Writing from Rome

Getting all our various gadgets charged is quite a problem. We can only charge while the bikes are driving and as the ipod and camera batteries seem to be used more often on a daily basis, the poor laptop sits in the pannier unused. However, we are in Camp Roma, an urban campsite setting just outside of Rome, and I’m able to actually plug in.

Since my last blog, we have been to Spain, back through the South of France, into Italy and are now heading down South Italy.

Here are a few notes for other people planning such a trip:

Pack in the order you will pack and unpack.

Always try to have extra food for when you drive late and can’t do a restaurant or find a shop.

And keep the first aid kit at the top of your packing.

Spain: 12 - 14 July 2006

France had been typically rural farmlands and gentle undulating hills with fields of corn, sunflowers and rolls of hay, all in perfect order. On the map, the pass to Spain went over the Pyrenees Mountains but as we discovered, maps never show all the hairpin turns, rather just a small wiggle which actually indicates most severe windy roads over steep mountain passes. It got wet and cold as we climbed over 2000m over the mountains. The views were stunning but mostly I kept my eye on the road – it took all of my concentration to keep going.

Over the mountains we entered Spain and dry heat. The landscape dramatically changed into wide open vistas in shades of brown with rocky outcrops and formations. We arrived in Pamplona to catch the tail end of the St Fermien festival or more commonly know as the “running of the bulls”. We arrived late in the evening; it was clear the festivities were still going on and so we went wild and booked into a hotel close to the centre of the city.

The upside of the hotel is that we had clean toilet facilities, the downside is that we had to lug all our gear upstairs. I became acutely aware of how dirty I was already and how really rough we looked.

The festivities were brilliant. Absolutely everyone was wearing white with red scarves and in a really jolly mood. Given the amount of booze being consumed and the heightened emotions, the event was really peaceful and jolly. I didn’t see a single incident of aggression and every body was having a good time, babies and grannies included.

The next morning we did a 5.30am start so we could get into the city by 6am to get a good viewing spot to watch the bulls run at 8am. A long but amusing wait as clearly there were a lot of people just making their way out of their drinking holes. 8am promptly a shot was fired and a small heard of bulls galloped down the small road. The spectacle lasted all of about 5 seconds but was thrilling. We ran round the back streets to the arena at the end of the bull-run and climbed to the upper level to watch. The bulls were allowed one at a time to leap into the arena (over a crowd of crazies who crouched beneath the bull’s leaping path) and chase the enthusiastic bull runners about. It was quite exciting to watch. I kept thinking – mad mother fuckers. When the bulls got tired they brought in a big trained bull with a bell to collect the knackered bull. It followed the big bull back as meekly as a little cow. I didn’t think that bull fighting would be my cup of tea. I’m a bit icky with pain and suffering and besides, I’d more than got my kicks from the general bull-and-man running.


That afternoon we headed off into the heat and lunar landscape. I could so clearly see some of the landscape that had inspired Gaudi.

About the time we were both baked to death and dehydrated, I saw a big storm ahead and told Paul we had to look for camping rather than face the storm. We turned off the main road and followed signs to camping that took us through some of the most picturesque landscape imaginable. We camped up for 2 nights at camp Noguera near St Lorenzo. Noguera was like an oasis for two dirty tired bikers who hadn’t sat on a toilet for days nor lingered in a shower. It was heaven. We ate, slept and dunked in and out of a cool swimming pool.


So a day later we got back on the bikes and did a scenic route of 70 miles that took the best part of 4 hours to do. What a wonderful diversion. I simply can’t describe the beautiful scenery in a way that would give it justice but there were lakes and mountains and windy roads with little villages…

Andorra: 15 July

And then before we knew it we arrived in Andorra. Andorra is like one big duty free high street from the one end to the other. Again, mountains and extraordinary beauty but off set against high-rise buildings and commercial mahem. We choked at the cost of camping right on the outskirts of the centre of the town… But it was clean and ok after all.

The next day was a dull as dishwater day as we trudged the mega high street up and down trying to find walkie-talkies and various other odds n sods. We bought mesh off road jackets and posted a sizeable box home. Still too much stuff and will dump more luxuries before we do serious off road. Paul and I now look like action-man toys.

South France: 17 July

More mountain passes and rain and more rain before we were back in France and getting really hot again. We camped in Limoux. Not a massively eventful day but you do want to keep all you precious bits in zippy plastic bags.

Next day, we went to Carcassone which is a fairy-tale castle and tourist hell-hole. Also the film set of Cosner’s “Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves”. I enjoyed it even though we were not really dressed to do tourist stuff. This is the problem with bike gear. Very thankful we have packsafe meshes to keep our stuff safe, and can also tie the helmet and boots up. We made holes in the back of our boots so we can attach them the bike – and a very useful bit of advice we took!

Another pleasant surprise was arriving in Avignon where an arts festival was taking place. It was really busy and campsites jammed with tents. I believe there are hundreds of shows a day, probably all in French. Again, a lovely atmosphere. It reminded me of a dear friend of mine and a conversation we’d once had about how he’d rather suffer to express himself as an actor than take on a real job and comforts. I’m thankful I have a sound commercial mind and no great desire to be an artiste! So much suffering for art but I really do respect these people’s desire to express and communicate.

Italy: 19 - 23 July

We decided to take to the toll roads and get ourselves into Italy. We couldn’t really afford to stay along the very pretentious and beautiful south coast and so a toll road blast was in order. The only thing was, it was mental. The coast line is mountainous and steep. This means, the road is pretty much drilled through the mountain and over the valleys with bridges. There are two lanes, no hard shoulder, minimal barriers, dismal lighting, hardly a warning for off or on ramps and finally, manic drivers who tail gait and drive far too fast.

I was thankful to arrive in Genoa. I was thankful to be alive.

The campsite was extortionate and situated on the mountainside in a series of terraces cut into the side. I was too tired to appreciate anything.

The next day we went on the coastal road which was delightful (though still full of really bad drivers). We parked up at about 1pm and relaxed swam in the sea until 3pm. While I was gearing up I could smell petrol and then realised that the same problem I had, that BMW had “fixed” had clearly not been fixed at all. I had fuel leading out from under my seat again. This put a spanner in the works…

Off we went to the nearest town to find a BMW dealer and see if we could find the problem and order new parts. We did. But driving was hell. We were hot and frazzled and my nerves were shaken. We found out the problem and then found the nearest campsite – we’d done a whole 66 miles that day.

Great campsite but seriously strange people ran the place. The young fellow oozed arrogance in a very sad and nasty way. He had big sunglasses that made him look like a pimp. The woman hanging about there also had a strange way about here. She kind of sauntered and spoke in the kind of way I’d expect from a hooker. So there these characters were, running a campsite when they would have been more in situ on the corner of one of the posh but sleazy parts of south coast.

The cost had now gone up to 39 Euros. Having paid a whole 8 Euros in France, this was just ridiculous.

On the upside, the sea was beautiful and the toilets clean.

The other great thing was meeting Vince and his family. Vince is a vibrant character from Sicily originally and has live in London for a long time and then moved about a lot ever since. I just enjoyed talking to him. He has the same view on life: that it’s most important to be happy no matter what you are doing, and do what makes you happy. It annoys him as much as it annoys me to see people walk about with faces like smacked bottoms who feel hard done by because they hate their lives or don’t have things the way they want it, but don’t make the effort to change.

The next day, I was waiting for Paul to get back from the bank. And you know the idle minds adage, well, I decide to make a hole in my tank bag to hook something thorough it. It was just at the exact moment I thought how stupid it was to be shoving a very sharp knife in the bag so near my hand when the blade shot through and right into my finger. I didn’t feel anything at first. By time Paul got back the pain set in and I thought I’d pass out. I’d stuck the knife about 3/4mm into my finger, into the bone, and it hurt like hell.

Another lesson learnt. I’m an idiot.

The next lesson, is keep your first aid kits on the top of your entire luggage. It’s a pain having it there but you don’t know when you will have an accident and when you are in a lot of pain, it’s very hard to figure basic things out. If you were relying on a stranger to help you, you wouldn’t want to be explaining it’s at the bottom of the left pannier, under the red took box near the inner tube.

A few painkillers, medical superglue, a few strong sweet coffees and an hour later we were on the road. We took the toll road again as it was straight and I wouldn’t have to use the clutch so much. And then we arrived in Rome.

I must be really honest. I don’t like Italy as much as I’d hoped I would. It’s not the place. It’s the people. I find people very rude. It doesn’t cost you time or money to be polite. Anyway. Rome is a beautiful city. Worth visiting. Lovely and all. Just glad to be leaving today. We are cutting our time in Italy short because the traffic is so unpleasant as are the people. We’ll go to Pompeii later today and then turn about again and head straight to Germany.