Chris Explores

Summer in Earth's Fridge

2011-07-18T06:41:00.000-07:00

Reindeer seem to be unaware of the fantastic significance gifted to them by our childhood imaginations. Supposedly they are gallant creatures with the strength of a horse in a dainty frame. Their unspoken wisdom leads us to believe they have voluntarily donned Santa’s yoke, in the spirit of Scandinavian Socialism and gift freely from themselves so that others may benefit. These unquestioned assumptions are not inline with reality. Up close a reindeer is extraordinarily goofy. Often they will stand in the middle of the road staring into the middle distance with the intensity of a special education student in the period after lunch. As you approach it is hard to ascertain the moment when they become aware of your presence. It seems their decision making process is analogous to the charging a battery rather than flicking a switch. When, their internal committee does get it's act together and decides that flight is the correct course they do not dart off into the bushes. Rather, the head tills back, the chin leads and the body follows reluctantly. But for the animals intellectual incapacity to register disgust, the whole acts only link to regality is the pretence of cucumber sandwich snobbery.

My decision to ride to the North Cape, Norway's northern most point was compelled largely by my desire to see the 'Midnight Sun'. Since living in Sweden I have experienced the environmental oddities of oppressively dark winters and the fantasia induced by ever present daylight in summer. The North promised to take this, as my musical friends are fond of saying, to 'the next level'. I have not been disappointed.

The train journey from Örebro to Kiruna took around twenty hours and was the perfect lead in to an adventure. I often seek to employ a narrative structure when looking at events, however it is very peculiar when the events seem to, independent of me, imply a literary form. I found myself in one such moment (and existentially out of it!) at the very commencement of the journey. The overnight train was perhaps, I do not wish to exaggerate, 15 carriages long. I read on the Swedish Rail website that customers with large luggage were to board at the end of the train. As I had a large cardboard box filled with bike I was certainly in this position. So which end of the train? Three options presented themselves, wait at either of the two ends, or in the middle. A classic gambling scenario. Should you take the low risk position and make it a certainty that you will have to lug the box some distance or go double or nothing? ‘Put it all on Black!’ ‘Red 34.’ House wins. ‘Shit.’ And it was as your humble narrator, sweating like a block of Coon it the sun, was pushing this large box down the entirety of the train that an introduction had been thrust upon him.

I arrived in Kiruna, around three o'clock the next day and was keen to put some kilometres on the board. I assembled my bicycle at the station, bought some food and a map and started peddling. It was on this first evening that the Midnight Sun would demonstrate it’s usefulness as a traveling companion. At five o'clock the sun was still high in the sky. As the town gave way to rolling hills, and the smooth road extended ahead a feeling began to take me. A feeling so common to the road that it should be predictable, but so ephemeral that it escapes my recollection. Freedom. That night I rode until ten. The campsite was quiet, I set up my tent and went for a swim.

The next morning started with full frontal male nudity. Why not? As I packed a Northern Swede and his pooch (not a euphemism, he had a dog) said hello. He disappeared around the other side of a shed and reappeared completely starkers and headed toward the lake. What a way to start the day. I joined him and then headed out.

The days cycling brought me nearer the Finnish border. However the last hour was marred by pain in my left knee. This was a concern as one lesson I have taken, failed, repeated, failed and finally, repeated and passed by the slimmest of margins, is not exacerbating an injury by pushing it. I had no desire to stop my trip early, but I did not wish to add a left knee to the salad of my other overused joints. I formulated a plan to cycle the next day, but warily.

I left Karesuando the next morning and crossed into Finland. My knee was not better. After altering many variables I found a manageable solution. A cleat-less shoe on the left foot, and a lower seat. This meant that I could ride, though my speed diminished. I stopped at a Sámi (Scandanavian indigenous inhabitants) run coffee hut and imbibed myself in a course of self medication. Coffee and Paracetamol. After this the last twenty kilometres were a breeze. When I arrived at Entontekiö I booked into a hotel and enforced a very reluctant rest day for the next day.

I emerged from my hole ten IQ points down but still secure in the knowledge that I was smarter than Dr. Phil. (What Ph.D could he have produced that authorises him to cast such spurious moral assertions upon the lives of others? He strikes me as the type who was beaten as a child but now as an adult has repressed all of his latent aggression into a pop philosophy. When this is followed the believers mind becomes a prison wherein they employ quiet logical torture as a response to uncontrollable animal instincts. Thus, once you let Phil in, he can do to you what his daddy did to him. What a prick.).

I was still very aware of my knee. And was not sure what to make of it, was it my body alerting me to damage? Was it simply a little niggle that would shift? Was I attaching too much meaning to it? I decided to employ the same tactic as used at the train station. Have a gamble. I decided to just go for it, for an hour. This seemed to work, and whilst noticeable throughout the trip it never again became prohibitive. I love it when the 'toughen up princess' works. Though who doesn't like being a princess!

My new found strength once again gave me the initiative, and the benefits were compounding. After some time a hitch hiker jokingly stuck out his thumb. I pulled over only to discover that he had recently finished a bike trip. A very enthusiastic 'Canadian', (I am always aware that Americans like to call themselves Canadian when they are traveling) he told me tales of his journey and gave me a few hints of what was ahead.

An unwanted guest cut our conversation short. Mosquitoes. Northern Scandinavia is often labeled the land of a thousand lakes. This could well be true. I do not recall an instance in this trip were water was not nearby. However, given the prevalence of that life sustaining substance and the in-prevalence of temperatures that any self respecting life would want (sorry Sámi's) the month of July presents a rare opportunity and is the summer of '69' for our parasitic buddies. And, in addition to sticking it in each other they are more than willing to replace there fluids with yours.

Soon I would turn off the major route, whilst a detour of about one hundred kilometres experience has begun to teach me that bike touring is far more enjoyable without traffic. This last thirty kilometre stretch before the turn off I was accompanied by a German bike tourer who had ridden from Hamburg. Our chat moved organically and did not stray too far from Channel Seven. Rolling through topics including bike touring, jobs and the weather it then ended as smoothly, but as instantaneously as it had begun. Never stopping we shook hands and exchanged names. I turned right, up a hill that would lead me to a bridge across a large river. The scenery changed and the next phase begun.

Middle Game

There is something in the feeling of movement that I find irresistible. I am not sure if it is the sensation itself, or a reaction to the concept of distance accumulated, or an excitement about what is to come, or a reluctance to change the status quo. Regardless when I am riding I often need a very good reason to stop. Karolina can vouch for this as she has often been dragged an extra twenty kilometres looking for that 'perfect' campsite, when prior options were 'perfect'. The hunt, as it were, was an excuse not to stop moving. I count as good reasons to stop; excessive hunger, being absolutely knackered, stopping for water, injury and impending darkness. Given these preconditions let us take this experiment to a world were it never becomes dark.

The excitement I now felt being on this 'less traveled' path, combined with the fresh legs from a days rest and the mild delirium that accompanies long periods of exercise compounded my feelings of reluctance towards stopping. So I kept riding. Ducking in and out of forested areas, popping up on top of marshy plains, rolling across bridges that connected the edges of churning rivers. At the same time an unending afternoon sun gently warmed the road and my feelings towards it.

An option for dinner sprang up unexpectedly. There would be no other options on this stretch of road so I decided to take it. My thinking was to have dinner and then keep riding. I spoke to the proprietor, and simply told that I was hungry. He asked me whether I wanted dinner, I replied in the affirmative. As he disappeared into the back room I had a look at my odometer, I had ridden 170km. The clunking of pans suggested that my host did not intend to bring me a menu, just food. As I sat the idea of riding 200km became less appealing. Any dreams of that milestone completely evaporated when my dinner arrived.

Full, and self indulgent I booked a cabin. This little wood box that looked across a river was idyllic in all but one respect. Mosquitos! I tried to sleep, but was ever aware of their presence. If I wasn't being stung, I was provided with an external Tinnitusian ambience, and when this subsided all that lingered was paranoia and anxiety. I was at war people, and it was time to define the terms of combat. I set up my tent, inside the cabin. Having established myself in the fortress I proceeded to annihilated any who decided to join me. Shutting my eyes, surrounded by the fruits of this Finnish My Lai I slept in the fashion of the hunter.

The sun, having gripped the horizon overnight begun it's vertical lift for the day. I followed it's lead, my goal being the coast at Lakselv. Around three, little pockets of rain started to develop. At four, the sky had dropped so thick and low that the sun's influence was reduced to a background of grey. The geography changed, and the road cut between cliffs and next to deep lakes. Fork lightning in the distance was an appropriate preview for what was to come.

I arrived at the coast, in a heavy rain. Whilst I intended for this to be my destination, a pizza shop filled with people seemed an appropriate place to settle for an hour to dry off, warm up and wait out the rain.

1 AM

The new coastal scenery, the new sky and a newly found energy delivered by a kebab pizza (cold lettuce and tomato thrown on at the end, excellent!) fed my tendency toward continued movement. The afternoon became evening and the evening became 'northern' night and I continued to ride. Around midnight I stopped on the edge of a sea cliff, had a bowl of rice and a bowl of coffee. I had ridden 199km, and decided to camp at the next opportunity. High up on a plain between two cliffs, a thin waterfall, more a creek that stumbled off the edge of a cliff rejoined next to my tent and was welcomed by the ocean in front of us.

Tunnels and the North Cape

The air feels thinner in an instant. Cold, but not the 'it's getting cold' type. Cold that reminds you of somewhere else. Each time I felt it on this trip I always had the sensation that I was woken up. Or more, that prior to it I was dreaming. This air hits you often well before you see the tunnel. And then, as the tunnel approaches this importance of the moment, or more specifically getting through the moment only deepens.

Perhaps this is all because I am a little afraid of tunnels. I am not sure. I always anticipated them because these sensations were so intense. The longest tunnel of the trip was seven kilometres long and descended 200 meters below Earth’s surface.

For me, there are three elements to riding in a tunnel that create the sense of foreboding. Firstly, there is the darkness. Secondly, sound behaves peculiarly. Cars coming from behind you approach first from in front. As the sound echoes down the tube, continually redoubling and redoubling upon itself the noise swells all around you rather than building from a direction. Large fans pump air through the length of the tunnel mean that silence never occurs. Lastly, there is the ever present repetition of stimuli. Save for the occasional car, fan or sign, the tunnel is a Groundhog moment. This lack of distinction had my internal monologue continually repeating the phrase, 'just keep pushing'.

The light at the end of the tunnel is a cliché punished by anyone with even the loosest grip on abstract thought, so I shan't overplay it. Though, noticing that first sheen of almost indiscernible natural lights and seeing it build, then having auditory space slowly return to have it completed by an exit into sun and humid, heavy air is exhilarating.

I half expected the nice smooth, flattish, roads to continue all the way to the North Cape. However, Given that I knew the viewing position was 300m above sea level, well, I should have known better. By the time I approached the first climb I had ridden for around five hours and was a little hungry. This was the hottest day on the trip, a fact that I did not truly comprehend until arriving at the end of the day with leprosy look-alike shoulders. The journey to the North Cape was 30 kilometres each way. And with two 300 metre climbs there and one on the way back. When I arrived at the North Cape, it was pretty, but I was stuffed. The entrance fee of fifty dollars seemed a little steep to use a car park and see a tourist cinema (though I may have paid it to get a Coke!) so I decided to head back. As I started the ride home it was fairly obvious that I had, to quote Mr. Ross Hopkins, 'zonked'. This was made worse as I had no immediate snacks on hand. The next two hours of hill climbing in the sun was a challenge and I played many mental games to come through it. One was overestimating how much there was to go, 'Okay, one hill down only seven sections to go' or the somewhat less creative, but momentarily effective mantra 'leg over leg over leg over leg over.....'.

I arrived in at Honningsvag at around 9pm and had ridden 500km in three days. I was quite tired. After buying ingredients for a potato and leek soup, making it and eating in the company of a Swiss Gentleman, Martin, I retreated to my room and slept.

The Hurtigruten and Beyond

The islands that dot the Northern Norwegian coastline cut a very striking figure. Violently thrust out of the ocean their facades have the linear fractures of stress induced by the expansion of freezing water that has penetrated them. In the past the physical difficulty of accessing these islands was a near impossibility, further enhanced by the presence of Artic Winter for the majority of the year. Still people lived here. Their connection to anything foreign came via the postal ship route, the Hurtigruten. Now in a more connected world the importance of this route has lessened but it has become a sought after cruise. I boarded the Lofoten, to indulge a small section of the Hurtigruten route from Honninsvag to Tromsø after a days rest. In oaky opulence, I sat, considered, wrote and played SimCity.

Disembarking at midnight from Tromsø I was to begin the final leg of my ride and be indulged by the highlight of the trip. My destination for the nights riding was a ferry port at Brensholmen, sixty kilometers from Tromsø. The change in scenery was severe. Mountains covered in summer snow, fast flowing rivers, and ocean. This pattern of climbing to a pass, and dropping to the ocean was consistent for the next three days and seemed to increase in intensity each day.

2AM on a pass.

But this night I would ride into clouds, becoming saturated by fine mists only to come down the other side into sunlight. The road sometime hugged the coast taking me through little villages. The number of people up was astonishing. Some were having coffee on the porch, others continuing a DIY project in the back yard. In a conversation with Karolina she suggested that they were making the most of the daylight. I agreed, but believed that this explanation indicated an effect rather than a cause. Whilst only bathed in constant light for two weeks I begun to notice that sleep took the form of something you do when tired, rather than something you do at night. It was in essence a refuelling exercise, and when you were fuelled and consequently woke up it was light, so you got on with it. Whilst the memory of a circadian rhythm was not too distant for e I imagine that these people for whom darkness was last seen months ago had little connection to time, unless their job or television schedule required it from them.

I set up camp at the Brensholmen had a bowl of rice, set my alarm to wake me in four hours time (8 o'clock) and switched off.

That morning the sky was cloud. This much was clear from my down cocoon. The forty minute sea journey to Botnhamn allowed me to suck down a few coffees returning my expression to focused madman, away from the morning panda post compression session.

The two days to Narvik were cold and wet. I am not prone to the negativity that many people encounter when outdoor pursuits encounter a change in the weather. However the euphoric peaks, and transcendental moments of freedom are often replaced with a slow, patient grind. For instance the long stretches of downhill that are usually the reward for an uphill slog become the coldest times, the spectacular views often are the most exposed and windy and when I did find myself awed by a moment, stopping to take full advantage of it became something that 'should' be done, rather than something desirable in and of itself. That said, many of the little breaks, hot drinks, quick feeds and earnest conversations I had in this section were incredibly satisfying.

Destinations

Bike touring appeals to me because meaning and purpose is taken care of in the action of riding. Very simply in answering the question, 'what should I be doing?' the answer is an unequivocal 'head that way'. This leaves a space for the mind to consider what is happening, without the need of an object. Combine this with the continual movement and the consequent refresh and update of stimulus and I feel that I become more aware of the slow and subtle changes in things rather than the things changing. It is nice to have a remainder of this subtle shift in perspective.

Narvik, was an ultimate destination I suppose. At least the place where I would push my last pedal in the North before hoping on the train for another days journey South. Appropriately, given the discussion of conclusions and destinations, my pre booked hotel room took me straight back to the Seventies. I could not help but remind myself of the rooms similarities to the decor utilised in the penultimate scene of Stanley Kubriks, ‘2001. A Space Odyssey '. And in the spirit of that scene I felt an odd sense of disconnect from the main narrative. 'five minutes ago I was covered in rain and sweat, I was outside, eating handfuls of dry muesli. And now, I am watching 'The Dog Whisperer', in bed, with a large pizza.'.

Now, as the train speeds Southward I can see that the sun is just starting to dip behind the forested horizon. A dusk is starting to seep into the train, and with it a welcome weariness is taking me. This small adventure, has been a success. A bit of exercise, beautiful scenery, open space for consideration, new stimulus and an encounter with the realities of the ‘Midnight Sun’. Tonight when I approach my pillow some natural darkness will be with me. For the first time in a couple of weeks when I lie down not only will I rest my tiredness. Tonight, the night will bring sleep. Good Night!

View North Cape Bike Trip in a larger map

Summer in Earth's Fridge

2011-07-18T04:52:00.000-07:00

Hi All,

The blog for my bike trip to the North Cape was compiled whilst I was on the road. Consequently it is in PDF form. You can download it from Google Docs, just follow the link.

https://docs.google.com/leaf?id=0B1teAYfkpWjBMTM5OTUwODgtNGZhYi00MWM1LWI5OTItZDZhZWRjYjdiYTMz&hl=en_US

If anyone is having trouble just send me an email and I can send you a copy directly.

Love Christopher

A very Hopkins Holiday

2011-01-02T00:43:00.000-08:00

The smell of cooked spices, burning plastic and sewage mixed with one another at times and at others stamped their individuality onto the moment. The air raced passed my head and bending forward I tried to listen to what the young Laosian driver of the motorbike was saying. I had landed at the airport not an hour before, possessing someone else's passport I did not know where my own was, and the deathly river of black, Laos's bloodstained road's whiped passed. I was back in Asia and it felt magnificent.

Its always nice to start a piece of writing with a bit of Drama, but drama is as far away from day to day life here as anywhere else I have experienced on the planet. The whole passport dillema was sorted in a sort of sleepy Sunday manner interspersed with laughter. As we set off the second morning after we arrived we did it with passports in hand, bikes delivered and along roads with drivers and motorbikes considerate of others and thier own safty. Perfect place for a bike tour.

This fact was no coincidence. The Hopkins' (Ross and Christine) had noted this before and this is their third bicycle trip to the area. It was at their strong suggestion that Graham (Ross' father) and I came along. Tallin is here due to a biological imperative, being the small child of the Hopkins' his days are consumed rolling, in the chariot behind his father.

The road so far has rolled through villages seeming never to straighten. One uphill section becomes a downhill section before I had time to analyse my surrounds. Perhaps its the massive change in weather from the low negatives of Sweden to the absorbent atmosphere of the jungle but my mind has gone passive. And the blob is happy.

We have had two sleeps on the road so far and each has provided an interesting experience. The first night was at a little truck stop outside of Phon Hong. Christine asked me early in the piece whether or not I thought it might be a brothel. Having no idea what a brothel was I asked her to clarrify her statement. Then she entranced me with a story of hers and Ross' from a previous trip to Thailand where they had in fact stayed in a house of midnight pleasures. After discovering a horizontal mirror next to my bed I begun to wonder. Such daydreams where confirmed shortly thereafter when Christine saw a pert little Loasian girl emerge from a room slapping her behind for the pleasure of a towel clad middle age man woozy from a combination of sun, booze and store bought sexual dynamism.

The second night was more confusing. The Hopkins' have taught English in a town called Vang Vien on a few occasions. Each time it has become more touristy, with the guests choice of activity a drug fueled float down a river lined with bars and clubs. Previously this activity has been contained to the towns center and had not disturbed the tranquility of the organic mulberry farm at which they had stayed. A bit like a poorly placed benign lump, annoying but manageable. On this arrival however we observed that the town had crept its way up the river, the lump had grown, and the thump of bass towers in the clubs filled the afternoon air, it had become malignant.

I have not been able to get my head around this. Having enjoyed intercontinental shenanigans in the past I see the fun in loud music, sun, new friends and beer. Having lived in the country for a lot of my adult life I would hate for that activity to encroach on my patch of paradise. Seeing the need for development, especially in poorer countries I can understand its value. Basically, I cant achieve clarity. Any help from readers will be greatly appreciated!

I am hungry now. After two meals at the farm, (fantastic, fresh and light combination of vegetables, spices and rice) whatever I shove down my thoat now will have to be brilliant to compare.

Well...

2010-11-09T11:42:00.000-08:00

Chris one day before Tallin

I have seen it as Chris' job to update the blog once we got back (At the end of June!!!) But since he refused to do so. It is I, Karolina who will give you the shortest of short update.

Karro on Ferry to Stockholm

So, as everybody already know, we have arrived at our destination!!!! Wow, it does not seem like such a big thing anymore since it was so long ago and it was always one day at a time... The last two days, the days in Sweden, were big and long, but rewarding. We arrived at 10 in the morning in Stockholm and tried to navigate our way out of the city, a task that took a lot of time and effort. We rode, got lost and eat our first Swedish kebab! Since it took so long to get on the right path, we had to ride for as long as possible once we found our way. We set up camp at midnight, riding though by the light of the summer sun, it was wonderful. Set our alarm for 4.30 and rode and rode and rode until we, after a long day, met my lovely sister, mum, Tobias, Edvin and saw Idun for the first time (she looked like a little man)! The last bit was nice and relaxing, surrealistic and so nice.

We have now been back for a long time and sitting in a warm house, with a snowstorm outside, Istanbul feel so far away.
We had a wonderful time on our trip and we are so excited to do so again.
Highlights of the trip were:
Istanbul and Turkey at large, such hospitable people and nice tea!
The first day in Bulgaria, (DOWNHILL)
our first 100km day
Our first climb (up Transylvania)

Hungarian baths/hotsprings!
SLOVAKIA, beautiful (Chris really enjoyed the mountains)
Vilnius, wonderful place with lots of culture and a relaxed atmosphere.
The open rodes of Latvia
The last days in Estonia, riding next to the ocean and in a national park AND on a bike path all the way into Tallinn!!!!
Arriving in Sweden, mostly Pershyttan.

Thanks for all the help and support! And thanks to our wonderful friends, the Hopkins' who got us on to this amazing way of traveling!

Pershyttan

Over & Out

One Million Stomps

2010-06-17T03:45:00.000-07:00

Assuming that we have spun our pedals once a second and that on average we rode six hours a day, six days a week then, (not including our week in Budapest)each of our legs has made the journey up and down roughly a million times on our trip to Tallin, Estonia. And this point marks the end of our Eastern European adventure. From here we still have two days riding in Sweden and the necessary ferry trip across the Baltic to arrive there but as for Eastern Europe we can now say that it is behind us.

Since the last entry our journey has progressed in two stages. In the first we left Vilnius full of energy and embraced the riding in the spirit of the rest of the trip, a rhythmic pattern of wake, ride, eat, sleep with temporary goals but a firm grounding in the moment. However in the second stage of the leg the overwhelming sense of final destination took hold and our riding assumed a new and different character which I will address later.

The ride out of Vilnius was far more pleasant than our attempted exit from Warsaw. Within minutes of starting our guide was a bike path rolling its way through the city and rescuing us from the streets. That said the streets in Vilnius were not nearly as aggressive as others we had encountered so the path was akin to being saved from a room full of Labrador puppies. As the day progressed the buildings dribbled out of existence and we were surrounded once again by the calming green of pine forest. The only slight hitch in the days riding was a massive screw which decided to seduce my back tyre only to leave it useless and depressed.

As we grew tired at the end of the day we set our mind to finding a camp spot. A week in the city was just enough to rekindle our romance with the great outdoors. Within minutes of pulling off the road it became clear that the evolutionary significance of the meat machine in our skulls was no longer relevant in this new environment. Here the uber predator was the mosquito. MOSQUITOS on a scale I have never seen. In short, on more than one occasion I had to swat a mozzy from of my eyeball. But the tent become a sanctuary for us after a small lapse in the application of Buddhist Principles.

The second night was special. After riding all day through forests and small towns our maps indicated that a large town would soon be upon us. However given its predicted size we were surprised as the forrest just seemed to continue. After more meandering we saw some indication of some civilisation as a massive tin pipe was a constant feature down the side of the road but still no town. Puzzled we continued to ride through the forest until out of nowhere lines of government housing blocks as far as we could see stretched out before us. Like a frozen monument to a 1960's Soviet concept of the future this town felt like the embodiment of a burnt out, failed rocker. Later the lady who operated the B&B where we stayed enthralled us with stories of this town which was the home to Europe's largest nuclear power plant. She spoke of a city filled with extraordinary intellects and dreamers which was now slowly dying as the plant was decommissioned. Ironically the result of someone else's dreams for the future, a Nuclear Free Europe.

The end of the first leg was marked with an unexpected day off just as we crossed into Latvia. Having ridden a long way we were most dismayed to find that the town we had selected to stay in did not have any accommodation. Given our experience of camping two nights previously we were a little apprehensive about setting up the tent again. Despite this we found a campsite and set up. Calling the number of the lands owner a lady with limited grasp of English answered the phone. It was clear that not much was going to be communicated. Still we set up thinking that if somebody really wanted our money they would go out of their way to get it. Imagine our surprise then when Karolina's phone rang and at the other end a man with flawless English, calling from England told us of his very reasonably priced guest house. Cut to twenty four hours later. Your humble narrators after being spaed, saunaed and fed decide to sit down in front of the huge telly in a beautifully retrofitted centuries old farm house. Its hard sometimes. Really hard.

The second leg of this stage took us from Latvia into Estonia and finally to the town Tallinn. Many little things happened in this leg, seeing the coast for the first time since Bulgaria, lovely meals, beautiful National Parks but it was our mindset that proved to be the most dominating factor. With the end in sight stopping of an evening became more difficult. Rather than being a welcome break from peddling all day it became a chunk of time between rides. The second we saw the bed we both wanted to be waking up so that we could start riding again. We were still enjoying ourselves and where we were but now there has been a distinct feeling of 'this is where we are going' and that where we are heading is our final destination. Still, riding into Tallin was an amazing feeling. Knowing that this place had been at the top of our map since Turkey two months ago and now here we are and (save for a couple of train rides) it is our legs that have brought us here was special.

So at the next post we will be completely finished our trip. It is hard to imagine not having to wake up and ride. But this is a problem in imagination only as tomorrow when we ride off the ferry in Stockholm after spending a night at sea we will attempt our biggest day yet. Our thinking being the more we can knock off the 200km to home in the first day the sooner we can have a lovely picnic with our Swedish family the day after. I want 170 kms but this might be a little eager. Yet now having wiggled our collective bottoms a million times doing it another 60,000 times does not seem like that much any more!

Fried eggs and sore legs

2010-06-03T06:39:00.000-07:00

Vilnius, Lithuania became an object of pilgrimage once we (I possibly?) knew they had celebrated the life and genius of Frank Zappa in statue form. The motivation here was twofold. Firstly Frank Zappa is worthy praise and adoration as his music and the thinking behind it is so rich and... Basically if anything is worth reducing ones mental vigorousness toward faith for, then FZ is a worthy candidate. Secondly any town who thought FZ should be considered in a public sense is a town we want to be in. We are in Vilnius now, 'kicking down the cobble stones' as it were. But before I tell you about it Karolina will fill you in on how we arrived.

Left Bialystok feeling tired still but really ready to get to Vilnius! We started riding at 12.00 so it was a rather late start, our plan was to get within 55 Km of the Lithuanian border. And we almost did, ended up at a really nice pension 20 Km short of our goal but it was already 20.00 so we thought it would be a good idea to stop. Chris made a Christine Hopkins inspired "chilli-non-carne" and it was lovely though not quite up to the standards of the original dish.

We got up early next morning and started riding towards the boarder, and as we rode along we saw something we have come to fear but at the same time desire. It was Eurovelo route 11. I desperately wanted it but also loathed it. We decided to stay on our own track and soon realised that it was a really good idea. We found ourselves on a nice road in national park and the sun was shining on us as we entered into Lithuania. Riding for a little under an hour we stopped 10 Km from the border and booked into an empty hotel. It even had no staff!

We set the goal for Vilnius the next day but it was 150 Km away. We knew it would be a big day. Alas we had started too late for such an adventure. But it ended up being a wonderful day of riding. The road we thought was going to be heavily trafficked but was really quiet and we could enjoy chats and jokes about squirrels and crabs.

We soon realised that we would fall slightly short of our goal and at 18.00 we decided to ride to the nearest town and set camp for the night. The day had been windy and not in our favor and the last 15 km was hard since the wind picked up and the pegs were already quite tired. We got to a national forest and started looking for a campsite or something of the like. We found nothing apart from a place saying "family holiday". We approached and tried to ask if we could get a room or possibly set up our tent there. The man who did not speak a word of English called up someone who we think was the owner and she informed Chris that we could get a cabin. And it was good. A well equipped kitchen and a cozy sleeping loft looking over a big lake. We loved it.

The next day we rode 60 Km to Vilnius and we got to our accommodation by 15.00. Our room is retorfitted into the chambers of an old monestary and despite the Lonely Planets false lure of laptop hire we love it. Chris is as amazed by the light evenings (the sun is still up after 10!!), and I am staring to feel closer to home.We will definitely come back to Vilnius.

Vilnius is a town which embraces its history and seems to take much pride in creating its exciting present. Art seeps out of the walls of the dizzying lane ways, music and bells join together in an unintentional melodies and the people seem excited and eager for any new contributions. Tonight, we will be attending a piano recital at the Vilnius Philharmonic at 19:00 and once i has concluded will walk 100 meters down the road for some Blues over dinner. All of this bohemian flavor takes place in a town so colored by its communist past. But unlike the other countries we have visited the Lithuanians have kept the statues and some of the old buildings, being able to embrace them as of great aesthetic interest rather than, as we have previously heard, a dark reminder of "those fucking Russians".

Tomorrow we begin end game. A two week journey through the Baltic States concluding in Talinn on the 16th for a ferry ride across to our last and most familiar country Sweden. We both know the end is near and conversation has started to turn towards what we will be doing and who we will be meeting post bike trip. Whilst we still have two weeks to go the ominous excitement (an oxymoron?) of the next phase will no doubt color our experience. That said our route has us going past great lakes, through national parks and finally the coast. Also the 800 or so kilometers between us I am sure will require some of our energy!

View Larger Map

Finding a comfortable space

2010-05-28T08:42:00.000-07:00

In Poland they engage in the practice of dubbing foriegn telivision shows. I, being no stranger to plonking myself in front of the box have seen this practice in many other countries. Whether it be delighting in Kramer's antics whilst krauking out the Emprorer's own German or taking in the glory of a period drama in Bulgarian I can enjoy a nicely dubbed bit of film. However in Poland Karolina and I have run into a unique phenomena. The Polish use a single person to dub an entire film. For instance after a big day's travel (some of it on the train, details to follow) we assumed the position and readied our self for some Samuel. L. Jackson. Unfortunately the bass rumble of his voice and the smooth rythmic meter of his flawless ebonics was replaced by the serid flow of a singular monotonous Polish gent. Also Sam's screen friends (men and women alike) were all interpreted by the same Polish man. All emotions were removed by the same filter. We could see gun being fired, we could see the poeple scream but only one voice could be heard.

We have been steadily moving since our recouperation in Budapest last week. Our first day's peddling was along the Danube River, a small day which landed us in the city of Vac. Given its proximity to the large city of Budapest I was expecting a Geelong, read as industrial and grotty. To our suprise Vac had a Grand European square, fountains, churches, the whole bit. We stayed in a pension run by a mad Doctor. Within minutes of arriving he a named me the Professor of Sexology and refered to his bottom as ham and the relevenet protuberance as eggs.

Our next day would take us into the mountains and forrest. Our maps have very little in the way of Topographical detail so predicting vertical distances has been difficult for us. The first day we expected to climb roughly 200-300 meters. 800 vertical meteres and about 2 hours later the dirt road we were following stopped. We had gone the wrong way. Cue thunder and rain.

Despite these humble begginings the days that followed were amongst our favorite for the trip. The mountains continued and we crossed the border from Hungary into Slovakia. Almost immidiately the people changed. In Hungary we had to work like dogs to get strangers to smile. An example of this, something that occured frequently, was that someone who may have been smileing when they caught our eye (and our smile) would then change to a frown! We were pumped when this fog of outward melncoly lifted, right at the border. The Slovak's were up for interaction and immidiately the place felt more friendly.

In addition to the friendliness the country is stunning! What we expected from Transylvaia we got in Slovakia. Green forrests, cliffed mountains, many climbs and spectacular natural beauty. Also the Slovakians really respect thier country. The Romanian mountain roads were a constant reminder that the crap we eat in cars is wrapped in heaps of packaging and the gaps in the trees were often used as bins. In Slovakia grass was in vogue. We continued to climb into Slovakia enlivened and invigorated by the environment. After a few hours of this we found ourselves (not without sweat) in a ski resort drinking gluvine! As good a place as any to get a nights rest.

The mountains continued until the border with Poland, the crossing itself being on a pass. And then began the desent, hours of downhill. It is a hugely satisfying feeling to build up potential kinetic energy over many days of uphill riding and then release it all at once. Our desent took us through forrest and past villiages. A tributry streams thundered along next to us and, at least for a while, the road was ours.
Then the terrain flattened out, the roads became extrodinarily three dimensional and the traffic exploded.

The last hour of our first day in Poland had Karolina pulling a wide variety of snapshots. A bit of background. As you can imagine spending large stints of time talking exlusively to one person can give conversations a certain flavour of the insane. Our 'chats' (sessions perhaps?) often see us adopting characters (A Sth African Steve Irwin inspired TV personality who has fallen in love with his camrea man, Gary, is a favorite), inventing songs or just sometimes making noises for hours on end. Each time a truck, or car whizzes by you often tense up. Karolina thinks that if you were to take a photo at this moment it would be hilarious. Hence snap shots. So as I said this road was awful and Karolina pulled a huge range of snap shots. And this awful road led to Osweism, the town where the Nazis established the Aushwitz Concentration camps.

We spent the next day at Aushwitz with a tour guide. I can not do justice to the experience in writing but it would be remiss of me not to acknowelgde it. What struck me hardest was how real the place is, it has not been altered since it was liberated (save for a few exhibits). A plaque stands at the end of the Birkenau camp and it is translated into the languages of every victim of that place (there is also an English translation, though no native English speakers were murdered there) and it says,

Let this place be a cry of despair and a warning to humanity
Where the Nazis murdered about one and a half million

men, women and children, mainly Jews from various countries of Europe.

Aushwitz-Birkenhaus 1940-1945

The previous night we had done some calculations and realised that it would not be possible for us to reach Sweden without another stint on a train. I say not possible but I mean not enjoyably possible. So we decided to catch a train from Osweism to Warsaw. On this train trip we thought it prudent to book some accomadation. But each call was met with the same answer, 'Sorry we are full'. I later found out that AC/DC were playing and this was one reason why it was difficult! So realising that we would have to wing it we waited to arrive in Warsaw. At 11pm, tired from a weeks riding and a big day we started our search. Nothing in the central district. Nothing in the next district (3kms away). Finally two hours later and 5km away from were we had started three buildings stood as a lasting monument to communism. Each a 'Smart Hotel' each containing about 300 rooms. The first was full. The second was full. The third, one room for one night. We snapped it up and retired to our quaters trying to imagine what state designated jobs some of the previous tennants of the rooms may have had.

The next day came quickly and before long we were homeless again in the big city. Setting course for Lithuania we knew we must travel North East. But having heard whispers of a magical path called EuroVelo (a network of bike paths and bike appropriate roads for touring) we set out with confidence looking for the golden way. The mornings search for the exit was unsuccessful. So we came back to where we had started and pursued another route. Surely this would be better, and it was. White signs with red bikes on brown trees dotted the route. This was living, no cars, we could ride next to each other. Glory be the lit path! And then it stopped. Cut to 8:00 pm. Having travelled 60+ kilomtres, riden all day (only one half an our stop for lunch), 20 hours after we had arrived in Warsaw and ten hours after we had started riding we were back at the train station. Having acquired tickets on the first train travelling NE we knew, for the first time that day that we would escape Warsaw and perhaps get some sleep!

Last nights sleep could not have been better. We are in cushy hotel offering Panna Cotta via room service. Add to this a bit of telly and a breakfast buffet and you can rest assured that your narrators are enjoying catching up on the last few days. Both of us are well fed, have dropped off some laundry and now we will slowly slip into a a relaxed state of toasty apathy which should move swiftly towards coma in the next few hours. It is there, in that mindless numb delirium that I will hopefully understand what the Poles see in that mans anesthetised translations.

Wyświetl większą mapę

Wyświetl większą mapę

Wrestling for The Initiative

2010-05-18T08:11:00.000-07:00

In chess, 'the initiative' is an ever present quality in the game. Having it means that you can dictate the next move and your opponent must use their move to respond rather than having the luxury of pursuing their own strategy. I say this because since our last post (2 weeks ago) it feels that we have been engaged in a messy struggle for the initiative with some elusive yet omnipresent opponent. Using the environment, mechanics and psychological trickery they have managed to stall us and we have found ourselves stationary for longer than we would like. However like any good struggle we have adapted to the new challenges presented to us and overcome them as we have now arrived in the truly European city of Budapest. Karolina will fill you in on the first part of this tussle!

BUDAPEST!!!

We have arrived, accually we arrived a couple of days ago but have been doing very little, not even being able to summon enough energy to hobble down the stairs of the room we are staying at and walk around the corner (Acually just outside the door) to the internet cafe. But here we are now.

We left Romania on Monday for Hungary, but not without complications. As we left the historical town of Alba Iulia we soon ran into trouble... Chris´ backweel (of course) had a broken spoke, and since we had no spare spokes we had no other options than to walk back to the nearest village to try to get some help. We soon found out that there was no one who could help us and that our best option was to take the bus back to Alba Iulia. The locals that had helped us soon disapeared and we were left there with Jan, a fellow bike tourer who had come past as we were trying to sort things out. He soon left and up came Nico, one of the locals whom we had spoken to earlier, with his car! He offered to take us and our bikes to Alba Iulia straight away! We happily jumped in and along the way he told us that he did not know any bikestores in town and neither did any of his friends. He took us to the train station and after refusing to accept our offers of some petrol money, he left us there feeling very grateful but also like puppies with our tail between our legs. We knew that our best option was to take a train to the border town of Oradea which was bigger and that we surely would find someone to help us there.

After stuffing our things in and out and in and out of trains we arrived, got lost, found a hotel who would take us and our bikes. But we also found out that tomorrow was Sunday and that nothing would be open! We accepted our fate and after being told by a man who worked there (Bobby) that he would help us with everything on Monday, we realaxed into our new situation and started to explore Oradea. It was a really nice old town which had been in the hands of the Austro-Hungarian empire for a while and felt very European (Ed. Swedes have a strong idea about what it is to be European!). We walked, talked, ate and also found our way to the cinema. Needless to say, we had a good time. On Monday morning we went with Bobby to the bike store where we handed in Chris´ wheel and then went to have coffee with our newly found Romanian friend. He proved to be really friendly and he bought us coffees, introduces us to his son and gave us ice cream. All in order, packed and ready to go we left for Hungary. Not quite the week we had planned but as we got back in the saddle everything felt good again and we were back in our new element. We passed about a 3 Km long line of trucks waiting to get into the lush, clean and bike friendly country that is Hungary!

We were ready for something new and as we rode into the fourth country of our trip it felt wonderful (the boarder was a non event and we did not even get a sign saying "Welcome to Hungary" or anything, very unsatesfying).
We found that Hungary is full of campsites and it was a pleasant surprise since there was nothing of that in the previous countries.

Chris again,

Having finally crossed the border (after being being stationary in Alba Iulia due to storms and Oradea because of the broken spoke) we set about finding accommodation. As Karolina made clear previously, our trip, which has not given us many options for camping suddenly threw up a number of options. After a quick discussion we decided to go to the first place we saw, a caravan park. Entering the reception, sweaty and dirty as usual I was met by a very clean cut man. He gazed toward me. I smiled and went about spraying my nasally ruffened dialect towards him, 'Do you have a campsite available? We have a tent. Also is there any food about? We have no money. Can I use a card?'. Much to my delight he jumped upon the request with the enthusiasm of a a teenager for matches. Offering help in every which way, help I did not know I needed and then help 'maybe a little like this?'. I must admit whilst I was happy for the effort he really was putting a lot of time into the help. Karolina, confused at why this interaction was taking longer than expected popped her head in. And she too was borne as witness to the blind zeal of this man's helpful attitude.

Later, after we had set up and eaten we wandered around our new home. 'That's odd' Karolina mused. Taking a closer look at a graffiti mural (the kind that funky art teachers get at risk kids to paint in schools) we noticed a bus. And who was that driving the bus.. 'Ummm. I think that's Jesus.'. Looking down the side of the bus we saw emablazzened the word 'saved'. Pulling a quick 180 the outdoor conference center we realized had an alter. It all made sense. The glazed look in the eyes of the helpful man that screamed 'I help for fear of hell'. We had stumbled into the belly of the beast. This, my friends was crazy town and Jesus was the mayor. We went to bed and planned our escape for morning.

The next three days we rode towards Budapest knowing that there we would find supplies (English books, bike parts, sushi). The weather turned and each day it rained but each day we peddled for 8 or 9 hours. Both nights we intended to camp and had to contend with mosquitos on a scale that I had not previously encountered. Though we were thankful for our friends their presence indicated the existence of big pools of hot water. Thermal baths! A wonderful way to end any day of riding.

Our entrance into Budapest was no less spectacular. The roads ran like rivers. We were saturated and covered in dirt and a little on the tired side. Arriving at the guest house we had to clean our stuff upon entry. A job that neither of us felt like doing but would be no more fun when we were clean. Anyway lets zip forward to now. We are refreshed, resupplied and planning the next stage of our adventure (Slovakia and Poland). The internet cafe is slowly filling up with smoke making me wish that I smoked so that I would not notice nor care about the wheeze I am developing.

Before we sign off this post there is a funny little thing that happened to us, apropos smoking. My back wheel has been the weak link in our trip. Whether snapping spokes, or bending out of shape it has been a constant force for evil on the trip. Riding along a familiar wonk developed accompanied by a flapping sound. Back wheel, punctured tube (first for the trip). We stopped and replaced. Karolina took photos to kill the time and about 15-20 minutes later it was replaced. Then I noticed something. A familiar looking weed. And it was everywhere. On the side of this fairly well traveled road a patch of marijuana plants. Maybe 100? Had we not noticed it was like this the whole way? We set off again and I kept my eyes open to see if this was a constant road feature. It wasn't. It just so happened that my tyre puntured at exact place where some local had planted his glaucoma medication. A strange event.

And on that note we will sign off. Tomorrow the game continues and hopefully it will be our strategy that prevails in this phase.

View Larger Map

View Larger Map

View Larger Map

2010-05-02T05:03:00.000-07:00

Next to me is a small transistor pumping out 'the best' of 1980's put your head in the oven classics. Completely consistent with this ambiance is my computer running the powerhouse Windows 98. I have no idea what I am typing as it will appear on the screen in 3,2,1... There it is. The internet cafe is in a little lane off the main tourist drag in Brasov, Romaina. On the other side of the lane is a club, Cafe de Paris, thumping out house music. So if this post takes on a macabre tone understand that my environment is trying to push me elsewhere with the efficiency of a Chernobyl enema.

Speaking of Chernobyl, throughout the last week Karolina and I have been cycling through Rural Romanian villages. Some of the more educated amongst us and those of you who have read the Lonely Planet chapter on Romania (the category to which I belong) know that many villages in Romania were used as the production sites for a great many chemical manufacturing plants. As a consequence of this as many as 2/3 children in these places have been affected by mental illness. These children are now adults. Now I can not say for certain that we have seen this in action, but there is a very tangible vibe through these villages. A sleepy, spaced out craziness. Maybe some of you who have found yourself still awake after a few days partying lying in bed trying to fall asleep have some personal experience?

After our rest day in Sozapol (Bulgaria) we rode to the port town of Burgas. The same day we caught the train a few hundred kilometers across the guts of Bulgaria arriving at 10:00 pm in the border city of Ruse. (Hopefully this is the last public transport we will catch before the Ferry in Tallinn, Estonia!). The next morning we meandered around the town taking my back wheel for a walk. It was bent once more, though unlike our time in Turkey I had not yet tried to fix it. In short it was not completely stuffed. We found no one to fix it and continued to ride for the border.

Yet again we found ourselves on a dirty, industrial stretch of highway. However, this piece of road had a few idiosyncrasies that kept a gal interested. Firstly, the Danube river; a mighty piece of water (that i wont be drinking) separating Bulgaria from Romania and touching most of Eastern Europe before emptying into the Black Sea. Secondly. Prostitutes. Yup. Prostitutes. Large ladies in small clothes, chewing gum, waiting for Mr. Seedy to come along and sweep them off their feet. Although this must be in a manner appropriate to a weaselly looking pimp overseeing all interactions. The only interaction we saw was a seventy-something man pull up in his old car. It was enough, our goal became Romania. Post haste!

The border crossing was uneventful. Our only observation was that the Romanians seemed looser, maybe we could occasionally receive a smile in this new country? Within a day we had our answer. Riding into Alexandria after 80km's (our biggest day at that point) your two tired protagonists found themselves enjoying the company of a Romanian man also on a bicycle. His English was pretty good. After the normal introductions and cordialities he made it clear that the town was pretty awful (read: ugly/boring not certain death for naive tourist couples). We made it clear that we were looking for a cheap hotel. Scratching his head he thought he might know of a couple of places. Anyway as the conversation progressed and this man continued to be giving with his time I remarked to Karolina that it annoyed me that traveling had made me so skeptical of other peoples kindness. Laughing she said, "India will do that to you!". We chortled together marveling internally at the goodness of the human spirit.

Cut to three hours later. Karolina and I are in our overpriced hotel bed, after having been charged for food we did not order. The music from the empty restaurant pounds away and the blind covered window glows radioactively from the still beaming lights. Annoyed, with bruised egos we tried to sleep, or at least close our eyes for long enough for day to break so that we could leave Alexandria behind us.

Behind us it is. About 250km's behind us! The last four days we have cycled about 340km's. It has been mostly flat and perfect training for the day we had yesterday. Our alarm was set for 5:30 so that we could beat the traffic and begin our climb into... TRANSYLVANIA Moo Haw Haw Haw. It was a big climb to the pass (1200 m) and by the time we arrived there we were both so hungry and tired that no joy was expressed for our achievement. This would have to wait until lunch time. Sitting down, munching on our salami and peppers our gaze was shifted from the immediacy of what we were feeling to the majesty of what we were seeing. Snow covered jagged peaks of the Transylvania Alps. Amazing.

These mega mountains will be the backdrop for our next weeks cycling. So more to follow. Our nest post we should be in Budapest, Hungary. In this town we will have a couple of days rest and we will be looking forward to that.

Okay finishing on a technical point. I will now try to attach photo's to this blog entry and the preceding ones. If this does not work it is because I have not been able to hand crank this relic computing device fast enough. In addition to this those of you who like me, enjoy well drafted work and are reading this blog cringing at the typo's and spelling errors fewar not. In Hungary I will install the relevant checking mechanisms (English) and have a computer fast enough to make editing work less laborious.

View Larger Map

View Larger Map

Beaches and Beanies

2010-04-25T04:37:00.000-07:00

Firstly a point of order. Some have noticed an absence of photos from our trip. We have some very illustrative shots that we would love to share with you but an absence of internet cafes and cable stores has made the transfer of data problematic. We here at Fareid Saunders enterprises apoligise for the inconvienice and are working dilligently to rectify the problem in the coming weeks. Until then a 'thousand words' will have to be worth 'a thousand words'.

I am looking at the choppy waters of the Black Sea. The cobbled streets and historic houses have been retrofit for tourist action. The sounds of smooth, indesipherable, valiumic latinyfunkyjazz provide the backing for a cheescake sitting in its cool glass cage. But like the cheescake, this town is intended to be used at a different time. Though unlike its cakey compatriate the town is made for the future (summer) and the cake should have been eaten a few days ago.

We arrived in Sozopol yesterday and are having a rest day after our first six days of riding. We explored this beach getaway and found about four percent of the the shops to be open. In fact our arrival at the hotel seemed to catch them off gaurd. "Guests? But you need a down jacket just to approach the waters edge.". That said the ladies who run this hotel have been very easy and welcoming and put on lovely meals for us so nothing bad has come of our entrance!

Since last post we continued to grow our quadraceps at the expence of roads that snaked and coughed through industrial towns for a while. Between the towns the country started to open up, mostly farmed land and not much in the way of trees. Our last night in Turkey was in the large town of Kirkrelli. Our first kilometre along the fourty kilometer journey to the border introduced us to a road of a quality that we had not yet encountered. Autobarn esq highway and very little in the way of traffic and it was flat... for about ten kilometers and then began the climb. Climb we did for about thirty liometers to the border. Our last experience of Turkey, after having our documents checked was at the last checkpoint. At the boomgate that seperated us from no mans land and eventually Bulgaria was a man. The border gaurd and three of his friends, all having a tea party. Ahhh, we laughed, took photos and hugged as if we were old fiends upon departure. It was a wonderful way to leave the country and the symbolism was not lost on us.

Entry into Bulgaria was matter of fact, without emotion and eerily quiet. We came down the first hill into the first town. It was late afternoon and we were tired and a little apprehnisive as to what this new country would be like. Immidiately the vibrancy of the people had all but switched off. All were stonefaced and the familiar symphony of encouraging honks was replaced by the sparcley connectd chug of 1960's diesl VW vans.

We pushed on the the top of a nearby hill and set up camp for the evening. Shortly thereafter we were joined by a friendly dog. Who stayed with us until bored of our company and then journeyed off into the bushes. The night passed without event until day break. "Karro. Karro. Do you hear that?... Let's get up". We arose and what we had heard was the mumbles of a Sheepless Shepard wandering the hills in the glory of a new morning. Harmless but never the less an effective alarm. The day was magic and the riding fantastic. The spring time oak forrest with a charmimg pot holed road excited the imagination and was an awesome experience.

And now here we are at the Black Sea. The journey has started and looking back at our start in Asia on the other side of the Bosphorous it seems a long time ago now. The next big challenge is the Transalvanian Mountains in Romania. Home of Dracula, maybe we will eat some strange new things? But not the cheescake that has, since I begun writing, been removed from its transperant paleative care unit and is now hopefully destroyed.

View Larger Map

A taste for ındustry

2010-04-20T08:40:00.000-07:00

Önder, the owner of the hotel, kıcked a lovely man off the ınternet. Thıs mıght even be hıs room that we are sıttıng ın typıng away at thıs post. Who knows? He defınately dıd not need to do thıs for us, there ıs an ınternet cafe next door. Regardless thıs ıs exactly as we have come to know the Turkısh people. They are extrodınarıly hospıtable, very gıvıng and go out of thıer way to be frıendly. Yesterday, our fırst day of actual peddlıng, we were met wıth honks and waves the entıre day. One tıme when endulgıng my fondness for voyeuerısm I peeked a man ın a room. He peeked me. We both smıled, he held up hıs tea and poınted quızzıcally. The offer of tea, I have come to thınk that drınkıng tea ıs at the heart of a good socıety, from now on I wıll offer tea to all.

Not to harp on about tea, but I wıll, another offer of tea came as we pedal whıpped ınto the ındustrıal cıty of Saray. We trıed to tell the man that we would be back once we found a room but thıs was not communıcated. He seemed slıghtly dejected. We found our room at the Elıt Otel (not nearly as elıte as one mıght expect) and then headed back to the man`s glorıfıed kebab van. So happy was he that the tea flowed and even our ınabılıty to communıcate on anythıng but the most retarded levels of logıc dıd not dısguıse the fact that all partıes were ecstatıc. A sandwhıch followed, then more tea.... At the end of a lovely lunch our offer to pay was refused. It ıs hard to express how lovely ıt felt to have such an ınteractıon. But ın a town that ıs so scrathed up and covered ın the soot of an almost contınual flow of unhealthy traffıc to fınd a vıbrant happıness so close to that mucky surface was delıghtful.

The trıp has other fantastıc facets besıdes tea storıes; Four days ın Istanbul, 2 days of rıdıng, many meals, many people, lıghtnıng and haıl, sweat ınducıng sunshıne, but there ıs no tıme or space for thıs now. Suffıce to say we are ınto frıendlıness and tea at the moment.

Thoughts of Karolına: Istanbul was wonderful and Sultanahmet was nıcely overprıced and tourıst fırendly. We stayed at a good hostel and met some fabulous people. But most of all, apart from apple tea and TURKISH DELIGHT (delıghtful ındeed) what I personally loved the most about Istanbul was the cats!!! Lovely goregous cat everywhere, cuddlıng and snugglıng wıth everyone. We even had a prıvate kıtten theatre one mornıng! They played amongst pıllows and rugs... Istanbul ıs worth vısıtıng I have to say.

View Larger Map

The faint hum of something interesting

2010-04-03T17:18:00.000-07:00

Hello,

I know something is coming. Largely because we have to move out of our house. Books are in boxes, clothes in cars and we sitting in a room 60 kilometers away. It is far easier to procrastinate from a distance.

In a week and a half we will be flying into Istanbul, Turkey. Like any trip there are many things to be done before we get on the plane but right now we are content to hide in a room at the farm. The planned move from procrastination to action has no urgency attached to it at the moment. Rather it feels as if we have mud on our boots and instead of stopping to clean it up we are content to plod on. In fact I reckon we will be taking a little mud on the plane with us.

Through the haze of menial chores there is a gentle whirr of an engine and past that the high pitched hum of a thin tyre on asphalt. See, Karolina and I got infected by ideas of 'freedom' and 'freedom' in this instance is to be found in a bike, some panniers, a tent and the thousands of kilometers of road through Eastern Europe. So thats the plan, what it will look like in its activation is anyones guess. I only have two images that seem to circulate with some comedic regularity. Both involve Karolina laughing at me as I am the victim of unrequited physical love. The first at the hands of a gypsy and the second... a bear.

This trip is a bit of a mystery and as time solves it for us we will keep you posted.

Until the next post it is packing and cleaning, but first something else.