The rest of Europe and going home...

Two counties in one day, Albania (rained like a bastard all day with roads so potholed and slow that it was like taking a step backwards to India again) and then Montenegro. Although as I didn't bother buying a map for Europe, I actually thought I was in Croatia until the guy selling me the insurance at the border looked at me and patiently explained the insurance only covered Montenegro... I realised I didn't know what language they spoke, where the borders were or how big the country was. Hmmm. I stopped in Podgorica, a pleasant, modern looking city, but the cheapest hotels there were between 60-80 Euros a night!! I rode out the town a little bit and eventually found a nice clean, modern room for 30Euros and quickly realised the days of living off $30 a day were long gone. Boo hoo...

Riding up a great little twisty road the next morning, I stop and chat to Emil from Poland on his BMW1150GS and we end up riding together the rest of the day, stopping to take loads of photos of the beautiful Montenegran countryside. We catch the ferry near the ferry and cross into Croatia, riding up the stunning coast road until we stopped in Tucepi where we got a shared room by the seaside for 35Euros. Emil had been here before a few years ago and it was a nice choice. I decided to stay for a day and laze on the beach and enjoy a last bit of sun before heading north and homewards although even in Croatia, it was bloody chilly at night. My new buddy knew a road that took you up to the top of a nearby mountain via lots of fantastic twisty sections with great 360 degree views all round to the coast and inland. We swapped bikes for a while and even though I have the exact same bike as Emil back home, it felt about twice the size as I remembered it and was glad I didn't drop it, unlike the old guy on his big BMW on one of the sharp bends but we helped him pick it up again much to his relief.

And so the following day, Emil and I road up the frankly too gorgeous Croatian coastal road for several hours before we parted company as he was heading home to Poland. It was great to have someone to ride with again after being on my own for so long but I guess one of the good things about this sort of trip is that you get to meet so many different sorts of people. I was riding to Germany to see a couple of friends but as that involved around 1200kms, I stopped after around 600kms in Italy and once again, did the rounds of all the hotels before finally taking a room in a small village that cost 40Euros without breakfast. I even got charged 1Euro for having cutlery with my dinner which the grumpy waitress pointed out was written on the menu after I complained about the extra charge. Hey ho.

It's all Greek to me!

Now we're talking- finally some cheaper petrol than Turkey After a very tedious exit from Turkey which took over an hour thanks to their computer saying 'no' to my temporary import document I got on entering the country, I eventually made it to Alexandroupoli in Greece. The first thing I noticed was all the big bikes going around- Africa Twins, Transalps, BMWs, Varaderos, KLRs etc, they're all here. It was a bit like seeing old, long lost friends again after being lost in a wilderness of small bikes and I couldn't help smiling (very sad I know!). I find the municipal campsite which is pleasantly situated by the beach and end up staying for a couple of nights. Oh, and the other good thing about Greece, apart from all the beautiful people going about, is the fact that you can get proper kebabs here!

I ride west to the peninsula below Thessaloniki again to the coast but the weather appears to be turning now and even see clouds again- aaargh! Its colder now and somehow while asking about the price of the campsite, I mention the fact that my bike clothing is no longer waterproof to the owner who thinks I'm talking about my tent and gives me a caravan for the same price as a camping pitch- result! Anything that means I don't have to unpack and repack my camping stuff is a very good thing indeed as far as I'm concerned. Unfortunately, I notice my chain that I had to adjust that morning is already slack again and figure that at 31,000 kms, its now time to buy a new one- bugger. The next day I stop off at a local bike shop and part with 115Euros for a new chain plus fitting my spare sprockets. I realised that if spending big (well to me anyway) money is going to be my new hobby, I might as well go the whole hog and in Thessaloniki buy a rainsuit overall from the very helpfull Triumph dealer in anticipation of getting rained on very soon, which as it happened, occurred just outside Thessalloniki. I was very glad of my new purchase as even though its red, white and black and I look a bit like a Power Ranger, this was the first rain I'd had since entering Pakistan.

In Kastoria, a very pretty town near the Albanian border, I don't find a campsite and after looking at a really nice Pension room high up on a hill with its own balcony overlooking the lake for 30Euros, I decide I'm not really very hardcore anymore and take the room, and then quickly dash out for some beer to have on my balcony at Beer-o'clock.

Turkey

Now I knew Turkey would be the start of the 'expensive bit' of my trip and this was initially confirmed by the $50 compulsory insurance and the $20 visa fees at the border. They didn't seem the most terribly efficient lot I have to say. I found the chief by accident in his room, feet up on the desk watching TV as I wandered around the building trying to find someone who might want to stamp my passport. I immediately got bumped over to another office with a man and a woman busily eating apples but who turned out they would deal with the passport and visa stuff. Then I was bumped off to several other offices to get the bike temp import docs sorted. After nearly a couple of hours I was free to head off in to Turkey.

I have to say that after the dryness of the Iran countryside, the road from the Sero border to Van was just stunning. Lovely rolling hills, winding rivers and green trees all added up to a great ride though the Kurdish kids flinging stones at me brought me back down to earth fairly quickly. I decided to try and camp somewhere outside Van and stopped at dusk in Edrimir at a place which called its self a 'camping restaurant'. Only in Turkey you see a lot of signs like that and they just look at you like you're mad when you ask about the camping as they are just resaurants with tables outside. Fortunately this one let me pitch my tent in their grounds for free and even had some fresh warm bread I could have with one of my (several) tins of baked beans. And beer. Yes, its been a very long time since I could enjoy a beer at the end of the day and now I was in Turkey, I was going to make sure I wouldn't neglect my oldest friend for that long again! The guys running the restaurant were really great fun too and we sat round the table drinking tea later on that night and did our best to communicate with each other where I learned that Mr Ataturk was not overly popular with the Kurdish population of Turkey.

After Iran, the price of petrol elsewhere was always going to be a shock but especially so in Turkey. At 3.3TYL per litre, that amounts to about 1.50GBP a litre. That is expensive petrol but at least the octane rating is good as the stuff in Iran wasn't the best quality and although it was cheap, I was getting around 80kms less per tank than normal. The following day, I had to fill up twice which cost the equivalent of 50GBPs. Thats for fuel alone, no accommodation or food. So that was it. I was free camping again tonight and eating beans again so it was just as well I found a remote but ver pretty spot by a lake that night. I first tried one of the cans of tuna only to find it tasted rank so at least I could off load a few pounds from my bounty of tinned goods.

Next I headed to Gorome in the Cappadocia where Kaya Camping has a really great outlook over the rock formations and even better, its own swimming pool. For the next 3 days and 4 nights, I rode around the area, getting up at sunrise to watch about 20 hot air balloons rise over the rocks in front of the campsite, swimming, relaxing and enjoying meeting the other overlanders there. Thomas from Germany arrived on his massive BMW1150GS fitted with the Touratech 40L tank heading to Syria and there are 3 Italian riders heading to Iran plus several overlanders of the 4 wheeled variety. As Thomas was heading south the same as me, we rode together down to the Med coast and bid each other farewell as he turned left to Syria and myself, right to the tourist trap known as the Turkish Mediteranian coast.

Mmmm, oh yeah. High rises, over development, bill boards and crappy restaurants- it's all here. I only came this way because I wanted to see the sea again for the first time since Thailand. I wasn't overly excited by this part of the trip but did stop by Olympos to see the ruins and then headed to Selcuk where I seemed to land on my feet again, getting well fed and entertained by a UK caravan couple in the campsite plus even had dinner with an Anglican Priest who insited on paying for my beers! The Lord does indeed move in mysterious ways! The ruins at Ephesus were worth looking at too but unfortunately the whole site seemed to be overrun by Saga-louts on tour.

My intention had been to take the ferry to Athens from Turkey but at around 130Euros for the ticket, I decided to head up to Gallipoli and cross to Greece from there instead. As is the way with most former battle sites, Gallipoli was very interesting to see for your own eyes and to try and get a bit of an idea of what happened here all those years ago.

Let's hear it for The Islamic Republic of Iran!

Always check the exchange rates before crossing a border. Well thats what I always tell myself and then forget when I'm about to cross and so it was no surprise when I got a shitty deal getting rid of my Pakistani Roupees.

So on to Iran. 'Destroy Israel and Hate America' and all that jazz. Surely it can't be that bad? Unfortunately I see at a half torn sticker on the border post wall that has that very slogan as I enter the country but don't think it a terribly good idea to take a picture, they're a wee bit sensitive here you know. Don't take pictures of sensitive sights (including anything even vaguely 'nuclear-ish) and definitely don't look at the women is what I've been told. If you fancy a bit of adultery in Iran and get caught, it could be the very last thing you do. Apparently the remedy here is as follows: For men, you get buried up to your waist with your hands tied behind your back and then a skip load of masonry is swiftly deposited on your head. For the ladies, they get much the same treatment only they get buried up to their neck for variation. Iran is also one of the few countries that still executes child crims under the age of 18. And with all that in mind, lets have some fun!

But not before I get my first police escort from the border to Bam, some 400kms away. As its lunchtime, I'd figured on arriving in Bam just in time for tea and biscuits about 5 hours later. The guy I was assigned first stood next to my bike as I sat there getting my gear on and then I realised he actually thought he was coming on the back of it. (Its a DR650 with luggage- NOT at all suitable for passengers I'm afraid). After explaining in sign language that I hoped he would enjoy his rather long jog, he swiftly grabbed my passport back off me and ran back to the office like some schoolboy running to headmaster because he'd been bullied! Anyway, we went through this routine a couple of more times before he finally got the message that he wasn't going to be my 'bitch' for the day and grumpily hitched a lift in a truck. As there was no petrol near the border, they police just filled my tank from jerry cans which made a nice change from attempting to extract bribes from me.

But it wasn't that smooth from then on though, before we even left Zahedan, I must have been passed between 3 or 4 different sets of cops. Then on the open road and my eye constantly on the time (it was now well past 3.30pm) we would advance for a few miles, then stop in a 'Prayer Stop' lay-by and have to wait for the changing of the guards before we could move again. At one such stop, we pulled in to a bleak spot by the side of the road and the chief crossed over the road and had his binoculars and radio out while two other armed guys went forward and behind and another over the small hill to the side and then there was a bit of radio action going on. All the time, I was sitting on the bike wondering what the fuck was going on. One of my escorts was a pick-up truck with the biggest bloody machine gun I've ever seen mounted on the back with the operators in their Arabian head scarfs. Because there were just so many changes of escorts, (at least 15) I ended up having to ride in the dark for about 3 hours which was not an awful lot of fun, mainly thanks to the Iranian drivers who either don't bother to use their headlights or when they do, they drive with their lights on full beam thus blinding me most of the time. I was so exhausted and hungry by this time (all I'd eaten all day were biscuits and crisps) that when we finally made it to Bam and Akbars Guest House, Akbar himself offered to go and get a kebab for me which was a nice gesture but unfortunately it was one of the driest things I've ever tried to eat.

Since the well documented terrible earthquake in 2003, Bam has been trying to get back on its feet again and Akbar's Guest House is no exception. Akbar has made good progress in rebuilding his guest house but will still be a while before it's completed. He was the first Iranain I'd properly met so far and is one of the friendliest people you could hope to meet. Nothing was too much trouble for him and he was really great fun to chat to although hearing his stories about the earthquake first hand was pretty harrowing. In addition to the absolutely huge loss of people, the city also suffered another loss, that of its beautiful Citadel, one of the biggest adobe structures in the world. You can see plenty of pictures of it before and after the earthquake but seeing it now firsthand in addition to the many ruined buildings in and around Bam, it gives you just a slightest idea as to the extent of the massive devastation that occurred here in 2003. By the way, Akbar is a former teacher and loves puzzles. Here's one of them: There are two trees with different numbers of birds in each. If one bird flies from the first tree over to the second tree, there will be double the number of birds in that tree than first. But if one bird flies from the second tree to the first tree, there will be the equal numbers of birds in each tree. So how many birds are there to start with?

Akbar and guest in Bam


The Citadel post earthquake

From Bam, I rode to Kerman and Yazd although since I left Pakistan, I'd been feeling lousy with the usual bugs so it was a pretty miserable ride involving running to lovely squat toilets in truck stops but boy was I glad they were there. Yazd was a pretty nice city and in the evenings, the streets came alive with traders, shoppers and families all doing their thing so it was a nice place to relax for a couple of days after all the hassles of the last few days and buy some antibiotics!



Next I rode to Esfahan which turned out to be my favorite place in Iran as i had siuch a nice time there. Although you paid more for less at the hostel there, the city had more than enough to keep me amused for a couple of days. On the first night, I took a long walk along the river past about several really beautiful old stone bridges and under the arches of one of them, several local men were standing singing very stirring versions of Iranian folk songs to crowds of people and all along the riverbanks, every available space was taken up with groups of picniking Iranians sitting on their carpets with huge spreads of food, all having a great time. It was in the bazaar the next day that I met Hamid, who stopped to chat to me while I was walking in the Bazaar and he took me to an old tea house where we smoked a big Hookah waterpipe and drank tea. We got chatting to some other people in the teahouse and must have spent a couple of hours chatting away in this great surrounding of wonderfully decorated vaulted ceilings and mint and apple smoke. I was actually looking for some souvenirs to bring back home and Hamid met up with me again later to take me to a great little shop he knew away from the bazaar which was cheaper but full of genuinely stunning handmade items. As we left, I offered to get Hamid a drink somewhere as thanks for helping me but he kindly refused and just said he was glad to help. The more Iranians you meet, the more you come to realise what a wonderfuly open and friendly bunch they are and although I was half expecting it when I arrived, after what I'd been told by others, I guess its not until you experience their hospitality and kindness for yourself that you really find out.











Sometimes thay can be a wee bit too friendly though and when I was leaving Esfahan, I tried a couple of bike shops for another spare inner tube as I'd had another blowout on the way to Esfahan. I managed to find a 21" for the front but while the owner was off phoning around for a 17" for the rear, a guy who worked next door asked me over for a drink. It turned out the place was some sort of tinned food distribution warehouse and after being given very nice homemade lemonade and given offers of accommodation, I found out the only tube I could get would cost $50 so I decided to push on instead. As I was getting ready to leave, my new friends gave me a bag brimming with tins of pineaple, tuna and baked beans! There must have been 20 tins in the bag and although I had no idea how I was going to carry them, I knew I couldn't refuse their kind gift either! From Esfahan, I rode on to Qazvin to see the Alamut Fortress which turned out to be more Historic Scotland than National Trust if you know what I mean. In Tabriz while looking for a gas station and some accommodation, a local guy got me to follow him to his house where I met his entire family. Someone else then turned up with a jerry can of fuel for me and we got the bike filled up (locals have a card they use to buy petrol and whilst I've mostly always managed to buy fuel in Iran, it sometimes take a long time and you have to find someone willing to use their card to get yout petrol). My new host then offered to lead me to a hotel and we set of with him on his cousins bike in front. I would normally rather have found myself a hotel as by this time, it was now dark and not my favorite time to be house hunting but was so tired, I let myself be led around Tabriz. First we ended up on a road going to the airport which was pointed out to me (thanks) and then we got caught up in a wedding procession, full of beeping horns and dodgy driving. (The Iranians aren't terribly sure what to do at traffic lights and tend to just keep going through red lights than waiting for the lights to change and so kind of 'merge' with the other flow of traffic- still, they beat Pakistan and India at driving hands down!). Finally at about 9pm, I was taken to a hotel that turned out to cost $27 which was about double my budget, miles from where I'd planned to stay and I kind of wished I'd just been able to get myself a hotel. It was on the outskirts of town and on the road I'd be taking the next day and was by now just so tired, I said I'd take it. My host had by this point now offered to let me stay at his house which was miles away but I thanked him and started getting my luggage off the bike round the back of the hotel. While he was helping with my bags, he blurted out that he 'loved me' and at that point kind of figured that $27 probably wasn't such a bad deal. The next day I rode on to the border at Sero to cross into Turkey which involved a short ferry ride across the lake and some more hassles getting fuel before crossing the border.



So final thoughts on Iran. It kind of reminds me of Colombia a little which has had plenty of its own bad press around the rest of the world and has some areas with security problems that are well managed by the police and army. But when you actually go to Iran, you find nothing but the most friendly and helpful people, beautiful architecture and a fascinating history. On the downside, there's some fairly long, boring stretches of desert and the kebabs could be a wee bit more exciting...

Time to leave Pakistan

From Islamabad, I rode down to Dera Ismail Khan stopping on route to have yet another cup of tea with the manager of a Suzuki garage someplace and answer the usual questions. I got to DI Khan just after sunset but although I had a hotel marked on the GPS, it turned out to be really expensive at 1,400RS ($20) so rode around looking for somewhere cheaper. I tried several places, all of which told me they were full which I found surprising given that the place was a shithole. A hotel manager eventually took pity on me and led me around a few places and explained that no one wanted foreign people staying at their hotels because we are a security risk. I was quite taken aback by this but even more so when a guy who announced himself as Head of Security for DI Khan pulled up on a bike next to us and informed us he'd been following my tail as he'd heard a tourist was not getting in any hotels. It transpired that there were only 2 places I should stay in that were considered safe, one of which was the first place I'd tried. I eventually agreed to staying in the other one and got the price down to 1,100Rs with the head of Security saying he would put a guard outside for the night! As I got settled into my rather plus room with cable tv, the power promptly went off as it does regularly here and I sat eating my dinner by candle light in my room.

(Note- despite my apparent lack of concern regarding security, I just read on the BBCs world news website that 32 people were killed in a suicide attack in DI Khan just 3 days after I left)

The next day didn't exactly improve either. As the food in the hotel had been quite expensive, I opted to get something to eat on the road and stopped a few km's away for some samosas. When I'd finished, just as I was about to leave, I turned the key and nothing happened, no neutral light, nothing. I sat there trying various things and not wanting to strip off all my luggage and create a spectacle for the locals to gawp at in this small town, I managed to take off a side panel and check out the main fuse. Unfortunately the fuse seemed to be fine which indicated something probably more troublesome and worse, meant dealing with it here. I already had a fair crowd around me by this point and when I said I needed somewhere out the sun to work, one helpful guy arranged a sheltered space under an awning and even got a fan out for me. Working out a electrical problem is usually hard enough without 30 people standing all around you watching your every move but that is what you have to deal with here. They mean well, are curious about you but are just plain bloody irritating when it comes to moments like these. Anyway, I had to strip off all the bags and get the seat off and thankfully I noticed the battery terminal screws had come a bit loose and after a quick tighten, normal service was resumed and I could get it all put back together again under about 30 pairs of eyes.

No pressure then!

Mr Security had warned me last night not to take the Zhob road which is the most direct route to Quetta as its not safe so I reluctantly headed south to Dera Ghaza Kgan to the south and as soon as i got there, I was quickly stopped by the local cops who wanted to arrange a police escort for me. I'd heard a lot about these from other overlanders, they usually taking you miles out your way on a 'safer' route and generally involved startlingly slow speeds of around 30mph. As we were waiting on somebody, the crowd and traffic swelled around us to examine the new creature in the zoo- me. The chief was a pretty witty guy and after finding out I was not married, he proclaimed "ha, so you are a virgin then!" The crowd are really getting annoying now and the cops shout the equivalent of South Parks "nothing to see here, move along now" and of course the crowd takes absolutely no notice whatsoever. I then had to follow them on their bikes to what I assumed was the Police Station but was actually a mobile phone shop where my passport was then examined. For some reason, the chief seemed to think I'd overstayed my visa and had to repeatedly point out I had at least 2 weeks left on it. Outside the shop was the equvalent of Hanson album launch crowd, all trying to look in and see what was going on. They really are nosey bastards and it was getting on my tits. Thankfully, we finally got the go ahead to get the hell out of town and I left with 5 guys on mopeds carrying AK47's which I thought was frankly riduculous. After a few miles, I was getting tired of the speed they were riding at and I left them behind, only to find a police van pulling out in front of me further up the road. They were equally slow and wanting to see how far I could push it, rode past them too. I felt a bit guilty so stopped for some petrol after a few miles and was joined by yet another guy on a 125cc moped who didn't appear to actually have a gun. This guy was super slow, painfully slow, especially on hills and he got annoyed every time I tried to pass him so I endured this for way too many miles till we reached a check point where I was appointed yet another guy on a moped. At the check point they told me the area coming up was tribal and therfore dangerous, but after a few miles of climbing the hill, it started raining and my guard waved me on and turned back. How strange. On the other side, I got yet another pair of guys with AK47s again but God were they slow. I wondered if something were to actually kick off, what a pathetic chase it would be at 30mph. I really couldn't see Steve McQueen signing up for that particular movie!

Cue some 'whacka whaka' chase music

That night, I make it to a tiny place called Kingri, not exactly as far as I'd hoped to have gotten in a day. There was a guest house aranged around a small courtyard and outside, the road was buzzing with a plattoon of soldiers who had stopped for a few hours. I was warmly received and invited to sit with a local guy and then later with the major and sergeant who were great fun to chat to. After the soldiers moved on, I nipped back to the courtyard later and passed the bike, and I suddenly noticed my fuel tank filler cap had gone. After having lost quite a few items on this trip, I now remove everything that can be removed without being ridiculous but removing the filler cap is going just a bit too far. Suddenly I was raging and I knew it must have been one of the guest house owner's kids pissing about but no one was admitting to anything and they even tried to suggest it was missing when I arrived! One actually tried to put a plastic bag over the opening thinking that would be fine! I told them I wasn't paying for anything until it turned up and then I started to look around the courtyard with my torch. Amazingly in a corner, I spotted my fuel cap laying amongst some junk. I was relieved but still angry that someone could be so stupid. I decided to move the bike into my room to make sure nothing else was pinched. I looked into the tank with my torch to see if anything had been put inside the tank too and could see something but it was hard to make it out. In the daylight the next morning, I took another look. It was the lens from one of my indicators! I couldn't believe it and after retrieving the soggy lens, despite offers of breakfast and a guided tour of the local coal mine (tempting though it was) I got the hell away from there.

As if things couldn't get any worse, I tried to find a quiet spot to eat something around 1pm and within 1 minute, had 10 kids plus some guys on a bike pull up to watch me eat. Then later in the day, around 20kms from Quetta, I got a very scary blowout on my rear tyre, the rear of the bike being uncontrollable for a while till I managed to bring it to a halt. This was really what I didn't want to happen but the road was so rough, I actually kind of expected to get a punture. And before I could say "piss off, the lot of you", I had over 20 kids and teenagers all within 2 feet of me while I got on with taking off the rear wheel. I'll freely admit loosing it with this lot who just found it all the more amusing. One kid kept pissing about too close to me and I nearly belted him just to get him away from the bike in case he toppled it over. I just had to put my blinkers on and try and ignore the crowd to get on with the repair which wasn't easy, especially when one of them kept shouting at the passing traffic for the Taliban to come and get me which he obviously thought was hilarious. If I hadn't been using my tire levers, I'm sure I could have found a few more fun uses for them!

I eventually made it to Quetta and am due to pick up my visa for Iran tomorrow. Some overlanders I met today (on very organised bikes - well they were German!) at my hotel tell me it will be so easy from Iran onwards. They're going the other way towards Australia and have only had 2 days of Pakistan so far. Best of luck lads!


On the way out of Pakistan, I stopped for the night about 130kms from the border in a small town. There wasn't much there but the Customs office has a large and secure compound where I was given a metal bed frame to sleep on outside, a hot meal plus lots of tea and biscuits. The officer I met there was very friendly and was great to chat to. He was very interested in the differences between the counties I'd been to and what I thought about Pakistan. I learned that the locals selling petrol by the side of the roads here had smuggled the cheap stuff in from Iran but were selling it at around the same price as Pakistan petrol which explained why I was getting such crap mileage out if it. When I asked why the Customs guys weren't bothered, the officer just shrugged and said that the people here were poor and needed to make a living somehow. I really enjoyed sleeping out under the stars (though not as many as in the southern hemisphere) on my bed and was quite snug in my sleeping bag watching the moon come up and the satellites go by.

Pakistan - It's a mans, mans world

I crossed into Pakistan via the Wagha border which is where India and Pakistan have their traditional closing of the gates ceremony each night though unfortunately I was heading for Lahore so couldn't hang around till the evening just to watch some border guards put on a song and dance show. Exiting India was pleasant enough with the usual cup of tea with the staff but on the Pakistan side, I was asked where I would be staying that night. My usual 'oh you know, just wherever I find somewhere decent' apparently wasn't good enough for the Pakistan immigration staff and as I don't carry any guidebooks, couldn't really pick one out the hat either.

I had high hopes for the Pakistan traffic but as soon as I crossed the border, it was more of the same mayhem that I've become accustomed to in India only in different clothing. A hotel had been thankfully marked on my GPS so I aimed for that but although it turned out to be a travelers hangout, it had no parking. I was assured the bike would be safe enough outside so I went looking for an ATM to get some Pakistani Rupees. After trying about 8 banks, none of which seemed willing to give me any money, I was starting to get concerned when finally Citibank came up with the goods. My Nationwide card hadn't been working for a few days now but the RBS one worked ok- phew!

The man sitting next to me in the ice cream parlor that night was marginally more camp than Freddy Mercury and I was quite surprised when he announced 'we're not all terrorists in Pakistan, Mike". Hmm, well he didn't exactly look like the Taliban type I thought. I found a lot of people here want to welcome tourists here but quite often bring up their perceived idea of the west's image of Pakistan in conversation. As for the security aspect, I've done a fair bit of asking around and think I know the areas to avoid but time will tell... Also, you really don't see women here much at all, and if you do, most are covered right up. If you walk down a street, its likely all you will see are men, especially in places that serve food and serve tea. Back home, I never take sugar with tea or coffee but here, you only seem to get hot, sweet, milky tea and I was surprised to find its actually quite nice, and kind of reminds me of the tea I used to get at my granny's house when I was little though I know I'll need to ween myself of it when I get home for the sake of my teeth if nothing else.

I head next to Islamabad, the day not starting too well as its pouring with rain (my Goretex bike clothing is no longer remotely waterproof), most of the streets are now flooded to a quite inpressive depth and I'm told I can't take the motorway and have to take the local (ie slower and more dangerous) road instead. Motorcycles are not allowed on motorways here but when I asked why, the official just replied "I don't know'. Great. AnywayI get there relatively unscathed and make for the Tourist Campsite which costs only 50Rs a night (about 30p) but you really do get what you pay for. The grass is overgrown, the toilets are filthy and the place is overrun by large ants and mosquitoes, but hey its cheap! And it has armed guards which I think is a neat touch though how the unshaven, slovenly-looking guards would respond to an actual incident is anyones guess. I meet a few other overlanders here, most of whom have come from Europe so its good to find out bits and pieces of useful information plus I get given some maps for Turkey and Iran which is great. I stay for a couple of days before heading towards the famous Karakorum Highway (KKH) which traces part of the old Silk Route from China.

I take the road through the Kaghan Valley on the way which is really pretty, well at least it is once you get past the stinking towns and away from the traffic anyway. There were quite a lot of landslide damaged areas of road to contend with on the way but thankfully nothing that kept me waiting more than about 30 minutes. I stop in Naran, and am quite surprised at how many Paksitani tourists there are and I even meet a guy from Bradford here. After doing my rounds of the guest houses and hotels looking for the cheapest place, I go out for dinner and am quickly invited to join a group of students from Peshawar. They are very interested in me, asking all sorts of questions about life in the UK and around the world and are keen to know my impressions of Pakistan. Back at the hotel later on, I'm about to go to bed when I'm asked to join a rather large family group of 25 from the south on their holidays for a cup of tea and am again bombarded with questions, mainly concerning why I'm not married which seems to be quite a concern for them. The following morning, I ride a bugger of a dirt road for 10kms up a steep hill to look at the lake here which is on all the postcards. All the other tourists are in Jeeps which ply this route as they are the most sensible vehicles for this terrain. The lake itself is pretty nice but its unfortunately busy with tourists all snapping away so I don't stay too long. The road north as it joins the KKH also turns out to be an utter swine of a road but the scenery is great.

<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify">I crossed into Pakistan via the Wagha border which is where India and Pakistan have their traditional closing of the gates ceremony each night though unfortunately I was heading for Lahore so couldn't hang around till the evening just to watch some border guards put on a song and dance show. Exiting India was pleasant enough with the usual cup of tea with the staff but on the Pakistan side, I was asked where I would be staying that night. My usual 'oh you know, just wherever I find somewhere decent' aparently wasn't good enough for the Pakistan immigration staff and as I don't carry any guidebooks, couldn't really pick one out the hat either. I had high hopes for the Pakistan traffic but as soon as I crossed the border, it was more of the same mayhem that I've become accustomed to in India only in different clothing. A hotel had been thankfully marked on my GPS so I aimed for that but although it turned out to be a travellers hangout, it had no parking. I was assured the bike would be safe enough outside so I went looking for an ATM to get some Pakistani Roupees. After trying about 8 banks, none of which seemed willing to give me any money, I was starting to get concerned when finally Citibank came up with the goods. My Nationwide card hadn't been working for a few days now but the RBS one worked ok- phew! </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify"></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify"></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify"></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify">The man sitting next to me in the ice cream parlour that night was marginally more camp than Freddy Mercury and I was quite surprised when he announced 'we're not all terrorists in Pakistan, Mike". Hmm, well he didn't exactly look like the Taliban type I thought. I found a lot of people here want to welcome tourists here but quite often bring up their percieved idea of the west's image of Pakastan in converstaion. As for the security aspect, I've done a fair bit of asking around and think I know the areas to avoid but time will tell... Also, you really don't see women here much at all, and if you do, most are covered right up. If you walk down a street, its likely all you will see are men, especially in places that serve food and serve tea. Back home, I never take sugar with tea or coffee but here, you only seem to get hot, sweet, milky tea and I was surprised to find its actually quite nice, and kind of reminds me of the tea I used to get at my granny's house when I was little though I know I'll need to ween myself of it when I get home for the sake of my teeth if nothing else. I head next to Islamabad, the day not starting too well as its pouring with rain (my Goretex bike clothing is no longer remotely waterproof), most of the streets are now flooded to a quite inpressive depth and I'm told I can't take the motorway and have to take the local (ie slower and more dangerous) road instead. Motorcycles are not allowed on motorways here but when I asked why, the official just replied "I don't know'. Great. AnywayI get there relatively unscathed and make for the Tourist Campsite which costs only 50Rs a night (about 30p) but you really do get what you pay for. The grass is overgrown, the toilets are filthy and the place is overrun by large ants and mosquitos, but hey its cheap! And it has armed guards which I think is a neat touch though how the unshaven, slovernly-looking guards would respond to an actual incident is anyones guess. I meet a few other overlanders here, most of whom have come from Europe so its good to find out bits and pieces of useful information plus I get given some maps for Turkey and Iran which is great. I stay for a couple of days before heading towards the famous Karakorum Highway (KKH) which traces part of the old Silk Route from China. </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify"></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify">I take the road through the Kaghan Valley on the way which is really pretty, well at least it is once you get past the stinking towns and away from the traffic anyway. There were quite a lot of landslide damaged areas of road to contend with on the way but thankfuly nothing that kept me waiting more than about 30 minutes. I stop in Naran, and am quite surprised at how many Paksitani tourists there are and I even meet a guy from Bradford here. After doing my rounds of the guest houses and hotels looking for the cheapest place, I go out for dinner and am quickly invited to join a group of students from Peshawar. They are very interested in me, asking all sorts of questions about life in the UK and around the world and are keen to know my impressions of Pakistan. Back at the hotel later on, I'm about to go to bed when I'm asked to join a rather large family group of 25 from the south on their holidays for a cup of tea and am again bombarded with questions, mainly concerning why I'm not married which seems to be quite a concern for them. The following morning, I ride a bugger of a dirt road for 10kms up a steep hill to look at the lake here which is on all the postcards. All the other tourists are in Jeeps which ply this route as they are the most sensible vehicles for this terrain. The lake itself is pretty nice but its unfortunately busy with tourists all snaping away so I don't stay too long. The road north as it joins the KKH also turns out to be an utter swine of a road but the scenery is great. </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify"></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify">From Gilgit, which has aparently been a main stop on this route for about 150 years, I ride all the way up to the border with China which is located at 4,700m altitude. The scenery gets better the further north you go and I'm pleased I've come this way as its been a dream of mine for years to see this. I chat to the Pakistan and Chinese border guards for a bit taking in the bleak scenery all around before turning south. I read that brown bears live up here but dissapointingly didn't see any. It takes another 3 days to get back to Islamabad though I do stop off in Gilgit for a wee rest for a day as the constant riding is taking its toll on me physically and mentally. On the way towards Islamabad, I lose it with quitea few drivers who nearly kill me with their awful driving. What normally happens is people decide to overtake a vehicle anywhere they fancy but mainly on blind corners when I'm approaching from the other direction. Its pretty tiring having to dodge oncoming vehicles in my lane all the time and sometimes, I play chicken with them, slowing right down so so they also have to, andeventually my front wheel meets their bumper and they then have to reverse and get back into their own lane. Another time, a taxi came so close to me that I kicked its wing pretty hard. I wasn't sure if I could take much more of this driving and was excited when some new overlandersback in Islamabad told me about an Austalian guy who'd put his bike and himself on a train to Quetta for only $20. Unfortunately, I checked it out and it took 28 hours and would cost much the same as the cost of riding there so reluctantly geared myself up to ride to Quetta to pick up my Iranian via.</div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify"></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify"></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify"></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify"></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify"></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify"></div>

From Gilgit, which has apparently been a main stop on this route for about 150 years, I ride all the way up to the border with China which is located at 4,700m altitude. The scenery gets better the further north you go and I'm pleased I've come this way as its been a dream of mine for years to see this. I chat to the Pakistan and Chinese border guards for a bit taking in the bleak scenery all around before turning south. I read that brown bears live up here but disapointingly didn't see any. It takes another 3 days to get back to Islamabad though I do stop off in Gilgit for a wee rest for a day as the constant riding is taking its toll on me physically and mentally.

On the way towards Islamabad, I lose it with quite a few drivers who nearly kill me with their awful driving. What normally happens is people decide to overtake a vehicle anywhere they fancy but mainly on blind corners when I'm approaching from the other direction. Its pretty tiring having to dodge oncoming vehicles in my lane all the time and sometimes, I play chicken with them, slowing right down so so they also have to and eventually my front wheel meets their bumper and they then have to reverse and get back into their own lane. Another time, a taxi came so close to me that I kicked its wing pretty hard. I wasn't sure if I could take much more of this driving and was excited when some new overlanders back in Islamabad told me about an Australian guy who'd put his bike and himself on a train to Quetta for only $20. Unfortunately, I checked it out and it took 28 hours and would cost much the same as the cost of riding there so reluctantly geared myself up to ride to Quetta to pick up my Iranian via.

Spiti Valley

I got my Inline Permit in Kalpa, but only after a 6hour wait along with around 30 other travelers all wanting the same thing. It didn't help that there was another power cut so the computers in the office were out of action. Still, using the time wisely, some guys on rented Enfield Bullets showed me how to start and ride one which took a fair bit of getting used to, not least of all because the gear and brake levers are on the opposite side to regular bikes. Still, the Enfields look bloody sweet!

On the first day, I rode to Nako, a lovely little village way up in the mountains. On this side of the hills, I'm outside of the monsoon region so its nice and dry here, almost-like in fact. The people here are very friendly and no one bothers you either. I was going to set up my tent by the small lake I'd heard about, then found that you could rent a tent already kitted out with bed and light for 150Rs so I did just that. Not long after I arrived, a couple of guys turned up on Enfields, a Japanese guy and a bloke from Belgium. Soon after that, all three of us went looking for some local Hooch called Momo I think, made from local fruits and sugar. Eventually we got a litre for 80Rs and settled in for a good old night drinking and looking at the stars.

The following morning was very warm and I ended up getting a little sunburnt while we had breakfast outside. My new chums were heading in the opposite direction so I headed off towards Kaza. Again, I was treated to some more fantastic mountian views although the road was pretty bad in places having been taken out by landslides. I stopped off in Tabo to look at an old monastery (1000+ years and get some lunch. I happened to meet an older couple in a huge overland truck from Germany so ended up having lunch with them in the village. After lunch I went over to the bike and noticed someone had stolen my vent pipe which is connected to the filler cap- why! I make a mental note to put the alarm on at all times, even in supposedly quiet little villages such as this. I took a look at the monastery but it was so dark inside and I was pretty pissed off about the theft so I didn't stay too long. I made it to Kaza by evening but there I found out there would be no petrol till the following morning so I stayed put, having a fairly quiet night reading and listening to music.

I planned to camp by a lake the next night so bought a few supplies and set off for Chandratal Lake. After getting some petrol, I was fitting my GPS to its bracket when the antennae came off in my hand. I got it back on with the aid of some electrical tape, but suspect it's days are numbered. It's had a hard life after all, though I later decide that it was probably damaged by the same people who were messing around with the bike the day before. I find I'm in the mood for taking lots of pictures today as the scenery and weather are great. I even manage to take a few vidoes of myself riding, which I have to edit to cut out the running to and from the camera. I cross a high pass of 4550m, and on the way down the other side have my first puncture with the DR. I reckoned I'd just passed the turn off for the lake but couldn't go anywhere till I fixed it. I was on a narrow dirt/gravel road that zig-zagged steeply downwards and there was only room for one vehicle so got as close to the edge as I dared. I got out my kit which included a colapsable walking stick to lift the back wheel off the ground. I got out my poncho to use as a ground sheet when the wind caught it and blew it down to the next level so I just jumped over the edge and managed to catch it before it disapeared. Climbing back up wasn't so much fun at 4,300m though. It took 2 hours to get the wheel off, get the inner tube patched and put back together. In all that time, not one vehicle stopped to ask if I was ok except for a group of young Israeli girls who were walking back from camping at the lake.

Once I finally get moving again (it would have taken 5 minutes with my Beemers tubeless tires!) I head off the road to the track leading to the lake which turns out to be 15kms of very rough road with a few small rivers to cross for good measure. The track eventually stops a few hundred meters from the lake with a sign saying vehicles are allowed no further, but as I'm not going to leave the bike and luggage there nor lug what I need over to the lake, I ride over the stone barrier and on to the walking track. I find a spot on top of a hill overlooking the lake as I'd spied a few people camping lower down and didn't want to be Mr Moto spoling the peace and tranquility for the other campers. I got the tent set up for the first time on the trip and got my 2 minute noodles on the boil however at 4,300m, it took a fair bit longer than that to get hot. It was quite beautiful there, especially when the stars came out though it quickly became bloody freezing and I retreated to the warmth of my sleeping bag.


The next morning, I was up at 6am and packed and back on the track by 7am. I was frankly terrified I'd get another puncture on the way back but touch wood, the patches seem to have held. The road wound though a rugged valley for most of the day and I eventually found a place to stop for breakfast getting a potato gipati and coffee for 20Rs. The road to Manali turned and went up across the Rohtang Pass which was 4,000m and an utter bastard of a road. On the north side, it was fine because it was dry but on the south (and hence the monsoon side) it quickly became wet and muddy. It was also a very busy road and although the visibility was reduced to about 20m in the fog, very few drivers bothered to put on their lights, only adding to the excitement. I spotted a lot of foreigners on rented Enfields going up the hill, they're pretty popular round here and can be rente from Manali for around 500Rs per day. Still, despite their classic looks, I hope their brakes and tires were up to the task as the high pass road was mostly made up of slippery wet mud!

Run to the hills

Going north from Chandrigarh, the land starts rising as this is the start of the Himalayas. I really enjoyed the road as it turned and twisted up to the old hill station of Shimla although the traffic was still pretty bad. After getting myself into another overpriced hotel, I took a walk up to an area called The Mall which is a pedestrianised street with restaurants and shops. Immediately I liked the place because it was cooler, there were no touts around to bother me, the scenery was great and it was vaguely European, reminding me a little of Valpariso in Chile. Shimla was used to be the summer seat of the government during the Raj and you can still see quite a few colonial buildings dotted around.

I only stayed one night in Shimla and headed for Kalpa the following morning. After a while the traffic thankfully thinned out but the road was fairly crappy in places, particulary near the Hydro Electric plants by the river. The scenery was terrific though with very steep sided valleys and equally steep drops by the side of the road and I made it to Kalpa by 6pm. The staff at the hotel were very friendly, one guy was really cool and a bit eccentric, describing the Indians further south as Cro Magnon men and laughing when I told him about the staring people whenever I stop someplace. I knew I needed something called an Inline Permit to allow me to ride close to the Tibet border but hadn't figured that the next day being sunday, I wouldn't get it till monday. Nevermind, the view from the roof of the hotel was fantastic. I was looking at the sun setting on the mountains on the other side of the valley which were around 6400m high and quite something. I realised that this was what I'd been missing in the rest of India. Peace, quiet and great scenery.

I used my day off to good effect, cleaning the chain and finally getting round to marking up my clear plastic tank which involved draining it and filling it litre by litre with water and marking the levels. The permanent marker pen I'd bought turned out to be not so permanent and came off very easily. Not having any clear nail varnish to hand, I had to improvise and found Super Glue did the trick. My hotel was located at the top end of the village so I took a walk down to find some internet but 10 minutes into an email, the power went and that was that. So instead I found myself in a small cafe where there were a few other travellers and met a guy called Joe Sheffer who'd ridden an XT600 from the UK. This was all the more surprising as I'd seen some of his postings on Horizons Unlimited so knew a bit about him already. I didn't realise the bugger was only 19- where do they get the money at that age, thats what I want to know! By the time I eventually left, it was pitch black and I had to negotiate the very steep rocky path back up the hill where I discovered my headtorch batteries were on the way out.

Going North

Leaving Agra, I started having a few cramps in my gut which is usually the sign of something unpleasant about to happen. I was having visions of finding a bush to go behind while being surrounded by a circle of staring Indians asking more dumb questions ("please sir, what were you having for breakfast") when lo and behold, something I hadn't seen for quite a long time appeared- The Golden Arches. And immediately I thought, 'hmm, clean toilet'. When I got in there, (just think of Trainspotting), when you gotta go, you gotta go. But there was no loo roll and the little hose thing by the wc didn't seem to put out any water. No matter, no time! Just as I was thinking I'd be leaving the stall with one sleave less (like my mate Iain when we went mountian biking one time...), thank the Lord, the hose thing started working. Phew!

But it didn't end there. I was planning on riding to Chandrigarh bypassing Delhi, but somehow got routed right to the centre of the city. By this time, I really wasn't feeling right and it was incredibly hot (52 C) and the traffic was solid. When I finally got to the centre, I got off the bike and just sat on the kerb. I was feeling dizzy, weak and the stomach cramps were still there. As normal, the crowd of overly interested Indians soon arrived throwing a barage of useless questions at me, none of which I had the energy to answer. I managed a weak "S...otland" to which I heard, "ah, he's from Holland" but I didn't have the strength to correct them. I must have looked a right sight as eventually the dumb questions stopped and then I got some more usefull things like there was an air conditioned mall and tourist office nearby. I mustered up the strength to find some Ibuprofen and managed to get moving again. I'd thought of just staying in Delhi till I sorted myself out but I learnt that the cheap hostels were located in an area with narrow streets and likely as not, no parking. Instead I headed north in an attempt to get out the city. I stopped for some cold water and knocked back a litre in a few minutes. I started to feel better and decided that I probably didn't have malaria but it was more likely a combination of extreme heat and eating something a bit dodgy.

I finally made it to Changrigarh 11 hours later but still not feeling great. I'd read that the city was unusual for India as it was designed in a grid system by Le Corbusier however all I could think of when I got ther was "it looks like bloody Westerhailles!". Finding an overpriced hotel with no parking to speak of in the charmingly named Sector 22, I crashed out.

Varanasi & Agra

Varanasi is a bid dirty city. Well thats my first impression anyhow. The traffic on the way in is predictably horrible with everything on wheels or legs jostling for any bit of free space on the road. I'd been told about Hotel Buddha by the spanish overlander I'd met at the border so after way too much time pissing about, I finally found it with the aid of about 10 coppers, none of whom had a clue what I was asking. When I finally found it, I found the staff to be very helpful and as it turned out, their restaurant served up a pretty good curry though as they didn't have a licence, any beer I got needed to be covered in newspaper and hidden under the table.

The main thing to see in Varanasi is the Ganges river, the most polluted stretch of dirty brown water in the whole world by the sounds of things with something like 26 sewers discharging into it on a daily basis. I headed down there the following morning, followed most of the way by a very persistant rickshaw driver who couldn't comprehend that after riding for the last few days, I actually fancied walking somewhere. The area around the river consists of a medievil-style narrow streets where everthing is carried out in the smallest of spaces. It made me think of what Edinburghs High Street area might have been like about 500 years ago. Everything can be bought or repaired here it seems. A lot of Hindu's were queueing up to bathe in the dirty river and they even seemed quite excited about the prospect. I just hope no one had any open cuts....

As per normal, a young guy (who expressly said he was not a guide) started giving me a 'free' guided tour of the burning site. You can watch the funerals but not take pictures unlike at Kathmandu. Apparently Hundu's all want to be brought here when they die, some actually taking up residency in the nearby hospice in anticipation of the 'big day'. The kid showing me around said he worked at the hospice and I ended up giving an old lady who worked there a donation for 'fire wood' as some of the families can't afford the wood. I can't remember the name of the wood but its a good slow burner. The ritual is quite similar to that at Kathmandu but this time, I saw the bodies wrapped in colourful sheets being brought down to the river and the body was given a nice final 'drink' from the river with a family member putting handfulls of the foul liquid onto the deceased's mouth (I couldn't help thinking that they were probably pretty glad they were dead at this point...) After that, the fire was built and away they go. Its very interesting to watch though and we even went over to where the fires were buring where the heat was very intense. There are about 5 special types of deaths that don't require burning, just being weighted down with rocks and then getting chucked in to the river. These included Holy men, pregnant women, babies and those who dies from Cobra bites! The reason being that they've already reached 'Nirvana' apparently. And predictably, after my 'non-tour', my new friend asked for some cash or to come and look at the shirt factory where he actually worked but I declined both offers. I'd thought about staying an extra day but having got the river business out the way in the morning, I just got on with some bike maintenance in the afternoon and changed the oil and filter and headed off towards Agra the next day.

The road to Agra actually improved becoming a proper 4 lane highway with a central reservation. Only this being India, it didn't stop people driving down what we at home would call the 'overtaking lane' towards you in trucks, busses, motorcycles, bicycles, cows, goats etc despite there being a perfectly good set of lanes on the other side of the barrier which go in the direction they want to go. In the UK, you could have got a whole season of 'Police, Camera, Action' out of this lot. Its frankly bloody dangerous and you really can't allow yourself to relax into the ride whatsoever. Especially annoying are the people who push bicycles out onto the road without actually looking for any oncoming traffic, resulting in some fairly severe braking ("nah, he's not going to wander out in front of me is he, oh yes he is"- screech...!) followed by the 'horn and middle finger' combo which I have now perfected although usually they don't even turn round. On most roads, 600kms is a long day but in India, its a really bloody long and tiring day. How I made it in one piece to Agra I don't know but somehow I did.

As I'd been riding for 11 hours, it was dark by the time I got to Agra. It also didn't help that I wasn't exactly sure where I was going but I had taken the precaution of looking at someone elses guide book and noting that the cheap hotels were located just to the south of the Taj Mahal and luckily there were actually signs for the Taj. The area I ended up in also turned out to be under a power cut so while the streets were pitch black (bicycles with no reflectors, people, animals and lovely deep potholes abound...), every vehicle felt the need to drive with full beam on so I was practicaly blinded too. Getting to about 200m from the area where I belived the hotels to be, the bike decided to cut out as it was overheating. This has happened before and I knew I'd need to wait a few minutes before I would start again, and this gave the numerous touts the time to congregate around me in a very close circle and start asking me dumb questions and offering to take me to the shite hotel of their choice. Luckily the bike started quick enough before I started punching a few of them and then got myself into a hotel with off street parking.

Despite being totally knackered from the previous days ride, I got myself over to the Taj Mahal by 6am in theory to catch the sunrise but of course, there was nothing of the sort and it was a typically overcast day resulting in flat light. Despite this, I did enjoy doing my 'Diana with Beard pose for the camera in front of the Taj'. I spent probably around 1 1/2 hours walking around the site which was pretty incredible. Seeing as the Taj is one of the worlds greatest monuments to love, it would have perhaps been nicer to have shared this with a special someone, but despite the guards confiscating my tripod at the gates, I still managed to take some reasonable photos of myself...

India and the Border from Hell

Chaos. All around me is total chaos. It's pissing with rain, the traffic has built up to an incredible level and seems to go on for miles. There are trucks, cars, buses, motorbikes, cycles, animals, people -everything! All of which are intent on making as much noise as possible. On top of all this, the road has turned into a muddy bog, full of potholes, all of which are brimming with dirty brown water.

Welcome to the Nepal/Indian border! At the Nepal side, I meet a Spanish guy in a 4x4 also doing a RTW trip but in this rain, I'm jealous of his car right now. We chat for a bit and I find out he came through Afghanistan which is an interesting route. He said there wasn't much tourism there and frankly I'm not surprised! We get our Carnets and passports stamped out of Nepal and bid each other farewell as I was off to squeeze into the soggy traffic while he sat in his nice, dry car. As nothing appeared to be moving, I edged over to the left side of the line to see it I could get any further and I immediately encountered a deep muddy drainage ditch which I attempted to ride over- Big mistake! My front wheel lodged itself at the bottom. Fortunately a guy walking past agreed to get his hands dirty and we managed to get the bike over it. Shortly after, I had to ride though a very long brown puddle about 10m across and sure as shit, the bike stalled and I went over. I remembered my bike lifting training in Boulder, Colorado and got it upright straight away (thanks again Chris!).

After about 1/2 hour of pissing around like this, I finally found my way to the Indian Customs office. The office was quite dark and the ceiling fans were running at full pelt and I was greeted by a couple of officers with epaulets on their shirts and big mustaches and immediately asked to join them in a cup of chai so I figured I must really be in India. They were very methodical and all my details were written down slowly in longhand in an old fashioned ledger book. The tea arrived, delivered by someone I can only describe as the Customs office 'gimp', the nearest equivalent I can think of is poor old Baldrick in the Blackadder TV series. He was a wretched looking man in ragged clothing who after putting down the cups, sat back down in the corner of the room barefoot and stared at the wall. Later one of the officers wanted something else, so he shouted at Baldrick who meekly shambled over and set down the item. Straight away, the officer picked it up and moved it 6" to the left, putting it down with a irritated thump and his head gave a little wobble of disaproval.

Once I'd got the formalities out the way, I set off on the road south which frankly didn't impress me much. Again, the traffic was present and the condition of the road itself was just bloody awful. Every time I'd get up a bit of speed, a new, deeper pothole would rear up and I'd have to slam on the brakes. I took the smaller road thinking it might be quieter and although this was the case, it was a far worse road. The potholes count got far greater, the wandering animals increased and the driving standards plummeted. Yes, this really was India. By the end of the day, I reached Gopalganj, a small town of little interest but I'd been riding for 12 hours and had averaged 30kph all the way. Not a great result really.

Riding on roads like this. All day long.

I think someone was still stuck in this cab...

By now, this was becoming a familiar sight....

Exhausted, I rode into town and got the now familiar crowd of men standing around to stare at me when I stopped to ask for directions to a hotel. It was a basic place, not very clean and there were bugs walking all over the floor but beggars can't be choosy. The staff were really weird here too. Once I got into the room, all I wanted to do was shower and lay down, something I thought would have been perfectly obvious but my door was knocked on no less than 4 different times, each for utterly bizare reasons. The first was to check if I had any soap, then none arrived. The second, there were 4 men, 2 of which I'd seen before, the others I hadn't. One of the ones I didn't know said he's been staying in the room before and needed to 'check something' before trying o barge his way in. A brief 'get the fuck out my room' seemed to suffice but 20 minutes later I got yet another knock, this time asking if I wanted chai. When I said no, the then tried to offer me drugs. Finally, 2 more guys knocked again shortly after asking something equally bizzare, but all the time peering into my room. Although there was a restaurant in the hotel, given the cleanliness of the place and the thorough weirdness of the staff, I decided to forget dinner and stayed put, not leaving the room.

Kathmandu

Making new friends in Katmandu

I stayed in Kathmandu for a week in the end, mainly because I was waiting on my visa for Pakistan. I hung out with Nick, the Frenchman for a bit and it was good to have someone to go out and eat with for a few days. He was making a video documentary in Kathmandu about the street children and some of the footage I saw looked really professional so I hope it comes out well. Every morning while I was staying in Kathmandu, I got woken up by the large group of Japanese who congregated outside in the yard and began doing speeches which ended in regular applause. Not what you want at 6am I can tell you. Nick doesn't really like the Japanese. He told me a funny joke they have in France: A Japanese guy comes back from his holidays and his friend asks him 'so how was your holiday'. He replies ' I don't know, I haven't developed the pictures yet'.

The day before I planned to leave Kathmandu and see the something else of Nepal, I found out that the petrol situation hadn't got any better. While i was working on my bike, a guy at my hotel was going for petrol and said he'd keep a space in the queue for me. When I got there, the were literally hundreds of bikes and cars all over the place but somehow I was ushered into the front near the pumps. The little garage was expecting a delivery that afternoon and word had obviously got out. While waiting for the delivery, I was just chatting to some of the local guys who were very interested in my bike, especially my plastic fuel tank which they have an unbridled desire to tap all the time and while grinning say 'plastic?'. After a couple of hours, a dirty fuel tanker pulled up on the street, its horns blaring and the place went nuts. I couldn't fathom how they were going to get near the tanks to fill them up with all the traffic. Somehow, through the chaos of people and vehicles, enough people shouted seemingly random instructions and amazingly, a bit of space was cleared for the tanker. Once the tanks were filled and the tanker moved off without running anybody over, the pushing and shoving started but somehow I got served after about 20 minutes. I even got a full tank which was impressive given the locals were restricted to 5L each. After this episode, I decided to head to India as I couldn't face doing this every time I need to fill up which is normally every day

"Just popping out for some petrol, I'll be back some time tomorrow"

I needed to get a Letter of No Objection from the UK embassy to go with my application which cost me 4,930Rs for a 4 line letter- the bastards! I eventually got my Pakistan visa, though despite telling me to come back on Thursday morning, they told me to come back again the next day. Grrrr- As I'd already packed up and left my hotel at this point, I managed to convince them to give me it later that day. So to fill in 3 hours, I went to Pashupatinath which is a holy Hindu site. I watched to cremations being carried out by the river which was pretty fascinating. The body is laid out on a wooden base on a stone plinth by the river. The priest is the guy who does all the preparing while the male members of the family gather. No female family members are allowed as being the delicate things they are, history has it that when a woman's husband died, the wife tended to throw herself on the funeral pyre given that her life was no longer worth living, hence 'no women allowed'. The eldest son also has to shave his head and face beforehand, then the fire is started using embers which continually burn as no matches or lighters are allowed. It takes a few hours for the body to pretty much disappear though certain bones may remain i.e. breast bones of males and pelvises of women. Once it has been mostly reduced to ash the whole lot is rather unceremoniously brushed off into the river. This place was actually the site of the cremations for the murdered members of the Royal Family a few years back.

And in to the river with the ashes

After getting my visa, I rode over to the east of the city to Bhaktapur , an old town but they wanted 750Rs for tourists so seeing that was half my daily budget, I rode on to the hills further east. Unfortunately its the rainy season so there is a lot of cloud cover and I figured that I probably wasn't going to see Everst off in the distance and decided to head for the Indian border to the south. The traffic around Kathmandu is basically bloody awful but at least it started to clear the further away I got. As KTM is in a valley, the road south winds up into the mountains and is pretty slow going as it twists and turns all over the place.


I met a German cyclist on the road who was fun to talk to and we agree to try and stay at the next village though when I get there, I'm told there is nothing so unfortunately we don't hook up as I have to keep on going till I find something in Palung, luckily just before dark. I take a small room with a family though there is a young guy in the room when I'm shown it. When I question the father about whether I'm getting a single room, the son is turfed out. The toilet downstairs is filthy and I try to hold my breath for as long as I can but its never possible and resort to breathing through my t-shirt which frankly doesn't smell much better but at least it doesn't smell like a rank toilet. The guys young daughters are good fun, though practicing their English on me while I eat my dinner. I was up early the following morning and left at 6.40am which is pretty good for me. I mainly didn't want to stay and use the toilet again though. The road started descending from about 2,500, though there was lots of rain and cloud so I coudn't enjoy the views for most of it. From Palung, it took around 4 hours to reach the Indian border and thats when the fun really began...