Long Way Home

If he can do it - my gad! YOU can

2009-08-06T15:08:00.003+01:00

This is the kind of story that puts all our travel adventures into perspective.

I can't tell you how many times people ask me how much it cost to do a big bike trip and all the gear and technicalities of the whole affair. There are big sighs and sucking in of breath as people calculate the cost of a big spangly BMW and the cost of the mountain of gear they will take plus hotel costs etc.... Not to mention how to face the loss of income when they throw all caution to the wind... So it is refreshing when some dude does it in a rediculous fashion on the oldest most dodgy bike I've seen in ages. Take a look at this and then kick yourself in the butt and go and travel BY ANY MEANS. http://slowwaydown.com/swd/about/.

And if you can't be wild and crazy and do stupid things, there is always a cool 2 week trip from Cape Town to Namibia with my company - Two Wheel Africa Tours. All set up for you on a hired bike that is all spangly.

Another big long mission unfolds

2009-06-26T14:58:00.002+01:00

If anyone has been wondering what I've been up to over the last few months (that have rolled into years) - the answer is in short a lot of mundane living and dreaming up other things. I've found the day job(s) unbearable and so have constantly been thinking of motorcycle travel. "Where to next?" has been a question on my mind rather often. "How?" And "What about growing up and taking responsibility?" have also plagued me.

The big plan is to start a business doing motorbike tours based here in Cape Town. Watch this space!

Humph. And most of my life is currently consumed by this crazy mission. It is not too dissimilar from planning the Africa trip - only this time its hopefully going to last a seriously long time, needs to be sustainable and requires learning how to jump through some rather different hoops. I'll get there. It reminds me of my first blogs that said something like the journey begins with a single step. Well. Single steps, big leaps, hanging in there, hoping for the best, calculating, managing risk, hoping for the best, pep talks from friends, forging relationships with other biker businesses and a few push factors that get you over the edge good and solid.

Two Wheel Africa Tours will be running this summer! Ensh-Allah.

Social network for bikers

2009-06-26T14:57:00.002+01:00

Join this social network to share pictures and ideas.

http://adventurebikers.ning.com

Books in Stores

2008-01-18T09:15:00.000Z

And finally, my book is making its way into bookshops. So far, Cavendish Exclusive and Wordsworth Travel Shop V&A. Should also be on Kalahari.net any moment.

Happy Biking!

Book done but not uploaded

2007-09-26T11:01:00.002+01:00

So this is it. I have finished the book and it should be on lulu.com soon. Apologies for the delay but its been busy here.

And I'm thinking of starting a different blog because this story has kind of ended but not sure....

Sample of the final chapter - Immigrating Home

2007-09-26T11:01:00.001+01:00

Almost nine years have passed since I left Cape Town. This was the moment. I was finally coming home, at last, I could see Cape Town in the distance. Memories started to flood back. After I completed my degree I made the decision to leave Cape Town because I needed to make some progress career-wise and at the time I struggled to find work of any sort. I packed my old rusty car and drove to Johannesburg with my cat in her basket mewing the whole way. Every time I thought of what I was leaving behind, tears poured down my cheeks. I arrived in Springs utterly worn out from having driven for twenty-four hours non-stop and all the crying. The cat was traumatised and I was at an all-time emotional low. All I managed to find was a job doing secretarial work and which made me decide to take my chances in London. I knew that the grass would not actually be greener on the other side, but I needed a break and a promising job.

I left with so much emotion and loved Cape Town so much. All the years I’d been away, I called Cape Town home and here I was: Home. Just the funny thing was that it didn’t feel like home any more. It was a massive anticlimax. Arriving in Springs was warm and special but Cape Town just felt empty. The feeling of being estranged was made worse by the job situation or more specifically the lack of a job and the fact that I’d run out of money. We didn’t have a home yet either. I started to feel a bit stressed and doubted myself. As I prepared for interviews I was thankful to have a full CV with lots of experience and qualifications that I’d gained while I’d been away. Life was quickly becoming normal again and I had to make the transition from travelling biker chick to a normal career woman with responsibilities and bills to pay.

I was in the full swing of job interviews when Martin and Rickard called to say they were in Cape Town and had taken a long leisurely drive down the country. They’d made it! The brothers had accomplished their mission and I’m sure all their friends back in Sweden were astounded. What started off as a crazy idea over one too many beers turned out to be entirely possible, achievable and a lesson to us all: do it!

I wondered what it would be like seeing them again after a few months and after parting in Zanzibar, when we seemed relieved to no longer be travelling together. I saw them from a distance and as soon as they saw us they jumped up with their arms waving madly and we all embraced warmly. There could not possibly be any hard feelings. We’d shared some of the most magic times of our lives and made it together. We had a very long night of telling stories that now were simply hilarious. I felt sorry for the waitress as she brought out another round of beers and Rickard was enacting the time Paul had picked up a tortoise and it promptly peed on him. We all collapsed with laughter and the poor girl gave up trying to take our food order. Then we laughed at the time Rickard chased the youyous with his baseball bat after they threw stones at me. We recounted the antics of Black Sausage and found them even more side splitting than when they happened. By the end of the night the guys were legless and I had stomach ache and sore cheeks from all the mirth.

When we parted ways, I realised I’d miss these guys a lot. A lot more than I thought I would. They felt like family by now: people who were part of my life and I no longer had a choice over the matter.

TO FIND OUT MORE - HANG IN THERE....

Adventure Motorbike Travel

2007-08-27T13:36:00.000+01:00

This is for anyone who would like to interact a bit more. The blog is a bit passive - I write and you read. This is more of a social network in which we can share.

http://adventurebikers.ning.com/

Please be most welcome to join. I don't know how it will take off but its worth a try.

A little update: it's still raining in Cape Town. It's cold and wet. I'm still working a lot both at work and on the promised book. Getting there though and fairly soon you will be able to order a copy.

Feeling cut off from the world

2007-08-03T09:44:00.000+01:00

A special hello to all my friends out there. I don't know what it was but I couldn't get into blogger for ages. Now I can! Yay.

Not much happening except for writing the blog into a book. And that isn't easy so takes up loads of time. Going to work like a normal person also takes up lots of time and energy too.

Its cold and horrible here at the moment. We've had storm after storm here in the lovely city of Cape Town.

My house in Simons Town is awesome. We have baboons that visit all the time. We have friends that visit too. The offical house warming has been had - we had a very cool garage party in the stormy weather. Its still good to be home. And from this little nest of mine, I think I shall explore more of our wonderful world.

My thoughts for the month have been mainly on GLOBAL WARMING. It bothers me a lot as the weather really sucks.

Standing Up

2007-06-24T21:39:00.000+01:00

Here is the latest Stand Up For Africa article in which I feature and hopefully help them get some publicity. Although the trip is over, I still support SUFA where possible and take the poverty problem seriously. It's all about making a decision to do the right things daily. I think most of the time it really is the little things that count.

www.standupforafrica.org.uk

Al Gore Inspiration

2007-06-24T21:20:00.000+01:00

Check this out...

http://www.climatecrisis.net/

How come this guy didn't get to be the President? Hey?

In any case, politics aside, it's really time to make those differences that count. And each little bit we each do DOES cumulatively make a difference. So get the light bulbs, turn the heating down, insulate properly, fix the leaky tap and walk to the shop. Be a responsible citizen of the world. COME ON!!

Friends in South America

2007-06-24T21:18:00.000+01:00

Here is another motorcycle story unfolding. Read about Alister and Maria doing South America on the same bikes as us.
(I met Maria at the Merton College mechanics course).

http://www.franglais-riders.com/

Here it is - "Le Pimp" Mobile

2007-05-30T20:49:00.001+01:00

Martin and Rickard finish their trip too

2007-05-30T20:43:00.000+01:00

The Swedish brothers we met in Aswan, Egypt made it to South Africa. It was so cool meeting up again that we went to Namibia together. I guess by now they have organised shipping their Landy back home and maybe they are even back in Europe enjoying the summer weather there. Miss the lads loads! I didn't think I would because we are such different people - but I do. Every time I go to the Spur I think of them. We have is special bond that friends get when you've shared enough experiences. I'm not sure but I get the feeling this friendship will last a long while.

Quadbiking in Namibia

2007-05-30T20:22:00.000+01:00

Bike girl on all four wheels!

Now, there is a story about Namibia so hang in there!! You see, the problem is that I now have a proper job that keeps me busy most of the time, and as a result my blogging is going to shit. I do care. I care deeply and feel awful that I'm not keeping up with writing and am missing out on giving information about motorcycling and filling you in on all the cool things that biker chicks get up to. Admittedly, this biker chick is commuting by car. Lame, I know, but on the tough side I'm getting up at 5am to go to the gym before work. This is a great idea but its taken some time for my body and mind to adjust to the new schedule. Now that I'm synchronised with the birds, I have the evenings to get back to the serious business of blogging.

Also, hotmail kindly deleted all my emails and contacts ? ! Please feel free to re-get in touch with me if I appear to have dropped out of the ether.

Where I'm at right now

2007-05-26T10:04:00.000+01:00

I'm working my buns off. That is what I'm doing and this is my excuse for not writing enough emails and catching up with friends (whom I've missed and neglected for ages). The new job is brilliant and the best is having the stability of a salary and planning my future. I'm in a wonderful place that I've never been in before: settled. I've been a bit of a wandering hillbillie for years and now I'm home and growing roots. Well. I'm germinating and as soon as I have sold my house and bought one closer to work, then I'll get the roots down.

Ah, also, for those of you who followed the travells bit, Ewan Mc Gregor and Charlie Boorman have now started their "Long Way Down". The route they are doing is very similar to my route. The big difference would of course be HOW they are travelling! Even I am curious to find out how the rich and famous "rough it" across Africa. But in any case, they are on the BBC website and all the crew members have blogs and little video clips.

But don't delete my url because I'm still here and still writing ;-)

Ostrich Riding in Outshoorn

2007-05-13T21:37:00.001+01:00

Home and back to 9-5

2007-05-12T22:36:00.000+01:00

Hey there,

Well. Back to not quite 9-5 but close-ish, more like 7 to 7-ish. I'm soooo happy to be home. I was riding to an interview along De Waal Drive one morning and as I looked over Table Bay I had the feeling that an eagle flapped it tired wings and landed. That was me. I'm home...

This was my first week in a new job. I'm so happy. I'm home and I'm feeling very settled and ready to face life, from my home town. My Home. I'm loving every thing about South Africa. This is a magic place.

I went to Namibia for a last blast - so another youtube will follow soon. :-)

Buffalo Rally 2007

2007-05-12T22:35:00.000+01:00

Check if you can spot your bike....

Livingstone Adrenalin Sports - youtube link

2007-04-08T08:26:00.000+01:00

Happy watching!

This link should take you to my youtube films and this one is called Mad Bastards in Livingstone, Zambia
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SrSJOKbkrYU

Last days on the road

2007-03-30T09:46:00.000+01:00

We finally left the dust and mine dumps of Gauteng on 10 March to take a leisurely trip down south. I was having a great time living near my friends and family but it just seemed that we ought to at least get to Cape Town to officially complete the trip. The decision was made to job hunt in CT first and figure out if we could make a life there. But it was a leisurely trip…

First stop over was to visit Carolina Guest Farm in Fouriesburg in the Free State. Carolina is a special place for me. Quite some time ago, the fact was, I was a difficult teenager. I wasn’t naughty but I gave my parents a tough time and so I was conveniently offered the opportunity of spending my school holidays working at Carolina with John and Rose. It really wasn’t work. I helped out riding horses, playing with guests’ kids in the river and running a little tuck shop and enjoyed every minute I was there. I loved the mountains, the wide open spaces and the peaceful way of life. The place is still as beautiful as ever and John and Rose as chatty and lively as always.

Looking for some dirt? Accessible from Carolina there are some motorbike off road tracks nearby running along the border with Lesotho. It’s off the tourist track and worth a visit.

Paul had done a lot of moaning about not being fit and wanting to see mountains so we went to Golden Gate for a walk. Golden Gate National Park has big golden rocks that look a bit like giant sized mushrooms. Many million moons ago the area was a sea and if you look carefully you will see coral and some other really interesting bits of geology. There were a number of short walks and one that was a four hour walk. Of course we’d do the big walk. I think that living in the UK has made me forget some important things about South Africa: It’s not for ninnies. We did one ball busting walk up the mountain, across the ridge and down the other side. It took us closer to five hours and my legs were knackered beyond belief.

The next day my legs weren’t as bad as I thought they’d be. We made our way through the Karoo to Aliwal North. I know Paul finds the flat landscape boring but I loved it. There are vast flat plains with small koppies (rocky hills) poking out of the ground. Sometimes the koppies look like a giant has fallen asleep and gets covered by a layer of soil and grass but we can still see the hip, shoulder, face profile and a pert breast or a large buttock. There are dark veins of volcanic rock resisting erosion and stand like the spines of a dragon. The landscape is rolling, stretching and gentle. If you listen all you hear is the wind blowing. Against this soothing landscape farmers have cut fields, built houses and planted metal windmills. The straight lines, bordered patches, rows of trees stand out in contrast to the vast gentleness of the Karoo. Riding through seems to take forever but there is a musical rhythm to what I’m seeing that keeps me alert. My eye glanced down the rows of the mielie (corn) fields as they flash past like a techno beat. Then I glance up to the electrical pylons that follow the road and the wires sag along like a slow dance. The windmills seem to work independently. As one spins frantically, not far away the other is making a half hearted effort to turn. Some are completely stationary, not catching a breath of wind. In the evenings the light changes dramatically to golden. The sunsets can change the whole sky to bright pink, brilliant blue, gold and red.

At this magic time of day we found our way to a delightful stately home just outside Aliwal North. It was quite unexpected. I’d expected a run down little farm somewhere but at the last second I caught sight of the house. I got off and walked over to the woman in the doorway, “Wow. I followed your signs from town and really didn’t expect to find a house like this. It’s extraordinary. We didn’t book so is it possible to stay the night?”
I could see she was eyeing us out. Unfortunately, bikers in SA have not earned themselves a decent reputation. Most the bikers I’d met so far belonged to clubs with names like “Death” and “Ghost Riders”. I’m sure they are delightful people but they like to be loud, drunk and generally a bit anti social. As I got closer I could see she was summing me up.
“Yes, I have a room.” She said and led me though to a beautiful en suite.
“Wow again!” I said. “Your home is amazing. This is like a little bit of Scotland.”
Paul added, “A Scottish castle with Cape Dutch gables.”
“You’re right.” She smiled. “Our grandfather lived in a Scottish castle and so designed the house to look like the castle but was helped by Sir Herbert Baker giving it the Dutch influence.”

Karoo towns are something else. I would recommend that if anyone visits South African, don’t miss out on the little towns. There are all kinds of surprises: beautiful architecture, good food and very warm, friendly people.

And 50km from Middleburg (so named because it is smack-bang in the middle of the Karoo) Paul’s bike went pfut again. I quietly fumed. I have no way of putting this delicately or politely but the fucking thing was dead again. We checked all the old problems, we tried to jump it from my bike, we tried to pull jump it with my bike. Nothing. There was no cell phone reception either. I was relieved to leave Paul at the side of the road and go to Middleburg in search of a mechanic and a pick up. I hoped he would be okay but at the same time, I was ready to kill myself.

I’m a lucky girl, as you all know by now. So I pulled over to the first petrol station I saw that had a garage attached and went to ask for help. I explained that I’d left someone at the side of the road, etc… The guy told to me that he was a biker himself and would be happy to help. Hannes turned out to be a brilliant mechanic and an all round hero. By the evening Paul was back, I’d had time to shower and calm down and the guys were discussing solutions.

Something I’d really noticed on returning to SA was the rise of Afrikanerdom. Or, an awareness about being an Afrikaner and having a unique identity. I’ve always enjoyed Afrikaans music so immediately picked up on a whole lot of new music out there. Young people seem to be embracing their culture. I think this is very good and pretty cool. What I also realised is that this need for asserting identity is because these people are feeling threatened as a minority group in a country that has little sympathy for it’s own people and the rest of the world most certainly isn't giving a damn. There are still the radical views that I encountered years ago. It’s not about agreeing or disagreeing with these people. I see where they are coming from and I guess I can see beyond our different religious and political views and see that they are really amazing people.

Paul’s bike’s fan had broken. It overheated. It almost completely burnt itself out.

We crossed over the Outeniqua Mountains, visited Outshoorn (the ostrich capital of the world) and popped in at Knysna to see the last bits of this utterly unique forest. This utterly unique forest that once upon a time we wanted to protect from woodcutters but now is nearly completely obliterated by housing development for wealthy holiday homes. Sometimes I don’t understand things and this will never make sense to me.

The last couple of days of our trip had a small change of agenda that we didn’t expect. It just so happened to be the Buffalo Rally in Mosselbaai. It seemed like a good idea and was en route. Why not? One should always do something once before making any judgements. It was certainly different. Again, SA is not for sissies. I think this was a bike event like in days gone by, perhaps. This was an event for testosterone, big bikes, macho men, meaty food, beer, beer, beer, strippers and the kind of biker chicks that enter wet t-shirt competitions. I wanted to enjoy myself but I didn’t quite get into the swing of things. It wasn’t my thing! (Sorry guys) It was interesting but... mmmm.

I am however, going to give these guys credit where due. There were no incidents that weekend. No crashes, no punch ups - nothing. Just lots of revving up and generally having a good time. We also got a "special prize" for I guess being a bit of a novelty (long distance bikers, straight, square and not wearing leather).

The last detour was Cape Agulas which is the most Southern point of Africa. It was a frigging icy with a gusty wind and a barren landscape. I’m sure it’s lovely on a warm sunny day. Quick photo and then on to Cape Town.

Back in Cape Town and as much as I’d like to say something more positive; it was a massive anticlimax. Arriving in Springs was warm and special but Cape Town just felt empty. The reality of the job situation. Life becoming normal again. Relationships changing dimension again. It wasn’t going to be easy. I’m finding myself in a very different head space now.

I have new challenges on my horizon. “Success” is the theme for the year and so far things are looking good. How silly but I can’t wait to start working again. I’m hoping to write a book – so wish me luck and hours of happy memories with my laptop. In the next few weeks I’ll also upload some more mini-vids onto youtube.com for your entertainment.

More Q's

2007-03-30T08:52:00.000+01:00

Q. How you funded getting your carnet, especially with Egypt's huge mark-up?

A. Lucky for me, Paul sold his house so we left money in the bank as a guarantee. It’s a stupid amount of money and this is exactly why people end up avoiding crossing Egypt. The only other option is taking out insurance of 10% of the value and then you get some of the money back at the end. Best to discuss options with the RAC as the details change all the time.

Q. Bike clothing (best gear for hot weather countries, suppliers etc.)?

A. I guess it’s all personal preference at the end of the day. I think Gortex is the best way to go. It dries quickly and lasts well. I won’t give suppliers any time on my blogsite but you can look at http://www.horizonsunlimited.com/ and ask other people what they used.

Q. Visas, and your suggestions?

A. British passport holders can look at their home office website for information about each country. SA passport holders – well, we can’t. There is no central information for us so you have to call the varoius embassies to get the latest info.

Q. The crossing of Aswan…

A. Is quite an experience. Check out my blog entries in September 2006 as that gives some info on Egypt and crossing to Sudan. It’s entirely possible but try to email ahead to make a booking.

In Cape Town

2007-03-28T21:51:00.000+01:00

Hey!

Been a while since I wrote so big apology. Been job hunting - heck what a bore.

Been playing about with www.youtube.com! I've some mini clips and bits that I'll attempt to upload.

Try this url to see the road from Moyale to Marsabit. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1c8b54fBOuM

And some writing will follow - promise.

To Cape Town at Last

2007-03-10T08:41:00.001Z

Time has flown by in the sleepy hollow of Springs. Everything takes ages here as it appears that nobody will do anything unless you chase them and even then, they quite likely won't do it anyway. In spite of this the bikes have been fixed up and sorted out. I've discovered that Egypt is not the most difficult country when dealing with importing a bike. South Africa is. While in Egypt it takes 2 hours of mindless paper work and paying for various duties, stamps and a tourist policeman, here it takes months of mindless paper work and various payments and I'm still utterly confused about how to import my bike. I've been up and down between Pretoria, Benoni, Springs and various departments collecting forms that none of which seem to be what is actually required. All this time later and still nobody knows how to import a frigging motorcycle! So, I'm going to Cape Town with my UK number plate and who knows. I will probably do the same tiresome exercise there.

It's been great meeting up with friends and family but I can feel a nip in the highveld air so it's time for me to head for the coast...

Botswana and getting home

2007-02-21T22:17:00.000Z

27 January: Botswana – Nata, Maun, Okavango Camp, Meno Kwena Camp, Letlhakane

And we finally left Livingstone and said goodbye to Zambia! Paul’s bike had a mysterious problem with the battery and my chain was utterly knackered. This made us rethink our plans of going via Zimbabwe and Mozambique to South Africa. After much debate, discussion and a survey of local's opionions we decided to take the safer route ie Botswana. It was a nagging concern that the bikes wouldn’t hold up on difficult roads or possibly even last that many miles. The media has given Zimbabwe such a bad image that we figured it is not a place we wanted to risk breaking down - even though I very much wanted to go there - and there was flooding in Mozambique. The safe route via Botswana was the final decision.

Botswana is flat. I mean flat-flat. It is so flat that it has an extraordinary beauty and the sky becomes a big feature. It's so flat that its very safe and easy on the bikes but hard on the concentration.

One long straight road, baking hot sun and dry air... and a huge pile of poop. I thought there must be a truck of manure ahead dropping some of it's load. Then there was more poop. Ahhh! Elephant poop. Elephants poop mountains and only digest 40% of all the vegetation they eat. I felt like a Sherlock Holms environmentalist reading the signs of nature as I whizzed past on my motorbike. And then, green, shiny poop! I felt wide awake with excitement. "So where are the elephants?" No sooner had the question crossed my mind when I spotted a huge elephant just a few meters from the side of the road. He turned to face me with his ear flapping. There was no way I'd dare to stop for a photo. There was poop every where and elephants galore partly hidden like large boulders peaking above the short trees. It was a real buzz being so close to really big wild animals with no fences and pretty much no protection.

We arrived in Maun on a hot and sleepy Sunday. On the advice of a local we made our way to a campsite called The Bridge. It seemed like a nice enough place, affordable and friendly. I'd always thought that Botswana would be far too expensive - so this was a pleasant surprise. I also thought that I'd only get to see the beginning of the Okavango and that would be it - so a boat ride into the Okavango was just bloody brilliant. Going into the Okavango is still a bit on the pricey side if the budget is tight but it was absolutely worth it. Watching Dave trying to negotiate the narrow waterways after a big night out with a boat full of hung over passengers - well that was priceless. I think back of how Dave said, "It's like Imax, man." It's a million times better than Imax because when sitting nice and comfy in the cinema seat there is no imminent threat of hippos storming the boat. There is no dipping your hot sunburnt body in the cool water and wondering if crocs are sneaking through the undergrowth.

Maun is a small town with all the idiosyncrasies of a small town. Every body knows every body. It appears to be impossible for anyone to keep their private business to themselves entirely. Gossip is the order of the day. I guess not much else to talk about and why not embellish? The good thing about this small town is how people get on and work things out. I enjoyed quite a few evenings at the bar listening to tale after tale about encounters with animals and in the early hours of the morning found myself drawn into hearing the slurred life story of some pretty remarkable (rather unconventional) people.

I liked Maun. I felt I could find my little clique of friends and favourite stool at the bar. If I could find some way of earning a living there and supporting a drinking habit, I'd probably have stayed. But that was not to be and lying in my tent feeling very chilled out and before my head began to throb, I thought a phrase my mother coined: "Keep your eye on the dough-nut, not the hole."

As there was no rush actually, and it was low season after all, we went to Meno Kwena camp with Jeff just north of the Kalahari. Jeff is this lovely hunk who can even now probably be found at the bar. He has done all kinds of interesting things with his life but that is another story entirely. Meno Kwena is a proper bush camp and very, very beautiful. I'd recommend visiting as the guys who run this camp are working very hard to provide water holes for the animals. The problem with human development (particularly farming and livestock) and wild animals is that they often come into conflict and as a solution fences are put up. Unfortunately fences prevent wild animals from migrating, reaching water and generally doing what they have done for decades. We like the thought of wild animals being wild and looking after themselves as God had intended but the sad reality is the poor things are perishing and they need help.

I'm always acutely aware of how just plain embarrassing it is when tourists go to "have a look at Africans" or what ever P.C name we choose to use. So when I met Dabe, a San Bushman, I was refreshingly surprised when he arrived in trendy jeans with a cheeky smile and dripping with confidence. He took us for a walk in the bush pointing out plants, birds and insects that I'd never noticed before and was able to tell us about the significance, medical properties, etc. Dabe then proceeded to show us how to make a fire by rubbing two sticks together and dropping a tiny black coal into dried elephant dung. We all watched unable to say a word as he performed his ritual and as far as we could tell the fire had gone out. A few minutes later there was a smoky bundle that suddenly was alive with yellow flames. We were all so delighted we exclaimed, laughed, I wanted to clap. I felt like a child seeing the world around me with new fresh eyes. The plants had smells and uses, the sand had signs of life as exciting as a news report and I realised just how little I knew about any thing.

Needless to say, I very reluctantly left Botswana. Paul's bike was even more reluctant to leave. We didn't get very far when his batter died yet again. There was absolutely no life in it at all. We were still 60 miles from the town ahead but only 22 miles from the town we just passed. It was all a bit desperate so we decided to use our strapping to tie the bikes together and I'd tow Paul back. It was a very long 22 miles with my baby working really hard and getting so hot it was burning my legs. I was ever so thankful that Botswana is flat! Of course there was no bike battery in town but Paul attached a car battery to his battery using our Jonny Jump and bungeed it to the back of his bike. It wasn't pretty but we were back on the road.

8 February: South Africa – Springs

We crossed the border at Martins Drift and I found myself quite emotional. It had been some time since we had proper-looking borders and crossing the Limpopo River with an official looking bridge gave the event some gravity. I was pretty choked up. This was the end of the Long Way Home and the beginning of the new challenges in my life. I was a few hundred kilometers from home. My dream trip across Africa was coming to an end and I'd a feeling of success and yet I was desperately sad to be reaching the end of this adventure.

We reached my parents house after dark. It was good to be around people and places so familiar. We surprised everyone by looking well and tanned while people thought we should look thin and tired. We had faced hardships but even those times have turned out to be some of the best memories.

Before I left the UK, as a bit of a giggle and a surprise for my parent, I sent the press release SUFA used in London to the Springs newspaper as one of my school friends is the editor. It’s worked out that from time to time the paper has printed a little update or photo from the trip. This has given Paul ample opportunity to tease me about being a local hero. Well, I’m not some big (or small) hero but the point is that people here have enjoyed my story and have wished me well. I’ve experienced communities that hate to see people succeed or be different in any way and so I appreciate that my home town supports uncommon, quirky people doing exceptional things, it is in fact really cool.

Springs (the town I grew up in) is a little mining town towards of the end of the East Rand. There is a crescent shape of gold reef with mines all along it and roughly Johannesburg in the middle. Springs is to the east, the far east as from here its closer to mielie (corn) fields and veld than city. It’s called Springs because there were natural springs here. I have no idea where these springs are and if they still exist but around this area there are many small lakes, dams, rivers and vleis (marshes). When approaching from the north the land is hot, dry and flat and so Springs appears to be rather lush. Back when I was a kid this was a snoozy little town had its problems but it was a good place to grow up.

The honest truth is that I’m not readjusting back into city life particularly well. It’s all too much here. The commercial frenzy is doing my head in. The traffic is just ridiculous. I’m shocked by the size of houses and the amount of junk they contain. I feel shivers of dread at the thought of a 9 to 5 job. I simply don’t know what I’m going to do with my life… So I guess that is my challenge. To make sense of my life, earn a living and do something meaningful with my life. I don't want to stop living the dream.

Q & A session

2007-02-21T18:30:00.000Z

Here are some pretty good questions I thought should be answered in a blog. And please do not hesitate to ask away!

Q. Petrol station along the route, (in Sudan and Ethiopia)? Where did you use the extra fuel and how much did you need?

A. Most of the time there are petrol stations as indicated on the maps. However, they don't always have petrol, diesel only, and sometimes are out of fuel. The F650GS has an excellent range as it's fuel injected bla-di-bla. The tank is 17 litres and we have additional 10 litres in two plastic cans strapped to the front of our metal boxes. That gives us a range of about 700/800km. When off road be careful as the fuel consumption goes crazy and we could get half the km in sand and mud.

In Sudan there is no fuel between Wadi Halfa and Argo. This is the most crucial time to carry extra fuel with you. Make sure you work out your mile/kilometer range. Have a full tank and all your extra fuel needed and then give some more because the engine will be working like a beast in the sand. If the petrol stations are out of fuel, ask about because someone might know a shop tucked away that has barrels of fuel. We found other motorcyclists were usually the most helpful.

When getting fuel from a barrel rather than a pump use something like a sock as a filter to catch grit and a heck of a lot of dirt that you must keep out of the engine. In Ethiopia we nearly got caught out because many of the petrol stations sell diesel only. In Lalibela we found a little shop with barrels of fuel. We had our Swedish support team with us then so just bought another 10 litre container and carried it for "just in case".

In Kenya and Tanzania there was plenty good fuel.
In Zambia, Malawi and Botswana fuel stations are rather far apart so still carry the extra fuel. We did use it from time to time.

Q. How do you break a bead with the side stand?

A. I did promise a picture! Sorry.

1. Firstly and obviously, you take the wheel with the puncture off the bike.
2. Put a sheepskin or jacket or rag on the ground to protect the metal break disk in the middle of the wheel.
3. One person (Paul) holds the bike and leans it over so that the side stand lifts off the ground.
4. The other person (Sandi) slides the tyre under the side stand.
5. Then Paul uses his bike and his force to push down on the tyre.
6. With a bit of shoving the bead should pop. Sandi turns the tyre over to do the other side.

Q. Clothes? Did you have all motorbike clothes and did you wear it?

A. We started with gortex motorcycle jackets and trousers. We bought the off road body armour jackets in Andora (a bit cheaper). I always had helmet, jacket/armour, trousers, boots and gloves on. Accidents are so unforseen that it's been worth wearing all the gear all the time. I would recommend big heavy off road boots too as the most common injury is broken ankle - and it hurts like hell! A flip top helmet is good as there are aways road blocks and instances that you would like to show your face without having to take the helmet off.

Also: Sunglasses that fit snugly inside your helmet as it gets painful after a long day.
Those expensive ear plugs that mould to your ear and plug into an ipod are brilliant for noise and keeping going when tired.
A neck buff to stop getting sunburnt on your neck. Can keep you cool if soaked in water and also hide bad hair.

General clothing can be minimalist. I had 3 short sleve tshirts and 1 long sleve. Thermal underware. 5 pairs of socks. 5 knickers. 1 zip off trousers, 1 shorts and a bikini. A scalf (to keep arms covered in Middle East and mozzies off), woolen gloves and hat. A good fleece and light weight rain jacket. Essential flip-flops and a pair of walking shoes. Most clothing can be bought/replaced en route. I used my cold weather clothing but the guys didn't get as cold as I did.

Q. Recommended accommodation?

A. There are so many places listed in the various travel guides and most of the time these places are just fine. I can, however, recommend these because they are something extra special:

Egypt - Sandnsea in Alex - omarmansourr@hotmail.com -> get in touch for supported trip to the desert & a Bedouin experience

Sudan - bush camp -> it's wonderful.

Ethiopia - all pretty dodgy once off the beaten track

Kenya - Jungle Junction in Nairobi S 01 17 325/E 036 45 635 -> will be able to help fix bikes & get parts

Uganda - Backpackers is better than Red Chilli in Kampala (unless you love the overlanders)

Tanzania - The Dhow Palace in Zanzibar is a real treat and good value for money and also Riverside Campsite just outside Iringa is run by great people who organise courses in Swahili

Malawi - Modekera Beach Campsite in Chitimba -> is on the lake and Modekera is quite a whacky character

Zambia - Faulty Towers on the main street and say hello to Becx from me

Botswana - The Bridge in Maun for a cracking boat trip and hanging out at the bar. Also a magic place for watching elephants and perhaps seeing lions contact David / Jeff at Kalahari Kavango Safari +267 686 0981 or kksafari@dynabyte.bw

Home

2007-02-12T14:29:00.000Z

Quick blog to let everyone know I'm home. I'm back in South Africa with my family and friends... it's wonderful. Well. Not even a blog really. That will follow shortly.

Livingstone and the Spectacular Mosi/Vic Falls

2007-01-26T16:57:00.000Z

9 January: Tanzania – ferry from Zanzibar to Dar es Salaam & Iringa

By the time we left Zanzibar I was well rested and raring to go. Of course, it would not be that simple, as Paul’s suspension was still broken and that had to be resolved. Via someone we met at Maweni farm we were able to make contact with a “bike shop”. Of course a BMW shock was not in stock but they suggested taking the shock off in the morning and seeing if it could be fixed. I was sceptical. My scepticism was well founded as it was not a simple job to remove the shock in the first place. By noon the shock was still not off and I had to walk away from the situation leaving Paul with two guys ripping the guts of his bike out in a dirty, stinky, chaotic, cramped little space. By the afternoon a second-hand Yamaha mono-shock had been sourced but it was the wrong size. I didn’t say much, except that there was no going back if this “fix” didn’t work as Paul agreed to have his BMW shock chopped and bits welded to the other shock to make it fit. If it worked it would be a crude fix and would probably get us to SA if we stuck to good roads. The rest of the day I read a gigantic novel that was meant to last me much longer. By 10pm the bike was re-assembled and worked. The suspension wasn’t perfect, but it would go. Paul looked at me like I was ye of little faith.

In Africa there are many mechanics that will happily bodge about till something works. They work in workshops that would make a Health and Safety Officer faint. I find this stressful to watch as these guys scramble about using broken tools to man-handle the machines... I guess the point is that a fix is available. The alternative is to have parts sent from UK or SA and fit them yourself (there are no BMW mechanics except for Nairobi).

Finally, the next morning we were on the road again. The countryside in Tanzania is just beautiful and the road was excellent except for the bus drivers who are completely mad. They drive like lunatics and this is not because of their superior skill – there were plenty of wreckages to testify that they are simply bad drivers with a really bad attitude.

Anyway, we got to Iringa and along with the increase of altitude to 800m there was a disproportionate increase in rain. It seemed that every time we got a little bit drier, it was only a matter of hours and we’d be soaked again. The rain continued so much so that we stayed an extra day.

This extra day gave Paul his first opportunity to see a real live snake in the wild. We walked back to our safari tent after a very entertaining evening with some lively guests and the owners Will and his Liverpudlian wife Amanda who kept me giggling with her brassy humour. I noticed a little grey snake outside the toilets. It looked pretty harmless but before I got myself into a vulnerable position in the loos, I stamped the ground to check the snake’s response. It turned in an aggressive way to face my foot. That indicated to me that it wasn’t a harmless little mole snake and I was just thankful it was cold so the snake was too sluggish to strike. Sensible Paul suggested we tell Will who marched off with a torch and stick. A few minutes later he came back swinging a juvenile cobra by its tail. Its pretty body glistening and smooth but minus its head.

13 January: Malawi – Koronga, Livingstonia, Chintheche & Lilongwe

In my experience, at borders it’s always necessary to keep you eye on your possessions as well as your carnet and passport. Kenya and Tanzania are well known for corruption. We managed to get through ok but we did have an official try to get us to pay for road tax that we know on motorcycles we don’t have to pay. In this instance we insisted we knew the correct legislation and politely refused suggesting we are only in transit this avoided backing the dodgy fellow into a corner. Never back a corrupt official into the corner or call him corrupt! Another common trick is to tear off the wrong carnet slip which will then be used as proof that you sold your vehicle and I’d be liable to pay import taxes loosing my deposit held at the RAC. The guy tried this one too but I noticed and politely told him he was trying to tear off the wrong page. He sullenly tore off the correct one. I’ve also gone into offices on my own where the men refuse to help me but as soon as Paul goes in they are helpful. That is just men being twats – so the solution is to be assertive and insist on being treated in a way you expect them to behave (even if they don’t like it). I’ve been asked how much money I have and have asked why they need to know. It’s the “curse of the mzungu”: we get to pay, pay and pay some more. So I always check and ask why. I think it helps that I’m a bit more forward and cheeky, friendly but show I’ll question strange requests and ask for receipts or documentation. We haven’t paid a single bribe or “thank you tip” (so far). Keep your eyes open and always ask if you think something is wrong. Do not assume these people 1. Know what they are doing and 2. Have your best interests at heart. If the guy made an honest mistake he will rectify the problem. Well. We haven’t had problems crossing borders (so far).

I went off onto a tangent about border crossings because at the Tanzania border there is a little counter that could squeeze four tourists shoulder to shoulder but behind the counter there were nine uniformed officials. All of them were trying to check cards, three would read it, while one would tick it and the single official stamp got passed up and down. It’s not possible to call that job creation – it’s just crazy.

Malawi and it RAINED AGAIN.

The weather may have been unwelcoming but we certainly received the warmest welcome possible when we arrived at Mdokera’s Camp in Chitimba. Mr Mdokera reminded of me of Chris Ewbanks who is an eccentric British boxer. Just this guy is a whole lot sweeter and is utterly passionate about his country, family, photo album and camp. He got quite a few smiles out of me, even though at times I just didn’t quite know what to say.

It seemed a great idea at the time. Livingstonia is a 15 km ride up a steep mountain road and the views are meant to be extraordinary. We’d blast up and pending weather, see some stuff before coming down the next day. Ah. As expected it was a dirt road that got progressively gravely. We’d only gone about 5 km when the hair pins got unbelievably tight and rocky. My bike was fully loaded, including extra fuel and so I was struggling. I said to Paul, “This could be a really stupid idea.” However, we still continued on the snaking road upwards.

We seemed to be near the top of the mountain when the road turned to hard, slippery clay. And then the rain really started. The road was like ice. I couldn’t even put my feet down as they too would just slip away under me. So I dropped the bike. Frustration set in. I couldn’t manage to ride the heavy bike and I couldn’t lift it either. I dropped it again and again. By now the rain was pouring down and the road was more like a river. I just stood in the rain, utterly soaked through, and refused to get back on the bike until the rain subsided. It was so dangerous and as I couldn’t control my bike, it was so possible to slip off the edge of the cliff. I was really afraid. It was the first time I was afraid of having a really serious accident.

Paul had gone ahead and found a small shelter where we would be able to wait for the rain to stop and rode my bike up… It was a 2 km ride up to Livingstonia or a 13 km ride down again. I was faced with what seemed like two equally horrible options – clay upwards or hairpins downwards. The rain went on for ages. I finally decided that 2 km was far better than 13 – surely.

Eventually the local chap we’d been talking to said, “Go, while there is still water running down the road. You must ride in the water to keep the tyres from getting coated with clay.” With him coaxing me, I got back on the bike. I was dreading the last 2 km. I was wobbling like crazy and the bike was sliding about. But this complete stranger walked behind me, encouraging me. “I’m right behind you.” he’d say. “Keep going. I’m still holding you.” I don’t quite understand why this guy was so kind to walk up a steep, clay road in the rain balancing my bike and keeping me going but I was (and am still) eternally grateful. Some people are blessed with the ability to be extraordinarily kind and once again I realised that I’m being looked after and my trip was destined to be a safe one. It would have been so easy for me to fall and slide off the edge.

At the top we reached Stone House but our troubles were not over yet. We were bluntly told that the place was fully booked and we couldn’t stay there. I insisted we sit down for a bit and rest before asking if there were any options like camping. A cheery American voice announced: “Hey! There are two motorbikes.”
“Great.” I thought. “And now to be entertaining and polite to these people when all I need to do is have a drink, dry out and figure out what to do next.”
I could hardly walk for my legs wobbling with exhaustion. Then Rob came over, introduced himself, and said we should stay as they had booked the place and we could stay with them. I couldn’t believe how kind they were. I think they were genuinely concerned for our well being. I was dead beat. Not only did they sort us out with a dry bed but also insisted that we were fed and helped carry our luggage and fussed about us. I was just amazed that we’d been welcomed so warmly.

The Americans continued with their meetings while I had time to pull myself together. I found out that they were from the Presbyterian Church and were busy researching the setting up of a mission centre. Livingstonia was turning out to be quite an interesting visit after all. The town was established by a missionary called Dr Laws who succeeded Dr Livingstone. The town itself is small and sleepy but sill revolves around the original Christian settlement. There is a quirky museum, church and Stone House that was the actual house that Dr Laws lived in along with some of the original furniture.

This sounds really corny but every minute with our Christian friends was a warm and happy one. I felt so embraced by kindness and love – it’s just silly to describe. Admittedly, I was feeling thankful to be alive and aware that God had protected and provided for me once again.

We could not stop talking. It was lovely! We chatted, discussed and theorised. We shared stories and ideas. It was so good to speak so openly about so many things. We’d already decided that if the weather was dry all night and sunny in the morning we would have to make the trip down the mountain while we had the chance. It was sunny and dry the next day. I felt very sad to be leaving. I’d just found a handful of the nicest people in the world and I wanted to cling to their friendship for as long as possible… but it was time to go.

Back down the slippery clay road and down the hairpin gravel roads. Paul was a gallant hero and took my bike around some of the tighter pins. I was feeling too tense and so whimped out. I wondered what I would have done if I was on my own (as originally I’d planned to do the trip on my own). I would have had to take the luggage off and possibly either walk it down or hitch a lift for the extra weight. Anyway. I wasn’t on my own and Paul was supportive and butch enough to manage the burden of travelling with me.

After the intense Livingstonia experience we spent two days on the shores of Lake Malawi in a luxurious resort. It was extremely peaceful.

We’d been on the road for six months already. I was already a bit, no completely, sick of rain. I was feeling ready to do something else. I’d been thinking about what I’d do with my life when I got back home and the bikes were starting to really fall to pieces. Even the most amazing experience can be too much of a good thing. Fortunately, the roads improved and so we could really make some good progress without any particularly exciting tales to tell. Only one thing worth mentioning is that we nearly ran out of fuel because we’d become too accustomed to fuel in every town – and Malawi doesn’t have that much fuel about. Luckily we still carried a few extra litres and it got us there on the sniff of an oil rag.

20 January: Zambia – Lusaka, Livingstone & Mosi

The whole point of going to Zambia was to see the mighty Vic Falls near Livingstone. We kind of blasted there on fairly good roads. By this time Paul’s second battery had completely died and he had to rely on my bike to jump start his bike constantly.

I prefer to use the original local names and so the Vic Falls are also known as Mosi-oa-Tunya which means “smoke that thunders”. It’s easy to remember because Mosi is also the local beer. The falls are one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

It’s an exhilarating experience seeing the falls that span 2 km and plummet over a 100m cliff. The spay from the churning water flies up into the sky like a rain cloud that drenches tourists who all seem to have enigmatic bright eyes and can’t help smiling. It’s as if they have found the secret. It kind of bursts a big whoop out of you. As I walked down a small path through the undergrowth and I could hear the thunderous roar grow. The gentle spray eventually became a thorough down pour. Standing on the viewing point, water pouring down, water flying up and thunder roaring, having reached the crescendo I shouted, “Now that is a WATERFALL!”

The trip is not finished yet and I’m not sure what tomorrow brings but so far, my most special memories are: diving in the Red Sea, Auschwitz and Mosi (in no specific order as they are all the best).

Paul probably has a different favourites list. He did the adrenalin thing here and I suspect that would get onto his list of extreme experiences. For me… I had a wild and hectic youth that I enjoy thinking about and now the mature me is enjoying being laid back and not having to do it all over again.

Various Camping Tips and Ideas

2007-01-23T20:07:00.000Z

I was about to start writing this section but then I realised that I am so not passionate about camping! So I will leave this section to Paul to write as he is actually interested in this stuff.

Over to Paul:

Ok – it’s not that exciting, but we’ve learned some stuff that may be useful…. but if you’re planning to stay in 5 star hotels you can skip most of this.

Essential pieces of kit:
• Head-torch
• A Leatherman or Swiss Army knife
• Ortleib roll bags - Water proof (but not bullet proof) – kept our sleeping bags dry.
• A kikoy, i.e. a square of material – you can sleep on it, under it, use it on beach, as a towel, even wear it.
• Bathroom plug
• Elastic washing line - twisted elastic line (Life Adventure) – used every day.
• Flip-flops for showers/toilets – just trust me on this one.
• Small calculator that has a programmable exchange function – we’ve been through a dozen or so currencies and it takes the guess work out of how many zeroes to plug in whilst standing at the ATM!
• Nationwide current account (zero charges for withdrawing currencies from ATMs)

Main Stuff:

Tent
We bought a lightweight (2.4kg), easy to assemble, but expensive 2 man tent (Exped), reasonably inexpensively from the US. It’s done ok, but now leaks – I think the built in groundsheet needs re-waterproofing – no more obvious holes!

A brief insight into tent vernacular: a 2 man tent means tent big enough for 2 bodies, laid out side by side, with no luggage, not moving; i.e. you need to add at least 1 man to your requirements – for 2 people get a 3 man tent. The domed design is best so you can at least sit up straight. We use the porch area for bike gear – boots, helmets, jackets etc… having learned the hard way the first time it rained really hard, we now put all our gear in an orange plastic survival bag.

Reflective guy ropes - will stop you tripping over them … repeatedly. (we don’t have these). The elastic in the poles will probably need to be replaced during the trip.

Groundsheet - under the tent we put a thick plastic sheet which provides a waterproof base in the porch and protects the tent’s base from thorns etc….

Rubber Mallet – for outside the UK where the ground is hard. (a 6” nail on a string can make a hole for your tent pegs in really solid ground (tip courtesy of Steve Langton). The mallet doubles as a hammer for the bike or anything else you feel like hitting.

Sleeping mats – the lightweight Thermarest are great, even on rocky ground, well worth the money.

Sleeping bag - In the mountains in Ethiopia it went below zero, our 3 season bags were good. I’d be happy with a lightweight bag (+5 c), but in Africa Sandi still needs something designed for the Antarctic. We have small pillows, courtesy of a couple of airlines. Sleeping on a bundle of clothes is ok for a weekend, for 6 months a small pillow is needed and weighs very little. We bought a silk sleeping bag liner, the kikoys were more useful.

Stove & cooking
A multi fuel stove – it’s expensive, working with most fuels, which means it runs on the same fuel as the bike. However, petrol is dirty and the Primus Omnifuel blocks constantly – easy to unblock but a pain in the butt. I am assured that the MSR stove suffers the same.
I use a firesteel to light the stove, attached to the stove with a piece of string, saves scrabbling for a lighter every time.
Pots & Pans – minimum of 2 – non-stick won’t survive so don’t pay extra.
Enamel mugs & bowls are really practical.

Food
Don’t carry too much – they sell it everywhere!
Take multi-vitamins.
Hot chilli sauce – can save many a terrible restaurant meal
If you don’t already, develop a liking for canned tuna and pasta. This will get you through North Africa.
Hard bread/biscuits and honey/jam/peanut butter make a quick cheap meal.
A single bladed lock knife just for food is useful & easy to clean – getting mango juice from your Swiss Army is not time well spent.
My luxury is a tiny hexagonal stove-top coffee perculator – I have great coffee every day.
A useful gadget to save cash & hassle is an element kettle that you can heat water in a cup – for $5 hotels don’t provide tea/coffee in the rooms.

Water
We splashed out on a fancy ceramic filter (£80) but to be honest have only used it a few times, and then it clogged easily. Instead we have generally treated ourselves to bottled mineral water for drinking, and boiled tap water for cooking. We now also use WaterGuard – a simple, (readily available in E. Africa) additive to water from tap or lake etc. 1.75ml treats 10litres. A 500ml bottle cost 35p and treats nearly 3000 litres!

Mosquitos
I must have donated more than a litre of blood in 6 months of mosquito bites. They love me, ignoring most insect repellents. Anything with Deet in it really works, but the 100% Deet really does melt plastic e.g. watch straps. The coils than you burn are ok but can make your eyes sting in a room. A can of spray (e.g. Doom) is good for hotel rooms. The electric killers with small mats also do the job – if there’s a plug. We have a mosi net but haven’t had much cause to use it.

Anti-malarials – I use doxycyline – the downside is you have to take it daily and it can make you more sensitive to sunlight. On the upside the side effects are much much less severe than the others which can be mind altering. In the UK you can pay £1/tablet in Kenya I paid £0.035/tablet !
After hearing so many horror stories even Sandi is now taking them. The best advice is still to cover up – long sleeves & trousers.

Other Useful items
Omo powder – great for getting grease off your hands as well. Available everywhere.
Small scrubbing brush
Plastic waterproof boxes e.g. “Lock&Lock”– great for keep things organised and bug free.
Gerber knife sharpener
Pacsafe – metal net for locking roll bags etc. allowing you to leave bike unattended for short periods with peace of mind.
Night lights (if you cut the top off of a plastic water bottle, put 10cm of sand in the bottom, cut a small door to pop in the night light you have a cheap & wind proof lantern)

BMW F650GS Bikes: Tips and Our Experiences

2007-01-23T15:25:00.000Z

Paul and I were having a quite pensive moment over dinner and then said, “I think its time…”
“For a blog about bikes.”
“And camping.”
“I think by now we’ve made most of the mistakes we possibly could.”
“And know what actually works too.”
We then sat silently again thinking about the things on the bike that broke and wondered where to start. We wondered if it would be easier to mention the things that didn’t break and realised that between the two bikes, almost every thing had broken or was knackered.
“But they are still going, even if barely, all things considered.” I said with a cheery smile, “and we will probably get all the way home on them.”
Paul grimaced. His bike has to be jumped into life by mine every time we start up and cuts out constantly while riding especially over bumps. We can’t find a motorcycle mechanic in Livingstone, and so the feeling is slightly desperate. Fortunately, the pool is lovely and the sun is out so being stuck here is not the worst thing in the world, by far!

Here we go with bike stuff:

All the indicators are broken on both bikes and taped on with black electrical insulating tape. Paul broke one of his to pieces. We carried one spare with us and it’s been used. We carried 4 spare bulbs and used one.

Both bikes have had the headlight bulb replaced. We carried 2 spares and have managed to find one replacement en route.

Paul’s headlight casing is broken as the plastic clips are rather weak. As a fix it is now glued into place.

We had Perspex headlight covers stuck on with Velcro. Mine is still there but Paul’s has fallen off.

Truck and car drivers constantly flash us to let us know our headlights are on. They are permanently on by BMW design but this is considered rude in the Middle East and unnecessary in Africa. We just wave and ignore now.

If the headlight is disconnected, the engine can’t run properly. In other words, it can’t be disconnected with out knowing what you’re doing.

We have fitted extra lights as at night the single beam is just plain inadequate on a dirty or potholed road. We used after market car fog lights. They seem to do the job. We’ve attached them to the front crash bars and have a small crude switch on the handle bars.

Both bikes have had to have the rear brake light tweaked because the metal contacts came loose. The whole rear light unit on Paul’s bike broke in Europe and Germany couldn’t supply him with a spare so it’s been held on with a bungee ever since. We used one of the 2 spare bulbs we have.

The ignition switch on Paul’s bike got completely clogged with dust. We assumed it was broken but it was okay with a good cleaning.

Paul’s side-stand cut off switch is utterly broken. He has twisted the wires together so that it shorts out. It’s a constant pain.

My side-stand’s damper has broken off and so I struggle to pull the stand from under the bike. I had to tie some rubber around it to stop it making a clanging noise. It still works fine.

The mirror on my bike broke off. We loosened the controls on the handlebar so that things would move rather than break, but mine still gave in and broke. It has been welded back on but broke again. I’ve used a big lump of metal glue and it holds for a while until it cracks and then I reapply.

From time to time dust got into the switches and stopped things like lights and ignition working. Before assuming something is broken, check and clean off dust and mud. Sometimes that is all that is wrong.

Paul’s handlebars are quite bent. It will probably be possible to straighten them at some point but it isn’t too much of an issue, just to be aware that the steering isn’t straight.

When using the heated handlebar grips they can cause the accelerator to stay on, causing a bit of alarm for the poor rider. Probably needs cleaning and then once the problem exists just anticipate it.

I haven’t broken any of my levers on this trip but did in the UK before leaving. We have one spare of each clutch and brake.

My bike has an electrical problem that I can’t place. Each time I start the bike it makes the sound of the battery reconnecting and the clock and odometer resets to zero. Nothing obvious is wrong like exposed wires… Please email me with any ideas. Sandilangton at yahoo.co.uk.

Both of our batteries have failed and been replaced. We don’t have the correct battery but as long as it’s close and fits into the space, it seems to be working for now.

Paul’s bike appears to have a problem with the alternator / regulator – we guess. The battery won’t charge. We have a clever way of jumping our bikes off each other without having to take all the plastic coverings off. Email us if you want more information on this idea.

Jump leads are essential.

Paul has gone through two sets of rear brake pads! With the pedal where it is and heavy bike boots, sometimes he leans on the brake and it wears out. We know of other chaps with the same problem. Perhaps move the pedal. My brakes are all still okay. I replaced them before leaving. I tend to not be as heavy on the brakes as I tend to ride more slowly and use less brake.

Same for the clutch pedal. I would have found it much easier to change gears if it were in a slightly different position especially for standing. It is possible to do this.

My clutch is knackered. It pops out of first gear into neutral. This usually happens in busy intersections or on steep gravel hairpin bends. It’s annoying because sometimes I have to hold the gear down with my foot to keep it from popping. Paul’s is only slightly sticky. I would desperately like a gear between first and second when doing off road – I can’t get on with the gears as they are: too little or too much.

My chain and sprocket are utterly shagged. I’m worried they won’t make the next 2000 km to SA. The chain was zig-zagy by the time I reached Nairobi but still had some life in it. The sprocket is now worn to sharp teeth. Paul fitted a heavy-duty X-ring chain and both chain and sprocket have lasted much better than my normal O-ring chain.

We have Scott Oilers to lubricate the chain. This system is good but also has to be maintained and can be a little temperamental. We have cleaned the chains and grease them often too.

We fitted rim locks. These are probably unnecessary unless you intend doing lots of deep sand and letting the tyre pressure right down, which you will probably avoid on a loaded bike. The rim locks make tyre changing a ball ache. The front one is probably completely unnecessary.

We had punctures – 4 rear and no front. Have at least one front and one rear spare tube. I think heavy-duty tubes don’t seem to make a big difference. We bought normal ones as that was all that was available and they work just fine and are much easier to carry.

It’s not easy to fix the puncture at the side of the road, so use the spare tube and repair the punctured tube in the evening. A sink with water and a plug (!) help to find the leak.

In your puncture kit, add Rema patches and glue. It appears that any other brand may not withstand the heat (as we experienced). Get a set of the long tyre irons with a curve at one end. We also use one or two small tyre irons. Talc and washing up liquid or Vaseline are essential. Pressure gauge. Chalk. Sand paper. Valve remover. Spanner and socket wrench for the rear wheel.

Carry a bicycle pump and check it actually works. The ones with a tube work better than the ones that push directly onto the valve. A small compressor might work but not sure. Depends on battery power.

Carry your whole puncture kit together. Obvious but saves cursing.

Best way to break the bead is to use the side stand of another bike as a leaver. I’ll have to post a photo to demonstrate.

Check your spokes and have a spanner small enough to tighten. Tap them and listen for a dull sound – tighten those ones. We have spares but haven’t used them so far. Tie spokes together with small cable ties to prevent damage if one does break.

We changed to off road tyres in Turkey. I have Continental TKC80s and they lasted a lot longer than Paul’s Metzeler Karoos. He had to buy a second hand rear tyre in Nairobi. Our tires still have tread but just barely.

The wheel alignment bolt on Paul’s bike came loose and broke. He has continued without it.

We had to remove our front mud guards when the mud got sticky. The mud guards just clogged up. If keeping the guards, they need to be raised away from the tyre.

My rear mud guard was ripped off on a stretch of sandy ruts in Sudan. We have now adapted the rear cover, cut off the bit that covers the chain only and put that bit back on.

The frame bolts tend to break off. This requires drilling out and putting another bolt in. I had to trust a bit of wire twisted around mine and a few cable ties across hectic roads in Ethiopia until I found a mechanic with a drill.

We went with the standard suspension that is fitted at the BMW factory. This was probably a mistake. Both bikes have tired front suspension making it tough to handle on bumpy roads. Cover front and rear suspension some how with rubber, an old inner tube perhaps, as this protects the oil seals.

Paul’s rear suspension damper broke in Uganda and had to be replaced. He managed to find a “bike shop” in Dar es Salaam who was able to take an old Yamaha mono-shock, chop and weld it to fit. It is not strong enough but will get us to SA enshallah.

We had our seats lowered professionally and a special gel inserted for comfort. I think it was a waste of money. The big difference is a sheep skin. On the downside, it gets wet when it rains but is much more comfortable.

We had power sockets fitted. They are really handy for charging various cameras, phones and things. Just remember that being BMW means the plug is not a standard car charger and so an adapter is required (and held on with cable ties and elastic bands).

Our panniers are Metal Mules. They have withstood many, many crashes and dings. The boxes are designed to pop off rather than drag. The levers have been bent back and that seems to be the only damage after a drop n’ pop. They haven’t even dented much. The frame is fine except the fitting to the rear foot rest continually fails and pops out. It is held together with cable ties. The locks also loose their waterproofing seals. My own addition to the design is making dots on the locks so that I can easily see if the locks are locked.

Insulating tape is very useful. Duck tape perishes quickly in heat.

Carry extra oil for the engine. Swap to oil for hot climates (20-50).

Carry spare nuts, bolts and washers (for your bike).

Carry lots of extra cable ties of good quality – or they just break.

Make sure your tool kit has all the correct size of spanners and sockets for your bike.

Have a good tool to undo/do all the screws holding the plastic covers and indicators because you will come to hate this job. You will fantasize of knee-capping the engineer who thought up this design.

Carry a spare service kit. Air filters need to be cleaned out from time to time – more often than service requirements.

Buy a copy of the service manual off the internet. BMW doesn’t have them for customers.

We fitted Touratech crash bars and bash plate – expensive! But worth it.

I tie various things onto the crash bars to keep the weight forward. The bikes are very back heavy.

Extra fuel is in plastic square cans strapped to the front of the pannier boxes. We have needed to use this reserve on quite a few occasions.

Octane booster for North Africa is essential but is not readily available in shops so stock up on a few bottles. Fuel quality improves further south and gets much more expensive further south too. We used a sock to filter dodgy fuel.

I wish I had handle bar raisers.

I hope that helps.

And you know what? If I did this again… (no, I’m not actually going to) but if I did, I’d seriously consider a Yahama no bigger than a 450cc and make sure it’s an old engine so that mechanics and spare parts can be found in abundance and at a reasonable cost. A fuel injected, computer managed BMW isn’t necessarily the thing to have in Africa if you are on a budget.

Back! Uganda to Zanzibar

2007-01-08T08:22:00.000Z

I know that people have been wondering what has happened to me and in more than one telephone conversation my father has reminded me that it is time to write again. He told me that people have been asking after my well being and I should knuckle down and put these kind people at ease.

I shall start off this blog with a big HAPPY NEW YEAR. And now I need to go way back to the beginning of December to catch up with travel writing!

Kenya: 2 December – Lake Bogoria and Lake Baringo

The day finally came when we left Kembu Campsite and headed northwards again, across the Equator again, to see Lake Bogoria and Lake Baringo. It was raining just like it had been for the previous three weeks. We had a choice of the quick tarmac road round or the short dirt road to Lake Bogoria – we took the dirt road. I’d looked forward to the day I would have easy riding and so the hankering for tough roads took me by surprise. We didn’t get far down the road when it the dirt turned into thick red mud, as expected. I was in the lead. On a lot of the off road bits Paul would lead so I could see his bike wobble and avoid taking the same path but as I’d become so confident, I was taking the lead even on difficult roads.

The mud coated my wheels and all of a sudden it was as slippery as ice. When things get this hectic the primary course of action is to maintain a straight line and keep off the brakes. This meant I was unable to dodge a huge pothole that made the bike lurch violently to the side. The best thing to do in that situation is to give a bit of gas to straighten the bike up. I went straight into another pothole and the bike lurched right over to the opposite side. I looked ahead and saw a small patch of mud that had gravel on it and then slammed on breaks when I reached that spot. I finally came to an abrupt stop. The guys all pulled up behind me with wide eyes and instead of encouraging me to go further, they insisted that we turn back and take the easy road option. The bike had been lurching so far to the side that the boxes were hitting the ground and the guys were amazed that I didn’t have a spectacular crash. Pumped full of adrenalin, I didn’t notice that my ankle was quite so sore.

We made it to the Lakes through some beautiful landscape (with a few river crossings to keep the riding interesting). By the time we reached Roberts Camp at Lake Baringo the sun had come out. The place was extraordinarily beautiful, the rain was gone. There were hundreds of fascinating birds and hippo and other animals at the lake.

I was so excited about being in this lovely place teeming with wildlife that I kept doing little “Who-hoos!” and waggling my arse while I scurried about putting up the tent in a hurry so that I could get down to the lake. As there were no fences, I’d suggested parking the bikes in a V close to the car for a little protection. I thought I was being too cautious but then the manager came by and calmly said, “Actually, you should put the tent closer to the car. And if you need to pee at night, don’t go further than the back of the car.” We all looked at each other with big, excited eyes.

We all went to bed rather eager and at the same time nervous about the nocturnal visit we may receive. I’m a light sleeper but not long after going to bed we were all awake. I could hear grass being pulled and sloppy munching that sounded like it came for a pair of rather large of gummy jaws. I stuck my head out of the tent and could see Martin and Rickard’s legs dangling out of their very safe roof-top tent. We whispered to each other and they pointed, “The hippo is over there. And another one over there.”
I wished I was in their tent but there was no way I was risking even a short dash to the car. I’d never been so close to a hippo before! I couldn’t stand to look at it. I pulled my head back into the tent with my heart pounding. It felt like hours that I lay there listening to the massive, bad tempered animal chomp away. How could a vegetarian with a silly face and lumbering chubby body be so mean? At one point it sounded as if it was unbelievably close to the tent but when I braved another peek I didn’t see anything. In the morning Rickard told me that the hippo was less than a meter away. The reason I didn’t see it was that I didn’t realise that the grey mass was hippo and not just my bad night vision. In retrospect, it’s a good thing I couldn’t see it.

The next day I twisted my ankle while walking down some stairs. I had completely forgotten about smacking it the day before. It completely buckled. I’ve hurt my ankles many times but this was the first time I’ve twisted my ankle and had to lie down to deal with the pain. I don’t mean to sound really tough, but I don’t believe in crying over pain and I don’t like to whinge about injuries. But I tell you, it hurt like heck.

4 December: Uganda – Kampala

We left Kenya on a high. I was feeling a bit determined to get to Kampala as soon as possible as we were already a week later than we’d promised to arrive at Safe Alternatives for Youth (SAFY) and the later we arrived, the later we left... This would have implications for further on. It’s so hard to set dates when you travel. The roads were mostly good enough, bar a few massive boulders, numerous pot holes, stretches of road works, mental truck drivers, dust and pushy matatus (minivan taxis), but with a relatively stress free border crossing. By 7pm we arrived in Kampala completely exhausted and dirty and having completed over 500 km, a long day. I was frazzled as every single time I changed gears and every time I put my foot down my ankle hurt. I was pleased to be there but was in a grouchy mood.

Throughout my trip planning I hadn’t considered linking with a charity. I didn’t see any point as people appeared to just use the charity to get sponsorship and didn’t seem to actually care about the issues they were supposed to be supporting. So when I tentatively asked Stand Up For Africa if I could help them, I hadn’t thought about it much or how involved I’d become. I just knew that I’d give the fund raising a bash (with SUFA’s help), have some interviews that would help SUFA get some publicity and finally ride via Kampala to meet Safe Alternatives for Youth and find out about the project’s progress. I didn’t know what was expected of me or what I’d be facing. I had no idea at all. I didn’t even know if the money had been raised. I hadn’t yet even found out about the whole thing with my ex-colleagues or just how tough things had been back in SUFA’s office in London.

Before we arrived in Kampala I didn’t really have any time to imagine what I expected Rita to be like but she arrived with a bright open smile and very pregnant belly. She was well spoken and so down to earth and unpretentious, unlike any lawyer I’d ever met before. Rita filled us in on the background of the NGO and how she felt compelled to do something about the kids she saw on the street near one of the law centres she frequented. They’d been working on this project since 2002. With a new centre they will be able to increase the range of skills training to even more young people. Finally I found out what would be expected of me and Paul too, we had dates, plans, etc and I asked to see a doctor.

That afternoon we went to the SAFY centre in Kitamanyangamba. With my ankle as sore as it was I found it difficult to pick my way around the slum that had deep ruts where the constant rain have cut the soil away. I still felt a bit odd, uneasy, about being there and was acutely aware of being the “generous mzungu” and felt a little embarrassed by the attention I was getting.

At the moment SAFY has a small office in one of the slum areas of central Kampala. The centre does what it claims to do which is: offer a safe alternative for youth. They organise social and sporting events and have a drama club. They offer advice when teenagers arrive with problems and assist them in making the right decisions and include sex education and free condoms. They have access to computers and give free training. When the new centre is built the education courses will include skills like carpentry and training on how to run a business.

Having put up with the NHS for the past eight years of my life, my expectations of health care are nice and low. So when I arrived at a medical centre in Kampala and had x-rays taken within 10 minutes of waiting I was really astonished. The radiographer came back out with a grave face and announced that he needed to show the patient something. I hobbled after him. He pointed out a big fracture that was very obvious even to my ignorant eye. He said I needed an orthopaedic surgeon and so I hastily called in Rita’s boyfriend and looked at him pleadingly as he examined the same x-ray. I sat down and another man was ushered in, more x-rays were taken and 15 minutes later I saw the orthopaedic surgeon. He asked me about my biking and how often I had accidents. I told him, that from time to time, especially recently I crashed and had trapped this very same foot under the bike on a few occasions. I explained that I’d had a particularly bad crash on the BMW off road training course and my ankle had ever since not been quite the same. However, this twist had really hurt. He had gathered all his facts and then gave me the full story: There was indeed a fracture but it was an old fracture probably the crash I’d mentioned. The bones had healed apart rather than knitted together and that is why there was this 5mm gap in the bone. This accident had torn ligaments. “And so,” he looked at me sternly, “You need to let this foot heal. When it rains the water runs down the same ruts and this injury will only get worse.”
I gave my sincere promise that I’d take it easy. Besides, this time I was really suffering. I was then slapped with the bill for this speedy, efficient medical attention including x-rays and medication. It came to a whole 20 British pounds and I’m now even more unimpressed with the NHS.

During the first couple of days at SAFY I felt awkward. The first thing in my “programme” as it was called, was to go to a centre for vulnerable children, many of whom are orphans as a result of parents dying from AIDS and live on the streets. I watched the SAFY drama club doing an educational performance on HIV/AIDS and drug abuse. I could tell that they were all checking us out as much as we were checking them out. The “programme” included visiting some of the SAFY members homes, but having grown up in SA I’d already been to slums and seen poverty so this made me feel frustrated rather than educated. I didn’t want to look at poverty, I wanted to get stuck in and do something meaningful with the kids. In the evening I had dinner with Rita and the other founders of SAFY and I suggested that I make a small video following the lines of the play as I’d noticed the kids were interested in my tiny digital camera. They agreed that it would be a nice thing to do. So I had a task, a mission and a real reason to be there.

Also, since hurting my ankle I found myself in a very black mood. I wasn’t coping well with living in a leaking tent. We had daily down pours and often centimetres of water flowing around the tent. I couldn’t sleep. Every thing was wet. All my clothes were muddy and I was constantly grovelling around in the mud. I was struggling like crazy not being able to walk properly or ride my bike without pain. I didn’t know how long it would take for my foot to get better and what implications this would have on the trip. Paul and I were also finding we needed some space in the relationship as the 24/7 thing was making us crazy. I was even getting annoyed with the Swedes. The only thing I could think of doing to relieve my morose mood was to get focused on something and work. Work has always been a solution for me. Working hard meant I had less time to feel sad.

Over the next two weeks I went daily to the SAFY centre and, well, made a film. Medy who was the hands on fellow in the office helped me with meetings and introductions during the first two days and then just let me get on with the project. Paul had escaped to Jinja to go river rafting for a couple of days and when he got back was quite surprised that I’d written a script and motivated the drama club into preparing for a the making of what was growing from a little video into a proper film. I had the kids doing drama rehearsing, organising locations, translating into Lugandan, scheduling and generally understanding the complexities of film making. Paul then also got stuck in and rushed about Kampala traffic on his bike carrying out errands and sorting logistics. I was completely focused on filming but found my friendships with the lead actors growing daily. The more I knew them, the more I liked them.

Kampala is a city full of contradictions and one cannot take any thing for granted. I found myself in the slums having friendly conversations with people whom I got to know and like – I was more at ease there than in a coffee shop in London. How wrong it is to think people in slums are less intelligent or progressive in their thinking. But life in the slum is tough. There are hardly any proper roads, there is no water management, very little waste management, electricity is on and off all day, for all the rain, the taps are often dry… and yet, I was meeting trendy, groovy, sophisticated people every day. I met kind, generous people who would stick up for me and negotiate non-mzungu prices for me. I met people who talk so casually about their lives and I’d discover that they are really extraordinary.

Time just flew and before I knew it my Zimbabwean friend, Ngoni, had arrived as promised. It was four years ago that I went to visit her in The Netherlands where she was completing her post graduate in Sustainable Development and I told her that it was my dream to ride my motorbike across Africa back home. She promised that she would join me for some of the trip – and here she was in Kampala – delivering her promise. I was delighted to have company. She laughed at my braided hair. It felt so good hearing her loud, infectious laugh. I’d missed her so much!

Unfortunately my time in Kampala was running out. I’d agreed that we would leave on the 24th December to make our way towards Zanzibar where the Swedes were desperate to celebrate New Year and I had to go as they were giving Ngoni a lift. We’d finished the filming but had massive problems in the editing phase. The electricity seemed to be off more than on and I was getting frantic. I had made everyone work so hard and some of the film looked so good… I couldn’t bear, at this point, to become slap-dash. I wanted to stay and edit but I managed to tear myself away to Murcheson’s Falls and get excited about the thousands of hippos even though I was itching to get back and try to finish editing before we left.

There was no way I’d finish the editing. On my last day in Kampala I took the laptop to the centre and explained to a jam-packed room that this was the first editing draft, it needed more work and music. I promised that in the New Year, before I left Zanzibar, I’d finish their film and post it to them. I stood at the door and watched the children’s faces as they nudged each other and giggled when they saw themselves on screen. I was relieved I hadn’t made any big errors as there is a lot of Lugandan spoken and I had often guessed where and what to cut. I felt very proud of our efforts. I watched at the faces of the young stars of the show as they saw their debut performances and could hardly believe that this was their first filming attempt ever and they had learned so fast and been so good.

There were obligatory speeches in which I was thanked and I again promised to finish the project. I was quite moved and for the first time I realised just how much I’d miss the youths, especially the lead actors who had worked so hard with me for the two weeks. They had been dedicated, bright and made me respect them so much. I was outside dishing out balloons that were causing a bit of a riot when Hady (the female lead and peer educator) called me and said she had a song for me. I followed her back into the room. Hady’s face beamed as she and Medy lead a room full of bobbing heads yelling We wish you a merry Christmas at max volume. For all the Xmas carols I’ve ever heard, this was the best one ever! I plan to remember that rendition for the rest of my life as without a doubt it will cheer me up when I’m being a ba-humbug.

24 December: Kenya – Nairobi

I was sad to leave but all the rushing to get somewhere for New Year was annoying me so I was also pleased to just go. The first part of the journey was uneventful until we were about 250 km across the Kenyan border where the road turned to a mass of potholes and then traffic ground to a halt as there had been an accident that had completely closed the road. Paul and I could squeeze past the side of the trucks and continue but before long, the dreaded rain was back, and then soon after, the sun set and we were crashing through potholes in the dark with our eyes burning and straining to see through the rain. We kept going until just outside of Nakuru where we turned off to Kembu Camp and shortly the Landrover joined us. I knew the guys were disappointed that Xmas was turning out to be a non-event but it just is that way sometimes. In Europe it’s a big family thing with gifts and dinners. In Africa, it’s hot and quite often not celebrated at all. Kembu was celebrating it with a decidedly colonial feel. All the same, it meant the guys were emotional (if not, then just plain moody). I was tired and the loud merry drunk people bashing out carols on a clapped out piano weren’t my cup of tea and so went to bed early.

The next day I noticed that Paul was a bit out of sorts. I’d suggested that the Landrover just go ahead and meet us later in Nairobi so that we could travel at a leisurely pace. His suspension was broken and the ride the night before had shaken him up a bit. The roads were wet and still potholed. I thought we were taking it easy and I kept an eye on him as he followed slowly trying to avoid bouncing his bike about. Just as soon as the road smoothed out, I glanced behind me as I wanted to go faster. I didn’t see Paul’s lights. I pulled over in the soonest safe spot and waited. We’d agreed that we should wait two minutes before turning in case it’s not an urgent situation. Nothing. Then I saw a car pull over with hazard lights on. I turned around and went back not knowing what I’d find. Fortunately I saw Paul walking about but his stuff was all over the place. I could see he was shaken. His pannier had bounced off his bike and dragged the bike making him crash into a ditch. Honestly! He is lucky he fell into a soft ditch as it could have been under a truck. The 200 km ride to Nairobi felt like one of the longest rides ever.

Given Paul’s shaken state we spent the Xmas day in Nairobi. Ngoni and I went shopping. For me, it was the best thing in the world. I hadn’t realised that for six months I’d been deprived of female company. I’d not been shopping nor done any of the things girls like to do. I’d not really had any one to talk to for ages and forgotten how nice it was to natter about anything and everything.

But all was not well. Martin was getting moodier by the day and there was a frantic race to get to Zanzibar for New Year that was increasingly getting on my nerves. I wasn’t happy about it but agreed that given the bad weather, it was best that Ngoni travelled to Dar es Salaam with the guys and we’d follow a day later arriving on the 30th. I felt bad about the way things were with the guys and they were probably annoyed with me for holding their holiday plans up with charity work.

26 December: Tanzania – Arusha, Soni, Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar

The self-imposed rush was annoying but the weather was so bad that I couldn’t face hanging about, not even for the Serengeti. Besides, the cost of everything in Tanzania is extortionate. On principle I didn’t want to pay those ridiculous prices.

Just 350 km north of Dar there is a small town called Lushoto that we’d heard that it was a pretty ride and as it was near to evening, we decided to go there. To our surprise the road led us through green mountains alongside a waterfall and white water river. Paul and I had stopped to discuss if we should go further when a chap pulled over and suggested we go to Maweni Farm. We agreed to follow him. As Paul’s bike’s suspension was broken, I was carrying a lot more luggage than normal. On good roads this is fine but the road to Maweni was a muddy rutted road with all kinds of obstacles that required me trying to manage a very heavy bike on a not so strong ankle. When we reached the farm a lovely lady greeted us with a smile I can only describe as angelic. It was the final straw for me after months of hard living conditions and various travel stresses, I finally burst into tears and had to quickly walk away and hide until I felt able to face the world again. There was no camping there but I wasn’t going to ride down again. Instead we were given a good rate that included breakfast and dinner and stayed in a luxurious safari tent in a tranquil setting. It was clean with hot showers and a flushing toilet. The food was a whole taste extravaganza. I realised that it had been a long time since I’d eaten a cooked meal that tasted good. One night in paradise with angelic people was not enough to make me feel entirely human again but it was a little comfort that make it easier to get back on the bike and do it all again the next day.

Reunited with Ngoni, we decided to spend New Year at a campsite in Kigamboni rather than pay the outrageous prices for accommodation in Zanzibar. We were camping right on the beach and it was pleasant enough. Besides, New Year for me has always been about setting goals for the coming year – I’m not interested in a party as much as a planning session. Ngoni and I spent a few days having real serious chats about serious things… and I think our theme of Success for 2007 is a great one.

On the 3rd of January we finally took the ferry to Zanzibar. Tanzania has been consistently overpriced and, so far, has consistently under delivered too. It is UN-believably frustrating dealing with this attitude. I understand it’s not possible to change this attitude as it is far-spread and ingrained but IT IS SO FRUSTRATING! In any case, besides having to fight with myself to control the urge to throttle people a few times a day, I’m enjoying Zanzibar. It is as pretty as a postcard. The waters are crystal clear and warm. The sand is white and as soft as a rabbit. It is peaceful and as long as you stick to sunbathing, it’s relaxing.

I read The White Massai by Corinne Hofmann – and blame it for having sunburn as I couldn’t put the book down. It’s an extraordinary story. It cheered me up no end to read about a woman who has more ludicrous ideas and is more stubborn than me. She fell in love with a Massai warrior and despite not even having language in common, left Switzerland to marry this man. I’d been watching these Massai in their fine traditional dress with arrogant attitude and had been intrigued. These men do nothing but strut about like peacocks and do feminine things like braid hair while their women have shaved heads and do all the work. Corinne gives such an honest, frank account, I think most of my curiosity is satisfied. Even though these men are girlie by my standards, their women are given less value than livestock. I’d never thought about love being a cultural thing. I guess I thought all people loved the same and would treat a loved one in a similar way – but it’s not the case. Again, I was thankful for being a Western woman where, things are not perfect, but I will have independence, freedom and be able to stand up for myself.

We have splashed out and spent a few nights in a bungalow with all the lavishness of running water and electricity. Ngoni has gone back to Zimbabwe to crack on with being a successful woman. I’ve finally finished making the SAFY film and, if I might say so myself, it looks pretty good. For a bunch of amateurs and a budget of about 50 US Dollars, I think we did ok. Swimming and walking on the beach seem to have done my ankle some good and it feels much stronger. I even woke up this morning and saw a refreshed tanned face rather than dog-tired one – what a pleasant change. I’m ready for the rest of the ride home and looking forward to all the comfort and friendship that home promises (and I’ll be writing consistently from now until I arrive safely).

SAFY Groundbreaking Event

2006-12-29T23:04:00.000Z

A great day for SAFY.

Very very busy time

2006-12-17T18:53:00.000Z

Since arriving in Kampala I have been kept VERY busy by a bunch of incredible young people at SAFY. Blogging will be delayed for a while, I guess, but will be back again in the new year for sure. In the meantime, I wish every one a happy festive season and a great party for New Year. Take care and be nice. Don't drink and drive! :-)

This is what has been happening… Plus an apology

2006-12-15T08:18:00.000Z

Quite a few things have happened since the last blog where I was stuck at Kembu Campsite waiting for new shocks for the Landrover and had no access to the internet. I’ve finally read emails and one of the things I realised was that while I don’t hear from a soul while I travel, it doesn’t mean that things aren’t going on all the across the oceans in various directions. In the USA my friend from high school has given birth to a baby boy. My Mexican friend in Oz is pregnant with her second baby. My brother took his wife on holiday to Zanzibar and my cousin Jono got engaged to a pretty blonde girl which has delighted my Aunt in Tasmania. And my parents, in my home town, have proven to be the most reliable support team you could imagine.

Back at my old company in London some of the people there were going to have a fund raising day for Stand Up For Africa (SUFA) but it all went pear-shaped when someone or people read my blog and found a comment posted when I resigned along the lines of: I was pleased to have the left the wierdos. This caused great offence and the worst bit was that they complained to the charity.

It’s important that I clarify a few points: Firstly, these are my comments and have no reflection on the charity at all. The nature of blogs is that they are personal diaries for individuals, available to any and everybody to use and express themselves freely through them. Secondly, there were only a little handful of people that I was pleased to see the back of. Most of my ex-colleagues are okay people and I apologise if any of them mistakenly thought I was referring to them. As for the handful, I don’t think that weirdo adequately describes these people. A simple demonstration would be that these people would rather spend their working day reading a personal blogsite and then creating as much trouble as possible… all during work hours using company resources. The point is I’m a grown woman and can take quite a lot of shit so this really is of no consequence to me. By cancelling the charity day, the people they are picking on are vulnerable kids between the age of 2 and 24, some who live on the streets or find themselves in desperate situations, and any little bit of funding will go a long way to improve their lives and give them the opportunity to get access to help and education. I won’t use any words to describe them but I leave my readers to make their own minds up.

In the meantime, the small scale charity, Stand Up For Africa was still able to raise the money to send to Safe Alternative for Youth (SAFY) here in Kampala and on Saturday 11th December 2006 the founders of the NGO proudly held a ground breaking celebration. A little tree was planted and I’m sure in years to come I’ll come back to see a busy centre and kids enjoying the shade of this tree. I was delighted to hear that off the back of the fund raising that enabled the building of the centre, SAFY has received more sponsorship that will help them over the next two years to run HIV education programmes and offer training. Within the next few weeks the first grading will take place and foundations will be laid – and I can’t help feeling overwhelmed that my little effort, with SUFA’s help, has made an impact on so many young people’s lives.

Raining cats, dogs and whole elephants

2006-12-01T09:37:00.000Z

We have this joke between us now where we point outside and say in an animated way, “Look, it’s Kenya.” But who would have thought that we would be freezing our butts off, sitting huddled around a fire drinking Tusker beer and playing cards while we listen to rain bucket down and eighties music.
Some times Martin will say with wide excited eyes, “Hey, it’s raining out there.”
“Yes, my gosh it is. And also here.” I reply as I point to another puddle forming on the floor from a dripping hole in the bar’s roof.
If there was a good place to be stuck for a few days in the rain, Kembu Camp really is a great spot.

Very little seems to have happened since we left Nairobi and the days are all merging and blurring together. Things have got so slow that I allocate one little task to each day. Most of the time this menial task can take up the bulk of the day and we can still find ourselves annoyed that we spent those few dry hours in the bank and not lazing in the sun. I don’t think I have ever in my life taken it so easy. We have gone from waking at dawn and travelling so hard till sunset that we collapse utterly exhausted by eight in the evening – to waking anytime the rain stops and going back to snooze while it rains a bit more. The boys play ping-pong while I read Out of Africa by Karen Blixen. I never imagined I could be SO lazy and laid back.

This time of relaxation has allowed me to reflect on this trip and, I must admit, it is one heck of a trip. I have time to think of all the places we have seen and all the people we have met… it’s an extraordinary trip and, with a smile, this is my life.

19 November: Kenya – Nairobi and Nakuru

Jungle Junction: in Livingston suburb of Nairobi near the Junction Shopping Centre on Ngong road. This little urban haven includes a workshop for motorbikes and at very reasonable rates. Contact: Chris or Diana.

We finally left Jungle Junction one and a half days later than we intended. Fortunately when we reached Nakuru National Park we had a small break in the rain so we were actually able to drive around in the Landrover and see some animals. The most spectacular sight for me was the massive flock of flamingos that turned the surface of the lake pink to match the pink sunset clouds. These birds are so pretty and yet appear so precarious on their long, skinny legs. There are many decomposing bodies of birds at the shore of the lake that lead me to believe their lives are as delicate and uncertain as those stick legs.

We also saw white and black rhino, water buffalo, giraffe, waterbuck, impala, zebra… and the list goes on. (See the photo galleries.)

There are monkeys that hang about the campsite. They are as naughty as heck and a real nuisance – but I found them extremely funny. We were camping at the campsite nearest to the main gate as motorbikes are not allowed to ride through the park (for many good reasons – a pride of tree-climbing lions being one reason good enough for me). In any case, I guess the bikes were something unusual and the monkeys took a special interest in them. We had secured our belongings in roll-bags and under our packsafes to keep little monkey fingers from getting hold of things. A trio of daring juvenile monkeys came over to the bike to watch me pack things. I still have a very bedraggled Bird of Paradise on my instrument panel and recently added a brightly coloured plastic rose. One cheeky monkey jumped onto my wing mirror and then watched me carefully to see when my eyes were not on him at which point his little black hand ventured down to try to pluck the rose. I’d say in my best adult voice, “Nooo!” and the little hand would dart back. His little eyebrows went up and down as he watched me and then again the little hand would venture down. Eventually I shooed him off and put the rose safely away. In the meantime two his friends clambered onto Paul’s boots which were hanging off the back of the bike and were swinging about and putting their velvety black faces inside the boots. That must have been a shock even for a monkey! When we got back from our safari trip I found my belongings had been played on and were all a bit out of place. I don’t know if it was because my tank bag fell off and frightened the buggers but I found a single poo left on it for me and the poor Bird of Paradise looked pathetic from having been yanked in an attempt to pull it off.

Kembu Camp: about 20 km from Nakuru off the A104. Look for the chameleon shaped sign. Contact: Andrew.

We arrived at Kembu Camp almost a week ago and intended to stay for one night. One night turned into two because it was sunny and we could enjoy a small break from the rain. Two became three because there seemed to be no rush and Paul and I fitted new B-L-I-N-G lights to our bikes. The spots we’d fitted in Egypt had been smashed off on the tough roads in Ethiopia. By the fourth day we packed up and were ready to leave by mid morning. But it was not to be! Both our bike batteries were flat. Mine charged but Paul’s was dead as dead can be. This might have something to do with the big spotlights but I haven’t tried using them again to find out. We made it onto the tarmac when I called Rickard to tell him Paul’s bike was utterly dead and we were going no where. We arranged to ride back to Kembu where I took my battery out to put into Paul’s bike and the guys realised that their Landrover’s brand new shock had completely broken. By noon we had Paul’s bike back at Kembu and all four of us sat about wondering how it happened that we managed to cross the worst roads in Africa but 400 km after having serviced all our vehicles, we had all pretty much broken down all at once.

One good thing came out of the Landrover finally having a mechanical problem. Martin and Rickard, the laid-back Swedish bachelors, finally took the plastic wrapping off their tool kit. And AND (yes AND) Martin took the broken shock off, took a lift on the back of my bike (another first) to a mechanic shop and then put the shock back on! This was his first, very first, dabbling with mechanics. I could see he was very proud of himself. It made me smile how these two sweet truck drivers decided to “see if they could drive across Africa” and three months later, never having seen a dirt road before or changed a tyre before, drove across some of Africa’s toughest terrain. I can’t tell you how often they take things out of the car still in the wrapping and say, “Let’s see how this works.”

It’s a good place to have broken down. We were able to replace our bike batteries with ones that are almost right but at least working. The next few days we just waited for the replacement shocks to reach Nakuru. God willing, today might be the day. I mean, the sun is shining… so anything could happen, or not as the case may be.

It has rained every day for the past two weeks. Occasionally the sun comes out and things dry fairly quickly only to be wet again a few hours later. Kembu Camp has had the most rain in 40 years. Up in northern Kenya that dreaded Moyale to Marsabit road is completely impassable for any sort of vehicle. The day before we took the horror truck ride two bikes had turned around unable to pass. We snuck through the following day and since then the road has been rained out completely. It’s just luck for sure as the rainy season should have been over by November and we know of people who have been stuck either side or taken alternative routes by now.

With all the waiting I’ve taken an interest in bird watching. For me, this is a peculiar pass-time as I don’t have the patience to sit still for five minutes and spending hours watching little birds flutter about and then flip through my mini guide book of Birds of East Africa is not normal. I don’t know if this interest will last when I’m back on the road but for now, it really kills time in a very pleasurable way.

There is also an almost tame-ish black and white “monkey” here. Only she is not a monkey because her stomach is like a goat’s. I completely didn’t take in any of the other details about Josephine as I was fixated on the goat stomach idea. This area would have been rain forest but farming has destroyed the natural habitat and as a result Josephine was cut off from the rest of her troop and has adopted the family here. From time to time she comes down to the bar and runs up and down the roof, jumping and throwing twigs in the air. This drives the dogs to distraction and has them on the brink of apoplectic fits. She peeks her little black face between gaps in the roof to the amusement of guests and complete distress of the dogs. Andrew says that sometimes she goes to the house and peers through the window to see where the kids are playing and then just hangs about outside keeping them company.

There are also two little cervil kittens here that Andrew is hand rearing as the mother cat was probably shot for stealing chickens. We have been able to see the kittens that are cute as can be and full of claws. It’s going to take Andrew the best part of nine months to bring these kittens up, keep them wild and train them to hunt for themselves before he lets them go wild again. I hope they make it. Right now they look feisty and well.

I also hope that tomorrow we get back on the road. It’s been great relaxing but I think I speak for all of us: we are ready for the road, new places, meeting more people and animals and finally reaching Uganda! It would also be fantastic if it stopped raining.

To Cape Town - if we went straight home

2006-11-20T17:21:00.000Z

Crossing the Equator

2006-11-20T14:39:00.000Z

9 November: Ethiopia – Addis and then heading south via Lake Langano, Yabello and Moyale

Addis wasn’t a very exciting city. Actually, I found it a little bit frustrating because it felt like we were wasting time there. Everything was so slow – especially the internet that was jokingly called the World Wide Wait. Martin and Rickard found the best solution to this painful waiting was to drink beer at the meantime. They had a brilliant six hour session on the internet in which they emailed all their friends and relatives. Later at night I found Rickard in the lobby slurring to his grandmother over the phone – they definitely had a great night.

Possibly the only thing Addis had that was of interest to me personally was the skeleton of Lucy which is a small little woman that kind of fills the archaeological gap between apes and humans. I learnt about this back in Archaeology I at the University of Cape Town a long time ago but it was good to see the famous little bones.

The museum takes their security really seriously. The woman guard squeezed my backpack and then before I had time to react squeezed both my boobs and gave my crouch a grab. Fortunately this was all rather quick as it was shocking and they were armed. As I walked off I said to the boys, “What the heck was that all about!” They were disappointed they didn’t get the same treatment - and I’m still shocked.

We’d realised that pretty much nothing would be organised in Addis and had a bit of time to kill so we walked to the Hilton Hotel that is reputed to be The Bar to hang out in. We’d met a Canadian couple in Lalibela who lived in the Hilton – lucky buggers! And lucky for us Gordon (who happens to be a pilot) was in. He and a pilot friend came down to join us for a rather jovial, beer drinking and pizza session. It was a great break from all the cultural challenges we face while travelling. We could have been hanging out in Sandton or London. This made me realise that if you have money, travel can be really easy. It could be so easy but then there would be almost no point in actually leaving the comfort of your home country.

The roads south of Addis are excellent and by this I mean tarmac with fewer potholes. The traffic was not bad either – but the dopey animals and people still were the most dangerous obstacles. By late afternoon we had reached Lake Langano and followed a dodgy little dirt road to an exceptionally pretty campsite that was clearly freshly built and teeming with bird life.

The lakes are famous for their birdlife. I have never seen so many beautiful and interesting birds as I did in Ethiopia. This country is surely a bird-lover’s paradise. In the morning I was woken up by a flock of very noisy black and white birds that have nests that look like untidy weaver nests. The little birds were unafraid and hopped about our breakfast table picking up any crumbs they could find. I enjoyed the way they twittered and puffed out their feathers and hopped about our feet. There were also shy metallic blue and purple birds that wanted to snatch crumbs but were too chicken. We had a pair of orange billed hornbills inspect the car. And there were swallows swooping over the water. Well, I don’t know anything about birds but it was incredible.

Later that day, the Good Lord who looks over me presented a bona fide bike mechanic shop and I was able to have the frame bolted back together again and face Northern Kenya with renewed confidence.

In the evening we reached Yabello Sanctuary and stayed in a field with cattle and goats behind the motel that appeared to host Western tour groups. Most of the time, we find that camping in a hotel’s grounds is preferable to sleeping in the rooms. Paul and I get to stay in mozzie infested rooms more often but the Swedes have a tent on top of their car. They really have the best solution: all they need is to park up in a parking area, pay for a room and then use the toilets and frequent the bar. At the Yabello Motel a smart waiter came out to the field to take our orders for dinner and breakfast. It was a bit early and a bit strange but we don’t question these things any more.

In the morning while we were packing up the tent I noticed a goat being lead by two men, one armed with a large knife. I also noticed vultures circling in the sky and landing nearby. While Paul was watching the vultures I witnessed the goat having its throat cut and slowly die with its legs kicking and horrible noises as the air-pipe drew in air and spluttered out blood. I thought this would really gross me out. I don’t like eating meat and have been partly vegetarian most of my life – not because I feel bad about killing animals but rather because I don’t like the taste or texture of meat. When Paul realised what was happening he grimaced with disgust and said, “They are supposed to kill the animal quickly without suffering.”
I didn’t say anything because it didn’t seem appropriate but thought, “Maybe in England that is the case but here the animal is supposed to bleed out with its jugular cut – just like it did.” We can’t take our ideals with us and expect them to be implemented wherever we are just for our comfort and ease of mind. I smiled at Paul and said, “Hey, good thing you didn’t order breakfast then!”
I watched the rest of the skinning and cutting up of the animal. Every little bit had been used up and was probably the exact amount needed to feed the guests in the motel. The vultures and dogs then came to look for any little bits that may be cast aside. Absolutely nothing was left.

When we arrived in Moyale in the afternoon, after the visit to the Immigration Office and Customs, we booked into a cheap hotel (inappropriately called the Tourist Hotel as it was not tourist orientated at all) so that we could cross to Kenya early in the morning. There were two cute little goats head-butting each other. I joked with Paul, “Hey, look at the cute goats but don’t get too attached because they’ll be dinner.”
Paul looked and agreed, “You are probably right.” But he was not amused.
Later in the evening the goats were gone and I poked my head into the kitchen. It was a small room off the back of the room that has a couple of doggy pool tables. It was a scene right out of Natural Born Killers. There were bits of meat hanging off the chairs and pilled up on the table. It seemed that the whole room had a red spray effect and there was a cute little ginger kitten that looked very happy, well fed and as bloody as the rest of the room. A very big lady asked me if I wanted “tibbs” which is a local dish of fried meat with garlic and onion. I declined but sent Paul over to see what was on the menu. He came back with a face of disapproval. Rickard then went over, took a look at the kitchen and ordered a serving. When it arrived, both the guys at the meat and admitted it tasted good. On the upside, it was fresh!

During my visit to Ethiopia I’d met two really likeable boys, Daniel and Dude. Daniel lives in Moyale and attached himself to Rickard. We are so used to all kinds of touts hassling us, trying to help and then asking for a tip or fee but this teenage boy was just special (and a serious football fan). He said he was the brightest kid in his school and we could tell he must be. We spent the evening with him and had a really great time. When we left we gave him our leftover Ethiopian small change (I wanted to promise to help him get to university but know to be realistic). The other little fella was Dude in Gondar and he stole my heart. He was probably ten or eleven years old and even though scruffy, had a trendy look. I liked his cool way of talking and frankness. When we got back from the Simian Mountains he asked Rickard how it was and when Rickard said it was cold Dude replied, “I told you so.” followed by “I said you should borrow my jersey.”
I still think of his broad toothy smile and how when we said goodbye he told me to ride safe and watch out for the crazy donkeys.

What we hadn’t realised about Ethiopia is the extent that people and animals eat a leaf called “chat” and get themselves completely stoned. I couldn’t understand why the whole country was on a huge go-slow and almost everyone and every beast seemed dopey. We eventually realised that all the little leafy twigs that people carry about are actually chat leaves to get high on (not to swat flies with). It’s a tree that grows in abundance and the animals are just as addicted - this is why nothing gets out of the road to avoid certain death.

Looking back these are my favourite things about Ethiopia:

Bird life is extraordinary

Feeling really safe and relaxed (even though harassed by youyous)

Paul being able to provide such high quality entertainment for locals

The Dude Gondar

13 November: Kenya – Cross border at Moyale. Tough truck ride to Marsabit, then Isiolo, Mount Kenya and Nairobi

While Ethiopia was on chat I was on anti malarial tablets. The package warns that people with a history of mental illness might react badly and that side effects include attempted suicide and depression. And even though I fall into the above mentioned category, I risked taking them all the same. By the time I was travelling through Ethiopia I had to really fight with myself. During bad patches it’s a battle to make my intelligent mind override how I feel. I feel like an empty vessel and that my soul has departed but I can still figure out what I need to do to maintain a perception of normality. All the same, in Addis I was very nearly ready to just say, “Stuff this. I’m going to stop now.” I’d lost the will to travel, to see Africa, to meet people… to get out of bed. Fortunately since stopping with the tablets I’m better now. The trip will continue and I am having a fantastic time again.

Luckily, as a result of no longer feeling deeply depressed, I was on a bit of a high when I did the road from Moyale to Marsabit. This was the last stretch of really bad, unavoidable road. It’s not only a bad road but it’s also in bandit territory and so the prospect of being stuck in the mud is not a good one. It’s really hard to guess how bad things really are but we’d been advised to either drive with a convoy or take police escorts. Rainy season had set in already and we’d already seen the kind of daily downpours that were turning the dirt road to a deep, muddy, rutted mess.

Moyale on the Kenya side is a very unpleasant town and renown for its thieves and con-artists. While we tried to find out information about the road – if it was passable, etc a huge crowd gathered around us and it became very stressful. Eventually we went with the most conservative option: we put the bikes on the back of a truck and we had two policemen – one to travel with the boys and one with us in the truck. It was a journey from hell and one that Paul will probably never forgive me for (as he wanted to ride and take risks while I was worried we’d be slow and make ourselves a target for the bandits). The truck driver (or who knows who) wasted so much time and we felt like they were messing us about. They would either be driving flat out at a silly speed or stopping and there would be lots of yelling and people jumping on or off. All the time we were in the back unable to see out except through small gaps with the bikes tied up precariously and boxes and goods bouncing about violently. Ironically, I was having a great day (I blame the lack of drugs). Certainly, it’s a day that I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

We were not even half way and it was afternoon already. The news was that there was a section of road that had a lot of trucks stuck on it and that made it impossible to pass. Martin and I (with our policeman) went ahead in the Landrover to see just how serious the problem was and if it there was any chance of taking the bikes off and giving it a bash. It was pretty bad… Eventually the trucks moved and even later our truck arrived with Paul and Rickard, severely bounced about and dirty. The short version of the story is that it was nightfall when we reached Turbi (about half way to Marsabit) and after long arguments we decided to stay on the truck rather than camp there. We reached Marsabit by 11pm. Rickard and Paul were bruised, bashed and traumatised from the truck ride in the pitch dark, Martin was shattered from driving his car at night at one heck of a speed to keep up with the truck – and I felt really bad because I was a terrified passenger and unable to do a thing. To make things much worse, Paul’s bike had broken loose in the truck, got smashed about and wouldn’t start. We didn’t know how bad the damage was.

I’d like to say that in the morning things looked better but Paul was like a beast from hell. He got his bike starting again which is impressive as he had a lot of dust in his ignition switch and had to basically short circuit the wires. He didn’t rip out anybody’s jugular which relieved us a tremendously as we were all keeping a good distance and hoping the crowd of nosey bodies would be a barrier if he snapped and attacked someone.

We then faced the last 250km of bad roads, possibly the last for the rest of the whole trip. Once we’d reached Isiolo there would be a tarmac option all the way to Cape Town. I’m pleased to say that Paul can no longer call me slow or give me condescending attitude about doing tough roads. I really CAN do it.

A note for woman bikers: I wish I had handle bar raisers (available from Touratech). I had to always keep my weight on the footpegs but crouch low enough to keep my arms bent at the elbow for strength. This takes up a lot of energy and my legs got really tired but otherwise my arms were too straight and had no strength to control the front wheel when it kicked about.

A party mood set in when we found a campsite at Archer’s Post near the Samburu National Park. We set up camp and then celebrated with red wine and beers. We were supposed to have a braai (barbeque) but the meat was utterly pathetic and didn’t even qualify as dog food… We moaned about it and had bread for dinner but who cares! We’d broken the back of the trip and as Martin pointed out, “Now the vacation begins.”

While riding I’d seen these incredibly tall, elegant people dressed in a red cloth, casually holding a spear and moving in a very graceful way. The thing that struck me was firstly was how attractive they were and then also how well dressed and proud they looked. Both the men and the women were impeccably dressed in bright cloth with decorative beads. I really did think that these people were gorgeous.

The campsite we stayed in is run by Samburu. They put on a dance in the evening and it’s possible to visit the village and buy hand crafted beadwork. For a bit of background, the Samburu are very similar to the well-known Masai, especially in clothing but their language differs slightly. There are various songs and dances that include the men jumping and women making a wave-like motion with their shoulders. Quite obviously it all costs quite a bit which sparked off a debate on the relationship between culture and tourism. I think the boozy conclusion was more or less that tourists pay to see the Samburu village and way of life and that has become an income that is preserving their culture. So we agreed to pay and they entertained us. I did notice that the girls really did put on a performance for us (and were not as pleased to see us as we were to see them) as the moment the camera was turned away the smiles were replaced with dead-pan faces.

Rain, rain and more rain. We reached Mount Kenya and couldn’t see much because of the thick rain and clouds. However, we did see an elephant. At about 2am I woke up because I heard a rather loud tummy grumble followed by some snapping branches. Fortunately we’d already seen the elephant earlier, that saved me from a heart attack on the spot as I pulled the curtain aside and the entire window was one big elephant arse. I woke Paul up who then in his dozy state tried to find his camera. In the morning the elephant was still hanging about, walking around the hotel garden as if it was his part of the jungle, casually munching anything and walking through the wooden fences. He got on with his elephant business but kept one eye on us and if we were too close he turned to face us and flapped his ears. Predictably, we all retreated.

The real tough bit of the trip ended as we arrived in Nairobi. We were glad to be there but it also felt like the best bit of the adventure was over. We all collapsed in a state of fatigue. For a few days all we have done is eat and sleep and sit about chatting. To my surprise I met a guy that looked exactly like a guy I met in the UK nearly two years ago – and then I realised that it was the same guy! Mike and John have made it from Alaska to South America and from Cape Town to Nairobi (see www.exploringrtw.com).

On the touristy side of things we went to visit Karen Blixen’s house. I remember being about fourteen and very impressionable when I watched a badly scratched video of Out of Africa. I’ve watched the film a few times subsequently and am always swept away by Meryl Streep’s portrayal of Karen. I can hear her voice saying, “I had a farm in Africa.” and I remember how much I longed to be a brave, adventurous woman like her. Her life was full of hardship as well as disappointment and loneliness but she was so passionate and compassionate. I realise now how much she was loved and what a great impression she made on her community. It was emotional walking around her house, looking at the Ngong Hills and the school she started. I felt inspired all over again and my heart was if full of love for Africa.

For a bit of fun we went to the giraffe centre where I was able to feed some giraffes by hand. Usually wild animals are so wild we only get to see them from a distance and fear them so having a funny faced giraffe eat out of my hand was FUN.

The bikes are nearly up and running again and we still have some things to sort out before we will head towards Uganda and the Stand Up For Africa charity SAFU in Kampala.

Some Answers to the Questions Girl Travellers would love to ask

2006-11-19T15:43:00.000Z

I spoke to a woman friend of mine on the phone recently and she asked me how I coped with sanitation. I said that the toilets were filthy or we just did a bush pee but then she asked more specifically about how I handle “that time of the month”. This is a very valid question and one I would have liked to ask before I left… so here is some information just for girls.

Underwear

I have five pairs of comfy knickers. They are cotton, big, saggy and don’t creep up my butt or chaff my legs but are really unattractive. Sometimes the seams can dig into by sitting bones if it’s a really long day on the bike. I don’t know if a seamless option is available but that would be even better. I think less than five pairs and I’d really struggle – considering it can be more than 10 days before I’d be able to even hand wash a pair.

I have one sports bra-top that is extra strong anti-bounce for doing off road and am thankful for it. My second bra is a push-up black girlie one. This is for easy days and just to remind myself that I’m a girl after all.

Periods and Sanitary Stuff

My period has been completely erratic since travelling. This is totally normal but annoying. I guess we just have to be ready to expect any thing.

Panty liners are available in supermarkets and in cities even in Sudan and Ethiopia. It’s easiest to find a store with a woman shop assistant if you have to buy some. I have lots of the extremely thin panty liners and they are proving to be great. I also use them when unable to clean knickers. Tampons are not easily available (actually, I haven’t seen them about). I calculated approximately how many I used in a cycle and have enough to last 4 months. Important: keep all your bits in plastic bags and in a fabric bag so that the package won’t rip or get wet.

When on the road it’s hard to find toilets and so I have found that if you use a tampon that is for heavier flow than you need it lasts longer and then a panty liner too will let you get through the whole day. By the evening you can use the comfort of your tent or darkness to sort yourself out. (By the way, guys hate this subject so much that you don’t even have to so much as hint and they will give you space and back off for the whole week.)

The icky side of things… you can’t throw these items away as they are not biodegradable so in your kit keep small plastic packets that you can seal and dispose of when you find an appropriate bin or fire.

My last and final resort is a mooncup that I bought off the internet. Don’t bother trying to find a stockist – you will just humiliate yourself even trying to ask for one – it’s not on the shelf (believe me). I hope I never have to use this but it’s there if I’m utterly desperate.

Another option a woman friend of mine discussed is taking the pill and skipping the pills that allow you to menstruate. I would fear turning into a hormonal psychopath but apparently it’s a safe option.

Clean and Moisturised

I have disposable face wipes that exfoliate and clean pores – they are brilliant and perfect for when I was unable to wash for days on end.

I’ve also used a lot of wet wipes. The Detol ones are particularly good. I can wipe down most of my body using one of these and feel surprisingly fresh. I use them like a cloth and add water and soap if needed.

Sometimes I’ve hung my Camelpac (water carrier with hose and a nozzle) on my bike and used it as a mini shower. By doing this I could at least dousch the basics with soap.

I use a good face cream with sun protection factor 15. I have a darker complexion and would suggest that this is the absolute minimum for anyone. In addition I use a factor 30 on my face and arms while riding. I have a night cream too that is rich and moisturising because I don’t want to finish this trip ten years older. I use lip balm with a high factor too.

I decanted all the creams and toiletries into smaller plastic containers to save weight and stop them breaking. I have had to use pieces of plastic as ceils because the vibrations can open and spill anything.

My best advice here is that you get used to being dirty – don’t worry!

Toilet Business

I have a tough plastic bag that is labelled “loo bag”. It contains:

A small, light trowel in a plastic bag

Toilet paper in a plastic bag

Matches and lighter

Wet wipes

Please note that the desert is a dry environment and preserves remarkably well! This means that toilet paper will stay there forever – it has to be burnt. This sounds like an awful ordeal but its quite fun when you actually get to do it. As for the more rained on terrains, it is possible to bury toilet paper in a hole and it should degrade just fine.

Bush peeing is fine. Sometimes it’s hard to find a bush or rock to hide behind but guys are really easy about this because they do it all the time… so it’s just up to us girls to take it in our stride. I find it best to announce loudly that I’m taking a pee and indicate which way I’m going so that the guys know not to go there or look. As for any strangers who might see me… well… its all part of the big travel thing. I’m sure they are more traumatised than me.

Girlie Luxuries

I have a few luxuries that I’ve really appreciated and made me feel REALLY GOOD.

Disposable leg wax trips. I honestly don’t know what I would do without these but not easy to find.

Sachets of intensive hair conditioner – planned as treats for Khartoum and Nairobi.

Tiny make up kit of a foundation, eyeliner and waterproof mascara… For special occasions - I feel so much less scruffy when I’m slightly made up.

I hope that helps!

Inspiration – South African Ladies

2006-11-16T14:24:00.000Z

I met these old biddies in Wadi Halfa. They travelled from Nairobi all the way to Cairo on public transport (and I've experienced one of the spine crushing truck rides)! They’re both in their seventies and bright adventurous people who have also been to the Artic and trekking in Nepal.

Reached Nairobi!!!

2006-11-16T14:16:00.000Z

We have reached Nairobi and all the boys and the machines are okay. We are really tired and the vehicles need a good service and some fixing. The tough bit of the trip is behind us and it is all relatively easy from now. It's great!! It's a little bit of a strange feeling - almost disappointing (did I admit that?!). It's just that we are bearly over four thousand kilometers from Cape Town and that will mean this wonderful adventure is over. Well, we have quite a few detours planned... I've had the most amazing time and I can ride bad roads like a demon. It was such a daunting stretch of "road" across some extreme terrain facing massive cultural challenges (and stomach wrenching sanitation) - and now I'VE DONE IT.

Will write up some blogs and do some photos before we leave Nairobi and head towards Uganda.

Please please!!! To all those who read my blog... Please make a happy Christmas donation to the Stand Up For Africa project as I'll be there soon to see the project begin.

Go to www.justgiving.com/longwayhome
Or check out www.standupforafrica.org.uk and contact them direct

Lalibela to Addis

2006-11-05T14:15:00.000Z

I’ll get stuck into travel stories because – well – I’m distracted by channel 2 TV which is unbelievably entertaining after a few weeks of camping. We are in Addis for two days in a relatively expensive hotel (hot water and TV) and then will be heading towards Nairobi – a 1500 km of tough adventure.

“We” is still us on the bikes and the two Swedish brothers Martin and Rickard in their Landrover. When I watched Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boorman’s Long Way Round I remember feeling sick at the thought of taking on a big trip over extreme terrain without a support vehicle – without any support at all. Since Aswan we have been travelling with the guys who have been long-suffering with our punctures and lifting up our bikes when we fall. They are also really funny and as sound as can be. Rickard even got out of the Landy with a baseball bat to chase kids who’ve thrown stones at me. In return, Paul and I have good maps and a GPS that the guys would be lost without. Paul does the cooking and the boys do the dishes. What heroes! Heck, I don’t know what I bring to the team. Not like I’m doing the pretty girl thing and sometimes I really moan about the roads. We make a great team and I couldn’t do it without them.

1 November: Ethiopia – Simian Mountains, Lalibela and Addis

Rested up, we headed north (for a little detour) to see the Simian Mountains that have quite some reputation and completely lived up to all expectations. The mountains are absolutely beautiful but at over 3200 meters altitude – it was freezing.

Next we went to Lalibela to see the very famous Rock Hewn Churches. On the map it’s not much of a detour but in reality, it is. The road is the usual thing here i.e. not tarmac. More dangerous than the roads are the stupid sheep, skittish goats, dopey donkeys, ecstatic children, loping camels, dangerous looking cattle, armed men and over burdened women – all of whom are deaf and have no fear of death. We then decided to take a different route via Dilbe back to the main road to Addis. This turned out to be the worst 60 km of road we’d take on so far. I’m still amazed that I managed to do it at all. Paul did help a few times over particularly rocky river beds so I admit that at times I was a big chicken. My arms were so tired that on two occasions I managed the crossing but rode straight into the opposite bank. Not only was it very difficult getting the bike up or down steep inclines of loose rock but there were youyous running alongside trying to beg! Tell you what, compassion fatigue set in big time!

What are these kids thinking? I realise that over the years the culture of begging has been deeply engrained. The only thing they associate with white people is freebies. But I still think of them running alongside the motorbike on a steep rock incline with hands out shouting “Pen” and wonder if they actually really thought I’d just miraculously ride with one hand on the gas and one eye on the cliff edge while rummaging about for that stash of free pens that I managed to find place for in my tank bag.

Paul in particular has been providing masses of local entertainment. In this respect he has been a patient, untiring saint. (Unlike me who is inclined to snap fuck off after about five seconds of attention.) We did a tyre change in which the two of us did a well practiced team effort and pulled quite a crowd. The final touch that got gasps and a laugh from our audience was when I pulled out the wet wipes to clean our very dirty hands. I was disappointed we didn’t get applause. Paul did an excellent Jamie Oliver show with his little multi fuel cooker and small coffee percolator at a hotel that didn’t even have running water. It was such a good show that the kids ran off to call grandma and all the other local ladies who watched his every move. There were enthralled and delighted as Paul handed out cups of tea and coffee to us.

I am enjoying Ethiopia (still, really) but it can be so hard when trying to sort out things. Access to internet is really slow and practically useless here in any case. Even in the sprawling city of Addis there are mostly shops working out of shacks and so finding dealerships or mechanics is near impossible.

The damage to the bikes is not too serious all things considered – given what the bikes have been through by now and the fuel they are running on. They sound strange and our gears are knackered. I’ve a broken bolt that holds the frame together and can’t seem to find a mechanic who 1. understands the problem and 2. will be able to get the bolt out without wrecking the rest of the bike. It’s a pretty serious problem and right now it’s all held in place with wire that has been twisted around. Hopefully it holds.

While I was having a great break from biking in Gondar I also decided it was time to tackle my hair that seems to be giving my age away. I’d had enough of the grey hair jokes and so bought some hair dye that kind of looked like about the right colour on the box. I can’t seem to age gracefully. Paul says I can’t do anything gracefully… Humph.

The grey was gone and replaced with Ethiopian orange. Its so bad that I’ve been trying to cover it when ever possible – and given I wear a helmet for up to nine hours a day – I’ve mostly managed to ignore the orange. When we arrived in Addis a young lad tried to attract my attention by shouting “Orange.” Ah that did it! I took out some even dodgier looking dye decided to try to dye my hair black. So now I have orange AND black hair. It looks like hell.

So this afternoon, with my very bad hair, I went to the reception of the hotel and asked if they had a telephone directory or could help me find a mechanic nearby.
“No there is no mechanic.”
“Do you have a book for me to look for one?” I do my best telephone directory book mime.
“No mechanic in hotel.”
“Okay. How do I find a mechanic?”
“There is no mechanic.”
“What do you do when you need a mechanic? Do you walk down the road and look for one? How can I find a mechanic?!” I can see she is staring at my hair and is probably thinking that I should be looking for a hairdresser. I smiled and walked away because I had the urge to scream and dive across the counter and strangle her. Let’s face it, when ever would this girl ever look for a mechanic? I just hope the wire bodge-job holds the frame together!

Crossing the border to Ethiopia

2006-10-30T14:10:00.000Z

Ethiopia so far is utterly stunning. I get the feeling that Ethiopia suffers from a really bad image problem. The image that has been fixed in my mind is of starving babies clinging to the dried up breasts of emaciated women. I was one of those kids brought up on, “Think of the starving children in Ethiopia.” So I arrived here with pretty low expectations. I have, without being all gushy, probably never travelled through a more beautiful country. The landscape is just extraordinary. The people are friendly and there are many shiny, bright faces especially of kids who seem to find the motorbikes extremely exciting.

Ethiopia is also a huge country and the roads are… ummm… not that good really so it takes time to travel around. There is also little in the way of internet cafes – they do exist but the connection is so slow and dodgy that it’s been impossible to do things like blog sites. Well. This is a very under developed country and I couldn’t feel further away from my old Western style life in the “civilised” world, but I don’t miss it for a second.

26 October: Sudan – Khartoum to Quallabat border

My lasting memory of Khartoum is BUREAUCRACY. I’ve mentioned the mindless bureaucracy in Sudan before. No surprise when we experienced a real hassle getting ourselves registered in the Aliens office. We had to register in Khartoum and get a stamp in our passports before leaving the country even though we had already registered in Wadi Halfa and we didn’t dare not have this stamp. Nothing in Sudan is easy! For instance, we had to fill in a form that had to be stamped by the Blue Nile Yacht Club’s secretary who was always about to arrive for two days but was nowhere to be found. Why the campsite could not realise this fact and have stamped forms ready or leave the stamp with someone else – I don’t know?! We got all our photocopies of visas and passports ready and the stamped form... this was all possible (although required a lot of chasing and nagging) but then the Aliens office wasn’t open. Well it was open, but not for aliens to actually register. By day two, midday, we were still hanging about and were all pretty pissed off with the situation. Martin and Richard took it upon themselves to tell this very annoying Sudanese official how long they had waited and that it was, well, rude. It is the truth but I don’t think it went down too well. And when the guys pointed out that we should not be recharged as we had already paid in Wadi – all hell broke loose. I guess corrupt officials just don’t like being told that they are corrupt. So the boys came out of the building and Martin said, “Let’s go now. We have to drive because they are calling the police.” I could tell by their faces that it was no joke and so we legged it down the road.

We had the stamp and we were free to leave Sudan. It had been an interesting visit but we were now on a mission to get out of there!

There was another little highlight in Khartoum – the British Embassy. There is absolutely no alcohol allowed in Sudan. And come to think of it, there isn’t much in the way of entertainment in Sudan either. There is certainly no tourist trade and very limited options for non-Sudanese people and not that many non-Sudanese people to socialise with too. I think that all the nasty bureaucracy extends towards people who have contact with foreigners too. Locals seem to keep a distance. They were friendly but preferred to stare rather than interact with us. I didn’t miss the beer much but the boys did so we were most delighted to accept an invitation to the British Embassy’s pub. I’m pleased to say the bikes helped us yet again as it was a fellow biker who invited us. Bikers are so cool.

I think we were all relieved to finally get on the road to border and even more relieved when we felt sure that there were no police chasing us. The road was mostly asphalt and mostly in a good condition so we could really blast along. Two days later and we were off the asphalt and only 60km from the border.

The road turned to thick mud. I cannot begin to recount the kind of filth that tumbled out of my mouth. I just was not impressed at all. So close and yet so far; and all I wanted to do was cross that gadam border! I know the guys have some great pictures of me getting the bike stuck in muddy ruts up to my knees – and fortunately there were three of them laughing at me – safety in numbers. I was not a nice girl!

Finally with a lot of help from Paul I got through the bad mud patch and about 500 meters down the road I could smell rubber burning. I pulled over and started to pick the mud off my bike. It had stuck and I mean, STUCK all over. The mud under my front mud guard was so stuck it had hardened and was scraping the tread off my front tyre. I was mad. Fortunately the guys still found me amusing as I stomped about getting tools out, cursing and temper flaring said, “You know, I planned this trip for four years. And in those four years it never once occurred to me what a stupid fucking idea it was.”
Off came the front bumper. I was covered in mud and grease and picking the mud off the chain with a big black thunder cloud hovering over me. Paul came over to see how I was doing.
“Do you suppose it’s too late to ask for my old job back?” I asked, “I’ll keep my head down, stop dreaming and be normal…”
Paul laughed.
“I’m serious. I’ll fit in and take my lunch breaks with Pat and Lona.”

I guess I had to finally have a really hard day that got me down. I’d made it so far and taken it all in my stride – sand, heat, officials, rain, shitty toilets... I don’t know why the mud that day was more than I felt I could manage. And, you know what, it didn’t matter how I felt. There was still the hard reality that: I had to ride the bike. I had to ride through the mud no matter how bad it was. And that I did.

29 October: Ethiopia – Metema and Gondar

Finally! Oh my God the next morning we were finally at the border and crossing into Ethiopia. Getting out of Sudan was a breeze and for that I will always be thankful. Getting into Ethiopia was hassle free and we felt like we were actually being welcomed. What a wonderful feeling.

My first impression of Ethiopia was that it was going to be laid back and a lot easier. There were women walking about in the streets wearing western clothing, working in markets and even occupying official jobs. Even the guys noted that it was good to see woman about looking relaxed.

The big easy! The roads improved too. We were on hard mud, gravel and rocky roads most of the time and the roads were GREAT. (Did I just write that?) I guess my off road skills were finally improving because we did the whole 200 km stretch to Gondar in about five hours and it didn’t seem that bad.

Gondar is part of the “historic” route and has the very famous little church with the funky paintings on the walls as well as a castle complex. I remain blissfully ignorant of the pertinence of these places. We mostly relaxed. In particular I enjoyed the hot showers and soft beds while the guys got stuck into the beers. We managed to fit in a visit to the Dashen Beer Brewery in Gondar – and that was fun. They don’t usually have visitors so we were sent off to the marketing department and I realised that I do actually miss the day job! Hard to believe but it’s about four months on the road and doing some product research seemed like fun when all I do all day is ride a motorbike through strange and exotic places.

Ethiopia has its own time. Yes. Time in Ethiopia starts at sunrise and so 6am is 0 o’clock. The calendar is different from the European Gregorian one too - they use the Julian Calendar. We are in September 1999 here. The alphabet is pretty radical too. The letters include the vowels in them and look like wonky letters (that look particularly good on beer labels). It certainly is a different place!

We’re getting used to a lot of attention on the bikes in particular. Where ever we go in villages, towns or along the roads…. Everywhere! There are kids running out screaming “youyouyouyou” and sometimes getting quite worked up. No major stone throwing as yet but there have been a few hands going to the ground and both Paul and I have had stones chucked towards the wheels of the bike. I’m sure the kids would feel really bad if a stone did hit us and make us fall off the bikes. Kids! I’m sure it’s just naughty fun. But it’s irritating!

Some information for travellers

2006-10-26T12:53:00.000+01:00

Luxor accommodation – Rezeiky Camp

These guys were really helpful and friendly – and so I recommend this spot to do your last minute bike preparations and also take a short break and eat excellent home cooked food. There is a swimming pool. Rooms are available and also possible to camp. It also has internet access on site, restaurant and cold beer.

Rezeiky Camp
Karnak Temple Street
Luxor
Tel: 095 381334 – 370376

Ferry from Aswan to Wadi Halfa

Booking the ferry from Aswan to Wadi has been a bit of a mystery for many travellers, so here is some information to help make sense of the whole thing: Ferry leaves every Monday. Arrive in Aswan on Saturday as you need to pay for tickets to confirm your space and you have paperwork to do. Vehicles go on a barge and passengers on a ferry. Going from Egypt south you have no choice but to be separated from your vehicle but I hear that the other way isn’t quite so rigid with rules and you can travel on the barge.

This is the last time to stock up on food. Be warned that Aswan was a real pain as far as getting ripped off goes. You will be quoted really stupid prices – so don’t hesitate to argue or walk away. The market is big enough to find a good price.

First class gets you a dingy cabin. Second class gets you onto the deck. Get on early and lay out your sleeping space because it will be jam-packed later on. Take plenty of water and some food with you.

Here is the name and email address for the manager of the booking office of Nile Company of Transport Sudan – Egypt:

Salah Mohamed
takourny@hotmail.com

Get in touch with Salah directly and he will be able to make a reservation for you. There is not all that much space on the barge for cars and motorbikes so a reservation will help. He also met us at the port and helped us get through the Egyptian bureaucracy. No tipping required but be polite as he is a genuine guy.

Arriving in Wadi

Be ready to be patient! It took a few hours to be allowed off the ferry and then the rest of the day waiting at the harbour to get our passports back. It’s bloody minded pain in the butt bureaucracy.

The barge arrives a day later if you are lucky. In the meantime go to the town and find a tourist office opposite the Nile Hotel. These people will help you with registration and finding an agent to help with importing the vehicle.

If you are asked where you are going to, say the Blue Nile Yacht Club. When you arrive in Khartoum, you might well go to the Yacht Club as its one of few places for foreigners to camp.

You can camp outside the town so if you don’t like sleeping under the stars take your tent on the ferry.

Road to Khartoum via Dongola

This makes me smile because it’s hardly a road at all! There isn’t a single inch of tarmac until you reach Dongola. It’s a really tough stretch of 400km through the Sahara. Be prepared for punctures and any mechanical problems as you will have to fix these yourself. Watch out for heat and sand related problems in addition to the bashing and crashing.

If at all possible, I’d suggest trying to meet up with a 4x4 vehicle so that they can help carrying your water at least. You need to carry water and food for 4 days.

You will have to register in each place you stop. It’s a tedious bore but you have to have your name and passport number written into a scrappy old book. Will help to have numerous photocopies of your passport and the Sudanese visa plus extra passport photos.

When you reach Khartoum the best place to camp is the Blue Nile Yacht Club which is on the bank of the Nile and pretty easy to find. It’s a very easy going place and you can meet other people who are either going up or down.

Crossing the Sahara

2006-10-26T12:47:00.000+01:00

I’m in Khartoum sitting on the bank of the river Nile and feeling really pleased to be here. When I planned the trip, Khartoum was one of those places that I set as a mile stone: if I’d made it this far I would have crossed the Sahara Desert on my motorbike. It’s not a giant step for mankind but for me this is quite an achievement. This is a stretch of land I can be proud of having traversed; for the rest of my life. I hope that one day if I have grandchildren I will tell them the story of how I followed the Nile and crossed the Sahara before there were tar roads, hotels and petrol stations in the desert…

Time has gone really quickly and we haven’t had a single rest day in the last two weeks. Today we have to check the vehicles and stock up on various supplies and register yet again at the “Aliens Control Office”. (Yep, straight out of Men in Black and just as bizarre.) Our party now includes a Landrover and two Swedes. What a lucky girl I am to be travelling with three blond, blue eyed boys!

13 October: Egypt – Luxor to Aswan in convoy

After having spent a few relatively relaxing days in Luxor we woke up early to join the 7am convoy to Aswan. A trip to Egypt would not be complete without having joined at least one convoy!

I quite enjoyed the experience. We did get to ride really far too fast and at times it was a bit hairy. I don’t know why it amused me as much as it did, but it did. There were two big buses and maybe eight minibuses of sorts and us: two bikes. There was a police car at the front and one at the back. Come 7 there was a big hoot and we were off Paris-Dakar style. It’s a mad rally race for 150 something kilometres to Aswan in which the buses all did whatever they could to over take each other. Some were faster on the straight so would whiz past, others were nippier on the rough bits, they were off, only to be overtake later… It was ridiculous. Mostly I tried to stay out of the way but every now and then I could pass simply because the buses couldn’t fit through a small gap in the traffic, knowing full well they would then be busting their guts to overtake me on the open road. Don’t know why! But it was fun. Anyway, wedged between police cars that hooted and chivvied us on if we slowed down a fraction, we were in Aswan before we knew it.

We went straight to the ferry office to confirm our bookings. This quite obviously meant trying to understand some incredibly complicated regulations. Actually, in my travels I had already learnt that bureaucracy makes no sense and there is no point in trying to understand the process – just understand the instructions and do as you are told. As long as we had all the relevant pieces of paper ready – that was all that mattered.

While we were sorting out our tickets we met the other “European” contingencies who were travelling with 4x4 vehicles. The ferry that left the week before, the one we were initially planning to take, had four bikes on it but no overland vehicles. I was REALLY hoping that there would be vehicles going with us. Even more so, I was hoping that they would be REALLY nice people and very kind and agree to carry some of my luggage.

At first I met Harry and JB who were in a Landrover with another guy and a girl. My gut feel was that these were nice enough people but possibly a bit on the young side. Actually, I can’t put my finger on it but I realised that we wouldn’t travel together easily. I guessed that they were all freshly graduated from university an on a bit of an adventure back to their home which is Kenya. We would look out for each other but I can’t deny being pleased that they would be on the same road but disappointed that we wouldn’t be riding together.

Shortly afterwards two lanky Scandinavian chaps walked into the office. They were stereotypical Swedes with their blue eyes, blond hair and very neat clothes and spotless Landrover. We didn’t chat much when we first met but from the first moment I quite liked these guys. They had an easy-going feel about them. I could tell that they were as happy to meet us as we were to have met them. So that is how we came to be travelling with Richard and Martin who are brothers taking a nice new Landrover from Sweden to South Africa.

It’s one of those things I love about travel: meeting people. I think it is possibly the thing I like most about travel. People. Both in the countries that you visit as well as those people you pick up along the way.

The rest of our time in Aswan was stocking up with food and any other obscure bits we felt we really needed. I don’t have anything nice to say about Aswan although it’s meant to be one of the nicest Nile towns in Egypt. We didn’t have time to do touristy stuff and the constant haggling in the market does wear one’s patience a bit thin.

16 October: Sudan – Ferry to Wadi Halfa, Dongola and Khartoum

Monday morning we arrived at the port with plenty time to spare. We were way earlier than we needed to be but we preferred to be hanging about rather than rushing. Our little team jelled really well from the very beginning. Not only did we need each other but the Swedish brothers were really decent, caring and funny.

The ferry sets sail on Monday and any time on Monday is acceptable! Our bikes and the cars had to be loaded onto a barge that would arrive in Wadi Halfa a day later. All the guys helped to heave the bikes onto the ferry and we tied them down as best we could. It was just horrible peering over the side of the passenger ferry and seeing my blue baby (an essential ingredient for my travels) dwarfed by the mountain of boxes and sacks that seemed to have been tossed willy-nilly onto the barge. I looked at Martin who was probably having the same thoughts as he watched even more refrigerators being pilled up around his Landrover. “Well,” he said, “Lets see if they get there.”

We travelled second class which meant we could find ourselves a space on the deck. Harry and his bunch and our bunch stuck together. There were eight of us and it was nice having company for a change. We were instructed to colonise an area near the captain’s office. This meant that we got to meet the captain too who was a skinny man wearing utterly Arab clothing and didn’t look anything like a captain to me. However, he clearly was the captain as he got to shout at every one and shouted a lot. We all sat mesmerised by his ranting. Some other passengers had sat in the wrong place which set the captain off shouting and smacking the walls and railings. I could only pick out the word “Allah!!” used countless times as he slapped the deck, the door, the wall and fortunately stopped short of slapping the passenger. A mere five minutes later he came over and enjoyed having photos taken with us. The whole shouting episode didn’t seem to have stressed him out at all. Had that been me, I would have had to take a nap afterwards.

By the end of the ferry ride we all knew each other a little bit better. Chloe was pretty much the only woman company I’d had so far on the trip and there seemed to be so little we had in common. She was a sweet bubbly girl with wide innocent eyes (that I don’t doubt are far from innocent) and a dimpled smile that appears constantly with almost no provocation. I found myself quite intrigued by her blithe, ditty femininity and then thought, “Oh my God, I’m becoming a man.” I’d never before really cared that I was a tomboy but this trip was making me miss the little things about being a girl.

I’d also been thinking about the road from Wadi Halfa to Khartoum. I’d heard from many travellers that there is no tar between Wadi and Dongola. From Dongola there would be some road. Well. Roads would be a bit dubious all the way to Nairobi. I had a lot of time on the ferry to really stew over this. Stew, brood and mull it over a lot. I had time to really wonder what the heck I was doing there. I still had bruises from my lessons in the White Desert and this was for real. I had to dig my heals in and remind myself that THIS WAS THE DREAM. I wasn’t going to be a wimp. I decided that I would do the whole nine hundred kilometres on my bike if it killed me. It didn’t matter how long it took or how I did it. I would have to rely on myself being really stubborn to get myself through.

As if the ferry ride wasn’t long enough, we then had to wait the best part of a day to be allowed out of the port. The barge finally arrived midday the next day. By the end of day we had the bikes cleared through customs. It was only the following day by noon that we finally had permission to travel. Bloody hell! I had all that extra time to turn those sand roads into monsters that were more terrifying than any nightmare I had ever had.

I was finally in the thick of it. The toughest bit of road was right there ahead of me. Fortunately, I could only ever see as far as the horizon and so I took on each bit of dusty, sandy, rutted road as it came my way. The guys all said the desert looked like a lunar landscape and I will just have to believe them. I was too busy looking at the road to take much of the landscape in. We did stop from time to time and then it is impossible to not be overwhelmed by the beauty and tranquillity of the desert. By the evening we were literally eighty kilometres away from the nearest civilization and it was brilliant. I felt really great when I stopped. Great that I’d stayed on my bike all day and we were all in one piece and vehicles still going. I was also utterly exhausted.

We took four days to cross 400km, reaching Dongola by following the Nile using maps and GPS. The road is not a permanent road and although we all felt really confident and calm, we were aware that it would be really easy to get lost and with the daily temperature reaching 45 degrees Celsius, getting things wrong would have fairly serious consequences. From time to time Harry and his crew caught up with us and then dashed off again in a cloud of dust. We only briefly stopped in the villages to get cool drinks and bread but slept out in the desert. It was a really magic part of the trip. Every evening we sat around a little camp table, Paul cooked dinner and we made jokes and laughed. We were in bed by eight and then woke up again before sunrise so that we could do the bulk of our miles in the cool morning air.

By the time we reached Dongola we were all exhausted and the bikes in particular had taken a beating. My advice to any other biker girls who plan on doing this trip is start doing press ups now! The ruts were as deep as 30cm and sandy too this means strong arms are required. I felt like I was doing thousands of push ups for hours on end. The bouncing was so violent that it felt as if the flesh was being shaken off my bones. Girls, get a seriously supportive sports bra.

When we reached Dongla we stayed in a hotel and had our first shower since leaving Aswan. The next morning I had my first puncture and later in the day, a second one. This was really frustrating as so far, we believed the road to be tar so it could take two days to reach Khartoum but having lost time, it would take three. The tar road seemed to be in short stretches followed by road works and we were back onto the same rutted sand roads. Clearly the road was being built and will in the future be an excellent new road… All the same, it was disappointing to whiz along for 20km and then back into dirt at 30 miles per hour for another 50km. Our hopes would raise a bit as we reached more tar but all the tar stretches were just a tease.

The most frustrating sand was what I believe is called “bull dust”. This is really soft powdery sand that is often really hard to see. The front wheel just plunged down into a puff of dust and the steering swung violently. Miraculously I only fell off once in this dust. Probably because Paul went first and so I managed to avoid hitting the worst patches at speed.

About as frustrating as bull dust is all the bureaucratic bull shit. We have to register in towns but are free to sleep wild without any hassle. It is always a run around requiring copies of everything and signatures of people who are not there. Ball ache.

While the people who make the rules and enforce them do our heads in, the Sudanese people we have met so far have been really hospitable, generous, helpful and polite. As aliens we are a bit of a novelty but mostly treated really well.

And a week later, here I am in Khartoum and everything is shut, celebrating the end of Ramadan! I apologise for this being a short blog. So much more has happened and we have seen so much and met people and had an extraordinary time. The problem is that we need to leave tomorrow to reach the border of Ethiopia before our visas expire and the bikes need some work before they get battered all the way to Addis. In any case, I think I might write a book at the end of the trip so I have to keep some stories for later.

Reached Khartoum

2006-10-25T13:05:00.000+01:00

Hey! Made it to Khartoum.

This has been the most amazing few days riding across the Sahara Desert. Mostly I'm thankful that I'm here and the sand behind me. I'm knackered! The bike is in one piece (mostly) and I did the whole thing with very few hassles and crashes. A great feeling of having achieved something. Believe me TOUGH. But more to come soon.....

Sand, Blue Skies and Tough Biking

2006-10-13T20:20:00.000+01:00

30 September: Egypt – Cairo, Oasis route via Bahariyya, White Desert, Farafra, Dakhla, Kharga and Luxor

By now we have reached Luxor safely and I’m chilling out at Rezeiky Camp that is very popular with overland tour groups – but there is no one but us here at the moment. As we went off on the desert route, we missed the ferry on the 9th which the German biker took, along with another couple of bikers. Our ferry to Wadi Halfa is booked for 16th and so far there are no other bikers. I guess what we need more than the company of fellow bikers is actually a truck that will take my luggage or even better, my luggage, my bike and me over the first part of Sudan until we get to roads that resemble roads. Humph. I need to keep on believing that things will work out insha Allah.

So we spent the weekend in Alexandria (which is Friday and Saturday) getting things done in Africa time and style. I felt we’d become a little trio and followed Omar around and did as he said like a couple of puppy dogs. He is that kind of guy. He has charm and charisma and seems to have everyone under his spell. It felt like there wasn’t a person in Agamy (the suburb we stayed in) that didn’t know Omar Mansour. It amused me tremendously the way he’d treat the world as if it belonged to him.

On Sunday we made our way to Cairo. I was quite excited about seeing this monster of a city. Omar had decided to come with us as he needed to sort out some bike parts. With Omar we never knew exactly what he’d do next and I think most of the time he wasn’t always sure himself. I liked that about him even though it made life chaotic, it was more interesting. Once again it meant that we didn’t have to figure out things like public transport nor deal with touts and we got to meet his friends and experience so much more than the usual tourist-tick-box package. Although I think Paul missed doing the touristy things and snapping photos of them, I didn’t mind missing the sites and found the change from heavy duty tourist travel was most welcome.

I should mention that during this time I’d been trying to participate in Ramadan. This is an entire month in which Muslims fast during the day. Fasting all day makes them ratty and fatigued and then they stay awake nearly all night which means an entire population is suffering from sleep deprivation and hunger. Breakfast (literally break fast) is at about 5.30pm which brings everything to a standstill. Don’t expect a thing to happen for the next hour. And believe me, you will be relieved when every one goes home to eat and comes back in a better mood. Business as usual continues from 7pm and will go on until about 3am when everything stops for the pre-dawn snack. Then everyone goes home for a sleep from 4am until about 9am.

Ramadan is a really special time. Firstly, it is to help people understand what it is to be poor and be hungry. It is a time that rich people should be generous and understanding towards those who are less fortunate. The next thing Ramadan does is draw people in the community together and creates an opportunity to celebrate eating together and deepens bonds of friendship. There is also the aspect that fasting brings you closer to God. And finally, fasting makes you a stronger person. For me, I fasted to understand what the people around me were experiencing. I realised just how special a time it is and how friendships can be born from sharing suffering. Importantly it made me truly understand what it is like to be disorientated from fatigue. I realised that all those comments about the poor like “they should help themselves” are extremely naive. I assure you, it is incredibly hard to do a thing when you are starved of food and sleep.

I’d had a look at the famous pyramids on google.earth and so I knew that they were situated in the middle of Giza which is an urban setting. From one direction you have these mystical monoliths set against a backdrop of sand and sky but from every other angle, they are surrounded by an ever growing urban sprawl. I loved the drive around Giza with the mental traffic whizzing about, tourists walking around in bunches, camels loping down the road followed by donkeys trotting past and Arabian horses galloping most elegantly by – all the time with these extraordinary pyramids in the background. Instead of going in the usual tourist entry point to see the pyramids we had a hairy 4x4 drive ala Omar across the sands to get the “perfect sunset pyramid photo”.

In the evening we met up with Omar’s friends to hang out and play some pool. I am not particularly good at pool – never have been. It was really nice to be in a crowd of people having a normal night out. I was sitting on the sofa wedged between two people, having a fun time, yet I was missing my friends: in particular I really missed Anna who was my partner in crime, drinking buddy and silly-bugger friend. In a crowd, having fun and I was lonely. Then Omar asked how I was and I admitted that I was feeling lonely. He asked about my friend and I explained about the Big Chinny face we liked to pull. Then Omar leaned over and pulled a Chinny. I couldn’t help but break into a big smile. That gesture of kindness created, bonded and sealed our friendship forever.

The time for morning snacks was approaching and so Omar and I were on our last game of pool versus a Tunisian couple. They’d been teasing Omar that there was no way we would win… and with a handicap like me, it seemed very likely that they would beat us. Omar teased back, “Hey, anything is possible.” We had about five balls on the table while they were trying to sink the black. Omar then got into first gear and sank a few balls leaving us one ball and the black. I looked at the situation and told myself, “Langton, come on. It is time to focus.”

What followed is probably my greatest moment in pool and will probably remain my greatest moment ever. It was a difficult shot but I sank our last ball. The tension was tangible. I’d left the white ball in a very good position for our competitors so I had the choice to knock it into a difficult position to disadvantage them or to just wing it and see if I could sink the black ball. I decided to sink the ball. It was a nearly impossible shot that required hitting the ball to the extreme side with enough force to make it move sideways at ninety degrees and into a pocket. I could feel everyone watching me intently as I awkwardly took the shot. The black ball moved to the side. It teetered. It almost stood still at the brim of the pocket and then miraculously dropped in. I would have cheered had I not been so surprised. There were hugs all round and our competitors stood there with mouths hanging open in disbelief. I have seldom gloated more. Omar and I talked about that game and recounted it in detail for days afterwards. It still makes me smirk.

Fun aside we had paperwork to do and so the next day we woke up early to go to our respective Embassies to organise getting a letter of recommendation that is required for the Sudanese visa. Omar, yet AGAIN, went beyond the call of a good host and woke up early to drive us around Cairo. We dropped Paul off at the British Embassy and then I went on to the South African Embassy that proved quite a bit harder to find. The SA Embassy is really small and there is no hassle with security getting in and out. I so enjoyed hearing a South African accent that I had the urge to hug the woman behind the glass window. In a few minutes I had my letter of recommendation, free of charge and hassle. I loved the letter. Even though it’s a standard letter it made me feel like a very special South African. In the meantime, Omar was outside in the car and was being treated as my driver. This amused him no end and he played up to security saying, “Sorry I can’t move the car because my Madam will be very angry with me.” And in another part of Cairo Paul was facing the British Embassy that has a complicated security system, long queues and they don’t issue letters of recommendation. He had to pay £20 for a letter stating such.

Then, as you all know, we spent the next day in the Sudanese Embassy getting our visas. This visa cost 100USD and is not always possible to obtain. I am very thankful that that last piece of the puzzle was in place. From that point onwards we had all our visas sorted out.

Hey, time to get back on the road! I couldn’t wait. Omar had organised to take some time off work and drive with us for a few days through the desert. This meant we would be free from the hassle of convoys, getting lost and carrying luggage. Two of his many relatives would be joining us. It felt like an unreal situation as Egypt was supposed to be so hard but things were running smoothly and I was having tremendous fun – I knew I had Omar to thank for this.

I have mentioned in previous posts that I’m not particularly good at off road biking. Well. The truth is I’m seriously crap. I’m terrified of speed and hate to feel out of control. Taking a motorbike off road is a particularly nerve-raking experience for me. It is a real catch 22 because when the bike looses control, it is important to increase speed. This is something my brain can’t comprehend and every fibre of my body goes into a state of extreme panic. I become so stiff that I fear my body will shatter on impact. I have neither style nor finesse and I just take on every off road experience as it arises, as best I can.

So when Omar said we’d drive to those dunes over there and camp I really strained my eyes to see the white mounds on the horizon. “Ah. The ones on the horizon? How far is that then?”
“About twenty klicks.”
Omar then pointed out that I should just drive off the nice tar road and through some sand to reach hard sand, “Okay?” I fell silent (one of those rare times in my life when I can’t find my tongue).
Needless to say, I dropped my bike as soon as I hit the soft sand. I didn’t even manage three meters in the sand. I didn’t say anything: I had nothing to say, my mouth was dry and my body had gone rigid. Omar got my bike out of the soft sand and I got back on. I listened to his instructions. Fortunately the hard sand is much like driving on a badly gravelled road so the rest of my twenty kilometre off road experience was not that bad. I did finish and thanked God it was over for the day.

The guys set up a typical Bedouin camp. I’d read about Bedouins in the Lonely Planet and they are described as nomadic desert people who live in the harshest climates but are becoming more settled due to tourism and pressures of modern life. This description conjures up images far from what we were experiencing. I guess some tourists would seek a Bedouin experience and expect it to be some what on the “primitive” side because of Western assumptions of society evolving from hunter-gathers to farmers to capitalist 9 to 5 paper pushers. We really shouldn’t make assumptions like this. It’s just wrong! I realised that Omar was an exceptional person and clearly a man who’d be as comfortable in the desert as he’d be in New York city. The stereotype just wouldn’t fit. Not him nor his friends or relatives. All the people I met seemed to be intelligent, funny and generous people – I didn’t feel any “us versus them” between us. We were just people and having fun as friends.

For me the Bedouin experience was: a soft sand dune, the sky turning from a pink sunset into starry black, food cooked over a fire, a colourful windbreak to lie behind, watching a desert fox sneak around our camp in the moonlight and falling asleep lying next to my friends after an evening of talking, music and tea. And in the morning waking to find that the naughty desert fox stole my flipflop.

The next day I did some more off road practicing. Omar insisted that I improve my skills. I preferred that I just did what was absolutely required of me and no more. All the same… I did some practicing and we took photos and joked about. I saw a photo of me on my bike. I have a little petite body that is so distinctly feminine. What was I thinking in Aleppo when I cut my hair thinking I’d pass as a man? Any fool could tell from miles away that that was a girl’s body. The little bit of practice was worth it and my confidence levels went up a few small notches.

Back on the road I finally met another biker girl! I was the first biker girl she had met too. We had a look at each other’s bikes. Her bike was a lot smaller and lighter than mine. She’s a tiny scrap of a girl from Japan who had just come up Africa and I was going down. Damn! I would so have loved to travel with a girl. She’d been travelling with a South African guy who told us about the appalling roads in Sudan and muddy floods in Ethiopia. Not exactly what I’d hoped to hear!

We route we took went via Bahariyya Oasis to the White Desert. This is one of the most attractive places in the Western Desert. There are white rocks shaped like mushrooms or faces or animals poking up every where. The sand is very soft and at times deep. There are patches of white rock, followed by a sandy patch, then a patch of slightly firmer sand and patches that look firm but are like puffy talcum powder… All that makes it unbelievably difficult to ride a motorbike across. Paul did quite well but I fell twice and then asked Omar to ride my bike (which he did with such ease that it just annoyed me). I could have been stubborn but there was no point in crashing my bike to pieces. Paul was then able to follow Omar which made it easier for him follow and learn. As much as I love my F650GS, it is very heavy to handle. At times I found it impossible.

We spent two days in the White Desert and I practiced riding in sand and trying to go as fast as possible without having a stroke. I realised that if the roads in Sudan were as sandy as we’d heard they were, there was no way I’d be doing it on my bike. I decided that for the really bad bit, I’d hitch a lift on a truck or have to do it by train. I have managed to do half the trip and was not about to break the bike or myself for the sake of crossing 100km of sand.

When I got back onto the asphalt road I stamped on the lovely hard surface and blew it kisses. I had read other biker’s travel accounts where they actually knelt down and kissed the tar. I wasn’t quite there yet but not far from it.

We passed through the Oases of Dakhla and Kharga and through more extraordinary landscapes. Unfortunately the time did eventually come when I had to say goodbye to Omar. I’m not a big one for saying goodbyes which is stupid because I’m such a rolling stone I seem to always be leaving. When I got on my bike, heavy with luggage again, instead of feeling happy to be on the road again, I felt as if my heart was breaking.

So here I am in Luxor and back to looking at ancient stones, ticking tick-boxes and Paul is in a happy snappy frenzy. I admit that the Egyptian ruins are pretty cool and thankfully very different from Roman ones. I didn’t realise that Luxor was the centre or capital of ancient Egypt – and so has miles and miles of temples all over. Fortunately we decided to have a guide take us to the West Bank to see the Valley of Kings and some other tombs so I’m a little bit more informed about “Egyptology” but if you want to know more, visit Egypt yourself!

I’ve done a basic service on the bike including oil change, air filter change and battery top up. I’ve check that all the bits are still there and nothing has worked loose or broken. I’m feeling ready for the road Jack!

I have my feet on African soil which is a wonderful feeling. I have the Youth Centre in Uganda expecting me and friends in SA waiting for my return. I have a future to look forward to, people to meet and projects to become involved in…. I am the girl on the bike; living the dream. But hey, just sometimes, I’m also a girl that is just a girl and nothing more.

All sorted and the desert lies ahead

2006-10-04T13:43:00.000+01:00

News flash of the day is: WE HAVE OUR VISAS FOR SUDAN!!

This really is excellent news as it was the only visa we couldn't secure before leaving and were anxious that we might be refused.

Omar and a French girl will be joining us in a 4x4 and tomorrow will be heading off to the desert. Can't wait!

Promise to keep writing but internet access isn't all that easy to find at the moment.

Egypt is Full of Surprises

2006-09-29T13:40:00.000+01:00

If there was one country I was nervous of travelling through, it was Egypt. I’d been carrying a niggling worry with me all the way. I expected the border crossing to be a lot worse but it simply turned out to be impossible to do on your own – but there was a policeman whose job was to sort out tourists like ourselves. I expected the police controls to be mean, hard work but they too have turned out to be bothersome but fine. At the end of the day, the police are there to protect tourist areas and I think that often their concern is that we have a safe journey. Okay, so the driving is mad and we are yet to discover the convoys… The roads vary from smooth tarmac to fairly rugged rocky sand paths. However, not any worse than we have experienced already.

I thought that this was going to be a stressful experience from beginning to end but we have been having a ball! And the real great surprise about Egypt is the super guys we have been meeting and in particular, Omar. I’ve mentioned the www.horizonsunlimited.com website before in early posts. In Turkey we submitted a post looking for fellow bikers doing the same route. I had expected there to be at least some bikers going in the same direction and we only have a small window of good weather to cross North Africa – where was every one? Well, Omar got in touch with us and offered to help us in Egypt doing all the tricky bits like ferry bookings and a place to stay so we could day trip into Cairo. He is a biker too (as always, the cool guys are) and a very adventurous, friendly chap. He reminds me of the action character in the film Triple X that Van Diesel plays. He is wired and unpredictable but still the hero of the story.

22 September: Egypt – Nuweiba, Dahab and Alexandria (skimming past Cairo on the ring road)

We landed in Egypt late in the evening, thanks to the ferry being delayed for four hours. We arrived to what appeared to be total chaos and devastation. It was hard to figure out the road for the rubbish. We were shouted at and followed men in official uniforms pointing. Eventually we parked in a specific spot amongst piles of baggage and rubbish where cars appeared to be searched (with the kind of rigor CSI Miami investigators demonstrated, only the ones on telly made less mess). I stood and stared at a man busy ripping the lining of the doors of the car and taking the windows out. “Fucking hell.” I thought. I couldn’t bear to think what was going to happen to my precious motorbike.

A really scruffy man walked up to me and pointed to my bike’s frame number and by his gesticulations we needed to get a paper from one of the offices he pointed towards. No body in the office seemed to understand what we wanted. We walked over to a fellow vehicle owner who explained that actually we had to go to a different window to open our files first. I thought he was joking but numerous photocopies of various papers and we exchanged money for two folders each. I’d heard there were supposed to be people about who could help us, or at least speak English, but it appeared that they had gone home - it was so late on a Friday (equivalent of Sunday). I tried to not feel stressed but this seemed like mission impossible. I knew that we would just have to take as much time as needed… and it looked like a long time indeed.

Someone else pointed out that we didn’t have the blue paper from the ferry. This paper was essential and we couldn’t enter without it. Shit! Paul and I decided to quickly drive back to the ferry before it left and ask for it. We hopped back on the bikes but as we started the engine an official looking man stormed towards us and shouted “Stop!” in a very commanding way. We stopped.
I shouted back across the hordes of people dragging luggage past between us, “We need the blue form from the ferry.”
He shouted, “STOP!” again.
“OK!” I shouted back and got off the bike to prove it.
He shouted “Wait!”
I looked at Paul.
“I guess we have to wait then.” And we stood there feeling like lemons for a while.

The scruffy chap was still hassling us for a piece of paper. Eventually he went to the office himself and got the paper and we paid for it. Some other chap came along and took down our names again. We waited as told, with our files and no idea what was going on. The scruffy chap came back having made rubbings of our engine frame numbers and pasted them onto the paper. He was happy and walked off.

We continued to wait. It felt like ages so I went off to find the insurance office. The problem was that each time I asked someone I was directed to a different office. Eventually in my wandering about I found the same guy who had shouted at us and he turned out to be the Tourist Police too. He was pretty grumpy but he seemed to have time to help us now. I tried to be charming and he gradually became Mr Friendly and took us about from counter to counter. I did have another moment of real anxiety when he asked if our luggage had been search for “firecrackers”. I assumed this really meant explosive devices of sorts and looked at the nice new car in front of us that now had someone ripping the engine to shreds. Apparently our luggage had been checked while we were away – and as far as I could tell nothing had been touched. I sighed with relief! Eventually we had two big files full of freshly stamped, signed, folded and paid for papers. We were issued with scrappy old Egyptian number plates and free to leave, not too long after 9pm.

There was no way we would get to Dahab so we found a camping spot at a tourist resort that seemed to be completely deserted. Paul was keen to drive at night but we have a rule that we don’t drive at night and I stick to it. I was kind of smug when he hit a speed hump far too fast and I could hear his bash plate scraping. That is exactly why we don’t drive at night in foreign countries on unlit roads.

Early the next morning we did the 70 km trip to Dahab. We’d been advised to go to there as it is one of Egypt’s highlights. I’d been so focused on the bad things about Egypt; I’d forgotten to focus on the good things at the same time.

As luck would have it, at one of the many police stops in Sinai, we met another biker who is intending to do the same route as us. We made a precarious arrangement to meet in Aswan and take the ferry together. The ferry only leaves on a Monday and our intended route is via the desert so will take longer than what he is planning. I’m sure he is hoping as much as we are that things work and we can ride together!

After some riding about we found the Auski camp that Omar had recommended. He had called ahead so the guys were expecting us and welcomed us warmly. The bikes were ridden right inside the courtyard so that they were safe.

We decided to stay in one of the cheap rooms at 15Lei (£1.50) and spend the rest of our daily budget on some of the various things you could do in Dahab. This is mostly diving but there are camel rides and other tours too. It’s a tourist paradise bubble. It is really cheap (by comparison with European prices not Egyptian) and is basically a purpose built town – just for tourists to enjoy. If you drive down the back road you end up in a dusty Bedouin village with goats munching on garbage and what was described as “Africa”. If you take a stroll down the waterfront road, it is lined with restaurants, tat shops, diving centres and markets selling overpriced goods. It’s amazingly chilled out with many restaurants having low tables with big cushions and shesha pipes where the clientele can chill out for hours on end.

I’d been snorkel diving in Eilat some 10 years before and I didn’t think it was all that remarkable. I remember hyperventilating every time I saw a big fish and was too scared to swim out too far. I probably missed it all and so I wasn’t quite expecting what I saw in the Red Sea!

We were given some flippers and a snorkel and were driven went to a spot called “Three Pools”. It was boiling so I hurried into the water and dipped my face under the water. We were still at the entry point and barely two feet underwater and there were brightly coloured fish swimming about. This was Paul’s first bash at snorkelling and so I was keeping an eye on him as I floated over the coral reef. So long as his spluttering didn’t lead to anything more serious I was happy.

Under the water was just, well, exactly like the film Nemo. There were literally thousands of fish of all colours and shapes. There were huge corals, anenomies and other interesting things I didn’t recognise. It was like looking at an enormous rock pool. The water was a beautiful clear turquoise blue and the waves were very gentle making it very easy to simply float and see down for meters. It was a whole new world and I was completely blown away.

So when Shawkey (one of the brothers who run Auski) suggested we do an intro scuba dive, I was up for it. I’d never considered scuba diving before because there seems to be so much equipment and far too much could go wrong. Paul was less keen but agreed to do the swimming pool try all the same and take it from there. I still had the tail end of the cold I’d been trying to shake for ages and was very congested. While I’ve always been able to swim quite well, Paul has only started getting to grips with swimming in the last couple of years.

Day two in Dahab and we found ourselves at a spot called “Lighthouse”. Paul was extremely nervous and I didn’t blame him at all. Breathing underwater is not at all natural and feels completely wrong. The other consideration is that if you panic – you have to sort it out there underwater – popping up for air is not an option. I was too desperate to get down to seeing more fish to worry too much about what could go wrong. We each had a qualified experienced diver with us who would be working all the equipment for us. All we had to do was breathe. My instructor took me down deeper than I think he was supposed to but I had one of the best experiences of my life. I saw all kinds of fish and things that I’d only ever seen in nature programmes on television. It was just brilliant! I came out of the water with a big smile, wobbly legs and snot dribbling down my face. That was awesome!

Paul did it too! He had a slightly shell shocked look. When I asked what he thought he said he was too stressed out to enjoy it and wouldn’t do it again. All the same, I was amazed that he did the dive and every thing was okay.

When I first met Paul we went to Tunisia for an October break. Paul jumped in the pool and I watched him thrashed about violently. “Damn.” I thought, “Is he drowning?” I jumped in the pool and realised that the water was just barely above my wait. Since then he has been learning how to swim and now he can swim and snorkel – on top of the water – very well!

My cold came back just to teach me a lesson about having too much fun and so we stayed in Dahab for another two days… lovely days of relaxing and snorkelling. Egypt had so not lived up to expectations – and that is a very good thing. So far the Red Sea was the highlight of the trip for me.

But back to travel and we had to get back on the bikes. I wondered if we were going to find the rest of Egypt hard work? Was Sinai going to be the good bit and the worst to come?

As we drove along it seemed that every few minutes the scenery changed: mountains changed colour, there were masses of rocks or stretches of sand followed by a patch of dense palm trees. It was very peaceful early in the morning. Maybe as it is Ramadan people go out until late at night and wake up late in the morning. Maybe it is just a fact that most of life goes on after dark here. Makes sense, as it’s so hot all day. In any case, this means we easily have until about 9am before we have to contend with traffic on the roads.

To break the trip to Alexandria where we’d meet Omar, we stopped at Ras Sudr. This appears to be yet another purpose built tourist town. There is a proliferation of resorts along the beach that are standing empty. It is hard to believe that these places make enough money during the short summer season to afford standing empty the rest of the year and only open again the following year. I’m not sure I quite understand this business model.

In the morning we crossed the Suez Canal and then took the ring road around Cairo, just in time to catch the morning traffic. Fortunately the ring road is quite clearly sign posted. I had hoped so or we could find ourselves down town in the dreaded traffic and in a predicament. The traffic, as expected, was mental. There were four-ish lanes in each direction and traffic going all directions. It was a case of keeping our eyes peeled, finger on the hooter and as they say in SA being bakgat. I almost missed the turning for Alex as Paul swerved off with no warning – but fortunately its normal to stop unexpectedly anywhere on the road and there were some police officers who then helped me reverse and get down the off ramp to join Paul.

By early afternoon we reached our rendezvous point and I immediately recognised that the fellow in a red shirt waving madly must be Omar! We followed his Landcruiser through city traffic and into small dusty little roads. We finally reached our destination and I very much doubted I could find my way out or back to the motorway again. Omar had arranged for us to be able to stay in one of his father’s apartments. It’s not plush and is coated with a wholesome layer of dust and sea sand – but we have loads of space, a bed and a working bathroom, all to ourselves.

Omar has been incredibly helpful. He has done some big bike trips himself and so really understands what it is like on the road and how tricky it can be if you simply need to replenish stocks or have some laundry done. He has helped us sort out a whole list of bothersome things, and more. A lot of the shops here are tucked away little stores that Paul and I wouldn’t have thought of trying. They have been brilliant (interesting and entertaining too). We’ve had a piece of water-resistant material whipped up into a tarpaulin. It might be over-kill but still useful: small spotlights fitted to our crash bars. And we found insulated water bottles with casings to hang over the bike to increase our water capacity to 6 litres each. We’ve replaced our spares that have been used too.

Just as soon as we have our Sudanese visas, we will be so ready to do the tough bit of the trip.

Tomorrow the weekend is over and we will venture into Cairo. I think I’m sufficiently braced for the city. The population is something like 20 million! It is bound to me quite an experience. Hopefully by the next post we will have visas in our passports. Fingers crossed.

Egypt! and Carnet success

2006-09-23T17:18:00.000+01:00

We are in Egypt by the Red Sea and having a ball. It's all sand and camels.

Here is some help for anybody taking a bike into Egypt(as we really didn't know where to start):

THE CARNET IS ESSENTIAL. We saw people turned back to Jordan because they were not correctly informed about the carnet. Make sure it is right.

If you ferry over, ask the ferry for a blue piece of paper for customs. Luckily ours found it's way to us but caused us anxiety.

Have sweaty wads of Egyptian spondoolies. We paid 515 per bike + 50 road tax + 50 insurance + 20 photocopies per bike. Plus another approximately UK fiver for a "tip" for the kind soul who helps you. And a few other minor papers to be bought.

To find the kind soul, go to the tourist police office. You really can't do this on your own.

You need a folder to be made up and copies made of carnet etc, your chassis number rubbed and stuck on a paper, your luggage checked for firecrackers, insurance bought, pay the fees, get numerous slips of paper all of which require special stamps by different people. By the end of it you will have Egyptian number plates and a cardboard licence paper and your carnet stamped. Take some cable ties along in case.

If you can get your visa before you arrive you will cut out a little hassle.

Try to not stress out. You will probably be guided around like a stupid child. So see the madness in it. It takes many hours, enjoy!!!

Writing from Aqaba: About to leave the Middle East for Egypt

2006-09-21T17:10:00.000+01:00

13 September: Syria – Aleppo and Damascus

So as already mentioned, I was on what felt like my death bed in Aleppo. What I didn’t mention was that the kind woman who showed me the Baron Hotel had also asked Paul and I out for lunch and I also didn’t mention that she is a doctor. Over lunch she admitted that she didn’t know how it quite happened but when she met me she decided to ask us if we wanted to meet again? I accepted her offer gratefully as it was clear that Aleppo was going to be a tough city to get to grips with. During lunch her son, who is working in Edinburgh, called and was shocked to hear his mother was inviting people off the street out to lunch! I have seldom been more delighted and grateful for having met such a charming person. We had a very long lunch at the best restaurant in Syria; dinned on some of the best food I’ve ever eaten and indulged the most enjoyable conversation. Afterwards she sorted me out with all the relevant medication I required to get better. It just seemed too uncanny that, once again, my needs were being met in some special way.

I’m not a big one for believing, and even less so for religion but I couldn’t help feeling that something was looking after me. I know there are people of all backgrounds and all religions all around the world praying for our safety, and so thank you!

Early the next morning, before the rest of Aleppo got out of bed, we set off for the drive to Damascus. I don’t know why I hadn’t realised that being Friday (being the equivalent of Sunday) would mean a lot less traffic and a relatively hassle free journey. The only real hassle was that I wasn’t yet better and so wasn’t able to appreciate grand places like Krac de Chevalier. I did drag my body to the castle, but the parking lot would have been just as interesting.

We went to a campsite only 4km outside of Damascus that is supposed to be a stop over point for overlanders. With the exception of a “travelling hotel bus”, we were the only people there. We’d been hoping we would meet up with other people doing the same trip and thought that given October is the best time to cross North Africa…where was everybody? At a guess it’s a combination of things: the Egyptian carnet going up to 800% making the West coast more affordable, increased tension between Islamic and non-Islamic peoples, the media contributing to the hype, Israel causing hassles again, and then individuals like myself with worries of anti-Western feelings in the Middle East. Quite honestly, I doubted there had ever been a booming tourist trade in Syria.

Damascus turned out to be a much more accepting city. People from around the Mediterranean have congregated here and so are much more tolerant towards strangers. I’d read about the souk (market) a number of times in travel magazines and Dan Cruikshank’s Eighty Treasures. I like the way Cruikshank describes the little holes in the arched roof of the souk as twinkling stars in the heavens above. He gets really lofty and romantic about what is a market but it did give me a smile as I looked up at the scrappy roof and thought: one man’s rags can certainly be another man’s robes. The souk’s main street is the oldest known road and Damascus is also the oldest city that has been continually inhabited. It is a charming city and although extremely jam-packed with people, cars and beasts, it’s still a pleasant one to walk around.

Having been a bit blasé about the souk, the prices did get me very excited and frustrated too as we can’t shop! There are hundreds of stalls chock-a-block, side by side selling a fantastic assortment of goods. From shops with scarves in every fabric and colour, to ice cream parlours, to kitsch shops with every sort of plastic flower in lurid colours to wedding dress shops strategically placed next door to the kinky underwear shops. Perfume shops that mix your scent while you wait and tombstone shops with fellows chipping out the deceased’s name and shops selling nothing but decorative hubbly-bubbly pipes. It is a huge market with all of these wonderfully exotic things to buy and at such unbelievably low prices. I bought a scarf and the guy asked for the equivalent of £1.50. The woman before me had haggled this fellow so much I thought they would come to blows. I just didn’t have the heart to haggle over what would amount to 50p especially since I would have paid at least £10 for it in London. In this instance, it was a win-win with two happy people doing easy business.

I felt like I was practically skipping about for feeling better and no longer being stressed out because I’m a Western woman. In Damascus nobody cared who I was and that I was wearing trousers and a t-shirt.

I was having such a carefree time that when I realised that Paul hadn’t been to a mosque before I immediately insisted that we visit the Umayyad Mosque, even though this meant me having to wear a big baggy robe covering my clothes, head and any shape at all, while Paul only had to remove his shoes. The mosque is spectacular and has some wonderful mosaics but what really struck me was the calm atmosphere and people going there to chill out and sit in the shade on the cool marble floor. I also really enjoyed seeing other tourists looking all baggy, misshapen and slightly peeved. I know I looked equally silly but we looked more like slovenly Jedi out of Star Wars than meek Muslim women. The men with shorts had to wear long green skirts and were clearly out of their comfort zone.

So I couldn’t help myself when a blond chap walked past with his green skirt on and I piped up with, “I like your look. Going for something out of Star Wars?”
Ice broken we introduced ourselves. His woman friend was starting to bake in her sack dress and so we decided to go to a more touristy part of the city where we could escape the heat and crowds and relax over a drink. She was going to spend a year in Damascus studying Arabic. I still don’t exactly understand why she is so determined to study Arabic but as she said, “It is a challenge.”
I’m could not agree more, and I suspect the whole experience will be challenging for sure (and I’m relieved it’s her doing it, not me).

Even though Damascus did offer a different and likeable perspective on Syria, it was still time to go to Jordan. What we have realised is that we are not quite up for the slumming it in brothels and fleapits or the camping wild thing – and so it costs more. If we can’t cut back on the cost of travel, we have to cut back on the time we travel instead.

17 September: Jordan – Jaresh, Madaba, Petra (via Dead Sea & Kings Highway) to Aquaba

When crossing country borders in Europe it is uneventful and often hard to tell the difference from one country to the next. Since we have crossed borders with controls, visas and officials I have also found that one culture ends and another begins.

We passed through border controls; stamped the carnet out and us out, then about half a kilometre later we went through the process of stamping the carnet in, buying insurance and getting ourselves stamped in too. I have heard real horror stories about border crossings but thankfully we have had at worst a stony faced official and at best a smiley jovial chap. And then, 3 hours later, we were free to make our way through the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan.

Before I left the UK I had done some research on visa requirements. Paul and I had heard that it was not possible to ride a motorbike in Jordan. The rumour goes: that the King went to Europe and thought motorbikes were far too dangerous and so banned them, with the exception of his guards who were allowed to ride motorbikes. As a result the only time a visa would be issued is if you got special permission from the King of Jordan himself. This information had me vexed for quite some time. I even went all the way to the Jordanian Embassy in London and asked if this was the case. I can now confidently say that there is no problem with motorcyclists being granted a visa to travel through Jordan. All you will need to do is all the relevant paperwork at the border.

So the motorcycle ban is just a rumour, but there were petty much no motorcycles in Jordan. I have only seen motorcycle cops and only one little scooter out on the road. This means that our two relatively big, flash bikes attract attention where ever they go. But it is good, friendly attention (or so it seems). Cars and trucks drive by carefully with a wave or “Welcome.” shouted from the window. Every now and then someone who speaks English will try to have a biker’s conversation with us but it is just so clear they have no idea about bikes at all. It is well intentioned and we try to be as obliging as we can be.

The traffic has been strangely law abiding. The roads are in excellent condition and the speed limits at time ridiculously slow. Yet, these big flash cars quietly drift by at 60 km per hour if that is what the limit is. It’s been frustrating at times! I get the feeling this is nation was not born to be wild.

Our first stop in Jordan was Jerash. Neither of us had heard about it before and so we were quite surprised as we rode thorough the town and Roman ruins appeared to be poking out every where. After all the Roman ruins we have seen on the trip, I was starting to glaze over and had to really think carefully if it was worth paying the entry fee to see more rocks. What makes Jerash well worth seeing is the live enactment of Roman chariot races, the informative demonstrations of an army of soldiers and the amusing burly gladiators. Finally ancient Rome entered my imagination and I was able to appreciate it so much more.

We then decided to drive past Mount Nebo and the Dead Sea to Petra. This is the very mountain that God led Moses up and showed him the Promised Land. I was much relieved to see the Promised Land included not just beautiful rocky mountains but also fertile valleys. As I drove up to Mount Nebo I felt a slightly tense anticipation because if I was Moses and had been living out in the extreme conditions of the desert for however long and had been shown the likes of dusty Syria, I would have been disappointed but the majestic mountains of Jordan were not a let down.

The police guard at the top of Mount Nebo asked if we wanted to go to the tourist office. I said, “No, its okay. We just came here to get the view Moses had.” He didn’t get the joke at all but it was a subtle one.
Then he asked where we were going. I showed him my map through the tank bag and described the intended route along the Dead Sea.
“The road is bad.” He said and shook his head.
I pointed to the tarmac and said, “Is the road like this or sand?”
“Oh no! The road is good but it is…” and he indicated twists and hairpins, “dangerous!”
Both Paul and I smile in relief and assure the police guard that the road is no problem at all. He waved us off with a, “Drive safely.”
We did ride carefully and stuck to the speed limit.

As we descended the windy road towards the Dead Sea it became eerily quiet. The air was completely still without as much as a leaf stirring. Sound seemed to be completely absorbed. It was the kind of quiet that made me feel uneasy. We stopped at a bathing resort that was very over priced but the only option around. Besides, it was midday and so the most sensible option was to get off the road for a few hours and go for a quick dip in the sea. It was a good laugh as we bobbed up like corks. It also made every cut and itchy bite burn like heck so we didn’t stay in the water very long. I don’t know where the water comes from that fills the Dead Sea or why the salt content remains so high or why the water is more like oil? I have many unanswered questions to research when I get back home. We passed through numerous police checks along the sides of the sea. With the strange silence, utterly still waters and military presence every where, it all felt a bit uneasy.

We found that away from the big tourist traps like Petra, people were generally quite decent. I get the feeling Jordan is specifically interested in older, wealthier tourists and possibly gullible American too. As a result, there is very little in the budget side of things, entry fees are outrageous and constant plaguing for tips is a real nuisance.

In spite of the smarting entry fee we decided to go to Petra all the same. Petra has been hyped up as the one and only place to go in Jordan. Well. It wasn’t that impressive. I think that after seeing Rome, Pompeii, Epheses and numerous other castles and historic sites, Petra has its unique beauty and intrigue but possibly not in direct proportion to the entry fee. The problem with entry fees is that they build my expectations and so far Petra is by a long measure the most expensive site we have visited… but not the most spectacular – and certainly not in proportion to the cost.

So what struck me as the whacky thing about Petra was that all that really remains is a whole lot of out-sized tombs that have been cut into the rock. I remembered Dan Cruikshank describing it as the city of the dead. I find it hard to imagine what city existed there in the past and what kind of people the Nabetaeans who lived there were. It must be a real feat of engineering to chisel out the tombs, some of which are absolutely massive and on the faces of sheer cliffs. These massive canyons were formed by the rock cracking and splitting. It’s a soft rock and coloured red, back, pink, green, yellow and blue. The landscape around is mountainous and rocky and I’m sure very difficult to pass through. The Nabetaeans took full advantage of their location and robbed any body who tried to pass through. Later they realised that by making people pay for safe passage, they could generate a lucrative income. The city flourished but there isn’t much to see of the actual city – just a road that the Romans built after taking over the city and a few temple remains.

By comparison with Syria, Jordan is unbelievably peaceful. It also has a very small population of only five million which I guess also means that the average person is better educated and more well off. However, in contradiction, Jordan seems to have a lot more street kids than I’ve seen any where else on the trip so far. In general they seem to be accepted as just one of those things. People don’t chase them away and they walk about begging or collecting cans without fear. I never know how exactly to react to these situations. Being tourists and comparatively well off means we have the scruffy little things pester us. I find myself very irritated by them and then later feeling very bad about being so irritated. The “What are we supposed to do about it?” mantra goes through my mind.

I watched a podgy, middle aged American woman with sweaty curls sticking out from under her hat call a little boy over and say, “DO. YOU. WANT. A. PEN?” in slow patronising American drawl.
She held up two rather expensive gel pens towards the little boy as if they were lolly-pops. The little boy grabbed the pens and scampered off. He ran straight past us and to a very big muscled man who sat on a camel in the shade and handed him the pens. The man took a look at the pens and added them to a small pile of pens he’d collected from tourists via the kids. I don’t know what the situation is. It could be “protection payment” or it could be his big brother. In another incident a tourist had clearly handed a lanky adolescent girl a note of money. The girl tried to give it back but the woman insisted and walked away. Not long afterwards, the biggest of the kids beat the girl and took the money. In any case, handing out pens or giving away small change isn’t the answer to the problem.

Another discovery in Petra that really impressed me was the humble little donkey. I had no idea this little beast of burden was such an off road whiz and was capable of carrying an outsized American man up all 855 mountainous tricky steps. It was also able to gallop down again. Their sligtly daft but cute looking faces give no hint of this exraordinary ability and strength.

We have arrived in Aqaba where we will take the ferry to Egypt tomorrow. We will finally be in Africa! Egypt is both in the Middle East and Africa travel guides so I’m not exactly sure which classification it falls into but I think I’m safe in saying it straddles both. I’m excited in anticipation of the deserts and pyramids but I have not heard anything positive about travel in Egypt and so I’m hoping for the best.

The tough bit begins

2006-09-14T11:06:00.000+01:00

6 September: Turkey – Cappadocia and Sanliurfa

From Antalya we went to Cappadocia via Konya. Konya is supposed to be a very pretty city and on a pilgrimage route – what that really means is that the otels are over priced. All of a sudden we are out of secular Turkey and into conservative Muslim mode. Women scuttled along in their very large, hot looking clothing but worse, teenage boys didn’t seem to know how to behave around a foreigner. While I waited for Paul the porter did a very good job of shooing off crowds of boys. This annoyed me a lot more than I thought it would. I knew I’d have to face this on the trip but it really angered me. I’m not used to having to tolerate disrespect from anyone.

On to Goreme, the touristy bit of the very famous rock cities. We had climbed up through the mountains near the coast and crossed a vast plane that is flat from horizon to horizon, and then it seemed to be rather sudden that we turned a corner and the “fairy towers” were every where. The rocks are often conical in shape and at times coloured in stripes of white, pink and yellow – due to the layers of volcanic eruption. The rocks are made of soft volcanic tufta and over the years have been eroded by weather and humans. During the Byzantine period people lived in these odd rock formations and you can see hundreds of little windows, engravings and paintings of this time. Many of the buildings, or rather holes, are churches as they were used by Christians to escape Roman persecution. Later the rock dwellings were used as pigeon houses and the pigeons were used for food and shit (according to the local chap who has a teashop called “Flintstones” in the middle of no where). During the Ottoman period the cities were not needed and started to fall down because of earthquakes and floods. They were only discovered again in the 1900s.

South of Goreme there are underground cities. These housed thousands of people for a few months at time. They were used mainly to escape from attack. These are really strange places and must have been really unpleasant to live in – as there were animals there too. I have no idea where the word troglodyte comes from and as a child I thought it described something like a green monster rather than someone who lives in the earth. In any case, it is a good word to describe the troglodyte city – it is peculiar, warren-like and you have to hunch over and squeeze through in most of the passages. The passages deliberately force one to crouch so that the enemy would enter in one at a time, exposing their necks, making killing them easy. It is interesting though that they managed to ventilate and light the place sufficiently to live there at all.

Turkey is such a big country that we’d ended up spending an extra week there already. We were supposed to take it easy and enjoy it as it’s the last of the holiday type countries until we reach Kenya. Getting all the way to the East of Turkey took quite a bit of mountain driving. The roads had also deteriorated and there were large stretches of road works too that meant driving through thick, loose gravel. I did worry that we’d changed tyres to knobblies too soon, but definitely not! I would have been struggling like mad with road tyres on some of the stretches.

So we finally got to the touristy spot of Mount Nemrut. The mountains are huge and barren with surprisingly blue lakes every now and then.

Paul and I had spoken to a chap who is undoubtedly the most hardened traveller I’ve ever met. He always slept rough and hardly spent money on anything except his motorbike. He seemed to be doing okay for himself. So Paul and I thought we should try to be more adventurous about the whole thing. We tend to go from one Lonely Planet recommendation to the next. In this instance, we thought we would be wild. We reached the tiny village of Kahdrad and a young man suggested we camp in a field on the side of the road. Lack of language skills and all… we ended up camping in what is actually the parking lot for restaurant that is actually a very shabby dirty place. To cut a long story short, these guys tried to charge us for food and accommodation that cost about three times what we would pay for clean, air conditioned hotel and proper, hygienically prepared food. Fortunately, we’d discussed the possibility of this being a big load of bull already and so the bikes were packed. When the argument and stymied faces of “I don’t understand why you think I’m screwing you over” started we just gave him the maximum amount we were prepared to pay, got on the bikes and left. I don’t like this approach to dealing with arguments as I like to reach agreements. I just think in this instance, there would be no way of getting this fool to understand that for all the “welcome” in the world – we were just not idiots.

Rip off aside: pretty much all the women about are dressed in either peasant floral baggy pants or skirts with a scarf or a variation of Muslim-style outfits. When I arrived on my bike there was quite a commotion and little girls appearing out of no where to have a look at me. The curiosity continued and I was under scrutiny all of the time I was camped up in the parking lot. A woman, who I would guess is in her late twenties, called me over to go to the fields with her. The first thing we did was climb up a fig tree. I haven’t done this kind of thing for years and quickly found myself at my limit. At which point she, long skirt and all, climbed past me to the very tiny branches and plucked off figs and handed them to me. We walked through fields as she explained about the fields and I smiled at her, not understanding a thing. She then sat down to have a sneaky fag. We did manage to communicate that I was married with no kids and she is divorced. I could see that there was some heartbreak that had made her rebellious and as a result, curious about me, or rather, the life a “non-Muslim” woman has. We walked back slowly and I fell deep into thought.

I wished she could tell me about her life and I could tell her about mine. I wanted to know what it is like to be hidden from public view and if she is able to make choices about her life. I have enjoyed so much freedom and done what I want to do with my life – often to my parent’s horror. It hasn’t always been easy and my choices have at times resulted in me struggling and at times being extremely unhappy. I have also been lonely and had to face many tough battles on my own but I have had dreams and the freedom to at least try to live them. I would not swap this freedom for all the cloistering and security in the world.

East Turkey was proving to be very different from the West.

When we reached Sanliurfa, close to the Syrian border, the differences continued to become more apparent. There were very few women dressed in Western clothing and the friendly attitude of Western Turkey was all gone. We met a young Kurdish guy who I’m sure was trying to convince us of their plight but all he did with his pushy bad attitude was make me really not give a monkey’s about their cause. I normally do care about minorities but I come from a country that has a lot to be proud of and being tolerant of diversity IS possible and in the modern world essential. Finding solutions it so much more important that setting off bombs in tourist destinations. We had by a day here or there, managed to miss all three bombs that had gone off in Turkey during the three weeks we were there.

I’d also by now picked up the good old tummy bug, having just barely recovered from the cold, and was feeling very weak and feeble. Paul’s tummy was slowly getting better but had suffered from really bad headaches for a few days. We were both loosing weight and energy. I looked at Paul weakly and said, “So this is it. We are heading off into the toughest part of the trip and we are as sick as dogs. Not good babe, not good.”

12 September: Syria – Ar-Raqqa to Aleppo

We crossed the border at Akcakale and the plan was to head straight to Palmyra. The only problem was that Paul and I had not anticipated the kind of response we would have travelling on motorbikes and even more so – having a woman drive her own bike. Ironically, the border guys were brilliant, helpful and friendly but that has been the last of it. We had heard a lot of very positive feedback from people travelling through Syria but on reflection, they were all men. On the road it is unlikely that any body would realise I’m a woman and so that is fine but the moment my visor comes up, in a few minutes there is a crowd. Mostly I’ve had curiosity which is not welcome when Paul and I are merely trying to talk. However, when we arrived in Raqqa I couldn’t stop without attracting a horde of teenage boys. They blatantly harassed me and tried to grab at things on the bike, including the keys. I even had them hanging off the bike as I rode off but fortunately the 650 is a whole lot more feisty than the pestering boys. We didn’t think it was worth trying to find a hotel in these circumstances and so changed plans and went to Aleppo.

The landscape had changed to flat, dry and dusty. There were small whirlwinds flying across the horizons. I’d like to be romantic about how beautiful it is, but its just litter everywhere. The fields of black and white plastic fluttering in the wind are a pretty interesting illusion all the same. The roads were bad, as expected. The traffic was insane. We are in the world of biggest has right of way. At one point I had a massive truck about one meter off my rear wheel and I was doing the speed limit of 80km per hour. Its times like those that I have to just avoid looking back and hope the arse realises I’m not about to swerve onto gravel at that speed so that they can overtake without turning their steering wheel. Goddamit, my nerves were shot.

Aleppo is a massive city and as always, driving in a city is hell. This was the worst we’d experienced by a long measure. Manic. People drive here like complete lunatics and all in such a huge hurry that there is almost no regard for traffic lights, lanes or road signs. People hoot. They hoot because you are in the way, because they are cutting you up, they are jumping a light, they are illegally overtaking and sometimes just to wave at you. At times they are just hooting because they have a hooter. It is noisy and unbelievably stressful.

We arrived at Aleppo and whipped the good old faithful LP out. I had my helmet on with visor down, sunglasses on and daren’t remove even my gloves for fear of being discovered as a woman. Paul went off in search of a hotel. It took what felt like ages and I managed to completely ignore most gawpers until a little boy kept pulling his father back again and again to look at the bike. The father eventually came back and asked how much the bike cost? My cover was blown. I replied, “About 5000 pounds.” and offered no further conversation. So the guys in the barber shop saw I was a girl and Paul was gone so I had a mild panic. A guy came out with a chair for me. They were clearly concerned about me (I did look pretty sick). I sat very quietly and tried to avoid conversations, melting under my bike gear.

Finally Paul returned with the not so good news that he had found a dodgy place but that was the only place with rooms available and we could park in the lobby. I wanted to cry out of feeling sick, miserable and the prospect of a night of running to a shared squat loo was more that I felt capable of coping with. Fortunately I know that in these situations the correct thing to do is: chin up. We managed to get through the horrendous traffic to the flea pit and with much hassle got the bikes into the lobby we were instructed to park in. At which point some older men stuck their noses in, asked if we had papers to prove that we were married and said we shouldn’t stay there. I didn’t understand all of what was going on but it was a really bad vibe and, “You are not welcome.” doesn’t need much more explanation. So there was the huge hassle of getting the bikes out again and lots of people hanging about with big bulging eyes. I don’t intimidate easily but given my feeble state – I felt pretty intimidated.

Paul spotted a woman in Western clothing and shoved me, “Go and talk to her.” I approached her tentatively. She smiled. Yes, she spoke English and would help me find a hotel. I said we were having a pretty bad time so far at which point she pointed out that the area we were in was a prostitute zone with many Russian prostitutes working the streets. That explained the hostility (to an extent). Thanks Lonely Planet! One very important little bit of information that makes a big difference for Western women travelling. A guy wrote the guide so I guess didn’t consider what it would be like for a woman to arrive in this red light zone given these muppets can’t tell the difference between biker chick and prostitute.

I knew Paul wouldn’t argue about cost of hotels by this stage so, with help, I managed to get a room at the Baron’s Hotel for 55 US Dollars and we’d stay for a few days to get better again. This would blow our whole budget and meant cutting our time here down by half. I was delighted by that fact as I had already decided we were riding through as quickly as possible.

The Baron’s Hotel is a rather famous one and I think, so far, the only thing I like about Syria. We are in the very room that Laurence of Arabia used. I like the thought that I’m lying on the very bed he lay on, probably under the same sheets too.

And it is at the Baron’s Hotel that my girlie locks found a resting place. I took my pocket knife out and chopped my hair short enough that it barely sticks out under my helmet now. With a bit of luck and covering my nose and mouth with a mask, I should be able to at least travel safely on the bike – so long as I don’t talk!

There is a massive gulf between European and Arab here. Every now and then it is possible to find a tiny spot, probably dating back to the early colonial days in which we can escape the hustle, bustle and hooting. I don’t know if I could do this country on the cheap. Instead we will do it really fast.

Syria has now won the place of worst place we visited and Italy moves up a large notch. Actually, South Italy is now appearing to be quite civil by comparison.

It is at these times that I do my little reality check: Would I rather be here, facing mad traffic, gravel roads and the possibility of shitting myself at any moment, or would I rather be back at the desk job in London? And the answer so far is: I would still rather be here soiling my only pair of trousers than playing it safe doing a day job.

Contact information - Motorcycle Mechanic in Antalya

2006-09-08T15:42:00.000+01:00

If anyone is doing a trip around Southern Turkey and needs mechanical assistance, here is the bike shop address:

Olympiyat Motorbike Shop in Antalya
Ahmet Ozugurlu is the boss and Guru to get in touch with. He can organise tyres from the dealers across the road.
Telephone: 00 90 3446831
GPS coordinates: N 36 54.164’ E 030 41.678’
Websıte: http://www.olimpiyatmotor.com/

For the motorcycle club take a look at their website: www.motorand.com. Tolga is your contact.

Sad to say goodbye to Antalya

2006-09-08T15:35:00.000+01:00

What can I say? I’m in love with Turkey. Seriously, I really love the place and the people. We met a great guy, Muzaffer, it a petrol station. In his youth had been a biker and travelled across Europe and Nepal, and he gave me a little nugget of insight into Turkish culture. Turks think of visitors as “gifts from God”. Having lived in London for eight years and being little more than educated, cheap labour, this attitude to strangers is deeply touching. This is a country that has time in abundance: time to meet people, time to talk, time to drink obligatory cups of tea and time to be involved in other people’s lives. I have been treated with respect and care that I’m sad to say, I’m not used to, and will miss terribly when I leave. Who knows? This is a vast country, interesting and varied – I have loads of reasons why I’d come back again.

27 August: Turkey – Koycegiz, Olympos and Antalya

We arrived in Koycegiz in the evening and managed to find Tango Pension with relatively little hassle. It is a very small town so no surprise we only needed to be pointed in the right direction once (nice to not feel lost for a change). Koycegiz is a small town on a fresh water lake that is connected to the sea and that is actually quite a rare phenomenon. It is one of two in the world, the other is in South America.

The owner of the pension recognised that we were the South African friends due to arrive on motorbikes and ushered us to our rooms, pointing out our friend’s room nearby. Dee and Mario were due back from their boat trip shortly and in the meantime we could go for a short swim in the lake. The last hour seemed to be a long one, as it is when you are waiting – but the happy moment did finally arrive when we were able to embrace our friends. Both of them looked extremely tanned and were cool ‘n groovy as always.

It is only two months since we saw them last but there seemed to be so much to catch up on and talk about. Plans for the future were high on the agenda. I get the feeling we all have some exciting times ahead of us. I don’t know why but old friends give me such a comfy feeling – especially if I know they are kind of friends that are really up front, honest and like me just the way I am – with all my imperfections.

Dee pointed out that Paul and I have both adopted a strange walk. It is as if we lift our knees too high. I hadn’t realised this but I guess it’s because our biking boots are so heavy that when we take them off we start walking like string puppets with bobbing knees. Now that I know I’m doing it, I try not to, but can’t help it! Besides, in the boots I’m constantly tripping up if I don’t make an effort to lift my feet.

The next day we hung out together at the weekly market where Dee had the opportunity of perfect her bargaining style. Usually you can get about one third off the asking price. If you are Dee you can go for half and then resort to, “Come on!” which makes the guy laugh so much he can’t resist giving her a good deal. Bargaining isn’t easy when you are used to fixed prices on the label, but it should be fun. I think the key is to be prepared to haggle and have a laugh – I would try to also make sure that I genuinely want the item. I could be wrong but it appears that generally speaking Turks have a great sense of humour. This is not what I experienced in Tunisia where the price was 300 and on learning that I was South African, the price dropped to 30. I think things are a bit less extreme here!

By the afternoon we said good bye. There are some people that will be part of your life forever so I didn’t feel too sad to say bye for now… Besides, if things work out well then we will all be back in Cape Town before we know it.

I was still feeling really feeble and didn’t think that I could ride my bike confidently, so the next day we did a boat trip and just relaxed. Doing touristy stuff felt very strange, but as strange as it all felt, I was pleased to be lazing about and passively taking things in and simply doing what my tour guides told me to do. This included wallowing in a mud bath; then getting washed down by a blasting shower followed by bathing in hot springs that smelt of rotten eggs. I was supposed to be 10 years younger for the experience. Perhaps in the morning I’d have transformed into a twenty-something nymph – but I doubted it.

Just as I was beginning to feel better and younger, Paul started to get really ill with a tummy bug. In spite of this, we decided to move on to our next destination which ended up being Olympus. We had passed the most exquisite turquoise sea with white beaches and occasional bathers. Kas looked amazing and I was absolutely desperate to jump into the calm blue water. But we stupidly passed without even stopping.

When we arrived at Olympos I immediately could tell this wasn’t really my scene. Olympos is down a windy mountain road into a rocky river bed. The unique and trendy thing to do there is stay in a tree house. Only these aren’t really tree houses, they are precarious, badly built huts on stilts about a meter off the ground. You can choose between this mosquito fest option and an air conditioned bungalow with an en-suite bathroom. Being thirty something, we went with the bungalow option. Besides, Paul needed to get better and a bit of luxury would go a long way towards at least providing him with some comfort in his time of distress – and I hoped this would reduce his groans. It’s definitely an age thing but this hippie life is no longer cool in my books. I knew we would be there for two nights and the best thing to do in these situations is not focus on what we had missed: turquoise sea in Kas but I should get on with enjoying where I was. It was one of the most touristy and unrealistic experiences of the whole trip. The place existed solely so that back packers to be cool – and that just ain’t me (any more)! It’s supposed to be a place that you can really relax and unwind. I could do nothing of the sort.

My steering was feeling progressively wobbly and we needed to get our off road tyres sorted out and all of a sudden I felt a real gnawing neurosis about not knowing where my engine number was on the bike. I don’t know why but I had visions of the Egyptian border crossing getting very ugly and us being turned back. The problem would be worsened as we need to get a Sudanese visa in Cairo – the motorcycle nemesis of all places. Without a Sudanese visa we could not try to do the only other option which is to ferry from Saudi Arabia (and that is another visa that would be very difficult to obtain). We did manage to get to the beach for a couple of hours and the Mediterranean Sea is absolutely lovely. However, I read the Lonely Planet and fretted.

We had been lead to believe from the various people we had spoken to, that Antalya had a thriving motorbike industry and we could sort out tyres there. En route the heavens opened up and we faced one of the heaviest down pours yet. We faced the sheet water on mountain roads and the local traffic didn’t seem to be bothered at all, nor cared to slow down. There was poor little me with white knuckles and big eyes. I couldn’t get more wet if I plunged myself into a bathtub.

By the time we arrived in Antalya I was an anxious ball of nerves. I don’t know why I let things get to me because I like to think that mostly a cool cat and don’t stress too badly. Hey, things always work out as they ought to – even if it’s not exactly according to plan. I tried to drive slowly down the main road in search of a bike mechanic shop: a needle in a haystack in a rather huge city with extremely fast traffic driving around us in a frenzied manner on wet roads. I had one of those moments when I felt the need to ask for help. I said aloud in to my helmet, “Come on! You have to help us find a mechanic shop.”
About 5 long minutes later, we spotted a Continental tyres dealership and pulled over. Paul went inside to find out if it was possible to order bike tyres when a fellow on an XT pulled over to look at our bikes. I called out, “Mechanic?!” to which he smiled and nodded. Unbelievable! The Continental dealership had dug out an English speaking chap so I called the fellow over and said, “This guy says he is a mechanic. Is that true?”
His story was validated. What is more, he claimed that he could take us to a bike shop where all our problems would be sorted out. I don’t know why but I figured I should trust someone who looked at a motorbike as if he knew what he was looking at, rather than gawp, and was wearing a helmet.

Our XT hero then showed us the way to the bike shop. I was delighted to see lots of big bikes standing outside and the workshop was clearly well kitted out. No doubt at all we were at a proper bike shop with recognisable mechanics gear and mechanics. Eureka!

Language barriers are not barriers, just little hurdles, especially when English is widely spoken and someone is available and willing to help. In half an hour we had consumed numerous cups of tea, listed our problems and discussed solutions. It all became clear just how soundly we had landed on our feet. We’d run into not only a bike shop but a motorcycle club and the president of the club himself, Tolga, our translator. The guy who I guess you’d call the boss of the bike shop, Ahmet, is a complete wonder too. Not only does he clearly know motorcycles back to front and inside out but I noticed that he is incredibly attentive to detail.

The motorcycle club is small and strong – this is why they have the bonsai as their symbol. On Sunday we joined them for their Sunday ride out that turned out to be 250 km on mountain roads. Some of the roads were only wide enough for a single car, cut into cliffs with cliffs to the side and the other side cliffs going downwards forever… And slippery pine needles too. This was after Tolga told me how some friends of his had had an accident that catapulted his friend off the edge of one off these cliffs. The guy survived but sustained pretty horrendous injuries. On this same ride out, some of the guys arrived at the scene of an accident where a car had gone straight off the edge of the mountain and was perched nose first on a gradient of over 45 degrees steep. They found the driver and kept her alive until the ambulance arrived. Thanks to these guys going out of their way to assist at the accident, the woman is now fine. I’m not sure why but the night before I’d been reading about motorcycle accidents on the internet. The fact is that we are vulnerable. A motorbike accident is 10 times more likely to be fatal. All this reminded me how important it is to be careful, keep the bike in good shape and respect my own limitations. In any case, it helped not having luggage as I managed to handle the bike just fine. I don’t think I could have coped with the humiliation of having had to ask someone to help me and lord forbid, have someone ride my bike for me. The only time I felt I could be a girl is when I asked Ahmet to help move my bike when close to the cliff edge in gravel, I think that is fair, being a girl and all.

We have been here for four days now and have managed to sort out our tyres, my fuel problem, replacing Paul’s break pads, hopefully the GPS connection and found the engine number. There has been a lot of hanging about at the bike shop but it’s been tremendously enjoyable. There seems to be a constant stream of people dropping in to look at bikes, have a chat and cup of tea and get various jobs sorted out. Waiting has never been so much fun.

It is tough having to leave because I’d love to stay but reluctantly I remind myself of Lueder’s very sound counsel: that guests are like fish, after three days they begin to smell. So it’s back on the road for little gippo me.

Where to find the engine number on the F650GS

2006-09-04T20:03:00.000+01:00

This posting is dedicated to the guys at BMW UK, Guildford in particular, who weren’t able to help us locate the engine number. I believe they did try to find it but had no luck. We even tried to get the answer out of Rotax, the engine manufacturer who were also unable to help.

I admit that Paul and I had failed to find the engine number ourselves, even after being given advice of where it ought to be by numerous people. All we found was a barcode sticker that was badly faded.

I'd had sleepless nights worry about this number and so we asked Ahmet, the Motorcycle Guru, here in Turkey if he had any idea where the number was located. It took him about 30 seconds to walk around my bike, rubbed the dirt off and pointed to it. When I explained that BMW UK couldn't help with this vital but small piece of information they cracked up laughing.

For those of you who don’t understand the significance of this… Try getting into Egypt and not being able to match the engine number of your bike with that on your carnet.

We get to Koycegz in Turkey

2006-08-29T21:39:00.000+01:00

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

2006-08-23T07:40:00.000+01:00

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.

Advice for fellow bikers planning travels: Lose Weight

2006-08-20T07:40:00.000+01:00

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

2006-08-19T10:29:00.000+01:00

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

2006-08-10T10:23:00.000+01:00

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

2006-08-02T11:59:00.000+01:00

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))))

With friends in Augsburg

2006-07-31T19:41:00.000+01:00

We’re in Augsburg and today will be our last in Western Europe for some time. Tomorrow we head off to Czech Republic and onto Poland. After Poland we finally start truly heading south and will continue south till we reach South Africa. I feel excited when I think about it – even though we have been on the road for 3 weeks and the novelty of travel should be getting a bit less novel. Western Europe has been the easy bit and a time to sort out our gear and get used to the bikes and generally being on the go constantly.

So far, here is our advice on the gear: the things we are really loving

Thermarest sleeping mats – we got the thin light-weight mats but they are brilliant. We have slept in what is practically a quarry and not felt a single rock.

Ortlieb roll bags – we have got more of these because they are just so handy, waterproof, strong and affordable . We use them to keep our jackets and shoes strapped to the boxes so we can easily change when we stop.

Metal Mule boxes – These are costly but really good boxes. They are very handy and easy to use. I dropped my bike (avoiding hitting a van) and the box just popped off as it’s supposed to do, so as to avoid damage, not even a small ding. Also protected my legs and the frame of the bike.

Camel pack water carriers – I strap it just behind myself so I can grab the hose and drink as soon as I feel slightly thirsty. We dehydrate very quickly in the heat.

Floating compass – We do have GPS that is useful and interesting to use but I really do find that a good map and a compass are just the ultimate navigation instruments. What is really handy is a floating compass that I can see while I’m driving.

Big groundsheet – We have a big groundsheet that fits under the tent and also gives us an area of about 1m to sit on just outside the tent. As we don’t have chairs or tables this is really comfortable and helps when cooking etc. When it rains, we can also turn the end up and cover our gear.

Pack Safe mesh net – What we do is stick all the valuables that could get snatched under the Pack Safe and lock it to the bike. This means we can get off, grab the tank bag and walk off for a coffee with out too much of a worry. When we are boiling and get off the bike we are able to quickly strip off our bike gear, chuck it into the Pack Safe, lock it to the bike, put up the tent and within 20 min we are ready to go again and don’t have to worry about it while we eat out in a restaurant.

Bungees and cargo nets.

Resealable bags – nearly everything is in a zippy bag to keep it from getting wet or drying out or leaking or lost…

Assortment of bags in various sizes to pack things into so each bag contains a set of items eg. The cooker, matches and fuel bottle.

In general, camping has its pluses and minuses. It’s not all easy but it’s a heck of a lot cheaper than hotels. So far we have found European campsites easy to find, always have spaces available and the facilities are usually pretty good.

The upside is that we don’t have to lug our gear into a hotel room and we also have the bikes close by to check over and do any maintenance work right there.

The downside is that we have to set up and pack up every day. We also are rather scruffy. Having said that, we would be scruffy anyway because we would still be limited on wardrobe and laundry facilities. And we would still have to unpack the bikes when we stopped but then have to worry about safe parking as well.

So camping it is then!

We have been in Augsburg since Friday evening and it already feels like we live here. It’s really time to go! Paul is busy trying to fix the god-dam walkie-talkies. We desperately need communications on the bike. If our relationship is to survive, we need to be able to talk! It becomes a control struggle because we will be sharing the GPS and the good maps. The person at the front is usually completely focused on not getting lost which means they are stressed out but in control and have the maps and GPS. They tend to miss all the lovely little sights en route. The person at the back gets to follow which is frustrating if you want to stop to take a photo of one of those lovely sights you’ve seen and the leader has missed – but you don’t know where you are exactly and worry about getting left behind and lost. I’m a bit more laid back when at the back although I can have a ranting session but by the time we stop I’ve forgotten about it. Paul gets mad when I miss “perfect photos” and stays mad with me for the whole day. This is why we are in Augsburg and I don’t want to leave until those walkie-talkies get working.

Since the last blog…

Italy is full of scooters. Normally I think scooters are cute and convenient transport but in Italy, they are more like swarms of wasps dressed in Gucci and Prada. All cloned in the same stores and drive equally badly. I would hear the buzzing and then any amount of scooters would blast past in a winding, swerving, erratic fashion – exactly like a swarm of pradagoochies. No protective gear, flip-flops, bikinis and those popular big sunglasses…

24 July we went to Pompeii

En route to Pompeii we drove around the Amalfi coast. This is a beautiful coastal route with windy roads, hair pin turns, steep dropping cliffs and deep, blue ocean dotted with yachts and rich-man’s boats. As much as it was beautiful, it was hair-raising too. The roads are small with a lot of traffic. The traffic is manic. Tail gaiting, over taking anywhere with no view of on coming traffic, swerving all over the road… and this is when I dropped my bike trying to avoid a van. I think they swerved to avoid hitting Paul and then over compensated to get around the very tight corner. But I was there unfortunately, and leaning right over into the corner and so when I grabbed the breaks to avoid an accident the bike dropped over. I was so mad. I don’t doubt that those guys had no problem at all understanding exactly what I was saying. The two beefy contents of the van jumped out and tried to lift the bike. I could tell they didn’t expect the bike to weigh as much as it did. I shouted something along the lines of, “You see, it’s not a f>$%ing scooter, you w@*&^ers.” They were very apologetic and left me at the side of the road in an absolutely steaming mood. A kind American who was driving behind me drove to alert Paul I was off and then even came back to check I was fine. Besides being unable to put a sentence together that didn’t contain mostly expletives, I was fine. The bike sustained no damage. All in all we were fine but THAT WAS IT. I didn’t want to see any more of Italy!

I screamed at passers by, cars, vans and Paul a few times before we got to Pompeii. We (no I) decided that we would just camp right there as I wasn’t doing any more driving for the day. It was a good decision as we got to walk about the city of Pompeii at our leisure. Again, this is something worth experiencing and I can’t truly take you there. All the documentary films I’d seen helped but I was still amazed by the sheer size of the place. Unfortunately a lot of the artefacts, furniture, bodies of people and animals are all in a museum in Naples. Leaving replicas in situ would be a lot nicer but it was still utterly amazing. (There was no hope in hell I’d drive into Naples). That evening we had a little run in with some dodgy scam guys – we got out fine but Paul didn’t lock his Pack Safe up so his trousers fell on the road and when he went back to find them, they had already been nicked.

We were checking into the campsite as I heard a familiar sound as a Dakar version of the F650GS burst into view. The fellow gave a huge smile and then came over to chat as we were setting our tent up. We were literally in the site of ancient Rome and had met a genuine, real archaeologist. He was a fit as could be and because I never asked his name, I remember him as the original Indianna Jones. We chatted as he watched us with all our gear, clearly amused. He said he travelled light… and had only two shirts. It was my turn to be amused because clearly it must be the swooning first year archaeology students keeping his two shirts so spotlessly white. When we said goodbye in the morning he said he was envious of us having each other as travel companions. He was going to take it easy but we chuckled as his wheels left the ground as he cleared the speed bumps… and I was envious of his super stream-line luggage.

Putting the day before behind us we took to the motorways avoided cities and headed north. We camped at Lake Garda. Pleased to say it was uneventful and pleasant. Then we stopped at Assisi and were relieve to find it significantly more peaceful. But we were not to be disappointed by the Italian tourist rip-off mentality even in this idyllic setting that inspired Saint Francis to be a saint… You could use the pool – included in the camping fee – but when we got to the pool we both observed that the people wearing funny caps were swimming but everyone else was watching. So we wondered if there was a game on – No. The deal was: you had to buy a silly hat in order to swim but it cost 5 Euro. So why was the pool free then?! I ask you. On principle we were not going to pay and we were going to swim so we got our buffs out (tubular material neck protector) and tied a knot in the end and wore those. Well. It was great. We swam and laughed and laughed. The polite people tried not to stare too much but we didn’t care.

27 July – Austria

Austria was welcome as were the good roads and calm drivers. We did the Brenner Pass that is supposed to be really a tough bit of mountain road with no hassles at all. Not even breaking into a little sweat. I could feel myself starting to relax again and even hum along to my ipod.

Real bikers were back on the road. They were driving real bikes and wearing protective gear. They used indicators and didn’t drive head on into on coming traffic. I loved them all.

The mountains were truly beautiful and the setting for “The Sound of Music”. I wish I could sing because I would have at least given the hills are alive with the sound of music a bash. Paul was distraught that I might try.

31 July and we are still in Augsburg

The nicest thing about Augsburg is Susanne. I used to work for a German company and so Susanne came over to gain work experience and learn English. I was kind of her “manager” and she was very supportive while I suffered at work (it was a lousy work environment) and we have continued to be friends. She helped tremendously by ordering the fuel pump that was leaking. BMW will always take a number of days to order a part and get complicated about it too which makes it very awkward when you are on the road. I finally was able to fit the new pump and so far so good - will really test it and my mechanical skills tomorrow. Actually, it’s not that hard doing mechanical work but I’m pleased I did a mechanics course and I think my tutor would be proud of me. The manual is brilliant but you have to buy a copy off the internet because BMW doesn’t supply such useful stuff. Let’s face it; I bet even rocket science is doable with a good manual.

Augsburg is one of the oldest cities in the area. It’s an old Roman city and dates back over 2000 years. It doesn’t look that ancient but apparently it’s near impossible to build in the old city area because as soon as someone digs up foundations they find archaeological ruins and building is halted. Paul and I have really enjoyed this little bit of our trip because we’ve got to go out with friends and really enjoy where we are and Weiss beer every day. We’ve been to Ammersee (a freshwater lake) and to a medieval festival but mostly we have enjoyed the company of Susanne, Gabby and Yannick.

Last night I had a dream that I was really missing my friends so much so that I cried, so please will all my friends out there send me emails and photos. I do miss you all. I wish you could all fit on the back of my bike because we’d have so much fun.

In conclusion, Italy has a lot of Roman ancient history worth seeing, but not worth doing it on a motorbike. If what you are doing most of the time is driving a bike, you want to enjoy driving. It’s like going to the beach to laze in the sun and then it rains all the time. Disappointing. I’ll be making future trips to see the bits I wanted to see but didn’t want to drive through. I’ll fly in and out and stay in a nicely packaged hotel (plus I’ll get myself some blinged out Gucci big sunglasses so I can fit in and get better customer service).

Paul has just got back from a bike shop that does stock the walkie-talkie system we need but only tomorrow at 9am. So tomorrow 9am we will be there. And then off to Eastern Europe.

Writing from Rome

2006-07-23T11:02:00.000+01:00

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.

First few days on the road

2006-07-12T22:42:00.000+01:00

I’m finally doing it – sitting in a camp site with my laptop balanced on my metal box, next to my tent and writing up my blog while I worry about my battery lasting and not much else. This is finally the dream come true. It’s brilliant. A Wednesday evening and I’m in a cute French wooded area listening to children play and bugs in the trees.

Saturday 8th July
We spent the day with Stand up for Africa at the Rise Festival in Finsbury Park. I hope we managed to raise some money towards the Uganda project. It’s very hard to tell when there was the expense of the event and all I saw was small change being tossed into rather large buckets that remained fairly empty. To my knowledge, there is still no corporate sponsor and still not a peep out of BMW. I do honestly understand the corporate side of things as I was, after all, a marketing manager myself. It doesn’t change the fact; I really want this project to happen.

We had our bikes on the SUFA stand and so got to speak to many people. I really enjoyed meeting so many people and talking about motorbikes and the trip. It was the first time I got to say “Tomorrow” to the question, “When are you leaving?” and it felt great. Must admit that there were a few responses to our little adventure that made me realise that what had become such a normal idea to us, was actually quite an extraordinary event – but no nerves at all – not yet!

Sunday 9th July
Our departure day finally arrived. Paul had been up most of the night but I fell asleep while trying to load music onto the laptop and so gave up and went to bed. I figured, what wasn’t done by then, was really too late. We woke up at 6am and rushed about in a sleepy kind of rush. Anything that wasn’t sorted out either got stuffed onto the bike or just binned. It felt like hours of trying to get the stuff to fit and all the time I worried about getting to the ferry on time.

Fortunately saying goodbye to Paul’s folks was really quick. I felt really sad for them and Paul as we said rushed goodbyes. I know they will miss Paul a lot but, we are only a phone call away and we will visit in due time. My parents had called a few times, and I know how excited they are to have me moving closer to them. It’s a toughie.

We finally set off with huge bundles precariously bungeed on behind us. Our bikes are so heavy and we aren’t used to the extra weight so most manoeuvring is very difficult and we wobble all over. Paul’s bike has a really bad wobble at high speeds and my bike’s mountain on the back was catching side winds.

We arrived at Dover with time to collect our money – just. The best rates were with Travelex and bought online. You need to collect from an airport or port.

That is when the trip really began! We watched the white cliffs of Dover get smaller and the coast of France get closer. It rained and was windy – typical UK weather to set us on our way. We were too excited to be tired but I could feel the exhaustion of the last few weeks. When I’m really tired I have a very short temper and so when I got mad because I couldn’t find lippy – that was fatigue talking.

Well! France! The little maps SUFA made for us are great. From day one we had bikers pull over to look at our maps and wave us on. It’s a brilliant idea and speaks all languages – and explains the state of us and the bikes. I don’t speak a word of French so have really appreciated the smiles and nods of French people who figure out what we are doing. I lie, by now I do speak a few words of French. I can say cow, hello, dog and thank you.

Monday 10th July
The dodgy weather seemed to be behind us. We had blazing hot sun and by 10am we were melting. My headlight had gone which required taking the indicators and front of the bike apart. This added on at least an hour. We then unpacked and packed again until 1pm when we decided to just go. I mean, we needed to get more organised but we also just needed to get going. We had only done 100 miles the day before and I didn’t think we would get much further if we spent the whole day playing with gear.

The countryside was beautiful. We stuck to the A roads and avoided cities and motorways. The cities tended to be a bit busy, rushed and when we had the idyllic country to pootle through, why not?

The full biking gear was hot and I mean it HOT. We were really sweating underneath which meant stopping was avoided completely. That in many ways defeated the point of travel! We were really thankful for our zip-off dragging jeans and camelpacks.

Tuesday 11th July
We made an early start – 10am on the road. This was much cooler and we made good progress. We did the 300 miles we thought would be possible to do daily. Possible yes but with one aching butt for sure. Because we’re on the A roads, it’s slower, so longer in the saddle. On the up side, we get to drive at a speed we can really look at the scenery and notice things.

Bordeaux region is just so pretty. We found a wooded campsite in St. Symphorien. I got off my bike, staggering a bit like a bowlegged cowboy wearing Robocop boots and finally the holiday mode set in. I said to Paul, “Is there any where we need to be? Let’s start enjoying where we are right now and stop rushing.” And so with that, we decided to have a rest day.

And so here we are. I’m flicking bugs off my laptop and Paul is still fiddling with the walkie-talkie system that refuses to work. This is what it is all about and we’re loving it.

If you love Africa - STAND UP!

2006-06-14T12:38:00.000+01:00

So!

I found this charity online. I wasn't looking for a charity at all. This trip has always been my dream and all about me... But I felt compelled to call. I spoke to Elsie who just blew me away with her bright voice and JUST DO IT attitude. Before I knew it, I agreed to support them by raising money for a youth centre in Uganda. I've won Paul over and he is fired up too. We've also agreed to go there and get stuck in; in the hands on kind of way.

We don't have loads of time to get LOADS sorted so I'll keep it short and let these very pro-active and enthusiastic people tell their story. Here is a small clip from Neil who is the project manager on the Uganda thing we are doing:

FROM NEIL: Ok, so our partner organisation in Uganda is called the Safe Alternatives For Youth Association. They work with young people in one of the poorest slums in Kampala and try to offer a framework for healthy living. With an overall goal of contributing to Uganda's national fight against HIV/AIDS, they aim to reduce youth vulnerability through education, information and recreation. They provide youth friendly services, raise awareness about key sexual and reproductive health issues and offer counselling, training and healthy activities for kids to partake in during their free time.

SAFY has been up and running for over three years now and has made a very tangible positive difference to its small target community. It is based in Kitmanyangamba village (an area of Kampala) and is slowly expanding to the surrounding areas. We recently established a youth network with five local schools and this has seen a dramatic increase in the organisation's reach.

Currently, operations are directed from a very small, one-room office/ drop-in centre in the heart of the community. This is a key resource and is permanently full of young people but is unfortunately far too small to cater for SAFY's ever-expanding activities and membership.

At SUFA we are trying to raise the necessary funds to build a larger, more comprehensive Centre on an adjacent plot of land, already owned by the organisation. We have plans for its development, equipment to fill it, staff to man it and young people to benefit from it. The only thing we are lacking is of course the financial resource necessary for its construction but, hopefully by the time you arrive, this will have been secured and the next phase of the organisation's development will begin.

To read more about Stand up for Africa go to their website on http://www.standupforafrica.org.uk/

Three Ways

2006-06-09T12:42:00.000+01:00

These are wise words from Steve Langton, my father. I've heard them many time before but always try to "keep it real" when I make great plans and have big dreams...

Three Ways.

The pessimist said:
Too difficult, rewards are too few.
And stayed in bed.
The optimist expected
Wishes come true;
Dreams go ahead.
The realist said -
Problems will be circumvented,
Planning will be rewarded.
The pessimist said
It cannot be done;
The obstacles can't be overcome.
The optimist planned
To enjoy the reward
Planned on the fact that success was ensured.
The realist weighed the chances
Set course for success,
Anticipating corrections.
The pessimist did not fail
For nothing was attempted -
Received, was that expected.
The optimist blamed failure
On people and chance
That failed expectations.
The realist evaluated
Goals missed and achieved
And lessons learned in the doing.
The pessimist confirmed
The worst expectation -
And pessimism persisted.
The optimist, disillusioned
Turned away disappointed -
And became embittered.
The realist, learning
From success and failure;
Campaigned the next future.

4 weeks to go – another week passes and paperwork piles up

2006-06-09T11:56:00.000+01:00

The theme of this week is paperwork. Specifically, South African bureaucratic paperwork and the extraordinary lengths they go to, to complicate things.

Considering there is a big “Home Coming Revolution” government-endorsed campaign on the go, encouraging South Africans and their hard earned foreign cash to return home, it doesn’t make sense why its SO hard to fill in the relevant forms.

I am still not entirely sure which form to fill in as each time I ask for information it is slightly different. There are 2 forms to fill in before leaving: a form to get a letter from SARS and a form to go to ITAC that will also produce a letter. Each of these forms requires certified copies of all kinds of things and letters from suppliers and so on – I should have started these months ago. I MUST have both these very important letters prior to arriving in South Africa. I cannot even drive my bike over the border without these letters. In fact, I have to arrange for my father to meet me at the border with letters and money to pay Customs and Excise tax on arrival. I will not know the value of the bike to pay the tax at the border but have been advised to get resale values before I leave the UK; so that on arrival, twenty thousand miles later, I won’t pay more than it was worth here.

Here’s the other thing. Returning South Africans can return with certain of their worldly possessions tax-free. However, to apply for this returning status requires providing proof you lived abroad permanently. In order to do this you have to provide a list of proofs that make no sense at all and fill in yet another form. Quite frankly, I’ll give that a skip and just pay the import tax. I mean, I’ve been living and paying tax abroad for 8 years and that is not considered proof. Not even if you produce every pay slip you’ve received over the years.

A whole week has passed and I’ve not managed to fill in all the dreaded forms.

On the upside: passports are at the Ethiopian Embassy and all going well we will collect them on Monday with nice freshly stamped visas. I might never get into SA with my bike but at least I will get to enjoy Ethiopia.

5 weeks to go and the leaving parties have started

2006-06-01T13:03:00.000+01:00

6 weeks to go and time is now flying

2006-05-25T15:13:00.000+01:00

Along with Spring comes a festive mood and friends emerge from the Winter social hibernation… All of a sudden we are hard pressed to find free time and the “to do” list doesn’t seem to be getting any shorter. If anything, it’s getting longer. I solved the problem of feeling bad about not ticking things off the list by adding a big list of people to see before we leave, and so I’m steadily ticking my list but have made myself very busy.

7 weeks to go

2006-05-17T14:43:00.000+01:00

Here is a list of things I’ve had done to the bike to get ready for the long trip… Not saying it’s all that should be done or entirely right, just this is what I’ve done so far. The bike (a BMW F650GS) is now 3 years old with 17 000 miles on the clock, which means, things start to fall apart. If I had a new bike, I would not have had to do a fraction of the maintenance that I've done. Unfortunatley, the poor baby has been driven through 3 UK winters, been off road and underwater - and I have paid the price in parts and BMW service fees (that I might add, are pretty steep).

Full annual and 20,000 km service included (some of this I did, some by BMW)

Oil change

New oil filter

New air filter

New fuel filter

Brake fluid change

Top up forks

Spark plug

Change coolant
Additional service work (due to bike not going well) included

Replacing lower exhaust and lambda sensor

Rewiring underneath and to hand controls (due to winter driving, salt and water)

Replaced perished gaskets and seals

Fitted a power plug socket (needs additional converter to normal car charger socket)

New break pads on front brakes

New tyres (Metzeler Tourance) front and rear from Guildford Tyre Co

Rim locks and balancing

Heavy-duty inner tubes

Touratech bash plate for the underbelly of the bike (real pain to get on and off)

Small perspex front light cover from motorworks.com

Crash bars from Touratech

New brake lever (broke mine so not normally need to do)

Gaiters

Metal panniers and frame from Metal Mule

Rear rack also from Metal Mule

New chain and sprocket set

Fitted a Scott oiler

New battery

Home-made radiator cover

Gel saddle by Custom Saddles

Removed rubber footpeg inserts (and promptly lost them)

Replaced BMW clips with jubilee clips

What I think it useful to do, in order to prepare yourself… take the mechanics training course at Merton College if it’s still possible to do it (I believe the course is being discontinued!). Then try doing things at home before you go. Get the service manual (you can find pdf versions on ebay for £5). Buy an introductory motorcycle mechanics book or borrow one from the library if you are new to mechanics.

Remember to be clean and methodical ALWAYS. Make diagrams or take photos so that you know where things were and what order to put them back. Do not just follow somebody’s advice and way of working. Try to learn the correct procedures and ways of checking your work is good, sound and accurate – including the torque settings.

Buy the pieces of tool kit to fit your bike and check you have all the right sizes of spanner, socket etc to fit your bike specifically. The spares and tools add up... as do the additional things you might like to take too, so make sure you have essentials only. By the end of the trip I'll let you know what I actually used and what I should have taken ;-)

8 weeks to go

2006-05-10T14:06:00.000+01:00

We have booked our ferry tickets: Dover to Boulogne with Speedferries.com on 8th July in the evening. A final date, time, place - AT LAST. We now know exactly how day one of our travels will be starting. Yahooo.

Our motorcycle maintenance classes are also drawing to an end. The final bits to be done to the bikes are almost completely done.

Looking good and starting to really feel excited. That feeling of REAL is setting in and that "closer to the time list" is becoming all important.

9 weeks to go

2006-05-04T10:52:00.000+01:00

We did a test run to the New Forest on the May long weekend. My bike is so heavy the handling is quite different. My feet are flat on the ground - which is good as I can paddle about and need to as its that much heavier for to push and generally handle. I feel like I'm driving a fat boy cruiser.

By now we have tons of equipment and it all seems to be working, except the GPS. I have to still get that sorted out! I mean, it is working - I don't know how to work it and don't have the right software yet.

10 weeks to go

2006-04-25T10:23:00.000+01:00

My parents, Steve and Margie.... Two wonderful heros who have just been to Cape Town and helped fix up the properties there. My parents are fantastic. Steve the "spiderman" and Margie who is whacky and so kind.

I'm really missing sunshine.

Today I’m really homesick. I’m very glad that it’s not long until I get back to laid-back friendly Africa. Europe has been interesting but I’m just relived to go home. I’m exhausted by how difficult life and people are here in UK.

Get your memories in print

2006-04-16T20:50:00.000+01:00

Here are two websites that are worth considering Photobox and http://www.lulu.com/

Lulu I’ve not tried yet, but Photobox is excellent.

Usually those who choose to bypass publishers and editors are called “vanity writers”. The implication is that you think you are so good you go ahead and publish your own work at great expense… and no body really reads it, just perhaps you and some friends of yours (who are polite and keep a copy). Personally, I think that whilst it is nice (but only nice) to have one’s work recognised by publishers; that there is no reason at all that you shouldn’t take your work direct to the world. At the end do the day, if your work is any good, it will be read, and if it isn’t - well, no body will buy your book. Simple. Let the public decide. This website enables regular Joe Soaps to get their work printed in paperback with ISBN number and global distribution. The book will also be sold on line and you make money if you are really lucky and really good. Simple.

I’ve also been reading up on travel writing and most of the advice seems really obvious and logical - like you won‘t make money doing travel writing. The most important thing that I’ve learnt so far is to be accurate about place. Do not do a place injustice or make it up. Inaccurate facts will get you in trouble. I guess that is fair. Avoid clichés. Admittedly, I think that must be really hard to do in practical terms. And the other thing was to find a niche or speciality that you can become knowledgeable about. The last bit of advice was to WRITE. So there! Write and write some more and then publish your book. If no body reads it, at least you have a very cool book to remember your travels and hand down to your grand-kiddies.

Something I have tried and its really effective and affordable is Photobox that is part of The Carphone Warehouse's online offer. You can make a hard cover 20 page book of your photos. All you have to do is set up a user account, upload your favourite pictures and then start making your book. Its all templates and drag and drop. For the reasonable price of £20 you can have a glossy, professional book of your favourite travel memories.

Carne Information

2006-04-12T14:03:00.000+01:00

The Carne is basically a “passport” for your motorbike. It is a way of travelling through countries and in a way guaranteeing the payment of import taxes. If we had to do this ourselves, we would need to carry really big wads of cash with us and the temptation for some less fortunate and less ethical characters to knick it would be huge I imagine. So instead, we have to get a carne. In the UK the RAC is able to help with this bit of paper work. You can find the phone number on their website, and speak to Paul Gowen who is really helpful and can you talk you through all the details.

Different countries have different import tax rules and costs. Egypt and India used to be some of the most expensive with 500% value of the bike. However, Egypt is now a whopping 800% the value of the bike. Mother fuckers.

Lets do the math: one BMW valued at £2000 x 800 = £16 000. This is either paid by bank guarantee or by buying insurance that is 10% of 16K. You will get half of that premium back once you successfully bring the bike back or export it. Any way you look at it, it’s a lot of money.

I really want to see the pyramids. And I really want to drive the whole way and avoid too many ferry rides but Egypt is just getting silly expensive to bike through and ripping the tourist trade off. I have heard a plethora of bad stories of corruption and hassling at borders. Tales of having pages torn out of the carne and attempts to fraudulently gain funds. The RAC is on top of this, lucky for us. I have heard Egypt is over rated. I really hope it isn’t! I seriously hope that I am going to go there expecting the worst and end up surprised and delighted by the country and its people.

For the South Africans out there, we need to look at the Home Office website and fill in all the relevant forms for importing a bike. Again, a bit of paper work that won’t hurt to read up on before setting off back home.

Seaforth home

2006-03-09T14:52:00.000Z

Our home.

Our beach...

Marching on!

2006-03-09T14:35:00.000Z

Apologies for not writing more often. Some how I got too bogged down and blue to write. I had nothing exiting or positive to mention regarding my Long Way Home so I decided to watch TV and from time to time throw out old junk I really didn’t use.

March is here and we are now Mr & Ms 6 Jackson Road! Sandy Lane in Woking (the suburban wasteland) has progressed to the final stage of being sold. We are finally packing up to move out!

Not only is the major paperwork getting sorted, but Spring is almost around the corner and we have noticeably more daylight hours.

As far as the motorbikes go… After weeks of sorting out the waterlogged engine and then doing all the servicing to the bike, it almost got back on the road.

Fortunately I’ve learnt a few more things in Ripley, 5 miles from our house. It’s annoying but I imagine that phoning BMW Guildford from the roadside in Ripley is a lot less frustrating than wishing you could call BMW Guildford from the roadside in the middle of the Sahara.

Tips:

On the F650GS the battery only lasts about 3 years. The normal battery is fine unless you are running a lot of additional electrical bits off it. GPS and small battery charger should be fine. Change your battery before you travel because if you don’t and the engine is iffy for whatever reason, you only have a few attempts and stalls before the battery gives in. Jumpstarting a single cylinder is a bitch of a job – something I’ve not been able to achieve yet. You can buy a special (expensive) high-powered battery but it’s not necessary. Just start the trip with a fresh one.

The fuel filter must also be changed at about 3 years because it just gets clogged up. It easy to change. Do it.

Scott Oiler. Humph. We have fitted these self-oilers to the bikes. The instructions are probably the worst I have ever read. It reads something along the lines of: Use part 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 or 14 to fit the RVC to any part of the bike at any angle from horizontal to vertical making sure that 2 is on the top. I ask you. I remain somewhat sceptical of the real benefit of a self-oiler when it’s not actually that hard to just bend over and check the chain. Paul got one, so I wanted one too. I believe it extends the life of your chain significantly.

We have extra chain links in our spare kit and can take a small piece of my old chain. It should be enough to get us back on the road if we have chain problems.

I’ve found The Chain Gang (www.f650.com) a very helpful resource. There is a FAQ with a lot of practical how to tips.

Well. That’s all for now and I will try to get back to blogging weekly. We move into a small rented room soon so access to internet will be limited. But there will be not much to do at night either so I could write more, go to the gym or go back to TV watching.

Earth Google

2006-01-29T18:14:00.000Z

Check this out. It is amazing www.earth.google.com.
Download the free software and prepared to be blown away.

Happy Chinese New Year!

2006-01-29T17:54:00.000Z

This is the year of the Dog. Both Paul and I are born in the year of the Dog! So this is our year finally. Without a doubt things are going to work out really well for us.

Long way, not just miles to go

2006-01-18T18:28:00.000Z

Things are getting done really slowly but I never ever imagined that the Long Way Home would be such a long arduous hassle with paperwork. We have bought a house in Simon's Town but selling the house in the UK... and tell you what it's hell. Both of us are suffering sleep deprivation and anxiety that has resulted in bouts of strange uncontrollable reactions, appearing decidedly vacant in meetings and concentration deficits.

In short, we are suffering.

So are our work colleagues.

And to think we will have more rules and regulations and bureaucrats to face is just really a terrifying prospect.

On the upside, as there always is one, when the houses are sorted, bank loans figured, exchange rates calculate, fees transferred and lawyers paid... we will have a lovely home to go to and live happily ever after, after a wonderful long bike ride.

Christmas 2005 in Munich

2006-01-08T15:35:00.000Z

Here are the highlights of my short break to Munich:

Weissbeer

The BMW Museum

The Science Museum

Mercedes window display

Garden gnomes

Apologies for the short note. I do feel guilty for not writing and taking the time I should to update the blog.

Too much to do and too little time!

In the meantime… Happy New Year!

Carolina Farm School - Xmas update

2005-12-20T08:57:00.000Z

Here is a message from Rose of Carolina Farm School. As you will see, the kids are making progress and the school has more books than before. If you would like to find out how to help this school contact Rose: P.O. Box 143, Fouriesburg, South Africa, 9725 Tel No: +27 58 2230552 or look at their website Carolina Lodge

Carolina Lodge has also seen the gap in the Offroad market so take a look at their website and click on Offroad link.

Email from Rose about Caroling Farm School

"Carolina Farm School would like to wish you and your family a very happy Christmas and New Year, and we would like to take this opportunity of thanking you all for the love and support you gave this last year.

We have had a very interesting year, we had a great big hole at the school, when thirteen children went on to another school. When the children did not settle at first we were devastated but we are happy to say that all but one did not make the grade. Christina (the school principal & teacher) was running two schools: the farm school here and arranged to have the thirteen children who went to town to visit her in the afternoons. With all the extra help she put in they finally managed to settle down and got good grades, thank goodness. They were all very proud of their reports.

End of this year we are losing another four children who move on in their schooling, but we have also started a grade R now and have quite a few new little ones starting in the new year.

I have been helping with the little ones to take some of the pressure of Christina and it has been great fun for us all.

We put on a Nativity play at the end of the year function, the first time we attempted anything like this and the kids really enjoyed the experience of dressing up and acting, they managed to put in on for several functions as well so they felt like real movie stars.

Next year we plan to do a revue and have been teaching them to dance etc, so that will be our next venture.

This one will be easier as there is no talking just dancing and singing, they really are enjoying the experience and of course they are so talented in both of these areas.

Our school is really looking good, we have painted our Logo on one of the walls of the old school room and also the South African Flag all looks very smart. We have also planted flowers and vegetables and the gardens are looking great.

Three of the children made it at athletics into the inter schools and one little girl got into the Eastern Free State trails but never got any further, but it was a great achievement for our school.

We visited Johannesburg again this year and took part in the netball and soccer and we did very well, the children also had the chance to spend the day at Crawford School and have lessons for a day with the children and their teachers was agreat experience for them all.

Our libary is comming along very nicely and is the envy of the other schools in the area. We also now have quite a collection of videos so the children really feel important and are able to see movies - something special in their lives.

Well friends, we thank you for your support at Carolina Farm School and are blessed to know that there are families like yourselves who have made a difference in our lives.

May God Bless you and your family.
Lots of love from all of us at Carolina Farm School.
Rose, Christina and all the children of 2005"

Aunt Stella

2005-11-26T18:31:00.000Z

En route back to the airport I managed to squeeze in seeing my dear Aunt Stella. She remains one of the cutest, most dear people I know.

Margie and Stella had us in hysterics as they read our tealeaf fortunes. It would appear that Paul is in for parties non stop and a whirlwind of events leading to travel. Stella also had butterflies, which indicate social events lined up. My leaves said I was ready to travel and had packed up my home already. There would be a message soon. And a strange worm that I don’t know think Margie could figure out what it meant(though I think I might have some ideas). I think Margie missed her calling. She should have a teashop that called “Fortunes”.

And then the long flight back to the cold country. I forced myself to sleep as I was going straight into the office on Monday…

Springs Friends and Fellowship

2005-11-26T18:30:00.000Z

Back in Springs. I spent the day with Margie and met her Woman’s Fellowship group while Paul played golf with Gareth.

The holiday was winding to an end. I started to think thoughts about London, careers, grey, impersonal, lonely…

Both Paul and I agreed that this was the best holiday we had ever had. There was so much to do and still so much more to do.

Good bye Cape Town, houses and sea

2005-11-25T18:28:00.000Z

More paperwork. But not too bad because we still managed to have a snooze and chill out on our own little Seaforth beach before we headed back to Johannesburg. We experienced horrible delays to the flight but not worth moaning about.

(Johannesburg International airport is possibly one of the worst airports I've suffered - it's shameful!)

Simon’s Town to be home

2005-11-24T18:26:00.000Z

We were back in Simon’s Town at the local backpackers which is good value for money. The agent we met at the beginning of the week suggested we have a look at a couple of properties that might interest us. We looked at a bigger property that would be a B&B business but could never really be transformed into a house.

The next property was in Seaforth. I think she knew we would love it. And we did.

It’s the cutest little original cottage. Literally a 5 minute walk to the beach. Two bedrooms, original wooden floors and sunshine. We decided to buy the house and spent the rest of the day sorting out all the paper work required, bonds, etc. Just like that, we have a home to go to!! It just seemed so right and I could picture
both of us being very happy there. It all just made sense.

The Wine Route

2005-11-23T18:24:00.000Z

Because of our energetic antics the day before, my legs were so stiff I could hardly move and I think I’d strained my calf muscle. Back in my “wild and hectic youth” I used to routinely climb the mountain and run up and down… There and then I resolved myself to get fit and shake off the extra blubber I’ve gained.

A lazy day was in order. We drove out to Stellenbosch and Franschoek and popped into various wine farms. The only problem is that tasting wine at 11am is a bit too early for anyone except a hardened alcoholic. It was fun and we enjoyed the scenery but it was definitely one of our more chilled out days. Possibly because I made such huge groaning noises every time I tried to move, it seemed better to just sit and drive.

Paul snoozed off from time to time and I woke him with, “Paul! Look at the mountains! Take a photo. Look at the vineyards! Take a photo.”

Table Mountain

2005-11-22T18:22:00.000Z

We woke to a perfect blue, blue sky. This meant that we were going to climb Table Mountain. I kept reminding Paul not to underestimate the mountain. It might be in the middle of a city, but it was still a mountain. We started the climb from Kirstenbosch Gardens (which by the way, has changed and improved dramatically). We went up Skeleton Gorge, 750m up on paths, ladders and scrabbling over rocks. Then along the mountain for about 1km to Mc Clears beacon which is the highest point on the mountain, just over 1000m. We had a lunch there and then started the descent.

By the time we got back to the top of Nursery Ravine we were both already tired! The 700 meters down the ravine is the toughest walk you can imagine. Poor knees! I was stepping on my toes to break the impact on my knees as they were swelling and aching. By the time we reached the bottom we were too exhausted to really care how beautiful the gardens were. We staggered to the very posh restaurant and had slices of the biggest lemon meringue pie you have ever seen. How we welcomed our little shed and by 8pm that night we were lights out.

Catching up on SA history

2005-11-21T18:18:00.000Z

Paul gets twitchy when the sun is out. He feels very cheated to be indoors when the weather is good but there was a blanket over the mountain so I insisted on visiting the District 6 Museum. I’d never been and always wanted to and I’m glad we did. It was really interesting and describes South African history well. It also has a very
good time line that helps to get your head around the sequence of events.

After that we went to the Victoria & Albert Waterfront. It’s a huge tourist trap and we both felt a bit out of sorts with the bright lights and consumer fest going on. This didn’t stop us enjoying our day there!

We also went to Robben Island. When you are a local I think you tend to neglect doing things, assuming that it’s always there and you’ll do it one day… Again, I’m really glad I finally went.

The thing that struck me about the visit Robben Island was not so much Madiba’s story but the story of the other people, thousands of South Africans, who were involved in the struggle against apartheid. I couldn’t help feel very emotional. We all seem so focus on investing in tomorrow and the children of the future but those who where children and teenagers at the time of the struggle have been some what forgotten and even considered a menace? They have missed out on being normal teenagers and now struggle to make sense of their lives. It’s a complex story and
made my heart ache.

I would suggest reading Nelson Mandela’s “Long Walk to Freedom” before visiting Robben Island because it makes the place come to life.

Cape Town, you beauty

2005-11-20T18:15:00.000Z

I hadn’t really thought about it much until we were on the flight to Cape Town when I started to tell Paul about Cape Town and all the things we could do. I started to get really excited – I hadn’t been there for 3 nearly 4 years. I was in a mad rush to get out of the airport so I could see my most loved Table Mountain again.

Paul suggested we drive out to Simon’s Town to have a look at my house in Welcome Glen. I didn’t really mind what we did as there are so many choices and all are brilliant. We had a look at my place that appears to have hippies living in it, with a bonfire in the front garden. They pay their rent, so I’m not too bothered. Then we did some spontaneous house hunting in the area and found our dream home. Only it would be really expensive to manage and could end up living to afford a house. So we managed to get a grip on ourselves.

Chapman’s Peak drive is open again (and a toll road) but well worth travelling on as its one of those amazing roads that you have to drive along at a very slow speed for two reasons, the lovely sights and the sheer cliffs either side. One side has cliffs that have large nets on them to catch boulders falling onto the road. And the other side is cliffs that descend vertically to the sea. It’s dramatic.

It was a great day of driving around and showing Paul all the beaches and telling him stories of days long gone.

We decided to stay in Cape Town city area for a few nights so that we would be closer to sights and things that side. We found a self-catering chalet for R250 per night in Tamboerskloof that turned out to be a shed. It was such a comfy little shed that we stayed on for 3 nights.