9th. August 1999
The Beginning
We rented our properties out, shut the front door and were on our bikes and away. As luck would have it, in out first eleven days we had nine days of rain, not what we had hoped for the start of our journey. But plodding our way through France we made our way to Morzine in the Alps where we have some friends who have a small hotel, stayed here for two weeks relaxing, socialising and alpine walking. After here we cycled on to some more friends who have a house near by, and on our last night here we managed two bottles of wine each and a few other drinks which did exactly prepare us for going over the high mountain passes of Col du Corbiere and the Col du Morgins into Switzerland.
We were very lucky in Switzerland as we had a very flat route all the way, until we reached the 2005 metre high Simplon Pass, which took us all morning to cycle up but after lunch at the top the 40 km. drop on the Italian side to Mergozzo was a whiz. Cycling across Italy was dirtier than either of us expected, as at the end of each day we were black from traffic pollution. When we eventually got to Venice, the Rainbow Warrior was at the key side, we took a tour of the ship and found out the previous day it had been just down the coast campaigning against the pollution from some factories. More power to their elbow.
From Italy we went into Slovenia and as this corner of the world has been ruled by communism and ravaged by war, we were surprised at how beautiful, prosperous and friendly this country was. We are still cycling as though we are on a mission so we are not taking in as many sights as maybe we should. But we did put our selves out to go for a swim in the thermally heated pool in the town of Ptuj, it seemed a big thing to the locals but looked like an ordinary pool to me.
Croatia really did look like the old eastern bloc; fortunately we were only cutting a corner to get into Hungary, here beat up old Trabants and Wartburgs abound and for us the competition on the roads is not so fierce, but the cycling is easy as it is very flat but with nothing to look at except endless fields of maize it was very boring. Romania gave us first international hiccup, I think the immigration office was manned by a woman from the Siberian prison service, (give someone a uniform!) we were issued with a transit visa and not a tourist visa, which we only had four days to cross the entire country, we had planned to take the scenic route across the country to the Black sea and then down the coast to Bulgaria, but now it is the shortest route possible, it never ceases to amaze me that countries that desperately need foreign currency do their best to limit how much we spend in their country. As we travelled the shortest route we could through the land of the Romany we were competing with horses and carts for the best routes round the potholes and dead dogs, we were surprised that with so few cars on the road, how did Romania get to the top of the league of dead dogs per km.? We had loads chasing us but being on bicycles we had very little chance of killing any.
Bulgaria
Getting the ferry into Bulgaria was very time consuming, although it is a busy route for T.I.R. lorries the ferry appeared to be home made and the seamen must have been press ganged for all the skill they showed, we arrived in Vidin after dark, in our search for a hotel someone kindly guided us to the town centre and pointed out a huge columned building as our hotel it looked way over our budget and it was the only hotel in town, so in we went, booked in (it was not so dear) and on our way to our room we noticed the thread bare carpets, stained and peeling wall paper and frayed furniture, all showing the past glory of a communist holiday destination. We found every town to have a paved central precinct with grand ornate fountains with no water and one grand hotel with a run down interior. Bulgaria was the must up market of the old eastern bloc countries and we found the people very friendly, but the route we took did not have too much of interest so we just plodded on until we got to the Turkish border. Our last night in Bulgaria was in a motel almost on the border we were not sure at first if it was open as it looked run down it had broken windows and the motel sign was broken, after venturing in we found a rather decrepit old man behind the counter who showed us to one of the fifty or so rooms and told us in fluent Bulgarian how to work the hot water, and there was a restaurant upstairs, after washing and changing we went up to the restaurant which had a dance floor and seating for one hundred or more people and the old man was behind the bar, we got two beers and looked at the menu, the old man was the waiter, and when we ordered our meals the old man was the cook. This huge building in the middle of nowhere with just us and the old man. The following morning we passed through the remnants of rusty barbed wire and barricades of communism into Turkey.
Turkey
Crossing the border into Turkey was easy once we had sign a declaration to say that we healthy, and paid ten pounds (I am not sure which had the most sway) but cycling away from the border we were twice accosted by soldiers in camouflage gear and armed to the teeth, demanding to see our passports but once away from the frontier area all was well and we were amazed at how friendly the locals were as lots of lorry drivers and villagers waved to us as we cycled passed. But on the road into Istanbul we were stopped by a whole van load of armed soldiers who told us to ride on the rough track alongside the road and not on the road itself, one also said that I was an old man and should know better. We found Istanbul the seat of the Ottoman Empire to be a fascinating city and spent a few days here doing the sites. Mosques, markets, alleys and waterfront. A few weeks ago just the other side of the Bosphorous the area had suffered a huge earthquake, so we took a longer ferry across the Bosphorous to miss all this, by taking a southerly route we were on our to the ancient city of Troy the one time home of Hellen (not this one) there is not much of it left but it was magic.
After Troy came Alexandra Troyas and then Assos with view over the island of Lesbos. The whole of this route is littered with archaeological ruins. Cycling ever southward we came to the town of Bergama home of the Permagon and the Asclepion and other historical sites so we spent a few days here looking around.
After leaving Bergama swearing never to look at any more culture ever again we headed off to the City of Izmir in search of a bicycle chain (for the more technically minded a 3/32 chain is too wide for a nine speed cog and in Turkey the most you can get is six speed so the search for the chain is fruitless and endless) But in Izmir there is the amazing ruins of the Roman Agora Market too good to miss, also too good to miss is Ephesus, only seventy miles away. On our arrival at Selcuk we noticed what looked like a complete Byzantine Castle on a hill over looking the town this was to be our first port of call but unfortunately it was closed for restoration so we went to the ruins of St John's Church the remains of which are quite astounding and St John turned out to be the John, disciple of Jesus who left Palestine with Mary (Jesus’ mother) after JC's death to escape persecution and settled in Ephesus and was finally buried in this church. After this was a visit to the ruins of the Temple of Artemis one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. Next day Ephesus the biggest archaeological site in Turkey several complete streets library a twenty four thousand seat theatre even the public toilets were almost complete an absolutely stunning sight with so much to see. After this was a five mile cycle (uphill) to see the house where JC's mum spent her final days.
And there is still more! We went to the Grotto of the Seven Sleepers. It appears that seven Christian youths in order to escape persecution went and hid in a cave where upon they fell asleep when they woke up they were hungry so one of them went into town to buy some bread he then found out they had been asleep for two hundred years! This was then declared a miracle. (Well it would be wouldn't it) A church was built in a cleft in the hillside over the grotto and even today the remains of this is still considered a very important religious site.
NO MORE RUINS PLEASE!
Pamukale is the next site on the list with its thermal springs and unique rock formations. The trip to this out of the way spot was to see the rock formations which are unusual and amazing, BUT the ruins of nearby Hierapolis just knock your socks off! The best theatre yet, incredible remains from Greek Roman and Byzantine times streets, agora's, temples and churches and the biggest and best necropolis in Asia with tombs, sarcophagi and tumuli for over two km A brief and simplified extract from the inscription on the tomb of Apollinarious Makedon.- Only persons with written permission may be buried in this tomb and no tomb shall be built in front of it. Any transgression shall attract various fines and penalties, after my death no one may be buried here, on pain of larger fines and may they never enjoy their children, nor their lives, nor may they ever walk the land, or sail the seven seas and may they die barren, lifeless and may all kinds of illnesses befall them. After their death may the angry and avenging Gods of the Underworld take them, both those who ordered the forbidden work and those who carried it out. There is also an ancient pool where Cleopatra is supposed to have swum, the pool itself has fallen into ruins, but a pool has been built around it and is filled by the thermal springs, so we had the opportunity to swim amongst the ruins. A great experience. A day at this site is just not long enough. From here down to Antalya on the Mediterranean Coast and along to Syria.
NO MORE RUINS.
Syria
Antakia our last stop in Turkey, from here we had the good fortune to have a following wind for our ride into Syria. The closer we got to the border the stronger the wind got. At the border we had to fill in forms and get stamped out of Turkey, when we arrived at the Syrian frontier we were told we could not get entry visas at the border, when I said the guide books and the Syrian Tourist Board, on the Internet, said it was possible, a shrug of the shoulders was the only response. So we had to get stamped back into Turkey, go back to Antakia and think of Plan B. The first problem we had was our tail wind was now a head wind and progress was so slow we would never get back to town before nightfall, we needed plan B RIGHT NOW! So we left our bikes etc. at a petrol station and caught a local bus to town, where we got an over night bus to Ankara, 500 miles to the north. The Syrian Visa Department opens from 8.30 am to 10.00 am and hanging about waiting for them to open was a bit freezing, not what we are used to. When they opened you have to reach through the garden railings to a window in a portacabin where we were told we required a letter of recommendation from HM Government so we got the required FOUR application forms and scrounged a lift to the British Embassy, which opened from 9.00 to 11.00 am. So we sat on the pavement for 10 minutes Filling in forms and freezing (we were still in summer clothes). When they opened we were all of a panic and they were talking about what they did last night! But with more forms to fill in and a wait, the letter arrived with 15 minutes to go. Running out of the front gate we almost ran in front of a passing taxi, so it was quickly pile in and ask for the Syrian Embassy, and HURRY. We arrived back with 5 minutes to spare so we joined the end of a dwindling queue and a s luck would have it whilst we were waiting it started snowing a blizzard! (don't forget we are still in summer clothes). After handing in our applications etc. we had to go back at 3 p.m. to collect them, meanwhile we had to look for somewhere to keep warm and sort out our finances. We started on a circuit of Cafes and Banks. Up till now we have been drawing local currency out of ATMs there are no ATMs in Syria. Syria will not change Turkish Lira and Turkey does not deal with Syrian Pounds, so the only answer was to get a load of dosh out of the ATM, on various cards, then walk into the Bank and change it for US Dollars, then when in Syria change it for Syrian Pounds, simple! All this done we go back to the Syrian Embassy to collect our Passports and Visas and then back to the bus station and wait for the overnight bus back to the land of date palms and sunshine. On our arrival at Antakia we wanted some breakfast and some time to recover from the journey, but at 6 o'clock in the morning nothing was open so instead of a break we got the 6.30 am minibus back to our bikes and set off once again for Syria.
This time successfully entering the country. We had not made any plans as to what to do in Syria as we were unsure of what there is to see and Syrian peoples attitude towards westerners. But on our first day here we had cups of tea with more Syrians than we would with friends in a week in England. So out came the map and off we went down the old Pilgrims route visiting the Crusaders Castles at Salahadin, Maqab and Crac des Chevaliers. Following in the footsteps of Richard the Lionheart, the Knights Templar and Charlamagne.
The sights and the engineering are incredible, after the castle watching tour we came to the town of Homs, which had the historical importance of being on the main caravan route from north to south and on the old silk route from Asia to the Mediterranean. Today it still maintains this same importance as a cross roads, for the motorway, railway line and oil pipe line. Somehow the magic has gone. From here we took a side trip to Palmyra, for some more greco/roman ruins. The old city covers some 50 hectares. Outside the old city are a number of funerary towers, multi-storey cemeteries holding up to three hundred people, climbing up some of these we found that some of the Sarcophagi still had bones in. From Homs, like Saint Paul, we were "on the Road to Damascus". A frantic noisy city. The old walled city contains a Citadel, myriad streets and alleyways and souqs, there are also a number of churches and mosques. Among these include the Chapel of St. Paul where purportedly the Disciples lowered St. Paul out of a window in a basket to escape the wrath of the Jews. Also there is the Omayyad Mosque, described as the "Jewel of Islam" a truly magnificent building. Inside is the tomb/shrine of Salahdin, one of the heroes of Islam and opposition to the Crusaders, also inside is the tomb of John the Baptist, even though he was beheaded by Herod Antipas some 350 miles south of here in Jordan.
Leaving Damascus we head, still southwards, to Bosra, and the border. By now we have drunk so many cups of tea with strangers, even parked lorry drives flag us down to share their brew! and we are starting to get fed up (only very slightly) with hearing "Welcome to Syria, Welcome" about 50 times a day. Our overnight stop in Bosra was in the Roman Citadel, with all the comforts of a Castle, miles of stairs, stone walls, stone floors, cold and damp ( St Brevials (a castle youth hostel in Wales) is the Hilton by comparison). A lot of the ruins of the old city have been used by later villagers for building materials, so in amongst this 2,000 year old archaeological site locals live and still use the walk ways.
Our last night in Syria was in the border town of Daraa. One of the locals said "you will be sad if you stay here" he was right, it was a dump! but tomorrow with a tinge of regret we leave Syria. A Great little country.
Jordan
The Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan looks like putting a damper on our travel plans, as Saudi Arabia does not issue tourist visas we had hoped to cycle as far south as we could and then fly from Aqaba or Ma'an to UAE. But the only flights out of Jordan are from Amman, in the north. Whilst doing the rounds we called in at the Indian Embassy who said "no visa without a return flight ticket" Things are not looking too good so far! So while we are pondering on a solution to this problem we parked our bikes in the Hotel and caught a bus south. Our first stop was the Dead Sea, at over 350m below sea level, the lowest place on earth, for a quick float. It is so buoyant it is impossible to swim as all your bits are too far out of the water. Following on, down the Kings Highway, to Madaba and some very impressive Byzantine Mosaics. Onwards to Karak, and another Crusader Castle, and yet onwards to Wadi Mussa (valley of Moses). At the edge of this town is the very rock that Moses smote with his staff and the rock split and water flowed forth, and if that is not enough, at the bottom of the town is Petra, the Lost City of the Nabataeans. The entrance to Petra is through a gorge over 1km long and the width of the gorge varies from 5m down to 2m, and the vertical rock face either side towers for up to 200m, sometimes almost touching at the top. Once through this siq one comes dramatically face to face with the Khazneh, (the Treasury), a Temple which has featured in two Indiana Jones Films, carved into solid rock. We had two days exploring the Temples, Tombs and the natural wonders of this city, locked away in its secret valley.
On the road again to Wadi Rum, one of the stomping grounds of T E Lawrence, we had four nights here, three of them in the desert, in a Bedouin Tent, and exploring the region by four wheel drive, camel and on foot. The type of desert here is composed of mainly hard compacted sand and huge rock formations (Jebels) Some of these rising to over 1700m above sea level. Soft sandstone being weather worn into fantastic shapes including one known as "The Seven Pillars of Wisdom" which undoubtedly gave Lawrence the Title for his book. Christmas came upon us whilst we were here and to lay in your sleeping bag, and look across the desert at the sun rising over the jebels on Christmas Morning was magic (and no hangover) (We haven’t seen alcohol for nearly six weeks!!) We even managed to get fish and chips for our Christmas Dinner!! The following morning we caught a bus to the coast, so Boxing Day was spent on the Beach at Aqaba with the odd snorkel on the coral reef in the Gulf. But unfortunately, we have to get back to Amman and reality, and try and find a way out of Jordan. We cannot get a one-way ticket to UAE. There is a bus, but that is not running at the moment because of Ramadan, the logic of that escapes me. Eventually, we have got a Visa and a flight to Pakistan on NEW YEARS DAY, now that really is reality!
Some more asides:-
1) In Turkey we stopped at one Hotel where the reading lamp bulb was broken, leaving the centre glass stem and the filament wires exposed. I planned to swap this with a bulb from elsewhere, not knowing which whimsical way the switch was wired up I opted for some insulation to unscrew the bulb. The nearest thing to hand was one of Helen's socks! but unfortunately, the business end was rather damp with sweat, and when I applied the sock to the bulb stem there was a bang and it blew two holes in the sock. But I did get the light to work!
2) On our arrival in Syria the Tourist Information at the border recommended the Hotel "Zahert al-Rabih" (Flowers of Spring). During our stay the owner told us, several times, that his hotel "was in our guide book" out of interest we looked it up, and the books says- " a dingy little number, but at S£125, (something less than two pounds sterling) you get what you pay for" I was only glad Joe Rood was not with me.
Pakistan
1 January 2000
In order to miss the worst of the frantic traffic in Amman we set off early for the 45 km cycle to Q.A.I. Airport and our 12 noon check in, bikes, baggage and all. The two-hour flight to Bahrain went off on time, so far so good. Here we had a five-hour stop over which gave us plenty of time to read our new guide to Pakistan. Which had information like;- Page 151 - Baluchistan Province "Officials will tell you can only leave Quetta or other transport junctions with a written permit and an armed guard" Page 130 - Sindh Province "Warning read the introduction to this chapter before you contemplate travelling to the interior of Sindh, since I (the author) couldn't afford bodyguards I was not able to go anywhere" also on the same page "Cycling here is only for the fearless". "The archaeological site at Moenjodaro is safe to visit but only if you fly there, each flight is met by a cavalcade of armed guards" and apparently the North West Frontier Province is Pakistan's most lawless province!
Back to our flight, one and a half hours to Muscat, and a one and a half hour stop over, where we can wonder - where the hell are we going?. From Muscat to Karachi for a 5am arrival. After baggage re-claim and two hours emergency repairs due to cargo miss handling and we set off into town, twelve miles away. During this short ride we were accosted twice by bogus policemen with intent to robbery! Fortunately, we had read about this scam in our book, and were able to avert disaster.
One other event we read about, a German Tourist in Lahore had all his money stolen from his room, so he called the police. In front of the Police the Hotel Manager admitted taking the money, but he offered to refund half of it and "say no more about the matter". The Police advised the German to take up the offer as "it was a good deal".
Back to the plot. We found a Hotel and spent the rest of the day getting orientated, organised, rested and doshed. Next day in light of all the travel advice (i.e. don't!) we decided to do the thousand mile journey to Islamabad by train, and not on the road. So first to the Tourist Office for some info. It appears to get our train ticket we need a letter to say we are tourists, the fact that we are white and have British Passports, does not seem to be enough. Then to the ticket booking office, where we are told the only train for us is today, and we have to go upstairs to get another letter to say we can have a ticket! On our return to the ticket desk we are told the train will go to Lahore and not Islamabad, we need to go upstairs to change the destination on the letter. On our return we find out that there is a train to Islamabad, we have to go upstairs and change the destination on the letter, again. Eventually, we leave the booking office clutching our voucher for a first class sleeper to Islamabad.
We went back to the Hotel to pack our bags and bikes. In the light of the booking office experience we thought it may take some time to get our train tickets, so we arrived at the train station at 3pm for our 4.30 p.m. train. After queuing up at several windows we eventually found the right one, only to be told the train was late, "come back in an hour". They only confirm your ticket one hour before departure. After several queuings we got our ticket at 7.30pm. We are underway!
Unfortunately, the train did not arrive until 11pm, and left at 11.30pm (7 hours late)! Our First Class Sleeper was a six-berth affair, somewhat reminiscent of a cell in one of HM Government's Holiday Camps, only not so clean! That night was spent on bunks barely wide enough to lay on, and the following day was spent sat on these same seats, trying to peer out of windows that had not been cleaned since the days of the Raj.
I estimated our 26-hour journey would finish at 2am. so that night we stayed awake so as not to miss our station. But by 2am. We had reached Lahore, and I knew our destination was still another 7-8 hours away, so we went to sleep for a while ( after setting the alarm, still not wanting to miss our station).
We eventually reached Islamabad by 2 o'clock in the afternoon. So to fit in 5 hours of flying time and a 1,000-mile train journey we left Amman at 8.00am. on the 1 January and arrived here on the afternoon of the 5 January, with only one night in a proper bed. For the latest Foreign Office advice www.fco.gov.uk and search Pakistan.
Kicking our heels around Rawalpindi and Islamabad, waiting for an Indian Visa to happen, we start to grow accustomed to our surroundings and decided to venture further afield. We had visited places within a 35km radius, but this time it was to be the North West Frontier, our destination is Peshawar, whose Sanskrit name means "City of Flowers". It may have been in Moghul times, but on our visit, "City of Mud" would have been more appropriate. Although Pakistani Law rules here it has the feeling of being a frontier town, it has seen the armies of the Aryans, Persians, Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, Ghengis Khan, Moguls and the British, pass to and fro.
Because if its position, at the foot of the Khyber Pass, it has been the pathway for invasion and commerce for centuries. Our first visit was to the Khyber Pass, once we had got our Travel Permits, Pushto speaking Guide (its a pity he couldn't speak English as well!) and personal guard, armed with his trusty kalashnikof! Off we went. The province has the largest autonomous tribal area in the world, once out of Peshawar, Pakistani rule stops, and Tribal Law holds sway. Out here it really is Frontiers Land. The way through the pass is littered with signs of British occupancy, such as picket posts on high knolls and insignia of regiments that have served here are painted on the rock face all up the valley. And the outpost at Landi Kotal is still the home of the Khyber Rifles. Among the out laying villages from Peshawar are Smugglers Bazaar and Darra Adam Khel. , where Pathans walk about with bandoleers and AK47s slung over their shoulders as part of their everyday dress. The first one is nearly as big as Lakeside, only a lot muddier! and the second virtually the whole village is given over to small arms (and big arms!) manufacture. Take a gun there and within a few days men, in small workshops, and with almost no machinery will have made a copy of it, and as you walk the streets and the alleyways there is the constant rattling of gun fire, as somebody tests their new product. Talking of testing I had a go on a barretta, firing half a magazine at a defenceless rock half way up the mountainside. In earlier times Peshawar was a Caravanserai, for the unknowing a number of places in the far east were connected via various routes to a number of coastal towns in Asia Minor, any or all of these roads are known as the Silk Route and the trading places at the beginning, end, or in between are known as Caravanserai. Now days the camel trains and the silk have gone and have been replaced by guns and drugs.
Back to Islamabad to pick up our Visas, and off to Lahore, to take in a few sites including "Kims Gun" a monster of a cannon that saw action in various armies before Ranjit Singh brought it to Lahore. And Kipling immortalised it in his book. We also went to the Badshahi Mosque, which came to world attention in 1991 when visited by Diana, Princess of Wales, her visit led to a court case, our visit passed unnoticed! Tomorrow India. Inshallah
India
Crossing the border at Wagah was very peaceful; it is the only crossing point on the Indo/Pakistan Border, and only pen to foreigners. By mid morning only three people had crossed, including us. Our first stop was Amritsa, to look around the Old City and the spectacular Golden Temple. At one time the Temple was occupied by Moslems and in the war to drive them out the Leader of the Sikhs Baba Deep Singh vowed not to stop until he was inside the Temple. Four miles from the Temple his neck was severed, and he said to his next in command "I am done for" His Officer reminded him of his vow not to stop until he was inside the Temple, so Baba Deep grabbed hold of his head with one hand and carried on fighting with the other hand, and died after he got inside the Temple.
From here we took the Grand Trunk Road to Delhi, staying in towns like Ludhiana, home of the worlds largest cycle manufacturer, Hero. And Panipat, so the story goes, a monk was asked to rid Panipat of its flies. When he had finished the townsfolk complained he had done too good a job, so he gave them all their flies back times one thousand. Thereby making Panipat the most fly infested place in India. We found the GT Road cycle friendly apart from the odd lorry driver, but the suburbs of Delhi were a different matter with kami-karzi bus and tut-tut drivers trying to get at anybody at the roadside regardless of who is in the way, cyclists, or even prospective passengers. Once we got into the streets of Old Delhi it was a different story, as everything was at a virtual standstill, due to the sheer numbers of street traders, pedestrians, tut-tuts, rickshaws and Holy Cows. After a few days of sight seeing we took a break from travelling and went to Sri Lanka for a short holiday.
We got a sleeper train down to Trivandrum where boarded a flight to Columbo, we toured round some of the central and southern areas, from Kandy to somewhere we had the best train ride I have had anywhere in the world. Although it is a beautiful island we found too expensive for us poor budget travellers. Most of the countries we have visited have exceeded our expectations; Sri Lanka is one of the few to fall short. I think spoilt by some of the worst touts and con men I have ever come across. Back in India we did a little bit of touring round Karela by train and local river ferry’s, and then returned to Delhi. On this train we travelled first class, which means six or nine beds to a compartment the corridor runs through the compartment and Indians when they travel appear to take half of their home, their vendors wandering up and down the train selling food and drink the whole thing is like a mobile village, and the Indian railways proudly boast that the inter city trains average 47 km/h. Per hour. On our return to Delhi we set off south to Agra. On the way we stayed at Mathura, birthplace of the Lord Krishna, and Headquarters of the Hare Krishna Movement. Agra, where one of Emperor Akbar's Court Officers was moved to record "Agra is a great city having esteemed healthy air" and now all around Agra are posters proclaiming "Clean Agra, Green Agra" and many local vehicles have this same slogan on them. Unfortunately, the streets are strewn with tons of rubbish, the river Yamuna is too polluted to sustain life, and the vehicles with the "clean Agra" slogans pump out so much pollution that the WHO has declared Agra unfit for Human Habitation!
But as a former capital of the Moghul Empire there are some stunning sights to be seen, Agra Fort built of red sandstone and white marble palaces inside, Itimad-Ud-Dhulgh and Sikandra Mausoleums to Emirs and Emperor and of course the Taj Mahal. The Mausoleum built by Empower Shah Jahan for his wife who died during childbirth of their fourteenth child in nineteen years of marriage. At this point the older member of the team took to his sickbed with some dreadful Asian bug, during his convalescence we visited Fatipur Sikri, a city built by Akbar, as the new Capital of the Empire, and after fourteen years abandoned it. Most of it is still standing; the palace is amazing and is almost as good as it was in Akbar's day. Back on the road and still southwards to Orcha, an amazing collection of palaces and temples in the middle of nowhere. Instead of determined this is turning into a history and cultural tour. As we turned eastwards to Karjuraho, a village surrounded by amazing Hindu and Jain Temples, and for our money these were much better than the Taj Mahal. Being really in the middle of nowhere they had escaped destruction by Moslems and Aryans and so have stood complete for over a thousand years. Our last main stop in India is Varanassi, sitting on the banks of the Ganges; this is the holiest place in India. During our visit we took a boat trip on the river, looking at the highlights on the banks, including the burning ghats, where funeral pyres are lit. In the river people were carrying out their ritual bathing, doing their laundry, and even drinking the water straight out of the river. When a dead body floated past the boat our boatman said "they don't burn Holy Men"
From here to Nepal. It is amazing that a country the size of India is so flat, and apart from some crap roads, no road signs, and a few maniacal lorry drivers, India is a really cycle friendly country. India is a great country to visit, but so many people do their tours looking through air-conditioned windows. India is a fantastic country to "experience". Tomorrow Nepal.
Nepal
We had a bit of a rush to leave India, so we would avoid Faagun Purnima (or Holi) a spring, water festival, but what had gone completely over our heads is that this festival is common to most Asian Countries. The idea of the festival appears to be to spread as much coloured powder in coloured water about as possible, and foreigners on bicycles are prime targets, by the end of the day our bikes, panniers and ourselves were covered, top to bottom, in red, blue, green, black and orange, some of which we still have, weeks later!
Apart from getting painted it is dramatic once crossing the border how much friendlier the Nepalese are compared with the Indians. Cycling on the roads in the Tarai, including a few days at the Chitwan National Park was really enjoyable. When we turned to follow the river Trisuli for two days up to Kathmandu gaining some fifteen hundred feet in height on the way the strain began to tell, but the fantastic scenery more than compensated. The frantic bustling city of Kathmandu always gives me a buzz, when I arrive, but after a few hours I am always keen to leave the dirt and the pollution. In this case for a trek in the Everest region, where we are planning to meet up with some friends en route. Being old fashioned we took the bus to Jiri and then walked in. Which gave us some beautiful scenery and gave us some fitness and altitude for later on. We met up with our friends, as per plan, but from Namche Bazaar one of them had to be evacuated by helicopter with a broken arm. The highest mountain range in the world can be quite a dangerous place, especially if you fall over on your way to the toilet in a lodge! The good news for trekkers is that you no longer need a trekking permit, but you still need to pay a park entrance fee. So five days in on the trek at the Sagamartha (Everest) National Park we paid our entrance fee (remember that little snippet). Our plan here was to trek to Gokyo, do the lakes and the source of the Dhud Kosi, one of the most holy rivers in Nepal. Heading up the Dhud Kosi Valley from Phortse Tenga it is easy to see why helicopter pilots nickname this "The Valley of Death" as they fly very regular rescue missions and sometimes in the nick of too late.
On our arrival to Gokyo Helen had slight problems with altitude, so leaving her behind we set off to ascend the 17,500 foot Gokyo Peak. The morning was cloudy and overcast and two thirds of the way up it started snowing a blizzard, we were on the verge of abandoning the ascent when it stopped snowing, so we carried on. At the top there were no views at all. But we did it.
On the way down the clouds cleared for about twenty minutes giving us stunning views of Everest, Lhotse, Nhupse and Choi Oyu and other peaks. In the afternoon Helen and I walked up alongside the Ngozumpa Glacier to the series of lakes that form the source of the Dhud Kosi. The following morning there was a clear blue sky and everything was white after a nights snowfall, I had just enough time for one more ascent of Gokyo Ri before our return journey.
After the other mob had gone back to the U.K. one of them stayed on longer to cycle round Nepal with us. As Nepal has few roads and a lot of mountains and we are not too inclined to cycle round in circles just for the sake of it, we opted for a quick trek in the Annapurna Region, up the Kali Gandiki Valley and back. Simple, easy. Off go the dynamic trio, when we reach the Annapurna Park area we find we cannot pay the entrance fee at the entrance, we should have bought a ticket in Kathmandu or Pokhara!(a different system to the Everest park) Plan B, We go trekking on local footpaths in non tourist areas.
During our first day we find that our trusty Nepalese map, with its contours, villages and roads/tracks bear little relationship to reality. By four p.m. we find out that we are less than halfway to where we wanted to be. One of the locals said if we walked down to the road there is a village with a hotel. The "hotel" turned out to be a wooden shack of a cafe with a hotel sign outside - no rooms! A bus to the next town. Next day, leaving the town, about two miles down the road we find the footpath to the hills. After about five hours on this path we came back on to the road about half a mile further down. A bus to the next town! After ten days of trekking and bussing we got to Pokhara, Tansen and finally Lumbini, the birthplace of the Lord Buddah. The walks along these routes, some of them old trade routes, provided some beautiful scenery and views. A good opportunity to see Nepali's away from tourist areas and the novelty that we provided was quite surprising, even to the extent of kids running out of school to stand and stare at us. And were unmoved by wallopings from their teachers until we were out of sight. We cannot go through Burma and have run out of visa for here, so tomorrow we will fly from here to Thailand.
Thailand
By Western standards Thailand might be considered a bit third world but coming from the Indian sub-continent it is a leap into the 21st century. Wall to wall tarmac, racing traffic, with no horns blaring, no dust and dirt and no stray cows. It is also a leap in seasons, coming from the spring like Kathmandu to the steamy heat of Bangkok in the rainy season.
After a couple of days to get sorted out we set off on the road south. After the first days cycling we revised our plans, with the temperature in the 90s and the humidity at god knows what percent, we decided to cut down our daily mileage and no detours for sight seeing, apart from the odd temple.
The rain is not a problem as it rains only about every second or third day and it rarely lasted more than half an hour at the most, but the heat was too much for us, so head down, keep heading south.
But with the amazing country, the excellent food and the friendly people we will be putting our names down to come back, but at a more temperate time of year and without our bikes. After eating our way through Papaya, Nangka, Rambutan, Mangosteen and more it is going to be really boring going back to apples and oranges. As we crossed the Malay border we clocked 10,000 kilometres.
Malaysia
In Malaysia we set off with the same resolve that we had in Thailand, same heat, same humidity so same plan. No detours just keep plodding. This resolve lasted nearly one and a half days. After our first nights stop in Kota Bahru we cycled past beaches like Pantai, Cinta Berahi (beach of passionate love) and Pantai Dasar Sabak where the Japanese landed in December 1941 one and a half hours before they bombed Pearl Harbour. Along this road we met a French couple cycling the other way, they told us to go to the Perhentian Islands, that night we stayed in Koala Besut, parked our bikes, and the following morning we were on the ferry going to Pulau Perhentian Kesil.
We had three days toughing it out on this tropical island, set in the South China Sea. Amongst other hardships we went snorkelling on the fantastic corals, hand feeding myriad multi-coloured fish, and swimming with a school of HUGE, four foot long, bump headed Parrot Fish (we did not hand feed these). And a boat trip out to snorkel with leather back and hawksbill turtles. When our sentence was up we headed back to the mainland, our bikes and the road south. On this stretch of road at 10,167kms Helen had her FIRST puncture!
Our road south followed the coast, with its hundreds of miles of deserted palm tree lined sandy beaches, giving us plenty of exotic locations for our overnight stops. Further south the road went away from the coast and at times was little more than a tarmac strip through the jungle, here we had to increase our daily mileage in order to find a town to stay in, or bring the tent out of retirement, but with all the jungle noises going on this did not appeal too much. But we made it to Johor Bahru, the most southerly town in Malaysia, where we parked our bikes for a while to visit one more island - Borneo.
James Brooke was a British adventurer with an inheritance and an armed sloop, in 1838 he sailed into Brunei to find the Sultanate fending off an uprising by neighbouring tribes. He put down the rebellion and took over Sarawak, and founded a dynasty of white rajahs that lasted until WW11. Arriving at Kuching, the Capital of Sarawak, with its Hilton Hotel, K.F.C. and McDonalds, it was not the Borneo we were expecting to find. But with a little investigation we found our way to various National Parks, Gurung Gading - to see the giant Rafflesia Arnoldii - a rare plant that spends nine months as a bud and blooms into a flower of up to 1 meter in diameter for four days. To Semmenggoh - to see Orang-utans. And a few days at Bako National Park - where we trekked on very "jungley" jungle trails and the land/junglescape is truly amazing, and the variety and abundance of flora and fauna is absolutely astounding, including the rare Proboscis Monkey. Finishing up with a trip to a tribal longhouse. The house we went to was a bit remote, four hours by road to somewhere, and three hours upriver to the middle of nowhere. Longhouses are built on stilts, and are some 150 feet long and 50 feet deep, and is basically a whole village under one roof. The house where we were is home to part of the Iban Tribe, once feared for their Head Hunting, evidence of the old days is still hanging around off the rafters. Fortunately for us they have now changed their ways.
After an evening of ritual dancing and ritual drinking, of home-made rice wine we slept on the floor of the common hall of the longhouse. The following morning we set off on a trek to this tribe's old longhouse, which involved going through dense jungle and wading miles upstream, wet was the order of the day. On our arrival to the longhouse, which had been empty for 20 years, so it was not in the best of condition, the Ibans set about preparing our dinner. Some food they brought with us, but Bananas, Palm Hearts, Jungle Fern and Fish came from the forest and river. Big bamboos were cut to make cooking utensils, smaller bamboos were cut to make cups, spoons and the grill to put the fish and meat on, and palm leaves for plates, and a superb meal it was. That night, on the floor again, the abandoned house had bits of floor and walls missing, no doors and a leaky roof, with a tropical monsoon outside. A good night was had by all. Next day it was back to the other house, but over dry land, well, most of the way. And our last night, so plenty of socialising and more rice wine, and a late night. In the morning, it was back down river and road to Kuching, and our flight back to the mainland, and our bikes. Yet another country we MUST come back to, but tomorrow - Singapore.
Singapore
On the 28 January 1819 Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles sailed into Singapore, he decided this was just the place he needed to set up a free port to rival the Dutch East India Company. This plan of his set Singapore on the road from being a sleepy backwater fishing village to one of the worlds economic centres. The Raffles name still lives on, as streets, parks, buildings and the world famous Raffles Hotel are all named after him. We only stopped for a few days to sort out visas and a quick bit of sight seeing. So our visit passed unnoticed. Tomorrow Indonesia.
Indonesia
Leaving Singapore, we caught the ferry to Batam Island, which is in Indonesia's Riau Archipeligo. A place where we could get a visa free entry, and then a ferry to Sumartra. Our choice of ferries went to Pekanbaru, well inland, changing at Selat Pangjang to arrive the next morning. Helen, being on the ball, asked if we got a cabin, the ticket seller said "yes' but it is only small". The first ferry was a sleek looking, all enclosed boat, with aircraft style seats for the passengers, and a huge pile of plastic stools so people could sit in the gangway, or any other spare space. The second ferry was a large wooden river boat, and once we had stowed our bikes, on the foredeck, with some of the other cargo, we went to look for our cabins. (We had one each) When we found them they were a multi tiered platform (bunks) separated from the next person by a six inch high board giving everyone their own bit of space of about 5 foot by 2 foot. (Super for me) The experienced families removed the six inch partitions to make large family rooms and had saucepans full of food and flasks full of drink with them. Once these were all full and the gangways in between and the bits of deck fore and aft, with some on the roof, making the whole thing somewhat akin to a slave ship (not that we have been on many slave ships) we set sail for a twelve hour cruise up river. We arrived at Pekanbaru at 5.00 in the morning, a new town in a new country in the pitch black is not normally the way we plan things. We found a stall operating under a kerosene lamp and sat there drinking coffee until daylight, whereupon after a poor nights sleep we set off on the road. Some 60 kms. south, after leaving Pekanbaru, we crossed the equator. As it is the first time either of us had crossed the equator on land we were hoping for some kind of a sign, but no. We worked out approximately where it was, using the map and cycle computer. What we really needed to do to get it right was to tow a bath of water along and watch it run out. But the nearest thing you get to a bath round here is a barrel and a saucepan to ladle the water out. But we crossed the line anyway, even if we didn't know where it is. After 110 kms. we had still not found anywhere to stay, but we came across the Indonesian equivalent of a transport cafe. During a glass of tea we enquired if they knew where the nearest hotel was, (this is all by sign language by the way) they said it was too far for us on our bikes, so they chucked their two girls out of their room so that we could have it, and the girls could sleep on the floor elsewhere. Room, a corner partitioned off with fence panels and old doors, but to us
it was heaven. Next day, ever southwards.
This is a "B" Road, that we are on and the scarcity of towns is giving us some concern about accommodation. We hope this situation will change when we get to the main road. Our first town on the main road, which is in large print on our map, showing it to be "somewhere" turned out to be no more than a couple of dozen wooden huts. This is not the only discrepancy on the map, making planning a bit difficult.
The road itself goes up and down over low hills as it runs parallel to a mountain range. The poor tarmac, on a poor base, is squidged up everywhere by the lorries and the buses making great hollows and huge humps all over the place, and potholes ranging from one foot to four feet in diameter, but it was not all like this, there were many stretches with no tarmac at all, and kamikaze bus and lorry drivers to contend with. The thing to bear in mind is Sumatra is almost twice the size of the UK, and this road is the Trans Sumatran Highway. It is the only "A" Road on the Island. We have to travel some 1,500 kms. on this road and some 1,000 kms. of it through dense jungle, with small, or smallish towns well spaced out, giving us anything from 100 to 140 kms a day on this road. All in all, taking into account its length, this is probably the worst road we have ridden on, and we have ridden on some rough stuff. The food situation is quite interesting, you sit at a table they come out with a bucket of rice and dishes of all sorts of things, and when you have finished they take the full dishes back and then try and guess what was in the empty ones, and put a price to it. Fish Heads seem to be a delicacy here, as they always get served up, and we try to indicate that we are not too fussed by always leaving them. Also it is impossible for us to eat without an audience, adults just stare at us and kids tend to go outside and line up with their noses pressed against the window. As we progress towards the southern end of the Island, one night we stayed in the town of Teluk Betung, just above the town, in a small park, is a harbour buoy, which was left there over 40 meters above sea level, by the tidal wave that followed the eruption of Krakatau in 1883.
The following day we headed down to the ferry for Java. This ferry is a 2 hour crossing, and for the two of us, and our bikes, the fare was 37p. As we sailed out of the harbour we looked westwards and although Krakatau is only a tidal waves throw away it was too far over the horizon for us to see. We were hoping riding conditions would improve in Java, and although the terrain for almost all of our route is quite flat the road surface very slightly better the traffic and pollution was a lot worse. In the towns with dense traffic going both ways, minibuses would pull away from the kerb without looking, motorcycles and vans would come out from side turnings without looking, cycles and rickshaws weaving in and out of it all, pedestrians would step out into the road without looking. Here it seems the right of way goes with he who has the greatest faith in Allah. In Jakharta, the noise, chaos and pollution is a hell of a lot worse. Out query is, if there is civil unrest or rioting, how would anyone know? We are racing across the island now. The town of Surabaya turned out to be a bit of a milestone for us, we met some other white people! It has been almost a month since we have been able to have a conversation with anybody in English. The cycle rickshaws in Indonesia have the passengers sitting at the front and the cyclist sits at the back. They have an amazing amount of iron and chains welded to them for decoration and are built strong enough to withstand anything that this environment can throw at them. I should know, 5 minutes after leaving our hostel in Surabaya, one came out of a side turning, in the usual "non looking" mode and hit me broadside, knocking me off my bike and bending my front wheel. Once I had collected my bike and myself together I got my tools out to sort out my wheel problem. I had half a dozen people "helping" me, poking fingers in every where, others were shouting at the rickshaw driver, who decided it would be expedient to bugger off. I got a scratch on my knee and one on my wrist, but while I was working on my wheel I was getting smothered in iodine by some of my "helpers". Once all was sorted out, as best we could, once more we set off. Our road takes us round three volcanoes two extinct and one quietly smouldering. Tomorrow we shall be on Bali we must have been spoilt for exotic locations as we already have our tickets to leave this tropical island as soon as possible. Partly to keep up with the seasons, partly to catch up with the budget, but mainly because we are getting fed up with chicken and rice three times a day.
Australia
Australia, the land of sunshine and plenty. It has puzzled me for a long time why in the past, the authorities sent all the miscreants to this rich land, and all the good guys stayed in damp and dismal England. We are sitting in Darwin, working on our next move, we plan to cycle from Darwin, in the north, to Melbourne, in the South. Coast to Coast - straight through the centre. We are almost looking like "proper" cyclists now, as by law, we have to wear cycle helmets. We are still travelling light, apart from carrying 2 gallons of water and 2 days supply of food, EACH. Fingers crossed - watch this space
Our route planning for this stage of the journey is not too difficult. In 1862 explorer John McDouall Stuart pioneered a way from Adelaide to Darwin, years later the Stuart Highway was built, and this is our road, all 3200 kms. of it. After that some 850 kms round the coast to Melbourne. Our road takes us through the Tanami Desert, Simpson Desert, Great Victoria Desert, Pedirka Desert, Woomera (Rockets Galore) and the Nullarbor. Once we had got kitted up with great hope and expectation we pointed our bikes south and set off. The first few days was a big disappointment covering only 60 km per day, besides our normal loads the two gallons of water and three days supply of food each coupled with a slight head wind took its toll. Even with the slightest incline we were using gears we had not used for a long time. Once the countryside evened out a bit and we had adjusted to our new situation we were back to norm. and off through the bush to the outback and the Red Centre. Most sights of interest are some distance off the highway, and as we have far enough to go anyway, we decided once again NO DEVIATIONS, but after four days our first stop for sight seeing was Pine Creek, an old Gold Rush Town. The main Gold Mine was an open cast mine and after its closure the local creek was diverted into it and it took two years to fill it, leaving nothing of the old mine workings to be seen. Nearby another small mine geared for tourism was closed. Pine Creek itself has only four streets, so it was very easy to see that there was very little to see, apart from an old Railway Station and the nearest railway is over 1300 kms. away. (I think the Tourist Brochure lied about this place)
Two days further down the road we came to Mataranka, also called Never Never Land, supposedly because the people who live here never never want to leave (more rubbish).
Although Mataranka does have possibly the biggest termite mound in the world. The next morning we packed our bikes and were on our way, two kms. down the road we decided to stop and visit the old Elsey Homestead, and the two thermal springs nearby, and we will leave tomorrow (is the never never reaching out to us?). We were surprised at the amount of traffic on the Highway, it is the only road through Central Australia and there are roads connecting to the East and West Coasts, but there are only 10 - 15 vehicles an hour on this road, but we don't mind. On down the track we came to Larrimah, where we stopped for our sixth night. Larrimah consists of a petrol station with a campsite, across the road was a "Historic Hotel" (Historic means it is 60 years old and made of corrugated steel) and in 1997 this community got a "Highly Commended" in the Territory Tidy Towns Competition. If this constitutes a town, no wonder there is so little traffic on the road. On our way from here we met a man walking from Adelaide to Darwin, pulling a small trailer, now that is some feet. But we are moving into fly country, they are small flies, but what they lack in size they make up for in numbers, there are millions of them. They get in your eyes, up your nose, in your food and even drown in your tea. We are camping either in campsites at road houses (petrol stations) or in the bush. Our eleventh night was a bush camp at Attack Creek, so called because Stuart and his party was attacked here on his first expedition and was forced to return to Adelaide, after covering some two thirds of their journey. As we cycled down the highway, we are amazed at all the greenery (well greenish) and all the flowers, where are all the deserts?
It appears that the last wet season gave about ten times the normal rainfall and the plants that have adapted to this very harsh and very hostile environment were making the most of it. But for us we were getting sand in our shoes, clothes, bedding, bikes and gears, so we came to the conclusion - "Its desert, Jim, but not as we know it" One lunchtime we stopped at a pass in a small ridge called Native Gap, after lunch getting into gear for whizzing down the slope the other side a small herd of cattle came out of the bush straight across the road and disappeared into the bush the other side. This small stampede took place only 15 feet in front of us, its a good job I was wearing my brown corduroy cycling shorts! On day seventeen we arrived at Alice Springs, where we took a couple of days our for R & R and bike maintenance. We had to put on some new tyres as the Aussie road was ripping ours to shreds, after resting we set off for the second leg. Our plan was to visit some meteorite craters, some twelve kms. off the highway, down an unmade road, and then carry on down this road to Kings Canyon. After the third time of getting off our bikes to push them through deep sand we gave up and went back to the main road, and the long way round. This effort took us one and a quarter hours to cover a total of 10 kms. and we decided we like our adventures the easy way. We spent that night at Erldunda, at this point we turned off the main road to take a side trip to visit Uluru and Kings Canyon etc. The following morning we set off down the Lasseter Highway with a slight tail wind and high expectations (again). After a while the wind completely changed direction and grew in strength, but when the sand started whipping up across the plains and the dead tumbleweed bushes came bowling down the road, just like a Clint Eastwood film, we decided to call it a day and put up the tent and take shelter. We sat there all afternoon, watching the sandstorm, just us and the flies, did I tell you about the flies?
Since leaving Alice Springs we have been overtaken by a lot of small coaches and trailers with "Outback Adventure Tours" sign written on them. We have to chuckle at all the people doing the outback adventures in an air conditioned coach. When we pulled into a picnic area, for our lunch stop, one of these busses were there with a food table set up, and the driver invited us over to join them. The table was full of all sorts of things that we could only dream about, during conversations the driver asked us if we wanted the left over food, as this was their last stop on the way back and all leftovers went in the bin. Out came our spare plastic bags and we loaded up. We only had to add bread and this food lasted us for two days, after that we thought that "Outback Adventures" were jolly good people, but none of them gave us any more food. On our detour to The Rock we went up the Laritja Road to the very impressive and spectacular Kings Canyon. Central Australia was once a vast inland sea and the rock formations and fossils on the top of Kings Canyon give evidence to this. The flora in the bottom of the canyon gives the appearance of a primeval forest, the whole thing is quite amazing. But on to Yulara. Yulara is a resort town for The Rock, its only purpose is to provide accommodation and shops for visitors to Uluru, and homes for the workers in this tourist industry. It is no bigger than Centre Parcs, yet it is the fourth largest town in the Northern Territories, and the Territory is three times the size of the UK. Overcrowding is not a problem in Australia. At Ulura we had a stroke of luck, some people in the next tent gave us two park entry tickets worth A$16 each. Our first day into the park was to Kata Tjuta (The Olgas) and absolutely fantastic rock formation, that stands some 550 metres above the surrounding dessert. The next day was Uluru (The Rock) although it can be seen from miles away, and looks impressive, when you get close to it, it becomes seriously impressive. The Anangu People are the traditional owners of this area, and The Rock is of great significance to their cultural beliefs and they do ask that people do not climb it, and with due deference to their beliefs we opted to walk around the base and not go up it. It was a brilliant two and a half hour walk in total, it was awesome, and had a certain presence. This detour was 1100 kms, so much for no deviations! Day thirty six saw us back at the Stuart Highway. In Indonesia we were the centre of attraction where ever we went, and we thought "It will be good to get to Australia, where we will be just like everybody else" But it appears that cyclists in the outback are very much a novelty and we have lost count of the number of times we have recounted our route and of the number of people that have taken 'photos and videos of us. Crossing the State Line into South Australia has brought a dramatic change to the countryside, it has become a barren and desolate landscape, and the only wild life appears to be flies. Did I tell you about the flies?
Some two hundred and fifty kms after crossing the state line we crossed the Dingo Fence, which is some nine thousand kms of fence across Australia to keep the dingo’s in, or out, whatever. Now at last it is safe to leave the baby out at night! Soon after crossing the dog fence the landscape took a turn for the worse, as approximately two thousand square kms have been dug over in the quest for fortunes. In the centre of this lunar-scape is Coober Pedy, supplier of eighty percent of the worlds opals. Our plan is to have a day here for sightseeing and then carry on. The majority of locals live in underground homes, this sort of thing was on our minds to see, as were the underground shops, churches and old opal mines. There were even underground hotels and an underground camp site. Walking round the town we thought it had the looks and atmosphere of an old time Gold Rush Town.
Drinking water did not come to the town until the 1960's electricity the 1970's and TV the 1980's, although they can still only get two channels, but for anybody who has watched programmes like neighbours would realise that is probably a blessing. The tarmac road came here in the late eighties, so Coober Pedy has been fairly isolated for a long time. The surrounding area has been used in a number of films, including Mad Max. One of the places we visited outside of the town was the home of Crocodile Harry, many years ago, Harry (real name Harvid) came to Oz from Latvia and became a crocodile hunter. When he got fed up with that he turned his hand to Opal Mining. After twenty five years of that he now lives in his worked out mine, which is amazingly and originally decorated. Harry now in his eighties, earns a few dollars from visitors and film companies, as his home has been in a few films, including Mad Max! Time to leave Coober Pedy, four days here is enough. Day 44, back on the Stuart Highway. At Port Augusta we reach our first bit of Australia's South Coast, and from here on we should be able to get all of our water from a tap, instead of getting most of it from bore wells, rainwater buts or scrounging it off of passing caravans. Earlier on we mooted coming back via the USA, but as much as we really have enjoyed this ride, we decided that one desert crossing is enough for one trip, or maybe one lifetime!
North of Port Augusta it is all sand and scrub, but as we leave Port Augusta, going south, it is all green pastures and cornfields. The sudden change is amazing, there is more habitation here and the sense of freedom has gone, but worse still, when we got to Adelaide we were greeted by two days of RAIN. The first rain we have had for almost four months, but Adelaide is the end of the Stuart Highway. Only nine hundred kms. to get to Melbourne. But from here we have at last got rid of the flies, did I tell you about the flies? South Australia has only fifty kms of motorway (no bicycles) so we have to take the very scenic route as it goes over two mountains, but it was a spectacular ride and eventually we joined up with our road somewhere after it stopped being a motorway. By day 57 we reached Mount Gambia, the Mount at Mount Gambia was formed by recent volcanic action (recent by geological terms that is) and the town is built over caves and around sink holes and on the edge of town there are three lakes within the crater rims. The most famous of these being the Blue Lake, which changes colour with the seasons in defiance of scientific explanation. As we were there for only two days we did not get a chance to see this phenomenon. We have been advised, by a number of people, to take the Great Ocean Road, so at Warrmanbool we turned off the Melbourne Road to follow the Ocean Road and its stunning coastline. All the people who told us about this road also warned us about the winds. The winds round this coast are legendary as the number of ship wrecks here will bear witness, probably the most famous of these is the Glen Ard. The Glen Ard set sail from Gravesend on 2 March 1878, on the last night of the three month voyage passengers and crew celebrated a successful trip, but by six o'clock the following morning the ship foundered and all on board were lost. As all good things must come to an end, so does this road and our ride as we finish up at Melbourne, after 78 days on the roads in Australia. Its a shame to be leaving this country as we are just starting to get the hang of the language;
Ozzie English
Swimmers: Bathing Costume
Sunnies: Sunglasses
Arvo: Afternoon
Servo: Petrol Station
Snags: Sausages
Treadlies/Pushies: Bicycles
Tinny: Small Can of Beer
Stubbie: Small Bottle of Beer
Bottolo: Off Licence
Sticky: Beak Nosy
Dunnie: Outside Toilet
Fair Dinkum: My Dinkum is in fair order
Don't come the raw prawn: We are still working on that.....
Technicalities
Australia End to End 4,300 kms
Plus visit to Uluru (Ayers Rock) 1,100 kms
78 Days is the longest either of us have spend continuously living in a tent.
New Zealand
Our New Zealand leg got off to a slow start, as the immigration officers here are painstakingly thorough, and an earlier flight was late, so there were two plane loads queuing up for processing. And on top of that the conveyor with our baggage on decided to blow a fuse! but after getting through all that we headed off into Christchurch where we were going to stay with some friends, and sleep in a bed, a real bed in a real room! After a few days of investigating the environs of Christchurch the open road beckoned, so we had to leave our lovely bedroom and set off. Going across the Canterbury Plain was a whiz, but we soon came to the hills, and New Zealand is full of hills, but our first major stop was at the town of Kaikoura where we booked to go swimming with dolphins the next day. A long time ambition for both of us, but the following morning all sailings were cancelled, due to adverse weather conditions, so we transferred to the day after and kept our fingers crossed. It worked, as we woke to blue skies and a calm sea. Out at sea we were dumped in the middle of a huge pod of dusky dolphins swimming amongst them was quite magical as they came up to investigate us. Although we were of curiosity value to the dolphins they had more fun with our boat, which was more able to match their swim speed. It was fantastic to sit on the bow and watch them play as the boat sped along. After the dolphins, further up the coast there was a large colony of seals on the beach, so I had to clamber down the rocks to try and get to them. As I got close some of the young pups scampered off into the sea, when I was in amongst them a couple of the big bulls began to roar at me, and given my track record with wild animals I went no closer than six or seven feet, took a couple of 'photos, and cleared off. All of this and a bit of good bird watching, a really fantastic day.
From here we wended our way northwards to Picton and the ferry across to Wellington. "Windy Wellington" lived up to its name, and with an anti cyclone stuck just off the coast the cycling over the next few days was rather precarious. But after three days on the North Island we reached Taihape, the wellington capital of New Zealand, NOT Wellington THE Capital of New Zealand, but wellington as in wellie throwing. It is here that the championships are held every year. From Taihape we took the desert road to Turangi. Prior to reaching this desert I found it hard to imagine that amongst all this lush greenery, on a small island, there could be a desert. After reaching it I decided it would take more imagination than I could muster. Further on, at Taupo, we took the day off for sightseeing, looking round the huge Lake Taupo, getting our first look at a thermally active area and a geothermal powerstation and even fitted in a jet boat ride. But moving on to Rotorua we came to the real thermal area, here our first visit was to Te Whakarewarewatangaotetauaowahiao, which means where two men came to have a talk, by the boiling mud, or something like that! Now a days for every bodies convenience it is just called Te Whakarewarewa. But the geysers and the boiling mud were incredible. Another site nearby is named Hells Gate, and that is just the impression that it gives, with its boiling cauldrons and steaming pits. Visiting these areas has been another long time ambition of mine. The weather has not been too kind for us, as we are here a bit early in the season, and El Nino is still having its effect, we have had a lot of high winds and more rain than we would have liked.
So we have decided to move on, although the prospects elsewhere do not look too good. On our way out of Rotorua we came across a field with an ostrich in it. We stopped to have a look, the ostrich went down on its knees, stretched out its stubby wings and proceeded to do some sort of a courtship or friendship dance, so I went over to the fence and the ostrich stood up. Thinking that now my bad luck with wild animals seems to be wearing off, I put up a hand of friendship to him, and the bugger took a bite out of it! Making our way to Waihi I noticed a nifty shortcut on the map, but not wearing my glasses at the time, I did not notice the subtle colour change. The road took us through some spectacular scenery, over high hills and into deep valleys. After a while we came to the subtle colour change, ten kms of this road is unmade, and negotiating these hills on mud and gravel with fully loaded bikes is not the most fun we have had. But eventually to Auckland and away. Its good bye to the Antipodes, until the next time. Technicalities, by now we have clocked up just over 20,000 kms, since entering France and up until now we have been using kms. Since entering Pakistan and up until now we have been cycling on the left. We have come to the conclusion that this trip has been one of missed opportunities, in Pakistan, a Moslem country, alcohol is not permitted, but on our last day there we found out, as non-Moslems we could have got a permit to imbibe. We missed out on getting a licence to drink. In Central Australia we missed out on getting a licence to go fossiking. In South Australia a licence to go noodling cost $35, so we missed out on that. And in New Zealand we missed our chance to go pillicking.
USA
We did not expect coming to the USA to be the best of plans. But for us, personally, it seemed to be the lesser of all the evils, but looking at a 3,000 mile (we are back on miles now) ride across more deserts and in winter, does not look as much fun as it could be. But we are determined to make the most of it. We did not get off to the best of starts, after travelling on the poor roads of Romania, India, Nepal and Indonesia, Helen wrecked her bike, bending both wheels and frame, on the abysmal Highway between the airport and Los Angeles.
I know it is possible to cycle from this coast to inland USA, but with the two maps I have, I cannot find a route. As America is the land of the motor car everywhere is grid locked with freeways. So whilst pondering on the viabilities of repairing Helen's cycle and its road worthiness with two mountain ranges to cross, we decided, as we have been on bikes for some sixteen months we would now hire a car and drive part of the way and treat it as a holiday. Come on, be fair.
We have got our new transport, and we are off, but the first problem we came across was the language barrier, we are not the only ones with this difficulty, the locals also have trouble, and they break into Spanish to overcome the problem. We could only shrug our shoulders. One of our first stops was Yosemite National Park, an area of outstanding natural beauty, but at this time of year there are severe limitations due to snow and ice. But we did get to see the giant sequoia trees. Even the one that had been hollowed out and a tarmac road laid so cars could drive through it, alas, it fell down some thirty years ago (but it is still there). The park guide leaflet says that there are bears and mountain lions living in the park, and gives advice on what to do should you encounter any of these animals. With the bears you make a lot of noise and hope it goes away, you should not try and physically retrieve anything taken by the bears. On encountering a mountain lion throw sticks at it and, if attacked, fight back fight back!! who the hell do they think we are? Tarzan and Jane?. With all the notices around about bears wrecking cars and tents in search for food and overnight temperatures well below freezing, Helen developed a lack of interest for camping, so at this time we have to stay in Motels. After Yosemite we headed across the Great Mojave Desert to Death Valley. This valley is some forty miles long and fifteen miles wide, and at two hundred and eighty feet below sea level is the lowest point in the Americas. And, at one hundred and eighty miles to the nearest town it is in the middle of nowhere. The arid and desolate landscape is truly awesome. In summer the daytime temperatures can get as high as 135F. In 1849 a party of "forty-niners" looking for a short cut to the gold fields found there way through here and even after running out of food and water, they survived, despite this they called it Death Valley, and the name has stuck. We came through in the middle of December, with the temperature only at 74F, and we survived as well.
After Death Valley it was ever eastwards across the mountains and deserts. Eventually, coming over the last mountain pass, we could see a HUGE glow in the desert night sky, Las Vegas, with slot machines, black jack, and roulette, we are going to be rich, RICH. The casinos on the strip in downtown Vegas are gigantic, and all are built around a theme. As well as acres and acres of gambling inside these casinos have streets and buildings resembling the likes of Paris, New York or downtown Egypt etc. they also have restaurants, shopping malls and up to a five thousand bedroom hotel, all running twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. The only problem we had was after wandering through Luxor, Excalibar, Ceasars Palace and the rest, we found the fruit machines are no longer the "put the coin in the slot and pull the arm" variety. They are whole games with lots of buttons and lights, we didn't know how to work them, so we did not play and did not get rich, so we left! Ever eastwards, this time to the Grand Canyon. No words I could write would ever describe the size, rugged beauty or the awesomeness of the Grand Canyon. It is truly stunning, it has to be seen to be believed. But I can find words to describe camping on the canyon rim, although we are travelling in a car at the moment, we still only have summer weight clothing and bedding. During the day it is quite warm on the Canyon rim, at 7,500 feet above sea level, in mid December, overnight the temperature drops to ten degrees below freezing, and even with ALL our clothes on, we were shivering too much to sleep. One of the benefits of laying awake most of the night, we were able to listen to the packs of coyotes patrolling the camp and howling, as coyotes do. After this night we both developed a lack of interest in camping, at least until we get down to lower altitudes, and lower latitudes. Onwards.
A lot of the time, on this part of the journey, we are travelling on the legendary Route 66. We did not get too may kicks, but I expect that is because we were taxiing east and not west. We are still having a language problem, in one shop Helen was accused of "not speaking English". Our next town was Silver City, for us it was only an overnight stop, but, this is the town where Billy the Kid spent most of his life, as a kid (and presumably as Billy). Our destination was north of here, up the Gila Valley, into the Gila Wilderness Park, to see the cave dwellings of the Mogollon Indians. It is also in this valley, at the head of the Gila river that Geronemo, the Apache Chief, was born. After wending our way through a couple more National Parks, we crossed the Rio Grande into El Paso. El Paso, has changed a lot since a young cowboy rode into town, looking for Rosies Cantina, and sadly, not for the better. So we just kept going until we got to San Antonio, where we visited the Alamo, where Davey Crockett, Jim Bowie and two hundred volunteers took on the might of Santa Anna and his seven thousand strong army, and lost. At San Antonio I tried my first Root Beer, a fizzy soft drink, which seems to be quite popular here. I think it is an acquired taste, as it is like I would imagine gaseous disinfectant to be! At Houston we got rid of our deluxe self propelled transport and were back on our own two wheels. Having got Helen's bike repaired, as best we can, although it does have severely altered handling characteristics, due to her "modifications (good job we took a car over the mountains as her bike would have been unsafe). On our travels, through the U.S. although it was not unexpected, we were surprised by the number of shanty towns that we went through. We did not realise how much we blended in with this poverty until, in one town, we were at the roadside, discussing what to do, when someone, who handing out food parcels for Christmas, gave us one each. Our second Christmas on the road was spent in the town of Beaumont, 1901, saw Beaumont as the first town in the U.S. to experience the Black Gold (oil) rush. Nowadays the oil has moved on, leaving Beaumont in a state of limbo, half developed, half derelict. Like Joseph and Mary, we had trouble trying to find somewhere to stay, but we did find a grotty motel. One up from a stable. But only just! After a few days of headwinds, near freezing temperatures, rain, the odd snow flurry and rough roads we gave up again and caught the bus to Florida. Tallahassee, the weather is a bit warmer and brighter, I have done some more work on Helen's bike, so it handles a bit better, now we can do the last eight hundred miles or so on our cycles, with no excuses. BUM!
The "Sunshine State" started off well, when we got to Tallahassee people were wearing shorts and tee shirts, and we thought we had cracked it - at last. The next day we did some sight seeing and shopping, including buying a new saddle for Helen. I left the original Brookes leather saddle on my bike, but Helen was convinced by some of her friends to get a gel saddle. This proved to be a problem almost from day one, and it finally fell apart here. It would seem jelly is alright for the odd shopping trip but for my money the Brookes is "World Class". And it rained all day. The following day we left, heading south, not a cloud in the sky, bright sunshine, but freezing cold. We have got to the lower altitudes and latitudes we wanted, but not the temperatures we wanted. For the next three days along our route all of the ditches, ponds and lakes were frozen - it was COLD. On New Years Eve, as we got into town, Helen went into a supermarket to get some food, when she came out included in the shopping was a bottle of "a nice little white wine" to celebrate with. I muttered "that’s not enough" and carried on muttering all the way down the road. When we passed another supermarket I rushed in to get some more booze. "Sorry, no liquor sales on Sunday" but when we found our Motel there was a liquor store across the road, Bingo! Five o'clock, we open the wine, five thirty, its all gone, five forty five, I go across the road to the liquor store and its CLOSED! Happy New Year!! The locals are pretty excited as the forecast is snow for tonight, they haven't had snow here for thirty five years, we were not so excited. Morning, first of January 2001, it looks like our lack of excitement carried the day, as there was no snow.
As we progressed southwards the weather started to get warmer, we also managed to get in some nature, culture and history. At Homosassa we went into a marine wildlife park where we saw our first Manatees, fascinating underwater mammals. At St. Petersburg we went into the Dali Museum and at Fort Myers, the birthplace of the Alka Seltzer, we visited the winter homes of Henry Ford and Thomas Edison. I don't know what Henry Ford would have said about his home being part of a history tour. Ever southward. When we started this trip we were advised by several people to disguise our bikes when we got to the far east, but there is nothing you can do to disguise a sparkling twenty seven geared super tourer to make it undesirable compared to a rusty old single speed sit up and beg roadster. But now, coming up to fourteen thousand miles of hard living the bikes no longer need disguising. The "Sunshine State" is coming good, as we progress south it is getting very hot. At one point, crossing from the west to the east coast, well inland, we crossed a place called Shark Valley, we did not see any sharks. and as most of Florida appears to be only five feet above sea level, we could not even see any valley. Our first night in the Everglades National Park started well, we had a beautiful campsite in a sparse pine forest. After we finished dinner we sat there with our mug of red wine watching the sun go down, and soaking up the tranquillity, but, as the sun set and the light faded a hundred generators started up, as a hundred forty foot long camper vans needed power for lighting and their satellite TV. From here it was down to Flamingo, the southernmost point of mainland USA.
On our way through the Everglades we had the opportunity to see Alligators, more Manatee, and a great variety of bird life, in this vast semi-submersed wilderness. While we were in Flamingo (the name came from early settlers who saw Roseate Spoonbills here and thought they were Flamingos) the "Sunshine State" gave up on us and we had high winds and rain. A Racoon came in the tent during the night and run off with some of our food stock, so eventually we packed our bags and headed for the Keys. The Florida Keys are a string of Islands linked together by the Overseas Highway US1. The Americans appear to have a flair for bullshit! The first and the biggest of the keys is Key Largo, (play it again Sam) (yes, I know) I don't know what it was called before but the name was changed to Key Largo after the Bogey Film. Here we were hoping to go snorkelling, at Key Largo, but despite praying to the weather Gods, it is still too windy and cold, so we moved further along the Keys to the town of Marathon. We booked our boat trip, the wind dropped, the sun came out and everything in the world was lovely. We turned up early for our snorkel trip and after an hour of sitting and listening to the skipper talking about his marvellous fishing and boating exploits, he told us that our trip would not go ahead - due to lack of support. A MAJOR disappointment for us. But where we camped, on Long Key, in the next tent to us, were a couple of fellows on holiday from N.A.S.A. and their hobby was Stargazing. They had with them, in their tents two HUGE telescopes, and one was even computer controlled. We had two super evenings looking at Craters on the Moon, Jupiter and its Moons and the Rings round Saturn. We also looked at Nebulae and distant galaxies, this definitely made up for the lack of snorkelling. Thanks to Dave and Dave the "Telescope Men". And, we had a boat trip booked at Key Largo on the way back. Back at Key Largo again strong winds and rough seas cancelled our last chance snorkelling trip - c'est la vie. So its back to Miami and home to Blighty. America has not struck us as a country to re-visit, but, for several days on the Keys we were in the company of two American Cycle Tourists and they convinced us that we have not seen the best of the U.S. and not the best of the people, so, we could be tempted......
Sitting at airport in the sub tropical heat of Miami, we were told our plane would be late due to the freezing fog at Gatwick, not the best news we have heard. But as expected we left Gatwick airport at 8 O’clock in the morning in freezing fog and icy roads, "welcome home".
We spent the next week meandering home staying with friends and relations on the way. We stretched it out a bit so that we could get our mileage up to 14,000 Yesterday the world, tomorrow reality.
We started this trip on a whim, though it was somebody else’s whim, we had no real targets or plans which in a way was a help as we were able to do as we liked when we liked. The whole trip has been an adventure but surprisingly an easy and enjoyable one, if we can do it anyone can do it.