NOT SO INCREDIBLE INDIA.

 

Nashik, Indore, Gwalior, Agra, Lucknow, Gorakhpur, Bhairhawa ( Nepal ) Total Kms11800

I had over a thousand miles ahead of me to Nepal and I wasn’t looking forward to it. My plans had changed because of the late monsoon, it would have been impossible to ride any further south than Mumbai, the wind and rain would be heading north and I would be trying to ride against it. I had thought about spending a couple of months in the city but what would I do, it would rain everyday and I would be stuck in a hotel room. On the morning that I left I could feel that the rains were not far away, it was a very dark sky that followed me north and I knew that before I got to Nepal I was going to have a few very wet days.

India had also started to get me down, its not the best place in the world to ride a bicycle any distance, your exposed to everything, the poverty, the destitute souls, the suffering, the filth and pollution, I was beginning hope. The people were always very friendly, someone would always call to me from the side of the road and I would find time to talk with them, in the cities and larger towns however there was always that high number of touts and rip off merchants trying to sell me anything and everything. The filth had become unbearable, the word hygiene is almost unheard off, the streets in every town or village where filthy, if I got off the bike to get water or something to eat I had to walk through piles of rubbish, I was always covered in everything imaginable and it was impossible to stay clean, every truck or car that passed me threw up clouds of dust and I was aware that I was breathing this crap in everyday.

Being tired and fed up meant that I was beginning to make mistakes on the road. I rode 120Kms one day only to find that I had left my credit card in the last hotel when I had checked out. I was going to have to take a taxi back to get it, I couldn’t face riding the bike back. The town I was in when I found out I had left my card had no hotel and no where to store the bike, I had only stopped to use a cash machine. I would have to find transport big enough for the bike and equipment. Its easy trying to find a cab in Europe, all you have to do is call the local cab office explain that you have a bike and a bit of kit and you need a large car. What we call normality in western societies doesn’t exist here, in India the first thing that happens when you stop is that a large crowd gathers around you, this crowd then followed me as I hunted for transport, it then waited outside the office as I made inquires, it then surrounded the pick up truck making it impossible for me and the driver to load the bike, the driver ended up fighting with people in the crowd because they wouldn’t leave me alone. I just stood there with my head down. 120Kms back to the last hotel, luckily my card was waiting for me when I arrived, the same guy who had checked me in the day before handed me the card, he had insisted on taking my phone number the day before when I checked into the hotel, so we can call you in case emergencies he had said, leaving my credit card when I checked out was obviously not an emergency.

I had also stopped looking after the bike, usually I spent a Sunday afternoon cleaning it and just checking it over, I hadn’t done this for the month or so that I had been in India, it was hard to find a quiet spot to do it properly. So the inevitable happened, the gears started to slip, I knew what the problem was, the oil needed changing in the speed hub or the cables needed to be looked at, both fiddly jobs that I could do in a quiet hotel room with my glasses on and a cup of tea by my side, I couldn’t do it at the side of a busy road. The only thing for it was to take a train to Jhansi a town about 100Kms north on the main Agra road, I didn’t want to ride the bike as this would only make the problem worse. The staff at the station informed me that the bike couldn’t travel with me on the passenger train but would have to travel on the next freight train and would arrive in Jhansi at 8.00am the next morning, I would arrive at 6pm that evening, there were no passenger coaches on the freight train and the next passenger train would be the last for the day, I had no choice but to take it.

Almost a week later I located the bike in Lucknow over 300Kms to the west of Jhansi, I had been to the station every day and no one could tell me what had happened to the bike or where it was. I went from one station office to the next and close to tears filled in the same forms. Then one morning I was told to call the station master in Lucknow, he told me that he had a bike arrive at his station in Lucknow that morning and he had never seen a bike like it, lovely machine, disc brakes, same as my car, I was over the moon, he offered to send it on the next train and I think the whole station heard me as I screamed NO down the phone, I will come to you, don’t let anyone move it I will be there this afternoon. I cant tell you what a relief it was to have the bike back, the next day I sorted out the gears and for the third time since I had arrived in India revised my route. I would have to miss the Taj Mahal and Dehli, my new route would take me north to Nepal, it was only a two day ride from Lucknow and to be honest I wanted out of India as quickly as possible.

I’m not sure why my credit cards stopped working in the cash machines, I knew there was sufficient cash in each account, I had called both banks only to be told that they had no record of me even trying to use the cards and that they had not been stopped for any reason, I was told that it must be a computer glitch and that I was to try using them again in the morning, if they didn’t work then I was to call back. I had about $50.00 in my pocket and had tried the machines on three different days with no luck. Every time my cards didn’t work I had to book another day in the same hotel, I had no money to pay the bill so I couldn’t check out, a completely insane situation. The walk to the cash machine every morning was like something out of a nightmare, the feeling of total panic that came over me every time I was refused money was overwhelming. It has happened at home but its never a problem, here in India thousands of miles from home with no money in my pocket I began to feel desperate and to make the situation worse I was afraid to use the card to pay for the hotel room in case it was refused, then they would realise I couldn’t pay my bill, I was eating in the hotel restaurant and adding it to my room bill. I had inquired about having money wired from my account to a local bank, the procedure was so complicated I thought it best to at least keep trying the cash machine, it had to cough up someday, after all I had money in my account. Everything fell to pieces for me that night, I was in the shower when the water went off, it happened all the time and I was used to it, then suddenly the lights went out, I was standing in the dark covered in soap, stuck in a town that I couldn’t leave because of my financial situation and there wasn’t a soul I could talk to I just sat on the bed and cried, outside in the street the usual mayhem was taking place. I felt as if I was in the middle of some insane circus and no one was laughing.

I’m writing this over two months later in a friends apartment in Warsaw, I thought it better to update the site after I had been out of the country for a while because I didn’t want my judgment to be completely clouded by my experiences , I also thought that the longer I was away from India the more I would begin to accept it and understand how it works. I flew back to Europe from Kathmandu less than two weeks after that night. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, or whether I would continue with the ride. I needed to rest in a place where everything worked and I was safe from the noise, the filth and the madness of India. It might have been fate but the bike never left Kathmandu, I payed DHL to ship it back to Europe as cargo, it was much cheaper than carrying it as luggage, when I called to find out what had happened to it I was told that there was a problem as to whether I should have paid for volume or weight, I argued that I had payed for weight, I shouldn’t have to pay for volume as well, so it was left at that and stored in the DHL Warehouse in Kathmandu.

I’ve decided to go back to Nepal and continue with the ride, I don’t want to be the man who went half way around the world or the guy who rode his bike to India, that wasn’t my dream. It was to ride a bike in an almost straight line around the world. I’m almost half way around and have loved it. I made the mistake of letting India get to me and I began to feel as if I had no hope just like the country. So I’m going to give India one more chance, I leave for Nepal on the 29th September. When I was on the bike my original plan had been to leave India for Nepal in October, its at its best at this time of year, the monsoon rains have ended and the light is said to be perfect. I will ride south through the Kathmandu valley and back over the border into India and then East towards Bangladesh from where I will fly to Thailand and then head south to Singapore. I hope you are looking forward to this next chapter as much as I am, thanks for your patience, love and understanding xx

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HEADING SOUTH TO MUMBAI.

 

 Ajmer, Udaipur, Himatnagar, Ahmadabad, Vadodara, Mumbai. Total Kms 10660.

 Rajasthan which is split in two by the Great Thar Desert is one of India’s main tourist centers and nobody leaves the country without having come here. My journey south would take me to the main tourist cities of Jaipur, Ajmer and Udaipur. The state has been in the middle of a drought for over twenty years, it does rain but the monsoon rains that used to drench the countryside have long gone, this year had the added problem of the rains being over a month late. As I rode along the main highway I would often smell a cow or camel that had died of thirst, miles in front of me and I would eventually reach the rotting carcass being picked clean by birds. This is one of the poorest states in India and the poverty has not been helped by the drought, its impossible for farmers to make any sort of living from this dry dusty land and it was hard to believe that people lived in some of these remote villages with a few small mud houses and nothing green, not a tree or bush for miles.

 May is the worst month to visit Rajasthan with temperatures well up in the high 40s, I had never known heat like it, some afternoons I would leave the comfort of an air conditioned hotel to go outside but only lasted a matter of minutes, it was as if I had been put in a oven, impossible for me to stay outside although no one stopped working in the fields or on building sites, the state is famous for a white marble and I watched from my hotel window as people dug out the marble in the incredible heat. I didn’t enjoy the cities at all, it wasn’t just the heat, like the locals I wrapped my head in a scarf and wore loose cotton clothing to protect myself, it was the constant noise and crowds, just being on the street for a couple of hours exhausted me and I was happy to go back to the comfort of my room. The locals are not bothered by the noise, its a part of life that they have grown up with and it has no effect on them, I would often sit in a coffee shop and notice that no one was bothered by the noise, the average driver uses his horn about thirty times each kilometer, bald tyres and dodgy brakes are not a problem but if your car doesn’t have a good horn then your considered to be an idiot.

 Like Iranians the people are very friendly, I was often invited into a house for chai ( tea ) or a drink of water, accepting the water always put me in a difficult position, I had heard many stories of travelers who had become seriously ill because they drank the water, I had probably built up some resistance to disease but I only ever drank bottled water. So far I hadn’t suffered any of the famous Indian illnesses, Delhi belly, the Rangoon runs or a Bombay blockage, I hadn’t been so careful with the food I was eating always much happier to eat outside on the street than in a restaurant and had often seen huge rats scurrying around the vendors carts as I wolfed down a curry or sandwich. To get over the water problem I devised a simple system, if I was ever offered water I didn’t want to say no, I knew these people were offering me something that was very precious to them, all the water in these villages has to be drawn from a fresh water well, usually a good walk from the family home, I would say that I had just had a drink a few Kms down the road and get them to fill up my empty water bottle, when that was full I would offer it to locals who I saw sitting at the side of the road who might not have had anything to  drink that day, I hated buying bottled water, I was going round the world with as little impact on the environment as possible but had to find places to get rid of ten empty plastic water bottles everyday, the advice I had been given by a doctor was that even if the locals drink the water it could still make me seriously ill, I was told to boil any water I would drink or buy bottled water, it was impossible for me to boil ten litres of water everyday so I had no option other than to buy the plastic stuff.

 The homes I went into were very small with low ceilings and no room at all for me to stand up in, Indians are very curious people and within about five minutes of my arrival a small crowd would have gathered to look in at me through the windows or open door, often no one spoke a word of English and other than a few words I had picked up like hello, thank you and please we would have no conversation, children would always break the ice by climbing on the bike and I would often take the panniers off so that the bike wasn’t so heavy a take them for a ride down the lane. If there was a good wind blowing I would fly a kite for the kids, I had picked up about a dozen small pocket kites in London and had used them to entertain children who had no toys to play with and I would often ride away hearing them laughing like crazy flying a kite for the first time. I had asked people that I had met in developed countries on route to give me small gifts like pens, pencils and note pads that I could give away, hotels often have all this free stuff like soaps and teas that I could give to a family as a thank you for a kind act. It was always difficult stopping to give a kid something if they where alone because within minutes kids would run out from everywhere and my stock would soon run out. Sometimes I would be taken to the next village to meet a member of the family who had traveled to England or who could speak a little English, I would park the bike and forget about it, something I would never have done on a London street. Once as I was being taken to another village on the back of an ox cart I asked the driver why he was beating the ox with a stick, I thought we where going fast enough, he said we beat our animals but don’t eat them, you don’t beat your animals but eat them.

 The poverty and filth was beginning to get to me, India maybe the worlds biggest democracy but there is nothing democratic about it, millions of people have no access to basic needs, clean water, food or shelter, I have never been to a country where so many people sleep outside because they have no homes, the cities are the worst with hundreds if not thousands of people sleeping on the pavements every night, in a true democracy the government wouldn’t tolerate this situation. I always wondered how these people voted, they had no homes, incomes or anything to call their own so who was voting in this huge democracy. Politicians often talked about lifting people out of poverty and giving more grants to farmers, I’m sure it was probably happening but it was impossible to go anywhere in the country without being upset by the poverty

 Mumbai was a fantastic city, a law had recently been passed banning people from using their car horns unless in an emergency, its a financial and business capital and people need to work in peace. What a difference, a week of quiet nights. The city sits on the Persian gulf and was much cooler than the Punjab or Rajasthan. The monsoon was almost a month late, I had expected to ride into Mumbai with the rains coming towards me, the weather in India like so many parts of the world is changing, when the monsoon is late its bad news for farmers, tourism and the economy, people were on edge waiting for the rains to come, I was the happiest man alive, I enjoyed almost a week in the city without once getting wet. Like London this is a great city to walk in and find yourself lost, locals never knowing where I wanted to go to save face would always send me somewhere, its  a city full of Victorian buildings, at times it was hard to believe I wasn’t in the middle of London with the sun shining. With the advantage of being on the ocean, street food was often a curried fish or something just as delicious served on the local beach. However I was going to have to change my route plans, the monsoon can be very dangerous, it disrupts traffic with landslides and road closures, I had intended to travel to the very southern most tip of India and then take a train north to Delhi visiting the Taj Mahal before crossing into Nepal, I would now have to turn around and head north towards Nepal with the monsoon chasing me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A ROOM WITH A VIEW.

INCREDIBLE INDIA.

 

 Amritsar, Jagraon, Sangrur, Rohtak, Narnaul, Jaipur. Total Kms 9680.

 As I knew that I would I arrived too late to cross the border into India, and ended up staying in what had been a British Military hostel and although the beds had been the same ones left by the British back in 1947 I was happy to have the first descent nights sleep in three days. That morning I was the only person crossing the border on foot, most of the traffic was coming the other way and although I had hoped for a quick crossing it took about two hours of paperwork, passport and bag checks plus the first form I had seen dealing with swine flu. Amritsar the home of the Golden Temple was a dusty 30Kms ride from the border, it felt good to be back on the bike after four days of public transport, its the conventional way to travel around a country but I find it very stressful working out train and bus timetables, not knowing when you might stop for a rest or leg stretch and of course its expensive, my travel costs in a country are nil, its all leg power.

 Amritsar was my first taste of an Indian city, busy and noisy as all Indian cities are, the streets were filthy and packed with cars, rickshaws and of course Holy cows who always had the right of way. Two nights here would give me enough time to visit the Golden Temple, the Holiest Shrine of the Sikh religion, buy a good road map and get some new clothes, the temperatures were slowly rising and I would need light cotton clothes to ride in. The noise was constant, it never stopped no matter what time of day or night, they drive on their horns, the first thing the driver will do as they pull away is sound the horn, on a stretch of road in the middle of nowhere I could hear cars ahead and behind me with there horns blowing like crazy, painted on the back of every truck was a sign saying , horn please or ok to honk horn, I’m not sure if it was a safety feature or the law but it meant this constant noise all day and night, European cities are relativity quiet, there isn’t this noise which very soon became one of the most stressful aspects of India that I had to deal with. There are over a billion people living in India and it never stops to catch its breath or sleep.

 The Punjab is the country’s richest State and before the 1947 partition it extended across both sides of what is now India and Pakistan. Its mainly agricultural and most of the rice for the rest of the Nation is grown here. Its also the home of Hero bicycles, India and the worlds biggest bicycle manufacturer, they look like old bikes that were designed in the 1930s and every Indian who owns a bike is the proud owner of a Hero, they are very basic machines but do the job perfectly, every time I passed one on The Grand Trunk Road or on any other road I happened to be on I always had the impression I was riding a Ferrari passing an old Ford. The Grand Trunk, one of the busiest roads in India cuts its way through Pakistan and the Punjab as it heads south towards Rajasthan I realised after two days that it was far too busy and dangerous and that I would have to find a route with a lot less traffic and that proved to be almost impossible.

 The Punjab is not a State that has a tourist infrastructure, very few towns have hotels or guest houses but just as I had in Iran I soon found out that it was possible to stay in Religious houses or Temples for a small donation. Many people sleep outside every night, shop keepers outside their places of business, truck drivers under their vehicles to stop anyone stealing the diesel and countless homeless people sleep at the side of the roads, in fields or anywhere else that they can find a spot to put up a makeshift bed, so it would be no problem for me to pitch the tent if I had to. Within the first couple of days of riding I knew that I had arrived in India at the wrong time of year, my train ride through Pakistan had put me ahead of myself time wise by about two months, I expected to be here in late August or early September the perfect months for riding, the temperatures would be lower and the monsoon season would be almost at an end but in June with the average temperature at midday as high as 43 degrees it was impossible to ride after about 11.00am the heat was unbearable and probably dangerous. I decided that it would be best to leave the hotels at about 5am, this would give me five or six hours riding in comfortable weather and then as the temperature began to rise I could be settled in an air conditioned hotel with a beer. This system didn’t always work, I often found myself stuck between towns with the distance too great to ride and the heat rising, I had to find shelter under a tree or any shade that I could until about 4pm when it was cooler and safer to ride.

 Villages are very close together but are always fairly basic when it comes to hotels or guest houses, rooms were usually small with hardly any facilities and not as clean as we might be used to in Europe or America, I had become used to the squat toilets through Turkey and Iran but I would never get used to the filth, the rooms were never clean, no matter how many stars the hotel had, I began to think more stars means more dirt and on more occasions than I care to remember I found it easier to pitch the inner tent in the room and put my mattress and sleeping bag inside, I then had a comfortable clean personal room to sleep in. I don’t want to give the impression that every hotel I stayed in was dirty, of course they weren’t but more often than not I had to get the staff to come and change the sheets or clean the toilet before I could use the room. Villages being closer together meant that I didn’t need to carry food or water on the bike. No matter what time of day I arrived in a village or town there was always the exotic smell of food being cooked, everything from the hottest vegetable curry I’ve ever tasted to a fried egg sandwich or curried fish can be bought for just a few rupees, its simple street food but the best in the world. Stopping in any of these villages whether it was for food, water or just a rest was very different from stopping in Iran where people would ask me all sorts of personal questions, here no one was interested in me, just the bike, within minutes of stopping a crowd of guys would gather round the bike and just stare at it like it was some sort of god, I know its much more sophisticated than the Hero bikes they were used to but it is just a bike, no one was interested in asking me questions about what I was up to or where I was going, they gathered round the bike talked in Hindi, took photos and watched me as I rode away. Sometimes it was almost impossible to get back on as so many guys had gathered around and I soon started picking quieter places to stop although a small group usually found me. This strange situation with the bike came to a head outside Mumbai one Saturday morning, I was riding along a fairly busy road and slowed down to go round an old man who was lying in my path, as I got closer I could see that the guy was close to death, I got off the bike walked back to him and saw the thinnest man I had ever seen in my life, he hadn’t eaten for months, I tried to give him water, his head had no weight at all it was like holding a deflated football, he was beyond taking water and I guessed had only hours to live, coming towards me were two young guys, I thought they would have an idea what to do, maybe we could move him to a quieter spot where he could die in peace, they completely ignored me and the old guy, looked at the bike, talked in Hindi, I heard the words disc brakes and bike computer in English and they then walked off, over a billion people live here, whats one life when there’s an expensive bike parked at the side of the road to look at.

 With the constant noise I found it easier to stay in hotels outside of the major towns, usually colonial buildings that had been turned into hotels stood just off the main road, these were always pleasant places to stay when I could find one, set in large grounds many of them were former palaces from the days of the raj and a room for the night could cost as little as 500 Rupees about six pounds. I got a much better sleep and would often stay in a place like this for a couple of days just to get a bit of rest and prepare myself for the next part of the ride. I wasn’t enjoying India as much as I hoped, the towns and cities were too hot and busy, there was never a quiet spot in a garden or park to sit in and enjoy a little peace and quiet, beggars and touts would hassle for money on a daily basis, they saw me and other tourists as walking cash machines and no matter how rude I was to them they wouldn’t leave me alone, I told one tout after he followed me into a restaurant that if he didn’t leave me alone I would happily put his teeth in his stomach, of course I wouldn’t but he didn’t know this, it just made him worse, I became a challenge to him that he had to break and I only got away from him by jumping into a taxi. I was constantly asked to come into a shop, just have a look you don’t need to buy anything, so whats the point of me coming in then. I’ve been in the country just over two weeks and I’ve had enough, I’m sure that as I go on things will start to improve, India is huge country and very different from any other place that I have experienced so far, its bound to take me a little more time to settle in. I’m about a thousand Kms north of Mumbai where I’m meeting a very close friend and before that I have the cities of Jaipur and Jodhpur in Rajasthan to visit. Things can only get better.

A TRAIN TO LAHORE.

Taftan, Quetta, Lahore. Total Kms 9100.

 A bus ride from Yasd to Zanjan and a 20Kms ride in a pick up truck got me to the border with Pakistan. It would have been impossible to ride from Yasd to the border, the bus was stopped at three checkpoints. I had to register my passport details with the local police before the driver of the pickup would agree to take me to the border and we were stopped twice on that short journey. It was about 9.00am when I finally arrived at the border, I felt apprehensive about leaving the relative safety of Iran for Pakistan that looked as if it was about to fall into civil war, I had spoken to as many travelers as I could find in my last days in Iran who had been traveling west from Pakistan, most had said that it had been a great country to visit but a difficult place to travel through with constant road blocks and police check points, remember these were people traveling on public transport from one major city to the next, I would have to stop in countless small towns on my way north to Lahore, the only place you can legally cross the border into India, these towns might have no hotels or tourist facilities, fortunately I don’t have to pedal every last Kilometer and I was happy to take the train, although in hindsight it would have been easier to ride the bike across Pakistan.

 Taftan is a small disgusting frontier town from where I would take a bus 800Kms north to Quetta and from here a train would take me north to Lahore. I found the bus very quickly, the only one in a small dusty bus park, $10.00 for me and the bike, it was about 10.30am and as the bike was being strapped to the roof I asked the driver what time do we depart, we leave at 4pm for Quetta but in about 10 minutes I will drive into Taftan and you can relax there until its time to leave. To describe Taftan as hell on earth would be doing the town a favour, the filthiest town I had ever been in, I still find it hard to believe that people actually live here , the town had one hotel, a filthy looking restaurant and a couple of shops selling mobile phones. I booked into the only hotel in town, it was called the Eastern Promise but promised nothing but a filthy room that hadn’t been cleaned in weeks, used soap on the floor of the bathroom and the last occupant or maybe the one before that had dropped a toothbrush in the toilet, no shower, just a dirty bucket that you filled with cold water, usually in a situation like this where there is no other choice of hotels I pitch the inner part of my tent in the room and sleep in that but all my equipment was in the panniers of the bike which was strapped to the roof of the bus so there was no alternative other than to lie perfectly still on the bed so as not to disturb the bed bugs and try to sleep.

 The bus would take 13 hours to Quetta and we would arrive at about 6.30am, the manager of the bus company gave me very strict instructions as to what I had to do once we arrived, the bus would make its way to the center of the city and passengers would get off, the bus would then make its way to a secure bus park, I was to stay on the bus until it was light and then ride my bike straight to the railway station , he advised me not to ride to the station in the dark as it was too dangerous, a warm welcome to Pakistan. The interior of the bus was brightly decorated with colorful lights that had been set to flash every time the driver indicated left or right, there was a plastic covering on all the seats so that within half an hour myself and the other 20 passengers were covered in sweat, the driver was also in the habit of sounding his horn every time we passed another bus, this also caused the lights in the bus to flash, it was going to be a fun packed 13 hours. It got dark very quickly as we made our way through the Baluchistan desert and I soon fell asleep, at about 2am the driver woke me up at a very strange passport control, I was the only person to get off the bus, all the other passengers were sleeping I was the only passenger woken up at a very strange passport control, as I stepped off the bus into a very fine white dust and as it was a full moon I noticed this powder had covered the bus, we had stopped in the middle of nowhere I could make out mountains in the distance but not a tree or bush on the landscape, I realised that it would have been a hellish bike ride, I would have been covered in dust for days. The bus driver lead me to a tent where we were met by a guy who wasn’t wearing any type of military of official uniform, I thought this is probably not a good time to be asked to be taken to the nearest police station and handed over my passport, I had to write down my details in a book by torch light, neither the driver or the other guy said a word to me , I noticed that the names on the page were of travelers who had all been heading in the opposite direction towards Iran and only one person going in the same direction as me and he had made the journey a month before me, I never found out whether the checkpoint was official but when a country starts to fall apart all sorts of strange characters come out of the woodwork for a bit of overtime.

 The bus arrived in Quetta at about 6am and as the manager suggested I stayed on the bus until daylight before riding to the railway station. Two train a day left for Lahore 8.30am and 9.30am both took 30 hours. I was waiting for the ticket office to open when the 8.30 left, when the office finally opened I was advised that as I had no reservation I would have to travel in economy class on the 9.30 train and that it would be much better if I booked a first class sleeper train for the next morning, I explained that I wanted to get to Lahore as quickly as possible and that I didn’t mind sitting in economy class just as long as I was on the next train. I guessed about a thousand people or more were packed onto the train, each carriage held about a hundred people and they were all full, boxes, crates and cases filled every part of each carriage, I was told by the station master that the roads are too dangerous to travel on with so many road blocks that people were traveling by train.

 There was nowhere on the train to get anything to eat or drink but as the train pulled into a station fresh food was being cooked on makeshift stands on the platform, each station was famous for a particular food and you could smell each station as the train got closer to them. So I had no problem eating for the 2 days that I was on the train, the food was always fresh, tasted great and cost pennies. The only problem with getting off the train to eat was that I never heard a whistle or saw a signal when it was time for the train to depart, it just slowly started to pull away from the platform and I soon became expert at fighting my way through crowds back onto my moving carriage. Another time to get off the train was when it stopped at a red signal, I followed the other passengers and jumped out of the open door and onto the embankment below, then it was a mad scramble back onto the train as it slowly began to move again. After about 5 hours I was covered in the dust and filth that had blown into each carriage, it was so hot outside that the train had to travel with its doors and windows wide open, this allowed fresh air, dirt and dust to enter each carriage. The carriages were covered in dust, it was everywhere, on the seats in the luggage racks, when I pulled my bed down for the night I was covered in the stuff and had no way of washing it off, there were toilets at the end of each carriage but I thought it wise not to go near them. The other passengers were incredibly kind, they made sure that I was comfortable, knew where everything was and always looked out for me when I got off the train, news spread very quickly that a British guy was in carriage 4 and although I didn’t speak to everyone on the train during that two day journey many people came up to me and talked about the bike, life in Britain and Pakistan, the problems with the Taliban and so on. For an extra $2.00 I had reserved a bed, it was above my seat and during the day doubled as the luggage rack, it was a very hard uncomfortable bed and the lights in the carriage stayed on but at least I was able to get a little sleep during the night. From the windows Pakistan looked like a very poor, underdeveloped but colorful country, most of the first day was spent heading north through the Baluchistan desert, the middle of the country changed into much more agricultural land, women tended to work the fields wearing very brightly coloured saris and looked as if they were going to a wedding rather than work, it was farming on a very small scale with no large fields and it was hard to tell as the train went passed exactly what was being grown. If the train stopped at signals children came running from every direction to beg for food or money, on the first day of the journey I started to buy fruit at each of the stations to hand to the kids from the carriage windows but I couldn’t stand watching them fight each other for food so I had to stop.

 Lahore station was not as busy as I had imagined and it was also much smaller, I rode out of the station and into the chaos of city traffic that I had not had since Tehran, cars, buses, trucks, pedestrians and animals all fighting each other for a small piece of road, Waga the official border crossing with India was about 40Kms away, it was 3pm and the border closed at 4pm, I knew that I wouldn’t make it in time but had been told of an ex British Military hotel on the Pakistan side that was a cheap and clean place to stay and I would be able to cross the border early the next morning.

MORE FROM THE AXIS.

 

Qom, Kashan, Esfahan, Shiraz,Yazd, then a bus to Bam Total Kms 8000

 Iran has had a bad press since the 1979 revolution and continues to do so, its nuclear capabilities, a part of the Axis of Evil, one of the so called smoking guns, it is certainly going to be a very interesting ride through a country that is almost closed to foreign visitors. Very few British Tourists make it to Iran, the main problem is the difficulty in getting a visa which can take up to 6 weeks,  few people going on holiday have that sort of time to wait for a visa that may or may not be granted. In my time here I have met three Brits, a couple on their honeymoon! and an engineer from Sheffield. There are loads of French, Germans and Scandinavians who can get a two week visa when they arrive at Tehran airport and its almost impossible for citizens of the United States to visit without a detailed itinerary that they must follow. Many of the smaller towns that I stayed in had hotels that had never had a British citizen register.

 Iran is a huge country, I will have to cover almost the same distance again as I have just covered from London to Athens from the North of Iran to the South East corner were I cross the border into Pakistan. The roads are very long straight and flat very few hills so the going is pretty quick but they are the busiest roads with the worst drivers I have met so far. Everything is transported on trucks from one city to the next , there is no shoulder so I have to share the road with hundreds of trucks passing me and as they all tend to be older the noise and pollution is incredible. Another problem is the large distances between towns, an average of 120 to 150 Kms with nothing in between each town only mountains on my right and the Dasht-E Kavir desert on my left and I will follow this desert almost the length of Iran. Sometimes after riding all day I arrive in a town much later than I had hoped to find that there is no hotel. Fortunately I was carrying what I called the magic letter. When I arrived in Tabriz, the first major University city that I came to I found a young student who was studying English and who was happy to write a letter for me in Farsi explaining who I was, what I was doing on the bike and that I had arrived in the town and was looking for somewhere to stay, the letter went on to explain that I had everything that I needed with me a sleeping bag, mattress food ect I just needed somewhere warm and safe to sleep. That letter was an amazing key, I ended up staying in a police cell for the night, the roof of a gas station and numerous Mosques where I was always woken up by the Imam giving the first call to pray at 5.30am. Another problem with the distances between that I had to travel was the fact that everything I needed for the day had to be carried with me, food and at least 10 litres of water had to be loaded on to the bike each morning, all this added weight slowed me down and it always meant getting in to towns much later than I would have liked and I constantly worried about broken spokes every time I went over a pothole. Twice I ran out of water on a very long stretch of road, it was so hot I used almost 2 litres to shower at the side of the road to cool myself down, its the most amazingly refreshing feeling riding through the heat in wet clothes waiting for them to dry. I flagged down truck drivers who always stopped and filled my water bottles from their huge tanks, one truck was full of watermelons and I spent over an hour at the side of the road feasting on them, simple pleasures.

 These roads are very dangerous, Iranians are wonderful people but they cant drive, I came upon accidents minutes after they had happened, cars on their roofs with the passengers on the road, trucks lying on their sides in ditches and once a truck that was on fire in the middle of the highway and no sign of the driver, I looked everywhere for him, he definitely wasn’t in the cab and as I was the only person on the road it was a frightening experience, I had no cell phone signal and after a while I just rode on, cars passed me but no one stopped to say what had happened and for miles up the road I could see the smoke behind me. I always thought how lucky I was that I was never involved in a serious accident on the road with all the carnage around me, you hear the trucks coming up behind you, I have a rear view mirror but the trucks completely fill the lens so I have no idea how close they are to me, however its my choice to ride a bike through Iran and if there is no shoulder on the road I just have to pray and keep going. My only mishap wasn’t very serious and  I can say that it wasn’t my fault. I was riding into Tabriz at about 4pm so still light and I was riding very slowly along one of the only roads that I had been on that had a shoulder, suddenly bang a deafening sound and I was on the floor, as I got up I saw the motorbike going passed me with a pillion passenger carrying a wooden crate that was wider than the motorbike, the driver hadn’t given me enough room and the crate had knocked me off the bike, fortunately the pillion passenger absorbed most of the impact, I inspected the bike, no problems, one of the front panniers had come off but other than a few scratches on the frame and my cut  and bruised knee everything was fine. As the pillion passenger ran towards me I was so annoyed that I hit him over the head with my front pannier, calling him all the names I could think of, his mate rode the bike back towards me and as he got off I pushed the bike over, as they both started to lift the bike up I ran ahead up the road picked up the crate and just smashed it to bits on the road, they both just stood looking at this raging mad man and were happy just to leave me at the side of the road screaming ‘ a crate you could have killed me with a stupid crate’.

 Iranians are a highly educated people and are very interested in the West, they also know a lot about western politics and are very upset by the way that they are perceived in the press, most wanted to show me that they were descent hardworking people who had about as much interest in terrorism as I do. They constantly asked me the question ‘why do the British and Americans hate us’ my only reply was to say that it had more to do with governments and politics than the people who lived in Britain or the States. They are a very inquisitive nation and I was often asked questions that would be considered rude or personal at home, ‘how much do you earn’? ‘how much money do you have on you’? ‘how much did you pay for the bicycle’? They ask for no other reason than interest were always happy to tell me about their salaries and personal circumstances. On a subway train in Tehran a man started to have a conversation with me and almost half the carriage gathered around to find out how much I earned and if I had a wife and children.

 The route south took me to the city of Qom, Iran’s second holiest city and the home to the country’s spiritual leaders ,the ayatollahs and other hardline clerics who have ruled the country since 1980, it was from here that the clerics rallied against the Shahs regime and is one of Iran’s most religious and conservative cities, all of Iran’s religious laws come from out of this city. I only spent a night here, too many religious police roaming the streets looking for people who are inappropriately dressed, it wasn’t a city that I felt had a good feeling about it . Esfahan was a magical city and is often described as Iran’s masterpiece and one of the finest cities in the Islamic World, it was a place for walking and getting lost in, with its huge main square said to be the second largest on earth after Tiananmen in China,dominated by the most beautiful mosques, Islamic buildings and fountains I have ever seen, I spent hours sitting in Imam square in the early evening talking to Iranian families or wandering through the Grand Bazaar, more than a thousand years old and selling everything you could possibly imagine. At night the square, Blue Mosque and fountains were all lit and this made the whole scene even more magical. The next city south was the sophisticated city of Shiraz sometimes called the city of gardens and the ruins of Persepolis, one of four cities that made up the Persian Empire. Shiraz has one of the finest and largest Mosques in Iran, non Muslims can enter the main square and look at the Mosque from the outside, as I entered the gate leading to the main square I was told to hand in my camera, not to enter the holy shrine and leave before eve3ning prayers. The shrine was the most amazing I had seen in Iran, from floor to ceiling the walls were covered in small pieces of reflective glass and mirrors and a huge Chrystal chandelier light up the shrine. Men and women had a separate entrances and a screen inside the shrine kept them apart. The shrine itself was a huge Chrystal box covered by a very decorative silver cage, you entered the shrine with your right hand on your heart, walked around it in a clockwise direction and kissed the silver cage. I must admit that there was a very powerful feeling close to the shrine, I just wished that I could have taken a few photographs but was happy that no one had stopped me entering, the tough part was to come, everyone left the shrine walking backwards with their hands still on their hearts and not taking their eyes off the shrine, very difficult for a non Muslim, I thought this is were I will be caught out but I made it out without falling or stepping on anyone. Almost 500 people prayed in the square that evening, I watched the service from the sidelines and it was truly a very moving experience.

 From Shiraz I made my way north to the town of Yasd, I hadn’t intended to visit this small town, it was another 100 Kms off the main road but so many travelers had told me that it was a place worth visiting. It was about 500Kms north of Shiraz 400 Kms of road that I had already traveled on the way south, going back was easier as I stopped in the same places that I had on the way down including the roof of the same gas station, the owner had his bed on the roof because of wild dogs, it was too hot to sleep inside and to dangerous to sleep outside. I arrived at the main road east to Yasd at about 6.30pm, it had just started to get dark and I had about 100Kms of desert road ahead of me with one small town about 50 Kms away. I wasn’t intending to ride across the desert at night and I hadn’t seen anywhere to stay so I decided to wave down a passing bus, the driver had a spare seat and he couldn’t help laughing as he strapped the bike to the roof of the bus, he was amazed that I would even think about riding 100 Kms across the desert to Yasd, not much point telling him how far I had actually managed on the bike. Yasd was well worth the detour, a small town of winding lanes and mud brick buildings that turned out to be one of the highlights of my stay in Iran. Its was another place in which I spent my time lost wandering through the maze of narrow lanes. The houses had a very interesting system of air conditioning, towers rose from the roof of each building designed to catch even the lightest breeze and direct it to the rooms below, genius, although not as cold as modern air conditioners but much healthier. From here I will take a bus to Bam and Zanjan for the border with Pakistan, this road is clearly not safe and getting kidnapped could ruin my trip, hostages have been taken on this road, some of them have then been killed, in 2003 an Irish couple and a French guy riding together along this route were kidnapped and only set free because of the earth quake in Bam that same year.

 

 

 

A RIDE THROUGH THE AXIS OF EVIL.

 

Maku, Tabriz, Zanjan, Tehran, Total kms 6600.

 

I crossed the border into Iran towards the end of the Iranian new year celebrations that mark the beginning of spring and what is thought to be the best time to visit the country with its spring colours and flowers, arriving in early April I hoped to see the country at its best. The border crossing was very busy that morning about 10 coaches each one full of passengers lined the road leading to the checkpoint and passport control, I waited in line among curious Iranians who were returning from Turkey where they had been celebrating the new year, I was asked about my journey and the bike, where was I going ? what would be my route ? did I know how crazy the traffic was in Tehran ? how much did I earn ? how much was the bike worth ? although I had no idea at the time these questions would be repeated many times during the two months that I travelled through the country.

The customs official was very welcoming and apologetic, good morning, let me be the first to welcome you to the Islamic Republic of Iran, I’m very sorry but as a British citizen we will need to take your fingerprints, he went on to explain that it was just a formality, nothing for me to worry about and that it wouldn’t take long. Two hours later with my hands covered in blue ink after having been to three offices to have my prints taken and my bags checked I was finally able to leave. Just as I was making my way out of the customs hall another official called me back, could I see your passport and I want you to unpack your bags and place your things on this table, I didn’t think there would be much point in telling him that I had already shown my passport to countless officials and unpacked my bags three times although no one had checked through my stuff for any illegal contraband from the West, after ten minutes of waiting by the table with my stuff spread out for some one to check I was told that I could pack up and leave and that I should enjoy my stay in Iran.

Finally after over a month waiting for a visa that I thought would never come I was in Iran and it was pouring with rain,  I called my father to say that I had made it over the border and that I was well. The first descent sized town with the possibility of hotels was Maku and it was only about 20Kms away. I noticed as I rode through what had become a real downpour was that as almost every car passed people would call out of the windows to welcome me and to ask where I was going and what was I doing on the bike, some took photos on their mobile phones, one car pulled in front of me and a family of about five got out waved me down and insisted on having their photos taken with me, the crazy guy on a bike riding in the pouring rain although I thought they were just as crazy for stopping to have their photos taken with me. I was offered food, water,  sweets, a lift and somewhere to stay for the night from people in cars as they slowed down to pass me, amazing hospitality, I could feel by the warmth of the people that I wasn’t on the busiest of tourist routes . About 5Kms outside Maku a car pulled in front of me, by now I was completely soaked and just wanted to get to the hotel and have a warm shower, I smiled at the driver as I passed him and hoped that he would realise that as it was raining so hard all I wanted to do was get to a hotel as quickly as I could. He managed to get in front of me again and this time got out of the car and called to me as I was about to pass him, Mr Robert, Mr Robert you have left your passport in the customs hall, I stopped, checked my wallet and he was right, I had given my passport to so many officials that I had forgotten all about it as I repacked my bags for the last time.

It was my own stupid fault, as I have been travelling and have more visa stamps I have become paranoid about my passport and always check to make sure I have it on me, even as I’m riding along I will check the wallet hung around my neck and hanging close to my chest to make sure I can feel the outline of my most precious possession. Its not the passport that’s so important, it can be replaced for a fee at any British Embassy, its the visas, I would have to re apply and pay for each new visa and I’m not sure if that’s possible if you are already in the country so I would have to leave and start the process all over again.  I vowed never to give my passport to anyone who wasn’t an official at a border crossing, even a policeman in the street, I would get him to take me to the nearest police station, a guy stopped me in Eastern Turkey and told me he was a policeman and that he wanted to see my passport, when I said no, take me to a police station he walked away. Hotel receptionists always want to keep your passport while you are in the hotel, just in case you want run off without paying, I pay my bill upfront and give them a photocopy of the passport, if they are not happy with that then I’m happy to find another hotel, its the most valuable document I have. It wasn’t a serious problem, I knew where the passport was and I would jump into a taxi back to the border as soon as I had checked into the hotel, the guy who stopped offered to give me a lift back but I couldn’t leave the loaded bike at the side of the road, although he insisted it would be safe, writing this after spending over two months riding in Iran I now know that he was telling the truth and no one would have touched the bike, I thanked him and told him my plan to go back in a taxi. As I was riding the last couple of Kms into the town cursing myself for being so stupid a 4×4 stopped in front of me, I was in no mood for any more welcoming parties and intended to pass them. As I got closer four heavy looking guys with radios and all wearing pistols got out of the car and started to wave me down, I could only think its the police, they will want to see my passport and visa, not one of them will speak English, I will have to try to explain in German, the only descent second language I have, although why I thought they would speak German I don’t know, that I have no passport, its in the customs hall and once I had checked into the hotel although I suddenly realised I couldn’t check into a hotel without a passport, they would no doubt take me to some police station and it would take days to sort out a simple problem. All this was running through my mind as I stopped got off the bike and walked towards them, welcome to Iran Mr Robert one of the guys said in perfect English as he handed me my passport, they all got back into the car and sped off leaving me smiling in the pouring rain.

From Maku it was about an 800Kms ride to Tehran, I had read that it was a modern capital with very little of historical interest and with a growing population of about 14 million. It was also the best place for travellers to pick up visas for Pakistan and India. Any of these visas can be issued in your home country, however as soon as the visa is stamped into your passport it starts to expire and that would have meant that both visas would have expired before I had left Turkey. So the best way to get visas if you are travelling slowly is to get them from neighbouring countries, the only problem is that its time consuming and expensive. Two letters of invitation from the British Embassy for India and Pakistan cost almost two hundred US dollars, they are letters that state I am who I say I am, that I have no criminal record, I’m not wanted by the police and I’m unlikely to participate in any terrorist activity while I’m in the country, they also ask that could the country for which I’m applying for the visa assist me in any away they can with the visa application, the letters are expensive but are the key to getting your visa stamp as quickly as possible, 3 to 4 days for both visas. I met a number of travellers who for what ever reason didn’t have the letters from their embassies and had real problems trying to get the visas, I met a German couple who had been in Tehran for three weeks waiting for a visa for Pakistan, the German embassy had refused to give the couple a letter of invitation telling them that Pakistan was not a safe country to be travelling in.

 

Since the 1979 revolution it has not been possible for visitors to cash personal cheques, use a cash machine or credit cards so as a British traveller I could only a use cash, I had brought in US dollar that I would change in the banks, these dollars had been hidden inside the bike frame, the seat post and wheel rims although in hindsight their was no need to hide money, every Iranian knows that if you are a foreign traveller you must be carrying cash, they are not interested in robbing you, its not in their culture. Although I had cash I had forgotten to budget for the letters of invitation, the two visas plus the extension on my Iranian visa, this has meant that I have worried about my finances since arriving in Tehran although its much cheaper than Europe for food and accommodation.

Tehran means ‘ the end of the road’ and although not quite the end it is heading in the right direction, its supposed to be one of the most polluted cities in the world with a mass of metal and pedestrians all heading down the same narrow lanes each day, as a pedestrian I was told to think of the car drivers as skilful and not crazy, after all he said you haven’t been hit yet. No one pays attention to even the basic rules of the road, red lights, stop signs, no entry signs, motorbikes and scooters are always on the pavements with pedestrians. Its impossible to give you an idea of just how crazy the traffic is, the best way to experience Tehran is on the back of a powerful motorbike and that’s exactly what I did.

I was staying in the same hotel as a young Columbian guy, Daniel had almost completed an incredible journey that had taken him the length of South America and Africa on his way to Pune in India to the factory where his bike had been built. We were both collecting our visas from the Pakistan Embassy on the same day and he offered to give me a lift on the bike, I can only say that at Disneyland you pay good money for this kind of white knuckle ride, here in Tehran its just a part of life.

Tehran is a capital city like many others around the world, incredibly busy, older buildings with a bit of character fighting hard not to be obscured by huge glass and steel monsters, shops selling every kind of electrical appliance, jewellery, and clothes, a real consumer society, no different from any city in the west. The one real cultural difference are the way that women are forced to dress, its very strange to see women walking round in what can only be described as full lengh black tents, particularly coming from Britain where anything and sometimes nothing goes. Although women in Iran have much more freedom than in other Islamic countries, they are free to vote, work, drive , sit in Parliament, they must by law from the age of nine wear the hejab, this can be anything from a simple scarf covering the head to the full black tent whenever they are in public, only your father, brother husband can see you without the scarf and only in the privacy of their own home. The younger women make political statements by wearing Western style clothes under their tent and by wearing the scarf on their heads to show as much hair and make up as they can.

On my last day in Tehran I was robbed of my laptop, mobile phone and reading glasses. I had just left a hotel after using their WIFI , as I was walking along I asked myself where was my passport, I checked and it was in my backpack so I put it into my shirt pocket,thirty seconds later I heard the scooter behind me but paid no attention to it as they ride on the pavement all the time, in an instant the guy had grabbed the bag off my shoulder, I held onto the strap for a second and realised there was nothing in the bag worth fighting for and that I couldn’t replace, I had luckily just taken the passport out of the bag and put it in my pocket, a couple who had seen what happened were very apologetic, I told them not too worry it could happen in any city anywhere in the world, to me he wasn’t an Iranian or a Muslim just a clown, I could have met him anywhere. He had taken nothing of importance from me, I had my health,my bike , equipment and the passport, he had nothing.

From Tehran I’m heading south and East towards the border with Pakistan. I have my short wave radio constantly tuned to the BBC World Service and listen to as much news as possible coming out of Pakistan, It doesn’t sound good. As I write a Polish Aid worker has been kidnapped and murdered, the people who held him refused to talk to the Polish Government, if the situation gets any worse I will almost certainly take a train to Lahore in the North of Pakistan and cross the border into India as quickly as I can.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

VERY CLOSE TO IRAN.

Selcuk, Aydin, Mugla, Fethiye, Kas, Antalya, Alanya, Tasuca, Mersin, Adana, Osmaniye, Gaziantep, Sanliurfa, Total Kms on bike 5800.  Then the bus to Dogubayazit 30 Kms from Iranian border.

 

Finally, tomorrow I’m crossing the border into Iran, nervous and a little worried that I have no onward travel visas for any country bordering Iran and no flight out of the country. My plan is to pick up visas for Pakistan and India when I arrive in Tehran, if  this causes a problen when I’m asked how I intend to leave Iran I will say that after a month of traveling I will return to Turkey at this same border crossing. I’ve picked today to cross into Iran because it’s the end of a 10 day holiday, Iranian New Year, I’m hoping that it will be so busy with traffic heading back from turkey that a lone boy on a bike will not warrant too much attention, we shall see.

 

 It’s been almost two months since I arrived in Turkey, although five weeks of that time was spent in Selcuk. I met some great people there through Gursel the owner of a small silver shop in the town. I was looking in his shop window one evening when he came out, spoke to me and asked me in for tea, we talked for a while and I then said my goodbyes promising to call in again the next day. That next morning I dropped by to say hello, Gursel was going to meet his friend  Mustafa who had a shop near the ancient city of effuses and asked me if I wanted to come along, I had nothing planned and was happy to go with him, I got to know Mustafa, Gursels best friend and for that five weeks we became good friends, I was happy to sit for hours in their shops drinking tea while sitting in the sun and some evenings the three of us would go to a famous restaurant called  The Seven Sleepers, it’s a couple of large Ottoman like tents fitted out with exotic carpets and rugs, you lie on these rugs on the floor propped up on cushions, we would spend the evening talking laughing and drinking ( tea. ) They took the time to show me around Selcuk and the local area and after weeks of waiting for the visa I was a little disappointed when it finally came because I new that it was time to leave my two new friends.

 

 Since leaving Selcuk I’ve been slowly making my way east following the Mediterranean coast line, locals call it the Turquoise coast and its very hard to put into words just how beautiful it is, on my left in the distance are those snow covered mountains that greeted me when I first arrived in Turkey and on my right the waters of the med, its been a fast few week, I’m always aware that both my Turkish and Iranian visas are running out, I have three months to get to the border which is more than enough time, the problem is I don’t want to arrive with a visa almost expired, it gives them another excuse not to let me in. so I’ve rushed many of the days just riding as far as I possibly could getting the Kms under my belt. I’ve had to climb a good few mountains on this part of the trip, particularly as I was heading into Antalya, I climb about eight or nine hundred feet very quickly and just as quickly race down the other side, I sweat like crazy riding up and almost freeze to death coming down.

 

 My alarm call each morning at five thirty is the call to prayer, five times each day its called from the mosques in each town or village, there are  small mosques outside service stations and factories for people to use, I find it relaxing, it helps me to gather my thoughts and to have a think about my day, people I know or new people I have met, its very meditative. Lunch these past few weeks is almost always washed down with some freshly squeezed mandarin or orange juice sold at the side of the road for just a few Lira it’s the ultimate thirst quencher. Tomatoes are also grown here, hundreds of acres of land given over to the juiciest tomatoes you can imagine, the only ones I’ve tasted that come close are the ones from my father’s garden. I’m often given a few for lunch by the guys who are taking them to the local market, every town has a covered area set aside for the daily market, they are always very busy and incredibly cheap selling everything from fresh vegetables, fruits, spices and anything we would normally buy from a supermarket. I’m living on fresh fish, chicken, rice and vegetables every day, all fresh food that has been grown or raised in that area.

 

 There has been a real contrast in the areas I’ve been through, sometimes I’m able to leave the main road and ride through small villages with no more than a dozen buildings, there are always children playing who call out as I ride past and chase me for a while always laughing, not many people ride bikes here so it’s a real novelty to see me coming through their village. Every house has a huge satellite dish on its roof, no matter how poor the household might look from the outside and I imagine inside is the largest flat screen TV you could buy. Then the smaller road comes to an end I have to make my way back on to the main coastal drag this area has been developed for the tourist trade, its  busy all year with Germans, Russians, and Scandinavians who spend the winter here, in places the coastline has completely disappeared, taken over by huge hotel and golf developments with guards on each of the gates leading into the hotels, very expensive cars fly past me on the main road and yet only a few Kms off this road are those small villages who have never seen a tourist. Hotels are still being built and roads that lead nowhere are still to be finished, hundreds of unfinished developments, not only hotels but housing estates, bus stations, roads and factories, I’ve been told this is because the local politician during election time will promise the town new developments for their vote, when they reach office they start the development but soon run out of money or the will to finish the project, the next person in office will start a new development rather than finishing the old one so the country is covered in these unfinished empty buildings. Voting day for the local elections is very close, people vote on the 29 March. The local parties have been on the campaign trail and it’s taken very seriously with huge rallies in the major towns, busses painted up in the party colors with sound systems on their roofs drive through towns and villages everyday playing music and rallying the party faithful, the busses come past me when I’m in the middle of nowhere still playing loud music. The Ak party who are the ruling party will almost certainly win the elections again, only because they have the best sound systems and play some great music, what better reason to vote for your local politician.

 

 

 Getting further into eastern Turkey the hotel staff constantly reminded me about the terrorist threat from the PKK, a Kurdish Terrorist group fighting for a homeland, tourists and visitors are not usually a target but with the local elections taking place and tensions running high I have been told that it would not be safe for me to ride in this south eastern part of the country, there have been police road blocks and I’ve shown my passport a few times and that’s before I leave the coast. For a while I was carrying three weapons and only one was bought. I meet a coupe of Dutch cyclists heading in the opposite direction one morning and they told me that the dogs become much more aggressive and bigger as you get further east, these are wild dogs who run in packs and  will attack, one of the guys advised me to get myself a stick and that’s just what I did in the next town, a pick axe handle sawn in half makes a good weapon against any wild dog, I wont hit the dog with it unless it really tries to bite me but I will wield it and shout as loud as I can to scare the beast off. The other two weapons both knives have been donated to the cause by hotel staff, two very handy large sharp knives, I’m not sure what they expected me to do with weapons from the hotel kitchen but I could see that they really wanted me to carry them so I packed them in the bottom of my bags and left them in the next hotel, I would never have been able to cross in to Iran with them in my packs. I met a couple of British cyclists heading for Australia via the Himalayas, Krista and Dan, we rode along the coast together for a couple of days then split up, they have to head north as they are taking the silk route towards Tibet, Good Luck with your trip it was only a short ride we had  together but great fun.

 

 

 Turkey is a vast country and the distances are so great that the time has come for me to make this last part of the journey by bus that will get me to the town of Dogubeyazit about 30 Kms from the Iranian border. I’m constantly aware that my Iranian visa started ticking its life away the moment it was stamped into my passport and a bomb that exploded in the city of Mardin this week just confirmed this would be the best thing to do. The explosion had something to do with the PKK and the local elections. I was happy to have managed to ride almost half the country but I was tired and starting to get fed up of chasing an expiring visa everyday. I arrived at the bus station at about 4 in the afternoon after riding all day, there was a bus leaving at 6.30 and it would take about 12 hours, perfect, that ride would take me almost a week as I could see from the map that I would be climbing and the weather would get much worse as I got further north. It was a journey that turned out to be hilarious and frightening at the same time .There weren’t many people on the bus and a Turkish man came and sat in the seat behind me, he could see I was not Turkish and started a conversation about Britain I was tired and wanted to sleep but he wanted to talk and I let him just nodding my head and agreeing with him, then out of the blue he asked me if I could give him any money, I smiled and said no, he talked about being poor and desperately needing the money and even though he could see I was falling asleep he just went on and on, here is a list of some of the reasons I remember he gave as to why I should give him some money.

My brother is ill

 

My family is ill.

 

I am ill.

 

I am poor and you are my friend, rich, and a foreigner

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It is nothing to you.

 

You should have pity on me.

 

Times are hard.

 

Petrol and oil have gone up.

 

Everything has gone up.

 

You can’t possibly know how expensive things are in Turkey.

 

My shop was robbed.

 

I have lost everything.

 

I eventually fell asleep as he was talking and woke up when the bus came to a stop at a military check point, everyone in Turkey is required by law to carry an identity card and these along with my passport were handed to a soldier who took them along with the driver into the guard house, we waited for about five minutes and then the driver got back on the bus handed out all the identity cards and when he got to me told me that there was a problem and the soldier wanted to speak to me, oh no I thought what’s this about, I  spoke to a young soldier who was looking at my passport, you are an Iranian citizen traveling on a British passport, no I’m not, I’m a British citizen traveling on a British passport with an Iranian visa stamp, he asked if I could prove that I was British, I said it was a difficult thing to prove but if he asked me a question about Britain I could probably answer it, I also said that I was talking to him in English and not Farsi. Just then the driver started sounding the horn and revving the engine, oh no he’s going to leave me here, he wants to go and on that that bus is my bike, luggage, money credit cards, everything,  I cant just run out and try to get on the bus because this soldier has my passport and he might wonder what I’m doing, every soldier at the check points have machine guns, then in a few seconds and a moment of calm I thought about work, how many times have drivers said to me, if you cant find those passengers Robert I’m off with or without you, but they never leave , they cant leave you in the middle of nowhere no matter how much they would like to, so I called his bluff and ignored him and his revving engine and asked the soldier for my passport, I showed him the page that said I was a British citizen and my photograph and the page that said Islamic Republic of Iran visa, he looked at both pages, smiled at me and said ok, go, the driver wasn’t happy but he was there with the engine running. I walked up the bus to my seat and as I did he got out from behind the wheel and followed me and as I sat down he offered me a bottle of water, not whisky, gin, vodka or anything that would have been of any use to me but water, I had been very scared  in that office with the soldier, he thought I was carrying a false passport, he could have arrested me and then what would have happened and all the revving driver had to offer was a bottle of water, and my friend sitting behind me said, if you had given me money I would have helped you….

 

 

A QUICK UPDATE.

 

Over three weeks in Selcuk and still nothing from the Iranian Embassy in Istanbul, I spoke to the Iranian authorities in London just before I left and was told that holding a British passport would mean it would not be a problem for them to grant me a visa but as I was traveling through the country on a bicycle I would need a local guide and possibly a police escort to accompany me, I had said no, a police escort would not only draw unwanted attention but it would also make my trip less interesting, would I be allowed to travel wherever I wanted, would I have to follow their itinerary, they had offered to give me a thirty day visa that could be extended at any police station once I was in Iran, however I would have to give an exact date for entering and leaving the country, which at the time before I had even left London would have been impossible, the embassy then advised me to apply through a visa agency when I arrived in turkey. The agency I used told me not to mention that I was traveling on a bicycle but to say that I was just traveling in Iran and visiting different ancient sites, that was nearly a month ago and still no word.

 

The old silk road traces its way east from turkey through Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan towards china and the Himalayas, it has been well traveled for thousands of years and its the route I will take from turkey should the Iranian embassy decline my visa application. I had originally planned on riding this road but decided Iran would be better. I haven’t given up on Iran but I have to start thinking about moving on within the next week with or without a visa, spring is in the air and if I’m taking either Iran or the old silk route I have to be through them before august because of the summer heat.

 

If you should ever have to wait anywhere in the turkey for a visa then I can recommend selcuk, it’s a small town, quiet now but comes alive in the next couple of months as the tourist season starts. The days are pretty lazy, I’ve exhausted Ephesus and the town’s two museums, so my days are spent in total idleness drinking gallons of Turkish tea and really just waiting for the call to go to the embassy to get my passport stamped. I’m embarrassed to say that the bike has been moved twice in three weeks and that was only for the two newspapers that had heard about my ride and did an article about me.

 

My computer died on me about a week ago but not before taking with it all my photographs and journals, a computer shop managed to download a new version of windows xp professional for me, much better than the xp home edition that I had been using and retrieve my documents and photos, he charged twenty pounds, unbelievable, a photograph from the local paper will let you see that I’m a relaxed and very well. I hope that you are all well; I will let you know as soon as I get any visa news.

 

Fantastic news..see below.

 

 

 

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Iranian code‏

Dear Robert,

Sorry for the delay!

Your Iran reference numeber was released on 1 March - you will need to quote
ref # 802534 when applying for the visa. You will obtain the visa at the
Embassy in Ankara. The inviting organisation is "Pars Tourism Agency".

Please confirm receipt!

Best regards,

Alena

STANtours Almaty / Ashgabat

 

 

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ASIA IS CALLING.

 

Athens, Turkey, Ayvacik, Izmir, Selcuk. Total Kms 3987

After a very rough 31 hour crossing of the Aegean sea, on an old unstable ferry I finally reached Turkey and felt the weight and challenge of this vast continent of Asia in front of me. I have to admit that it was with some joy that I had left Europe behind, not because I found it unpleasant or boring but because it was secure and predictable and a lot less dramatic than I had wanted this journey to be. All the countries I’ve visited  so far I’ve enjoyed France, Italy and Greece but if it hadn’t been for the wonderful people I wouldn’t have been sure what country I was in, the same currency in all three countries ( what’s that nonsense all about ) the same stores in the major cities, I had started the trip because I wanted some adventure in my life, stepping off the ferry in turkey I felt something in the air that made me think this is it, nothing is recognizable, now my journey will really begin.

Ayvacik is a town on the coast and a favorite with day trippers from the Greek island of Lesvos, tourists staying on the island and Greeks who want a taste of Turkey come here for the day. I waited at the back of the line at customs because I could see they were very efficient in dealing with the day trippers, taking their passports and giving them a receipt so that they could get their passports back when they returned for the last ferry back to Lesvos, I needed a three month visa stamp and had to pay twenty Euro so it would take a bit more time for me to get through. Once out of the customs hall I desperately looked for a sign saying welcome to turkey, I thought it would make a great photo, looking around the port area I couldn’t find one, I will have to wait until I leave Syria and come back into turkey.

I made my way to the hotel district pushing the bike through crowds of people, most of the smaller hotels and pensions had closed up for the winter, even a very expensive looking hotel had closed for a refurbishment, for the first time on the trip I had a feeling that I was going to have a problem finding somewhere to stay, so I decided to ride to the next town, it was about 50 Kms away and as it was still early in the afternoon it would be no problem getting there before dark. Heading out of town with the centre still in sight I saw a small pension at the side of the road, 20 Turkish Lira, about £10.00 for the smallest coldest room I’ve stayed in yet but at least I could walk back to the market and explore. The pension was home for about five refugee families from Iraq and Afghanistan, really lovely children, they shouted Mr eng—lish, I speak eng—-lish, Mr eng—lish, happy children but with very sad eyes, they know that they are here in turkey with their parents because they have been forced from their homes and have lost everything because of a stupid war, they have walked thousands of miles to get here and now live like ghosts just waiting. I had seen so many of these families in Greece, the men wait at the ports all day in the hope of stowing away on a ferry to a better life, many of the younger people leave Turkey on small dinghy’s to make the crossing to Greece, its incredibly dangerous and not surprising that many drown, the Turkish government is happy to let them go, with the political tension between turkey and Greece always about to boil over because of Cyprus the Turks are happy to see the refugees making their way towards Greece,

The bazaar had about 500 shops, banks, a mosque and a police station its almost like a small town in itself, it has all the best and worst of Turkeys shopping, shops selling fake everything you could imagine Ralph Lauren, Tommy Hilfiger, Louis Vitton, I’m sure there where even fakes of fakes, you would have to be an expert to tell the difference, I walked a couple of these streets but very quickly got fed up with it and made my way to the food and spice market, much more interesting and filled myself on Turkish sweets all dripping in honey. For dinner I had fresh fish sandwiches at the harbor watching the sun setting and feeling very excited to finally be in Asia, then Mr Eng—lish returned to a very cold and uncomfortable room..

The next morning it was south to the city of Izmir, I had a route planned for the next couple of months, the area in the centre of the country is very mountainous so the weather will be bad for the next couple of months, the route I will follow will take me slightly inland from the coast but still following the Aegean and the Mediterranean to Syria, then after a ride through Syria back in to Turkey to make my way east to Iran (visa permitting.) I had heard about Turkish hospitality and was to experience it for myself only a few Kms out of the town, I had stopped at a road junction and the sign showed Izmir to the right, it looked as if the road went into the middle of a huge housing estate and I didn’t want to waste time going in there only to have to come back out again, a young guy stopped in his car, spoke to me in Turkish, then seeing I didn’t understand spoke in English and set me on the right road, about 15 minutes later I went past a tea shop, he called out to me and invited me to stop for tea, everything I had read on turkey had said this was an important part of Turkish hospitality and not to be refused, I ended up sitting for over an hour drinking tea and eating cakes, he left me with his phone and email details saying that should I find myself with any problems to give him a call, I said that I hoped not to call him with a problem but would call just to say hello. I put his offer to the test a few days later when I emailed him and asked him if it would be possible to have my India guide book sent to his address, no problem he said, have it posted to me and when I get the book I will then get my company to deliver it to wherever you are in turkey the next day so that you don’t have to wait around for it. All this from someone who happened to stop in the road to offer me directions. Thank you Erdem.

Turkey is vast, it feels much bigger than any of the other three countries I’ve been through, there are snow covered mountains on both sides of the road and both mountains and road go on for miles into the distance which can be very soul destroying when your on a bike, the perfect road has hills and bends so you don’t know what’s around the corner and makes for a good ride but to see the road laid out in front of you is a nightmare, I talk to the bike and say we will slowly chip away at this road and we can do it. Although perfectly flat, they are not always in the best condition, the surface isn’t very smooth and after a few hours riding it starts to vibrate your mind to pieces, the road melts in the heat of the summer and the weight of the trucks forms a ridge between the road and shoulder, if I ride on the right of the ridge I’m in all the stones, glass and junk that is thrown from passing cars, to the left of the ridge and I’m to close to passing traffic. Everyone here waves and calls out as I pass, people working in the fields, farmers picking the last of the olives, shepherds with goats and sheep, and anyone who happens to be on the road, I get the feeling that every truck and car that passes sounds their horn, it isn’t everyone but so many of them do that its a constant noise on the road. Turkey is notorious for its wild dogs, they run in packs but fortunately don’t get to close because of the fast traffic, they run alongside the bike at a safe distance barking like crazy and finally give up, some run out from behind buildings or from gardens, I’ve become expert at stopping the bike quickly and getting off, once your off the bike and become a pedestrian they are no longer interested and give up.

Izmir was a laugh a minute, all main roads in turkey eventually funnel you onto a main highway and then straight into the middle of a city, twice trying to get into the city the road suddenly became a main highway and I had to ride through suburbs and housing estates following my compass because I have no idea where I was on the map, even the traffic cop who I asked for directions pointed to the bike and said 10 Kms to the centre, impossible on that and pointed at the bike, not much point in telling him that I had come all the way from London “on that”. The only road I could take that would get me south went through the middle of the city and after a couple of nights in a hotel I was ready to resume the fight. You wouldn’t believe the amount of traffic, Izmir is turkeys third largest city so I’m happy to have missed out Istanbul the largest, everyone drives like a person possessed, I don’t know why but some would be happy to knock me off the bike, what’s wrong with giving me just a little bit of room, I never pass by a car with inches to spare, turn in front of them because I want that turning, get so close behind them that they can feel my front wheel on their bumper, ring my bell as I quietly come up behind them but car drivers do this to me everyday. I’m happy to say that I made it, right through the middle and out the other side in one piece.

From the madness of Izmir to the peace and quiet of the southern Aegean coast, small fishing towns and beach escapes for wealthy Turks but very quiet at this time of year. I’m in Selcuk, its the closet town to the ruins of Ephesus, once the capital of Roman Asia and one of the most important archaeological sites in turkey, I walked along marble covered roadways and columned avenues, it was a fantastic impression of an ancient gateway to the eastern world.

I will spend a little time here sorting out my Iranian visa before moving on, life on the road is slowly changing me, for the better I feel, in what I know call my former life if the clothes didn’t have a Ralph Lauren label then I wouldn’t wear them, I now have two sets of clothes one for on and one for off the bike, I wore a different watch everyday of the week, now other than the bike computer I have no watch, I don’t need to know the time, I wore expensive aftershave everyday, now I wear Yves saint lasweat, I spend the same amount of pennies on lunch as I would have spent in pounds on a CD everyday, yet this is a much better life, the experiences I’m having with people and places is so amazing, I’m relaxed, happy and always looking forward to the next day, not everyday is thrilling, some can be bloody awful, I received an email from a tour operator who asked if I would be able to take one of his groups on a Britain and Ireland tour next year, I emailed back after a very long wet cold day and told him about the bike ride and that I had been wet all day and wondered if I would ever be dry again and that I was not feeling particularly inspired by the journey, this is what he emailed back , I don’t think he will mind me printing it here.
“You… are living life my friend. We all have highs, lows, love and despair, but you are living and feeling it all.
You are making a difference. You are inspiring others. Fly Robert, Fly and be free…At the end of your life you will know that you did the right thing by undertaking this enormous and difficult trip. Soar…