We get to Koycegz in Turkey

It seems like another lifetime since I left the grey city of London behind me. I look at my tanned arms now and find it hard to believe there was a time I worked in an office with air conditioning, artificial lighting, keep-the-employees-happy vendor coffee and clean toilets. I haven’t worn my watch for so long I can’t remember when last I wore it or when last it mattered what the time was. Is this the same woman that used to organise her life using Outlook?
I’m finding I don’t know what day of the week it is and have conversations with people along the lines of, “There is a market on Monday.”
“And how many days is it until Monday?”
“Tomorrow.” At which point, I’m surprised that it is currently Sunday.

It’s become usual for Paul and me to open the guide book over dinner, take out a map and begin figuring out what to do over the next days or weeks. There is a plan to get to certain places before the visas run out and eventually back home but when on the road, all those spreadsheets with calculated dates and distances just don’t mean a thing. It feels utterly irresponsible but we both know we have limited resources and can’t live like this forever. This is exactly why we are really indulging our happy-go-lucky lifestyle right now.

20 August: Bulgaria – Veliko Tarnovo, Plovdiv and Smoljan

Bulgaria offers excellent value for money and is notably less pricy than the rest of Europe (though bound to change once they are part of the EU). More importantly, it has a lot to offer in so far as beautiful countryside, mountains, rustic villages, hospitable cities and a range of activities. Unfortunately there is not much camping and but there are pensions for the same price as camping. Just a pity we aren’t yet able to start reducing our daily expenditure but we were able to enjoy a more luxurious lifestyle.

Our good friends Dee and Mario had sent us a text message saying they were in Turkey for ten days and could we meet up? The logistics of two couples of happy drifters meeting somewhere in Turkey appeared at the time to be rather unlikely, but we were willing to try. We just had to make sure we weren’t going to blast past Bulgaria and miss it – bearing in mind it was entirely possible that we would miss our friends too.

Veliko Tarnovo is probably “the popular destination” in Bulgaria because of its mountainous surroundings, old town and a castle. We went to visit the castle: I’d like to say because it has historic interest, but the truth is we didn’t want to be so lazy that we didn’t bother to at least go for a walk, and the entry fee was so cheap we didn’t have an excuse not to go. It is quite peculiar but the ruins have been renovated – and I use the word renovated rather specifically. By renovated, I mean, rebuilt in some places with modern bricks and mortar that make no effort at all to resemble “old” or restore what used to be there. It also appears that the renovations are not complete because there are lots of areas with the structural iron rods exposed and rusting away. We have become accustomed to historic sites having excavations and areas cordoned off for archaeological investigation. Something archaeologists appear to be fixated with is keeping things in situ and preserving minute details – it just seemed a little odd to slap a new building in the midst of ruins and decorate with modern art and ideas. Perhaps some time in the future this castle will be a modern themed attraction and maybe that is, after all, the plan. I don’t know! (Paul was not impressed all the same.)

On leaving Veliko Tarnovo, I mentioned, we were parked on a hill… I managed to do a hill turn with the fully packed bike and then do a controlled ride down the hill letting the engine control the speed – just as I had learnt at the off road school. It still stressed me out like mad. I talk a lot when I get really stressed so I was gabbling away at the bottom of the hill. But I did it. Each time I manage to do something difficult with the bike I feel that I’m making progress and it all counts towards the experience I need to get across Africa.

To our surprise, at the bottom of the hill a little kitty ran up to Paul and me (the mean tough bikers with big noisy bikes) mewing as if we were it’s long lost owners. We were both taken aback by this small scrap of a cat that was rubbing on our legs and trying to climb up our gortex trousers. We gave the waif a snuggle and tried to feed it some biscuits and water. It seemed to want to nothing else but to climb on the bikes and purr. We decided that there really was no way we could travel with a cat in the tank bag. It just wouldn’t get through the borders but we did consider it. We left our tiny friend, Bike Cat, feeling a bit heart sore. There is no way of ever finding out how the little bugger is doing – and it so wanted some one to love it.

We continued our journey south reaching Plovdiv, which is the kind of place that I would recommend for a long weekend city break. As mentioned before, Bulgaria is relatively cheap and excellent quality which makes it a shopping Mecca. It has a buzzing pedestrian’s centre in the old town (Roman ruins about) and countless women who are impeccably dressed and groomed to the max. I don’t think I’ve seen quite so many mini skirts with lovely legs before. Minis with lanky legs loped past while I paddled along in zip off trousers making little flip-flip noises from my flops. I am a liberated biker chick but it would have been so nice to look a bit more… clean.

On our map, south of Plovdiv appears to have a border crossing into Greece. Now if we had planned our route and done some research, we would have known this: it isn’t. But instead, we sat in a restaurant at lunch time, saw the crossing and decided that it was a good idea to cross the border there.

It’s a fantastic mountainous road that on the GPS is a 30 mile stretch in a straight line but in reality it works out to be about 90 miles of winds and hairpins at steep gradients. We got to the town that ought to be the border crossing. Fortunately there were two men with shirts saying BORDER CONTROL but when we asked about the border they laughed. It must be really funny to have two bikers pitch up and ask to cross the border because they told other people who were idly passing by and they too started to laugh. There was another border crossing marked on our map but the Border Control is not Border Information and so we had to just drive to the next town to find out if we could cross there.

We arrived in Kardzali late in the evening and so went straight to a hotel. I think it’s just a traveller’s common sense that you don’t try to cross a border late in the evening. It’s a task during the day, so don’t try at night. The hotel receptionist enthusiastically informed me that the border was supposed to be open but the motorway to the border is under construction (due to EU preparations) and was only due to open again in March 2007, did I want to stay for only one night? I smiled sweetly and said, “Yes, one night will be great, no point in waiting for the border to open then.”

That little detour took the whole day and we were about 16 km closer to Turkey than we were the day before and we had one day less to meet Dee and Mario. The good thing about the detour was that we’d seen a lovely part of Bulgaria that would have otherwise missed. Win some, lose some.

24 August: Turkey – Gelibolu, Bozcaada, Ephesis and Koycegiz

Back onto proper motorways and completely resolved to reach Turkey that day, we made sure we knew where we were going and got there.

The border crossing into Turkey had eight, yes EIGHT, different controls and steps to be taken before finally being released into the country. We and sat in a queue for at least an hour to get through a passport control (1) who wrote down the registration details of my bike. About 100m down the road is a police control (2) who then said we had to go to a visa office (3) to purchase our visas (with a £10 note and nothing else which we luckily had with us, but I think I’d planned to stash one away for this but forgot about it – mild panic). We then went back to have the new visa stamped by another police man (4). We then bought our 3rd party insurance from a dodgy little office (5) and had to wrangle the months down from a year to finally get 6 months only. There was another control (6) who photographed my motorbike. After that we passed through a vehicle control (7) who asked us if we were going to Istanbul but we said we’d go to Gelibolu and ferry to Canakkale because city riding was far too stressful. He thought that was amusing and handed papers back unread. By this time we thought we were done, but there was another control (8) who checked my number plate again. Two hours of border crossing and we were finally on the road in Turkey!

Gelibolu turned out to be a shabby little harbour town. I hadn’t realised the significance of the place to Australians, New Zealanders and Turks. In a nutshell: This is the site of one of the most futile WWI battles. Both sides had heavy casualties but Australia and New Zealand who at the time were small colonial countries with limited male populations, lost a proportionately massive amount of men and this had a serious impact on the countries. Whole towns lost their men folk and this devastating loss meant Australians and Kiwis lost the desire to support the United Kingdom in wars that were not their battles to fight in the first place.

In the morning we caught the ferry intending to cross to Lapseki and according to various confirmations by map pointing and yes yes… we arrived a half hour later in town close to Lapseki but not Lapseki. No problem, we were still en route-ish.

Ferry crossing in Turkey is a “no problem” affair. There is no time table – well, there is one but it’s rather flexible. When the ferry is due to come, there is a message on a loud speaker and every body piles out of the teashops, into their cars or trucks, lines up and buys a ticket. As the ferry arrives cars are hooting ready to dash off the ferry just as the ramp barely hits the shore and the on going traffic is revving to get on. Within not more than 30 minutes cars, truck, pedestrians and the occasional motorbike are off the ferry and the next load is on. Whoosh and the ferry sets off into the ocean.

Before I left I did wonder what it would be like being a Bike Girl on the road in foreign countries. So far I have found women to be my most critical audience. Men will often be quite curious initially and usually initiate conversation by talking to Paul first and then realise they can chat to me too, although I have no untoward reactions when I walk up to guys to ask directions or something. I get treated much like any other chap they meet and as always we mostly talk about bikes and travel. I haven’t yet had a woman come to me to chat although a few girl backpackers have been intrigued. Only one woman in Czech made a point of letting me know she was impressed. I have also met some Turkish biker’s girlfriends who have been very friendly once they realise I don’t bite. I think, possibly, my most critical audience has been Eastern European women – had a few very hard stares from them. I guess that helmet hair, no make-up and dirty clothes are frowned upon. I admit to not really caring too much but I would like to meet other women – I think I just appear to not have much in common with them. Paul is usually asked, “Why do you have two bikes?” And he usually replies, “Because we both like to ride.” I smile submissively but what I’d like to say is: “Because he doesn’t like to sit on the back.” Perhaps one day, if someone dares to talk to me first I’ll get to make my joke (and hope they get it).

So we got ourselves to Troy which is not half as spectacular as the legend and doesn’t have Brad Pitt wondering about in a short skirt. It all seems to have been stolen and distributed by fair means or foul around the world. There is a fantastically tacky wooden replica of the horse – just to give the tourists their money’s worth.

We were sweating to death in our bike gear looking at the place – or more like Paul took photos and I tried to take the path of least resistance, least effort and least exertion. I haven’t yet mentioned that I’d picked up a cold and wasn’t feeling energetic or interested in most things except the next opportunity to lie down. A friendly looking fellow and his girlfriend approached us and explained that he had an Africa Twin. We went through brief introductions and then he suggested, if we didn’t have fixed plans, that we should go to Bozcaada (an island known for their unique vineyards) and have dinner and talk bikes. In my feeble state I fancied the idea of not being on the bikes in the blazing heat. I weighed up the chance of missing Dee and made excuses like I didn’t know where they were in any case.

That turned out to be a very good idea. To get to the island is another speedy ad hoc ferry trip and then we were off the beaten track and no longer having to find our way about or worry about language or organising things. Our new friends, Halit and Fatos got things organised for us as we tagged along with out having to worry about making decisions – that alone was bliss. So many times Halit insisted on paying for us and as Paul protested, he’d have a cheeky smile and say, “It is Turkish custom.” We did talk about bikes a lot! I enjoyed Fatos’ company too. Even though she didn’t speak English her sense of humour was evident and I could tell by the way we all laughed at jokes that she wasn’t being left out.

Turkish coffee basically, has all the granules in the cup and you have to be careful when you sip or you could get a mouth full of the sludge. I did this once and was ever more careful. Paul drinks the sludge every time and is equally appalled each time too. So after dinner Fatos read our coffee leaves. The only other people I know who regularly read the remnants of beverages (tea leaves not coffee granules) are my mother and Aunt Stella who usually have us all in hysterics doing this whacky, jovial gypsy double act. I wished my mother could share this as Fatos was excellent! Only she did it all in animated Turkish and seemed to take it a bit more seriously, while Halit interpreted into English. She would yadda yadda for ages and then Halit would offer, “There is a rearing horse. It is good to start the project.” I take it I was getting the critical nutshell version. In any case, I decided for myself that the project has to be writing and I should continue writing and see where it leads me. Of course, the project could be anything.

Halit showed us some good places to go to next and at about the same time Dee sent a comprehensible text of where they were and would be for the next while. It was exactly where we were headed and it was possible to get there in time to see them - hopefully! The next day we woke up early to catch the ferry; only to find that the next one was 1pm. Halit said we were not to worry and we sat down for tea. Hardly half an hour later the news of a ferry was broadcast and we dashed out of the tea shop and back to our vehicles. We ferried back to the mainland and waved goodbye. What top people. It was one of our longest days on the bike but we got to our next stop, Selcuk to see Ephesis.

I won’t say much about Ephesis as it is yet another Roman ruin. It is very different from Pompeii in that it’s a provincial capital city and so is far more grandiose in decoration, use of marble and scale of buildings like the amphitheatre and library.

We were back on the road by midday and with some focused driving we would reach Koycegiz by the evening – it would seem… it may actually be possible to see Dee and Mario after all.

Photos & hi from Plovdiv

Hi there,

Don't know why but I don't seem to be able to add photos to blogspot like I used to BOOOOO so please go to the photo section of the website and view pics there. Sorry!

We head out of Eastern Europe today and into the Near East. More stories to follow.

More travel stories… Slovakia to Bulgaria

12 August: Slovakia – Tatry Mountains and Spisske Podhradie

A week ago we were in the Tatry Mountains in the rain. After two nights we decided that we had to move on, rain or shine, most likely rain. We’d enjoyed our stay because we had the company of two super guys but after they left and the rain was clearly not about to leave, we had to get back into our damp clothes and get going. I was really going to miss the guys. In such a short time, I felt very fond of Matteas and Luide.

Slovakia is a very picturesque country. Everywhere you look it is always a perfect picture: old Gothic walled cities, monasteries, chapels and castle ruins, and that is what I’ll remember of Slovakia.

Our next stop was Spisske Podhradie – described in Lonely Planet as “a dusty little town”. It certainly is a dusty little town with not much more to it than the castle up on the hill and an old Gothic walled town, both National Heritage sites. Unlike Poland, these sights are not crowded and don’t cost much at all to see. In fact, they are so understated I felt like I was one of the lucky tourists to visit the place before it’s over commercialised.

We walked up to the castle in the morning. Distance can sometimes be deceptive and in this case it really was. We were in full bike gear which includes big off road boots that weigh about a ton each and are designed to slide, not grip. I guess we should really have thought it through a bit better. Biking gear is made for protection – not walking about tourist sites, up slippery rock stairs and definitely not up hills. I did my fair share of huffing, puffing and slipping as I struggled up the muddy path. I did get up the hill, round the castle and down again. It was worth the visit too as the views are spectacular. Unfortunately there is not much information and not in English so all I know is that this is the largest castle in the area and was politically a very important place too.

13 August: Hungary – Szilvasvarad and Magyar Route 66

Slovakia is a little country and so the next day we ended up driving all the way to Hungary. We took the scenic route, taking in more of the pretty landscape and quaint towns but by late afternoon, we were in Hungary.

Most of the time, our route planning is slightly haphazard. Before I left the UK a friend of mine asked where we would be staying in France. She was a bit surprised that I didn’t actually know where we were staying or even going. Generally I have a few ideas of places that I would like to see specifically and then beyond that I try to read the travel guide and figure out a route that is more or less where we need to go, not too many detours and has some national parks or touristy things to see. Most of the time, we try to find scenic roads – because that is what we do mostly – drive from place to place. Sometimes we are lucky and find brilliant accommodation, some times we don’t. Sometimes it takes ages to find anything and other times, its right in front of us.

Hungary is a brilliant example of finding a great place just when you need it. I’d planned to drive through a small section of Hungary that would take us past wine and horse country and we would exit onto the correct road for entering Romania (on the advice of Matthias, we should specifically aim to travel on this road). At about that time in the evening, we pulled over, and agreed to keep eyes open for a campsite; I spotted a small sign for Motorbike Camping. About 500m down the road we turned and drove up a steep driveway where we were met by Lain (I’m not exactly sure of the spelling) and a party of Dutch bikers.

Something non-biking people don’t always seem to quite understand about bikers is our genuine love of motorbikes. It’s not an image or rebel status, we aren’t wild or dangerous or have a weird cult going on. Yes, there are bikers all over the world with all kinds of attitudes and there are some that really let us down – but you would find that in life generally. It seems that no matter where you go, bikers enjoy hanging out together. We love to look at each other’s bikes, we talk about them, and we ask advice and help each other out. We tell each other about great roads, welcoming places and generally have a lot to talk about. The best is that we make friends really quickly and quite often; these friendships last – bonded by motorbikes.

Magyar Route 66 is just the most fantastic place for bikers to hang out. My advice to anybody going to Hungary is, look this place up and go and stay for a few days. The website is www.magyarroute66.hu and telephone is (0036)36-355-726. They are in Szilvasvarad.

After our days of rain, this was the most welcoming, wonderful place to find ourselves. The Dutch gang had all independently driven over there to meet up with a Romanian chap who would take them for a tour in Romania. There was a big pot of Hungarian Goulash on the fire, a quaint bar, clean facilities and green grass campsite. It was a huge sigh of relief to be in a safe, comfortable place and I could just sit down and feel myself being practically embraced by hospitality.

Another small commercial break… Having been to Romania, I would suggest that if you were thinking of doing a trip in Eastern Europe, this tour would be a good option. Romania is tremendous but hard going so local knowledge would be a huge advantage. I’m sure Lain could help to get contact details.

Szilvasvarad is a little touristy town on the border of the Bukk Nemzeti Park. By this time, a miracle had occurred and we were able to go for a walk up the hill in the sunshine. Having done the last hill in biker boots, this time I thought flip-flops would be a suitable challenge. If there were a section in the Olympics for flip-flop dexterity, I’d certain stand a chance of at least getting into the team. Sunshine, fresh air, good company – things were certainly fantastic.

We didn’t see much of Hungary and I’m sure there is a lot more to explore, but the food was excellent. It could just be we were lucky but the food was good. I wouldn’t say it’s particularly cheap though. We also had a good local wine that is up there with some of the best I’ve tried. We all know wine is a very personal preference but wine from Eger seems to be good (in my opinion).

We were there for two nights. I was reluctant to leave but as my mother would say to me, “Keep your eye on the doughnut.” which roughly translates into: we had to continue driving to Cape Town and not just camp out at Lain’s place until either money ran out or he kicked us out.

17 & 18 August: Romania – Satu Mare, Cluj Napoca, Sinaia and Giurgiu

As mentioned, we needed to enter Romania at a certain point because it’s important to stick to good roads in Romania. Of course, if it’s bad roads you want, then venture off the main roads and you won’t need to go very far to find really bad, exciting roads with all kinds of obstacles too. I think this would be a brilliant holiday if you had to take some light dirt bikes and no gear at all.

We crossed into north-west Romania from Hungary at Satu Mare so that we could travel on the E81 which is a “principal” road. We could follow it all the way to Brasov and Bucharest (E60), keeping to good roads. There are many roads in Romania, just not many that have tar on them and the principal roads are excellent and consistently in a good-ish condition by comparison with other roads. Off the principal road, venture about 50m and you will be navigating gravel and potholes. We did a little detour of about 7km off the principal road and were straight into potholes. The travel guide says a small child can fit in the potholes. Correction, you could fit at least a large man or two in some of the potholes. In fact, they are so long you drive into the pothole and then drive out the other side but luckily the ones we did weren’t too deep. These roads would be absolutely impossible if it were raining – so as you may have gathered – the sun is out again.

All I had heard about Romania up till the time I got there was that it was third world, poor and primarily a peasant lifestyle. To be honest, I hadn’t heard much and so had few expectations. My lasting impression of Romania is of a very gentle country with a unique culture worth preserving. The landscape is some of the most pristine and unspoilt – both the wilderness and the land used for agriculture. The way of life is sweet. I don’t exactly know how to explain this. While driving along, I noticed that almost all the houses have little benches built into the outside wall. As evening approached I saw little old ladies sitting together and nattering on the benches. Old men sat pensively watching the traffic pass, keeping an idle eye on some chickens or a goat. Young people in their western clothes also sat chatting on the benches, to their friends and sometimes with their elders. They will spend a life time enjoying the company of their friends and family and watch all who come and go. They appreciated facing the world, not like in our Western homes that we do all we can to avoid even the casual glance of our neighbour. I thought about how lucky these people are to have friends for life, people to grow old with and to find the time to talk to daily face to face.

I know that right now Romania is in the process of entering the European Union (EU). I really hope with all my heart that this very delicate culture is not obliterated with entering the EU. For me, I think the Romanian roadside benches should be added to the National Heritage list.

So we travelled through the Marmures with its rustic villages and gentle fields rolling over the undulating landscape. Apparently this part of the world has been cut off from outside influences and is still what is called a peasant way of life. There are wells, horse-drawn carts, haystacks, fields laboured by hand and handicrafts still made in the traditional way BUT I didn’t feel that this was a desperate way of life. I have seen poverty that includes suffering but somehow this scene was not desperate. Clearly these people have less material wealth than we do but life appeared to be good. I was acutely aware of all these P.C. issues as we chugged through on our big heavily laden bikes ogling at the wooden churches with high steeples and ramshackled old buildings.

In contrast the cities were very romantic and westernised (excluding the roads that were patchworks and utterly knackered with mad traffic). We had brief tastes of city life in Cluj-Napoca and Sighisoara. There are old, beautiful, intriguing and strange buildings every where alongside concrete relics of the communist era. Seriously, you would not know where to start with sight seeing. Romanian hospitality was touching and the chance meetings we had left us feeling warm and glowing. From the lady selling watermelon who wanted to buy Paul’s knife, to the old man who wanted me to agree that the Russians were bad, to the biker who popped a mother of a wheelie on a mountain pass to say hi (who knows what he was riding but the belly of it looked good), to the young man who said hello in the campsite and gave us some wine.

Sinaia is one of the most beautiful and visited parts of the Carpathian Mountains. The landscape is dominated dramatic mountains covered with natural pine forest and from time to time we saw unusual turrets or the remains of a castle. It is a majestic landscape.

We decided to visit Siania but in our usual fashion hadn’t planned much ahead and so ended up camping in a no-star campsite just outside the town. The camping was really basic. Not just basic… basically filthy too. Any way, it’s £2.50 for the night for 2 bikes, 2 people and a tent… usually we pay about £5 per person and get the basics: not super clean but liveable. In Italy we paid €39 and had a very clean toilets and hot showers. Most of our travels have been slowly breaking us in for the more tough stuff and I think this was to be the first, but not last, of our seriously unpleasant accommodation. I probably shouldn’t mention this, but the toilets didn’t flush. They were just porcelain toilets with no plumbing, so that the you-know-what runs straight onto the floor. One of the cubicles had a big dump on the floor. Feeling sick? Me too. Having said that, I felt like a real snob. There were people there who were clearly enjoying their stay; sunbathing, relaxing and cooking over fires and I didn’t actually have a bad time and our tent, after all, is our home (and full of our own scum). I just had to walk quite a distance to use the nearest restaurant’s slightly less dodgy loos.

So with the roads deteriorating I’m now handling mountain passes with ease. I can even handle ruts, potholes and manic drivers all at the same time on a hairpin bend.

With the toilet and washing facilities deteriorating, I’m worried. Nearly 3 days without a shower and I looked and felt like a tramp. I mean, I was suffering. I’d run out of clean(ish) clothes, my hair was like straw and I wanted to get into a clean shower and scrub like crazy. Deodorant and wet wipes only do a so-so job of freshening up a dirty biker.

We navigated our way through Bucharest which is no small feat for a couple of bikers with heavy bikes, basic maps and a simple GPS. Unfortunately that was the whole visit to Bucharest. It looks like an interesting city that I’d quite like to visit on another trip. We passed the colossal Palace of Parliament that was built in the 1980s. I thought it was only the old South Africa that destroyed historic towns and made people homeless but clearly it was a lot more common than I thought. 70,000 people were made homeless to clear the space for this mega, imposing building.

En route out of Romania we stopped at the border town of Giurgiu. Paul wanted to do the border crossing but I vetoed the idea. I needed to find a cheap hotel with a clean shower. His insurance would run out that day and so did have a legitimate argument for pushing on. Given it was late already we decided to see if there was a hotel because the border crossing shops selling insurance would be closed already.

Giurgiu is a slightly strange place. As we drove around looking for a hotel I took in the slightly outlandish looking town. It appears to be a newer town with no old centre or old buildings at all. For a European city, this is a little unusual. I guess it was built in the communist era. There are high rise buildings everywhere and only a few shabby free standing houses towards the outskirts. The buildings all had that functional, slightly ugly 70’s look and face onto a small, attractive communal garden that was very busy. Everybody, absolutely everybody was out and enjoying the warm evening.

I loved it! I’m a bit like that. I really enjoy surreal places and this had an excellent peculiarity to it. No tourists!

We eventually found the hotel. At first I thought it was a derelict building but a local chap pointed us in the right direction and pointing said, “There is only one hotel in town.” So it had to be this one. It was a ten story high building standing in the middle of a field of dry grass and rubble. We drove up to see if it was vacant or in fact, still a habitable hotel.

I walked up the worn out green carpet, flanked by two garden gnomes, into the hotel lobby where I was met by a very yappy little dog. Having alerted every one of my presence, a dear lady (not out of sync with the gnomes) appeared and greeted me warmly. She didn’t speak any English but gestured in sweeping arm movements and little bows that I should enter the lift to look at a room. The lift too was fantastic. There was a 3 or 4 second delay before it started to sluggishly move and that would have been fine if the landlady hadn’t held her breath. Anyway, we made it to the first floor and I had a look at the room. It was all has-been and worn out. I didn’t care. I went straight to the bathroom to check it had running water and a clean toilet. This most certainly would do!

I went back to Paul with a grin and said he should now go in and see if he liked the room. About 5 minutes later he came out with a puzzled look on his face and agreed we should take the room, “Given there is no other hotel in the place… I guess this will do. I kind of like the communist chic.”
“Yipee!”

Showered and refreshed we went back into the town to have a nosey. There were signs all over the place that I wished I could read. They appear to be official government buildings or parks. I had read that Ceausescu, a particularly unpopular Romanian leader in the 70’s, had made purpose built concrete towns and moved peasants off the land. At a guess, this is one of those towns.

We had a relatively early start the next morning so that we could spend however much time it took at the border and still get to Veliko Tarnovo in Bulgaria. Paul was worried about his insurance so when the border control asked for his insurance I saw his eyes go rather round and he fumbled for his papers in a frantic way. He had his helmet on so he practically shouted at the guy “I’m going to buy Bulgarian insurance on the other side of the border.”
The border fellow grumbled and let him through. I’d my papers ready, but he took a two second glance at my passport and waved me through without wanting to see my insurance. When we chatted to a van of Aussies in the queue they told us the border control had basically said that they were to slip him a present in their passports which I guess they did. I think we had a lucky escape.

My way of dealing with borders and other officials is: I always look happy to see them. I always have a big smile and treat them as if they are someone I really like. I don’t know if this will always work, but I haven’t had any problems before. (It doesn’t work with scam artists.) Paul thinks I’m insanely lucky and that might just be it.

20 August: Bulgaria – Veliko Tarnovo

The border crossing from Romania to Bulgaria was superb. Most of the border crossings so far had been a little dull if they exist at all. This one was a whole big event literally and it felt like a transition that one should take note of and possibly even salute. There were two huge white columns that I’d seen from a distance standing at the entry of the bridge. The bridge goes over the impressive and substantial River Danube. It’s a hefty ornate bridge with decorative lights. Half way along the bridge is a sign indicating you have crossed into Bulgaria.

When we reached the other end, there was a short but very slow queue of traffic manned by several very smart and polite officials. The passport control that we spoke to was a real card and kept on breaking out into Queen’s song “Bicycle!”

We only had to cover about 120km to get from the border to Veliko Tarnovo. This isn’t a very long distance even on a scooter but the temperature had soared. Later we saw on the Bulgarian news it had reached 43 deg C. I had about 2.5 litres of water and Paul a bit less because he’d more to drink the day before. Normally, this would have been enough. I was struggling and felt very tired and could feel my concentration slipping. I could see Paul wasn’t feeling too well either. His speed was really erratic and swayed a bit on the road. By this time, we were not far from our destination and had run out of water so we had to try to drive on regardless. It would only be another 20 minutes but that is such a long time when every minute is tough.

When we arrived, I underestimated how bad Paul was feeling. I had taken my jacket and gloves off already and was not enjoying the process of finding a room to stay. Paul was wearing all his gear and can be rather dithery at the best of times. I eventually took lead and then found a shaded parking spot and pulled over. I stared long and hard at him. His face was really bright red and he wasn’t sweating. I realised that he HAD to get liquid and out of the heat as quickly as possible. So we went into a restaurant where I forced him to drink until he couldn’t any more. After that, I took the good old flip-flops out my bag, left Paul, and went to find a place on foot. It worked. Around the corner and up a steep hill, there was a sign for rooms. It looked perfect. The room was cool and clean.

A day later, we’re still here. Its 29 deg C in the room but a bit more overcast now (and might rain). This morning I checked the thermometer I keep in my tank bag. It recorded 61 deg C which meant we were probably subjected to temperatures in the 50’s when we stopped on the bikes.

Advice for fellow bikers planning travels: Lose Weight

Here is a little bit of advice for those bikers who have not travelled with heavily laden bikes before. We had done a number of test runs and packed in all our gear but some how by the time we left the luggage was heavier than expected.

We have been struggling with weight. When the rear of the bike is heavy the front wheel gets wobbly and is difficult to handle at high speeds, on hills and off road. My bike in particular had one very heavy pannier with tools which meant the bike tipped to the side every time I braked hard and made it very hard to get corners smoothly. Generally I struggled to control the bike.

Besides trying to get rid of everything we don’t really need, what we’ve done is try to make sure our weight is evenly distributed, both between us and our panniers too. I’ve found I have heavier but smaller items while Paul has bulkier items. So we had to even it out between us.

To reduce the wobbly front wheel problem we have tried to move weight forward. Not an easy task! I’ve tied the spares to the front of my bash plate and the spanner set is now tied to my handle bars. Paul cable-tied the tyre irons to his front forks.

We have posted home any bits we haven’t used or can do without in a desperate attempt to get the weight down. I can’t imagine we will be able to manage off road and gravel with the weight we have at the moment. I can only imagine that we will be saying goodbye to even more of our possessions as we start doing more difficult driving.

Romania and knackered

I will start with a big apology for not writing a proper blog but I've been so tired that I've practically passed out every night. The road conditions here mean I can't do my usual day dreaming and blog writing up in my head while I drive. I have to be 100% focused on the road (and the mad trucks and 4x4 bullies, the ruts, the potholes, the hairpins, the horsecarts and chickens, old ladies and cows). Life is getting much harder. I realise that I really do love motorbikes because any sensible person would be doing this trip in a comfy landrover.

My little bit of biking advise is: take as little weight as possible off road and try to get your weight down and centrally placed on the bike. I'll explain this more later.

I think my time in the internet is up but it's been a good session for me as I've got to read emails and reply for a change. Thanks for writing. I love it. The email address is long-way-home@hotmail.co.uk.

And if any one has advice on the Middle East situation, please let me know. My window on the world is some what limited at the moment. We plan to travel through Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Egypt and Sudan.

In Tatra Mountains writing Blog

We are heading South! This feels really good. And given its absolutely awful rainy, cold weather – I’m delighted to be heading towards warmer parts of the world.

We have just arrived in Slovakia and are camped up at the High Tatra Mountains. These mountains are reputed to be some of the most beautiful in Europe, certainly Eastern Europe. Hence, the tourist trade is well developed through out the year. I’m here and it’s utterly beautiful. Just wish it wasn’t quite so cold and I’ve given up hoping it doesn’t rain. For now, I’m sitting in sunshine watching very big grey clouds tumble over the mountains and my German biker friend have a shave. Must admit, these guys are very organised and make it all look so easy.

Some travel tips for bikers, specifically dealing with rain:

Only take “technical” clothing. You will need all your clothes to dry out asap even in damp conditions. When you wear damp technical clothing it dries on your body rather than make you feel wet.

When you camp up, take off all your bike gear and stuff them in your roll bags or in a waterproof bag. As much as it may be nice to have them air during the night, if it’s raining or possibly going to rain, you need to keep them dry (and get used to stinky).

I have two pairs of light summer bike gloves and have been using both.

I think the minimum of underwear is 5. As my undies are cotton, I struggle to keep up with washing, drying and wearing in wet weather.

My most useful socks are really thin ones that dry quickly and don’t keep foot odour. I have warm comfy ones that stink and are still wet days later.

A good idea would be to check your clothes for BO (body odour) by doing loads of sweaty work outs to see how quickly they smell. It seems that some fabrics smell and keep BO much faster than others. You will probably live in the one that doesn’t smell and forget about the others that require more regular washing. Being dirty isn’t a problem, it’s the smell that bothers you (and probably others too).

Take as big a tent as you can manage weight and size wise. We have a two man tent and when it rains, it’s really too small for two people - it really only sleeps two. So we are going to be looking out for a tarpaulin.

So, back to travels…

1 August - Czech Republic: Plzen, Prague and Adrspach Rock Town in Teplice Mountains

In spite of the weather, in wet gear and with grey clouds looming, we left the comfort of Augsburg and our friends and went to the Czech Republic. It wasn’t a long trip and the roads were good, but I felt really excited as this was taking the first little step out of our Western comfort zone.

We arrived in Plzen late in the evening and decided to find a pension (cheap room) rather than camp. All our stuff was soaked, as were we, and we could do with the comfort. Slippery cobbled roads and a complicated one-way system made it a tricky business. I spotted a billboard for “Pension Sandra” and noted the parking was included so this seemed to be a good answer to our immediate needs. We were ushered around to the back where there was a secure courtyard for us to park in. I greeted the proprietor saying, “Hi, I’m Sandra!” It went down a treat. We locked up our bikes, sorted out a shower and then went down to the bar where we were treated to a Pilsen beer on the house. Paul and I decided that Pilsen beer is by far the best in the world. I produced my passport and delighted the owner yet again on seeing my name in print. He proceeded to give us the story of how the pension came to be called Sandra. Basically, his wife wanted to name his first daughter Sandra but it rhymes with a word in Czech that means joke. So instead, years later, the pension became Sandra. No, San-DRRA. I quite like my name in Czech. I was then treated to Sandra Vodka: home brewed vodka. He gave me a teaspoon to taste. Well. I sat there quietly cursing. My mouth was on fire. My very animated, jovial host then explained how funny it was to play this particular joke on friends. He didn’t inflict the same joke on the other tourists and so I can only gather that the joke was especially for people he liked (I hope that’s the case).

This was my first opportunity to get access to the internet in a real internet café that actually worked. It was so much fun to read emails and find out that my friend Chamu in Zimbabwe had succeeded in making a website for our trip; most successfully I must add, given I’d only sent him various bits of information and some very basic ideas. So finally www.long-way-home.com is a live site and I think Chamu has really captured the spirit of our adventure.

The rest of the day we did the tourist thing: climb to the top of the church in the square and then go into the underground which is a maze of tunnels under the city. As in many European cities, houses had cellars or “caves” in which they used to store beer and wine. These in time have been used for other purposes, including refuge during times of war. It was quite interesting but we only saw about 2km of the tunnels, there are 3 levels covering an area of 20km. It’s a whole underground world.

Late in the day we made our way to Prague. This was the first time I noticed that the roads were not quite what we were accustomed to and found the wobbling about a bit unnerving from time to time. Not too bad though and thankful I had over 4000 km practice with heavily laden bikes already.

Prague is yet another beautiful European city. It was heaving with tourists and the prices reflected this. I admitted to Paul that I wasn’t really too interested in looking at more old buildings as they were all becoming a bit like, oh-there’s-another-grand-old-building, which meant it was time to stop. Or at least not pay to see them when I didn’t appreciate them. Instead I watched the tourists walk about taking photos of everything and lining up to have their pictures taken at the right “tick-the-box” spots. They really do follow each other about like a flock of bored sheep – rushing to touch something or take a picture because there is already queue of sheep doing it – with no appreciation of what they are looking at or why. I do admit that it is very hard to really react to the environment unless you have a brilliant guide book or brilliant guide or perhaps this is a place you have learned about… Otherwise, it’s very easy to walk about and take happy-snappy shots of things and never even know what they are.

The highlight of Prague for me was visiting a Jan Saudek exhibition. At first it was merely a refuge from the rain but it’s the thing I remember most now. Initially I looked at the photos and wasn’t quite sure if I was looking at some old pornographic material that was a bit artsy. But as I looked at the exhibition I really like some of the techniques he used and some of the pictures (yes, borderline pornographic) were profound. In particular his critique of time, decay and death; sometimes portrayed in photos of a young person juxtaposed with a similar picture replicated with the same model many years later. I did have a good giggle at the rampant bushes some of the women sported. Those were the good old days when women didn’t aspire to looking like they were freshly airbrushed.

The next day we were out of Prague and off to the Teplice rocks. It turned out to be a rare treat and I have the Lonely Planet to thank for this one. Most of the places advised in the Lonely Planet so far had been on the well trodden tourist track and pretty busy – but this was a bit off the main drag. It’s in Northern Czech Republic and not on most maps but we managed to find it all the same (in the rain). Due to the RAIN yet again we decided to stay in a pension again. This time it really felt luxurious, I guess because it was getting cold, I really enjoyed getting dry and warm. Lovely hospitality yet again and we managed to get by with our basic German and my enthusiasm to mime.

The next morning we strolled about the Adrspach Rock Town. I didn’t think it would be quite so impressive and enjoyable. The rocks are mostly sandstone and the formations are created by mostly water erosion. The rocks stand like huge monoliths, some appear to be precariously balanced and as a result visitors have left little twigs at the base to keep the rocks standing. Rather sweet idea. But if one of them did fall over it would be a mighty big crash. The rocks are easily 30-50m high and each has character. They have been named appropriately and it’s clear this is a loved landscape.

We did a little boat trip on a lake there. I had by this time noticed that there were often little green men with bulging orange eyes and fangs lurking in ponds. I have no idea what these are and why they are in lakes and people’s gardens. Judging by the reaction of fellow passengers to the boatman’s comments, creepy notions of Dracular and vampires are clearly comical. It’s the spooky equivalent of a garden gnome. Hopefully, one day I’ll find out the story behind these creepy characters.

6 August - Poland: Krakow and Auschwitz

Refreshed and dried out we went off to Poland. First thing we noticed was the roads got significantly worse. Even motorways were rutted due to the trucks driving along them and I guess, the poor quality of the road making in the first place. It was really easy to find myself wobbling about and if I didn’t really turn to bounce out of the rut, I’d ping-pong along in the rut (and the rain). Then there were pot-holes too which were not too big but as it was wet, we couldn’t tell the difference between a puddle and a hole. The speed limit was really slow with loads of police lurking behind bushes. Most of the time we were driving at 40km per hour… and that made it a long, wet, cold trip.

We camped outside of Krakow as again, mass tourism meant the prices were way-high. And as we were outside of the city, this meant subjecting ourselves to public transport which at the time seemed like a good idea. I’d read in my Lonely Planet (LP) under “Dangers and Annoyances” about the various scams in the places we were travelling through but I’d read them all together so it was all a bit of a miss-mash in my mind.

We got on the bus to the city and at this point you are supposed to stamp your ticket to validate it. Unfortunately, I got Paul to stamp his and then the bus vaulted over the ruts setting a little old lady off her feet and I was worried about her breaking her hip, and so forgot to stamp my ticket. We got off the bus and onto the tram. A few people got on and then what appeared to be a plain clothed ticket inspector. Oops. I’d forgotten to stamp my ticket. So I apologised and said I’d stamp it right away. He was having none of it but this was the first time I was suspicious as his body language was far too threatening. So I suggested he go and check every one else’s tickets too – why make a fuss of me? - Which he didn’t do either. So I wasn’t sure. He wanted my passport which I told him absolutely no way would he even see it, we had no cash yet and so he said he’d walk with us to get the money to pay the fine. We obliged. I still didn’t know if he was really a ticket guy or it was a scam. We said very specifically that we would pay the fine but only at the police station. This all seemed like a good idea. When he said the fine was 70 Polish spondoolies we were outraged. That was more than a fine you’d get on London transport and London transport would be much more lenient towards a genuine mistake, which this clearly was. So I argued with this guy no end. I was so mad I really spitted at him, “And I hope when you travel you get treated like shit.”
I admit he looked a bit surprised that I would be such hard work. Paul calmly took out his note book and said, “Ok, well, I’ll give you the money but first I want to write your details down. I’m going to complain because this is no way to treat a tourist who has clearly simply made a mistake and not trying to cheat the system.”
That did the trick. The guy stormed off and said he was going to the police station. We stood there alone, a bit surprised. I went to a police officer and asked where the police station was. It was the opposite direction and I didn’t see any sign of this guy there either. We were still confused then but decided that we would get out of the city to avoid meeting up with him again. I then delved back into LP while we were on the train to Wieliczka and realised – yes, the bugger was indeed a scam artist. Paul’s calm insistence had worked which is fortunate because I would still be there arguing with him otherwise.

Off to Wieliczka Salt Mine. We’d read about this in our Dan Cruikshank’s Around the world in 80 Treasures and he’d mentioned that the mass tourism touches had destroyed an extraordinary place. I could not agree more. The mine has not been “active” for the past 10 years but the Poles have managed to turn from extracting salt from the mine to extracting money from tourists with alarming efficiency. It was really expensive and not massively interesting. The worst bit was the very tatty exhibitions and naff lighting effects. The mine itself was massive and quite something to see. There are wooden structures all over holding up the tunnels. We found out that there was once forest around Wieliczka but it had all been cut down for the sake of extracting the white gold. Salt once produced a 30% of the country’s income.

That seemed pretty silly to me that a forest was destroyed over salt. I really hope that in the future our great grandchildren don’t think the same of us. How silly we were to destroy the ozone in the pursuit of wealth.

We left Krakow and the scam-man behind us and went to Auschwitz. This is a place I specifically wanted to visit. I’d studied the war poets as part of my drama qualification and a few years ago I’d gone to visit Verdun in France to see a preserved site of World War I battles. Although I’d read a lot about the war and had an insight into the emotions of the men fighting the battle, seeing the trenches, the deeply scared landscape and fields of white crosses was very moving and turned academic understanding into real feeling.

I felt the same about Auschwitz. I’d seen the films and read about the camps but I felt I needed to experience the concentration camp. As one of the plaques in the museum says something along the lines of “Those who do not study the past are forced to relive it”. I do believe this and this is exactly why I make the effort to visit such places.

Auschwitz is now a museum and very sensitively done. The tours in English leave at 11 and 1 o’clock and if anyone goes there, I would strongly recommend joining a tour as it is really worthwhile and will give you so much more than walking about on your own (entry is free and the guide is 26 Polish money). This might be the only time I have ever thought a tour guide has made my visit to a place extra special.

Our guide had a very brisk march and the appearance of a strict school mistress. From the moment she began the tour I could tell she was passionate about telling the story of Auschwitz, the 1.5 million Jews who were murdered there and the thousands of prisoners from around Europe who suffered and died there in excruciating circumstances. Many times she started her explanations with “I want you to imagine…” and she really did highlight the horror and the insanity of what when on. We walked around Birkenau, the biggest of the camps that made up the whole of the extermination camp area, and the exact place that the gas chambers were. I kept saying over and over to myself. How? How did this happen? How did such vile maniacs commit such heinous crimes for so many years? There were kilometres of wooden huts in which as many as 100,000 people would be held with no sanitation and no running water. Just along side them, were massive outdoor fires where hundreds of bodies were being burnt in massive piles, using the human body fat to keep the fires burning. The ovens weren’t efficient enough to keep up with the number of bodies to cremate. Many thousands of people could be killed and disposed of in a day, leaving very little evidence. The ashes were simply used as fertilizer and the rest of the possessions were sent off to be re-used all over Germany, including the human hair to make cloth. Birkenau was largely destroyed but the chimney stacks remain. I looked over this massive field of chimneys and the question remained… How did we let this happen?

This is not the only time in history we (collectively as humans) have stood by and let people perish because we have not done something about it. I’ve had to promise myself that I won’t be one of those people who don’t worry about what is happening in other places to other people.

After that thought provoking experience, we headed off south and straight into more Polish mass tourism. We wanted to see the Tatra Mountains but got stuck in a traffic jam (and rain) and then realised that the only way to see the mountains was by joining a tourist bus group. Nah! We decided to pop over the border to Slovakia.

10 August - Slovakia: Tantra Mountains

Immediately the roads are so much better and we feel like we are back in Europe. The mountains are beautiful and perhaps we will take a walk if the rain gives us a chance to dry out. By now I don’t have any clean clothes and a bag full of damp, stinking clothes. We were forced to camp as the area is so inundated with tourists there is no accommodation, but it’s probably a good thing as the tent could start to rot if we don’t get it out to at least have fresh rain on it.

To my delight two 500XT motorbikes arrived at the campsite and pull up next to us. They are two German bikers, Matthias and Luede, who speak excellent English and this is very exciting as Paul and I haven’t had people to talk to for a while now. Our limited language skills only get us into campsites and basics of menus and there is only so much we can say to each other before even that gets a bit boring and we crave the company of others. The guys are just great and we spent loads of real quality time talking about gear, travel and bikes.

They have vital information on the best roads to take through Romania: that is going to be our first taste of developing world standards. I’ve also been warned about the delightful wildlife that includes small bears that will try to scavenge for food scraps! Yikes. I’m a bit worried about that.

Matteas did a 3 month trip and pointed out that after a while you realise this isn’t a holiday. This is your life and it isn’t easy. He is so right. I think we have reached that point of realising that this can be hard work and is about to get harder.

Our home is a small tent that has to get packed up and taken out daily – and gets wet and rots and makes everything smell. We have bikes to maintain and the parts are not easy to buy in a local shop. Its tough finding places, information, supplies when you are always in a foreign town and don’t speak the language. We have so little clothing that doing laundry is difficult and when the weather turns against you… life gets very tough. It all seemed so easy, to just have one huge holiday, but life is pretty complicated. I’ve mentioned the hassle of electricity but there is also the problem with finding internet cafes that are sufficiently high tech to let us do things like banking.

All said, I wouldn’t be doing any thing else. This is exactly where I’d like to be right now, even though it’s raining again.

www.long-way-home.com

The website is up and running!!! Check it out and save to your list of favourites.

Big thank you to Chamu in Zim who has designed the site. You are a HERO!!

www.long-way-home.com

:0))))