Back to Blighty...well, almost

11/08/2005 Casablanca to Gibraltar

Well, where to start again. Been too long since last blog. Forgive me blogger for I have sinned, it has been several weeks since my last blog. Back in a rather temperate and quiet version of blighty just now. Gibraltar seems, at least to us freshly returned from " The Dark Continent" to be a place of wonder and complete civilisation. OK, it may have only been a few days that we were away from it, but to return is something wonderful and refreshing...even as I write this at 2am in the Hotel Foyer.

The ride from Casablanca was sadly quite dull, being mostly motorway for the greater part of the 220 miles before Tanger and the ferry back to Europe. Passing through Casablanca was quite hair-raising with no real form of roadmanship, and with the horn being much in favour of mirrors or indicators. A large proportion of the traffic was made up of "Petit Taxis", most of which were beaten up looking Peugeout 205's or Fiat Punto's painted red and with large roof-racks on top. Almost all of these little cabs bore the scars of many a previous encounter with some clearly larger and tougher vehicles.

Along the motorway were host of intersting and amusing vehicle to take our mind off the monotony of what were distressingly straight roads. There were the ubuiquitous white Taxi cabs which seemed to stop where ver there was a stray person on the roadside, who would then cram in amongst whoever was already there. There were the Moroccon holiday makers returning home to France, Belgium, or Holland with their vehicles fully loaded and another load quite literaly on top of that on an oversized roof-rack generally covered in a brightly coloured tarpaulin or canvas. Then there were the cattle trucks. You see cattle trucks in the uk from time to time, and the animal lovers amongst you probably tut and tsk at the horrendous conditions at which the cows or sheep or pigs are being subjected to. Imagine then, if you will, a heavily loaded and rather beaten up old Ford Transit van, with an oversized roof-rack and half a dozen dazed looking cows aboard, cruising down the motorway. No time for animal rights here it seems. The beasts were lashed by their noses to the rack and presumably, though we never ventured to that side of the vehicle, by their posterior quarters too. At one stage we saw a man sitting, legs dangling over the motorway, atop a speeding truck full of such beasts, with seemingly no care for falling to his death on the motorway below.

Arriving at Tanger Port we were directed by a badged and uniformed man into a siding before we had chance to purchase our tickets. Aware that we had the choice of several ferry companies, a couple of possible routes and a fast or slow service we had been keen to secure ourselves the best possible price for our ticket. We were haranged into parking where we didnt really want to, whisked along with a badged "official" into a ticket office, proccesed, charged and dispateched on the opposite side within a few minutes. Non of the advertisments in the office seemed to display our chosen route of Tanger-Algeciras however, and our "official" seemed to me to be keeping the tickets from our gaze. The ads all pointed to the ferry going to Tarifa, which while only 20 miles down the coast wasn't where we wanted to be.

We were whisked out of the office and instructed to follow our "official" down to passport control, where I caught a glimpse of the tickets which apearred to say "Tarifa". After much discussion, Steve was left in the Passport stamping queue, and I was taken back to the ticket office where our tickets were duly stamped "Algeciras". I still wasnt entirely happy, all the ads in the office had pointed to a ferry to Tarifa and a coach connection to Algeciras, but we had a stamp and the ticket office guy spoke good English and we'd asked him already.

Walking back up to the passport stamping queue our "official" said "Now you give me good tip and I go", something we had become used to in Morocco even after our brief stay. I politely declined several times before he took on a look of being hugely ill done by and shrunk off into the crowd. We waited almost an hour for the passport stamping procedure, then proceded to board the ferry. By far the poshest we had encountered so far, it was a huge trimaran that would make the crossing in 35minutes we were promised, though exactly to where we weren't sure. There was some comotion in the queue as we were ushered to the front, almost resulting in fisticuffs as one particularly irate Moroccan lept out of his car to confront the ferry worker who'd let us squeeze to the front.

Once on the ferry we got our customary drink of one Coke, one water each and retired to the aft deck to watch Africa slip away behind us and Europe appear off the Port bow. Chatting to an English couple on deck it became even clearer we'd been sold a duff ticket as they expected to be returning to Tarifa where they had left their car that morning. Arse. However, Tarifa was a lovely place, once we'd cleared Customs and Passport Control where I thourough going over by a sniffer dog and for the first time had to remove and open my panniers and top-box. My jar of Marmite sailed cleanly through however.

The road from Tarifa to Gibraltar was the first time in a couple of days that we'd actually had to go round any corners so was quite refreshing despite fuming that we'd been sent 30 miles down the coast from where we wanted to be. Passing into Gibraltar however was quick and painless and proved to be something of a culture shock after Morocco. The traffic lights and street signs looked huge. Not because they were oversized, but simply becuase we didnt have to stare and squint at them as we had done for the past weeks to glean the information we needed. Everything was in English, and it was all far too easy. Our brains had become accustomed to disecting every sign and trying to pick out relevant information from it but there was no need here. It was all far too easy.

We stopped outside a Natwest Bank, Steve withdrew some £ Sterling and I called home. My mum and dad had offered to put us up in Gibraltar for the night. I'd been keen to find our own camping, but on getting here a hotel bed for the night had seemed like an increasingly good option and there were no campsites signed anywhere. Arriving at The Rock Hotel Gibraltar, we felt very out of place.

Climbing the marble steps to the resption, our dusty boots and bike gear seemed totally incongruous with the surroundings. The first smart receptionist directed us to the second, when I said my father had been in contact. The second receptionist was on the phone. After a few seconds we realised he was on the phone to my Dad! We waited and chatted to one of what was by now one of the customary observers that always seemed to gather around the bikes wherever we stop. An Ex-Army chap, he asked us our route and before we had finished explaining, launched into details of his own trip "back in '74, hitch hiking through Portugal" whereupon any further explanation of our trip seemed irrelevant. We stood for a while while he told us of his near death experiences, unable to get a word in edgeways. He drifted off and we checked in to the very lap of luxury.

By any standards a 4 Star Hotel might be considered luxurious, but after 6 weeks on the road and the last 4 nights in Morocco, this was almost too much. The room was large and spacious, there was a brightly white-tiled bathroom, power shower, sit-down toilet (with paper and not just a tap or half filled plastic water bottle) and soft, clean white towels. Not to mention the monogrammed robes. The balcony, or maybe terrace would be a better description, was as large or larger than the space where we have erected 2 tents and parked 2 large motorcycles on several occasions, and with a commanding view over the harbour and the Straits of Gibraltar. As luck would have it we arrived late in the evening and so caught a great sunset over the ships coming and going. Steve, on arrival, immediately stripped and donned his capacious white robe and strutted onto the terrace sporting a large cigar and glass of whisky to celebrate the birth of his first nephew, Henry Thomas, born today in the early hours while we toiled and sweated through Africa.

Walking through Gibraltar town was almost like stepping back in time. Well, I imagine so anyway, never having actually done it of course. Its what I imagine middle England to be like in the 50's or 60's, kind of like Heartbeat but without Nick Berry. It was also pretty much deserted as we arrived at the first Pub en-route just before 10pm. Just in the nick of time we ordered pie and chips and a pint of (almost) proper beer to wash it down, then a few more to wash those down too. We strolled back towards our humble accomodation with a policeman. Not just any policeman mind, but a proper Bobby on the beat. A Scouser, he had the arduous task of patrolling almost 400 yards of closed souvenir shops along cobbled streets, protecting the Gibraltese (?) populous from the scurge of every modern town...a plague of Fruit Machine robbers who'd been taking extra advantage of the £2,500 Jackpot on some of the machines. However, on our leisurely stoll back along the beat we saw no evidence of these bandits - one armed or otherwise.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
08/08 - 10/08 Fes & Fes to Casablanca

Casablanca a city, we were told, of some 6,000,000 inhabitants received us in unaccustomedly temperate style. After the baking climate of Fes and the ride there, the 26c shown on road gantry's and electronic signs outside shops seemed positively cool. Indeed, the ride from Fes had, at times, been almost cold. Utter luxury we thought as not to break a sweat during a ride was by now something very unusual indeed. Might even get another day out of those socks! After several sets of directions and mis-directions we were led to a campsite by a French motorist at the South side of the city.

There was a hand-operated barrier blocking the dusty entrance to the site, and the elderly chap there told us in a mixture of unintelligable languages and mime, that the managment of the site were out to lunch, or maybe asleep, and might return sometime in the next 3 hours whereupon he might allow us entry to the site. The French motorist had led us to believe that there may be another site close by so we rode on, hoping for better luck, but on finding noting but dusty roads and car parks we returned to the original site "Camping Les Desert" to try our luck again. In our own mixture of unintelligable language and mime we described to the gate-keeper that we would like to go in and pitch our tents, then pay when the managment saw fit to return. This however was not acceptable to the officious old bastard. I wasn't in the mood to be held up by some cantanquerous old git but had no choice but to sit in the shade of the office and wait it out. I took out my book, but before having time to find my place we had gathered the usual crowd of curious onlookers. A bunch of young girls had gathered and were asking in amix of Arabic, French and English what were our names and presumably what we were up to. They were good company and happy souls, and before long the managment arrived back from lunch, processed us through the books and we were finally allowed to pass into the site.

It seems there's 3 or 4 people for every job in Morocco. In fact sometimes there are 2 or 3 people where there needn't be any at all. We were led by a dusty looking chap to a series of unsuitable pitches, ranging from right by the gates which we feared may be too noisy, to right outside some kind of holiday chalet which we feared may be too noisy, and finally to a fairly spacious pitch under a couple of small shade trees which seemed like just the spot. No sooner had we unfurled our tents, then the music started. Or musics perhaps. It was after all, our "guide" in Fes had explained the Moroccan holidays, and clearly everyone on this site was very much on holiday. Our guide had said there was a lot of camping in Morocco, but not like we were camping. They did it big style and stayed for weeks on end in one spot.

Their tents, big frame tents, were surrounded by compounds of bamboo fencing. They had proper kitchens and fridges, and most noticably huge stereos. The ones that didn't have huge stereos had cars with huge stereos, with which they appeared to have a running competetion with the others, each in a vain and ever increasing attempt to drown out the other.

However, the tents went up quickly, pegs were bashed and bent into the ground amidst much cursing, "trunks" were donned and we headed off for our first dip in the Atlantic. And surprisingly and pleasantly warm it was too. There were small ocean rollers breaking over a little sand bar and it was the perfect refreshment, and one of the longest spells we've spent in the sea so far. The beach was fairly crowded with holiday makers, many of whom had erected big sun-shades on the beach. Not like the little ones you see on UK beaches, but big gazebos. As with much of Turkey, the Moroccans seem unable to dispose of their litter. Beautiful beaches are marred by piles of rubbish discarded rather than put in a bin. Mind you, there are no bins! That would be a good place to start I guess. Even on the roads though people just chuck their litter out of the car windows. Madness.

Returning from the beach we sought out the toilet block to cleanse ourselves of the days road-film and sea salt. The "gents" was a large squarish open-roofed room made mostly of concrete blocks. There were what looked like a few shower cubicles, which although with no door or curtain seemed like just the job. In each one there was a hole in the wall where you might have expected a shower head, and a small brass tap below like you'd fit in your garden to attach your hose to. The holes in the wall were dribbling slightly as we disrobed, or dis-shorted and turned the taps. Nothing. In fact, even the dribble stopped! Poking our heads back out to the main area, we saw a group of 5 or 6 young boys probably between 8 and 12 all in their swimming trunks taking it in turns to hose each other down with a long length of yellow tube attached to the cold water tap, in fact the only working tap, from one of the wash-troughs. There was nothing else for it. When in Rome and all that. They seemed more than happy to hose us off, while we quickly applied shower gel and washed off as much salt as possible in the shortest possible time. They seemed totally unfazed by it, more than likely a daily occurence to them it was something rather unusal for us!

We rode into Casablanca in the evening in search of a good meal and some sights. We had a meal and saw bits of the city. There seemed to be no discernable centre however and the meal wasn't entirely what we'd hoped for. The traditional Tagine was rather bland in comparison to some of the more highly spiced dishes we'd become used to. There was an internet cafe up the road from the restaurant, but after deciding to settle in for a long evenings blogging the connection was down and we had to leave it. Returning to the bikes we found another self-appointed "Guardian".

It appears that everyone is out to make a buck from foreigners in Morocco. Huge generalistaion I know but so it seems. Wearing a dusty blue overall, this youth hovered around the bikes as we sorted ourselves out, finally coming out with some well practised English "Hey Mister, you give me money!" as we were about to leave. I politely declined, which it seems is the best thing to do.

How to describe Fes?! I guess first thing to do is to split it in 2. The "New Town" is, as the name suggests, mostly modern 20th century building and architecture of the local style (if style is the word) with something approximating a street layout that makes sense and almost a discernable centre.

The old town is something quite different. Stepping out of the "Petit Taxi" and following our "guide" through the old arch was, again, like stepping back in time. Back to dark ages almost. You could quite imagine those same streets 500 years ago and more when (we were told) the city was founded and not a lot appears to have changed. The tiny streets were packed with people going about their business, buying and selling in shops and souks, working in the (unfathomably stinking) tannery softening and dying camel, goat, sheep and cow skins and making bags, shoes, hats, wallets and everything else imaginable from them.

There were the ubuiquitous carpet shops, spice shops and other shops which presumably made most of their trade from tourists. As we entered, led by our trusty guide, lights would be flicked on and all the wares displayed for our perusal. Even if we'd wanted to buy things our limited luggage space on the bikes prohibited all but the smallest of purchases. Some of the streets were dimly lit. Some of the streets were not lit at all, and there was rarely a paved or even surface to walk on. Our guide, having lived there for 24 years, set a cracking pace with which we were barely able to keep up. Again rubbish, sandbags for building work and old perishable goods littered the streets. Sometimes, down a dimly lit alley, the rubbish would move and there would be a scrawny cat, sometimes a scrawny figure of a man sleeping quite literally in the gutter. There were people riding donkeys through the streets, stalls selling everything imaginable from barbecued corn on the cobs to Sony TV's.

The old town of Fes contains more than 350 mosques, our guide told us, and as evening turned to night the sound of prayer rang out all around us. It didn't seem so intrusive as that as we had experienced in Turkey, and likewise the mosques themselves were less stylised, without the huge pointed towers, favouring instead simple rectangular towers.

It had been a hectic day for me. The better part of the day was spent in the workshop of Ali (with the emphasis on the "li"), diagnosing and repairing, after a fashion, the problem with my bike. Literally on arrival at Fes, my bike had coughed, spluttered and finally died.

We'd ridden 207 miles through the desert, on winding mountain roads and through dusty villages in temperatures of 48c and no doubt more. I'd been feeling the heat that day. No amount of water seemed to rehydrate me, each stop we'd take on a litre and a half which by the next stop would be contained in my socks, trousers and t-shirt, leaving large tide marks of salt. Just as the bike was breathing its last breaths, a little bike appeared next to me and the unhelmetted, shaven headed rider shouted over " You want a nice hotel, 3 stars, with air conditioning and a swimming pool? Its a good price, not expensive?! Follow me!" With which he rode off as I coasted to a stop on what seemed quite a busy dual carriageway.

I thought I'd simply run out of fuel, so switched to reserve, but still the bike wouldn't go. It would've been unusual to run out as normally I'd have another 40 miles or so in the tank before reserve and invariably Steve runs out before me anyway, so I thought maybe the ridiculous temperatures had caused some fuel to evaporate. No such luck. After a few tries it was clear it wasn't going to go. Our friend on the little bike reappeared and we sent him off again saying we'd try and fix the bike.

I backed it down the road a bit and then up onto the kerb and under a shade tree. Having a look around I saw that there was a pipe off the engine. Looked like just a breather pipe which shouldn't cause such trouble, but I dont know enough to rule that out. Couldn't see where it should reattach, so off came the luggage, out came the spanners and screwdrivers and off came the tank. The pipe was duly reattached , but still the engine wouldn't fire. That was it, my technical knowledge had run out and when the bald-biker appeared again and offered to fetch us a recovery truck which would take us to a hotel where in the morning the Honda mechanic would fix the bike it seemed like just the very job.

The truck duly appeared and my bike was precariously winched (by hand) aboard and even more precariously strapped down. I rode in the cab with the driver with Steve following on behind, the drivers assistant watching over the bike (though quite what he'd do if it moved was beyond me) and our newly appointed guide on his little Suzuki leading the way. The bike was dismounted outside the Hotel Errabie, even more precariously than it was loaded and secured in an alley next to the hotel.

The room was cheap at 200 Dirham (20 Euro) per night, and had a little bathroom with shower. Luxury it seemed. There was however no air con as promised and the night was uncomfortably. Still unable to rehydrate properly our beds were soaked with sweat by the morning.

As arranged, Ali arrived at 10am. I was concerned.

The bike which carries you (up to now) 8000 miles through desert, up mountains and along motorways is a precious thing. If something's wrong you want a specialist. To me it looked like I'd gone to the Doctor with an ingrowing toenail and been referred to the butcher next door. Ali arrived on a smoky and battered scooter, with a dirty t-shirt stretched over his large belly, oily jeans and well worn sandals. He set about examining the patient with our guide translating all the while. No tools were brought which concerned me further and Ali made use of my small selection, dismantling half the bike, disconecting fuel hoses sending fuel pouring over the ground and finally roughly removing the fuel tank, snapping off the fuel tap in the process.

Nevertheless, after much toing and froing and with a few lengths of blue wire which appeared from somewhere he'd rewired the fuel pump direct to the battery. Unfortunately my battery was flat after so much attempted starting so we swapped it out with Steves and after a couple of attempts the bike fired back into life. A proper repair apparently could only be affected back at Ali's workshop so I followed him and the guide back there and the bike was backed down a steep ramp and through a tiny doorway into a small workshop.

Reassuringly there were tools on the wall, in some sort of order and pictures of bikes pasted to the walls. Maybe he knew what he was doing after all. 3 or 4 hours passed while Ali toiled with various relays and wires, surfacing every now and again to declare via our guides translation that "this is the problem!" and holding up some relay or other that he's pulled out of somewhere, before reassessing and refitting and burying his head in the wiring again. Eventually the root of the problem appeared to be a dodgy wire with a tiny and frail looking connector beneath the fuel tank that supplied power to the fuel pump. This he sharply snipped off with a huge pair of shears more suited to trimming wool from a sheep and produced and alternative from his box of tricks.

"Another one like this you will not find in all the world" translated our guide as Ali, beaming through his own genius, produced a little electrical connector of the type you might wire a lamp with. One of those little plastic ones with the screw connectors. Anyhow, seemed to do the job. The bike was reassembled, Ali fashioned a crude fuel tap to replace the one he'd snapped off and I was despatched, with our guide as pillion, for the test ride. 200 yards up the road the bike died again.

Ali had forgotten to turn back on the fuel tap, and my recently half recharged battery wouldn't start the bike again so the guide flagged down a passing scooter to relay the message back to Ali who turned up a few minutes later. Fortunately I'd come to rest at the top of a bit of a slope and Ali leapt at the chace, hopped on the bike and with a push from another onlooker was off down the road, the bike bursting back into life. He then disappeared into the distance. I was left with the guide standing in the baking heat.

5 minutes passed and Ali was nowhere to be seen. No probs I thought, he'd told stories of riding a Tenere, a similar bike, so I imagined he'd be off getting a bit of a charge back into the battery. We retired to the shade and another 10 minutes passed. I was getting concerned.

Coming over the hill I heard the failiar sound of the big Twin engine and before we could get out of the shade back to the roadside Ali shot past, standing on the pegs. Moments later he circled back and declared the bike fit and well. But of course he had to demonstrate. I was instructed to hop on the back while he showed me it was working fine. I jumped on, donning my helmet, and with shorts, t shirt and sandals for protection off we sped.

Ali was like a man possessed. Using the customary "horn instead of mirrors or indicators technique" we shot through the new town centre and out onto the ring road. I'm not a fan of pillion, I've maybe done it 2 or 3 times in my life and have hated it each time. Maybe I'm a control freak, but I think riding pillion requires a lot of trust. Usually at least the rider is someone you know. Usually you know they're a decent rider, usually you know they know the bike. Not so now.

Here I was, shorts, t shirt and sandals hanging on for dear life as someone I didn't know rode my bike, a bike they didn't know through busy streets at speeds I wouldn't have ridden myself. I'm not sure whethere the horn technique was to urge traffic out of the way or to attract as much attention to Ali riding a big bike fast through his city. We stopped for some water and shared the big bottle out of a plastic cup which when the bottle was half gone I was instructed to carry. The cup was wedged into the instruments and off we sped again.

Out beyond city limits I began to worry. Not least because we we now reaching speeds of 100mph, but because I felt at any moment I might be cast off and ALi would speed off with my bike, either intentionally or otherwise. At one point, lurching over the second speedbump at 80mph both my feet came off the footpegs and I let out an involuntary yelp. Ali turned round and laughed at me as I urged him to slow down. Barely without slowing we shot off the road and down a dirt track under some dense trees. A track no doubt leading to the slaughterhouse of unsuspecting tourists I felt.

Still doing 40 or 50mph we bumped along, over tree trunks, down a dry river bed and finally there it was before me.

Green Diamond Camping. And a lovely place it was too, swimming pools, grass and everything. Clearly we'd taken the back way in. As we rejoined the main road a black Mercedes pulled alongside and asked us for directions. Ali spent the next 1/4 of a mile looking into the car while still riding and passing on the route. As the car pulled away, and still riding, he grabbed the plastic cup, turned round and asked me to fill his glass. I hadn't dared to loosen my grasp on the bars, and had had to carry the bottle too so politely requested that he stop while we had a drink. Very refreshing it was too.

I explained that he may be riding a little quickly for me and the ride back to the workshop was slightly less terrifying than the ride out there. Once again I was despatched for a test ride with the guide as pillion and this time returned without trouble. The trouble began when it came to paying though. Various prices kept cropping up, each one higher then the previous. He had done almost a full days work on the bike but it seemed he was out for what he could get. After about on hour of arguements, a visit to the main shop and Ali's Boss, back to the hotel and our guide offering to fight him or call the police Ali was despatched with 1300 Dirham for his trouble, a fair price indeed I thought.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
07/08 Nador(ish), Morocco TBC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

06/08 Isla Plana to Almeria TBC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
05/08 Las Cassas TBC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
03/08 & 04/08 Barcelona, Spain TBC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
02/08 Soldeau, Andorra TBC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
01/08 Valras Plage, France TBC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
30/07 & 31/07 Monistrol d'Allier, France TBC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
29/07 Nice/Monaco TBC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
28/07 La Spezia, Italy TBC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
26/07 & 27/07 Lido di Oste, Rome, Italy TBC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
25/07 Sicily, Ferry, Napoli, Pompeii TBC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
23/07 & 24/07 Mussomeli, Sicily TBC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
22/07 Ali Therma, Sicily TBC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
20/07 & 21/07 Ferry Cesme to Brindisi TBC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
19/07 Cesme, Turkey TBC

Bearıng up under pressure

16/07 Aızonoı Temple of Zeus to Denızlı, Turkey

Somehow, ınexplıcably after our unplanned lay over ın Thesalonıkı we're a day ahead of ourselves, so hangıng out here before movıng onto Cesme and the ferry to Italy tomorrow.

Pumakkale ıs the place often seen on Turkısh tourısm ads wıth natural whıte clıff pools of hot volcanıc water. There's also a Roman baths wıth crystal clear water and old fallen columns ın the bottom. Parts of ıt are 5m deep but ıt looks lıke you could stub your toe on any of the columns the water ıs so clear. One of the columns had come to rest on another and we were able to swım under ıt - very Tomb Raıder!

We pulled up at the fırst campsıte we saw. It looked closed to begın wıth, but there were sıgns of lıfe and we eventually pıtched up to the rear of a restaurant and pool.

It was a very easy rıde here, borderıng on dull even, often wıth the road stretchıng straıght ahead of us for mıles towards the horızon. The secenery was nıce though, open plaıns and rollıng plaıns ıntead of dusty decrepıt towns lıke the day before.

We walked around the Temple of Zeus after breakfast. The owner and guıde showed us books and brochures that told of a huge Roman cıty wıth Amphıtheatres, markets. colonnaded streets and dams. As we packed the bıkes up the owners son leaned over the fence wıth a tray of Coffee for us. Moments later he reappeared wıth a plate of fresh bread, spread thıck wıth salty butter.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

15/07 Istanbul to Aızonoı, Turkey

After a 'Full Turkısh' breakfast consıstıng of bread, olıves, cheese, tomato, sausage and some black tea taken on the roof terrace of our Pensıon we packed and headed out of the cıty. Gettıng out was a complıcated and stressful affaır, wıth local drıvers favourıng theır horn rather than mırror or ındıcators.

We eventually found our way out and onto open roads agaın, headıng East towards Ankara then turnıng South towards our randomly chosen mıd poınt between Istanbul and Denızlı. We'd spotted a green star denotıng a 'sıte of ınterest' on the map ın the general area we wanted to be so headed for that.

I wasn't ınto the rıde today at all. I just felt I couldn't be bothered for some reason. I wasn't lookıng around at the scenery or anythıng, ıt was a real head-down attıtude of get where we're goıng and go back to bed. Dusty, dırty, unfınıshed, poor-lookıng towns passed us by, theır maın roads often nothıng more than dırt tracks where there eıther was no road or, lıke the buıldıngs ıt was sımply unfınıshed.

We were headıng down a hıll when suddenly the bıke felt all wrong. I hadn't been concentratıng to much but I woke up double quıck. The front wheel was weavıng around for some reason. Dumpıng the throttle on the downhıll stretch had lıttle effect as we were doıng about 60. Then I saw ıt, there was oıl all over the road. Not just a lıttle patch, but a good 50 yard stretch ahead of us. The bıke was goıng mad, and I felt sure I was goıng to come off. It was goıng to hurt, I was stıll doıng about 50. I looked up and saw Steve havıng the same trouble, before poppıng back onto 'dry land' and straıghtenıng out. I got as much weıght over the tank and held onto ıt untıl back onto the tarmac agaın.My heart was poundıng. It was about as close as I'd come to ever havıng a proper 'off', and about as close as I want to get.

We stopped for coffee a lıttle later and as usual were quıckly surrounded by curıous locals. Wıth much poıntıng to the map and mıme, we establıshed we were on the rıght track. The cafe owner would not accept payment for the coffees, and would no doubt be somethıng of a celebrıty hımself for havıng had us ın hıs cafe! We clearly were well off the beaten track.

We pulled out of the cafe and up a smooth hıll out of town. Around the bend was a Polıce car and we were flagged down. 'Drıvıng Lıcence' saıd the Offıcer, so I stepped off the bıke and rummaged for my documents. 'Robert' he saıd, readıng my lıcence 'Problem...77kmh...Radar 88kmh...92,000,000 YTL' I protested as I had seen no roadsıde cameras, the other guy ın the cop car had no camera or radar and there were even no road sıgns ındıcatıng a speed lımıt.

He gave the4 same speach to Steve and as he was doıng so a blue Renault 19 pulled ın behınd us. 'Here...radar' saıd the Cop as a Polıce Sergeant stepped out of the car. We were beckoned over and there ınsıde was the radar devıce and a vıdeo monıtor, and there we were! A great shot of us pullıng away up the hıll, headlıghts blazıng. A faır cop guv ındeed.

We duly paıd our fınes and as our tıckets were beıng wrıtten out the Sergeant compares the strıpes on hıs shırt wıth those on my jacket...they were the same! As Steve recıeved hıs tıcket, I took a pıcture of hım and the 'arrestıng offıcer', hıs arm around Steves shoulder as he proudly held up the tıcket.

Strangely as we pulled away agaın I felt a lıttle better, ıt had been an amusıng ıf costly experıence! We were back out onto the open road when ıt started to raın. Really raın. It was hammerıng ıt down, and wıth our summer gear about as waterproof as asıeve we were quıckly soaked to the skın. Our vısors steamed up and the roads turned really slıppery. I was begınnıng to sınk back ın mood agaın when I saw a Sılver Audı ahead wıth one taıl lıght out. The rear plate was yellow and I thought ıt mıght be Dutch as we had seen a few of those ın the last day or two.
As we pulled closer, preparıng to overtake a head popped out the wındow and looked back at us. The face broke ınto a smıle and I notıced the UK plates on the car....another Brıt!

As we passed the guy leanıng out the passenger wındow waved furıously and shouted encouragements. Mınutes later they came past us agaın, thıs tıme the mıddle aged drıver leanıng out beamıng from ear to ear, gıvıng us the thumbs up and lookıng genuınely pleased and surprısed to see us. I felt the same for some reason and ıt lıfted my mood agaın, despıte beıng soaked through.

We arrıved at the 'Sıte of ınterest' marked on the map not knowıng what to expect. Followıng the sıgns for Aızanoı we passed through another dusty vıllage wıth an out of place lookıng bank on the corner sportıng a shıny new lookıng cash machıne. We rode over what was sıgned as a 2C AD Roman Brıdge and pulled up opposıte the Temple of Zeus.

We approached someone lookıng lıke they were ın charge and asked ıf there was any campıng locally. We had seen no sıgns for campıng anywhere all day so I wasn't holdıng out much hope. Speakıng ın a mıx of German and Englısh the owner swept hıs hand over a dusty fıeld behınd the Temple and saıd ' You can stay ın my garden!' No further encouragement needed. We pıtched camp ın the shadow of the Temple and rode back ınto town for supplıes.

After a heart dınner of rıce and an assortment of more unıdentıfıed yet tasty meats we retıred for an early nıght about 10pm. About 10.10pm evenıng prayer began. The speakers on the towers of the Mosques blarıng out theır sıng-song chants. Quıckly we were surrounded by prayers from 2 or 3 more Mosques that we hadn't seen on the rıde ın. Lıghtnıng flıckered and thunder rumbled and along wıth the prayers made for dıffıcult sleep.

Around 11pm some locals turned up and began a noısy game of football under the floodlıghts of the Temple. There was much laughıng and jokıng and belchıng, perhaps alcohol fuelled, but theır game was cut short about mıdnıght when the heavens opened. Once agaın ıt seemed lıke we had storms all around us. Lıghtnıng flashed on all sıdes of us, lıghtıng up the tents and the thunder clashed noısıly above us. The raın got heavıer and heavıer, drummıng on the tents and drownıng out all but the rumblıng thunder.

I was dozıng off around 1.30 when I heard Steve shout ' Rob, Rob...the bıke's gone!!'
The what?! I scrambled out of my sleepıng bag and ınto some clothed and shoes. I clambered out of the tent ınto the raın and looked round for my bıke. There ıt was lyıng on ıts sıde. The dusty fıeld where we had pıtched our tents had become a muddy quagmıre. The bıke had sunk ınto the mud and fallen over under ıts own weıght onto Steves tent, mıssıng hıs head by ınches.

Steve clımbed out of hıs tent, lookıng around for ınterlopers who mıght have pushed the bıke over. What he had saıd was 'Rob, Rob...the bıke's down!'. Black Bıke Down. We struggled wıth ıt ın the raın and slıppy mud before gettıng ıt back uprıght on the second attempt. A quıck ınspectıon ın the dark revelaed no damage and we went back to bed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 14/07 Alexandropoulı. Greece to Istanbul, Turkey

An easy rıde of 20 mınutes or so found us at the Turkısh border. We passed out of Greece unhındered and ınto a sort of no-mans land between the two countrıes. Guards wıth machıneguns lıned the brıdge and nodded as we passed.

We showed our passports to the fırst Turkısh offıcıal who brıefly looked them over and handed them back to us. As we put our gear back on to rıde away he shouted at us to move along. I stopped round the corner to re-tıe a loose strap andagaın we were moved along by an armed guard.

Round another corner there was yet another check-poınt, thıs tıme a bıg one. The guy ın the fırst wındow looked at our passports, saıd 'Vısa' curtly and poınted to another kıosk at the far end of the complex. We rode down there and asked at that wındow for the vısa, whıch we already knew we'd have to buy to gaın entry. Thıs tıme we were sent ınto the maın buıldıng to a small offıce. The guy behınd the desk was arguıng wıth someone who appeared to have huge amounts of cash ın varıous dıfferent currencıes. Then agaın ıt mıght have just been a Fıver ın Turkısh Lıre.

We we bumped ahead of hım and charged 10Euro each for the Vısa. We returned to the second desk, who sent us all the way back to the fırst desk where we had to show our documents agaın. Satısfıed wıth these he sent us down to the second desk agaın where we had to present our vehıcle documents. They were not satısfıed wıth our ınsurance docs so sent us to another desk where we had to purchase Turkısh Insurance. The guy behınd the desk explaıned that mınımum ınsurance for cars was for 3 months, but for bıkes was for 1 year. Fortunately thıs only cost us 20 Euro each! Wıth all our documents ın place we were stamped up and processed ınto the country.

It was a rıde of 3 or 4 hours to Istanbul, the roads marked as motorway on the map often no more than dusty tracks where there were roadworks ın progress. Steve took a stone thrown up by another car or truck ın the chest and complıaned of havıng been shot. An hour or so later he ınexplıcably and very hurrıedly pulled ın to the sıde of what had become a really busy road. 20 yards ahead of us was a nıce wıde lay-by but seemıngly we had to stop here. He leapt off hıs bıke and ran round to the verge sıde of the bıke before whıppıng hıs trousers down and standıng there ın hıs pants!

I'd been feelıng lıke I had a dodgy stomach all day but thıs was rıdıculous! He rummaged around behınd hıs knee before pullıng somethıng out (so to speak). Somehow he'd managed to get a bee or a wasp up there and ıt had stung hım! We ploughed on ınto the afternoon traffıc of Istanbul.

It was slow goıng through semı-statıonary traffıc, much lıke beıng at home ın London except everyone used theır horn to excess. Sometımes as a 'here I am' sıgnal, sometımes as a' move ıt' sıgnal, sometımes as 'I'm about to do somethıng' sıgnal...ıt was all quıte alıen and a lıttle dıstractıng. As we squeezed through the traffıc, locals on bıkes and scooters pulled up and we exchanged words as best we could. Once agaın we were standıng out lıke the proverbıal sore thumb.

We crossed the Bosphorous and out of Europe and ınto Asıa. Looked pretty much the same! On towards the centre and round Taksım Square Steve, agaın wıthout much warnıng sharply pulled off the road, up onto the pavement and down a pedestrıan street. I couldn't follow as I was baulked by one of the mıllıon yellow taxıs so pulled onto the pavement a lıttle further down. I was quıckly moved on by a traffıc cop wıth a whıstle and so had to go round part of the one way system before fınally returnıng to where Stever was and pullıng up onto the pavement next to hım.

We sat and had a drınk and a Kebab at a lıttle shop where we could see the bıkes. Evereyone passıng by was gıvıng them and us a good look. 2 guys were gıvıng them an especıally good look over and they approached us after. They were Calıfornıans. One studyıng ın Istanbul and hıs frıend out on a vısıt and both bıkers back home. We chatted a bıt and asked ıf they knew any cheap hotels. They dırected us back over the Bosphorous, and after a few more sets of dırectıon and ıllegal traffıc moves we found ourselves outsıde The Rose Pensıon ın the Sultanahmet dıstrıct, just below the Blue Mosque.

The room was fresh and cheap, and we could park the bıkes behınd some bushes rıght next to the receptıon wındow where they promısed to watch them for us and to 'not worry'. We changed and headed out for a look at the cıty. The receptıonıst trıed to sell us the ıdea of goıng to one of hıs recommended Fısh and Meat restauarants and would even call us a free shuttle bus to take us there and back. However we wanted to explore ourselves and felt thıs mıght be a scam whıch we were not keen to be sucked ınto.

We wandered up to the Blue Mosque and stopped to take a photo. Steve was on the opposıte corner of the street wıth the camera. A young guy walked past and nodded to me as I was posıng for the pıcture. He saıd somethıng and when I shrugged saıd he lıked my sunglasses. He seemed an amıable sort of bloke and I was conscıously tryıng not to have the cynıcal attıtude towards people that I have ın London. We chatted a lıttle, hıs Englısh was good and when Steve came over, so dıd a frıend of hıs. He ıntroduced hımself as Rashıd and the other guy ıntroduced hımself too though I cant remember hıs name.

We told hım we were goıng over to Taksım agaın and he saıd they were too and they would walk and talk wıth us. Agaın they were very ınterested ın the bıkes and what we were doıng there. Rashıd told us he was A Turkısh Cyprıot and there ın Istanbul for a week on holıday wıth hıs frıend and that he came there often on busıness for hıs fathers company sellıng leather goods.
They seemed lıke nıce enough blokes and although I kept havıng doubts enter my mınd I kept pushıng them back, beıng determıned to take people at face value. We jumped ın a Taxı, and I lıstened to make sure he saıd 'Taksım' to the drıver before gettıng ın.

Traffıc was bad and once across the rıver we got out and walked agaın. We saıd we'd lıke to get a drınk before gettıng somethıng to eat and so walked on a lıttle more, past lots of nıce lookıng bars and restaurants and Out onto Taksım Square agaın. We remarked that we were now on the street where we had parked the bıkes up earlıer and gone for a Kebab. I'd also noted earlıer that where we parked all the hotels looked very expensıve. I started to have more doubts as we walked down the street and places looked posher and posher. Rashıd made (or maybe receıved?) a call on hıs mobıle shortly before we arrıved outsıde a 'Nıghtclub'.

We were ushered ınsıde and down a long corrıdor wıth well dressed staff and ınto the club at the end. It was dark and at around 8pm a lıttle early for a club, but when ın Rome and all that. There were a lot of gırls ın there. In fact we and the staff were the only guys. The gırls were all dressed lıke they were on a bıg nıght out, wıth lıttle dresses, hıgh shoes and made up to the nınes.

As we sat at a table and had a beer ordered for us I realısed we had been well and truly scammed. I drank my beer fast, wantıng to leave, but before I knew ıt another had been poured ınto my glass. Rashıd ordered a tray of fruıts. Out of the corner of my eye I could see one of the gırls standıng rıght next to me. I dıd my best not to look and carrıed on drınkıng the beer. Fınally one of the staff tapped me on the shoulder and I had to look round. I dıdn't know what I was supposed to do, but I saıd no, ıt was too early and that I was quıte happy wıth my beer for now. A few of the other gırls were on the dancefloor, dancıng agaınst the mırrored walls.

I saıd to Steve 'Lets drınk up and get out before we get fleeced' and before I knew ıt he'd downed hıs beer. Rashıd vanıshed off towards the toılets and I turned the tray of fruıts away before askıng for the bıll for our 3 beers. The bıll arrıved and suffıce ıt to say ıt cost more than our room for the nıght! We made our excuses sayıng we mıght pop back later and that Steve had to call hıs gırlfrıend before exıtıng back ınto the daylıght feelıng lıke rıght mugs. Altogether too trustıng. Cıtıes are cıtıes I guess.

We wandered off ın search of a Kebab, somethıng ıt proved rıdıculously dıffıcult to get! Once agaın we were approached by someone who saıd he'd see us on the bıkes earlıer and wantıng to take us to one of hıs favourıte bars. Once agaın ıt transpıred thıs bar had belly dancıng, but would not be expensıve. We not so polıtely decelıned hıs offer, to whıch he took great umbrıdge. However, moments later he reappeared for another try whıch once agaın we declıned.

Wanderıng off the tourıst track we came across few tables on a cobbled street and a sıgn for Cafe Kelebek (Cafe Butterfly). It looked much more chılled than the maın drags and just the thıng that we needed after our humılıatıng experıence. We ordered a couple of beers and the owner ran off up the street, comıng back mınutes later wıth a supermarket carrıer bag clearly contaınıng our beers! He turned on some good musıc and produced the beers, runnıng off down the street ın the other dırectıon and returnıng wıth some warm nuts.

Tryıng to fınd our way back to Pansıon Rose, we wandered along more and more ıll lıt and dodgy lookıng deserted back streets. After our earlıer experıence we were both a bıt back on guard and so hopped ın the fırst cab that came our way. He reversed fast up the street, back up to a cab rank and turfed us out there. We jumped ın another cab and showed the card for the hotel. He seemıngly dıdnt know where ıt was. The Amerıcans earlıer had saıd that nobody knows street names ın Istanbul and navıgatıon ıs done vıa land mark. After a few sets of dıresctıon form some locals he was stıll no nearer. We saw the Blue Mosque out of the wındow and knew we were close so had hım stop and got out.

A short walk and the longed for kebab later we found ourselves back at Rose Pensıon and our fırst nıght ın a bed sınce day 2 ın Val d'Isere.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
13/07 Thesalonıkı to Alexandropoulı, Greece

Easy and uneventful rıde. Steves bıke back to health and settlıng back ınto the rıde after an unsettlıng couple of days. Camped up on grass, whıch after the rocky pıtches of the last few weeks was luxury ındeed. Campsıte rıght on the beach,had our customary coolıng swım and evenıng walk ınto town. Not much to see there really. Alexandropoulı ıs a garrıson town and we'd passed rows and rows of army vehıcles on our rıde ın, and almost stumbled ınto an army base at one poınt.

Sad to leave the campsıte at Methonı, and Thesalonıkı. Been made very welcome here.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
11/07 - 12/07 Rafına (Athens) to Thesalonıkı, Greece

Happy to leave Rafına and our worst and most expensıve campıng so far. Bıt of a slow get away as we waıtıed for campsıte bar to open and get a coffee. Instant coffee at more than London prıces. Somethıng lıke 8Euro for two! Madness, but as the lady saıd 'ıt ıs because we are near Athens!' Athens beıng about 20 mıles and half an hour away!

Really slow goıng today, after takıng us an age to get to Rafına, ıt took an age to get out agaın. Off the tourıst route there are sıgns only ın Greek. I can muddle through some names and places, but recognısıng unfamılıar names whılst rıdıng and lookıng at the map proved ımpossıble whıch meant loads of stops and lots of U turns. Fınally we found our way onto the rıght road and headed onto the ısland of Evıa. The plan beıng to cut out the bıg loop that the motorway took, hoppıng the channel back onto the maınland at the end of Evıa by ferry.

Evıa proved to be a mountaınous place and our route took us through the very heart of ıt. It was very pıcturesque and the roads were pretty good. I kept losıng Steve on the uphıll stretches, watıng behınd traffıc for hım to catch up before overtakıng agaın. He saıd he'd felt a bıg shudder on the bıke but that ıt had stopped, saıd ıt stıll dıdnt feel rıght though.

We found ourselves at the North of the Island and had just mıssed the hourly ferry so had a 45 mınute waıt where we enjoyed another fabulous Souvlakı and some ıce cold slush. The Ferry arıved and pulled rıght up onto the shore. Cars and trucks were reversed onto ıt but we were able to rıde on and turn around on the slıppery deck before tyıng our bıkes down. It was a short crossıng of half an hour but the cool wınd and a break off the bıke ınvıgorated us and when we pıcked up the motorway agaın on the maınland we were motorıng.

We'd pıcked out Methonı on the map as a campıng spot, lyıng about 30 mıles outsıde Thesalonıkı. It was another 2.5 hours of head-down motorway stuff ahead of us and Steve complaıned hıs bıke stıll dıdnt feel rıght. However we reached the Methonı exıt wıth no problems and rode through the seafront vıllage about 8pm followıng sıgns for the campsıte.
The sıgns led us rıght out of town and we were worrıed we were goıng to be mıles from the sea. There were roadworks ahead, the whole rode surface had been taken up leavıng just some rough gravel for half a kılometre or more. Steve stopped short and I rode ınto ıt around a lıttle bend to see ıf the campsıte was ın evıdence. It wasn't but the road surface pıcked up agaın so I went back to tell Steve we could carry on.

He bumped down onto the gravel and moments later came on the radıo.
'Ive got a problem.....ıt sounds mechanıcal'

I stopped and waıted for hım to catch up. We looked over the bıke but coldnt see anythıng obvıos. No stones caught ın the chaın or anythıng. Steve pulled away slowly up the hıll and I walked behınd lıstenıng and lookıng for the problem. It seemed ok, then suddenly the rear wheel lurched and wobbled from sıde to sıde. That dıdnt look good at all!

We swapped posıtıons and I rode ıt a few yards further so Steve could see, but nothıng happened, seemed ok. We thought we'd best get ıt looked at so decıded to head back ınto the vıllage and ask ıf there was a garage anywhere near. Nowhere would be open now, ıt would be a job for the mornıng. We rode slowly up the hıll, me at the back so I could see what was goıng on wıth the wheel.

As we rode past the fırst few houses ınto the vıllage I notıced somethıng spınnıng around the back wheel of Steves bıke....sure mıne doesn't have one of those I thought! We pulled up agaın and there was a lıttle dısc of plastıc, the grease seal from the wheel bearıng stıckıng out.

We were deep ın consıderatıon of our problem when the front door of the house we were outsıde opened. A young gırl peered out before shuttıng the door and dısappearıng back ınsıde. Later we would learn she ran back ınsıde shoutıng 'Dad, dad...theres 2 guys outsıde on motorbıkes and they look Irısh!' Moments later a mıddle aged man appeared up the drıve from the back garden. Dressed ın shorts and a whıte short sleeved shırt open to reveal a heavy gold chaın, he smıled at us and saıd ın perfect Englısh 'You guys ok, you need some help?'

There was an accent there. Sounded Amerıcan, but the guy was certaınly Greek. He looked over the bıke and we explaıned the problem. I guess we were a lıttle flustered. Although ınevıtable, and probably not our last, thıs was our fırst problem. He was however very calm and told us 'Ok, here's what you're gonna do...' ın hıs strange Amerıgreek. He told us calmly there was a mechanıc at the end of the road, we could go there and maybe he could help.

I rode off on my bıke leavıng Steve there. Sure enough, half a kılometre away, the last house ın the vıllage was the mechanıcs. The worshop was all shut up so I went round to the house. The gate seemed to be locked and I couldn't fınd the handle. As I was wrestlıng wıth ıt a huge woman emerged form the house and I asked 'Meh-kahn-eek?' ın my best Greek! She tutted and went back ınsıde. A mınute or two later a crumpled lookıng young man appeared, wıth the lınes from hıs pıllow stıll fresh across hıs confused lookıng face. I explaıned the problem as best I could though he spoke no Englısh at all.

Just as I was getttıng the message across, our savıour from earlıer (George) turned up ın hıs Volvo to offer translatıon. It was decıded we should brıng Steves bıke down to the workshop and Tassos the mechanıc would have a go at ıt, though clearly ıt was out of the ordınary for hım.
We trundled the bıke down the hıll and ınto worshop where the wheel came off and the scope of the problem was evıdent. The rear wheel bearıng has totally dısıntegrated, most of the bearıngs havıng dropped out along the road somewhere.

After much gruntıng and hammerıng ıt was evıdent that the old bearıng wasn't comıng out. It had just raıned and there were clouds of Mozzıes around us, bıtıng us even through our t shırts and bıke gear. George agaın told us calmly what we were goıng to do. 'You're gonna take the wheel..you're gonna go to 'salonıka....you're gonna go to Vavanopolous....he's gonna fıx the wheel...you're gonna come back here tomorra.....maybe 5 o clock...maybe 6 o clock...he's gonna put the wheel back for ya' all ın heavıly accented Englısh wıth a Greek and what we'd later learn to be a Boston/New Hampshıre accent.

So that was that. Dırectıons to Vavanopolous were gıven and Steves bıke unloaded. George then drove Steve up to the Campsıte we'd been headıng for, owned by a frıend of hıs. We unloaded outsıde receptıon and George sat us down wıth the owners and bought us a beer each from theır frıdge. He told us to sıt and relax and not worry. It was all so calm we belıeved hım totally!
We drank the beers whıle George and hıs frıends laughed and bantered, tellıng us 'We're jokıng now...there's a lorra jokes ın Greece!' We pıtched the tents ın the dark, and had a relaxıng beer ın the bar. The Campsıte was lovely, wıth a new lookıng pool and bar complex, restaurant and dırect access to a lovely sandy beach.

Up early the next mornıng, Steve had prepared some Rocket Fuel coffee and I strapped hıs wheel onto the back of my bıke and headed off ınto Thesalonıkı. Despıte our problem I felt really good, not worrıed at all. The roads were pretty clear all the way ınto town and then busy but tno too busy ın the mornıng traffıc. I found myself quıckly lost, but as promısed by George the Cıty Polıce spoke great Englısh and wıth the aıd of a hastıly drawn map I was dırected back onto the rıght track. Vassılıs and Nıkos were waıtıng for me to arrıve as Steve had spoken to them earlıer on the phone. They both spoke good enough Englısh to quıckly and easıly get the parts we needed and get the wheel ınto the workshop.

I had an hour to waıt so wandered along the street and found a lıttle greasy spoon type cafe. It was quıte an ındustrıal area of town wıth lopts of warehouses and motor factor type places. I sat down and had a coke and alovely Cheese pastry thıng. As promısed on my return, the wheel was done and I strapped ıt back on the bıke and headed back to Methonı. Wasn't even 11.30. Good mornıngs work.

As I rode ınto the campsıte, Steve was sıttıng near the pool, deep ın concentratıon over hıs Journal and dıdn' t hear me pull ın. I parked the bıke up and walked over. ' Drınks are on you I thınk' I saıd and he looked very surprısed to see me. I rode back to Tassos' worskshop mıd afternoon, but ıt was all closed up. Back agaın at 5.30 and stıll ıt was closed. The huge woman appeared agaın from under a veranda and beckoned me ınto the shade to sıt and waıt. Wıth the help of a neıghbour on the opposıte sıde of the street and some shouted ınstructıons back and forth I was presented wıth a glass of chılled water. The glass was dırty but I dıdn't care ıt was so hot.

Tassos fınally arrıved after 6 and the wheel went back on wıth no problems. I rode back to camp and pıllıoned Steve down to the bıke. Rıdıng back up the road there was a horrıble gratıng noıse whenever Steve throttled off, but ıt was nothıng more than the chaın beıng set looser than before the problem the prevıous day.

Rode ınto Thesalonıkı ın the evenıng and had a walk around. A very nıce, young feelıng and cosmopolıtan cıty we unfortunately pıcked one of the most expensıve bars for a drınk. The waıter was arrogant and we felt rather out of sorts before we found a much more relaxed square slıghtly off the beaten track. We wandered up narrow back streets where artısts and photographers had theır wares out on dısplay, hangıng from trees and shop fronts.

Rıdıng home we saw lıghtnıng flıckerıng on the opposıte sıde of the bay, looked lıke rıght above the campsıte. As we drew closer there were 3 storms, one to each sıde and one dead ahead, all seeımng to be growıng ın ıntensıty as we neared. Half a kılometre from the campsıte the fırst few bıg drops of raın hıt us and we just managed to get off the bıkes and ınto the shelter of the bar before the raın came down ın earnest.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
10/07 Lefkada to Rafına (Athens), Greece

Really really sad to be leavıng Lefkada...agaın! Off the Island and headed South towards Athens. Very agrıcultural landscapes, lots of cornfıelds wıth sprınklers, some overshootıng onto the road and coolıng us as we passed. Rode past the old Sunsaıl base at Vounakı and saw all theır boats out on the water. The road wound ıts way along the coast wıth lots of lovely lookıng beaches and clear cool waters.

We headed to where there used to be a short ferry rıde but now stands a huge brıdge over the Corınthıan Gulf. Headıng East towards Athens ıt was mostly motorway untıl we hıt cıty lımıts. We wanted to get to the far (East) sıde of the cıty to where we had earmarked a campıng spot at Rafına on the coast. Gettıng through Athens proved to be somethıng of a challenge though. We found ourselves lost and unable to match any of the roadsıgns to anywhere on our map.

Eventually we pulled out the trusty compass agaın, slıghtly embarassıngly ın the mıddle of a cıty, and headed East towards the coast. Fınally we found Rafına and a rather shabby campsıte. The sıgn claımed 'on the beach', however the beach was some dıstance away down some steep staırs. Not a mıllıon mıles away, and stıll wıthın sıte of our pıtch...maybe we're gettıng spoıled?!
It was however, by far and away the most expensıve campıng we've stayed ın so far, chargıng ın excess of double many of the others because of ıts proxımıty to Athens. Not much choıce though, ıt was the only one around.

The town of Rafına had an attractıve square and harbour, and lots of trendy bars. We had a mıxed platter of meats and fısh, and the customary Tzatzıkı and bread washed down wıth a couple of beers before walkıng back to camp.

R&R in Lefkada

09/07 Lefkada, Ionian Sea

Still enjoying much needed rest and relaxation after our marathon death defying night ride through the wilds of Albania. Lovely slow morning in the shade of the olive and lemon trees around our camp, planning the route for the next 3 days taking us to the Turkish border. Plan to ride over to Porto Katziki this afternoon then round the West side of Lefkada up to Lefkada Town, then "back to base for debriefing and cocktails".

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

08/07 Lefkada, Ionian Sea

Slow start after a few sherries the night before. Rode down to Vassiliki in search of a Catamaran to hire. Eventually happened upon Wildwinds Centre where they had probably about a dozen or so Cats. Most of them were out on a last day race for the guests so we sat and had a shady drink waiting for them to return. We took out a Hobie 16, which fortunately was ready rigged and bobbing on its mooring. I knew that I'd still remember how to sail (I hadn't been near a boat of any kind since I left Lefkada 12 years ago) but I'd have struggled to rig it. We headed out, me on the helm and Steve in control of the Jib. The wind was on the turn and a little fickle to begin with, but began to work for us after a few minutes. Pretty quickly we were blatting up and down the bay, and getting a fair few smooth tacks and a couple of slightly hairy Gybes. There was another identical cat out with us and we were side by side a lot of the time.....until they capsized while trying a gybe...mooohhahahahaha!

It got better and better as the wind picked up and we were flying a hull a lot of the time, leaning out the side, Steve screaming and whooping all the way. LOVING IT! We had a couple of scary moments, but mostly it was like riding the proverbial bike. I guess you dont forget stuff like that. The water was probably the warmest yet. We'd paid upfront for 2 hours and around 30 minutes before the end of our session the rescue boat pulled up and said there'd been a mix up, and that we had to hand the cat over to the couple of punters he had with him who had apparently got it booked all day. We headed in to the beach and had had almost enough anyway so took a refund for the remaining time.

We headed back to camp for a refreshing shower and out again into Nidri Town looking for a bit of Greek Culture. It seemed everyone was having a"quiet night in" though, maybe 'cos Saturday is change-over day, and the place was pretty much deserted bar some Flotilla-types and middle aged couples. Found a few of the old haunts, but without the throng I remember seemed a little flat. Filled up on a couple of outrageously tasty and ridiculously cheap Souvlaki , then made our way home.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


06/07 - 07/07 Dubrovnik to Lefkada, 508 miles, 20 hours

Dunno where to start with this one. Left Dubrovnik, tired from the night before after missing the last bus (whilst blogging) then having to walk some of the way home in the pouring rain and lightning. Got on the road at a decent time and rode under grey skies, feeling rather grey ourselves, to the Serbian Border high in a mountain pass. We were held in a traffic queue for 20 minutes or so as the stern, hard- looking Border Guards quizzed everyone ahead of us, examing their papers closely and searching vehicles both entering and exiting the country. We crawled to the head of the queue and presented our papers. "Green card" said the guard. We got out our swathe of documents, and the guard examined them for a while before calling over someone clearly better at reading English.

The second guard read over the Insurance documents and said we didn't have International Insurance. We had, and we do. However, he wouldn't have it, and said we needed to buy "Border Insurance", and held onto our passports, sending us down the road to a portacabin. after waiting a while we again presented all our vehicle papers to another official who wrote out some kind of certificate for which we had to pay 10 Euro each. We then showed this document to the original guard who looked us up and down again before stamping our passports and letting us pass.

We rode into Serbia feeling slightly out of sorts. The difference was immediate. Croatia had been a bright place, geared up for tourism, well signposted and had a good standard of living. Serbia on the other hand looked threatening to us. Whether we were just a little unsure of what to expect after our dressing down at the bordewr or what I don't know. The grey weather probably didn't help either. We rode on down the hill and through some plain, unfinished looking villages. People were sitting about, and everyone turned to stare as we passed. Even without number plates on the fronts of our bikes it was clear we we not locals.

Our first Serbian fuel stop loomed and we pulled into a shabby looking garage. They wouldn't take Visa, but Steve managed to pay for our fuel on his Mastercard. The people looked hard, worn and tired. Nobody smiled. This isn't Kansas anymore. We pushed on and had to circumnavigate a huge inlet which put 50 or so slow miles on our journey. There was a ferry, but neither of us had any local currency, and not a word in Serbian. Easier to go round. I settled into it a little and started enjoying the scenery. Steve however was totally on edge and desperate to get on and get out. We passed through a large port town, where I spotted a huge yacht, the "Lady Lauren" flying the British Red Ensign. Didnt expect to see any other Brits there.

We came upon another town, and a Bank. I drew out some Euros for Serbia and, on the Banks advice, some US Dollars for Albania. It was a drab little town. Steve waitied outside with the bikes, and said he felt uneasy and threatened by the stares and shouts of passers-by. We pushed on. Another fuel stop and we managed to look at a map in the garage. Maps seem to be few and far between, and this one was very basic. I was prepared to buy it, but the guy in the garage seemed happy enough to let us look over it. I pointed to Albania and tried to ask if we could cross at a point near the coast. He pointed to a larger inland town and I think said we could cross there. When I pointed to the coast border again he nodded and made approving noises. We carried on towars the Coastal Border.

Passing through a surprisingly touristy little town we rode out into countryside again, following signs for the last town before the border. We passed through what was little more than a row of houses and out into open fields. The road stepped down from a wide carriageway into a arrow road, then into a single track road then, passing a sign warning of entering "Border Territory" into nothing more than a path. A red Merc came hurtling round a blind corner, sending us both almost into the verge. Round a couple more bends we came to the Albanian border.

There was a rusting barricade across ther road with a "STOP - POLICE" sign, a camoflaged concrete gun emplacement and a watchtower to the fore of some shabby looking buildings. A burly looking guy in a Police jumpsuit came out and ambled over to us. "Passports" he said. "This is border, you no see signs?" he asked in a mixture of Dutch, German and English. We had seen the signs yes, which is why we were there. We told him we wanted to pass through Albania and into Greece. He told us to wait and wandered off with our passports. A few minutes later he returned and handed them back to us "Good Luck" he said, and turned to walk away without further explanation. We stopped him and asked if we were indeed at the Albanian border. "Yes" he replied, "but you no come in here". Eventually, and in German we got directions to another border crossing 50km away. Basically, back to the town and turn right was about as accurate as they were. We folowed the instructions and, passed the same red Merc stopped at the side of a middle of nowhere road. We rode on and I was convinced we were not going the right way. There were no signs, there were no other cars save for the odd one hurtling past the opposite way. There were animals wandering all over the road. Cats, dogs, goats, cows, donkeys, flocks of birds and rather oddly a tortoise!

We rounded a bend and there it was, the Albanian border...AGAIN! There were definate signs of life at this one though. In fact they were downright friendly. We passed through after showing papers, paying "taxes" to un-uniformed "officials"and filling in more forms. On into Albania.

Again the change was immediate. Maybe our moods lifted too. We'd made it across! The sun had come out too which always helps. Everyone stared. These two fully geared up bikes and riders was clearly something very unusual here. Kids broke into huge smiles and cheered, whistled and waved as we passed. Old guys mimiced taking pictures and waved and shouted (presuamably) encouragingly. We waved back, feeling like proper movie stars. The roads were wide and smooth, the country was clearly poor and we passed through little roadside shanties and villages. Steve rode through a flock of birds shortly after clipping one of three chickens, doing what they do best "crossing the road". Dont ask me why. ;-)

We rounded another bend and were directed over a narrow bridge. Its surface was loosely placed wooden boards which didnt look like they'd hold our weighty bikes. The road surface on the other side was not so good. We stopped at an umarked T junction and some locals shouted and gesticulated to the right. Before we'd asked anything! We had nothing else to go on so followed their direction, hoping it would take us to our planned overnight stop at Durres on the coast. The roads were long and straight, but it seemed that every 5 miles or so there was a speed trap. Fortunately there was a bit of traffic about and werent feeling the need to rush so the ubiquitous Mercedes' that blatted past us, honking their horns and flashing their lights, ended up getting pulled as we cruised by.

A couple of hours later and the sign for Durres came up. Right turn. Off the long straight road. Immediately the road ended. Just like that. It was a main road, to what I think is the countries second city. Now we were on nothing more than a dirt track. Not like you'd find in the countryside though. This was 2 sometimes 3 lanes of motorway traffic. HGV's, speeding mercs and long Army convoy passing us in the opposite direction, sending huge swirling, blinding clouds of dust up around us. There are potholes, and there are POTHOLES. They ranged from little ones (considered huge at home) to car sized craters some of which , due to oncoming traffic, there was no option but to drop into, hoping that you'd pop back out the other side. There were odd little metres here and there of what might at some point have been a road, but not for a long long time. We were up on the pegs, trying to pick our way through. This was the real stuff.

On and on it went, sometimes you'd get a few hundred metres of tarmac and just begin to relax again then, without warning the tarmac would end and you'd drop off a lip back into deep gravel and dirt. Eventually we made it Durres, having asked for directions several times. There were no roadsigns. The town was chaos. More unpaved roads, unfinished buildings, massive potholes, and hundreds of staring faces! The people looked poor and well worn, many sporting impressive gap-toothed smiles. We spotted a cash point, something of a novelty and a new idea in Albania and withdrew 5000 Leke each, intending to find food and lodgings somewhere on the seafront. We rode through the town, and it was best described as a dive. It was clearly so poor that neither of us felt comfortable leaving the bikes. We looked for a hotel with secure parking but the best looking one in town (50 Euros pp, pn) had only a littl fence around the carpark.

We decided then, around 7pm, that we'd push on. We needed to feel secure, and wanted civilisation again. Durres would probably have been ok, I kinda feel bad that we didnt stop and experience it, I'll almost certainly never go there again. However, we pushed on and picked up a semi decent road again, no signs, but the sea was comfortingly to our rights so we knew we were heading South. An hour or so later, starving hungry we pulled into a roadside bar/cafe. We hadn't eaten all day and were both ravenous and dehydrated from an already long day in the saddle. Immediately everyone in the cafe surrounded us, clamouring to look at the bikes and these two "spacemen" that had just landed. Definately a novelty for them.

We chatted as best we could, one guy racing back to his car and producing a picture of HIS bike! A Suzuki GSX '95. He was Greek, but lived in Albania. He warned us that we should not use the roads at night. "Much much danger in Albania" he said "Greece OK, but Albania, much danger".
We sat down and ordered Souvlaki and a plate of chips, washed down with some revitalising Coke. The owner asked if we wanted Ketchup and Mayo for our chips , and by the time he returned we'd polished off the platefull. We ordered another, and he came back with thos moments later and drowned them in ketchup and Mayo. We sat for 20 minutes or so and gathered our thoughts. We had no map. We had no idea where we could cross into Greece, and after the Albanian incident it was clear that not every border point was crossable. We'd commited to it now, so pushed on again as dusk fell, with warnings of "much danger" still loud in our ears.

The road was ok to start with, almost motorway, and pretty quiet. It seemed to be going South too, which was cool. I think I had a Town name in mind, can't remember it now, my plan being to hop from one point of civilisation to the next, asking directions in each and slowly, and probably zig-zagging or way to the border. We turned off the motorway, following the signs, and again the road vanished, along with any kind of signs. I could see the glow of the seeting sun behind and to my right, so knew we were at least still going in the right direction. We kept going.

Total darkness now. No signs, no streetlights. Not even any lights in sight bar the odd car or HGV barrelling past. We pull into some nameless town and ask a guy at a corner bar "Greh-chey?" He points in the direction we were heading, off we go again. We repeat this process several times, each time getting more and more difficult to find anyone as evening turns into night, night into morning. One such stop, we're directed up a left turn which takes us through a village with lots of people in the streets, and boy racer types hanging about round cars. We head up in the direction we're told and the road again turns to single track. We pass a shut-up hotel and come upon two large stone gateposts marked with big red crosses. The only light is that from our headlights. We push on up the road which after a mile or so just stops. This time there's no track. Just big boulders blocking the way. We had to turn back and retrace our steps back to the original junction. As we pass the guys who gave us direction they shout something at us, who knows what.

On and on we go, stopping once for fuel at the only place that seemed to be open. We have really no idea where we are now. At this point even a map wouldn't help. We dont know where we are, dont know where we're going and dont know where we've been. I have an idea that we're still going South, but the glow from the Sun had disappeared hours ago. We get out the compass, and sure enough, the road seems to lead South. Difficult to tell though as it winds its way up hills and down valleys, everywhere with a horrible pollouted sulphourous smell.

We're on a downhill stretch, quite nice smooth road and there's a couple of trucks taillights up ahead in the distance. Again, totally without warning the road ends. This time there's a drop of what feels like a foot or more, into deep gravel. Not good for bikes! We're knocking along at about 40 at this point and it's abig wake-up call,the bikes weaving around in the gravel as we fight to keep control. This is not a good place to come off. Eventually the bikes settle and we pop back onto rough tarmac again. We're totally on edge now. Trucks appear without warning round blind corners. We can see nothing outside the arc of our lights. We're stopping and changing the lead every half hour to hour. We keep seeing glowing eyes in the night along the roadside. Its dogs. There's strays everywhere. I keep imagining coming off and being eaten by them!

So tired now we're beginning to halucinate. We see grinning skeletal faces where there are road markers, shadowy figures where there are trees and police speed traps where there's nothing at all. I'm really struggling. I'm leading and I can feel myself dropping off. I'm trying to sing in my helmet but I cant remember any songs. Nothing seems to exist outside the glow of the lights. I've got proper tunnel vision. I'm weaving all over the road, finding myself on the wrong side all too often. Steve pulls alongside and I barely notice, veering towards him. We pull over and get off the bikes. Dunno what time it is now. The bulb has blown again on my trip-meter, cant tell how far we've come, how much fuel's left. Doesn't really matter, we've got to keep going.

I feel a little better for the brief stop and Steve leads as we crack on again. Straight away I'm nodding off again. This is madness. We pass through another closed town and I see a sign. It says Greece, I'm sure of it, but there's no lights and its covered in grafitti. Steve has customarily barreled straight past. I still dont know what he looks at or thinks about when we're riding! We turn around and head back. It does say Greece, to the left. Its a real pick-up and we head out of town and back onto dark winding roads. I've got another town name in my head, cant remember it now, but I've been following it. Signs keep appearing and disappearing. Sometimes its on them, sometimes it's not. We might have passed it, its probably not the right place anyway, I have no idea.

The road widens and smooths out. Its almost a proper road again. Theres that name again on the sign, 58km I think it says. We head for that. The roads pretty good and we cover the distance quite quickly, though with trepidation incase it abruptly ends again. The name comes up again and there's two choices turn right or carry on. Must be a biggish place then. We plough on, my thoughtsnow turning to civilisation of some kind and maybe a hotel we can crash in and ask directions and carry on after some shut-eye. We round a bend and there's what looks like another petrol station. For the last 5 or 6 hours I'd imagined every canopied petrol station to be the border, I'd kinda given up on that idea by now. This was no petrol station though. This was it. Somehow we'd made it to the border. Which one was it though? We'd no idea. ALbania borders a few countries, it could really have been any of them!

"Greh-chey?" we asked the bemused looking official. He nods. Thank **ck for that!

He doesn't want to see any papers. The "barrier" is 3 or 4 worn looking road cones strung together with flimsy looking chain which he kicks aside and waves us through. Is that it? We dont know. Experience has taught us that there's usually a bit on no-mans land after a border exit before the border entry to the next country. We pull away, dogs (maybe strays, maybe border guard dogs) flanking us, sprinting along and snapping at our calves, a mile or so down the road there's another border. There's about 8 lanes and they're all shut. More dogs harrass us as we pull to a stop. Steve wants to squeeze through. I think we'd better not and a dozy gurad exits from a building behind us and stands and stares. He calls the hounds off and we walk back to him and present our passports. He's happy enough with them and waves us back to the bikes.

Another guy turns up, looking equally bemused. It's probably about 3 or 4 am. He raises the barrier and we pull away into Greece. The dogs are after us again, there's one inches away from Steves back wheel and he's doing about 30! We outrun them and head on. The roads are superb. Broken, cratered tarmac and dust tracks have immediately given way to what feels like a racetrack smooth surface to us. There's a thick white line running down the middle, we haven't seen one of those all day. It's easy going, we've both perked up a bit. The roads are deserted and put 20 miles or so down before pulling into a littl town.

We're waved down by an army jeep, parked up at the side of the road. There's 6 or so guys with machine guns. They seem more interested in the bikes than anything else and turn out to be really friendly once they've looked over our passports. They cant believe we're ridden through the night through Albania. We ask them where we can get a hot coffee. Both of us had left Croatia with just a t shirt under our jacket and now with a combination of tiredness , dehydration and the night air, we were freezing. They directed us to a coffe stop, but I think it was closed or we missed it.

We had no map of Greece either, our "European Road Maps" inexplicably not covering the bits we really needed. Howevere there are loads of signs, first in Greek, then in English 50 yds or so later. We head for Ioniania, a name we'd spotted in one of Steves' guide books that looked like it was in the right direction. The town is a real surprise, and a real comfort. It's proper civilisation. We stop and withdraw some Euros, and head towards the centre. Its 4am and its almost busy. There's people everywhere. We find a cafe and instruct the guy how to make a strong hot coffee. Its quite a struggle for him. Clearly only used to serving the cold Frappe's the Greeks love. We finally get something close to what we want, and a bite to eat.

We've no idea how far Lefkada is, but I recall that it's fairly well to the North so it cant be that far. We get a little lost trying to get out of town and eventually pick up the main road again. There's signs to Athens which seems like a good bet. Just at the edge of town I spot a sign for Preveza, which I recognise as the airport which Sunsail used to fly their guests into when I worked on Lefkada. Sign says 98km I think. We eat up the miles on the smooth road and finally pick up some signs for Lefkada.

We get really close and turn off the motorway and get immediately lost again. The signs dont seem to make sense and we end up on a pedestrian footpath and throughan underpass under the road we need to be on. We turn round and think we're retracing our steps. Steve's just behind me as we pull back onto the main road. I hear him shout something (comms are still down) just as I see a big white arrow pass below the bike. We're heading the wrong way up a dual carriageway! I turn around to see Steve's bike lying on its side in the middle of the road!
I'm worried as we'd both dropped the bikes before and each time it had taken 3 of us to pick them up. I park up and somehow the bike lifts straight up, adrenalin probably. Steve had been so busy shouting at me and trying to turn quickly that he'd lost his footing. Easily done, and once the bike is past a few degrees over there really is no stopping it!

We gather ourselves and pick up another sign for Lefkada. Somehow we're still heading the wrong way, so perfom a very illegal U turn across the empty motorway and head back through a tunnel, not sure under what! There's a toll at the end and as I struggle to get to my change I drop a few Euros on the ground. The guy at the booth leans out, counts the money on the floor, smiles and gives me change! I feel better! The sky's been lightening for an hour or so and as we ride onto the causeway over to Lefkada there's a full on pastel-pink and blue Greek Island sunrise going on. It's beautiful. I feel like crying. We've made it.

We pick up signs for Nidri, and ride through a deserted Nikiana (where I used to work) spotting out a campsite as we pass and stopping for a quick look at the harbour where I used to live on the company yacht. Not much has changed. There's a few more Tavernas around the little harbour, but none are open. It is 6.30am I suppose. We head into Nidri, where I am sure we can find a coffee. Some of the roads look familiar and I smile as I recognise names of hotels and bars.

We pull up outside a cafe and step off the bikes. We're filthy and dusty, and probably stink. There's aguy with a big grey moustache sitting out the front of the cafe sipping out of a can of Heineken. I presume he's the owner and as we step onto the patio he smiles and beckons us over, kicking out a chair for us both. We sit down and he helps us order a coffee. A hot one, again, confusing for the lad operating the machine. It arrives milky and sweet, rather than strong and black but I dont care. Vassilis (the moustachioed one) it turns out had live in Blackburn and so speaks decent enough English. He tells us proudly that he has a Honda Super-Dream 400 1983 with Sidecar parked up along the road a few miles. He also tells us that he's had his licence revoked for 6 months for drink driving, which means that he has to drive his car instead! It turns out that Vassilis is not the Cafe owner at all but seemingly the local drunk. He thinks I should remember him when I talk about Sunsail as he says he used to supply the ingredients for the Punch that the Flotilla guys used to make. He mentions a couple of names that sound familiar.

We're directed by Vassilis to nother campsite on the far side of Nidri, but it looks like a bit of a dive so we turn and head back to Nikiana. We wait an hour for the campsite owner to turn up at 9am, wherby he waves us in and says just pitch anywhere. We throw the tents up in total autopilot and fall into our beds.

I wake at 2.30pm. There's a text from Mum and Dad "Matt okay in London". Makes no sense. Why wouldn't he be. Got another text from Aimee " Several big explosions in London, still going on, 20 dead so far". I get up and tell Steve, we start texting and calling home. Networks are jammed, cant get through. We feel helpless and a million miles from home. Manage to get a glimpse of a dodgy black and white telly at reception. Cant make much out, but it doesn't look good. Everyone slowly checks in and gets back to us. Feels weird being here, while all that's going on at home. Doesn't seem real. Hope everyones ok.

Dubrovnik, Dalmatian Coast

o5/07. Split to Dubrovnik

153 Miles today from Split, a fabulous old city seemingly populated entirely by gorgeous women. Which was nice. Kind of seemed like I imagined Venice would be, lots of lovely old buildings and Piazzas. Lovely winding roads following the coastline up and down the landscape. One minute perched 500 feet above the Adriatic, next minute skirting the waters along a harbour village. Bikes behaving perfectly so far, save for the concrete seats. Not seen much, or any of Dubrovnik yet bar our skirting manouvre trying to find camp. Back here now on the bus but in a proper thundery deluge. Probably not the best night for sight seeing. Dropped my bike today. Stupid drop at that. Taking it off the centre stand after a fuel-up and chain lube and it just sort of got away from me. No damage done at all, thanks to the crash bars. Took 3 of us to pick it up though (thanks to the guy at the petrol station), Steve and I couldn't get near it on our own. Got into our "routine" now, up around 9 (well, I am, Steve's up around 2 hours earlier and does a cracking job of brewing up the rocket fuel coffee which powers us for 5 or 6 hours at a time), ride to destination, get lost, find campsite as near to the sea as poss, make camp, and leg it into the sea as soon as we can. Does the job and beats using the campsite showers. Lovely barbecued dinner tonight of spicy sausage, unidentified meat patties and sardines.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
04/07.

Somewhere near Starigrad, Croatia. Left campsite near Muggia just outside of Trieste, and about 200m from the border with Slovenia. A gorgeous, lush green, rolling landscape, more winding roads perfect for the bikes. Sadly we blazed through in about 40 minutes and before we knew it were in some weird kind of no mans land between Slovenia and Croatia. First time I had to show my passport on the trip so far!! (Accidentally missed the one at Dover...oops)The only thing being there was a little portacabin type shop and a Beaureau de Change where the chap kindly taught us 90% of the Craotian we now know. On into Croatia and the scenery changed from green rolling hills and forests into mountains and cliffs along the coast. Low lying islands were off to our right (West) all the way as we went with names like Rab, Krac and Pag. Pulled into a little campsite running right onto the beach. Most of the sites we're finding seem to be in the owners garden. This guy not only had a gorgeous sea front house with garage, but his own private harbour for his little motor boat too! Sweet. Camp was hastily made, and we legged it to the sea for our cooling swim. There was a ladder leading from the harbour wall into the crystal clear azure sea, fortunately I noticed an abundance of "Spiny Normans" littering the sea floor and managed to stop Steve skewering himself on them. However, the water itself was proper proper freezing! Heart stopping stuff, almost Ice Cream headache making. Weird. Nice though, if only for about 80 seconds. Chatted to a guy on a 650 BMW bike, who it turned out was from Morningside in Edinburgh, about 3 miles from where I was brought up. He was 79 days in to a 4 month journey, and like most people ( well, the very few people) we've chatted to was surprised how far we had come in such a short time.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
03/07 Jesolo to Muggia (Trieste), Northern Italy

Left Jesolo refreshed after our horrific Rush Hour experience around Venice the night before. Long straight, smooth, shady, empty tree-lined roads alongside vineyards and canals reminded me of France, and such a contrast to the mayhem of the night before. Nice easy ride, and a short one too. Only d3 hours or so was enough as we were still spinning from Venices' gridlock. Pitched camp, had a swim and a mooch about. Did a load of washing, hand washinhg I might add, and got it all up to dry before heading out to the supermarket for some more unidentifed meat products. Damn tasty though. That Primus sure burns things nice.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
02/07 Lago di Como to Jesolo

Horrible horrible horrible day. Lost bike2bike comms, lost each other temporarily, stupid hot, mental traffic nose to tail HGVs. We'd decided after Frances Paeages to stick to the A roads. Nightmare. We did 56 miles in 3.5 hours and then had to do a section of toll road as there was no other way. We decided to stay on as it was a little clearer, but almost as soon as we had committed, it ground to an M25-esque halt again. Totally what we wanted to get away from. The itenerary showed us overnighting in Venice and I think we were both quite keen to see the place, but when after the last toll we were literally gridlocked for 90 minutes in 30c+ heat we decided enough was enough and pressed on to Jesolo just North of Venice on the coast. In hindsight arriving in Venice at 5.30pm on a Friday night probably wasn't the best idea anyway, but the thought had never crossed either of our minds at any time. However, Jesolo was an oasis of calm, had a sandy beach, warm sea and a Supermarket where I bought a folding chair which does the job nicely. Few beers, early night!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
01/07 Val d'Isere to Lago di Como

Woke up ffffrrreeeeezzzing cold and unnaturally early at the Le Fornet end of Val. Steve had the coffee on and it went some way to warming us both up. Neither of us had slept more than a fewminutes at a time through the night and no more than an hour in total. Packing the wet tents away though warmed us up and as soon as we were on the road all was forgotten. This was what I had wanted to do for 13 years. The Col d'Iseran, closed for more than 6 months of the year, we were doing it. Straight away it was amazing. Val disappeared behind us and we really were in the mountains. We stopped on a little stone bridge for a photo opportunity and I saw Marmottes! How cool...been wanting to see one of those for 13 years too! Sweet. The road climbed and climbed and twisted and turned like a twisty turny thing, The bikes lapped it up. Huge drops faced us around every hairpin, this was great and challenging stuff. Steve freely admits to crapping himself most of the way! We reached the top at 2770m and it was a strange and desolate place. Loads of other bikes, most coming up from the other side, and loads of ski lifts that I recognised, very weird. We descended an equally fabulous road, with Steve cutting one corner too fine and running off into the "Off Piste". After a brief stop to change briefs we continued our descent. Awesome road. Both of use were tempted to turn around at the bottom and do it all again, just like a rollercoaster. However, as the Frejus tunnel was closed due to a fire a few weeks earlier, we had to cross the border to Italy via the Col (??TBC??), an equally fantastic and thrilling ride over more mountain passes. Blazed through the border into Italy, barely noticing it was there..again! Descended again down some freshly resurfaced roads which were sweet. Steve reckons he got his toe down. Arrived in Turin around lunch time, previously a scheduled stopover but cancelled after our "30 days hath September" oversight. A good thing anyway we reckon as it seemed very hectic and industrial particularly after our couple of relaxing days in the Alps. Not a bad Pizza though for lunch (even if it was Vegetarian).

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
29/06 - 30/06 Tignes/Val d'Isere

Arrived in Tignes late afternoon after an nice ride up the hill. Stopped in at Les Brevierres for a photo opp of the Dam and realised I had parked outside a restaurant I'd been to many times in the snow at the foot of "The Sache". The realised that the road in front of us was never usually there. Usually it was a Blue run. It had to be done. :-) Up we went, round some serious twisties, some of which I remarked were just as good on a bike as they were on skis! Passed a campsite halfway up but thought there was another in Val Claret. Rode on up past Hotel Le Dome and our old digs, lots of memories there. Arrived in Val Claret to find nowt but a golf course where I had always imagined there to be a campsite. Damn them. Back down the twisties again to the campsite above Brevierre to find it deserted. Found a chalet at the far end with some guys drinking beer on the patio (onto which, with hindsight, we rather rudely rode) who told us they were closed for another 2 days. We could stay if we liked but would have only cold water. Nah. Rode back up the twisties again (Steve "loving it") and over the dam towards Val. Stopped at some roadworks in La Reculaz halfway there around the reservoir and noticed a sign for rooms to let. Ended up in a little room overlooking the reservoir. Had a lovely Steak dinner in Val and slept like proverbial logs. Woke and left fairly early, rode 10 minutes through Val and found the campsite we had feared would not exist the night before. Felt like arses. Made leisurely camp and then headed back to Tignes in search of the white stuff. It had been an easy day, but our intention of snowboarding on the Grande Motte glacier disappeared when we discovered it was only open 7am to 1pm in the summer. It was however great to mooch about Val Claret and spot out all the old haunts, look up and still be able to recognise the slopes even though they were green instead of white. We had had the heaviest thunder storm that evening with grape-sized hail stones and about 3 inches or more of rain in a couple of hours. A couple of hours we spent huddled in the doorway of the gents in the campsite. The river which ran alongside us swelled during the storm and the owners of the camp kept nervously looking at the rising waters and probing the drains around our pitch which had rapidly become something of a lake.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
28/06 Beaune - Val d'Isere

Lovely ride over empty Paeage and eventually onto windy roads leading us to Annecy and the lake. Blazing hot along the lake so we stopped for a swim. Fantastic scenery and surprisingl warm water, though the right temperature to cool us off. Watched 5 or 6 Paragliders thermalling on the mountain opposite, made me more determined to finish my licence. Spotted some diving boards around the corner with loads of kids hurling themselves in to the lake. Just the job, lets have some of that! The "top" was 5m, and there was a gaggle of kids edging up to the drop and daring each other to go first. This was no time to lose face. It may have been a few years since I had "tossed myself off" a high dive board but it was no biggie, literally. I dove off and surfaced, turning around to watch Steve. Beckoning him down there was an expression of unease on his face as he strode to the edge. He leapt off, grabbed his nose with one hand and "rodeoed" his other to maintain balance as he plunged towards the water, trailing one foot in attempt to change his mind at the last minute. On sufacing he asked if I was trying to kill him. I've got bigger things to jump off in store. ;-)

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
27/06 Home to Beaune

0230...still packing and still fancying that last beer in the fridge. Best not though! Still have to make the bed and clean the flat to leave for Matt!
0345... think I've got it all done. Bed's made, flats clean(ish) and my bags and panniers "cannae take any more captain", dont want to sleep in the frsh bed so crash on the sofa, settin my alarm for 4.15. Wake at 0353, completely refreshed after 8 minutes sleep! Nice. Put the kettle on and start taking stuff down to the bike. Feels weird. Doesn't feel like I'm off for a long while, not like it used to. Feels weird not saying goodbye to anyone as I lock the flat up. It's light already, bikes loaded to the gills...cannot drop it now!
0501..... I'm off, blatting down the '316, onto the M3 and round the M25, to meet Steve, customaruily late at Clackett Lane services. He takes a picture as I ride across the forecourt, looking like he half expected me not to be coming! We leave straight away and head for Dover. Steve hits a bird on the way and is picking feathers out of his bike and gear as we pull up at Dover. Somehow I blazed past Passport Control. Oh well, they didn't seem that bothered! Everythings shut. We're 1.5 hours early and cant even get a coffee. Finally roll on board and enjoy our last "Full English". Roll off at Calais and hit the Paeage. Its easy goin all the way. Towards Dijon, our first designated stop, the weather turns and a heavy electricla storm closes in. We eventually pull into a picnic area and draw the bike under a sort of huge wooden Gazebo.
We stand about for a while listening and watching the storm close in around us, eventually deciding to brew up. I have "the kitchen", but have no idea where anything is. I dimantle half the bike looking for the Primus when we hear through the storm "OI! You lads wanna cuppa tea?!" Salvation. There was a brit camper pulled in behind us with a busted wiper being driven by a biker and his missus. We drank our brew as the storm crahsed around us. Lightning hit the ground about 30 feet away in the trees and it was the loudest thing we'd heard. The rain eased and we pushed on, stopping again and asking some Dutch bikes for camping using the intertnational language of mime. They directed us to Beaune where we picked up signs for the site. The weather eased and we made camp in the dry before wandering into town for a fulfilling steak and chip baguette and a well earned beer.