I left Singapore on the 23^rd January for a small Indonesian island. There are no direct ferries between Singapore and Jakarta. I had to take a small fast ferry to the island of Batam about 45 minutes south of Singapore and from here pick up the Jakarta ferry. While I was in Singapore I managed to find out that ferries leave Batam every four days heading for Jakarta but couldn’t find out when the next ferry was. The worst case scenario would be a four day wait on Batam. When I got to the terminal on the island I was told the next ferry was on the 27^th February. I stared at the guy in disbelief for about 30 seconds thinking what am I going to do here for a month, he then said sorry sir I meant January, four days time.

 There are two golf resorts close to the ferry terminal and I’m staying in one of them. I’ve counted 30 staff and as usual I’m the only patient as its out of season. The staff are treating me like a king and cant do enough to keep me happy. Its a two minute walk to the beach and I spend my days in the sea or on the beach. when I’m swimming I can just make out the Singapore sky line on the horizon. I leave here on the 1pm ferry for Jakarta. Its a 30 hour journey and as this is South East Asia add another 4 or 5 hours to that.. From Jakarta I ride along the north coast to Bali and from there another ferry to East Timor.

Kota Bharu. Kuala Terengganu. Kuantan. Johor Bahru. Singapore. Total Kms15775

 Malaysia wasn’t very exciting after Thailand. The people were good fun and they were always very helpful and good to me but Thailand is a tough act to follow and I found Malaysia too conservative. The mountains and beaches were beautiful but they just didn’t have the impact that they did in Thailand. I chose to travel the length of the east coast with its views over the South China Seas and its thought to be very easy going and laid back. The west coast is much more of a Tourist destination and therefore more developed with main roads and of course traffic. The interior is a thick swathe of jungle and mountains so not the best route for a boy on a bike. The border crossing was the easiest I’ve had so far, a short ferry ride across the river took me from Thailand to Malaysia no questions about my reasons for riding a bike, nothing about the amount of visas in my passport or how I could afford to be away from home for so long. The customs official stamped my passport without looking at me and said you can stay in Malaysia for 90 days goodbye and that was it. No questions in the customs hall about my bags or if the bike was new as that would mean an import duty. Before I knew it I was out of the terminal building and officially in Malaysia.

 The first town I stayed in was Kota Bharu in the North Eastern corner of the Peninsula and its the State capital. I saw the local mosque and the museum of Islam but there seemed no point in hanging around for more than one night. Most of the places I stayed in where small fishing villages and typical Malaysian towns and they didn’t have much to offer. To be fair it is the monsoon season and although I only got wet a couple of times it is out of season with some very rough seas that are dangerous to swim in at this time of year so I ended up staying in beach hotels with no beach scene. It was also the wrong time of year to take a side trip into the jungle otherwise I would have taken the jungle train that trundles its way up into the mountainous interior but I was told by a travel agent that I would be wasting my money as it was just too wet at this time of year. Traveling around the world over a couple of years I don’t expect to arrive in each country at the right time of year, with perfect weather and every town full of fun. My answer was to ride south to Singapore as quickly as I could and I covered the 800Kms in about a week.

 Squeaky clean Singapore was another story. I had lived here as a kid and although to young to remember any of it other than the photographs I used to see in my parents photo albums I had been looking forward to getting to this modern hub of Asia for a while. Another very easy border crossing, hundreds of Malaysians cross the causeway into Singapore every day fro work and like everything else in the city its very efficient. I had to follow the hundreds of scooters making their way through that morning and again it was a quick stamp in my passport, 90 days off you go. Its the cleanest most modern city I’ve ever been to. It took me a day or two before I really got into the city but when I finally embraced its modern vibrant culture I was hooked. Singaporeans have two great passions, shopping and eating and I did my fair share of both. I explored the city with an Australian lady I met at breakfast one morning. She was on her way to Prague to study and had decided to stay in the city for a week, she also wanted to see how the city had changed as she hadn’t been back here since her first visit nearly 30 years ago and we both had a wonderful time.

 

The days of the empire have long gone and Singapore has done all that it can to mold itself into a modern forward looking city. Its amazingly cosmopolitan with business men and women from all over the world living and working here. Everyone is either on a cell phone texting at thumb throbbing speeds or listening to an MP3 player and incredibly the phones work on the train system underneath the ground. The city has relaxed many of its strange laws such as having long hair, bungee jumping, the banning of chewing gum and jay walking. I was fascinated by the modern skyline. I had imagined a post Colonial city to be full of old Victorian buildings but they have all gone, replaced with modern glass and steel towers that make for a pretty dramatic skyline at any time of day or night.

 The city is split into different cultural areas. Little India is almost another world, its as if you’ve been transported back to a very sanitized version of India with its restaurants and shops. China town was always bustling with people with a very interesting Chinatown Heritage center, a museum that charts the arrival of the Chinese into Singapore. The Colonial district has the remains of British rule, The Concert hall and Theater, St Andrews cathedral and of course the famous Raffles hotel with its Singapore Slings at 40 Singapore dollars a drink. Its a fantastic city to walk around because its just so dramatic, in every street there is something new to see whether its a hotel that doubled as a modern art gallery or a shopping mall that had a concert taking place inside, a Buddhist Temple or Singapore’s oldest Hindu Temple or even just a small hawkers stall selling freshly fried fish for a few dollars. It is an amazing city.

Samut Sakhon. Cha am, Chumphon. Ranong. Phang Nga. Trang. Hat yai. Pattani.Kota Bharu. Total Kms14975

As I had been staying in the northern suburbs of Bangkok it meant I had to ride through the center of the city and out the other side. When it was time to leave. By leaving at 6.30am I had hoped that I would miss all the early morning commuter traffic and it would be plain sailing out of the city. How wrong could I be. From the moment I left the safety of the hotel car park I was attacked by early morning traffic even with all lights blazing on the bike the drivers still couldn’t see me, at one point I thought it might be safer if I turned the lights off because then at least they wouldn’t know what to aim for. During that early morning ride through the city horns blared all around me and cars driven by madmen desperate to get to work inched passed me. At first I was as polite as I could possibly be ‘ come on guys take your time, give me a bit of room, after all we are in this together’, after about half an hour of this politeness I managed to get the sentence down to a couple of choice words and hand gestures that are understood in most countries. Finally after about 3 hours of madness I managed to reach the outer suburbs of the city and I was lost. Following my compass south with a map that was not detailed enough to show the streets of the suburbs I had to hope that I would eventually find a main route. It was now about 11am the sun was beginning get hot, I was tired from that mornings commuter adventure and I felt it would be good to have an early finish. I spotted a sign that said Jimmies Guest House, perfect I would have somewhere to stay and hopefully Jimmie could help me with a detailed route out of the suburbs and south towards the coast. I never found Jimmy, after almost and hour of following the signs I gave up outside the gates to what looked like an expensive resort, I didn’t care if it cost $1000 a night I just wanted off the bike. It turned out to be much cheaper than I had though and would be the perfect place for an overnight. Once again I was given a small private bungalow overlooking a lake, a short walk to the other side of the lake brought me to the restaurant. The rest of that afternoon was absolute bliss as I watched birds and other wildlife on the lake from the comfort of my private balcony.

 The resort did have other guest who I met that evening at dinner. They were a group of pensioners from northern Thailand who had traveled down to Bangkok to perform in a karaoke competition. Karaoke is huge here, every bar, club and restaurant no matter how big or small has a karaoke machine, everyone is welcome to pick up the microphone and sing. I was used to listening to people who cant sing perform songs that should never have been written. At dinner that night I listened to My way, Somewhere over the rainbow, send in the clowns and other classic songs from the 50s and 60s sung in Thai, it was the most bizarre evening. The group who were all great fun had brought a professional karaoke instructor with them and he was busy all night showing the contestants how to sing each song. They had noticed that there was a foreigner in the restaurant listening to them and clapping at the end of each song and they were determined to get me on the stage. Fortunately we could find nothing in English on the machine, although that was partly my fault as I had told him to key into the machine songs by System of a down or Metallica. I went to bed that evening to the sound of Hey Big Spender sung in Thai.

 Its difficult to put into words just how wonderful my ride along the south coast of Thailand was. The sand really is golden on the dreamy beaches and the water really is a deep blue that you will find nowhere else in the world. This as they say is the stuff of dreams. On both sides of the peninsular there are famous islands and beaches. I initially took the East coast for a couple of hundred Kms but as it became more developed I cut across the country almost at its narrowest point and made way way along the East coast. It was getting very close to Christmas and I was wondering what to do. It would be good to be somewhere special on the day rather than getting up and riding the bike as if it was just another day and the island of Phucket about 200Kms to the south came to mind. As it got closer to Christmas I noticed more tour buses with signs saying Phucket on them passing me. Sleeping inside with their heads banging on the windows was the iPod generation who had arrived at Bangkok airport that morning and were now rushing to the island for the Christmas break. Phucket would probably not be a ideal destination for my Christmas break. That morning I was given a small piece of information at the side of the road that would once again make the bike ride worthwhile. It was about a place to stay for the night, a museum and guest house only a few Kms down the road.

 The wave the shook the world to its core and left almost 300.000 dead in its wake caused untold damage to this Eastern part of Thailand. Immediately after the disaster aid came from the united states and the Coca cola company who had had set up small museum dedicated to the people who had lost their lives in the four surrounding villages and a guest house had been built close to the museum. I met Mr Pe the new curator who spent an afternoon walking me through the museum and telling me about his personal experience of the disaster. The wave traveled at over 1000Kms per hour and hit the villages in this area about an hour after the earthquake. Almost 500 people lost their lives here, mainly fisherman who had no idea what a tsunami was and as the water initially retreated leaving fish lying on the sand they walked out on what a few minutes earlier had been sea and was now land and started to pick up all of the dying fish. They saw the main wave advancing out to sea but assumed it was just a very large wave that would break on the beach like any other. This however was no ordinary wave and before anyone realised what was happening this monster wave was on them killing everyone. Resorts, hotels and homes just disappeared but the real cost was human with over 5000 people dead in Thailand. Pe went on to explain how funds had been given by many Western governments to place an early warning system on the sea bed. If there is ever another monster magnitude earthquake on the sea bed again signals are sent up to satellites that then alert warning centers, alarms are sounded and people know exactly what to do, get themselves as quickly as possible to higher ground. Pe told me that he would like to involve the children in a Christmas party and although many of them were Muslim children he felt that as so many had lost their parents in the disaster it might be a good idea. He had never organised a Christmas party before but had sent out word that all the local children were invited and that they were to each bring a present. I told him I had never organised a childrens Christmas party but it couldn’t be that hard So my plans changed that afternoon and involved decorating an area where the party would be held, organising a lottery system for the presents so that each child would go home with a different present to the one they had brought, setting up tables for the food and generally helping out on what was to prove to be a very successful day. The sound of children laughing and the looks on their faces as they opened presents will stay with me forever.

Every Thai male is expected to become a monk for a short period in his life, this usually lasts about three months. family’s call it taking up Robe and Bowl. Very ornate Spirit houses are built outside homes to encourage the spirits to live independently from the family. The Monks travel from one spirit house to the next sometimes walking the length of the country often with no shoes. I would pass them as they made their journey south and sometimes would get off the bike and walk with them. Not all spoke English but there was a silent companionship as we walked the same route sharing food and water and on the odd occasion that I couldn’t find a hotel I was happy to sleep inside the same Temple as my walking companions.

 Southern Thailand goes through periods of unrest that involves a small armed group dedicated to making this part of the country a Muslim state. Arson attacks and bombings take place every now and then usually against the military or police. Kids on bikes are not a target and I assumed it would be safe for me to ride here. I had the usual warnings from people about the dangers and how I would most likely be shot if I tried to ride a bike in the area. There is a very heavy handed police response to what is happening and to the Muslim population. The main road south to the border with Malaysia was covered in road blocks but I was always waved through. I had one lift in an armored police van. I was told that this stretch of road was very dangerous, people are shot here and I would have to go with them, reluctantly I unloaded the bike and got everything into the van. It was about 100Kms to the border and I assumed that’s where they would take me. We drove for about 5Kms to a 7/11 store and they let me out. I have a feeling they wanted to go back to the police station and tell everyone that they gave a foreigner a lift on the way into work this morning.

  Chiang Mai,  Lampang,  Tak,  Kamphaeng Phet,  Chainat,  Ayuthaya, Bangkok. Total 13975Kms

 If its true that its the people that make a country then Thailand must be one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Thais are a very special people, always ready with a smile, they are a laid back good hearted people who really understand how to look after visitors. From the moment I arrived at Bangkok airport I was greeted by smiles from every official that I spoke to.  As I waited in line to go through passport control an official from the airline  told me that the bike would be waiting for me as soon as I had passed through the Immigration check. Sure enough as I walked through the glass doors there was a small smiling Thai man standing next to my bike box that stood almost as tall as him. He didn’t just hand over the bike and leave me but took me to the hotel booking desk and then helped me hire a van so that I could be transferred into the city. When I got into the van I couldnt thank Sam enough for all the help he had given me. I offered him a tip but he wouldn’t take it, he said it was his job to help people through the airport with oversized luggage and he was happy to do it.

 I was transferred to a small hotel on the outskirts of the city. In the morning I was going to take a bus 700Kms north from Bangkok to Chiang Mai and then ride south back towards the capital. I had a real urge to leave the airport and head south to the beaches but I had a two month visa and that’s a long time to be riding along a coastal road, besides I wanted to see some of the interior of Thailand with its beautiful countryside and mountains. The small guesthouse was close to the bus station and run by an elderly Thai lady. It was late by the time I checked into my room but she told me to come downstairs to her kitchen and she would make me some dinner. I was looking forward to my first Thai meal and unpacked my bags thinking about shrimps cooked in coconut oil with fried rice or Thai green curry with mixed vegetables and sticky rice. When I finally went down to the kitchen there on the table waiting for me was a plate of macaroni, I tried hard not to look  disappointed, after all she had gone to the trouble of opening up her kitchen and making me something to eat. From the first mouth full of  macaroni  it was absolutely delicious, we had the same conversation throughout the meal, she would ask me, is it same like England and I would say, well, the plates the same as in England, but what have you done to this macaroni its delicious. So my first meal in Thailand although Italian turned out to be delicious and in the two months that I have been here I haven’t had a bad meal yet. Food is everywhere and some of  the most delicious food comes from vendors who set up a cart and stove at the side of the street and cook the meal while you wait. Its always a very spicy sweet and sour meal with chilli peppers that are like a small bomb exploding in your mouth. There is nothing better than the smell of rice cooking for breakfast. Im now happy to have a spicy curry with rice  or a noodle soup first thing in the morning. 

 The bus ride north to Chiang Mai took over 10 hours. Its about 750Kms north of Bangkok and as we hurtled along passing through small towns and villages I had to keep reminding myself that I would be riding this route south in a couple of days and would get to see all that I thought I was missing. From the bus Thailand looked beautiful, lush river valleys, ancient mountain ranges and fields of Orchids, Thailands National flower are everywhere. Theres a variety of different countryside here from dense mountain jungles in the north to tropical rainforest in the south. The town of Chiang Mai has more than 300 Temples and is considered a National treasure house. The town is surrounded by a medieval wall that is thought to be over 700 years old and was built as defense against Burmese invaders. On the outskirts of the old town is a very modern busy commercial center but inside the old city walls its possible to walk through medieval streets that are traffic free,  just friendly Thais wander through these narrow lanes who are  always ready to greet you with a smile. I stayed in the town for 5 days, it gave me time to have a good look around, practice a little bit of the Thai language, get to know the food and rebuild the bike. It caused quite a stir when I wheeled it out of my room the morning I was departing, the porters who had helped me up to the room with box must have thought that because of the picture on the outside that inside there was a very large Philips Plasma screen TV and not a bike.

 Riding in Thailand after India is a dream. All the roads are well surfaced and although not as flat as in India with some very tough hills I found it much easier going and much less stressful than riding in India. The drivers are very civilized giving me heaps of room when they pass me. One major difference is the lack of cyclists, here in Thailand the weapon of choice is a scooter. Everyone, young and old has a small scooter that they use as their main form of transport, sometimes four or five people are crammed onto the seat and they hurtle past me laughing and shouting. The roads all  have dedicated scooter lanes  that I can use so Im well to the left of traffic that is passing on my right. Another big difference is how quiet it is, the roads are busy with the usual trucks and cars passing continously but days go by and I don’t hear one horn being blown whether its in the middle of a town or out in the open countryside. There is the usual interest as I ride along, one or two cars will stop and the drivers ask where I’m from and what I’m up to. Thailand is such a huge tourist destination that I’ve lost the rock star status that I had in parts of India and Bangladesh.  Although I cant say I mind, its great being able to get off the bike and use the loo without an audience. This northern part of Thailand is much cooler than the south. It makes riding much easier, I can put in longer days as the sun is much more forgiving in the afternoon than it had been in India.

 Finding hotels has been no problem. The country is covered in National parks all offering visitors somewhere to stay. Tourism is down about 60% on normal years because of the economic crisis in the West. Perfect for me because hoteliers have had to drop their prices considerably to attract customers. I now recognize the Thai word for a hotel and they are always very easy to find both in town and in the smaller villages. I look for a place that has individual bungalows. These are buildings made completely out of wood usually Teak and although they have very basic facilities they are always clean and comfortable. I haven’t had to use the tent in any of the hotel rooms yet. The small resorts that have these  bungalows are dotted all over Thailand many of them are in the middle of the National Parks. I’ve slept in places on the side of lakes, one or two have been house boats, so floating on the lake and some have been in the middle of the jungle. Signs pointing off the main road to a guest house or resort have taken me about 5Kms down smaller lanes to these teak guest houses that have been surrounded by the most incredible jungle and wildlife. Monkeys jumping from tree to tree and early one morning two or three elephants walked past the bungalow where I was staying. Elephants used to run wild through the rainforests but sadly as the rainforest disappears so do the elephants. A local Thai man pointed out to me that if  you have a look at Thailand on the map its shaped just like the head of an elephant with the peninsula as it trunk. Checking into one of these jungle resorts was funny. First, as always happens the guy working on the check in desk being asked for the first time in his career if a bike could be kept in the room had to get the manager, who arrived and said no problem but if the bike causes any damage to the room I would have to pay for the damage. I laughed and told the manager that the bike had learnt its lesson from an incident that had took place a week before when it had got drunk, thrown the TV out of the window and had brought female bikes into the room. I had told the bike that if anything like that ever happens again I was going to replace it with a Jeep. The manager without batting an eyelid said fine then there should be no problem.

 Bangkok is the destination everyone who is traveling in South East Asia heads for. Its a city of 6 million that never stops to take a breath. It has everything from Ancient Temples to sky rise shopping malls and the famous ultramodern elevated sky-train. Every street is lined with restaurants and coffee shops and vendors who sell every kind of food imaginable. No matter what part of the city you happen to be in, food is never far away. I arrived the day before the Kings 82 birthday. Hes the longest Reigning Monarch in the world 62 years as king.  Along with the population of Bangkok I was happy to stand at the side of the street in the blazing afternoon sun waiting to catch a glimpse of him. Thais love their Royal family. Everyone has an opinion about how good or bad politicians are but all Thais only have a good word for the king.  He is not well and this is thought to be the last of his birthday celebrations. He was brought to the palace from his hospital bed and it was a silver ambulance that sped past us with the King inside.

 Bangkok was full of Cultural Gems, I visited the Grand Palace, The National Museum, a very busy Chinatown and more Temples than I care to remember each with its own Buddha statue made out of wood, ivory or sometimes solid gold. The city has a canal system and these canals were onced used to transport goods and people. Many of the houses are made out of  Teak and built on stilts to guard against flooding. This area had one of the only floating markets left in the city. Small wooden boats full of  fish, vegetables, rice or even used as small restaurants float by and the only way to get from one spot to the next was by taking a small boat. From Bangkok I head south for a 700Kms coastal ride to the border with Malaysia.

I was involved in a fish eating frenzy in Thailand. Hundreds of small fish kissed my feet and legs while at the same time eating all the dead skin that they could find on me. I sat there for an hour as the fish enjoyed their lunch. I managed to get my revenge, after the fish had finished with me I had fish and rice for my lunch. ( not the same fish that had been eating me.)  

Wishing you all a wonderful and happy christmas and all the best for the new year..

Calcutta, Benapol, Khulna, Gopalganj, Madaripur (Ferry) Chandpur, Dhaka. Total 13275Kms.

 My experience in Bangladesh was the closest I will ever come to rock star status. Whenever I stopped a crowd of people would form around me and just stare in complete amazement. If I stopped for food people would cram into the restaurant to watch me eat and drink, with the restaurant owner shouting from the back of the crowd, probably telling them to leave me alone or to let me eat in peace. I soon realised that once he had everyone out of the place there would be room for his family to come and have a look. If I stopped to ask directions or just pulled off the road to say hello to someone celebrity status was conferred on that person and as I rode off and looked back a crowd would form around them wanting to know what I was doing. This happened every day, not just once but on every occasion that I stopped. I calculated that about 50 people an hour stopped to look at me as I passed. Bangladeshi curiosity is wonderful, the questions always began with my country of origin then moved onto family, job, salary and finally what did I think of Bangladesh. In the town of Khulna in the south of the country a crowd gathered outside the hotel where I was staying to catch a glimpse of the Foreigner. It shows just how far off the tourist radar Bangladesh has become. In the month I was traveling around I saw no other Westerners. When I went to the Thai Embassy in Dhaka I expected to meet a couple of people on the road, there is always someone applying for a visa, not here. I asked the hotel owner how many Westerner had checked into his hotel this year and he said none. The country’s image is one of War, overcrowding, poverty and floods so not exactly the place that would immediately spring to mind when your planning a holiday. As always the country’s image could not be further from the truth. Yes its overcrowded and poor but I didn’t see the sort of poverty and overcrowding that I had experienced in India.

 As I traveled through the countryside I got the impression of a last unexplored frontier, a country almost untouched by the modern world and Tourism. I rode through Small farming villages growing rice and very little else. Its a country that is covered in rivers and water, farmers have to use small boats to get them from their homes to the fields for the working day. When the road ended and there was no bridge to cross a small boat would be waiting to ferry passengers across. I did have to make one crossing on a large ferry. The same type of vessel that capsized recently drowning   hundreds of people. The ferry was about three decks high and towered above me I also noticed that the thing was ancient and needed more than a lick of paint to get it up to any kind of descent satndard.  fortunatley on the morning I was traveling it was quiet only about 10 trucks and a couple of cars had been loaded on. I couldn’t work out on a map what route we would be takinjg but we had to cross the Padma river from Madaripur to Chandpur and from there I could pick up the road to Dhaka. It was a misty morning and about an hour into the journey we got caught on a sandbank. The captain made an announcement that was translated for me by an English speaking medical officer. we would go no further because of the mist. I thought we could go no further because we where stuck on the sandbank. The drivers of the trucks started shouting up to the captain in the wheel house, I gathered that they had goods to be delivered and  would now be late. So for three hours we stayed on the bank until the tide turned and the mist lifted. Fortunately for me the medical officer had driven an empty ambulance on to the ferry so I was able to sleep on one of the strechers in the back. Hitting the sandbank and having to wait a few hours was no hardship. I have heard the news and gather that hundreds were drowned when the same type of ferry from the same company and on the same route only in the opposite direction capsized in a storm this weekend. I really am a very lucky boy.

 Its one of the most densely populated countries in the world with almost 140 million people and as in all poor nations a good proportion of that population lives in the capital Dhaka.Tthis cityis without doubt the most overcrowded, noisy and polluted city that I had ever been to. It never stops, not for a minute at any time of day or night. Almost a million rickshaws work the crowded streets along with hundreds of  red double Decker buses originally owned by London Transport. From my hotel window I had a great views onto a junction where the traffic jams were just phenomenal. The only way to get around the city was on foot. Old Dhaka is a mass of narrow lanes teeming with life. Whole areas of the city are dedicated to one profession and while I was lost wandering through this maze I found the area selling everything to do with plumbing and bathrooms around another corner was a street I named furniture lane, then there was building materials alley and to my amazement a bicycle street selling everything you could possibly need for a bike. What I needed was a box to pack the bike in for the flight to Thailand.

 Unfortunately I had to fly across Myanmar, ( Burma ) I had tried twice for a visa in Calcutta and Dhaka, it was easier to get an entry visa into Iran. There is no overland entry point into Myanmar, if I managed to get a visa I would  have to fly to Yangon the capital and there is no change of route I would  have to fly back out again. Even if it had been possible to change my route and exit the country by land most of the land borders are closed. So I had to fly from Dhaka to Bangkok and that would mean packing the bike in a good box. What better place to find one than on bicycle lane. All bicycles in Bangladesh are imported from China, they arrive as hundreds of parts in small boxes and are then assembled by hand in the workshop. So unless I wanted to strip the bike down to a thousand pieces and then rebuild it I wasn’t going to get a box here. No need to worry this is Dhaka, turn right at the end of the lane I was told and I would come to the carton and packaging market, if I couldn’t find a box then they would build one for me I was assured. Sure enough at the end of bicycle lane was the carton and packaging market, boxes of all shapes and sizes some new many recycled.

Bangladesh is without doubt the recycling nation of the world although the people wouldnt call what they are doing as recycling. Its a poor country and everything has to be used again, nothing is wasted. We would throw out an old phone, hifi system, fridge or piece of an engine, here its taken to a shop to be fixed and if that’s not possible then taken apart and used again. If you buy any type of food item its wrapped in a bag made out of old newspapers. In the time I was here I was never given a plastic bag and its not because the people are thinking about saving the planet, plastic bags are expensive, paper bags are free. Small boys do a paper run each morning collecting newspapers from wherever they can, they then sit for hours fashioning the newspapers into bags for anything that customers might buy. A brilliant system. I was amazed at the amount of heavy material moved by hand. Building material that we would think of as being too heavy or dangerous to move unless it was by vehicle is moved on no more than a bicycle or cart. I would often see guys pushing a cart loaded with heavy steel for construction sites or moving  bricks through the streets. The amount of heavy lifting done by the smallest and not most overly fed people on the planet is incredible. I managed to get a box that had originally held a flat screen TV,  perfect for the bike and cost $2.00.  A carton and packaging market, who would have believed it.

 Bangladesh is almost completely dry. Its a Muslim country and so as not to upset that section of society alcohol can be bought but only in shops that are tucked away in narrow lanes and impossible to find, no matter how hard I tried. I was eating dinner one night when a young guy came and sat next to me. He  asked me the usual questions and then asked if I would like a drink. Like a drink, did I hear him right. I started to think about a large Gin and Tonic or a cool glass of Chardonnay, even a beer would have been great. He pulled out of his bag a small bottle of cough mixture,  whats this I asked, enough Gin for a couple of large ones. No its cough mixture he said, I told him that I didn’t have a cold and that I thought he had said something about a drink, this is it and with that he opened the bottle and drank down the lot followed by a glass of water. Its illegal he said, if the police find you carrying a bottle of cough medicine you can be arrested. What if you have a cold I asked, is there a special test that the police do to see if you have a cold,  if you dont show any symptoms and your carrying a bottle of  mixture are your arrested. Charged with carrying the mixture while not under the influence of a cold. I declined his offer I could wait until Thailand for a beer. I did have a good laugh that night in bed thinking of how I would like my cough mixture served. Ice and a slice of lemon. Dry, shaken not stirred. Two pints of mixture and a packet of crisps please.

  Motihari, Muzaffarpur, Begusari, Bhagalpur, Baharampur, Calcutta, Total 13160Kms.

 The North Eastern State of Bihar is the poorest and most lawless State in India. Its a 900Kms ride from the border with Nepal to Calcutta and almost 700Kms of the route will take me right through the middle of the State. The alternative a safer but much longer route would be to ride directly south from Nepal into Uttar Pradesh and then east through Jhakhand and West Bengal. I wanted to finish India as quickly as possible and decided on the route through Bihar. What I didn’t know was the level of poverty and desperation I had seen in the rest of India would be nothing compared to what I would experience in Bihar.

 There had at one time been a perfectly descent road all the way from the border with Nepal and then East through the State to Calcutta, over the years its fallen into a bit of a 700Kms potholed mess and anyone I spoke to would only say that politicians promise to do something about the road during election times but after the votes have been cast nothing happens. The upside to the road being in such a state means that nothing can travel at any great speed, so the trucks and buses that usually hurtle past me at speed and with just a few inches of clearance often forcing me off the road have to go as slowly as I do. The downside is that I’m covered in oil and everything else that comes out of their exhausts as all this traffic slowly trundles past me. I’m not so bothered about being filthy every day, I’m just used to it. In my past life the slightest bit of dirt on my shirt and it would go into the wash. In my new life I smile as I see the expressions on the faces of the people who work in the hotel and other guests as I walk up to the reception. The first thing I mention is that I’m on a bike, they can then see that there is a reason for the mess I’m in and that I haven’t just stepped out of a car looking the way I do. There is no point trying to stay clean, within an hour on these roads I’m as filthy as the bike. fortunately Indians don’t seem to expect people to be perfectly clean so there is never a problem getting into a hotel looking as I do.

 As with most places I’ve been told to avoid because of presumed danger the reality is very different. It was in Bihar that I met some of the kindest people on my ride through India. People who had little or nothing in their pockets but had hearts that were full. They treated me with a kindness that was beyond measure and as always in a place where hardship reigns supreme there is a corrupt police force making sure everything runs smoothly. When I was stopped by the first police patrol I assumed that they would want to see my passport and visa, it wasn’t that simple. They weren’t interested in my documents only my money. They asked how much cash I had on me, I lied and said very little, I pay for everything by credit card. What he said next was absolutely amazing and I thought he was joking. You are likely to be kidnapped in this State, there are many dangerous bandits here, if you pay us, when you are kidnapped we will use the money to come and help you. I got back on the bike and just rode away with him shouting at me, I guessed or at least hoped he wouldn’t shoot me in the back. On the second occasion I was staying the night with a local Doctor. His son had seen me passing their home and had followed me on his bike begging me to come and stay with them for the night. I turned around and ended up staying with a wonderful family for two nights who treated me as a truly special guest in their home. The police arrived on the second night, news had spread round the village that a foreigner on a bike was staying with the doctors family. Again they weren’t interested in my passport and visa, this patrol had heard that I had been kidnapped and for a fee had come to rescue me. The Doctor and his family were very embarrassed, they didn’t want me to think that all Indians were like this. I heard many stories that night about how poorly paid policemen fall into a life of crime to boost their incomes. I would be stopped on two more occasions on the road and I always acted in the same way, showing them my visa, telling them I was a Tourist legally in the country and then rode off to them shouting at me to come back. The cowards never followed me.

 I noticed coming towards me one morning a bike loaded with coal, I guessed it must have weighed about 100Kgs if not more. I thought it was just a one off and watched him push the bike past me heading in the opposite direction. Eventually I was to see these guys on their heavily laden bikes every day. I had heard that there was a coal mine just off the main road, the bikes were loaded with as much coal as that boy or man was capable of carrying and then they would push the bike to the power station, an incredible 70Kms away. Once again it put into perspective what I was doing. I think my bike weighs about 30Kgs and I know there is 20Kgs in the panniers. So I have to manhandle about 60Kgs daily and at the end of it if I’m lucky I check into a hotel, have a meal and a beer then fall asleep in a comfortable bed. These guys are pushing their bikes up and down this road for a living, they have no choice and no hotel at the end of the day, they sleep outside with their bikes just in case someone tries to steal their load. I worked out that their salary was under $50.00 a month. They were truly amazing guys, I would have a hard time moving their loads and I’m fit after a year on the bike. When I would stop for something to eat there would be the usual crowd around me taking photos and falling over my bike to look at it, yet on the road behind us these guys were pushing their incredible loads of coal to the power station ignored by everyone. Fortunately we are following The River Ganges so the road is perfectly flat which makes it a little easier for the coal bikes. Almost everything you can think of is transported by cycle in India. I’ve passed guys loaded down with steel and bricks and all kinds of heavy building materials and I once passed a guy with a motorbike strapped to a trailer on the back of his cycle. Here in India the cycle is the main form of transportation.

 I am never alone here. No matter how quiet it is when I stop for a break or how well I choose my hiding place someone always finds me and if a local is seen talking to me its a signal for anyone who might be passing to stop and join in the conversation. Once they find out what I’m doing people who might not have paid me any attention and passed me by have to be flagged down and my story told to them. A bus driver opened his door as he was about to pass me and asked me where I was from, how long I had been in India and what was I doing, I answered him and he then drove away only to wave down a bus coming towards him, the information was passed on to the new bus driver who then slowed down as he passed so his passengers could see me, he then shouted to them, English man, cycle tour round the world, then the news would be relayed by that bus driver to the buses coming towards him and so it would go on. I would arrive in a town and people would shout out English man or Foreigner on cycle tour.

 On reaching Calcutta I was surprised at how different the city was to how I imagined it should be. Like most people I had heard about the poverty and squalor, the children begging on the streets and the destitute. Maybe my months in India have hardened me to what was going on around me but it just didn’t seem as bad as many places I had just visited. The towns in Bihar had been so poor and I had seen so much poverty that I suppose nothing else will ever have an impact on me again. In the end it was probably that Calcutta just isn’t that bad. Its a large city with its rich and poor living side by side. Its the first city in India that I had seen that had parks and open spaces and something like a real city center. So it was possible to escape the noise and pollution. Calcutta had been the capital during British rule and the authorities had decided to recreate London with ornate Victorian Buildings and beautiful parks. Another wait for a visa, this time for Bangladesh gave me more than enough time to get to know the city really well.

 The Border with Bangladesh is only about 100Kms from Calcutta so a days ride and I would finally finish India. It will come as no surprise that I’m happy to be leaving. I’ve had enough poverty and wretchedness to last me a lifetime, much of what I’ve seen I haven’t written about because it is distressing and I see no point in trying to shock you. I have met many kind hearted wonderful people here but they have an epic battle on their hands. We lucky people who are fortunate enough to live in the West have to give a standing ovation to the people of India, they struggle every single day against tremendous odds to live their lives while their Government sends rockets to the moon in the search for water. There is unimaginable poverty and wretchedness here that would be and should be unacceptable in any Nation calling itself a Democracy, particularly the largest Democracy in the world.

Kathmandu, Daman, Birganj, Raxaul, Total Kms 12000

 In the 1970s Katmandu was a hippie community with only a handful of Westerners making the epic journey overland by bus or Land Rover each year. They would have arrived in a very small capital with almost no facilities for visitors. Today its a very different city, hundreds of shops, hotels and restaurants have been built to cater to the thousands of tourist who visit each year. Most arrive in the trekking season usually mid October and after a couple of days spent in the city head off to Everest base camp. A tour operator told me that 75 charter flights carrying 20 people leaves Kathmandu each day at the height of the season heading to Base Camp. A city full of tourists means a city full of touts and its almost impossible to walk along the main street without having someone offering to sell you a good trekking experience, white water rafting or a cheap flight to Base Camp. Hundreds of salesmen walk the streets selling everything from incense sticks to wooden musical instruments. It doesn’t matter how many times you say no and ignore them they still insist on asking you if you want to buy whatever it is they are selling. Its a fine art, they ask you which Country do you come from and are then able to tell you how much cheaper they are than the biggest selling shop in your home country. So I heard the words’ cheaper than Tescos’ every time I passed. The only guys who seemed to be doing very well were those selling pollution face mask.

 Its one of the most polluted cities I’ve visited, hundreds of motorbikes and cars jam into the small streets each day and by mid morning its almost impossible to breathe the polluted air. Its a very religious city with a small Temple or Shrine, usually decorated with flowers and incense on every street corner. They have bells hanging on the walls outside which the devoted ring as they pass. Some of these Temples are dedicated to Hindu gods of which there are many and others are dedicated to Buddhism. Hindu and Buddhist monks walk the streets of the city daily offering blessings in return for food or a small gift of money.

 Once you leave the city and head into the Katmandu valley its a completely different experience. Its stepping back in time to an area untouched by the modern world and Tourism. My route out of Nepal to the border with India would take me through the heart of the valley. Its a 1000Kms ride between Kathmandu and Calcutta. I was told that there were two routes that would take me to the border. The first route was the main road and as this was used by cars and trucks would be very busy and dangerous. This is the route I had taken when I arrived in Nepal, the road had been so busy with the usual mass of fast moving buses and trucks that I had decided it would be much safer to take the bus for the last 100Kms into Katmandu. The second route would be less busy but the road was in very poor condition, this was an understatement, the main road is so busy because there is no second road, its a track that is only fit for motorbikes and the odd 4×4. For the first part of this route I was on a well paved road and the views around me were stunning, everything you imagine Nepal should offer. The Himalayas where a couple of hundred Kms behind me but with clear skies as I climbed out of the valley I had perfect views and could just make out Everest in the distance. As I slowly climbed to about 2000mts the road began to disappear to be replaced by a pot holed track.

 It was impossible to ride because of loose stones and dust. The only way for me to move forward was to push the bike for most of that day I was covered in the dust that was kicked up by every motorbike or 4×4 that went passed, I didn’t know it then but it was going to take me almost 3 days of pushing the bike uphill to over 3000mts before I would reach the town of Daman and the top of the valley. It would then be a 60Kms downhill ride to the border. At times I couldn’t believe I was on the right track and would often ask the people who had stopped to ask what I was up to if I was going in the right direction. Its always interesting asking for directions, not just in Nepal but everywhere I’ve been. two people will give me different answer even when they are in the same car. I was told,

 This is not the road to Daman, his passenger said it was.

 This is the road to Daman it is 30, 60, 10Kms from here.

 Turn round and go back to Katmandu, there you will pick up the road you need.

 There is no town called Daman in Nepal.

 Why do you want to go to Daman.

 This is the short cut to Daman you will be there in half an hour.

 This last answer made me laugh because I had been on the road for two days and knew that Daman had to be at least 50Kms form where I was. I was on the right road but because it was in such a bad state with only the odd vehicle passing me I needed a little reassurance. Surprisingly I did manage to find a small place to stay in for the night. As it got to about 4pm I started to look for somewhere to pitch the tent, I wasn’t looking forward to camping, I was filthy from the days push and only had a litre of water with me. Then I saw a small sigh that said guest house pointing up a narrow lane off the main track. To call it a guest house was optimistic, it hadn’t seen a guest in years and I wasn’t sure which part of the shack you could call a house but it was a place to sleep. I would be safe and warm, the nights get cold up here and there was enough cold water in a bucket at the back of the house so that I could have a wash. The owner spoke no English, I had a few basic words in Nepali that I had picked up from a guide book. Do you have a room for the night and how much is it. There was no food on offer but I had fruit and biscuits with me and I calculated that he wanted $2.00 for the room and nothing for the bike. He was a strange old boy living up there on his own well off the tourist route with a guest house that probably saw no guests. I’m not afraid to say that I was a little scared as I tucked myself into my sleeping bag for the night, no one knew where I was, even I couldn’t pin point it on a map and here I was going to sleep in this house in the middle of nowhere. I fell asleep wondering if my body would ever be found.

 That wonderful old man had come into the room in the night, only to put a blanket over me, I had gone to sleep completely exhausted thinking about murder with just a sheet over me and when I woke in the morning I was covered in this thick warm blanket. We had a breakfast of tea and biscuits and I then headed off on my push for the day. About 20Kms along the road from the guest house was a small village called Palun. Like all the other villages I had passed through it was a farming community. Terraces had been leveled by hand into the hills and wheat, rice, carrots and many other vegetables were being grown. It was a poor community with this dusty main track passing through the middle of the village. There was the usual commotion, people staring at me from the safety of their homes and mothers quickly gathering up there children as I passed. The small local school was at the very end of the village and a crowd of smiling children surrounded me and I stopped to say hello. They were a happy group of chattering kids fascinated by the stranger on the bike. It was one of only two teachers in the school who asked me if I would like to help for the day, he would give me a bed for the night if I could speak to the kids through him about my experience on the bike and my life in Britain. I had a gang of happy children climbing on me and the bike so how could I say no.

 That day in the school taught me an important lesson. I’m always on the right road, all the up hill pushing and dirt, the frustration of the Kms ahead of me, not knowing where I would be staying the night while I was in these hills, it was all worth it for the day that I spent with those children in the middle of Nepal. There was about 100 children in the school with four teachers but only two were working that day, the youngest child was six and the oldest twelve. I spoke to them about the bike ride and life in Britain. During the lunch break I took loads of photos, each child wanted to be photographed individually so that they could see themselves in the digital screen on the camera. Its a day I will never forget and makes everyday that I’m on the bike worth it.

 The next day saw me climb to the highest point of the valley and the last 10Kms to Daman. It was on good road but it was still a very steep climb and again I was off the bike finding it easier to push than ride. I stayed overnight in Daman. Its a famous town, high up on the ridge of the valley known for its spectacular views of the morning sunrise over the Himalayas. I was the only solo traveler in the hotel along with a group of ten Germans who recognised the German components on the bike, the tyres and gear system and were not surprised that I had managed to ride from London to Nepal, after all they said its is a German bicycle. The morning sunrise was beautiful and its at times like that I wished that I had brought a bigger and much more powerful camera with me, and not worried about its weight. However the photographs are printed on my heart where they will remain forever. Then the final downhill 50Kms sprint to the border. It wasn’t really a sprint, the road was too steep with to many tight turns and I spent most of the ride with the brakes on but I was very happy to be going downhill, the first time in three days.

 I’ve loved Nepal. It was while I was riding through the beautiful Katmandu valley and meeting those wonderful school children that I realised how lucky I am, having the opportunity to ride a bicycle around the World. I’m traveling slowly enough to really appreciate all that is around me. I’ve become a part of the environment and life is literally in my face every single day as it can never be when traveling on a bus or train. It might not be for everyone, but for me there is no better way to see the world.

 

I was invited to celebrate Diwali the festival of lights with a family I had met in Kathmandu. Its one of the most important dates in the Hindu calendar. Each night during the festival small candles are placed on the street outside your home or place of work to guide the god of prosperity to the door. Its also the time when sisters place the red mark on the forehead of their brothers, its called a Tika and is thought to bring luck and prosperity throughout the coming year. One of my friends sisters volunteered to place the Tika on my forehead and then she was to weave flowers into my hair but decided just to precariously balance them on top of my head instead.

  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 started to get me down. Its not the best place in the world to ride a bicycle any distance, your exposed to the poverty, the destitute souls, the suffering, the filth and pollution. 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 of, 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. 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.

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