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DAY 11 - Pontaillier-sur-Saone to Lons-le-Saunier
DAY 12 - Lons-le-Saunier to Nantua DAY 13 - Nantua-Annecy-Flumet DAY 14 - Flumet to Chamonix-Mont Blanc DAY 15 - Rest Day in Chamonix DAY 16 - Climbing Mt Blanc DAY 17 - Gouter Hut-Mont Blanc-Chamonix DAY 18 - Rest Day in Chamonix DAY 19 - Chamonix to Courmeyeur DAY 20 - Courmeyeur to Ivrea DAY 21 - Ivrea to Semio Milanese DAY 22 - Semio Milanese to Lago di Garda (Lake Garda) DAY 23 - Rest Day in Lago Di Garda DAY 24 - Lago di Garda to Mestre (Near Venice) DAY 25 - Mestre to Monfalcone DAY 26 - Monfalcone to Trieste DAY 27 - Trieste to Ljubljana, Slovenia DAY 28 - Rest Day Ljubljana DAY 29 - Ljubljana to Zargeb, Croatia. DAY 30 - Zagreb to Nova Gradiska DAY 31 - Nova Gradiska to Zupanja DAY 32 - Zupanja to Ruma DAY 33 - Ruma to Krnjevo (50miles south of Belgrade) DAY 34 - Krnjevo to Nis DAY 35 - Nis to Sofija DAY 36 - Rest Day Sofija DAY 37 - Rest Day Sofija DAY 38 - Sofija to Plovdiv DAY 39 - Plovdiv to Svilengrad (near to the border with Turkey) DAY 40 - Svilengrad, Bulgaria to Corlu, Turkey Day Eleven - Pontaillier-sur-Saone to Lons-le-Saunier An old French guy had cycled into the campsite and set his tent up near mine at about four yesterday. I'd seen him in town-he had one of the lie back type bikes. I met him on the way back from cooling off in the river (Saone). He went over the plus sides of the design-comfort, speed etc, and the down sides-not great on hills etc. He came to see my bike later and told me he was averaging 150km a day-nearly 100miles, I was happy to be breaking 60miles and here was this old dude roaring past me! To be fair, he didn't have as much stuff as me, was covering flatter ground and only going to Brussels. Initially the day looked like it was going to be a cracker. I'd got up early, saw the sunrise; I saw the guy from Provence and he wished me good luck and I made good distances early on. I had set the target of getting to or past Lons that day and it was just before Lons at a place ironically called Le Pin that troubles began. Again the front tyre and the back tyre went, again it was around midday and again the bursts were on the underside of the tubes. I had noticed that the rim tape covering the edges of the spokes wasn't quite in the middle all the way round but as it was like that when I got it from the shop I thought nothing of it. Now having had 8 punctures in 700miles with what are supposed to be the best tires around I started to have my doubts. I limped into Lons and found a campsite. Scarily there was a long fast descent into the outskirts on a rough road-you don't really want to be doing 30mph+ on a cracked up road on badly repaired dodgy tyres! Got into the campsite safely enough and settled in. There was a Dutch couple opposite me and they said they'd watch over my stuff while I went to get the bike fixed. It did feel bizarre cycling without hauling 30kgs+ with me and took a bit of getting used to-everything was so quick and responsive. Anyway I got to the first shop-closed for the week; the second shop didn't have the tape and the third shops' mechanic was away so I had to get the stuff and fit it myself back at the campsite. Had a stroke of good luck in that the Dutch fella turned out to be a bit of a bike expert and I got him to sort it for me while I had a shower. He broke on of the tapes but fixed it-not ideal but better than it was. Ready for an attack on Nantua and the Alps tomorrow! |
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Day Twelve - Lons-le-Saunier to Nantua
Didn't sleep well-don't know why, struggled out of bed for a 7.10 start. My first turning out of the campsite was wrong which got me lost for a while and added a few hills early on, back on track I faced the mother of all hills! 13% gradient! Doesn't sound much but it was tough and the Dan Train struggled. I suppose I was lucky to get it done early on when there was no traffic and wasn't too hot. Nevertheless this pushed back some of the pain barriers! I've worked out that this trip seems to be all about tricking myself. Overnight I forget what pain is and in the morning I remember. Keep going, this is the end of the hill at the corner here, keep going they'll be a nice breeze or a shower and a lush campsite after this hill etc etc. Having said that, the views and the long down hills almost make the climbing worthwhile, almost. I hit a new top speed today! 42.7mph, now I'm not sure exactly how fast a speeding bullet goes or what re-entering the earths atmosphere from space feels like but it can't be far off this! There were only two real hills and two average hills today but by 10'clock I was knackered. I probably should have headed up past Nantua but I decided to get some rest for tomorrow-the Alps for real! |
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Day Thirteen - Nantua-Annecy-Flumet
I was worried about today. Yesterday had been tough-tougher than I'd thought and I started to stiffen up during the evening. Today was set to be my first real uphill attack on the Alps. I was heading towards towns and cities that people only ever hear off unless it's in connections with skiing or climbing. In other words they're high. The saying goes, in order to make an omelette you have to break some eggs. It's the same with this trip, if I wanted to get up to Chamonix I would have to go uphill sometime. Well, I don't particularly like omelettes and I'm sure there's a ready mix available for them now anyway! Then I realised there was a ready mix for the trip too, buses regularly go past me heading to Geneva or Milan, I could flag one down-get to the airport and buy a ticket. This would mean giving in. Falling at the first hurdle. Turning and running away at the first sign of trouble-cowardice, punishable in the British Army during the wars by death. So hills it is then. Leaving Nantua there's one of the dreaded creatures just there, quite a nice one by comparison-gently sloping, no traffic, good road-I don't know what everyone's whinging about? I have to say, hats off to the French or Romans or whoever planned these roads-they were great. I had hoped to get to Bellevarde for breakfast and Annecy by the end of the day; but having climbed up this valley for about 40mins it stopped being difficult and I slipped into a good rhythm left leg followed right leg in a simple efficient pattern-it seemed the drugs had kicked in (only kidding-KIDS, DON'T DO DRUGS). The reason for the hill getting easier was that I was now going down hill, and quite fast! The next 10km was all down hill, I re-evaluated my setting for breakfast and decided to push on another 10km to Frangy. So having done 2hrs and 27miles I stopped outside a Shop-an amusingly named French supermarket. I asked the girl at the counter how far it was to Annecy and whether it was uphill or downhill. The answer: 20km of flat road. All this "the Alps are hilly" malarkey must be an elaborate wind up! After about an hour of gentle cycling I rocked up to Annecy-having gone down a few motorways-and headed towards the lake, I stopped next to another cyclist and asked him where the road to Ugine (next big town) was-he said he was heading that way so I followed him for about 12km, he showed me the cycle path by Lac d'Annecy-this is superb, in fact Annecy on the whole looked lovely. Castles, the lake, the people-definitely a good holiday destination. He turned off to meet his friend who was rollerblading and I followed the cycle path to the end. It was a Saturday early afternoon and the path was full with families and people cycling, jogging, rollerblading-I have to say it took some skilful manoeuvring of the Dan Train to avoid a pile up! Having spoken to a few people on a break I'd learnt that it was fairly flat to Ugins and then there's a bit of a climb up past that, but sometimes the gorge was closed due to rock falls and they had just had some big downpours so they weren't certain that it would be. I decided to head to Ugine and if the pass was open head up that night. It was 14km from Ugine to Flumet and only "slightly uphill". KIDS-LOOK AWAY NOW. Lying gits! This last 14km has nearly killed me! I had to pull myself to the side of the road a few times to have a word with myself. It didn't help that cars, buses, motorbike and other cyclists were flying past when I was crawling at 2.7mph! How long can 14km be? It can be 1 400 000cm of hell. Any of you who've seen me do anything remotely active (not many of you I'm sure!) or seen me when the sun's out then you'll know I have a penchant for perspiring. Today I went professional. The sweat was flowing off me in torrents, it's never been like it was today! Cycling uphill for town hours during the hottest part of the day-it was ridiculous. By the end of the climb my shoes were squelching. I wear two pairs of padded cycling shorts-both of which I could wring out along with my socks and shirt. What can I say? I have a talent! And when that talent is put in the right environment it can flourish! I've just drunk more than my bodyweight in water and thrown some of it back up simply to rehydrate and now I'm off to cook some pasta and get some kip before getting to bed early so I can get the last 46km to Cahmonix clocked up before it gets too hot. Ooh-just been for a swim in a glacial lake-brilliant. |
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Day Fourteen - Flumet to Chamonix-Mont Blanc
It's getting tougher and tougher to get out of bed each morning. I think it's a combination of being genuinely quite tired and the fear of what the day has in store. At the moment the fear of failing at such an early stage wakes me up and I get ready. I lost my sunglasses yesterday-cant think where, I check by the lake and then cut my losses as I'm losing valuable cycling time in the cool crisp morning air. I head out of Flumet (via the wrong way up a wrong way street) and as expected/dreaded it's uphill, nothing like yesterday but uphill all the same. I get a good rhythm going and a good song in my head (Higher and Higher by Someone who I've forgotten-answers on a postcard!) and it's not long before I get to Pras D'Arly and then Megeve. After that it's a long cold downhill slide through St Gervais (850m) and St Gervais (580m). Whilst the down hill sections are brilliant-fast and refreshing-it's terrible seeing all those hard earned metres slip away. Can't be helped. I flew though St Gervais, past Mont Joly-obvioulsy named after two of Britain’s leading comics-and found myself on the slip road of the A40-big motorway-so a highly dangerous U-turn followed and a quick rethink. I retraced my steps back to the last junction and headed up towards Servoz. A lady cycles up past me and I chat to her for a while, she's about 60 and knows the route, she points me in the right direction before speeding off-how demoralising! I plod on until I notice there's an abnormal amount of good cyclists on the road, when the next batch go by I notice they all have numbers on their back. In the next village I spot the reason, there is a time trial race called Houch &Hard going on, climbing up to Les Houches on the same route as I'm taking. I pass the start line just as the first participant is set off by a claxon. The next one follows every 30seconds. Their lean bodies and lightweight bikes fizz past the Dan Train, I feel I am the Jamaican Bobsled team of the race as I seem to get more cheers than anyone else from the sporadic groups of people supporting on the course! I beat the last person (the eventual winner) over the line by about 10m and get the biggest cheer of the day from all the cyclists that have gone past me and finished, one of the marshals sponges water onto my head. I clearly one the heavyweight title! It was great having people there and it really spurred me on, on what was a difficult climb! After being congratulated and calling all the other competitors cheaters for not hauling another 80kgs up with them to level the playing field I headed off downhill and was soon in Chamonix checking into the Youth Hostel. I set off into town, post office was closed so I can't collect my package with all my climbing gear. I went to la Maison de la Montagne and hired a guide for climbing Mt Blanc and agreed to go up Tuesday, summit and come down on Wednesday. All sorted I head back to the Hostel, book in for tea, make friends with the Dutch guys in my room and the Germans in the bar, I have a long chat with an English fella who's out here walking with his daughter. Had a nice relaxing evening and off to bed. |
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Day Fifteen - Rest Day in Chamonix
Easy day, sorting out gear and relaxing-well that's the theory. My parcel hasn't arrived in Chamonix-in fact it hasn't left England, in fact it hasn't left Peterborough. So I have no boots, ski trousers, jacket, gloves, socks-nothing-not a great start, but as I've learnt so far if anything can go wrong it will go wrong for me! I'd agreed to meet up with my guide at 6.30 so I had all day to look around the rental shops for stuff. It was no problem hiring boots and a jacket but it seemed that all trousers in normal sizes (i.e. my size) were already being rented so had to buy a pair. As I'm not flush with cash with such a long trip ahead of me then I opted for the cheapest pair which could prove troublesome if the weather turns bad up top. Had to buy gloves, hat, socks and sunglasses too so this is turning more and more expensive as I go along. The hat and sunglasses will come in useful later on but I'll have to bin the gloves and socks. I have again spent more in a day than I expect to spend in the whole of Mozambique-this is getting ridiculous! I've sent some photos back but I had a look at them on the puter and the quality was rubbish-I must learn how to take a proper photo. I finish getting stuff ready and sit outside the guides office for an hour waiting for 6.30 to tick round. The guides office (Maison de la Montagne) is on a large square with a view straight up to the slopes I'll be climbing tomorrow. I'm sure I was told this was a simple walk in the park. I buy a guide book in a last ditch effort to look prepared. Sentence one, paragraph one, page one: "'Climbing Mt Blanc is easy.' Wrong. It is a long climb at altitude that shouldn't be undertaken lightly. 'Mt Blanc is just a walk.' Wrong. There is no easy path to the top. Going up snow slopes and across crevassed glaciers in crampons, and climbing narrow ridges or towers of broken rock would not fall into most people conceptions of 'just a walk'" Right, might be trickier than I thought. I went on to read about altitude sickness and all the rescues that have happened over the years when unprepared idiots get themselves into scrapes! Realise that I have no insurance and wonder if my E-111 from will cover a helicopter evacuation from a crevasse at 4800m up. I remember scenes from 'Touching the Void' and really start to panic. 6.30 comes round and I meet my guide. He's called Marco and he's possibly the smallest man I've ever seen. We chat about what's to come and go to the shop to hire crampons, ice axe (feel cool having an ice axe with me!) and walking poles. I find out that he's half my weight and hasn't climbed Mt Blanc by the route we're going to be doing this year. Filled with confidence I head back to the hostel to dump my stuff before heading out for some pasta. The weather is completely closed in up in the mountains and it feels like a big storm is brewing. I check the weather forecast and it's not ideal to say the least. I get to the restaurant, ignore the menu and order pasta. I get talking to the English couple next to me and pick the mushrooms out of my carbonara. I head back home with my head buzzing with concerns and worst case scenarios, Marco is set to pick me up at 8 tomorrow morning so I need to get all prepared tonight. |
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Day Sixteen - Climbing Mt Blanc
Click here for details |
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Day Seventeen - Gouter Hut-Mont Blanc-Chamonix
Climbing Mt Blanc Back at the hostel there was some hoohaa about my stuff-they'd had to move it and it's was heavy, my heart bleeds it really does. I got to the room, showered washed my kit and headed into to town to return kit and get to the pub for 7. I was late and Marco was already there with Ed and Ralph we got some food, had some beers and it felt good to unwind with friends. It's amazing how well you get to know someone from activities like this. There was a quiz on and with a lot of mobile phone cheating we came equal first and lost in the deciding question. Bloody second place again! |
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Day Eighteen - Rest Day in Chamonix
My legs hurt. I'm up at 7 for breakfast. I have to apologise to my roommates for waking them up at 2am last night. I've had a snooze and a walk and a shower and nothing else. Checked e-mails for hours. |
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Day Nineteen - Chamonix to Courmeyeur
I know it, you know it, I know you know it cos I've gone on and on about it. Up hill not fun, down hill fun. Crap campsite run by a refugee type who when I asked if he spoke English said "Yes, I speak very good English" and then proceeded to tell me everything in Italian. I got the gist of it but went hungry as I didn't get what he meant when he pointed to the rabbit hutch when I asked about where to get food from. |
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Day Twenty - Courmeyeur to Ivrea
It had rained overnight and my legs were fairly sore but I dragged myself out of bed at a reasonable hour and got on the road. It looked like turning into a nice day and the sun glowed as I glided downhill and came to terms with the Italian driving style. As soon as I realised that for the average Italian, driving from a-b is not simply a matter of getting there safely, it's a race. They attempt to do it in the shortest amount of time using the least amount of the road whilst burning the most amount of fuel. This usually involves cutting blind corners, overtaking in amazingly small spaces and beeping/revving/shouting nearly continuously. This wouldn't normally be a problem, I'm confident on Cecilia M. Brooks (aka the D-Train) and enjoy a bit of competition as much as the next man (if not a little bit more); and as for a few hand gestures and a bit of verbal banter, well I'm well read in those matters too. I start to worry when lorry drivers get involved. They tend to play by different rules. I stopped at a supermarket after an easy 20miles to pick up the now usual: baguette, laughing cow cheese and three apples. An overly tanned and overly cocky kid, who couldn't have been more than six, rocket up on his bike and said something in Italian. I informed him that I was English, this stumped him for a while, before he patted my trailer (Bob) and gave me the thumbs up. I went inside and it being Italy I had to settle for some panninis and some Gouda slices (is Gouda even Italian?). Twenty miles of the same old stunning scenery as the Alps passed on my left and right and the same old gushing river below I stopped at a petrol station. I thought I should try some Italian out. I had a cunning ploy to alternate every other word from English to French (or Spanish if I knew the word) and then put -o on the end and speak like the Italian fella from Allo Allo. This-o didn't-o travaille-o like-o je-o wanted-o. Merde. -o, With everyone in the 'Snack Bar' thoroughly confused I went back to the Brit abroad basics. I spoke loudly and clearly in English using lots of hand gestures and brand names. I came out with a slice of pizza and a coke. Not what I ordered but I was fairly chuffed with that. Coming towards the end of the day I enter my first sizeable town in Italy-Ivrea. It’s fairly typical-old buildings, fountains, squares etc. They do seem to have a love of cobble stones which does the already suffering back side no good at all. On the way into the town there was two or three signs to the campsite, which is always nice, but then, as often happens, I get to a big, busy junction and nothing. Time-o pour-o some-o plus-o Italiano-o. "Err... scuzzi....Camponizzio?" followed by the camping sign and a sleeping sign. With this the old dear, who must have been 60+, burst into life with some kind of arm puppetry explaining that she had once landed a small aircraft on a river near Australia or something. This didn't let up for a good two minutes. From this entertaining but useless display I gleaned that it was further down and then on the left or the right and then on to a roundabout or square. Great. "Grazzi". I trundled off and asked a few more people and was soon in the countryside. Bad sign. I pulled over at a local bar, parted the beads and strode in. If you can imagine a cross between and Italian Last Of The Summer Wine and Goodfellas then you're not far off. Same question with the same signs and same burst of activity, this time multiplied by ten people all talking and gesturing at once, at me. Eventually the Italian version of Foggy stepped forward and gestured me outside-cue Mafia style execution-no such luck, he manoeuvred his car Austin Powers style out of his bumper to bumper place and gestured for me to follow him. Credit to the old dude, he got me there and drove in a thoroughly unItalian safe style. He gestured me off with two hands clamped together-don't know what that means but if I wake up with a Horses' head in my tent tomorrow I'll know where it came from. Campsite was nice enough and I had a good chat with a French couple before walking (miles and miles) into town, not finding what I wanted and heading back. There was some Jazz festival on so decided to have an early night. The campsite's beside a lake so I was getting bitten to pieces anyway and I could see lightening rippling across the sky to the east. |
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Day Twenty One - Ivrea to Semio Milanese
The storm passed at about 4am which lead to me not getting the best of sleep. On the plus side it was fairly calm when I got up at 6ish. By the time I was packed, filled up and showered the sky was already showing signs of unrest. The first leg of the days journey led me out of Ivrea and up to a small lake. Within ten minutes of leaving the campsite it was tipping it down. A few minutes by which time I was splashing along the lake shore I was drenched to the skin. The lightening worried me-I don't know what the general consensus is on riding metal objects in electrical storms-not great I'd imagine. Lightening struck up ahead, maybe 50m to the right of the road. It made my beard stand on end and the simultaneous thunder knocked me off balance and left me with a ringing in my ears that is normally reserved for a whole night dancing in front of large speaker. At the next town I sought refuge and found it in the church. After 20minutes of breakfast and wringing out all my clothes the storm had passed. I set off with the initial twinges of chaffing flaring up, safe in the knowledge (from my BSc Geography 2:1 degree) that storms don't tend to follow each other and I was probably safe and dry for the rest of the day. Half an hour in the saddle later and with increasing scrotal pains the black clouds loomed again. The rain took my mind off the chaffing for a while-it's actually quite fun riding in the rain once you've resigned yourself to the fact that you're going to get drenched. The storm passed within minutes and the cyclists plague set in for the day. Finding a comfortable position had meant pushing my left leg further and further out to the left. By the time I approached Milan I was practically riding side saddle and getting some justifiably strange looks! The first campsite was a phantom-now a building. The second was closed, the third never existed, it was planned but got turned into a car park. According to my map which I was beginning to doubt-the next campsite was 80km to the south. I cut my losses and sidled up to a hotel. "HI, do you speak English?" "Of course." " Great, one of your cheapest rooms please." "No." "Que?" Apparently there was some big conference in Milan and every hotel was fully booked for the next three days. You've got to be kidding me!?! Thankfully he rang around for me and got me a room at a grotty little hole called 7Motel. I was tired, sore and had been boxed into a corner-the knock out blow came when the guy told me it was Euros for the night. He was a little man and far too happy to be working in a motel in his 's. So I haggled. He called security and we settled on 85euros. Italy 1 Dan 0 |
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Day Twenty Two - Semio Milanese to Lago di Garda (Lake Garda)
The alarm didn't go off but I was awake early-eager to get Italy back for extorting 85Euros from me. I started by using all the freebies in the bathroom-ha! Didn't see that one coming did they! I'd nick the towels too but they were the thick heavy kind. I set off at 7am and due to all the phantom campsites I'd got closer to Milan than I'd planned. I could back track 10km and then skirt round the edges in a 30km loop of head 15km straight through the heart of the city, at rush hour, in the rain, with no map. No choice. This was war anyway, nothing could stop me-I was going to cause some trouble in Milan. The 1:400 000 map I had was of little use so I had to navigate by hunch. And it was amazing-I've not enjoyed nearly dying so much ever I think. If anyone gets the chance to cut up and undertake a string of angry Italian commuters I can thoroughly recommend it! By 8.30 it was getting farcical I had a rough idea where I was going and I was cutting up lorries, taking two lanes at roundabouts, squeezing the D-Train up onto the pavement and scraping through red lights. I was quicker than most cars off the mark so could get in lane and slow them up. If Michel Caine and the boys think they did well with the traffic in Turin then they could have learnt a lesson from me. Milan was a beeping, hand gesturing, swearing grid locked mess. Back of the net! Italy 1 - Dan 1! After all the city centre shenanigans I finally found the right road out. The adrenaline had managed nicely to cover the rain and the groin pain. As I caught my breath on the way out of town-in came the pain. I had to stop several times to reapply the topical cream-all to the amusement of the passers my. KIDS-it's not clever to stuff toilet paper down your underwear-you'll always get found out. In this case though it did the trick nicely. Long day, 100+miles, the sun setting I pulled into a cracking looking campsite next to Lago di Garda. I met Richie and Chris from Liverpool who leant me some washing up liquid to get the oil off my legs and face (another inner tube replacement a few miles earlier had left me in a bit of a state) and recharged my camera there. Two Austrian ladies then helped me find my tent pitch. A dutch couple were cycling from Amsterdam to Venice and stopped by to have a chat, and later on I was offered a beer by an English couple out shopping-it felt good to talk. Knackered I hit the tent early. |
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Day Twenty Three - Rest Day in Lago Di Garda
Phone calls, e-mail, washing and general chillaxing. I got told ff for swimming in the pool without a cap on. Bought an alarm clock and battery for the failed bike computer. Broke the pump on my stove (something always goes wrong). Stove is now useless. As is all the instant pasta. Austrian ladies invited me over for breakfast and I used their stove for the pasta at night. Watched some BBC World on their telly-lovely people. Went to pay the bill-56EUROS FOR TWO NIGHTS CAMPING! |
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Day Twenty Four - Lago di Garda to Mestre (Near Venice)
Left camp at 7.20-all miles done before 8 are free! Having checked the map, that I don't trust, I could see it was going to be a long day-the nearest marked campsites on my route were over 100miles away. I'd thought about it last night and I need to toughen up again-the hotel in Milan could have been avoided if I'd pushed on another 30miles. From now on I'm only going to have the time and speed showing on the bike computer and I'm going to set my targets by eye on the map. Today: Breakfast in Verona, Vincenza for Lunch, Tea in Padova and Mestre for the campsite. The whole of Northern Italy has been flat and today was no exception. Again I plagued the Italian drivers, scooting past queues on and off the pavement. I made good time and had breakfast-hamburger bread, cheese and chocolate-in front of a large ornamental arc next to a church, I'm sure it was of some significance but all of Verona looked old and crumbly to me, anyway I was distracted by the cobbles shaking my will to live! I remembered from a school trip years ago that Romeo and Juliet’s balcony is here and a large amphitheatre. Saw them, they were old and grafittied as I remembered. Motorways have become part of my everyday routine-the Italian system springs them on you. It'll mark VINCENZA in blue (non motorway colour) and will have SS11 next to it, the road I want and before I know it I'm heading full speed down a slip road onto a four lane motorway at the side of which is a large sign saying: no pedestrians, no bikes and no horse drawn carriages-I think that counts me out! But what can I do? I need a good 5m to pull a U-turn and then what? Head back up the slip road and renters the roundabout blind? No chance-motorway and lets get going. The motorway hard shoulders are usually good and clear of debris, besides the fear of being smashed into or pulled over drives me on at great speed. This morning I was OK as there was a massive 10km queue so I could fly down the side of the traffic and cut across the round about relatively safely. Leaving Padova was different, I left at about 4pm and the roads were just getting busy. I saw my road (SS11) and destination (Venice) marked so turned off down a slip road onto a four lane motor way, 2km later 'Venice' left hand lane 200m, so I thought I had to get across in the next 200m, I then spent a further kilometre chilling in the fast lane as cars screamed past me. Eventually this lane turned off and swung a full U-turn onto the same motorway going in the opposite direction where I was again in the fast lane and had to cut across four lanes of fast moving traffic to get my turn off in 400m on the right-madness. Still, I'm alive and I quite enjoyed it actually. Campsite is nice. I've met two couples that used to live in Lincoln and now live in Eastern Spain and another couple from Towcester. I wrote postcards, ate crap food and went to bed having been bitten 30+times on my feet neck and arms.-Note to self, silly Dan. |
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Day Twenty Five - Mestre to Monfalcone
Getting up at 6 today was tough-so I didn't I got up at 7. On the road by 8.10ish-no free miles today. The Italians seem obsessed with the United States, today I spent most of my day on J.F.Kennedy Highway and passed M.L.King St. By breakfast I was knackered and hungry so I reset the target and decided to camp at Puertoguaro another 20miles down the road making the day 50miles long. I stopped at a small shop and eat and drank until I felt better, all under the watchful eye f the shop owners grandson who was off school ill, best not be contagious. Half an hour later I was stuffed and back on the bike. The Golden Arches tease me. McDonalds is everywhere I go, and I want one, well one of each actually. I know it's not good food and will just sit in my stomach all day but I don’t care-I want one and one day soon I'll break. I get to Puertoguaro – eh! Scuzzi....camping? No. This is getting ridiculous. It's on the map. The map is new. I garb a fanta and a Magnum-classic cycling food. If Lance Armstrong's reading this then take note-you could have won 10Tours with this food. I plodded on in the midday sun as always-there was a slight breeze today so it was pleasant. I really want to itch my insect bites but manage to refrain. The chaffing is back but not too bad. The campsite is called Albatross and it's 10Euro for the night, 4*accommodation but it's crap. I'm in the snack bar now having pasta as my stove is still deadweight for hauling-amazingly it's called McBepis but it's not the same. The campsite is full of Hungarians so I'm off to bed. |
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Day Twenty Six - Monfalcone to Trieste
I was only heading the 25miles down the coast today so gave myself a lie in til 7. I hadn't slept very well due to the Europop coming from the Hungarian sector. I sat up in my tent as I always do, searched through the chaos for my towel and kit for the day. Today was different-I couldn't find my cycling shorts or over shorts with the keys to my bike lock in them, never mind I'll find them later when I pack up. I unzip the tent swaff the mozzies out of my way and head to the shower. Still cant find them, I don't know what I'm more worried about-cycling shorts: they'd become a part of me; over shorts: I'd worn them everyday; or the keys-can't move the bike without them. Where was the last time I had them? Shower last night. I check the cubicle, empty. I check the next one and my cycling shorts are there, I must have pushed them off the side when I was showering- no harm, no foul. Over shorts must be somewhere around here. Next cubicle, no; next one, nothing-all empty. I check the basins at the end and in the corner I find my shorts. This is getting stranger as the Velcro pockets are un-naturally open. No keys-bugger. They'll be around somewhere, probably just kids messing around. Ten minutes and a complete search later (including grilling the cleaners who spoke no English) and I head to reception to report it.-nothing handed in. I give in. The maintenance man turns up with bolt cutters and alarmingly easily cuts through the chain. Annoyed and on the road late I head to the 'big bike shop' recommended at the campsite. I want a bike lock, they only sell clothes. I spot my stove in the cabinet while the woman is blithering on at me about where the next shop is. I point to the stove, She obviously thinks I'm insane-that clearly isn't a bike lock it's a stove “you stoopido ginger beardo man!”. I get my point across that the pump for my stove is broken and she goes into another rant of gestures and chat. I gather that the pump isn't sold separately so ask where the bike shop is. She throws her hands in the air and makes some rather rude gestures. At this point the manager steps in and in perfect English says the shop is just two roads down and the stove costs E300. I get to the bike shop-the owner spies my Rohloff hub and spends and age looking around the bike. I buy the cheapest bike lock and head to the 'outdoors store' by the airport. It's a garden centre and the cashier says they don't sell petrol. I don't want petrol, I want a petrol pump, mine's broken. Try the petrol station-I give in. Off to Trieste. It's easy and claming cycling, the bay of Trieste is off to my right and I believe it's truly stunning but all I can think of is the cheeky pikey who stole my keys and how I'm going to fix my stove. I think the O-ring is gone but don't really know what that means. In Trieste I follow the Information signs until they turn into signs for Slovenia. I stop at the pool and say the words 'Informatione Turitique' 37times until the woman in the cafe finally cottons on that I want the Informatione Turitique and not a coke. It's at the station. I buy a blue Powerade which I think I might be getting addicted to. It's gone in seconds, I spend a few minutes in the shade outside the cafe before heading to the Info. When I get there it's closed until 3. I'll find my own hotel. There's a sign for the 1*Tritane-ideal. It's 2km away so I set off. I pull up outside, go to take my handle bar bag off (I always take it with me as it has everything of value, passport, money etc.) and it's not there. I nearly pop a blood vessel in my knee pumping the pedals to get back to the pool cafe. I shouldn't have worried this is Italy, even the thieves have two hours off for lunch. I buy and quickly drain two more Powerades and as it's 2.45 I head to the Info and wait outside. I continuously check my handlebar bag. 3o'clcok comes and goes as does 3.15 and 3.30. I meet a Scottish couple and chat for a bit. The woman finally arrives and sends me to the hotel Nuova Canton. It's an apartment separated into block rooms by a Chinese family. Still, it's clean and the communal shower looks nice enough. I head into town and ring a friend of a friend who lives in Trieste, we agree to meet at the station at 5.30. She's going to Ljubljana tonight for a party. She's hot and I feel like I've let the side down by being a bearded, single language oaf. She says she knows this great ice cream place which turns out to be below my 'hotel'. We have a good chat and I take her e-mail, we agree to meet in Ljubljana if I get there in time. I buy maps and check e-mails. I dare a mate to meet me in Ljubljana tomorrow over MSN, he's the type that you just don't know whether he will or not so fingers crossed we'll be having beers tomorrow night in the capital of Slovenia! |
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Day Twenty Seven - Trieste to Ljubljana, Slovenia
New Country! Huzzah! And it's the first country that I've not been to before, and know nothing of the language, or culture, or anything-do they have the Euro here? This could be tricky! Anyway let's start at the beginning with a proverb (adapted): I was cycling through Trieste one day and I came upon a junction in the road...I chose the path not often travelled by. Now I am lost. Hell has a new name-the hills of Trieste. Their cobbled, 20%+ gradient and I have to stop for on coming cars as the road is only 8ft wide. It's not even 7.30 and I'm dying. It's 7.32 and I'm off the bike-this hill is ridiculous-I'm pushing and pushing and my hands are cramping. Every turn brings a false horizon and more hill stretching out ever further ever steeper. I'm now high above Trieste, the Adriatic Sea is away to my left and I can see the road I want gentle sloping above me to my right. The noise of the cars and lorries cruising up it torments me, I see a dead end sign up ahead and my heart sinks. 7.43. Luckily the dead end is and off road to the right and the 'main road' (now less than six foot wide and cobbled) follows a switch back to the left. There's a dog in the road ahead, I approach so slowly it doesn't even bark. As it backs off it lets out a few yaps just to let me know I was an idiot and that there's a much easier route than this. I check the map again. The roads not marked. I cling to the hope that it leads somewhere. I forge on round another switch back and the gradient eases. I decide to give pedalling a go, this works well until I reach the corner and the devilish slope returns.7.56. I've been going for less than 40minutes and I'm in professional sweater mode again-this is bad as there's quite a cold breeze coming in from the sea. The following 15 minutes pass in a blur, partly because every step is torture and partly because the sweat has stung my eyes into submission. The process of push, get on-pedal-get off, push continues. I'm close now, I can smell the fumes of the lorries-this must be the last corner? Just beyond the trees then? Behind that house? 8.17 and I spy the road. I mount up, and heave stroke by stroke to the road. It's approaching rush hour and the road is still uphill-I don't care 'that' hill is over. The new road feels gentle at a mere 11% it's a doddle! I follow signs to Ljubljana and am genuinely excited when I see passport control! The Italian side waves me through and the Slovenian side only glance at my passport and ask a few questions. -What is the purpose of your trip? -I'm cycling to Cape Town. -Very good, keep off the motorways. Bit of a let down but hey, another country done! Italy and Western Europe ticked off! Three down fifteen to go! Roughly 1350miles done in 27days-not too shabby! My first taste of Slovenai was great, rolling countryside, a lot like home. Familiar farm smells and goings on. In Italy they were obsessed with strimming-they strim everything, plants, grass, weeds gardens, verges, everything. In Slovenia they mow. I've seen every type in every colour from industrial farm mowers to old fashioned push ones. Saturday must be the day for gardening. After the flat roads of Italy and the hard work of the morning's hill then the up and down nature of the roads took some getting used to. In places the road quality was spot on but more and more frequently than in France and Italy there were cracks and potholes-this is the beginning of the trip for real. I got into Ljubljana and it had started to rain. I'd passed lots of cyclists loaded up with panniers -one even had a Bob trailer like me, but they were all heading the other way-what do they know that I don’t? Lots probably. I headed into the centre, a place in the old part of town where three bridges cross the river at one point. To avoid confusion they've called it Three Bridges. The tourist information centre were very helpful and spoke good English. The hostel was full so I'm in a B&B type place. I'd dared my friend to meet me at Three Bridges at 6. I checked my e-mail and he hadn't sent one saying he wasn't coming so I waited until 6 but he was a no show. I rang some friends in England and spent all my credit so I couldn't ring Veronika from Trieste. I ate chocolate and McDonalds-at last-hurrah! Off to bed, soaked through-rest day tomorrow! |
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Day Twenty Eight - Rest Day Ljubljana
Tried to sleep in but I hadn't figured out how to use the blinds the night before so the murky overcast light woke me at 7. I read a bit about disasters on K2-very useful. I asked the kindly old fella who runs the rooms I'm in if there was a laundry open. He's a really nice chap. He busies himself keeping everything clean-he made me wipe down my bags before I came in yesterday. He seemed to understand what I had asked for and even offered to drive me there as it was still raining. I grew sceptical when he drove me to a tower block in an old industrial estate-but fair play to him and the lady at reception (born in Adelaide) gave me the key and tokens for the machine and directed me downstairs. Downstairs was, I kid you not, a nuclear bunker. That or a submarine had burrowed it's way inland. There were huge round hatches, red lights, metal ladders-amazing. After some searching I found the door that my key opened and there was a laundrette which felt weird in a nuclear bunker. Some moustached, mulleted Slovenians came in and gave me some stick mid way through but then they ironed their Y-fronts so I had the last laugh! I found a shop open and bought bread, rank cheese and apples for tomorrow. Geekily I bagged them all up separately ready for tomorrow. The old man had pointed out a pizzeria on the way back and I headed there to 'carbo load'/eat food I recognised. The food was awesome and I met some of the Ljubljana basket ball team-they dwarfed my petite 6'5” frame. They were nice enough and I chatted to the American about being over here, the weather and my trip. I wished them good luck with their season and headed home for an early bed. 8pm-washed and in bed. 11pm-still awake. 1.30am-awake. 2.30am-awake etc. |
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Day Twenty Nine - Ljubljana to Zargeb, Croatia.
Toughest day so far. Bad nights sleep, cold in the morning, then wet all day, sweating uphill and freezing down, a little lost a lot and a lot lost a little, denied entry to Croatia once, sent down a motorway by customs officials, Eastern European 'Crazy Paving' roads, then a phantom road and two phantom campsites. And my knees are playing up in the cold. But I've covered 103miles and I'm in Croatia now, homing in on Istanbul. 10 days I think! It wasn't raining when I got up. It looked reasonably bright. I'd packed everything the night before so as to be ready. I had a quick shower and a look for any new mozzy bites. I lugged my stuff downstairs and set off. It was cold and I was glad I'd put my 'jacket' on (I now refuse to call it a water proof as it has no water resistant capacities whatsoever). I had a few options of when to stop but there were two campsites and two youth hostels clearly marked on the map just south of Zagreb for real and I wanted a nice long day just to blow the cobwebs and sleepiness out of my system. ON the map there seemed to be a fairly decent road running pretty much parallel with the motorway heading through wonderful sounding (but actually rubbish) towns like Grosuplie, Trebnje and Novo Mesto. It was brutally cold when I set out, the clouds were as monotone as they were grey only sprinkled with patches of mist. I never felt that it was raining and the winds were light all morning but by the time I had my first stop 20miles outside Ljubljana in a place called Ivanica Gorcia-I was soaked though and getting cold. I was stuck, if I pedalled hard and got up some speed the wind would cool me down and I'd start to shiver, if I pedalled slower the skin on my legs would ache in the biting cold. Its not fair, I know it's the middle of September but I was heading south(ish) and it was meant to be hotting up! The days of acclimatising to the heat by cycling through 35degree midday heat in Italy, preparing for the Middle East and Africa were wearing off. The midday sun didn't come out, cars had their headlights on all day-even the street lights were on til 11.30am. I could see my breath hang in the air from dawn to dusk and the cold easily penetrated my 'waterproofs'. Ranulph Fiennes is quoted as saying that there is no such thing as bad weather only inappropriate clothing-today I was wearing inappropriate clothing. I'd made my mind up yesterday that if I got wet today then there was no point stopping. I may as well be wet and get a good distance covered rather than wet and hanging around getting cold. So I pushed on. On and on through unexceptional countryside. A short uphill would bring brief respite from the cold and I could work until I was toasty only to have the downhill wind rip through my pointless jacket. Still I was making progress, I was close to the border and my legs felt strong. They'd covered about 6km of Eastern European Block Paving-where instead of making actual road they've simply laid giant slaps of concrete down which have all subsequently cracked in half and broken along the edges by the giant Tonka Toy trucks that hurtle down here-mainly lugging rubble-where from? Where to? Who wants rubble? And these guys seem to be in a hurry. This Communist Crazy Paving had abated temporarily and I spied on my map that there was a border on the motorway and on the road I was on. So off I trot, passport in hand; waved through the Slovenian side only to be turned back by the Croatian side as this border point was only for locals. I reasoned with the official that the other border post was on the motorway which I wasn't allowed on but he didn't understand and the queue was getting inpatient. I remounted, u-turned and headed to the entry bit for Slovenia. I handed over my passport. He looks puzzled and says that this crossing is only for locals. My patience was wearing thin. Was I destined to be international limbo for long while I tried to break out of this lingual prison and speak sense to people. Thankfully his English was good and the problem was solved in less than 10minutes. I pushed off onto the motorway and past a line of confused looking truckers lined up heading to Croatia. The customs officers let me through and I ask if there is a non motorway route out. There's not. I roll onto the toll booth where they tell me I'm not allowed on the motorway with my bike. I started to explain but he just waved me through and told me to get off when I could. I felt a bit exhilarated like I was on the run from the law, like James Bond (I have a lot of time on my hands) this buoyant mood is pricked by some more Soviet Bloc Paving. The road on my map says this road is a major on-the the type that usually has a nice bit of hard shoulder for me to fill. This is two blocks wide and the impatient Croatians shunt past me as I try to manoeuvre by the worst of the cracks and holes. A rubble truck glances my elbow which hurts like hell but I maintain control and keep my head down and legs pumping. It was mid rush hour and I'm approaching the industrial zone in Zagreb what did I expect? I finally turn off the concrete chip board and onto a relatively decent road. I'm safe(r) no cars/lorries and this tarmac dream, according to my map takes me past both campsites and both hostels. The road crosses a three lane motorway and then runs out. Bugger. My 1:400 000 map of Zagreb is useless and I stumble about avoiding trucks and trailers. I pull off and buy a more detailed map of Zagreb which would have been useful if any of the roads were signposted. 55Minutes of going up and down roads with the constant wallpaper of chavs and barking dogs and I find the park that houses the campsite. I do two laps and realise it's a phantom. It's 6.30 and getting dark. I find a hotel, it's cheap enough. I eat off the kids menu in the restaurant and head to bed, watch Miss Marple and prepare for another day of war with the Croatians. |
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Day Thirty - Zagreb to Nova Gradiska
I sleep well, Miss Marple has that effect on me, and I'm ready for the off. As I'm missing the hotel breakfast they kindly make me a pack lunch. I set off once more into the breech. My first opponent is the streets of Zagreb, they take forever to overcome and I am forced to check my map constantly as they are riddled with dead ends. Regular traffic lights slow my progress to a crawl but give me ample time to look for signs that aren't there and get help from people who aren't helpful. I finally break out of the motorway ring road that chokes Zagreb and head straight onto my next opponent-Crazy Croatian Crap Roads. I head towards Dugo Selo, well marked on the map, perfectly missable in reality. I stop at a petrol station where I seek warmth and Powerade but am pestered by a little man in a boiler suit who wants to know the bike and my life story-not now chap I'm not really in the mood-doesn't seem to work so I sit outside on the floor and eat my sandwiches, change the map around in my case and drink the powerade. I've seen that the area I'm heading into is positively littered with campsites-great-cheap and I miss the old tent smell! The day drudges by and reminds me of bad September days in England. Greta weather for rugby and generally getting muddy before running inside for tea and telly. Sadly I'm 1500long miles away from anything like home. I haven't figured the Balkan timetable yet. The kids seem to go to school at 7am and go home anytime from 11.30am to 3.30pm, this make these three hours the time when I am regularly pointed and laughed at. I made the mistake today of stopping to shuffle my map round in front of a school. I had abuse and jeers hurled at me from all windows of the three floor building to such an extent that the headmaster (I presume) asked me to move on (I presume). Anyway, another day in the saddle is wearing to a close and I hone in on the first in a long line of campsites. I stop in the town, errr....Camping (+sign) “High speeek verry goud hEnglieesh” (no you don't you cretin) “Oh good can you tell me where the campsite is?” “Zagreb eeez bek way” “Thanks for your help, tootles.” I ask a few better examples of human beings and the general consensus is that there is no campsite and never has been. I'd expected this, so I trotted on-they cant all be phantom campsites. Five phantoms (Kutina, Lipouljan, Novska, Okucani and Nova Gradski) and 37miles later and I begin to think the map maker has put these camping signs on just to make the dull map look pretty. I pull over a t a secluded spot, fight my way into the woods and start setting up camp, I have food and water, I'll be fine. Several people spot me from the road and point. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to Ray Mears when I had the chance. 10Minutes later I'm disturbed by a policeman shouting at me from the roadside, he's very irate and he's frantically waving me over. I think he's giving me the chat about trespassing until he points to the sign that says danger unexploded landmines, clearly in English. Ah, my bad, sorry Mr Officer, I'll be on my way. Tired, hungry and not to mention a little shaken I check into a hotel and pass out. |
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Day Thirty One - Nova Gradiska to Zupanja
One month into the trip! I'm famished and breakfast is included so I head down and it's awesome-tea, toast, cereals, bacon, eggs, omelette, hot chocolate, yoghurt and muffins! Not the lightest of breakfasts but I feel good for having it. Especially seeing as another crap day is unfolding in front of me. I've probably not given it a fair go, but I don't like Croatia. The countryside is unattractive and badly kept, the people are unhelpful and unfriendly, the roads are poor and the signs are infrequent and unclear. I passed a truck today that proudly boasted that it was Truck of the Year in 1993, it would have been a better truck if it was driving on it's own side of the road. I got lost twice today and after two 100+mile days I was looking forward to a nice easy 70miles. This stretched to a 96er as there are no campsites or hotels. This hotel is nice enough and there is an internet cafe round the corner. No where in Croatai sells maps of Serbia (do they not like each other or something?) way to hold a grudge-come on get over it, we sell maps of France for goodness sake! Anyway-early to bed after a sandwich and Bond is on the telly. |
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Day Thirty Two - Zupanja to Ruma
I'll be glad to get rid of this bloody map. Today I travelled along a road, roughly straight and on the map it was the same colour and thickness all along. Good news seeing as I left Zupanja in Craptia it was wide and well kept. Within a mile I was vibrating along nothing more than a farm track. I saw an old man herding his pigs down the road. He signalled that the next town was 5km straight ahead. Then he grasped my knee and smiled (odd and somewhat unnecessary)- he went on to say something in Croatian and laugh. Probably along the lines of “This is a local town for local people, I'm going to chop your knees off and feed you to the pigs.” I escaped back to the rumble of the road. As the track deteriorated I became better at picking my route and started to enjoy myself. I know that I will come across worse roads than this. It worried me when I spied a car parked up ahead. It worried me more when further on I saw two men walking down the track carrying shotguns, I passed both obstacles with the stiff British upper lip in tact. After 6kms of ruts, mud potholes and puddles suddenly I was gliding along smooth tarmac being buzzed by lorries. My map said the motorway was under construction so I took my chances and cycled down the unfinished carriageway, this worked well for 2-3miles then I'd have to career down a mud escarpment back on to the road or dismount and walk across gurders across a bridge-still it's better than being fed to the pigs on the farm track back roads and definitely better that Soviet Bloc Paving! Before I knew it I was approaching the border. The Croatian side was aptly cold and systematic. The Serbian customs officer, for starters she was a chick and secondly she was quite fit-so well done Serbia for first impressions! She spoke textbook English and even cracked a smile. She asked where I was heading, I told her and she looked confused, she told the other guards who where hanging around seemingly doing nothing. After that I was a celebrity, the border was shut for a good ten minutes as guards deserted and people came from their cars to shake my hand and pat the bike. Feeling thoroughly shook and patted I pedalled off to shouts of encouragement and car horns. So Croatia = Crap. Serbia = Super. This is probably not politically correct but you'll learn (or I will) that this isn't my forte. Even better, in Serbia I'm allowed to cycle on the side of the dual carriageways which according to my 1: 880 000 scale map goes straight through Beograd (Belgrade) and south to Nis. From Nis I head south east to Bulgaria and Sofija. Then either straight over the mountains to Turkey and Istanbul or round the eastern side of the hills by the Danube to Turkey and Istanbul that way-who knows. Could be in Turkey this time next week! |
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Day Thirty Three - Ruma to Krnjevo (50miles south of Belgrade)
The snails have signed a suicide pact. I didn't get all the details but I think it's out of protest for all the dogs, cats, rats, hedgehogs, frogs, owls, slugs and miscellaneous road kill I've seen throughout Europe. Anyway their trying to kill themselves by sliding off onto the main road. On the trip so far I've tried not to kill anything, even to the extent of putting flies and spiders out of the tent rather than swatting them-call it karma or whatever I just don't want to get down to the jungle to see this little newts big cousin coming after me! However, with such a noble and honourable show of solidarity of animal kind I have given myself permission to mow down the snails retreating from the front. I do this old skool video game style as I pedal down my 4m section of dull endlessly, mind numbingly straight hard shoulder. Swerving to avoid the brave shells heading out and squashing the cowards. Have I gone insane? Probably. I wont tell you about the game of I spy I had yesterday. And lost. To my bike. Compared to the hellish days of cold, wet no sun in Croatia today looked nice. Clouds crowded the sky but they had a silver lining this time-they even promised sunshine! Navigationally the whole day was relatively easy. I follow the signs to Nis. I passed through Blegrade midmorning and bought a phone card that didn't work. As I'm on a main road, getting decent food is proving tricky. I'm enjoying five doses of chocolate a day but it does sit fairly heavy in my stomach. The other problem is cash machines-there are none. I ran out today and had to pay the man at the petrol station 100dinah (1euro) to over charge my card and give me cash back. Anyway, after 90miles and intermittent sunshine it was time to find a bed for the night. The first motel/campsite wanted 20euros to camp and wouldn't let me use my card to pay. The second wanted 30euro for a hovel of a room (apparently it was by some holy water fountain, so I filled my water bottles up and pedalled on) the next hotel charged me 12euro for the room and dinner and breakfast and the waiter. Ivan, was a legend. He sorted everything out, spoke good English and we had a chat about stuff-my first conversation in 5days. I'm off to bed to cover myself in DEET and swab my mozzy sores in whatever I have available. Nis Tomorrow hopefully! |
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Day Thirty Four - Krnjevo to Nis
I feel I have to start on a reflective note. I realise that some Croatians reading this may feel a little hard done by after my sweeping statements about their horrible little country in earlier diary entries. They might think that I was unfair to judge the whole country on three days of bad luck. Tough. Your country is rubbish. Prove me wrong and I'll be happy to eat my words. I thought I'd like it-average football team, cheapish beer, Goran Ivanesavic-but even going through the great Goran's home village did nothing to give me any points to put in the plus column. Today was a funny day the weather went full circle, cold but clear in the morning, then sunny and hot, cloudy, misty, raining. The miles clicked over fairly uneventfully. I like Serbia, the countryside is picturesque and everyone smiles, waves and beeps their horns. I will come back and see more than service stations and motorway but for now this is fine. Quick and convenient. From here in Nis I head across the border to Sofia in Bulgaria. It's on mainly non motorway so will be harder work with the traffic but it goes through towns so I may get some decent food to replace my jaffa cake/milka bar/ice cream diet I've enjoyed for the last week. I may even find a phone box that will let me ring home or heaven forbid and internet cafe! Still I'm feeling healthy and could be in Istanbul by Thursday even with a rest day in Sofia! |
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Day Thirty Five - Nis to Sofija
Three months to Christmas! I wonder where I'll be?! Could be anywhere between Egypt and Kenya! I was packed and on the road by 7, Sunday mornings are always the best for cycling. It was cold but the sky promised sunshine. I glided down the motorway-there were road works but by now I've realised that the rules are different on a bike so I ploughed on up the closed carriageway. The road was under construction all the way to the border according to the sign-which was written in English. This is good news as I figure it's the end of the summer road building season and most of the road turned out to be lovely smooth tarmac. There were a few uphill miles today and it was annoying having to stop to turn on and off my rear and front lines for the tunnels. The few drivers that were on the roads smiled and waved cheerfully as I've found all the Serbians do. The lorries were a bit of an issue in tunnels and on the narrow roads, but I ploughed on regardless! I stopped in a roadside cafe and ordered a cheese sandwich 9you can take the boy out of England etc.)-the waitress must have misheard me as whatever the fetid abomination she brought me between two chunks of bread certainly wasn't the mild cheddar I had pictured in my head. Feta I think-I suppose I'll have to eat what I get from now on. I reached the border at 2ish-I could tell I was getting close as there was a queue of trucks from 10km out. The drivers were chilling and chatting on the roadside. I got cheered and clapped all the way to the border! There was no queue for us “cars” on the Serbian side, she stamped my passport and asked if I'd cycled all over Serbia in three days-I said I'd only done the motorway-she didn't understand. There was a queue on the Bulgarian side and the 'friendly National Bank of Bulgaria wouldn't change my Serbian money. I chatted to a Swizz fella in the queue. There was the usual who-har at the border as I explained my planned trip. They let me through and I rushed off. It was 3.15 and I wanted to do the 35miles to Sofija before nightfall. At some point (probably the border) I must have crossed a time zone as every clock over here is wrong by two hours instead of just one. Going into another country always gives me a boost and even though it was uphill I enjoyed blasting the first 10miles, thinking of what's to come-I'm approaching 2000miles done! I spied the white skyscrapers and tower blocks, painted pink by the setting sun, from about 10miles out. I headed right into the 'centrum', through quite a rough area where I was chased by a dog that was having stones thrown at it by some youths-different. There were signs for a Hotel Plana from 8kms out so I followed those. It's really nice and quite cheap. I rang home and had a cheese and ham sandwich with chips. Not bad this Bulgaria place. |
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Day Thirty Six - Rest Day Sofija
I spent the whole day (literally 10hours) at the internet shop writing up pages and pages of diary. McDonalds for lunch and Doritos and Chocolate milkshake for tea. Did not sleep well at all. |
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Day Thirty Seven - Rest Day Sofija
I meant to set off today but couldn't be bothered. I'm a month ahead of schedule and hadn't slept well. All my clothes need washing (by hand as there are no laundrettes in Bulgaria) and I want to chill another day. Tomorrow night in Plovdiv, then near the border on Thursday and near Istanbul for Friday. |
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Day Thirty Eight - Sofija to Plovdiv
"Caught By The Fuzz" Supergrass "I don't belieeeeeve it!!" Richard Wilson, One Foot In The Grave Of all the countries, all the motorways I've been down, all the border control and police checkpoints I've been through-an old Bulgarian Moustachioed rozzer gets me. And it's not even a proper motorway, it's a dual carriageway. He pulls me over (indicating with his flashy reflective stick) and then goes into a Bulgarian frenzy. He notices that I don't understand so then proceeds to speak in German, I glean from his hand gestures that he's saying something along the lines of-"No bikes on the autobahn, you want to buy baby? I have baby for sale." I can't really back that up but that's what I'm sticking with. After a few minutes of me not having a clue what he was saying he got disheartened. I pointed down the road and said "Plovdiv". He looked at his partner in the car who just shrugged and I was off! I'm sure this wont be my last run in with the law but hopefully it'll be the last time one of them tries to sell me a baby (maybe). The rest of the day went as planned. It had started off incredibly misty in Sofija which made navigating the cities rush hour roads fun! The mist didn't clear until 10ish and then it was almost perfect sunshine and a gentle headwind, nice scenery and a great time topping up my tan lines. The Bulgarians have dismissed the idea of following rivers/the route of least resistance through a landscape preferring the more direct route instead. If there's a hill they plough over it, through it or under it-brill! The uphill is always rewarded with a downhill and I know I'm heading for sea level at Istanbul so don't really mind. I got to Plovdiv at 4.30ish-only eight and half hours in the saddle so decide to crack on. I found a 'campsite' 15km further on-near a place called Bogdanica. It's the worst one I've been to so far. It was a kind of trailer park come truck stop come pub/disco/brothel that had no flat ground and lorries pounding past metres away from my tent shaking the ground and keeping me awake all night. I'd bought some new books in Sofija but even "A Brief History Of Time" by Stephen Hawking failed to send me to sleep! Still, it was only five euros and I'm back in the tent (yeay!) so you can't knock it. |
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Day Thirty Nine - Plovdiv to Svilengrad (near to the border with Turkey)
Having had a total of about nine hours sleep for the previous three days my alarm beeping was an unwelcome addition to my temporary slumber. Move! Wake up! Get up-get going! Nothing. In a semiconscious state I packed everything away-this took forever. It took a good 10miles to wake me up and for me to realise I'd left my panniers open. I've been on a B-road all today so the scenery has been more agricultural. The number of horse and carts I see way out number the number of fellow cyclists. I saw a farmer ploughing a field walking behind a single furrow plough being pulled along by a horse. It's amazing the changes in wealth and lifestyle I've seen in just the last thousand miles. Northern Italy is positively cutting edge compared to this. As the day ticks on and I home in on Svilengrad the fields become full of women harvesting various fruity and veg. It was nearing the height of the midday sun at about 1.30pm when a man came into the field and shouted something. This was the signal for all the women to come to one end of the field and lie down and have a siesta (I figured this out later). To me trundling by on Cecile (the bike) it looked like as I approached any field the women were positively rushing to come and lie down in front of me-my reputation obviously proceeds me! Not now girls I'm on the bike! Being English and a bit of a mad dog I ploughed on through the midday sun. These chicks were obviously weak! The B-road I'm on connects two A=roads and is the direct route for everything going between Europe and Turkey. This means I had twice as many trucks and the half the space to manoeuvre! The Bulgarian driving style is the same as the Italians except the Bulgarians drive worse cars (though you do have to love the Lada 4 x 4!) and have less care for their own lives. The near misses I've seen today have kept me alert as I'm sure all the fumes I'm inhaling are making my drowsy-could be lack of sleep in the last three days and cycling 300miles though. I'm in a hotel tonight (6euros) 10km from the border. I'll be there early as I need to get a visa. Should be about 50miles from Istanbul-somewhere around Corlu. |
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Day Forty - Svilengrad, Bulgaria to Corlu, Turkey
It's the 30th September and I'm in Turkey. According to my rough plan I made before setting off I'm a month ahead of schedule and I'm feeling strong. Turkey is my 8th country (10 to go) and I've cycled roughly 2200miles (just under 8000miles to go). Turkey marks the end of the first leg-London to Istanbul and the beginning of stage 2-Istanbul to Cairo. This next step will bring a whole new set of problems to overcome. This first legs problems overcome have included: learning how to cycle, learning how to change a tyre (lots), learning to cope on my own not knowing the language and learning how to dominate the roads and terrorise the truck drivers! Today started well, I forgot to hand the key into the hotel so will have to post it back later. I got to the border where there was a near full on skirmish to get through the one lane that was open. I hung at the back but was waved through by everyone. This border was weird, normally you leave one country and then go into the next one. Here I left Bulgaria, got my passport stamped, went to the first gate on the Turkish side, had my passport checked, got to the police checkpoint where I was sent back to buy a visa (15euros) and then sent back through the first gate where I was checked again, then the police checkpoint held me up for a few minutes before stamping my visa and sending me through another town checkpoints and straight out onto my favourite-a motorway! This didn't really bother me but had taken about an hour out of my cycling time. I pulled up at a petrol station as always where I was greeted with my first glimpse of Turkish hospitality, I was ushered into a seat, which I got out of to buy my stuff before I was ushered back to it, given free coffee, biscuits and alcoholic wipes (I presume they were free, don't know why I was given the wipes, I must look rough!). This happened every time I stopped, I passed a school playground and they all came to the road side and cheered and waved. One lad ran after me (annoyingly he caught up quite easily) stopped me, shook my hand and then ran back. In general the Turks have been great, the one exception is a truck drivers mate who leaned out of the window having gone past me (and cut me up quite badly causing me to come out of the pedals) he then shouted something and pointed to the verge-which was mountainous-I made it clear that I didn't like his tone of voice using one swift universal hand gesture and then in plain English told him that I questioned his mothers morals. This seemed to settle the matter, that and the fact that I'd turned off onto another road. After a few more litres of free tea at the petrol stations I got into Corlu. I chose the cheapest hotel which was next to a lovely picturesque mosque. This mosque became less quaint when the Islamic version of the Crazy Frog song came bursting out at dusk and dawn (is this politically incorrect? If so ignore it). |