Nepal

We leave Gorakpur as soon as the curfew is lifted at 8.30 am and make the 100km ride to the border at Sonauli, a dusty Indian town complete with traffic jams caused by the trucks crossing the border, we later find that it is more congested than usual because of the Terai blockades.

Indian formalities completed, we enter Nepal and head to get our visas which take no time at all.

Then off to do the carnet, I wait with the bike, and wait and wait and wait. After an hour Skill emerges to tell me that the guy that normally does the carnets is off on lunch and no one has any idea on what to do. It takes another hour for the Nepalese authorities to complete the carnet.

By this time I have been rescued by a sweet young man called Arjun who keeps me entertained with stories about Nepal. When Skill emerges Arjun directs us to a restaurant where we can have some lunch, and he joins us.

By this time it is nearly 3.15 pm so we head to Butwell and call it a day. We park outside the hotel and something miraculous occurs, I am left in peace not one person bothers me.

No one asks the usual 40 questions:

How far one litre?
How much this bike cost?
How fast this bike go?
How much tank hold?
How big the engine?
How many cylinder?
Where you from?
Where you going?

and when Skill emerges from the Hotel he has a stunned look on his face and says "Where are all the people?"

WE LOVE NEPAL.

We stay at the Hotel Siddartha where the great people tell us there is no hot water showers till the morning but 2 huge buckets of hot water appear five minutes later. We are a little gobsmacked at the honesty and efficiency. There is not a lot to see or do in Butwal, it is a hot, flat, dusty, dirty crowded town, so we leave early next morning and make our way to Tansen.

It is a short 35 km ride to Tansen (Palpa) in drizzling rain. Despite the rain it is a beautiful, peaceful, and trafficless ride, the roads are instantly better as are the driving standards.

I remember reading Dave McMillian and Erica Tunicks "Nepal Blog" saying the first thing you notice about Nepal is the billboards advertising Shakka Lakka Boom noodles and they are right,

the signs are everywhere, in fact there are billboards everywhere, every shop wall and any other available space is covered by advertising signs usually extolling the virtues of 2 minute noodles, although clean and healthy gums also rate a mention.

Tansen is the former capital of the Magar Kingdom, Tanahun. It is a quaint town perched high above the valleys and river below. The streets are narrow, steep and winding full of Newari shop houses and temples. It is like taking a step back in time. By the time we navigate our way to a hotel it is pouring and we are soaked.

The helpful staff assist us with our paniers and we have two large coffees in our hands before we can get our wet gear off.

We have a peaceful afternoon getting lost in the labyrinth like streets before stumbling upon Nanglo West, a Nepalese Restaurant where we spend the rest of the afternoon watching the rain run in torrents down cobbled alleyways, while sampling a bottle of red and devouring chicken mo mos by the plateful.

We love this atmospheric little village but sadly it bares the scars of a major Maoist assault from late last year. Tansen Durbar (home of the local administrative centre) bore the brunt of most attacks.

Next day the skies have cleared and we get a view down to the valleys below. Skill is also impressed by the building in progress next door.

We have the most glorious days ride along the less trafficked, spectacular Siddhartha Highway. The road wends its way through valleys and villages. I feel happy to be on the back of the bike and have enough confidence to get the camera out and start snapping away again. (Something I didn't do much of in India)

The terraces are amazing

as are the daily lives of the villagers.

(sorry they are a bit blurry)

A lot of the villages we ride through are heavily decorated with flags (not prayer flags) which we think are for the Chinese New Year.

We arrive in Pokhara exhilarated to have had such a wonderful days ride. We pull over to check out some signs pointing to various guest houses along the lake when another one of those angels appear. This time it is British expat Rick who runs the Hearts and Tears Motorcycle Club, a rent/buy/tour bike business in Pokhara. Rick takes us to the Sacred Valley Inn which is absolutely wonderful.

We manage to get everything off the bike, secure a beautiful room with balcony (for $10.00 AUD) when the heavens open up. We then have the best lunch and coffee we have had in months, and to top it off we have another Aussie motorcyclist for company in the form of Don who has been riding his Enfield between India and Nepal for the past two years.

In the evening we venture out to downtown Pokhara, we are so excited, there are restaurants everywhere and pubs and bars, even supermarkets that sell more than two products. It seems that we have found a little piece of Utopia. And like any good Aussie on their first night in Pokhara we head to the Everest Steak House for our first steak since leaving home washed down with an Aussie red. Then it is off to the Busy Bee bar to watch a live band, and have a few beers with Rick and his partner Monica. WE LOVE NEPAL.

The next day as we start talking to Rick and Don, we become aware of the fuel shortages in Nepal. The Terai Province which borders India are flexing their political muscle in the run up to the elections by blockading fuel trucks into Nepal. We are not that worried as we love Pokhara and can wait for fuel to arrive. We are also keen to do a bit of hiking but the weather is not kind to us.

Occasionally in the morning the cloud will lift and you suddenly realise that you are breakfasting beneath some of the highest mountains in the world. It is breathtakingly beautiful, but also a privilege to be in such a place as this.

We spend a week mooching around Pokhara in the vein hope that the weather will clear, unfortunately it is not to be and hiking is not an option.

On the other hand, eating, shopping, and drinking are, as are nightly visits to the Busy Bee to check out the bands. One night as we settle in for the night and are seated around the bar I observe a sign which says "NO DRUGS OR CANNABIS WILL BE TOLERATED ON THESE PREMISES". I also happily observe that every single person sitting along the bar is rolling a joint. The Nepalese seem to be in the same league as the Italians when it comes to a flagrant disregard for rules and regulations.

We also take some day rides, one to Naya Pul (where the Annapurna Circuit ends) and also up to the village of Sarangkot perched high above Pokhara. In good weather the views of the Annapurnas are amazing, we were not that lucky but they were still pretty stunning.

We enjoy the day here, the scenery,

The paragliders

And these school kids take my fancy, they have finished school and are wistfully wishing they could jump the fence and join the fun of the day care centre.

Eventually we decide to make the break and head to Chitwan National Park and of course the day we decide to leave the weather clears. As we are getting fuel

before we leave I happily snap away at the mountains and the Fairy Floss Man.

This old man continually wants to be in the photo.

"No I want photos of the mountains" I tell him. He is so persistent that in the end I take his photo to get him off my case, and of course as soon as I have done so the hand comes out for Rupees. I oblige, it is sometimes easy to forget that this country is the poorest in the world.

The ride is another enjoyable one, following the Prithvi Highway.

We turn off at Mugling towards Bharatapur. It is at this point the traffic is stopped and banked up, we ride around it to find that young children have the road barricaded off with a big rope and are extracting money from each vehicle. People seem to be willingly and happily paying them money, we ignore them and sneak through with a truck. We later learn that it is the week of Shiva's Birthday and the money is to buy sweets with. A bit like trick or treating only by extortion.

We arrive in Bharatapur having to ask for directions several times. It is also here we have our second altercation of the trip admittedly at very low speed, well actually a motor bike clips our pannier. The pannier stays attached and Skill just manages to keep us upright but not before narrowly missing a bus and cyclist. We are shaken but all is OK. We continue on our way arriving at Chitwan in time to find a nice little cottage at River View Jungle Camp and spend the afternoon perched beside the river drinking beer, and glorying in the magnificant sunset.

Royal Chitwan National Park was created in 1971 and covers about 932 sq km. In the 60s and 70s many animals were lost to poachers, but through the 80s and 90s things improved vastly as the poaching was slowed by border patrols. However the political and economic instability of the past few years has seen a return to poaching and rhino and tiger numbers are falling at an alarming rate. We heard from many local sources that the problem starts right at the top of the Parks hierarchy, a park official had recently been removed (only for a month) because he had been found to be connected with poachers and the sale of rhino and tiger products over the Chinese Border.

Tourism at Chitwan has also been badly affected by the Maoist insurgency. Whilst we were travelling around we were surprised to see so many UN cars and people, they were here to oversee the containment of Maoist arms. Camps had also been set up to house the Maoists. However tensions were still running high and rumour has it that the guns being procured by the UN were old guns bought cheaply from India and that the good weapons are hidden safely away?????

Next day we are up bright and early to take our elephant ride through the forest to look for the rhinos and any other animals out and about. We go by jeep to meet the elephants, but it is slow going as it is a public holiday (Shiva's birthday) and the kids have their makeshift rope road blocks set up every 100 metres. The Nepalese are so patient with the kids, never getting upset or chastising them, and paying them small amounts of money.

When we eventually arrive we get loaded into our howdah (riding platform) on the elephant's back

and then the mahout (rider/driver) scarpers down his trunk and into a building. This seems to be the signal for our elephant to wander off riderless in search of food, and we go along for the ride.

Eventually the mahout reappears and after angrily rousing at the elephant for his naughtiness we are finally off. What a wonderful morning we had...........

On returning to our hotel by elephant we spent a few lazy hours by the river watching the antics of the locals enjoying their holiday. Come late afternoon it is off for a ride in a dugout canoe made out of a Kapok tree,

then a walk through the forest to the Elephant Breeding Centre. You cannot describe how gorgeous these creatures are.

These elephants spend their mornings giving elephant rides but during the day they graze in the park, returning late afternoon to be housed at night.

I cannot tear myself away but we need to cross the river and walk the few kilometers back to Sauraha before it storms. Our walk takes us through the Tharu villages where the people continue to live as they have done for 100s of years.

Next day we are back down to the river to watch this Aussie guy (he was having trouble staying on) bath with the elephants. It truly is a wonderful spectacle watching them play in the water. If you shout "chhop" you even get an elephant shower!

Whilst enjoying the spectacle Skill got chatting to this little girl collecting wood and helped her tie a knot to keep the bundle together.

Another amazing day and another canoe trip (along a different stretch of water) to the Elephant Breeding Centre where we again play with the babies.

To end the day we perch ourselves beside the river and watch the sunset.

Next day it is time to leave, we are sad to be saying goodbye to Gopal our tour guide. He was such an interesting man, who had worked so hard to rise above his poverty stricken circumstances. He is now working hard to educate his three girls. A rarity in Nepal.

We head towards Kathmandu via Daman. We have been told that the road is a bikers dream with a beautiful, winding mountain road over high passes. It is also reputed to have the best view of the Himalayas in Nepal. What people fail to mention is that it has just had unseasonable snow falls. (It is also at this time that Kathmandu gets snow for the first time in 62 years)

We have a great ride until we hit the passes where the snow is over the road, somehow we make our way through it until about 5 kilometers from Daman where I bail off the bike and walk. Skill slowly picks his way through the snow and ice.

Occasionally he will get stuck and will have to wait for me to catch up and push to give him enough momentum to get going again.

On my walk I encounter the locals who have converged on the place to play in the snow.

By the time we reach Daman we are both exhausted so we bunker down in the only hotel in town which is pretty ordinary. It is absolutely freezing so we hunt and gather some food, make a cup of tea, put on every piece of clothing we own and get into bed where we stay till morning.

Next day the weather has not really cleared but we take some photos anyway and then it is another lovely days ride towards Kathmandu.

All is great until we hit the Prithvi Highway at Naubise then the traffic and traffic jams start. However my navigational skills must have improved over the past 12 months because we make it to the Tibet Peace Guest House in Paknajol without taking a wrong turn. Unload the bike, sit in the sun in the garden, order lunch and have a beer.

It is then that we relise that we have achieved our original goal, Istanbul to Kathmandu, rather a special feeling.

Over the next few days we just chill out in Kathmandu savouring the food and running the gauntlet of the touts in Thamel, who talk to you in veiled whispers. "You want smoke", NO "Hashish", NO "Opium", NO "Magic Mushrooms", NO "Rickshaw", NO Tiger Balm, NO "Trekking" NOOOOOO.

Once again fuel has becomes an issue and the queues at service stations are over half a kilometer long. We decide to bide our time and wait it out.

In the meantime we visit Durbar Square where the city's Kings were once crowned and where they ruled from. The square remains the heart of the old city. We spend our day just wandering and watching.

On another day we visit Swayambhunath also known as "The Monkey Temple" named after the troop of monkeys that live there.

Then before we know it we have been in Kathmandu a week. It is a dirty polluted city seething with touts and beggars but there is something about it that holds great appeal, well to us anyway. However life is tough for the locals, while we are there the power loadshedding hours increase to 7 hours a day and there are several bandhs (public strikes) and the rubbish is not collected for a week owing to some political crisis.

One afternoon we get a first hand experience at how quickly things can spiral out of control. Whilst Skill is out having the bike washed and I am out shopping a local child is hit and killed by a minivan. Within minutes the driver is being hauled out of the vehicle and almost lynched, the police intervene just in time to save his life, but the vehicle is torched and within another 10 minutes there are 1000s of protesters on the streets, setting alight tyres. The police have no control.

I make my way back to the Guest House but Skill takes hours to get back on the bike via backstreets as the city is gridlocked.

During that first week we also change to the Kathmandu Peace Guest House only because they have bigger rooms and we can spread ourselves out. We also decide that we will head to Thailand so we start to make plans to crate the bike up and organise plane tickets. We end up using Eagle Eyes Freight Forwarders to do this and have no complaints.

Whilst organising this we run into several other overland motorcyclists whose company we enjoy for the next four days.

Back at the Guest House we have new companions, Alan is an American who spends his time between Myanmar and Thailand and is a wealth of information about both countries. We thank him for all is help.

We also have the company of two German couples who have driven their Landcruisers overland along the original Silk Route including Afghanistan.

Over the next week we fall into a lovely routine, Northfield Café for breakfast, shopping and sightseeing, Dolce Vita for coffee, lunch wherever we fancy, cocktails at Rum Doodle or Maya Bars and dinner at K-Too or Everest or La Dolce Vita and then in the evening out to listen to a band. It is just unfortunate that we both suffer from bad colds.

During this week it is also the Festival of Holi, which was really fun.

This Water Festival takes place on the full moon day in March, basically it is huge day of water fights, from every rooftop coloured water bombs are launched at anyone and everyone. This was an incoming missile just outside our room.

Finally after two weeks in Kathmandu we follow the cratemaker out to the airport,

and get the bike crated up.

Tomorrow we leave this wonderful but troubled country. It will be with a heavy heart.

Cheers and Beers,

Quote for the Week: "Our happiest moments as tourists always seem to come when we stumble upon one thing while in pursuit of something else." - Lawrence Block

India - part 3

Life in Goa is quite blissful and we spend three days at Palolem, just swimming, eating, and generally relaxing.

However the restaurant next door cranks up their music at about 11.00 pm and have a penchant for rap so we walk over to Patnem to check out other accommodation options. We are amazed at the difference between the two beaches, Patnem is so much quieter and low key. We love it and make the move. We choose the newly opened Carlito huts right at the end of the beach. There are five huts, and we are only the second people to stay in them. Everything is spotless.

Our only neighbours are a great young French couple and their young "bebe" Max who is a delight and sleeps right through the night. The staff adore him and kidnap him every opportunity they get, his parents often have to rescue him from the kitchen or the restaurant where he is being fed an endless supply of chocolate.

And of course there is a restaurant and bar run by the very obliging "Jo".

Life is rather idyllic, each morning we awake to this view of the beach,

then it's off to a breakfast of fresh fruit salad, homemade yoghurt, and masala omelette.

Next is a morning swim, a stroll along the beach, a late seafood lunch.

Then another beach stroll where there is always something to entertain and delight.

A sunset swim, sunset drinks,

More seafood for dinner, a moonlit beach walk and bed. No wonder we couldn't leave.

While we are in Patnem we meet up with five other motorcycle travellers, Bob and Pete, Annis and Laurens and
Cecelia. They had all travelled from Europe, via Turkey, the Central Asian Stans, Mongolia and Russia, China and Pakistan. The guys had travelled in pairs but Cecelia made the journey alone. Quite a remarkable lady!!!!

It was great to compare stories and share meals.

While we were stopped Skill gave the bike the once over as he had been concerned it was occasionally running rough, the hot idle speed had dropped and recently needed several adjustments and the cold fast idle seemed not to be working at all. Nothing serious enough to stop us, but it needed checking.

So being the engineer type he consulted the rapidforum Vstrom website users for some advice.

Although all sorts of things could be checked, most involved tools and parts not available to us. So Skill decided to install our spare sparkplugs and balance the throttle bodies. Unfortunately the vacuum gauges normally used for balancing are not available in India as they don't have multi-cylinder bikes, so he used an old BMW trick using a length of clear hose and oil to indicate vacuum balance. Only problem is it took 1 1/2 days and 150km riding around Goa to locate tubing the correct size before he could even start!

In the end neither sparkplugs nor balancing solved the problem - bugger, what now? After lots of thinking and reflection (well his current book was "Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance" after all) Skill made some minor adjustment that immediately fixed the automatic fast idle. Great, but he was annoyed it took so much time and effort only to find it was so easy to fix. So while things were apart the bike got an oil & filter change and a good check-over.

Just when he thought he was almost finished, he discovered one rear wheel bearing was totally collapsed - bugger! Now as luck would have it the cook (whose brother in law owns the huts) had a friend who was a good motorcycle mechanic specializing in imported bikes - both a rarity in India. Skill rides to Benaulim to meet him and after a shopping expedition returns with only non-sealed type bearings, but they will do the job for now. On his return he starts to work on replacing the bearings which proves difficult in the now blowy, sandy conditions only a few metres from the beach. Without any shelter, windblown sand is sticking on everything and without proper tools the job is difficult. However after several hours, skinned knuckles and some (we actually lots of) swearing - success, new bearings are in and the bike should be right to go again hopefully!

We do not want to leave Goa, but after 2 weeks our Indian visa is fast running out so we must go, calling in on our mechanic friend who has found some better sealed bearings for us as spares and would not take any money for them or his time!

We overnight in Morjim in the North of Goa and are so pleased we chose the south of Goa for our 2 week stay, the beaches were much nicer as was the atmosphere.

From here we decided to head North to Agra as quickly as possible, so we overnight in Kolhapur, then retrace our ride to Pune where we get lost for two hours (again) before finally getting on the right road and staying overnight in the uninspiring town of Ahmadnagar.

The next day we leave early and ride 200km to the wonderful Ajunta caves. This is World Heritage site and dates from around 200 BC. The 30 Buddhist caves are cut into a horseshoe shaped gorge. In each cave is an intricately carved Buddha and in some caves the remains of vast frescoes.

It is getting late and trying to escape the touts proves difficult, but finally we are on our way and get to Jalgaon. On the outskirts of town Skill thinks there is something wrong with the bike but traffic is heavy and stopping is not easy. At a set of lights people are pointing at the tyre, I get off with difficulty (we are so hemmed in by traffic) and yes the tyre looks decidedly flat. We are lucky as there is a tyre repair place about 100 metres from the intersection and the traffic policeman stops all the traffic so we can get there.

Skill manages to plug the hole under the watchful eyes of 200 (no exaggeration) pushy spectators who all offer helpful advice in Hindi all at the same time, while none would have ever even seen a tubeless bike tyre or plug repair in their life!!

The plug seems to do the trick and we use the tyre repair man's compressor to fill the tyre. A lovely man who refuses my 15 rupees telling me it is only 5 rupees. I reoffer the 15 rupees, he refuses saying it is not right to take 15, it is only 5.

We find the welcoming Hotel Plaza just before dark which is such a relief, it has been a long day. We must give this hotel and owner a big plug, it is cleanest and most helpful, honest place we stayed in, in the whole of India (apart from Rajasthan).

We leave early next day after checking the tyre which seems to be holding. This day rates up there as the worst days ride we have had on the whole trip, the roads are indescribably bad and the traffic is insane. It takes us eight hours to do 325 km, in some places the road is almost blocked by the many trucks with broken axles and differentials due to the state of the road. Then finding our nominated hotel in Indore proved difficult. We were absolutely exhausted and knew that tomorrow was probably going to be the same except longer. So Dinner and Bed.

Next day was not quite so bad, the roads improved slightly and the truck traffic thinned out considerably. We only have a six hour day and end up at the highly recommendable state run Shivpuri Resort.

Over our afternoon beer we get chatting to three Indian retirees who have spent their retirement travelling India and tell us we cannot miss the Temples at Khajuraho or the Village of Orchha, so next day we change our plans and head to Khajuraho.

The road to Jhansi is a vast improvement on anything we have travelled on in the last week, so we make the most of being able to travel at up to 90km per hour. After Jhansi we move onto Khajuraho stopping for a roadside fruit snack in the middle of a field, but of course the locals turn up and we happily manage to stretch our fruit lunch between numerous people.

We end up arriving at a reasonable hour and finding an Ok hotel with an expensive room but they "Promise" us there is hot water.

On arrival we meet up with two cyclists Ania and Robert from Poland, who have made the same journey as us. They are a great couple and we enjoy their company. It is now like we are fully fledged members of some "Overlanders" club, with remember when, horror/fantastic hotel stories, Tehran pollution, Pakistan Police Escort tribulations, terrible Indian drivers etc etc.

Next day it is off to the Temples. The grounds surrounding the Temples are peaceful and offer us some retreat from the usual Indian touts and hassles. Oh yes, then there are the Temples with their erotic art work.

Now we have your attention ............ The Temples were built by a Chandela Dynasty and survived for five centuries before the Mughals trashed it. The Temples date from around AD 950 to 1050 and were astonishingly built over only 100 years, and no one really knows why they were built at Khajuraho. There was nothing of great interest or beauty here and no big population centre near by so the question remains "Why Here?" However it's isolation helped preserve it from the Muslim invaders and it fell into ruin and the jungle took over until 1838 when a British officer, TS Burt was shown the temples by his bearers. Needless to say he was shocked and was reported to have said the erotica was "a little warmer than was any absolute necessity for."

Experts are uncertain of the reasons for erotic sculptures. Theories include, a Kamasutra for the young Brahmin boys in the all male temples. Others claim the figures were to prevent the temples being struck by lightning by pleasing the rain God Indra who was a bit of an old letch. However the most popular belief is that they are actually Tantric images.

Anyway whatever the reason the Temples are truly a marvel. We spent a good four hours soaking up the magic before joining Bob and Ania again. They were meant to be leaving by bus to Varanassi but apparently bus services had been cancelled, for no particular reason (except it is a Saturday) so they were staying put.

I also have a huge argument with the hotel manager over the decided lack of hot water, which he tells me is "Hot", try tepid. Skill comes to the rescue as I am about to do him bodily harm.

We say goodbye to Bob and Ania next day and have a pleasant (well the truck drivers only try to kill us twice) ride to Orccha where we stay in the state run "Bewa Cottages", except ours is a tent, beside the river.

It is a really peaceful place, as we are only staying overnight we do not visit the Palaces and Temples. Instead we walk along the river where we meet some interesting people

and into the village where we gaze at the beautiful buildings from afar and markets up close.

Orchha was founded in 1531 and was a Rajput capital until the late 1800s. There are three Palaces with medieval Islamic architecture and three large 16th Century Temples.

We are sorry that we have cut ourselves short of time as Orchha has such a peaceful feeling to it, but onwards to Agra, another bone shaking, traffic clogged road but we arrive at a reasonable hour and find the welcoming Tourists Rest House easily. They even tell us our parcel (containing our new keyboard) has arrived and hand it over. Bless Kath's little cotton socks, she has also sent us some magazines, trashy ones for me and motorcycle ones for Skill. Over a beer we happily peruse them before having dinner with 4 other travellers, Mel from Armidale (Australia), two British guys Mark and Andrew and Yamuna who was adopted by Dutch parents from an orphanage in Tamil Nadu, India some 20 years ago. She is back to visit India for the first time. Hers is a really interesting story.

Next day Skill wanders the streets while I do not leave the garden confines of the hotel, reading my trashy womens magazines and catching up on the now way behind blog. Beers and dinner with Mel and Andrew before a late night. It is wedding season in Agra so every night just as you are starting to doze off the 100 decibel wedding processions start. It really is a sight to behold.

The terrified looking, sweaty, groom is usually riding a decorated white horse followed by a line of dancing people, holding lanterns connected by frayed electrical cables powered by a generator carried in a tuk tuk belching out two stroke fumes. Add to this a huge sound system where everything on the graphic equalizer at full volume, blasting distorted Indian music into the night.

Next day we bite the bullet and take an auto rickshaw to the Taj. I am not quite sure what I was expecting, in fact I was expecting to be disappointed. We were not, it truly is a beautiful ethereal sight.

While taking in our surroundings I get chatting to this young man who tells me his tale of woe. He is in love with a young teacher but his parents do not approve and will not sanction a "Love Marriage" so he does not know what to do. Arranged marriages are still the norm in India, with "Love Marriages" accounting for only 2% of all marriages.

Next day we manage to find our way out of Agra without too much trouble and the double lane highway to Varanassi is looking promising but that soon changes as it goes back to one lane criss crossing from one side of the unbuilt freeway to the next we are down to an average of 30km per hour, remembering this is the number 2 National Highway. Then just as we had given up hope of even getting half way to Varanassi, the 4 lane highway appears out of nowhere again, so we do make it to the industrial city of Kanpur, but another long day. Trying to find a hotel again proves difficult and in the end two wonderful Hindi speaking boys on a motorbike take us to the main part of town, we are so grateful as we would never have found our way.

We are stopped outside a couple of OK looking hotels trying to figure out what to do next and of course the crowd is gathering when, this vision appears and says "Gday can I help you out". Yes it is another angel. Geoffrey is an Indian who lives in Melbourne and is back home visiting his parents in law who own a Hotel.

We are saved, they let us park the bike in the foyer and welcome us wholeheartedly. It is a lovely hotel.

Next day is more of the same, but we need to navigate our way through Allahabad. Allahabad is at the confluence of India's most Holy rivers, Ganges and the Yamuna, as well as the mythical Saraswati River. It is at this point that Pilgrims come to bathe each year, but once every six years Ardh Mela takes place and millions of Pilgrims visit. The most Holy week being during February. And guess when we arrive????

The newspapers report that during this week 20 million people come to bathe along this small stretch of river. Difficult to comprehend the scale. It takes us a couple of hours to make our way through the traffic. This photo is of the tent city which springs up during the pilgrimage.

We do make it to Varanassi and have GPS way-points for the Hotel so life is reasonably easy. Now as luck would have it, our friend Caroline (who trekked with us to Fairy Meadows, Nanga Parbat, Pakistan) is also in Varanassi, so we catch up with her for dinner, it is so nice to see her. We are staying a long way from the city centre so catch a rickshaw back to the Hotel, what a scream, there are wedding parties everywhere blocking the road so the driver takes it upon himself to get us to our hotel using footpaths, roadworks, one way streets, hotel gardens and any other means at his disposal as long as we keep moving. By the time we do arrive back at the Hotel we are in hysterical laughter, it was as if we were part of a James Bond Movie chase scene.

Next day we spend walking along the Ghats beside the Ganges, with it's eye popping sights.

The bathers.

The washing,

The cricket

The near naked, ash covered Sardus

The markets

The snake charmers

The Buffalos

Not to mention the burning ghats where bodies are cremated in public.

In the afternoon we take a boat ride with Caroline and her friend Uwai.

I am unable to describe Varanassi. It is a filthy, dirty, traffic ridden city with a highly polluted river running through it, and touts and rickshaw drivers hassling you at every turn BUT it is a highly religious city which draws you in and seems to pocess a powerful mystical quality. We enjoyed our visit.

We leave Varanasi with ease, unbelievably there are signs we can follow, but alas it is not the road we want, but we follow it anyway. It takes us 5 hours to do 200km to Gorakhpur.

I should explain that Gorakhpur is currently under military/police curfew as two days previous to us arriving, three trains had been burnt and there had been continued rioting in the streets. We are not sure of the reason. Fortunately we arrive just before 5.00 pm and find the Hotel thanks to Abhijeet who finds us on the street and kindly shows us the way.

The Hotel Bobina comes recommended in our Guide book, but the lime green fish tank in the foyer should have had alarm bells ringing.

What a circus? Of course the usual hot water issues, (I am so over being lied to about hot water, they know there is no hot water but the same charade is played out in most hotels) so bucket hot water for a shower which is not a problem if they wouldn't lie to us in the first place. Then down to the restaurant which the manager made a point of telling us, was open.

No menu, OK what can we have??? No one speaks english but we glean that the cook has gone home because of the curfew so we can have omelette and butter toast. OK that will be fine. Forty five minutes later no omelette but our toast minus the butter does appear. I ask if there is a problem.

Yes there is a problem, no one knows how to cook an omelette. I offer and go out to the kitchen to cook dinner, where I find 6 men hovering over a gas hot plate. But the owner is horrified and hunts me out. So after another 30 minutes two omelettes???? appear. The saga continues as we try to order tea. So two hours after first ordering we achieve an omelette, toast and a cup of tea. But the final insult to this injury was the bill, we get charged, on top of, the 15% hotel tax, a 10% service????????? charge.

Let's just say at that point we make the decision to leave as soon as the curfew is lifted in the morning and have a roadside banana breakfast. Oh yes forgot to mention, after dinner we have no water in the room at all. At 11.00 pm we are just dozing off when there is a knock on the door and a man proudly announces the water is back on and proceeds to come in, turn on all the lights and demonstrates this to us by flushing the toilet.

Oh well some days are like that.

I guess in our story we need to mention the "Sounds of India". Every morning you are awoken by what we have christened "the sound of India". That is the men of India coughing and hacking up copious amounts of phlegm and sputum, which they then proudly spit anywhere and everywhere. They are completely and utterly preoccupied with spitting in this country.

I should also make mention that travelling behind the buses is a dangerous proposition as the Indian travellers seem to have a propensity to vomit out of every single bus window, so if you are not spat on you are bound to be hurled on instead.

Then comes the TRAFFIC ............. I cannot even begin to describe how bad the roads are, they go from a lovely two lane highway (still with obstacles such as water buffalo herds, goats, cows, ox carts, tractors and trailers, scooters, pedestrians, and the obligatory trucks careering towards you on the wrong side of the road) to a single potholed bitumen track to a dusty dirt track with half metre deep holes, all within a few kilometres. No exaggeration here. Then to that equation add insane traffic and drivers. Our Scottish/English Land Rover driving friends Rose and Dave came up with rules for driving in India that went something like this, with a few additions from us:

1. Firstly ensure your vehicle is NOT roadworthy and make sure your tyres are completely bald and preferably patched.

2. Do not use your indicators (they are non existent on trucks and buses anyway) instead use funny hand and finger gestures which no one can interpret or understand, to signal your intent.

3. Always pull out in full view of oncoming traffic, preferably causing them to take emergency evasive action.

4. Overtaking maneuvers should always occur on blind corners, single one vehicle roads or dangerous mountain passes.

5. Aim your vehicle directly for the dotted white line and do not deviate from this practice.

6. When stopping, do not pull over and try to inconvenience as many people as is humanly possible especially if you are a bus driver.

7. Trucks and Buses must travel on the wrong side of the 4 lane freeway in the fast lane careering towards oncoming vehicles abusing anyone who dares to think they can use their side of the road in safety.

8. Cars, motorbikes, bicycles, rickshaws and carts should all use whatever part of the road they want, in whatever direction they like, and should change their minds regularly and without warning.

9. Pedestrians must wander into the path of oncoming traffic without paying any attention at all, then look totally shocked and amazed when approaching vehicles sound their horns.

10. Livestock should always be herded along the main road, preferably in the fast lane on divided freeways so the stock can graze the median strip.

And finally you must try your hardest to kill other road users.

We met one Indian man who said to drive in India you need 4 things:
1. Good Horn;
2. Good Brakes;
3. Good nerves, and finally;
4. Good Luck.

As you can tell from the sarcasm, I have really struggled with the riding in India but Skill seems to have been able to keep it all together, and still enjoys being on the bike. But we would both be lying if we said driving in India is a pleasurable experience.

It is just the ridiculous "me first" mentality. They would rather kill you and themselves or hurt and maim someone or destroy property than wait for one second before pulling out, turning off, or overtaking. There are absolutely no rules and even if there were, there is no one to police the rules. The end result always seem to be the same, a minor or major accident usually involving a truck.

What can you say about India. Life in India is difficult but never dull, traffic chaos, noise, filth, rubbish, mangy dogs, cows eating rubbish, no respect for personal space, everyone, including priests, beggars, touts, rickshaw drivers and shopkeepers all seeing you as a Western walking cash machine. You want to yell and scream is sheer frustration, "Get me out of this bloody place". But you will forgive all of this when something magical happens, a colourfully decorated elephant walks on by, you see vibrant coloured saris drying in a stark brown dessert landscape, you witness ox driving water wheels to irrigate crops, or see the Hindis worshiping their Gods in beautifully elaborate or decidedly simple temples, or watch young children bathing playfully in a river, or smell the glorious scent of roses in the flower stalls.

It is a land of such contrasts, obscene wealth, debilitating poverty, colourful beauty, dirty ugliness, extreme kindness, impatient rudeness, quiet gentleness, ruthless violence, stark desserts, glorious beaches, lofty mountains and flat plains.

It really is "Incredible India" but after three months the good bits seem to be fewer and farther between and the bad bits more frequent and annoying, so it is definitely time to go. Roll on Nepal.....

Cheers and Beers,

Quote for the week: "The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page" - St Augustine

For other travellers out there here are our top accommodation tips for India, these are the places that went out of their way to accommodate us. They also have secure parking:

Bikaner: Bhairon Villas (our favourite, run by the wonderfully hospitable Harsh)

Jodhpur: Pal Havelli Inn (a close second)

Udaipur: Udai Niwas Hotel (Parking here is tight and you will probably have to remove luggage to get up the ramp)

Jalgaon: Hotel Plaza. Simple but a really lovely man running the place Parking is on the street but right at the front door and there is a night watchman, pretty safe.

India - part 2

Finally we are back in action with a new iPAQ keyboard to write the blogs and we have a little catching up to do. Thanks so much to our friends Kath and Sean for scouring Australia to find it for us, then flying to Melbourne to pick it up and post it, hope you enjoyed yourselves. The lengths some people will go to so we do our blog homework. So now where were we last blog.....

Ahh yes, ......We leave Jaisalmer and it is off to Jodhpur, once again riding through the desert with its beautiful sand dunes and old forts. We are totally amazed that we even find Jodhpur as there are roadworks everywhere with no signs and the deviations are more reminiscent of driving across the Gulf roads in the Northern Territory (Australia). Bulldust, feet deep.

We find our hotel without any trouble, only having to stop once and ask the flower sellers in the market, we then ride right through the middle of the Sadar Market, not for the faint hearted, but once again we score on the Hotel front, staying at the glorious Pal Haveli Inn.

It is an old Haveli set around a court yard and owned by a terrific family. Although these places are a little more expensive (this one 800 R/ $26.00AUD) they are great places to stay, the rooms are beautifully decorated with lanterns, antiques, rugs and wallhangings. Check out our bed. I felt like a princess.

We also meet up with Alida and Chris (from Jaisilmer) again and share our afternoon sunset with them.

Unfortunately the inevitable happens and I get the dreaded Indian travellers belly-bug and am bedridden for the first day in Jodhpur. I am not happy. The staff bring me a constant supply of 7-Up and check on me every few hours while Skill spends the day out and about in the market.

Next day I am feeling better (antibiotics are wonderful things) and it is off to the fort. Meherangarah is a true fort, still owned by the present day Maharaja, it is perched on a 125m hill with ramparts, battlements, cannons, and studded reinforced gates.

And there is great audio tour (we usually avoid them) which explains the history and life of the fort in detail. These small handprints are the sati marks of Maharaja Man Sigh's widows who killed themselves by throwing themselves on his funeral pyre in 1843.

We enjoy a a truly captivating day here.

Then we head on down to the Jaswad Thada, a white marble memorial built for the Maharaja Jaswant Singh II in 1899.

Then to end the day we watch the sun go down over a few beers. Life is tough.

The following day we spend walking the streets around the old city, checking out the clock tower and the temples. In the afternoon we decide we should book a hotel in Udaipur as Christmas is fast approaching, after 12 phone calls and no luck (the Indian population also take their winter holidays at this time) we decide we like Jodhpur and we will stay put till Christmas, the staff at Pal Haveli cannot believe that we are staying for so long, but start to treat us as family, they know our breakfast choices off by heart, its the little things like the extra lemon on our pancakes. Check out our other breakfast companions.

The following day is a lazy one for us but it is also the Maharaja of Jodhpur's birthday so the owners of the hotel (who are relatives) look resplendent in their turbans and jodhpurs as they leave for the birthday celebrations.

Our host and favourite employee at the hotel (Limbah) is not joining the celebrations but is very happy to have his photo taken on the bike.

In the afternoon Jana and Paul, turn up at the hotel for lunch so we wile away yet another day perched on the terrace. (Sorry Jana, Limbah has chopped you out of the photo.)

Over the next few days we amuse ourselves by haggling with the bangle sellers, getting lost in the market, doing some shopping in a refreshingly hassle free, fixed price shop and we also go out to the Palace for a few hours and are in awe of the privileged life that the wealthy in this country have and had.

A little bike servicing is due....

We also marvel at the old blue city. It is surrounded by a 10 km wall and is an intricate maze of narrow winding streets. Traditionally, blue signified the homes of the Brahman caste but everyone now paints their homes this luminous blue colour.

Christmas is approaching but there are no decorations or any evidence that the Indian population observe Christmas, not that the mostly Hindu population should I guess. Then to my surprise when we get back to the hotel one afternoon Yogita (the owner's granddaughter) is decorating a pine tree.

Later in the afternoon we see a very bedraggled Santa riding a scooter then a little further down the street Santa is out and about on a camel. This is Christmas in India.

Christmas day is a quiet affair, we have not even managed gifts for each other. We ring home and feel homesick but soon overcome our melancholy with a few beers on the rooftop.

Then head out to see if we can get some money out, post our package and find anywhere that can fix our PDA keyboard or even buy a new one. Our efforts are fruitless, all the money machines are out of action because of power cuts, the parcel section is closed as it is Christmas day and the keyboard is a completely lost cause.

We cannot find anywhere that serves any resemblance of Christmas dinner so we opt for the only place serving non-curry dishes, Pizza Hut, and yes we enjoy it. In the evening Limbah comes to see me and presents me with a posy of flowers and a cheerful "Merry Christmas". That night there is also a huge fireworks display. All is right in the world.

After eight days it is time to go. On leaving, our Rickshaw driver/companion wants a photo on the bike so we oblige.

Then it is off to do battle at the Post Office first, it takes us 2 hours. Mind numbing bureaucracy and nobody actually working, of the 40 employees only two were actually serving, the other 37 were drinking tea or playing solitaire on the 5 working computers and one man was mindlessly stamping a book of papers while shouting at everyone else.

It is now midday so we head towards Ranakpur, a fairly pleasant days ride (well for India) and we end up at the dodgy Shivka Lake Hotel, but the Jain temples are amazing. This sacred spot is in a wooded valley, the main temple was built in 1439 according to a strict system of measurement that had the number 72 at it's core. Inside there are 1440 individually carved pillars and 72 shrines. It is truly one of the most beautiful Temples we have seen in India.

When we are ready to leave the motorcycle is surrounded by people, (as usual) including this priest who was insisting Skill take him for a ride.

What would be the penalty for injuring a priest in the event of an accident?????? Skill declined.

Next day it is on to Udaipur via some scenic backroads to Kumbalgarh Fort, built in the fifteenth century by Maharana Kumbha. The Palace at the summit is known as the cloud palace because during the monsoon it is shrouded in cloud. This fort is not on the main tourist route and is quite an amazing sight.

It then takes us two and a half hours to do the last bone shaking 60 kms to Udaipur. After having to ask for directions countless times we manage to find the Udai Niwas Hotel. Parking the bike here proves to be a little difficult, the luggage comes off and all the staff push and guide Skill up the steps and thin ramp but success and the bike has a home off the street. We have a lovely room and great views from the rooftop restaurant.

Udaipur is quite a beautiful city surrounded by mountains and set around Lake Pichola. In the midst of the Lake is the extraordinary Lake Palace.

This Palace was built by Maharaja Jagat Singh II in 1745, but not only did he build this glorious vision on Jagniwas Island he also flooded a village and enlarged the small existing Lake so as to have the ultimate water view.

Udaipur is obsessed by the James Bond movie "Octopussy" which was filmed here over 30 years ago. Every night at 7.00pm every hotel plays the movie. No deviation from this time slot is ever entertained.

Other attractions in the City include the City Palace, the Jagdish Temple and the Monsoon Palace to name but a few.

We decide to stay in Udaipur until New Year so once again we just relax enjoying the company of many Western tourists that seem to frequent this part of the world.

We meet up with a Kiwi family, Guy, Michelle and Ella who are having their first Indian Adventure. We have met so many people travelling with young children in India, they do not seem to have any difficulties at all. In fact in some ways it smoothes the way as the Indian people love children.

We spend most of our time in Udaipur walking by the Lake entertained by the daily lives of the people, especially at the washing ghats, and also in the backstreets. A really interesting place and the touts are not too persistent.

One afternoon we venture into a restaurant for a beer and spend quite a few hours watching the antics of this troop of monkeys.

Then as we leave and step out onto the street we are nearly run over by an elephant in the peak hour rush. It's times like this you just love India.

We also play the ultimate tourist and take a sunset boat ride.

New Years Eve is a fireworks spectacular, which we watch from the rooftop of the Hotel, over a few beers, I would have killed for a glass of champers. Shouldn't complain too much as we did find a bottle of white wine.

We leave Udaipur after saying goodbye to the wonderful Beamer, another favourite waiter, on New Years Day.

Destination Goa. We spend five solid days on the bike to get there.

The first day was to Vadodara in Gujarat.(A dry state so no end of the day beer here) While I am looking for a hotel Skill is mobbed by about 100 people and I cannot even get into the bike to tell him where we are going to stay. After battling my way through the crowd we head for the sanctuary of the Hotel. It is hot, I am tierd, the hotel staff are hassling me for a tip and then Skill comes upstairs and cryptically tells me "the newspaper is downstairs" to which I tersely reply "I don't want to read the bloody paper, I want a cold drink and a shower".

But NO the local Press have heard of our arrival and want to interview us. Reluctantly it is back downstairs for a chat and photos. Such is the life of celebrities????????????????????????

Next day is a good ride on good road to a dodgy, expensive highway resort hotel just North of Mumbai, where nothing works including the water and they still want to charge us 1200 Rupees. Let's just say we were not happy and made our feelings known and next morning did not pay the asking price.

The following day is horrendous. Because we are on a motorcycle we are not allowed to use some Expressways and have to take minor highways which are not signed, we get completely lost and end up going around and around on the outskirts of Mumbai, every one we ask for directions says after the obligatory head wobble "Just go Straight". In reality this means "I have no idea, but I cannot possibly lose face, so I will tell you anything".

Eventually Skill spies two Western dressed girls carrying books. I jump off the bike and run after them. They give us the best directions, draw us a detailed map and tell us "God no, don't ask a man in India for directions".

Success we are on our way, but the directions lead again to the Expressway with signs in English, or we can take the National Highway with signs in Hindi. After being lost for two and half hours we opt for the Expressway, we figure they have to catch us first.

We cruise on the Highway pretending not to see the countless whistle blowing, bamboo stick wielding policemen and make it 50 km but are stopped by the toll gates. They want to fine us 1500 Rupees but we are quite adamant that there were no signs (which there weren't) so how were we to know.

They are completely bamboozled but the lure of 1500 Rupees is too much. I am getting tierd of sitting on the bike while they dally around and say "Just tell us where we are meant to go" They explain but are still holding out for their rupees. In the end Skill gets off the bike and towering above them says forcefully "Just open the gate" which they do and we are on our way. At least the expressway got us out of Mumbai.

We laugh because apparently it is too dangerous for us to have our 1000cc motorcycle on the Expressway but the usual assortment of rust-bucket buses and trucks doing 40km/h are allowed, then they have no hesitation in sending us 4km down a one way road the wrong way to get onto the Highway we are allowed to use. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

We arrive in Pune and stop on the outskirts to check out our Hotel options, we are engrossed in our task and after five minutes look up, we are surrounded by no less than 200 people and the crowd is growing. People, bicycles, motorbikes and Rickshaw drivers are now blocking the 4 Lane National Highway in both directions. It is chaos, buses, trucks and cars are all blowing their horns and the traffic is building, all caused by us parked under a tree beside the road.

We get out of there the best we can pushing our way through the traffic and pulling in at the first hotel we see. Skill comes back and says "It's bloody expensive but really nice, we're staying" The hotel staff are so friendly and cannot do enough for us. It is a brand new Hotel.

Sheer Luxury, we don't leave the confines of our airconditioned three roomed appartment ordering room service and luxuriating in a bathtub with enough hot water to fill it. A comfortable inner spring queen size bed and double sheets. Everything is clean and works properly, very un-Indian.

Next day rejuvenated it takes us over an hour to get out of Pune and we only managed that because a wonderful young man guided us on his motorbike. Then it is an easy day on the freeway (we are allowed on this one) to Belgaum where we overnight.

Onward to Panjim via the National Highway 4A. This would have to be the worst road we have come across in India. It is a deeply potholed dirt track for some 50 km of 155 km. It is down to first gear trail biking, bottoming suspension and crunching the bash plate again several times. Skill had to work hard to keep our fully loaded heavy bike upright as well as dodging the trucks/cars/buses trying to run us off road.

This is a national highway and it got much worse after this.....

We do arrive in Panjim, once again ignoring some stick wielding, whistle blowing police (who knows what they wanted, but we were not in the mood), in time to pick up our parcels. One is from Pac Safe who have sent us a replacement base for our tankbag. They were so helpful and had no hesitation in sending us a free replacement as the zip had broken.

The other is from our close friends Kath and Sean, our belated Christmas presents include Anzac Biscuits, Tim Tams, rum, champagne, and a SD card with new music, bless them.

It has been such an awful day and the previous four days have been stressful, the terrible roads and woeful drivers, I cannot count how many times we have been run off the roads. So in true girly fashion I have my first meltdown and burst into tears with at least 20 people looking on.

Skill valiantly decides we should get out of there and make it to Palelom so we can awake to the sound of waves the next morning.

We do make it, and after checking out three places we decide on a beach hut. I don't think we have ever enjoyed a beer so much in our lives. We put on our new music, drink our beer, eat some Anzac Biscuits and watch the sunset, before venturing out for a fish and lobster dinner.

Welcome to Goa.

Cheers and Beers,

Quote for the Week: "Our happiest moments as tourists always seem to come when we stumble upon one thing while in the pursuit of something else" - Lawrence Block

India - part 1

Disaster has struck, the letters z, x, a, s and e have died on the collapsible keyboard so you will have to be patient and forgive typos and worse than usual spelling in this blog as it will be a tedious process until we get a new keyboard, anyway here goes.

Well it's another day and another border crossing, Pakistani Customs are right outside the hotel so we venture over, they totally ignore us as they are far too busy going through a German Hippie/Yogi's luggage, scanning his walnut barrel as a potential bomb threat. Eventually they get us to bring our panniers in and start to go through them but quickly get bored with that and don't even check the tank bag or the tubes on the bike. Giving us the all clear they wave us on. We go to the next checkpoint and sign documents and then get to the last point where they tell us we don't have an immigration stamp to leave.

Ok turn around and back to the immigration office beside the customs office (where they failed to mention we needed another stamp). Finally we leave Pakistan and enter India. After 3 checkpoints, toing and froing, handing over passports and the carnet countless times we are welcomed to India. All that took 3 and a half hours.

While we are waiting to cross we watch the antics of the ant like workers on both sides of the border, the Pakistani team dressed in orange continuously take bags of potatoes to the gate where they meet the blue Indian team bringing dried fruit to the gate, they then swap commodities and snake their way back to their respective trucks who take the produce away. But never once do they set even a toe over that magical border line.

Onward to Amritsar where our first job is to find a bank and moneychanger. The bank part is easy but trying to find a moneychanger is proving difficult.

As fate would have it living beside the bank is an Indian motorcycle enthusiast called Karan who takes Skill to the money changer on his bike then kindly guides us to to Mrs Bhanderi's Guest House.

This place is quite expensive by Indian standards but after the hotels in Pakistan it is pure heaven, a spotless room, reliable hot water, crisp clean ironed sheets, a wonderful all day menu and internet access.

We sit in the sun in the beautiful gardens, watching the playful squirrels and drink a beer or two, or maybe it was three. What a nice easy entry to India.

That night we have roast pork, roast potato and veggies with gravy. The simple things in life bring such pleasure.

The following day we take a bicycle rickshaw with a young man to the Golden Temple. This is the Sikhs' most holy shrine and to visit everyone must remove their shoes and cover their heads, even men.

After entering the complex which also serves as a military memorial we make our way to the bridge which leads to the Golden Temple across Amrit Sarvor (Pool of Nectar). Apparently the dome of the Temple is gilded with 750 kg of gold and inside the temple there are four priests who keep up a continual chant from the Sikh Holy book. Despite the huge crowds it is restful and we spend a few hours just wandering.

After leaving the Temple, we head to the Jallianwalla Bagh Park which commemorates the 2000 Indians who were killed or maimed here when the British authorities indiscriminately opened fire on 20 000 unarmed peaceful demonstrators. Historically it is believed this incident spear headed by Ghandi's program of Civil Disobedience led to "everyday" Indians increasing demands on the British to leave India.

Next day is a long ride to McLeod Ganj where we get our first taste of the Indian's penchant for suicidal driving practices not dissimilar to Pakistan except with more horn blowing, verbal abuse and hand gesturing.

McLeod Ganj is the Dalai Lama's home. In 1949 the Chinese forcibly took over Tibet and in 1959 the 14th Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso, fearing for his life and those of his people trekked over the Himalayas to McLeod Ganj where he was granted political asylum and also later, the exiled Tibetan Government. This area has become the headquarters for the 40 years plus struggle to free Tibet. China refuses any attempts at negotiation and freeing Tibet seems a long way off, if an impossible outcome for these people.

Before coming here many other travellers told us "Oh McLeod Ganj is so touristy" to which I responded "Good", because after Pakistan we were quite happy to be tourists in a touristy place.

However on arrival I was ready to revise my opinion as the road we needed to take to our chosen hotel was blocked by several buses who needed to reverse (unknown to us at the time, reversing lights on buses are non existent) And then there was an officious little whistle blowing Indian yelling at us saying we needed to reverse our 400 plus kg motorcycle up the hill. I get off and push the bike and we park where he indicates. Within a minute he is back blowing his whistle and yelling at us again to move.

On our whole journey I have not "lost it" once but after five hours on the bike and no lunch, today was going to be it. After grabbing his whistle and telling this man that I was going to surgically implant his whistle where the sun don't shine and then getting ready to batter him around the head with a Lonely Planet he backed off.

We were then able to make our way to the wonderful Pema Thang Guesthouse where the Tibetan owners and their staff welcomed us wholeheartedly, although everyone had to sit on the bike and have their photos taken before we could unpack.

We spent a lovely evening with two other Aussie travellers and enjoyed a truly memorable Tibetan meal and glorious sunset.

Next day we walked the streets chatting to the Tibetan monks and nuns, and then took the road out to Bhagsu village before heading back to the Guesthouse for afternoon cake and coffee, what a luxury.

The next four days continued in the same pattern. Of course we visited the Tsuglagkhang Complex, which consists of the Dalai Lama's home, the Namgyal Gompa and the Tsuglagkhang, the central chapel and the most important Bhudist monument outside Tibet. The building itself is a very modest one, but a peaceful, calm and holy atmosphere prevails. We are even lucky enough to catch a glimpse of his Holiness.

We visit the Tibet Museum which tells the heart wrenching story of the Chinese invasion of Tibet and the Tibetans ongoing struggle for freedom. You cannot help but be moved, angry, and affronted.

We then let our hair down and go souvenir shopping, not something we often do. We make a pretty good job of it and have to post the parcel home, but not before this man has sewn us a calico postage bag.

We really get a giggle out of the peace loving Tibetans at the guesthouse, every living creature is sacred with the notable exception of the MONKEY. Every day there is the open sport of trying to shoot he monkeys with a pellet gun. They are obviously a real menace and we were warned to keep our doors locked because of them.

We ended up staying for two extra days (than planned) because the weather really closes in, rain, hail, thunder, lightning and snow on the mountains. The snow on the mountains brings the "GOOD" monkeys down. They are beautiful with long white coats and lovely gentle faces. These guys definitely do not receive the pellet gun treatment.

While we enjoyed McLeod Ganj it is not without its social problems, violence is quite common, as are the drug related issues. While we were there, there was quite a serious attack on a Western tourist.

Finally the weather clears and we make a move, heading towards Mandi, knowing it will be a slow ride through the mountains. On leaving McLeod Ganj I cannot help but get a giggle out of these two billboards posted near each other. Somehow one doesn't seem to complement the other.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever.

Army man be a winner for life.

As the journey continues we come across huge crowds of people gathered around a cliff edge, yes, the latest tourist attraction is the bus that went over the edge that morning killing 18 people. You think that perhaps this would make them a little more cautious but not more than 3 kms away we meet two buses trying to overtake a truck at the same time on a blind corner. They just do not get it.

Despite the traffic it is a pretty days ride through the valleys. We make it to Mandi where hotel options are not looking good. We try for a resort on the outskirts of town but they are full and they then direct us to the "Balleydue Hotel" 5 km further on.

Finally we arrive, not, at the Balleydue but the Valley View Hotel (obviously our ears are not yet tuned to the Indian accent) which is in the middle of nowhere but lovely. Just as we are unpacking another Aussie/New Zealand couple turn up. Shane and Sheryl are are lovely couple living here in India while Shane is on a 6 month work contract. Shane also has a passion for motorcycles. And as the conversation continues we learn he worked with a friend of ours in Oz. What do they say about six degrees of separation. We have a great night and thank them for their company, it was so nice to have someone to share a few drinks with.

Next day we are late getting away and it takes us 5 hours to do 120 km, the traffic is horrible but we make it to Chandigrah unscathed but finding our way in proved difficult. We stop at every roundabout and ask the traffic police for directions to Sector 22, after taking a very indirect route we find the area we need and a hotel.

Next day we visit the Nek Chandra Rock Garden This garden was created by a Roads Inspector who used all the recycled items he found to create a fantasy world. Apparently the story goes that no one knew it was there for many years and when it was discovered people were amazed. The authorities then let him keep on creating. He is now a world famous artist.

We leave Chandigrah just before lunch and head towards Pehowa in the Heryana Province famous for its Basmati Rice. We then stay at a state run hotel run by Basil Fawlty, complete with our own Indian reincarnation of Manuel. Not a particularly great hotel but we survived and did not get food poisoning which was a plus. Next day a short ride to Hisar where we stay in another state run Hotel, fortunately up a peg or two from the previous evening. I sit in the sun by the lake, (apparently a local tourist attraction) in reality it was a muddy old dam full of rubbish but the Indians were still out in their pedalos having a great old time. Skill could not resist the lure of cable TV and sat in the room watching motor sport.

The traffic in India is indescribable. There are no rules and no visible police to enforce the rules.

On the roads a hierarchy of might exists, the lowest being pedestrians, followed by bicycles, motorcycles, cars, trucks and finally the buses. The only thing that trumps a bus is a cow. The buses stop for nothing and push everything in their wake off the roads.

Besides the woeful drivers you have to take into consideration the tractors, carts, donkeys, camels, horses and goats. I find the traffic and riding conditions very confronting and must say it is not that enjoyable for me but Skill takes it all in his stride.

Next day is a long ride to Bikaner, this journey along unsigned and unused roads takes us through spectacular desert scenery, and we can also finally do 100 km an hour. Skill lets out a sigh of contentment as he puts the bike into sixth gear for the first time in India We pass untouristed villages of tea drinking men, brightly sari clad women, grubby waif like children playing cricket, camels and their herders, goats, donkeys and desert ruins.

Arriving in Bikaner we find Bhairon Villas our chosen hotel easily with no one hassling us. This glorious hotel is in an old Haveli. The Havelis were built by the rich and are entered from the streets through huge gates or archways, to central courtyards. Inside there are usually restful gardens and the rooms are richly decorated as is definitely the case with our room.

We open the double wooden windows and look out at the Junagarah Fort. What a find???

We spend the next day touring the fort gaping at the scenery. Our guide is a man who is obviously very jaded. We get a racing commentary that we cannot understand and exasperated sighs if, God forbid, we should want to stop and look at something with more than a cursory glance. Despite this we had fun and found the place really interesting. Check out the don't sniff sign

In the afternoon Harsh (our host and owner of the family Haveli) comes to find us and tells us he is going to his cousins wedding party where the groom will perform part of a historic symbolic procession where he rides off to fetch his bride. There will also be traditional dancers and music. Would we like to watch?

This sounds wonderful. They fetch us at 5.30pm and we figure we will stand at the gate and watch. I start to get nervous when Harsh appears dressed in an elegant traditional suit

and we hop in the car with two other travellers Oliver and Monica. (Monica is a beautiful and exuberant Spanish girl who is appropriately dressed in a sari) I get even more nervous when we arrive at Lalgarh Palace and there are the most extravagantly dressed women in fabulous saris and ornate jewelry. The men are splendidly dressed in brightly coloured turbans, jodhpurs and other traditional clothes, most are sporting swords. And finally there are highly decorated animals everywhere including an elephant.

I say to Harsh, "Harsh exactly who is it that is getting married?". "My cousin the Maharaja of Bikaner. The King."

Oh my God and we are dressed in our daggy travel clothes, I hadn't even done my hair. I cannot begin to describe the splendor of the occasion, or how uncomfortable we felt in our ordinary clothes. But no one seemed to care, in fact we are invited to stay.

We watch the parade where the Maharaja rides his elephant off to fetch his bride to be. In reality he does a loop around the Palace and returns by car.

We join in the festivities, the firebreathers, the traditionally costumed dancers performing acts of contortionism, dancing on broken glass and picking up money with their eyes.

Then it is time to eat a huge feast and then men partake at the bar. It was truly amazing and will be one of the highlights of our time in India.

On the way back to the Villas Harsh tells us we cannot leave as the wedding reception will be in two nights time and we must attend, which we do, this time we are dressed a little more appropriately. Thankfully as Skill pulls celebratory status and is interviewed by TV India on his impressions of the Royal Wedding. Apparently they are impressed with his enthusiasm and tell him he will be beamed around Indian televisions in a Royal Wedding piece the following evening. The reception is huge, over thousand people and takes on a more fair like atmosphere, outdoors with marquees, buffet meals, and fireworks.

Harsh and his family are the most generous and hospitable people, they find out it is Skill's birthday and spoil him with drinks and dinner, then Harsh insists we stay on one more night so we can have a belated celebration. Monica makes mojhitas, Harsh provides music, food and drinks, and we enjoy a great evening.

I should make some mention of the wonderful Monica, a terrific girl who spends eight months of every year travelling. She works for four months in Manorca every year selling the traditional tribal jewelry she buys on her travels. She was such a great girl and so much fun. One of our days in Bikaner we went off to the beauty parlour and treated ourselves to a three hour facial, neck and back massage along with a hair treatment and head massage all for the Princely sum of 300 Rupees, less than $10.00 AUD. It was heavenly.

We are really sad to say Goodbye to these wonderful people, it feels like we are leaving family. But leave we do and enjoy a four hour ride through the desert to Jaisalmer, a town on the Pakistan India border, our hotel takes some finding but after three quarters of an hour we find it tucked away in a back street. We settle ourselves down in the most touristed hotel we have stayed in so far. It is here we meet Jana and Paul a Czech Canadian couple with an insatiable quest for life. In their late sixties they climb mountains, scuba dive, paraglide and travel the world. They are great company, as are Chris and Alida from British Colombia.

Our time in Jaisalmer was spent exploring the fort, once we could get past the Camel Safari touts, persistent shopkeepers, musicians and children chanting, "one pen, rupee, rupee". The people and sights are truly amazing.

We wander aimlessly taking it all in and spend a good deal of time discussing the all victorious Australian Cricket team. Ricky Ponting is God and according to reliable sources at Hari Om's Silver Studio, should he wish to become an Indian citizen he would easily be elected Prime Minister. Unless Sachin Tendulkar was the opposition candidate, even then it would be a close contest.

Jaisalmer's fort is a living fort where the towns people still live and trade. Unfortunately due to the tourist explosion and over population the fort is in serious peril. The aging plumbing system cannot cope with the increased quantities of water and it is affecting the rubble foundations.

Every evening is spent on the hotel rooftop, having a few beers (which are billed as special cold coffee to get around Rajasthan's licensing laws) watching the sun slowly sink on the desert and the lights on the fort begin to glow. Life is good.

After all the travelling we have done I thought we were prepared for most contingencies but nothing can prepare you for India, it is the most frustrating, infuriating place on earth and just when you are sure you really hate it and want to leave something bizarre and magical will happen and it will suck you back in. As they say anything and everything is possible in India. We will continue to enjoy.

Cheers and Beers

Quote for the Week: Travel is more than the seeing of sights; It is a change that goes on deep and permanent in the ideas of living.

Pakistan - part 2

For those of you not familiar with the KKH (Karakoram Highway) here's a little bit of background.

In the 1960s and 1970s, Pakistan and China jointly constructed a road across the mountains following a branch of the Silk Road from Kashgar to Islamabad via the 4730m Khunjerab Pass. It was only in 1986 the Khunjerab Pass was opened to travellers. This engineering feat was completed by approximately 15000 Pakistanis and 20000 Chinese. Conditions were hard and deaths on both sides were extremely high.

By its very nature the road needs continual maintenance. It is is a huge unending job, landslides, rockfalls, mudslides, and the crumbling slopes continually make the road impassable to traffic.

But oh the scenery, it is jaw droppingly beautiful, this highway bares witness to huge mountain ranges, (the Karakoram, Himalayan and Hindu Kush Mountain Ranges) enormous glaciers, deep ravines and valleys, and then there is continual presence of the mighty Indus River.

Our journey continues, we leave Islamabad and head to Taxilia, of course it is raining, well in fact there are thunderstorms so pull over in a service station to get out the wet weather gear, we are instantly mobbed and invited in for tea. The young man whose family ownes the service station is very interesting, highly educated and his siblings are spread all over the world, Canada, Australia and the US.

Once again there are beautiful trucks and buses everywhere, out comes the camera.

We head out through some pretty gross little villages, mud and rubbish and animals as far as the eye can see, towards Abbottabad. We call it a day at Mansehra at the reasonably clean (rat free) Karakoram Inn, complete with a good restaurant which is still open. Mansehra is probably about 60 km from the 8 October 2005 Earthquake epicentre, although it is not too badly effected and is home to many NGO and UN offices. In this photo you can see a tent school in the distance.

Next day onward and upward to Besham, a nice 4 hour ride (120km) through some great scenery and winding roads. We loved the terraced rice fields.

We cross the Chinese built suspension bridge at Thakot and also our first checkpoint where we once again have to fill out our details so they know where we foreigners are.

Besham is not an unfriendly town but the people in this area seem to be unanimated and expressionless. There are no smiles or the usual waves. This is the heartland of the Sunni Muslim Religion. These people are staunchly religious and unfortunately seem to have little access to education, nor do they want it. I didn't realise how much teacher I had in me. It is very upsetting to know that many of these children will never attend school, and the girls will have no opportunities. It was also in this region that we saw woman dressed in berkas. Skill gets really upset by the Berkas which he finds really awful especially for what they represent.

We have an interesting stay in Besham at the grotty Palace Midway Hotel. It is here we meet Freba. Of all the people we have met on our travels this girl is one of the most amazing. My only regret is that we could not spend more time with her and I did not take a photo of her.

Freba's story: Freba is from Afghanistan and currently living in Islamabad with her mother and sisters. Her father and brother are in Kabul with one brother studying in the US. Freba works for a German NGO trying to spread the word about Hygiene to this Earthquake affected region. Her job is almost impossible, because she is a women and the people do not want any outside influences. Only the day before we arrived there had been demonstrations in the town against all the NGOs, the leaders/agitators say that the NGO's are trying to take away their religion. More likely these local leaders fear their power base being eroded if locals listen to anyone but them.

Freba was quite adamant that she and her NGO are trying to help as she is herself a Muslim Afgan woman. "All I want is for them to learn a little about hygiene so they do not get ill" she tells us.

We asked Freba about Afghanistan which she told us was really starting to improve especially in Kabul. Life is a lot better now she says. She then told us that she was actively working for women's rights in Afghanistan, and she was the first woman of her country to participate in an Olympic Games. (Athens 2004 in Judo) Since that time she had become a public voice for women in Afghanistan, which at times made her life difficult and dangerous. But throughout all of this her family particularly her father and brothers have whole heartedly supported her. Quite uncommon I would say.

This beautifully spoken, gentle woman is a true humanitarian.

Next day is yet another glorious days ride to Chilas, the scenery just gets better and better and the road gets worse and worse. It is this section of road which apparently suffers most from landslides, fortunately we didn't come across any this day but we did encounter many animals.

We arrive in Chilas where we stayed at the Chilas Inn, complete with beautiful gardens. We really enjoy our stay here.

An early start next day as it is a 5 hour ride to Karimabad via Gilgit. All we can say is look at the photos. We had great sunshine and a wonderful days ride. A highlight of the day was our first view of Nanga Parbat, eighth highest mountain in the world at 8126m. We also catch a glimpse of Rakaposhi (mountain peak) shrouded in cloud.

We arrive at Karimabad/Hunza and run into Marcus and John who are returning to Gilgit, only a quick chat as its getting late and then off to find a hotel. As Winter approaches many of the hotels and shops are closing. We end up at the Hilltop Hotel which has amazing views and a pleasant garden but it is very, very cold and the hot water is intermittent. Not really their fault as the power supply is very unreliable, sometimes in winter it can go off for weeks at a time. They do have their own generator (supplied by a foreign government) which helps. We end up having three blankets on our bed and sleeping in our thermals complete with beanie. But my oh my, you cannot beat the scenery, it is absolutely breathtaking.

We spend three nights and each day wandering the village, chatting with it's inhabitants, especially the beautiful children.

We also visit the Fort which is 780 years old.

Our guide is a lovely young man complete with an economics degree but also a love for his Hunza history so we have a lovely afternoon. Sadly he tells us that only two hours ago the last Queen of Hunza passed away at the age of 96. Her funeral will be tomorrow.

The family (rulers of Hunza Province) lived in the fort up until 1945 and then moved to newer quarters in Karimabad.

When the Pakistani government daned that Hunza was no longer a separate province but part of Pakistan, the family became only figure heads with no say at all within the Pakistani government.

You cannot help but love this village, the people, the scenery and the way they live their lives. This branch of the Muslim religion is known as Ismali. Their leader the Aga Khan (Imam number 49) is a progressive man. The first thing you notice about this region compered to the South, are the people's faces, they are happy and animated. There are women in public and they do not all wear scarves. They are allowed to pray with the men in a community hall called a jamaat khana. Prayer is seen as a personal matter. The children all attend school and Hunza has one of the highest literacy rates in Pakistan. They also have basic health facilities and a little more infrastructure. And they seem to genuinely love the tourists.

Before we start the return journey to Islamabad we head North without making it to the Khunjerab Pass, it is too late in the season and the road is far too icy. We pass the village of Pasu

where we meet this lovely man herding his Yaks.

and actually get as far as Sost before turning around.

But for Skill, to have travelled even this much of the famous KKH has been the realisation of a 10 year dream. And you can see why.

We return to Gilgit and stay a couple of days where we catch up with Marcus again. The weather has closed in and we are not keen to travel in the rain. So the bikes stay put at the friendly Madina Guest House.

Marcus tells us about his visit to Fairy Meadows (cabins/camp high in the mountains near Nanga Parbat) and his desire to return. In the end we hatch a plan with 4 other travellers (including Patrick and Sophie our Dutch cycling friends from Iran who have turned up in Gilgit) to get to Fairy Meadows. Marcus, Skill and I ride to Raikot Bridge.

while Patrick and Sophie, Kevin and Caroline hitch a ride on the back of a 4WD Ute.

Marcus then bravely rides his bike up the incredibly steep and dangerous track to the village and organises a jeep to come back down to collect us all. We leave our bike in a lock up at the Bridge as its too difficult to ride this road with pillion and luggage.

The trip up in the jeep is indescribable. The track is only just wide enough for one vehicle and there is a sheer vertical drop into the valley of well over 400 metres. I am absolutely terrified as are most of our crew, what have we done? Most decide there and then to walk down!

When we finally arrive at the village (I thank Allah) we meet our shotgun toting guides and then start our 2 and a half hour treck UP the mountain to the camp. If someone had told me that I would be trekking in the Western Himalayas during twilight into the pitch black evening I would have told them not to be crazy. As we walk along we can hear avalanches on the mountain We are like the seven dwarfs all with our headlights, it is hard work but at the same time exhilarating. Up and up we go reaching the snow line which we trek through for half an hour. We arrive at about 7pm, tierd but excited, light a fire to warm the very basic cabin and our guides prepare our dinner.

We are all pretty weary so bunk down as soon as dinner is finished. In the morning this is what we can see from our bed. Dawn over the eighth highest peak in the world. Not something we will ever forget.

Out of bed and we are witness to an avalanche coming in a huge wave down the mountain, in the distance of course.

We spend an idyllic day in this majestic setting, chatting, eating and reveling in our good fortune having such a place all to ourselves - oh and trying to keep warm.

In the afternoon the guides tell us they are off to hunt down our dinner. They return a couple of hours later with "Mountain Chickens" which they turn into a scrumptious soup and curry.

Marcus and Patrick inspired by their success take the shotgun and go on their own expedition. It is a fruitless one but they are very excited to have fired a gun for the first time in their lives. They both confess they could not have shot a living creature anyway.

Once again we witness a spectacular sunset over the "Killer Mountain" so called because of the number of people killed trying to climb it. No doubt this is due to its sheer, near vertical sides so steep that little snow sticks, giving its name Nanga Parbat meaning naked mountain.

Next morning we leave and hike down the mountain to the village.

Once back at the village Marcus rides down, Kevin bales out and catches a lift on an overloaded, log laden jeep while Patrick, Sophie, Caroline, Skill and I start the 15km journey down.

Skill and I both have trouble with our boots and are sliding forward in them, at one point I do the old stumble trip thing and really hurt my big toe. (I later learn it is broken)

And Skill has shin splints, and there is still only 10 kilometres to go! By the time we reach the bottom we have walked more than 20 strenuous kilometres and over 2000m vertical. We are absolutely wrecked, keeping in mind we have done little exercise for eight months.

We say Goodbye to Patrick and Sophie and Caroline as they hitch a ride with some goat herders in their jeep back to Gilgit.

We repack the bike and make the 80 minute ride back to Chilas breaking our golden rule and arriving just after dark. We opt for the upmarket Shangri-La Resort, the promise of hot water and room service is too much to resist. We are absolutely exhausted and take full advantage of this little bit of luxury.

In the morning I can barley move and have a great deal of trouble getting on the bike. I say to Skill "Next time I decide to walk 20 kms down a mountain remind me I am over 40, not a bloody 20 year old!"

We ride back to Besham often stopping to admire one of the many suspension bridges and the Indus. Later in the day we are stopped twice by landslides, the KKH workers are quickly on the job clearing a path through the rocks and dirt.

Being gluttons for punishment we stay in the same place as before, at least we have hot water and the food is passable.

Next day it is shorter ride to Mansehra through lots of earthquake ravaged areas. A lot of villages are still tent villages.

I also get out the camera to take photos (sorry they are blurred) of the overloaded vehicles, which are an essential part of KKH. No truck, car, van, bus or autorickshaw is ever too full. There is always room for more cargo or passengers.

We have an early finish and stay at the Karakoram Hotel in Mansehra again. Next morning the skys have cleared and there are glorious views to the snow capped mountains.

A short day back to Islamabad, but for some reason the traffic is more dreadful than normal, we witness three accidents. In Islamabad we do the rounds of the hotels, we are ready to give up and pay the fortune they want for a semi decent room when we happen upon a guest house which is a better option for us.

We are also early enough to pick up our passports from the Indian Embassy. We are all ready to do battle with the security police at the entrance to the Embassy Enclave but they just wave us through. We cannot work them out. Passports collected we venture out to the Marriott for take away beers and all is good in the world.

The following day Skill heads out to the Post Office to collect our mail my sister has sent while I do the mountains of washing. He is gone for hours. When he arrives back he explains that nobody actually knew where the Poste Restante mail was kept and sent him from one Post Office to the next until he finally ended up in Rawapindi 15 km away.

As chance would have it he happened to bump into (literally) the equivalent of "The Post Master General" for Islamabad/Rawapindi area who was none to pleased with his underlings incompetence so he told Skill to follow his car back to Islamabad which he did, he then sat in a huge office drinking tea with this man while his staff ran in circles to track down our letter. Finally after 4 hours, success.

That afternoon we go to get on the bike and it won't start (the first bike glitch in 8 months), so the guys at the guest house take Skill to the battery shop where they put it on the charger overnight. Next morning the battery has not taken a charge and is deemed to be dead so we purchase a new one.

As I said the first glitch in eight months and the battery is good enough to die on us in a major centre where we have access to facilities, you can't ask for more than that.

We spend 2 more nights in Islamabad just catching up with jobs, bike washing and bike oil change and fortifying ourselves for the journey to the border.

It is a long days ride to Wagh, we get completely lost in Lahore, but arrive just in time to check into the passable Wagh PTDC Hotel before heading to the famous border closing ceremony. This is where the Pakistani and Indian Armies in all their pageantry try to outmarch, outyell, and outscowl and outstamp each other. It is absolutely hilarious. Hundreds of people from both sides of the border come each night to watch this event. They have even built grandstands to house the spectators.

We enjoy the spectacle before an early night. Tomorrow we leave Pakistan and it will be onto India and the ancient Seik city of Amritsar.

I would be lying if I said Pakistan is an easy country to travel in. It is not.

Every day is a challenge, the traffic mayhem, the rubbish, the dirty hotels, the lack of facilities and the sometimes non existent infrastructure. The way women are not seen in public and are completely dominated by a male run society. But in my opinion it is a SAFE country to travel in and truly worth the effort. Our KKH experience will be a highlight of our entire journey.

Pakistan is in a troubled part of the world, and is bordered by some of the most dangerous and turbulent regions in the world, Kashmir and Afghanistan. Life for Pakistan's citizens is difficult

It is a poor country and most people do not have a lot, but what they do have, they will happily and willingly share with you. They are very honest, kind, gentle and giving people. We NEVER felt unsafe or threatened, quite the opposite, and the authorities were beyond reproach. The vast majority of these people want, what we in the West want, a peaceful existence, prosperity and a better way of life for their children.

Lets hope they can achieve it.

Cheers and Chai

Quote for the week: "If you don't know where you are going, any road will lead you there" - Unknown

PS Below is the latest Australian DFAT Travel Advice for Pakistan, which was updated after we had entered Pakistan.

While I do not recommend flouting DFAT warnings sometimes it is far better to make educated and informed decisions on the ground. Our best source of knowledge came from other travellers who had just made the journey, thanks to Raoul and Dave and Rose for their advice.

Our other rule of thumb for travelling, is to stay away from Western Hotels (which we can't afford anyway) and not eat in Western take aways. (Although we did have Pizza Hut Pizza, sometimes you just got to have beer and pizza)

Australian DFAT Warning: Thursday Nov 23 20:55 AEDT

The Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT) says militants may
be planning an attack on Australians within the Pakistani city of
Peshawar.

The threat is reported in the department's latest Pakistan travel
advisory.

"Recent reports suggest that terrorists are planning attacks against
Western, including Australian, individuals and interests in Peshawar,"
the warning says.

Peshawar, on the edge of the Khyber Pass, is the financial capital of
Pakistan's troubled north-western frontier. DFAT has long urged
Australians to take extra precautions in the city.

The advisory also warns of the possibility of an attack outside
Peshawar.

"Recent credible reporting indicates a potential terrorist threat
against Western hotels in Islamabad," the warning says.

"If you do decide to travel to Pakistan, you should exercise extreme
caution.

"We continue to receive reports that terrorists are planning attacks
against a range of targets, including places frequented by foreigners."

Pakistan is considered an ally in the so-called war on terror, but its
porous border with Afghanistan has been problematic in the fight
against Islamist militants.

The last major attack on Western interests in Pakistan was the March 2
bombing of the US consulate which killed four people including a US
diplomat.

The overall level of advice from DFAT for Pakistan remains unchanged at
"reconsider your need for travel" while areas bordering India and
Afghanistan are listed as "do not travel".

"We strongly advise you not to travel to Baluchistan, the
federally-administered tribal areas, and areas adjacent to Pakistan's borders with
Afghanistan and India ... due to the volatile security environment.

"If you are in these areas you should consider leaving."

Pakistan - part1

After doing all the paperwork and taking two hours to leave Iran, we ride out of Iran into Pakistan following a dusty trail only to realise we have missed the immigration point, which I actually mistook for a chook shed. (Chicken Coop) We turn around and join the 100 locals who are queuing, the money changers are trying to boss us around and tell us we must join the line outside and stay there, obviously so they have more time to badger you to change money. Tierd, hot and slightly annoyed Skill goes into the main office where we are processed in 10 minutes, then it is off to the the next shed across the rubbish strewn dustbowl called Taftan.

The carnet details are entered into a huge old ledger that measured well over a metre long. Finally we are off, to get our black market fuel

and make the break to Dalbandin across the incredibly harsh dessert landscape. We were informed that we would have a police escort to Dalbandin so we were pleased when none eventuated.

About thirty kms from Taftan we are stopped by a piece of rope stretched across the road. Out of a tent appears a red bearded (hanna) guy wearing grey flannel like pajamas carrying a huge gun. OK what now!!!!

We are to learn that these are checkpoints manned by the Baluchistan Levi where we have to record our passport number, apparently so the authorities can track us if we go missing. In truth this probably would not happen as they are often loose dirty scrappy bits of paper jammed into an exercise book.

The road to Dalbandin is good, fast and straight. Occasionally to break the monotony of the vast dessert landscape there are a few camels, both dead and alive. The only other traffic on the road are the black market fuel guys in the blue utes and the occasional Pakistani trucks which are truly beautiful.

We arrive in Dalbandin to the only hotel in town but after the Mirjaveh hotel it is sheer luxury. On arrival we are instantly swamped by about 50 people. Skill goes inside while I have 50 Baluchi men just staring at me. I take the opportunity to photograph a few of the kids.

We have just got into the room when the power goes off, we are reliably informed it will be back on at 7.00pm so we grab our headlights and candle and have a cold shower. We then entertain ourselves by looking out the window at the passing parade on the main street. Goats being herded, donkeys and carts being driven by 10 year olds, colourful trucks with horns blaring, black market fuel runners and even the odd camel. Add to this the open drains, rubbish, small fires and men urinating in the street (discreetly underneath their clothes) Bloody Hell!!!!! What is it Dorothy said to Toto, "I don't think we are in Kansas anymore"

That night watching television in the main office of the hotel there is a report of Bomb blasts in Quetta with 30 people being killed or injured. Not good news, but we are now committed, we have to go on, there's no going back.

Next day is a long ride to Quetta. Everyone has been telling us how bad the road is, and while it is not great, (it is a one-lane, pot holed, bitumen surface) it is no worse then roads we have travelled in Far Western Queensland. Although sand dunes blowing across the road in places was different.

At one point we go to overtake two trucks and get pushed off the road into the soft sand, the bike is out of control (tank slapping), all I can think is "this is going to hurt". Skill powers on and somehow we remain upright. His remarkably cool comment is, "I don't think I'll do that again".

The landscape is dramatic, sand swept dessert to one side of the road and huge mountains on the other.

The locals were mostly friendly, waving and crowding around when we stop for fuel.

There was only one section near Nushki where we thought things were a bit dodgy with the kids throwing rocks and a couple of cars swerving towards us to frighten us, and people screaming at us. We also passed a motorcycle, where the pillion was carrying a shotgun. Around the next corner we come across three army trucks and about 100 soldiers who seemed to be scouring the area, guns at the ready. It was at this point I was really looking forward to getting to Quetta.

We have since learned that most other travellers had an armed escort through this area.

We refuel in Nushki and head towards the Lak Pass, this is where our armed police escorts begin. In a way you feel much more unsafe when they are around, emotionally you begin to think, "I have an armed escort, it must be unsafe". Then they make you do 50 km hour so their old vehicles can keep up, and finally you attract the attention of every Pakistani on the road, "Foreigner here, Foreigner here" Here are a couple of photos of our escorts into Quetta.

We arrive at the Hotel Bloom Star, tierd but happy to be in Quetta, it has been a long, long, long day.

It is here we meet the wonderful Samuel, another Dutch cyclist. Samuel has ridden his pushbike every km of the way from Holland and camping out alone all the way across the Baluchistan dessert, sometimes getting water from wells with the camel herders. This amazing, unassuming young man is a true adventurer.

We also meet Robyn, a Canadian, meeting another overland group who have not yet arrived. Robyn spends the following day with us, and tries on a few traditional Pakistani clothes.

One cannot begin to describe Quetta, it is a filthy, wild west frontier city with open sewers and dust/fume laden air but we could not help but wander around with our mouths open. (Well not literally, you would get a mouthful of two-stroke and diesel fumes and God knows what else.)

The town is made up of many different ethnic groups including Pashtuns, Baluchis, Mohajirs along with Afghan refugees.

Next morning we are awoken by the sound of jet fighters flying over, we wonder what is going on, but no one seems to bat an eyelid.

Later that night we realise why the jets had been so active all day, the Pakistani Army had bombed a Religious school on the border near Peshawar killing 80 people. This has since caused huge tensions within the Pakistani government with some members resigning.

In the evening we catch up with Marcus and Daniel (a young English backpacker who has hitched a lift on the back of Marcus's bike). They made it to Quetta a day later than us and we have a few celebrationary beers in our room - our first beer since leaving Turkey.

Next day we leave Quetta discreetly with a minimum of attention?????

This is a daily occurrence, we cannot stop without being mobbed, we make our own traffic jams.

We manage to get away with no police escort and follow the road through the Bolan Pass where the English built a famous train line. Later we hear grenades had been thrown at the train just 1 day earlier as it climbed the pass. We pick up a couple of police escorts along the way but they only drive with us a short way.

At one point we stop beside a river for a break, there are a friendly group of camel herders there who are happy for us to take photos.

Marcus is feeling pretty dreadful (some food poisoning) so he and Daniel stop in Sibi at midday while Skill and I press onto Jacobabad. While looking for a hotel we are accosted by the local police who take us to a hotel then place an armed guard with the bike and two more outside our room for the night. Jacobabad isn't on the tourist route for obvious reasons, this is the view from our hotel window.

It is late, we are tierd so order dinner in our room and leave the over zealous police to get on with it. Talk about overkill. The locals are very friendly and we feel there is absolutely no threat to our safety.

The next day is the worst days riding we have had on our whole trip. No police escort out of town but they stop us after about 10km and we have an armed escort for the next 450 km at an average of 50km/h. We could maybe understand the escort through the Sind region as it has a dodgy reputation, but we felt safe and people were always friendly.

This area is quite scenic. It is where we cross the mighty Indus. There is an abundance of Water Buffalo and the local people are harvesting the reeds along the waterways. We wished we could have stopped for more photos but our escort precluded us from doing so.

The escort then continued for another 200km through the safest area of Pakistan, the Punjab, to city of Bahawalpur.

The police inform us at one point that we will need an escort for all our travel through the whole of Pakistan. We are shocked. It is incredibly irritating to do 50-80km/h on the highway, stopping continuously to change escort cars, with a long chat between police at every change. They also chase away any local people that come near us, we feel quarantined from experiencing and seeing Pakistan, the reason we are travelling here.

In the end we just ignore them, honestly no less than 20 cars and 60 personnel were involved in these escorts. Talk about a waste of resources.

We argued, complained and threatened them, as no other travellers we have met have had this harassment. We are sure it is not law, so we are not breaking the law by ignoring them are we? That is our logic anyway. At one point in sheer frustration I ask them do they think we are bad people. They are genuinely mortified " No, no, no it is our duty and honour to provide an escort."

They just do not get it, we just want them to leave us alone. So annoyed and angry are we that on several occasions both Skill and I came very close to telling the police officers to f... off, which would have been a first for both of us. We resisted but only just.

Skill even tried to tell them we would make an official complaint and that we had intended to stay in Pakistan for one month, but if police keep harassing us we would leave to the more civilised India as soon as possible - trying to use the Pakistan-India rivalry but still no luck. Several times we just speed away from the clapped out old diesel Hilux's ignoring police directions to stop (a little disconcerting when they are holding machine guns), but they would just radio ahead and the next armed escort would be waiting for us. Ahhhh......

We are totally exhausted by the time we get to Bawaluphar (10 hours later, no lunch and in the dark) and checked into the first hotel we see, not what I would call great, in fact it is only just passable. We have our cold shower and find a fabulous restaurant next door, it was really good. Then we crash into bed.

So tired are we that we don't wake till 10am so decide to stay the day, not that Bawalhapur has a lot to offer. Find an internet and wander the market, with it's eye popping sights.

Later we meet a lovely women in the hotel, this young woman is in an arranged marriage with a controlling, angry, scotch swilling old man, who is a bigamist into the bargain. Bigamy is acceptable in Pakistan apparently?????

I admire the hanna on her hands and later in the evening she comes to our room and paints my hands then we have a girly make up session, with my limited makeup.

She does not have much English, but I glean that she has a boyfriend (of some means) whom I end up talking to on the phone. He had quite good English, so I now have his email and will attempt to get the full story from him. I just hope that she is very careful.

In the evening over dinner Skill and I plan our escape from the police, we have everything packed up and aim to get on the bike as early and as quickly as possible and tell the hotel guys that we are going to the Lal Suhanra National Park - opposite direction to where we are really going.

Next morning we put "Operation Escape Police" into action and finally we are free, we ride to Multan and then onto Lahore with only two police checkpoints but no escort. What a relief.

We are stopped by the Highway patrol on the pretext that our lights are on, but he just wants a chat. At one point he asks us if we are carrying a gun as a means of protection. And he is deadly serious. We are shocked and emphatically say "of course not". I wonder if my tomato knife counts as a dangerous weapon

In Lahore we do what every guide book tells you NOT to do we ask an auto rickshaw driver to take us to a hotel, we agree on a price ($1.00 AUD) and then make sure he leaves before we enter the hotel. Worth every last cent. We stay in Lahore for 4 nights, after the 8 days of solid rides we are ready to stop for a while. On our first day we overcome our fear of the suzuki auto rickshaws and start to enjoy riding in them, the drivers are crazy but amazingly skillful at the same time. We venture out to Lahore Fort and after paying the overinflated foreigner's price spend the afternoon wandering around.

Once again that wonderful Muslim hospitality kicks in, people are amazingly friendly, we have numerous people give us their addresses and phone numbers inviting us to visit their homes and cities. We also start to be a little overwhelmed by the number of people, men women and children who keep wanting to have their photos taken with us. We are here to see Lahore's main tourist attraction and by day's end we have become the tourist attraction. These ladies wanted me to pose with them.

The following day we wander the markets and the local streets of Lahore,

then spend the rest of the day at Lahore's only backpackers The Regale Internet Inn where Marcus and Daniel are staying. They arrived the same day as us, with even worse Police escort stories. After comparing notes over more local beer we decide Marcus wins.

Apparently they endured the same Police interference as we did but Marcus did not slow down at all and just kept riding as the Police chased him. At one point they radioed ahead and got the police in the next village to set up a roadblock made out of cars and long pew like seats. By the time the boys arrived every person in the village was gathered around the roadblock and he almost had to lay the bike over to stop in time. The short story is that he was not allowed to use the road he had chosen and had to backtrack two hours with a police escort for the rest of the day.

Marcus' mate John has also arrived from Australia with a new BMW gearbox and drive shaft in his luggage. Now, as chance would have it there is also another HU member, broken down in Lahore. Lars' BMW drive shaft had also failed. Somehow Lars had managed to find a guy in Lahore who is a motorcycle collector and BMW enthusiast with a workshop and band of willing workers. This guy is a university professor/lecturer and you can only see a fraction of the bikes he has collected all stuffed into this garage..

But due to the professor being at university during the day, the boys can only use the workshop during the evening which is what they do. The guys (Marcus, Skill and Lars) work late into the night with the help of the Professor's team and sometime after 1.00am emerge with two working BMWs.

From Lahore we have a reasonably easy days ride to Islamabad, however finding a hotel is difficult, they are either absolute dives or five star hotels. It is at times like this we really wish we had kept our tent as the Overland Camping Area looks great.

In the end we opt for a dodgy hotel as it is late. No dinner and bed. I can cope with the dirty sheets, the less than clean bathroom and cold showers, even the heated arguments coming from the next room. However I could not cope with the rat that ran over my foot when I got up to use the bathroom. I let out a huge scream which Skill slept through. I then spent a sleepless night on the look out just in case Ben had relatives.

Next morning my sunny disposition had disappeared and for this reason my husband had shifted us to a new hotel by 8.00am.

We venture out to get our Pakistan visas extended as we think they are about to expire. But they assure us they are all in order, valid for 3 months and don’t need extending. That's not how we read the visa, but we don’t argue, just hope its all OK at border exit time.

We then go out to find the Indian High Commission. At the security checkpoint to the Embassy Enclave they will not let us in on the bike which we figure is reasonable, ok we will walk in. NO. OK we will catch a taxi. NO. Ok then how do we get into the Indian High Commission.

Apparently we need a letter of invitation from the Australian Embassy. WHAT? We think they don’t understand, so we say again we just want to apply for a visa. Same story, we cannot even get to the Embassy, let alone get a visa application form! OK how do we get this letter from the Aus embassy?

We are told to ride our bike to the Australian Embassy which incidentally is inside the same secure area and just around the corner from the Indian High Commission! The stupidity of some bureaucrats is often beyond comprehension.

After talking to the guys at the Australian Embassy they tell us to ignore the police and just ride around the corner to the Indian High Commission, which we do. We collect our paperwork from a nice Indian man and ride out waving to the security police as we do. They all happily wave back

On our way back to the hotel we call in to see if any of our cyclist friends have made it to Islamabad. No they haven't but Rose and David Cochrane a British couple we met in the Iranian Embassy in Ankara are camped there as is Robyn from Quetta.

We spend the afternoon and evening there and join the Overlanders for takeaway Pizza Dinner.

Next day it is back to the Embassy Enclave and Security Checkpoint. Once again we are stopped, but wiser this time we say we are going to the Aus Embassy. You must have a diplomatic passport. WHAT? " No we rode in yesterday, we are going to Australian Embassy to collect our letter of authorisation" we fib to them. Then another policeman comes over and says "they were here yesterday, it is Ok".

So we sneak off in the direction of the Australian Embassy and then cut around the back again. We don't stand in the queue with the 100s of Pakistanis but push to the front of the line and are let in straight away. We are not being pushy as there is a separate queue for foreigners. In under an hour we have submitted our applications and passports. We ride back out through the security checkpoint and once again wave to the police, who enthusiastically wave back. ONLY IN PAKISTAN!!!!!!!!!!!

We spend two more days in Islamabad, trying to organise postage, update our blog and also visiting Dave and Rose at the Camp Ground.

On our final evening in Islamabad at the hotel Skill spies something out of the corner of his eye, eventually tracking it down to underneath my bed. Yes. It is yet another rat and yes we are in a different hotel. Skill goes down to the reception.

Skill: There is a rat in our room
Reception Guy: You want tea in your room?
Skill: No there is a RAT in our room
Reception Guy:(with great excitement) A rat!
Skill: Yes a rat!
Reception Guy: (Now highly animated) Oh very good. You must take this man with you, He is number one rat killer, he is like cat.

So up they all troop, and the number one rat killer fails to kill or even catch the rat as it dashes out of our room and up two flights of stairs with four grown men in hot pursuit. Below is part of the rat extermination team.

Tomorrow we plan on heading up the famous KKH (Karakoram Highway) towards the Khunjerab Pass (Chinese Border). We know that it is getting late in the season and we will probably not make it that far (due to the snow and ice on the road) but are really looking forward to the journey.

Cheers and Chai,

Quote of the Week: "A traveller without observation is a bird without wings" - Moslih Eddin Saadi

Iran

Up and at em early as we know it will be a long day. Breakfast, packed up and gone by 8.30am we ride past the plains beneath the twin peaks of Great Ararat and Little Ararat on our way to the border. (Gurbulak)

We make our way up the wrong side of the road past the kilometres of trucks to what we think is the first checkpoint, a guy comes out of the guard house and asks for our papers and carnet which we hand over then he says follow me. After a minute we both think the same thing he is not an official and stop him to take our papers back. He plays dumb and continues to be helpful. In the end Skill goes to the correct checkpoint and then into the hall to get the carnet stamped and we are free to leave Turkey. The unofficial official wants a fee for his unwanted services. NO!!!! And the money changers are all around us hassling to change our money into rial.

Ignoring them we ride through the big sliding iron gate out of Turkey and wait for the Iranian guy to open his big sliding iron gate. Skill has to get off the bike and help him.

We took over 2 and a half hours to get through the border but everyone was courteous, friendly and obliging. The wheels just turn very slowly and the paperwork is horrendous. For most of the time I sat in the waiting room area and watched Iranian cartoons and talked to a few local women while Skill stayed and organised paperwork. At one point we had to pay for photocopying but hadn't changed our money to rials so one of the guards lent Skill 10 000 rial. (about $2.00) After we had changed money Skill went to repay him and he would not accept it.

At an estimate we passed through 5 different checkpoints each time thinking well that must be it. Eventually we are on our way riding through Barzagan, Maku on our way to Tabriz. We have our first fill up with fuel. It costs us less then $2.00 AUD, after the astronomical prices in Turkey Skill is a happy camper, although he doesn't appear to be in this photo.

At one point the weather turns cold and rainy so we stop for a late lunch and don our wet weather gear, all the time cars, trucks and buses are tooting their horns and waving to us.

As we get close to Tabriz, cars start overtaking us then slowing down to wave and take our photos with their mobile phones. On the outskirts of the city we are stopped at a checkpoint, the police are so friendly, "Welcome to Iran, welcome, welcome".

Not long after this we stop again to look at the Lonely Planet and get directions, within 2 minutes we are completely surrounded by a group of 10 bike riders all wanting to chat about the bike, ahhhh, all this attention is a little overwhelming.

Into the City Centre where we stop again and ask a policeman for directions and then another stop, we are just rechecking our directions on our Lonely Planet map when a man sticks his head over Skills shoulder and says in perfect English "Can I help you"? " Ummmm not sure" is our response. He then points to a name in the LP and says this is me. Sure we think, here we go. He hands over his business card and sure enough it is Nasser Khan, one of Tabrizs most experienced and respected guides.

We are saved he gives us impeccable directions to a hotel with parking. He tells us it is not a 4 star hotel but it is cheap and will be Ok for one night. So that is what we do.

On arrival it is pretty dodgy but they do have parking for the bike. The bathroom is pretty ordinary but at least there is hot water.

Tabriz is not a very scenic city so we opt for a takeaway tea and some Iranian Ashi Mashi cola before Skill heads to the internet across the road which someone kindly directs him to.

Next day we head out of Tabriz, somehow we are on the road out of town again, our destination is Ghazvin.

Signage in Iran is difficult as I am not that good at distinguishing Farsi and the English signs are few and far between.

At one point we come to a Y intersection, one road is a highway and the other is marked as a freeway but with absolutely no other signs. Alrighty we'll take the freeway. Off we set. We followed this freeway for over 200km, during that time we did not see one sign and there was not one single town (except for the mud brick villages), no service station or for that matter any other traffic.

As we were to find out it was a brand new freeway in the midst of being built. This became very evident as we rode along. At one point we came across a roller that was pretty much on fire. Skill accelerated past at great speed as the diesel fuel tank was also alight.

The landscape was totally amazing, more reminiscent of a moonscape than any earthly landscape.

Eventually we joined up with the main freeway into Zanjan (which is where Marcus is stranded, his BMW gear box still in pieces) pass through the toll which is free, get our passports and paperwork checked and we are on our way. About 60 km down the road we are pulled over by the police.

Polieman Hello. Where you from?
Skill: Australia
Policeman: Welcome. Passport
Dutifully hand over our passports which he takes to his superior in the car. Back they come.
Police: Problem
Skill: What problem.
Police: No moto on freeway.
Skill: Why?
Police: No moto on freeway!
Skill: OK so where do we go?

There is then a huge silence of about two minutes, we are not sure but think maybe we were meant to offer some money to stay on the freeway, but we don't. After a while Skill gets out map and says

Skill: Where do we go

After some conciliation they say,

Police: You go on freeway for 50km then take exit and follow this road.

Pointing to a minor road on the map.
We dutifully say our thankyou's and they say for the forth or fifth time...

Police: Thank you, we are happy police.

Not sure what that meant, maybe they had been smoking something.

Off we go down the freeway for 50 km and do take the exit as it is now only 30 km to Ghazvin anyway. The traffic is crazy, trucks overtaking buses overtaking cars and scooters at the same time in both directions on a normal one lane each way road. We are forced off the road many times.

Arriving in Ghazvin city with only a sketchy map and vague hotel directions we pull over to regroup when a car pulls up and offers to take us to a hotel. We diligently follow arriving at a nice looking hotel but after Skill checks it out they have no vacancies.

We are once again weighing up our options when a street stall vendor wanders over and offers to take us to our nominated hotel, on his bicycle. He just leaves his stall and off we go up a one way street against the traffic down some narrow back alleys and out onto the main street and there we go. We cannot thank these people enough.

The Hotel Iran is great, very basic but we have parking for the bike and a balcony where we can cook our breakfast with the fuel stove (It is still Ramazan so breakfast and lunch are difficult).

That night we wander the streets and run into both our navigational saviours. They are very friendly and are happy to chat to us in broken English. The stall vendor gives us free chewing gum and his phone number in case we want him to guide us through the bazaar.

An early dinner at an Ok restaurant and an early night. We watch the sun set and then there are huge thunder storms all around and we enjoy a great light show from our balcony.

Next day we are feeling very lazy so stay put, Skill decides to do an oil change on the bike and the hotel guys are really helpful finding old containers to drain the oil into. Skill asks "Where should he take the old oil to", their response, "just pour it down this drain". Skill is horrified "No, no, no". Response, "It is OK". Poor Skill continues to be horrified and they say "Oh alright we will take it away". My guess is it will go down the drain but at least we tried.

We are so lucky to be in Iran at this time as it is the official day of mourning for martyr Emam Alli (we think) and there is huge processions and festivals which continue past our hotel all day and the singing, chanting at the mosques continues late into the night. It is truly an amazing sight and we have the most wonderful day.

We spend the next day wandering the bazaar, with it's grotesque

and glimmering sights.

I make the decision to buy a black coat so that I can blend in a little more. The guys where we buy it from are hilarious and want their photos taken.

That day and evening there are more thunder storms and a reasonable amount of rain. (The average rainfall for the month of October in Iran is meant to be 0mm)

The next day we make a move and start our daily life of crime using the freeway. We don't even make it 10 km out of Ghazvin before we are pulled over by the police. Same story

Police: Moto, Autobahn Problem
Skill: Incredulously "Why"
Police: Car fast, Moto. Bang (using fist into hand gesture), dangerous...
Skill: No this is a big moto, see speedo, can easily do 120km hour. No problem"
Police: No moto autobahn problem.
Skill: Where do we go then?
Police: Pointing towards the tolls and the "Autobahn" AHHHH

So down the freeway we go and are pulled over at least another 4 times during the day. Same story, same response and we continue to use the freeway.

Most of the cars on the roads are old (pre 1980) and seem to be of a similar make. Driving on the freeways or in the towns are the ubiquitous blue utes (or pickups) in varying shades of blue carrying all manner of cargo.

Whether it is supplies for the shop

Or perhaps some furniture.

And even Marcus' broken down motorbike. (Read on for more about that saga later. Poor Marcus.)

The motorway to Tehran is pretty ordinary but the road into Tehran is horrendous. Tehran is not a city for the faint hearted, the pollution is dreadful and our throats and noses are burning with the fumes. We get lost of course and three different lots of people that we ask for directions motioned for us to follow them which we do.

Bless them we are on the road out of Tehran heading past the Holy Shrine of Emam Khomeini. At this point I should mention the great reverence that is paid to the Emam Khomeini, his face is everywhere, in shop windows,

on cars, in hotels,

and on billboards

and even the money is unofficially referred to as Kohmeinis (10000 Rial)

We also pass Behesht (the military cemetery for those who died during the Iraq Iran War) on our way to Kashan.

Everyday it is the same deal we ask people where is such and such hotel and people will hop on their bikes and show us the way, which is what happens in Kashan. Kashan's city is an interesting ancient mud brick structure, which we can view from our hotel room, (sorry through the flyscreen)

Of biblical significance it is believed that the 3 Wise Men set out for Bethlehem from Kashan.

We have an afternoon wandering the Bazaar before making friends with two beautiful Iranian girls who invite us to their home. Unfortunately we have to leave the next day so are not able to take up the offer.

Later on Skill is pretty happy that he can find some non alcoholic beer which we drink in our room beneath the arrow pointing towards Mecca.

We spend the next morning walking the streets and finding a bank to change our money. We don't get away till late but take the dreaded freeway to Esfahan, we make it 150km before we are pulled over by the Police. We are nearly past them when they see us and they run out into the middle of the road to flag us down. We have to physically turn the bike around to get back to them.

These guys are not interested in our papers, nor do they want to throw us off the freeway but they do want to drink tea with us and chat about the motorbike. They put down the radar gun, ignore the passing traffic and talk with us for half an hour. They are locals from Esfahan so give us some handy hints, scenic sights, hotel and internet information. We cannot get away but finally we are on our way into Esfahan.

We find our way in, park the bike and Skill goes off hotel hunting. He is away for nearly an hour during which time at least 50 people look at the bike and want to say hello. By the time Skill gets back I am surrounded 3 people deep.

Finally off to a cheap hotel that will let us park the bike in the foyer. It is good to get out of my hot riding gear, I am about to expire.

Esfahan is a beautiful city, it's main tourist attraction being the Square (well actually it is a rectangle)
Meidun-Emam Khomeini with beautiful mosques, a palace and ancient Bazaar.

We spend the evening trying to make our way around the square but cannot make it more than 50 metres without being stopped by someone who wants to welcome us to Esfahan. We spent a long time talking to this lady and her husband chatting about our respective families.

The next day it is off to play tourist in Esfahan which is difficult as you keep having to stop and chat. We walk to the river and look at the Si-o-Se Bridge with its 33 arches. It was built in 1602.

From the bridge we can see the men harvesting the weed from the river.

Mostly by traditional methods,

and some not so traditional methods, we wonder how long the whipper snipper will last.

We cross the attractive Khaju Bridge and make our way back to the main square through beautiful gardens.

It is here we meet the wonderful Mohammed who is a medical student returned to his home town for study break. He takes us under his wing and shows us through the Bazaar. Through the ancient gates with their beautiful frescoes.

Here we see the tablecloths being printed in the traditional manner.

We also see the beautiful and exacting work of the metal artisans and the artists painting miniatures on camel bone.

And of course no tour would be complete without a visit to an Iranian Carpet shop.

Mohammed also took us into some older parts of the Bazaar to see the Camel wheel, a huge grinding stone that up until 10 years ago was actually powered by camels.

We had the most wonderful day and thank Mohammed for his time and generosity.

By this time it is quite late we have not eaten but have given up trying to get back to the hotel for food as we only get 10 paces before someone stops us for a chat or invites us in for tea. We decide to stay and just sit in the square to enjoy the sights of Masjed-e Emam Mosque completed in 1638. It is truly beautiful with a huge dome and high twin minarets.

There is also a smaller mosque called Masjed-e Sheikh Lotfollah in the square, it is equally beautiful.

I suppose at some point in the story I should mention the the abundance of motorcycles everywhere in Iran. These photos were taken in Esfahan.

To see three people on one bike is commonplace as is a family of four.

Our record spotted so far is five. And they definitely start learning to ride at an early age.

After being in Iran's cities I have noted that although the women of Iran may wear the black Chadors, let me tell you these City dwelling girls are out there, the scarves are worn right at the back of their heads, their clothes are the latest hipsters and tiny tops. Their shoes are sensational and everyone is beautifully coiffured and made up. They almost had me rushing off to put my makeup on. However there are dress police who monitor what women are wearing and issue fines and sometimes even jail sentences for repeat offenders who dare to flout the strict dress codes.

The women are also highly educated, more so than the men which leads me to believe that the woman of Iran, will in the not too distant future, be a force to be reckoned with.

Our next day is reasonably quiet as there is a huge national day of protest against the US and Israel. Some of the signs make interesting viewing.

The following day we make the break and ride to Yazd. There is just miles and miles of dessert as far as the eye can see but the roads are good and fast and the police do not throw us off. Hooray.

At a fuel station we come across an abandoned tank that they have built the road around. Quite a sight!!!!!

We arrive in Yazd quite early but do not have a lot of information about hotels in our old Lonely Planet. We get directed by the locals to the Silk Road Hotel. What a find. An absolute oasis in the midst of the chaos. It is also used by all the overland travellers.

There is Patrick and Sophie from The Netherlands, Theo and Laura from Switzerland who are riding their pushbikes overland

and then Benjamin and Mende from Germany riding their tandem round the world.

Our first evening is spent chatting and eating the fabulous food at this welcoming place. They also have non alcoholic beer from Russia which tastes like real beer.

Over the next four days there is a huge assortment of travellers from all over.

We meet the wonderful Marco who is an effusive Italian with an amazing zest for life.

This is Marco's story:
Marco had caught the train from Islamabad to Quetta five days previous to him arriving in Yazd. On the section between Multan and Quetta the train had been attacked by rebels with bazookas and machine guns. They tried to blow up the engine and kill the passengers by firing downwards when they realised everyone was on the floor. Eventually the train managed to get into a long tunnel where they waited for three hours before continuing to Quetta. Although a very serious story Marcos' wonderful Italian animation and sound effects had us in stitches. He concluded his story by saying "I was very scared, I thought I was going to die" That very personal reflection and his newspaper cutting from the Baluchistan Times were pretty sobering.

And then the exuberant Raoul rides in on his Chang Jiang motorcycle which he has ridden from China on his way to Holland.

What an amazing group of people!!!!!
We have the best time in Yazd, not really doing a lot except chatting, laughing and eating. Occasionally we leave our oasis to marvel at the mosque, or walk the labyrinth of streets in the old part of the city.

We also visit the bazaar, Yazd was an important stopping point on the trade route from China. Apparently Marco Polo visited here in 1272.

Skill and I loved this shop selling Singer sewing machines.

On another day we visited the Towers of Silence. This place belongs to the Zoroastrian religion, a small minority group in Iran. The Zoroastrians believe this is the place where the dead go free, they would bring their dead to these hilltop structures and leave them for the vultures to devour. They would return a month later collect the bones and place them in a large well.

Sadly for these people, the Muslim powers that be, filled in the wells and now the local youth ride their motorcycles all over this sacred site. Absolutely no respect is shown for what is essentially a cemetery. The question was posed to our Zoroastrian guide how would a Muslim person feel if we rode our motorcycles into their Mosque?????????

On our final night in Yzad, Marcus finally catches up with us, the clever Iranians have managed to fix his gear box using very unorthodox methods. It is also the end of Ramadan so we have our own celebrationary feast (Eid al-fatar) of pancakes, thanks to Raoul.

We (Marcus too) leave the next day heading towards Kerman, we get 100 km down the road when Marcus' bike loses power and dies. We load him into a local truck and he heads back to Yazd. We continue onto Kerman where we catch up with Patrick and Sophie, the Dutch cyclists from Yazd. After witnessing our first dust storm we manage an early dinner and chat the evening away.

We get an email from Marcus the next day to say Raoul fixed his bike and that it was nothing too major. He will try to catch up.

We start our journey through the sometimes dodgy Baluchistan area to Bam, a pretty uneventful ride through the dessert to the depressing Earthquake ruined city of Bam.

We stay at Akbar's Guest House. This amazing man lost his hotel and some of his guests also perished in the earthquake, his own son being buried for many hours. This would have kept many a man down but he is rebuilding his guest house out of steel and enthusiastically showed us the view from the top. Sadly Bam now has little to offer visitors.

We leave Bam fairly late thinking Marcus will catch us up, but it is not to be so off we go. As we are riding along we have our first "run in" with the police who pull us over for what we think will be a passport check or maybe a police escort (as we are in Baluchi rebel country) but no. Two police officers and two armed army guys hop out of the car and politely shake our hands then tell us we were doing 120km and will have to pay them a 200 $US fine. We tell them "No we were not doing 120 km hr" (we weren't) and they argue with us for 10 minutes. In the end Skill says "Well where is your proof, where is the speed camera". They answer "no camera, we know you were doing 120 km ph because we followed you in car". In the end I've had enough and say "you must take us to the Police Station in Zhedan because we do not have 200 US$. We will talk to the Chief of Police there". All of a sudden the story changes. "you are angry". "No, not angry just confused we were not doing 120km p hr" is my response. "Oh well you must go now, we are sorry"

So we leave the best of friends as we give them 4 koalas and a pencil instead of 200 dollars. It was not a threatening situation at all, quite the opposite really, it turned into a bit of a joke, we will have to give them 10 points for trying. Although other travellers we met had huge problems with corrupt police.

So onto the border town of Mirjaveh through the gates to Iran immigration only to find because it is Friday it has shut at 2.30 pm as has the Pakistani immigration office. We are stuck in No Mans Land having to stay in the absolutely revolting hotel at Mirjaveh which has no water and is currently undergoing renovation/demolition???? our room has two beds with revoltingly dirty blankets and even worse pillows. We get out our liners and blow up pillows, buy some bottled water and make the best of it. Luckily we have our pasta and pasta sauce, we cook dinner on the window ledge. We also meet some lovely young Turkish people who are on their way to the Moondust Festival in India. They are not staying at the hotel but are camped outside. Skill lends them the stove so they can make some Chai.

We happily say goodbye to the Mirjevah Hotel, and the view of the rubbish dump from our window and unhappily say goodbye to our Turkish friends and start the long process to leave Iran which goes smoothly, but once again it is a slow tedious process of mind numbing beauacracy at its best. So next its onto the wild frontiers of Pakistan.

We loved Iran. The people in Iran are truly the most kind, hospitable, wonderfully friendly and respectful people we have met. Generosity of spirit runs in their blood. We cannot count the number of people who have helped us out, invited us into their homes or simply stopped us in the street for a chat.

The only thing you are likely to be killed with in Iran is KINDNESS. (or perhaps the driving, they are dangerously woeful) Although the scenery is not as spectacular as some countries we have visited we would not have missed this experience for anything. It has been almost humbling.

If given the opportunity we will be back.

Cheers and Chai.

Turkey - Part 2

Next day it is goodbye to Patrick and Belinda and we head to Ankara as we know that we have to be there by Thursday as the Embassy is shut on Friday and we don't fancy spending three days in the capital. This was our biggest days ride by far. We leave at 10.00am and reach Ankara at 8.30pm with only fuel stops and a quick lunchstop. The last 40 kms before the freeway from Polati to Ankara is roadworks, a loosely gravelled surface in the dark. Finally make it to Ankara.

To quote the Lonely Planet, if you have your own vehicle, "do yourself a favour and use public transport instead. Driving is chaotic and signs woefully insufficient". We couldn't agree more, with no map, and a big diversion on the way in we end up pretty lost and pull over asking a young guy "Closest Hotel". He tries to explain in Turkish then goes and gets his boss from the Restaurant who speaks English. In the end they decide that the young guy should drive his bosses car (a BMW) and show us the way. Which he does, it takes a good 10 minutes to get there, we are so grateful but he won't accept anything and drives off. After he leaves, Skill goes in to negotiate. Special price 120............. US dollars. I don't think so, they direct us to another hotel a block away, this time I go in, 140 Euro and no negotiation, I ask them for another hotel, they direct us to one up the road. Finally success. We are pretty tierd so order room service have a shower and die.

Next day we leave early and it is off to do battle with the Iranian embassy, we catch a taxi in (the taxi driver gets lost, but does stop the meter) and make our way through the 3 doors to the counter. This time a scarf is expected.

Because our visa applications were done in Istanbul we have to refill them out in duplicate and attach photos again. Of course we don't have photos with us so down to the photo shop. He takes our photos then has difficulty printing them as the printer is broken. "I call a friend". Friend comes and finally after an hour, photos. Bolt back to Embassy. Wait for an hour. And then yahoo, we have our visa, by this time it is 12.30pm.

Back to the hotel, onto the bike and back into the Ankara traffic. Amazingly the hotel is on the road that we need out of town, (I could kiss those young men who got us onto the right road) and it is a straight run out to Kirikkale and then Goreme. Near Kirsehir we run into a huge thunder storm, we decide we do not want to get wet again and the lightning is all around us. (Yes Again) We pull into a service station that we realise is not open but we can shelter under the roof. A young man comes out and tells us to come inside which we gratefully do. After two Turkish teas more people arrive and the "big man" invites us into his office, they try to ply us with food, raki, tea, apple tea, and we manage to have a conversation through a little Turkish a little English and lots of charades.

After an hour the storm has abated and we bid our new found friends goodbye. The Turks are the most hospitable people.

Onward to Goreme, on arrival we pull up outside an internet café where Skill checks emails to see if we can track down an Aussie friend visiting Goreme. No luck but we get a card for a pension with parking for the bike so we give that a go. What a find? We were so lucky to end up at the Star Cave Pension.

The Pension is relatively new and beautifully appointed. And Ahmet and Ramazan are the most friendly hospitable hosts. Check out our cave room...

On our first day there we head up over the hill and into Love Valley and marvel at the beautiful fairy chimneys

then it is off to Goreme Open air Museum. This is a World Heritage Site, rock cut Byzantine churches and chapels. The Karinlik Kilise is the most famous of the churches for good reason. Look at the amazingly well preserved frescos dating from the 1st Century AD.

Our second day in Goreme is spent being lazy wandering the cobblestone streets and watching the daily lives of the people. Goreme although a heavily touristed area still clings to its traditional way of life with veiled women in their baggy trousers and the men drinking tea in the tea houses (after 6.30 pm as it is Ramazan) It is a truly amazing place.

The following day with the help of Ramazan our host we manage to find a box and post home all our camping gear, and other bits and pieces. Nearly 12 kg worth. The poor old bike is going to be so happy without this weight.

There is a huge mix of nationalities staying at the Pension, the obligatory Aussies and New Zealanders. We also have John and Cassabadra from the US and Nadya and her band of Russian friends. Nadya is amazing, she has discovered mountaineering and came to Turkey to climb Mt Ararat. Out of twelve people only she and the two guides made it to the summit.

The Pension also play host to a revolving door of Koreans and Japenese.

I suppose I should also mention our favourite resident at the Pension, a wonderful dog called Boncuk. Boncuk is our constant companion, each day she comes into the village with us for lunch. I also smuggle her into our room where she keeps me company while I recover from my cold. She really is the dearest little thing.

Next day we decide that we will go for a ride and check out the sights, including the Underground City of Derinkuyu,

Ihlara Valley,

the monasteries at Selime and finally we follow the original silk road from Aksaray to Nevsehir via the ancient Agzikarahan Caravanserai.

That night we sample one of Ramazan's Amazing pottery kebabs.

Over the next four days Skill tries to get tyres ordered for the bike. We were thinking of having them shipped from Ankara to Van but we hear on the grapevine there is a bit of PKK unrest around Van so decide against that. And then I end up getting sick with a bad cold and cough so we decide to stay put and Ramazan helps Skill organise the tyres to be sent to the pension at Goreme.

He also goes out on the bike with Skill to track down a shop in Nevsehir that will be able to fit the tyres when they arrive. The two of them cause quite a scene in Nevsehir, bikes this big are not that common in this part of Turkey,

Because we decide to stay for the extra time and have not booked the Pension is full. The family refuse to let us stay anywhere else and we end up at the family home for a night with Ramazan, his wife Tubga and their new baby. Then next day they bring us back to the Pension as there is a room available again. We also get the wonderful news that our good friends Mick and Treena have had their long awaited and precious baby. It is at times like this you wish you could duck home for a quick hello and join in the celebrations.

We end up staying in Goreme for eleven days. Each day is wonderful, walking the valleys, chatting to the local shop owners who now recognise us and shake hands with us and invite us in for tea. We also take a ride to Rose Valley where SKill takes a liking to brightly coloured hats (I didn't think this affliction overtook you until you reached Nepal). Life is pretty idyllic except that I don't seem to be able to shake my cold.

Finally the tyres arrive and Skill and Ramazan set off into Nevsehir, returning successfully with new tyres for the bike. The next day is Saturday so we decide to set off, but get an email from Marcus who is broken down in Iran, his BMW gear box is dead. We decide to spend another day to see if there is anything we can do for him via email while we are still reasonably close to Ankara. In the end there is really nothing we can do and Marcus seems to have things under control so we leave for Nemrut Dargi on Sunday.

We have a long days ride through amazing scenery, mountain roads, long flat plains, dusty mud built towns. It is pretty obvious we are not on the tourist route. Everywhere we see women on donkeys collecting wood. Old tractors and trailers mounded high with turnips. Villagers picking and packing potatoes. It is like a time warp. The main obstacles on the roads is not so much the traffic but the goats and sheep being herded by young children.

We arrive at the small village of Karadut at about 7.00 pm and find a hotel which is pretty ordinary but OK. We are the only people staying there and the restaurant is not open so we must go to the house for dinner which we do. The food is amazing and we eat dinner sitting on the floor. Although the people are friendly enough it is pretty obvious we are an imposition, next morning we go to the house for breakfast, and Skill tells them we will just take the room rate. This makes the man of the house do his "you ungrateful tourist" act, but too bad.

We have a wonderful days riding firstly up the steep rough road to Mt Nemrut. For those of you who don't know, this summit was created by a megalomaniac King called who built two ledges into the mountains and erected huge statues of himself and the Gods and then had his underlings build an artificial peak of crushed rock 50 metres high. The sheer scale of it is breathtaking even more so when you realise it was built in about 50 BC. It remained hidden from the world until 1881 when a German engineer happened upon it.

We spent two hours on the peak wandering alone through the ruins. One of those "I am so lucky to be seeing this" moments.

From the summit we take the short cut road down some pretty amazing hair pin bends and very rough roads past remote stone and mud villages to the ruins of Arsameia founded in about 80BC. These ruins have a column/statue of Apollo the sun god and a relief of Mithridates shaking hands with the god Heracles. Close by is a cave temple with the steps till in tact.

After a drink and chat with a lovely local man we move on to the village of Eski Khata with its Castle ruins and and beautiful Seljuk Bridge.

Then a ride back to Narince via the Roman Bridge and another huge Burial mound like the one atop Nemrut Dargi.

In the village of Narince we cause a sensation by stopping to buy fruit, veges and pasta for tea. At one point I could not get to the top box for the villages surrounding the bike.

The following day we know have a long days ride to Tatvan. (After asking many locals they assure us that the road to Van is fine, just not after dark, due to the PKK unrest) So up and gone by 8.00 am. We also know that we have to catch a ferry across the dammed Euphrates River (part of the HUGE Gap dam project) but cannot find any info about it. Hmm best laid plans, we arrive at the dam at 8.40, the ferry has just left and we now have to wait till 10.30 am so we wait and wait and wait. Skill passes the time observing the varied and abundant fish life swarming around the vehicle loading structure in the lake's very clear water. I think he was wishing for a fishing line....

Eventually we load with all the trucks and dolmuses and make the 20 minute crossing.

Ok on our way, we ride through flat inhospitable looking country that only goats seem to like to Siverek, once again dodging, carts, sheep flocks and tractors. Then onto Diyarbakir and other wild looking towns.

The Turkish landscape looks so dry and arid but there is an abundance of water, every river has flowing water in it. The soil is obviously fertile as there is small cropping everywhere. Apparently Turkey is one of a few countries that is self sufficient in agriculture. Between Diyarbakir and Silvan there are huge expanses of harvested wheat crops and we must do batlle with 100s of wheat trucks carting the grain and stubble. This one is not as overrloaded as most.

We eventually start to climb up and over the mountain passes with countless trucks. At first it is very disconcerting, all along the hills are military lookouts with soldiers with machine guns at the ready. At one point on the pass we come to a stop behind about 100 trucks because of road works. Eventually we start to move, it is sheer chaos with trucks overtaking and outmaneuvering each other. We cannot see a thing because of the dust and to make matters worse we realise that there are also trucks coming towards us as well.

Apparently it is all in Allah's hands. We on the other hand although having great respect for Allah feel that we can contribute to our well being and self preservation by defensive driving, a view obviously not shared by most other drivers here.

They really are crazy. Things that would have completely freaked me out at the beginning of the journey now don't even rate a second glance, cars overtaking on the wrong side, cars overtaking within 2 inches of the panniers and my leg and then cutting us off are common place. The only thing that we find difficult to handle is two trucks or buses coming towards you on a blind corner and there is nowhere to go.

Anyway we survive and make it to Tatvan in one piece, check out our hotel options in this ordinary city. The people on the street are helpful and direct us to a few hotels. We opt for a cheapie and get what we paid for. When we check in the guy is very friendly and says "Welcome to Kurdjastan"???? The room however is a pretty grotty, smoky room which is on the main road and so very noisy. Not only that, when we open the window the room fills up with smoke from the restaurant chimney across the street.

Skill sleeps like a rock (as usual), I am awake for most of the night, we leave Tatvan early next morning after a less than palatable breakfast of stale flat bread, smelly butter, olives and cucumber. The tea was OK.

We travel along the Northern side of Lake Van through glorious scenery. Lake Van is a huge inland sea, some 3750 sq km. The Lake was formed when Mt Nemrut Volcano blocked the overflow. The Lake has an extremely high alkalinity level.

We also ride past the snow capped mountains of Nemrut and Suphan before taking the road to Dogubayazit.

This is amazing countryside, there is a huge frozen lava flow from Mt Temdurek Volcano which we stop to take a photo of just before a military checkpoint, not a good idea but had no idea what was around the next corner.

There is also a huge military presence in this area, on top of the mountains about every 1km there is a military lookout. We finally get our first glimpse of Mt Ararat shrouded in cloud. Just beautiful. And then into the dusty town of Dogubayazit.

After locating an OK hotel I am exhausted so have lunch in our room and just go to bed. Skill spends the afternoon exploring this dusty town.

It must have been one of those days, I discover that my watch has fallen off during the days ride, I break a tooth eating lunch (so much for my $3000 dental bill before I left OZ) and then a while later Skill says "You are not going to believe it my watch has stopped working". And the final straw comes when the menu button on the phone dies. Lucky the Pide we have for tea is bloody good.

The next day we take a ride out to the magnificant ruins of Ishak Pasa Palace. We pass the military compound, I am gobsmacked some 200 tanks and other military hardware at the ready.

Ishak Pasa Palace is amazing I think the photos tell the story.

The Palace was begun in 1685 and completed in 1784 so a relatively new building by Turkish standards.

When we get back to town it is off to the Bazaar to look for new watches, after much haggling and decision making we have 2 watches for 30 YTL. How long they will last is a matter of some debate!!!!!

Skill also goes out for a Turkish haircut, they do a sensational job for the princely sum of 5 YTL.

As we have been riding along there have been so many things I would love to have taken photos of but have refrained because of military concerns, or not wishing to offend people or simply because we are lost in the moment (or simply lost) and are taking that mental photograph.

Our favourite moment was seeing a tiny 3 or 4 year old boy looking after a herd of goats near the Palace, with Mt Ararat in the background. He ran all the way to the road and waved furiously to us.

Tomorrow we cross the border into Iran so more adventures to come I would say.

Cheers and Beers (well actually there will be no beers for a while, so I will say Cheers and Chai)

Quote for the Week: " For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move." - Robert Louis Stevenson

PS. Turkey is suffering from lack of tourists at the moment for varying reasons. But this amazing and beautiful country is one, that if given the opportunity one should see.

The scenery, the beaches, the ruins are all part of its charm, but Turkey's biggest asset is it's people. They would have to be the most generous, warmhearted, gentle people we have met so far. Although not wishing to offend, Turkey is still my favourite country.

For other Overland Motorcycle Travellers
Accommodation that we have stayed in that we can recommend and have reasonably secure parking for the bike are:

Athena Pension - Bergama (fantastic breakfasts, Aydin's omelets are the best)
Tango Pension - Koycegiz
ANZ Pension - Selcuk
Akay Pension - Patara (fantastic home cooked Turkish Dinners)
Tango Pension - Koycegiz
Star Cave Pension - Goreme (Ramazzan makes the best pottery kebabs in town)
Isfahan Hotel (bit dodgy but OK, hot water only after 7.00pm) -Dogubayazit

Out two favourites were Athena and Star Cave Pensions

Turkey - part 1

At the border it is quite hilarious, we pass through Greek immigration who want to know where our Greece stamp is, we don't have one we arrived at 4.30 in the morning and couldn't find anyone to stamp our passports. "OK" and stamp stamp stamp, off we go, past the Greek and Turkish guards dressed in traditional dress.

Arrive at the Turkish border, stop, check passport, "You must go and get visa over there" Ok so off I go, Skill stays with the bike while I chat to the visa guys. Success back to border control, stamp, stamp, stamp.

OK next we need to change money which I do at the bank, and chat to a lovely young man who helps me out and wants to know all about the bike.

Next it was onto another border control, who needed to view our passports, the carnet, license, registration and something else, I can't remember. Being able to produce these documents pleased them no end, but of course we need to purchase green card insurance so off Skill goes, I wait with the bike, and wait and wait. When he returns he informs me he has been drinking tea and chatting.

Ok stamp,stamp, stamp, and off we go, freedom we think, but no there is one more border control. We wait for ten minutes for him to get off the phone, then "Papers". I climb off again and show him the papers that his mate 10 metres away has just stamped. All is cool and he says "Welcome to Turkey" Yay we are free.

In fairness it did only take an hour so that was good going.

The ride to Istanbul is horrendous, not because of the traffic or because of signage or anything like that, it really is blowing a gale, the wind is just buffeting us from all directions, Skill really struggles to keep it all together.

We stop for fuel and lunch, local cuisine, somehow I end up with fantastic food,(kofte) and Skill scores liver, which he nearly gags on. I share mine and we are on our way again. The wind does not give up and on the entrance to the freeway grassfires are out of control, this is not a good combination but we do survive. Our plan for getting into Istanbul, well we don't have one. I vaguely suggest that if we head to the airport I might recognise the roads from when I visited 4 years ago.

We get to the airport roundabout and I am not sure, talk to the guy in the car next to us, Sultanahmet I ask, he points to the exit and then as we get onto the roundabout he motions that we should follow him. Next roundabout same deal I ask a taxi driver "Sultanahmet" same response follow me. And then unbelievably I do recognise where we are and in we go. As we are riding along people are yelling out "Aussie", high fiving us and beeping their horns. At first we wonder what the hell is going on but then figure out it is a "Welcome to Istanbul".

We can't take the left hand turn we want so over the Bosphorus to Beygolu, a big blockie and back into the Sultanahmet. I make Skill park the bike while I look for the hotel, which I find less then 100m away but we cannot get to it because of all the one way streets. OK back over the Bosphorus big blockie, and into the Sultanahmet. Finally success we get to the hotel nearly an hour after I first find it.

Unpack, of course the Turkish are so friendly, they help us unpack the bike, find a park and take all the gear up to our room, a little different to the Thessoloniki Hotel, where I was ignored. I must say we are pretty happy to be in Turkey and Skill can not believe how friendly the people are.

The first night I have a great time giving Skill a quick tour of the sights and we head down to the back packer quarter where we have dinner. Istanbul is the most magical city and we spend till late wandering the streets.

Next morning off to breakfast where I befriend "Sergai" the hotel alley cat. The waiter tells us "His name is Sergai, he very lazy cat, every morning at window till 10.00 o'clock (which incidentally is the finish of breakfast) then he sleep all day"

We spend the first day trying to organise our Iranian Visa. Off to the Iranian Consulate, talk to the armed guard in front of the big black door who talks to the man behind the big black door and we are let in. I ask if I should wear a scarf, "No, no problem" is the response. Because the embassy closes at 11.00 am they give us the forms and instructions and tell us to come back tomorrow.

Ok now it is off to retrieve our mail that my sister has sent Poste Restante. The Post Office is two blocks away and all is going well until they tell us that the bigger parcel is out at Taksim and we must go there to collect it. When we ask them how to get there they shake their heads, pour over our Istanbul map and say we must go to Topkapi tram stop. Alrighty onto the tram and out to Topkapi (we are now in the boon docks), after asking countless people we arrive at the Post Office an hour later but they are shut for lunch, OK off to a risky looking café, have lunch and back to the Post Office. Are redirected to four different counters, sign four different pieces of paper in triplicate and finally we have our parcel, Yay. It was worth it, I now have vegemite again. (Thanks Schell)

The afternoon we spend wandering the streets before heading up to the Orient Hostel Bar for a beer or two. I think this is the best view in town.

Next day it off to the Iranian Embassy again where we put in our applications and pay our 100 Euro. Patience is definitely a virtue in these circumstances. The final straw comes when we hand over all our documents in a zip lock bag and he informs us "you need two plastic". I am gobsmacked, he just made that up, no one else including the other Westerners in the place have presented their documents in a plastic bag. Skill informs him "one plastic". AHHHHHHHHH

Skill goes off to the Aya Sofya while I do the washing

and in the afternoon we head to the Cistern for a look.

And then it is off to the Orient for a few more beers. Chatting away to the bar guy when 4 young Aussie backpackers walk in. We have a bit of a giggle as they try to order Rump Steak. I turn around and laughingly say "It's not going to happen guys."

The young girl responds by saying "What's your name"
Me "Alanna Skillington".
Young Girl "Oh my God, your'e Mrs Skilly. You taught Shaun and I in Preschool 19 years ago, I'm Telan Wade"
Me "#%$^ you make me feel old"

Anyway needless to say we had a late night and many beers enjoying their company. Unbelievable. What are the chances of meeting young kids you taught two decades ago (in a little town with a population of less than 20 000) in a bar in Istanbul.

Our next two days are spent visiting the Spice Bazaar,

Blue Mosque,

The Hippodrome.

On our last evening we brave the Grand Bazaar, before heading off to the Blue Mosque light show.

Next day we leave Istanbul very easily following the coast road for the ride to Ecebat. A nice days ride although it is still windy. We arrive in Ecebat and find TJs new hostel at the Hotel Ecebat. He has parking for us not in the foyer but beside the foyer in a lockable area. Clean room which is good, reasonably priced. Book our Gallipoli tour and up to the bar for a beer. Meet two kiwis so we spend the night talking to them, BBQ tea and bed. The view from our window...

Next morning Skill checks his emails. We discover that a HU overlander called Marcus is in town bunking down at the Boomerang Bar. Skill responds and we head off on our tour.

There are so many thing one could say about Gallipoli but it is difficult to find the right words to describe the way you feel when you are there. I guess that is why so many Aussies, Kiwis and Turks make the pilgrimage.

Simpson's Grave

Anzac Cove

Anzac Beach and Sphinx

Lone Pine

The Trenches

The Turkish Memorial

When we get back to Ecebat we head to the incredibly dodgy Boomerang Bar, but Marcus is not there so we have a few beers and meet Marsut the owner. I cannot believe it but the boomerang we gave to him four years ago is still behind the bar.

Eventually Marcus turns up, what a great guy, travelling the same route as us on his BMW R100 GS he bought in Germany.

Well you can guess what happened, late night, lots of beers and no food, although Skill and I managed a plate of casserole at 11.30.

Next day we are off to Bergama and Marcus decides he will tag along, which is great,

we ride a pretty ordinary highway before taking some scenic back roads. Just before Bergama we are pulled over by the Jandarma who think we are German, "No we are Aussies", they check our papers and bid us a very friendly goodbye. We arrive in Bergama where I find the Athena Pension and our good mate Aydin who does remember me. (Kath one of my travelling companions of four years ago had been back the previous year to visit him)

Aydin lets us park the bikes in his newly acquired house and garden. Locked up tight.

We have a lazy afternoon with Marcus drinking beer at a local café before heading back to Aydin's kitchen where Marcus cooks for us all. (Including Aydin)

Next day Skill and I head up to the ruins of Pergamum through the hole in the fence following the blue dots.

A very hot day but stunning all the same. We spend the day wandering around the ruins, eat our picnic lunch under a fig tree, and have figs for dessert. When travelling like we are sometimes you have to pinch yourself and say "Oh my God look at where we are, sitting in a ruin that is more than 2000 years old eating fresh figs. It doesn't get a whole lot better than this."

The ruins of Pergamum are in my opinion wonderful as you can wander at your leisure all over them with no guides, touts or other tourists to hassle you. There are even archeological digs in progress but with no one around.

The Temple of Trajan

10000 seat Theatre

We spend the afternoon back at the Pension with Marcus and Aydin, leftovers for dinner, beer and bed.

Next day we say goodbye to Marcus as he has word that his Iranian visa is approved and he needs to pick it up in Ankara.

It is market day in Bergama so Skill and I are off to the markets, what a visual feast. We buy our fresh fruit and veges, and chicken for tea.

When we get back to the Pension Aydin takes us for a ride (him on his scooter, us on the bike) out to Allianoi the ancient Roman Spa Town complete with hot spa baths.

Sadly all this is going to be flooded by the Yortanli Dam which is nearing completion. We feel very sad for Aydin as he feels so passionately attached to this amazing historic site. To us it is almost unbelievable that you could flood and ancient working ruin like this.

From here we are off to a local fish farm tucked away in the mountains, fed by a mountain stream. Fresh trout and salad for lunch. Absolutely sensational.

On the way back to Bergama, Aydin's scooter dies so we have to toe him through Turkish traffic to the Honda shop. Skill says to me "I can't believe I'm doing this, do you know how dangerous this is", as the trucks and dolmuses blast past us.

We arrive at the Honda shop in one piece, they fix Aydin's drive belt and we head back to the Pension where Skill and I cook a chicken casserole for dinner. Aydin's mum joins us and she adds the fresh corn she has cooked to the feast. Aydin shares a bottle of white wine and all is good in the world. The four of us share a great meal.

We are hesitant to leave Bergama but make the short ride to ANZ Pension at Selcuk. A wonderful spot with lovely people running it. A Turkish family who lived in Australia for 12 years own it. Once again they offer us parking in the central reception area but we feel the bike is safe parked on the quiet street and we can see it from our room.

Next day it is off to Ephesus where we spend most of the day. Ancient Ephesus was a great trading city and centre for the cult of Cybele, an Anotolian fetlility goddess. Over time Cybele became Artemis and a huge temple was built in her honour (one of the seven wonders of the ancient world) When the Romans took over, Artemis became Diana and Ephesus became the Asian Roman Capital. The origins of Ephesus date from around 600 BC.

The Library

Curetes Way

Loos with a view

Harbour Street

In the afternoon we visit the remains of "The Temple of Artemis" not very much is left, only a few pillars. In this photo you can also see the Basilica of St John on the hill. (Beside the pillar) St John is believed to have come to Ephesus in his old age to write his gospel. He is meant to be buried in a tomb beneath the church.

We also visit the Museum which houses the most amazing artifacts.

From Ephesus we have a long days ride out to the ruins of Afrodisas.

Most of Afrodisias dates from the 1st Century AD. The name is derived from the Greek for the Goddess of Love, Aphrodite called Venus by the Romans.

The Tetrapylon (Monumental Gateway)

270m long stadium

The beautiful marble bouleuterion

And then it was down to Lake Koycegiz, we are weighing up our Pension options when Skill says, "Where did you stay last time?" To which I answer "I don't want to be boring, maybe we should go to Dalyan".

Skill says "I've had enough for the day lets just head to the Tango Pension". Alright, in we ride get off the bike and go inside to negotiate a room. When I come back out Skill is chatting to two other people. Unbelievably it is Belinda and Patrick Peck from Cairns. (Also HU members) Two Qld registered motorcycles at Lake Koycegiz???????? But wait it is stranger than that. On the previous night their friends who live one block away from them in Cairns also turned up at the Pension. They had no idea that they were coming to Turkey and certainly no idea they would be at the Pension. What are the chances of that happening?

So it is 7 loud and excited Aussies that drink cocktails "Sex on the Beach" and beer before heading out to dinner, what a great night and what lovely people.

Next day Grant, Susan and Liz are off on a sea kayaking trip while Patrick and Belinda are off to Fethiye. Skill and I go off on a boat trip on the Lake, to Dalyan and Turtle Beach. A lovely day but storms all around.

Next day we head off to Fethiye and arrive at the Pension where we think Belinda and Patrick are, get a text message from them, they are still in Dalyan so head back there and join them. Can't find the hotel in Dalyan so ask some construction workers who get on their scooter and show us the way.

We spend a lovely evening wandering around Dalyan, tea looking out over the Lake up to the Lycain Tombs. Hard to find a better location.

Next morning there are storms all around, decide to stay in bed. About 1.00pm after group discussion we make the break and ride to Fethiye, in hindsight not a good idea. About five kilometres outside the town it just buckets down, Belinda and Patrick are in front and pull into a servo to wait for us and have their first fall of the trip because the servo has so much diesel on the smooth concrete driveway. They are OK and the bike is fine. We make the rest of the ride into Fethiye through flooding rain.

After we try four different hotels we end up in an OK hotel with beautiful views of the harbour.

Dinner/Lunch then out for a walk around the town, Belinda wants a massage for her sore neck (from the fall) so we get two back/neck massages for 12 lira. We had to protect our honour as they also want to give us a boob massage as well. "No my husband, he will not like"

Then back to the hotel for a few room drinks. Got into trouble for being too noisy again.

Next day beautiful sunshine so after brekky we pack up

and head to Sakilkent Gorge where we walk up the gorge for a short way. Because of the flooding rains the water is quite dirty.

A lovely trout lunch before heading to Patara where we score an amazing Pension for 30 lira a night.

And probably one of the best dinners we have had in Turkey home cooked by the ladies of the house.

Next day is my birthday, Skill goes to phone the Iranian Embassy. D DAY for visas. Yee ha, they have approved out visa. To celebrate we walk to the beach and spend most of our day there before it is back to the Pension for lunch and then a wine and nibbly sunset before a sumptuous dinner.

A pretty idyllic birthday. And a big thanks to Patrick and Belinda who changed their plans and spent the day with us. It was great to have some Aussie company for my birthday, I really appreciated it.

Thanks to everyone who called and sent text messages. Even got a little bit homesick.

Tomorrow we have a long ride to Ankara so,

Cheers and Beers for now

Quote for the Week:
"Don't tell me how educated you are, tell me how much you have travelled" Mohammed

Greece

Heading to Greece we couldn't decide which Ferry Line and agonised over whether to get a cabin or not, in the end economy won out. Skill checked out all the brochures, and all the ferry lines seemed much of a muchness, so we decided to just get a deck passage, 95 Euro as opposed to 300 Euro. We took the ferry that departed first.

Well yes Venturous Ferry Lines had a very professional brochure and it looked like they did have nice ferries but not the one we were on. Think Greek Rust Bucket. We loaded first, no instructions on where to park and no such thing as a tie downs for the bike. We improvised and used what we had to secure the bike and then lugged our two panniers up 4 flights of steps (me with my bunged up knee which is now better) and across the open deck past 4 smelly semi-trailers with pigs in them.

There were no signs anywhere and when we were crossing the deck I was thinking, OH GOD maybe they literally meant deck passengers, out here with the pigs! We kept walking and eventually found the lounge area and the little man showed us where we had to go. It was OK with lots of chairs but all with fixed armrests so sleeping on them was possible but not comfortable. We secured our position and changed out of our riding gear had a beer and settled in for a long night.

In the end there were only 8 other deck passengers so we could all try to sleep on the seats around the arm rests. The only good thing I can say about the ferry trip (besides it NOT sinking) was that because we were on the truckies ferry the meals were huge and reasonably inexpensive.

We were woken by the steward at 3.00am but didn’t arrive at Igoumenitsa until 4.30am (5.30am Greek time), by the time we unloaded it was 6.00am and still very dark. Some days everything goes right and somedays it doesn't. Fortunately after a night of very little sleap it was going to be the former. We rode off the ferry looking for border control, none obvious so we kept going. Right outside the ferry terminal was the road clearly signed to Parga, the town we wanted and then only 10 kms further on was a service station open for business at this early hour.

Refueled we rode the half hour to Parga, a delightful coastal village just like the postcards.

The camping area was open but it was still so early no one was around, so we put on our togs (Queenslander for bathers) and went for a swim in the most glorious crystal clear water. When we got back we found Mr Dimou who told us to find a camp place and come and see him later. By this time it is only 8.00am. Unbelievably there is a huge storm brewing so we start to put up camp and the bikers who are leaving give us their ground sheet. (A God send, we wish we had had this from the beginning)

Camp up, beds out and sleep time. We sleep through the storm (lots of noise but no rain) and awake at midday where we go to the Camping Ground Restaurant for lunch. Wow, absolutely sumptuous food. Another swim and a lazy afternoon before watching the sunset over a glorious coastline. Some days are good, but this was a perfect day, I love Greece.

Parga's Camping Valtos is perfect, we have a lovely shaded area (still in the dirt but now we have a huge ground sheet), and they provide an assotment of old tables and chairs for those campers that don’t have them - like motorcyclists. We wish all campsites were this thoughtful. Also everyone seems to have pinched the loungers and drinks tables from the beach restaurants so we use them as well. Some campers leave behind anything they don’t want so I even have a lilo for floating about on courtesy of a young American backpacker.

The Camping Restaurant is absolutely yummy and open from 8am until midnight as is the mini market. The beach is two minutes walk away, the town is 15 minutes walk where there are about 100 restaurants and bars, nightclubs, shops, etc. We decide we will spend 4 or 5 days here just to regroup and get our (previous) blog finished.

In the Campground we meet two German overland travellers called Heinz and Hildie. They had ridden from Germany to India last year. This year they were just on holiday in Greece heading back to Germany via Albania. We talk about their experiences trying to pick up information for our own trip.

We were also camped next to a German couple who have been coming to Greece for the past 25 years so they gave us lots of great information about Greece but told us this was their favourite campsite - the beach, the facilities and the convenience. Hmmm it is not so good to come to the best first.

Our life at Parga was idyllic, swimming, walking into the village, eating and generally relaxing.

On one of our visits to the town we check out the thong (footwear) index as we are sick of wearing our tevas to the beach. No double pluggers models over here but we secure two pairs of thongs for under 9 Euro. Skills have little Greek flags on them and mine are sparkly. We are pretty excited with our new purchase but are not sure where we are going to carry them on our already overloaded bike.

It was very hard to drag ourselves away from our life in Parga but we did manage it eventually.

We had a short days ride to Lefkada island where we promptly took a wrong turn and rode on very rough and nearly non existent mountain road to Ag Nikitas. We camped for the night in an unusual campground that looked brand new but nothing was open. The beaches in this area were stunning and the water an unusual turquoise blue colour.

The next day was a reasonable days ride through some of the most picturesque coastal roads along with some pretty awful ones as well. Here are some of the good bits.

Thw awful bits were the amount of rubbish in some places, housing and building waste and general refuse just dumped over the side of the roads down to the sea in places that should be as beautıful as the pics above. Huge mountainous of it, like a refuse tip into the sea! Unbelievable. We couldn't bring ourselves to take pics of this environmental vandalism. As we are wondering how the Greeks can do this in such scenic locations, a kilometre further on we would come across one of the little roadside shrines that seem to be everywhere. It is such a bizarre mix. We hated the rubbish but we did love the shrines in all their shapes and forms.

It gets to 3.00 pm (our now usual lunch time) and we are starving but cannot find anywhere to eat. In the end we opt for a very ordinary looking Kantina (that is the spelling they use) on the side of the road, not somewhere you would ordinarily choose to eat. Well not only was the location very scenic the food was excellent, one of the best shish and salad we'd eaten in Greece, so looks can be deceiving.

Refuelled with food we head towards our destination for the day, Delphi. Delphi is home of the Temple of Apollo, one of the most important oracles of antiquity. Delphi was also site of the Pythian games once held every four years in Apollo's honour. Athletes and poets would descend upon the city to compete for the victors laurel crown. Hmm I wonder if the poets competed against the athletes?

It is believed that Delphi really holds the origins of the "Olympic" Games and not Olympia.

We arrive at the camping ground which was great, perched on a terraced mountain top with views to the sea. It was here we met Sam and Kylie two young Aussies who had driven all through the Nordic countries to the far northern most point at Nordkapp to see the middnight sun and then through Eastern Europe to Greece. We spent a few hours together around the pool and over dinner.

But my favourite thing about this campground were the kitsch mushroom lighting.

Next day we had a great day wandering Delphi's ruins

However we had just as much fun wandering around the little town of Delphi. We had the best fish lunch, with extraordinary views to the coast.

We were in the same quandary about Athens as with Paris and Rome - to visit or not to visit. Sam and Kylie said it was hard work and really a pretty mediocre city as did most of the Greek people we met. "It is just a big city but with crazy drivers" we were constantly told. In the end we decide against Athens and head instead, to Meteora.

Our ride takes us through some beautiful mountain areas, some gross shanty towns, but mainly just uninteresting highways. But once you reach Meteora you are awestruck. Giant rock formations (volcanic plugs we think) seem to reach skywards from the flat Thessalain plain. Atop these formations are amazing monasteries. They are believed to have been founded by a monk named Barnabas in the mid 10th Century.

The camp ground is great (in the dirt again) but with a lovely pool and restaurant and who can beat the views.

We stay for two nights visiting the Grand Meteoro (The Monastery of the Grand Transfiguration) which was built in the late 14th century on the imposing stone column Plays Lithos. It is a beautiful place but I can't help but wonder about the irony of it all, the monks came here to get away from the world to be safe and live in solitude, yet today they have literally 100s of tour buses a week visiting them??????

We ride back down the mountain past the other monasteries including the Varlaam and Roussanou.

We leave Meteora and head to Thessoloniki, we need to get a big service done on the bike, Skill has a recommendation from the HU website and an address but we do not have a map of Thessoloniki so we just ride in the vain hope that maybe we will find it. The ride to Thessoloniki was much quicker than we thought with most of the new freeway being open, but because it is not yet completed there were no tolls. YAY!!!

We arrive in Thessoloniki to oppressive 45 degree temperatures and no bike shop to be found. We are getting closer and closer to the city centre when I suddenly see a Suzuki Motorbike shop with V Strom stickers on the door. I tell Skill to do a three lane maneuver and 2 illegal U Turns (Hey this is Greece, no one cares) to get there, which he does.

On arrival the mechanic does not speak English but the guy behind the counter does. Its not the shop we were looking for and Skill is not sure that the communication process is that great but we take our chances. I leave Skill at the bike shop which is in a pretty dodgy area and look for a hotel, Best Western 100 Euro, Grand Mecaro 145 Euro, another nameless hotel 130 Euro and finally the Hotel beside the Live Sex Show 55 Euro. Back to Skill in a lather of sweat and completely soaked we both decide the Best Western it is, expensive but at least they have air conditioning and secure parking for the bike. We head to the Hotel Vergina (we weren't game to ask how to pronounce it), unload the bike and walk up two flight of stairs struggling with the doors.

It is at this moment I realise that the Greeks are not into 4 star service, the two guys behind the desk continue smoking and watch me struggle with two panniers, helmet and backpack not even offering to help me into the lift which is an old fashioned doored one. I am about to rip some ones face off when Skill comes to the rescue from downstairs and helps me.

Air con on, shower, washing done and out to discover the delights of Thessoloniki in the still 40 degree heat. We head straight to the waterfront for a couple of beers and watch the traffic antics.

Greek drivers are crazy but thankfully not as crazy as the Southern Italians. However as we sit by the waterfront road we witness about 10 near misses, lane swapping, horns blaring etc etc. And then as we are watching a very new Audi reverse park an old Alfa hits him on the side and rides his vehicle up almost onto the bonnet of the Audi. The argument that then ensues is hilarious, Skill and I are in stitches, in fact worth another beer.

Next we visit Thessoloniki's only real tourist attraction the White Tower which is not really white, is closed for renovations and not really very interesting anyway.

By this time it is 8.30 pm and it is still 37 degrees. We get a kebab and a few beers and head back to our air conditioned room.

The following day after breakfast (where I steal every condiment which is not nailed down ensuring I get my 95 Euros worth) Skill takes the bike to the bike shop and I struggle to get everything downstairs, once again they watch me with no offers of help, then to add insult to injury they want to charge me an extra 9 Euro for parking, it is at this point I become very assertive (#^%&), the parking fee is waived and our gear is put into storage.

Skill spends the day at the bike shop while I wander the streets. He is more than happy with the work that the mechanic does, he is very slow but meticulous and secures all the parts we need including brake pads, new chain and sprockets including the smaller non standard front sprocket we want, which he goes out to buy on his scooter. He also lets Skill clean our reusable air cleaner and spends a lot of time straightening the bash plate we managed to crunch in Italy. Some of the parts do not strictly need replacing just yet, but they may be difficult to get in Turkey and all but impossible after that heading east, so we elect to replace all this stuff now. This only leaves new tyres to be sourced in Turkey.

We leave Thessoloniks oppressive heat 490 Euro poorer but the bike is serviced and we are heading for the Greek coast again - yeah.

Down to the Sithonia Peninsula where we find the Camping area in our guide book but don't like the look of it so it is off to another one down the road which advertises bar, minimart etc. When we get there, there are lots of tents around but on closer inspection everything is closed up (for the season) so we unload the bike, I start to set up and Skill rides into Sarti to get beer and dinner supplies.

By this time it is 8 o’clock and we realise that NONE of the other tents in the whole campground are occupied so we help ourselves to their table and chairs and also their bamboo oil lanterns. The toilets and showers are pretty ordinary (toilets are all foot pad ones) but there is plenty of hot water, all I can say is thank goodness for our new thongs.

Next morning we wake early and head for a morning swim, being the only people around is amazing. We have never ever seen water so clear, not even on the Grear Barrier Reef. It is absolutely stunning with Mount Athos (where the monks live) as a backdrop. We have breakfast and then head back to the beach for the day. (After we borrow a beach umbrella from a deserted camp) I laughingly say to Skill, this is a Greek Inskip Point.

We have a greet day culminating with beers and nibbleys on the beach at sunset and a fantastic camp cooked dinner after Skill rides back into town and discovers the butchers, bakers and minimarket. The beer index is the best so far anywhere on our trip, less than 50 cents for 1/2 litre, and the food is cheap too. This would be a good place to stop for a week or more, but we have to keep moving.

Next morning we decide that a morning swim in the birthday suit is the best idea as we won't have to pack wet togs. Breakfast, pack up and we are on our way to..........well we don't really know, but a little further towards the Turkish border somewhere. It is a pretty short days ride through beautiful coastal scenery when we end up in Kavala in a very posh camp ground complete with bar/disco and restaurant beside the beach. The water is not in the same league as where we have been but nice none the less. Swim then an expensive beer at sunset. I say to Skill "lets lash out and have a G and T". He comes back and says "Enjoy, two G and Ts just cost me 13 Euro". Bloody Hell.

Well lets just say that after one drink I was well on my way, there must have been 5 nips of Gin in it, I kept having to go back to the bar and get more ice and tonic, reminded me of our days in Spain.

That evening we had a great meal at the restaurant and watched the full moon rise over the water.

Next day another short ride to Alexandropolis, where of course we camped in the dirt again. Once again all the facilities were closed, so we ride into to town to shop and just hang around. In the evening the wind really picks up and there is dirt blowing everywhere. We both decide we have just had enough of this camping on the bare dirt thing. Today we are really over it, so early to bed. Next day it is still blowing , in fact it is gale force, packing up is difficult and riding conditions are nearly impossible. Skill has difficulty keeping the bike upright and on the right side of the road and it just keeps getting worse the closer to Turkey we get.

As Alexandraopolis is only 30 kms from the border we arrive at the Turkish border early. And so we are about to embark on the next leg of our journey, there is something magical about heading East to Turkey and we are both pretty excited, the beginning of the overland part of our trip has really started.

But that is another story. We are now in limbo waiting for our Iranian visa which we will have word about on the 26th of September, things are uncertain, as two other independent Aussie travellers we met at the Embassy had been refused a Visa. We are hoping this will not be the case for us so fingers crossed.

Cheers and Beers,

Quote of the Week:
"Do not wait for your ship to come in - swim out to it"

Germany to Italy

We leave Holland via the Autobahn and head back into Germany, once again we are left standing by the traffic in the left hand lane. Scary stuff but the Germans seem to be very good drivers. We end the days ride at a village called Melsungen, we never seem to have a destination we just follow the camping signs.

A good pick, a camping ground on a river with a central lake. The owner was a gregarious German who now lives half his life in Spain and the other half running the caravan park, but previously was into freight forwarding and travelled all over the world.

The weather was stiflingly hot so we go to the bar and have a few pints (three to be exact) of the local ale, the owner comments on our drinking prowess "You are very thirsty" and gives us a welcome present two small bottles of German liqueur, one like Baileys and one which apparently is good for the stomach. We follow the afternoon Happy Hour with a swim in the lake.

Then of course the inevitable happens, a massive thunder storm hits, but by this time we are back at the bar restaurant for tea. Schnitzel (of course) pomme frites and cabbage salad. What to do about the storm, we stay chatting with the owner until it abates and bolt back to the tent. Bang, crash, thunder and lightning, time to put the ear plugs in and hope for the best.

We wake in the morning, tentatively sticking our head out of the tent but all is Ok, overcast but dry.

A nice days ride ensues down part of the Romantic Road which officially runs from Wurzburg to Fussen through Bavaria. It is incredibly hot and humid, and we end up getting moderately lost as we are diverted through a town but after the town no more diversion signs. The GPS saves the day as our map is not that detailed.

The sky gets darker and darker, so we stop to put on our wet weather gear, unfortunately we are 5 minutes too late and while getting our gear out of the panniers we end up soaked.

Oh well keep riding, which we do for another two hours till finally we both decide we have had enough, everything is wet including my passport, buggar, forgot to put it in a plastic bag.

Stop at one Gausthaus but the owner has just got rid of twelve cyclists so is having the day off, ride past another hotel in a little village called Bettwar, has a sign outside 21 euro, per person (but in German of course) so I venture in, perfect, huge room in a quaint village complete with restaurant and bar.

Whenever we stay in a lovely hotel room we instantly trash it, turning it into a drying room, come Chinese Laundry, in short we make a huge mess. It storms that evening but not before we manage to take a walk around the village.

Next day we take a short ride into Rothenburg Ob Der Tauber. This quaint well preserved medieval town, with cobble stoned streets is enclosed by huge stone walls, the only entry and exit points being through the ancient gates. The Lonely Planet Guide tells us that according to a legend the town was saved during the Thirty Years' War when the mayor won a challenge by the Imperial General Tilley by downing more than 3 litres of wine at a gulp. Sounds like he could give Bob Hawke a run for his money.

After a long chat with an English couple who want to know about our trip, we exit via the medieval gates and continue onwards towards Fussen.

We are not sure how it happened but somehow we get diverted off the Romantic Road again and have to ride along a VERY Unromantic Road until the GPS gets us back on track only to be diverted again around a horrendous looking accident (Did I mention it is now raining again) tierd and wet we call it quits early at a grottyy pub run by a very cranky little man, not with us but yells at his staff all the time. Even though the room is questionable, the surroundings are picturesque, a church to the right, a huge barn full of cows to the left and mountains all around.

We enjoy a lovely Italian meal at a little restaurant across the road and when we come out of the restaurant we go for a walk around the town. Somewhere in the distance we can hear a band playing, we follow the music past the cows, and dairy to the local school.

Skill being Skill, walks up the stairs and into the stairwell outside the auditorium. Inside there is a thirty piece band in traditional Bavarian dress and a small audience. During the next break the band leader walked over and asks us to join the audience.

The concert was a final dress rehearsal for the band for a concert the following night. What a treat for us, they played a mixture of traditional and modern music for an hour and a half. Of course it was one of the times we had left the camera in the hotel room and neither of us wanted to miss out on any of the concert, so you will have to take our word for it, they looked and sounded stupendous.

It is at this point I should point out that this village was no bigger than Yarraman or Mt Mee (a comparison for the folks at home) but the school was beautifully equipped and had a huge centrally heated auditorium and quite large modern classrooms, obviously Germany places a lot of value on Education and their schools???????

The following day we head into Fussen which is only five minutes ride away, this scenic little town is home to the Neuschwanstein Castle which we check out from a distance as there are so many tour buses around.

We also make contact with Luzius and Irene our friends in Zurich (Skill comes back slightly embarrassed and says "I'm pleased I rang, they live on Lake Zurich not Lake Geneva, but that's closer anyway" After coffee and strudel we ride into Austria.

We have a days ride through Austria bypassing Innsbruck and heading over the mountain passes and yes once again the mountain passes and roads are glorious. We end the day having to pay an outrageous 10.50 Euro toll to ride through a 15km section of the Piz Buin Mountain Pass, we were slightly outraged as there were no toll signs on the road (well none we could read anyway) and we had bought our vignette (sticker) to use on the freeways.

We end the day camped in a tiny campground run by a lovely old couple who came and visit us to check out the bike, we had a very long conversation, them in Austrian and us in English, but I think they got the drift of what we were doing and where we were going. That night we have more live music as the people in the house across the road are having a rock jam session in the garage.

And it rains and rains and rains. Next morning it is still raining so we stay in bed hoping it will go away but of course it doesn't, it just gets heavier and heavier so we make breakfast in the tent and pack up in the tent, get our gear on in the tent and then pack up the tent in the rain. I emerge from the tent into the pouring rain with all my riding gear including my helmet, Skill says I look like something from Apollo 13.

We have a whole day of riding through the rain, into Liechtenstein, to Valduz and then out of Liechtenstein into Switzerland, that took about half an hour. No photos, sorry as it was raining very hard but we can report that the Prince is doing a bit of a refurb on the Palace Valduz, apparently he can afford it, he is worth 3.3 billion pound sterling. Other interesting facts about Liechtenstein is there are 80 000 companies registered there, double the population and they are the worlds largest exporter of false teeth.

The rain just gets worse and worse but we keep riding as we want to get to Luzius and Irenes. We are nearly there when a torrential thunder storm hits (think of a summer downpour is Brisbane) thunder, lightning and driving rain, road flooding with manhole covers on the road popping up, not something you want to see while riding a bike. We are absolutely soaked except for the riding gear underneath our gortex liners. I have to tip the water out of my bag as Skill does with his back pack. Five minutes later we arrive at Luzius and Irene's place.

For those of you who don't know the story, we got to meet Luzius and Irene six years ago. Skill and his two mates Pete and Mark were doing a two week outback ride when they came upon a young Swiss couple in a broken down old Range Rover. They helped them as best they could and organised the Garage in Birdsville to tow them, and then of course spent the evening with them in the Birdsville Pub. Later when Luzius and Irene arrived in Brisbane they looked us up and stayed with us for a night.

It was so lovely to see them again, they are such a great couple and the open hearted generosity they showed to us was overwhelming.

Their home is right on Lake Zurich, complete with boat shed in the front garden and directly behind is the Lindt chocolate factory. It is in such a picturesque location. We have our own little flat where we are able to spread out and dry out.

The evening we arrived we shared dinner with their friends and family for their monthly movie night.

Next day Irene takes us to visit Zurich and Luzius joins us in the evening, we go for drinks in a bar overlooking Zurich and then they take us to dinner at a great restaurant which is housed in a very old converted stable. They are very naughty and won't let us pay for anything.

We spend most of our time talking and catching up. It is also great for us to have a break from travelling and Skill spends time downloading photos etc.

Luzius and Irene take us to see the house and land they have bought and will soon be renovating/building. We also go for a walk along some beautiful country lanes. We are amazed that you just come across a café in the middle of nowhere, we also stop at a farmhouse where they sell cordials, coffee and cake. All based on an honesty system.

Luzius' family are amazingly generous and include us in their lives, a late lunch we share a traditional Swiss Dinner, "Raclette", potatoes, special melted cheese and lots of accompaniments. Sensational.

We share many memorable meals with them including a fantastic grill cooked indoors.

Luzius brother and Australian wife were also visiting. They are a wealth of information about the Middle East as they both worked for the Red Cross, their last assignment was 12 months in Afghanistan.

We do not want to leave Zurich or these wonderful people and a broken tent pole gives us an excuse to stay another day. Skill goes back into the city to buy a repair kit. That night Luzius is away with work but Irene takes us out to dinner, a lovely Pizzeria right on the Lake.

Such hospitality, we are looking forward to reciprocating as they did not have a good time in Brisbane, their hire car got broken into, and their cameras and other gear was stolen. Then when their battery died, no one would help jump start them. These are not the kind of stories you like to hear about your home town. So much for Queensland hospitality.

We do manage to drag ourselves away after 5 days but not until we have a shared lunch on the waterfront.

We head back the way we came into Zurich making for the mountain passes. Up and over the Klausenpass, where we come across the Swiss army on maneuvers just before it starts to rain AGAIN.

We find an idyllic hotel, Hotel Eidleweiss not too far from Wassen. I think the photos tell the story. A more scenic location would be hard to find.

Next day we ride more mountain passes - Sustenpass, Grimselpass, Nufenenpass, Pso d S. Gottardo.

Before heading up the Maggia Valley to camp the night. Slight problem. The Camping Grounds we try are full, the last one on our list is also full, what to do now? We are weighing up our options when the manager walks past and starts chatting to us, he is a biker and cannot believe we are travelling on an Australian bike. He finds us a small space and does not charge us for the night. Every time things seem hopeless an angel appears, even if it is in the form of an aging biker.

Next day is an early start riding the Pso del s. Bernadino and Splugenpass where we cross the border into Italy. At the border they take absolutely no interest in us at all, we are interrupting their morning coffee and paper.

We camped the night just inside the Italian border at a very scenic campground near Chiavenna, complete with mountains, waterfalls and an old (falling down) church.

Next day out of Italy back into Switzerland over the Julierpass near St Moritz,

over the A'Lbulapass into the town of Zernez where we camp the night in a campground beside a river in the mountains. It is freezing, well not quite but less than ten degrees. We manage to cook our dinner and drink our Aussie Red before the rain starts.

When we awake next morning it has stopped raining but there is fresh snow on the mountains all around us.

Onwards towards Bolzano after crossing back into Italy. It starts to rain so we stop in a quaint village for coffee and cake.

We seem to have now had endless wet weather. We get caught in a traffic jam and it just continues to rain and rain and I might mention the temperature is less than ten degrees again. In the end I have had enough and say to Skill take the next exit off the Freeway, which he does than we have a choice of right or left. Hmm go Left which he does, then we have a choice of two three star hotels,(which is amazing as this village is in the middle of nowhere) hmmm the one on the left. Yes they have one room left, it is very expensive but includes dinner and breakfast and there is a Garage for the moto. Yay, in under half an hour I go from cold and wet to soaking in a hot bubble bath with a glass of red in salubrious surroundings. Sometimes everything goes right, but other times of course it doesn't.

The staff at the hotel are quite taken with us and seem to go all out to look after us, it turns out we are their first Australian guests in five years. It also turns out that we are in the German speaking part of Italy, which I didn't know existed.

They really are lovely, at dinner time they find someone who can speak a tiny bit of English and through charades and descriptive narrative we get the general gist of the menu.

Manager pointing to menu "Animal ....mmm....." she then puts her hands on top of her head indicating ears.

Lan "Baa baa"

Manager "No"

Lan "Moo moo"

Manager "Yes, little little."

Skill "Oh calf, veal."

Next item on the Menu

Manager "Animal"

Lan "Baa Baa"

Manager Purses her lips, no

Lan "Oink oink"

Manager "No no"

Lan "Fish"

Manager" No No Animal brings Eggs, Easter"

Lan "Rabbit"

Manager "Yes Rabbit"

And finally she explains the last dish is Tofu, but her look of disdain at this vegetarian dish obviously precludes us from ordering it out of respect for her efforts. We have to remember we are in the German part of Italy and the Germans love their meat.

All I can say is thank goodness the starter, entrée and desserts were from a buffet where we helped ourselves.

The next day we are both very loath to leave but load up the bike and onwards to, well we aren't sure but at least it is not raining. We have a lovely days ride up and over some more mountain passes with Pso de Mendola, Madonna di Campiglio where admire the saw-tooth like Dolomites mountains the highest peak being 3150 metres.

We ended up taking the freeway from Bresica to Piacenza where we decide we should start looking for accommodation, well Piacenza is gross so we ride along the Trebbia River where we eventually spy a camping ground in a tiny village which remains nameless to us, we camped next to some hippies that partied till 4 am and then their dog started howling at 6.00am, Thank God for ear plugs is all I can say. The only saving grace was the wonderful pizzeria in the town Piazza only a short walk away, cheap, fantastic huge servings, and really friendly helpful people who helped us out choosing the best pizzas for us.

Next day we have a lovely days ride through the hills along a very winding road that continues to follow the Trebbier River. At one point we stop to put on the wet weather gear, near a water truck, and once again we have a conversation with the driver, him in Italian, us in English but the general gist of it was, all this rain and here I am delivering water, ridiculous. We enthusiastically agree.

It was one of those days when things should have been simple, ride along the coast and find a camping area. We end up riding aimlessly, looking for camping check out two, yuck, third down a goat track, where the bash plate gets crunched and to top it off we are running low on fuel. The only upside was we saw some lovely villages and beautiful coastline and bays.

Eventually we back track to Deiva Marina, however when we arrive at the camp ground we have a choice of only two camping spots on a terraced hill, both look as though they are pretty wet and will flood easily but we take our chances. We are pretty tierd so just decide to stay put for a couple of days, and to be honest we didn’t even leave the camping ground. We enjoy two nights but decide we will stay another night, mainly because it is raining but also because I have been bitten by a wasp (while reading my book in the tent, unbelievable) and my arm has blown up like a balloon.

Skill spends the morning downloading photos and researching ferries to Greece, and we are just having our lunch when we can hear the thunder rolling in. I go and grab a big sheet of plastic that some campers have left behind and put it under and up the sides of the tent while Skill builds a small diversionary wall, we then sit in the tent, open a bottle of red and hope for the best.

A torrential down pour with thunder and lightning, there was a river of muddy water running under the plastic under the tent, and thank God Skill built the wall otherwise we would have been soaked as the water was gushing down from the terraces above, it was like a waterfall.

Finished the bottle of wine about the same time the storm finished and emerged with damp tent floor but otherwise reasonably unscathed.

It stormed again during the night but nothing like the afternoon. We packed up our mud soaked tent the following day and had a late start, an ordinary days ride to Sienna. We take the exit off the highway to Sienna North and I make Skill stop so I can pull out the Lonely Planet to check where the Camping Area is. After consulting the guide book, the Compass and the GPS we work out our plan of attack, only to look over at the roundabout to see a dirty great big Camping sign. AHHHHH we have just wasted 20 minutes. This seems to happen to us a lot. We find the camping area which is on the side of a hill in the dirt, but OK. Once again set up camp and go to the Bar/Pizzeria for tea. We have found camping to be very expensive in Italy. The cheapest place we have stayed in was 20 Euro. That's $32 AUD and you have to pay 1 Euro each for the shower and 1 Euro 60 cents to use the pool. The most expensive was 32 Euro!!.

I have to tell you about the SHOWER SAGAS, each camping ground has its own shower protocol which every other camper in the place seems to be aware of but we are completely in the dark. Some places the showers are included in the price, but you have to press a single button in and the water comes out for approximately ten secondsif you're lucky, not great for hair washing, so you have to position your bottom to press the button in continuously so you can rinse your hair. The next challenge is whether it is token or coin operated hot water, if it is a token you have to go and do battle in French, German, Belgian, Dutch, Austrian, Swiss or Italian explaining you want a shower token, this usually takes me half an hour. Then sometimes it is a flickmaster tap, sometimes two taps and sometimes just a cold water tap so when the scalding water comes out of the nozzle and burns you you realise you have to turn the cold tap (which is never labeled cold) on. The other combo is token/coin plus a press button that you have to keep pressing. There are other various combinations including upside down flickmaster taps, wrongly labelled hot and cold taps, but the very worst is paying 30 Euro to camp in a very dodgy campground only to find they have NO hot water.

Siena is a gorgeous Tuscany town with a labyrinth of cobblestone streets and well preserved Gothic buildings.

According to the legend Siena was founded by the sons of Remus - one of the twins raised by the wolf and also one of Rome's founders. We catch the local bus into the town from the camping area and visit the shell shaped Piazza del Campo the towns cultural centre for 700 years.

They are still in the process of cleaning up after the Palio two days previous to our visit. The Palio is a wild horse race and pageant held in the Piazza. Siena is divided into 17 districts and 10 of these are chosen annually to contest the race. The town is still in party mode so we enjoy the atmosphere.

We visit the Doumo (Cathedral) which was begun in 1196 but don’t go inside due to the long line, and then it is off to the Chiesa di San Domenico & Santuario di Santa Caterina churches where St Catherine's preserved head and thumb is displayed - gruesome. It is a lovely church and seems to be visited by many monks.

Next day we have a really scenic ride through the heart of Tuscany, glorious countryside, picturesque towns perched on hilltops and an indescribable light that seems to bathe the countryside in pastel shades. We end the day in a beautiful camping ground near Narni between Rome and Assisi.

In the camp ground next to us are two Dutch girls Hedwig and Claudia who have ridden their bicycles from Holland, Rome being their final destination. We get chatting and they share a bottle of red with us.

We share our dilemma with them, to go to Rome or not to go to Rome. They insist we have to go to Rome and show us some good camping areas that provide shuttles to the local transport. That night we mull over what to do.

Next day it is decided we are off to Rome. The girls have already left and when we are packing up the bike we find two tiny little dutch clogs tied to the tank bag. A really easy days ride down the Via Flaminia only taking a tiny wrong turn and we are at the Camping Tiber. Easy.

The campground is very good, quite expensive to camp and reasonably cheap for a cabin so we take that option. It is 40oC+ so we spend the day by the pool drinking beer and lots of water. The evening was still so hot we didn’t feel like eating so we just got a pizza at 10 o’clock and fell into bed some time later still sweating. Of course an inevitable big thunder storm hit after midnight, but no problem in the cabin. At least it cooled things down.

For the next two days we wander Rome and see the usual tourist things, but hey its our first time in Rome.

Day One
The Spanish Steps with the church cloaked in scaffolding as is the case almost everywhere we seem to go throughout Europe.

The Trevi Fountain with just a few tourists...

The Colosseum

The Pantheon

That night we get back to the camping area late and run into Hedwig and Claudia who join us for happy hour where we celebrate their bicycling achievement Holland to Rome, over 2000 km. These two great girls also tell us that they are on their honeymoon so we drink to that as well. Then out to dinner at 10.30 pm. (I love that about Italy)

Day 2
The Vatican and St Peters

The following day we leave Rome, let me rephrase that, we try to leave Rome. We want to get onto the Ring Road but the entrance we need to use is undergoing roadworks and there are NO signs, it takes us an hour with us nearly riding into the centre of Rome and back out again. We do eventually get onto our chosen road and off we go. Most of the days riding is on the freeway, of course we take the wrong exit and end up in the grossest towns imaginable, not somewhere you would like to find yourself after dark. Eventually making our way down to the Amalfi Coast. Unfortunately it is very hazy due to fires.

It is at this point that I should mention the driving. Everyone had told us how chaotic the driving was in Rome, but for us it seemed fine - just. However the closer we got to Naples the crazier and more dangerous it got. Poor Skill. I don't think he got to see any of the Amalfi Coastline as he was too busy watching the road and the traffic. Cars overtaking on blind corners, cars three across, buses and trucks just driving up the middle of the road. Scooters running up the inside and outside of us. While indicating that you were turning left across oncoming traffic was just an invitation for traffic to overtake you on the side you wished to turn, but the worst was the unlit tunnels with scooters and cars overtaking in both directions over double lines. We ended the day tierd and a little nervy at Sorrento in a camping area with ocean views to Mt.Vesuvius, but was littered with rubbish, had cold water and charged 30 Euro.

We decided to head to the beach for a swim but when we were walking down the steps to get there we walked past a sewerage treatment plant and the beach water was also full of plastic bags and rubbish (and we assume also sewage discharge). OK plan B sit on the jetty, drink beer and watch the locals. Oh yes and a glorious sunset over Mt. Vesuvius.

Trying to decide what to do for dinner we are accosted by some local restaurateurs who want us to eat at their restaurant which we do. So glad we did, what a treat, fantastic gnocchi, and mussels and spaghetti. And of course the obligatory red.

Next day is a huge days ride, a whole 34 km to Pompeii where we camp in another awful camping area in the dirt. Not only is it in the dirt but there are feral mangy dogs in various states of decaying health, everywhere. Oh well we are here for one night and we are opposite the entrance to Pompeii Scarvi.

When Vesuvius blew its top in AD79 it buried Pompeii under burning fragments of pumice stone killing 2000 people in the eruption. The ruins are very impressive and give an insight into the lives of wealthy Romans.

For us it was well worth the visit, but once again it was very dirty with a lot of rubbish strewn around. Skill was quite impressed as some of the mummified bodies on display were ones he can remember seeing in a "National Geographic" when he was a child.

An absolutely fascinating place where you could probably spend weeks. It was very hot so we only lasted 5 hours before heading back to camp.

Back at camp we opted for a few beers and a chat to a lovely English couple, Paul and Penny who were on a three week holiday travelling on their Honda CBR1100. We spend the evening with them trading travel stories.

We managed to leave Pompeii quite early and travelled the freeway to Bari. The freeways in Italy are quite expensive, it cost us 10.60 Euro for this section of highway. We had to pay at an automatic toll station which had vehicles queued for ages. While trying to feed the money into the machine I dropped my coin purse so had to get off the bike in a hurry and managed to twist my knee badly, as there was little room between the bike and the payment machine. I am now hobbling.

Down to the ferry terminal and tickets are purchased. Yay we are on our way to Greece but that of course is another story.

We are happy, safe and well (except for a dicky knee) now lazing on a Greek Beach.

Cheers and Beers

Quote of the Week: "Two roads diverged in a wood and I - I took the one less travelled by" - Robert Frost

Scottish Wedding & Paris

We arrived in Germany via the motorway from France and of course being the naïve travellers we are, got our passports ready for them to stamp at the border, but not even a cursory glance at the bike and certainly no passports, I don't think the bike even slowed down to 50km per hour.

We consulted the AA Camping and Caravaning book and camped the night at a very flash but uninteresting caravan park before going to do battle with a German menu. Relief, it was in English and we were able to watch a World Cup game on the big screen.

Next day we were up bright and early and headed off through the Black Forest for a glorious days ride if you don't count the 2 traffic queues, one for the opening of a new tunnel "Tunnelfest" and another for an unknown event. We stopped in a typical German Village for lunch (not a touristy one) before continuing our ride up and over the hills.

Camped the night at a very dodgy caravan park, however it did have internet access and cold cheap beer. For some reason the wheels fell off (us, not the bike) and we drank too much beer, had packet tomato soup for tea and fell into bed.

Upwards and onwards to Frankfurt, on the Autobahn, a little scary, we were doing 120/130 km per hour and we were left standing by the traffic doing 200+ kph in the outside lane. We arrived at Ulrich (Ricky) and Kai's place after lunch, where they fed us and BBQed with us till late. Ricky and Kai are wonderful fun and a wealth of knowledge as they spent two years travelling the world on their bikes, six of those months in Australia.

The following day Kai took us for a ride around his local area, glorious rolling hills of green, quaint villages and pine forests, stopping for an icecream and a viewing of one of Europes fastest trains.

That night another sumptuous BBQ before the Germany versus Italy game. Kai was getting a little anxious that we would not have the BBQ ready in time so he resorted to using the electric fan to get the coals glowing hot.

The outcome of the game was disappointing for them but equally so for us. It would have been great to see the host country go through to the final.

Next morning we were up early as were Kai and Ricky who dropped us to the train station where we caught a train, then another one, then a bus to Hahn Airport, made it with a few tight connections and onto Dublin with Ryan Air.

Dublin was Dublin. Busy, bustling, people slightly frazzled. We managed to catch a bus into the city where we even get off at the right stop before making it to our alright but expensive hostel. Out for the obligatory Guinness or two or three or four.

A fun night ensued. We ended up in a bar (where my girlfriend Kath and I had spent many a night last time we were in Dublin) with live music and lots of interesting people. We spend the whole night here, mainly because they have a delayed telecast of the Queensland v New South Wales rugby league State of Origin, and although we are not football buffs when at home this little link to Oz is too much to resist, quite hilarious as my facial reactions to the game have half the bar intrigued and shortly I have them all baracking for Qld (amazing what three guinness can do), well it looked totally doomed then buggar me dead if they don't win.

Go to the bar to buy celebratory drinks where I get talking to the barman who is an Irish honourary Queenslander having lived there for a a few months, so he shouts me a Guinness.

By the time I return to my seat we have been invaded by Americans on one side and Czechs on the other. After about 5 minutes Skill and I realise that we have a Czech Mafiaosa complete with minder on one side and completely oblivious Americans on the other. What a laugh.

The France versus Portugal ( I think) game began when the Czech guy informs us he has 10,000 euro riding on France winning and if they win he will be sharing a bottle of vodka with us. We decide on dicsretion and leave at half time promising to return after dinner. We don't return and France does win. I suggest it would have got very messy. We return to the hostel at 1.30 am, with no lasting connections to the Grande Mafiaosa fortunately.

Next day Skill and I went our separate ways, me to find an outfit for the wedding and Skill sightseeing.

Up early onto the airport bus and out to the ariport. Checked in, and out to the waiting lounge at the boarding gate nearly two hours early. (Skill is not impressed, why did we get up that early) We were in the Gate Lounge area for about 15 minutes when they announce that there was a security threat at Dublin Airport and for our own safety we were to stay where we were, the departure lounge doors are locked. Not a problem for us we think.

Then planes kept arriving and the people got off the plane but were not allowed out of the Lounge Area. Then flights were being cancelled left, right and centre, then the army, police and firemen arrived. Our flight was the only one that had not been cancelled but there was no information on the board either. Because there were now 3000 people (no exaggeration) in the lounge area you could not hear the PA system.

Skill goes to the loo and does not return. I go to the boarding gate and ask about the flight to Aberdeen, they inform me they have boarded and I can get on but it will be without our luggage due to the security lockdown. I ask them to call Skill which they do, repeatedly, but he does not appear. The security guard and I do a lap around the departure lounge/hall. No sign off him, so I make the decision to get on the plane, and there he is already boarded. I started to get cranky and am about to tear strips off him but then thought what is the point, he says when he couldn`t find me and the flight was boarded he figured I must have boarded, and once on board he couldn`t leave.

Well we are both here, the flight only has 30 people on it as all the other 220 people were not even allowed out to the boarding gate. Even if we don't have our bag, we will get to the wedding. We have not come all this way to miss it. We were reliably informed that we were the last flight out of Dublin airport for the next 5 hours.

Said a little prayer of thanks when we landed in Aberdeen and then onto the bus into town (after queuing to report our missing luggage, only to be told it may arrive tomorrow! May arrive! But we have a wedding to go to!!). I made a snap decision that I would have to go and buy another outfit, underwear, shoes and makeup.

Nothing like a mastercard, a tierd and cranky woman and a ticking clock. Like a woman possessed I had a complete new outfit in under 40 minutes. Skill collected his kilt, so onto the bus and out to our hotel, where we met up with friends from Oz. Lynn and Russ who were here for the wedding too.

A couple of beers, changed then out to dinner with 30 of the wedding guests, Donald and Lou (Bride and Groom) and Mairi and Hairi (Grooms parents). It was a lovely night and it felt wonderful to be amongst familiar friends who felt like family.

Next day was a really slow day, got ready for the 3.30pm wedding. Our bag made an appearance at 1.45pm but even if we knew it would arrive then, it was cutting it too fine for the wedding and by then the damage was already done.

The wedding was beautiful, in a little chuch in the quiet Drumtochty Glen. The reception was at a local farmers barn, where we danced to the traditionl Scottish Band. We all had the best night. There are some weddings that will stay with you forever, this was one of them, Lou looked like a gorgeous mermaid/princess and Donald looked a very handsome highlander in his kilt. It was a truly special day and we feel honoured to have been a part of it.

Sunday we spent with Russ and Lynn driving around the Scottish countryside before it was back to the hotel for beers and the big game complete with the Zidane drama.

Russ and Lynn were so kind to us, taking us to the airport next morning instead of us having to catch 2 or 3 buses. From Aberdeen to Dublin where we perched ouselves in the Airport pub for Guinnesses and waited for 7 hours to make our connection to Frankfurt, Hahn. Got chatting to two really nice young pommie guys. (Who like us had been waiting for their 7 hour connection to Stanstead) but they suddenly realised that their flight was boarding and they had forgotton to check in. Of course they were back half an hour later having missed their flight. They were still sitting there when we left 3 hours later.

Deciding that we better not make the same mistake we check in and have an uneventful flight back to Hahn where we find an Italian owned hotel to stay in. The owner picked us up in his Ferrari like van (well he drove it like one) and drove us to the next village where he keeps his restaurant open and feeds us at 11.00 pm.

Next day back to the airport, then bus, train, then miss our connecting train, so have to wait an hour for another one. Kai picks us up and we spend the day recuperating.

The following day is a quiet one until the evening when we all sit down to a lovely civilised dinner and drink way too much then Kai and Ricky's neighbour joins us bringing another bottle of wine. Needless to say everyone was a bit slow next day. And poor Ricky had to be up at 6.30 am and go to work. We all felt so sorry for her.

Next day Skill took a reconnaisance trip to SW-Motech about 90 minutes ride away to check out a bash plate for the bike. He got totally lost on the way there taking about 3 hours and absolutely soaked in a massive thunder storm on the way home. But he did manage to organise to get an alloy bash plate fitted the next day.

Next day we packed up our gear, said sad goodbyes to Kai and Ricky and headed off to get the bash plate fitted. You can see how sad Ricky is in the pic below.

The people at SW-Motech were incredibly friendly and so helpful, we are now sporting a shiny new bash plate on the bike. The master craftsman in pic below (another Kai) did a quick job of working out how to fit an SWMotech bashplate to our Givi engine bars when they are really designed to fit to SWMotech bars.

SWMotech also had some interesting bikes and equipment in their foyer, this one caught Skill`s eye.

We camp the night in a great caravan park at Marburg, next to a lovely German girl who was about to compete in a Marathon which ran right past the Caravan Park, so we drank beer, ate dinner and cheered her on as she ran past three times.

From here we have a beautiful days ride through the Moselle Valley from Koblenz to Cochem and Bernkastel Kues following the Mosel river enclosed by the steep grape vined hills, it is a vey picturesque area with miles and miles of cycleways. The hills are so steep that they pick the grapes from an intricate monorail system.

We camped overnight in a cute camping area complete with bar and restaurant, however we must confess to buying a cheap bottle of Aussie Merlot in a Lidel Supermarket and indulging in that. Are we sad or what in the Moselle Valley and we are drinking cheap Aussie reds. However we did sample the beers at the bar.

Onward to Luxembourg next day where we stayed in a beautiful little town called Echternech.

Once again in a stunning little caravan park on the outskirts of town. Cold beer, bread and croissants ordered and a friturie to buy cooked food from. I love European camping.

The following day we are feeling totally exhausted as we have been travelling pretty solidly for two months, and sometimes you have to remember to take a holiday from your travelling. (I know everyone at home will be thinking "What are they on about? But I am sure fellow travellers know what I am talking about).

So we we sleep in, read (no more english books left) and then in the afternoon take a short ride to the village of Vianden,

before returning to Echternech via Diekirch when we could work out which way to go, all roads lead to Diekirch. Check out the sign.

Back to camp where we have an afternoon beer, but I am starting to question my sanity, I found myself having a half hour debate with my husband discussing the merits of "Dab" versus the qualities of "Gluck". I think I need some female company I had flashbacks to a similar "Men Behaving Badly" episode. Oh my God, we are turning into Tony and Gary. I really MISS my girlfriends.

Next day it is out of Luxembourg, through Belguim and back into France where we camp beside a fantastic river near a lovely Dutch couple who we spend the night talking to. We tell them that we are heading back to Paris and are wondering if we should use the camping area at Bois de Bologne. They assure us they have been there before and it is great.

So next day we set off with no directions to the Camping Area other than we can see a small area in Paris called Bois de Bologne on our very, very basic Paris map.

The day is stiflingly hot, the thermometer on the bike hits 45oC so we are wandering if we should call it quits early at a nice camping area (with a pool) about 50 km from Paris. After some discussion we press on, managing to get ouselves onto the A14 into Paris, take a wrong turn and end up on the N14 to Versailles, an illegal U turn closely followed by another wrong turn and two illegal manouvres and we are back on track, getting closer to Paris, until somehow we end up in the wrong lane and into a tunnel under the Seine. Mmmmmmmmmm which way now, follow the signs to Paris Centrale, somehow end up going through another tunnel, back under the Seine, when amazingly we join the A14 again. As we are thinking how clever we are we exit the tunnel and I say to Skill "Oh ##*# (those of you who know me well can insert your own expletive) that's the L'Arc de Triomphe" it's looming in front of us about half a km away. Skill says, well I can't repeat what he says, (I dragged out the camera as we are riding along, the L'Arc de Triomphe is just visible on the right)

when suddenly I see an exit with Bois de Bologne on it. " Right lane Skill right lane", I am not sure how he does it but he manouvres the bike across 4 lanes of traffic, and with that we are in Bois de Bologne. Still no idea where the camping area is so we just ride aimlessly when all of a sudden a camping signs appear and we follow them for about 4 km and "Voila" We have no idea how we did it but as we Aussies would say, "Sheer arse".

By now we are hot, tierd and a little rung out and the storms are brewing. It must have been our day as they had cabins available so we take that option. So pleased we did as a massive storm hit about 2.30 am.

We have had four nights, three days in Paris doing all the touristy things, which for us has been so exciting. Each day we catch the bus then the Metro into the city. Negotiating Paris has been a little difficult as there are barricades up everywhere for the culmination of the Tour de France on the following Sunday.

Day 1
Arc de Triomphe

Champs Elysee

Louvre

Day 2

Notre Dame

Eiffel Tower

Day 3
Montmartre & Pigalle

The weather has been very, very hot culminating in a storm every evening. As we have been taking the metro everywhere it has been a little stifling even for us, so I don't know how the Parisians are coping. Mainly by swimming in their fountains I think.

We leave Paris on Sunday as the Tour de France descends and decide that we will head back towards Amiens as we know where the bike shop is and that the people are friendly, as we need another oil change and a new rear tyre. Decide we will camp at Albert (where we stayed in the hotel opposite the church before), arrive early and chill out, our neighbours arrive back, a lovely Scottish couple Jim and Elaine, we get chatting and they feed us a few beers and then we decide we will go out to dinner together in Albert. They drove us in so we didn't have to get all geared up, and we enjoyed a lovely night together, to bed at 1.00am.

We pack up next morning say goodbye to Jim and Elaine and head into Amiens to the Bike Shop, Motoland which we find is shut. IT'S MONDAY, of course everybody shuts their multi million dollar business on a Monday, in fact nearly everything is closed.

What to do? We decide to go back to Albert and put up camp again before spending the day visiting the war museum, the Lochnager crater, an impressive WW1 crater hole 100m across and 30m deep where the allies tunnelled under a German bunker and blew it up, the Australian Cemetery at Poziers and the British Cemetery at Thiepval.

We spend another lovely evening with Elaine and Jim where we have a shared BBQ and Jim and SKill engage in a few too many scotches and Elaine shares a bottle of champers with a very grateful me.

Next morning Skill gets up early and heads in Amiens while I pack up camp, he arrives back at about 1.00pm complete with new tyre and new oil, but having just seen a motorcycle casuality still lying on the road in a pool of blood, police in attendance, ambulance just arriving but almost certainly too late - depressing and sobering sight.

We say good bye to Elaine and Jim again as we go our separate ways both heading towards somewhere in Belguim.

Skill and I felt that we kept being pulled back to Albert and Amiens, for one reason or another, maybe those old Aussie diggers were happy to have us visit for a while and weren't ready for us to leave. We really loved this part of France and felt an affinity with the area. It is hard not to be moved, there are literally 1000s of cemeteries, which really brings home the enormity of this war.

We have a pretty boring ride through lots of built up areas into Belguim

finding camping in a awful camping area at Kemmel near Ypres. We decide to set up camp and then head into Ypres which is a beautiful town (and has camping, Buggar).

We ride into the centre and through the Menin Gate, (this monument is inscribed with the names of 54 896 British and Commonwealth troops who were lost in the trenches and who have no graves) where we spy Elaine and Jim. We park and join them touring the Menin Gate, and return for the last post played each night at 8 pm.

Then the four of us have dinner together. Sadly we say goodbye to Jim and Elaine for a third time before riding back to camp.

We left Ypres and decided to make our way to Brugge to stay for the night, a lovely ride along a straight country road when a large group of cyclists approached us from the right along with a skittish looking dog, so Skill slowed for the dog (not even really braking) when there was this massive noise and a huge shunt from behind which sent us hurtling along, somehow Skill managed to keep the bike upright.

I said "what the @#$% was that" and Skill replied "a @#$% car just hit us", we pull over and clambered off, me ready to explode and rip the person limb from limb as there was absolutely no excuse, on a long straight road, the cyclists on the right highly visible in their orange reflective jackets as was the dog and we were slowing not braking hard. However a young boy and his Mum hopped out of the car. Yep you guessed it, a newly licenced driver (2 weeks), honestly he could not have hit us any more dead centre if he had tried, his VW badge embedded in the back of the bike. However this was probably the best thing that could have happened as we just kept going in a straight line.

We are expecting to see massive damage, but surprisingly there was quite little - considering. The rear guard was bent up under the bike on top the rear tyre, licence plate light was broken the hose clamps on the tubes were busted and our pvc carry tubes were pushed into pillion footpegs and the end caps squashed on tight. Other than that mostly cosmetic damage and not too much.

After about an hour of broken english communication and a call to the police etc we managed to ride away, very shaken but really none the worse for wear. We both felt very jarred and my back and neck a little sore.

All we could both think of was, this is almost a repeat of Ewan McGregor's accident in "The Long Way Round" We have now christened it "The Ewan Incident".

We continued onto Bruge discussing what we should do about the tubes and the rear light quite sure that the tubes were beyond repair. (We couldn't get the lids off)

Arrived at the camping area at Brugge, it was full as was the other accommodation we tried, so we just decided to get out of Belguim and head for the Netherlands, the next camping area we tried was totally gross with no shade crammed in with about 5000 other tents so off we go to Sluis, finally success, a lovely little camping area with big beers and a restaurant. Well you know where we spent the rest of the day. Dutch beer seems to make everything just fine.

Managed to get all our washing done, had a fantastic dinner and when we got back to the tent at 11.00pm after watching the whole camping area playing BINGO someone had left 3 (English) motorcycle magazines for Skill. So you see what started out as an awful day ended very nicely really.

Next mornning we surface late and are trying to decide what to do for breakfast when the depositor of the magazines rides past on his pushbike with his son.

We get chatting and Andy, a motorcycle enthusiast invites us to their on site van for breakfast. What a lovely family, his wife Zara and two sons are English but have a permanent van here in NL where they holiday, so are semi locals. They help us out with directions and sightseeing tips.

We walk aroud Sluis which is a beautiful little town, complete with windmills and old dyke walls (which I forgot to take photos of, sorry)

When we get back Skill still hasn't found a hardware to replace the hose clamps on the tubes so Andy offers to take him to the hardware store. Success. Skill works on the bike and we try to unscrew the tube lids for about 40 minutes finally prizing them loose and surprisingly they seem to be fine.

Andy and Zara's kindeness will long be remembered and appreciated, their simple act of kindenss really rejuvinated our spirits and made our stay in Sluis so enjoyable.

We leave Sluis and head up the Netherland coastline, complete with tidal control gates along this sea dyke in pic below.

through the 6km tunnel and then onto Nijmegan via the freeway. Jim and Elaine had recommended a camping area to us but we could not find it and it was getting late so we stop and ask some people, they are B and B owners so we even briefly consider going with them. They are not sure but know of a camping place outside town. It is now 7.30 pm it is starting to rain with pretty ferocious storms all around us. We follow the B and B owners directions and end up at an out of the way camping area which has camping cabins available, Yes we will take it. By this time it is raining quite heavily and the thunder storm is in full force. We have been so lucky with the weather and finding accommodation.

Next day it is into Nijmegan for a wander around before returning to our camping cabin for a few beers and our last night in The Netherlands.

We are now in Switzerland staying with friends who we have not seen for six years. We have spent time in Germany, Austria and even a quick visit to Liechtenstein. But that is another story.

We are safe, well and happy. Cheers & Beers

Quote of the Week: "Life is either a daring adventure or nothing" - Helen Keller

France

Well we have adjusted to French life very well, even the bike has taken on a decidedly French flavour and quite likes being ridden on the right hand side of the road.

We camped our final night in England at a campground in Dover. A pretty ordinary and uneventful campground until about 3am in the morning when I could hear a rustling noise in the rubbish bag, shone the torch, nothing. Back to sleep only to be awoken again by the same noise and this time, there was a hedgehog about 2 inches away from Skill's head. Up we get trying to get rid of the hedgehog who had curled himself up in a ball and refused to move. Eventually moved him and went back to bed.

Next morning a bit of a look around Dover before riding down to the ferry port, through a cursory passport control and into the bike lane. Once again we are loaded first. This was an event in itself and we nearly had our first OFF, because the bike is so wide with panniers and when riding up the ramps you are not supposed to ride in the middle where it is wet and slippery. So we ride close to the inner edge of the car wheel track, but there is a raised lip there to keep the cars on track. We don't see the raised lip and the bike front tyre goes over it and we suddenly slip all over the place, a little bit hairy and it would not have been a good place to have a buster.

Uneventful sailing, we arrive in Dunkirk at 3.30 pm chanting (our now daily mantra) "Ride on the right" and we are off with no fixed plan of where we are going or what we want to see.

Heading South we pass through Saint Omer home to a very impressive 13th Century cathedral, Basilque Notre Dame. It's imposing grandeur dominating the whole town.

We finally call it a night in little town called Hesdin, after following the signs to the camping area and ending up in a crematorium, but we eventually find a tiny caravan park, it's residents have never seen the likes of us. We are a bit of a novelty as they ALL seem to casually walk past and say a cheery Bon Soir. For us, it was washing, tea and bed.

Next morning we are awoken by a massive thunder storm, lots of noise but little rain. And then the next thing the Patisserie Van comes through the park horn tooting. When we finally surface bleary eyed I say to Skill "What Country are we in?"

Slight problem arises with morning ablutions, no toilet paper in the toilets, and we only have 5 tissues. We had been warned to stock up, but it slipped our minds. No shops close by, so that's two and a half tissues each, use it sparingly.

We head off towards Amiens only to accidentally end up on the motorway BUGGAR (all motorways in France have tolls), we get off the motorway at an unmanned toll station which is OK, I can manage an automatic payment. All goes well, pay my 2.40 euro, get my ticket and we ride to the gates, insert the ticket, boomgate does nothing. Try again, nothing. Back to the payment machine, insert ticket. We owe nothing. Back to the gate insert ticket, nothing happens. OK what now. Skill is all for criminality and is set to take the panniers off and ride around the barrier.

I decide we should not start our life of crime just yet and use the emergency phone,

Lan: Bonjour. Parlez- vous Anglais
Phone Man: Country
Lan: Pardon
Phone Man: Country
Lan: Australie
Phone Man Hangs up

The phone then rings, I pick it up and I have some one who speaks broken English.

Phone Lady: You must pay, Pay Station
Lan: I have paid, 2 euro 40
Phone Lady: You must pay
Lan: I have paid 2 euro 40!
Phone Lady: Oh Problem. Go to Pay Station

Back to Pay Station (it is now 40 degrees and I am sweltering in full bike gear) Phone rings.

Phone Lady: Card.... Machine.

I put the card back in the machine, it spits it back out at me and the phone lady is gone.

Back to gate, card in and after 45 minute we have success, the boom lifts. And this time it seems the problem wasn't even due to my incompetence. Technology and I have always had a hate-hate relationship.

Feeling hot, tierd and cranky we continue onto Ameins, where Skill is looking for a bike shop to buy oil or get the oil changed, we don't have an address or the slightest idea where a bike shop will be, we just ride. Leaving the outskirts of Ameins disappointed that our efforts have been fruitless we come across a huge MOTO shop, complete with a bar and restaurant. In we go, riding down to the tyre department. The guy speaks no English but we manage to communicate " huile", which he somehow understands. In less than 30 minutes the bike is on the hoist, old oil drained, new oil in, and we have seen pictures of his motorbike trip to Africa, and he only charges us for the oil. SUCCESS.

Onward to town of Albert for lunch and then an afternoon at Villiers Bretonneux, the site of the monument and cemetery for Australians, Canadians and British killed during the Battle of the Somme. We were the only people there and spent 2 hours just wandering. In the tranquillity it is so hard to imagine that on the first day of the battle more than 23,000 men were killed and nearly 35,500 were wounded. If there is one place where the sheer futility and waste of war is personified this is it.

As the day was so stiflingly hot it was no surprise that a massive storm hit, we sheltered in the monument, waited for it to pass and rode back to Albert where we opted for the Hotel de la Basilque opposite a beautiful church, which we thought was very reminiscent of the Mezquita in Cordoba, Spain. (Not in scale) There was no parking for the bike so they insisted we park on the footpath under the awning of the restaurant.

The next day we are late leaving as we wander around Albert and Skill tries to upload some photos to our webhost site using the hotel computer, with some success. We head out to Corbie, a tiny village where the Australian Monument to our diggers is situated. Once again we are the only people there. The monument is in the middle of a Canola field overlooking the village, the church spire clearly visible from the hill is also in the old war photo displays. We pay our respects but are deeply saddened to find the monument in such a bad state of repair. All the black marble tiles are falling off and according to a sign, is undergoing engineering investigation. Let's hope our government rectifies this problem as a matter of urgency!!!! Some of the original trenches have been left...

We leave the Somme heading South, needing fuel, every village and town we come to is shut for lunch (between 2 & 3 hours every day!) so no fuel. Make a decision to head to the larger centre of Ameins. Drive into the first fuel station, which is automatic, put in credit card, go through the motions, card is rejected. OK go to next petrol station, same deal as before. After trying another 4 stations we give up as the last one has a sign "French credit cards only". Keep riding, the second fuel light has now been flashing for 20 minutes and we are in a traffic jam. Not good.

I eventually say to Skill, just ride into the next automatic station, I am going to accost someone. Which is exactly what we do, I choose a young girl and explain through charades and bad French, our predicament, give her some money and a koala keyring and she lets us use her credit card to buy fuel to the same value. We now have fuel and we have learnt a valuable lesson. Always make sure the bike is full before lunch and fill up whenever we can.

Out of BLOODY Ameins (again) heading South West, a boring ride in the traffic, the day culminating in a storm. Decide to stop in a town called Vernon and look for accommodation, 4 hotels later we end up in Formule 1 which is cheap and basic but its clean and suits our needs for the night. We have dinner at the Pizza place next door, as there are no other eating establishments within walking distance. No English menu but we survive. We decide on a pizza, I tell Skill I am pretty sure that l'eouf is egg, to which he replies "No they wouldn't put egg on a pizza would they, anyway it wouldn't be that bad?". He is still recovering, raw egg in the middle of his pizza. Other than that it was all good.

Next day we head to the D Day Beaches riding along the coast stopping at Colleville-Saint-Laurent the site of the American Military Cemetery on the cliff overlooking Omaha Beach. The 9 386 white marble crosses in the pristinely kept cemetery is an image that is very poignant. (Perhaps our government should take a leaf out of the American's book when it comes to caring for our war monuments in foreign countries)

From here we ride to Coutances and down the coast to Mont St Michel. Our first glimpse of the Mont, a little disappointing as it is very hazy and threatening rain.

After a long day we opt for a gorgeous cabin at Pontorson. The camping ground has a bar where we spend the rest of the night chatting to everyone in the place. It has such a friendly atmosphere that we head back to our cabin in the early hours of the morning, starving. The only food we have with us is chicken soup and a baguette which taste pretty good at 2.00am.

Next day we decide we like Pontorson and we will stay a few days, but we will have to camp as the chalets are full and the camping ground is busy as 5000 Marathon runners are descending on the town for the Mont St Michel Marathon.

It is so nice to stop for a few days and catch up on washing, have a few beers, swim and have free internet access. The bar which overlooks the pool is a hive of activity and the park is run by a group of friendly, funny young Dutch people. The park has mainly Dutch people staying which we thought was peculiar to this park only. We are to find out this is not so as every camping park is mostly filled with Netherland number plates with just a smattering of Germans, Irish and English making up the remainder.

We join in the festivities as the Dutch play in the World Cup that night. Orange everywhere, their enthusiasm is infectious.

We also meet some lovely people who all seem to be genuinely interested in us and our travels.

We do finally make it out to Mont St Michel. You cannot help but be excited to be in this wonderful place, that we have seen in pictures, postcards and movies for most of our lives. We have all afternoon here before heading back to the campground.

We are not that keen to leave Pontorson and drag ourselves away grudgingly after midday the following day heading towards Le Mans.

As we get closer to Le Mans there are people sitting along the sides of the road, bikes, modern and classic sports cars and police everywhere. Skill says, "Maybe the 24 hour race is on ha ha!!" All the traffic is diverted in Le Mans so we follow, knowing we are now hopelessly lost. Down one street, up the next and then a barrier, if we go any further we will be on the race track and yes the 24 hour race is definately on as we hear a few race cars blast past the barrier a few metres away and see them dissappear down the road/track into the distance. Skill suddenly has thoughts of going to the race, but our plans for the next week or so won't allow it.

We ask the Gendarmarie for directions to Blois. " Motorway, Paris droite droite" he explains with lots of hand gestures. OK off we go and he is right the diversion does go right and right again.

Yet again the storms are building and we are riding towards the darkest part of the sky. We arrive quite late, can't find a camping ground but see the signs for a Youth Hostel. Very expensive and pretty ordinary but it is dry. We go out to dinner at a little restaurant beside the Loire River and call it quits for the day.

Next day is yet another day of blistering heat, even for Aussies, a pretty ordinary ride and the storms start brewing, it is looking very, very black and we are heading straight into it, yet again. We decide to stop early while we are still dry.

We end up finding a lovely hotel in the most beautiful village called St Pourcain-sur-Sioule, one of those places you would probably never stop in, but we are so pleased we did. The hotel was so gorgeous, we go from camping and youth hostels to sheer luxury complete with period furniture, bath and shuttered windows overlooking a quaint street. We go for a walk before dinner, wandering the narrow streets that all seem to lead to the church square where we witness a very animated game of boules.

We go out for dinner to a little restaurant and fumble our way through the menu, Skill a fantastic steak and me pasta and salad. I must confess that I did try to order Skill beouf tartare, (raw mince and egg) but the waiter was so funny. "Non non non" he insists, pointing to another person eating what looked like raw mince, so we decided we'd go for the other beef option.

The following day we continue South to Vichy which was a beautiful city. We had a great days ride through the Livradois Forest. Stunning scenery and cooler weather. It was a fairly long day stopping in Le Puy en Velay to admire the statues perched on the huge natural rock formations. Despite outward appearance, these towns/cities are usually quite modern and then on the outskirts you will find an old man tilling and watering his garden or crop by hand the same as it would have been hundreds of years ago.

We called it a day quite late opting to camp at Langogne overlooking a man made lake. Very ordinary but the company was extraordinary. We camped next to an English couple Bob and Muriel who we spent the night with in the comfort of their motor van, telling tales and drinking scotch and pastis. We thank them for their hospitality.

Taking Bob's advice we continued towards Mende and then took an absolutely amazing and very scenic drive through the Gorges du Tarn towards Millau.

Then of course onto the freeway and over the newly built Viaduct du Millau. This bridge/viaduct is really something to behold, it is simply awe inspiring.

We stop for a while to take in the sight and get talking to some other bikers, one of which is German (and the tallest man I have ever seen, he dwarfed his BMW GS 1200) he gives us his address and invites us to stay. This has been a very common occurrence in our travels and we must say that the Germans have been particularly generous in that regard.

From Millau we get lost but eventually find our way to Nant where we camp in a cherry orchard.

We have a short day to Pont du Gard, once again it is a stiflingly hot day and we opt for a wonderful camping area not far from the Roman viaduct Pont du Gard. We decide we will spend a couple of days here. Time to wash our jackets and catch up on maintenance. We really like this place, it is set in a olive grove beside the river, it has a beautiful pool beside a bar and restaurant.

An afternoon spent beside the pool, a few beers and a gastronomic delight of duck for dinner. The owners are delightful and when they realise we are Australian they pull the television around so we can watch the soccer as we dine al fresco.

After our stunning draw with Croatia we are walking back to our tent when we get talking to a lovely German couple who invite us to their van for a drink or two........ or seven. We are joined by Bernard who works at the Campsite. He is quite hilarious and assures us that if he has any more to drink he will stand on "that table, take all my clothes off and sing the National song of my country". We would quite have liked to have seen that but he would not have another drink.

We find out that the German couple's names are Heinz and Hiede and they invite us for breakfast next morning.

After a sumptuous breakfast with Heinz and Hiede we venture of to Pont du Gard and also to the nearby town of Uzes. Back to the camping ground, swim then happy hour with Heinz and Hiede before another delightful dinner at the restaurant.

The next day our new found German friends are leaving to go home. We really enjoyed their company and thank them for their thoughtfulness. Letting us put our perishable food in their fridge was a luxury. We exchange addresses and hope to catch up with them in Germany.

We leave this oasis and head for the coast, after a very hot and ordinary ride we end up at a little place called La Croix Valmer near St Tropez. Here we camped at our first 4 star camping area - in the dirt! Dry and dusty, no grass in sight and twice the price of Pont du Gard, very ordinary. The wind really picks up and blows for most of the day. I head to the beach and have a swim in the Med. The water is a little too brisk for Skill.

From here it was off to tiny Monaco, the traffic was so appalling along the coast we opt for the freeway, 130km an hour, and 6 euro poorer we arrive in Monaco. Unfortunately because of the windy weather the conditions are very hazy and visibility to the mountains poor. But we make the most of it and park with the millions of bikes and scooters. And head off for lunch, a beer (for Lan) and ice-cream (for Skill) beside the famous harbour.

Out of Monaco and up into the mountains alongside the Italian border (we notice that the driving is becoming more frenzied the closer we get to Italy) camping overnight at a really cute little place near Sospell.

We watched the soccer in the kiosk (the Italy Game) and commiserated with a beer. Skill got talking to a young French couple travelling on a sports bike but with identical luggage to ours. Through charades, a little bit of English on their side, and a little bit of French on Skills he told them we were travelling for a year with the same luggage. The gorgeous young French girls reply was "Oo lala, non,non,non."

From here we had 5 days riding through the Alps which will rate up there as a highlight of the trip I am sure. We rode it South to North with every day getting better culminating with our first breathtaking view of Mont Blanc, snow covered, cloudless, and set against a pure blue sky. It does not get any better than this.

Alps Day 1 From Sospell up to Col de Brouis where there was a tiny and beautiful church perched on the mountain.

Then onward and upward over the highest mountain pass in Europe, the Col de la Bonette. Unfortunately the day was still hazy so the views were a little obscured. Bike riders, check out just some of the road in the background of this pic - could not get the smile off Skill's face. There was days and days of these roads, so much so that we have worn out the sides of the tyres before the centre!!

We camp the night in an idyllic location near Barcelonnette.

Day two We have a fairly long day riding four passes. From Jausiers over the Col de Vars, Col d'Lzoard, Col du Lautaret and Col de Galibier

A very hot day and once again another storm was brewing so we stopped and donned the wet weather gear but of course didn't need it.

Stopped for the day and camped in the most stunning place surrounded by the Alps next to a 400 year old church at Braman.

An hilarious night ensued, walked to the only restaurant open for miles (a little ski village) and had a very dodgy meatloaf dinner and a heap of cheap wine. Back to camp and bed.

Did I happen to mention that the 400 year old church also had a bell tower and clock, the bell sounded every hour at the beginning and end of the minute. 10.00pm, 10 bell tolls at the beginning of the minute and 10 bell tolls at the end of the minute. 20 bell tolls, are you beginning to get the picture.

We got the giggles, shoved in earplugs and hoped for the best. Awoken at about midnight not by bells but by lightning, a huge thunder storm, it sounded quite eerie as the thunder echoed up and down the valley, and it then rained all night.

Day 3 It was over the Col de L'Iseran and Cormet de Roselend. We rode past glaciers and snow covered mountains. There were quite a few tunnels and snow/avalanche protection tunnels on this section of road.

The ride and scenery were awesome but the French drivers left a lot to be desired. We came quite close to death as a Mercedes went to pull out on us from a side road as we came round a sweeping bend. Skill did so well to brake and keep the bike upright. The Mercedes driver did stop but not before he was half way out on to the road. Skill had to stop and take a break 5 minutes later as his legs had completely turned to jelly.

Then after lunch we were going up over a pass when a truck came boring down on us from the other direction, there was simply not room for two vehicles between the concrete barrier and the side of the mountain. But this did not deter him. We were stopped and had the bike leaned over so the right hand pannier was touching the barrier. The truck managed to get past with 2 inches between it and the left hand pannier (and my leg).

To cap off the day Skill discovered that the tip section of the automatic chain oiler was missing, fallen out or maybe caught in the chain and pulled out, either way no oil is going onto the chain. But being the engineering type he is, Skill wanders off to the food supermarket to look for something to fix it - mmm good luck. He comes back some time later quite excited with a packet of Bic pens? He manages to fix it with the cleaned out ink tube of a bic pen, proving that there is really no problem that cannot be solved with a bic biro. It has been working like a chalm so far.

It was just one of those days and we decided to stop while we were still alive. We camped near Beaufort in a beautiful little camping area in sight of a huge waterfall. I guess you have days like that.

Day 4 Had a late start taking in the beautiful village of Beaufort before heading to Fleumet and over the Col des Aravis and Col de la Colombiere,

before hitting the freeway around Geneva and ending up in St Claude for the night. We had dinner at the Camping restaurant where all the locals seemed to be eating and hanging out. Couldn't get a table so had to sit alfresco (suited us to a tee) and were going to take pot luck at the menu until a friendly English lady with fluent French translated for us. Had a great night with the locals, who could not speak a word of English. Amazing how far you can get with charades.

Life in France has been fun, and shopping in a non English speaking country is always interesting. In France we had a choice of the Shopi, Champion, Supermarche, Intermarche, Super U, Ed, Spar and Atac.

The thing giving us the most grief is the fruit weighing protocol, some shops you do it yourself. Unlike Eastern Europe, everything is clearly labelled and you can find the product easily, but they hide the bloody weighing machines and you think well I don't have to weigh them, they will do it at the checkout. Wrong. Then you get that grumpy Hmph from the person behind the counter. The other dilemma is do you take your own shopping bag with you or not. For Supermarche, Intermarche, Super U and Ed, yes, for the others no.

However I have never seen shopping centres in such idyllic locations. Check out the Champion.

The camping has been great, the camp grounds are clean, well resourced and cheap. You order your baguettes and croissants from the reception the night before and collect them in the morning at most places.

The toilet paper saga continues, no consistency, some places have toilet paper, some don't and it doesn't seem to matter if it's a cheap or more expensive campground, you just never know. We now carry our spare rolls shoved down the tubes of the bike.

Because we have been camping in Caravan Parks so much and have been rolling with the older set (like the Grey Nomads at home) I have made some camping observations.

Observation one.
Only men do the washing up in the Camp Kitchens. And it is obligatory to carry your washing up, to and from the kitchen in a crate or preferably a red basket. I have completely upset the natural order of things by 1. Being a woman in the camp kitchen & 2. Carrying my washing up in my dodgy stainless steel cooking pot

Observation two. There can be no Dutch people left in the Netherlands as they are all in the their vans and campers in France.

We have loved France and everything that I thought would be stereotypes are in fact truths about this beautiful country. There are little old ladies in pinafore aprons sitting outside their houses or tending their small geranium gardens. There are men wearing funny little caps. The boules games, the abundance of bread, the croissants and pastries, the long lunches, and their pure love of food.

And while a frustration for visitors their strong stance on leisure time and the sacred lunch hours is in my opinion to be admired although there was many a time I cursed it.

We are now in Weyer, Germany (near Frankfurt), staying with the newly married Kai and Ulrich who travelled the world on their motorcycles for two years.

Soon we fly back to Ireland and then Scotland for our friends Donald and Lou's wedding, if we can figure out how to get to the airport by public transport as we are leaving the bike at Kai & Ricky's. Another adventure I am sure.

Cheers & Beers,
Lan & Skill

Quote of the week: Travel is not a hobby, it is a way of life.

Ireland & Wales (& England again)

Skill bought our tickets for the ferry and came back to the bike fuming. "They are a mob of thieving B*****" They had quoted him a price for bike, rider and passenger, but when buying the ticket the price went up because suddenly I was not considered a pillion passenger on the bike but a walk on passenger and charged accordingly. There was a cheaper price for a passenger in a car, but a bike passenger was a walk-on at a higher price. Then they didn’t even give us a separate ticket so I couldn't walk on anyway!! Skill always feels these injustices towards bikers very personally.

By the time we arrive in Larne it is raining again so we ring a hostel for accommodation and ride the 20 miles up the coast to the Ballyeamon Camping Barn at Cushendall. It is fabulous, once again we are the only people here so we have the whole place to ourselves, well almost, Adela an American student is looking after the place for the owner for a few days and feeding the three cats and the German Shepherd.

On our first day at the hostel we decide to go for a walk and for those of you who know Skill will appreciate that on our walk he once again takes the road less travelled, and we slog our way through water-logged peat bog tracks, to walk part of the Moyle Way to the top of Mt. Trostan. My hiking boots may never recover, great views at the top but freezing cold and very windy on the treeless, exposed, mountain ridge. There is a wind farm on the next ridge - no bloody wonder.

We have a lazy afternoon resting in the hostel, apart from riding into town for dinner supplies.

Next day we leave the confines of the Ballyeamon Camping Barn in sunshine and head along the Atrium coastline to visit the Giants Causeway (Legend has it that the Giant, Finn McCool, built the Causeway so he could fight the Scottish giant Benandonner from the island of Staffa which apparently has similar rocks). By the time we reached the Causeway it was pouring rain and very cold. Then just as quickly the sun came out and we were able to see the amazing, hexagonal shaped rock columns protruding from the sea in sunshine. Back onto the bike (raining again) and into the town of Bushmills a few miles away (sunshine now), we parked for lunch.

As we were getting off the bike, two guys in a National Trust Van screamed in behind us and got out and walked over looking very official. WHAT!!!!!!! We paid for our tickets at the Giant's Causeway.

"Noticed your number plate when we were following you. Where in Australia are you from?" To which we answer Brisbane. "Oh, I am retiring to the Tweed at the end of the year and just wondered how you went about getting your bike over as I've got a Wayne Gardner replica Honda NSR 400 I want to take with me"

Twenty minutes and many stories later we say goodbye to our new found friends from the National Trust, and finally find some lunch. Skill then decides he is going to do a tour of the Bushmill Distillery, apparently the oldest whiskey distillery in the world (400 years old in 2008), I go to the pub instead and have a few pints of Guinness before we head back to our accommodation.

In the forty minute ride back to the Barn we encounter warm sunshine, clouds, blustery wind, freezing cold rain, a hail storm hitting us (seriously, the road went white with pea sized hail and was very slippery), then torrential rain, and finally sunshine again. You have to see this weather here to believe it.

The next day we make the decision to ride to Derry (in the rain and wind, of course) via the Irish countryside which is gorgeous regardless of the weather. After eventually finding the hostel (run by a Kiwi and her Irish husband) and organising parking for the bike, we cart all our gear up the numerous flights of stairs to the top floor of the hostel and collapse.

Feeling the need for sustenance it is out for a Guinness or 2 and then off for a walk to Free Derry Corner, close to the site of the Bloody Sunday protest/riot (depends which side of politics you are from). Walking around there is evidence that this is a city in the early stages of healing, but there is real hope and tangible feeling that peace (although shaky) is here to stay. We view the murals in silence, and then walk around the city walls for a couple of hours before heading back to the hostel.

At the hostel we cook dinner and get chatting to some Aussie girls and I begin to realise that we are all tarred with the one brush. Some observations I have made about Aussie travellers:

We like to travel independently in small groups.

We always carry a sharp knife, (for cutting tomatoes) absolutely essential for backpacking.

We steal every condiment that is not nailed down. (Something to do with our convict ancestry perhaps)

And while the Kiwis and Aussies bag each other at home we will adopt each other as family when in a foreign country (Maybe it's the ANZAC alliance)

The following day we have to shift hostel as the one we are in, is booked out, so pack up, load up the bike, ride 2 streets away, where we park the bike in the garden (backyard) and carry everything up the 54 steps to the top floor, talk about being exhausted.

I must say we enjoyed Derry, the people and the history. We went back to the Bloody Sunday Memorial Museum and wandered all over the city, just window shopping and enjoying the odd beer.

From Derry we loop North West and end up staying in little place called Kilcar. We are not sure where the hostel is so we stop in Kilcar and Skill asks the first person he sees in the street. "Do you know where the Derrylahan hostel is?" The man in question turns out to be the owner, Sean, who is on his way to wedding.

It could only happen in Ireland, lost, ask a complete stranger for directions and he turns out to be the owner. The hostel is a gorgeous farmhouse perched on the cliffs overlooking the sea. Although the hostel is owned by Sean, it is managed by a young German guy. In fact it is the first hostel we have stayed in that is comprised solely of Europeans. French, German and Dutch. We have a lovely time staying here, they were fabulous fun.

The next day the weather is still terrible and I have a sore throat so Skill has a day by himself on the bike sight seeing, checking out the incredible cliffs at Slieve League. These sheer cliffs drop 300 metres into the Atlantic Ocean. Skill also discovers a place where the heather was cut to spell out Country Ireland so that stray bombers in World War 2 would not bomb neutral Ireland.

Of course when he gets home, I am completely miffed, because I have missed out. Skill is a tad cheesed off as his heated handgrips have failed again.

From Kilcar we have a fairly big day on the bike, down to Doolin where we stay for the night. A great days riding including yet another ferry crossing. Doolin is in County Clare perched on the edge of the Burren, a wonderful and beautiful rocky mountain range with little vegetation.

Doolin is a very touristy place, which seemed to be inhabited by mainly Americans, so when we head off to the pub, there is not a local in sight, but the traditional music and food is good.

Just as we decide we have had enough, 3 ladies walk in and sit next to us. They are locals, and totally hilarious, we get chatting and don't leave for a long time. By this time, the Pub is in a slightly debauched state and a very drunk guy sitting with the band falls of his perch and hits the floor to a very rowdy applause. Time to Go.

From Doolin it is down to the Dingle Peninsular, what a ride. Finally the sun is out and the wind is starting to die down. It is a totally spectacular day, when we arrive at Dingle we decide to camp. At 7.30 pm we set off to walk the cliffs to the lighthouse and further along to the Castle Folly. We cannot believe the change in the weather it is, in a word, glorious.

Next day we decide to ride the Ring of Kerry, our best days riding yet, sunny, warm and NO WIND, Hooray. Once again we are mesmerised by the scenery and at one point we drop down into this delightful village on the coast and decide it is such a shame there is no camping area here. We would love to stay, but no camping areas are listed in our AA guide.

As we ride out of town, 2 kilometers down the road we find the most beautiful new caravan/campsite imaginable and even though it is early, we call it a day. We cannot believe our luck, sunshine, a secluded campsite overlooking the most spectacular bay, I have a Guinness in hand, listening to U2. Skill tells me I am spoilt, I tell him this is my reward for 4 weeks of freezing to death. Not really, but boy do you appreciate the sun when it comes out.

We meet a lovely Canadian couple who generously share their Canadian Whiskey with Skill.

Next day we are very loathe to leave, and drag the chain packing up. We don't get away until midday and decide we will make our way to Blarney, which we do via the backroads where we take at least half a dozen wrong turns, but too bad.

One of the things we have noticed about Irish roads is the really bad signage. It doesn't matter which town you want to go to, you can get to it in any direction North South East West according to the signs. The other amazing thing is the number of tractor/trailers there are on the main roads, and there seems to be a huge amount of roadworks, you cannot go 20kms without coming to a set of temporary traffic lights which are ALWAYS red.

On our ride to Blarney (when we have no idea where we are) we come across the dreaded roadworks again. When the lights eventually go green after 15 minutes we have to ride over a metre high pile of gravelly dirt which is covering the whole road. No grader or anything, you just drive over it. Fine in a car, but on the heavily laden bike, a bit of a challenge." Nothing like a bit of dirt bike riding", says Skill, all in a days work.

We eventually get to Blarney at 4.30 pm and decide we will visit the Castle which is surprisingly quiet. There is only one tour bus in sight. The grounds are lovely as is the Castle.

As we wend our way to the top stopping off on each level to take in the views we are overtaken by the aging tour group from the bus who are focused on getting to the Blarney Stone at the top. This slows us down and by the time we reach the top most of the tour group are puffing, panting and coughing, two ladies seem to be having asthma attacks and a rather large gentlemen is scarlet and could have possibly been having a heart attack. As these pictures of good health move towards the Blarney stone they continue their coughing and hacking, Skill asks me do I want to kiss the Blarney Stone. I look at him in a bemused state. With this lot going in front of me, what do you think? A big fat NO.

Anyway I don't think I need to be any more loquacious.

We decided we would camp the night at the Blarney camp ground which was a reasonable distance from town but quite pleasant.

The next day we start to head back towards Dublin to catch the ferry back to Holyhead. After a bit of research and a few phone calls we find that most of the ferries are booked for Friday and Saturday, but we can get a ferry from Dun Loughrie (near Dublin) today at 6.30 pm. Not quite the plan we had but we high tail it back to Dublin through the mad traffic making it to the ferry with not a lot of time to spare.

Getting onto the big ferries on the bike is great as you are always loaded first. We were on a fast ferry which only took 1 hour and 45 minutes. It was powered by gas turbines and cruised at 80kph, which Skill was quite impressed by. Needless to say, the thing really moved along.

We were back in Wales by 8.30pm but had not booked accommodation so found a camping area in the next town. The AA camping guide described it as "attractive seaside position near a large fishing lake.....in lovely countryside. A smart toilet block offers a welcome amenity at this popular family park"

In actual fact it was a grotty camping area with a grubby toilet block (complete with disgusting 1 square shiny toilet paper which I thought was illegal in every country) on the edge of a midgie infested swamp. Not to mention the train line running along the edge of it. But by the time we had cooked tea, showered etc it was 11.30pm so we just decided we would go to bed.

Next morning we were awoken by this enormous roar, it was absolutely ground shaking. We bolted out of bed to see what the hell was going on.

What was going on was that the camping park was also right next to a RAF base, the runway ran right up to the caravan park. So for the rest of the morning there was an assortment of jet fighters landing and taking off. They were so low you could see the serial numbers on the missiles. (I am not exaggerating). Skill was quite entertained with the free air show, but we were both happy they didn't do night training flights.

So sadly I cannot agree with the AA camping and caravaning guides assessment of these particular camping grounds. What a hoot!!!!

After deciding quickly that Rhosneiger was not for us we head towards Llandudno. A pretty little Victorian town by the sea. We stay for the night in the local hostel, once again run by an Aussie and her Welsh husband, which was great, more like a B&B. We ventured down onto the pier which is just as you imagine a British seaside pier to be complete with Punch and Judy show, tacky old arcade games and donkeys.

The following day it is of to Bredbury (near Manchester) to visit Skill's second cousin twice removed. Ron and Christine were once again their welcoming selves spoiling us with huge meals and copious amounts of alcohol. It was good to stop for a few days.

From there we rode over to Wales through so much lush green countryside. We stopped for lunch at a little place called Llangollen. I went off to buy a drink and when I got back Skill had been accosted by two old age pensioners as he ate his lunch.

Next day it was more stunning countryside as we made our way to Cader Idris the second highest peak in Wales. Skill had a visit to the Centre for alternative energy while I lay in a paddock and read a book. Then we stayed the night at Machynlleth on the banks of a river in a farmer's paddock.

It was then down to Hay-on-Way, to check out all the books, (for those of you who don't know it is supposed to be the world centre for second hand books) It is while we are here that Skill discovers that his Oxford heated handgrips are made at Oxford so he rings them and tells them his predicament. No problems, bring the controller in and they will swap it over for a new one. So tomorrow it is off to Oxford. We camp at a little place called Symmonds Yat on the banks of the Wye River. It is a very dodgy camping area but the village is delightful and we spend an idyllic afternoon/evening at the pub sitting beside the water, watching the swans while having a few red wines. (An Australian shiraz to be precise)

From the dodgy camping area it was a very quick trip across to Oxford where we get lost but eventually find Oxford Products in one of the many industrial estates in Witney near Oxford. The exchange is done, new controller installed in the carpark and we are on our way to ............... Dartmoor via the M4 and M5.

A quite late arrival, 8.00pm, YHA is full (what a surprise!!!!) so we camp the night behind the Plume of Feathers Pub in the town of Princtown, the home of the infamous Dartmoor Prison and more importantly to me this is the setting of Sherlock Holme's most infamous case "The Hound of the Baskervilles". Next day we tour the moors which are simply stunning. This is a place I would dearly love to come back to.

From here it is off to Newquay where we stay in Matt's Surfing Hostel. I love hostels, the variety of individuals housed in one place is always beyond compare, we have the obligatory Aussies, a young NZ couple expecting their fist child, Maurice a philosophical Frenchman who is in a word completely eccentric, we have the lovely young pommie guys who run the place along with the hanger onners who have obviously lived here previously. The bar is a great place to be and is where we spend most of the night.

A young Aussie girl breezes in, she is a regular, but has been sent home from work because she has had too much to drink. She is incorrigible, "I told them ages ago I didn't want to work for them any more but they keep insisting. I don't know why they want to employ me, I am always late, I don't work hard, I let everyone in for free, and give away free drinks. Why would you bother" Oh but to be 19, gorgeous and blonde, the world is your oyster.

We would have stayed 2 nights in Newqay but they were booked out for the weekend so we take off and travel the coastal road down to Land's End and then down to the Lizard (there is some debate over which is the Southern most point of the British mainland so we cover both bases).

From here we travel east and camp the night in a gorgeous place called St Just in Roseland near Falmouth.

We pitch the tent in amongst a big group of Yorkshiremen who have come South and are sailing for the week. Skill and I both decide (independently of each other) that we have found the Yorkshire people to be some of the friendliest people we have met in England.

Another days ride along the coast making our way slowly to Dover camping the night at a little place near Southampton called Hamble le Rice, an early night after a pleasant evening at the yacht club.

Leaving Hamble we call at a huge Tesco to do the obligatory food shopping. While we are trying to jam our new purchases into the top box a guy walks over and asks "Have you shipped it or ridden it from Oz?" We get chatting and it turns out he is a fellow traveller who rode his BMW GS Adventure from Alaska to South America only to crash it big time in Peru. Wrote the bike off and his leg is still recovering 7 months later. Not what I wanted to hear but nice to meet him none the less.

Oh nearly forgot to mention England is in the grip of World Cup Fever, about one car in ten has English flags flying and most of the houses and pubs are decorated with flags too. So I suppose it's lucky for them they had a win against Paraguay yesterday, Beckham scored the only goal.

The last two days have been pretty boring days rides, mostly motorways with lots of traffic and traffic jams as we made our way to Dover.

Now we go to France via ferry. So all I can say is "Bonjour, Let the charades begin".

Cheers & Beers

Quote of the Week:
"All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveller is unaware" - Martin Buber

PS It hasn't rained for 2 weeks. The weather is glorious.

Scotland

I must say that we have had a great time with our friends Donald, Lou, Mairi and Harry near Aderdeen, although they were all incredibly busy, with work, business commitments and wedding preparations etc etc. Skill was laid up in bed most of the week with the flu. With Skill being so sick we didn't get out much, Mairi was marvellous giving him the sympathy and attention his mean wife seemed unable to supply.

On the day before we left we had a nice day out on the bike finding Drundochty Glen and church where Lou and Donald are getting married.

Onto Fettercairn Distillery for a tour but no tasting as we were riding. It was a glorious day, we sat in the sun at the local Fettercain pub for a beer and a wonderful lunch.

Then back on the bike with no fixed plan, we just rode, following the River Dee.

When we came out at Balmoral Castle, we figured it was time to turn around and head back to Stonehaven. As we headed back it started to rain, and turned quite bleak.

The following day we managed to motivate ourselves to say Goodbye to Lou and Donald. It was nice to know that we will be seeing them again soon. We didn't get away till quite late and as we left it started to rain, by the time we got close to Balmoral it was sleeting and those little chips of ice were hitting my helmet again. The weather got progressively worse as we went over the mountains towards Tomintoul, a ski resort in Winter. The remains of snow still clinging to the some peaks and crevices not very far above us and that wind buffeting us all around again....

........ We eventually made it to Inverness and went to check into the YHA but you guessed it, they were full. So armed with a list of cheaper places to stay and a very inadequate map we set off. Inadequate map is the key word. Had to resort to accosting a hapless shopper in the Morrison supermarket carpark for directions. Found the Hostels which were OK but no parking for the bike, well they had parking in a public car park near the Castle. Mmmmmmm no thank you.

Found a B&B around the corner so opted for that. The lady there was incredibly friendly explaining that it was her day for bikes as she had had to rescue a guy who had crashed his Ducati 996 in front of the house. We ended up parking next to it out the back. Skill (being the bike buff he is) identified the cause of the accident immediately - "brand new tyres, still had the fitting lube/soap on the rims, nipples and shiny surface still on the tyres". Poor guy had not even gone 2 blocks from the tyre shop, he had made an awful mess of the fairing, bits off everywhere.

Out and about in Inverness, we found a pub that served Thai food, it was fantastic and just what we needed, before we settled down for a few more beers and listened to a great traditional Ceilidh band.

The following day it was onward and northward towards Thurso, it was an absolutely beautiful ride, with glorious weather for most of the day (but we have learned that the weather changes every ten minutes here, no exaggeration).

Had a ride out to Scrabster dock to see if we could find out what time the ferries left for Orkney, the place was utterly desserted and no signs anywhere so we gave up and had a beer. Back into Thurso where we eventually found a hostel (above a fish and chip shop) to stay in, once again they let us park the bike out the back in the storage shed, in amongst the supplies for the shop. What a find a really friendly little place.

It was there we met Bryan an older cyclist who had cycled from Lands End (Southern most point of the UK mainland) and was on his way to Dunnet Head (Northern most point of the UK mainland), we spent the night in the hostel chatting to Bryan over a few beers and wee drams.

The following day as we are getting ready to leave, the owner of the hostel breezes in and starts chatting telling us to go to Gills Bay and catch the ferry to Orkney from there (much cheaper), a phone call later and we are off to Gills Bay via Dunnet Head and John O'Groates. At Dunnet Head we meet up with Bryan, so after the obligatory photos we celebrate his achievement with a cup of tea.

Goodbye and down to Gills Bay where we wait for the ferry, get chatting to all and sundry who want to know about the bike etc etc. It is now a bit of a joke, people scan the number plate (as it is so short in comparison with the UK ones) then they see the AUS (assuming Austria) and walk away only to do a double-take as they read Australian Automobile Association, they then come back for a chat. It is like clockwork.

We had a great time on Orkney, from the moment we boarded the ferry, people were so friendly and helpful. The guys on the ferry tied the bike down and found a piece of cardboard so as not to damage the seat.

We arrived at St Margarets Hope and checked out the Backpackers there which was very nice but we decided to go onto Kirkwall for a look.

After getting lost in Kirkwall and managing to ride the bike through a pedestrian only area we decided we didn't like Kirkwall that much so back to St Margarets Hope Backpackers at the Pub.

Well we could not have chosen better, we had the whole place to ourselves for three whole days, a 6 bedroom house with lounge, dining room, and kitchen. The people in the pub were fabulous, from the locals to the people who owned the place. They made us feel so at home and every night a new local would shout us drinks even though we protested long and loud. Everyone seemed to know us and each night the regulars would come in and say "Saw you out today, how did you enjoy Stromness or Maes Howe etc etc"

Even though we were the only people staying at the Backpackers the hotel had some guests - One really interesting older man and his son became our afternoon drinking companions each day. George had been 17 when he was posted to Orkney with the army in 1943 and was back for the first time since then. You know the old saying that everyone has a story to tell, well here is George's story.

While posted at Orkney a young girl of 18 had turned up on a boat with a four day old baby and he had been instructed by an Officer to walk her and the baby home 4 miles to her village which he did. The next day the Officer asked him to go and check on the girl so he hired a boat for 4 pence and called on her. She told him she was fine but not to come again. (I guess because of the gossip)

George had never forgotten the young woman or the baby so 62 years later he was on a quest to find out what happened to her.

The whole time we were on Orkney it poured rain and was freezing. One day I swear I could see snow flakes drifting down only to melt before reaching the ground - remember it's almost Summer. However we still managed to visit most of the sights.

The famous Churchill Barriers built by the Italian prisoners of War, the little Italian Church that the POWs built from 2 nissens (circular tank like structures) and decorated with the most wonderful frescos.

We also visited Maes Howe which according to the literature it is the finest Neolithic chambered tomb in Western Europe (pre-2700 BC). Maes Howe was raided by Vikings in the mid 12th Century. It houses the largest collection of of runic inscriptions to be found in any one place in the world. They have been deciphered and are basically Viking graffiti. "HAGAAR WAS HERE", that sort of thing.

Next on the list was The Ring of Brodgar a stone circle comprising originally 60 stones of which 36 now remain, and The Standing Stones of Stenness is a small circle from the third millennium consisting originally of 12 stones, both are older than Stonehenge.

On our last night in Orkney, George has a bit of bad news, the young girl he is looking for died in 1965 and the locals are keeping mum about the baby. He feels that he has exhausted all his options and cannot go any further without causing trouble for her family. Things like "Does her still living husband know about the baby?" and if he finds the child, does she know who her mother was etc etc.

We have a few commisserative scotches and listen to his stories about his war time travels as an 18 year old to Burma, Siam, and some other wild places. In the next breathe he tells us how he thinks we are amazing and brave travelling to the places we are going to. Go figure!!!!

It was hard to drag ourselves away from Orkney despite the weather. A very early start, onto the ferry at 7.30 am for the 1 hour crossing then down the West Coast of Scotland. This was probably the most spectacular scenery we have seen in our travels, an absolutely awesome day despite the rain and wind (again!!). We even had to resort to having our morning tea in a bus shelter.

At one point we encounter some Highland Cows who take a decided interest in the bike and follow it. Or maybe it was Skill's brilliant cow impersonations.

We arrive at Ullapool and decide to camp for the night, it rains all night, as usual when we camp. The guy collecting the camping fee next morning looks at the bike and like most Scots asks how the weather is treating us. When we say we are making the most of it, but gale force winds, rain and less than 10 degree temperatures make it less than perfect for bike touring, his response is the same as every Scot - "occhh its fine Scottish weather" - a little grin on his face as he walks off.

The following day we have an easy ride to Fort William and decide to take our chances and camp again. A brilliant evening with our tent pitched at the base of the Ben Nevis Ranges. We retire at 10.30 pm. The sky is still quite light, then it rains the rest of the night.

Another late start. The day starts overcast but dry, but turns into a miserable days riding as it rains for the majority of the day, we stop only once for lunch at the Drovers Inn (a grotty old pub with kich stuffed animals everywhere), we stopped here last time we were in Scotland and we were so amazed we had to stop again - it was the same only now it's won a tourism award.

Then onto Glasgow. Take a wrong turn, miss the Bridge so decide to take the Clyde Tunnel instead. By now it is pouring and getting later, continue on towards Stranraar. Start looking for accommodation at 6.00pm, Thistle Hotel - full, Travel Lodge - full, B & B 85 pounds NO WAY!. Next B & B 70 pounds NO, NO, NO! That's just too much.

We head into Ayr and finally find a beautiful B & B for 60 pounds. Still above the budget, but by this time we are both tired, soaked and frozen, and are seduced by our opulent surroundings. It is such a wonderful place we decide to get Chinese takeaway which we eat in bed while watching the Eurovision Song Contest. Sheer Warm Bliss. Finland won by the way, if you missed it.

Feeling fortified by our huge breakfast and our first glimmer of sunshine in a week we have a lovely ride down the coast to Cairnryan where we catch the P&O Irish Sea Ferry to Larne in Northern Ireland. And so we say our farewells to Scotland but will be back for Lou and Donald's wedding in a month.

We are now in Northern Ireland, Derry to be exact, and despite the weather, we are having a wonderful time, every day is a new adventure.

Cheers & Beers

Quote of the Week: "We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open"
- Jawaharal Nehru

London to Scotland

Well I shouldn't have gloated about our navigational prowess. After picking up the bike and making it back to London with ease, we had a lay day sorting out gear on Saturday and on Sunday we decided we would head off to Oxford for the day, to get our bike legs after so long. Skill planned our route, onto the bike and away (it was grey, raining and totally miserable) Well to cut a long story short it took us nearly and hour to get out of Kentish Town, basically every street we went down we had to back track through. Ahhhhh! It was just one of those days.

Eventually made it to Oxford, not an easy place to find parking. Still cold, raining and grey. So what normally happens in these circumstances, off to the pub for lunch and a beer, Skill has coffee since he is the pilot. Weather cleared a little bit so we were able to have a wander around for the afternoon. Slightly cliched but it is a beautiful city of meadows and golden spires. Oxford University is the oldest University in England evolving sometime in the 11th Century.

Of course we had to check out Harry Potter's Dining Room at Hogwarts. I think it was actually Merton College, I can't remember.

More Harry Potter buildings, this time the Library, although Lan is more excited that it is also setting for many Inspector Morse episodes.

Anyway back on the bike and off to London, stuck to the main motorways and had no hassles getting home. Our first day trip on a bike in another country resulted in a few lessons learned.

Lesson Number 1 Person navigating needs to do the route sheet.

Lesson Number 2 In London stick to the main roads do not take back streets (unless you have lived there for 100 years).

Lesson Number 3 Make sure you properly solder the power wires for the heated grips when you fit them at home or they stop working just when you need them in the cold rain of England.

Monday Skill decides he needed to fix his heated hand grip warmers and do a few other adjustments on the bike, so Lan has another day in our lovely warm London flat while skill tries to keep warm in the freezing garage, although he is very excited that he has used both the mini multi-meter and battery powered mini soldering iron bought specially to fit the limited tool storage space under the bike seat, and that the repair was successful.

Finally Tuesday we are ready to leave at lunch time, sad goodbyes to Sarah, Mo and Feddie and we are off, (with so much gear on the bike). Out of London, no worries and make our way up to Cambridge. With only the basic LP Cambridge town map to go by it was not easy to find our way to the Youth Hostel but eventually we had success. Found the Hostel, fully booked, mmmmmm OK over the road to a B & B which was expensive but lovely and we could park the bike around the back. Proper town map and off we walked, only to realise it was ANZAC day so we should go and have a beer which we did.

Cambridge is totally amazing, firstly there are bicycles everywhere and most of them have little baskets on the front, the next thing you notice is the sheer beauty of the place, the buildings are amazing.

The following day the only thing I really wanted to go and see was King's College Chapel but when we got there it was closed to visitors at the front door for an organ recital. Skill being Skill walked around to the back door (big sign No Admittance to the Public) and straight in, no one stopped him so in I went too. There were some people wandering around but no one said a word so we listened to beautiful music, gazed at the church and let ourselves out through the back door which was now closed.

By the time we finished half an hour later the organ recital was finished and the front door was open to visitors at four pound fifty. OK, that's 9 pounds saved to spend on beer.

It is at this point we decided to do a bit of a pannier purge, time to be really ruthless. Do we really need any more than 3 pair of undies? Could I do with one less shirt? Do we really need to carry the camera in it's case etc etc. In the end we had quite a sizeable parcel to send home.

We decided we would leave Cambridge and take the Wrong Way Round to Sandringham where there is, according to our AA Camping Book, a great camping area. So being such a nice day, off we go. Didn't get lost, but didn't make it to Sandringham, saw this sign "Camping" in a quite little rural place called Burnham Deepdale. What a find, a Youth Hostel and Camping Area. (Run by an Aussie, who's family own the farm it's situated on)

We had barely switched the motor off when the only other traveller in the camping area called out "I'll put the kettle on". Val turned out to be a slightly eccentric dog loving widow travelling the English countryside in a camper van with her dogs. The weather was lovely so we had a great evening and found it hard to drag ourselves away the next day - leaving at midday.

Skill had had an offer from a guy on the Horizons Website to come and stay or camp in his garden in Yorkshire. He lived at Saltburn-by-the-Sea, North of Scarborough. So we set off, basically only stopping once for coffee, arriving quite late, 8.00pm. It was bloody freezing, I couldn't stop shaking when we arrived. Phil and his family own a farm that runs right up to some of the highest cliffs in England. The original farm house where his parents live is about 300 years old. It is simply beautiful. Unfortunately for poor Phil, he was pretty sick when we arrived hiding it well until we went to the pub for a beer (his idea) and he promptly fainted. Poor Phil copped a bit of a ribbing over the next few days from his friends about fainting in the pub, everyone seemed to know about it - small town I guess. Phil was most upset that he spilt a full pint of ale.

We walked all around the area marvelling at it's beauty. It is a very cold place though, and we ended up camping on the floor in Phil's spare bedroom rather than the garden.

The following day we got on the bikes and it was of to the North Yorkshire Moors National Park for some sightseeing, first stop was Rievaulx Abbey.

This Abbey was founded in 1132 and was the first Cistercian abbey in North England. Phil, Skill and I wandered around for a few hours before riding all over the Yorkshire Moors.

We also visited a famous landmmark called White Horse (which was a recent huge horse figure made out of white stone pebbles on the side of a hill) OOPS forgot to take a photo of the horse, but its on the very steep slope in front of this pic - just imagine it... That is the carpark below where we walked from in all our winter bike gear, we were noticably warmer at the top!

By the time we got back to Phils, it was cold, I couldn't feel my toes, so we got a Chinese takeaway, two bottles of wine and then into our sleeping bags and to bed.

You have to admire the British for their love of Chips though, at the chinese retaurant they wanted to know did we want rice or chips with our meal???? We were in hysterics. Definitely RICE please.

Sunday was a very, very lazy day mostly just sitting around chatting to Phil telling him about the ways of Aus and vice verca, in the evening Phil's friends Beccy and Charlotte collected us on the way to the Pub. A rather big night followed, a mini Pub crawl ending up at "The Vic" which was bloody awful, it was so crowded and you couldn't even see across the bar for smoke, but we had a great night and drank way too much. Towards the end of the evening I had to go outside to get some air, but was accosted by some locals that couldn't believe there were Aussies in Saltburn, so you know what happened, "we just have to shout you a drink". Well what's a person to do. We missed the last bus home so stayed on until the little man behind the bar started to shout "You'll be seeing your drinks off please" (Please note you couldn't understand a word he was saying, Yorkshire people are hard to understand) In the end it got the better of me and I just had to ask him "what are you saying and can you say it slowly". Being nearly the last to leave the Pub we wandered back to Beccy's place where Skill and Phill finished off a bottle of white wine.

Righto now comes the hard part how do we get home................... TAXI
The decision made we tried four cab companies before we ended up with an Irishman (we think), what a hoot, he wanted to show us his new GPS, "it has different voices" he says "this is Homer Simpson" we all have a laugh. But then he set up with an Ozzie Osbourne voice. We were in hysterics as this drug addled voice said "I said ................. Turn fuc**n right. No, I said fuc**n right" So ended our evening in Saltburn at 2.30am.

The following day we spent on the bikes touring the Yorkshire Dales, riding past the highest Pub (Tan Hill Inn) in England, too cold to stop though. At one point we stopped in a little village called Reeth and were walking around when it started to sleet, I had little pieces of ice in my hair.

The boys wanted to push on, but I insisted on a cup of tea in the tea rooms. I noticed the boys weren't too upset and Phil even had toasted fruit cake which he told us only oldies usually eat. A couple more hours and back to Phil's place.

Tuesday we managed to get away by 9.30am which is a record for us. Sad farewells to Phil and then over the West Penines range to visit Hadrians Wall. It was simply a dreadful day. The wind was howling, it was raining and sleeting outside, so we opted for a YHA but when we got to the nearest one there they were fully booked out, so backtracking we ended up in a little place called Alston, at the foothills of the West Pennines. There was only one other person staying in this YHA so we got the whole 4 person room to ourselves.

The following day we decided we would go back and check out Hadrians Wall properly. Much nicer weather today.

Then after a picnic lunch of soup we headed to Edinburgh to see our friends Thomas and Danielle.

We had their address and a phone number, but when we got to a huge roundabout on the outskirts Skill decided we should opt for the footpath and check out the map for some options.

After debating which way we should approach Leith from, we headed straight through the City Centre and surprisingly found our way through. Once in Leith we tried to ring Tom but no answer, so I accosted a man sitting in his car and asked him if he had a map of Edinburgh. Of course he did and would you believe it we were only three blocks from their flat. Found it no problems, locked up the bike and went to the pub for a beer.

Tom, Danielle and Tony (who had flown in with his parents from London that day) met up with us, and helped us get all the gear of the bike before celebratory beers all round. It was great to see them again. Unfortunately Skill had the symptoms of a cold coming on, but was still hoping to shake it off. Sadly this was not to be.

Danielle had organised Dinner for us all (at the hotel she works for) along with Cheryl and Graham, Tony's parents from Oz. We had a table with views right up to the castle. Simply amazing, even if they did try and serve us luke warm beer all night, the meal more than made up for it.

We had a day in Edinburgh wandering the streets with Tom and having the occasional beer, before eventually finding our way back to Leith.

We left the following day after taking considerable time to get out of Edinburgh, not because we got lost but because of the traffic. Trying to get onto the the Forth of Firth Bridge took forever, four lanes into two.

By the time we got to the tolls we thought (according to the signs) it was free for motorbikes, but as we rode through the tolls someone was yelling - at us maybe?. Not sure why. but we just kept riding and we may now be criminal fugitives in Scotland as we were NOT turning around.

Right now we are staying with our friends Donald and Louisa and Donald's parents Mairi and Harry in Stonehaven. It has been really wonderful to see them again. We have been fairly quiet wandering around and also joining in the wedding preparations for their wedding in July. Skill has hired his kilt in readiness, wait till you see the photos. I, on the other hand am still searching.

We have been taking it slowly as Skill has been quite sick, (cold developed into full blown flu) we have had to use our emergency antibiotics three weeks into the trip, oh well that's what they are there for. But other than that we are fine and happy and enjoying ourselves.

We must say thanks to all our friends (old and new) for their generosity, for letting us stay with them, feeding us and showing us around. Thank you so much

Well that is all for now,
Cheers and Beers,

Quote for the Week. "One's destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things" - Henry Miller

We get the Bike!

The Bike Story so far..............
Friday 25th February We deliver the bike to the shipping agent in Brisbane.

Tuesday 7th March the boat leaves Sydney

Wednesday 12th April Rang the shipping agent (London), yes the ship is due in tomorrow afternoon and it appears to be on time. Ring us back after Easter - maybe Tuesday afternoon

To keep ourselves occupied in the meantime

We did take that walk to Little Venice by Regent's Canal, it is quite amazing to see all these waterways and beautiful long boats right in the middle of London.

After a fairly long hike we decided we would catch the tube home from Paddington Station, mmmm well that would have been fine and dandy but large parts of the underground were closed for maintenance over Easter so we had to underground hop from one coloured line to the next to get home, it would have been quicker to walk. Anyway we had a swift pint at the local and all was right with the world.

Next day we went to British Museum with every other person in London, we did manage to catch a brief glimpse of the Rosetta Stone as two rather rotund, loud girls stood in front of it obscuring it from view for about five minutes.

Like everything in London the museum is steeped in history and the architecture is stunning. We both really enjoyed the Reading Room with it's squillions of books. My thoughts immediately turned to Dad and Dave (Landy), they would love this place.

After we were tierd of looking at old things it was off to Covent Garden where Skill just had to have a Cornish Pastie. I have to stop doing the conversion thing, but $10.00 AD for an overgrown sausage roll is a bit steep don't you think? Although Skill did remind me that I paid $5.00 AD for 150 grams of beans,($33.00 a kilo) like I said it is best not to convert.

Next day it was off to Greenwich, planned to catch the tube to Embankment and then a boat to Greenwich. Wrong, boarded the tube and sat motionless for ages. Announcement: smoke in the tunnel at some place I could not understand, so off we got and caught a Bus to Tottenham Court Road, (it's the only bus we know how to catch) and walked to Westminster Peir to catch the boat. We had a great day, Greenwich is really something special. Apart from being home to Greenwich Mean Time and the Meridian Line it is a truly beautiful village with so much to explore. The highlight for me was seeing John Harrison's clocks (developed to determine Longitude at sea) at the Royal Observatory. I must confess to being absolutely addicted to the movie "Longitude" so to see the four clocks in the flesh was pretty special.

We also visited the Royal Naval College designed by Chrisoper Wren 300 years ago. It has a magnificant Painted Hall and Chapel with the most exquisitely decorated/mural ceilings and walls, which rival many of the others we have seen in our travels.

Next day we went for a walk on Hampstead Heath with Sarah, Mo and Freddie to Kenwood House which you would all recognise as the setiing for "Sense and Sensibility" and part of "Notting Hill".

Tuesday 18th April Rang back shipping agent, Yes the boat docked on time but the container has been held up in Customs for inspection, ring back the following day. Pressing them for details as to whether this was a random check, they answer "Officially" Yes. BUT unofficially the Government has been threatening job cuts so all of a sudden there has been a dramatic increase in container inspections by British Customs".

Everytime you turn around in this wonderful city there is something else to marvel at, yesterday we sat in the sun and gazed at the Albert Memorial and the Royal Albert Hall. Then off to the Natural History Museum for Skill and the Albert and Victoria Museum for me, which was an all day affair.

Wednesday19th April Rang back shipping agent. Container is out of customs but will need to be delivered to the warehouse and unpacked and processed before we can get it. Maybe Friday or could be Monday. Please, please can we get it Friday. They would try....

Thursday 20th April We get back from a day in town and have a message, the bike will be devaned (container speak for unloaded) at midday Friday, but we will need to get Customs clearance paperwork first. Yay!!

Friday 21st April. D DAY WE PICK UP THE BIKE.

Get the Tube to Tower Bridge then up to Fenchurch Station and onto a train to Tilbury. Arrived at Tilbury with no map on where to go (The A to Z street directory doesn't go that far) so ask the lady at the train station who tells us to go across the bridge, end of instruction. Talk to a waiting bus driver who tries to send us back towards London to a district called Custom House. No we want Customs House Tilbury Docks. Oh well in that case straight up the road and the Dock entrance is on the right.

Do as we are told and arrive at the entrance of Tilbury Dock where we are briefly interrogated by the guards who point us in the direction of Customs House, hopelessly so as it turns out. So find a dodgy old canteen, it was like stepping back in time, all the workers had on those little white coats with their initials on them, just like you see in the old English TV Series. After causing the only bit of excitement in their day they finally agreed that Customs House was in a completely different direction from the way the guards had sent us.

Twenty minutes later we arrived. Up the stairs where Skill proceeded to talk to a lovely young man who was completely and utterly confused, they were not used to mad Aussies wanting to organise their own customs clearance. We had just begun the process when the iron shutters came down and the LUNCH 12.00 - 1.00 sign came out. Buggar. However we must have impressed the young man with our tenacity and he came out through another door and helped us fill out the paperwork and in under 30 minutes we were on our way.

We asked him where the best place to catch a cab from would be. Back into the town centre (which was a bloody long way back through the front guarded entrance, about 50 minutes walk), however he was such a sweetie that he let us out through the back gate (for staff only) and we were back in town in five minutes.

Searching for a cab rank, we spied a huge orange sign that said TAXI and after some skillful negotiations they would take us to the warehouse at West Thurrock for 10 pound. Bargain. So off to West Thurrock (not a place for the faint hearted after dark I should imagine) The container was being unloaded when we arrived and we could see the bike crate looking decidedly worn, but intact. However it would be another hour before the paperwork clearance would be through. So off to the very, very dilapidated "Fox and Goose" for lunch and a beer.

An hour later the paperwork from Customs is through and we pay 75 pound in fees to the agents, we can now start to unpack the crate. What a giggle I didn't even get a look in, all the boys stopped work on their fork lifts and came to help.

We could not have been luckier, they were so incredibly helpful. Most shipping agents charge you quite a bit of money to get rid of the crate, but one of the guys was planning to ship his bike to NZ at Xmas time so he was more than happy to take the whole crate home. Another guy was building a green house so he was happy to take all the self tapping screws. (And I hid the rest of the rubbish in an old wheelbarrow) They kept coming to check on us to see how we were getting on, even offering a battery pack if the battery was flat.

After helpful directions to the A13 and the nearest servo, handshakes all round, we were off, managing to make it all the way back to Central London in peak hour traffic, avoiding the Congestion Zone without a wrong turn. How impressive is that. Thanks to Sarah for her fantastic navigational instructions.

The bike and all our personal effects arrived in perfect condition, and the bike started first turn of the key. Skill is a happy boy.

Well guys on that note I'll say good bye, and now the adventure really begins.

Cheers & Beers,
Lan

Quote of the Week: "The journey, not the arrival matters" T.S. Eliot

Brisbane-London

Being new to this blog thing and being the Queen of Verbose I (Alanna aka Lan) am going to give this my best shot as John (aka Skill) has handed over the writing to me. He is in charge of bike stuff and technology, although he will edit and add to the Blog as required.

Many thanks to our good friends Kath and Sean for lending us their PDA and collapsible keyboard. It feels such a luxury to be typing this in the comfort of our accommodation listening to music and drinking a G & T. Life is good.

So I guess I will start at the day we left..............................My goodness, what a day! It felt quite surreal to hop out of bed in the morning knowing we were now on twelve months holiday and leaving the country for a similar period of time. The phone rings continuously, friends and family wishing us well and telling us to stay safe. We breakfast with my Mum, and close friends who have arrived from Perth on the early morning red eye flight. They then drive us to the airport where we discover our dodgy $15.00 suitcase has a broken zip (we bought them from a junk shop to get our gear to London, until we pick up the bike and panniers) After a few minor adjustments the problem is solved, bags are checked in and glasses of champagne are ordered.

A lady sitting in front of us asks us if we are on our honeymoon? We have a bit of a giggle and say "No something even better, 12 months of holiday". She enviously tells us how lucky we are and when she retires in a couple of years she is going to take up travelling again. As I am walking down the skybridge I suddenly get emotional, my best friend hasn't had her baby (due on the 5th), my soul mate and usual travel buddy isn't coming with us, in fact it is her birthday and she is crook, my nephew has rung me to tell me how much he will miss us, Skill has spoken to his 92 year old grandma who is worried about us despite the fact that she lived in Iran for a short time in 50's when Skill's grandad was working at a sugar mill in Iran. I can feel a lump in my throat and get quite misty eyed. Well this is it are we doing the right thing?

And then just when you are having a tiny bit of self doubt, fate takes over. We sit beside a lovely, gentle man who lives in a neighbouring suburb, and as you do you get chatting about where you are going and what you are doing. He listens with great interest and offers us some advice. "What a trip. Travel now, do it while you can, my wife of 34 years and I were all set to travel next year, but she passed away last year after a very short battle with cancer. You just never know what life will deal you, she woke up with a pain one morning and was gone six months later". He said it with such sinceriity and sadness that any lingering doubts evaporated. Singapore here we come!!!

Made our connection to Singapore, onto a BA flight (very ordinary), had some dodgy six day old gnochi and 1 (yes we only got 1) beer. I must say Singapore Airport is amazingly efficient, through customs, stamp, stamp, stamp. They just love that stampy thing. Out into the cab cue and away, all of that took less than ten minutes. Oh forgot to mention one dodgy suitcase arrived minus a wheel stand, so it keeps falling over. We took up residence in the YMCA, which was marvellous, small but clean airconditioned rooms. With a huge all you can eat English/Asian breakfast thrown in for $80 Singapore Dollars. We were pretty tierd so we were asleep as soon as our heads hit the pillow. In the middle of the night, about 3.30am there was this almighty bang, I leapt out of bed thinking, earthquake, gas explosion, terrorist attack, WRONG, an enormous thunder storm. Quite spectacular, Skill slept through the whole thing, so much for being my protector.

Singapore was Singapore. Incredibly busy and very, very humid. A city of such contrasts, one of the most successful financial cities in the world but in some places they still use bamboo scaffolding. BMWs, Feraris and traffic everywhere yet in amongst this chaos there are little old wisened up men still riding their rickshaw like bikes and not just for the tourists.

We walked down Orchard Road, then up into Fort Canning Park and over to Boat Quay. Back to the Y for a swim, a few beers then down to Raffles Long Bar for the obligatory $20.00SD Singapore Sling.

The following day we checked our bags into storage and walked down to China Town where we spent most of the day, it rained on and off all day, the humidity was stifling, our clothes were soaked, so we decided to return to the YMCA where we spent the rest of the day in or beside the pool.

Had dinner and our last Tiger Beer then caught the MRT (underground/train) to the airport. Checked our bags in all the way to Heathrow and waited, and waited and waited. Good old QANTAS, we were over 80 minutes late leaving. They fed us, the meatballs rivaled the BA gnochi in age. Then we all settled down for the night.

Once again a very uneventful flight until landing. We touched down in Frankfurt and I am not exaggerating the reverse thrust had only just been turned off, and we were taxing down the runway when a lot of the older Germans stood up and started to open the overhead lockers. The Aussie male flight attendant was yelling at them in German, some young guys were telling them to "Sit down, you bloody mugs" and I was not so politely saying "Sit Down", only because I could see my Bombay Saphire duty free Gin lurching from one side of the locker to the other. I had visions of it smashed all over the aisle. Sadly they did not pay any attention, until the flight attendant had to unstrap himself from his seat and threatened them. Mmmmmm Welcome to Frankfurt.

Our connecting flight was there waiting for us, so off one plane onto the next after being frisked, groped and xrayed by German Airport security.

We ended up in a holding pattern above London for 40 minutes, something we could have done without. Anyway nothing too eventful, except British customs didn't like the fact we didn't have a return ticket. We explained we would be riding our bike to leave and produced the carnet, which proved nothing, but it seemed to appease them. Then out to find Mo. There he was waiting for us complete with sign Alanna & John Skillo, just like in the movies.

We were invited to stay at family friends (Fred and Myra) vacant flat in the London district of Kentish Town. It is gorgeous, a brown brick house with an enormous black door nestled in amongst rows of similar houses distinguished only by their different coloured doors. The local pub is at the top of the street, 200 metres away, and the High Street and Tube station is less than 5 minutes walk. Unbelievable, Skill said to me "Don't get used to it, it's all downhill from here".

We didn't suffer from jetlag at all and have been on the go since arriving. Into Central London which is a visual feast of Spring colour, of course it is cold and rainy but I still love London. We went to the War Cabinet Museum and Churchill Museum on Wednesday and walked all the way down to Buckingham Palace and into Hyde Park.

The bike arrives on the ship today so the shipping agent believes we may be able to pick it up next Thursday. So we have another week to kill here in London which is not difficult to do, there is just so much to do. What is the old Samuel Johnson quote, "When a man is tired of London he is tired of Life" We plan on donning the wet weather gear, packing our lunch complete with our new thermos and heading off to Little Venice (near Paddington Station) via the Camden Lock and London Zoo.

Well I should have bored you all enough by now so take care.

Cheers & Beers,
Lan & Skill.

PS Lan's Quote for the week: "There are many ways to read a map"

upload

Preparing to Leave

Hi & welcome to our first Blog on Horizons Unlimited,

After so many years of reading every corner of the site its hard to believe we are doing our own trip and Blog story.

This is a recent shakedown trip with gear and bike mods as we will take to the UK..

This first Blog is really just practice to see how this web Blog thing is done and to see if I can get words and pics up without any screw ups. I will try to keep this Blog short as we are in the middle of packing up the house and making all those millions of arrangements you need to do so you can be out of the country for a year - thankyou to our family and friends for looking after stuff for us. I am sure this trip would be near impossible without this support back home. Mostly its the government and company bureaucrats that make it all difficult.

For instance we only just got our passports back from the Pakistan embassy in Australia where they held them for 5 weeks before approving our visas! To say we were worried was an understatement - 4 days before we are supposed to fly out and no passports! All because some bureaucrat thinks entering Pakistan on a motorcycle is a special case. I wont bore you all with the tales of incompetence from the Aus bureaucrats in charge of phones, banks, power etc. Honestly I dont know how they can be so good at incompetence and I am starting to wonder if other travellers have all these difficulties getting stuff sorted before they go.

Anyway, enough of the moaning, we are on holidays for a year!!!! Nothing to moan about there....

A little bit of background about ourselves -

John: a chemical & environmental science graduate with a lifetime passion for motorcycles, travel, camping and other outdoor pursuits. His motorcycling has spanned 25 years of mostly dirtbikes, but also a sportbike and naked roadbike mixed in there too. Adventure biking started about 10 years ago with a XR600 with big tank and some outback trips with mates. Married to Alanna for 20 years, currently living in Brisbane, Queensland, Australia.

Alanna: a pre-school teacher with a passion for travel and an acceptance of her husbands motorcycle addiction, but only a relatively recent convert to travelling as a pillion. Recently told her worried family & friends that she would travel in the aircraft toilet or baggage hold if it meant she could travel more, so being a pillion wasn't so bad.

John's long time goal was to travel overseas on a bike, initially deciding on South America, but a few years ago changing plans to the classic Europe to Australia overland route through Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, India and Nepal. Alanna wasn't going to miss out on that, so this meant buying a bike suitable to 2-up for a year. After a lot of reading, riding & arithmetic (pun intended) I decided on a Suzuki V-Strom 1000 with a few modifications - suspension mostly - to cope with 2 of us and luggage/camping gear for a year. This sounds like we are large and carrying too much gear, but we dont exceed the GVM and we really have been very frugal with gear, it just adds up quickly!! I am sure the two-up travellers out there will understand. I will do a more detailed Blog on the bike some other time - for those interested.

We packed the bike ourselves, at our house, on my dirtbike trailer... including topbox, 1xpannier and tankbag in the crate

In the pouring rain...

...in a Harley crate!!!

I had to spray-out the Harley labels for everyone's sensibilities....

So the bike was delivered to the freight handlers at the Port of Brisbane around the end of February 2006 and was loaded onto a ship for the 6 week journey to Tilbury Docks in London, due to arrive on 14 April just a few days after we touch down in the old country. Hope we all make it in one piece.

Only 2 days until we leave now - with a 2 day stopover in Singapore on the way.

See ya on the road, or when we get home.