danish, menacingly riding scooters with Burberry helmets, sitting on the street arranging flowers, cooking meat or noodles, or just smiling sweetly. They won't challenge the Persian beauty, but they'll come a close second.

Hanoi is a pretty crazy city (3.7 million people, 2 million motorbikes and scooters) but in spite of this it's sweet relief after the even crazier streets of Delhi. Here there is uniformity, which allows prediction and anticipation. And there are pavements without holes down into sewers. And no cows. Crossing the road is still a challenge though. The Hanoian technique is to assume a slow and deliberate stroll, allowing the shoal to navigate around you. The only Indian technique I ever mastered (aside from simply staying indoors) was to put my hand out confidently and run. The Iranian roads had lanes so could be crossed 7 feet at a time, usually with a panicked, sprinting finale.

So now I wait. Eight more days to pass before I get to hug the person I last hugged over 7 months ago. Then we ride, and I have my first day back on the bike for about 7 weeks, and Georgie the first of 4 months to come. I can't wait!

Six and a Half Months On The Road

2010-08-26T13:49:00.002+01:00

193 days since home.
16 countries.
5,794 miles ridden.
74,198 metres climbed.
483 hours and 28 minutes of riding.
2 continents.
22 border crossings.
3 visas, 3 weeks of waiting.
29 nights of wild camping.
16 nights in people's houses.
84 nights in backpacker hostels.
61 nights in hotels.
3 nights on transport.
1 broken frame.
4 broken spokes.
1 broken freehub.
3 punctures.
4 mountain ranges.
10 jars of Nutella.
100s of cups of tea.
25 dog chases.
1 horse chase.
Innumerable acts of kindness.
100s of people met, 10s of friends made.
6 kilos lost, 4 put back on.
13 other long-distance cyclists met.
A handful of scary moments, a whole load more joyful ones.
A 100% increase in faith in humankind.
10 cms of beard growth.

Fifty Days in India, 3 Weeks in Delhi

2010-08-06T09:41:00.016+01:00

Riding through Delhi at night. Not recommended.

Riding through Delhi during the day. Not recommended.

Persistent questioners in monsoon rains.

Very wet and muddy.

Many miles passed under someone else's steam. It's not really cheating...

North India's version of the stinging nettle

The first sign of trouble up ahead, on the road to Manali

The ever-present watching men, no matter what you're doing, they're watching

Another nice spot for lunch

So far only 1 very narrowly missed cow - I think our weights are about equal

This is one of the cleaner eating establishments

Contrasty.

Everyone's Equal: Eating at the Golden Temple

Hey, how are you? I'm Kris. Where did you arrive from? Oh wow, how are you finding it? This must all be quite a shock for you! I remember leaving the airport last time I was in Delhi 4 years ago after flying in from Heathrow in 7 hours and being so overwhelmed. I've been here for 3 weeks now. I actually got here from Iran - no, well actually I've cycled here from London. Ha! No it's been great fun! Oh no, actually I mean bicycle, not motorbike!!! That's why it took 5 and a half months! Well I left my house in the UK on February the 15th and caught a ferry over to the Netherlands, then rode the whole way through Belgium, Luxembourg, France, Switzerland, Italy, Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia, Montenegro, Albania, Macedonia, Greece, Turkey and Iran. Unfortunately I couldn't get a visa for Pakistan as they changed their rules after I left so I had to fly from Tehran to Amritsar. I spent a month riding up into the Himalayas as far as Manali and then down to here. Yeah, actually I left on my own but met another guy in Istanbul who was doing the same thing. Yeah! There are quite a few people doing what I'm doing, I've met at least 20 along the way. We split up from Delhi after 3 months together so now I'm back on my own. Up to now I've cycled 5794 miles - usually around 60 per day but as many as 106 and as few as 2. I'm pretty much doing nothing here in Delhi, just relaxing and enjoying the chance to socialise. I have a flight booked from here on the 27th August to Hanoi where I will meet up with my best friend from back home and then cycle with her down through Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia and then Australia and New Zealand. I'd initially planned to continue on from there to South America and make my way up and across to New York and then over to Africa, but having been away for nearly half a year now I can't envisage spending another 2 years on the road and riding 15,000 more miles - also I will have no money left by that point!

So what are you doing today? Ah yes, the Red Fort is nice...

So go most days in the Nirvana Hostel, South Delhi. The story exists more as a story than as reality for me now, I've told it so many times.

To those who have pestered me over the past month to write something on here, thank you for caring, and to those who have been checking in (or waiting for the RSS feed to update), I apologise for my lackadaisical approach. I suppose it's a combination a few things; after 178 days of doing this many things now seem unremarkable which would in the beginning have had me excitedly typing away in the nearest internet cafe. I think it's also India and the nature of travel here, in my case especially when contrasted against the time in Iran. I don't really feel like anything has happened that is worth recording, despite having done and seen what for most would be more than on a long holiday.

The biggest differences from day-to-day; you can't camp in Northern India. Between leaving town A and arriving in town B there is always a nether-town made up of tarpaulin shelters and charpoys, paddy fields and water buffaloes, dhaba food stalls, domestic tourist 'resorts', identikit crisp and fizzy drink shops, bizarrely named and iron-barred 'English Wine & Beer' shops, universities overlooking slums, or simply big piles of rubbish. Luckily India has its fair share of cheap hotels so a new routine was developed that removed the need to find food and water and a safe camp spot and instead involved shopping around for the perfect hotel room, for which exists a rather complicated equation involving the number of beds multiplied by the size of the TV and number of channels, divided by 2 for air conditioning or 4 for a fan, adding 100 for electricity to make these things work and subtracting 100 for no hot water, more than 2 flights of stairs, and anything that looked like it might lead to electrocution, illness or plague, whilst factoring in the lateness in the day and the tiredness and hunger levels, along with the level of tourist extortion attempted by the owner. Most of the time it was £2 and on all but 1 occasion, crap. Having gotten used to cycling off of the road and rolling down in to a field, transporting all my bags no more than 2 feet from the bike, setting up my tent, cooking as the sun sets and sleeping with the night, this added a headache while getting rid of a pleasure. And waking up in a double bed with another man night after night isn't as fun as it sounds (love you Adam).

Then there's the people. Iran received enough gushing positivity which I don't need to reiterate - I imagine any country would be a step down for the cycle tourist, but India is quite a stark change. It is fascinating for its diversity, and a thoroughly mesmerising, enchanting and just generally bizarre country, but for the specific needs of me on my bike it's not in the same league.
The initial welcome by the Sikhs of Punjab at the Golden Temple was remarkable, and the culture shock from seeing women riding motorbikes, working in the fields in multicoloured saris and showing off their long ponytails was intense - there is no easing in to India.
The cultural analysis between a Middle Eastern Islamic theocracy and a toddler Asian democracy is the stuff of text books, but basically I've experienced so little genuine kindness and so much blatant money grabbing as to sour the experience. I do believe that Hinduism has a part to play in this but that book is a long one. If you can break down the tourist/Indian barrier I'm sure there is a lot of kindness to be discovered.

After looking forward to cycling in India, I now have no desire to cycle here again. Once the crazy sights and sounds and smells of India lose their ability to amaze - a crew of cows chilling in the middle of the road, a gang of monkeys rampaging through a town, the goat/pig/car/elephant/cow/child/horse/camel/holy man that need to be avoided in every town, the sheer noisy chaos of every person beeping their horn - the enjoyment fails to sustain. I'm over it.

So for the past 3 or 4 weeks, since the 22nd July when Adam and I rolled through the gate of the Nirvana Hostel after 4 hours spent battling through Delhi's congested streets, I have chillaxed to the maximum. I've been to the mall. I've been to the movies. I've seen no tourist sights, no mosques, no markets (in my defence I saw them all 4 years ago). I've eaten almost exclusively western food but still managed to maintain an illness-to-wellness ratio of 1:1. I've stayed up till 6am more nights than ever before and drunk more rum then I ever will again. I've met some friends for life, and been offered some very glamorously located floors to sleep on. I've felt almost as at home here as at home. But step back out that gate and it's chaos, death and destruction in each direction. If you can walk down the street without falling in a steaming pile of trash, or a sewer, or walking into a cow, or getting hit by a rickshaw or bicycle, then you're doing well. I have realised at this point that I am Western, and European, and will always need some semblance of that around me.

So since last time...
I went to the Dalai Lama's 75th birthday party in his temple at Mcleod Ganj. That was fun. I've eaten numerous unidentified fried foods which have infected me with numerous bacteria and resulted in varying levels of diarrhoea. I've spent 2 nights vomiting. I've ridden up to 2000m and witnessed Adam make it to 4000m while I was, surprisingly, ill in bed. I've cycled in the monsoon, I've been handed beer from a moving motorbike and drunk it whilst riding, I've overtaken an elephant, I've enjoyed hours of long, swooping Himalayan mountain descents and pushed the tyres' grip to the limit. I've sweated more than I care to ever again. I watched the World Cup final in Manali where marijuana grows in hedges by the roadside. I've drunk Cognac and hung out with Delhiites, and met a handful of very lovely women. And of course I said goodbye to my riding buddy of 3 months, my wingman and copilot, the guy who made me feel lazy to just be riding my bike to get to places - you should ride it on your days off too! : P Adam valiantly battled on to Kolkata and is currently having some kind of empathy illness in Bangkok - good luck with the rest of the journey making it back to Oz.

So from now - the 30,000,000 Hindu Gods have conspired against me and so far foiled my 2 attempts to leave Delhi, this city I would actually say I hate, to see the more beachier parts of the country, one event involving me jumping very un-James Bond-like backwards from a moving train (top tip - always jump with the direction of travel); a train I'd waited for 5 hours to get on. Stick to bikes I told myself. I've decided to wait out my time in the safe confines of the hostel, being as lazy as I want to because hey, I've cycled here from London, even though all my friends have now moved on or home. On the 27th August I have a flight to Hanoi in Vietnam where I will wait for 10 days until my best friend from home Georgie lands with her bike to begin a 5 month trip through south-east Asia to Australia, with me. I think I'm a pretty lucky guy. Not to be promoting rival blogs but if you'd like to get a female perspective over the next few months (or just hear all the bad stuff about me) take a look at http://georgie-isabel-cycles.blogspot.com/

And the reason for flight number 2? The original route took in Nepal, Tibet and China. 1. Once out of India I'd be stuck for 2 months under their new rules, so any failure in Nepal would be an issue. 2. Independent travel in Tibet seems to be a near impossibility, especially after recent crackdowns. 3. I probably should have got my Chinese visa in the UK.

I'll definitely keep on top of this a lot better from now on, though between now and the flight my only tasks are to find a box for my bike, post home all my now-redundant winter clothing, and work my way through the 30 movies sitting on my laptop, whilst fighting off illness at every turn.

From Iran to India; Desert to Monsoon; Theocracy to Democracy

2010-07-03T14:37:00.002+01:00

After traveling at 12 miles-per-hour for the past 4 and a half months, to suddenly eat up 1,376 miles at about 600 miles-per-hour was always going to leave me in a bit of a haze.
The boring but necessary logistical challenges all came off without a hitch; finding and then transporting a bike-sized cardboard box on the back of said bike; checking-in to a flight with 60 kg of stuff, 100% more than allowed; rebuilding the bike in the middle of an airport.

I now sit surrounded by Tibetan monks being looked over by the Dalai Lama rather than Ayatollahs and Imams Khamenei and Khomeini. Most people are Hindu, Sikh or Buddhist. The air is wet, my mouth doesn't get dry in 3 breaths. Everything is green, and in English, and people nod their head sideways. I've been soaked by early monsoon rains, and nearly expired climbing 400m vertically in 2 miles. I'm in McLeodganj, above Dharamsala, the home of the Tibetan government in exile. Last week I was in Tehran, the capital of an Islamic Republic. Fundamentally, through all the differences, the people are still people, most are still good. Everyone still bloody beeps.

My first ever ride on a motorbike - Royal Enfield, dirt road, Himalayas (concentrating)

Sun set at Mcllo

Golden Temple, Amritsar

Resting Sikh with dagger

Henna, Pakistan-India border (the closest we could get)

Crazy border closing ceremony, Wagah

The mud-brick streets of Yazd

Our desert hosts back in Iran

I must apologise for the briefness but beer and the World Cup (or preferably the Tour de France) await. More soon!

Esfahan to Yazd and Back to Tehran - Three Sleeps 'till India

2010-06-24T08:26:00.003+01:00

I hope the photos told some of the story in the last post and made up for the lack of words. Iran is a tough country for the blogger, but not for the reasons you might think. There is simply just too much happening each day to record, and faced with so many quickly fading memories of different sights or encounters the pressure to do them all justice and get them down for posterity overwhelms and I end up writing nothing. Even just to pick out highlights seems unfair and, really, they are all highlights.

However, in list-form, the time had passed like this:

Woken from midday slumber on roundabout to spend the rest of the day and night with another bunch of students in Natanz. More great hospitality from an endlessly kind and interesting bunch of young Iranians. The complexities of girlfriend trouble, the looming prospect of military service, the complete lack of freedom to travel outside of the country.

The criminalizing of everyday acts. In the UK I'm not the most confident of guys when it comes to approaching women, but there was one - nameless and uncontactable and forever resigned to being a memory - who exhibited such sheer beauty that I had to do something. After an hour of sneaking glances and smiles I left my comrade answering the usual questions with an over friendly fat man and made my move. Over the following hour of phrasebook conversation I thought on a number of occasions I was going to get into trouble. A number of people approached the girls (now 4 of them) in an unfriendly manner and got feisty responses - despite my constant searching for reassurance (and the reassurance offered due to the worried look on my face) I got the impression that these 4 young women shouldn't be talking with us 2 young foreign men, or us unrelated men full stop. After their twentieth meerkat-esque look at passing motorbikes and potentially uniformed men we bid hasty and distant farewells. I can console myself with the fact that my atheism would have prevented the relationship progressing any farther anyway. She remains on my mind though.

Endless intrigue. Simply sitting and reading a book is not an option in Iran. Many times I've woken up from a doze in a park or lowered my book to see 5 or 6 people standing over me eager to chat. Walking 20 yards from a teahouse to another park spot saw me stopped at 3 or 4 times for photos. Often it is the same few questions asked - where are you from, where are you going, what is your job - but almost always it is followed up with 'what do you think of Iran'? I think they are the most self-conscious nation, and understandably so.

Endless kindness. As I mentioned before, the minefield of Taarof can be tricky to negotiate, but within or aside from that the level of generosity shown to foreigners, and 2 smelly, dirty cycling ones at that, is astounding. Riding through the desert, rather bizarrely in a rain-, thunder- and sand-storm, we stopped for water at a petrol (actually CNG) station. Within minutes a young lady approached proffering a plate of cherries and plums. Not to be outdone, a truck driver followed with 2 bunches of grapes. Clearly feeling left out, the station attendant returned with a cantaloupe. Nope, not enough. 30 seconds later half a watermelon was added to the pile. We briefly considered opening up a stall but decided to scoff what we could and have the rest for pudding. Sitting in the desert, pitch black, topping off a hearty tagliatelle with a still-cool melon was like heaven for us.

Whilst I was stopped to record my passing of the 5000 mile mark a car pulled up and handed us cake and juice. We rarely leave after a midday rest without having been bought ice cream or handed something from a family's picnic basket (and the Iranian picnic basket is surely the world's best - they take it seriously, though not a sausage roll in sight...).

Approaching the 60 mile mark around midday after a 0530 wake-up to beat the heat of the day, which has so far topped out at 47 C, we noticed we were being followed by a man on a motorbike. I found this a bit annoying as his spluttering engine was spoiling the small amount of peace that the desert was temporarily providing (peace is very rare on the roads here). Eventually he passed and made the universal gesture for food and to follow him. We did, I reluctantly; I'd gotten through the riding with thoughts of relaxing under a tree with a new book - my life has simplified that much - and the thought of having to work hard at conversation over lunch didn't appeal this time. However, 20 hours later when we were leaving our new friend's house the following morning I was so happy to have gone along with Adam's insistence. Our new friend lived in a tiny village in the middle of the desert, surrounded by very big guns. He and his wife are bakers and work out of their garage. They had 3 lovely children - 4, 9 and 16, and many, many friends and family who passed through the house in that time. There is no way I can cover everything that went on or thank them enough for their kindness. We ate one of their chickens (killed in front of us), we drank their sheep's milk, we put away gallons of their tea along with a few lbs of sugar (you drink it with the sugar cube in your mouth here). We were the subject of intrigue but also treated as equals. We were fussed over but also left alone. We slept under the stars among cushions and blankets in their courtyard. It was hard to leave these lovely people, but I hope they realised how great a time we had.

We have just arrived back in Tehran after 3 days in the desert city of Yazd. I could have spent a few weeks at the Silk Road Hotel. Pure, relaxing luxury for only $7 a night! Admittedly I didn't see as much of the city as I should have - a downside of the fatigue of having pedaled 5000 miles to get somewhere and staying at a place with day beds surrounding a shady courtyard inhabited by lots of interesting people - but the narrow mud-brick lanes of the old city dating back 7000 years and the sun setting behind the 'Towers of Silence', the place where the Zoroastrians would place their dead to be picked clean by vultures, were quite special.

The trip has now officially been broken by the 10 hour bus ride, though not yet in a easterly direction. Indian visas are secured - 60 days and 2 entries, perfect - so all that remains is to arrange for the bikes to be packed up and hope that we have enough rials left for excess baggage. Talk of more bombings and shootings in Pakistan, as well as the 65 degree C temperatures on the way and the uncooperative police and military escorts are preventing me from being too upset about the enforced airborne stage, but talk of the ever burgeoning traffic in India and the coming of the monsoon rains, as well as knowing from experience what a crazy, attention grabbing place India is, are still keeping my mind active over what lies ahead.

As hard and tiresome as this trip can get sometimes, the idea that from waking up in the morning almost anything has the potential to happen is quite thrilling and I'm sure will keep me going.

The next stops on the way are Amritsar, where we land on Monday, then the home of the Dalai Lama in Dharamsala, down to Delhi, along to Varanasi and up to Kathmandu in Nepal, where yet more geopolitical uncertainties will determine the onward route - Tibet, China, Bangladesh?

(Photos to follow).

Tehran to Esfahan - Hot, Tough and Beautiful

2010-06-16T10:25:00.003+01:00

Imam Square in Esfahan - 'Half of the World'

Tea Under Si-o-Se Pol Bridge

More Tea and Qeylan Overlooking the Square

Chadors in Jameh Mosque

Chilling Out at the River - So Much Attention

Our Tour Guide and Photographer

Mr. Ayatollah

Ali, The Man

Tobacco-Free, Honest

Desert Camping

Iranian Hospitality - Words Can't Describe

2010-06-09T09:15:00.004+01:00

Iranian Symbols - Khomeini and Blue Zamyad

Orchard Camp

Company for Lunch

For my Mum!

Company Again...

Fed, watered, tead

Salaam

Pastries passed from a moving car!

Afshin and the Engineers - The Best Hosts

Most people say that their conceptions of Iran are completely blown apart after visiting it. Unfortunately I spoilt the surprise by reading so many reports back in the UK that I knew exactly what to expect, and forthcoming it most certainly was.

There was a beautiful contrast - riding the road through Kurdistan from the last town in Turkey to the Iranian border we were savagely ambushed by, well, some 8-12 year old shepherds. Now that may not sound too scary but when they have sticks with nails in, big scary dogs and no one to discipline them within 10 miles it's not an ideal situation. Following stick/bike contact my Aussie counterpart chose the direct approach and chased after then with a quite terrifying volley of swear words and suddenly they were just scared children. Another guy who rode the same road and faced the same encounter nailed them with pepper spray, hah!

Compare that with the first 50 miles in Iran where we were instead forced to fend off offers of tea and picnics that would have seen us stopping every 20 minutes, and over enthusiastic drivers eager to chat whilst negotiating roundabouts, and you can see why I'm happy to be here.

At the border the Iranian contrast began - I was led away by police to be fingerprinted (twice), a special treat just for the British, after having been offered a place to stay with the very first Iranian we spoke to. The government and the people are such separate entities in the most part, but unfortunately our views are shaped by the news that reflects on the government and not the people. I will limit my mention of the G word now until I'm safely across the border. You never know...

We've been here for almost 2 weeks now with non-stop riding from Turkey to Tehran. The capital city is madness and our trips to the British, Australian, Pakistani and Indian embassies have been both exhilarating and terrifying. It's not much better on the back of a motorbike or even in a taxi. Crossing the road is a real life game of Frogger with only one life.

Iran will be where the continuity of the bike ride ends for me. Having pedaled every inch from The Netherlands to Iran I've been refused a visa for Pakistan - the vital link overland to India - so will be getting as far east as Yazd or Bam in Iran before returning to Tehran to catch a plane to the west of India at Amritsar. Owing to time, equipment, knowledge and visas the northern Turkmenistan/Uzbekistan/Tajikistan route is not much of an option so will be saved for another time.

Owing to the visa here we only have about 17 days left and owing to the embargo preventing foreigners from withdrawing money we are watching every 1000 rials as once it's gone, it's gone!

I've unfortunately lost track of all the kindness we've experienced in this short time, but we've been bought numerous ice creams and cold drinks, offered tea, cooked food, handed cakes - generally been assisted no end and treated like celebrities. Being British this is all very embarrassing for me and I don't know how to convey my thanks enough, but for the Iranians this is just how things are done - it's part of a social minefield called Taarof which I'm still trying to master.

The final photo above is of our now very good friends in Takestan. Hijacked by one of them as I was hypoglaecimically trying to buy lunch and ordered to go to his house I eventually gave in and we followed him to his student pad where he and a bunch of childhood friends all live while they study mechanical engineering. We were treated like kings and had one of the best, most relaxing nights of the trip so far - thank you all!

There is so much more to tell but, as ever, so little time. Off to see what the rest of Iran has to offer and then into the even hotter, even madder world of India...

Day 103: Leavıng Turkey

2010-05-28T08:12:00.004+01:00

Mount Ararat

Last beer for a whıle, above İshak Paşa palace

After 6 weeks here I'm lookıng forward to a new start across my fırst border for a whıle. Goodbye Turkey, and goodbye lınk to Europe; hello Mıddle East.

The last 2 days were made all the more fun after beıng caught up by Cedrıc and Chrıstophe from France - formıng a mını-peloton we rode together for an afternoon and a mornıng, buffered all the more agaınst the tougher seemıng and slıghtly less welcomıng (young) Kurdısh Turks (the fırst stones were thrown the day before) and shared a camp spot ın a quarry and a day around Doğubayazıt. Hopefully we'll catch them ın Iran...

...and onto Iran

2010-05-25T11:27:00.003+01:00

After 7 days ın a vıewless room ın one of the coldest cıtıes ın Turkey, 1 bout of food poısonıng, €150 and 2 trıps to a bank, 5 vısıts to the consulate and some stern but ultımately powerless dıscussıons wıth the slowest, most unbendıng cıvıl servants, the all-powerful Iranıan Mınıstry of Foreıgn Affaırs ın Tehran have deemed ıt approprıate for me to vısıt theır fıne country. Thanks to the polıtıcal tendencıes and affılıatıons of my country I have paıd about 120% more than my Australıan accomplıce - bıscuıts on you for a few days then?

Unfortunately the vısa begıns today so we have a 275km mad dash to the border vıa the overland traveller meetıng place of Doğubayazıt where we'll glance quıckly to the left to see Mt. Ararat, then through Tabrız and onto the capıtal of Tehran where we have more laborıous embassy vısıtıng to do for the probably fruıtless attempt at gettıng a Pakıstanı vısa and a hopefully fruıtful attempt for Indıa. But we'll be ın IRAN! How excıtıng ıs that! If Pakıstan faıls as seems to be happenıng a lot recently due to ınternatıonal tıt-for-tat then we have to bypass ıt somehow - the 'Stans are a whole new set of vısa complıcatıons so the baılout ıs currently a short hop to Dubaı and a flıght to Amrıtsar, on the border wıth Pakıstan (after havıng rıdden as close to the border as we can so as not to mıss too much out). Thıs would be my fırst break ın the trıp sınce gettıng off the ferry ın The Netherlands whıch wıll be sad, but as I've got farther east the thought of rıdıng through bandıt country has seemed less and less appealıng (well ıt never really was appealıng ın the fırst place). However, ıf we get the vısa then we shall see - unfortunately my beard ıs stıll ın the pubescent stage compared wıth the locals so my plan of buyıng an AK and blendıng ın ıs doomed.

Stay tuned for Iran - I've looked forward to gettıng here for a long tıme.

Dog Attack, a Mılıtary Breakfast, Hılls, Fısh, Çay, Çay and more Çay

2010-05-14T19:20:00.004+01:00

Our mılıtary hosts - thanks for the ıce cream!

Bıg skıes and long roads on a plateau at 1700 metres

Balıklı Kaplıca's Doctor Fısh, not put off by my smelly feet

Not a bad spot for lunch

Stream-sıde wıld camp

Thunder storm ın Göreme, Cappadocıa

My savıour Ertan ın Kayserı

Our kınd hosts ın Ankara and Krıstof, left, me rıght and Adam to my rıght

The 3 of us traffıc jammıng sans pannıers ın Ankara's congested streets

Crikey, a lot has passed between here - Divriği ın Central Anatolia - and Ankara there's no way I can remember or wrıte about ıt all. Currently I'm only awake thanks to the plethora of cake and sweet wrappers around me, as ıs usually the case when ıt comes tıme to sıt at a computer after a long day's rıdıng.

Fırstly, thanks needs to be gıven to the guys at Delta Bısıklet ın Ankara, a must-vısıt for any cycle tourıst passıng through as ıt's pretty much the last proper bıke shop ıf you're goıng East. Now most of you wıll know that the best bıke shop ın the world ıs of course The Tri Store ın Eastbourne, but ın Turkey at least these guys get the tıtle. Adam and I rocked up to collect hıs bıke after havıng a spoke replaced and met Krıstof from Belgıum who was passıng through the cıty from Egypt-wards, and of course we ended up hangıng around and chattıng about our respectıve routes for a whıle. Çay (tea) was offered and duly consumed as we have guıltıly come to expect from the embarrasıngly hospıtable Turkısh people, but the next thıng we knew lunch was on the table - not just a sandwıch but a proper, hot meal. I was astounded and felt rather guılty for my modest €2 spent on spokes. I could have stayed all day but apparently we had to rıde our bıkes (I quıckly forget about then when I fınd a comfy chaır and a cup of tea). Thank you!

The second thanks needs to be gıven to Ertan and hıs son ın Kayserı, a few days east of Ankara. Descendıng a steep declıne to a rare plateau on our way from Göreme my bıke dıd a good ımpressıon of completely fallıng apart at 40 mph, and after some roadsıde ınvestıgatıon (wıth a selectıon of screwdrıvers and a box of screws duly offered from a nearby farmer) we dıscovered that a pawl ın the freehub (the bıt ın the rear hub that allows you to stop pedalıng and makes the tıckıng noıse) had shattered. That meant rıdıng 30 km to the next town wıthout stoppıng pedalıng and a hunt around to fınd a decent bıke shop wıth a spare one. Luckıly I rıde a fıxed wheel bıke at home so the not stoppıng pedaling was OK, but the second task took a bıt longer. To cut ıt short, after 5 hours ın front of Ertan's shop, 2 tools fabrıcated out of odds and ends ın place of the non-exıstent real thıng, one new hub and a trıp to a hardware shop escorted by hıs 14 year old son, I was back on the road. Ertan wouldn't accept money, or cake, or anythıng at all for hıs ıngenuıty, hard work and kındness. We rode off wıth a kılo of Turkısh Delıght (or 'Delıght' as you would expect ıt to be called here) gıven to us by one of hıs frıends called over to meet the strangers, and a huge debt of gratıtude, made even more stark by the complete lack of help receıved from the guys ın the 2 bıke shops next door who unfortunately got $60 for theır crapness.

Rıght, so the order of events ıs confused after that, as are the photos above, but to keep ıt brıef, from Ankara we headed south-east on the advıce of Krıstof that we'd be stupıd to rıde through Turkey and not vısıt Cappadocıa, and vısıted Cappadocıa. Thıs was a new experıence for me - detourıng to actually see somethıng along the way rather than beelınıng ıt to poınt 'B'. And surprısıngly, ıt's far more enjoyable. Unfortunately after hılls and headwınds ın 30+ degrees C there was lıttle energy remaınıng for explorıng the area fully. After an ıce cold Efes (Turkısh beer) and a nıght's rest ın our cave hostel we saw some of thıs bızarre scenery - see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cappadocia for better ınformatıon and photos than I could provıde. The shot above ıs of the thunder storm ın Göreme from the hostel roof terrace, wıth a cave/chımney dwellıng sılhouetted.

After 3 nıghts here and a full day of doıng nothıng but readıng and chıllıng out on a bıg comfy cushıon - I'm currently engrossed ın Louıs de Bernıeres' 'Bırds Wıthout Wıngs' whıch ıs a great read through the country of ıts settıng (thank you Leandra : ) ) we left towards Erzurum where our vısas awaıt 800 km away.

The roads out thıs way are quıte remote and we are only passıng though the smallest of vıllages and maybe 1 town a day so care ıs havıng to be taken to be contınually stocked up wıth food and water. Merrıly rıdıng along at our usual rate of 3 WPM (waves-per-mınute) we were verbally accosted by a bunch of guys half way up a fence holdıng cups of tea - how could we refuse? A lovely 20 mınute ınterlude ın the shade wıth 7 cement workers and a Mustafa Kemal Ataturk lookalıke ensued, sharıng a cup of tea and some broken Englısh-Turkısh-Sıgn Language conversatıon.

A couple of days later and only 1.2 mıles from our prevıous nıght's camp the same thıng happened agaın, only thıs tıme the guy was holdıng a machıne gun and shoutıng over the barks of 2 guard dogs. Undeterred we accepted thıs offer as well and ended up sıttıng on a comfy sofa drınkıng tea wıth the local Jandarma, mılıtary polıce charged wıth protectıng the rural communıtıes (from what I don't really know, and neıther dıd they!). Tea then turned ınto breakfast whıch turned ınto a tub of ıce cream - what could be better after a nıght spent ın a tent at 1600 m and an ınıtıal breakfast of bread and Çokocrem (Turkısh Nutella)?

These acts of kındness were ınterspersed over a few days wıth meetıngs of other travelers out on the road - we crossed paths agaın wıth Krıstof from Ankara as he strolled ınto the same hostel room as us, and we met a Swıss and Chınese husband and wıfe rıdıng west from Chına to Swıtzerland after 13 months on the road. Later a BMW GS1200 motorbıke pulled up next to us wıth 2 chıcks aboard - unexpected at the best of tımes - who were Polısh from Swıtzerland rıdıng 12000km up towards the Caucasus. I always feel a sense of reınvıgoratıon after these ınteractıons, and a feelıng of comfort from knowıng that there are plenty of other people out there doıng thıs kınd of thıng.

Nearıng Kangal, the town famed for ıts dogs and ınfamous ın our mınds for beıng the bane of the cyclıst, one of these mutts fınally got the better of me and made contact - prevıously we've eıther outpaced them tıll they got bored or squırted them wıth water, but thıs one made a surprıse attack from under a truck and attempted to brıng me down ın a sımılar fashıon to a lıon attackıng a buffalo (or so the memory ıs now resolved ın my mınd). Luckıly ın my case the juıcy rump was ın fact a pannıer full of cookıng ımplements and hıs teeth faıled to sınk ın, though on ınspectıon a safe dıstance away up the hıll we saw he'd actually managed to rıp the bag half off ıts rack - a close shave and actually really bloody terrıfyıng, but a good example of how dıfferent thıs trıp ıs for me now I have a dog-fıghtıng companıon and wasn't facıng ıt alone. It ıs now a game of who can outpace or out maneouvre the other so that they are the easıest target!

After that experıence we obvıously needed some relaxatıon so headed for Balıklı Kaplıca, home to the very peculıarly evolved Dr. Fısh. Sıttıng ın what was a pretty scummy swımmıng pool we were nıbbled at for the next hour by 100s of lıttle (and the odd not so lıttle) fıshes, supposedly feastıng on all the dead skın but I wonder ıf they actually made ıt through the layer of dırt and sweat. After passıng on the message to 2 tame (but stıll huge) Kangal dogs showıng theır softer sıde wıth a puppy that cyclısts are not food we found ourselves a pıcteuresque spot to camp just down the road (photo above).

Now we are ın Dıvrığı, famed for ıts 800 year old mosque and ıntrıcately carved doorways whıch, some say, are so ıntrıcate that they prove the exıstence of God, whıch ıs clearly rubbısh.

Lonely Planet would have us belıeve that thıs place ıs a dead end at the end of a valley and ınvolves a 100 km detour to keep goıng eastwards - after clımbıng over a 1950 metre mountaın ın a thunderstorm to get here we are hopıng that ıs not the case and wıll try to fınd a small road to take us along to the Fırat Nehrı rıver and up towards our hopefully awaıtıng vısas ın Erzurum.

Mıles to date: 3630

Countrıes to date: 13

Cups of çay ın Turkey: 47

Istanbul to Ankara - A New Beginning

2010-05-02T18:58:00.005+01:00

At last! My week's rest ın Istanbul all ended ın a whırlwınd of actıvıty and a swıft departure on Tuesday (27th) and has been spent away from a computer ever sınce.

So, out of a total of 8 fellow cyclısts met ın Istanbul (Adam from Australıa, Andy from the UK, Malte from Germany, Chrıstofer and Frederık from Sweden, Holger from Germany and 2 Canadıans met over our last breakfasts) I left wıth one of them - Adam - to contınue rıdıng east. I had antıcıpated Istanbul beıng the place for that to happen but havıng only met one other long dıstance cyclıst ın the prevıous 10 weeks I dıdn't expect so many. Needless to say ıt added to a great week ın the cıty where I also met up wıth Werner, one of my prevıous travel companıons from the Balkans, and spent a few relaxıng days wıth Leandro from Rıo de Janeıro and Chrıs from New Zealand - ıf you guys read thıs, thanks for a great tıme.

The couple of mıssıng weeks from before Istanbul seem lıke a lıfetıme ago now and to be honest not a lot happened. I wasn't enjoyıng the rıdıng but to cut down the number of days I had to up the tıme spent on the damn bıke, ıncludıng my longest day at 104 mıles and lots of hılls and headwınds. Rıdıng ınto Istanbul was comparable wıth rıdıng ınto a cıty bıgger than London on a road busıer than the M25, but the terror was always (just about) balanced by the adrenalıne.

In the cıty I hopped from hostel to hostel as they fılled up wıth Antıpodeans for ANZAC day ın Gallıpolı, scouted around for other bıkes and saw the sıghts but maınly just enjoyed sıttıng ın the sun and not havıng to be anywhere, and by mıd-way through the week a small communıty had formed around the Sultanahmet area where all the hostels are, and you could always spot a famılıar face wanderıng by.

After a few days of plan-swappıng wıth the other guys, all on varyıng schedules and followıng varyıng routes and wıth varyıng commıtments, the two of us rode out of Istanbul ın the afternoon headed for Asıa. Now people wıll tell you that you can't cycle over the brıdge across the Bosphorus (that's people on the ınternet, ın shops, polıcemen, sıgnposts...) but ıf you ıgnore all of them, rıde very fast and pretend not to hear the alarm soundıng at the other end then there's no reason why you can't. So after 2819 mıles ıt took only 400 metres of pretty speedy rıdıng to cross from Europe to Asıa.

After a brıef stop to buy bread and cake (to fuel bodıes that had become more accustomed to coffee, beer and comfy sofas) and a speedy spoke replacement whıch saw our paırıng cemented ın my gıvıng up my last remaınıng spare for Adam, only for hım to break ıt agaın 200 mıles later, we found our way out of thıs massıve cıty and ınto some wılderness for my fırst wıld camp ın quıte a whıle. The week has carrıed on much the same - rıde, eat, camp - untıl Ankara, but ıt has been a world away from the rıdıng done through the Balkans.

After 10 weeks of rıdıng on my own ıt has been a revelatıon to rıde wıth someone else. As much as I enjoyed my own company, the sımple act of sharıng a vıew, a meal, a 50 mph descent or a 3 mph clımb; the abılıty to halve the attentıon and share the beeps (and wavıng dutıes) - almost everythıng ıs made better or easıer, at least for the moment. Tıme wıll tell how far we stıck together but for the moment at least, Rıdıng East ıs 2-up.

So, Turkey. Wow. As unfaır as ıt sounds thıs gıant, contınent-spannıng country was a nothıng for me - an ınconvenıence between Europe and Iran - but ıt has done ıts best to show me the error ın that. The scenery has at almost every turn become stranger or more beautıful. We've rıdden through rural Sussex, outback Australıa, South-Western USA, the moon. We've clımbed some long, 1000 metre plus mountaıns and some short, leg burnıng coastal hılls, enjoyed gradual, sweepıng descents ınto ever greener greens and prayed to the secular bıke (and weldıng) gods for safe passage down fast, straıght, potholed descents. We've camped by rıvers and by the sea and enjoyed some quıet, starry nıghts, had numerous glasses of cay forced upon us and waved so much my arms are workıng almost as hard as my legs. And ıt's only been 6 days.

Once we have our Iranıan vısas arranged and bodıes, clothes and bıkes back ın healthy, hygıenıc and workıng order we wıll contınue on for more of the same across the 600 mıles to the Iranıan border.

Now the hunt for chocolate at 22:20 begıns...

Placeholder from Istanbul

2010-04-24T17:35:00.002+01:00

Hello, hello, merhaba.
I am still here and still alive and well, simply just slack on sitting down to write-up my experiences (which have been varied and interesting, if not all sunshine and biscuits). My apologies to those who have been checking in frequently to be greeted by the same boring history, I know how frustrating it can be.

I will get a proper update done within a couple of days but for now I can report that I´ve been here since Tuesday, have done lots of walking, popped over to Asia for the day, upped my beer consuption to Benelux-levels and spent last night (Friday 23rd) out till 4am swapping experiences with 6 other cyclists who have all converged separately on this passageway between continents - bored of my own company after 10 weeks, hopefully the future holds some alternatives to the inane loop of drivel that´s been present inside my brain.

Watch this space...

Macedonia Macedonia, Macedonia Greece

2010-04-13T16:49:00.001+01:00

I definitely found a temporary home here in Ohrid, Macedonia. After turning up on Monday I didn't leave until Saturday, the second longest time I've spent in one place after Geneva, partly because the town and lake were so nice and relaxed after the bustle of Tirane but mainly because the hostel was so chilled out and welcoming (and the breakfast was suitably large, my main requirement). I've got to say thanks to Gjoko who runs the place for his hospitality and welcomingness (must be a word). The same goes to Claas and Lira in the hostel in Tirane and the girls in Kotor too - along with the people staying there they played a big part in the trip for me.

And speaking of the people I met, I've finally parted ways with my traveling companions after almost 2 weeks together, but only temporarily as I spent a few hours today with Megan and Becca from Portland, OR, who I also met in Kotor. A few of us will hopefully be crossing paths again in Istanbul within the next couple of weeks.
And even the days in between have seen some company (quickly becoming my highest valued commodity, after chocolate and bananas). Whilst waiting for the owner to arrive at the guesthouse in Bitola, my last stop in Macedonia before Greece, I was shown some great hospitality by the guys from Video Club Dju opposite. Rather than see me wait on the steps I was fetched a chair and given coffee whilst I waited, and invited to hang out with them rather than spend my Saturday night alone - after a couple of beers, the obligatory rakija, some football (El Classico) and the best burger I've had I got to bed at about 1am. Thanks guys for leaving me with a great impression of Macedonia.

The scenery approaching the border with Greece was pretty similar to back home with rolling hills and rapeseed fields, quite a relief to be on some flat ground for a while.

Despite having no trouble at all in the Balkans there was a distinct feeling of breathing easy once I crossed the border to be in the familiarity of Greece, but it was shortlived as I was chased by more dogs in one day than in the past 8 weeks. I know the government have bigger things on their mind at the moment but having wild dogs roaming about the place ready to maul any passing cyclist is not very EU. There have been wild dogs further north but they were all too tired and malnourished to give chase. In retrospect it makes for a funny story but in the moment it's pretty terrifying, whether they're big or small (and most are big!). I've no idea of the best tactic so currently I'm employing the Mark Cavendish-esque sprint-for-your-life technique. It's tiring but I'm rabies free.

Waterfall in Edessa, Greece

After a night in Edessa, a cool little town perched right on the edge of a hill about 300m above the valley floor with a bunch of small, calm rivers running through culminating in this quite spectacular waterfall, I was on the flat, straight motorway (literally at one point but no one told off) to the sea.
Sitting happily in a wasteground at the side of a dual carriageway for lunch, eating my peanut butter baguette and reading my book, a couple of guys pulled up in a truck and gave me a whole load of sweet, filled pancakes - we shared no common language but I think my thanks was evident on my face. I've read about such gestures but this was my first time on the receiving end of it, after the offer of help or a bed from a guy in Switzerland. Moral boosted 100% the rest of the day flew by.

I'm going to cut it short as I have a gambling chain-smoker to my left and my right and somehow the breeze is blowing in both directions to unite their smoke in my unaccustomed post-smoking ban nostrils. I'm so glad we live in a country that now finds smoking in enclosed public spaces unacceptable. On the bright side my clothes now smell of smoke rather than me.

Montenegro to Albania to Macedonia

2010-04-07T20:58:00.007+01:00

Greetings from Lake Ohrid, Macedonia.
I've been a bit slack with the quality and quantity of updates over the past few weeks but I'm in a hostel with a nice relaxed atmosphere and fast, free, unhurried internet access so now is the time to catch up.

View from Kotor Hostel

In the last post I'd said goodbye to my companions in Dubrovnik and after setting off again on my own had met some new people in Kotor - many new people over the few days I was there - and have been traveling with a couple of them, Zsolt and Werner (see the cheesy album cover-esque photo below) since. Now they have been on buses and in taxis whilst I've obviously been cycling but we've still managed to arrive at the same places within hours or a day of each other, me usually a tad tireder, smellier and hungrier but there nonetheless. It has transformed the experience for me and the 'traveling' has become more significant for me than the 'cycle touring'.

From Kotor we met at Hotel Kaduku in Shkoder, Albania. I'd been quite apprehensive about Albania the closer I got despite not thinking twice about including it in my route. I was curious to see the homeland of the people who one day showed up in my class at school and tried to fit in with a bunch of kids who had no idea of what or where they'd come from. Albania is clearly an 'up-and-coming' country but clearly also the slowest of the Balkan nations I've seen to develop, maybe because it lacks the caché of Bosnia, Serbia or Kosovo - most of us know Sarajevo, Srebrenica and Pristina and there are many people visiting the places behind the names from the news in the '90s, but few include Albania and some are expressly warned off it.
Luckily I met my first fellow cycle tourist, Ben who was riding to London from Damascus, just 45 minutes away from crossing the border and was entirely reassured about my safety, though still concerned about the roads and the effect they would have on my patched-up bike.

Montenegro, near the Albanian border

Almost as soon as I was in the country I felt like I'd been transported a few thousand miles further east. The terrain was similar and very picturesque - flat, green plains with mountains in the distance - but the people were suddenly different. The average skin colour was darker, the signs of poverty greater, the friendliness more apparent. I saw my first donkeys, horse-and-cart, first mosques, first slum village, first real lack of infrastructure in the rickety wooden bridge that was the main lead into the country's first town. The first child to grab at me and the first free-for-all bit of city cycling. Suddenly crossing into Croatia a few weeks back seemed like nothing and this was the real departure from 'The West'. The 3 words that I learn in each country were far more difficult to memorise here - tungjajeta (hello), faleminderit (thank you) and mirupafshim (goodbye) all signaled to a pretty unique country without an obvious link to anywhere else. This was what it was all about, the ordinary things becoming the subject of interest themselves.

I had about 60 miles due south to ride to get to Tirane. Navigation wasn't an issue as there was only really the one road, but with warnings from a bus traveler, a fellow cyclist and a native on the state of the roads and the quality of the drivers I was not looking forward to the day ahead. 40 miles down in 25 degree heat I was wondering what all the fuss was about. I'd been overtaken by at least 2,500 Mercedes by this point and not felt any more in danger than I do riding in the UK, and the roads had been pretty comparable to back home as well following the harsh winter's effects on the potholes. Ten minutes later I discovered what they were talking about. The driving standards remained far better than I'd expected but the road disappeared, then reappeared, the disappeared again for the next 20 miles into the city. They were clearly building/rebuilding the road and alternating traffic from left to right carriageway as might happen at home, but with traffic traveling in both directions on both carriageways and big patches of dirt track in between it was pretty chaotic. I loved it! The bike made it through and even with the lack of tarmac I'd had my quickest day to date, covering the 60 miles in about 4 hours.

The main highway into the capital city

I spent a day in Tirane on my own before the other guys arrived having had some interesting experiences in the countryside. I was supposed to be the one with crazy stories to tell but my mode of transport left me with very little to report!
I enjoyed the vibe of the city; it definitely felt more Delhi than Geneva, in a good way. I had coffee in the Sky Tower overlooking the city which itself rests at the end of a long, flat plain from the north, surrounded by mountains on every other side. A policy from the mayor to give paint to residents to brighten up their buildings makes a nice difference from the drab greyness it probably once was. I made the most of the cheapness with a load of food for about a pound and strolled out to the lake and around the park - with joggers, families, kids playing football, couples out for a stroll, it was easy to forget where I was.

The hostel here was a small slice of relaxation, car horns aside, under lemon trees in the sun. The following day we took, quite bizarrely, an Austrian cable car up to Dajti mountain with views across the city and out to the sea. That night we headed to the cool part of town for a couple of drinks but failed to make it past the doormen - apparently we didn't make the grade for Albanian nightlife.

After 3 nights we left for Macedonia. Zsolt and Werner had an early start but a nice, scenic bus ride to look forward, getting to Lake Ohrid before lunch. I was due to take 2 days for the trip because of the distance and the mountains, stopping halfway if I could find a hotel or finding somewhere to camp. Obviously it was now raining. I would have loved to have been getting on the bus instead of my bike.

Always sweaty and dirty, increasingly hairy

Passing through Librazhd, the town at about halfway, I didn't get a very welcoming vibe and resolved to carry on to Ohrid. 90 miles, 7 hours 40 minutes, 2,300 metres of climbing later I reached the Sunny Lake Hostel (obviously at the top of a big hill in the old town) and met Gjoko, the very cool and very friendly owner, as most of them seem to be.
I floated along on the high of having made a 2 day, seemingly not possible journey in one day and the thought of waking up on my birthday in a warm, comfy hostel with friendly people rather than in a wet tent on my own.

Looking back into Albania from the road up to the Macedonian border, crepuscular rays adding to the joy

Rainbow over a bunker, quite an epiphanous moment

It's been great having people to explore with

The flow of the trip has definitely changed and I think I've had more days off the bike than on in the past 2 weeks. The 16 days non-stop from Geneva to Split seem like a different trip and I can't see it being repeated, but it's difficult to know where to explore and where to pass through. I feel like I want to see everything, but equally I don't feel compelled to do the usual touristy things everywhere as they can often be so similar, and I generally appreciate a nice sit down and a cup of tea (being British) more than those who've just gotten off a bus.
We visited the hill fortress (done before but always a good view) and the old amphitheatre, ate out with another guy who'd arrived at the hostel and then watched Arsenal get beaten by Barcelona with some very traditional, homemade but not yet tolerable rakia. A memorable, chilled out birthday.

A monastic peacock

We followed Lonely Planet's advice and paid a visit to Sveti Naum monastery the following day - only 5 Euros for a 60 km taxi journey through the stunning scenery of Galicica National park; snow topped mountains, lush forest, glassy lake... The monastery itself had been swallowed up by a hotel built around it but luckily the views back to Ohrid and the strutting peacocks made it worth the visit themselves.

Today (Thursday 8th) has so far been spent very lazily. I need to find a map of western Greece as my relaxed mantra in the Genevan map shop of 'oh, there's a bit of a gap between these two, I'm sure it will be fine' now seems a bit short-sighted. After a final afternoon strolling around the lake and sitting on the beach I will be off tomorrow morning to Bitola, my last Macedonian town, and entering Greece on Saturday. All being well I'll be in Thessaloniki for Sunday (11th) night and from there it's only another 400 miles or so to Istanbul!

Bosnia, Dubrovnik, Montenegro, Fun.

2010-03-30T15:53:00.004+01:00

Greetings from Kotor, Montenegro.
Things have been pretty much either way, way down or way, way up since the last update. There have been some very negative days indeed; bored of the surroundings, bored of the riding, bored of my own company, but their memory has been overwritten since Saturday evening when a string of very, very good days began.

Riding into Dubrovnik feeling pretty crummy and planning to hole up in a hostel or hotel on my own for a couple of nights and think through my options, I was overtaken (as I endlessly am, by everyone) by a loaded up motorbike with British number plates. We exchanged a wave and that was that, but further up the road he'd pulled over and I stopped for a chat. We exchanged numbers to arrange to meet up for a drink in the city but when I eventually arrived he passed me again, still looking for the hostel. There began a very odd pairing or cyclist following motorcyclist! On riding up to the hostel we passed a girl with a backpack who was to become the 3rd member of Team Dubrovnik. We ate together that night and spent the day in the old city on Sunday, completely transforming my entire experience. So thank you to Andy and Joste, I hope we can do the same again in another city.

And now here in Kotor I've spent the past day and evening with even more lovely, interesting people, including a couple who have driven here from South Africa and are on their way to Norway! Their Land Rover looked very cosy but I think the motorbike is the way to travel for me... (see below)

On to Albania tomorrow or, if it's raining, the day after.

Split - A Gem

2010-03-25T18:04:00.003Z

Croatia is redeemed! Split is a great city and I've had a great day, partly because I had a lie-in and acted like a lazy slob eating biscuits and watching TV, but mainly because of these people's crazy idea back in the 7th century or so to hide inside this old Roman palace and turn it into their home. We've all probably strolled around a Roman ruin or other old building that has been preserved as a monument and struggled to appreciate its significance or, well, been bored. When you combine that historic place with a modern, functioning neighbourhood (and shopping - there must be at least 20 shoe shops) it suddenly becomes far more interesting as a place. The contrast between 3000 year old Roman architecture and tacky souvenirs is a bit distasteful but otherwise it's a phenomenal place and fully deserves its UNESCO title.

All around modern buildings have been butted up against the original palace walls, and the myriad alleyways and arches just beg to be followed and each nook and window looked in. Coming across an underwear shop or supermarket is a bit incongruous but somehow it just works.

You can't help but picture the Romans strolling across these very stones in their sandals and togas (I believe that's historically correct).

My enjoyment is definitely so much greater for losing the burden of the bike and all my stuff and strolling around with only a backpack, taking time to sit down and read and not stand out of the crowd is really great. My thoughts about the way the trip is going to go are definitely shifting (again, stay tuned!)

At last, a British newspaper! Reading the paper is great for perspective and to feel a part of the world again. Cake good too.

Right now I can smell nothing but my shoes and the receptionist is spraying air freshener so I think I will go and put my sandals back on before venturing into any more enclosed spaces. Hopefully I can be forgiven my disgustingness given the context?

Photo Update from Split

2010-03-24T15:58:00.004Z

I don't think it's worth me going back to the week I missed out in detail so I'll just do it in photos instead. Unfortunately the photography has fallen a bit by the wayside with this silly 'ride, ride, further, faster' mindset so despite having 2 cameras - one waterproof Lumix mounted on my handlebars and a better Nikon D80 to hand in my bar bag - I've missed opportunities and rushed shots I should've taken time over. I'm not the best photographer anyway, which is why I'm looking forward to my best buddy James Oaten joining me on the road to capture some of this trip (and me!) properly. Obviously shots that include me either involve static shots taken by strangers or are awkward arm's length or precariously balanced self-timer affairs so there aren't many, and the scenery only shots are never all that interesting so bear with me while I find the right angle to record this all. So much of the essence of the trip comes in a fleeting glimpse, a soaring bird of prey, a smell or a smile or wave and can't be recorded.

This was quite a pivotal moment for me - arriving at this campsite on lago d'Iseo in Italy after a short ride along beautiful, winding roads bordered right at each edge by mountain and lake, being passed by 100s of other cyclists (including Matteo who I rode with for an hour or so - good luck on your ride to Israel!), stopping in a small town with no need to press on and just enjoying the scenery and my lunch, I wasn't happy. I was here in this stunning setting with nothing to do but relax and enjoy and it was one of the loneliest moments of my life! How ridiculous is that! It didn't help that it was a Sunday, my absolute favourite day back home, and I was thinking of my family getting together for a Sunday roast and playing rockets with my nephew Alex, but even so I seriously questioned why I was doing this trip alone and without anyone to share such scenes with (as yet unresolved, stay tuned..)
This one from yesterday just demonstrates how pared down my life has become and how easily pleased I now am. Knowing that I had orange juice, chocolate spread and a newspaper made riding 50 miles before lunch so much more bearable - this is one aspect that has lived up to expectations and I love the important role small things now play. That's Sibenik, Croatia in the background.

This was the mountain I inadvertently scheduled into my route, not realising until I got to the bottom of it - I just thought the squiggly line on the map looked interesting - the Pian delle Fugazze. It was about 1200 metres, easy compared to the Simplon Pass a few days earlier, and far more enjoyable with almost no traffic and great views. I'm still amazed by the tiny villages up in the mountains and the people that live in them and spent a lot of time wondering what it must be like to be so remote.

These are my last couple of night's wild camps, both at the side of the road behind dry stone walls and trees, both in the rain but both a lot warmer than the previous wild camps. The darker one was pretty remote, between the sea and the mountains, and the second one turned out to be just outside a town and was a last-minute find. Both have been followed by a night indoors, first a youth hostel in Zadar and tonight a hotel in Split, and the 2 best and most appreciated beds and showers imaginable. Leaving a hotel in the morning feels as though you're leaving normality and civilisation behind in some way whereas leaving after packing up a wild camp feels like returning to it. I will certainly appreciate not being woken up at 1am tonight by the sound of howling - I must Google whether there are wolves in Croatia...

I may see if I can put some more interesting ones up tomorrow (seeing as I negotiated free internet here as well as a discount : ) ) but right now I'm off for pizza.

The Mediterranean as it Once Was...

2010-03-22T17:28:00.002Z

If you have a car, TV, fridge (or any white goods), sofa, bricks or tiles, or basically anything that exists in the world that you don't want, it seems Croatia is the place to chuck it off the side of the road, maybe into the sea, maybe someone's garden, or maybe just into the bushes to rust for all of eternity, slowly releasing CFCs or leaking various chemicals into the otherwise untouched earth.

I've seen maybe 2 or 3 scenes that resemble Croatia's big marketing campaign (though in the rain they look less appealing) but the majority of the in-between has been dereliction and trash, with rocks and trees. That was the point of traveling in this way though - rather than just stepping off the plane or train in another beautiful city I'm seeing everything in between and getting a fairer overview of the country as it actually exists.
Unfortunately because of this I don't currently like Croatia much! There is still Split and Dubrovnic to redeem it though so I will withhold judgment for now.

After wild camping in the rain last night and 70 miles in the rain today I'm pretty tired and hungry so will sign off now on this Monday evening (22nd) to go and cook my dinner on the beach. As long as I don't look at the industrial units behind me that is at least a nice view. Zdravo, hvala and bok from Zadar.