so the designers will make it look wonderful and then it goes off in early 2010 to get printed, then a few months for that and shipping and then distribution to warehouses and hey…. presto… it goes to the shops!

the title is ‘From Here To There’ and it is a bit like a scrap book with gazillions of photos and memorabilia and stuff that tells the stories as well as our words….

so thanx for hanging in there and keep us in mind for Easter…. or Fathers Day… or next Christmas !!!!

best wishes

jon

We drove from Paris to Normandy, stayed a few nights around Bayeux and caught the ferry from Caen. Driving on the right side of the road after five months of strenuous caution was a relief. Roundabouts posed a problem for a day or two as I continued to think I needed to keep my drivers door in the gutter and my passenger out in the middle of the road. Not appreciated by Jan or other drivers!

After a few nights in Devon, London was a quick trip away, via Stonehenge. We paraded around London for a day with the car, posing for snapshots at Westminister and Big Ben [allowed by the anti-terror police] and Buck Palace [not allowed by the police]. Then Ping the unstoppable was steam cleaned for Australian quarantine and handed over to the shipping people who have popped Ping in a box and sent him on his way to Melbourne.

Saying goodbye to Jack was extra hard, and now we are home we miss him even more.  Life - and work - resumes. The book contract says I am supposed to have a finished manuscript ready in an unrealistically short time. So no more on-line, energy and attention needed elsewhere.

Thank you all - and thank you again - for the amazing response we got to a blog that never expected to achieve a fraction of this notoriety or attention. It has been a blast from beginning to end and I pinch myself every day to make sure it was all real.

I would love to pop some photos of London or Paris online but there has been an unfortunate clash of software updates and it is not possible to just whack them on anymore. Sorry, I have spent hours trying to make it work and finding out the reason it does not.

Despite the flu, we enjoyed a magnificent Christmas dinner - dips, olives, prawns, snails, oysters, soup, turkey with veg, salads, puddings, ice creams, cheese, chocolates…. and those marzipan fruits that make your teeth hum. Didn’t eat again for days. Now we need to stop coughing long enough to get back into Ping the car and make it to London some time in the next week.

Jack has taken more than 8 000 photos

We have averaged 14 litres of diesel per 100ks, but can get it down to 12 if we go slower…

Cheapest diesel is Iran, where we paid Aust$3 for 165 litres. That is not a typo. $3 for 165 litres.

Most expensive has been Turkey at A$2.60 equivalent a litre

Two punctures, one in Mongolia and the other in No Mans Land on the Torugart Pass between China and Kyrgyzstan, in the snow.

No mechanical breakdowns or failures at all. Burglar alarm switches and the CD player have broken. One driving light bulb has blown. Two wheels buckled and repaired imperfectly, just as well we went for steel instead of alloy wheels which would have cracked or split ages ago. So we have a wonky spare and a slight front end wobble at speed until at least one wheel can be replaced.

To those who thought we chose the wrong car….  we didn’t. I could say a whole lot more about this but it could be misunderstood as marketing. To the nice people from the Land Rover Club who wrote on their chatroom that I was an idiot and knew nothing about cars and was heading for disaster, sorry to disappoint you.

Nothing has been stolen except Jacks notebook and sunglasses pickpocketed in Thailand. Nothing lost except two guidebooks I can not find which could still be buried deep in the car !!!!

The biggest waste of money was buying tickets for the plane to Dili and then two days later being offered a ride on the cargo ship. Not refundable.

Equipment not used includes the EPIRB [but good to have it, you do hope you never need it] and binoculars. Various and extensive tools carried and thankfully not used, but again you have to have them. Tyre repair kit not touched….  you can get tyres repaired everywhere we have been. So that well travelled kit will go onto eBay !

The budget… well, a work of fiction and I have not dared look at the totals and will not until we get home because that would spoil the last bit of the trip.

And more than  1,400 comments on this blog…. and well over 500 000 visitors to the site. We never thought we would get one tenth of that.

Danny, Sandy and their kids Maddy and Raffy [see www.drivearoundtheworld.wordpress.com] have been through parts of south-east Asia, North America, the UK, Europe and then through Albania to Turkey. They have been on the road since April 2008.

We met up for a few days, lots of travel talk, nostalgia about home and comparing the rigours of border crossings in whacky places. A visit to the ancient site of Aphrodisias was a terrific way to see the kids nagging their parents about more old rocks. We gave them Vegemite, they gave Jack 800 new songs for his ipod [but he still plays the same stufff anyway]. The barter economy.

We have been in Turkey, Greece and now Italy. Greece was really just three days whipping through the north to get the ferry. It was amazing to be there just as Athens was in turmoil. We knew nothing of it. Trouble has followed us- from democracy protests in Bangkok, to the clashes between Cambodia and Thailand on their border, terrorism in western China and now riots in Greece!!!

Turkey is terrific, full of history [Troy, ancient ruins at Aphrodisias amongst others were highlights] and of course the pilgrimage to Gallipoli Peninsula. We were joined by two ABC mates from Melbourne, Serpil and James. They are taking a year out of the ratrace and living with Serpils parents in Bodrum. Wonderful family hospitality and then good company all the way to Eceabat, the town nearest ANZAC Cove. James has been reading Les Carlyons ‘Gallipoli’and was able to give us detailed explanations of the various sites. It is emotionally overwhelming, and to have the Turkish side explained by Serpils translations as well as the ANZAC history made it even more emotional. In the space of a bowling green, 6200 men died in three days at Lone Pine. At the Nek, three hundred died in a few hours fighting over a distance separated now by the wiidth of the tar on the road. The terrain is so harsh, the mistakes made now so clear. And the generosity and care taken by the Turks now all the more moving. It is all a national memorial park and the Turkish war graves and memorials impressively done.

We  are nearly finished. A few  days and we will be in France. I can not quite believe it. I regularly pinch myself. Our huge bull-barred car looks so odd amongst the little Euro hatchbacks. On the ferry several people  gasped as they saw our numberplates. I gasped when I saw the exchange rate and the price of diesel. We paid as much for one litre in Turkey as we paid for 165 litres in Iran. but Iranian fuel prices were never going to last…..

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[Bukhara]

So I should start with Turkmenistan

 Turkmenistan is a  tiny country flooded with oil and run by chubby round-faced despots who have built glorious gold monuments of their chubby round-faces that gleam and glisten in the harsh desert sun. There is one statue in the capital Ashgabat that reigns supreme above the cityof the former president for life, Niyazov, who died in 2006 and it rotates (that’s right, it rotates) so that the sunlight is always cast across his gluggy cheeks and fat features. 

In Ashgabat, a city of hollow decadence built in the last 15 years, dad got quite ill and tired. So I left him in the homestay moaning and groaning and burping and slurping in his bed and walked out the door. I met a kid, Rex, who adopted me and promised to show me the Turkmen life. I shadowed him on a wild night that took us from cigarettes on street corners past KGB officers snooping about to roaming the empty streets then chasing down a spliff on the other side of town and skulling vodka and rapping in russian before the 11pm curfew and then heading home. But I spose the real details of the night will have to wait for the book…

And then on we went to Iran, and drove into the capital Tehran late in the afternoon, or early in the evening, as the cars turned their headlights on and the halogen bulbs of the outer city burnt bright above trucks of stubbled persian care-frees singing to themselves and to the buzzing swerving ecstatic traffic. And on the streets boys bounced footballs in the front of tumbling down restaurants and shrouded hidden women with jet black head-scarves billowing in the wind of passing traffic, staring straight stern and solem as they went to buy bread from glazed and glittery eyed bakers who toil and knead in the foggy smog of their cracked kitchens . And men meet and greet on the street with a leathery slap of hands and a rat-a-tat in their rough and tumble tonue that sounds so cool and more people stroll steadily on. And above everything the silent mountains all jagged and cragged gleam white and glow with snow as the city hums and beeps and toots and slaps and swerves and tumbles and rumbles below.

[Iran: The former US Embassy which was raided in 1979 amid fears that they would disrupt the revolution, now referred to as the US Den Of Espionage and used as the base for a militia committed to defending the revolution]

And then the Iran-Azerbaijan-Armenia border where the Iran side of the river which acts as a border, is safe and passable, but on the other side there is the every now and then shell of a village left over from the Armenia-Azari battles of the the 1990s and landmines scattered wherever and everywhere. And it was one of the most beautiful beautiful frames we’ve seen but we couldn’t stop and photo anything because we weren’t meant ot be there anyway and there were real soldiers kitted out in helmets and guns and sandbags ready to annoy us. And we climbed to a ninth century Azari fort miles high in the air and as we arrived at the top to look out across the dips of valleys and lips of mountains, all sweaty and puffed and sore jointed we found that we were not alone but had in fact happened upon a group of mumbling muslim prayers from Tabriz who had climbed to the top to rock and sway to the setting sun. And we caught our breath by hardly breathing and watched and listened.

And we climbed back down, slipping on our arses and landing in icey muddy gloop. 

And through Kurdistan, yes, Kurdistan where protestors milled and waved banners, and then across Turkey in a few crazy days of seeing the countryside through a window.

And it’s strange how after almost six months of first-hand experience of how friendly and warm everyone around the world is and how safe we have felt everywhere, all it takes is a few dozen nutter terrorists a couple of thousands kilometres away to make us afraid again.

[Iran: US Den of Espionage]

But what’s life without risk?

And I just thought we should bring everyone up to date… We came up with a name for the car as we crossed the Yangtze River in China; ”Ping”. Anyone guess why?

Uzbekistan is as culturally rich and friendly a spot to visit as you can find. Once the infuriating visa system is negotiated [ only Turkmenistan is worse.... but i will spare you all the details]  the rewards are there. We are in Bukhara / Bokhora for a few days while visas are sorted before we can drive to Iran via Turkmenistan. Some interesting political insights, but we will wait until we are in Europe before writing more on that.

Many of the historic sights in both these Silk Road cities have been restored to something approaching their former glory. The effect on visitors is to transport you back to whichever period in the last two thousand years you choose.  Mosaic cladding on soaring minarets, carpet traders in every niche of an ancient meddrasah, torture chambers and steep city walls re all topped off by kebabs at every turn, steaming plov meals, the crispest naan bread and aromatic tea with every meal. Sum-sa potato filled pastry [forgive me if I have mashed the spelling] and Guma - parcels, still warm from the clay oven, filled with a mix of chillie and barley make a great snack while wandering.

But most of all the Uzbeks are very very friendly. We can barely walk ten steps without being asked where we are from, and having the sort of superficial conversation that limited common language restricts you to. And not always in the name of commerce, although that rich tradition is well excercised too. Fake antiques and “hand made by my grandmother” embroidery abounds, as well as exquisite calligraphy and gilt-adorned Koran pages ready for framing.

Turkmenistan may be an internet free zone, and different reports leave me unsure about access to the ‘net in Iran, but we will try to update again soon. And photos may have to wait until we get a speedier connection.

Over the spectacular Torugart Pass and into Kyrgyzstan, which greeted us with a snowstorm. A puncture in heavy snow in No-Mans Land made for the quickest tyre change in history. Not sure if it was the minus 8 or the Kalashnikovs that made it so fast, but the removed wheel nuts stuck to the ice even in the eleven minutes it took to get the jack from under all our luggage and get the rear wheel into the air. Naryn is the tiny town first greeting travellers on this remote route into Kyrgyzstan. An almost tropical blue river flows through this farming town, chosen now as the site for a new University, funded by the Agha Khan!!!. Picturesque but so cold…. and on to Bishkek, the capital. Tree lined streets and trolley busses straight from the Soviet era greeted us as we waited for our Uzbekistan visas. We took time too visit the sites, admire the Communist era buildings and statues [ they love a statue] and soak up the market.

From Bishkek, on to more snow covered slippery mountain passes. Kyrgyz drivers treat ice and snow as a game - skating your Lada is regarded as heroic. So many end up in the ditches and sideways, but no one slows down. We spent half an hour trying to pull an old Audi from a snow drift, but nearly ended up stuck ourselves. We needed 4wd many times, and wonder about not carrying chains if this weather persists. Average speed in almost zero visibility and heavy snow 15kph for many many hours to get across the pass and to a bed for the night.

And on to Jalalabad, Osh and the Ferghana Valley. Only a few years ago Uzbeks and Kyrgyz were killing each other here, and the omnipresent military remind everyone at every single intersection. Sadly the weather is dreadful as we approach scenery and views described in all the guide books as spectacular and unmissable. We mised them. Endless passport checks later, we make it to Tashkent, capital of Uzbekistan. The biggest city we have been in for ages, trams and traffic jams and high rise buildings!!! More soviet era architecture, square office and apartment blocks looking like they were designed using Lego!! And falling apart from disrepair.

We have however discovered the best flea market ever… Tashkent on a Sunday boasts the most eclectic collection… but how to get it all back home? From Lenin busts to ancient cameras, embroidered fabrics, ancient weapons, soviet gas masks…. the most wonderful collection of crap and junk the world has ever seen… paradise!!! 

We now wait for visas for Turkmenistan and Iran before we can go to Samarkand, Bukhara, Mary in Turkmenistan and on to Teheran and then Turkey.

We never planned to go to Mongolia at all. We wanted to drive across China from East to West, across the ancient Silk Road. Two days before we left home, we got an email form the Chinese guiding company NAVO who had agreed to be our hosts [foreign cars are  not allowed into China without special permits and a guide in the car all the time]. NAVO told us we were  not allowed to drive the Silk Road but instead we could only drive south to north, entering from Laos as planned but leaving to Mongolia. We reluctantly agreed.

Once we were in China, we asked again if we could drive to the west. NAVO re-applied to the central government and we were again refused permits to go across China - but given permission to re-enter China from western Mongolia. We agreed as this was a much  better option than driving to Russia and Kazahkstan [a more than one thousand kms detour to the north!!].

Returning to China from western Mongolia meant crossing the border near Bulgan in Mongolia, the China side town being Takshken. The border crossing is closed to foreigners and only used by Mongolians and Chinese traders. We were assured that despite those rules we would be allowed to cross.

So after our difficult crossing of Mongolia [see other posts]  we got to Hovd, a friendly ethnic Khazak town. We stumbled onto the weekly english speaking club dinner which led to an introduction to Marima, who agreed for a fair fee to guide us through the little used mountain crossing to Bulgan the next day.

We drove ten hours on a track through spectacular gorges, river valleys and high passes. We saw two other cars and one truck all day, and the truck was overturned, resting on its side at the narrowest point of the entire road.

Friday evening in the dark we made it to  Bulgan. The only place to stay had no running water nor electricity. There was no food available.

Next morning, we were dismayed to discover that our new China guide was not expecting us until Monday, and calmly suggested we enjoy Bulgan for the weekend. It seemed a lousy option.  Various protestations and expensive mobile calls later, efforts were made to find a local guide to meet us at the border. We somewhat bizarely bump into an Australian, Jill Howe, who lives in a yurt in  Bulgan and teaches as a volunteer at the local school. We had a wonderful chat and cup of tea with her and her neighbours and just as Bulgan started to look quite appealing, along came a message that we had to go.

The border crossing took six hours. We were quizzed in all by 21 different officials. We finally were allowed into China, but our car was impounded. The documents supplied to Customs were fax copies, and they insisted on originals. We had to wait in Takshken until someone brought an envelope 600ks from Urumqi. The only place with rooms available in Takshken was the brothel. Rooms rent by the o’clock, the Chinese call it, and I have little doubt we are the only tourists ever to stay there.

The novelty of the locale soon wore off, although the girls were very friendly…. well, not too friendly. Sunday morning the Customs office were generous in clearing the car despite it being their day off and we finally headed off to Urumqi and the Silk Road.