tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3675543872385348132024-03-14T07:47:44.980+08:00Perth to Perth - Motorcycle adventure travel.Steven Kirk rides solo through Europe and Asia on a motorcycle.
Travelling from his country of birth to his adopted homeland overland through some of the most beautiful and exciting parts of the world.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-32578144679369317322014-02-15T10:40:00.001+08:002017-05-21T03:24:12.656+08:00TV Series online and DVD now available.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Well its taken a long time to complete but I'm very happy to say the six part series is now available on DVD or on demand. <span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Get the DVD <a href="http://www.perthtoperth.com/video">here</a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.perthtoperth.com/video" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="motorcycle adventure dvd" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQhWwG2JlbrUQFYp1DN14XftsarVObvUbkajs4eWUQeyGvpPWYCG52tdoxVh9BWuhr_6CscF8xVtQq7dGGHf12y8SLIn9ht08DRM8KA2CRKdXH5f0vgkpCS1zN7idONnkoCyrGLpv0y4rO/s1600/DVD+cover.jpg" title="Get the Perth to Perth 6-part series here." width="222" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Get the DVD <a href="http://www.perthtoperth.com/video">here</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> or view online <a href="https://vimeo.com/ondemand/perthtoperth" target="_blank">here</a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>You can also buy via Amazon UK <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00IGK7S8I" target="_blank">here</a></b></h3>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
See the new website <a href="http://www.perthtoperth.com/">www.perthtoperth.com</a></h3>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-53824592771102586022013-02-04T22:18:00.002+08:002013-02-05T07:36:51.585+08:00Welcome home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3C58C0Xp-t-6oUvH2s6UVFC7XbDihE10kehLJ_LKgSPb7d9G6Qxr07W8jcDXtiuRGiuX5tpgxMXOK-Q9kmhOPCsSwj0-Zbn6yQPbuGxIowPpmcd_rEDl1jXWT9fsFAPMrjutgbczsECWJ/s1600/freeway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3C58C0Xp-t-6oUvH2s6UVFC7XbDihE10kehLJ_LKgSPb7d9G6Qxr07W8jcDXtiuRGiuX5tpgxMXOK-Q9kmhOPCsSwj0-Zbn6yQPbuGxIowPpmcd_rEDl1jXWT9fsFAPMrjutgbczsECWJ/s320/freeway.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading south in convoy, more than 30 bikes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Meeting up with about 30 bikes in Joondalup just north of my final destination before we rode the last 30km into Perth and the last stop, was quite emotional. I didn't expect that many guys to turn up, everyone was really nice and congratulated me on the trip. We rode down the highway in a convoy with me at the front. I was really honoured that these guys would follow and support me on the last leg of my journey. Amazing!<br />
<br />
It was even more heartening to see even more bikes parked outside Perth council house when we arrived there.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr7T1L0-I9Mb6YAdDyulPm6Gk8rZ14tIHgUroDtVVOn836lbXZ1JqYgSR-W8r3b6oImAyPX-rZBXEuug7wrf9RLOw5E28bCgD_9avfyZiocZW8e48aGVIsTHJL16LDMN0JwtcaX4JnIRdt/s1600/perthmayorsmall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr7T1L0-I9Mb6YAdDyulPm6Gk8rZ14tIHgUroDtVVOn836lbXZ1JqYgSR-W8r3b6oImAyPX-rZBXEuug7wrf9RLOw5E28bCgD_9avfyZiocZW8e48aGVIsTHJL16LDMN0JwtcaX4JnIRdt/s320/perthmayorsmall.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perth Mayor Lisa Scaffidi with letter from Scottish Provost</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The lovely Lisa Scafffidi, Perth Mayor, greeted me with open arms and all of this was captured by TV and media. I felt like a rock star for 5 minutes. Absolutely amazing!<br />
<br />
This was overwhelming and I was unsure how to deal with it really, but there I was, some ordinary bloke on a bike arriving home having ridden 28,800km from Perth to Perth.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
No big deal surely, but this event today was a big deal. It was magic, everyone was wonderful and I felt really special, welcomed by friends and family who braved the heat of the day to meet me.<br />
<br />
<br />
So that's it. The END.<br />
<br />
<br />
The end of this amazing adventure. I'm happy to be able to complete what I started out to do but sad at the same time. Will I ever be so lucky to do something like this again? I hope so.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgILt9GyMO3kEfZBIIrYv4ZXBDc4KvR9LbuEP8GaDNi__mZvZ8ae6YOJahbULNL_vYZK6lnCyeRy41mB6_Q6OsN7md59TRt5HmTvDyUjhggHD_D_JjOfpPhUwMk6SueKeQQqZ7WntIg49RZ/s1600/bikefreeway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgILt9GyMO3kEfZBIIrYv4ZXBDc4KvR9LbuEP8GaDNi__mZvZ8ae6YOJahbULNL_vYZK6lnCyeRy41mB6_Q6OsN7md59TRt5HmTvDyUjhggHD_D_JjOfpPhUwMk6SueKeQQqZ7WntIg49RZ/s320/bikefreeway.jpg" width="320" /></a>The last few months have been an amazing whirlwind of ups and downs, mostly ups. My trusty bike has a place in my heart, not like a person, its a machine, but I cant help but feel some affection for this amazing bike that has transported me across the world. Its a motorcycle, one of many similar on the road everyday but this one is special.Its witnessed all of my moods, from good to bad, it's accompanied me over potholes and gravel saved me when other vehicles were trying to kill us both, carried me through torrential rain without a hiccup taken me through horrendous heat and cold, kept me alive and given me a life at the same time. How can I not feel some affection or connection with my close companion that is a motorbike after all. I now have to send it back to UK and I now know I should now sell it for something new but that will be very hard to do.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwnkcB_GA6r3Ft7FGctKJniQH_cSG633VrCcwIDbl-2wXA15ZTmM_ERMQIp335ibXdtMGQ8usa5vF0EhAXjIeYa5yd6NsVTw57XQgoW-qxhrCuxy4peiVWNdHz7PfEdgZXTn2rdZdowaQE/s1600/dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwnkcB_GA6r3Ft7FGctKJniQH_cSG633VrCcwIDbl-2wXA15ZTmM_ERMQIp335ibXdtMGQ8usa5vF0EhAXjIeYa5yd6NsVTw57XQgoW-qxhrCuxy4peiVWNdHz7PfEdgZXTn2rdZdowaQE/s320/dad.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Dad and me. February 2012</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My family have been supportive through the whole trip, especially when I lost my Dad and I had to rearrange all plans. My wife has been the support crew behind me, when something goes wrong, I can rely on her to do whatever is required to get help or solve any dramas. I didn't have a support vehicle behind me but I don't think that's needed really. As long as I have someone at the end of the phone who can do something to help, I never felt alone. She was the one who heard my moans when I was down, she lifted me up at my worst and told me off when I needed to be grateful.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sad to see the end, now it's back to work and routine. I need to recover so much money now. Yes it's rather expensive but I wouldn't change that for the world, worth every penny. So if you are thinking of doing something similar, stop thinking about about it and just do it before you can't. Life is short.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>So what now?</b><br />
<br />
Did you know there is a Perth in Tasmania?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvnqh1ToM-CO-bfpgm1L_vrkxJMM-gXMlg3bDAyGWIZ9g71Htl3K_z6pE00Okn9XTi4JkWVx2WuBO_KY8Aq6RyXWd1EUBcFpDApqrKpEws9A5f3EJ7MGpCIgOf5nYxNiIcRmSZuPPYviwH/s1600/perth+tas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvnqh1ToM-CO-bfpgm1L_vrkxJMM-gXMlg3bDAyGWIZ9g71Htl3K_z6pE00Okn9XTi4JkWVx2WuBO_KY8Aq6RyXWd1EUBcFpDApqrKpEws9A5f3EJ7MGpCIgOf5nYxNiIcRmSZuPPYviwH/s640/perth+tas.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fancy that! A Tiger in Tasmania. In Perth as well :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-6663982616771929462013-02-02T20:54:00.000+08:002013-02-02T20:54:23.982+08:00Share us yer grog mate<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC3ziUmuNB6NsADx2W8lU_j0NRqxsLTBRz7HVXc5_K_0MPf2ZE6mHnmgXWUHWYFBbEEesRIQcgGYULAGBIQxP2vbjjL-DfxU7yJwSTH-rrPK-C0jeMe30Gl_0P7iDTo7LJoAv9QOR8pW9n/s1600/DSCN6214.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC3ziUmuNB6NsADx2W8lU_j0NRqxsLTBRz7HVXc5_K_0MPf2ZE6mHnmgXWUHWYFBbEEesRIQcgGYULAGBIQxP2vbjjL-DfxU7yJwSTH-rrPK-C0jeMe30Gl_0P7iDTo7LJoAv9QOR8pW9n/s200/DSCN6214.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Middle of nowhere</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Halls Creek is in the middle of nowhere. Its 1100 km from my starting point in Darwin which leaves another 3000 km to Perth to go. This is a small town with some shops, two hotels and a pub. I park up up, shower, change and head for dinner. Today I reckon I'll go a bit more fancy and order a bottle of the finest New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc to enjoy with the meal. When I'm finished, I'm invited to sit and chat with some of the locals from surrounding Aboriginal communities. They all seem a nice bunch and we chat for a while on various topics from motorbikes to racism. The nice waitress sees my bottle of wine still 2/3 full and brings it out to me. The woman next to me asks, "share us some of yer grog mate", I reply, "of course, help yourself"<br />
She pours the entire remains of the finest wine into an empty pint glass, downs the lot and thumps the glass back on the table! Another lesson learned.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNKqL1m49vEmBsXHnUgxEutz-bcrVbsVSOmJLfhlSdDi3E2efrQwIiEWqjZlFbwCtn6z_3xF77TMYQqAcoiCCE9yBhYg8fr3d6p4N-6atg7v1WtqUFRJFrtUT4DTuNHpz3lkslC9pMVOhv/s1600/DSCN6166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNKqL1m49vEmBsXHnUgxEutz-bcrVbsVSOmJLfhlSdDi3E2efrQwIiEWqjZlFbwCtn6z_3xF77TMYQqAcoiCCE9yBhYg8fr3d6p4N-6atg7v1WtqUFRJFrtUT4DTuNHpz3lkslC9pMVOhv/s200/DSCN6166.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cable Beach, Broome</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm going to get new tyres in Broome, and call a bike shop there, unbeknown to me its diverted to Perth and the guy tells me he has what I need in stock. I've sent a message to my support team (wife) on the very limited Internet access asking her to arrange tyres for Saturday morning for me. The bike shops in Broome don't have any tyres and cant help without flying the goods overnight. The cost of air freight is fairly expensive, road freight takes a week so my wife decides to bring them herself in a suitcase. Just as well Broome is a lovely holiday destination.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8uRH0PHH3eicOwKkkrnlbUodC9NJE9RaBUeFi1WMrJXh2aq8s1535QQO6DVSXhUNiQXEYAa9s9TH5YmeeSrYEE9sMc5w8NHAL-fE-YGAGB3u7gcsZX-oT3hRcNtXOQduMDCismqaRPhB/s1600/DSCN6155.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8uRH0PHH3eicOwKkkrnlbUodC9NJE9RaBUeFi1WMrJXh2aq8s1535QQO6DVSXhUNiQXEYAa9s9TH5YmeeSrYEE9sMc5w8NHAL-fE-YGAGB3u7gcsZX-oT3hRcNtXOQduMDCismqaRPhB/s200/DSCN6155.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Tyres </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The local bike shop will fit them for me and in order to save some money, I remove and fit the wheels myself. I'm rather cheeky and ask if I can do an oil and filter change at the same time.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRoetJoA_FjSkIoY5CYQp8mNiJWsvMRczk9duilv4G4Yb3dLuDmkfbwJ8UDrwXHcrrlWSEOO173UBj8eJBnHp-BfDoZrgrPfKu2UhKW-r8gQYi_nlerf869jJGMnSNoXwA_rmV3NV5OZDh/s1600/Picture+605.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRoetJoA_FjSkIoY5CYQp8mNiJWsvMRczk9duilv4G4Yb3dLuDmkfbwJ8UDrwXHcrrlWSEOO173UBj8eJBnHp-BfDoZrgrPfKu2UhKW-r8gQYi_nlerf869jJGMnSNoXwA_rmV3NV5OZDh/s320/Picture+605.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now I have my own portable hotel again</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Next day I'm off to Port Hedland. This is not one of my favourite places in Australia. Thousands of workers in white utes, wearing goaties, drinkin piss ... bugger all to do except drink piss as they say. So with this in mind, and the mining boom in these parts, how easy is it to get a cheap hotel? Impossible, they all want $300 a night! Even the shitty roadside pub. The single men accommodation camp across from the airport wants $290, for a bloody 'donger'. (part of portacabin)<br />
<br />
I find the cheapest deal at $250 at a hotel in town but I'm annoyed I didn't think of this sooner. Tomorrow, I'm going to K-Mart and will buy me a cheap tent, no way I'm paying silly money simply for a bed.<br />
<br />
I was planning to rough camp without a tent, but this is wet season, it usually rains heavily through the night and mosquitoes are everywhere.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOvCG24-mTsz_czRGYE6THsRH0_Lyh0hdzShJtbGCEl0nT6MVwzg3WUCFD_s737-NArfaiaAeHl0gWslAEMOdlCs3VYbGkIaSep6pdBMWXhTLxF8io7lU27V8DmKQ3a6EdUveGAY0IZfdF/s1600/DSCN6206.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOvCG24-mTsz_czRGYE6THsRH0_Lyh0hdzShJtbGCEl0nT6MVwzg3WUCFD_s737-NArfaiaAeHl0gWslAEMOdlCs3VYbGkIaSep6pdBMWXhTLxF8io7lU27V8DmKQ3a6EdUveGAY0IZfdF/s200/DSCN6206.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">$17 Tent. You get what you pay for.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Armed with my new $17 tent and bedding I'm aiming for Carnarvon but I wont make it before dark. There is a road house where I can stop at on the way. Nanuturra roadhouse has camping, showers, oh and a bar as well. My pitch costs $10, the tent takes 5 minutes to put up, and ask myself why I didn't do this sooner. I get the answer later that night. 11pm, It's still bloody hot and I struggle to breath in my new hot and sweaty $17 plastic bag. The vents don't seem to work and I have to open the door fully to get air and cool down. I then spend the next hour or more with small torch in hand killing off all the mossies and other weird looking bugs now sharing my abode. I think I get to sleep around 2am. The 4am beep beep beep of trucks reversing wakes me up and I'm fairly grumpy now. 5am and I decide to get up and go, making use of cooler part of the day to travel.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5TprV5V6b6FMqzE1SZ0ZU3cSgymh6NPO14nydT_J7QDcMzF_Y7saEY4Yj_NuTzSRH0dfEYwb8VlhCfELxIxc1wHsLgkgcjLl_hmISfmYKQAvqe_EzkPtZobWrNDjtMF1W3RF2Lypkyjx7/s1600/DSCN6221.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5TprV5V6b6FMqzE1SZ0ZU3cSgymh6NPO14nydT_J7QDcMzF_Y7saEY4Yj_NuTzSRH0dfEYwb8VlhCfELxIxc1wHsLgkgcjLl_hmISfmYKQAvqe_EzkPtZobWrNDjtMF1W3RF2Lypkyjx7/s320/DSCN6221.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carnarvon is famous for bananas</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I arrive in Carnarvon where the temperature is a lovely 26, find a cheap hotel and sleep like I'm dead.<br />
<br />
<br />
Next day I'm on the road to Geraldton, slow and easy, its now fairly cool on the coast so I don't need to leave so early. I grab myself somewhere to stay, not your usual hotel but this time its a house. Much cheaper but rather eery as the key is left for me in a lock box to the rear with instructions on how to get in and what room to stay in.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Its starting to get dark and this place is deserted, at least I think it is although I was sure I could hear some moans from one of the locked doors along the corridor inside. I've found the light switches and found my room. This really is a lovely place, beautifully decorated charming and homely. I'm here alone, this is my last night on the road, tomorrow I hit Perth and the journey is complete. This is my last night and I should be partying, but no one is here.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkLQCIBVKgHYMxhxRIK0o5tPDgpQsVUs-VsYEeyAJ_gG4zv-3AbDdG1PSRBnCziQa-ZmdoVAd9BJRo-qyamKzlI6Jh5opTQk98N94zr7EuIx5AMg3-nAOqi33MgCiyWLtnuFW3kkCy4nEV/s1600/DSCN6236.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkLQCIBVKgHYMxhxRIK0o5tPDgpQsVUs-VsYEeyAJ_gG4zv-3AbDdG1PSRBnCziQa-ZmdoVAd9BJRo-qyamKzlI6Jh5opTQk98N94zr7EuIx5AMg3-nAOqi33MgCiyWLtnuFW3kkCy4nEV/s200/DSCN6236.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Geraldton Yellow Submarine!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Next day I visit the town and whilst filming a wee bit at the yellow submarine, the high winds blow my camera and tripod over. The camera hits the ground hard and I can do nothing to stop it. The camera survives but the microphone on top breaks. Ah well, its made it this far<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Tomorrow I'm meeting up with some other bikes just north of Perth and will continue down to meet with the Perth Mayor to hand over a gift from the Lord Provost of Perth. That will be it, the end, the final destination, the conclusion of this mammoth trip across the world. I'm feeling a bit sad about this but happy to see my family and Friends again.<br />
<br />
Next: Welcome Home<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8uRH0PHH3eicOwKkkrnlbUodC9NJE9RaBUeFi1WMrJXh2aq8s1535QQO6DVSXhUNiQXEYAa9s9TH5YmeeSrYEE9sMc5w8NHAL-fE-YGAGB3u7gcsZX-oT3hRcNtXOQduMDCismqaRPhB/s1600/DSCN6155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-h5xlPodWdV4dntauhcbGmS9OtcPQpvq1QpHGZBqEMdSCSn5pudAc3SbZVjjrTq1wIRhOk91kDLCGnH4DoWozn-7YeJM_xLJq9kuXyiW8-jBGoPVrMkONPp3mjJIcNqTGsGdYmA-5y2KR/s1600/DSCN6187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-h5xlPodWdV4dntauhcbGmS9OtcPQpvq1QpHGZBqEMdSCSn5pudAc3SbZVjjrTq1wIRhOk91kDLCGnH4DoWozn-7YeJM_xLJq9kuXyiW8-jBGoPVrMkONPp3mjJIcNqTGsGdYmA-5y2KR/s640/DSCN6187.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Middle of nowhere</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf0RotSkYTqJEN5K8Y_gy-JfA2N_pHKOUYKZZ2knNbf-eSB5xGJrbhWTjG_DSaOZFsa_LYog25tz7RBh8S5n48Zvj6MCu8_MuDdVEbHHPHCxwt_87wpaB2bJeEiyUIckP7AfZY8-7JRIXx/s1600/DSCN6219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf0RotSkYTqJEN5K8Y_gy-JfA2N_pHKOUYKZZ2knNbf-eSB5xGJrbhWTjG_DSaOZFsa_LYog25tz7RBh8S5n48Zvj6MCu8_MuDdVEbHHPHCxwt_87wpaB2bJeEiyUIckP7AfZY8-7JRIXx/s640/DSCN6219.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing into temperate climate</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_tUdI0DBjMdbemgyqeriiDkFcb4QDOZDDVS2_qAE4vUTp58HYLAKPtpjv5SYonUzWQEq6LFQ7obL8N7VYzoEOQJurtcWLo9JJIBoq7qFXtLp5bWe7-5Y-yCUImYrThHni7XEzJ2Rtw_f/s1600/DSCN6223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_tUdI0DBjMdbemgyqeriiDkFcb4QDOZDDVS2_qAE4vUTp58HYLAKPtpjv5SYonUzWQEq6LFQ7obL8N7VYzoEOQJurtcWLo9JJIBoq7qFXtLp5bWe7-5Y-yCUImYrThHni7XEzJ2Rtw_f/s640/DSCN6223.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last time I did this it was snowing, I was a bit bored by now, I thought it was apt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzYLmR5AcJS4esXuXLW8ufGlI2nXooFmhUP4JzmeG-J6kr1L8ECkFgZCyBo_Z9on-UzGYP7L1Gnst-3Je2bVkspn9z3jWfkyF_rxwIkzyvvZZ5WKuvRb519cVXvbjSPWBhgIEIjlBD1BiV/s1600/DSCN6241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzYLmR5AcJS4esXuXLW8ufGlI2nXooFmhUP4JzmeG-J6kr1L8ECkFgZCyBo_Z9on-UzGYP7L1Gnst-3Je2bVkspn9z3jWfkyF_rxwIkzyvvZZ5WKuvRb519cVXvbjSPWBhgIEIjlBD1BiV/s640/DSCN6241.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Pinnacles in WA</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRoetJoA_FjSkIoY5CYQp8mNiJWsvMRczk9duilv4G4Yb3dLuDmkfbwJ8UDrwXHcrrlWSEOO173UBj8eJBnHp-BfDoZrgrPfKu2UhKW-r8gQYi_nlerf869jJGMnSNoXwA_rmV3NV5OZDh/s1600/Picture+605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-999913348045118012013-01-28T09:03:00.000+08:002013-01-28T09:14:44.626+08:00Cancel the homecoming?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghdjxxJhYtqvtrlb3ceLZTzVl33TcvqF0xcYTiOdIH4IigjxHNxyMNCpmycDkTWAuTSDo9zKeEtM1xJVcsDEQSuMhNQ68uQf-e5S173HDDbGrFwXpNckFCCmO33SmInwGASm7p824pFRWe/s1600/DSCN6139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghdjxxJhYtqvtrlb3ceLZTzVl33TcvqF0xcYTiOdIH4IigjxHNxyMNCpmycDkTWAuTSDo9zKeEtM1xJVcsDEQSuMhNQ68uQf-e5S173HDDbGrFwXpNckFCCmO33SmInwGASm7p824pFRWe/s640/DSCN6139.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaoZ4_o3C_GLMsQTexkqZVH-XG95SJ3QXQxvMUvI3CfurDxreRkTqpJN8iljDm-rBrRm1OtRQgpzhKF08-7FqiDaPrZsjvlNDfXAfBtyfbtfccfmDlaAPmjA0jmpi3Ca2Ui9a_VimDd9TX/s1600/IMG_2392.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaoZ4_o3C_GLMsQTexkqZVH-XG95SJ3QXQxvMUvI3CfurDxreRkTqpJN8iljDm-rBrRm1OtRQgpzhKF08-7FqiDaPrZsjvlNDfXAfBtyfbtfccfmDlaAPmjA0jmpi3Ca2Ui9a_VimDd9TX/s200/IMG_2392.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Carnet</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm back in Australia finally and will be travelling West from Darwin towards Broome, all I need now is my bike. The bike has landed at the port but I still don't have an updated carnet document. This means that I cannot bring the vehicle into the country without this document, I have no idea what to do, should I cancel the homecoming scheduled for next week, probably best idea.<br />
<br />
<br />
I've been sending emails to government departments. All of the responses are not good. Most replies are not positive and I'm wondering if I'll ever get the bike released. I've heard of some people being stuck here for weeks whilst the government issue a "Vehicle Import Approval" or VIA" certificate for the bike. <br />
<br />
But first chance I get, early morning I visit the shipping guys at Darwin port. Long story, but short version is, get in touch with customs agent, pay him to import and pay the duty charges, quarantine and the 10% GST on its current value. OK its a lot more expensive than I planned but lets try it. 24 hours later I get a call to say its cleared customs, just needs a quarantine inspection and I'm free, unfortunately, its Friday and earliest appointment available is Monday 11am. This means there is no way I can reach home for scheduled homecoming event by next week-end. <br />
<br />
Whilst there, I met up with a Dutch guy who was in the same boat, no carnet document. His dilemma was slightly more exciting than mine as his was stolen from him at gunpoint in Dili East Timor along with everything he had in his bag. He was however, actually quite positive, happy to be alive and not caring about his situation.<br />
<br />
I have in my bag, a letter of civic greeting from the Mayor of Perth
in Scotland which I shall deliver to the Mayor of Perth Australia. This
was to be an organised and official affair, and I have no choice but to
delay for another week or so.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWrYmo1brmN6GZpMfPl93QKSEYWWR9RxbrA090Qt2hSDKn392lkWwH3i-PoFkTV7aBd3iKBH-tACUrIG0wPCLo2PA-GwYuBrq-xWS_8-iXAe8lhjNmOc87D0r5JEwwh0oEwbMLYUhOvxgE/s1600/IMG_2396.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWrYmo1brmN6GZpMfPl93QKSEYWWR9RxbrA090Qt2hSDKn392lkWwH3i-PoFkTV7aBd3iKBH-tACUrIG0wPCLo2PA-GwYuBrq-xWS_8-iXAe8lhjNmOc87D0r5JEwwh0oEwbMLYUhOvxgE/s200/IMG_2396.jpg" width="200" /></a>So I have all week-end to waste so spend a fair bit of it here at the local Irish pub talking rubbish.<br />
<br />
Monday I'm with the quarantine inspector at a shed on the wharf. They open the door and I'm pleased to see the bike intact, some dust but that's it, no damage. The quarantine guy goes over the bike looking for dirt or traces of seeds or dust from alien countries, he runs his fingers under the mudguards, under the seat. He checks under the seat and is satisfied I've done a great job of cleaning the bike. I open the panniers where I've squeezed all my bike clothes and to my horror one has an incredible amount of mould growing all over my things. I'm thinking that this will almost certainly be a problem and I'll be stuck another few days whilst the bike is cleaned again. The quarantine inspector hands the mouldy contents to one of the customs agents and asks him to run a hose over it! Thats it! All good, sign some papers, stamp some documents and I can leave.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5d0Wp6niD5ffmKTEIOY1tHkGoV7eT9jGnQA0w_ZrzsgiXr6M1Ez5V5RWBigyDcBTjgyTSvZm5gF1WcIWwVFus-lPE1trbDxV3cuP37VwWlmW82GpabcWyiJ6RkbEONyti2ctgnFNJokAs/s200/IMG_2397.jpg" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freedom! Bike on Australian roads</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I still don't believe how easy it's been and until I'm on the other side of the gate, I still won't. Thirty minutes later I return with some more paperwork, open up the warehouse, start the bike, ride suspiciously and slowly towards the gate with another bit of paper, show the guard, the gate lifts and I'm free!<br />
<br />
Pleased as punch, next day I'm off, first destination is Katherine, around 360 km South, from there I'll turn to the West and head for home.<br />
<br />
A fairly easy day, stop for the night then head to Kununurra. This is when I learn one major thing. Always carry spare water with you. I have a 2 litre backpack Camelpak. This is exhausted in one hour and another hour later so am I.. I'm not exerting myself much but the hair dryer wind could dry even the wettest washing in 10 seconds. I'm 200 kms from anywhere and I've run out of water, the temperature hovers around 38 degrees C but in some regions where bush fires have blackened the surrounding bush, the air gets even hotter, almost unbearable. I'm starting to get a bit worried as I'd not seen any other vehicles for at least 30 minutes. There is no shade here either, the trees are too small to sit under so imagine my joy to see a sign to a 24 hour resting place ahead.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOOvisJZ-ItmMs7M4adgJNsf3i7h_uw-g_GNJM_AyZJUkmqsL-_smS3TunHRaHRM3JAqLv1jG449OgR1JRGSAHwXC_MrcLOjyQnUs_XL_n4LdK_ypQBA4Osb6CJdxhMnct2IlwhVzUayju/s1600/DSCN6132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOOvisJZ-ItmMs7M4adgJNsf3i7h_uw-g_GNJM_AyZJUkmqsL-_smS3TunHRaHRM3JAqLv1jG449OgR1JRGSAHwXC_MrcLOjyQnUs_XL_n4LdK_ypQBA4Osb6CJdxhMnct2IlwhVzUayju/s200/DSCN6132.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">saved by a shelter</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This place has a covered areas with tables and toilets. There is a water tank but a sign on the outside says that it's not suitable for drinking. Bugger! At least I can use it to wet my clothes in an attempt to cool down, so I pour the hot water over my T-shirt, inside of my helmet and over my head. This is just enough to get me to the next petrol station where I make sure I now have two water supplies, I even go as far to buy some biscuits as rations, just in case I get stuck.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjUdQUDN6LF-vrngQ5fPnJ_H87R7s5Ky1-LF8v0MCm4_0iBw9Be21YlwaqbEkbByVF94wA75S9ad-3URNxbtN4IdbMXOZ5oEHYRRmGAHgUE31Ob3wI-iy-QvMMyNdnlw74YhoKcP7OCrS9/s1600/river.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjUdQUDN6LF-vrngQ5fPnJ_H87R7s5Ky1-LF8v0MCm4_0iBw9Be21YlwaqbEkbByVF94wA75S9ad-3URNxbtN4IdbMXOZ5oEHYRRmGAHgUE31Ob3wI-iy-QvMMyNdnlw74YhoKcP7OCrS9/s200/river.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">forgot about crocs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I arrive into Kununurra a lot wiser than before. Yes, I've heard it several times about travel in remote areas, yes I know to take adequate supplies, I know, but ignored for some stupid reason. Another thing you must not do, don't enter rivers on foot or by bike if they are known for crocodiles. Yes I did that too.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Next day Im in Halls Creek and have some drinkies with the local Aboriginal community.<br />
<br />
Next: "Share us yer grog mate"<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg87T_KTLevtWPT39A5W2oR-_p9eF8KkZmSUkvQOkI99GLeB-LJ1y8ZSBQhn1497vYyop3Yc1JLOcIHfXAa3v-eGenp-aQAc-wHmacof5N8AbnE8yzU5V1YMubLFk0j9JeilphYrYaQwbTm/s1600/DSCN6215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg87T_KTLevtWPT39A5W2oR-_p9eF8KkZmSUkvQOkI99GLeB-LJ1y8ZSBQhn1497vYyop3Yc1JLOcIHfXAa3v-eGenp-aQAc-wHmacof5N8AbnE8yzU5V1YMubLFk0j9JeilphYrYaQwbTm/s640/DSCN6215.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5qTjhpsl7e4bzj1DRkY0aG3foT2GzcwmdRfZdFA2LaqkROfUgBSRQtUYSpQiHYqQSmcJQrbEa06laOvgq5ikHM_zU_BYEtdlKx4s9yYdV7E2Hqd4DAit6HZN6eyUkJUOdTEzlBzAcuyA3/s1600/DSCN6121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5qTjhpsl7e4bzj1DRkY0aG3foT2GzcwmdRfZdFA2LaqkROfUgBSRQtUYSpQiHYqQSmcJQrbEa06laOvgq5ikHM_zU_BYEtdlKx4s9yYdV7E2Hqd4DAit6HZN6eyUkJUOdTEzlBzAcuyA3/s640/DSCN6121.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj42X9sZOXh8U4i24qBqMTRd_czN8UIYsAJBivUxH6pMBXOegotYG1UmhXsbrTlzWsjcEKfonz7p1sbKklkO4FMtkjRyiSvhImZhh0qGkwJG03pF22Oh4xb8qff_dqJ9fMRddKCeDc7D8rX/s1600/DSCN6135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj42X9sZOXh8U4i24qBqMTRd_czN8UIYsAJBivUxH6pMBXOegotYG1UmhXsbrTlzWsjcEKfonz7p1sbKklkO4FMtkjRyiSvhImZhh0qGkwJG03pF22Oh4xb8qff_dqJ9fMRddKCeDc7D8rX/s640/DSCN6135.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkwVoyl44fat9MLh11vSNzjqNx2FrbATuc77DaioFHdvSIAjqnl4ZwfUN178ytNy3oaO4NBeNnDcZM_q5tifTxl9-gWDL8QnKoTysKGuc5OtoxGd_H6jzr5ImE6EwmpZ9DLU24fUOgSvbb/s1600/DSCN6125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkwVoyl44fat9MLh11vSNzjqNx2FrbATuc77DaioFHdvSIAjqnl4ZwfUN178ytNy3oaO4NBeNnDcZM_q5tifTxl9-gWDL8QnKoTysKGuc5OtoxGd_H6jzr5ImE6EwmpZ9DLU24fUOgSvbb/s640/DSCN6125.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLly2mhfBJPcJmV-XkJBwPhW5X8_2hSWPT1aWESTf92UG4mQsYgf8KXrZXz7V5D9tBPbsbafJyQLzK602r255N_Vod6yBv2Otw8oGWcOEhj_FCfQmq6dNwgvdKpFo7i7stNM1DN3LC8u8N/s1600/DSCN6211.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLly2mhfBJPcJmV-XkJBwPhW5X8_2hSWPT1aWESTf92UG4mQsYgf8KXrZXz7V5D9tBPbsbafJyQLzK602r255N_Vod6yBv2Otw8oGWcOEhj_FCfQmq6dNwgvdKpFo7i7stNM1DN3LC8u8N/s640/DSCN6211.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-81398397085738144562013-01-11T11:07:00.000+08:002013-01-11T11:07:20.808+08:00Love you long time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="moz-text-html" lang="x-western">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMHQOy2za-CtAmuxXrbCXzL_GCafV0zlDYFlxsKdbboICZC_6Bdc3D-oDF8YbocufEW3Y3aDhkwqfGidCl2_EFF0P48nmv4ooZUvMY58OpzfbHsvcwUCtyDWHG3AgkBBoD_JK8xLODc_3/s1600/DSCN5378.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMHQOy2za-CtAmuxXrbCXzL_GCafV0zlDYFlxsKdbboICZC_6Bdc3D-oDF8YbocufEW3Y3aDhkwqfGidCl2_EFF0P48nmv4ooZUvMY58OpzfbHsvcwUCtyDWHG3AgkBBoD_JK8xLODc_3/s200/DSCN5378.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bangkok traffic</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Arriving in Bangkok as planned,
rather behind schedule, but happy to be back on the road, I will
air freight my lost laptop to the airport hotel in which I'm
staying. I'm still amazed its all there, all complete with my Carnet Document
for the bike which I need to enter Malaysia and Singapore. Without
this I'd be stranded in Thailand.<br />
<br />
<br />
Bangkok traffic is easy but there
is so much of it. It took me five hours to get from airport to
city and back. Next day the heavens fall down and I'm driving
through the city on a 3 lane river following the wake of other
vehicles. I've been soaked through but its a cool change from the
hot and sticky 35 degrees of previous days. Its also washed the
bike for me for the first time since Amritsar in India.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1c2E3A7_F47m18yOWMRYewM_wfiVXIlbOg2xJlGSwNSuvSaPjPtQFECsg6O-UNk0in_tM_mX4n6rIEwPXyVSSpQSZAzBB0vK4TsAEFbNPG8wTJc5OuQ7E0vjE-r6wPLGPOJcnBj_sEyxO/s1600/DSCN3839.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1c2E3A7_F47m18yOWMRYewM_wfiVXIlbOg2xJlGSwNSuvSaPjPtQFECsg6O-UNk0in_tM_mX4n6rIEwPXyVSSpQSZAzBB0vK4TsAEFbNPG8wTJc5OuQ7E0vjE-r6wPLGPOJcnBj_sEyxO/s200/DSCN3839.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jeroen and the KTM</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Remember Jeroen and the
adventurous 990? His bike was supposed to be repaired in Delhi,
they promised all but couldn't fix it. Jeroen now an expert in
pick up trucks and motorcycle logistics transported the faulty bike
to Bangkok in the hope of some technical expertise. The KTM guys
in Thailand seem to have the skills and knowledge and for now
solve all problems. I know it won't last.<br />
<br />
<br />
We catch up in Bangkok and as has been the way so far, share a few
beers. There are many nice places in Bangkok, there are many seedy
places as well. We've managed to fall into one of the latter where
I share the bathroom with several Thai beauties, most fixing their
hair or make up, one in underwear proposing her eternal love for
me whilst I stand pissing at the urinal. I've never been<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDB6xn8I2dJmZI_kAQiw6D9ytvtRVmxCUWJJ1xPYKu5-KvGPtThyBIwzALdHnaUf8MawitLsECgKxMrV4vO41sJvmF0o5krDLNrBBu9hjmmIHXVYE1ef8PP6u4YoSwpI1JdEVydFRvvGZh/s1600/DSCN5397.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDB6xn8I2dJmZI_kAQiw6D9ytvtRVmxCUWJJ1xPYKu5-KvGPtThyBIwzALdHnaUf8MawitLsECgKxMrV4vO41sJvmF0o5krDLNrBBu9hjmmIHXVYE1ef8PP6u4YoSwpI1JdEVydFRvvGZh/s200/DSCN5397.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">all sorts of weird stuff here</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
proposed
to in this way, I do prefer a bit of privacy at such times. "I
love you long time" she says. I'm not sure what she means exactly
and didn't want to ask, preferring to run to the safety of the bar
and my beer bottle. This seems a common thing in Bangkok and
everywhere I go, I'm offered all kinds of pleasurable pursuits,
some involving condoms, bananas and even a ping pong ball or two.
After a few days I start to feel self conscious. It seems
that there are a lot of middle aged men with young pretty girls on
their arms. Their is also a lot of creepy looking middle aged men
wandering the streets near the seedy bars. Is this what I look like?
After many offers of massage and other delights I return to my
hotel room in a huff having failed to simply find a bar which doesn't involve sex with an 18 year old. Boy or girl I must add.<br />
I'm waiting in Bangkok for my laptop to arrive, for some reason its
delayed and I decide its better to head off to see some more of
Thailand. Im heading north to catch up with a mate who's planned
a few days away. Simon is originally from UK an
has been here for a few years. He is fairly handy when we have to communicate with the non-English speaking locals. After the much
slower but mad pace of India and Nepal, it's great to be able to
move faster without being killed by dippy suicide driver. Freeway
speeds in Thailand are pretty much same as France or Italy. I
never looked at my speedo but we're around 160 km hr again. :)<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfS5w-Th-jaMkBIyTH0oVQIg12c1GGEDs1ey5NOyoNph7uizftx54uU_Eenng7nW-EvChkcGhDPWY68ojNSX385BUkMhmVIeOsTkpSbfcpwik5gF9mQn_wKxBzlo4kEiIuo8AQfy-RBGBr/s1600/DSCN5514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfS5w-Th-jaMkBIyTH0oVQIg12c1GGEDs1ey5NOyoNph7uizftx54uU_Eenng7nW-EvChkcGhDPWY68ojNSX385BUkMhmVIeOsTkpSbfcpwik5gF9mQn_wKxBzlo4kEiIuo8AQfy-RBGBr/s200/DSCN5514.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">Simon guides me around Thailand</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This
will sound smug but I think I might qualify as a pretty fair rider, having had survived many different countries, did I mention
India? but watching Simon weave in and out of the lanes of traffic
make me nervous watching from behind. I'm sure the cars will run
him down but they don't. Thai motorists are very patient and
similar fashion to many other countries, kindly move over to<br />
allow
bikes to pass.<br />
<br />
<br />
So we head north to a place
called Nan, stopping on the way at Sukhothai Temple for a few
hours.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnFXtMLXuaYDXCub4jsPiK9n24SacZkJ2N2bZWULyGV54_gziemdn1kokCDnD-dXeM1BZWR3DEzugem9ENr-r6RKu25AjLCO40KzDxEbPGNurSHSKa1vdD4_zX8PL-gKB7ArXJ1kMq1cez/s1600/DSCN5419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnFXtMLXuaYDXCub4jsPiK9n24SacZkJ2N2bZWULyGV54_gziemdn1kokCDnD-dXeM1BZWR3DEzugem9ENr-r6RKu25AjLCO40KzDxEbPGNurSHSKa1vdD4_zX8PL-gKB7ArXJ1kMq1cez/s200/DSCN5419.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">Sukothai Temple<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We get to Nan on a Saturday and
we're entertained by one of Simons Thai friends. I've since
forgotten names, it was a good night. I didn't even put my hand in my pocket to pay, such is the generosity of some people. Next day we're off to find
some amazing twisty roads in the hills. These are recently laid
and the surface is perfect. I take advantage of the safer road
surfaces manage to finally wear in the remaining edge portions of
my tyres. Both my tyres and me have been waiting for this since Turkey some 10,000
km ago!<br />
<br />
<br />
Back to Bangkok for a few days
then south to Phuket, not to be pronounced "foo kett" apparently!<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkPrNdaCr1w-XeMvS4-QCTRg1ewUxqvRazTmjH-X8YO5I4P8XHIxxwrqIvCoblbHrcV6Ru9x5bBfgTgkbh-CfKSXVW0lYr-YBJY7TZ_MVBiC_gG0xebTI7c9ZUJYbc0UVJAEmBViFvf1d/s1600/DSCN5921.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkPrNdaCr1w-XeMvS4-QCTRg1ewUxqvRazTmjH-X8YO5I4P8XHIxxwrqIvCoblbHrcV6Ru9x5bBfgTgkbh-CfKSXVW0lYr-YBJY7TZ_MVBiC_gG0xebTI7c9ZUJYbc0UVJAEmBViFvf1d/s200/DSCN5921.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">2pm everyday this happens</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There one thing I learned about Thailand. The weather at this time of year is simple, sunny and hot until around 2pm when the skies open and deluge the country for the next 4 hours. I should have<br />
been a bit smarter and left early in the morning but thats too sensible for me and everyday I get soaked thoroughly.<br />
<br />
In Phuket, I become the tourist and visit the islands surrounding the area, especially the James Bond rock, filmed in the cheesey "The Man with the Golden Gun" way back in the early seventies. We drop by a few islands on a fast speedboat but I've been not well, the hangover of a lifetime after having downed some free shots the night before with friends I also have a drama with funny tummy and drop toilets, the ladies I may add. No lock, no balance, no paper and some people trying to push in isn't very dignified.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpqY1XnSETAWOzGFONJOA3p6RffaJramU_yDFSFlUfOnxNtYBNgkDrRx-IGrPprKd8r-R6hjeHODUEqKIhLm5_OfFFsg8ZntGjBA4sXI4PQEbC7pB2uM101aDcauEpBt64-TL6sBxGK7k8/s1600/DSCN5822.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpqY1XnSETAWOzGFONJOA3p6RffaJramU_yDFSFlUfOnxNtYBNgkDrRx-IGrPprKd8r-R6hjeHODUEqKIhLm5_OfFFsg8ZntGjBA4sXI4PQEbC7pB2uM101aDcauEpBt64-TL6sBxGK7k8/s200/DSCN5822.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Islands off Phuket</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm still pondering continuing via Sumatra and Java but running out of time and decide to continue as planned all the way to Singapore where I will ship to Darwin.<br />
<br />
<br />
Heading south to Malaysia I stop at the border controls to get my passport and carnet stamped. It seems they don't really care but i get it all in order just in case I have a problem trying to leave the country. Much of the same weather and environment, my bike cllothes certainly don't need washed as they are well drenched every day, I continue via Penang and down to Johor on the border to Singapore.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvXObrYHaockP9D7u7_cUZeDI6xlEyix9xqTOzl0K6xB_48MFpksqywoc6GF-_JZi6jRPUN_EC-_Nwv8IdsNdeGeSCgOO4xgF1iU52faMGYWuGpMzFY_CCHH8OcIy6G8p_LY9At52LsbAC/s1600/DSCN6070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvXObrYHaockP9D7u7_cUZeDI6xlEyix9xqTOzl0K6xB_48MFpksqywoc6GF-_JZi6jRPUN_EC-_Nwv8IdsNdeGeSCgOO4xgF1iU52faMGYWuGpMzFY_CCHH8OcIy6G8p_LY9At52LsbAC/s200/DSCN6070.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loading bike in no mans land</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was going to drive across the causeway separating the two countries but insurance cost, permits and other things make it silly expensive for the 10 km ride so I hire a truck and we take it straight to the docks where it will be loaded onto a container and set sail for Darwin.<br />
<br />
But there's a problem. My existing carnet document does not include Australia, yes I should have added it at the start of the journey but original plan was to use another bike in oz instead. I've applied to the carnet people in UK weeks ago, but still there is delays. Several emails, phone calls and faxes later, I'm still waiting, but remain optimistic all will go to plan.<br />
<br />
I'm going to fly to Darwin via Bali to meet up with family and have a few days off. In this time, hopefully all will work out. This is not the case when I arrive in Darwin and the carnet people tell me I cannot get an updated document to enter Australia, just when I need it. So now the bike sits pretty in the bonded warehouse as I wander the Darwin streets wondering what to do next.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, Jeroen has problems of his own and needs some spares flown in to Penang. Will he make Australia?<br />
<br />
Next: Cancel the homecoming?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-hYadgXiOP_2A4a67O7BclbFTvzdneRRnC1NFs_5XD3Z7f4WbB_ItDuHWUeydYsNyJkPSRsj7J2jafKoRC25EL9R0NtEumVPh-YnjNP6ilqyq-ppmFOlZCxJ4j2Z3JFV93hUSALbWKWCT/s1600/DSCN5432.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-hYadgXiOP_2A4a67O7BclbFTvzdneRRnC1NFs_5XD3Z7f4WbB_ItDuHWUeydYsNyJkPSRsj7J2jafKoRC25EL9R0NtEumVPh-YnjNP6ilqyq-ppmFOlZCxJ4j2Z3JFV93hUSALbWKWCT/s320/DSCN5432.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy chappy at one of the many temples of Thailand</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw3PRsNSGgrHBYAhk55pcvOCeYTlcTHsDbv5GtXq1YOJ17oPb95q4qk2ATUiDGeTa8pZRcGmrmdTD0cp4VBN4EyGLBQbJAQhQYX4qLcIrJQ1NRf_IMLTkoD67HFUQzyW42UlY6L6uNqCos/s1600/DSCN5447.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw3PRsNSGgrHBYAhk55pcvOCeYTlcTHsDbv5GtXq1YOJ17oPb95q4qk2ATUiDGeTa8pZRcGmrmdTD0cp4VBN4EyGLBQbJAQhQYX4qLcIrJQ1NRf_IMLTkoD67HFUQzyW42UlY6L6uNqCos/s320/DSCN5447.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ferry made of canoes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGUYnMk6Cb8jR97fVGgRNHVQ8bECOe64l6oZU-qcMgtZ950HlpfdNtvl2BIzMfx42CDcGlY5gLIJsljBYBYiUdVb1L_n8xtT1V0yP58mYS9zLnXxfQ-78TFA5R7-B6YLiWPvap4Nbz58Sp/s1600/DSCN5467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGUYnMk6Cb8jR97fVGgRNHVQ8bECOe64l6oZU-qcMgtZ950HlpfdNtvl2BIzMfx42CDcGlY5gLIJsljBYBYiUdVb1L_n8xtT1V0yP58mYS9zLnXxfQ-78TFA5R7-B6YLiWPvap4Nbz58Sp/s320/DSCN5467.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying ferry ride </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNJMyiROQnKeybZFGAdiAl9F11BVeWAd1SymLkSXXg3C_phA2zg8EnjHcmvrVsS3ds_jDEU54yxRCstECGDZ-AwvCFODWVtpUh14gn1CE9_VkdBgotGlsbsD4P1bNThWVrIGZ9nnowgYQ/s1600/DSCN5528.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNJMyiROQnKeybZFGAdiAl9F11BVeWAd1SymLkSXXg3C_phA2zg8EnjHcmvrVsS3ds_jDEU54yxRCstECGDZ-AwvCFODWVtpUh14gn1CE9_VkdBgotGlsbsD4P1bNThWVrIGZ9nnowgYQ/s320/DSCN5528.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Triumph factory in Thailand</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvBQtvBNf9Gl2PrUUr_qAHaHNnlyUvEY-KSuY_iuhtHxQHKDgRZu9BDYDvVhpHVIQg76pGAE2AZruOZhMeZDsMJ_tCDlydSDvW5zGP9IFsYLXh9lO2ku0taCbAMMxcatFFLOxfXYh83u0o/s1600/DSCN5629.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvBQtvBNf9Gl2PrUUr_qAHaHNnlyUvEY-KSuY_iuhtHxQHKDgRZu9BDYDvVhpHVIQg76pGAE2AZruOZhMeZDsMJ_tCDlydSDvW5zGP9IFsYLXh9lO2ku0taCbAMMxcatFFLOxfXYh83u0o/s320/DSCN5629.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not the only one with a hangover</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHRWzxZox4tkEKjU8yUA7WZ7uvysKvHH3kRt3tGK17808TdX5ZwlQlPhuAraFQTsykl7VnX5_OXEmlX5lmfWmCj3OBKtFXIxJZLYTD7AHeFbh3TP04VTupn73kBLdbj6OjlVBM6AyXxOq/s1600/DSCN5671.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHRWzxZox4tkEKjU8yUA7WZ7uvysKvHH3kRt3tGK17808TdX5ZwlQlPhuAraFQTsykl7VnX5_OXEmlX5lmfWmCj3OBKtFXIxJZLYTD7AHeFbh3TP04VTupn73kBLdbj6OjlVBM6AyXxOq/s320/DSCN5671.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Islands off Phuket</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLuoqIUXLzeTZy8O2E18N03DaZFe1F6IdGSgQbxL9qhtQNeiRIqiYYQSQzCBMb-wkhCsfRpbBaPWkQAgsGrng83ZSc3PFE0zLynim5F4jJk5vPyLuYovQkUp-bWI8SAEBReDwsiqK2JF1/s1600/DSCN5880.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLuoqIUXLzeTZy8O2E18N03DaZFe1F6IdGSgQbxL9qhtQNeiRIqiYYQSQzCBMb-wkhCsfRpbBaPWkQAgsGrng83ZSc3PFE0zLynim5F4jJk5vPyLuYovQkUp-bWI8SAEBReDwsiqK2JF1/s320/DSCN5880.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The boat hotel in Malaysia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKN94mEZTljMVf0S_fTtwYMKwK2NqRD_2kxMxTZqfOsdcFvSgQko0UespMjsCO2FEFxf4_jUhcR3jn9PbZvctYgCXPN3eseURrYxxqZfoYIUMpmiYeCTu0biDK_r-Teal6duXuwHaah9Kq/s1600/DSCN5793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKN94mEZTljMVf0S_fTtwYMKwK2NqRD_2kxMxTZqfOsdcFvSgQko0UespMjsCO2FEFxf4_jUhcR3jn9PbZvctYgCXPN3eseURrYxxqZfoYIUMpmiYeCTu0biDK_r-Teal6duXuwHaah9Kq/s320/DSCN5793.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James Bond island</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjslN-JuHw996miCpAtfDZC3EW5o4tjbD0XFg-Wb9q1NkiGSwqC3aHPkvVur6v5E_SW2mBfxFYSuWJlinyUNp5phGzMy3NmEwVSMF_Ad_zAwo_F-N6qxP4TLVOqm4kR6SSttD7poYU_rKWq/s1600/DSCN5981.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjslN-JuHw996miCpAtfDZC3EW5o4tjbD0XFg-Wb9q1NkiGSwqC3aHPkvVur6v5E_SW2mBfxFYSuWJlinyUNp5phGzMy3NmEwVSMF_Ad_zAwo_F-N6qxP4TLVOqm4kR6SSttD7poYU_rKWq/s320/DSCN5981.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kuala Lumpur</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLZIxbgjhzHOuTh2_lPEKo0AEpFJ007kecqyO964gKBh6BesC5-NcF-9oYZ7owEapJbigRn2e2mslCdeh0uASpCu4sqqCCov9LNS7RynBN6o827dk82SlGnpEO16Y4X6gIygvlRl9DZt6d/s1600/DSCN6068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLZIxbgjhzHOuTh2_lPEKo0AEpFJ007kecqyO964gKBh6BesC5-NcF-9oYZ7owEapJbigRn2e2mslCdeh0uASpCu4sqqCCov9LNS7RynBN6o827dk82SlGnpEO16Y4X6gIygvlRl9DZt6d/s320/DSCN6068.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last stop before heading to Singapore</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-69383490215264620382013-01-08T14:30:00.000+08:002013-01-08T14:30:06.380+08:00Will I ever see it again?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCcYErLRiil9w2UpTMcrQ4u9Y0MEtAWtCC2BfXfLaCwcjw0f-zay79vKcrF0niM8sY5uyrqnRrAU_v3JPwpQRy5EBDDl_Q1YqmUwO9HwVING8c97cTBvl1340XO1PKDUWfEEsL5DJj4U9N/s1600/editing+suite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCcYErLRiil9w2UpTMcrQ4u9Y0MEtAWtCC2BfXfLaCwcjw0f-zay79vKcrF0niM8sY5uyrqnRrAU_v3JPwpQRy5EBDDl_Q1YqmUwO9HwVING8c97cTBvl1340XO1PKDUWfEEsL5DJj4U9N/s200/editing+suite.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">lost forever?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I must be one of the world's most absent minded people. I know this well and realised that on this trip I developed a routine for packing everything in its place so that I don't misplace anything else. I realised this after losing, yet another pair of sunglasses, camping equipment, money, papers and so on. But the classic has to be leaving a laptop case, complete with backup drives and backup thumb drives in a Kathmandu taxi. A taxi you cannot identify, no reference numbers, no phone number to call, no brand or taxi company. This is just a white Suzuki car about the same size as a toaster with no means to identify it other than the registration number. Apart from Rain man, police and trainspotter types, who reads registration numbers? I don't.<br />
<br />
My freind Rajesh assured me they'd find it. "Don't worry" he smiled. I'm trying to acknowledge his confidence but I feel he is either deluded or knows something I don't. How on earth will you track down a small black bag in a sea of taxi's. What low paid taxi driver would hand in equivalent of a two months wages? I think that impossible. Rajesh is still confident as I bid him farewell and run to catch my plane still seething at my stupidity.<br />
<br />
I'm flying back to UK for a week or so before rejoining my planned route in Thailand. When I land in London, switch on the phone, check for text messages ..... "no news - sorry" - Rajesh"<br />
<br />
So now I've accepted that the computer, ipad and all my video back up files have gone. I have lost weeks of video footage, I have no other copies and feel completely low. I'm trying to pick myself up and as I head for the Edinburgh train I give myself a slap, try to look at the positives, I may have lost the equipment and a lot of video, I can still put something decent together maybe. I am still on this amazing adventure travelling across the globe, so be happy!<br />
<br />
My phone was switched to silent to avoid annoying other passengers on the high speed train north. As we roll into Berwick on the Scottish border I check the phone and to my utter amazement that I got the news from my friend Rajesh that he'd found the case, complete with all items intact! I thought this was impossible and still couldn't believe it but somehow, he managed to succeed. I'm not sure who he had to convince but as we'd put up a reward of 10,000 Nepalise Rupees, ($80) which is not a lot by our standards but enough to get the job done. I do suspect however, Rajesh went above and beyond the call of duty for this one, does he have powerful freinds in high places? He never tells me but I suspect so.<br />
<br />
I can't explain the relief but I'm so happy to hear the news and share this with the other train passengers opposite me. I had to, since I was punching the air and muttering "fuckin brilliant"! or words to that effect.<br />
<br />
Next: Thailand - "Love you long time"!<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-81234742635584640432012-12-14T23:00:00.000+08:002012-12-14T23:30:56.550+08:00My Worst Nightmare<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh17X7r7WZIn74iCPX50RAula1EIifClO2UdFnI3fD7cFEh5wXvKq_FAo5zyzrM3J4o9i37FsZKlC2mKw-61xFEeX6m9WFsBDXsrKwJq453zoGXX9lbdT07Vd1L0U_VyBEF1ydOCaKIWlez/s1600/DSCN5142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh17X7r7WZIn74iCPX50RAula1EIifClO2UdFnI3fD7cFEh5wXvKq_FAo5zyzrM3J4o9i37FsZKlC2mKw-61xFEeX6m9WFsBDXsrKwJq453zoGXX9lbdT07Vd1L0U_VyBEF1ydOCaKIWlez/s200/DSCN5142.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to Nepal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Crossing from India to Nepal, the border crossing was a fairly straight forward affair although I did the usual walk around in circles to find the relevant buildings, get the necessary stamps & so on. On the plus side, the Indian customs guys fed me lunch. The queue of trucks on both sides was huge so I felt rather privileged to skip between the lanes on the bike and get through sooner than the rest.<br />
<br />
First thing I notice about Nepal. Quiet. Yes there's still the sound of cars and people but something is missing. Horns! I did mention before Indians use horns constantly, usually for no good reason but here in Nepal its silent by comparison and I like it a lot.<br />
<br />
Crossing borders things often change, language, cars, driving habits, cultures and so on. The faces change here too. Most people here have Mongolian features, although many of the Indian looks remain.<br />
<br />
In in a good mood now and optimistic about how much ground I can cover in a day. I'm going to attempt to drive to Kathmandu in one go but realise that as I'm a bit late to get through the border, Pokhara, around 140km from border is more realistic or so I think.<br />
The road is quite twisty and fairly slow. Dodging around occasional pothole slows down my progress and I decide it best to stop as its getting dark. I barely made 40km before the sun goes down but find a small cheap hotel in the hills. The bed may have been hard but the beer soothed me enough to sleep well.<br />
<br />
Next day I reach Pokhara and like the look of the place. I think it best to crash here for the night too. It took 5 hours to travel 120kms. Another 120 to Kathmandu is out of the question. So much for optimism. despite this, the scenery is wonderful and I don't really care how long it takes.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI5cKVjOUwjy61Q9XKpV1zQSqpTXwpmL0Et_FjFTO27paQ27TMkeHfDE7FctlsZKhbVab6Q1kLEY7AREnV9JI7peHrvErTGl_GxwnLj_Ye0lNlZV9zxBN6z1BbDlm1lnXsHgfG-PUP2Ex3/s1600/DSCN5184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI5cKVjOUwjy61Q9XKpV1zQSqpTXwpmL0Et_FjFTO27paQ27TMkeHfDE7FctlsZKhbVab6Q1kLEY7AREnV9JI7peHrvErTGl_GxwnLj_Ye0lNlZV9zxBN6z1BbDlm1lnXsHgfG-PUP2Ex3/s200/DSCN5184.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Posh hotel by the lake</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The countryside here is stunning, the places much cleaner, the traffic is no where near as aggressive as India. Guess its all easy from here perhaps?<br />
<br />
Pokhora is lovely town with a lake nearby. This is the kind of place for treckers, adventure seekers, world travellers or hippies. Lots of backpacker accommodation with some great cheap hotels. I decide to do something different and stay in an expensive hotel. $80 for the night. Well sometimes you need to!<br />
<br />
Next day I'm off to Kathmandu through some amazing scenery and stunning views of the snow covered peaks of the Himalayas along the way. The traffic is fairly light compared to my experiences of the past few weeks, chugging along happily I'm in a zone of contentment. Then I hit the climb to Kathmandu and the truck convoys.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEignOIWUuCEo7G_E5SNvkrAPj95Lagw_by7_32ZR30TvkTJTez6ECXSfwCClNMTbbHXQVgkl6r1mgjC-LN8tlFQmzb7dCs8TY7lR7_CdFCo_hO1G7WQTDOJXxrOHkuUgh4X667teT2bLAoM/s1600/DSCN5219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEignOIWUuCEo7G_E5SNvkrAPj95Lagw_by7_32ZR30TvkTJTez6ECXSfwCClNMTbbHXQVgkl6r1mgjC-LN8tlFQmzb7dCs8TY7lR7_CdFCo_hO1G7WQTDOJXxrOHkuUgh4X667teT2bLAoM/s640/DSCN5219.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px; text-align: center;">Himalayas in the distance</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It took around 2 hours to negotiate the lines of trucks coming and going. The rough surface and potholes tested my slow riding skills to the full. I had driven across half the world and was not going to drop my bike here on the last 100km of this stage. This thought started to take me over and I was now getting worried I'd jinxed my safety and a crash was inevitable. I had to shake this from my thoughts and focus on getting there safely. No mad overtaking, squeezing in between oncoming Tata's as if I was invincible. None of that. But yet, I was still driving in India mode and ignoring my own advice. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHnc8obkz2v2IQX2wn7PHtPx8yPVeTwXEc8s598knr3Neor6lW1s0XDwwwTk2rqwnXjJY-vzeM-bVcgoitczDvI6qBX641VOAFw7E53ccdInEKRnwdjvFHKSt6-u9Sj9564c-SEKJuLNC/s1600/DSCN5220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHnc8obkz2v2IQX2wn7PHtPx8yPVeTwXEc8s598knr3Neor6lW1s0XDwwwTk2rqwnXjJY-vzeM-bVcgoitczDvI6qBX641VOAFw7E53ccdInEKRnwdjvFHKSt6-u9Sj9564c-SEKJuLNC/s200/DSCN5220.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy to Arrive safely</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Thankfully, I made it to Kathmandu Guest House in one piece I'd just ridden 19,866 kilometres through Europe and Asia. I had a feeling of achievement, all this way and to date no crash.<br />
<br />
The next part is easy, fly to Bangkok and continue down to Australia. All I have to do is pack up the bike in a crate, pay the money and fly over myself.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisR1iMR_58_fevWYq1jUrLHV4TCM7IA_MYQx-lpghEGu_i7pFF56dgMBocoGa39mXc4XW44_QCExsKe_queDgnvKvtqtxmjEVQO97oTQdsk1Kbo7I21eLcCX6Y4_3dqcdD9lZ6WG3Z0ZmV/s1600/DSCN5261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisR1iMR_58_fevWYq1jUrLHV4TCM7IA_MYQx-lpghEGu_i7pFF56dgMBocoGa39mXc4XW44_QCExsKe_queDgnvKvtqtxmjEVQO97oTQdsk1Kbo7I21eLcCX6Y4_3dqcdD9lZ6WG3Z0ZmV/s200/DSCN5261.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Packing the bike to fly to Thailand</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The bike is shipped airfreight, in a wooden crate. In the sticky dark warehouse at Kathmandu airport I disassemble some parts to make it smaller. Remove the front wheel and check to ensure all is well. My baby is wrapped up and safe to go. Next time I see it will be in Thailand.<br />
<br />
Relaxed and ready to fly tomorrow I have a small celebration that I've completed phase one of my journey. I will catch up on some chores, upload tons of video, back up all my video files to one place and send it back to Australia just in case something breaks. Normally I keep my back up files and computer in different places but this time I've put everything in the same bag so that I can work with it on the plane.<br />
<br />
<br />
Whilst in India last week I'd received the terrible news that my Dad had passed away. He had died after being ill with cancer. I flew back to UK a few months ago especially, as I wanted to spend time with him whilst he was mobile. Whilst on this trip, in Turkey I made the most wonderful and horrible phone call to chat with my Dad. I knew this would be the last time we would speak. I knew this before I picked up the phone. We had a short chat and said good bye. I got absolutely pissed that night.<br />
<br />
I would change my flight plan for Bangkok and instead head back to Scotland for the funeral then return to my travels afterwards. First I had to get to Kathmandu where I could fly out. I knew my dad was going to die and tried not to dwell on it. For now I had a mission to complete. My dad would have gone nuts at me if I'd cut the trip short, so I had to just get on with it for now.<br />
<br />
<br />
Next day, I'm up and heading for the airport. For the first time in months I'm travelling without my bike, in a small white Suzuki taxi among the congested madness of Kathmandu. The taxi driver agrees 300 Nepalese rupee. When we arrive at the airport he changes his mind and raises the price to 400. Whilst disputing this and pulling wads of crumpled worthless notes from my pockets, trying to keep an eye on my bags at the same time in the chaos of an airport where taxis and people are buzzing around me, I give him 300 and try to relax, picking up all my bags, 1,2, 3. OK all good now as I walk to the terminal building. Then in horror I realise I don't have my laptop bag! I left it on the floor of the taxi!<br />
<br />
The taxi's driven off and in my sudden insanity I'm shouting at everyone, "My bag, the taxi's got my fuckin bag" The police at the front of the building put their hands on their guns and wacth this nutter throwing his yellow bag across the road. I'm freaked out, pacing across the road to arrivals, wandering in circles wondering what to do. I've just lost all my video from the first 2 months of my trip and people are telling me to calm down.<br />
<br />
For the first time in years I really felt overwhelmed, so much I could cry for my mum. I was in such panic state of mind that I tried to cry to see if it would ease the pain, but it never came. I'm now turning to incredible anger. I was angry at the most incompetent idiot on this planet. How could I leave my bag, the most important one in a $500 taxi. I kept saying out loud in an attempt to overcome my rage and utter stupidity, " I'm so fuckin stupid, I'm so fuckin stupid"!<br />
<br />
Nothing works and I have to realise my laptop and all files are gone. I have to check-in before its too late and pass the police again. They don't like me and try to make it difficult. I'm taking no shit and they know it. I drop my bags at check in and now have an hour to figure something out. I could call the taxi company! But the taxi's here don't have nice little signs stating company ethos and licence numbers. I have no idea taxi number either, did it have one at all? All I could remember was a partial website address pasted on the back doors. I called the hotel from where I'd left. I called my friends here, and in India. Everyone tried to calm me. Rajesh, a freind in Kathmandu dropped over to the airport to help me, but what could he do. My computer was gone, my files gone. I had to climb on board an aircraft. Rajesh assured me all would be good. I had to quickly accept my loss, grow up and move on.<br />
<br />
So, sitting on the plane feeling really low and with prospect of my fathers funeral looming wasn't a great experience. This was a nightmare!<br />
<br />
Next:<br />
Will I ever see it again?<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-45510308084332330532012-12-03T15:58:00.000+08:002012-12-03T15:58:37.944+08:00How to test your brakes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
India is an amazing place full of wonderful people places sights and sounds. However one big thing seems to have dominated my thoughts. Traffic!<br />
<br />
Heading down the new 3 lane toll road between Delhi and Agra is a breeze. Three lanes of smooth perfect bitumen with lane markings and everything. The road is deserted apart from occasional herd of goats led across by a young shepherd or a crowd of people crossing to go to the adjoining field or even the occasional truck chugging along at their own merry pace at one with the world.<br />
<br />
This is slightly different to the dual carriageway of the other day where a sleepy Tata truck driver nearly cleaned me up for good. I learned that an open road in India does not give you licence to drive as fast as you want. Just because three lanes are clear of all traffic doesn't guarantee safety. It is expected at all times for a truck to simply pull onto the road and head all the way across to the right hand lane to catch any speeding motorcycles. I don't think I've ever hit the brakes so hard at such high speed from 150 to 10 kph in about 50 metres. I'm sure the back wheel was off the ground. My arse was off the seat. I was glad I'd had been to the toilet not too long before or it could have been very messy.<br />
<br />
With the fright, and enough adrenaline to invade a small country in my blood, I aimed to kill this careless retard but as I came around could see the truck driver was oblivious as to why this abusive nutter in a white helmet suddenly appeared in front of his cab. I gave up as there was no point trying to convince this guy he was an idiot. Instead I realised I'm the idiot for expecting to drive normally in this place.<br />
<br />
Since leaving Scotland some months ago I'd seen one small crash in Istanbul.<br />
In India, (not to mention the piles of wrecks by the side of the road) in the space of one week I'd seen around 7 or 8 recent crashes, most of which spilled arguing drivers, passengers and their families onto the road causing even more traffic chaos. I've also had around 4 near misses myself, mostly from oncoming traffic wanting to push me of the road.<br />
<br />
An oncoming truck brushed the side of my panniers. I've had to stop dead in front of a huge bus, swerve around suicidal pedestrians whilst avoiding the potholes and other oncoming traffic to stay alive. In the dark it becomes a whole new challenge. Like a mad video game of avoiding potholes, cows and other obstacles whilst trying to see where the road actually is. With no markings, cats eyes or signs.<br />
<br />
You realise that the high speed trucks coming towards you really are on <u>your</u> side of the road. No bonus points are given for avoiding the strange religious stationary figure of a man who simply stands in the middle of the road awaiting death. No extra time for getting away from the drunk truck behind you. None of that. Simply surviving the road is enough to win the game.<br />
<br />
I haven't mentioned the horns yet. Beep beep bloody beep. They beep horns to say they're passing, the beep to say they can't get passed, they beep to say they have just passed, they beep for no reason. Horns beeping behind me to tell me to get out of the way, even when its obvious I cant go anywhere. Beep beep bloody beep! Yes this happens in many countries, but not to the extent here. One guy to my side was beeping in a traffic jam. Through his open window I asked him what this achieves, (well it was more like "whats the fuckin point you idiot") he glanced at me, looked back to the traffic in front and held the horn button again!<br />
<br />
Then there's the volume of traffic. When you get to a town, here's the rule - fill that space! If there's a gap, fill it. Even if its on the wrong side of the road, fill that space. As an example, I was at a rail crossing and on opposite sides of the closed gates, both opposing teams of trucks, cars, bikes, scooters, rickshaws and tuk tuks took over the whole width of the road. Like a rugby scrum ready for the off, when the gates opened, the opposing teams went at each other not realising the fact that if they'd kept to one side, they'd had all passed through easily. This was chaos and no one noticed apart from me.<br />
<br />
Not that its always unpleasant of course, driving here can be fun but I think I'll be relieved to live long enough to see Nepal.<br />
<br />
Enough of the rant for now.<br />
<br />
So....ahem ... back to the trip...<br />
<br />
I've had some great fun in Delhi with freinds and now I'm heading to Agra, one of India's most beautiful places. Not the town, its a dump. I mean the Taj Mahal. Absolutely amazing! Now I understand why people rave about this place. Despite the thousands of overweight middle aged camera clicking tourists, this really is a nice place to be. The beauty of the building and grounds, the magnificence of the construction and the wonderful atmosphere make this a must see. I join the queues of tourists and fit right in.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-GUPCn6UeRx9cBBZV4GDHoAfDEXVVApUMdCFxd11LNodV7J1UVjvJvVIDvxztEohw-p7HRUYQQScwsFSX1twQ_UJMLk66ATeQQp96m7uveAx9N2_jNxu8gcUWZ_mmrf6W2Nl9VNcoeUz/s1600/DSCN5049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-GUPCn6UeRx9cBBZV4GDHoAfDEXVVApUMdCFxd11LNodV7J1UVjvJvVIDvxztEohw-p7HRUYQQScwsFSX1twQ_UJMLk66ATeQQp96m7uveAx9N2_jNxu8gcUWZ_mmrf6W2Nl9VNcoeUz/s640/DSCN5049.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_BOEJ8KfTRRtVBUPMX8jvA8xYEDn9xeh5cOCDK0WcXfeP_4vYWjbIzMNOb2eFtzyDp4QJ87wRe0k0kQa-hgX97DAm3yuHmLBGgfc-OAsEUSWq1slzRTJIWY8c2OwhlzdHWYP_6ZZW0VP/s1600/DSCN5069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_BOEJ8KfTRRtVBUPMX8jvA8xYEDn9xeh5cOCDK0WcXfeP_4vYWjbIzMNOb2eFtzyDp4QJ87wRe0k0kQa-hgX97DAm3yuHmLBGgfc-OAsEUSWq1slzRTJIWY8c2OwhlzdHWYP_6ZZW0VP/s200/DSCN5069.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6VCvXGG1JmyIeGDgpGkrQUi7jxyhEHErnXq5oybORS_w35FM7s9ja1qo_WoUCUHeTGypUzMpT12lrab7Jsxe54OMJ-fo_r8nSFVS8_wpJvfIc5xOUmzyZ-vCUTxLkqfIgbYF1fIJLBHoP/s1600/DSCN5088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6VCvXGG1JmyIeGDgpGkrQUi7jxyhEHErnXq5oybORS_w35FM7s9ja1qo_WoUCUHeTGypUzMpT12lrab7Jsxe54OMJ-fo_r8nSFVS8_wpJvfIc5xOUmzyZ-vCUTxLkqfIgbYF1fIJLBHoP/s200/DSCN5088.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgxzM7DH9x9jM_XmSfsMFH4P4sBmQUzizljklWKP19ni9KHxnAuxpz48XtOxwRg2GaJ3oWPI3tECltPigevnlMzBq7ySXe5sRKVifE8b0EtmhgF-PI_o-4G0z8Q-gx-wuowMFGgdqmYr1G/s1600/DSCN5003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgxzM7DH9x9jM_XmSfsMFH4P4sBmQUzizljklWKP19ni9KHxnAuxpz48XtOxwRg2GaJ3oWPI3tECltPigevnlMzBq7ySXe5sRKVifE8b0EtmhgF-PI_o-4G0z8Q-gx-wuowMFGgdqmYr1G/s200/DSCN5003.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
After Agra I head for Nepal and my last stop in this part of the world. The road will take me to Lucknow then up to the border where I cross near Butwal.<br />
<br />
I might have mentioned before that border crossings can be exciting. There's a mix of trepidation, anxiety and enthusiasm. With the endless time wasting bureaucratic paperwork stamping procedures, anticipation of a new country to see, curiosity about the people and the culture. I often wonder, will the countryside suddenly change, will the people change?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMd2fv2J_Mh8CYb2DWk80sMDNgqJfmp8cmIxkqFtDdZekev5oCFWvzEIdJxuGClKisUmlxkskaygMEoFGql9JT9COtTct5zVYp2QpM7BeQFDv-8E-0YdX4Wg5W-0OpTYe6YUHQReb62_2A/s1600/DSCN5142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMd2fv2J_Mh8CYb2DWk80sMDNgqJfmp8cmIxkqFtDdZekev5oCFWvzEIdJxuGClKisUmlxkskaygMEoFGql9JT9COtTct5zVYp2QpM7BeQFDv-8E-0YdX4Wg5W-0OpTYe6YUHQReb62_2A/s200/DSCN5142.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome Tonepal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In Europe, with no lines drawn, or checkpoints, crossing borders is barely noticeable. At this border however, things do change quite rapidly. The people don't look Indian, most have Mongolian features, the countryside doesn't change too much but one thing is obvious to me. I seem to have gone deaf. No horns, beep, beep bloody beep! Apart from me, the traffic is much more sedate, calm almost by comparison.<br />
<br />
Over the border I approach a roundabout and with my new found Indian driving skills, take the short cut across to the right hand side ignoring oncoming traffic, going around the wrong way. This may sound insane but I've often found this to be the safest way. If you try to go around the roundabout in the normal fashion, you're more likely to be run over from either side as you enter or try to leave. Cutting right across to the wrong side means all traffic is in front of you to veer around and you can clearly see the dangers. Honest! I've used this right hand turn method many times. If I was in Australia, the police helicopters and TV stations would be chasing me down the road. In Nepal, the constable at the roundabout can only complain by blowing his whistle in my mirrors. I might have to rethink this manoeuvre here!<br />
<br />
I'm a bit sad to leave India as I've seen some beautiful sights, met some wonderful and kind people and generally had a great time. Despite my concerns about receiving a TATA tattoo on my forehead, it really is somewhere we should all go at least once in our lifetimes. No doubt I'll be back, . I'll need to practice my new found driving skills.<br />
<br />
Next: My Worst Nightmare comes true!<br />
<br />
Some other images of India<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV5ixmEv5G1W7Y68fkKVyeOkrUFI_5tiToMugzYIkaEUwi_sYN8-QzoX_8ur9hbozdYYel0QCIg_OA6WfI0D9p4zcWVVvxDDFVY1CXqaTBRXO3I7vX_071aRYUzxflg3g_308Zb-eBJH_K/s1600/DSCN4532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV5ixmEv5G1W7Y68fkKVyeOkrUFI_5tiToMugzYIkaEUwi_sYN8-QzoX_8ur9hbozdYYel0QCIg_OA6WfI0D9p4zcWVVvxDDFVY1CXqaTBRXO3I7vX_071aRYUzxflg3g_308Zb-eBJH_K/s320/DSCN4532.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Road to Manali</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcgiO4yG7_XF_OdUX-NhbBY26Tls-Y5LWMXjDLQv2i1I_eANmP_1WwHu5apSA4NdBHJe7mz2VcOnikk0sJCLskTByVjRn6IbXwnae5ckr0uAyhmZ5e6PIKAMU3JtAOHzrsrJtlVkszlbya/s1600/DSCN4635.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcgiO4yG7_XF_OdUX-NhbBY26Tls-Y5LWMXjDLQv2i1I_eANmP_1WwHu5apSA4NdBHJe7mz2VcOnikk0sJCLskTByVjRn6IbXwnae5ckr0uAyhmZ5e6PIKAMU3JtAOHzrsrJtlVkszlbya/s320/DSCN4635.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tea Stop</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6vb51Jn4wbg2w5B6zVqNk73PUpzxQELwaw7YydgapjL_FzQ_-1ftPxiPS6g4-uOIuO2Oy__LUZQJJ5P4hS7fjrJttAgEbRV7UP_2mA7WUqSVb0VNjGJL6epK-q_XWfwRw6Fv0cLQgiJqm/s1600/DSCN4646.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6vb51Jn4wbg2w5B6zVqNk73PUpzxQELwaw7YydgapjL_FzQ_-1ftPxiPS6g4-uOIuO2Oy__LUZQJJ5P4hS7fjrJttAgEbRV7UP_2mA7WUqSVb0VNjGJL6epK-q_XWfwRw6Fv0cLQgiJqm/s320/DSCN4646.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Road to Kashmir</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ZqFJmw4VMFF_X6tJUFPeHstRK3-x7ny1C7HDVk8lXxbDg77RFdd7Dp9NKOZVzuwZELJveKVlrhQHHQagyudavz1JMO3cBps54oYoLXub6L7lUot24OT0iKV20aVUbixP2l-5cpAySccc/s1600/DSCN4752.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ZqFJmw4VMFF_X6tJUFPeHstRK3-x7ny1C7HDVk8lXxbDg77RFdd7Dp9NKOZVzuwZELJveKVlrhQHHQagyudavz1JMO3cBps54oYoLXub6L7lUot24OT0iKV20aVUbixP2l-5cpAySccc/s320/DSCN4752.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Srinagar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFSssmB2DSuR8r0dYsgUz57CuGJGws-6RWpUudkE_WlDh6gewuZ_rwkbhOuqB_UblHZYFv5b21GOZ1gprvp5sYzPniuWY0l9VW2ubKDR7xZQdEvGUY0KMyqTaGz6Wl-t1L-ME524aFwSV/s1600/DSCN4840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFSssmB2DSuR8r0dYsgUz57CuGJGws-6RWpUudkE_WlDh6gewuZ_rwkbhOuqB_UblHZYFv5b21GOZ1gprvp5sYzPniuWY0l9VW2ubKDR7xZQdEvGUY0KMyqTaGz6Wl-t1L-ME524aFwSV/s320/DSCN4840.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This little girl likes to pose for the camera</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMByh9z7uYdSCNLklcU09qTBT_ENFL8MeDQvrzwq4F1mnB9jVybzseD0PXpRpRgoSQKrtvV3IMkdyX82NipcrusqbJ5mel-iBi-E-Q5wNdAXmXJr0vAYX0YnmnBQRnKvaWVSnWNzV_9QGU/s1600/DSCN4895.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMByh9z7uYdSCNLklcU09qTBT_ENFL8MeDQvrzwq4F1mnB9jVybzseD0PXpRpRgoSQKrtvV3IMkdyX82NipcrusqbJ5mel-iBi-E-Q5wNdAXmXJr0vAYX0YnmnBQRnKvaWVSnWNzV_9QGU/s320/DSCN4895.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kashmir</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-6SS_RByrjv4YcDSYfw5prmKTuXD_w59bEcs6ywITru9UZPUQvr5Et6W1nFhEJKxKemN5tIZn2VKH5td4tKHda0ubM8-Tpsn3g5O7UEqNHtT81FPR3K9NCx8gH61lT-ejP5mHhVg_kYdL/s1600/DSCN4907.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-6SS_RByrjv4YcDSYfw5prmKTuXD_w59bEcs6ywITru9UZPUQvr5Et6W1nFhEJKxKemN5tIZn2VKH5td4tKHda0ubM8-Tpsn3g5O7UEqNHtT81FPR3K9NCx8gH61lT-ejP5mHhVg_kYdL/s320/DSCN4907.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kashmir</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4dXrpq3b1JwZRozJG61wq9X8h1-WLDmSYK_e8uZoF0BLO6VFYDFeulweAaVkzKT-hqgfOCts0iX-awFXGg5eQzP_fne1HL8ITkQCpE_4tZ0GXWJ0esctD02tdLEg7z09zNiJ8fTjGvFuL/s1600/DSCN4918.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4dXrpq3b1JwZRozJG61wq9X8h1-WLDmSYK_e8uZoF0BLO6VFYDFeulweAaVkzKT-hqgfOCts0iX-awFXGg5eQzP_fne1HL8ITkQCpE_4tZ0GXWJ0esctD02tdLEg7z09zNiJ8fTjGvFuL/s320/DSCN4918.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Himalaya</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP7cHVqeYh4MlnurPzBxkPpLu7OCma9LI7H9vPhnNeD14f6Amhxinrk20NTlGr-pssKWbJpaPEDZjzcDfxhCfOrJG0yTjBJZnCWZGIjrWXO7grHspaWO_adHOSqQc6rdXpv9D9wf0ZVYUA/s1600/DSCN4928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP7cHVqeYh4MlnurPzBxkPpLu7OCma9LI7H9vPhnNeD14f6Amhxinrk20NTlGr-pssKWbJpaPEDZjzcDfxhCfOrJG0yTjBJZnCWZGIjrWXO7grHspaWO_adHOSqQc6rdXpv9D9wf0ZVYUA/s320/DSCN4928.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of a good day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNwRN6B44hyphenhyphenzSZJy4rrPfagtkhNfYWpqu70QV8zWjCxopsB6XKFggmkXaZqkLJfx3R6Umiaeq4RlzvQhq6RDShE_nKMCAVJYx65sWnjui62gZ19F5ANNS4LkmGYnYyzxU4trUJhIaQ1d6/s1600/DSCN4951.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNwRN6B44hyphenhyphenzSZJy4rrPfagtkhNfYWpqu70QV8zWjCxopsB6XKFggmkXaZqkLJfx3R6Umiaeq4RlzvQhq6RDShE_nKMCAVJYx65sWnjui62gZ19F5ANNS4LkmGYnYyzxU4trUJhIaQ1d6/s320/DSCN4951.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical response to a strange bike</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLJ18pxbK8T4Ty3HDjdDtVn9PdpuROfX1vUmGUEz0QXBl14u9nuCceqw73nvqkskn5tuXPVte8uNARPtbDwB5848oxofD_JTsBg8IPT2FENdaaD09PrWlTAVOmeC16Y2ECGXcIasgxJkpB/s1600/DSCN5116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLJ18pxbK8T4Ty3HDjdDtVn9PdpuROfX1vUmGUEz0QXBl14u9nuCceqw73nvqkskn5tuXPVte8uNARPtbDwB5848oxofD_JTsBg8IPT2FENdaaD09PrWlTAVOmeC16Y2ECGXcIasgxJkpB/s320/DSCN5116.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical rail crossing in Utter Pradesh</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYBOWNAKRX3kcP8f3q-Jd1s0ucRKMvpRDb2GLXl0NA4PAqiHdy4CFhnJRIbi4p1Yop4Na3TG7_U7kwwA2rLoolxQ0C1PjKGG5-b-NxXWFJL8qhJidnhcNaqg8CyW-ETNUjAjSlkPbiOJQo/s1600/DSCN5126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYBOWNAKRX3kcP8f3q-Jd1s0ucRKMvpRDb2GLXl0NA4PAqiHdy4CFhnJRIbi4p1Yop4Na3TG7_U7kwwA2rLoolxQ0C1PjKGG5-b-NxXWFJL8qhJidnhcNaqg8CyW-ETNUjAjSlkPbiOJQo/s320/DSCN5126.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marriage Indian style</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLHnJWA-Bh34aA8cnFQ6oBRpwC-GjI4Mt0f0wGWZTHjFuDAPzv88K-1mlk7p_77Or7u3pD02ju6tndOFFzVTGDGDPEhptivAm96cs2qB03ZOmniOZgVL18nhnHz9qE9Ujk_liwE8irQ5q4/s1600/DSCN4968.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLHnJWA-Bh34aA8cnFQ6oBRpwC-GjI4Mt0f0wGWZTHjFuDAPzv88K-1mlk7p_77Or7u3pD02ju6tndOFFzVTGDGDPEhptivAm96cs2qB03ZOmniOZgVL18nhnHz9qE9Ujk_liwE8irQ5q4/s320/DSCN4968.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">Luxury hotel in Delhi<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_BOEJ8KfTRRtVBUPMX8jvA8xYEDn9xeh5cOCDK0WcXfeP_4vYWjbIzMNOb2eFtzyDp4QJ87wRe0k0kQa-hgX97DAm3yuHmLBGgfc-OAsEUSWq1slzRTJIWY8c2OwhlzdHWYP_6ZZW0VP/s1600/DSCN5069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6VCvXGG1JmyIeGDgpGkrQUi7jxyhEHErnXq5oybORS_w35FM7s9ja1qo_WoUCUHeTGypUzMpT12lrab7Jsxe54OMJ-fo_r8nSFVS8_wpJvfIc5xOUmzyZ-vCUTxLkqfIgbYF1fIJLBHoP/s1600/DSCN5088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgxzM7DH9x9jM_XmSfsMFH4P4sBmQUzizljklWKP19ni9KHxnAuxpz48XtOxwRg2GaJ3oWPI3tECltPigevnlMzBq7ySXe5sRKVifE8b0EtmhgF-PI_o-4G0z8Q-gx-wuowMFGgdqmYr1G/s1600/DSCN5003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-5946951775135342352012-11-14T17:17:00.000+08:002012-11-14T17:17:47.750+08:00Bullets and batteries<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Kashmir is on the border with Pakistan and has been undergoing continued troubles with insurgents blowing up things, usually people and the like in a protest for reasons I've forgotten. The TV in the hotel at breakfast broadcasts news across the screen under the newsreader that this morning man was shot and killed at the front of a hotel used by tourists in Srinagar. More <a href="http://www.ndtv.com/article/india/militants-open-fire-outside-hotel-in-srinagar-one-person-killed-281968">here</a>. Guess where I'm heading?<br />
<br />
I've been reassured by all around me, this this is still OK and after having survived Baluchistan without a Taliban incident a few weeks before, decide to continue.to Kashmir and the city of Srinagar in true adventurer spirit.<br />
<br />
Srinagar traffic is as mental as the other mad cities in India. The rules of which I'm still trying to work out. I've become so used to the madness of it all, I shrug off the sight of half a cow on the road north. I did wonder where the other half was but this is India and it's best not to worry about sch things. No one else does.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUMCe1wCNHvgr3X1oiqCExqctLI7OkYroLQex_JQN7akwhMXs-MnWMGBqEMmGeHqjqHA_QG9I6RJrTtxBmxRio8TjM19GPezB5HeE1SS6TrPnGrJEe4XDT3biGZzRUTzRe6f0CydzKE9yq/s1600/DSCN4775%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUMCe1wCNHvgr3X1oiqCExqctLI7OkYroLQex_JQN7akwhMXs-MnWMGBqEMmGeHqjqHA_QG9I6RJrTtxBmxRio8TjM19GPezB5HeE1SS6TrPnGrJEe4XDT3biGZzRUTzRe6f0CydzKE9yq/s200/DSCN4775%5B1%5D.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Dal houseboat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My room for the night is a boat, a house boat on lake Dal. The tourist people direct me to a landing where I meet the oarsman of a Shikara. Its turning dark and I'm feeling a bit stressed by the sheer numbers button pressing enthusiasts gathering around my bike. Some bloke I assume is the boat owner leads me to a parking spot nearby where my bike will be watched all night by guards. He disappears and I'm left with another guy to directs me to a Shikara with my baggage.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4QzG7ukIPaDAuIhC7aJAWuKuKX7M6X6t5d9R5ZsiQ4OXFnw_fnk6OwEazGLLiJQ97zaB49ER4c9jhAUHfy_Wb09pga1ToDJuI-RzsIHXajg71R3udI-IF1hdxkZteqdRG51xWdz7dIHS/s1600/DSCN4707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4QzG7ukIPaDAuIhC7aJAWuKuKX7M6X6t5d9R5ZsiQ4OXFnw_fnk6OwEazGLLiJQ97zaB49ER4c9jhAUHfy_Wb09pga1ToDJuI-RzsIHXajg71R3udI-IF1hdxkZteqdRG51xWdz7dIHS/s200/DSCN4707.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Floating shops</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The noise and chaos of the crowd disappear into the distance as I'm rowed across a small lake, we turn up a narrow opening and I'm presented with floating street city. Here there are shops, barbers, beauty parlours, lawyers, you name it, on both sides. We slowly meander through the gentle quiet traffic of other Shikara's going about their business. After 10 minutes we land at a landing adjoining several houseboats. Beautiful surroundings, beautiful boat and peace and quiet. Its rather cold now so a wood burning heater is a most welcome sight in my room. Long gone is the stress and noise of the street and I'm happy with these new surroundings.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZ9BaHaA2Po2eCl4Q6ekgOZhDg71QH7rjMWQsJ_Bil9P0sdC-Mg52pFv-93N_dDeuunulerZhLqH5NoShJfnu95dcNFuXSrrHJ4G_UrvlGCdMmJHN_Siaz6joIZyPLp_6BytcEkl054zS/s1600/DSCN4802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZ9BaHaA2Po2eCl4Q6ekgOZhDg71QH7rjMWQsJ_Bil9P0sdC-Mg52pFv-93N_dDeuunulerZhLqH5NoShJfnu95dcNFuXSrrHJ4G_UrvlGCdMmJHN_Siaz6joIZyPLp_6BytcEkl054zS/s200/DSCN4802.JPG" width="200" /></a>The next day I'm going to head out on a gentle tour of the area by boat, or more correctly a Shikara as they're called. This turns out to be one of the most relaxing journeys possible. Gently meandering through the various parts of this lake, divided by small islands, vegetation wildlife, trees, house boats is a great way to relax whilst enjoying the beautiful scenery around. This turns out to be a great place so I decide to stay another night or two. Although the is a Muslim area and alcohol is not allowed in public, you can still purchase beer and spirits in several small shops in town. I sneak some beer into my bag for the afternoon.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjexKFWD7PSVYZ_WkKXuli0XWQMApourddcZzDdtX6NbzNthOl38yQjWiIJMuiFNemuC70UdpNEz5UA7IiyBs3gqkHsoaes9PdLU6JezaMyf30Y5noOk29y_SJZknlPcDVxdffoFfto6zlJ/s1600/DSCN4695.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjexKFWD7PSVYZ_WkKXuli0XWQMApourddcZzDdtX6NbzNthOl38yQjWiIJMuiFNemuC70UdpNEz5UA7IiyBs3gqkHsoaes9PdLU6JezaMyf30Y5noOk29y_SJZknlPcDVxdffoFfto6zlJ/s200/DSCN4695.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shikara's for hire</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Now thoroughly relaxed and ready to continue my journey, I'm going to head south to Delhi, then Agra and the Taj Mahal before heading further East and Nepal.<br />
<br />
On the way south, whilst stopping to take photographs, my bike refuses to start, the battery dies. In same fashion as Jeroens died in Pakistan mine does the same. Luckily Im on a hill and manage to bump start the bike to continue but its a long way back to Chandigarh and I will need to stop the engine at some point to put in some more fuel.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHmhZtud8XGCKmGmooY0kQEe1vSgVBtp7JtEbQOzzdVc9hQKlRyE1BMQjOwAIHRpUT19CPKqTJa0Q4qKmGgre1GbS83BfFq1dM2ZVETaU69ITa_lah6E0fIOf0GXzMlqIAwCgg5a1TKu5/s1600/IMG_1933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHmhZtud8XGCKmGmooY0kQEe1vSgVBtp7JtEbQOzzdVc9hQKlRyE1BMQjOwAIHRpUT19CPKqTJa0Q4qKmGgre1GbS83BfFq1dM2ZVETaU69ITa_lah6E0fIOf0GXzMlqIAwCgg5a1TKu5/s200/IMG_1933.JPG" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sick battery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There is something about driving a sick bike that although it runs OK you know things are not right. The thought consumes you and all energies are aimed at getting it fixed, nothing else matters and the thought of being stuck on a dirty Kashmir highway isn't attractive. Another 50 km further on, the battery does something to the charging system, the bike computer goes mad and after many weird and wonderful flashing light on the dash, the bike stutters to a stop. Fuck!<br />
All the things I worried about are coming true. Where on earth will I find a new battery here? As it turns out, right across the road about 100 metres away! There is a small battery shop by the road, mostly to support local agriculture but they have a small battery that may help. That'll do me!<br />
<br />
Its not the right type and size, cant start the engine either but I can get a push by several volunteers I should be able to reach a town or hotel for the night. The over priced wet cell battery is fitted, I'm given a push and I'm back on the road.<br />
<br />
I'm a bit more relieved now and can feel safety of a hotel is possible not too far away in Hoshurpur. This keeps me happy for a bit and gives me more confidence in the bike, On the road I see a rare sign in in India, "McDonald's". I don't really eat at this place but the thought of real coffee and maybe some food I'm more familiar with forces me to make a quick stop. I pop in and get a quick feed leaving the bike running. Meanwhile, the wet cell battery decides to piss acid all down the internals of the bike, over the rear swinging arm and leave a puddle of sizzling acid on the ground. The bike is still running, and leaving my half eaten Chilly veggie burger" I jump on and head for a hotel before something else goes wrong.<br />
<br />
All the good hotels in Hoshurpur are full and I end up in one which is needs a good wash, or a fire. Next day I'm off to Chandigarh again, this time for a new battery that works. The guys at the Ducati shop are trying to find one for me and provide several options when I arrive. They also feed me tea, being the nice guys they are. None of the batteries available are good enough so I'm off to Delhi, a city of 21 Million people. There has to be the right part here.<br />
<br />
I have some friends in Delhi who offer to help. Manish and Prachi book me into a good hotel, bring beers over and take me out for tea. Next day we'll go battery hunting. Sure enough we get the part we're looking for on the other side of town at a bike workshop full of surprises. It doesn't look much from outside, in fact it looks fairly crap but hidden behind the steel doors and badly painted logo's lies a haven of Triumph motorbikes. As these are as rare as hens teeth here I'm amazed that this guy has a few for sale, all brand new, various models. He even has a 1903 single cylinder Triumph which he is restoring.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic3au-06zkqEsq9G6pHsvIg7VNK8CpKLvrWQC5D7b6NXStWm5RSgCALWC5oJ9zZw-PLmUjIatJHSGLs19lpUZfNhCyZYxOb3ZhPTr7ZsuVKbRzVIxl9h4GX8bTLAYRlek8F4Ovn-a3S7-I/s1600/IMG_1934.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic3au-06zkqEsq9G6pHsvIg7VNK8CpKLvrWQC5D7b6NXStWm5RSgCALWC5oJ9zZw-PLmUjIatJHSGLs19lpUZfNhCyZYxOb3ZhPTr7ZsuVKbRzVIxl9h4GX8bTLAYRlek8F4Ovn-a3S7-I/s200/IMG_1934.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New battery getting fitted</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Now with the bike back to normal Im planning to continue south to Agra and the famous Taj Mahal before turning towards Nepal and my final part of this journey before Thailand.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Next:<br />
How to test your brakes<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-15334863838772094952012-11-09T20:44:00.000+08:002012-11-09T20:46:41.123+08:00Incredible India. Incredible brakes, Plaster and Vodafone<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWmlBOMnb8RyMzjGE73S1xUyDxWx490PrHjVwcKHz37jgb9Ki6N6OrvT2628z8p6hzh5gS2sxIgmxqzYY3tNLKo6DXCbxwbG4P9KIMGl7MEcKADbc1R6hdzLBVsjYQkd1kbnXhXCyU3eVe/s1600/DSCN4451.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWmlBOMnb8RyMzjGE73S1xUyDxWx490PrHjVwcKHz37jgb9Ki6N6OrvT2628z8p6hzh5gS2sxIgmxqzYY3tNLKo6DXCbxwbG4P9KIMGl7MEcKADbc1R6hdzLBVsjYQkd1kbnXhXCyU3eVe/s200/DSCN4451.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rickshaw riding</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So finally managed to get to the Wagah border and into India. This time its just David and myself, heading across to Amritsar Jeroen arrives next day and we meet at the golden temple a few rounds of drinks and we're game enough to try out the cycle rickshaws ... ah bloody tourists!<br />
<br />
David heads south to Goa on his BMW rickshaw, Jeroen heads to the KTM garage for the beginning of a new workshop adventure including the need for rickshaws now, and I head north.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUvWqDGLAVKRbHJDecq04cvors1YmzCOLhPy-lAYLM5_lYK8oIh91tfDCpr7oB_SRVi87dZjqDx4zuXucjF9afzXFHmH80wTexEu6rG8uzmF5wtM-TxqUa_fHa0yQfP9KjVA_hb9XU8a1u/s1600/DSCN4459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUvWqDGLAVKRbHJDecq04cvors1YmzCOLhPy-lAYLM5_lYK8oIh91tfDCpr7oB_SRVi87dZjqDx4zuXucjF9afzXFHmH80wTexEu6rG8uzmF5wtM-TxqUa_fHa0yQfP9KjVA_hb9XU8a1u/s200/DSCN4459.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taragoh Palace</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm going to Dharamsala in the Himalayas and since my GPS has now totally died, have to navigate the old way. This means I get it wrong and spend two hours driving in the dark on twisty potholed roads. Not my favourite way to arrive, stressed and tired. However the stress disappears as soon as the nice turban wearing barman greets me, handing me a Kingfisher and a glass. I'm lucky enough to stay in a old palace now run as a hotel. The rooms resemble an old english style I last saw in the Lake district in England. All a bit posh really.<br />
<br />
I have breakfast in a huge hall completely on my own, like royalty, sat at a long table whilst trying to work out how this place can possibly make a profit if there are no other guests. Turns out, it's not in season so my presence is rather unusual for this time of year.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIUcQamJNA_fChyphenhyphenAYfmVWd_dL6nnzC3w3gFl3X7NmIzYkQmKplL_IWH4TIx7_30iEHv2NHlNTpQJLQWepxvZUKm1jUd5BbMDEAvh9xBsNWmDrnZRNVeUql1i-TdH0hSr57rMGdu6WDFvWP/s1600/DSCN4529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIUcQamJNA_fChyphenhyphenAYfmVWd_dL6nnzC3w3gFl3X7NmIzYkQmKplL_IWH4TIx7_30iEHv2NHlNTpQJLQWepxvZUKm1jUd5BbMDEAvh9xBsNWmDrnZRNVeUql1i-TdH0hSr57rMGdu6WDFvWP/s640/DSCN4529.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Road to Manali</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm heading for Manali through some beautiful valleys and incredible scenery. One thing is bothering me though. Vodafone advertisements are everywhere. On houses and garage doors mostly. I believe they have paid many people to paint their logo everywhere on any vertical surface that can be used for advertising space. I've also noticed that cement manufacturers seem important too. Don't know why I would need to know so much about availability of one type of cement or another but it seems the thing here. Cement and Vodafone.<br />
<br />
The road to Manali is good and bad, there are occasional corners with bumps, bumps and bumps. I feel I'm hurting the bike but it seems to be OK. One thing is starting to bother me though, the chain is making some weird clicking noises. I'm trying to work out how this is happening as all seems good. I oil the chain well and it disappears for a bit.Yet the annoying click returns. After much oil on hands, it turns out to be a weak link, it's worn and needs replaced. No problem I reckon as I have links, new chain and even spare sprockets with me. All I need is the chain split tool to do it with. A 5 minute job normally? This is a tool used to break the link and compress a new one. $30 from ebay. All bike shops would have one.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfgy0LSDKhI32Osi7wWGGmT4JEo_I_4IBUpps6phN_eTTzUtUMCqOWK0OUSku8lvHj9i6687_nryH_Jmuf3FfN9F8zgVOfSJkKGOn1zn93IfX7x0RhC9mm9WixsG8Fg03lTmAqZwJfVUIy/s1600/DSCN4497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfgy0LSDKhI32Osi7wWGGmT4JEo_I_4IBUpps6phN_eTTzUtUMCqOWK0OUSku8lvHj9i6687_nryH_Jmuf3FfN9F8zgVOfSJkKGOn1zn93IfX7x0RhC9mm9WixsG8Fg03lTmAqZwJfVUIy/s320/DSCN4497.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Workshop Manali</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In Manali, no one has ever seen such a thing and I try to tell the mechanic, as he ignores me and reaches for his pliers "No way your going to take any links out with pliers" as he continues to look, confused that he cant find the link used on on the local Royal Enfield bikes. "These bikes can't use sprink links mate, they aren't strong enough" I explain for the third time.<br />
<br />
So, I'm told by another Manila motorbike guy, "yes, KTM on road to Mandi has all the tools for you". Great, I'll head there, get it sorted and continue up to Kashmir as intended tomorrow.<br />
I'm heading to Mandi but the chain link is now badly worn and making me worry that it could break at any moment. No big deal if I have a spare but I'm worrying that the chain may snap at any moment and totally destroy the engine as it spins outwards at high speed slicing through the crankcasings.<br />
<br />
I manage to reach the town where the small KTM dealer is. The boss tells the guys to make a start after I explain but they are tightening up the chain! "No no no. I don't need it tightened, I need a tool for this" They eventually get what I'm saying and waggle their head to indicate that "KTM workshop in Mandi has all the tools you need". I thank the guys anyway and head another 50kms towards Mandi where the sanctuary of a bike workshop with all the tools and technology awaits.<br />
After 3 hours, going around in circles with no one knowing where KTM is, I head for a hotel on the outskirts of town and on the way pass the KTM shop, now closed for the night. Bugger!<br />
<br />
Next day I'm in the new branded orange KTM workshop, promptly asking for the $30 chain tool. Blank faces from 4 of the guys there. They have no idea what I'm talking about so we all rummage through their nice new shiny KTM branded tool boxes. No joy. So after a few swear words and a coffee at local shop I decide its best to head the opposite way I wanted to go. South, to Chandigarh where everyone tells me, "ah yes there is BMW and Triumph workshops, they will have all the tools you need"<br />
<br />
200kms south and I find the KTM workshop. Its huge and has hundreds of the small KTM Duke 200cc model lined up outside and in the showrooms. Guess what? Same result. They have never heard of such a tool and in my frustration I'm starting to wonder if this is a figment of my imagination so prove to them that such a thing exists on ebay using about $100 worth of roaming data on my phone to download a picture of the thing!<br />
"Try Ducatti, they will have all the tools", they suggest. Great! Ducati do not make small bikes, they will have one surely.<br />
<br />
I head to Ducatti shop and guess what? No chain tool!<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKECigsOfJaby8be_vPMDB-hlY7j6eke-2RWi4wb-kzErMoqsRGBXoOyNoeZKprOn7PsXJQhDQg3RlwPHFrEqpjeDdyAGtSDiM4Qd4N6fl00rYhrVVTwt5kAkC602lDfqaATkEeTEZ8MA4/s1600/DSCN4607.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKECigsOfJaby8be_vPMDB-hlY7j6eke-2RWi4wb-kzErMoqsRGBXoOyNoeZKprOn7PsXJQhDQg3RlwPHFrEqpjeDdyAGtSDiM4Qd4N6fl00rYhrVVTwt5kAkC602lDfqaATkEeTEZ8MA4/s200/DSCN4607.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ducati workshop</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm fed up with driving around and with the possible alternative of driving all the way south to Delhi just for this tool, decide to let the Ducati guys try to come up with a solution. I hear much banging of hammers and decide it's best not to look. In the meantime however, these guys get wind it's my birthday today and I'm presented with a garland of flowers and a birthday cake. They even get me lunch. How good is that! 7 hours later I have the chain, the link and sprockets replaced, not with the right tools, but the Ducati mechanics do their best with angle grinders, hammers and other ad-lib pieces of steel to finish the job. Not elegant but it works and I'm happy again.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCH49aFoExRezPcF6f6Iyk0oOfQwKtmR86Gzcy7fzqBtSZl2haMx0l0gllmJKBz1gHrSLR0kbRWz11MxHAokVXx-Fhxnveb_SUj03TAUTnNMyiVu4YS_eN6gh5uTZg1Lj2flzBr244vWoR/s1600/paper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCH49aFoExRezPcF6f6Iyk0oOfQwKtmR86Gzcy7fzqBtSZl2haMx0l0gllmJKBz1gHrSLR0kbRWz11MxHAokVXx-Fhxnveb_SUj03TAUTnNMyiVu4YS_eN6gh5uTZg1Lj2flzBr244vWoR/s200/paper.jpg" width="163" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">India Times</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After a couple of days in Chandigarh and even a newspaper interview which puts me on front page of the India Times, I'm off North to the place I've been keen to see for years. Kashmir.<br />
<br />
I have to say that driving here is absolutely mad. It is the worst I've ever experienced. Trucks coming at you on the wrong side of the road on a blind corner, bikes nipping in and out, cars with young guys trying to run you down from behind. Horns beeping at all times of the day, cows wandering amongst the traffic to add to the mad random games. Incredible. In the 12 weeks on the road, I'd seen one small crash in Turkey. In India on the first week, I've seen about 6 or 7 that had just happened, ignoring the numerous wrecks left at the side of the road. I've been pushed into the gutter by a few buses and trucks and somehow managed to survive, either by luck, some off road skills, or incredible brakes. I've grown so used to it that I drive just like an Indian now. I hope I don't do this when I get to Australia. I will be chased by helicopters and will be shown on the 6 o clock news for being arrested.<br />
<br />
Next:<br />
Bullets and batteries<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-56000193761661435552012-11-01T12:48:00.000+08:002012-11-01T12:48:09.037+08:00No room at the Inn<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’re in Karachi and going to head north to Lahore and the
Indian border. I have to admit, I’m a bit fed up with Pakistan and agree with
David to head to India as soon as possible. This is not currently possible for
Jeroen sadly, as his bike has been sick. The list of problems grows to include
a slow puncture, overheating engine, faulty battery and charging system
failing. I’m feeling a bit bad about heading off without him, but Jeroen is
cool and insists he will sort a few things out prior to following us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The target for the rest of us today will be a place around 100kms south of
Lahore, Okara. It looks nice on a map. The truth is slightly different. We can reach there before dark hopefully
and be able to head straight for Indian border the following day. As always on
this trip, that was the theory. Here’s what really happened:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCEbLGhrnR_Gitx27mrdfiVoICJGtSztvnFLWb3yAXop5pmFiGxD_0R8klcZmouOLTRrbFu9EGX81s_Cio-5x5WaXVz_GWeqFxn0BBZc9gXBYUZxPpIzOlN27w4OID7LzmwngZ_kfPtuQ9/s1600/DSCN4326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCEbLGhrnR_Gitx27mrdfiVoICJGtSztvnFLWb3yAXop5pmFiGxD_0R8klcZmouOLTRrbFu9EGX81s_Cio-5x5WaXVz_GWeqFxn0BBZc9gXBYUZxPpIzOlN27w4OID7LzmwngZ_kfPtuQ9/s200/DSCN4326.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">last of the Murree beer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Martin & Richard on the KTM 650’s, David on the Beemer
and my self head off fairly early around 6am. I’ve left Jeroen with the last of
the Murree beer,since we had no idea what room he’s in it’s been left on his
bike to heat up in morning sun. I do text him later so we’re not all bad.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We escape Karachi a lot lot easier than how we arrived, and
for the first time in earnest we are without an escort thankfully. The road
north is fairly straight forward and the usual routine of tea and fuel stops
keep our bums from numbing out completely. The day drags on uneventfully and we
start to think all is going to plan until late in the afternoon when we come
across another mad traffic jam on one side of a dual carriageway. Following
cars and bikes to diverting locals we change over to the opposite carriageway
to make some progress through the usual chaos of people and cars going both
ways. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As we continue to struggle north a large crowd of men has gathered
further on up the chaos and as I weave towards the road blockage I can see many
of these guys have an attitude that isn't welcoming. Almost all at once, the
large crowd comes towards me and the rest of the guys are behind me now,
instinct says this isn’t right so I look to David who reads my mind and starts
to turn also. I’m trying to look cool about it but inside I’m not so calm. Watching my
mirrors and the crowd around I’m plotting my master escape plan in case it
turns really nasty for us. Luckily I never have to use my half-baked plan as we
turn off the main highway relieved and calmed to be away from the madding
crowd. We know we have to detour around this and manage to succeed despite the
darkening sky and the familiar moans of “fucks sake, driving in the dark again”
Were happy to be away from this madness for now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Qf8dw1ffaRr04Xuhfs4INh1UwOBrEPYyJXsxevC0hwfJOjqzOmhSIFEgsAzREE0ymKElEPeiqh-YtsC9uNINOIvIOYyGLnPR1OWURJ4OJGPq5jcwWdOgcWF6lg9-H89CAM-Hz-fCBMKZ/s1600/crowd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Qf8dw1ffaRr04Xuhfs4INh1UwOBrEPYyJXsxevC0hwfJOjqzOmhSIFEgsAzREE0ymKElEPeiqh-YtsC9uNINOIvIOYyGLnPR1OWURJ4OJGPq5jcwWdOgcWF6lg9-H89CAM-Hz-fCBMKZ/s320/crowd.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crowd gathering Extract from video</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We still have no idea what the crowd was about but David
insists this is a tense situation and one he’s seen before in India when the mass
hysteria takes over, the crowd looks for someone to blame for what we guess
might have been a child’s road death or similar. In many cases the bystander
pays for it and the blood thirsty crowd goes home refreshed and unpunished. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although I didn't notice at the time, David mentions these guys had some
weapons.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now relatively safely back n the road and within an hour of
intended destination and hopefully a lovely hotel with nice clean sheets, cool
refreshing beer, lovely food, a beautiful girl on reception to welcome our
weary party to Okara. A clean bed would be nice at least.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqy0KfvksyFhJ2PUVgzIp57YYtjB7SqDLvSdEau0nF6-MRUfhwqZILXey6wh1BkS7eHPBzlhRuS2EnguBedi7ZMmfNRJRUjYYohghQlG9YnDeOY7vnni1dNGdpVw1dQXcBZzr1yVdZVV-p/s1600/DSCN4385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqy0KfvksyFhJ2PUVgzIp57YYtjB7SqDLvSdEau0nF6-MRUfhwqZILXey6wh1BkS7eHPBzlhRuS2EnguBedi7ZMmfNRJRUjYYohghQlG9YnDeOY7vnni1dNGdpVw1dQXcBZzr1yVdZVV-p/s400/DSCN4385.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No room at the Inn</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We stop at the Pearl Inn hotel and David,volunteered
by many of us to complete the room bargaining, sets upon the reception whilst we wait for the
results outside. As usual, we attract a large crowd of dirty looking pyjama
wearing men, mostly young in 20’s or 30’s with dirty hands and need to poke and
press all the bikes buttons. It’s difficult to stay relaxed in this situation
but I’ve found its best to ignore as much as possible and answer the usual repeated
questions with smile, “about $7000. Scotland.
Yes, Australia. From England. From Austria. Yes, to India” However this
night is slightly different. We don’t know why but with the drama on the road
just about an hour ago, the ever increasing crowd in the very dark dirty street
of Okara outside this unfriendly looking hotel, we are all starting to feel
anxious.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
David squeezes his way through the crowd as I hand his
salvaged bike key, over the top of some black heads which I removed earlier “so
did we get some rooms”? I shout over the din of Pakistani noise, “No it’s full
they say”! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is a lie as the place is empty and there are several
keys hanging up on the wall behind reception in the 1950’s way of doing things.
I’m annoyed and poke my head in the door to say you’re all wankers but say nothing,
stare at the hundreds of keys on the wall, look towards the line of moustache
wearing puppets behind the counter and try to tell the one with the biggest
moutache assuming hes the boss, I’m issed off. This has absolutely no effect on
their dumb expressions as most people in this country look pissed off most of
the time anyway.Walking to the bike, I’m secretly hoping the building burns
own in the night and kills all these 1950’s pyjama wearing shitheads to death
without granting them the usual 1000 virgins.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So we’re off to find another hotel, the second of only 3
places to stay in town. Once again the crowd disperses and reassembles at our
new destination. Same results. No rooms for us. This is not good and the crowd
still getting larger starts to bother all of us. There is one hope left so we get
local tuk tuk driver to show us the way to the last hotel in Pakistan. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrjU1A32Ju3Gg4YsnsAnDR_QLapvK7uLAZvzwJ-lRj9zXLVGDOMuCrNUmC_hC7U1agNN2h9NM7wpDdoHV7KtxV9Z8iMc0nsfOH5n2SDD9KcEvLx0kiu5xOdhFOhbHYWP14oNlBQJdUn7Wv/s1600/DSCN4386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrjU1A32Ju3Gg4YsnsAnDR_QLapvK7uLAZvzwJ-lRj9zXLVGDOMuCrNUmC_hC7U1agNN2h9NM7wpDdoHV7KtxV9Z8iMc0nsfOH5n2SDD9KcEvLx0kiu5xOdhFOhbHYWP14oNlBQJdUn7Wv/s320/DSCN4386.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another large crowd to welcome us</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once more, David takes the lead and heads inside to get our
rooms sorted. Thankfully he succeeds this time at 1000 rupees per room. It’s a
shithole and we know this but the ever increasing noise and size of the new
crowd gathering makes us even more nervous than before.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The bikes are driven straight inside the small dirty
courtyard of the dirty guest house whilst a dirty crowd of followers assist to
shout directions to whoever is listening. We’re trying to get all bags off
loaded and hide in our room until the din is calmed but this is not to be for
now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once inside our dingy disgusting dirty rooms were told the price is now
2500 rupees. The owner is chancing it and tries to increase this again, to
which David finally loses his cool and explains in Glaswegian that they can
fuck off, although he’s not from Glasgow so I’m impressed anyway.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It wasn’t just the horrendous noise from the hallway below
from around one hundred dirty pyjama wearing locals, the dirt in the depressing
rooms, the scare we had earlier at the road crash or the fact that it was dark
and dirty and we were a long way from home this time with no police escort, the
police don’t even know were here, but the almost tense atmosphere from the
crowd, in and around the building that was bothering me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I still have a half filled plastic bottle of Scotch whiskey
from last nights hotel so offer some to David whilst we’re have a small conference
to discuss how the fuck we arrived here. It’s disgusting and smells more of
paint stripper but cocktail room service was not an option available. If it
was, they’d probably get it wrong anyway.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later, I can’t settle in my room as the noise from the floor
below is bleeding through the small dirty windows of my room and in concern for
my baby parked below I’m curious to see whats going on. Im nervous but the the young
guys crowded around my bike are fairly friendly and simply pleased to see me.
After usual questions for around 5 or 10 minute they ask me if i know cable TV?
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Strange question but they then lead me to me a server room
in this guest house with racks of electronic boxes with forty TV channels being
repeated from satellite to local subscribers, all illegal of course. They also
think it funny to show me internet porn showing naked blondes performing all
various things whilst several of the crowd have their hands on their dicks over
their pyjamas. I cant help but ask, “so would your Pakistani girl friend
or wife do this for you”? to which the consensus is generally, “Oh no
they would be killed for this” I felt like going for a shower but the room toilet is
disgusting, I washed my hands and finished the rest of the shit whiskey feeling
better that I was doing something illegal almost. I’ll keep the rest of my
thoughts to myself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9v-tWYaHx-TA44gJALjUg_gkwB4KImlRatA0KWeO1Eox6fKL3YiSduztLRpkBg-K6szaXwg2cocAQ10duoUytnaY8Z6fsiFiQYpa5vsxHquGf5kd446V5sgWNY8v4EDQHiH93GQuJbUk/s1600/DSCN4391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9v-tWYaHx-TA44gJALjUg_gkwB4KImlRatA0KWeO1Eox6fKL3YiSduztLRpkBg-K6szaXwg2cocAQ10duoUytnaY8Z6fsiFiQYpa5vsxHquGf5kd446V5sgWNY8v4EDQHiH93GQuJbUk/s200/DSCN4391.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last guest house in Pakistan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I unpack my own mattress and sleeping bag as there is no way
in hell I’m sleeping on any bed here and gain some comfort from the fact I’ll
have no bed bugs crawling over me in the night. The paint stripper does its job
and I’m sleeping like a cave dwelling Taliban dreaming of his promised virgins.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m up really early and step over some sleeping bodies to
reach my bike. I don’t care if I wake them, they want to sleep in reception, that’s
their problem. I’m over being polite to these people. We all rustle bags and
load up all gear, start engines and we’re off much relieved after the anxiety
and madness of the night before.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpEnblKV07NcugxEbVUpAeOSfk_A_0hDJHmcs-DhMM34-CO4IbwkDtyZG32CP2hZx17GLyUaHDwYV3-bNgw_KkhoDQrpQs-MiRnBfn-UNBsxOznEgEuD39ewZVK2IkcFyFxPq0jlRVwXA8/s1600/DSCN4403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpEnblKV07NcugxEbVUpAeOSfk_A_0hDJHmcs-DhMM34-CO4IbwkDtyZG32CP2hZx17GLyUaHDwYV3-bNgw_KkhoDQrpQs-MiRnBfn-UNBsxOznEgEuD39ewZVK2IkcFyFxPq0jlRVwXA8/s200/DSCN4403.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last pose for pictures</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At a tea stop we say our goodbyes to Martin and Richard who
are heading to Lahore and the KKH further north. David and me are heading to
India and the Wagah border. Meanwhile, further South, Jeroen and KTM leaves
Karachi in a pick- up truck.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After and easy ride and very easy border crossing into
India, we’re greeted by very smartly dressed girls, yes girls, we’d not seen
any in ages and here we’re confronted with pretty young things in uniforms. We
do see their hair and stare at something we’ve been denied for weeks for at
least 1 or 2 seconds but unlike the pyjama wearing crowd to our West, we don’t
lose control of ourselves, rape the fine young things and manage to have a
civil conversation with many, one even brings us tea. Welcome to India, I hear
and I nearly kissed the ground although I could have kissed the guards too,
even the men but thought this is best left for prisoners fleeing the real
Taliban’s clutches.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jeroen is just behind us on a pickup
truck with his bike. He can’t get the bike working for the remains of Pakistan
and manages to push the ever troubled KTM Adventure the last 100m through the
gates into the arms of India. “So undignified” he exclaims! I thought the bike
was living up to its name but don’t mention this in case I get a smack.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Incredible India. Incredible brakes, Plaster and Vodafone</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-28046888424052898142012-10-18T11:13:00.000+08:002012-10-18T11:13:17.034+08:00Bomb blast and taking the long way round.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhGV3XGt-IjRGXizVjiC-Tmhq_6W0oVYw8fMtR7zJ6fPmABqBH3C0p5DlqIWNhNPeEepg8hAo_Zn2wOocaPpHnN1113DBJc6Ys8OEb69DxhtdqR1RH44_kKWxk6O3i2NbGwhF_Pglildq_/s1600/busburned.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhGV3XGt-IjRGXizVjiC-Tmhq_6W0oVYw8fMtR7zJ6fPmABqBH3C0p5DlqIWNhNPeEepg8hAo_Zn2wOocaPpHnN1113DBJc6Ys8OEb69DxhtdqR1RH44_kKWxk6O3i2NbGwhF_Pglildq_/s320/busburned.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Burned out bus in Baluchistan</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So here's the good news.<br />We're happy to be on the road heading for Quetta. Spirits are high and we happy to be moving.<br /><br />Here's the bad news.<br />Quetta is the place where a Scottish guy had his head removed back in April. I'm trying not to think about it but can't help to worry again when we pass the remains of a bus in which 18 people heading for the Iran border we're murdered just recently.<br /><br />We keep making jokes about Taliban, being abducted and held to ransom often to break the monotony. But I think in the back of our mind we really are slightly bothered even if no one admits it. The Taliban won't be interested in tourists surely but the police are convinced we are a risk.
At the last checkpoint before the city of Quetta, the police guys mentioned that 2 people are killed everyday here, usually police. The police car driver waves his arm and beeps the horn to gesture everyone is ready to go and to stay close by. Ok let's move then!<div>
<br /><div>
Our destination is a hotel is on the outskirts of the town but the police driver has been told by someone we want to visit the bazaar in the centre of the city! Just what we wanted to do, parade through the centre of a dangerous city with the local police then go shopping for herbs and spices after 8 hours ride Of course, that would be great thanks constable. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi16hQ5qtiXBQKws9ovA2pJ7YEf4hCInB0eHyaeQqstZIOVji8l6YfW4p8T-Xk6TC33OHO4Y3uVpy6Y9vGfHj7nYTHBERhRcg2r23fpSRKUp1mnGaqaITkjIULh6WfIBUiKF_M_HB_froSu/s1600/DSCN4236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi16hQ5qtiXBQKws9ovA2pJ7YEf4hCInB0eHyaeQqstZIOVji8l6YfW4p8T-Xk6TC33OHO4Y3uVpy6Y9vGfHj7nYTHBERhRcg2r23fpSRKUp1mnGaqaITkjIULh6WfIBUiKF_M_HB_froSu/s200/DSCN4236.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our destination hotel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Since arriving in Pakistan We keep hearing, "It's dangerous for you, we must go quickly" or " You must not go out at night, its dangerous for you". So here we are plodding along in full sight of the entire population of Quetta as its getting dark, trundling along at such a slow pace we feel we are in a funeral cortege I've noticed most of us are wearing lots of black so that's convenient. Everyone else in the streets are staring at the infidels arriving. Just staring. Am I paranoid, or is that bearded guy phoning some gun toting Taliban waiting at the ambush ahead? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Jeroens bike is overheating again and he explains this in his usual persuasive banging on bonnets and shouting at "You fucking idiots, your making us a target"! They seem to take this well, all things considered, and bring around another police car which has a good second gear, this speeds up our procession and helps to cool Jeroen and his overheating engine. It's now dark and everyone is nervous. To add to my excitement, the fuel warning light reminds me I'm about to run out soon and be left at the side of road as fresh meat but thankfully after around an hour we arrive at our hotel and are relatively safe in the fenced grounds of the Gardenia resort just before the bike dies.<br /><br />The place is OK offers hot showers , a real toilet and WiFi Great! More importantly, beer is available so I'm happy. So happy in fact, the dripping tap which I use as a shower to clean my toes doesn't bother me. The lack of any toilet paper makes me snigger, I shrug off the fact that although the the WiFi is quick , it isn't connected to anywhere outside the hotel. Ah well we have cold beer on its way, nothing will bother me then. We've driven into one of the worlds most dangerous cities so running water, WiFi and a clean bum doesn't bother me, I'm happy i still have a bum and use it to support my beer drinking activities later that night.</div>
<div>
<br />So next day were looking to get out of town as soon as possible but Pakistan has other ideas. We need a letter of permission to drive to Lahore, and just to make it interesting, the road is closed. <br /><br /><br />Dave and Richard head off to get some cash from the bank, get a permit to drive out of Quetta and hopefully come back with their heads still on. The rest of us take advantage to carry out some maintenance on the bikes and our mental health.<br /><br /><br />When David & Richard return they have some good and bad news.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7wwaaYxcRm4hYHlVXQDIuqa5M2wE1fCkUaYGa2cEp_SQqUnAGoqKfqQo6h60P6WJM4InUHnGGP0eAH51D8_3dNd9DelSU2-Gvh8QLzFRczgn1o85vNiU4dYv9oKP3VMlmIgY5RD_ibLRk/s1600/DSCN4291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7wwaaYxcRm4hYHlVXQDIuqa5M2wE1fCkUaYGa2cEp_SQqUnAGoqKfqQo6h60P6WJM4InUHnGGP0eAH51D8_3dNd9DelSU2-Gvh8QLzFRczgn1o85vNiU4dYv9oKP3VMlmIgY5RD_ibLRk/s1600/DSCN4291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7wwaaYxcRm4hYHlVXQDIuqa5M2wE1fCkUaYGa2cEp_SQqUnAGoqKfqQo6h60P6WJM4InUHnGGP0eAH51D8_3dNd9DelSU2-Gvh8QLzFRczgn1o85vNiU4dYv9oKP3VMlmIgY5RD_ibLRk/s1600/DSCN4291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7wwaaYxcRm4hYHlVXQDIuqa5M2wE1fCkUaYGa2cEp_SQqUnAGoqKfqQo6h60P6WJM4InUHnGGP0eAH51D8_3dNd9DelSU2-Gvh8QLzFRczgn1o85vNiU4dYv9oKP3VMlmIgY5RD_ibLRk/s1600/DSCN4291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a>The good news - We got the permit to travel from Quetta.<br />The bad news. - We have to go via Karachi!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE9fECbO1bCSn9K46HJX-WS3evxL9CGEiYmw4l0Wcba3gv9EmfQE3bbf9ZS0IorCQBPGzPegTXuE1UNFkpayZpv6WvZbfq4n3WfzNlLsOS8PDR1hCcS2MszJSwqEL9gECbszednIX7gUwz/s1600/pakistan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE9fECbO1bCSn9K46HJX-WS3evxL9CGEiYmw4l0Wcba3gv9EmfQE3bbf9ZS0IorCQBPGzPegTXuE1UNFkpayZpv6WvZbfq4n3WfzNlLsOS8PDR1hCcS2MszJSwqEL9gECbszednIX7gUwz/s640/pakistan.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div>
<br />Apparently it's too dangerous to take the more direct sensible route, a diversion of 1500kms south is whats needed<br /><br />By now, we're not really phased by anything Pakistan bureaucracy can throw at us and happily get on our way. What we didn't know is that whilst we were driving through the city, some nutter blew up a bus killing a child and injuring 16 in the city centre. This is no place for a holiday.<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7wwaaYxcRm4hYHlVXQDIuqa5M2wE1fCkUaYGa2cEp_SQqUnAGoqKfqQo6h60P6WJM4InUHnGGP0eAH51D8_3dNd9DelSU2-Gvh8QLzFRczgn1o85vNiU4dYv9oKP3VMlmIgY5RD_ibLRk/s1600/DSCN4291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7wwaaYxcRm4hYHlVXQDIuqa5M2wE1fCkUaYGa2cEp_SQqUnAGoqKfqQo6h60P6WJM4InUHnGGP0eAH51D8_3dNd9DelSU2-Gvh8QLzFRczgn1o85vNiU4dYv9oKP3VMlmIgY5RD_ibLRk/s200/DSCN4291.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<div>
The northern part of road to Karachi is beautiful amazing scenery of sharp golden mountains dark brown rock formations, excellent roads and the never ending friendly people of the countryside welcoming foreigners to their land along the way. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I can now understand how rock stars and celebrities can get pretty used to this. I've waved to a million smiling people today. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The day is long and we've relaxed into a routine, stopping for photographs and occasional drink. Perhaps being careless with daylight we arrive in the outskirts of Karachi in the dark. The route on David & Jeroens GPS Sat nav's agree to take us direct route to the hotel. The traffic is absolutely crazy and the heat and congestion force us to take a 5 minute break. Jeroens bike decides it's had enough and stalls. So here we are in a busy busy part of town, our popularity hasn't weaned yet and around 50 people circle our group. One kind man even feeds Martin and me with some pastry. What lovely people live here, or so we believe. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When we do get to our hotel, we're made aware that last week local police abandoned a week long fire fight in this same suburb in which we'd stopped for refreshments and snacks.<br /><br />In addition to avoiding, toll roads, ferries and even gravel roads, why don't Garmin add a function to the GPS unit for travellers to avoid dangerous Mafia controlled suburbs as well?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Next:</div>
<div>
No room at the Inn.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Some pics from the day.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeLQzx6sM5O9WOms17WGOS53U282AOdo5_nxucI794TzD0DRdiA29LmQuVrJhtjG4VYnFAJiasM4P5bi_7A4_Q2Vby1vrfbiWwc30n1a1PJe_WhovGhMiYelXocjHA8aHSvgbHiQgxhyphenhyphen3h/s1600/DSCN4201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeLQzx6sM5O9WOms17WGOS53U282AOdo5_nxucI794TzD0DRdiA29LmQuVrJhtjG4VYnFAJiasM4P5bi_7A4_Q2Vby1vrfbiWwc30n1a1PJe_WhovGhMiYelXocjHA8aHSvgbHiQgxhyphenhyphen3h/s320/DSCN4201.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtizPkZIdArSrPWrMUU6KLa9tx14kwpk-VwfcWVNPqwY65a3rPCng2Tz9EamToucHl6ngrM4G7UbVboJ75f9nPZkN2XbdJS-XimsWmaQrcZLjXj-7D05nJKtDKYoR1RVNxDq77XUhozJTM/s1600/DSCN4206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtizPkZIdArSrPWrMUU6KLa9tx14kwpk-VwfcWVNPqwY65a3rPCng2Tz9EamToucHl6ngrM4G7UbVboJ75f9nPZkN2XbdJS-XimsWmaQrcZLjXj-7D05nJKtDKYoR1RVNxDq77XUhozJTM/s320/DSCN4206.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRqoYGDhCLz7cY52uc9rUhEBP0GGlc75VyLPKwWvTKHnJA41yDSuTTEnPbjVVgmEg1RorbIJV2LXrwCmocXWXDp6v1NWS0yrIflF2wTY86FlbS5iZ3ckjLYRXVrIJDSNLsXNS-DBfLYiaT/s1600/DSCN4248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRqoYGDhCLz7cY52uc9rUhEBP0GGlc75VyLPKwWvTKHnJA41yDSuTTEnPbjVVgmEg1RorbIJV2LXrwCmocXWXDp6v1NWS0yrIflF2wTY86FlbS5iZ3ckjLYRXVrIJDSNLsXNS-DBfLYiaT/s320/DSCN4248.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxbqI9zYf2kDKsp0THPl1jtZJZbSCkCHNRdTEyIjMOk3g_b-LPP18YMXFEQae-1v2E1WFB0SKbh0uzytUCKIqS2Jr0CKULxP9VptRgDnr1ChCOveOfqNzazck0KJRhzCdSyXWAAXu_-c25/s1600/DSCN4272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxbqI9zYf2kDKsp0THPl1jtZJZbSCkCHNRdTEyIjMOk3g_b-LPP18YMXFEQae-1v2E1WFB0SKbh0uzytUCKIqS2Jr0CKULxP9VptRgDnr1ChCOveOfqNzazck0KJRhzCdSyXWAAXu_-c25/s320/DSCN4272.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another burnt out vehicle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcPiS5PQk_HK_IaMPhFj5ZlyD7FRu2gaVcFrnLOc4m7pygjwQ1Eo8_LAhnclU3B6KQaDW89jxcs_CDyps17XKDKCxrxz9zfpvgyvlvmEvDeriH90m3qK5kV3oA4Xuq627lS_W3Gu2UQRC/s1600/DSCN4317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcPiS5PQk_HK_IaMPhFj5ZlyD7FRu2gaVcFrnLOc4m7pygjwQ1Eo8_LAhnclU3B6KQaDW89jxcs_CDyps17XKDKCxrxz9zfpvgyvlvmEvDeriH90m3qK5kV3oA4Xuq627lS_W3Gu2UQRC/s320/DSCN4317.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Karachi hotel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7c08uLRFCJXGMuxhdogPUI4GTerjwNNArkNmIbljOx7T004IBxnUTcW5fbpzMo4lBuhzwspVmP_tWUD_yZPneK67a6Axz5_x2p_KQHZEqVeAo40YLaYsJnN7AQ2eIm7-BUtTr3hIfJW3i/s1600/DSCN4319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7c08uLRFCJXGMuxhdogPUI4GTerjwNNArkNmIbljOx7T004IBxnUTcW5fbpzMo4lBuhzwspVmP_tWUD_yZPneK67a6Axz5_x2p_KQHZEqVeAo40YLaYsJnN7AQ2eIm7-BUtTr3hIfJW3i/s320/DSCN4319.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Richard and Martins pad.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6A9gUZM905M93083rBsc-qd53LpXZx6c7ZK64QTThyKKNRmHCwun4U7SOfbwowsUIoV1WBwklPXFNOBOXzu0MQstBNDodkq9-xrIvVVDM8WLIoRxokvRnk7vHdl0Gl0hXy_dMFX4KB4DT/s1600/DSCN4323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6A9gUZM905M93083rBsc-qd53LpXZx6c7ZK64QTThyKKNRmHCwun4U7SOfbwowsUIoV1WBwklPXFNOBOXzu0MQstBNDodkq9-xrIvVVDM8WLIoRxokvRnk7vHdl0Gl0hXy_dMFX4KB4DT/s320/DSCN4323.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Karachi hotel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /><br /><br /><br /><div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-2592131758015545282012-10-14T13:13:00.000+08:002015-10-14T19:29:49.909+08:00Banged up abroad.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjye_D6Xrw1YRDC9dHBJxZ0e39rkX6SJQurr2OPPeDM4EDoQZEPgacA5enD-1_h3Ekm0y6jZMcMRihtPiva5d6F3647QpXWAOXNj3Vk6UA3wT5suERg5w9j1dnMb0vPP0q-LW_d9NOxx5WK/s1600/DSCN4037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjye_D6Xrw1YRDC9dHBJxZ0e39rkX6SJQurr2OPPeDM4EDoQZEPgacA5enD-1_h3Ekm0y6jZMcMRihtPiva5d6F3647QpXWAOXNj3Vk6UA3wT5suERg5w9j1dnMb0vPP0q-LW_d9NOxx5WK/s640/DSCN4037.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turn right to Pakestan?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Leaving early from our government run basic hotel in Zahedan just on the border in Iran, we aim to get to the border early to ensure we reach Dalbandin some 300kms into Pakistan before nightfall. So we do the usual motor bike queue-jumping through the lines of buses and trucks, being careful not to kill any pyjama-wearing local in between the narrow dark corridors of trucks and trailers.</div>
<div>
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRFVUtXL07oySBdV9uG8jPcdpCaRpHxROtAK_MrUi4nl0FKLdcj55KwXhwnAw8_0KNYo-DFBurzk1eTUNmQomT1W-Qtdcts-kz3D30RSYvUvtiz5DCcKjPc8QC4_K40JEGY7zt173wcBvC/s1600/DSCN4040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRFVUtXL07oySBdV9uG8jPcdpCaRpHxROtAK_MrUi4nl0FKLdcj55KwXhwnAw8_0KNYo-DFBurzk1eTUNmQomT1W-Qtdcts-kz3D30RSYvUvtiz5DCcKjPc8QC4_K40JEGY7zt173wcBvC/s200/DSCN4040.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the first of many</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
We get through the Iranian and Pakistani customs and passport control fairly easily, however the next set of customs changes all that and time grinds to a halt. I swear Pakistan have saved their biggest idiot to stamp the carnet de passage document for our bike import into the country. I won't mention to the guys that I dropped some of their passports in the middle of a compound and have to rush around to pick them up with help of some more pyjama clad locals.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here's how it goes everywhere else in the world so far; open book, stamp two locations, date and sign, tear out bottom bit. 2 minutes at most.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here is the Pakistan border version, sit, wait, look at form, look at driver, read carnet, write down all vehicle particulars on loose sheet. Look at carnet. Look at driver. Sigh deeply, take deep breath. Write something in foreign language, look at carnet, look at driver.... You get the idea!
20 minutes each for 5 bikers just for this. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, we've arrived when the border opens at 9 but we don't leave until 3:15 in afternoon. This means that we're heading along one of the most dangerous roads in the world in falling darkness and unknown territory with nowhere to stop for the night! Along the way the road deteriorates to make things even more interesting on which the other guys in in the adventure style bikes sail on regardless. My sports bike feels every bump. Once again I'm nervous that I'll break the poor bike and soon nearly do as I fail to see a huge speed bump at a remote a rail crossing and too late! I'm propelled into the air like an idiot. I land ok and celebrate my success too early as another hump I also didn't see sends me into the air again, this time I hear a clunk and something breaks. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjehAYZgCGHXfXKr0_td4B9VST8WXbAcrbUY7cEji-zBY_zI0N0Mf7K_ffzfuolaefDlU7hQuCQhlIslpNGQYoE2D-C7FKUrItFnWdqEZQOWrALk-liszfqSieGs88EWzDJKiAkWtwolt9f/s1600/DSCN4143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjehAYZgCGHXfXKr0_td4B9VST8WXbAcrbUY7cEji-zBY_zI0N0Mf7K_ffzfuolaefDlU7hQuCQhlIslpNGQYoE2D-C7FKUrItFnWdqEZQOWrALk-liszfqSieGs88EWzDJKiAkWtwolt9f/s200/DSCN4143.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
We're in the middle of nowhere, aren't we? No. We're in fuckin Taliban country! and we're unarmed! Fuck! We really don't want to break down here. It's getting darker and the stress level, shows on all our faces. Jeroen's bike is making funny noises too. My bike is ok, the clunk was a spare sprocket tied under my seat coming loose. Easily fixed with cable ties.
This tells me to slow down but it's becoming pretty clear that we will not make Dalbandin tonight and decide to stop at a village on the way. If the border crossing had been quicker we would have made it. Bugger! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There are no hotels here, so, we find ourselves staying overnight in the police station in Nok Kundi. It's fairly basic It has walls, cells, occasional electricity, a roof you can climb onto to see Afghanistan and its less hospitable offspring. Let's hope they don't see us! The police don't want us on the roof as we're a practice target apparently. There goes the idea of rough camping looking up at the stars. David picks cell no 3, the rest of us crash on the dusty concrete verandah outside. Despite the depressing state of the town around us, our spirits are high and were happy to dig up some local food, Dahl, bread, packets,of biscuits and some drinks. No beer sadly, we're still in a dry country. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtoBCPpHANgQxT_EKiErHUZsQgTOHqi7XT_wE83CUECNHjdFBzYNGrdsKiY1BGyjMH3kZXNngAykJYH2sRknPlakG5ckBs2CrJ8dOxukKUbJCjDhuPCDrJUMaHaUfCgmQgIUOqSZWHwqlH/s1600/DSCN4081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtoBCPpHANgQxT_EKiErHUZsQgTOHqi7XT_wE83CUECNHjdFBzYNGrdsKiY1BGyjMH3kZXNngAykJYH2sRknPlakG5ckBs2CrJ8dOxukKUbJCjDhuPCDrJUMaHaUfCgmQgIUOqSZWHwqlH/s200/DSCN4081.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching Long Way Round</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-nyQmz5wb3kEI-_Bh5eTOlhrrczPxw4EKGvNZY-ujdradM-CYvAjFzF59f-QEOfd9KgRQqeGuoTyndrdA7REDp5WCc8nDnghKTI8fOYzanvVfubMCIAxNGcMN9C44HP6kC_BIi0Cj0kF/s1600/DSCN4109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a>We're told it's best to sleep before 9:30. Like the banged up bad boys we are, we ignore this, mostly whilst we gather around to watch, of all things, Long Way Round on my iPad. Weird and wonderful moment watching 5 grown men on bikes, sick of riding bikes in weird places, watching a TV show about blokes riding on bikes in weird places. How more weird could this get?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When we finally settle to bed, expecting silence and tranquillity, the police switch on a noisy short wave radio at one end of the station whilst the other two gun toting guards loudly discuss the current state of affairs, or price of chapati's for all I know. They cannot stand the silence it seems. David and myself decide we're still trying to get a handle on things and stay up for some time chatting about the day, trying to comprehend where we are and who thought this would be a good idea? We feel reasonably safe here as long as there isn't a large crowd outside of maybe one or two hundred more who would have no problem pushing down the heavily armoured gate bolted to the sand compound by a weak tree branch.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Eventually I climb into my sleeping back and lie back, staring at the stars above through the police dipole antennas. I'm hoping they're connected to the American forces 50km away in Afghanistan and just in case, I have my little emergency spot beacon thing alongside that upon pressing the red button would bring the helicopters if we needed them through the night, surely? I stuck with this nice thought which helps me me sleep.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHTzWVtwe-TWncd1LgGxV88_B-MuTA6gEVAE7Htm_4izImu3ZVPKiJGT8fc0NJsnoV87lnWuOwSk5PsjFz2pXuJae29LDrEnoqUj3mQMrt2silYsRO7PjVwuD0RaMSyrc71ZG9Eip8Ma2/s1600/DSCN4131.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHTzWVtwe-TWncd1LgGxV88_B-MuTA6gEVAE7Htm_4izImu3ZVPKiJGT8fc0NJsnoV87lnWuOwSk5PsjFz2pXuJae29LDrEnoqUj3mQMrt2silYsRO7PjVwuD0RaMSyrc71ZG9Eip8Ma2/s320/DSCN4131.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local shops?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Next day, we're all up and cheery. First thing is new battery for Jeroen's bike. The old one has cooked and is,now totally dead so the police take us to the nearby town where there is a small shop. Well, shop is an overstatement, an indoor rubbish tip behind a garage door is more accurate description. The door belongs in the rubbish tip too. The helpful guys in dirty pyjamas sell Jeroen a battery in a box. It's obvious the box and the battery belong on the rubbish tip as well but we have little choice, and with Taliban surely aware of our overstay in this town we happily grab the only option available. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, 2 hours later, mucking around with cables, jump leads and much swearing, the KTM is running, but only just! We need to get petrol and with no petrol stations within 200kms, we buy from local petrol pimp. For him to see 5 unusual bikes with police escort is not a daily event here and apart from occasional killing of bus loads of migrants or suicide bomber excursions, we doubt that very much else happens here either. Before long we have around 50-60 people around us but the police really don't like this, they are more nervous than any of us. This makes me nervous too.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibbI9x5GEGL3pXWlx0KbvNjOTlv9Dq2AjW5v2TI5HZ0UhJTltNYu2jqVIcpSFqA7YRPpbr0JYcnBhH03CZfkj8H7Ec1w_EhQ8OEKCnllM4ugytqw3xGU3b5FkkDe7BW1TBRqYdgtJQSSdf/s1600/DSCN4135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibbI9x5GEGL3pXWlx0KbvNjOTlv9Dq2AjW5v2TI5HZ0UhJTltNYu2jqVIcpSFqA7YRPpbr0JYcnBhH03CZfkj8H7Ec1w_EhQ8OEKCnllM4ugytqw3xGU3b5FkkDe7BW1TBRqYdgtJQSSdf/s200/DSCN4135.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">crowd around Jeroen's bike</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Trying to get out of town, Jeroen's bike stalls again and stress level is suddenly high once more. We need to get a jump start as the battery we fitted is not charged enough. This takes more valuable minutes, and more swearing as we have to remove,some panels to get at the terminals simply to get the engine going again. It's stinking hot, and we're getting pissed off. Not all of us, mostly Jeroen who screams in anger when it stalls once again. Again I hear the Pakistan catch phrase, "It's dangerous for you we must go, go go"! So we manage to restart the bike and eventually get on the road aiming for Quetta but it was not meant to be.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4m5ujHSKpXUrJ9t3iUWM5SD70BF2N5ElJp2NpIf2IQuVInDGm6cXatgXbsRH8NL3F33ra4r-QFlHGzNwfEYw_VBJIslyVxJKCU1i3nwhuSwCTkFl-uiau8kMO-STijXOvbxV2FLMFpcBz/s1600/DSCN4220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4m5ujHSKpXUrJ9t3iUWM5SD70BF2N5ElJp2NpIf2IQuVInDGm6cXatgXbsRH8NL3F33ra4r-QFlHGzNwfEYw_VBJIslyVxJKCU1i3nwhuSwCTkFl-uiau8kMO-STijXOvbxV2FLMFpcBz/s200/DSCN4220.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Filling out more pointless <br />
forms and ledgers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At every roadside security check point stop we're getting fed up with having to fill out all our details, with name, fathers name, passport, reg etc ... Jeroen takes advantage of the guard doing it for us and tells him his passport No. H546 34567 2341223 5432 665765 443 112. The guard runs out of columns, "This is very long number", he waggles his head in Pakistani accent but keeps on going anyway. I have to leave the room as I can barely keep my face straight and walk away holding my breath, trying not to burst out laughing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicY9cvZ0fvEDMkX7V-H7lzCtx5yuFzzsE2lGJZm7K962Q6tN7gaNqQr2kFQdZV2RJGxar07jPic0lQQgTVwRwS_qjF8SAx-fVpJUlYvdeijXnwELSchEN87QDXCFVa7hBdmYG7fjad0C_f/s1600/DSCN4155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicY9cvZ0fvEDMkX7V-H7lzCtx5yuFzzsE2lGJZm7K962Q6tN7gaNqQr2kFQdZV2RJGxar07jPic0lQQgTVwRwS_qjF8SAx-fVpJUlYvdeijXnwELSchEN87QDXCFVa7hBdmYG7fjad0C_f/s200/DSCN4155.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
<br />
We're only 300 Km's from Iran border after 2 days, so we're not too satisfied with our progress but the thought of a mechanical breakdown close to darkness in this country is scary. We'll get this bike right and head all the way tomorrow, we hope! So we decide to find a hotel and stay here well before daylight ends. With slow escorts and delays in changing over our armed convoy we run out of day again. Allah has decided its best we stay in Dalbandin.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Not everyone is happy with this choice but when Allah provides beer and free Internet, the moaning stops. Especially from me. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Next:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Bomb blast and taking the long way round.</div>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuefL5itPTcBAgc-CapE7hYN9uya32HyPv6rxMOLTpRot5bIUWN-kRRL2SiQLGdD2S7Nu61N9fuq7Lr9olOxXkBNXC4ITvdGhyrNjI9EabZv0f92O9Z-lWHhyphenhyphenN3DGperl6HSYrME5Y-QYw/s1600/DSCN4100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuefL5itPTcBAgc-CapE7hYN9uya32HyPv6rxMOLTpRot5bIUWN-kRRL2SiQLGdD2S7Nu61N9fuq7Lr9olOxXkBNXC4ITvdGhyrNjI9EabZv0f92O9Z-lWHhyphenhyphenN3DGperl6HSYrME5Y-QYw/s640/DSCN4100.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Martin decided to climb in cell No.3 also</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-WpvogpKBiyaz5yE9a9yC1FPqocpQ-DwCdGZ5865IcaiAC4nfLslUje58muzOoXTqLYg42kTIo6c162riCMtJ_VT2v3_AQf9cBpcQLz8v_bFr_cOTI4Fn5moykJBIM0LBVn2fv7q1Ajp6/s1600/DSCN4106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-WpvogpKBiyaz5yE9a9yC1FPqocpQ-DwCdGZ5865IcaiAC4nfLslUje58muzOoXTqLYg42kTIo6c162riCMtJ_VT2v3_AQf9cBpcQLz8v_bFr_cOTI4Fn5moykJBIM0LBVn2fv7q1Ajp6/s640/DSCN4106.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from roof of Police station of local town.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-nyQmz5wb3kEI-_Bh5eTOlhrrczPxw4EKGvNZY-ujdradM-CYvAjFzF59f-QEOfd9KgRQqeGuoTyndrdA7REDp5WCc8nDnghKTI8fOYzanvVfubMCIAxNGcMN9C44HP6kC_BIi0Cj0kF/s1600/DSCN4109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-nyQmz5wb3kEI-_Bh5eTOlhrrczPxw4EKGvNZY-ujdradM-CYvAjFzF59f-QEOfd9KgRQqeGuoTyndrdA7REDp5WCc8nDnghKTI8fOYzanvVfubMCIAxNGcMN9C44HP6kC_BIi0Cj0kF/s640/DSCN4109.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cell No 4 - Kirk, infidel.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiRTZCSZJuYSZT8jnSIuucfG1YLqN2i7O-jxxXh-_uYwfVpK1B8SQxk6LF2OKDwLAKwPG_a-PX8IVk4fiKwco6Xe-wn0b4t7rAro9SX53qMPGu8S06RWp0HfEBkgN6kH97E-CRmkNeeToy/s1600/DSCN4148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiRTZCSZJuYSZT8jnSIuucfG1YLqN2i7O-jxxXh-_uYwfVpK1B8SQxk6LF2OKDwLAKwPG_a-PX8IVk4fiKwco6Xe-wn0b4t7rAro9SX53qMPGu8S06RWp0HfEBkgN6kH97E-CRmkNeeToy/s640/DSCN4148.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild camels on a slow relaxing walk across the deserts from Afghanistan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheX6iogUqm26uRiqMgBj9L14pBTLxJTcRwH-TBi5egYipD9tqSDKJBJOXm7GjqGpVjkZDu92YnxBo01_EGIIJ0ZjXyVkwwvynZfnxraLDqiMwShPlcJorST8F7XL4pwPcALmV7YLXudM42/s1600/DSCN4223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheX6iogUqm26uRiqMgBj9L14pBTLxJTcRwH-TBi5egYipD9tqSDKJBJOXm7GjqGpVjkZDu92YnxBo01_EGIIJ0ZjXyVkwwvynZfnxraLDqiMwShPlcJorST8F7XL4pwPcALmV7YLXudM42/s640/DSCN4223.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading into Pakistan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTCclpwa150emeL3GGAn8T64V8vMz-N3kHcAtOYwxSslAzXIS4UIORXXaxrXXYNeyoWGVJo8SgcPe97txDAt6BtqHXWRfd9MEdBBT0xQ5k8-727qPkv1BRp-HHOAKgm3OJetZWsfKPJW2p/s1600/DSCN4073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTCclpwa150emeL3GGAn8T64V8vMz-N3kHcAtOYwxSslAzXIS4UIORXXaxrXXYNeyoWGVJo8SgcPe97txDAt6BtqHXWRfd9MEdBBT0xQ5k8-727qPkv1BRp-HHOAKgm3OJetZWsfKPJW2p/s640/DSCN4073.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back to Iran from police station roof.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-88264848029588531302012-10-10T19:36:00.000+08:002012-10-10T19:36:17.414+08:00The penny drops and so does my camera.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
To reset the trip meter on the Triumph requires you to press one of the 3 heavy buttons on the speedo for about 3 seconds then scroll to the next and do the same. Then to reset the GPS trip meter requires a couple of presses before it asks you if you're sure you want to reset. I also notice the tracking function on the GPS has been switched off as well. Not too easy to do so I doubt this was an accident and if I wanted to conceal just how much mileage I'd covered, this is the way to do it. The penny drops. I'm not going to get angry at myself for being a fool, I want to have faith in people so I decide strongly to let it go, forgive myself for putting faith in others. Lets move on.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGzM2c7rx2fssYugeTem-3uVeSZMXwHlnUGfFwG2SLZn3q610wca1dEaUDxmb7tsMKCdkqC-K7yx6AZ9SBoERHBrAzN0lIlm22XTlerkUZnhuBlxuOEcyPzrfSO85VjV4HVPiQsXtO9s-B/s1600/DSCN3856.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGzM2c7rx2fssYugeTem-3uVeSZMXwHlnUGfFwG2SLZn3q610wca1dEaUDxmb7tsMKCdkqC-K7yx6AZ9SBoERHBrAzN0lIlm22XTlerkUZnhuBlxuOEcyPzrfSO85VjV4HVPiQsXtO9s-B/s200/DSCN3856.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steven and Jeroen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've arrived in Tehran and catch up with Jeroen who's been waiting here for a few days. We were in Africa together on the Charley Boorman trip from Cape Town to Victoria Falls a few years ago. He lives in Dubai and the short ferry ride brought him to South Iran, he thought it would be good idea to come with me through Iran and Pakistan.<br />
<br />
I was a bit nervous of the Tehran traffic at first not knowing what to expect but despite the amount of cars and congestion, its fairly relaxed and I find the hotel quite easily. The hotel room is fairly basic, well very basic really. The mattress is a board. The bathroom says, don't put paper down the WC. Where are you supposed to put it?... in the bin of course. Not me! I don't care if I clog up the plumbing, I'm not putting shitty paper in the bin to collect flies stink the place out and bother me all night, no way.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPcXIFt38S-NFVmVbH9urNil49Tcugp31ZM7UGKwcx_QWVzJ02bZf4oCKY2cwytD0bi6AGgVLLRbvRgnmi85hONDOglydYB4i2bm6JMZ0MDSR0C5im9WuiVh5ERDlokzSdVkLGWiIBE0Db/s1600/DSCN3847.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPcXIFt38S-NFVmVbH9urNil49Tcugp31ZM7UGKwcx_QWVzJ02bZf4oCKY2cwytD0bi6AGgVLLRbvRgnmi85hONDOglydYB4i2bm6JMZ0MDSR0C5im9WuiVh5ERDlokzSdVkLGWiIBE0Db/s200/DSCN3847.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">on way to Esfahan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Despite the limited plumbing network I have to say, I'm amazed at the friendliness of the Iranians, I've lost count of the number of people I've waved to, or heard say "Welcome to Iran". They really are very nice people, eager to please and happy to see tourists in their country. No exception to this is Mohammed, a business colleague of my brother in law who lives in the fancy part of Tehran. He invites us over and we have dinner and some drinks. We're impressed with the hospitality of Mohammed and his beautiful wife who take care of us as there own, it feels. Thanks for that!<br />
<br />
Sadly we're off on the road next day as we are well behind schedule, so next day head for Esfahan.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNeD-TBngla_ilRyFpBN-V93Cq8wksNWeM2sZAkra2hCa0CHiIWpeW-g3mvbUtzJsH9eRp0Av_Yf5zKxUPZ-2dEoo4VEa0FSP1hrXEnWFiu51DBukxIR4YHF-PT0Yfzec7995d7sG73tVX/s1600/DSCN3913.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNeD-TBngla_ilRyFpBN-V93Cq8wksNWeM2sZAkra2hCa0CHiIWpeW-g3mvbUtzJsH9eRp0Av_Yf5zKxUPZ-2dEoo4VEa0FSP1hrXEnWFiu51DBukxIR4YHF-PT0Yfzec7995d7sG73tVX/s200/DSCN3913.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abbas hotel grounds</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWhFk8kdpx7Z5EQ3poRvfkA9tasjj-k8kg5Eo60EFe95Rwxtg5cUfn-wk65eoZ9omV0RmyfZRKoLyT6Goq_Fx8nHb_7oMreqEk1SkZfT7YBJ9nlcQyUe3T7gFgPxHLzxnuJjaGxbBVVJOM/s1600/DSCN3919.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWhFk8kdpx7Z5EQ3poRvfkA9tasjj-k8kg5Eo60EFe95Rwxtg5cUfn-wk65eoZ9omV0RmyfZRKoLyT6Goq_Fx8nHb_7oMreqEk1SkZfT7YBJ9nlcQyUe3T7gFgPxHLzxnuJjaGxbBVVJOM/s200/DSCN3919.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abbas hotel, Esfahan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
Esfahan turns out to be my favourite place in Iran so far. The hotel is rather lavish but cheap by normal western standards. $100 buys a lovely room in a place that was once a palace for the Sultan. See some more info <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abbasi_Hotel">here.</a> This is in my top ten hotels of all time.<br />
This all changes tomorrow as we aim for Yazd, but for now we live like kings.<br />
<br />
Esfahan is a lovely city with amazing architecture and gardens. More importantly we even manage real coffee at the local bazaar, magic!<br />
<br />
As I'm travelling, I'm also filming a lot of events for TV. So there I was thinking, buying a flash memory camera instead of a hard drive or tape recorder type would guarantee that I'd never have mechanical problems with it. That was the theory.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoFZBg3ApFjAAuFUG_sCuhNRkCpXz3VHq4DFSDBvy-n4wUV2XUiNLDOnQbCZBJYR3pX0fgifsPg0zJA3pknNXVTFJMM2AlSqemJ5Te_Cgo8_aH7iBvj8IiJEi5nonewYQfnFxu_RBmRqR6/s1600/DSCN4322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoFZBg3ApFjAAuFUG_sCuhNRkCpXz3VHq4DFSDBvy-n4wUV2XUiNLDOnQbCZBJYR3pX0fgifsPg0zJA3pknNXVTFJMM2AlSqemJ5Te_Cgo8_aH7iBvj8IiJEi5nonewYQfnFxu_RBmRqR6/s200/DSCN4322.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
I know it's not designed to be dropped, but when tested by mistake from around knee height to the ground I've found that that theory doesn't hold up. I was trying to set up the camera on the tripod quickly and didn't fit it correctly. It falls to the floor and I'm looking at a dead screen now. Fuck! Now what?<br />
<br />
With a sick feeling in my stomach we continue on our trip to Yazd hoping to get it repaired whilst there, or at least have shipped to Tehran perhaps. I hope this will work whilst I'm in Iran as I might never see it again as shipping out of Iran is difficult due to trade sanctions. In the end I decide to try a repair shop in Yazd, they are the official Sony repair people so there might be some hope. This idea turns to dust as I arrive at the scruffy building filled with broken TV's and rubbish on the street outside. The scarf covered girl at the desk takes the device and tells me to come back tomorrow. I cant wait this long and request they have quick look to see if it can be repaired. This is seems to be understood and she tells me to wait. Come back after lunchtime.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnJygl5uEB-OTWT_6BpizEFZWmDOF6twQdx7GFyJq3sABsYsOMlat38eaQXMHAgWXa0kbEiWL426nJkDtVoxP3GWloPGOp2z3gfP7cwEk9FAjyiYeC-f-kdImJhXNCgIslCCCRPlHLm7W/s1600/564938_10151197320743921_973805149_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnJygl5uEB-OTWT_6BpizEFZWmDOF6twQdx7GFyJq3sABsYsOMlat38eaQXMHAgWXa0kbEiWL426nJkDtVoxP3GWloPGOp2z3gfP7cwEk9FAjyiYeC-f-kdImJhXNCgIslCCCRPlHLm7W/s200/564938_10151197320743921_973805149_n.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">free repair shop</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Waiting like an expectant father outside the shop for hours pacing up and down saying hello to locals who welcome me to Iran for what seemed like an eternity the shop people invite me in and hand over the once dead camera now fully working! I can't believe they fixed it here, in this backwater, but they do. Whats more, when I go to pay them for their work, they refuse! "It's a gift to you" says the owner. How amazing is that? I'm so impressed with the kindness of these people, can you ever imagine that in Australia, or UK?<br />
<br />
I'd already said to Jeroen to leave me behind and head for Bam so I'm now some 4 hours behind him. When I arrive at the guest house, there three other guys with bikes there. David, from England and Martin and Richard from Austria. They are heading the same way us us so it makes sense to group together for part of the trip, especially the dangerous area of Baluchistan in Pakistans south west. I'm happy with this idea and we head out for tea.<br /><br />
A shower and change and I'm in local restaurant sitting on the floor eating yet more kebabs, yummy! but why can't we sit at a table for gods sake. We invented them for such events but here we are struggling to reach across a carpet spilling drinks and avoiding other peoples smelly feet specially bared for the occasion. My left hip is aching but the food and fake beer is good. I even try the Hubble bubble pipe, orange or mint ? Oh thank you I'll try both. Time to go, I try to unfold my aching legs and have problems straightening up, I feel my age here, about 95 after todays mad ride and sitting folded up for an hour. That's the last time I'm eating dinner off the floor, maybe be quaint but utterly bloody stupid really.<br />
<br />
Next day and the lhe last hundred kilometres or so to the border, we're escorted by police. This really slows us down and starts to drive us nuts. The petrol stations all use a card to issue petrol to tourists but as the police hang around, we find we cannot get any petrol suddenly. In the end we buy some overpriced black market low octane fuel from young kids right across from the police checkpoint! The police drive us there! My bike doesn't like it and pings and knocks to tell me so. I feel like I'm torturing my baby that has been so faithfully reliable, this is how I repay my bike for taking me almost 13,000kms across the world. Not good.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUANY5SAYh3TIpSlfH59PwygzLgoGyyvo_i93xppqMvMDPqoHD9jFP0Qw68gWUp0mqwipB07DQTQO_lYTbGBFqThX00bzZpLOngEdojDKxVetrOQF2ensahw3WTKlXjSOqd2i4EDg_0NET/s1600/DSCN4031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUANY5SAYh3TIpSlfH59PwygzLgoGyyvo_i93xppqMvMDPqoHD9jFP0Qw68gWUp0mqwipB07DQTQO_lYTbGBFqThX00bzZpLOngEdojDKxVetrOQF2ensahw3WTKlXjSOqd2i4EDg_0NET/s200/DSCN4031.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sad hotel on Pakistan / Iran border</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The next day were off to the nearest place to the pakistan border in readiness for the crossing the day after.
Another, sad hotel, another sad toilet which is a hole in the floor, complete with cold shower and bed of wood. "Put the toilet paper in the bin" says the photocopied sign stuck on the wall. My mind goes back to the open bucket at the petrol station in Albania which nearly made me vomit. No way. I don't know why, but it's just not right.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I've raced through Iran to try to catch up on my schedule and didn't get time to visit a few places on my list but I probably don't need to for the moment. If there's one thing I can say is that the people are amazing. Everywhere in traffic, in streets, in shops and hotels, the people are amazingly friendly We've been fed lunch by police, given fruit by some stranger when sitting on kerb waiting for fuel and I've had my camera fixed for free. The people are aware that they are not seen in best light overseas but they don't like their government, and many don't like the police. We had no trouble from either but feel saddened that the good people of Iran suffer for the sake of the politicians, Iranian or otherwise.<br />
<br />
I've only had one week here but its left an good impression on me despite some hiccups along the way.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCdkCWiwIPr15KEJD0YkHHSJyZEBC5bBr7nChWZVxRtIAmZiCkNGbqv46OEoxtor9qtfMrZz6i_PPPsC1pmqHc5W7FxoT92rabrIZwTtgHsZKpDU7xTl-C1QjSxxSsUl4ZDOA9-CX591yg/s1600/DSCN3936.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCdkCWiwIPr15KEJD0YkHHSJyZEBC5bBr7nChWZVxRtIAmZiCkNGbqv46OEoxtor9qtfMrZz6i_PPPsC1pmqHc5W7FxoT92rabrIZwTtgHsZKpDU7xTl-C1QjSxxSsUl4ZDOA9-CX591yg/s640/DSCN3936.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Esfahan bridge, Iran<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2E0xWTckgPTRfvNFjGp-aljUPU1L7v_BjmFDytaFaB4a0gZt_Fmo3XuvImz1hZuxFEwQekxDALP5NxJqTMUJSmpTfKHCnnAs1b30j8N81X8P7Q0O8qhoHvB-3raXDQl1-dvyZj90ski7m/s640/DSCN3893.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shah square, Isfahan, Iran.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2E0xWTckgPTRfvNFjGp-aljUPU1L7v_BjmFDytaFaB4a0gZt_Fmo3XuvImz1hZuxFEwQekxDALP5NxJqTMUJSmpTfKHCnnAs1b30j8N81X8P7Q0O8qhoHvB-3raXDQl1-dvyZj90ski7m/s1600/DSCN3893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2E0xWTckgPTRfvNFjGp-aljUPU1L7v_BjmFDytaFaB4a0gZt_Fmo3XuvImz1hZuxFEwQekxDALP5NxJqTMUJSmpTfKHCnnAs1b30j8N81X8P7Q0O8qhoHvB-3raXDQl1-dvyZj90ski7m/s1600/DSCN3893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXTQK27YPw7CR_AOg8vlJ7VfB8SsvXct6lzTMGJU-c_xLXBQqhBcEXbw-uvftXHs8mw1_bXqcprqoWnbQwPbZBsNY6FjwpUwpZYuoLPzBWha7roUpX7DG01TsDPoW_sQJ47-me1e8o1RsR/s1600/DSCN4003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXTQK27YPw7CR_AOg8vlJ7VfB8SsvXct6lzTMGJU-c_xLXBQqhBcEXbw-uvftXHs8mw1_bXqcprqoWnbQwPbZBsNY6FjwpUwpZYuoLPzBWha7roUpX7DG01TsDPoW_sQJ47-me1e8o1RsR/s640/DSCN4003.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">on the road in Iran</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="moz-text-plain" graphical-quote="true" lang="x-unicode" wrap="true">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg42swAv3zHdyRtVKVfWXKA3YJ64H0vI6lSwBAvMhC2OGXNIuS3uIQ1tF92GWf9gs5qnO-SZBDKIWsBXuemVslNJ3QKsT6fqd7My_iO6RX228qfKfxXuqgqHkbLPnXgFfI29ErWmfBebG75/s1600/DSCN3914.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; white-space: normal;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg42swAv3zHdyRtVKVfWXKA3YJ64H0vI6lSwBAvMhC2OGXNIuS3uIQ1tF92GWf9gs5qnO-SZBDKIWsBXuemVslNJ3QKsT6fqd7My_iO6RX228qfKfxXuqgqHkbLPnXgFfI29ErWmfBebG75/s640/DSCN3914.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abbas Hotel Esfahan, Iran<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;">
Next:</div>
<div style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;">
Banged up abroad in deepest Pakistan.</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-8068025281257282992012-10-04T23:12:00.000+08:002012-10-04T23:12:00.687+08:00Welcome to Iran! here's the bill.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m happily across the border and excited to see and taste a
new country. I was thinking this is the first of the dangerous ones, well,
apparently so. So far, it's good, the roads appear better than Eastern Turkey,
the landscape is pretty much the same and
apart from several cars and buses, no one has tried to kill me. I'm
heading for Umria just across the border to meet a Facebook friend who has
invited me to stay there. Since I'm well behind schedule, I'm thinking maybe
give it a miss and head towards my mate Jeroen waiting for me in Tehran, so for
the very least I can drop by to say hello and thanks for the offer. As I park
at the side of the road to set my GPS, a white Peugeot 405 draws up in front of
me and out jumps a young handsome, happy guy with a big white smile, its
Hossein, my host in Umria. "Hi there, follow me" he gestures. He’s
been waiting on me. How cool is that!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCkK-03Am1AFHuKJ8EKENFVUm12_K8N8R2cBPkcFLWWhc9yuHvHnrd1B4Ywg5Yr4sGBootEFz78sbN7z-GvfBoz39714uJ69kALZusf2kU2Wh94ebxvbCFkIXeqUKtAL-XiBp5IGQzX4oO/s1600/DSCN3755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCkK-03Am1AFHuKJ8EKENFVUm12_K8N8R2cBPkcFLWWhc9yuHvHnrd1B4Ywg5Yr4sGBootEFz78sbN7z-GvfBoz39714uJ69kALZusf2kU2Wh94ebxvbCFkIXeqUKtAL-XiBp5IGQzX4oO/s200/DSCN3755.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">Courtyard of Hosseins house.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fifteen minutes later we arrive at Hossein's place and I'm
unsure the protocol here. The bike is </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
parked within the walls of the closed
residence but now what. Should I tell them I want to continue to Tabriz now or wait?
However, the family make me feel so welcome; I decide it would be bloody rude
to leave now. When I explain "I have to go tomorrow" I feel this
isn't received so well. "You must stay longer"! they say, "I
can't I must catch up" I stress.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Inside the house, Hossein shows me a room with a small
table, a laptop, some blankets in the corner and a door to a small courtyard.
"You make yourself at home here, please use my internet”, this will do
nicely I think to myself, meanwhile still trying to work out in my head how
early I need to leave to get to Tehran before dark next day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m impressed with a guest book Hossein has put together
with a list other travellers who have entered a page of thanks you’s and how
wonderful it all is. I will do the same. Hossein’s younger sister also asks me
to fill in her guest book which I do gladly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hossein’s family are nice people and we sit in the front
room for lunch. They prepare a spread in the middle of the room on a rug. We
all sit on the floor to eat. OK this must be the norm, although I can't sit too
long or my ageing left hip pains me. A bit weird but I can go with it. Then
mother sits in the corner away from the rug, as if she's been told off or is
not allowed to eat with us. I'm trying to work this out but no one else
notices. We have some lunch and afterwards I try to catch up on emails and
other things on Hossein’s laptop. Hossein asks that "he can show my bike to
his friends? I’m ok but he wants to drive it! I never allow anyone to drive my bike;
after all, I need it to get me to Australia and can’t risk any damage. However,
since these people are going out o their way for me and against my better
judgement I relent and after many, "be careful", "are you sure
you're OK with big bike" or words of that nature I hand him the keys after
turning it to face the </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr0csnYzp3oAXEk3U1AqUbVKAo5lWcydGc6ZWwGGjtXTJkljKtwwKzBi4ufUToo7KQ0Isg3me7_Hlz8yMuUR8nIuIcfTGU_GepSwLOEa6SEY2ZqpD-q6QzqydynHQbuLZxr0e6fkttUPIT/s1600/DSCN3788.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr0csnYzp3oAXEk3U1AqUbVKAo5lWcydGc6ZWwGGjtXTJkljKtwwKzBi4ufUToo7KQ0Isg3me7_Hlz8yMuUR8nIuIcfTGU_GepSwLOEa6SEY2ZqpD-q6QzqydynHQbuLZxr0e6fkttUPIT/s200/DSCN3788.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px; text-align: center;">Hossein and his 220cc Indian bike</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
gate. "Only for an hour" I'm sure he says.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the same time, the family is locking up. Again I'm
wondering what’s happening. "You come with us to town" or words to
that effect beckons dad. At least I think that’s what he meant.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
OK, that’s nice of you, taking me a tour perhaps, still not
sure as I sit in the front seat, I did try to offer this to mother but there’s
none of that here, men sit in the front. Mum sister and Hossein’s little
energetic brother jump in the back. So.. I'm wondering where they will take me.
Five minutes later I find out as we stop at a petrol station, Hossein’s dad,
who’s mentioned money a few times already, mentions it some more. "You buy
benzene" Oh! OK I see, I pay petrol and you take me tour, I understand,
that's fair, so I hand over a wad of notes wondering if it’s enough, he fills
the tank from empty to half full. That should do, meanwhile I'm still distracted
and very anxious about my bike and is Hossein OK with it. The little brother
starts to get on my nerves a bit as the additives in the chocolate chip cookies
I mistakenly gave him start to work.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dad takes us for a drive through the centre of Umrie, not
really impressing me at all but I smile and </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtgs7ajaSrOPuo3gMHCjNQEyhBcWF9EjsTHOQW7phikFfL28Tmi-G6X29TVyjuO3cvHo-cTan5FdbEnOczLz0RqbplF_X_QuROK7RUXl5RyhNfC7JoHiBhZUfkmqyJji0_GK6XS7Lt9h7F/s1600/DSCN3762.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtgs7ajaSrOPuo3gMHCjNQEyhBcWF9EjsTHOQW7phikFfL28Tmi-G6X29TVyjuO3cvHo-cTan5FdbEnOczLz0RqbplF_X_QuROK7RUXl5RyhNfC7JoHiBhZUfkmqyJji0_GK6XS7Lt9h7F/s320/DSCN3762.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px; text-align: center;">Hossein, Dad & Mum</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
appreciate the generosity of the
family bringing me here, then the tour I expected ends promptly and we find
some highways on which the car stops several times at fruit sellers on the side
of the road. I'm still not sure what’s happening but I'm not really caring
about this at all now. I’m more concerned at the safety of my bike. The anxiety
is becoming overpowering and after about 90 minutes hopping from fruit seller
to fruit seller, I'm starting to worry more. I'm trying to ask when we're
heading back, just as we stop at an orchard. What seems like an eternity, and
with hyper-boy now really getting on my nerves, the family buy two large boxes
of apples and lift some grapes from nearby vines. I help carry them to the car
to speed things up and we finally head for home. Ah great! I feel relief
starting to settle as I'm heading back to my bike however the little brother maintains
my stress level as he tries to climb in the front using up the remains of his
sugar overload.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fifteen minutes later we arrive back at the family home and
I'm stunned to see no bike. "Where is Hossein"? One hour I'm
thinking. Is he close? I ask the dad who tries to call Hossein, I can hear the
beeping from his phone that you get when the phone is out of range or switched
off. He does this calmy several times in silence. He nods negative. I'm far from calm and
starting to get even more annoyed now. I've never loaned my bike to anyone, no
one. Ever! This is my punishment for being stupid. In my head I’m trying to
convince myself all is fine and I’m making a mountain out of a molehill but my inner
voice is telling me I’m a liar.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihPecomtj7IU9yZ-YjP6Fu54Ve0LClisVvkJcYYzL4X9JGN0w7mLTMlA1-a3go0GlCUHPvELvk817FKhGXIAdqI4KaiuTokVNrcTJlF8vfPojBiTYItYgzyt54S4ncyZ3vZpRZGAdzJnKd/s1600/DSCN3751.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihPecomtj7IU9yZ-YjP6Fu54Ve0LClisVvkJcYYzL4X9JGN0w7mLTMlA1-a3go0GlCUHPvELvk817FKhGXIAdqI4KaiuTokVNrcTJlF8vfPojBiTYItYgzyt54S4ncyZ3vZpRZGAdzJnKd/s200/DSCN3751.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">My place of worryship for several hours.<br />
Sitting by the computer waiting.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two hours later and I'm now angry, I hide in the bedroom,
trying not to think about it and trying not to let this kind family feel my
stress. I can’t stay here forever so head to the front room in an attempt to
make conversation with dad about family and so on. I show my family pictures
and as always around these parts, they latch onto Suzanna, the blonde with big
boobies picture. He points at picture, touching Zans boobs with his finger, “who
is this”? I’ve already moved it away as if he’s molested my kids and now I need to kill him but discount the thought
very quickly, it was an accident perhaps. This is Suzanna she’s 20. “Hossein
marry your daughter and live in Australia, send me money” he mentions “No
fucking way on earth mate” was my thoughts still trying to forget his finger on
my wee girl, but lightly shrug it off with “We don’t want her to marry until
she wants to, and then hopefully in her 30’s”. I don’t think he understands.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eventually, after several cups of tea, me tapping on things,
looking at my watch and what seemed forever, Hossein returns well after dark
with the bike appearing intact. I'm jokingly trying to ease my stress with,
"where have you been, my baby" and even hug my bike! All seem to be
jolly but inside, I'm annoyed as hell. That was no hour, “where the hell did
you go”? I'm thinking. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He mentions “I even filled it up for you” but i see the fuel
level is around the same as I had left it, I must be mistaken.”You didn’t have
to do that” I reply, rather perplexed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, a few deep breaths and sigh’s I'm now settled that the bike is OK as we head
out for pizza by car. All good, we get some non alcoholic beer and now most of
my stress has gone, either that or the relief has overcome my anxiety and I try
to forget the way I’d felt about all this most of today.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Its late, Hossein drops me at home, goes off to work, night
shift in security somewhere and will return in the morning. I find a bed has
been made on the floor but this has no mattress and I cannot lie directly on a
hard surface so set up my camp bed and sleeping bag making sure the family don’t
see me do it. Next day I'm up putting away my bed before everyone and whilst
visiting the bathroom find bodies sleeping in the front room, I realise all of
a sudden that my bedroom is theirs. Crikey, this family has given up their room
for me, how nice is that? I feel guilty about
any negative thoughts from the night before and try to be quiet as possible,
knowing Hossein, who's been staying at work overnight will be here to take me
to insurance office and to pick up some currency soon.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hossein arrives on schedule and hands me an Iranian sim card
I’d paid him for the night before but I’m surprised that phone shops were open
this early. I’ve shrugged this off and after waiting for some time and some
tea, he then kindly drives me around town to get insurance and several banks later
we obtain a large wad of local cash.” I’ll cut and fit the sim card later when
I get time” I think, keen to get moving.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht3h21UVCGsgCX_joWXVuNx3tYuaF2rlWmoX0y90V3lA9CQi2e6IzJ8C9ZshHJeXNhE4S1vKjawGUbNLuVwzk6Errfkcs4C6qyP2TVOK-8-uOjLSVGv-MfsNzGRKDJ691GJYNDBWQeSs8B/s1600/DSCN3759.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht3h21UVCGsgCX_joWXVuNx3tYuaF2rlWmoX0y90V3lA9CQi2e6IzJ8C9ZshHJeXNhE4S1vKjawGUbNLuVwzk6Errfkcs4C6qyP2TVOK-8-uOjLSVGv-MfsNzGRKDJ691GJYNDBWQeSs8B/s200/DSCN3759.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hossein and my baby</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then as I leave, dad who mentions at least every minute that
they have little money asks me for some. "Fifty dollars" he says.
"I'm jokingly repeat," you want money from me, for what"? "For you staying here" he states
without changing expression. I’m a moment of astonishment I'm thinking, I've
missed something here, maybe someone told me this earlier and I didn't hear I
was being charged. I give him the benefit of the doubt. "OK", I hand
over 50 Euros,” it's all I have, no dollars”. He gives me some change in local
currency which I stupidly don't count, I'm still in shock at this. I'm
thinking, maybe this is normal and I've just learned my first Iranian culture
thing. Welcome, here's the bill mate! I
try to shrug it off, but this eats at me the rest of that morning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Trying to ignore what has just happened I take some
photographs, bid farewell and I’m on the road. Out of town now, I'm passing
over the causeway of lake Umria stopping for some more photographs and some
video. Lovely place I’m thinking, I'm back on the road and the sick feeling of
having to stump up payment earlier has gone. I’ve also learned another lesson
and I’ve put away the picture of Suzanna deep in my wallet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_34j1A41zjPW-Ef_xkEl9sqa7WfRZV-X1quyo-I4E3ldPt8syPv-q_9HW23bwdXnUhqKm-ktQyT8gHNK_-yBfkbueZW0YH_sueWnemj5KBClCz1H8ZLNnmlIUFL0IHZGoMksngMHBKkhn/s1600/DSCN3810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_34j1A41zjPW-Ef_xkEl9sqa7WfRZV-X1quyo-I4E3ldPt8syPv-q_9HW23bwdXnUhqKm-ktQyT8gHNK_-yBfkbueZW0YH_sueWnemj5KBClCz1H8ZLNnmlIUFL0IHZGoMksngMHBKkhn/s640/DSCN3810.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Umria</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Many cars and trucks beep and people wave "Welcome to
Iran!" These people appear genuinely pleased to see a stranger from
another land. I feel a lot better after several “Hello’s” and now I'm back into
it. Perth to Perth - Yes!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, this is the thing, to be on this trip, now I’m finally
in the swing of things fully, no worries, no delays, I’m in it. All I have to
do is stop for petrol and a drink or even eat, the simple life. Forget the
negative thoughts you had earlier and move on.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m heading for Tehran and after several hours of happiness
and the simple life have passed I'm curious about just how far I've travelled
since Perth in Scotland. The last time I looked was around 10,400 kms. The
distance button on my GPS now reads 346kms. What the fuck! I double check the
trip meter on my GPS, yes 346. I hit the brakes as if a kid has stepped out in
front of me and pull over to check the bike trip meters, press No. 1 - 610kms,
What?. Press No. 2 - 610kms! What the fuck is going on?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where are my proud 10,000 + kms I've been savouring as I go?
What is happening here? I didn’t reset these! Why would I? Why would anyone?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The penny drops, and so does my camera!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-20333827431727408422012-10-02T22:10:00.000+08:002012-10-02T22:10:24.060+08:00Rough camping for beginners<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZ7FCHg_agCur6cdjVTNp04O5a6OEXedZBxmnSKoyJCK4cWs02UZS9FBZwL4kevZbG881FOijVMbksM2yzYqD8CcAeWDgkBtoGGI-4jcEf_OrPHzRw-vDZc8WrjRWDOxRbzEiNZhV_Rbt/s1600/DSCN3738.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZ7FCHg_agCur6cdjVTNp04O5a6OEXedZBxmnSKoyJCK4cWs02UZS9FBZwL4kevZbG881FOijVMbksM2yzYqD8CcAeWDgkBtoGGI-4jcEf_OrPHzRw-vDZc8WrjRWDOxRbzEiNZhV_Rbt/s200/DSCN3738.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Serious faces at the border</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm at the Turkey / Iran border, it's 6pm and I don't fancy driving to Umrie in the dark. Strange new country, strange new roads, strange everything. I've been looking for hotels on the way but they all look a bit dodgy. I quite relish the thought of rough camping, my tent long gone I'm left with a bed and sleeping bag so I'm looking at possible spots to camp but they are all too close to the road. I don't want to advertise my camp if I can avoid it as I'm still not sure about security around here, is it ok? There is plenty of army towers with guns aimed at the ready, sticking out of pillar boxes. I'm not sure which way they point but they're waiting for something or somebody. I do hope they wait till I'm gone regardless.<br />
<div>
<br />
Looking for somewhere to stay I zig zag up a narrow lane which steepens and becomes more difficult with boulders, potholes, rutts's and muddy puddles. This bike is not meant for this kind of stuff! This reminds me of Wales and my various trips to the BMW off road skills team training days. It's amazing that I'm suddenly in off-road mode and none of this bothers me or my bike and I'm impressed. All my off-road worries about this bike have gone for now.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKpQbBv3X0yaurg7lQNCWo0fYaLuTGIIHIngw5xKpO6o_JpTHmwMJveIQP-4okHcrKHkzzwGbcnTMTYoxGrLDzTIUzYYNC84IwZvvz8yIpPCtkYDS8luZcATNhNp8Ad2Ja8Gn_mCvbNcu1/s1600/DSCN3727.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKpQbBv3X0yaurg7lQNCWo0fYaLuTGIIHIngw5xKpO6o_JpTHmwMJveIQP-4okHcrKHkzzwGbcnTMTYoxGrLDzTIUzYYNC84IwZvvz8yIpPCtkYDS8luZcATNhNp8Ad2Ja8Gn_mCvbNcu1/s200/DSCN3727.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friendly Kurdish family</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At the top of this laneway there is a house with two guys sitting drinking tea. I'm still impressed with my handling of the bike over huge bumps and potholes but they don't notice how good I am!<br />
With odd sign language and noises I ask them if there is anywhere I can sleep, a field or grass nearby. One of the guys shows me a bit of grass and tells me I'm welcome to make it my home for the night, however his uncle gets wind of this and as I lay out my bed he's telling me I must sleep in his house. I do try to explain im happy there but he insists. This goes on for 10 minutes after which he phones someone and then hands me phone. "you must do what my uncle says", crackles the voice in thick accent, "it is dangerous for you". I ask the uncle, "so where do i sleep?</div>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizISTin0L2tqccWLnwfPDGe8ny5hElOhloJ3rSMTdIvy2wEVpGnC0UXb9jQMuJXb9SxIqvCdt85pGCLwtn684zSJpwCm6YbEGeAgmcocpaSxgjXG99XkdDJy0An4-s5PPPgYJ0_m8TlFPw/s1600/DSCN3730.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizISTin0L2tqccWLnwfPDGe8ny5hElOhloJ3rSMTdIvy2wEVpGnC0UXb9jQMuJXb9SxIqvCdt85pGCLwtn684zSJpwCm6YbEGeAgmcocpaSxgjXG99XkdDJy0An4-s5PPPgYJ0_m8TlFPw/s200/DSCN3730.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A night in a complete strangers house</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'm now in a large room with a great carpet of a local mans house who insisted I stay there. Its too cold they gesture. Well it is a long way from the warm temperatures of 6000 feet lower.They feed me, show me the bathroom and so on and after a long chat with several people on the porch i find myself in my sleeping bag on the floor. How nice is that? I wanted to finish the small bottle of whiskey before I left for Iran but tea it is.<br />
<br />
It's very quiet I here. There are no windows but net style curtains. Is this a cell and I've missed something. Now I'm getting paranoid. I'm scared to check if the door is locked and I can't get out. Stop it Steven! It's all good. Go to sleep!<br />
<br />
<br />
Next day I'm up early and packed. After nearly an hour, no one appears, they're all still sleeping. I'd have liked to see everyone before I go but I'm anxious the queue at the border will be getting longer and longer before opening time. Anyway, I'm off to Iran.<br />
<br />
The border crossing into Iran was an easy affair, in fact I mistakenly crossed over and was welcomed by border soldiers "Welcome to Iran" before the Turkish gate dude called me back to have some more stamps and waste another hour walking around in circles.<br />
<br />
Next:<br />
"Welcome to Iran, here's the bill"</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-83419084078511616242012-09-28T19:53:00.001+08:002012-09-28T19:53:36.015+08:00Beautiful Antalya<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP6ZtSFZFx9gyZdoSkLqjk54hmSzG_H2Ipih2qIY9OIlNMii_C3iGGZ_Mu01tGNlRTaDdK7q-xTAVjJ1wYq92ORdgejDFyK_l5ddltIIkWR2pWzq-z-YfakkWyILFIdseVXqm63tDpZoL8/s1600/DSCN3578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP6ZtSFZFx9gyZdoSkLqjk54hmSzG_H2Ipih2qIY9OIlNMii_C3iGGZ_Mu01tGNlRTaDdK7q-xTAVjJ1wYq92ORdgejDFyK_l5ddltIIkWR2pWzq-z-YfakkWyILFIdseVXqm63tDpZoL8/s640/DSCN3578.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Antalya</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I didn't exactly get the best feeling whilst driving down to Antalya. I was tired, tummy bug and driving at night. All guaranteed to make you grumpy. When I arrived at my hotel I simply went to bed.<br />
<br />
Next day I was determined that I'd have a nice day but had to get my tyres fitted, hopefully they turned up at the garage on Saturday morning. Sadly, they didn't. I'd have to wait till Monday now. Another two days delay. With that, I had no choice but to enjoy the days there, and I did.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKx_u_rHfo3VewHJBSQ7Dt5Tc0fc0fBpczuF1IPUhcZinQ7956bEVAprb1_nrsjDzc6j9hAOJ4iA0t3wWNMomApvT-DEM0UXcNxqoZ18KYU859s4Zg5v1ZPEMJKDbmU6sFzgmKB-Ct75aG/s1600/DSCN3609.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKx_u_rHfo3VewHJBSQ7Dt5Tc0fc0fBpczuF1IPUhcZinQ7956bEVAprb1_nrsjDzc6j9hAOJ4iA0t3wWNMomApvT-DEM0UXcNxqoZ18KYU859s4Zg5v1ZPEMJKDbmU6sFzgmKB-Ct75aG/s200/DSCN3609.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rengin, Andrew and Jacqui</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I met Andrew and Jacqui from UK, lovely people, Andrew is called the Colonel as he was in the army and the name has stuck. Jacqui flies with Thompson all over the world. We were all staying at a beautiful place called the Kaucuk Otel run by one of the nicest people, Rengin. This is not her day job though, she works as MD for a large banking group in Istanbul. She pours her heart into this place and it shows. The staff are all lovely and I feel I could stay here for weeks. <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3mU77LTnEUCRcNW5TG9t0MuGmfLmQKiDodrW2hLgRa14mpTkCRHlM3UbZDsw539NBUj_zPWV92S1Pr46qt_uKIstsgT5JW5LVLlorQ38ZRmWnBlS2A2I2Wsb7c2ZvaAMhE3NSj5kXX1K-/s1600/DSCN3603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3mU77LTnEUCRcNW5TG9t0MuGmfLmQKiDodrW2hLgRa14mpTkCRHlM3UbZDsw539NBUj_zPWV92S1Pr46qt_uKIstsgT5JW5LVLlorQ38ZRmWnBlS2A2I2Wsb7c2ZvaAMhE3NSj5kXX1K-/s200/DSCN3603.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kaucuk Otel Gardens</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I've bumped into some really nice people here. Whilst wiring up some new
lights on the bike, a local man saw that I'd prepared to change the
engine oil. He went away and returned with tools to do the job. Before I
know it he's changing the oil for me. How good is that?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaKXYcuuLmJfJjOFJLdSwkeXlagHYm63cbgTBgbdyMHV-cD7i7-9DR-ahbJ3VDlX_B4Zt907ur8tDx_OuFfIP0lM1ZSJqbjgYxof7p94gfjsJ7H0FqmuabHVHNeBs33jC2Cr0_tQ6jiUim/s1600/DSCN3593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaKXYcuuLmJfJjOFJLdSwkeXlagHYm63cbgTBgbdyMHV-cD7i7-9DR-ahbJ3VDlX_B4Zt907ur8tDx_OuFfIP0lM1ZSJqbjgYxof7p94gfjsJ7H0FqmuabHVHNeBs33jC2Cr0_tQ6jiUim/s200/DSCN3593.JPG" width="200" /></a>My Mate Jeroen in Iran has a broken KTM and asks me to check with local dealer in Antalya for some parts. When I get there I see they are also dealers for Triumph. This is rather surprising as according to Triumph website, there is no support in Turkey. I buy a new oil filter and a spare chain. Anyway, I can't help Jeroen as it would take 3 weeks for the bits to arrive. I ponder the idea of staying ... , nice place to stay but I must go.<br />
<br />
Up to the local bike shop and thankfully the tyres arrive. The owner then shows me where to have fitted, drives across town and leaves me at tyre fitters. Another kind chap! <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdUNzrYab5gqlphejSH26bDvH0unyABiutDqbP_twdZ_sgi87kuuHJbsLL4_aWQcmq36F5d0T96Kqa056WdCQaPHho8VAplfN6Ah5wcWiUCH1K9EOA2YPNtBXS2lHAVAZ31-6eG3PYYulC/s1600/DSCN3615.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdUNzrYab5gqlphejSH26bDvH0unyABiutDqbP_twdZ_sgi87kuuHJbsLL4_aWQcmq36F5d0T96Kqa056WdCQaPHho8VAplfN6Ah5wcWiUCH1K9EOA2YPNtBXS2lHAVAZ31-6eG3PYYulC/s200/DSCN3615.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">South Turkey coast on way to Iran</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
So that's it. No more reason to delay, lets Go Iran! So the next few days are easy across south coast then up to the border.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Next:<br />
Rough camping for beginners. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-65441685930156979482012-09-28T17:39:00.000+08:002012-10-01T11:55:42.905+08:00Hardest decision and other more important things.I haven't mentioned before. I have been struggling with a black cloud hanging over. My dad has been I'll. He was diagnosed with cancer in May. I flew over to UK to see him and spend some I've together then. We never discussed it but since I was heading off on this trip, I felt it may have been the last time we meet. <br />
<br />
I received the news that he was admitted to hospital and wasn't good. Tonight I talked to him over the phone in hospital. Just before i dialed him I struggled with what to say. This was the most horrible and wonderful moment. I'm not feeling wonderful. Imagine you could have a chat with your relative just one more time.<br />
<br />
With this in mind I'm pondering if I should go to see him or not. I suspect he might tell me to bugger off on my trip.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-1042029445281239722012-09-26T07:11:00.000+08:002012-09-26T07:11:48.149+08:00Up there? No problem. Down there! No worries mate<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4DqYtZS3qSAA1PQdYMGc_g22AMvF9MiBAIU-LT1JMsNPnJmpV-yW9nVGQS8uHq81CDsg-nk4ha7DuYpeXNTqqNQUIz3OaqWYi_JZq5N8K9uWTbxTuZ1e-G8slowCptesV-zA0cUZPzJd2/s1600/DSCN3459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4DqYtZS3qSAA1PQdYMGc_g22AMvF9MiBAIU-LT1JMsNPnJmpV-yW9nVGQS8uHq81CDsg-nk4ha7DuYpeXNTqqNQUIz3OaqWYi_JZq5N8K9uWTbxTuZ1e-G8slowCptesV-zA0cUZPzJd2/s200/DSCN3459.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
OK its stupid o'clock in the morning and the bus driver seems to forget me but in the end all is good and we set off to blow up some balloons. None of this childish stuff, real hot air balloons.<br />
<br />
Now I must admit, a few of us were showing signs of apprehension getting in the basket, myself to some extent a little. Forget all that! Once this ancient craft lifts off, it's the most serene flying experience you could imagine. Although I'm still sort of tired and slightly grumpy from dodgy tummy,(the Imodium seems to have worked so far). This suspended basket drifts upwards in silence (with exception of the the noise from the occasional gas burners) in such a gentle and relaxed way. No one is stressed, if anything, any trepidation is long gone on the faces of the other 8 passengers. Amazing experience..<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdMSvDt0Sa1Ewor33UmCPEYclo0wOTOVWWo-wNhijPh80c5e3_1MOF_38qrcMhCpQmBr-BpY8_37YX9H7rzA0C8YFN3qY7asoW9UHBw_JPc6KzcajQPcl3OP8DY6eYnK7cQJlRe70yoCh/s1600/DSCN3526.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdMSvDt0Sa1Ewor33UmCPEYclo0wOTOVWWo-wNhijPh80c5e3_1MOF_38qrcMhCpQmBr-BpY8_37YX9H7rzA0C8YFN3qY7asoW9UHBw_JPc6KzcajQPcl3OP8DY6eYnK7cQJlRe70yoCh/s200/DSCN3526.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David from Gold Coast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
David is the Aussie pilot. He's shows us that its easy to hug the contours of the valleys. We're a few feet from the edge of many of the weird shaped rocks and hills below us. We can ascend amazingly quickly as well. No worries mate.<br />
I'm still in Goreme, a weird and wonderful place where some houses have been carved out of the rocks. The strange upward rock formations are lava deposits from the nearby extinct volcanoes, eroded by millions of years of weather.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcBZV5MXHPlgsM8XayLaEUJE7xfemREvALimv0fZt7VM4HrGlIHX7i-l9MD9F_sMYapn2aWVnEUMYfZNaeMYo5g-vkS7s3TAS6Y6skmwwT8r6EZhyphenhyphen_1JxNDG8Sb_Zw-XxGO8Y4bMvvn6ZV/s1600/DSCN3520.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcBZV5MXHPlgsM8XayLaEUJE7xfemREvALimv0fZt7VM4HrGlIHX7i-l9MD9F_sMYapn2aWVnEUMYfZNaeMYo5g-vkS7s3TAS6Y6skmwwT8r6EZhyphenhyphen_1JxNDG8Sb_Zw-XxGO8Y4bMvvn6ZV/s640/DSCN3520.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goreme from the sky</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9dcVOywNtz9CpVwe-34TVNHdKaZQZglSVfdaGbAjEkYGhIWipsuE2Mu5jUTSjQ4orcT3Kxka29rlvv7-dv1KIXrBIbJ6fFALlQa1izTsEMG6efJcBQv5SrnI1czhqFrhbLAPk-Pg3z8r/s1600/DSCN3490.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9dcVOywNtz9CpVwe-34TVNHdKaZQZglSVfdaGbAjEkYGhIWipsuE2Mu5jUTSjQ4orcT3Kxka29rlvv7-dv1KIXrBIbJ6fFALlQa1izTsEMG6efJcBQv5SrnI1czhqFrhbLAPk-Pg3z8r/s640/DSCN3490.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmouGSwFXlYbAs3QPr-H7QuXav2Ly0nfe5ue45CteF_hWRFdF21kW0S4pxNicGvj1OddrpjFBgajisgzEz-_BLq4_XcOqA4LsEMy4H7D7ic_iNcRLRRJ4z42wddUhEGYDtHOkv-b0FDviS/s1600/DSCN3527.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmouGSwFXlYbAs3QPr-H7QuXav2Ly0nfe5ue45CteF_hWRFdF21kW0S4pxNicGvj1OddrpjFBgajisgzEz-_BLq4_XcOqA4LsEMy4H7D7ic_iNcRLRRJ4z42wddUhEGYDtHOkv-b0FDviS/s640/DSCN3527.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6vAuBLCyd4K8vOW8W8Gb3sZ07dNjXtvl9noKIMi09bd3XBy7nOKJ2-M2KZxhyQvAG_uLDdmswdKN8a5TNRZ59siKmYENgG4bzWQdBNl5jzuh3bVBLlhR-80cP4Z7XbIltvfF9Ib0kxtd1/s1600/DSCN3483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6vAuBLCyd4K8vOW8W8Gb3sZ07dNjXtvl9noKIMi09bd3XBy7nOKJ2-M2KZxhyQvAG_uLDdmswdKN8a5TNRZ59siKmYENgG4bzWQdBNl5jzuh3bVBLlhR-80cP4Z7XbIltvfF9Ib0kxtd1/s200/DSCN3483.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
<br />
I've also made a momentious decision. Well it's not that major but I've been pondering this since I hit bumpy roads of turkey. I've decided to lose as much weight as possible, no not me, thats well overdue. Lose some weight of my noble steed. I reckon the bumps and extra weight are going to wreck the suspension so when I get to Antalya it's all being sorted and stuff sent home.<br />
<br />
<br />
So anyway, I'm way behind schedule so decide to take a long drive to Antalya, 8 hours. It turns out much much more. My faith in trusting the maps loaded to my gps is lost after it attempts to take me 300kms further north than I need to be. Its getting late and the GPS says arrive 11:30pm. That can't be right.<br />
<br />
So I stop roughly half way to see what the problem is. Then when I try and fix the now failing touch screen and start the bike. Nothing happens.<br />
<br />
The alarm immobilizer thing has done its job. Immobilized me and alerted everyone in 50 mile radius that I'm stealing my bike. This is at the side of a busy road, it's hot, I'm not feeling well and the f$%kin bike won't start.<br />
<br />
I throw a tantrum, my sunglasses, gloves and swear a lot.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, this guy appears from the nearby gatehouse of a restaurant cafe complex with a chair and a cup of tea for me. He says, "here, you sit. sugar"?<br />
I'm gobsmacked and speechless. I'm just standing there staring at my gloves and glasses he's picked up for me.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-G7Wn-fEYm5TEACkFtG3fHP9ifNQGUoMzonNeYrsVtFnfpgebh2dE2ktzd2gCVcFDtYLoLv5DEI8wpD2bYMUUURlKP_XQDf80-GcYtw_cMBdOurAQj9_ahFNK7DfMzU6nKIBB5APFWQ-d/s1600/DSCN3574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-G7Wn-fEYm5TEACkFtG3fHP9ifNQGUoMzonNeYrsVtFnfpgebh2dE2ktzd2gCVcFDtYLoLv5DEI8wpD2bYMUUURlKP_XQDf80-GcYtw_cMBdOurAQj9_ahFNK7DfMzU6nKIBB5APFWQ-d/s200/DSCN3574.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">puzzled security guy with tea</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
If I saw some foreign nutter throwing stuff around whilst dancing to the police siren sound, I'd stay well away and report him to the authorities. Not this guy. "here, you sit, have tea" and walks away.<br />
I add the two sugar cubes, sit down and sip tea whilst staring at my dead bike.<br />
Thats lovely but tea won't start the bike. I'm still getting my head round this weird situation.<br />
<br />
Anyway, a cup of tea, a desperate phone call to my support crew in Australia and UK. (my wife and the guys at Youles in Manchester) I've been given the instructions on how to remove and bypass the alarm system.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-6bUHPV6F9ZgaN5Jrk-Bi49pVM9wkdaDbwRvxwfM9u_-cYjw0UktDginKkTViNe4jZf0l-q_LjlfLXaW8BWVLRQKEfx8krHxX7Z3DxCKmMayd-0DSZdX_JtP6rEMJVmshh3qGRm2Vuk1/s1600/DSCN3576.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-6bUHPV6F9ZgaN5Jrk-Bi49pVM9wkdaDbwRvxwfM9u_-cYjw0UktDginKkTViNe4jZf0l-q_LjlfLXaW8BWVLRQKEfx8krHxX7Z3DxCKmMayd-0DSZdX_JtP6rEMJVmshh3qGRm2Vuk1/s200/DSCN3576.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the bloody alarm system</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I hack the bloody nuisance alarm thing and connect the wires. Check and double check. The guy offering tea wants to help but I have to assure him I know what I'm doing. So why so nervous when turning the key for the first time then? I decide to record on video some more swearing and hand the camera to the tea guy. I turn the key and it works! I'm elated.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile I'm I baking heat, feeling I'll from my tempestious Turkey toilet tour and now dizzy to boot. I really don't feel good but the engine running makes me feel a lot better, even if I don't seem to have much strength left. I need a rest but have 5 hours to go, according to my gps. This will be hard.<br />
<br />
I thank the tea guy for his amazing kindness and carry the chair back to the gatehouse with tea cup. I better get a move on.<br />
<br />
I hate riding a bike in the dark. It gets dark. Now I've learned the wonderful 7000k super duper blue light bulb I bought in Ankara is as good as a candle in a brown ale bottle. I cant see a thing. The roads have faded markings so their whereabouts are a guess. I have to keep close to the other nutters in white transit vans to stay alive on the road. Then again maybe it's safer I stay away from them. Many times I gesture obscenities to the others behind me keen to get a ride on my back seat. I'm going at 150 kph and these guys have to get home for a nice cup of tea and a kebab before it gets cold. I swear they are 2 inches from my back wheel. I also swear a lot.<br />
<br />
I coax the gps to find me my hotel, booked earlier that morning. I'm so pleased to see the wonderful crisp sheets of white Andrex in the bathroom. However, the pure white sheets of the bed linen worry me and I have scary thoughts about how I will explain to the chambermaid next day that I've not been well. Vegemite and chocolate come to mind.<br />
<br />
Despite all this and not feeling the best, I have the most wonderful time in Antalya, meet the most amazing people and make one of the the most difficult phone calls of my life.<br />
<br />
Next:<br />
Keep going or not?<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-32278532903066923412012-09-21T03:25:00.000+08:002012-09-23T20:23:53.797+08:00You could have got visa hereI'm in Ankara. "You could have got your Iran visa here". Much easier and quieter city. Too late for that now, I'm here and on another quest. New tyres. Unfortunately it's Saturday night, shops now closed and wont reopen till monday. Bugger it, another day delayed.<br />
<br />
So I take the time to catch up on some things but Im still anxious about having to drive back to Istanbul again.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcf3eEvgN9UJP8PRbDWofzTpIN5NI7HA6_jLv9dgQyT_aqP5jF7LhoPaiXJbna0PezoNr1Wu_mFzq5_zWQZV1rXiGjZwQyuBrmI_AomHQMC8dtI6Ci-n-J8bkK_h617iMyU4etbrmHzSCd/s1600/DSCN3415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcf3eEvgN9UJP8PRbDWofzTpIN5NI7HA6_jLv9dgQyT_aqP5jF7LhoPaiXJbna0PezoNr1Wu_mFzq5_zWQZV1rXiGjZwQyuBrmI_AomHQMC8dtI6Ci-n-J8bkK_h617iMyU4etbrmHzSCd/s200/DSCN3415.JPG" width="200" /></a>Monday morning, I have my plan. I have several bike shops I can visit but the first one comes up with the goods. They don't have my tyres in Ankara, no one has, but they can ship in for me. In fact the owner suggests I get them sent to my next destination. Great that will do me, I can carry on travelling and hopefully all will be well later in the week. They even have new LED lights to replace the cheap hong kong ones that lasted about 2 weeks.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk_WhpUhZEPaj2I66Vm2l_iTXN2t8IA5C2uZgsZp0_8QirbbSWVxlqcFWB9naekaE7EOx4AyhC2kn-BwH7dJgY8RYKI4FONNxH9nKOVOAaucM21ccNefBky1Xu9TQqjTzPzaD5jJuvfs3x/s1600/DSCN3416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk_WhpUhZEPaj2I66Vm2l_iTXN2t8IA5C2uZgsZp0_8QirbbSWVxlqcFWB9naekaE7EOx4AyhC2kn-BwH7dJgY8RYKI4FONNxH9nKOVOAaucM21ccNefBky1Xu9TQqjTzPzaD5jJuvfs3x/s200/DSCN3416.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yigit Yildiz my savour</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The guys in the bike shop had "Sons of anarchy" leather waistcoats, which troubled me a bit, but then realised they were the nicest blokes, and helpful too. So Yigit's boss recommended I head to Anatayla where he will forward the tyres and other bits too. He has a contact there that can fit them for me. Problem solved then.<br />
<br />
So Im heading south to a weird and wonderful place called Goreme in the Cappadocia region of Turkey.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2p4p4xtfM4w5r0PbDGcJjoz6ocOyEZy_4xoQlwXhHQUrK2rk_vqYtQQE0Ifa5kjP5GakL_FnvohlnWxs9IaftouTgwtvPw8M7dMq-s4B5lhBhC4rs28nDBNiGvB9USCKYbyEdopWvy-We/s1600/goreme.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2p4p4xtfM4w5r0PbDGcJjoz6ocOyEZy_4xoQlwXhHQUrK2rk_vqYtQQE0Ifa5kjP5GakL_FnvohlnWxs9IaftouTgwtvPw8M7dMq-s4B5lhBhC4rs28nDBNiGvB9USCKYbyEdopWvy-We/s640/goreme.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">head to Cappadocia first then Anatlaya later in week.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNjjUPsKsBywyW4qOQeg4zN52cNRP1-zEwU3kbFbH4OoA7IsBQX09tlwbdBMyeAi_bFCKGK_bOe6pF2aEE3pF1zz5bPBLNWzKIc2Om8yQN7FkEa7OzC8a_COyHqZ-Q5QxSfDo6QmV8ikPw/s1600/DSCN3441.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNjjUPsKsBywyW4qOQeg4zN52cNRP1-zEwU3kbFbH4OoA7IsBQX09tlwbdBMyeAi_bFCKGK_bOe6pF2aEE3pF1zz5bPBLNWzKIc2Om8yQN7FkEa7OzC8a_COyHqZ-Q5QxSfDo6QmV8ikPw/s320/DSCN3441.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goreme</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So I'm chugging along quite happily listening to music. Pink Floyd stereo wandering sound effects around my head. I come around this bend and get an image of this. Moomin land, Clangers, or Star Wars. If I was on strange drugs I'd be "wow man! look at those martians"! or something like that I imagine.<br />
These lumps have been carved out as houses, people live in these. Great idea if you're keen with pick and shovel, it makes sense. The rock is so thick, they stay cool in hot summer days and help stay warm in the bitter cold nights here.<br />
<br />
Lovely spot, although its full of bus loads of tourists from all over Europe. I meet someone from Perth Scotland, then another couple from Perth Australia. There I was thinking I've travelled the back n beyond to seek out new life, new civilisations, but the place is full of day trippers and camera snapping kebab munching coach riding adventure seekers.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqRHk8TumoG_-O-derJsbIwBni-p3_RiAeiSznifo5VefGXawJkXI4T7E71oeTwxeeCLSMDXwuGw8ITKTyJ276Ad6qp0VPPCet7_7kjc4LK7Q1HVdmPAtIlDM4OpZI215nBuyQo9GM97B/s1600/DSCN3430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqRHk8TumoG_-O-derJsbIwBni-p3_RiAeiSznifo5VefGXawJkXI4T7E71oeTwxeeCLSMDXwuGw8ITKTyJ276Ad6qp0VPPCet7_7kjc4LK7Q1HVdmPAtIlDM4OpZI215nBuyQo9GM97B/s200/DSCN3430.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cave bedroom</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I decide to slum it again and get my self a cave for the night. Its not much more expensive than camping and its bloody hot outside so cave dwelling makes sense. I feel all sort of at home here.<br />
<br />
The staff of this place are more than helpful and I'm impressed with their hospitality. I find the local beer shop, a place to crash on the verandah and catch up with lovely couple Andrew & Louise. They live in London although Louise is originally from Melbourne.<br />
<br />
I subject them to hours of waffle, a sort of therapy for me, I haven't had a good chinwag for so long and before I know it 3 hours pass. This is proof to me that I need people contact more than I thought, not just, "Hello", "Goodbye", "How much"? etc but a real conversation with people who appreciate the same. At least I hope they do. Tongue in cheek I thank them for the therapy session and they head off to dinner, later than planned I think.<br />
It's hard to be funny to someone when they don't understand your culture or language. I think its important to laugh a lot and believe having very simple dull conversations are meaningless unlesss at work for example. Anyway, strangely enough, after this I feel a lot a happier and crash into bed earlier than usual but I'm quite happy .... until 2am<br />
<br />
The uncooked chicken kebab I ate earlier in Ankara has overcome my digestive system and I'm up sitting on the toilet with eyes half shut wondering why it took so long to poison me. This repeats every hour until 9 when I admit to failure sleeping and get up. Not as if I've really went to bed.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiqLwvFgucnORyPqVhxPlYYAWXkRodG_2qB5044SZb_YYrX82ZdtL9xgpCh2tnygTdbD0BEJj024lKtVV9YD97BrByf8V7C5LqJysAqe-p-Z7hS7VMNzLTgDVF62G1jBvy4pjoTS9aNq7x/s1600/DSCN3443.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiqLwvFgucnORyPqVhxPlYYAWXkRodG_2qB5044SZb_YYrX82ZdtL9xgpCh2tnygTdbD0BEJj024lKtVV9YD97BrByf8V7C5LqJysAqe-p-Z7hS7VMNzLTgDVF62G1jBvy4pjoTS9aNq7x/s200/DSCN3443.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goreme</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I did manage to get out today and managed to make it around some of the tourist circuit whilst carefully planning strategic toilet stops. After 2pm I'm strangely knackered and head back for a break from the heat and for a seat on my favourite porcelain. This sets the scene for the rest of the day.<br />
<br />
Its now 10pm, I've managed to eat some fruit which hasn't exploded out the other end. I have emergency imodium at the ready and anti-biotics in case it gets worse. I might need it tomorrow as I'm up at 4am to take a different ride.<br />
<br />
Next:<br />
Up there? No problem! Down there? No worries mate!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-64537128895150424672012-09-19T15:39:00.000+08:002012-09-23T20:22:21.180+08:00Stuffed in Turkey?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8sUjF5iwIHo6Lc_NL5iU4d3X5hwHv_cXwQsryjN78_KrfjIn6l7uX71l4q21jzY5XfrjUtXFpkzJSWMrfOwuBPuZsWa63OiEPl4ZUYGOx19BBNuUeqOgBzjy2pEmnQnB9aAKGQvp7xq-q/s1600/DSCN3420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8sUjF5iwIHo6Lc_NL5iU4d3X5hwHv_cXwQsryjN78_KrfjIn6l7uX71l4q21jzY5XfrjUtXFpkzJSWMrfOwuBPuZsWa63OiEPl4ZUYGOx19BBNuUeqOgBzjy2pEmnQnB9aAKGQvp7xq-q/s200/DSCN3420.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I saw a Turkey, well a lot of turkeys in cages on the back of a truck just after I crossed the border. This one great big Turkey was staring at me. I've never been stared at by a Turkey. I spent the next 50 kms thinking about this Turkey and the fact I was now in Turkey. what the hell are you thinking Steven? Plug in some music for god's sake! My old beaten ipod gives me "George Michaels "Last Christmas" Honest!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That was last week.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This week;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I gave myself a slap! I've been in a weird state of mind of late.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I find myself on this amazing adventure and all I can think about is all sorts of crap like new tyres, leaving on time, arriving on time, worrying about the bike, getting caught tortured and killed by Taliban, (well yes that is acceptable surely), will my wife leave me, will my business go down the plug hole, will I get all video good enough for national TV, will I crash and die, will I get bored, will you get bored ..... the list goes on and on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ted Simon said to me, "I learned to stop worrying, all will be okay"! When will I think this way Ted?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIafLzL-MOvDlVGk7Q-DhrcIzxFYUThoiDC6Xw4UQD9Qs45UaI9Fwv7grm3D6grRnlh198JiR0kuu2FSzV-ttL_7VDlYEdgKkVacptaDzwfSJz_d15_4CO9KXtn0olOTHya1wXscTbaPtr/s1600/feature_heroes_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIafLzL-MOvDlVGk7Q-DhrcIzxFYUThoiDC6Xw4UQD9Qs45UaI9Fwv7grm3D6grRnlh198JiR0kuu2FSzV-ttL_7VDlYEdgKkVacptaDzwfSJz_d15_4CO9KXtn0olOTHya1wXscTbaPtr/s200/feature_heroes_01.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">For those of you who don't know <a href="http://www.jupitalia.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Ted Simon</a> is the bloke who in 1973 drove a Triumph Tiger around the world, taking 4 years to do so and wrote a well celebrated book, Jupiters Travels to suit. He was brave enough to do the same in 2004 and pops up in Long Way Round, in Mongolia. (If you don't know Long Way Round, where have you been?)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ted and me have two things in common, I'm taking a Triumph Tiger (allbeit a newer sportier model) and we both like good quality red wine. I could add that Ted seems to have beautiful women follow him everywhere he goes but that's where my rock star status ends.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If someone else was riding with me they'd say "Seriously, you have been a bit of a pain in the arse and need to fix your attitude" Agree. I do. I'd put it down to being alone for too long or something but for some reason I've seen the dark in all things of late. So I have come to the conclusion that I need a really challenging off road section where I come blasting through the dust like a hero on his bike to save the damsel in distress, or perhaps just get through the dust without falling off perhaps. I need that sort of day when I can feel good about acheiving something. All I've done so far is drive. I may as well get a bus.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1l1s9vihAHnWVqtZx7NDhq_VSFPd-0QmkPj29ZHZFb-vu_WO2PUSh7SQefG0KhlzcHJT7Bk9996igtJ8z9ESs_lccMwUDvXUNiHf06W6nejzu2iXGjNV3FR2oTABdr47VTXDtkrpWCCCw/s1600/DSCN3384.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1l1s9vihAHnWVqtZx7NDhq_VSFPd-0QmkPj29ZHZFb-vu_WO2PUSh7SQefG0KhlzcHJT7Bk9996igtJ8z9ESs_lccMwUDvXUNiHf06W6nejzu2iXGjNV3FR2oTABdr47VTXDtkrpWCCCw/s320/DSCN3384.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view from my cheap room</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ah! I have to tell you, I'm sitting with a glass of wine. That's not unusual but I'm in a hostel next door to my hotel. It has a sign in the bathroom saying "Don't put paper down the toilet"! Where the hell are you supposed to put it. I ignore the sign and nothing horrible happens. Talking of horrible, that reminds me. My first arrival into Albania was scary, well, the petrol station toilet was. There was this horrible smell. As I was busy in the loo I realized what the smell was. The bucket next to the toilet hole in the floor was full of paper. The top paper faced me and it was all used. The shiit faced me and transmitted the smell directly to my face. It was the most offensive thing I've come across but I had the choice. Stop peeing? No , first thought was ... Go with the flow so to speak. The smell was still horrible and I shut my eyes and held my breath but the shiit covered paper still faced me from the bucket. I nearly vomited.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj885x1EjEMS8QpK3-NqOWNTjHqPzCBUkdORb2y1pMbz3Qg5lPQQBILu_Kz4mUY-5nnEb-wdad1heXmJFrZO-BEXsH25mU9qNPmLAsUqJYP7FRahLPEzDHGCg_SOzIDNf8MbkgzJPRQckg7/s1600/istanbul.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj885x1EjEMS8QpK3-NqOWNTjHqPzCBUkdORb2y1pMbz3Qg5lPQQBILu_Kz4mUY-5nnEb-wdad1heXmJFrZO-BEXsH25mU9qNPmLAsUqJYP7FRahLPEzDHGCg_SOzIDNf8MbkgzJPRQckg7/s400/istanbul.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, enough of that. So I'm getting </span>frustrated<span style="font-family: inherit;"> with being stuck in Istanbul and I'm going to head to the North coast, the Black Sea and then perhaps onto Ankara. I hope to pick up some new tyres in Ankara. They </span>don't<span style="font-family: inherit;"> need replaced yet but they will in Iran and I doubt I'll be able to ship replacements into Iran bearing in mind all the trade sanctions at moment so I'd better do now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
In my haste to get out of the city, I forget that East of here many parts and equipment are not easily available. I'll be stuffed. I find this out when I settle at my hotel and hear from many people telling me to pick up in Istanbul. No, I don't want to drive back there again! I ponder this idea for a while but decide in the need to progress East, I reckon I can maybe pick up tyres in Ankara. I'll try that, meanwhile aware that I may yet have to drive all the way back, 500kms!<br />
<br />
Next:<br />
Ankara. "You can pick up visa here"!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-2071686220270261012012-09-17T00:53:00.001+08:002012-09-17T03:24:20.699+08:00Gallipoli and no worriesI seem to have planned it all wrong. I should have drove into Istanbul, picked up visa for Iran then kept going. As it turned out I dropped in my application on the Tuesday and was told to come back Friday. All very good, so I have to sit around for 3 days. I shrugged off the numbers of armed police outside and went on my way to make other plans.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzu9kijNLBMcQOWOADa67ZQ0tulBXRXfAFvBbKt49EhjW9-mibjint98UGT_qGQWLs5_gljHem-F14QlY0usMbt46gBpVrFDRbCyKp-lskKG25aaGOOg-VmUxk-EtRBaltDa0iM5Vipxe9/s1600/DSCN3370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzu9kijNLBMcQOWOADa67ZQ0tulBXRXfAFvBbKt49EhjW9-mibjint98UGT_qGQWLs5_gljHem-F14QlY0usMbt46gBpVrFDRbCyKp-lskKG25aaGOOg-VmUxk-EtRBaltDa0iM5Vipxe9/s200/DSCN3370.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anzac Cove</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I thought it would be good idea to visit Gallipoli on the West coast. This is the place where several thousand Australian and New Zealanders died in 1915 at the start of the great war. There were plenty of others, Indians & British who fell but at that time the sheer numbers of dead and injured were shocking the Australian nation. I'll spare you the history lesson, but still to this day, Gallipoli is close to the hearts of every Australian, for all the wrong reasons. See more <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ANZAC_Cove"><span id="goog_985335501"></span>here<span id="goog_985335502"></span></a><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmTU8LHzc60v8OOR1fVaT7Rhvn69tbMSujiQJUHrWMAvDQ5rhz7lI7RM9-NaOBv1-0DnMabYzRmpGwv4Rn9sOjaWZVj9dgY3EGuf9jzmgrebU2JkYNjTJEE6qd4GppzUxikMjmYk67tIj/s1600/DSCN3362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmTU8LHzc60v8OOR1fVaT7Rhvn69tbMSujiQJUHrWMAvDQ5rhz7lI7RM9-NaOBv1-0DnMabYzRmpGwv4Rn9sOjaWZVj9dgY3EGuf9jzmgrebU2JkYNjTJEE6qd4GppzUxikMjmYk67tIj/s200/DSCN3362.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hotel Crowded House</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
However, in my eyes, at this time I found the place to be beautiful, calming and pleasant. I even met a few stray kiwi's and aussies there. It was hard to comprehend this beautiful place was a battle ground for so long. Weird atmosphere.<br />
<br />
As its late I need to find somewhere to sleep so I drop into a place across the water called Canakkale, in the Anzac hotel of course. Sounds familiar, nearby there's another hotel with a familiar name.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXshuRxAb6UQjqoBrenO2AcpT7fvnbQ_Gu0tlqkX81EUIiQdqxmgmSAbELGPJv_euDbEw2f5l_iYEMXokM706bxGQDo1_2Fp0RpnKHVb9bkT_vkAhLnjc-biRYu8R9jo1foRFuXQtS90o4/s1600/DSCN3345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXshuRxAb6UQjqoBrenO2AcpT7fvnbQ_Gu0tlqkX81EUIiQdqxmgmSAbELGPJv_euDbEw2f5l_iYEMXokM706bxGQDo1_2Fp0RpnKHVb9bkT_vkAhLnjc-biRYu8R9jo1foRFuXQtS90o4/s320/DSCN3345.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the Ferry from a nice bar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This means a short ferry ride across the water which is great. On the way I meet up with some guys travelling from Scotland on a bus trip, touring the region. They tell me that they are heading home after a few days.<br />
I can't comprehend going home in a few days, it will take me so long to get home. I stop thinking about it and settle at the end of a long day with a refreshment looking out on the estuary. I know I seem to spend most end of days with my feet up and a cold beer. Its the best thing sometimes!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Anyway, back to Istanbul, I head for Iranian embassy on Friday. I walk straight in and I'm handed back my passport complete with visa. Brillaint! It gives me a window of 90 days to enter. This means that I could have applied in Australia and would not have had to piss around here for 5 days! Ah well, just put it down to ... whatever you want to Steven.<br />
Ah, I must mention, on Tuesday this week I was told, a suicide bomber attacked a police station just along the street from the Iranian embassy, hence the police presence everywhere. I never heard a bang, the place is simply too busy to hear anything. Don't think anyone else noticed either.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaMcBV2n_MAT75NszHTHpLbdZHcDEf-mVLDsXKw720bUmaN6eBWwV4V0PkX7auJ0nJL6BvP0S5FWGtL-I2MBs_VdhgTkx4ViSuA_qnNXZEPbHOPdlAI9-l9o6u5Zza5NrKnnt_4uPLVqxc/s1600/DSCN3408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaMcBV2n_MAT75NszHTHpLbdZHcDEf-mVLDsXKw720bUmaN6eBWwV4V0PkX7auJ0nJL6BvP0S5FWGtL-I2MBs_VdhgTkx4ViSuA_qnNXZEPbHOPdlAI9-l9o6u5Zza5NrKnnt_4uPLVqxc/s200/DSCN3408.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lovely view but something wrong</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So on Friday afternoon, I leave Istanbul for the last time and head North East to the Black Sea. I end up in a seaside town, a bit shabby perhaps but seems cheap enough for me. $40 for a room on the beach with verandah. Lovely.<br />
<br />
However, Im starting to worry about something else though. Some of the roads here are not so good. Most motorways are fine but the rest can be in any state. In a car, this is not too bad but a bike depends on traction to stay upright, and to keep me alive hopefully. Some roads are great, brand new and perfect surface, some so polished they resemble a granite kitchen top, scary should it rain. Some however would be better being dug up and left that way. I've come across so many sudden potholes, lumps, bumps, kerbs, rutts that its shaken me to the bone. The bike has really felt it. With every bang rattle and clang I feel the bikes pain. How long till something breaks. This is not a machine designed for corrugated surfaces and it lets me know its not. After a few days I've learned that when stressed, the right pannier, opens by itself, also the secure top box was found to be hanging on by the lock part only. This is only after a few days on some bumpy roads. How the hell will it cope with Pakistan? I will need to rethink this a bit. This adds to my worries and I wake up through the night at 4am trying to solve it. In the end I solve nothing by 7am when I fall asleep again to waste a couple of hours getting up late when I could be moving on. I'm worried I'm falling behind even more.<br />
<br />
The next day i realise in my haste to get away from Istanbul that I will now find it hard to obtain new tyres for the bike. No big deal you think but the tyres will be bald by the time I reach the Pakistan border and they cannot be sourced there. This means I must get them in the next town, or heaven forbid, drive back to Istanbul. how stupid am I? I ponder over this for too long and in annoyance at myself and perhaps the need to move one, decide to continue onto Ankara. There must be bike places there.<br />
I arrive Saturday night. The shops are shut Sunday so another long wasteful wait. Monday morning I get to see if I have to drive back West 500kms or not.<br />
<br />
I have noticed I seem to be worrying a lot now. I should be enjoying every moment. This isn't right!<br />
<br />
Next:<br />
Stuffed in Turkey?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-51635259252393136202012-09-14T22:53:00.000+08:002012-09-14T22:53:01.080+08:00Istanbul and Iran Embassy tourTime to get the much mentioned Visa for Iran. I leave my lovely hotel aiming for the embassy on the other side of town. Unfortunately a web site stating opening hours 2-4 in afternoon were wrong. come bac tomorrow. Ah well. lets got see some sights.<br />
Cruise ship tourist mode: ON<br />
Heres some pics:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYwQjFxTa-TzEo2miQLW2lpWc5B7Uz5f_vgy5kKeuwI3oN7EeswZGvHyC47ScmM4paoRh7edBev97wSJR1RNCaUcCDxyMMzIY0NgNyhoM81CAW0nrI3CdWDFeBKxyqu1K_HVz-fBQ2_GO/s1600/DSCN3291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYwQjFxTa-TzEo2miQLW2lpWc5B7Uz5f_vgy5kKeuwI3oN7EeswZGvHyC47ScmM4paoRh7edBev97wSJR1RNCaUcCDxyMMzIY0NgNyhoM81CAW0nrI3CdWDFeBKxyqu1K_HVz-fBQ2_GO/s640/DSCN3291.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcJc7auDCgXA64Xak0qiXUfKarjEJtV4vEBCGnXzDvW-uuWryTxqc1jFo3Nwi5m-QStor4wjRaoThZCYdL_wn8sMSf4WpKRM04Ey6diNLiT9q3qdAuW17Vr198Geo03aEyQ4genpeJSvR/s1600/DSCN3298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcJc7auDCgXA64Xak0qiXUfKarjEJtV4vEBCGnXzDvW-uuWryTxqc1jFo3Nwi5m-QStor4wjRaoThZCYdL_wn8sMSf4WpKRM04Ey6diNLiT9q3qdAuW17Vr198Geo03aEyQ4genpeJSvR/s640/DSCN3298.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqGqt8ykSvfQOlkp2fePzMEpa7h9FiLCFN8f512eARAFhp0cX8w0MaIJ4JC4H_GvvKeSqMjLHX9hPSAkWApJsd8K6XVIzcPVOAQRuo-ZUTCVjVTX3-z1Yvc3HToOtU6V8dHGhep13quktj/s1600/DSCN3303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqGqt8ykSvfQOlkp2fePzMEpa7h9FiLCFN8f512eARAFhp0cX8w0MaIJ4JC4H_GvvKeSqMjLHX9hPSAkWApJsd8K6XVIzcPVOAQRuo-ZUTCVjVTX3-z1Yvc3HToOtU6V8dHGhep13quktj/s640/DSCN3303.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT5UO5f6WjR3V5T20hKnrv0Ds2T6er3nPqdpCHDyyxiuu9k9YXPHirhnuRxribu2BPTxuzK5tcRk1axnh_LtgHKE4Txu4W3R4HwLw3ZbyYbsGTlu0nc8IMtJ4VzFCDwtz0D9ZviPrbrxZa/s1600/DSCN3301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT5UO5f6WjR3V5T20hKnrv0Ds2T6er3nPqdpCHDyyxiuu9k9YXPHirhnuRxribu2BPTxuzK5tcRk1axnh_LtgHKE4Txu4W3R4HwLw3ZbyYbsGTlu0nc8IMtJ4VzFCDwtz0D9ZviPrbrxZa/s640/DSCN3301.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpZaR1_LrB8GgVH-fM1XPYRSUzGqtfIUULsrP405xhLMXsAPulKTg2Ui0GjSPPniXvKUD6pESiTADX7uZccFxm0sXIUvtcmzdsy4YKo_Tfo03amsXPfvcHNqOBUXTXZgNSblu2UGK2wsUW/s1600/DSCN3300.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpZaR1_LrB8GgVH-fM1XPYRSUzGqtfIUULsrP405xhLMXsAPulKTg2Ui0GjSPPniXvKUD6pESiTADX7uZccFxm0sXIUvtcmzdsy4YKo_Tfo03amsXPfvcHNqOBUXTXZgNSblu2UGK2wsUW/s640/DSCN3300.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxysfVqrnuMYG8gSAXtRq0AK5Hzs-R2RhKaU6wQepqoB3NLdXClwO_yT8RlB96VQ3HOq6JZiydEUTjerTRopGa-sroDgTY8j_0ySbGOTeBkcDJBbnoIyxUR5leb0UmZu8vPHSmVgHbPAlk/s1600/DSCN3304.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxysfVqrnuMYG8gSAXtRq0AK5Hzs-R2RhKaU6wQepqoB3NLdXClwO_yT8RlB96VQ3HOq6JZiydEUTjerTRopGa-sroDgTY8j_0ySbGOTeBkcDJBbnoIyxUR5leb0UmZu8vPHSmVgHbPAlk/s640/DSCN3304.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUbDupCfrQ6vaxUYGLqZH1c_Pb2zOt3WsDoi_8MSL1MnXqcMJr_svhMm7_T98IU40lmak0VxPDbfDkZaD8oOGNdDikH4zRoUndtFTuu_k-6aOnXl2uE7Q02bccJLJd_puMBhzcbUbwsXoj/s1600/DSCN3309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUbDupCfrQ6vaxUYGLqZH1c_Pb2zOt3WsDoi_8MSL1MnXqcMJr_svhMm7_T98IU40lmak0VxPDbfDkZaD8oOGNdDikH4zRoUndtFTuu_k-6aOnXl2uE7Q02bccJLJd_puMBhzcbUbwsXoj/s640/DSCN3309.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCEUqZKMCGoQ6Jvc9Y74_5qCx4s_lCzIu45inTGbXN2TsFZDlGKj8_JJKm2qg5A9Nom0ecRig8EbbjhE3O47DNdz8YRRNqEiiUgkheymu0EfE6S-KrsSJtAJW_Um44lxYssc1pgXHVnSUW/s1600/DSCN3321.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCEUqZKMCGoQ6Jvc9Y74_5qCx4s_lCzIu45inTGbXN2TsFZDlGKj8_JJKm2qg5A9Nom0ecRig8EbbjhE3O47DNdz8YRRNqEiiUgkheymu0EfE6S-KrsSJtAJW_Um44lxYssc1pgXHVnSUW/s640/DSCN3321.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">hotel has nice rooftop pool</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
Next Visa and Gallipoli<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-11100159479734326002012-09-12T22:41:00.000+08:002012-09-12T22:41:01.201+08:00Istanbul without a map ..... or a clue<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: start;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Border crossing into Turkey requires a visa and insurance. They are fairly inexpensive so all good. I also buy a prepaid card for toll roads. Takes an hour and I'm through the border. Simple dual carriageway all the way to Istanbul where the fun begins.
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: start;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVIkiqMxij6o6h4hTv8P_mK30hdbWnTY2x2-LsI5RJiAdpduixjBNkZRJOQA5f9yaLnLDNajLrSqCl0itfBiTkrMARG8XIplKY8gLhWUgUyGtR1zKDq6KxCSh9DrFXZJXwX5KY33kESPr/s1600/DSCN3278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVIkiqMxij6o6h4hTv8P_mK30hdbWnTY2x2-LsI5RJiAdpduixjBNkZRJOQA5f9yaLnLDNajLrSqCl0itfBiTkrMARG8XIplKY8gLhWUgUyGtR1zKDq6KxCSh9DrFXZJXwX5KY33kESPr/s640/DSCN3278.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to Turkey</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I've been trying to put together the best description of traffic here in Istanbul. I've been pondering, 'Delhi on steroids' or 'Roller coaster where you have to keep your eyes open', Istanbul traffic, the place to kill yourself'.<br />
<br />
I've got it now though, I know how to squeeze my overloaded bike through every narrow gap at high speed on whatever road, in whatever lane and with a sick grin on my face. I'm not sure if I'm doing it correctly as I don't hear any horns beeping at me. Is it because they think I'm a friggin nutter let out for the week on my overloaded touring bike. They've seen Midnight Express and reckon I'm on drugs too?<br />
<br />
This was not the case the other day when I first arrived here;<br />
<br />
The story so far..<br />
I book a hotel that looks pretty good on the Asian side (East) of Istanbul. I get free wifi at a coffee stop and book a room and yup, there's a ring road that can take me there according to my phone map thing. Easy.<br />
I put street details into GPS but it fails. OK, I head there anyway and will use my stored map on my phone. Great idea. I'll be in my room showered, at the roof top bar before 6pm and feeling good with the world.<br />
<br />
Here's what happened....<br />
As you approach Istanbul on the motorway the cars, buses, vans, scooters and everything else except donkeys speed up. Its like someone shouted 'GO'! and I missed it. Fine, I can handle that. Then comes my first hickup. The Garmin GPS does not have Istanbul maps at all. a road stops at the sea an thats it. So now I'm following signs, no problem I'm thinking, this is the old way to do it, easy. No its not. I manage to follow wrong sign to wrong entry to wrong road going wrong way to wrong bridge. Magic. Then the traffic stops. Im stuck in hot traffic, fumes, bike fan cuts in to add extra hot air to the already hot air. It sends me some more fumes. So eventually I get fed up with lark and get impatient, dodging lanes, finding small gaps to squeeze through to get to where ever I think I should be going. I filled up with petrol about 100kms ago so dont need to worry about fuel. or do I?<br />
<br />
I break free from the jam and turn onto a road I believe is taking me across to the area I'm heading for, great! Then the ramp starts to turn and I realise this on/off ramp is turning back 180 degrees and will need me to fight the jam all over again. Arrgghh ! I repeat this manoeuvre several times, but I'm better at this, I can cut through traffic like a local but still being stuck in queues. Its now starting to get dark and I'm getting more stressed. Then the fuckin petrol light comes on with no way to get to petrol stations on these roads, or none I can see.<br />
<br />
After another hour of this going up an on/off ramp only to turn around again, I accept that I may well have to sleep by the side of the road somewhere tonight. Ah! a petrol station on my road. Fill up and that's one stress gone. I look at my phone map, no internet but its still storing location. Battery has less than 3% left. More swearing, followed by some swearing. The petrol station guy steps back as he thinks I've lost it. The phone goes blank and switches off now because I've shouted at it in public.<br />
<br />
I try to ask for directions. Stupid idea, anther waste of turning down a road to a loop back. I look for taxi to hire to lead me there, I ask one guy with window open in queue, he ignores me, he's keen to go home and couldn't give a shit about this lost biker. He winds his window up. All we need now is rain I depress myself with this wee gem for a bit.<br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />
I know what, I'll load up my laptop and look for map to load. This works, although interesting looks from cafe crowd as I turn all 21st century in the street with lcd screen aglow and cables to bike and GPS.<br />
<br />
This finally solves my problem although I still manage to take a wrong turn and head across a bridge I know will take me another 20 mins to turn around. I don't have any swear words left, or perhaps I've come to terms with knowing my fate.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYwQjFxTa-TzEo2miQLW2lpWc5B7Uz5f_vgy5kKeuwI3oN7EeswZGvHyC47ScmM4paoRh7edBev97wSJR1RNCaUcCDxyMMzIY0NgNyhoM81CAW0nrI3CdWDFeBKxyqu1K_HVz-fBQ2_GO/s1600/DSCN3291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYwQjFxTa-TzEo2miQLW2lpWc5B7Uz5f_vgy5kKeuwI3oN7EeswZGvHyC47ScmM4paoRh7edBev97wSJR1RNCaUcCDxyMMzIY0NgNyhoM81CAW0nrI3CdWDFeBKxyqu1K_HVz-fBQ2_GO/s400/DSCN3291.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to Istanbul</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I arrive at hotel around 9:20, 3 hours after I was supposed to. A taxi tries to take the space I'm about to park in. The abuse he gets from me makes the taxi reverse all by itself, I'm in no mood for anything other than comfy slippers, a pipe and a rocking chair, or a beer.<br />
<br />
It didn't rain.<br />
<br />
I'm now qualified to drive anywhere at any time.<br />
<br />
Next:<br />
Beautiful City Istanbul<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-367554387238534813.post-4587426179984166252012-09-11T19:56:00.000+08:002012-09-11T19:56:08.867+08:00Greece maybe broke but there's still plenty spray paint for sale<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuRnJB8E7zQrhhzh1xave8-YAc-NUp5-kGa_tgvy5fyEhaxbM2eFH-WnHzvbX0O50wyQgRQuIEeGBuoQZ3spsBOejm6ec7e5jzWomh0xHGkRQ4hQPlqKg_RknUqwj70ulbsZSZKEgB_fcJ/s1600/DSCN3272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7WUOdwwCRmwycI-Xs_-hdPe4iZGcQaltuSHvacg3H36v-Z3NwG-oECbNWbPFv3Os5fVakCYVsdkMzDfe7VQKzlBoAu5InBNJMwQb0sKRGQ9mNFrSpwGj5ZkOe6SGNROGc0Na5rAC_BFj1/s1600/DSCN3246.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7WUOdwwCRmwycI-Xs_-hdPe4iZGcQaltuSHvacg3H36v-Z3NwG-oECbNWbPFv3Os5fVakCYVsdkMzDfe7VQKzlBoAu5InBNJMwQb0sKRGQ9mNFrSpwGj5ZkOe6SGNROGc0Na5rAC_BFj1/s200/DSCN3246.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Lake near loannina</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">After leaving my new friend Wolfgang, another goodbye. I wandered fairly slowly through the hills on the bike, enjoying the quiet roads with little traffic, stopping for the odd photo and a small video part or two. I'm in a calm state now, the madness of yesterday's rush through Albania, now gone. No pressure to get anywhere really. Now I have no worries but as usual, I'll find something to bother me.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm now getting the edge of western civilization as I know it and things are going to start to change drastically.
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I start to think about the middle east, and Turkey. I can stop thinking about the film Midnight Express. Have you seen it? Scary for visitors to Istanbul. I have also been having some weird dreams involving being banged up abroad. Yes, I've seen that too. I'm sure it will all be fine and I'l avoid being locked up in some dingy jail, the worst they'll get from me is sarcasm, is that illegal here?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm wondering how comfortable I'll be, on my own, on my bike all alone. I'm sure it will be fine, won't it?
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">To keep my mind occupied I decide to make a "to do" list of things to do whilst in Istanbul. Oil change, check chain, tyres ordered or replaced but amongst all this most important item is the Iranian visa without which this trip is screwed.<br />
Along with the visa I need a "letter of invitation" I have a letter, well I hope I do its an e-mail. There is many travel agents who take the money for this service and don't give you anything usable, dodgy people apparently. I hope mine is ok or I'll have to spend maybe 1-2 weeks here waiting for new application to be processed. I can't afford his time. I'll know if its ok when I get to the embassy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuRnJB8E7zQrhhzh1xave8-YAc-NUp5-kGa_tgvy5fyEhaxbM2eFH-WnHzvbX0O50wyQgRQuIEeGBuoQZ3spsBOejm6ec7e5jzWomh0xHGkRQ4hQPlqKg_RknUqwj70ulbsZSZKEgB_fcJ/s1600/DSCN3272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuRnJB8E7zQrhhzh1xave8-YAc-NUp5-kGa_tgvy5fyEhaxbM2eFH-WnHzvbX0O50wyQgRQuIEeGBuoQZ3spsBOejm6ec7e5jzWomh0xHGkRQ4hQPlqKg_RknUqwj70ulbsZSZKEgB_fcJ/s200/DSCN3272.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">another road sign vandalised</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway <span style="white-space: normal;">My first impressions of Greece are good one</span><span style="white-space: normal;">s. Lovely people, lovely food, beautiful countryside, wide easy roads. However, one thing bothers me. Im heading for a seaside town for lunch but as I pull off the main highway, I'm put off by the graffitti on all of the road signs. It's not sprayed everywhere, walls etc, mostly road signs. Even in the middle of nowhere, road signs have some form of mess sprayed on top. Is it a warning to tourists in some weird language. I risk it anyway.</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I drive to Kavala on the coast of Greece. It resembles a hot Blackpool to me so I head inland for somewhere slightly nicer. A lot of the place looks as if it has seen better days. However I find a lovely wee hotel in the hills in a place called Krinides. The hotel is beautiful, sitting atop a hill looking over the town. The price is way too cheap. As it turns out the food is absolutely brilliant, the rooms are stunning and the owner and staff couldn't be nicer. A real genuine 5 star hotel if ever there was one. The Philipeio Hotel is named after Alexander the great's father who was from this area. Nothing is too much trouble for the staff here. Truly amazing. </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="clear: left; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGKxiAlB3I7wDtJdULxggaejfGPCQ2NB99hTrsHjFXhRVtDdzWlVlrDPHAQTwaqbttj4QXSTRqj1htj485jMDO-ccAAJj8DNc2MO8hm-ARxc8UFHVKsRgQx2vMuDtL1JtiFN7WTH5HkILU/s1600/DSCN3253.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGKxiAlB3I7wDtJdULxggaejfGPCQ2NB99hTrsHjFXhRVtDdzWlVlrDPHAQTwaqbttj4QXSTRqj1htj485jMDO-ccAAJj8DNc2MO8hm-ARxc8UFHVKsRgQx2vMuDtL1JtiFN7WTH5HkILU/s320/DSCN3253.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">View of Krinides from the Philippeio </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My wallet is full of useless currency again, my pockets have change no one wants but we're now back on Euro's. Everything else I call dim dams. Ma<span style="font-family: inherit;">kes i</span>t easy to remember. Get weird looks when I offer dim dams mind you.<br />So... in all a few easy days. Hardest thing I had to do was wash my underwear but you don't need to know too much about that apart from they will need to be clean for the up and coming Istanbul traffic.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="moz-text-plain" graphical-quote="true" lang="x-western" wrap="true">
<pre wrap="">
</pre>
<pre wrap=""><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have you been terrified on a roller coaster but were made to keep your eyes open?</span><br />
<h4>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Next: </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Istanbul without a map!</span></h4>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div>
</div>
</pre>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0