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...