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Europe and the Americas - Video reports as I throttle round the world...
At least 2 years, 4 continents, 1 bike, and a few broken hearts... I make about 1 video blog a week and have been since I embarked on this adventure 3 months ago.
So far I have held out through a typhoon in the Philippines, trained in Martial Arts in China and taken the Trans Mongolian railroad across Russia. Now I am in London where I have bought an F650GS Twin to ride Europe. Since I am on 2 wheels now it is time to start a ride report. You can see the video blogs so far at www.thegreatgallivant.com - they are on average around 10 minutes in length. On top of posting the video blogs I am going to put together the ride report here with a bit of written detail on the technical side of things so anyone wanting to do something similar can learn the gritty. Getting a bike and getting it insured was a pain in the ass. Here is the run down on my experience. I realized early on, as other have that if you are from outside Europe then it can be very difficult to buy a motorbike in the UK. Buying is the easy part, all you have to do is hand over your cash - insuring the bike is the hard part. I found as many have and will, that pretty much no insurance companies in the UK will insure a non-UK resident or someone without a UK license. I am lucky and have a British passport through my mother who is British. That only made thing slightly easier. Other people who I spoke to had to get 2 year work visas just to exchange their Australian licenses for British licenses. You don't have a choice and have to exchange the Aussie license for a British one. The DVLA (Department of transport) in Britain is a bureaucratic nightmare. To do this you have to be resident, or at least be able to fake it. Once I got the license I could get insurance but I needed to also have a copy of my Australian license or my travel insurance wouldn't be valid without one. This meant 'losing' my Aussie license and getting a new one and then miraculously finding the old one. Once I got here, as expected, getting the bike was easy. Insurance quotes were out of whack. Normally in Australia 3rd party insurance is cheap, but here it isn't 3rd party was 550 GBP that is roughly 900 USD/AUD. Comprehensive was 700 GBP so I went with that given it was only slightly more. Other companies quotes from 1500 GBP to 3000 GBP... I went with eBike as a lot of others have. |
Farkling the bike...
Just arrived into France on the bike. These Video blogs are about 3 weeks behind at the moment. I have a better camera now and have worked out a better way to edit so everything from now on will be available in 720p HD. This weeks log is all about kitting out the bike, I put on a Stahlkoffer pannier and rack and went to the factory in Birmingham to check it out. They also make bikes and had this awesome pre 60's style trials bike that is almost ENTIRELY made out of titanium!
http://i44.tinypic.com/2duw66w.png http://i41.tinypic.com/149wivs.png Check out the exhaust! If you have a cool 15 thousand pounds to drop on a new toy this one could be it. Other gear on there is the battery hookup for GPS and a AltRider Bash plate. Anyway, check out the 4 minutes video blog I put together... In the next log I am heading over to Ireland, here is another 'teaser' http://i40.tinypic.com/2eckw0o.png Me in the fat man suit fighting sub zero temperatures around Ireland in the latest European cold spell. |
Latest video blog from the first of two weeks in Ireland. It is available in 720p.
It was pretty dreary weather while I was making this. The bike performed well but the BMW raingear that I have proved to not keep out all the rain. I can only put it down to the zip. Another thing that I think I need is one of those neck covers that clips into the helmet... that would really help. |
Here is the latest log from Ireland.
I was really battling with the cold as this was around the same time the cold snap came through Europe. |
Monday 30th January 2012 - DUBLIN-GALWAY-SLIEVE LEAGUE-LETTERKENNY
Dublin has a certain smell and feel, like a mixture of burnt coal, beer and decomposing rubbish. It is nearly always cloudy and melancolic. Everyone talks big about Galway being the place to go and once the mercury hit 4 degrees I pack up and take the motorway across the country for 3 hours. The hostel I stayed at was 8 euro a night, evidence of Irelands economic woes. 5 yeas prior I paid 30 euro a night in a Dublin hostel and you would have to get stuck into the Guinness to spend that in a day here now. I was shattered from a big weekend and elected to stay in and edit video logs rather than check out the Monday night Galway scene.
No matter how hard I try I can't get up, pack the bike and eat breakfast in the morning in less than an hour. An electric generator had been running on and off all night keeping me awake. The kind of noise that if it were constant your brain could shut out. This was the off and on noise that would wait and then come back just as I was drifting off and pull me from my almost sleep. http://i43.tinypic.com/15rl0jt.jpg North Galway I hit the road and head north with a few tips of roads to take to end up near Sligo. The hostel receptionist told me the story of the Doolough tragedy. During the great Irish famine hundred of people from a town called Louisberg took the walk to Delphi lodge on the rumour of rations only to find there were none. Starving and destitute they returned to Louisberg and many died on the pass on the return. I ride through the valley with this thought in mind stopping at the memorial. The hills rise up from a black lake that winds through the valley. I am almost at Louisberg and th sun pokes through the clouds. http://i40.tinypic.com/nxopvs.jpg The memorial. I punch the address for the house I am staying at in Ireland into the GPS. It struggles to find it. Ireland needs to introduce post codes. For 2 hours I wind through small towns to get to Martin and Livas house. A Latvian couple who I found on couchsurfing the night prior. I arrive late at their house to a burning fire and food on the stove. We talk about Latvia, name days - where everyone in Latvia celebrates both their name day and their birthday each year. They give me a fish scale to put in my wallet - a Latvian tradition that is supposed to ensure you good fortune with finances. http://i43.tinypic.com/t9ts84.jpg Dinner with Liva and Martin Martin has time in the morning to show me around the local area before headin off to his job at the local milk factory. I am keen to head to Slieve league today and set off. Another cold day but it doesn't seem to affect me, the sun is shining brightly and I think that is what keeps my spirits high. http://i43.tinypic.com/1systh.jpg Martin and I out in the morning exploring I ride through various small Irish towns, all low set, though a Gaeltacht - an Irish speaking community, and a fishing village with a wicked stench that has hundreds of gulls flying overhead. Irish businesses have a consistency in signage that would have you thinking the entire country only has one signmaker. http://i43.tinypic.com/2ltnaqb.jpg The roads get smaller and rougher and I climb up the mountain to Slieve league. It doesn't present it's full glory until you reach the very end of the road. An old Irish couple walk past me while I admire the view. http://i42.tinypic.com/m9os54.jpg Slieve League Cliffs They are speaking Gaelic (or Irish as a lot of them prefer to call it) and break into english to tell me I am lucky to see the cliffs with the sun shining against them. After a few snacks I head for Letterkenny. A stroke of luck and I have more couchsurfers to stay with in Letterkenny. Two French girls... http://i41.tinypic.com/2gse5x4.jpg |
Wed 1st Feb - Letterkenny - Malin Head - Derry
I roll into Letterkenny and the GPS is sending me in the wrong direction. I pull over and a guy comes up to me straight away. Thick northern accent. "How are ye?", "That's a nice bike, where er ye from?" We chat for ten minutes. He spent a few months riding around the states when he was younger. He doesn't know the street I am looking for so he calls his mate and asks for directions and then tells me how to get where I am going. This is my first impression of Letterkenny.
Claire, meets me in the street and we head back to her house. This is my thid time couchsurfing. Claire and her flatmate Marie are both teaching French in Ireland as a part of a program that will enable them to become teachers down the track. We talk about travel and their impressions of Letterkenny. They are not surprised at the help I got from the locals with directions as they have both had similar experiences. http://i39.tinypic.com/2nis8sz.jpg We down a pub meal. Bangers and mash, which I have to say the Irish are not quite as good at making sausages as the British. One thing they can do is stout and I grab my first of half a dozen Guinness for that night. There is a band playing trad music in the bar and a few more French turn up and pull out Uno and we play cards, listen to trad and sink more beers. http://i39.tinypic.com/jt73py.jpg In the morning I wake to see frost on everything in letterkenny. My bike is covered in frost and I put it in the sun to defrost. While making breakfast I drop out to the bike to check the air temp. It is hanging at 1 degrees. I only have 2-3 hours on the road today but I can't ride that long in 1c. http://i40.tinypic.com/4kbl3s.jpg Taking a walk through letterkenny I check the roads for black ice. It's mostly clear. My aim is to get to Malin head, the northern most point of Ireland about 80 k's north of Letterkenny. I have to go over a mountain range to get there, that concerns me, the higher in elevation I go the lower the temperature is going to get. I wait until 11am and the temperature gets up to 3 degrees before I hit the road. http://i41.tinypic.com/2py1hfc.jpg The riding is nice, the sun is out, the air is clear. It's a double edged sword - when the clouds are thick they hold the heat in - you get no sun but the temperature is 2-3 degrees warmer. The sun brings out the colour in the landscape but the temperature drops. Despite glazing my visor with anti-fog the helmet fogs up. I have to let the cold air in to clear it out. Each time my lips go even more numb. I alternate between sucking on my top and bottom lips to warm them up. Riding through flat farmland there are birds forraging through crop rows where ice has formed they are trying to find water that hasn't frozen. I am averaging 50mph and can cope with the temperature. Hitting the mountains the temperature drops below zero. The guage on the bike constantly flashes to make me aware of black ice. I have to slow down at some points as ice crosses the road. I make it over the mountains but I am getting cold. A farmer is out on his tractor and I think that if I get too cold at least I can come back and ask him for help. The social implications run through my head. http://i43.tinypic.com/2djxa45.jpg 18km to Malin head. Roughly 15 minutes to go. My palms are burning on the BMW hand warmers, the back of my hands are numb. My toes are numb. http://i44.tinypic.com/acqyb4.jpg Black ice has formed across the road. 10km to Malin head. I remeber thinking - I run that distance often - it's not far. Once I am off the bike I will be fine. Cutting on to smaller roads I am looking for open pubs, anything with a chimney that indicates a fire is burning - looking for options. The goal is still to get to Malin head. In my head it is still not that bad yet. Time is taking forever. I need to have a slash. My stomach starts to turn. http://i42.tinypic.com/1564th0.jpg Finally i round a bend and can see the parking lot, the ruins of a tower and the ocean breaking against the most northern point of Ireland. http://i39.tinypic.com/2m78duw.jpg Hopping off the bike there is nobody around. I dump the bladder and consider walking down the hill. It's going to be a 15 minute walk. My bladders nerves stop tugging at my brain and consuming my thoughts. With more capacity to think I become aware of the wind which is blowing a gale around me. The reprieve from the cold I was looking for isn't going to come. I realise I am shivering. Hopping back on the bike my adrenalin kicks in. I start riding back towards the town. A sign says Malin - 10 k's. I still think I am riding to Derry today - only 50 k's away. Thanks to Claire I have a couch to surf in Derry. Looking for any pub or shop that looks warm I push through. My thoughts are not fluid and I can feel the heart beat in my chest. After what seems like more than 10 k's I reach Malin. It's a small town with a corner store and there are workmen fixing something in the street. I pull up at what looks like a shop pub and fuel stop. Walking inside there is nobody. A woman walks into the store and it is obvious she runs the place. "Do you have rooms?" I am beyond money now. All I can think is I need to get warm, I need a hot shower. She has none but directs me up the road to a B and B. http://i42.tinypic.com/5xtlaf.jpg An older woman answers "Come inside, get out of the cold now..." I must have been blue in the face because she instructed me in front of the fire. Questioning my sanity she throws a couple of logs on the fire, makes me a cup of tea and a sandwhich. Her name is Mary - she is my mother of another brother. Her husband works for the IMF , she is well travelled and we exchange stories as the fire breaths life back into me. Mary runs Malin Village B&B and if you go through you should stay there. She is salt of the earth and I was happy to break my daily budget for just one night stay. On the road after a square breakfast and headed for Derry or Londonderry, depending on which side of the political fence you sit on. You can usually pick Catholics from Prodistants by how they name this city. I lived in Ireland 2 years prior but never made it to Derry. It is the site of Bloody sunday and a large proportion of the violence during the 'troubles'. http://i42.tinypic.com/208ic1z.jpg Taping up my helmet to stop the cold air circulating. Another dead hostel with only 3 other people staying, low season, 10 euro for the night with breakfast. I get instructions on where to go - first place on the list is Rossville street - the site of Bloody Sunday. Rupublican murals and political signage line the street. It would seem like any other street if it were not for this. A hill runs up one side to the city walls, painted with statements requesting the freedom of alleged political prisoners. There is a memorial in the middle of the street. In 1972, 26 republican protestors were shot by the British Army in what has become the most well known event from the troubles. http://i41.tinypic.com/2vbspeg.jpg Political messages on Rossville street. http://i39.tinypic.com/3517p8o.jpg http://i43.tinypic.com/b6qbyb.jpg Mural of a famous image where a wounded republican is carried to safety. http://i43.tinypic.com/34ihjt4.jpg http://i44.tinypic.com/2wn2qaa.jpg http://i40.tinypic.com/f20gtl.jpg I walk around the city walls to the prodistant side of the city. Foopaths are painted red,white and blue so you don't forget where you are. Fences and security measures remain everywhere as a reminder of what was and to a degree still is. I cross the newly built peace bridge that symbolically connects the prodistant and catholic sides of the river. http://i43.tinypic.com/16hp6hv.jpg More editing and I wake to rain which has brought the temperature up to a level that is easier to bear. Head off to see the Giants causeway and make my way to Belfast. |
Feb 4th-6th - DERRY - GIANTS CAUSEWAY - BELFAST - DUBLIN - BIRMINGHAM
Sorry the pics are not the best in the world, I have to pull them from video footage. On the upside I will upload the video footage in a week or so once I have it edited together. Here is the 'book'...
Derry, Northern Ireland - Saturday 4th February 2012 It's raining and I wait it out to see if it gets better. It's about 10am when I give up on that idea. This is Ireland and I know better - when the weather sets in, it stays. At least the rain clouds have brought the temperature up. So I head off from Derry to Northern Irelands most well known tourist attraction, the Giants Causeway. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-t...0/GOPR0891.jpg Following the coast I pass a few beaches with fisherman, horses and travellers parking their caravans nearby. Eventually I reach the car park for the causeway soaked through 3 layers, luckily I am wearing 6. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-h...0/GOPR0893.jpg Part of me expected to be able to just see it from the car park. There are at least another 40 cars and plenty of people around reminding me that it is a Saturday. Weekdays in winter you get most tourist spots to yourself. I wait for a break in the masses and head down the half k track to see the causeway. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-m...25282%2529.jpg Giants causeway was created by a volcanic eruption that has created interlocking polygonal basalt stones that have worn away over time to resemble honeycomb steps. Some of the stones are up to 12 metres long. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-I...25282%2529.jpg https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-h...0/IMGA0011.jpg Rain has made them even more slippery and I have to be careful to avoid twisting an ankle. Finding a quiet spot I sit back and take it all in. Staring out to sea I realise I have no idea what is north. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-p...282%2529-1.jpg Back on the bike and crunching the miles into Belfast. I plan to spend a bit of time on the net planning out the next few days. YHA advertises free wifi. I get to the hostel, pay, the guy confirms they have free wifi when I pay. Put my stuff in the room and come down. What is the password for wifi? Oh so just click through and so the first 15 minutes is free. Only 15 minutes free - argh, you have to be shitting me! I am forced into reflection on how reliant I am on technology. Annoyed but also realising that maybe I need to learn to live with less. Having been to Belfast a half dozen times it is more a trip down memory lane than anything and I ride around to get some good footage for my blog. The city itself has always intrigued me. With 2 opposing groups living in such proximity it can be a lesson in human nature. It manifests itself in both obvious ways, murals, walls, colours which you can see in these pictures. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-O...0/GOPR0896.jpg Green businesses on the Catholic side. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-D...GOPR0896-1.jpg Red and Blue on the Prodestant side. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-P...0/GOPR0897.jpg Ulster Bank - locked down! However when I got to spend a fair bit of time in Belfast years ago I remember one specific incident at a party. Prodistants and Catholics don't mix freely to my knowledge. Like anywhere some are more extreme in their viewpoints than others. Either the story I am about to tell is a standalone experience and must be viewed as such. Perhaps there is a younger generation in Northern Ireland that do not seek to make first definitions based on political or religious background. If there is I did not see it. At an expat party I was at there were Americans, Australians, Canadians and the usual suspects in Belfast to study or work. Expats are non-discriminatory and so invite any friends they have from Belfast as they would anyone. As a result you get a mix of both Catholic and Prodistant friends. We are sitting in the front room - there are three guys from Belfast on one side and one guy on the other side from belfast in a big circle made up of expats and locals. I have no idea what side of the fence they sit on. Drinks are flowing and the party rages on throughout the house. Conversation flows in the front room and I take no notice of the nuances of body language occurring. As the night wears on people move from the room and I am left sitting with just the three Belfast guys that came together and the other local sitting opposite. I did notice earlier that these 3 guys that came together look like the edgy types, guys that are looking for an argument. So the room has cleared and its just us and it is a bit quiet and this is when I notice the tension between these two groups, or group and one guy. Finally one of three guys asks the guy across the room. I am paraphrasing here but you will get the idea; "You from Belfast?" - or something to that effect. "Yeah" "Wherabouts?" - it is a pointed question with obvious intentions. "Area x" - gets a slight "ah" from the group of three. "Which street?" Cautiously "Street xyz"... All the tension in the room suddenly dissipates as if it were never there as one of the others says that his relative grew up on that street. All of a sudden the four of them are talking about how they are connected. They share a background that I will never truly understand. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-8...25282%2529.jpg In front of the main wall near Shankill street. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-b...650_2345_n.jpg This was taken 4 years ago when I was in Belfast but I wanted to show the police station - I couldn't find this one while I was in Belfast this time - it may have been cleaned up. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-u...657_4412_n.jpg More of the wall from the last time I was in Belfast. The next day I head for Dublin and want to stop by at Newgrange a monolith older than the Pyramids but hardly as famous. On the way I am cut off on one of the roads and have to take a back route. After a few detours I see the side of this 'mound' poking out of a hill and the white stones - the identifying factor. I find what I think is the entrance and I see a bus load of people hop off on what appears to be a tour. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-E...0/GOPR0899.jpg After getting all my gear off I walk up to a small hut where they were checking tickets. It turns out that this is not the official entrance and they want me to ride another 15 minutes around more detours to buy a ticket and then hop on a bus only to come back to this point. Normally the signs direct you straight to the tourist entrance where you buy the ticket and hop on the bus. It is going to take 2-3 hours for me to do the tour. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0...GOPR0899-1.jpg Running the calculations I realise that I will end up in Dublin after dark. It is 4 degrees and that will only drop. Happy enough to just see it from the outside I head for Dublin. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-8...GOPR0900-1.jpg Leaving a toll booth in the fluoro fatman suit, staying warm back to Dublin. My friend Claire has offered me a place to stay in Dublin for the night before I head out on the ferry back to Holyhead and then Birmingham the following day. I have known for days about the deteriorating weather in Europe courtesy of wind coming all the way from Siberia. This had happened for the preceding two years so I knew it was a possibility. My mother uploads pictures to facebook of the snow in London and I realise I am not going to make it that far. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-N...12054017_n.jpg Mums picture - out the front of her place in London. I need to get to Birmingham. Bernie, the guy that runs Stahlkoffer panniers, has a new set of panniers waiting for me there and I have to give him back the ones he leant me. We had been discussing a sort of sponsorship arrangement where I do a bit of filming/editing for him in exchange for panniers. I needed to do some more filming and get the new panniers. Looking at 3 possible routes to Birmingham from Holyhead I check the temperatures at every city along the various routes. Forecast for Birmingham is a high of 2 with -6ish the low. If I head north up through Conwy, Wrexham and onwards the temperature is going to be a high of 4 with a low of -5ish. The temperatures down south are slightly warmer and if I go through Snowdonia national park the temp along the route is about 6 degrees until I hit Shrewsbury (about 40k's out of Birmingham) - I am worried the mountains might mean lower temperature because of higher elevation but it's only a short distance and there are a lot of tourist villages along the route. I can handle that but I write down the names of a couple of hostels along the way. The added bonus is the route is going to be better to look at. Might sound like overpreparation but things can change quickly in the cold and I want to be able to make decisions quickly if it heads for the worse. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-Y...225%2520PM.jpg Map to give you an idea of the route. Claire takes me to the pub where her brother has drowned Irelands 6 nation loss, the Irish way. We 'get on the lock' before heading back to Claires to get some prep sleep before a big day. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-C...0/IMGA0998.jpg Irish jerseys on - drowning the loss to Wales. Which doesn't seem so bad at the time of writing now that the Welsh have gone grand slam. Up at 5 and on the ferry to Holyhead. It is busier than when I went over and it would seem that some flights had been cancelled due to the snow. The only way for a lot of people to get back home is by the ferry. I count it lucky that I wasn't gouged for every penny I had to get on the ferry. It would seem they keep the price the same. The temperature in Holyhead is 9 degrees, solid. It starts pouring down as I make my way to Snowdonia. The temperature drops but hovers around 5 and 6 as I push up into the mountains. Gaining elevation the temp stays the same and I am really enjoying it. The mountains are amazing and the views take me by surprise. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-K...0/GOPR0903.jpg https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-V...GOPR0903-1.jpg Before I know it I am on the other side of the mountains. The drop in elevation results in lower temps, counter-intuitive, must be that the cold winds are coming from the West, that I am headed into. The further I go the more the temp drops but I am on a mission. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-y...0/GOPR0905.jpg Snow starts to appear on the sides of the road but at the time I am only thinking about how it makes good footage on the gopro. Stopping for a steak pie with mushy peas I have only got 40 k's to go. After warming up at the truck stop I push through to Birmingham and argue with the GPS about the best direction to go in. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-O...GOPR0905-1.jpg https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-p...IMGA0005-1.jpg I get to hatters hostel, if you are ever looking for a hostel in Brum, this is the place. They have a videocamera looking right at a pole, which I chained the bike to with my f@ck off Almax 8kg chain. With snow and ice everywhere and a shit weather forecast it looks like I am stuck here for a few days. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-2...0/IMGA0054.jpg Iced over canals in Birmingham https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-x...0/IMGA0006.jpg Salt is good for bikes right? |
Birmingham-london-new milton-fokestone
https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-W...159%2520PM.jpg
The route I cover in this post... FEBRUARY 7 - 17 - BIRMINGHAM-LONDON-NEW MILTON-FOKESTONE I was stuck in Birmingham for a few days. The weather didn't look like it was getting any better and I had a cheap hostel to stay in. Hatters hostel - if you are moving around the UK and you need places to stay they have hostels in 3 places and they are bang on. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-A...0/IMGA0029.jpg The next day I went out to see Bernie at Stahlkoffer. He has lended me his panniers to ride around Ireland while he got a new set organised for me. I did a bit of filming for him to put together a few clips for them. I am doing my best to be entrepreneurial on the road and try to reduce my costs by offering my skills in exchange. So we put on the new panniers and a rear rack on a warmer day before I went back into hibernation in Brum. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-C...0/IMGA0039.JPG I used to come to Brum when my ex-girlfriend moved there. We had just broken up in Oz and she moved there to work from Australia. At first I wasnt going to go but my heart dragged me there, chasing after her. It didn't work out but I got closure. Point is, the place has memories for me and I know my way around a bit. It is an old industrial city but the canal network is pretty cool so I went for a bit of an explore... https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-r...0/IMGA0048.jpg Thursday, 9th of February after 3 days in the Brum and a whole chunk load of editing I hit the road to get back to London. Anyone British or that has visited the motherland will know this is not a far distance, a couple of hundred k's - a two hour ride, but if you watch my blogs and read my past experiences you will understand my paranoia for tackling this. I did the same as what I hd done for the leg from Holyhead to Brum. Set out various points and stopping options along the way and hit the road. Waiting for the temperature to warm up the mercury had barely hit 2 degrees by 11am. I wanted the 4 degrees that was forecast - bollocks to that - I wanted to be in London more so I got on the road. Half an hour later I had barely gotten out of the traffic in Birmingham. I was moving slowly which meant I was keeping warm. I thought it would keep getting warmer the closer I got to London but the temp dropped down to zero. It is at this point where the negative thoughts kick in and one part of me wants to pull over. The training I did for the Sydney Marathon starts to kick in. Whenever part of me wanted to stop running I would tell that part of me that in 10 minutes we can stop. "Just shut the **** up and we can stop in 10 minutes", usually 10 minutes later I would be thinking about other things and would just keep going. Instigating this routine got me through to a small town about a third of the way to London where I stopped for a pub meal, bangers and mash - the Brits do a damn good bangers and mash. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-U...GA0055-001.jpg -1.5 degrees on the bike, and two hours to London according to the GPS. I call my step-dad who tells me it is 5 degrees where he is just north of London where he is. "You're f-cking sh-tting me, that's practically beach weather!" This is the primer I need for positivity and I get back on the bike and push through. All I can think about is 5 degrees, I think, at this point it can only get warmer the closer I get to London. However it stays the -1.5 degrees. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-m...0/IMGA0058.jpg I pull over and take a couple of photos and get some footage and jump around to warm up a bit. Keeping on an hour later I am only an hour from London. Not being able to find a decent place to pull over I keep going, then I see the motorway. If I jump on now I only have to stand the cold for 30 minutes until I get into London. The temperature has jumped up a couple of notches which has buoyed my enthusiasm. With toes numb I zip along the motorway and before I know it I am back in Cricklewood, parked outside of my mothers house, unloading the bike before having a hot shower. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-Q...0/IMGA0060.jpg Washing the salt off the bike. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-l...0/IMGA0066.jpg I make it to London before the snow starts to fall heavy. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-y...0/IMGA0059.jpg The SMH10 headsets that SENA have given me to use with Nicole when we ride around Ireland have arrived at my mums house when I get back. Happy days! With just over a week to get to France to meet up with Nicole I want to make the most of my final days in London. I head out with Izzi, who I met a few months prior in the Phillipines, and a bunch of her mates to FABRIC - a nightclub that so many aussies have told me about. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-H...0/IMGA0071.jpg Waiting for an hour outside FABRIC in the cold! https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Z...frenzy-001.jpg We dance like idiots to dubstep until the early hours of the morning. - - - - - https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-E...0/IMGA0944.JPG https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-G...0/IMGA0947.jpg Rowing along the Thames. The next day I head to visit another friend, Nora. She is this crazy Andalucian singer/dentist/everything who I met in Beijing. She has offered me her apartment to stay at when I am in Madrid and I am keen to catch up with her. Nora has an affinity with Morrocco, being from Andalucia and she taught me how to cook in a Tajine. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/--...GA0951-001.jpg https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/--...GA0949-001.jpg https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-z...0/IMGA0953.jpg Then she pulls out the maps and gives me all the info on what to see when I head down to the south of Spain whilst I struggle to try and speak Spanish with her. If I am going to learn to speak Spanish when I get to Spain I am going to have to get my finger out. You meet so many great people on your travels and I have been lucky to catch up with a lot of them along the way. Rob is from a little place near Southampton has invited me down to go bike riding and hang out with him for a couple of days before I hop on the train to Calais. We met on the Trans-Mongolian on my way to Moscow from Beijing. He got on the train in Ulanbator after going on a horse trek through Mongolia. We got along well and ended up hanging out in Moscow together. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-R...GA0957-001.jpg I pack my bike up to leave London for the last time. I won't see my mother or stepfather for over a year so big hugs before I leave. Rob invites me into his place with cold beer open and food on the stove. We catch up and plan the following day to go to this place called Perbecks on the mountain bikes. Up early in the morning we jump on the bikes and catch the train out. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-F...0/IMGA0965.JPG Arriving in Boscome we start our leisurely ride along the beach. There are those coloured huts everywhere, the sun is shining and it is a beautiful day. It must be the best ay in weeks as everyone is out to enjoy it. We stop after half an hour as Rob has an important phone call to recieve. His brother has had a baby boy, he is an Uncle for the second time. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-y...0/IMG_0656.JPG We ride through an area that Rob tells me is the most expensive real estate in the UK and high up the list in the world. The sort of place where football players on rediculous salaries live. I have no idea how far we have come but we have been on the bike for an hour or so and then we catch a ferry across to 'Perbecks'. We head towards some hills, everything had been easy and flat up until now and on the very first hill I am reminded of how unfit I am to ride a bike. I have trained in MA in the mountains in China and had been going to the gym every other day in London but I wasn't ready for this. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-b...2/IMG_0658.JPG We come across a village called Studland and I am rocking the sock on the outside stud look! https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-e...0/IMG_0669.JPG Along the way we stop to take pictures often, the day is great and the views are the sort you don't expect from England. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-j...GA0995-001.jpg The wind was blowing and it was a precarious walk to get this photo. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-F...0/IMG_0663.JPG You can see better where I walked out to in this shot, that is me in the top left... can you believe this is Britain! https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-m...GA0009-001.jpg Rob is a lot fitter than me on the bike and I struggle to keep up. We stop for fish and chips before pressing on. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-v...0/IMGA0019.jpg Struggling! As the day wears on I am getting really tired. I have to drop down to the lowest gear on the bike to go up even the smallest incline. We take the ferry to get back to the station and while we are headed up a hill I get severe cramps in my legs to the point that I have to get off and walk. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-U...0/IMGA0020.jpg Come on mate, it's not that far... Once we get back to the house I calculate how far we have been that day - 63 k's - no wonder I can't feel my ass. With a 6 hour day in the saddle on the cards I know my legs won't take it and Rob is happy for me to stay another day. gmap-pedometer.com - check out the route that we did here. Also this is a really simple tool to use for calculating your runs/rides or anything distance related - I use it all the time. On the way to Robs I saw a sign advertising a motorycle museum nearby so the next day I stopped in to check it out. It is called the Sammy Miller motorcycle museum. Sammy still works there daily and has quite the collection of vintage motorbikes. He has a long history of racing and designing bikes. Here are a few photos but I have uploaded more to my picasa album here - SAMMY MILLER MOTO MUSEUM PHOTO ALBUM https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-O...0/IMGA0144.JPG https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-2...0/IMGA0033.JPG QUEENSLANDER!!! Check out the RACQ badge - that is from my home state in Australia. Royal Automobile Club of Queensland. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-X...0/IMGA0038.JPG https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-s...0/IMGA0171.jpg We head out in the afternoon for a ride on the beamer and a walk to check out a fort near to Robs house. It was built by King Henry the 8th to protect the bay between the Isle of Whyte and the mainland. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--...0/IMGA0180.jpg We spend a couple of hours throwing rocks at a brick thirty metres away.. small things. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-a...0/IMGA0181.JPG The following day I was up early, said goodbye to Rob and got on the road to take the Eurostar to Calais from Folkestone. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-S...0/IMGA0972.JPG Chatting to the attendants on board and they tell me that there are hundreds of different sensors in the one carriage. That I can't take flash photos because the sensors may think that a spark has gone off. If the sensors detect both petrol fumes and spark at the same time they will instantly fill the carriage up to neck height with flame retardent foam and suck the oxygen out of the cavity between the roof to starve any would be fire. I don't want that to happen. In 30 minutes I will be on French roads and riding on the right hand side of the road for the first time. I got a few tips from fellow ADV riders and I am trying to mentally prep for it as much as possible... still slight apprehensive. In little over 48 hours I will be at Nicoles place in Avignon. We have been skyping every other day for the past 2 months, good friends for over a year I am looking forward to seeing her. In another week we will be on the road headed to Italy for 3 weeks together. More soon... corresponding video ride report on its way too. |
CALAIS-PARIS-AVIGNON - February 17-22nd.
https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-B...634%2520PM.jpg
Route for this post... https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-Y...0/IMGA0975.jpg I wait 10 minutes on the Eurostar - a car has broken down in front of me and they need to tow it out before we can get going but it isn't long before we are on the road. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-g...PR0930-001.jpg The attendant gives me the thumbs up on the way out. You can't end up on the wrong side of the road when you get to Calais. The great thing is that the road off the train leads you straight on to the highway. I leave the GPS off and follow the A16 as per instructions I got off the net earlier - all I had to do was follow the A16. Clouds cover the sky, I can't see the sun and I continue on for just over half an hour. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-U...0/IMGA0976.jpg A sign says Bruxelles - thats confusing I thought I was headed to Paris. I put on the GPS and enter Paris and the GPS tells me to do a U-Turn. Just as I look up I pass the blue sign with the Euro stars 'Belgique'. Shit. Definitely going the wrong way. I decide to go back to the GPS and pull over to tell the camera about my stupid mistake. When turning around I come across my first right hand drive round-about. It confuses the shit out of me but I stumble through. An hour and a bit out of the wrong way the GPS gets me back on the motorway. Speed limit is 130kph when it is fine and 110kph when it is raining. I wonder what constitutes rain for the Gendarmarie - if there is water on the ground but none falling from the sky, does that constitute rain? Maybe someone on here knows? Running low on fuel I pull into a 'Carrefour'. This is my first experience getting fuel in France. I take the pump out of it's place and wait for the dial to ring zero and the pump engine to fire up. This is how it has been all over Ireland, UK and Australia where I have ridden before now. After 10 seconds of nothing a screen flashes at me and says something in French "Vous something, something, something"...What the ****? https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-s...0/GOPR0934.jpg I put the pump back in it's hostel and draw it again. Another wait, the same thing in French "Vous blah, blah, blah...". I try and find something written in english. Nothing. I look around and am thinking that maybe they don't like the look of me from the shop and they haven't eapproved the pump to turn on. A man pulls up and I watch him to try and work out how it works. To my envy, he draws the pump, puts it in the car, the dial resets and the pump engine kicks on. He proceeds to fill the car, walks in and pays. Now I have heard the French don't like the British, so I am thinking, can they see my British plates on the camera? Do I really look that British? Maybe I need to stick a giant Australian flag sticker on my panniers or better yet a picture of a kangaroo. As the man walks back to his car I use the only French I know... "Vous parles Anglais?" He looks at me, "A little." "Can you help me with the pump?" I say, along with a full mime. He comes over, takes the pump from the holster, says "card". I pull out my bank card and stick it in the machine, it takes my pin and waits a minute, says something in French. The man hands me the pump and instructs me to fill the bike. It dawns on me, ah, it's ****ing prepaid only! "Merci, Au Revoir" - The only other French I know. With enough fuel to almost reach Paris and an ego buoyed by my elite problem solving skills I get back on the motorway. After a few hours I reach a toll booth. The woman rings up the charge which comes up on an LED number display. 9 Euros. Shit! That's expensive. Hang on, is that a 1 in front of the 9, shit, 19 Euros! Are you ****ing kidding me? Something must be wrong. I have only driven 200 k's on this motorway. This is daylight, highway bloody robbery! Now other Europeans reading this might think I am going a bit over the top here. In retrospect my reaction probably is. However you have to understand my perspective coming into this. In Australia, Ireland and the United Kingdom where I have ridden and driven most of my life there are very few tolls. In cases where there are tolls they are usually around the 3 or so Euros for every 200-300 km's of travel. Hence my frustration. When I reach my accommodation in Paris for the night I use the Michelin online calculator to work out how much it is going to cost me to get to Avignon from Paris. It comes out with around 30 euros. I set the GPS to avoid tolls and it says that my 7 hour journey to Avignon without tolls will take 13 hours. In my mind I am only 1 day away from Avignon and catching with Nicole. We have not seen eachother in more than 5 months and if I am honest with myself I have been questioning our friendship for months and wondering if it could be something more. When you take away familiar surroundings sometimes that gives you more clarity to think about these things. Back to the point, you can understand why I shrug off the extra 30 euros and decide to push on, despite trying to maintain a budget. In the morning I wake to get breakfast in the hotel. I had booked the place online for a shared room at 15 euro but the guy offered me a private room and breakfast for just an extra 5 euro. Breakfast is a couple of croissants and chocolate filled buns. As I scoff them down I try and decipher the French news playing on the television in the sitting room. I can understandone thing 'Nikolas Sarkozy'... https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-r...0/GOPR0933.jpg 7 degrees and overcast as I circumvent Paris on the outskirts and head South-east towards Dijon. A rider passes me and sticks the leg out. This is the French bikers wave I had heard about. (You can just see the foot coming down in the shot from gopro footage above). A hundred odd k's from Paris and the temperature isn't going any higher. It intrigues me again, I half expect it to at least rise given I am headed both South towards the equator and we are getting closer to midday. As I rise in elevation towards Avallon the temperature drops down to 5 degrees. At 130kph I start to feel the cold grip me. This is a deamon that has been plaguing me for the past weeks. Even though I know it is mostly in my head I pull over in a service station, anxious. Reaching Avignon today is no longer a certainty in my head and I start to think of options of where I could stop. There is no way I can ride another 500 k's like this. I look for a shower at the servo to heat up, no dice. Pulling out the laptop I check the temperatures along the route. It is 16 degrees in Avignon and so I try and work out where it is going to get better. A French guy that looks like George Costanza sits down next to me and says something in French. "Ah.. parle pas Francais" "Is that your BMW outside?" "Yeah, you ride?" "Yes...", he struggles with English but I appreciate the effort. He offers me a biscuit and tells me about his BMW tourer. All I gather is it is a R1200RT, like my father used to ride. I explain my situation and slowly I establish from him that the mountains peak in elevation about 100 k's further in Beaune and it will be a lot warmer by the time I get to Lyon another 100 odd k's after that. This is all the confidence I need as I get back on the bike and head on. It is still hovering around 6 degrees. I still don't understand why some days I can ride for hours in 6 degrees and others it really gets to me. Traffic jams up on the highway and I pull up behind a bus as it stops. Without the constant wind against me I start to warm up in my 5 layers of clothing. I start to filter through a bit of the traffic slowly. To my surprise a lot of the cars start moving out of the way to let me split the lanes. This wouldn't happen in Australia. They are giving me more than a whole car space to get through and so I am happy to continue splitting. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-u...PR0935-001.jpg You can see the traffic moving out of the way ahead for me. Luckily, without splitting this would have added hours to my trip as it went of for approx 30 odd k's. This traffic slows me down but I don't mind. So long as I stay under 80kph I eep warm enough. Once I make it past Beaune the thick cloud cover starts to break up. The sun shines throuh ahead of me and as I descend the mountains the temperature rises to 10 degrees. I can ride quite comfortably now. Further on and the temperature goes up to 12 degrees. Stopping to drop layers for the first time in weeks I get out the ipod and put on some tunes. I ride through Lyon and the sun is shining down hard. The sky is clear. A broad smile breaks out as the mercury rises to 16 degrees. It is the warmest it has been on my trip since I left Fujan Province in China over 3 months earlier. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-b...0/GOPR0938.jpg Sun is out through Lyon and you can just make out the ice (the rough patches) that is floating down the river in this shot. Late in the afternoon I arrive into Avignon having already heard so much about it and seen many photos courtesy of Nicole. It is an old walled city on what was the frontier of France in Roman times. After getting lost in it's one way streets I reach Nicoles house and call her to come down. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-B...0/IMGA0979.jpg It's just good to see a close friend for the first time in ages and I hide the camera to try and get a candid shot. It is now Saturday and Nicole has plenty of good things waiting for me, Lamingtons from Australia, french cheese and wine. After a decent shower I take to the couch with a glass of wine as the residual vibrations from 9 hours of riding continue to flow through me. We depart together for Italy on Wednesday giving me 3 days to rest and get everything prepared. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-i...00814248_n.jpg Frozen fountains in Avignon. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-C...25188451_n.jpg Frozen water mills. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-o...08853575_n.jpg The coolest dog in Avignon! https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-0...0/IMGA0990.jpg Practicing using the SENAs We explore Avignon the following day and see where the water fountains are still frozen solid almost a fortnight after the big freeze. I set about charging and working out how the SMH10 headsets that I have work. SENA Bluetooth were kind enough to provide me with a set in exchange for featuring them in the video blog I make of Italy. After a few stupid mistakes on my part (not reading the instructions properly) we get the headsets to work. We will know be able to talk to eachother all day on the bikes while riding through Italy. I realise this has the potential to go both ways. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-a...GA0989-001.jpg Nicole has been teaching english to French primary schoolers since September last year. She heads off to work for the Monday and I play with the cat, Chagwi, who likes to hide in my stuff and then jump out at any moment and attack me. I get distracted trying to teach martial arts to the cat. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-4...0/IMGA0991.jpg It is Tuesday night the day before and we are both excited but also struggling to work out how to fit all our camping gear plus enough clothes for both of us for the three weeks, plus spares and other necessary equipment on the bike. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-K...0/IMGA0992.jpg Nic cooks dinner as I send out couch requests on Couchsurfers for the places we know we will definitely be going over the following weeks. Our basic route is to head to Nice and then follow the coastline to Pisa, head inland and spend a while in Tuscany and Umbria before heading south for Matera and then making our way back up along the Cilentro coastal road, Amalfi coast and then Rome. Nicole plans to catch the plane back to France for work while I head inland to Bologna for the Ducati factory as well as exploring more of that side of Italy. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-v...GA0994-001.jpg Putting on the hippo hands. We are up early the next day and pack the bike up. I play with the suspension for an hor to try and reduce the pressure on the suspension and the sag on the bike. It is riding awfully low. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-N...0/IMGA0995.JPG The sun is shining, the weather is great and after a few false starts we are on the road. More next week once I get photos off Nicoles camera of Italy. Her DSLR takes much better pictures. |
Great photos - though it looks like you picked a crappy time of the year for a long ride! :mchappy:
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Cheers! Yeah I didn't pick the best time of the year, although it means I will be in Europe for the summer which, fingers crossed, will be good.
Here is the latest clip which corresponds to a couple of written updates below. I am behind in the video blogs and ahead in the written. |
AVIGNON-NICE-GENOA-CINQUE TERRE-PISA February 22-24
AVIGNON-NICE-GENOA-CINQUE TERRE-PISA FEBRUARY 22-24
https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-l...908%2520AM.jpg With Nicole comfortable on the back we head off for Nice. It is the first time that I have had a pillion plus gear on the back of the bike. We are really pushing the bike at about 75% of it's recommended max weight capacity and the handling suffers noticibly. We settle into the road and chat on the intercom. Not wanting to pay for toll roads or pass by the scenery at a pace I set the GPS to avoid tolls. Using google the night before I had checked where a 'no tolls' route would take us. It was up through the mountains going over 1100 metres elevation. After checking the temperature forecast along the way I decided the mountains would be ok so long as we got through in the peak of the day. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-O...0/GOPR0942.jpg We head towards Apt through vineyards and rustic farm houses. The sun shines golden on everything that is dry and brown from winter. A sense of warmth and optimism is created by the colours, overpowering the 8 degree air that blows through us. Rows of trees line the roads as is typical in this area and the sun flashes through them as we ride by. A beautiful but dangerous custom for motorcyclists. We stop in Apt to pick up some fruit, olives, fromage and baguette. Nicole is fluent in French which makes everything in France a lot easier. There are countless opportunities to pull over and take photos but we have to stay disciplined to make it through the mountains. Sometimes you pull the camera out to early and waste your battery then later on in the day when it really gets put on for you, no battery. I don't want that to happen. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-K...0/IMGA0002.JPG A small side road is perfect for us to stop and eat some food. The temperature has risen and it is about 15 degrees so the layers come off and we soak up the sun. It is a perfect day, we are both full of enthusiasm for the weeks ahead. The local produce is rewarding, cheese, olives and wine are so good in this part of the world and a pinch of the cost that we would pay back home so we take the opportunity to dig in. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-X...0/IMGA0003.jpg Back on the bike we head towards the snow capped mountains. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-L...0/GOPR0946.jpg Every time we think the scenery can't get any better it astonishes us again. We are both beaming smiles, every third word is "wow", "woah", "look.. at.. that!". The tarmac is perfectly smooth, maintained and massive rock faces rise up on either side of the road. We follows a river that carves it's way through thick snow and to my surprise the temperature remains above 12 degrees despite the 100's of metres we gain in elevation. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2...GA0011-001.jpg We stop at an old train station that looks as though it may still get some use. There is a huge pile of snow and after a photo with the bike I can't resist spinning up the rear. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-S...PR0949-001.jpg Up we climb and the road starts to carve into the cliff face, dropping off a hundred metres to one side. I am really enjoying the turns and the bike still has plenty of power despite the 175kg load. We pass through a giant hole cut out of the mountain face as we reach the top of the range at about 1000m. We realise how lucky we are to be seeing this spectacle at this height. 2 weeks ago the temperature would have forbid us coming even close when temperatures were -10c. Today the temperature is perfect. In another 2 weeks all this snow will melt and the landscape won't be the winter wonderland it is today. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-O...0/IMGA0015.jpg https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-7...75406616_o.jpg After riding past snow fields we decent around 20 hairpin turns to Castellane. The whole time we can see this church on the edge of a cliff overlooking the city. Nicole is eager to stop to get photos. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-U...36753040_o.jpg We climb again to elevation and have the choice between a route to Cannes or direct to Nice, our destination for the evening. Cannes it is. Our whole afternoon is winding roads up and down, around through the mountain range until late afternoon we finally peak through and can see the meditteranean for the first time. Like someone had flicked a switch the vegetation went from alpine to tropical. Palm trees line the roads. The houses are painted the typical meditteranean colours, ochres, madarins, maroons. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-v...GA0029-001.jpg In Cannes we stop for a snack, crepes with nutella, as we watch old men play bocce in the park. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-f...90062050_o.jpg It is just after 5ish and the sun is starting to set, we pull over to take photos. It is up there with one of the best sunsets I have seen. Carnavale is on and what was meant to be about an hour drive to Nice takes two. Finally we arrive, find a hostel and a safe place to chain up the bike before getting some cheap chinese food and pastries. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-t...0/GOPR0951.jpg In the morning we say goodbye to Nice and head towards Italy. The sun is shining bright and warm. As we leave the city we climb up a hill to the east that gives us a pretty stunning view. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-F...PR0952-002.jpg Following the coastline we take the scenic route. The road winds along the mountains that run into the ocean. It is busy with scooters constantly flying past and road works along the route. We are not making very good time but it doesn't really matter. Today is going to be a big day with about 5-6 hours riding on the bike. We got away from Nice around 10am and so hoping to get to Genoa by about 6:30pm. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-k...0/GOPR0953.jpg https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-N...0/GOPR0955.jpg https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-v...PR0959-001.jpg https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-V...70285980_o.jpg Monaco is along the way and I have always wanted to see it so we stop through for a coffee at a little cafe called le Bambi. A lot of super yachts dock here. I have heard my friend Renee back home talk about working on the super yachts. Apparently it is a pretty good gig. There are 4 mid twenties sitting at a table next to us. A couple of british and maybe some Americans. One struggles with a "sil vous plait, one coffee please" to the waiter who responds in perfect english "One coffee for you." They are talking about what I can only assume is the owner of the yacht, who by the conversation, had a huge party the night before, leaving the yacht a mess and they had to clean it all up. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-4...0/GOPR0962.jpg Not long after and we are at the border to Italy. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-G...PR0962-001.jpg WE'RE IN ITALY! There is a marked difference between ether side of the border. Immediately everything looks more disorganised, rustic, random, rough. I like it. I wait for the driving to get worse. Reportedly the Italians care very little for rules on the road. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-J...0/GOPR0964.jpg The first thing I notice about the roads is the scooters. They are everywhere. I mean, they were there in France but here they are in droves, everywhere... they fly around the traffic, weaving in and out. You have to shoulder check every time you reposition the bike to make sure a scooter isn't about to fly past you. Cars are not indicating, everyone is trying to cut corners to get ahead but somehow it works and I find my groove. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-b...GA0974-001.jpg https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/--...0/IMGA0973.jpg We stop for lunch on the beach. It is quiet apart from a man reading a book near us. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-B...GA0975-001.jpg Half way through our lunch a plane flies low, directly over our heads. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_...0/IMGA0980.jpg We watch as it lands in the water. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-o...0/IMGA0984.jpg 5 minutes later the same plane goes past again. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3...GA0979-001.jpg It takes us a few times to realise that the plane is picking up seawater and flying it to a bush fire in the hills behind us. We notice two planes and a helicopter all working on the fire. People start to leave their houses to watch and the street gets busier. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-a...0/IMGA0987.jpg We look fairly conspicuous and have bee getting our fair share of stares and attention. You can see in this photo the hand out the window on the left giving us the wave. They beeped and carried on when they went past us. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Y...PR0964-002.jpg The night before we wrote down a few possible places to stay in Genoa. I am trying to preserve cash and I have suggested that we camp along the way. There are a lot of campsites on the maps and we have already passed many since leaving Nice. It is starting to get dark and we have been on the road a few hours since lunch. We see a campsite about half an hour from Genoa and stop in to enquire. Nicole hops off the bike to ask and I can hear her try to struggle a conversation in Italian. She comes back to the bike. They want 25 euros for us, the bike and the tent - each item gets a separate charge. I am used to paying maybe 5 euros a night for camping back in Australia. Cosidering we can stay in a hostel for 16 euros each, making it only 7 euro more expensive - we opt for the hostel. It is completely dark by the time we near Genoa. I have the hostel address punched into the gps. Traffic is hectic and I am weaving and avoiding the whole way. We pass shipping yards and a port. They must run a lot of ferries into the mediterranean out of here. Completely slave to the GPS we start weaving back and forth up a hill. I come around a hairpin corner and a bus is coming straight for us. My instict pulls the bike to the left, to where the left lane would be and I have to fight it and pull quickly back to the right. The bus beeps and my stomach turns as our margin for error was very thin. We get to the hostel at the top of the hill. It's an old school looking building with a view over the whole city. The Hostel is part of the 'Hostelling international' chain. It was my first experience with the chain and I wasn't impressed. First thing we were told that there were no shared dorms and that we would have to sleep in separate dorm rooms on different floors. It is handy being in the same room, you can watch over eachothers stuff while the other person showers etc. They also charged us 3 euro extra to buy a membership card for 'hostelling international', which is a bit of a sham as this is compulsory but not advertised online. In all the place was overpriced and felt like a hospital. Not much we could do though as it was the only hostel in the city. In retrospect, and for those ever in Genoa looking for cheap accommodation you would be better off paying the extra 5 euro and staying in a b&b. This Hostelling International comes from a time when YHA's and so forth required membership and were run like glorified school camps. Hostels have changed a lot since then except where competition is scarce. Enough whinging, back to the good stuff. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/--...0/IMGA0989.JPG Our plan for today is to see the Cinque Terre and then make it to Pisa where we found a very cheap hostel online with good reviews. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-x...0/GOPR0966.jpg Our route takes us straight back down the hill that we came up the night before. Genoa has a very industrial feel to it with everything built up the sides of the mountains by the sea. Massive viaducts cross overhead, it is the autoroute. The beamer display is telling me I only have 12 miles to go until I need to refill the bike and we are heading through the mountains. I search for fuel stops in the GPS and fine one about 20 k's away. This is becoming a habit for me as the range on the bike is only about 300k's and I keep trying to push it to the end each time to reduce the number of fuel stops we have to make. With only a couple of miles left on the hud we fill up with gas. The woman at the hostel had told us that we would be able to ride into Riomaggiore from the north and the road was open. In october last year there was devastating flood through the area which destroyed a lot of buildings and roads in the cinque terre. You can see some pretty insan footage here Cinque Terre flood: Vernazza - YouTube It was hard to get reliable up to date news about what parts of the area were open so our plan was just to go there and find out. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-O...0/GOPR0970.jpg We ride through the mountains which follow the coastline. It's a touch cold as we climb high but the sun is shining bright and the views straight out to the ocean are brilliant. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-r...83559094_o.jpg After a stop for some food we reach a fork in the road and a sign that says Strada Chiusa. We knew that Strada meant road, but what the **** does Chiusa mean? Logic and the interpretation of a red circle crossed in the middle planted right in the middle of the road would suggest it means closed. However our unbridled optimism and eagerness to see Cinque Terre has us searching our Italian travel phrase book for the word chiusa. A little 3 wheel piaggio comes past us with an old couple inside. We struggle a few phrases but the basic gist is that we have to go all the way around to La Spezia and come in the back way to get to Riomaggiore. Just a sidenote on the 3 wheel Piaggios, these things are everywhere in Italy. A lot of farmers, builders and labourers in general use them to move their goods around. Originally they were just vespas with an extra wheel on the back and a tray but they have evolved into these things today. Unfortunately I didn't get a photo at the time and can't really see where to find any online. Either way, here is what they look like courtesy of wikipedia. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedi...F.dsc01304.jpg https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-g...01507468_o.jpg I play with the GPS to find the route we need to go consulting with Nicole. It is going to mean we won't get into Pisa until 7:30-8:00ish. We agree it's fine and we take a back road which is a little worse for wear and hasn't been repaired since the flooding. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-0...PR0970-001.jpg We arrive at Riomaggiore and start the walk along the Cinque Terre, we are going to try and see 3 of the 5 towns in the day. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-u...0/IMGA0034.JPG Riomaggiore. I am going to put in a fair few photos that Nicole took here because I think they are all great. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/--...15937089_o.jpg This must be a very 'romantic' thing to do. All along the walk couples have scrawled their names and initials on any possible surface. Even on plant leaves. I think the idea here, which is becoming overdone in a lot of places, is to put your initials on a padlock and those of your partner. You lock the padlock somewhere and throw away the key. I had seen this on a bridge in Cologne 3 months prior. I read an article that in Dublin they had to remove them from the halfpenny bridge because so many had accumulated and were putting the structural integrity of the bridge at risk from the extra weight. The trend is everywhere over Europe and in Italy is gaining popularity here. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-y...97266556_o.jpghttps://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-4...44237119_o.jpg https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-F...92244808_o.jpg We get to Manarola where they are rebuilding still after the floods but most of it is back to normal. We stop for what is, brilliant and cheap coffee with tourist-priced gelati. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-G...0/IMGA0036.JPG https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3...93274193_o.jpg On the way back it must be that time of the day and all the older Cinque Terrians are out and about going for walks and sitting watching the sea. The women are knitting and then men are chatting and smoking. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-k...31015029_o.jpg https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-b...01304602_o.jpg https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-I...60350599_o.jpg As we are riding to Pisa the GPS takes us all the way to the end of a peninsula thinking that we can cross a bridge back to the mainland. The bridge is closed. It takes us another 45 minutes to get back around and so by the time we get through Viareggio and on to Pisa it is dark and cold. It drops down to 6 degrees and I have less warm gear on than normal. Nicole has her arms wrapped tightly around me though, keeping me warm and our conversation distracts me from how bloody cold it is. We finally make it into Pisa about half 8 and settle into our hostel for the night. |
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Pisa-lucca-pistoia - february 25-26
PISA-LUCCA-PISTOIA
https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-D...656%2520AM.jpg It is Saturday and we awake in Pisa. Our plans is to get to Pistoia, a town an hour from Florence and about 2 hours from Pisa. The night before, or maybe it was the one before that, we had confirmed with a Couchsurfer by the name of Alice to spend the weekend with her and her friends in Pistoia. Being in Pisa and only having a couple of hours there is only one, obligatory thing to do. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-E...70353298_n.jpg I had seen so many pictures of the Tower of Pisa in the past it was mostly just a trip to confirm that it had existed and tick the box to say I had seen it. Travelling has become a bit of a process; Step 1: Decide on a country to go to. Step 2: Google 'Things to do and see in 'country x' Step 3: Find things that look interesting or amazing. Step 4: See them in real life. To be honest, this has been the process and I have found it does not entirely fulfill me. Maybe that is why I ride a motorbike. For me, it is less about the destination, but the way and the means. I like that I can look at a map and I know what the country looks like in the area. Flying into a city gives you no context of where that city sits in or the culture it draws on and permeates into the area surrounding. Like the Faithless song, I want more. I want to find things I wasn't expecting. I want to meet people that teach me new things. I want to expand the cup and not just fill it. Little did I know I was about to have one of the best travel experiences of my life that weekend. I digress, back to Pisa. I doubt anyone reading this has not seen the tower, so I won't put any pictures up of it (solely). We have packed up everything onto the bike. As we circle the block we can see it popping out over buildings in our view. I think I accidentally double-dosed on my medication the night prior and I am feeling a little buzzed. We get a park a short walk from the tower. What you generally don't see in pictures of Pisa is the giant cathedrals or dumos next to the tower. I was expecting the tower to just stand out in the middle of a grassy patch with nothing else. Tourists are everywhere and I can smell freshly baked patries and coffee. Two patries down the hatch while I look at the kitsch souvenirs for sale in stalls that line all the side streets to the tower. It is the same mass produced souvenirs you see around the world. I heart PISA shirts and coffee mugs shaped on a slant like the tower itself. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-a...2/IMGA0983.JPG There is a constant line of people taking photos to make themselves appear to be holding up or pushing over the tower of pisa. I find it more interesting to take photos of them, than the tower itself. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-c...0/IMGA0002.JPG Lucca. We leave Pisa and head towards Pistoia via Lucca having heard good things about the latter. After finding a spot to lock up the bike we go in search of coffee. The key is to try and find somewhere that isn't in the main tourist area. The logic being that it will be cheaper and that if it is where the locals go then they will have to work harder and make better coffee to get the business. I have one of those moments where you think you have forgotten to put the alarm on the bike on, paranoia gets the better of me and I go back to check. It's fine and when I return Nicole has struck up a conversation with a couple, they are from Australia and have been living in Lucca for over a year. They recommend a few places to go and we find coffee for 1 Euro. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3...0/IMGA0993.JPG It is by far the best coffee I have had on this side of the world. I have Nicole to blame for this as she worked for a coffee distributor in Australia and literally wrote a book on how to make good coffee. So when a coffee is bad, she explains to me why, like the beans have been overburnt, the milk is too watery. As a result my brain is now finely tuned to pick up subtle differences in coffee - that's right, I have become a coffee snob. I mean, I will still drink a nescafe instant for the caffeine fix but I enjoy a well made coffee. A bit of a walk around the walls of Lucca and we are back on the road to Pistoia. As it is Saturday there are motorbikes everywhere. It has fnally warmed up enough for the Italians to get their bikes out and they love it. Everyone is friendly, waving to us on the bike and beeping their horns when they see that we have GB plates on. We finally reach the train station in Pistoia and wait for Alice, pronounced A-lee-chay, to come and get us. She turns up with a huge smile on her face and we get the cheek kisses that are a standard greeting in this part of the world. That is between men and women, women and women, but men and men shake hands. Couchsurfing is the sort of thing where you kind of have to just go with the flow. People approach it differently but I think it is most rewarding when you spend a lot of the time with the host. If you want all the time free to yourself to explore, couchsurfing is not really for you, pay $10 and get a hostel. So Alice told us that she was going to take us to a folk dancing event that night, then a BBQ the next day followed by swing dancing the next night. That was fine by us, so long as we could get a nap on the couch beforehand. Alice's boyfriend Lorenzo turns up and starts cooking up an Italian pasta for all of us. We chat about the time that Alice went and toured around Australia. Alice and Nicole get along really well, both with an artistic bent, they have a lot in common. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-K...0/IMGA0008.JPG After a fantastic meal we head out to go folk dancing. I don't know what to expect. We turn up to what looks like some sort of community club. There are a couple of guys on a stage drinking and playing what looks like an accordion. Alice and Lorenzo know a few people there and get into the dancing fairly quickly. Nicole and I step back and watch for a bit. After a few songs Lorenzo grabs Nicole for a dance and I fight off Sara, one of Alice's friends who is trying to drag me onto the dance floor. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-K...0/IMGA0014.jpg Nicole and Lorenzo. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-7...GA0015-001.jpg Sara dancing on the right. A group circle dancing song comes on, looks like something I could handle and so I jump in. I try and follow the steps of the others in the circle but it doesn't take long to realise nobody knows the actual steps and it's all a bit of improvisation. It's a great night in the end, desite having no alcohol I manage to dance for a few hours. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-p...GA0025-001.jpg The bike chained to a fence across the road from Alices apartment. The next day we spend half the morning sleeping. After midday we head out for a BBQ at a friend of Alice's. Apparently they organise these BBQ's about once a month and everyone puts in 5 euro to help pay for the copious amounts of food and wine. The car winds up through the Tuscan hills until we reach a spot we have to walk from. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/--...0/IMGA0029.JPG We arrive at a farmhouse that is built into the side of the mountain. A 20 metre long table sits a handfull of people drinking wine, we can smell the olive groves, lavender and wood burning on the fire. Everyone is smiling and laughing, the sun is shining warmth onto everything and everyone. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-U...0/IMGA0038.jpg Everyone plays fetch with the two farm dogs. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-T...0/IMGA0039.jpg Meat cooking on the BBQ, Italian style. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-j...0/IMGA0042.jpg More people start to arrive, eventually around 50 people turn up for the BBQ. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-V...0/IMGA0043.jpg Alice, our CS host and now friend, writes our names on cups so we can all start consuming the Italian wine. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-k...0/IMGA0044.jpg Wine is drunk from a jug. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-C...0/IMGA0047.jpg Bread always plays a big part in Italian meals, especially for Scarpetta - the practice of wiping ones plate clean with bread when finished a meal. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-o...0/IMGA0050.jpg The pasta is finally finished and everyone is all smiles. It was great, this Italian guy was smiling and yelling as he served up everyone their pasta for lunch. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-_...75601742_n.jpg Everyone digs in for lunch. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-h...0/IMGA0051.jpg Nicole is a happy camper. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-i...0/IMGA0068.jpg Everyone is toasting as a couple at the BBQ have announced that they are going to have a baby. The bald guy sitting next to Nicole, we are told later, is a famous Italian soccer player. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-G...0/IMGA0082.jpg After lunch we all headed up to a soccer pitch they had cut out on the hill above the house or a game of soccer. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-s...0/IMGA0097.jpg Running into a group hug and celebration when we scored. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-8...0/IMGA0098.jpg Relaxing afterwards and watching the sun set. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-y...0/IMGA0105.JPG Nicole taking a nap on the grass. Later that evening Alice took us to their weekly Sunday night swing dance session. Alice tells me that swing dancing is becoming very popular in Italy among the mid-twenties. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-o...GA0111-001.jpg Nicole and I trying to learn the moves. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-G...2/IMGA0117.JPG The instructor showing everyone how it is done. A panini and a beer after the dancing and then it was bedtime for us. We got up the next morning to head to Florence. In all our stay with Alice was one of the best travel experiences I have had. It was simple but we just felt like we had experienced a slice of this Italian life, something that normal tourism can't offer. It was much better than just seeing statues and art galleries. I like this couchsurfing thing and plan to do a lot more of it in my travels. |
Here is the latest video blog that covers up to the last written. Spent over 40 hours editing this one... more to come. Enjoy!
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Monday 27th Feb - 4th March - FLORENCE - SAN GIMIGNANO - SIENA - PERUGIA - MATERA
Monday 27th Feb - 4th March - FLORENCE - SAN GIMIGNANO - SIENA - PERUGIA - MATERA
https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-6...s/s845/map.jpg It was all hugs and smiles as we said good bye to Alice in the morning before she headed off for work. We headed on for Florence where we have a pension booked. When we finally find it we are greeted by this elderley Italian man, big guy with a big smile but not much english. He shows us the room, it is in the side of their house. Pictures of his sons achievements line the walls of the dining room and there are plenty of old knick knacks in display cases around the room. The sort that only have value to the person who understands the significance. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-O...66330169_n.jpg Scooters are like ants, lining the streets, weaving in and out of any open space on the road. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-F...17972170_n.jpg We are smack in the centre of the city and head towards the Duomo, Italiano for Cathedral, at the centre of the city. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-q...14026332_n.jpg Green marble, burnt orange tile rooftops are typical of the region but this is by far the biggest Duomo we have seen. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-z...13611979_n.jpg Inside the Duomo the cieling rises up, belittleling, almost intimidating in grandeur. Nicole and I discuss religion. It's not a fiery discussion, we're both Athiests, myself slightly harder line but not the type to push my views on others. I try to imagine what this building would have felt like 300 years prior, before the high rise buildings and feats of engineering we know today. A feeling of awe, work that only devine intervention could inspire, conveying the a similar authority of our modern skyscrapers. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-y...66225475_n.jpg There are a few things you have to take advantage of in Italy. Pizza and Gelati! https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-E...80199436_n.jpg We take a walk in the afternoon to see the Ponte Veggio (old bridge) that, if you have ever seen images of Italy, is likely familiar. The stores along the bridge mostly sell expensive jewellery with the kind of margins I expect would help pay the lease on what is probably one of the busiest foot bridges in the world. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-H...69490705_n.jpg The sun is reaching the horizon and Nicole takes some great photos. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-w...34574107_n.jpg We sit on an open cement area and soak up the last of the sun rays with the locals. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-9...77277288_n.jpg The next morning it is off to the Uffizi gallery. There are two lines to get in, one for express entry, where you pay 3 times as much to get in straight away without waiting, another about 100 people long, where every 5 minutes they let another 10 people through the door. It is a complete rort. After an hour we enter the gallery to find it practically empty. It reminds me of the pretentious night clubs back home in fortitude valley Brisbane, who force you to wait in line on the street, despite the club being barely half full, in order to give the faux appearance of popularity to passers by. This sort of thing really boils my blood and I loathe myself for participating in it but tell myself it will be worth it. It's not. Unless you are overly interested in religion, the catholic religion moreover, and have a knowledge of Boticelli and others I don't remember the names of, it is probably worth skipping. The sculptures and works of art all come from a time when the church funded the majority of artwork. To me it is like reading a Rupert Murdoch newspaper and expecting that it accurately reflects the reality of what actually happened. The best thing about the gallery is the view of the Ponte Veggio from the top floor and only a couple of hidden gems in the east wing, tiny examples of Realism, painted by a woman who was into insects. It's extreme detail you have to see up close. However it didn't make up for waiting an hour in line next to a group of chain smokers. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-b...98995812_n.jpg The view from the top. That afternoon we take the bike an hour away to a small village, built on a mountain, San Gimignano. It's a walled medievil hill town famous for it's white wine and was once a stopping point for catholic pilgrims on their way to rome, or so says Wikipedia. For me it was a quaint town and we walked around the walls for a bit, taking photos and absorbing the landscape. Steeped in cliche romance it was also a chance to try and kiss Nicole for the first time. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9...57332704_n.jpg The male pidgeon puffs up to court the lady pidgeon. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-E...34889740_n.jpg https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-D...04213743_n.jpg https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-_...66942232_n.jpg I can't say there were not opportune moments but two years of friendship puts a lot of pressure into a situation like this. Logic gets the better of me, what is a few more days on 2 years, I leave it for now. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-g...32031110_n.jpg We ride back into Florence and get some rest. The next day we are headed to Siena and Perugia. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-h...70353298_n.jpg The city centre of Siena is a UNESCO world heritage site and one of the most touristy places in Italy. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-A...0/IMGA0978.jpg A pidgeon paces up and down a wall in the famous Piazza del Campo. We relax, grab some food, people watch and soak up the sun rays. I head one way on our way out, self-assured in where I am going. It takes longer than it should and we find the city walls. We find an exit and I have no idea where we are, so we start the long walk around the wall to where we parked the bike. We're lost. Well, not lost as such, we know that all we have to do is follow the wall and we will get back to the bike but we have no idea how long that is going to take. About 3k's later we find the bike with a much better understanding of how large and complex Siena actually is. A couple of hours and one close call with a reckless driver later we are in Perugia. There is a farmhouse that we found on the hostelbookers and we turn up without a booking. In low season, this is the way to go, you know their online price and so chances are you will get a better price on arrival given there is no middleman. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-x...42035914_n.jpg The farm is about 10 minutes out of Perugia and has a great view of the old city. We are starting to wear out after a week on the bike and it is time to recharge the batteries. For 2 days we plan, have a look at the old city, edit video blogs, wash the motorbike and pretty much relax. One place that I am very keen to see is the Saturnia natural springs. Someone on ADV sent me the link and as soon as I saw it I didn't think twice about heading there. Nicole and I finally kiss. There was no hollywood moment and I will spare any details. We crossed a point where there was no going back, neither of us could deny to either ourselves or eachother what half our friends probably suspected anyway. We didn't talk about it, who likes that conversation anyway, we agreed to leave the hard discussion for later. It's my Birthday, 28 years old, I spend the morning chatting to the family and friends and then we head off for Saturnia. It is sunny and warm. Birthdays are often a time for reflection and Nicole and I chat about the past and plans for the future, skirting around anything too in depth, speaking in generalities. We stop at a few camping places along the route to find a place but they are all yet to open for the summer. Even if they were open, they all still want more than 20 euro a night for the two of us. If you are headed to the more isolated places in Italy it becomes harder to find budget accommodation. After coming around a bend we can see the Saturnia springs at the bottom of a hill. It is a relief, I forgot to mention, but there is very little information on the net as to their precise location so we were just heading in the general direction with plans to ask the locals if we got stuck. We stop by them briefly but decide to find accommodation and food before coming back for a proper swim. There is a campsite nearby but it only caters to RV's with a spot to pump out your toilet, 3 phase power sockets and cement parking spaced. Not suitable for us, a bit of nous around the local town finds us cheap pub style accommodation for the night above a bar. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-L...18608806_n.jpg Finally we get down to the spa for a swim. You can smell the sulfur from half a mile away. We had read about the smell but you gloss over any thoughts of this when you see photos of the place. It is probably the smell as to why this place isn't totally overrun with tourists. That in itself is refreshing. As a tourist, the last place you want to be is where other tourists are. As much as I would like to see myself as more of a traveller, the few days before we had been doing a lot of touristing. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-D...0/IMGA0021.jpg About twenty locals, including a soccer team are soaking up the water. With a constant temperature of 37.5 degrees and an air temperature of about 16 it doesn't take much convincing to get in once you are out of your warm clothes. After ten minutes or so you get used to the smell. The texture below the water ranges from sand to pebbles, to slimy rock. Water pummels out of a gap in some reads at the top of the cascade of springs. We stay for over an hour, just absorbing the warmth and at one point I get up and try and stand under the gushing water, without much luck. Afterwards we stink of sulphur, it stays in our clothes and hair, and will last for a good 3 more days. We get a good nights sleep, our plan for the next day is to hit the auto-route and hammer out a solid 600k's to get down to Matera in the south. It proves to be a long day on the bike, traffic slows us at various places and it's 130kph the whole way. The highway doesn't provide much eye candy and by the time we get into Matera and navigate our way to the local hostel it is after 7pm. Ditching all our gear and having a shower makes us feel that bit better and we walk out to get some dinner and explore for a bit. We are both impressed with Matera. It was in the film the passion of the christ, I mean I haven't watched that film but I can understand why Gibson filmed it in Matera. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-E...15979604_n.jpg The next morning we get up with enthusiasm to explore. We are on a roll with the good weather. Church bells chime and we start walking around the town. Everything is white stone a lot of it polished from the continual wear of feet over time. It is kind of semi circular with houses built on levels cascading down into a natural ampitheatre overlooking another massive valley. We meander down to the bottom of the ampitheatre and find a tourist information point. They point out across the valley and tell us the cliffs are filled with old churches, tucked away and hidden. We can see a semblance of a path that heads down and we ask about hiking it. One of the women at the centre tell us it is a six hour day and we would need to get a guide. Another tells us that we could probably do it by ourselves. Seasoned hikers, we opt for the latter, it looks quite easy to navigate and she points out roughly where the churches are for us. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-L...52842332_n.jpg We jump a fence that was never built with any serious attempt to stop people crossing over. Carefully we decend into the valley below. We can see groups of young teenagers across the valley. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-k...79883170_n.jpg The views are amazing, every way we look. There is a river to cross and we take our shoes off and jump across. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-H...0/IMGA0092.jpg We head through a few bushes and find the church. It's over 1000 years old according to the locals and there is a fresco almost worn away on the walls inside. The rest is tainted by locals scratching their names into the walls. It's amazing to us that such a historic place would be left so open. History to Australians, I guess, is more of a novel thing as opposed to Italians some of whom literally have Roman ruins in their backyards. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/--...06982107_n.jpg A scout leader comes out of nowhere, it was scout troops that we had seen earlier. He has little english but tells us that wecan see more up on top of the mountain. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-o...98116231_n.jpg We have trouble finding anything until we reach the top and bump into a group of scouts. Most of the speak english and their Scout leader has a keen interest in Archaeology. They invite us to follow them around the cliffs. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-H...73184229_n.jpg Their leader shows us various hidden churches, one with tiles leading up to an alter and he tells us that pilgrims would kneel on the ground and lick the tiles all the way up to the alter, a good 4 metres of tile-licking away. We answer a hundred questions from the scouts who are very interested in our travels and an hour later we say our goodbyes and trek back up to Matera. The scouts have built a makeshift bridge to cross the river and they set it up for us to cross. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-g...87729857_n.jpg Once we get back into the town we spend a bit more time exploring the abandoned houses. Some of them are being rebuilt and you can see how they have been turned into pensions to make the most of the tourism to the area. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-1...16351574_n.jpg https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-G...56595721_n.jpg https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-C...45788928_n.jpg https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-c...50434284_n.jpg A solid storm breaks out and we head back to our hostel. It's our last night in Matera and we go to the pizza place in town recommended to us by the scouts. It's damn good pizza! https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-8...26970255_n.jpg |
:oops2:I was following a travel log but it turned into a love story and now I would like to know were dose the love go!:(
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Ha ha... it's got a bit of everything. More updates soon :)
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Monday 5th Mar -11th Mar - Matera - Cilentro - Amalfi - Naples - Rome
Monday 5th Mar -11th Mar - Matera - Cilentro - Amalfi - Naples - Rome
https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-_...111%2520PM.jpg We wake up in Matera and hit the road. We want to get to the Cilentro coast road, suggested by an inmate on ADV to us a few months earlier in planning. It's a few hours on the road and the GPS loses us for a bit, we ride along some rougher roads past farmers harvesting, well we can't tell what it is, but something. We have reached a straight road following the coast and we know it heads to some mountains before it gets more interesting. I have heard that this area has quite the mafia presence. There are a lot of hotels and restaurants abandoned and the ones still running look like they have seen better days. I imagine if you are running a business with the mafia around then you are only hampered by your own success. The more money you make the more they take and this might not be, but could be the reason the local businesses look like they have had the life blood sucked out of them. We get alot of stares on the bike, suggesting this is the route less travelled by tourists. A little further and I am cleaning the visor every minute as we are riding through a cloud of salty sea spray. We hit the Cilentro coastal road and the spray is gone, we are 100 metres above the water on a road cut out of the side of the cliff, weaving in and out of small towns. So far we have had very little luck with camping on the Italian leg. Camping either costs us 30 euro for a night at which we balk and decline, given that we can stay in a hostel for that price. Camping grounds start to appear on the side of the beach but most of them appear closed. We finally see one with an open gate and we go in to investigate. There are no guests there, plenty of caravans that appear to stay there through the winter. They are locked up, covered in tarps, everything is packed away. We manage to find a guy who is working on something and with a bit of mime we explain we want to camp for a night. He calls his boss. 10 euro for the night, good for us. So that is how we ended up with a whole camp site to ourselves for a night. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-6...68701499_n.jpg I decided I wanted to go for a bit of a swim but I only got about knee deep before giving up and we sat and watched the sunset. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-T...0/IMGA0170.jpg Making the most of the only lighting in the place at the toilet block to cook up ravioli on the jet boil. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9...0/IMGA0174.jpg Rain came through in the night, making it great fun for breaking camp in the morning. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-N...0/IMGA0176.jpg The road gets a little rough, not much money is getting spent on this part of Italy. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-P...0/IMGA0977.jpg Rough translation "Shit road, drive slowly" As we make our way up the coast to Amalfi we start passing women on the side of the road, quite dressed up. It is the strait road to Salerno and I imagine they are catering to the tourists in Amalfi. A husband says to his wife "Honey, just headed out for some milk, might take a couple of hours..." https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-m...0/GOPR2030.jpg https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-C...17277596_n.jpg Before we know it we are riding Amalfi... the roads are busy and it is the quintessential example of risk taking in Italian driving. Cars skirt round us on blind corners for the sake of saving a minute or two on their journey. I had seen the busses take corners here on the tv back home and so knew what to expect. When you hear the horn blasting you stop on the side of the road and wait. Sometimes I have no idea how they get these busses around the corners but somehow they manage. The traffic is bad but not chaotic, the benefit of coming here on the cusp of spring while it is still fairly cold. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-B...0/IMGA0010.jpg Check out the bus taking the corner. When the traffic clears out and you get the road to yourself the riding is something else. As far as coastal roads go, this is mecca. I have some great footage that I will put in an upcoming video blog, photos just don't do corners justice. Agerola is our stop for the night, it is high up on the mountain and we plan to stay there a couple of days at least. We find a good hostel and settle in for the night. I may not have mentioned it yet but I have secured a volunteer job at a horse ranch in Spain. I need a bit of a break from travel for a bit and am keen to put my 2 years of Spanish study to use. The plan is to go back and stay with Nicole for a week and then head down to the Catalonian mountains where I will stay for 4 or 5 months. The plan, at this stage at least, is still a little vague. Things have changed with Nicole but we haven't worked out what we are going to do yet and we have agreed to not have that conversation, at least for now. We are now two and a half weeks into our 3 week trip. It is almost over but neither of us wants to think about that yet and we take a hike into Amalfi. We are at around 600m above sea level, and we need to walk down to sea level. The hike we have to take is known for its steps, 900 odd steps. Going down steps sounds easy and for the part it seems easy but after about 300 steps you notice that your stabalising muscles in your legs are working overtime to stop your knees from buckling with each step. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-C...27662868_n.jpg https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-S...0/IMGA0999.jpg Stopping for a rest on the walk down the stairs. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-l...0/IMGA0032.JPG Amalfi is as to be expected, an overpriced tourist trap. Take away everything and you are left with a really beautiful part of the world so you just have to ignore the 20 euro price tag for a pizza and garlic bread and try and enjoy where you are. There is no way we are hiking back up the hill and so we hop on the bus and experience the road from the other side. On the bus you are quite high off the road and you an easily see over the edge of the road barriers. It's a nice change to be able to enjoy the view without worrying about focussing on the road. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-G...78216201_n.jpg The sun is setting when we get back to the top at Agerola. Our plan from here is to head further north to Rome where Nicole will fly back to Avignon to get back to her job teaching english. I will head north after that to San Marino, the Ducati museum in Bologna and then slowly make my way back up to Nicole's place in Avignon. The destination today is Naples, home of Pizza and the supposed mafia capital of Italy. However disaster has struck. I went to plug in my digital camera to charge and the thing stopped working. I take it apart to check for loose wires but everything is miniaturised and I can't tell what is wrong with it. Realistically I know that I have little chance of fixing it but with only the fisheye of the gopro to take photos and footage the attempts to fix the camera are more an attempt at getting past the Kubler-Ross stage of denial. A new camera is out of my budget so most of the photos will stop here, at least until I can find a solution. The riding today is equally as thrilling as the days before and the further we get away from Amalfi the lighter the traffic gets, meaning I can really lean the bike into the corners. That afternoon we arrive into Naples. It's rough. Rustic. My street-smart senses can tell it is the sort of place where you need to watch yourself. Traffic is insane, there are no rules, cars are literally weaving into the tram lanes (tram lanes that are isolated by 6 inch high cement gutters mind you) to get ahead in the traffic. "**** off to your own country" or something to that effect is yelled out as I am stopped at a light. It is the first bit of hostility I have come across in Italy but easily ignored. At our hostel we find a safe spot in a hallway to park the bike. There really isn't that much time for us to explore Naples. At this stage the journeysin teh day are enough for me. Nicole has seen Naples before and we need to get to Rome so Rome it is. It is our second last day together before Nicole flys back to Avignon. We will only be apart for a few days but have become quite used to eachothers company. The ride to Rome is all filler. We crank out the ks to get there. As we get into Rome I capture a guy on a GSA giving us the wave. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-E...PR2048-001.jpg We have been getting a lot of waves from the local riders, especially when they see the British number plates. I wish I had have brought an Aussie flag or something for the bike. Although sometimes you want to attract less attention. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--...0/GOPR2048.jpg Another rider flies past us in some of the most reckless riding I have ever seen on the road. He is doing at least 90 in a 50 zone weaving through the traffic. As he passes us he turns around to have a second look at us, whilst turning to overtake another car. That night we check out the main sites in rome. It's nice but the one thing I see that fully takes my attention is a fully black F800GS with the reverse forks and virtually all the parts exchanged for carbon fibre. Yet I don't have a camera to take a photo. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-a...42873433_n.jpg Trevi fountain by night. The next morning I say good bye to Nicole. She heads for the bus and I punch in the coordinates for San Marino and Bologna. Heading off solo again for the first time in a month. |
On the F650GS Twin to Matera
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March 11-20 Rome - San Marino - Bologna - Avignon - Sant Jaume de Llierca
March 11-20 Rome - San Marino - Bologna - Avignon - Sant Jaume de Llierca
https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-l...142%2520PM.jpg A kiss good bye, a full tank and I am on the road to San Marino. My plan is to spend a few days making it slowly back up to Avignon where I will stay for a week or so before heading down to Spain to start volunteering at the horse ranch. The place is called 'Can Jou' and they are going to feed me and house me for a few months in exhange for about 5 or so hours work per day. Getting ahead of myself though. It's time to enjoy the moment. Leaving Rome I take a familiar road back through perugia and cross over a path I have been on before. Sunshine, and the warmth of the Italian coloured countryside brings a slow smile to my face. I feel alone, dwelling in the lonliness of an open highway, it is not a bad feeling, not a good feeling, it just is. Accellerating I pass cars and trucks, a fleet of Harleys only to realise that I have to sustain a high speed to keep ahead. My competitive streak finds it hard to go on holiday. Stopping to put on the banana suit I let the Harleys pass me. I relax into the road and just past Perugia I start to gain elevation. In what is now a familiar process the temperature starts to drop. Stopping the bike I add another layer. Sunday riders flicker past, seemingly warm enough in their one layer of leathers. Snow still lines the roads and it briefly gets down to 3 degrees. Annoyingly, I still can't shake the paranoia of the cold. Before I can overthink the situation I am decending again, through a beautiful part of Italy. San Marino really is a case of just going to see what is there. I am intrigued by these small sovereign states and San Marino is the oldest surviving sovereign state in the world, dating back to the 4th centuy AD. It's independence has probably only survived because it has the backing of the pope and the Italians tend to listen to the Vatican. San Marino sits atop a mountain, overlooking its subjects, surrounded by snow capped peaks. The city itself seems very touristy - my litmus test for this has become the 'torture museum', if you see one of these in the city you are visiting, leave quickly, they are up there with the living statues, Madame Tussauds and portrait artists for useless tourist traps that only take away from the culture of a place. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-T...0/GOPR2060.JPG The entry to San Marino translated means - Welcome to the ancient land of the free. Next stop Bologna. I roll in with a couple of hours sunshine up my sleeve. The only hostel is booked out so I have to camp, fully aware that it will get down below 0 during the night. I check the opening times of the Ducati museum, my reason for being in Bologna. Gutted. It is closed on Mondays. Churning the possibilities in my mind I know that I don't want to wait it out until Tuesday. This is an area I will definitely come back to and so I reluctantly put the museum back on the shelf for now. It is at that point that I start flirting with the idea of getting back to Avignon in one day. 720k's away and 11 hours without using toll roads. If I only use toll roads for about 200 k's I can do it in 9 hours, theoretically. I text Nicole, "Going to have a crack at getting back to Avignon tomorrow, Ducati closed Mondays, xo", "Don't push yourself, take it easy, stop in Genoa for the night if you need to, text me as you go, xo". Resolved to reach Avignon the next day I stock up on food at the supermarket. Once I set my mind on getting somewhere, it takes a lot to stop me. Two girls who are hiking are camped next to me in a Vango Helium, the same tent I have back home, a common link, a conversation starter. Scottish girls, used to the cold, they only have a couple of layers each and are planning to hike over the same mountains I came through to reach San Marino. The reason the hostel was booked out becomes apparent at about 9pm when heavy metal music starts to pound away. Switching on the bike I check the temperature, 5 degrees and dropping. All my layers go on after a hot shower and I head to bed inside 2 sleeping bags. Earplugs are no match for the heavy metal bass and I struggle to sleep sometime after 12 only to wake up a few hours later, sweating in all my layers. 7am I am up, it's just over 2 degrees. Hard-boiled eggs and porridge will keep me going through the cold. Tent packed, on the road at 8am, temperature hovering at 4.5 degrees, just above my comfort threshold. A few k's down the road it gets down to 1.5 degrees. It is my constant battle. I know it will be over 10 degrees by lunchtime but if I stop to wait I wont make it to Avignon today. Another hour and the temperature should be up to a bearable point. I bite my lip and push on, it's grim, my thoughts run in circles, slowed by the cold and constantly thinking about it. My purple elephant. 3 degrees flirts with 3.5, flickering back and forth, becoming 3.5 flirting with 4 every new number on the dial triggers a release of seratonin. Somehow my endorphin system has become tied to the thermometer. How did I let it get like this. In the words of Ewan McGregor - I thought I was made of tougher stuff than this. I know, you get it, it's cold, I don't like, lets move on. I just feel the need to talk about how it affects me and affects the ride. For all the winter months and even some of spring it dominated my planning. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-R...PR2070-001.jpg Cold fades into warmth and reaching the start of the apennines I opt to take the scenic route. Snow starts to thicken on the sides of the road but I am twisting the throttle through the curves following snow melt rivers. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Y...PR2065-001.jpg I stop for a bit of a dance for an upcoming video blog and to eat a banana in the banana suit. The road is flowing with ease and I descend into Genoa kept up for a solid half an hour to wait for a cycling race to pass on the road I am riding. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-u...0/GOPR2071.jpg Waiting for the cyclists to pass... Already looking a bit tired. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-4...PR2071-001.jpg At least it is now warming up and that gives me enough time to get the banana suit off. At Genoa I turn off the avoid tolls function on the GPS and start attacking the auto-route. I get a solid 200 k's out of the way bringing me into France. Now I just have to cross the haute-alps to get back to Avignon. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-P...PR2072-001.jpg I am running low on fuel and headed into the mountains out of Nice. The fuel light is on and the computer tells me I have about 18 miles left. I punch in the next fuel stop on the GPS. Down to 10 miles to go I reach an abandoned fuel stop with only the rusted remnants of fuel pumps reaching to the sky from a pile of concrete. I punch in the next fuel stop in the GPS, a little less confident of what I will find. Without a fuel stop behind me for 30 odd k's there is only going forward. I reach the next fuel stop with 2 miles to go only to find a 24 hour pump that only accepts credit cards. So I should mention at this point that I loathe credit cards and as such, don't have one, opting to use a visa debit card for online transactions and only taking cash out on a debit card. The next fuel stop in the GPS is 20 k's away and I doubt I will make it. A smart move would be to wait for a while until someone turns up, hand them the cash and get them to put it on their credit card. Instead I cross my fingers, roll the dice, and hope that there is a fuel stop in the next town about 8 k's away. As I ride I am being ever so gentle on the revs to get as much distance out of the tank as possible. The computer hits zero and now I have no indication of how much further I can get. It feels like I am riding on borrowed time. Little do I know how miniscule this problem will be in comparison to the problems that await in the months to come. Rolling into the town I see a fuel station, it's open, you ripper! Fuel for the bike, gatorade for me. "Bonjourno!" The attendant gives me a funny look. Ah, France, "Bonjour!" She gets an over enthusiastic "Merci!" I am just glad to have fuel. I promise myself that I won't let the fuel get that low again, a promise I have made before. Lesson learnt that the fuel stops on the GPS map are by far out of date. It's the homeward stretch to Avignon now, about 250k's of twisties and country roads. It's about 4 in the afternoon and I have been on the road for 8 hour with little more than a couple of 5 minute breaks. When we came through this area weeks before everything was covered in snow. Now it has melted and the landscape is entirely unrecognisable to me. I hate to say, without the snow, it has lost a bit of the magic. I focus on pushing into the turns. Without Nicole on the bike I can really carve my way through the mountains. Pushing the bike, twisting the throttle, punching the brakes. Of course I am not the only thing on the road and often get stuck behind cars, slowing me down. I have a resolve to reach a destination and an adrenalin gland that might as well be hard wired to the throttle. We slow into a town, 50kph and I see my opportunity to overtake. Dialling up a good 80k's I cross double lines to overtake the car. In only 3 weeks I have already started to ignore the rules, as the saying goes 'When in Rome...' but I wasn't in Rome anymore and the Gendarmerie are standing at the end of the road. They motion to me to pull over. Shit. The adrenalin injectors in my stomach fire and my heart rate kicks into a higher gear. This is the first time that I have been pulled over by an official on my entire trip. I have only heard bad things about the "Gendarmerie". My insurance paperwork, my license - everything is going to be put to the test. The French cop asks for my papers. I get them out. He looks them over. Looks over at me and smiles. "Slow down on the turns." Hands me back my paperwork. Poker face. You can't look happy in this situation. I pack the bike up while he pulls over the Kawasaki I passed minutes earlier. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-4...PR2073-001.jpg Steadily I make my way back to avignon, passing the same scenery from three weeks prior like watching a video cassette rewind. Fighting through the weariness I join a cavelcade of local French riders headed home from their Sunday ride. None of them seem to take much notice of the GB plates as I join their ranks and let them set the pace. Riders peel off the main road, leaving the group to their respective destinations as the sun dips behind the horizon in front of us. Slowly the group thins out until it is just me again. I pull the bike into a it's secure spot below Nicoles apartment. Exhausted and red-eyed I kill the engine but my body still hums with the vibration of 11 hours on the road. Nicole smells of shampoo. Her eyes are fresh from sleep. I hold her and squeeze her tight. She has dinner cooked and Chevre waiting for me in the fridge, the French goats cheese I didn't realise was my favourite until now. Eating quickly I collapse into bed where I stay until the next morning. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-r...46982545_n.jpg Rue Paul Sain - Nicoles street. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-H...12004905_n.jpg You have to have your name on the door here in France or they won't deliver your mail. One week is all I had to soak up a bit more of Avignon and spend some time with Nicole. It was her Birthday on the Friday and so I of course had to stay until then. Her sister and her boyfriend were also travelling through France and so they stopped by for Nicoles birthday. Cashflow was a bit of an issue for me at the time and to be honest I am not a very good present giver. I didn't want to buy some half-assed present for the sake of 'buying a present' so I painted her a card and just doted on her all day by making breakfast and dinner, cleaning the house and trying to make her day flow as best as possible. The week went quickly. I spent the days editing blogs and trying to come up with a solution to not having a camera. My mother in England had an insurance policy on the camera I was filming on. I don't know if I mentioned it yet but I had swapped her for her camera with the one I had been using earlier. Theirs filmed HD in much better colour and mine was better suited to what she wanted to do, take photos. So I sent it back to them in the post to try and get a new one on warranty. Fingers crossed. Unfortunately this means there is a huge gap in footage, I only have the gopro, and so I will share a few photos here that Nicole took around Avignon to give you a bit of an idea of the feel of the place. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-F...51635569_n.jpg https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-U...93623698_n.jpg In the Centre of Avignon https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-i...49604589_n.jpg The Pont Du Gard, a bridge that goes to nowhere. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-G...96326772_n.jpg Relaxing at a picnic in the park with the locals. So it's only a few days until I leave and it's about time to have the 'conversation'. Up until now my plan has been to spend about 6 months in Spain working and volunteering followed by a whirlwind tour of Europe before shipping the bike to South America. Nicole was due to finish her English teaching placement at the end of April and was free to travel after that. After long discussion we agreed that Nicole would come and meet me in Spain at the end of April and volunteer or work wherever I am at the end of April. We will then hang around in Spain until after June at some point and then ride around Spain/France/Belgium and up to the Netherlands. Three of our friends are coming over from Australia and are going to meet us in the Netherlands, hire a car and come with us around Germany/Czech/Austria. At that point we will then head to Eastern Europe for a couple of months before shipping the bike to South America. That will give us a few outs in case we get sick of each other. The day to leave came up very quickly and being a work day, Nicole had to leave early in the morning. So Nicole went to teach at the school while I packed the bike and got ready to ride to Can Jou. It is a 5 or so hour journey if you don't take the Autoroute and I get on the road some time after 10, stopping in at Nicoles school to say good bye one last time. At this stage we don't expect to see eachother until the end of April, 6 weeks away. The sun is shining. It's the sun of early spring the casts a slightly yellow tinge on the landscape. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-3...0/GOPR2083.jpg Back home in my office cubicle I had one particular fantasy. I am in the desert, alone, somewhere in the US, Arizona maybe, on a deserted highway, on a bike, the type of which is unimportant. The sun is shining through my visor. It's not too hot, just warm like a friendly hug. I feel excited and I feel free. I have the means to go wherever I want but I am in that one place, not because I have to be, but because I choose to be. I don't know where I am going in the fantasy but I am in transit. Between destinations. The important part in the fantasy is not where I am going but that I am going. It is a rare and fleeting state, but in that ride to Can Jou in the North of Spain, with the sun shining on me I feel like I am living the fantasy. My transit takes me through the rustic parts of France to the border with Spain. Two years of Spanish classes under my belt and I am keen to put it to use. That being said I have made the decision to volunteer in Catalunya so I can be closer to Nicole and well, I like the idea of riding and working with horses in the mountains. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-e...0/GOPR2082.jpg I head up the Pyrennees and cross the border into Spain. I start recognising a lot of the words on the signs. They may be in Catalan but with my basic Spanish I can still catch the jist of what they say. I will later find out that due to the laws in France this place just past the border is a hot spot for prostitution. Women in short, short shorts line the roads, texting on their phones, waiting for someone to pull over. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-r...0/GOPR2087.jpg Mountains loom in the distance where I will spend the next three months. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-3...0/GOPR2085.jpg Rolling into Sant Jaume de Llierca, the small town at the foot of the mountain on which Can Jou sits. I follow the winding road for about 10 k's up and up. Finally I reach a sign 'Can Jou' A massive rural inn sits on top of the hill with small cottages peppered around it. The Inn looks out to the South and behind it the view takes in the snow capped Pyrennees. Horses are standing around in fields cut out on the mountain side. Crisp, fresh air. The place seems deserted. I can hear a radio in the distance. Following the sound down to a set of stables I find a girl working on the horses. One lone dread lock hanging down the side of her face and a dew piercings... typical Catalan looking. She introduces her in a thick French accent, "You must be Jackson, the new volunteer, I am Cammie.. welcome to Can Jou." I get the traditional 'Besos', kisses on each cheek. Cammie shows me my room in a small wooden prefab house and explains the daily routine to me. I take the afternoon to settle in before I start my first day working in the stables. |
March 21 onwards - Volunteering at Can Jou - Part 1
March 21 onwards - Volunteering at Can Jou - Part 1
So, I had arrived at Can Jou and I ended up spending a fair bit of time there. This post I want to give you an idea of what a typical day of volunteering there involved and some background into the people and the place. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-h...06990752_n.jpg A storm rolls in from the Pyrenees. Can Jou sits perched on a hill in the North East of Spain in Catalunya. Can Jou - a Can is a rural house in Catalonian, a Jou is that thing that holds the plough to the neck of the pulling animal. The house sits proudly in what we would describe as the saddle of two peaks on top of a mountain. A saddle the same shape as a Jou, where the house took its name. It consists of one main hotel building with over two dozen rooms. This hotel was built onto the side of a farm house that dates back over a thousand years. Surrounded are a couple of smaller cabin style houses for workers, a set of stables with yards for training and preparing horses. Horse paddocks, outlined by modern electric tape fence, cascade down either side of the hill. A horses appetite keeps the grass at bay, ensuring a each paddock is a mixture of mud and hay, clearly defined against the thick forrest surrounding. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y...800/horses.jpg Breakfast time for the horses. There were a total of 35 horses on the farm. A typical day at Can Jou starts at 8am. Wake up and head down to the stables. Feed the horses, work them in the arena, send them out and then start work on any other tasks that might need doing. Greasing saddles and bridles, mending fences, trimming lawns and just general tasks around the farm. Horse blankes would also need washing, everyones least favourite job as the smell was less than favourable. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-J...20blankets.jpg Cleaning horse blankets. "Desayunar", breakfast, is at about 10 am we stop for a good long breakfast. Spanish meals are all a few hours back from the standard western meal schedule. Breakfast is normally Jamon and Eggs on bread, or Muesli. Being a volunteer I have been given unfettered access to the larder in the Inn. Possibly a mistake on their part. There was always a giant leg of 'Jamon' to cut a slice off and I developed what will likely be an expensive taste for me in the future. When away from home, Catalonians will often cite 'proper Jamon' as the thing they miss most. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-n...2520larder.jpg Raiding the larder. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-7...breakfast2.jpg Cooked jamon and eggs on toast... mmm. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-S.../breakfast.jpg We could look out to the mountains and watch over the horses from the window where the staff ate their meals. The day from here always depended on whether or not there were clients. In late March and early April we had very few clients. This meant my day of work practically ended at breakfast. If there were clients we would have to prep the horses and help the clients saddle them before they went on their ride for the day. Then hang around until the afternoon when we would feed them on their return and help clean up the stables. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-3...an%2520jou.jpg Prepping the horses for the clients. You can see the hotel up on the hill behind. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-n...%2520horse.jpg Brushing down a horse. As they were losing their winter coats through most of my stay I was nearly always covered in horse hair. As a client you could either do one day treks on the horses, or, each week, a trail would run where clients came in on the Monday morning and each took a horse they would stay with for the week as they tour around the local area. They would stop at various rural inns around Catalunya and someone would go along to do trail support, make lunches for the clients, feed the horses and check the clients into that particular inn. Clients mostly came from Germany, then the Netherlands, Scandanavia, Britain and the US. They were predominantly women. The array of nationalities meant there were always different languages being spoken. Can Jou was started by a guy called Mick Peters, he was British, married to a local Catalonian woman. He found this old worn down farm house back in the 80s and rebuilt it with the vision of running horse trails around the local area. He ran it up until two years ago when tragedy struck. Mick was driving a tractor up a hill when it rolled, crushing him to death. He left 3 sons and a daughter behind. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-H...g%2520wood.jpg Cutting fire wood to keep us warm was another of the many random tasks I had around the farm. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-9...2520horses.jpg Exercising the horses in the ring. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-J...00/julian2.jpg Julian drives the guy in the back, another Aussie volunteer to court as we attempt to get him out of some trouble he managed to get into with the police... a story for the next post. When I arrived at Can Jou it was in a state of transition. Julian and Marcus, both my age, had inherited the responsibility of running Can Jou. However their heart was not in it. Over the months I would get to know them better and I think they are very similar to their father. They wanted to start their own tourism style business in Costa Rica and make something of themselves in that respect, just like their father had. Julian and Marcus were great guys, always smiling, even when they were complaining, sometimes fiery, always with an abundance of energy. They lived the party life, prefering to live in their mothers apartment in one of the local nearby towns. Very rarely would we see them at Can Jou unless they needed to do managerial tasks or sweet talk the female clients. The latter being an art form they had perfected. I watched Marcus chat a woman into the bedroom in under half an hour. Having said that, they did treat me well, taking me out for long lunches, tapas, beers, squid breakfasts and making sure I always felt looked after. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-v...GA0150-002.jpg Marcos sits across from me as we enjoy a 'Clara' - basically a beer with lemon soda. At first the only way to tell him apart from Julian is the ear stretcher. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-5...0/IMGA0269.JPG A squid breakfast very typical of that area of Catalunya. So there were just a few regular people who I would see every day. The stable manager, Cammie, who cared for the horses and took out clients on day rides. Cammie was French born in a town close to the border with Spain. She had been coming to Can Jou every summer to volunteer for the past 14 years. Since she was 10 years old. Her degree in science had her running tests in a lab the year prior but that was not where she wanted to be. Julian put a call in to her a few months prior when the previous stable manager had to quit due to injury. She jumped at the chance to work outdoors with horses and took a significant pay cut so she could work with horses every day. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-z...640/cammie.jpg Cammie adoring a horse. Cammie was a hard worker and expected the same from everyone. It was not unusual that you would see her still in the stables late into the afternoon, training horses and practicing her show jumping. She would prefer dirt over make-up and sometimes I wouldn't see her change her clothes for a few days. Liam is the younger half-brother of Julian and Marcus. At a fresh seventeen he spends most of his time smoking joints when he should be helping out at Can Jou. Always smiling or laughing but he would always have his older brothers on him to do things. So he was always in fear of his brothers catching him skiving off. Liam loved the horses and taught me to ride, it was always a good excuse for him to take off into the scrub and smoke a joint while we watered the horses. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-z...95893690_n.jpg Senda on the left and Liam on the right, probably stoned, looking out over the Pyrenees. Senda, pronounced send-ah, only spoke Catalan, a bit of Castilliano and a touch of english. Our conversations consisted of one word sentances at first, which slowly progressed to being able to talk about his boxing. The same age as Liam, but a bit more mature, he trained in boxing all the time and despite smoking nearly the same amount of weed as Liam, still had the motivation to go to training in the mornings and then run 7k uphill to help out a couple of days a week. Senda rode his dirt bike around the local area, a little 150m. Now here is the clincher. He did this with road tyres that were down past the wear indicators. Never shying away from corners either. Adina and Juan. A very warm Romanian couple who had come to Can Jou for work many years ago when Romania joined the European Union. Adina was the chef and cooked all the client meals. She had mastered the Catalonian cooking and I was often the beneficiary of the leftovers of these country home cooked meals. She spoke a small amount of English and so I was able to talk with her from the start and only learnt more about her as my Spanish improved. Juan could only speak Castillian and so it wasn't unil my Spanish improved that I was able to understand his sense of humour. He helped Adina in the kitchen and looked after the other tasks in the small hotel. They have two daughters, Roberta and Sara, seven and five years old. They all lived together in a tiny little cottage on top of the hill at Can Jou. Roberta and Sara went to school in the local town and so they spoke Catalan. In the house, the whole family spoke Romanian but Adina and Juan only spoke Castillian so their daughters had their own secret language. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-a...0/IMGA0194.JPG Adina and Juan in the kitchen. Roberta and Sara were typical of children brought up in the country. With few friends nearby and only nature to entertain them they had broad imaginations, often riding sticks around and pretending they were horses. Getting back to a typical day. Lunch was served up by Adina around 2 o'clock. Some days I would eat by myself, sitting on a rock, watching out to the Pyrennees. Earlier on in my stay it would be quite cold and so we would get a nice log fire going in the communal area of the house and sit around eating, chatting and maxing out the wifi connection. As it got warmer we would eat together outside and then nap in the sun on the grass for siesta. The afternoons were either spent editing or writing emails and watching old reruns of america sitcoms. Some days we would ride the horses around the nearby mountains and slowly my riding skills progressed. Cammy would take me for long canters around the hills, happy to push my abilities. In my entire time at Can Jou I never fell off a horse and so I always had that naive optimism of someone that has never been burnt. When clients came back from rides in the afternoons we would have an hour or so of work removing the gear and feeding the horses before sending them to the paddocks for the night. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-M...0/IMGA0289.jpg Enjoying the dirt roads in the hills around Can Jou after all the work is done. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-x...0/IMGA0296.jpg We watch the sun set over the mountains as Sara and Roberta in the Pink and Red run a muck around us. In line with the late schedule we wouldn't eat dinner until about 9pm. Dinner was often not made for us and so I would usually cook for myself. This meant getting creative with whatever happened to be in the larder. Garbanzos, zucchini and carrots with tomatos and some pasta. Lucikly we had an endless supply of onions and garlic to give the meal some base flavour and plenty of herbs and spices to top it off with some punch. There were a few things in the larder labelled 'No tocar' - No touching, and so we couldn't quite pull together the same meals as Adina. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-J...0/IMGA0167.JPG We were more often than not treated with some pretty spectacular sunsets. Photos cannot do justice. Initially nights were cold, anywhere from 2 to 7 degrees. The small Kabana that Cammie and I shared had no insulation or heating. Just half an inch of wood between us and the elements. To cope we would sit in front of the fireplace in the main house until the very last minute where we would run back to the Kabana and into bed. Cammie was born of the mountains and so coped with a couple of big blankets. Used to a more tropical Australian climate I would bury myself five blankets deep only to emerge the next morning for a new day. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-u...0/IMGA0032.JPG The 'Cabana' where Cammie and I slept. Next post I will go into the events that happened over the course of my time at Can Jou that will ultimately define the path of the rest of my travels. |
G'day well ive enjoyed your travels so far .
I apreciate the work you put into your blogs,the video's are first rate ,Note to self learn more about editing video's ,yours are very professional ,will follow the rest of your travels with interest.Noel:D
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Quote:
I just got an email from Grant who has accepted my application to present at a HUBB meeting in Australia in 2013, where I am going to present what I have learnt from filming and editing and how I think that other riders can help push the format beyond just gopro footage and music as a backing track. |
G'day mate.
I'd be interested in hearing you speak ,so where and when,i guess it's all on here some where.I'am fairly new to computers etc much to learn.would love to ride to the hubb meeting.Noel
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Here is the latest video.
Noel, September next year in Dayboro. |
Thanks Jackson will put it on my calandar
In the mean time i will continue to follow your travels,Noel:D
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Volunteering at Can Jou - Part 2
Volunteering at Can Jou - Part 2
https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-s...0/GOPR3750.JPG Unfortunately all my cameras were broken except for the Gopro, so this is the only picture I have in this post unfortunately, lots more pictures coming on the next post, which I am already working on... Can Jou is an interesting story, and something I will refer back to over the rest of this report. I learnt a lot about horses, Catalonian life, running a tourism business and the importance of succession planning. When I arrived at Can Jou the twins, Julian and Marcus weren't there, Cammie told me that they were off at some music festival and would arrive later in the week. So it was myself, Cammie, the younger Liam, Adina and Juan. The earlier days were easy, we got stuck into the work in the mornings but were usually finished by 11 or so. It was still cold and so I would spend my afternoons editing, either in front of the fire on overcast days or out in the sun on better days. Weather came in patterns, nights would get very cold and snow would fall on the Pyrennees. It was quite the view in the mornings, looking out to the Pyrennees covered in snow. I would be freezing while I worked in the stables until the day started to warm up. Liam lived in Sant Jaume, the closest town to Can Jou, about 10 k's down the bottom of the mountain. After most of the work was done we would either go horse riding or he would head straight down to Sant Jaume to hang out with his mates. Cammie also had friends down in Sant Jaume but she is horse obsessed and would spend all of her free time riding. Even on her days off she would be practicing show jumping. She had also made a group of close friends in Sant Jaume, care of her ability to speak Catalan, and so would spend most nights in the town only to return in the morning for work. This meant that as the only volunteer at Can Jou I would normally be alone on the mountain on the dark nights. I don't have a thought for the supernatural but that doesn't mean that being alone in the darkness on the mountain was easy. At first the isolation was a novelty and I appreciated the time alone to work on writing and video blogs. After a few weeks though it started to wear on me. Five or so days after I arrived Julian and Marcus turned up for lunch. Full of life and enthusiasm they went through what their expectations of me were. When they found out I had a trailer license they were stoked and organised for me to learn how to run the trail support. For me this meant that I was going to have more variations in work and I would get to know the local area very well. Both of them being around my age, I had thought at the time that they would be spending most of their time at Can Jou and I would have people to keep me company. The twins explained to me about how they were trying to sell Can Jou. They went through the sad story of how their father had suddenly passed away in a tractor roll over about 18 months prior and they had to take the reins and keep the business going. Their father had remarried and had Liam, their younger brother in a second marriage. He had also adopted a girl and so there were various interests all vying for their piece of the estate. Unforunately this had all come to a head during these bad economic times and they were only looking at selling the business for a third of what it had been valued at 5 years earlier. It was obvious that the boys had been accustomed to an easy life, travelling around the world and Europe, partying and only ever returning to Can Jou when they needed to work to pay down loans from their Father. This had changed very quickly after the accident and both the twins were dreaming of moving on to bigger things. They were entrepreneurial though and wanted to start their own tourism related business in Costa Rica, where they had made contacts through their travels. Their plan was to try and settle the estate, take their inheritance and head to Costa Rica to start the business. They were expecting to do this in the next 6 weeks or so, which kind of didn't fit in with my plans to stay in Can Jou until the end of July. However in the same breath they were telling me this they were also confirming that I was going to stay until August. I confirmed with others on the ranch that the twins were just being overly optimistic, as was their nature. Over the next few weeks I didn't really see them that much. They would come and chat to me to make sure everything was okay and would talk up a big party they had planned for us for the weekend. All the while nights were cold and tough. The thermometer in my room would get down to 6 degrees some mornings. I would be stuck under 4 layers of blankets but still cold. The flimsy walls might as well have not been there as the temperature was the same inside as out. There were no shortage on blankets at Can Jou though and I nailed blankets to every wall in the room which helped to hold in some heat. About a week and a half in it was late at night and I was the only person at Can Jou. Anxiety started to creep in. Now I have had anxiety attacks in the past, they are not fun, generally I can control them fairly easily in most circumstances. Being alone however, away from anything and everything that could be used as a metaphorical anchor to reality, it got out of hand fairly fast. Perhaps it was the situation I was in. I forgot to mention already, but I rode into Can Jou with only a couple of hundred miles of tread left on my tyres, with the bike needing a service. At the time I was also low on funds, awaiting money to come in a few months later from Australia, and couldn't afford to get new wheels put on the bike, as well as spend the 90 Euros for the return trip to see Nicole. I had let myself become stuck in the situation with what I saw at the time as no exit strategy. The thought of another 3 months like this weighed heavily on me. Up until this point the novelty of the natural beauty and new lifestyle at Can Jou had masked this. An anxiety attack is somewhat just fight or flight. Rationality goes out the window as emotion takes over your every thought and holds you in an infinite loop that it seems there is no escape from. At home I would just call a friend, drive the fifteen minutes over to my parents or friends houses for a chat if I was feeling out of sorts. The very ability to do this usually means you avoid anxiety attacks all together. Anxiety doesn't even appear on the radar because you have a support network, a safety net that coccoons you from such things. Now I was in the middle of nowhere, with few options. A positive side effect of an anxiety attack is that you quickly establish who the people you care about are in your life. They are the people you can talk to in a situation like this without reluctance. Unfortunately the time difference was not on my side and family and friends back home were still in bed. Nicole, the closest to me in France, was out for the night with friends. I sent them emails, asking to call me once recieved. Mostly though I knew that I would have to find a way to deal with this by myself. Eventually the emotion would subside, a friend of mine who studies psychology told me these things usually only last about 15 minutes. The body has trouble sustaining your adrenalin levels at such a high level for long. So it's essentially like being strapped in a rollercoaster you didn't want to be on and having to wait it out until the end. These are rational statements though and are have very little positive effect during said rollercoaster ride. After an hour or so, I started to calm down, I stopped pacing and changing what I was trying to do every minute, I was able to focus on a single thing. I was through it by the timeI got to speak to Nicole and family, who insisted that I call them in such a situation in future. The next morning I was fragile. The worst thing about having an anxiety attack in a situation is that you start to relate the attack to that situation. This can then feed more attacks as starting to feel anxious feeds itself until it becomes a full blown attack. I didn't discuss it with anyone at Can Jou, it tends not to be something you tell people you don't know well. Instead I talked to Nicole and we started progressing our discussions on how we were going to see eachother and travel together. Our plan became that Nicole would come to Can Jou at the end of April once her placement at the school in Avignon had finished. Her work Visa was due to expire a week after her placement finished. The laws relating to her staying longer in he Shengen zone after this though, were very vague. As an Australian she had 90 days free in every 180 in the Shengen zone without needing a visa. (Shengen is basically every European country, except Romania/Bulgaria/UK and the Balkans). What was very unclear was whether the time she had spent on her French work visa counted towards those 90 days, or if she could spend 90 days in Shengen after the expiry of her French work visa. The easier way seemed to be that she would go to Germany, where apparently German work visas are very easy for Australians to get, and get a work visa to cover her for 12 months. She could then come back to Can Jou and work on the ranch until we would leave together to travel the rest of Europe after August. That meant that she wouldn't be in Can Jou for another 8 weeks or so. The thing was, if I rode to Avignon from Can Jou not using the toll roads it would take 6 hours and not the sort of thing I could just do in a weekend. Taking tolls meant it was a 3 hour drive, definitely doable for a weekend, but that cost about 30 euro in tolls. We decided to split the cost so I could head up to see her in 2 weeks time. I thought at the time that I had at least enough tread to get me there and back once. Having a plan in place and something to look forward to eased my mind. All I had to do was occupy myself for the two weeks in the mean time. I forgot to mention, but my mother had managed to get a new video camera for me on warranty back in London about a week prior to me leaving Avignon. She had also decided that she didn't like the camera I had swapped her for hers, so she was going to send me both my old camera and the new one on warranty. Thanks mum! She had mailed them to the address in Avignon though, before I could ask her to send them to Can Jou. Another good reason for me to head up to Avignon to visit Nicole. To pick up the cameras. What this means though, is that I don't have any photos from this time at Can Jou. Hence the heavy wordedness of this report to try and convery the picture of what was happening. The next week things started to change. I was still getting bouts of anxiety but managed to put them at bay. Avoiding strong coffee in the morning and ensuring I got a bit of cardio in the day really helped. On a sunday night we went down to pick up clients who were coming to ride on the trail through the week. It was the first clients of the year and finally Can Jou was coming to life. The twins came down with me to pick them up in the fourbies in what would become a weekly routine. We would stop in Sant Jaume, the town at the bottom of the hill I was talking about before, and the clients for the week would all hop of the bus. We would greet them as they came off, smiles on our faces. What Julian and Marcus were really doing though, was sussing out to see if there was any talent for the week. Two german sisters had come by themselves along with a couple of other families and the twins eyes sparkled. I was no longer a single man though, I'm just not that kind of guy and I was skyping with Nicole every night anyway. The twins however gave me the whole run down on how to court the ladies and I was quite amused in watching them at work. The clients were there from Sunday until the following Sunday. They told me that they wouldn't really talk to the girls until Thursday or Friday as they didn't want to peak too early. Then on Saturday night the Cava, that is the local champagne would start flowing and the twins would crack open as many bottles as necessary. So that was how it was, later in the week Marcus and Julian spent a little time around the stables flashing a smile at the German girls. Then on the Saturday afternoon Julian and Marcus turned up and started burning wood for the BBQ. Three of their mates from Munich had been driving since the very early morning and turned up a little later. They brought cases of German beer and we started to get stuck into it. The sun was shining and it was a beautiful day. Late afternoon came and the Germans had put away more than their fair share of beer. I went looking for Marcus and Julian and only found the Germans by the pool, stark naked, drinking more beer. As was customary the clients came back from the final day of riding late in the afternoon. Cava was cracked to celebrate the end of the week and everyone would stand on the balcony watching me wash down the horses and send them out to the fields. Later that night I was looking for Julian for some reason and knocked on the bathroom door. Now we had a huge bathroom in the house with a bath the size of a spa. The three German boys had decided to have a bubble bath together, again, stark naked, with glasses of champagne and strawberries. This was not the first time I had experienced this strange level of comfort that Germans have with being naked together. Earlier in my trip when I was in the Phillipines I met two German sisters who insisted on showering together. Personally champagne in the bath is something that I reserve for the special woman in my life and I would much rather sit around a camp fire with my mates after a hard day of riding... call me traditional. Cava flowed into the night and I found myself at a table answering all the clients questions about my trip. They had heard through one of the twins what I was up to and they were curious. Fast forward a couple of hours and I was with the twins, Cammie, the German boys and the two German sisters in the staff kitchen drinking Estrella (the local beer). It seemed that one of the German sisters had taken a liking to me. We had a good chat, but as I said before, I am a one woman guy. As is the way with these things though, if I was single I would have been sporting the eye of the tiger and she wouldn't have given me a second glance. About fifteen minutes after we had started drinking in the kitchen I turned to see that Marcus and the other German sister were missing. I bid everyone goodnight and went back to my room to sleep. Along the way I saw the tails of Marcus and the German girl sneaking off into a room. The next day we dropped the clients back off at the bus. Dusted off our hangovers and got ready to welcome the next busload of clients that evening. I was happier in the thought that more people would be around to keep things interesting at Can Jou. Also happy though, because I was two days away from heading to Avignon to see Nicole. |
Volunteering at Can Jou - Part 3
Volunteering at Can Jou - Part 3
It was Thursday afternoon or something when I finally left for Avignon to see Nicole. It had been raining earlier in the day and so I was kitted out in the banana suit. With an undesirable amount of tread left on the rear tyre I was riding carefully. Not like your grandmother, but certainly not pushing it around the corners. It was about 15 degrees, cold enough to make it uncomfortable in combination with the rain. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-H...s640/storm.jpg A storm rolls in over Can Jou. Earlier that morning I had been washing horse blankets with detergent. I was going at them hell for leather with the scrubbing brush and it wasn't until I had washed about a dozen blankets when I looked down and my knuckles were bleeding. The skin on my hands had become very soft and when I started washing them in water it took forever to get the feel of detergent off my hands. I went back to look on the container only to see this symbol on the back. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedi...zard_C.svg.png Now I know that I should have looked at the container earlier, but this is dishwashing detergent, with a photo of dishes on the front of it. Why the hell is it corrosive!? It turns out that it is actually detergent that you put in industrial dishwashers. My skin had become so soft that it rubbed off the back of my knuckles on the rough fabric of the horse blankets. As my hands dried out they itched like crazy and became extremely dry and cracked. You can imagine this put me in the best mood for my ride to Avignon. I rode past Figueres and reached the autoroute which would then take me about 3 hours at a constant 120kph to get up to Avignon. As I rode down the on ramp and started to turn onto the highway I lost traction. The rear end fish tailed and then stood up. I don't know if I did something right, or what I did, but the bike stood back up and all I could do was go straight ahead, like I was riding a giant ice skate. Luckily there was no traffic behind me and the direct line in front of me was the hard shoulder so I just kept sliding until the bike came to a stop on the shoulder. I looked back and saw the spot where I lost traction and it looked like diesel or something had spilled on the road. The lack of tread on my tyres though couldn't have helped and so I drove like a grandmother for the next fifty odd k's until I felt comfortable on the rougher tarmac and settled into the 120kph speed limit. Until 100k's out the weather held good, wet roads but none of that rain that turns your visibility to shit. About that time though, it did, indeed, turn to shit, and I learnt that unless the valcro seam on the banana suit is kneaded shut it will let in enough water to ensure I got soaked through three layers. Water saps the heat out of everything it touches through conduction and convection. So as soon as it started lashing down the temperature dropped to below 8 degrees. I thought I would be able to hold it out another hour to reach Avignon. It only took 20 minutes for the cold water against my skin, combined with the wind, and my hands itching again due to the earlier incident to become too much and I pulled over to a fuel stop. One great thing about most of the fuel stops in France on the autoroutes is that they have hot showers. It usually requires that you buy fuel or pay about a euro for it, but it is well worth it. I jumped in the shower, warmed right back up again. Put on some spare clothes and used the spare set of rain gear that I had kept for Nicole. It didn't take long for me to start to get soaked through again but I was able to hold it out until I made it into Avignon. I was so glad to see Nicole again, I felt like a broken man, the anxiety attacks, the corrosive incident and the cold ride had me right down. She read my demeanour as soon as I arrived, I remember looking at her and tried to make a joke of my predicament, "Fix me!?" That she did, we ordered pizza and watched movies while my clothes tumbled in the dryer. She had some bizarre, foul smelling, coconut lotion that she insisted on rubbing on my hands. It seemed to work and the next day my hands had stopped itching and cracking. My new cameras had taken their time but both had arrived just a couple of days before I got in. All thanks to my mother in London I was able to shoot video and take photos again. The next few days were spent in, while it rained outside constantly, at some point it cleared and we left the house to go on a hike to Sant Remy, near where Van Gogh cut his ear off, and a bunch of Roman ruins. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-t...0/IMGA0018.JPG The reservoir we hiked around at Sant Remy. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-G...GA0027-001.jpg Some strange old structure... I have no idea what it is, maybe someone can tell me? https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-l...0/IMGA0027.jpg On the top is says "King of kings" in French, I am told by Nicole. It was finally time to leave Avignon and head back down to Can Jou. It would only be another month before I would see Nicole again. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-h...0/IMGA0043.JPG https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-d...0/IMGA0045.JPG Sun sets over the Pyrennees.Things were busy at Can Jou. Julian had started hanging out at Can Jou a bit more, apparently sick of spending so much time with his brother. One of his mates turned up and told me plenty of stories from when the Twins used to go wild at Ibiza in the summers. I can't remember his name, but he had one hell of a beard. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-7...0/IMGA0040.jpg I started trying to get away from the mountain more often to keep me sane. Cammie took me to one of her show jumping meets. It helped that I was the only person that had the license to drive the horses in the float to the meet. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-x...0/IMGA0110.JPG Cammie gets prepared in the warm up paddock before her run. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-v...0/IMGA0108.jpg Cammie on the jumps. We arrived back from the show jumping and the twins were having another BBQ, everyone was Catalonian though and I couldn't speak with them very much. Food was good though, plentiful and there was more beer than I could have ever wanted. Things got rowdy and the Ferrier, whose name is Marius and Julian joined one of the local, and loco, Catalonian guys in a bit of a song and dance. Julian was telling me that this Catalonian guy had bought the keyboard convinced that all he needed to do what write one catchy tune, like the Macarena, and so long as it got picked up, it was going to be his ticket to fortune. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-d...0/IMGA0122.jpg The boys dancing to a tune that had a chorus dedicated to the Barcelona star footballer, it went "Messi, messi, messi, messi" about a dozen times. It was the next afternoon, with hangovers from the preceding days festivities, that we had to deal with a horse on colics. I had never heard of this before I came to Can Jou but they stressed a few things with me, one of these was how to identify the signs of when a horse is on colics. Things like the horse laying on its side and not wanting to get up, not eating food, scratching it's belly, sweating profusely and showing general signs of pain. Colics is usually when too much grass or hay becomes compacted together and clogs the intestines in the horse, basically put. If not treated quickly it can kill the horse and the twins had lost a horse the year prior to colic. Pilgrim was showing signs of being on colics. Cammie, who has a sixth sense for these things, sensed something was not quite right. The vet was called in and she quickly inserted what must have been a 3 metre long tube into the horses nose. I watched curiously as she pushed inch after inch into Pilgrims nostril. In my mind I was thinking, "Where the f-ck is all this tube going!?" that surely she would stop soon but she kept pushing until at least a couple of metres had gone in. Cammie held the tube in place and comforted Pilgrim while the vet poured warm water down a funnel into the tube. She then held the end of the tube down to another bucket. I realised she was using a gravity pump to essentially pump the stomach contents out of the horse. Half digested green hay started to flow into the bucket. I thought that was it but as soon as it stopped she poured more warm water through the tube into the horses stomach. She had to fill the stomach enough to create a flow for the gravity pump. This process went on and I was sent to get another warm bucket of water. An hour passed. It became more difficult for the vet to get the flow started each time and so she started sucking on the end of the pipe, just like syphoning fuel from a car, and as soon as the green hay would appear in the pipe she would thrust it down into the bucket. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-7...0/IMGA0073.JPG The vet sucks on the pump to get it flowing. I fetched more water, Cammie and I exchanged positions and I held the tube in place and comforted the horse, trying to stop it from moving about too much. Blood was running down my hand from where the tube was rubbing against the horses nostril. I was covered in horse sweat and the heat that was coming off the horse was incredible. It was onlya matter of time until the vet sucked a bit too hard and the green hay came through the tube a bit faster than expected. She pulled the tube away too late and copped some in the mouth. Normally I have a pretty strong stomach, but I was nursing a hangover and this made my stomach turn. The vet however, spat it out, wiped her mouth on her sleeve, smiled, and kept going. I knew then why veterinarians get paid the big money. Someone once said to me that in life, in order to make good money, you have to either do the jobs that nobody else can do, or the jobs that nobody else wants to do. To me, this was certainly the latter, she earned every cent she billed that afternoon as she took stomach contents in the mouth at least half a dozen times. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-E...0/IMGA0084.JPG Cammie works Pilgrim in the paddock after the 3 hour stomach pumping session. It went on for 3 hours like this until eventually the liquid coming from the horses stomach was virtually clear. Cammie took Pilgrim to the paddock to trot circles. It was apparently important that the horse keep moving to try and break up any remaining clumps in the stomach. It was a busy afternoon, after which we had to go and pick up more clients and put on happy faces. We had saved a horse though, and it was a good feeling to be part of that. A few days later Pilgrim was back to normal. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-I...GA0139-001.jpg Spring had sprung by this point, flowers were starting to emerge and the days were slowly getting warmer. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-m...GA0137-001.jpg Eating lunch on the thinking rock, the twins father used to say that no matter how bad things got, if he came out, sat on the rock and looked out to the mountains any problem could be solved. Whenever we needed to chat about something, the boys would bring me to the rock. Julian and Marcus would always turn up at Can Jou randomly. They were never really there to do work, just make decisions and try to work on the leads they had to sell the place. Most weeks it would seem like they had a keen buyer on the hook. Most of the time though it would go cold. At one point 30 people turned up and started looking around the place. It turned out they were a local hippie group that had somehow become very cashed up. They were looking for a place to turn into their commune. I mentioned to the boys they were unlikely to get the fast decision they wanted from a group with 30 decision makers. In the end, that one fizzled too. The boys would commisserate with me, we headed to the beach one afternoon to get stuck into Clara and Paella. We met with a guy who was one of the first volunteersat Can Jou two decades prior. He was British like their father, and had helped build Can Jou, eventually moving to Catalonia and buying a house of his own. His discussion with the twins centred around their plans and how they were looking after their younger brother. He obviously felt protective over the twins and a sense of responsibility for them after their father had passed away. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-l...GA0150-003.jpg Marcus and I drinking Claras, beer with lemon. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/--...0/IMGA0151.JPG Mussels. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-b...0/IMGA0155.jpg Marcus finishes off his Paella. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-V...0/IMGA0156.jpg After lunch we left the restaurant to see this waiting on the Horizon, Can Jou is 30 k's behind those dark clouds. It went from 17 degrees to 6 degrees as I rode into the rain, again freezing my ass off and having to jump straight in for a hot shower when I finally made it back to Can Jou. Miguel, the local guy who did the tour support at Can Jou was given the task of training me up to do his job so that when the summer got busier we could run 2 tours in the one week. Myself doing tour support on one and him on the other. He spoke no English other than, "Yes", "No" and "Hello Ladies!". This was good, I had to speak to him in Spanish and so my Spanish started to improve. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-2...GA0180-003.jpg Miguel and I set up a picnic for the riders on the trail as he teaches me how to do the 'trail support'. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Z...0/IMGA0183.jpg Bells clang as a herd of sheep scuttle past. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2...25282%2529.jpg Adinas salsa reheating on the gas burner for the picnic. It wasn't long until I could start to hold down a better conversation with Adina and Juan in the kitchen. Actually, in the end I found it much easier to speak with Adina and Juan, who also spoke broken Spanish, than I did with the others, who spoke it very fast. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-c...GA0173-002.jpg Working the horses in the paddock. My skills with the horses were improving as well. Julien taught me to work the horses in the paddock. Cammie taught me how to treat a lame horse. I was becoming a better rider, although only getting to ride a couple of times a week. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-q...0/IMGA0142.jpg Watching over the horses in the paddocks from the staff dining room. One day the twins came to me and told me a new volunteer was on his way and they were picking him up. I was stoked that I would have someone else around Can Jou in a similar position to myself. His name was Wokman, yeah, Wokman Benitez. He was Morroccan, which was quite common in Spain, given their proximity to the place. He had lived all over Europe, getting by in various places, more recently Barcelona, where he had trained to become a chef. Wokman was laid back, intelligent and we had good discussions about all things travel and philosophy. He could cook, and taught me how to get the most out of the ingredients that we had in the larder. Dinner was normally made for us on days where clients would stay in the hotel at Can Jou, but some nights they would be in other hotels out on the trail and so we had to fend for ourselves. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-_...GA0171-001.jpg Wokman cooks up a storm in the staff dining room. Unfotunately Wokman only stayed a few days. He needed to make a little bit of money, and was going to stay at Can Jou to work in the Hotel and help Juan and Adina out with the cooking. The twins couldn't afford to pay him that much though and when one of Wokmans old employers called offering him a decent job in Barcelona he was on the next bus. So some things changed, and some things didn't. Liam and Senda still used Can Jou as their own personal weed den. Causing trouble and always leaving the place in a mess. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-Z...0/IMGA0157.jpg Senda with the shaving cream playing a prank on his passed out mate. Liam in the background cooking pasta to stave off the 'munchies'. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y...0/IMGA0160.jpg Senda draws on the face of his mate who has passed out on the couch in front of the fire from smoking too much weed. Some things transcend all cultures. Marcus and Julian kept promising to get the pool cleaned out, but it stayed green. It was symptomatic of their eternal optimistic personalities. They loved to think big and promise big things, but didn't always have the follow through to get things done. They were always talking up how each year they would have a huge pool party, full of scantily clad Spanish girls, a DJ and unlimited beer. I know the personality type because I have been prone to the overly optimistic view of the future in the past, and at least in my earlier twenties, not always having the follow through. The trip that I am on now though, is one thing that I had always said I was going to do, and now I am doing it. That, is something that I am proud of. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-m...0/IMGA0143.jpg The pool, left green after being neglected over the winter. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-3...0/IMGA0085.JPG Storms would dump snow on the Pyrennees and the twins noted how unusual it was to have snow up there this late into Spring. Marcus came to me about a week before Nicole was due to arrive at Can Jou. He had been called by two Australian guys in Barcelona who had run out of money and had got the number for Can Jou through a friend. Marcus asked me to suss them out when they arrived and give him my opinion of them. I said "So long as they don't turn up in skinny jeans and come from Melbourne, they should be fine!". He laughed and I explained that this most likely meant they were hipsters and if so I doubt they would have much work ethic. They would be more concerned with how their iPod playlist represented their personality. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-F...GA0243-001.jpg Aaron on the right. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-g...0/IMGA0243.jpg Patrick on the left. You can imagine then how much the twins and I laughed when Patrick and Aaron pictured above turned up wearing skinny jeans. To top it off, they are both from Melbourne. The twins however were about to hit peak season and we needed as many hands on deck as possible. Without more volunteers coming forward we had to take what we could get. What we could get would turn out to be a giant cluster**** almost a month later. At first Patrick and Aaron were keen and they behaved themselves. Patrick was sent to work with Adina and Juan in the hotel, helping to clean and work in the kitchen. Aaron was put with me in the stables. Both of them were in their early 20's, both acted like teenagers. Just like teenagers they started pushing the boundaries to see what they could get away with. The twins were quite liberal with food and wine. There was constantly a full 20 litre wine bag in the larder and a pallet of beer in the cellar. After all it is Spanish custom to drink a glass of wine with lunch. Patrick and Aaron didn't read the subtext when the twins said they could drink as much as they want. The twins didn't understand that young Australian boys from Melbourne will happily binge drink until you turn off the tap. After going through a 20 litre bag of wine in under 4 days it was becoming obvious that the boys had addictive personalities. At first it didn't bother the twins too much, heavy partiers themselves, they were somewhat impressed in the new volunteers ability to put away the vino. I have heard alcohol called truth serum before and this was especially true with Patrick and Aaron. They started to tell their story. How they had travelled around Asia for 2 months before reaching Europe and spent about $15k each in the process. They had been arrested in Laos and had to convince the local police to give them their passports back so they could leave the country. How they got arrested was an even worse story, one they wouldn't tell me until a few weeks later. A story that is so messed up that not even 20 litres of wine was loosening their lips. Arriving in Berlin in Europe they had spent most of their money partying, but also lost about 2 grand in an ATM card skimming scam, which they were trying to get back. Exhausted from the partying in Berlin they had made it to Barcelona with next to no money. They slept in a building site where they met a homeless guy from Transylvania who took them to a hostel where he occasionally took refuge from the streets. At that hostel they were able to work in exchange for a roof over their head for a week or so, which is where they met a person who gave them the phone number for Can Jou. I wasn't particularly fond of them from the start. What irks me is that we have these Australians parading around Europe, causing nuisance, and acting like they are above the law in Asia. Their hipster bullshit also frustrated me. Acting like they were cultured, Aaron had studied literature at university for a semester before dropping out and thought he was next Hunter S Thompson. He would use long words incorrectly in order to condescend and belittle you. Patrick was just a space cadet, he was the more barable out of the two. They were okay at times though, when you have to work with people you can't hold the fists up at all times. It all came to a head after about a week though. Just in time for Nicoles arrival. |
I guess we'd all like Aussie's abroad to behave like ambassadors for our country.
But alas this is some thing that enters the minds of some.enjoying your blog ,Noel:D
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Volunteering at Can Jou - The final part
Volunteering at Can Jou - The final part
I hadn't seen Nicole for three weeks. It's about 40 minutes from Can Jou to Figueres, the birthplace of Salvador Dali, and the city where Nicole was due in on the high speed train from France. She had spent a few days in Sete and was planning to stay in Perpignan but opted to skip it in order to get to Can Jou a day earlier. It had only been a month or so but I was very glad to see her, excited for her to meet everyone at Can Jou and see what life there was like. We had six days together before Nicole had to fly to Berlin in order to get her German working visa. She was going to stay there for about three weeks, volunteering in an Apiary for a fortnight with a friend of hers from Avignon who was going to rendevous with her in Berlin. Then she would head back down to Can Jou where we could work together for another month before looping around the south of Spain and returning north to Amsterdam where some friends of ours from Australia would meet us. We had a tight knit group of friends back home. My best mates, Dan and Marcus, acquaintences at University, the three of us had become a lot closer on our respective returns from 'overseas experiences' three years prior - except Marcus, he had never left Australia. Anyway, the three of us were all into motorbikes. Dan and I had a thirst for adventure that we just dragged Marcus into, kicking, screaming and worrying. Marie and Nicole were tight knit from 'way back'. Dan and I met Nicole one day at a picnic in the park in Brisbane. We mentioned that we were going hiking and camping which peaked Nicoles interest, who thought her friend Marie would be keen. Three weeks later we were climbing the highest mountain in our area, Marcus, Dan, Marie, Nicole and I. More and more camping and hiking adventures followed over 18 months and we all got a lot closer. We had all wanted to do a big trip together, the original plan was for us to all meet up in South America together after I had done my European leg and Nicole had finisehed her teaching placement in Avignon. The girls would buy a car and follow Dan, Marcus and I who would be on motorbikes. Trying to sort five people on to a long term trip like this proved too much though. Dan had taken the idea and got it in his head that he wanted to film it and try to get sponsorship/tv deal. His idea snowballed and turned into an idea to retrace the route of Che Guevera from the film 'Motorcycle diaries'. He ran with this and was pitching it to various production companies in Australia. Originally he thought this could fund the trip for the five of us but further discussions with production companies indicated that it would have to be only two people on the one bike, like in the original movie, and they would have to be 'known' personalities. So Dan's idea started to fork in a different direction to what we all wanted to do. Dan even went to the point of getting a uni student who was looking for experience and pulling together a bunch of resources to film a 5 part series in our outback Queensland. Marcus, Dan and I rode together for a week filming in order to produce something he could show as a bit of a 'talent' reel to the production companies.You can watch them here - Motorvation - Humble Beginnings on Vimeo It was from that experience that I sort of gained a hunger for filming my adventures. I am digressing but the reason I include these background explanations for you is so that you get a better understanding of why I make certain decisions and what my influences during this long trip are. Plus I think it's more interesting to read if you understand more about who I am and who the people in my RR actually are, as opposed to just a face on a bike that does things. That's why I am taking time to flesh out the characters a bit. So please stick with me here... plenty of motorcycle stuff coming, I promise. Anyway, this is why Dan had pulled out from the idea, to pursue the filming idea in South America. One production company had shown keen interest and he was going to give it his best shot. I fully supported him although I was a bit down on the idea of not being able to share a motorcycling experience with my best mate. I wasn't fully convinced it was going to go ahead, all that mattered though, was that I support my mate. In the past I had similar ideas which I pursued, lost money on, but learned immensely, and benefited from the support of those around me at the time. Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination, you might say. We were left with Marcus, Marie, Nicole and I. And Jamie, can't forget Jamie. Jamie is a mate of ours, also through University. He had moved to Sydney for work, and to be with his mother who has a degenerating illness, about a year before I left on my trip. A keen four wheel driver and a good all round guy, he had planned to join the girls for a few weeks in the car in South America in the original plan. As the months went past, January, February, March and no serious decisions had been made on South America it became less and less likely. Nicole and I decided to take a different tack and went to the others with the idea of them meeting up with us in Europe, hiring a car and following us on the motorbike for 3 weeks. This was a good amount of time for everybody, enough time for the others to make the most of coming all the way to Europe from Australia, but also not too much that they couldn't get the time off work. Ultimately Dan's pursuit of the South American dream lost momentum. It know it was a hard time for him. It was also hard for me not to be home to support him. He had dropped hours at his job, as a housing co-ordinator for our old University, to take time to pursue the project. So he didn't have much in the way of savings. I think it was good for him though, he took stock of his career, eventually he found a job with a company that specialises in investment properties that house students, something related to his background. He is earning better money and on track for a career where he could buy into his own branch of this fast growing property management business. This all meant though, that because he was starting in a new job he couldn't get time off work to come with us and explore Europe. Plans were starting to come together and we had put a marker in the sand, agreeing to meet in Amsterdam on August 12. Marie, Marcus and Jamie had bought plane tickets and Nicole and I had a date to work to. Hence the plan to do Spain and Belgium first, before heading up to Amsterdam for August 12. Rewind back to where I started, Nicole and I, driving in the car to Can Jou, with Nicole being awed taking in the scenery along the way. It was a Tuesday, Can Jou was in full swing. Adina was in the kitchen and as she was essentially the 'matriarch' at Can Jou, she met Nicole like a mother meeting her sons girlfriend for the first time. Full of excitement and questions. Luckily, most of which I had to translate. Nicole got along well with Cammie, as they both spoke French. At the dinner table Cammie voiced her complaints in French to Nicole about the new boys Aaron and Patrick. Cammie accepted they were getting the work done, but didn't warm to them at all. She wasn't afraid to voice her opinion either. Rather than trying to win Cammie over, Aaron would poke at her with remarks, trying to bait her. It was the next morning when Julien and Marcus turned up for breakfast that I knew something was up. Their initial amusement with Aaron and Patricks drunken behaviour had turned to concern and anger. You have to have your wits around horses and a drunkard is a liability, regardless of how hard they work. I hadn't seen them in this type of mood before. They told us we would all have a meeting that day after lunch. Marcus, is definitely the bad cop out of the two, and he was the one holding the meeting. We all sat to the table as he outlined a whole range of 'rules' that everyone had to abide by. One of these was, no going to the larder, no drinking on work days, and so on. I was quite frustrated by this, as Marcus insisted the rules applied to everyone. I felt I was taking the consequences of their misbehaviour. Marcus reminded the two boys that they were on a two week trial, at the end of which, the twins would decide if they could stay. I forgot to mention this before, but the twins had set this out from the start, in case the new boys turned out to be trouble. He also pointed out that Cammie would make the decision about Aaron, as she was the stable manager. This threw out Aaron, who thought he only answered to the twins. It would be lesson to him in group politics. The twins knew that they had to keep Cammie happy. She is the backbone of the horse side of the business and they rely on her immensely. At least initially the boys took an about turn. When they weren't drunk they were tolerable and we were able to find some common ground. Aaron stopped berating Cammie, realising that he had to win her over. Nicole had her first day of work, we greased all the saddles and bridles and just did general work. She was enjoying it. Cammie and the twins were happy with her work. These were good things if she were to come back and spend 6 weeks or more as a volunteer. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-G...GA0226-001.jpg Marius, the ferrier, was shoeing the horses that day. A really interesting process. He was staunch Catalan with a thick accent and would prefer to speak English with me, than Castillian Spanish. He told me how shoeing a horse is the same as putting shoes on an athlete. You have to analyse their gait and adjust their hooves accordingly. He had won a competition the year prior and even though he was young had been named the number 1 ferrier in Spain. I helped him with his English, as he was trying to learn before heading to an international convention for Ferriers. Nicole and I had a couple of days off together. We skyped with the crew back home to organise things for our August trip around the Netherlands and Germany. We started to develop potential routes. We took a day trip to the Pont De Llierca, only about 20 minutes drive from Can Jou. It is one of the favourite spots for clients at Can Jou, as they get to swim and take the horses over this tiny bridge. It's pretty high up and although some people have done it I was advised not to jump from it into the water. A story was going around how a couple of years before a local boy had died after misjudging the jump and landing on the rocks. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-V...0/IMGA0190.jpg Skipping stones near the pont. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-H...0/IMGA0187.jpg The Pont de Llierca. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-8...0/IMGA0191.jpg Water was still a bit cold. Cammie and I took Nicole for a ride on the horses, despite the weather. Nicole could ride, which earnt her more admoration from Cammie. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-i...0/P4280071.JPG Nicole and I riding the horses through the hills. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-r...0/P4280106.JPG During Nicoles time at Can Jou, she started to get paranoid about her Visa situation. She had a flight booked to Berlin to arrive on the Sunday but her work visa allowing her to stay in the Shengen zone only lasted until the Wednesday. We had still not been able to get a straight answer as to whether she would automatically go onto the 90 day waiver, or if her work visa already took up those 90 days. Now that we were getting closer to crunch time, she was getting anxious. Originally from what she had read it seemed extremely easy for her to get the new work visa in Germany. However the more research she did, the more she found mixed experiences. Some people had recieved their work visa the same day, others had just been given an appointment and told to come back six weeks later. This was fine if you were on the 90 day tourist waiver, but Nicole wasn't sure if she would go on to that. The punishment for overstaying is a long ban. Some people have been given a 3 year ban for overstaying the visa by a couple of days. She called the German embassy in Paris, thinking it might be easier for her to get it in France. They told her it was an easy process, all she had to do was go straight to Berlin and apply in person. It sounded easy. Nicole ensured she had every last bit of paperwork that would be required. Eventually the six days were up. I had to drop the clients back in Barcelona on the Sunday morning and so Nicole came with me. We had time to explore Barcelona before I dropped her off at the airport in the afternoon. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-a...0/IMGA0215.JPG The giant fish on the boardwalk, you can see it in the distance. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_...0/IMGA0217.JPG A sign of the economic hardships in Spain. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-D...0/IMGA0221.JPG One of the more interesting styles of building in Barcelona. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-d...0/IMGA0228.JPG Cranes hang over the Sagrada Familia, in construction since the 1880s https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-f...25282%2529.jpg Locals in a circle dance in front of one of the Cathedrals. We said our goodbyes, it would only be a couple of weeks before we would see eachother again. "Text me when you get in." Unlike other Sundays I got to pick up the clients from Barcelona airport after I picked Nicole up. There were a couple of good looking young Swedish girls on the bus. I knew all the boys would be happy. Particularly Patrick and Aaron, whose new found sobriety meant they were starting to feel the isolation of Can Jou. Initially they had raved about the place, they were looking forward to using their time to get some writing and reading done. They had no chance though, with these girls, at least I thought. Everyone was waiting to greet the new arrivals at Can Jou. Aaron and Patrick couldn't move fast enough to help the young ladies with their bags. I was finally getting to see their A game. Pointless I thought, Marcus and Julian, the twins, the eagles, were circling, biding their time. As soon as the new arrivals were out of earshot the comments flowed, "Shit, she's hot, a 10" etc. Aaron and Patrick were more excited than children on Christmas morning. The next morning Aaron was sussing out the situation. By lunchtime he had established that one girl was single, and the other one had a boyfriend back home. As was customary on some of the Can Jou packages, clients would be taken in the afternoon on Wednesdays to Girona for shopping an to tour the town. I was the driver and with enough room in the vehicle, Aaron and Patrick managed to hitch a ride. Sitting next to the single Swedish girl they both went to work. As my old Irish flatmate who was in construction would say, they were,"Putting in the rebar." That is, putting in the metal bars before pouring the concrete that forms the foundation of a building. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-k...0/IMGA0180.JPG Apartments back onto the river in Girona. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-g...2/IMGA0183.JPG A festival of flowers was on and these flower style installations were everywhere. The boys mentioned that we were having a bit of a party that night in the staff dining room as it was their 'day off', they were allowed to drink. I was there that night, while Aaron and Patrick both vied for this girls attention. Eventually, and to my surprise, Patrick managed to click with her after he found they had a similar taste in music. Indeed, they were exchanging iPod playlists, bloody hispters. I went to bed only to wake when Patrick triumphantly entered the volunteer house an hour or so later. He had managed to get a kiss out of her. Some things will always remain a mystery to me, the ultimate meaning of life, the big bang, and how the hell Patrick pulled that off. My stepdad taught me that one thing that will always get you into trouble is bragging. The horses hadn't even finished their morning feed before everyone knew about what had happened. I became the underdog supporter and tried to pass on my advice, telling him to keep quiet and not jump the gun on this one. Later that night he was working in the kitchen and when I walked in he was talking up how he was going to 'give it to' this Swedish girl. I told him to pipe down, he didn't realise how loud his voice was, but it was too late. She had heard everything he said from the dining room just outside the kitchen. He never got another chance. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-N...25282%2529.JPG A hot air balloon heads over Can Jou during a clear early morning. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-E...25282%2529.JPG The local fire brigade, called 'Bomberos', are on patrol, checking in with landowners to ensure that fire access roads are kept clear. They are expected a high fire danger in the summer. Meanwhile, Nicole had arrived in Berlin and had called me, quite distressed, on the Monday night. She had been to the authorities that day and had found out that she needed proof of address in Berlin in order to get the working visa she needed to stay in the Shengen zone. This was not clear in all the information she had read but she thought it might have been, and planned to use the address of the Apiary she was going to volunteer at. Unfortunately, this was in another prefecture and the address had to be in Berlin. The hostel was not able to allow her to use their address and to make matters worse, they needed proof in the form of a bill, bank statement, or the like sent to the address, or a lease. We established that they would accept a letter from a landlord stating that she lived at a certain address. I knew a couple of people in Berlin and so I shot off a few emails, as did the host at the Apiary where she was due to volunteer. We went to sleep, fingers crossed that we would get proof of address the next day. I was constantly on Skype in between tasks the next day. Nicole was not sure if she had to leave the Shengen zone the next day and she was banking on being able to get the work visa. It was late in the afternoon and we still did not have an address. We had read an esperience that suggested she would be able to get a cover note from the visa office that would allow her to stay in Germany until her visa appointment day, which could be in 6 to 8 weeks time. That didn't really fit in with our plans, but it was an option. We went through the options again and again for hours. We would make a decision and then I would call back Nicole and she would have changed her mind or become uncertain about the decision. She was very anxious at this point. It didn't help that her hostel was above a nightclub and she hadn't slept properly since she arrived. None of the possible options were really providing much security. Nicole did not want to risk a ban from the Shengen zone and was getting very frustrated. Originally, before we had decided to travel together, she was planning to spend some time in the Balkans. They are outside the Shengen zone and so a lot of travelers spend 3 months out of Shengen in the Balkans and Romania slash Bulgaria. After those months are up they get a fresh 3 months in the Shengen zone. If Nicole flew to the Balkans she wouldn't have to worry about her visa situation. I hated the thought of her anxious and worried in Berlin by herself. It was at this point that I decided our plans would have to be turned upside down. We only had one date that we had to stick to, August 12. All we had to do was get there by then. Originally we had planned to do Spain and western Europe, meet up with our friends and then do Eastern Europe afterwards. However, if Nicole went to the Balkans she could stay there until I could get there, and she wouldn't have to worry at all about the visa situation. I could meet up with her, we could travel Eastern Europe together and reenter the Shengen zone after 90 days, zip over to Amsterdam, meet up with our friends and the do Western Europe second. When a decision makes sense, it doesn't take very long for it to become the choice. I didn't have the cashflow to travel yet and wouldn't for a couple of months. I was waiting on a big tax cheque back from the Australian government that would help fund the next part of my trip. Nicole had offered to cover me for June until I got my tax back, that way I could meet her in the Balkans at the start of June. We could then travel around the Balkans and Eastern Europe together. I wasn't keen on borrowing money from her, worried that it could put undue stress into our new relationship. However I was more keen to see her sooner, and to travel with her, so even though she didn't ask, I promised her the bike as collateral if anything went wrong. Thinking it over, the decision made more sense, we would be travelling through the cheapest part of Europe during a period when cashflow was an issue. Moreover, we would see the colder parts of Europe in the middle of summer and return to Spain in September when Autumn would start to take hold. So that is how, just before it clicked over midnight, Nicole purchased a plane ticket to Croatia for the following afternoon, the last day her Visa allowed her to remain in the Shengen zone. I couldn't go to her straight away though, the bike needed new tyres and a service. Plus I couldn't leave the twins in the lurch like that. Not after they had looked after me. Not to mention that the anxiety hadn't totally abated yet. It had been brewing below the surface. I was starting to get other strange symptoms too. I needed to see a doctor and make sure my health was fine and to get more prescription medication. As I have mentioned earlier, I have Hashimotos disease, it basically makes me hypothyroid and I have to take daily medication to supplement my thyroid hormones and keep everything in check. It turned out to be the right decision, as she left Germany they heavily scrutinised her work visa and checked her entire passport front to back, counting the days. At the end of the week, as is customary, everyone has drinks in the bar. Patrick had been given the task of running the bar from the start, he was holding it down quite well. The twins had given them the all clear to stay, most likely because they had a big week coming up and needed the help. It was Aarons day off though, and he had been drinking all day, the girls were in the bar. I was there trying to make sure nothing went wrong. Julien turned up and we were having drinks. Now, Aaron likes to think of himself as a writer, and he had mentioned it to me before, but he brought it up again, maybe to impress the girls, maybe to impress Julien, maybe to get a rise out of somebody. He talked about a book he was going to write, the protagonist is a drug addict, and he says the first sentance, of which I can only remember one part clearly "and he watched as the shmegma matriculated on the end of his penis." Now I know you are probably disgusted by reading that, if not, google schmegma. It shocked anyone he told it to, which was the point. However it is a total misuse of the word matriculation, which is the world used to describe the process where one moves from say secondary to tertiary education. I pulled him up on. He wasn't impressed, rolled his eyes at me, called me an idiot, said that I had no idea about creative literature and any word could be used in any context with inferred meaning. It was the way that he said it, and he fact that he said I was an idiot that made me want to backhand him. Deep breath. Opting for the more diplomatic route, I simply said "I'm not going to stand here and listen to the shit that comes out of your mouth." and walked out. Julien tells me that he ripped into Aaron, telling him that if anyone walks out of a room on you then you have a problem. Aaron offered no apology in the following days but avoided me until I could stand the sight of him again. I got stuck back into the routine at Can Jou. Marcus and Julien finally got the pool fixed. That is they got Patrick and Aaron to clean it out and repaint it. The boys were so excited with the prospect of a pool party with Spanish birds that they worked to the bone to get it cleaned up. A week passed. Patrick and Aaron were starting to get restless. No young girls had come to Can Jou since they struck out with the Swiss. The Sunday night had been dissapointment as the age group was beyond both of the boys upper limit. There was light on the horizon however as the week coming had 30 riders booked in. The twins were running hectic trying to arrange how they would run three trails side by side, everyone would have to pull their weight. In order to establish the best horse for the client it is required that the client gives their height and weight at the time of booking. This meant that we had a list of all the heights and weights of all the clients to come. Patrick and Aaron had became so stir crazy that they got by on the promising numbers on the list, there were some very tall, slim ladies coming to Can Jou for the week. Nicole had landed on her feet in Croatia. She found an ad on helpx wanting a volunteer to work on Hvar island at a hostel there. One phone call and she was on the next boat to Hvar. It turned out to be perfect for her. Luka was an old guy there that ran a hostel, it was a newish business for him as he was traditionally an olive farmer. In exchange for food and accommodation Nicole, revamped his branding and all his websites and promotional material, plus assisted with general jobs around the hostel. She didn't even have to clean, he had someone else for that. Nicole was on a winner. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-M...GA0296-001.jpg Everyone out watching the sun set. Adina and Juans daughters running riot around us. Yelling at each other in a mixture of Catalan and Romanian. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-N...GA0297-001.jpg https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--...0/IMGA0301.JPG Sun sets over the Pyrennees. There were so many of these and I can't make the camera do it justice. It was Sunday night, the start of the triple trail at Can Jou. The twins, Cammie and I went to pick up the clients from the bus in Sant Jaume. Patrick and Aaron waited with bated breath, eager for some fraternisation. Off the bus rolled couple after couple, mostly in their forties and fifties, a few of them quite tall and lean. I thought there would at least be some young girls on the bus but it quickly emptied and there was nobody to keep any of the boys warm at night. They were gutted. At the end of the week, Julian decided to take us all out to dinner and drinks in Girona. The boys at least needed to see woman of a similar age. Neither had a working laptop with them and I sure as hell wasn't going to let them borrow my laptop to look at porn. The rest of their story of Laos comes out. They had made friends with a heroin dealer in Laos and were at his house, where Aaron passed out and Patrick overdosed on heroin. Patrick woke up in hospital with a catheter inserted, and tubes hanging out everywhere. Aaron had woken up with a tattoo on his foot. Somehow they left the hospital and they wanted to leave Laos straight away but the police had their passports. Their story gets fuzzy at points, but they managed to get their passports back apparently by threatening to use the Australian embassy, after this they headed straight to Berlin. Now regardless to the amount of truth in their story, they told it with pride, to me, that is the messed up part. Bogan, hipster, train wrecks! A week or so later we would see their saga of misadventure continue. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-w...GA0251-001.jpg Getting stuck into some pinchos in Girona! https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-S...0/IMGA0248.JPG Pinchos! https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-y...0/IMGA0252.JPG The local squid speciality, this stuff melted in your mouth, it was so damn good! I had a couple of weeks left and a few admnistrative things to do. New wheels got put on the bike, as well as new front brake pads and a new chain. I had wanted to get all my services done at a dealer but I got quoted 300 euro for the service, not including any parts or new tyres. In the end I got the whole service, new chain/brake pads/oil fiter and tyres for 400 euros from a chain in Spain called Rodi. https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-H...0/IMGA0286.JPG Ivan puts on the new brake pads, he was working as a mechanic while studying engineering at Uni. Did a good job on the bike. I had been surrounded with mountain roads for months and unable to ride on them. Suddenly it was my playground and I was making the most of it in my time off. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-J...0/IMGA0290.jpg https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-o...0/IMGA0293.jpg https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-z...GA0289-001.jpg https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-_...0/IMGA0288.jpg Now all I had to do was get my health dealt with, and send half my things back to Australia to make space for Nicoles gear on the bike. The twins got their mother to take me to the doctor. For 50 euros I saw a doctor, got my blood tests done and a few days later I had my results and enough medication to last me another 6 months. What was curious though, was that my Thyroid tests had come back high. I had expected them to be low, my medication is sensitive to heat according to the manufacturer and had been up and down through hot and cold along the trip so far, diminishing its potency. At least I thought. It had pretty much stayed fine, the only thing that changed was my bodyweight, which had dropped from 77kg down to 71. So what was a normal dose for me a year ago was now too much. I had gone hyperthyroid, one symptom of which is, hightened anxiety, along with some other fun things. Knowing what was wrong was half the battle, I knew how to deal with it and so I dropped my medication dose back. It was about this time that the weekly trip to Girona for the clients came about. I was busy and so couldn't take them. The twins decided to let Patrick and Aaron drive them. What they didn't know was that Patrick didn't technically have a license. He had lost it in Australia for various traffic violations. Aaron couldn't drive. I knew this and thought that Marcus and Julien knew too. Arriving back from whatever I was doing Aaron and Patrick ran to me telling me their story. Patrick had been arrested. The police had pulled them over for a random check. Patrick couldn't offer a license up, he told them that he didn't bring it travelling with him but it was back at home. They took him in to the station and charged him. Marcus luckily knew the local head of the police, unsurprisingly, he used to date the man's daughter. He was able to get Patrick a summons to appear in court the next day. Both Patrick and Aaron were fairly non-chalant about it, if not proud of their misdemeanor. Julien didn't think it was a big issue. "I will just pay the fine and take the slap on the wrist," says Patrick. I was paying him out, saying that if he got put in prison he better learn to speak Catalan and prepare to become somebodys bitch. So Patrick had to appear in court the next morning at 9:30am or the police will turn up to arrest him. He puts on his skinny jeans and suit jacket and we head off to court with plenty of time to spare. As we go down the hill the 4wd is driving and something isn't quite right. It seems as though the four wheel drive won't disengage. The wheels are squeeling as we turn the corners and we have to take it very slow. Julien is in a stubborn mood though. We hit the highway and he is pushing the car. I can smell smoke, we look back and smoke is coming out of the rear of the car, stupidly Julien pushes on but the car won't go fast, as he pulls over and slows down the wheels lock and crunch and screeches to a halt. We are fine, but the car stinks, and hydraulic fluid is pissing out underneath. Girona is about 30 minutes away and it is quarter to 9. If Patrick doesn't make it to court he will be arrested and charged. You can't make this stuff up. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-Q...GA0266-001.jpg Julien calls the local mechanic, who knows them very well, which I now understand, given the way the twins drive the car. He comes straight to us and swaps us his lone car and we fly off in it to Girona, literally with just enough time to get there. We arrive with a minute or so to spare and we pull up right outside the court. I jump in the drivers seat to find a park while they run up to the court. After getting a park I find Julien sitting outside the waiting room with Patrick. A legal aide has been assigned to Patrick. Julien translates. The aide goes into the room to speak to the judge. He comes out and speaks to Julien in Catalan, I can only partially understand but I hear a "sis", Juliens draw drops, "Sis!?", the aide confirms "Sis." I know something is bad. Julien turns to explain to us. So long as Patrick can produce a copy of his Australian license in 7 days time at another court hearing, he will just get a fine. If he cannot he will be charged and the penalty is 6 months prison. I realise that "Sis" is Catalan for "Seis", Six. Julien also thought it would only be a fine, he is just as surprised. There is definitely fear now in Patricks eyes and I know why. Julien doesn't know that Patrick can't produce an Australian license. Patrick has told him that he technically has a license but it is just suspended. I know this means he can't produce it. Julien doesn't really understand the Australian system and Patrick is happy not to explain it to him yet, and just says that he can produce the documents. Patrick then goes in and testifies that he does in fact have a license, a testimony that would be contempt if he cannot produce a license. I'm not going to get in the middle of it. When we get back Patrick tells Aaron the situation. Aaron's immediate response, "let's leave the country". Patrick isn't so keen, worried they would get pulled up at the border. He calls the Australian Embassy trying to get some sympathy, and assistance. Eventually the head of the embassy calls back, and in a round a bout way tells Patrick that he is in Spain, he broke Spanish laws, which can come with harsh punishment, and that he has to play by the rules of the country he is in. With no help coming from the Australian government they hatched a plan, to leave via France to Northern Ireland. Patrick has family there they could stay with. He would then apply for his Irish passport which he had claim to through his parents. It gets more obscure, the plan after that was then to change his name so that he could travel under the passport in a new name and avoid the Spanish policia. Patrick secured a loan from his brother and they were on the next bus out of there the following morning. Just like that, they were gone. I only had a few days left in Can Jou. Everything was prepped now for the next stage of my journey. In a way I was sad to leave Can Jou. The twins had really looked after me. My dad thinks I may have been a bit harsh on them in my last posts. I hope it hasn't come across that way. They are great guys, friendly, full of energy and a lust for life. They had their flaws too, as we all do, but I can't fault them with looking after me. They would take me out for breakfasts. When I told them I needed to see a doctor they arranged for their mother to take me and translate. They even paid for my new tyres as a thank you for the help I had given them at Can Jou. Anyone would be lucky to meet them and they could certainly show you how to enjoy life. I want to remember the characters, the people, from my travels and I guess that is why I find it important to share who they were, without sugar coating it. It was the second last night before I left and we headed out for dinner, Marcus, Julien, Cammie and I. Julien said I couldn't leave Catalonia without trying proper Jamon, emphasising proper. https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3...GA0184-001.jpg Julian tests the wine. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-W...0/IMGA0181.JPG PROPER Jamon, and another local favourite, tomato rubbed on bread. https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-K...0/IMGA0182.JPG Can't remember what these things were, but they were awesome. https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-M...0/IMGA0186.JPG Ratafia, the local digestiv. It came around to my last day, I packed everything up for the bike, prepping myself to ride towards Croatia the next day. Nicole would meet me at Opatija, in the north of Croatia, 1400km away. I planned to knock out about 900k's on the first day so that I arrived about lunchtime the following day in Opatija. I was excited to be leaving and after getting everything organised I went to bed to get a good solid 8 hours before the next day. I couldn't sleep. I can't even remember the thoughts that were going through my head at first but after an hour, then only thing I could think was, if I get to sleep now I am only going to get 7 hours sleep. An hour later and I still wasn't asleep, getting frustrated that I couldn't sleep, which was only making it harder. It got to 4 am and I thought there is no way I can ride the bike after only 3 hours sleep. |
Those two Aussies are a disgrace to our home country. I feel embarrassed --- goodness knows how you must have felt, Jackson!
Great post, made for some good reading. I am looking forward to hearing about your time in Croatia with Nicole. |
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