Thai Christmas

Riding south out of Goa it felt great to be back on my bike. In this happy state I hardly noticed the heat, humidity and hills. By the end of the second day the consequences caught up with me, my legs cramping badly in the night.
So I cut down the daily mileage and pottered from pretty beach to pretty beach. Even though it was Indian holiday season these were normally deserted. Indians don't sunbathe, they prefer the pale look (half the adverts on billboards and TV are for skin whitening products). Also, I was told, Indians like crowds, so a deserted beach stays deserted.
To fly to Thailand I had to get the train up the coast to Mumbai / Bombay. So I found a guesthouse by the sea and topped up my tan while waiting a few days for the train.
It felt weird to fly east but end up in a country as westernised as Thailand. Everywhere I looked there were 7 eleven stores and american style pick up trucks. I had to ride through the centre of Bangkok. It seems like an interesting city with its canals and street markets and buddhist temples. But it was a sunday and I didn't want to hang around to get caught by weekday traffic gridlock.
For Christmas I planned to go snorkelling in the fish filled, clear warm waters of the Andaman Sea off Thailand's south west coast. I reached the sleepy island of Koh Muk and lived in a bamboo hut for a week, snorkelling everyday.
Next I head south through Malaysia to the port of Malacca from where the ferry crosses to the Indonesian island of Sumatra. Indonesia is dauntingly long. But as the chinese proverb says "a journey of one thousand miles starts with a single pedal".

Peak season in Goa, I had this beach to myself

Nightime photo of a fire juggler in Thailand

We kayaked through a 70 metre long tunnel into the Emerald Cave

As well as seeng the cave we also kayaked to some lovely snorkelling places

Losing it in India

So far in my trip I have been lucky, with no mechanical mishaps or bad incidents. My ambition to travel on an Indian train has changed all that.
After riding my bike to Nagpur in central India I wanted to catch a train to Goa (for a change of scenery). The train went from Bhopal - about  150 miles away - so  I thought I would do a practice run on a train to see how the system worked.
Upon reaching Bhopal (at 10:30 at night), there was no sign of my bike. A visit to the luggage office confirmed it had not been taken off the train and was on its way to Delhi. They told me to come back at 9 in the morning to see what to do. No. I kicked off with them and got to see the manger who made the necessary  calls to get my bike taken off at the next stop (I hoped).
Next - where to stay? Indian railway stations have "resting rooms" , the manager booked me into one of these until 8 the next morning.
At 7:30 and again at five to eight a man knocked  on the door claiming it was eight o'clock and the room was his. I got angry, he went away.
After bludgeoning my way through more Indian inefficiency finally a man emerged on the crowded platform pushing my mighty bike.
Now I needed a ticket for Goa. Some kind Indians helped, but there were no tickets available. One of the helpful Indians said he was an agent and could get me a ticket for a small fee. Cutting a long story short, he ran out of the reservation  office and disappeared with my 3000 rupees. I reported it to the police, we could track him up to a point on cctv, but then he got away.
I was not so lucky. It too four police officers 6 hours to file my simple report.
I'm still stuck in Bhopal. You might ask why I don't ride out? Two reasons for this, firstly, normal Indian roads are busy, bumpy, noisy and dangerous. I have been using a new dual carriageway toll road which is smooth, scenic and relatively  safe. But this good road does not run from Bhopal. Secondly, I still want a have a proper Indian train journey.
I am on the waiting list for tomorrow's train, so fingers crossed.

India - Pictures I did and didn't take.

Everywhere you look in India there is a photograph  waiting to be taken. The towns, countryside and people shimmer with colour, vibrancy and variety. It is reminiscent of the stunning photography in National Geographic  magazine. People live their lives right in front of you. Yet despite this I took few pictures.
Pictures I didn't take:
1) Choking pollution. Riding out of the crystal clarity of the Himalayas I was soon smothered in India's industrial smog. Factories billowing  brown clouds, trucks belching black exhaust, roadside fires of litter adding to this acrid mix. The sky was a gritty, dirty brown. The sun was a meek orange disc. At every crossroads there was traffic anarchy. Indians put the bus stations and taxi ranks at these cauldrons of chaos for added drama. And dogs dodge death (usually) and sacred cows stroll calmly through this bedlam, pausing occasionally  to eat rubbish.
I thought every Indian town would be this bad, so didn't capture this post apocalyptic scene on film.
2) Everyday  beauty. The industrial zone around the city of Jammu gave way to vast plains of lush green paddy fields framed by silvery irrigation channels. Women in bright red, green and gold saris  toiled in the fields or walked homeward balancing bundles of firewood on their heads. They seemed to live their lives largely separate from the men - who sit in tea houses chatting. It didn't seem right to photograph them.
3) Bathtime. Beside many roadside cafes there is often a large open tank of water. Locals and lorry drivers strip to their underpants and wash themselves and their clothes. Good to see this level of hygiene, but I guessed photography would be inappropriate.
4) Schoolchildren. In some rural areas the government give girls cycles to ride to school. So you see processions of girls weaing nun like uniforms riding old fashioned style bikes - all gleaming in the early morning sunlight.
Smaller children are squeezed into tiny 3 wheeled tuk tuks. Ten children fit into each, with the rear row facing backwards, we wave and say hello when we overtake each other.
5) Basic, rural villages. Clusters of simple huts, with clean swept yards. Oxen tethered close by, chicken roaming free. Women pumping water from nearby wells, toddlers playing in the dust, school age children tending meagre flocks of goats. I wouldn't like it if tourists took pictures of me in my normal life, I afford the same respect and privacy to the villagers.
6) A tiger. See below.
Now for photographs I did take:   

On average, one truck a day crashes OVER the edge in the Himalayas

This kind man let me ride his Roayal Enfield Bullet, 350cc

Taj Mahal, Agra, nr Delhi. Sublime.

No tiger. But I did see a wild leopard  - you will have to look closely.

The Himalayas

The Zoji La pass on my return leg

Riding over my first Himalayan  pass at Zoji La was a brutal baptism. My legs were still sore from the previous day's 80 km climb to the glacier resort of  Sonmarg. The air at 3500 metres was noticeably  thinner, especially when carting my ladened bike on a rough uphill track. What wasn't rock was mashed to mud by convoys of army trucks heading in the opposite direction.One section was so steep that  I got off to push, but sticky mud was wedged between  the mudguards and the tyres so I couldn't manage. I had to get back on and pedal with all the force my wasted muscles could muster.
After cresting the snow covered summit there was a dramatic transformation in the scenery. Instead of the alpine look of the Kashmiri  Himalayas, the Ladakhi side was naked, multi-hued rock with occasional patches of golden poplar trees.
I stayed the night in the dirty, bleak town of Drass. Its the second coldest town on earth with an average winter minimum  temperature  of -45 c. The next town had an internet cafe, the weather forecast showed I had one more sunny day, then snow. So I ditched my bags at a clean hotel and rode  the unladened bike up to the village of Mulbech. In just 25 miles the culture went from entirely  islamic to predominantly  Buddhist  - with prayer flags and prayer wheels and ancient statutes of Buddha.
To beat the snow I retraced my route in a shared taxi. We stopped in a town for tea break - so I thought. Suddenly there was a stampede  of people surging past the cafe. A fellow passenger shouted through the open door "The pass has opened!" So I too rushed for our taxi. Then there was a mad race with cars, minibuses and trucks jostling for position on the broken road. Going back over the pass was a bit dicey, as the weather conditions were grim. The pass is blocked a lot in the winter.
I returned to the houseboat in Srinigar, to sort out my washing and a new route south to warmer sunshine.

Sunshine  on the way in

Kyrgyzstan and the Kashmir

When you travel for a while you have time to consider questions like where is the most beautiful place you have visited? For me, the alpine lakes of Kyrgyzstan  and the Kashmir feature high on this list.
By the time I cycled to Lake Issyk 5000 feet up in the Kyrgyzstan  mountains there was already snow on the peaks. I couldn't cycle over the pass to Almaty and so I stayed for a couple of days by the lake before returning to the capital - Bishkek. The hostel was home to several other cyclists escaping the wintry conditions.
I flew to Srinigar in Indian Kashmir via Delhi - which was like bedlam with tasty food. Now I am staying on a houseboat on a beautiful  lake in Srinigar. The owner has a small boat that we use to get to the city, but as the streets are full of police, beggars and salesmen I prefer the tranquillity of my houseboat.
Tomorrow I set off on a four day ride to Leh, high up in the Himalayas, the weather forecast is brilliant and so I can't wait.

View from my houseboat in Srinigar

Lake Issyk, Kyrgyzstan

Stopping on the Steppe

Three months might not seem like a long time to you, but it feels like a lifetime to me. Everyday is an adventure, everyday is different. Last week I was sweltering in 38 c desert heat, now I am shivering in 8 c on the Kazak steppe.
When I was camping in the desert there some cold mornings when a chill wind told me that winter was approaching. I want to get to the Himalayas  before snow blocks the roads, so I kept rolling eastwards.
In cities I try and stay in hostels. They are cheap, the home cooked local food is lovely  and you meet an interesting mix of fellow travellers. All the stereotypes are there - laid back Aussies, travel bores, couples where only one of them speaks.
The kindness of people always lifts my spirits. At random times kazak drivers would stop for a selfie, or press money into my hands - to buy dinner. A couple of days ago I was caught in a thunderstorm on the flat plains. I had been told there was a hotel a few miles down the road, but couldn't find it. I asked and asked, sodden wet and shivering in the cold darkness I queued  at a petrol station to ask the cashier when the manager  tapped me on the shoulder  and simply said "coffee?" Saved; he fed me and let me sleep on a sofa in a warm office.
Shepherds have a knack of finding me when I am wild camping. The last one told me I should sleep in his stable, it rained overnight so I glad I did. He gave me dinner - meat stew  (his goats), milk, butter, yoghurt from his cows, and bread baked in his clay oven. Their self sufficiency was eye opening.
When I do stay in a hostel or hotel I try and check the weather forecast. When I saw it said rain and 8 c for two days, I decided to stop cycling. I went to the train station but the next service to Bishkek (capital of Kyrgyzstan) was at 9 the next evening, so I squeezed my bike and gear into a minibus with the locals and did the pretty dreary  250 km across the rain swept Steppe in a dry 4 hours rather than a wet 2 days.
From here I want to ride to Lake Issyk, the forecast is for a few bright autumnal days, it should be beautiful. Then I will loop around to Almaty to fly to the Himalayas.

Breakfast at the dhepherd's house

Wonderful scenery  on the Kazak / Kyrgyzstan  border

Samarkland looks the set of a Raiders of the Lost Ark film

Crossing the desert

The route from western Kazakhstan into Uzbekistan has the reputation for being the worst road in the road. Not only is just a dirt track in places, but also passing trucks kick up clouds of dust, the headwind is infamous and there are few places to get food or water on this 600 mile stretch.
It does have its plus points though, the wildlife for one. Camels stare at my bike and me as if we're weird. Wild ponies somehow manage without water, eagles patrol the sky and gerbils scuttle down burrows as I psss by. The headwind was real torture - blasting me all day long with no shelter, no respite - my average speed some days was under 9 mph. A lot of the old road had been replaced with smooth, fast empty tarmac.
Due to the lack of foodstops I carried plenty of snacks and meals. Once, after almost two days with no shops my snack supply ran out, fortunately a town was on the horizon. There was an army checkpoint at the turnoff but they wouldn't let me go to the town. The soldier said there was a cafe 5 km further down the road. There was, so I didn't have to break into my emergency rations.It turned out that that there is a maximum security prison at that town, it's put in the middle of the desert so escapees would probably die - it is that isolated.
I am glad I didn't know about the prison when I was wild camping. It was blissfully quiet with no farmers or other people to worry about. The culvets (drains) under the road are a traditional place for desert cyclists to seek shelter. I tried a couple, in the evenings it was relaxing to lie back on the sun-warmed concrete and look at the stars.
Now I am in Nukus (Uzbekistan) for a couple of rest days. It has a big museum/art gallery and huge food market. Next I will ride to Kyrgyzstan via the old cities of Bukhara, Tashkent and Sanarkand.

Most of the route was traffic free, but that doesn't make a good picture.

Lots of wild ponies and camels in the Kazak desert

The camels were quite shy

Clean out culverts before you camp , i found a dead scorpion in one.

Georgia vs Azerbaijan

These two countries  gave me very different experiences.
1) Corrupt police
In Georgia I saw hardly any police. This added to the anarchic feel on the roads and in the towns. Whereas  in Azerbaijan  police and surveillance cameras seemed to be everywhere.
I was quickly waved through Azeri customs and was 100 km down the road when a young officer and an older, plain clothes colleague stopped me. After the usual pleasantries they said I had to pay a fine in dollars for not wearing a helmet. I protested, they held my bike and said I couldn't continue unless I paid up. After 20 minutes they realised I wasn't going to pay and let me go. Later I checked on Google, Azerbaijan  does not have a helmet law, it does have corrupt traffic police.
2) Stray dogs
Georgia has more dogs that snap and snarl and chase you up the road. But if you shout "No" or "stay" in a teacher's voice they normally stop. I was amazed that they can understand English.
3) Hotels / hospitality
In Georgia I accidentally stayed in a brothel. Not recommended if you want a good night's sleep. Outside of the capital cities (Tbilisi  and Baku) there are very few hotels. Late in the day I got to the outskirts of a big town in Azerbaijan and asked at a petrol station where the nearest hotel was and was told there wasn't one but I could stay there in a back room. The 24 hour station was run by four young lads who bickered and bantered like the Inbetweeners; funny, but I didn't get much sleep.

Today in Baku I was trying to find the ticket office for the ferries across the Caspian Sea. A pretty Azeri cyclist stopped and told me someone at her cycling  club could help so we went to the café where they were meeting. There were loads of friendly, interesting English speakers so I spent the morning with them.
This is typical of Azerbaijan, as I cycle kids hand me bunches of grapes, lots of people wave and offer cups of tea or food. The Azeri people have made this leg of my trip a fantastic experience I won't forget.

The  old town in Tbilisi was my favourite part of Georgiia

Azerbaijan is not the strictest islamic country

After having his photo taken, this boy demanded money. He is destined to be a traffic policeman

Bacu - still smart from its European Games makeover.

I promised the lads from the petrol station i would feature them.

Tough Turkey

The last two weeks have been physically very hard. I caught the ferry to avoid Istanbul's vast urban sprawl and was soon in peaceful, rural hills. A lot of road signs were missing, as was the road surface in places. Locals gave me directions and many cups of sweet tea. Powered by sugar and caffiiene the climbs seemed easy. Next day I reached the proper mountains, in the heat of the afternoon, with melting tarmac and little shade they were draining. As I crawled up at snail's pace the driver of every other passing car, lorry, motorbike or tractor would wave, hoot their horn or shout "hallo"; by the time I had waved back for the two hundredth time I just wanted them to leave me alone.
Next day I drank water from a great loking water fountain, within hours I was regretting it. I kept going for three more days although I had lost my appetite and was running on empty.
One rest day in the beautiful old city of Amasya turned into three rest days as my stomach bug returned. Several locals had told me not go to far into central or eastern Turkey due to terrorism and the mountainous terrain. Of the the two I was more scared of mountains and so planned a flattish route to the Black Sea. The road turned out to be a tiny, twisting farm track deep into the mountains, I had to back-track and stayed overnight at a teacher hostel. It took two more days of hard riding to reach the coast.
It was a relief to look out over the flat sea rather than wave after wave of mountians. I met another turkish cyclist who had spent one day riding in the mountains before deciding head for the easier coastal road. We rode together to the border town of Hopa. Tomorrow I will go to Georgia.

Great views of Istanbul from the ferry.

The most opulent hotel I have stayed in, so far.

Some of the caves and old houses in Amaya

Locals helping me with directions and coke.

 The Black Sea - a welcome sight.

Istanbul

My photographic skills don't do justice to the beaauty of Istanbul

After 5 weeks and 3954 km I have reached Istanbul. If this was my final destination it would be a fitting end, it is a most spectacular place. 14 million people live here and most seem to be fishing off the bridges. I am spending four nights in a good apartment before going on to explore eastern Turkey, then Georgia.

Reaching the Bosporus, Istanbul

The Gelato Bridge, connecting the old and new parts of the city.

Serbian Surprise

In the small Serbian city of Zrejanin the guesthouse owner took me to an excellent traditional restaurant. The food was rich, the portions huge and the wine tasty. Next day I was suffering when I bumped into a hippy who asked me back to his commune to look at the work of some international wood artists. Over a late lunch they invited me to stay, but I was feeling queasy and just wanted a quiet hotel room. I got a suitable place near the border.
Romania is a land of contrast, half the population drive flash German cars and the other drive horse and carts. As I rode through central Romania there were lorry loads of old german cars being transported south, somehow these are recycled into top of the range BMWs, Audis and Mercedes. It felt sinister. Southern Romania is Roma territory, where shepherds tend meagre flocks, some farmers harvest with a scythe, some seem to live in straw hovels. 
No campsites or hotels around and so began a tough 24 hours. I waited until darkness fell and pitched the tent in a hollow by an unused track. I had just accidently cleaned my teeth with savlon when a 4x4 came racing past, less then 6 feet from where I sat motionless like a scared rabbit. I had a fitful four hours sleep and was up early determined to sleep in hotel the next night. That meant a long 180km ride. But I still had plenty of cash to get rid of before I left Romania so I went to a good restaurant. When I went to pay with a 100 dinar note they refused it, dinar is Serbian currency. As I carry fake debit cards in my wallet it was a faf to sort out. Next day as I left to catch the 9 o'clock ferry I noted the hotel clock read 9 o'clock. Romania is on eastern European time, one hour ahead. Then it rained.
Normally their is little difference in the natural geography when you cross a border. Not so from Romania to Bulgaria. As soon as you cross the Danube you move away from the flat farmland to a hillier, varied verdant landscape that reminded me of rural Dorset. On my first night in Bulgaria I bumped into a family from Yorkshire; it was my first proper conversation for 3 days. So a big thank you to them, I had been going slightly mad.

Lunch at the commune

Sculpture park near remote Serbian village

Landslides closed the road, so it was a quiet Ride through northern

View from my first campsite in Romania.

Austria to Serbia

I found the Hungarian equivalent of Blackpool. About 100 miles south of Budapest I saw signs for a campsite (rare in Hungary). Following these led me to a semi derelict campsite, the gates were open but the recption was closed. Pitching my tent I could hear the music of a beach party happening on the banks of the Danube. I tried to guess the tunes just from the bass, but they all sounded like La Macarena. A big family camping nearby were playing loud folk punk. The shower block was derelict (see picture) but there was an old, unused, empty motel on the site. The rooms were locked but the showers weren't. It was a bit spooky.

Shower block in  the run down campsite

My route to Hungary had taken me down the Danube through Austria. This was very beautiful and the people were friendly too.

A typical picnic place by the Danube

Slovakia was a culture shock. Or rather, a lack of culture shock. I will gloss over the place.
By contrast Hungary was great (except that dodgy campsite). Budapest was magnificent. A huge music festival was about to start so there was no accomadation left in the centre. My hotel was in the suburbs, next to the old communist low rise blocks of flats, where colourful old trams rattled and hissed along the broad dusty boulevards. Very atmospheric.

Riding into Budapest

Yesterday I crossed into Sebia and stepped back in time 40 years. There are lots of old, soviet era cars on the street, very few supermarkets, and you can't drink the tap water -its green. Today is a rest day for me, I am staying in a big air conditioned room in the centre of the small city of Zrenjanin. Actually riding in the heat (there is a heatwave in central europe at the moment) is okay as long as the road is flat - so you are moving quickly with not too much effort. I will try and avoid hills and mountains. I am off to Romania tomorrow where I will try and follow the Danube because it should be flat and scenic.

Sadistic Germans

Riding through Black Forest was epic. The climbs were up to 19 per cent steep, and the descents on smooth, swooping empty roads were up to 13 km long. Brilliant. But then I got deeper into germany where a lot of the roads are too narrow to safely ride on so you have to use a maze of cycle paths.
I found the Danube Cycle Way okay, and met a french medical student going at about the same pace so we rode together for a couple of days. He is obsessed with churches, minsters and cathedrals which is okay for a couple of days but I didn't want to see every religous building between here and  Budapest (his destination) so today I rode solo again.
Onto Austria tomorrow, then Slovakia and Hungary. Hopefully I will get a good night's sleep, although a horde of Belgian hippies have just turned up on the campsite.

The ferry from France to Germnay

A traffic jam on the Danube Cycle Way.

A taste of France

The first three and a quarter days were great. Helpful tailwinds pushed me along empty, smooth roads with farmers and wildlife for me to watch. I stayed at campsites until yesterday when the tourist information man said "no campsites here, and the only hostel is 48 euros a night", i decided to wildcamp.
When i was sitting at the roadside picnic benches scoffing baggettes, brie and ham, I ignored the darkening sky until the rain made me shelter under a tree. A massive storm came through like a tornado - blowing branches off trees and a deluge of rain. Afterwards i headed back into town to find any hotel, but there weren't any. So wild camping it was; at least the storms and rain meant no sane person would be around to find me.
Later the next morning a local rider - Didier -asked if I wanted anything to eat, so I went to his house where Pascalle - his wife made a lovely 3 lunch finished off with plum liquor on vanilla ice cream.
Must end here, in a campsite at Raon l'Etape next to the Vosage mountains, just heard thunder.
Hope you like the photos.

Wild camping in wild weather

Cycle touring -its a hard life

Wild camping

I went wild camping in the hills. The bike handles the rough tracks well.  My tent and sleeping bag are brilliant, my cooking skills are not.

My bike + luggage

Planning to set off on the 18th of July. I need to practice some wild camping before I do that.

Here is Nellie, with her bags packed. No room for food!