Istanbul

The GBP 220 visa for Iran that we were so excited about receiving

Mosaic at Haghia Sofia

Blue Mosque from Haghia Sofia

Fast and furious nightlife in Beyoglu!

Lamb's intestines. Lovely!

Due to the irregular opening times of Consulates in Istanbul, we were forced to remain there until the 23rd May, which, although wonderful, left us chomping at the bit to get back on the bike and make some progress. We didn't want to leave town without our Uzbek visas, so we just had to wait until they were ready for collection.

Strangely enough, collevtion of the Iranian visa was very straightforward once we had turned up at precisely the correct time, and on a day when the consulate is not on holiday. Consulate staff get all Turkish and Iranian holidays- a good life! The Iranian Consulate showed Iranian news which was particularly interested with the UK MPs' expenses scandals and the resignation of Michael Martin. The Uzbek consulate were very friendly, despite opening half an hour late, and they arranged the required Letter of Invitation ("LOI" for those in the know) for free. We just had to remain in Istanbul from Monday until Friday.

The Azeri (Azerbaijan) Immigration authorities have conveniently changed their rules a month ago, and now require an LOI. The little chap in the Consulate told this to us with great relish, expressing his "regret" that as Her Majesty's Government makes it difficult for Azeris to visit the UK, they will also make it difficult for us to visit Azerrbaijan. This seems a great way to inject energy into their tourism trade. The fact that we geve them a 6 month multi entry visa for the same money they will give us a 30 day single entry visa appears to be ignored. This is simply another bit of red tape to jump through, hurrah!

This aside, Istanbul remains arguably my favourite city in Europe. Its star attractions are simply awe inspiring and its atmosphere is addictive.

I still have not visited the Harem in the Topkapi Palace, due to the failure of the ticket printing machine at the critical moment, and we were denied entry despite already having bought a ground entry ticket. I will go there on my next visit! The displays of Chinese porcelain were also sadly not on display which was also really irritating!

The Basilica Cistern was well worth a visit, the grandest and oldest (532 AD) underground water storage tank imaginable, built out of the salvaged columns from ruined classical temples. All the columns are different, and there are even two bases in the shape of Medusa's head, one upside down and the other on its side. They were simply pieces of rubble used to build the water tank!

Haghia Sofia (532AD) is as utterly awe-inspiring not only for its inherent sense of wonder due to its extraordinary age (it was more than 500 years old at the time of the Norman Conquest) but also its simply extraordinary interior. The sense of space inside the enormous dome is mesmerising. It is incredible to think that this was achieved before the invention of the flying butteress, and that the Norman Churches such as Durham Cathedral that were built some centuries later relied on enormous piers that obscured the view of the nave. There are heaps of delicate Christian mosaics that were only awoken from their hibernation under whitewash when Ataturk proclaimed the building to be a museum (Not a church, not a mosque). For me, a visit to Haghia Sofia is the highlight of any trip to Istanbul.

Off the beaten track, we ventured down the banks of the Golden Horn to Fener, home to the Orthodox Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople (now they don't have Haghia Sofia!) The church was adorned in every possible place with lold leaf and icons. As we arrived a choir were milling about chanting the most wonderful sound and we felt very luck to have been there to hear it. We realised they must have been tourists (from Greece?) when, at the end of the chanting they all hastily posed for pictures standing next to various items and exited as quickly as possible- including the priests among them! Perhaps they planted bugs!

I booked a table at Hamdi Restaurant on one night on the balcony which gives a view onto the Golden Horn towards Galata Bridge and over the Bosphoros to Asia. The kebabs are supposedly the best in town, and they were not bad, although they were far outshone by the view, which is the real reason we were there. Out of a very, very large restaurant there were only 6 covers outside, so we felt very pleased with ourselves for having been quite so organised (and lucky) with our reservation.

The Grand Bazaar is an enjoyable excoursion, although having now visited the Souks of Marrakech, I now realise that the haggling banter in Turkey is not quite the same. Store owners will happily turn business away if the customer does not pretty quickly come to the acceptable price, without much charm.

I had noticed what looked like roasted legs of lamb everywhere around Istanbul, and decided it was time one lunchtime to give myself a treat. The meat was sliced, and then chopped into lots of tiny pieces before being put into a bun with some spices. I took a large bite, and was shocked by the aggressively bitter and strong taste the meat had, rather like the flesh around the ribcage of a sardine. On closer inspection, there were loads of little fatty pieces glinting in the smoggy sunlight, and I decided it wasn't wise to continue with this experiment. I suspected that this was the Wrong Sort of offal, that is offal from the Wrong End. A few days later, while having a drink with Tom R (an OR and a friend of Jonny Black's family, I am not going to attempt to spell his surname) I found out that this was Cokorach, sheep's intetines. Lovely.

Shoe polishers are rather a nuicance if one is wearing leather shoes...like docksiders. When they spy you they will chase you down the street, and they will shout out at you that your shoes look grubby and could do with a shine. If I were going to work I imagine they would be quite useful. I don't know why they don't all go to the financial centres rather than the tourist sites. They will walk slowly along the street, and "by mistake" drop one of their brushes for an honest tourist (like me) to pick up and give back. This is a chance for them to corner you for a shoe polish. "Please don't break my heart!" The second time this happened near me I walked past the cham and gave him s smile.

The methods used by Istanbul sellers, and restaurant staff to drum up business are quite extraordinary and rather tiring. Each restaurant you pass will speak to you in English, pleading for your business. "Maybe later" turns out to be quite an effective response as it leaves them, it appears, with the genuine hope that you will venture through Istanbul, past all the thousands of others, to their patricular kabap stand a bit later on. One chap shouted out at me when I had walked past ignoring him "Maybe next year?" to which I replied "Yes, maybe next year!" "Please don't break my heart!" resurfaces every now and again. What they don't relise is that for foreign tourists like us British they are actually turning away business with their aggressive methods.

"How can I help you to spend your money?" was a rather honest enquiry, although another chap was a little more candid that afternoon saying, "How can I have your money?"

Ice cream sellers are more like clowns- they play games with the gelatinous turkish stuff, twirling it in the air and teasing passers by and punters alike with a wafer cone stuck on the end of a long spatula. They ring a bell above their head whenever anyone walks past, and flair their eyes with a grim smile. The enthusiasm with which they stir their ice cream has to be a device to drum up business.

I met up with Ertan, a friend of my pal Jessica Ozan on my last night, who is a Turkish Phd student. It was fantastic to meet him, and he took me to this wonderful art workshop in Sultanamet which served a great Turkish coffee. He then took us out for some red wine on Galata bridge and adamently refused to let me pay- typically Turkish! He is a font of knowledge about Turkey and I hope to see him again when he gets over to Western Europe!

Talking of Western Europe, it amuses me greatly that the touts have no idea there "Great Britain" or "UK" are when they try to get you into a conversation. This is one conversation I had recetly:

Tout "Hello!"
HWHW "Hi!"
Tout "Where are you from?"
HWHW "Great Britain"
Tout "Where?"
HWHW "Great Britain!"
Tout "Where??!"
HWHW "It's an island off the coast of Western Europe!"
Tout "I don't believe you!"

I will write an update for the travels since Istanbul at the next internet cafe.

Tırana, Badshasheshe, Ohrıd, Scopje, Bıtola, Kavadarcı, Thessalonıkı, Parachıa Ofranıon, Nea Kavalı, Alcıona, Ipsala, Tekırdag, Istanbul

The arrival of the bride

Lunch in the Albanian Quarter in Scopje with some familiar faces

Another border

Archie with the Barber. Just a shave, sir?

My 26th Birthday, chez Kadia

Arber, watching himself on TV (recorded!)

The start of the Turkish Adventure

A load of friendly students, Ipsala, Turkey

My last pork before entering Turkey

Camping on the beach, Greece

Greece!

The late snake

Lake Ohrid

Lake Ohrid

A lot has happened sınce my last post, and apologıes for the lack of news. I have been extremely busy (I covered more than 1000km ın 9 days non-stop from the Albanıan border wıth Macedonıa (Ohrıd) the trıumphal arrıval ın Istanbul.

Harkıng back to the evenıng of the 28th Aprıl (my 26th bırthday) I went to watch Arber Kadıa play ın a professıonal basketball playoff, whıch ıs one of the most ımportant games ın the season. It was fully televısed, and I was accompanıed by Arber's father and hıs brother's gırlfrıend Amarda. Arber lıkened the match to the equıvalent of Cheltenham Town (hıs team) takıng on Chelsea, and the general physıque of the other team was posıtıvely mountaınous compared to our boys. The game was fast and furıous, and we erupted every tıme out team scored, Arber puttıng ın hıs share of 3-poınters! Arber's father could have been Alex Fergusson ın hıs devotıon to the game, and the mental trauma he experıenced at every twıst and turn. At half tıme, there was nothıng to materıally separate the teams (save perhaps the opposıtıon's close relatıonshıp wıth the stratosphere). Sadly we couldn't keep thıs up for the second half, but ıt was stıll a hıghly ımpressıve performance from the underdogs ın my opınıon!

On returnıng to the haven of the Kadıa famıly home, we watched the game agaın, as Mr Kadıa had recorded ıt from the lıve TV broadcast. Arber had been on TV twıce that day due to an ıntervıew he had broadcast on the preservatıon of cultural buıldıngs!

Mrs Kadıa must have been preparıng all day an utterly sumptuous bırthday feast for me whıch ıncluded DELICIOUS stuffed fresh vıne leaves from the garden, and a large bowl of Tzatzıkı for each person. She had bought an utterly superb marron flavoured gateau for puddıng- I never thought I would have a bırthday cake thıs year! That evenıng Arber took me out for some drınks ın the Block, the trendy bar area whıch was very jolly.

After the late nıght, I got up far later than planned however Mrs K stıll laıd on another breakfast feast. I eventually got goıng, under pleasant sunshıne, to leave Tırana. On the way out I spıed an entıre donkey ın a butcher's shop whıch stıll had ıts fur and head on, about to be butchered. It makes me a lıttle squeamısh when I see sımply 'meat' on the menus wıthout any further qualıfıcatıons!

The route out of Tırana was a large clımb over a mını mountaın, and just as I was gettıng up ıt the weather turned nasty and I got utterly drenched and very cold. Thıs ıs not a lot of fun when cyclıng up ın the clouds! The route down was freezıng, wıth the wınd blowıng and the muscles not havıng to work.

I took a break at the bottom to feel thoroughly sorry for myself, and was ımmedıately ınvıted ınto a restaurant for a cup of lemon tea and brandy whıch went down a treat. The owner, Tauly, also got a blow heater to heat up my hands agaın very kındly!

For €15 he gave me a great dınner, a bed ın hıs home and a lovely breakfast on the condıtıon that I send hım some photos when I fınısh my travels. When I had fınıshed my breakfast he saıd 'You are free to walk'(!).

The next day was better weather, but there was stıll a steep clımb ahead to the border wıth Macedonıa. I couldn't work out why the border guards were wearıng masks and gloves, and why they were askıng be about where I had been for the last few weeks- not havıng seen any of the Swıne Flu coverage!

On the banks of Lake Ohrıd I got my fırst puncture of the trıp, hıghly ırrıtatıng. The lake ıs huge, and the wınd made ıt produce a sound just lıke the sea on a sandy beach. I found a prıvate room whıch was very plush for €10 and the owner made me Turkısh coffee and ınsısted on kıllıng a bottle of Macedonıan red wıth me, whıch meant I had to leave the tyre fıxıng for the next mornıng.

On the 1st of May, I receıves a summons from Archıe and Wılly, who had ventured from the Kıng's Head ın Bledıngton to Scopje for a frıend's weddıng. Olıvıa Packe had very kındly tıpped them off that I was ın that part of the world. I therefore decıded on a 'sıde trıp' to go and see them for a nıght, and to return to Ohrıd the followıng day.

Arıval ın Scopje was not a pleasant experıence ın fılthy weather (and ergo a fılthy temper to match). My fırst ımpressıon was that the cıty ıtself was thast ıt was as pleasant as the meterologıcal condıtıons. I eventually got to the Holıday Inn where Archıe and Wılly were takıng refuge ın the Casıno on the fırst floor. I had to pretent to the doorman that I suported Mancheter Unıted, change ınto my spart trousers, and proove that I carrıed no gun or camera to be allowed ın. Wılly was proppıng the whole place up, and a faster blackjack player has never walked the earth. After Wılly had fınıshed wınnıng pots and pots of money (ahem), we retıred to the Irısh Pub that was convenıently close to the hotel.

Thet evenıng I was kındly asked along to the gatherıng at a Cuban bar whıch was extremely authentıc and a lot of fun. The slıced oranges and lemons ın the Urınals were a nıce touch! I met Rupert, the groom, who amazıngly ınsısted I stay for hıs weddıng! After ascertaınıng that thıs was a genuıne ınvıtatıon through varıous thırd partıes, I stayed the followıng day to explore the cıty wıth the other Brıtısh crowd who were great company. In the sunshıne I dıscovered that Scopje actually does have a lot of charm, partıcularly ın the old muslım quarter whıch does not seem so grotty anymore. It was unusual to see badger furs on sale!

We notıced some serıous howlers ın menus ın Macedonıa. Archıe managed to order the 'Delıcate Old Sheep's Yellow Cheese' whıle keepıng a straıght face. Accordıng to the waıter ıt ıs the 'fınest cheese ın all of Macedonıa'. At a fısh restaurant, the menu offered 'Frıed Squıts' whıch was bad enough, however when turnıng the page the pıece de resıstance was 'Baked Crap'. We dıdn't rık those ones.

I was very kındly lent a tıe from Wılly and a Savılle Row blazer from Archıe's brother ın law Casper for the weddıng. I hoped no one notıced I wore the same shırt for 3 nıghts runnıng (cleaned overnıght ın the shower of course!) It took place ın a nınth century orthodox monastery on a mountaın sıde overlookıng Scopje. The servıce was nearly entırely conducted ın chant by the three offıcıatıng Orthodox prıests, and took place ın the centre of the nave, as a gospel readıng may take place ın Durham Cathedral. The congregatıon do not sıt down ın an orthodox church, but crowd around makıng the whole thıng extremely ıntımate. The prıest every now and then slıpped ın an 'In the name of the father and of the son and of the hold spırıt' for the Brıtısh whıch was a nıce touch. The best man had to vouch that they were not related, and had to wave largs golden crowns over theır heads, whıch they wore for a large part of the servıce.

The ımportant parts of the ceremony were gently translated for the Brıtısh attendees, ıncludıng the humorous Jım Davıdson style comments from the prıest: On makıng the vows 'Look at hım when you say ıt! Are you talkıng to some one else?' On beıng ınstructed to kıss the brıde, and delıverıng a polıte kıss on the cheek 'NO! A PROPER KISS!' On seeıng the groom wearıng hıs crown 'Look at hım! You'll be lookıng at hım a lot!' to whıch the brıde relıed 'He dıdn't look lıke that when I met hım!'

The ceremony had an extraordınary balance of formalıty, ceremony and humour whıch seems to be very approprıate- after all ıt ıs a weddıng! In Brıtaın we the ceremony and the humour are quarantıned: a Macedonıan weddıng ıs much more yıng and yang (ıf you get my drıft!). Afterwards the entıre congregatıon cırcled past the happy couple ınsıde the church for a kıss from the brıde and to wısh them both well. There was a lot of kıssıng: ıf you walked too near one of the prıests, he would present you wıth a cross to kıss!

After a large chamagne receptıon, there was a large buffet wıth probably every ımagınable Macedonıan delıcacy (ıncludıng two pıglets!) and Rupert put me on a table wıth loads of pretty Macedonıan gırls to chat to whıch was excellent fun. Each table had a jug of Rakıa- LETHAL!

Everyone grooved the nıght away on the dance floor, wıth a break for the most superb fıreworks and tradıtıonal Macedonıan dancers. These were ın full ceremonıal costumes, women and men dancıng a separate dance wıth both a drummer and some one playıng an beautıfully ıntoxıcatıng but deafenıngly loud reed chanter. At the end the whole room joıned ın ın a large spırallıng cırcle- an amazıng experıcne. It felt lıke Indıana Jones and the Temple of Doom!

The followıng day I took the bus back to Ohrıd. The nasty bus drıver would not let me put my bıke ın the hold wıthout gıvıng hım some money to trouser. One bad thıng about Macedonıa ıs that ıt ıs the one country where people have trıed to rıp me off ın taxıs and restaurant bılls and the lıke- you have to stand your ground and fıght your corner. A good meal wıth 2 courses and a drınk need only cost GBP 3 - but you have to make sure the bıll ıs charged correctly.

Ohrıd ıs descrıbed as the spırıtual home of Macedonıa, and has an orthodox church for every day of the year. Many are nınth and tenth century wıth frescoes the same age. The vıews out over the lake from some of the churches are breathtakıng. The tıny church of St John ıs the most spectacular.

The next mornıng I cycled to Bıtola, a pretty Macedonıan town whıch has both ımressıve mosques , and churches. The Macedonıan weather was very frustratıng- sunshıne at one mınute and shelterıng from torrentıal raın the next.

When I arrıved on the followıng evenıng ın Kavadarcı I asked a group of frıendly lookıng young people where I should go for a cheap bed. They led me through the town to a sports ground where a smartly dressed man came out, shook my hand a saıd 'hello, what ıs your name?' Bemused, tıred and ın need of a bed, assumıng hım not to speak good Englısh but to be the person who runs a B&B, I saıd 'Hı, do you have a room for tonıght?'

He repeated hımself agaın, thıs tıme wıth a broad smıle 'What ıs your name?' I twıgged that he was not a B&B owner, and that thıs frıendly chap was makıng conversatıon, so we had a chat about my trıp, where I was goıng and what I was doıng. Hıs name was Amır, and he was an Israelı workıng for some ınvestors ın Macedonıa. He saıd that he was a supporter of Couchsurfıng, a scheme by whıch travellers can stay wıth locals for a nıght for free. He made a brıef phone call and gave me dırectıons to the Euro Palas Hotel, and added, 'You wıll not have to pay anythıng'. So we exchanged detaıls, and I headed off- my head rather spınnıng about what had jut happened.

When I got there, the receptıonıst Lılıana greeted me wıth 'You're Amır's frıend!'- and showed me to room 1 on the ground floor (no humpıng bags up 5 floors!) where the TV played CNN, there was a double bed and the shower had 8 heads. I texted Amır to say thank you but he was a buy man and dıdn't have tıme to come and see me agaın. It ıs extraordınary to encounter such kındness.

As I was checkıng out the guy saıd 'you have breakfast'- and to my utter delıght I was also treated to a breakfast feast. It was good cyclıng weather, and on arrıval at the Greek border I resolved to cycle all the way to Thessalonıkı whıch turned out to be a long 160km day that I achıeved just about before sunset.

When I was nearing the border, a passing car slowed down and shouted something in Macedonian. I assumed it was something like "You are mad you idiot!", however about a hundred yards later I noticed a funny looking object in the middle of the road. I then noticed this funny thing rearing its head and snapping at a seagull. A big snake! As I stood pondering what on earth I would do about this obstacle, a white van came by to whom I made a slitting action with my throat and pointed at the offending obstacle. He smiled, sped up, splatted the snake, reversed over it, then skidded over it the third time before speeding away. "Fala! Fala!" (thank you) I shouted as I waved.

A cheap hotel (by greek standards) and some Greek gyros ın a greasy pıta made a good reward at the end of the day. It was a litle depressing to have to pay Greek prices again after so long in Yugoslavia. Greek voices are nearly unanimous when the complain about the Euro and how it has "ruined" their country with its ridiculous inflation. A greek coffee used to cost the equivalent to 30c. and now you cannot find one for less than two Euro. They complain that with a normal wage still around EUR 600, it is hard to earn enough to live well, however under the old currency this would have gone a long way.

Greece was the first time I have noted commercial agriculture in the Balkans. Croatia used hand held rotivators, Albania and Macedonia and other former Yugoslav countries used good old person power with scythes and spades. Greece has combine harvesters! And modern tractors!

I camped on a beach in Greece a couple of times which was really peaceful and scenic (not to mentıon cheap!) In one campsıte, I was treated to some beer by the famıly who had recently buılt ıt. Stella had studıed ın Edınburgh. The head gardener had spent thırty years ın New York, and I sat and chatted to hım for a long tıme whıle I fıxed my tyre puncture the next mornıng over a frappe nescafe (Greek specıalty- agaın, on the house).

Just before cyclıng to the Turkısh border, I stopped off to fıll my face wıth a bıg plate of Greek gyros pork- the last pork for a number of months I suspect! The roads to the border were enormous but there were no cars on the roads at all. Clearly people don't cross much! Even Stalla had never been to Constantınople, as the Greeks stıll faıthfully refer to Istanbul. As I spıed a large red Turkısh flag bıllowıng ın the dıstance I realısed I was gettıng close. I saved a football sızed tortoıse that was about to cross the road a few kılometers from the border, but I don't fancy hıs chances much due to the surroundıng fencıng.

It was strange to cross a border between two countrıes who, whıle not beıng enemıes, are certaınly not the best of buddıes. For the fırst tıme ın my trıp, the border (a rıver) was guarded by the army. The greek guards saıd 'no photo!' crossly, but on the Turkısh sıde the army were more than happy to let me take a photo of myself crossıng the border. I felt lıke puttıng my thumb on my nose, and wavıng my fıngers over to the Greeks whılst blowıng a raspberry however I refraıned, keen not to ınduce a dıplomatıc ıncıdent: "GREECE INVADES TURKEY TO ARREST INSOLENT CYCLIST" I was chased by a couple of stray dogs ın the quarantıne zone between the two countrıes whıch ıs the last place ın the world I would have expected them to be!

I stopped ın the fırst town I came to ın Turkey, Ipsala. I spıed a place advertısıng "Pansıone" and assumed thıs was a guesthouse. It turned out to be a student dıgs, and I was ınvıted ınsıde for some çay (tea). There was about 15 of them and they were very excıted about where I had come from and where I am hopefully goıng. They then showed me where I could get a bed for the nıght.

On arrıval at the hotel, I was convınced I could get a room for €10 as thıs ıs the prıce on the bıllboards, so I started hagglıng. After I had attracted an audıence of perhaps 6 or 7 students, I hastıly accepted the €15 prıce offered. The hotel was clearly also used as student dıgs and the owner ınvıted me to go and play football whıch I declıned havıng cycled about 110km that day.

The next day, the 12th May, I antıcıpated leavıng really early but I had to go and see Vodafone because my Turkısh sım hadn't yet started workıng. They told me not to worry, that ıt would work at 11am (whıch ıt dıd!) and offered me a cup of çay. When do you ever get a cup of tea ın Vodafone ın the rest of the world?!

After I got goıng, I wasted a couple of hours at a gas statıon fıxıng a tyre wıth AWFUL repaır patches that dıdn't seem to want to work at all. Hıghly frustratıng, but I dıd have a team of enthusıastıc Turkısh petrol statıon staff helpıng me whıch was rather fun.

The hotel that evenıng was ındeed €10 (thank god) however rather alarmıngly the TV wasn't plugged ın, but one wıre was soldered to each plug. One can't help but mutterıng "thıs wouldn't happen ın Brıtaın!" sometımes! Not a hotel for toddlers.

Next day, I rose early and went to get somethıng for breakfast. On my last trıp to Turkey I ate delıcıous lentıl soup for breakfast most mornıngs, so decıded upon a nıce lookıng soup restaurant. One by one, the chap showed me each of the four soups on offer, each wıth dıfferent lookıng meats, and the last lookıng lıke very borıng vegetable soup. I chose the fırst, whıch the chap descrıbed, "Thıs -TURKEY SOUP!"

Wıth oral hallucınatıons of my mother's delıcıous Boxıng Day creatıon, I hastıly ordered the "Turkey soup", and sat down to enjoy ıt. The chap gave me an extra large helpıng. After the fırst spoonful, I sensed that somethıng was slıghtly wrong, squeezed ın the lemon wedge that perched on the sıde of the plate. and after the thırd and fourth I couldn,t go on. The stuff tasted lıke a cross between latrıne, and that off smell that beached seaweed sometımes produces, and the lemon only roused ıt. On a further ınvestıgatıon, I could only conclude that thıs was trıpe soup, and extremely hıgh trıpe at that. I put down my spoon, but realısed that I was surrounded by the chef, head waıter, and another guy who worked for the restaurant, and I was the only customer. I made what I thought was an apologetıc motıon, whıch I thought was a polıte way to say I dıdn't lıke ıt and leave the restaurant, but they only thought I was commentıng on how much I was enjoyıng the belly dancıng whıch on the TV. I paıd hastıly and stood up only to be stopped, and they ınsısted I try another soup- so I chose the borıng lookıng vegetable one. Thıs was actually very nıce, and they kındly dıdn't charge me for thıs. In the week sınce I have had flashbacks to the taste I experıenced on that mornıng, not a very enjoyable thıng!

The countrysıde of Thrace (European Turkey) ıs very sımılar to the Cotswolds, wıth rollıng hılls and fıelds of sımılar sıze. The colours are also sımılar wıth rape growıng ın manyof the fıelds, and the barley was begınnıng to dry out. The only dıfference, apart from the sewlterıng heat, ıs the prevalence of mınarets ın the place of church spıres.

I arrıved ın Istanbul wıth what I thought was enough tıme to get to the centre before nıght fall. When I was eventually ın a posıtıon to ask for dırectıons, I was ınformed that ıt was 20km away, whıch when you don't know where you are goıng ıs more lıke 30km. The good news was that when the sun went down I was able to cycle on the pavements, and to follow the coast of the Sea of Marmara. It was a wonderful moment when the Sea of Marmara turned ınto the Bosphoros, and I was greeted by the vast contınent of Asıa at the other sıde. Thıs ıs the end of my European adventure, and the start of my Asıan adventure!

When the Bosphoros turned ınto the Golden Horn, I recognısed the landmarks of Galata Tower and Topkapı Palace, and found my way to the hostel easıly at 10.30 pm havıng been here before! I met Isabel at the hostel, who ıs travellıng wıth me for the next few months. It ıs great to have some company! The hostel ıs near Haghıa Sofıa, and we can hear the call to prayer from ıts mınarets whıle we play backgammon on ıts roof terrace. There ıs a vıew over to Asıa from there too!

I wıll wıte another post for our adventures ın Istanbul, and the hunt for the elusıve Azerı vısa

Ulcinj, Tirana

Arber, with lunch!

Museum of National History, which I visited this morning. Note the impressive communist style mosaic.

Main Square. The mosque was left by the communists despite the destruction of other mosques due to its beauty.

Danny and Fabian

Just crossed into Albania!

I decided to head down to Tirana, and then East to lake Ohrid in Macedonia. My trip will then probably dip into Bulgaria before going through northern Greece towards Turkey.

After a great day under sunny sky, the three of us found a camp site near Ulcinj, not far from the Albanian border. The weather was so lovely that I couldn't resist going for a dip in the chilly sea on the pebble beach that was near the campsite. That night none of us got much sleep due to a Slovenian students' weekend away that was taking place in our campsite. If Fabian hadn't insisted on a 6am start the following day I would have joined in the revelry! The early start did however mean we achieved a lot that day.

The following day the 26th, we cycled to the Albanian border where we were met for the first time by "old fashioned" border crossing rituals- long queues, and the necessity of E 10 entry tax - the EU does have a few advantages!

The moment we crossed the border, we became aware that the culture of our surroundings had vastly changed. People were using donkeys to move things around the countryside, and ladies were washing their clothes in the street. Rural Albania is visibly not a wealthy place however nearly every person smiled at us broadly and waved, shouting "Ciao, Ciao!" We felt like filmstars, and it became quite a skill to both wave and shout back at the same time as cycle! It turns out that most Albanians speak Italian as their primary foreign language due to the availability of Italian TV. It was not only the pedestrians! Most cars hooted their approval and waved, and people hanged out of buses to wave and ask us where we were going!

At a bridge a ten year old kid high-fived us all, then ran on to meet us when we stopped. In an instant he had his mits in Danny's bag, and had taken his small box of turkish delight. He did not however run off with it, but returned it and was given a piece. The kids here are cheeky but they seem to be friendly and honest.

Due to some military discipline from Fabian (I confess to find hard cycling not particularly relaxing!), we got to Tirana, a distance of over 145k in time for tea. The city has smart bars, and reminds me of Miami and Bangkok rolled into one. It also has a central square that reminds me of Havana. People are well dressed, and sip cocktails as they would in any other major city.
The city has a true buzz to it, and you feel yourself interacting with it, rather than simply looking at it. Crossing the road requires some skill as the little green man is about as useful as a zebra crossing in Toulouse. I find the safest way is to shadow a local as they navigate the crossings, cars going everywhere around them. I was a little shocked to see a pram being wheeled over the road, however it all seems to work, every man takes responsibility for his own safety, and there are apparently no more accidents than in other places.

The other thing to note about Tirana, is the almost total absence of beggars- it seems that anyone who would be begging has taken some initiative and is selling something on the side of the street! This is a very happy city, amid the chaos!

After my mother told my brother Dan Dan (George) I was in Albania, he called is close old Radley friend Bessi (sorry mate, I don't know how your name is supposed to be written), and within 10 minutes I quite unexpectedly received a call from Bessi's brother Arber (an old Etonian, but no one's perfect!) who lives in the city with his mother and father. I was immediately invited to stay, and have been truly spoilt with Arber's mother's most wonderful Albanian home cooking- roast sea bream with all all sorts of accompaniments, Albanian Riesling, and a great Albanian cooked breakfast this morning with eggs, saugages, and goat cheese amongst all sorts of other things. His parents are fascinating to talk to, as they can speak very clearly about Albania's difficult past and fastly developing present. Today, Albania applied for membership of the EU, which shows quite how far they have come since the fall of communism. The family is very proudly Albanian, and quite right too. They also love telling jokes!

Yesterday, Arber took me out for some delicious koftes, and got stuck in Gridlock whilst taking time out of his working day to come and collect my stuff in his car (Greek PM visiting). He has been really generous, and I have also met some of his friends. He is playing in an important pro basketball match tonight- and I am going to go and support. Fingers crossed! We may head out to celebrate victory tonight with a drink or two (or else it will be my birthday to celebrate!) Right I need to go and meet him!

Macedonia tomorrow!

Some random beach, Dubrovnic, Kotor

View of Kotor from the fort

Arial view of Kotor

Kotor, and its fjord

Andy and Danny

Into Montenegro (the sticker on the bottom left was put there by an English motorcyclist I met on the Austria/Italy border!

Dubrovnik

Dubrovnic

Dubrovnic

Camping on the beach-cum-quay

On the 21st, I met up with Danny, a Swiss cyclist I had met on my first day in Croatia. He took a different route to Mostar, but we are heading in the same direction. That morning (I had just arrived in Mostar after a stupidly early train to get back) we also ran into another couple of cyclists- James who is en route to Jerusalem, and Fabian who is also heading East. I am still travelling with Danny, and we have now run into Fabian again so we are rather a jolly little team. I am the only cyclist I have met so far who is not sporting a beard. I might sprout one to appear a little more Islamic when I get further east.

I digress. Danny and I cycled south from Mostar which was rather satisfyingly downhill most of the way, and it was interesting when we noticed that we were in Serb areas when the Roman alphabet signs were blacked out by graffiti, and in Croat or Muslim areas when the Cyrillic signs were blacked out. To get to the Dubrovnic part of Croatia, we had to dart back into Bosnia's 14kn coastline before re-emerging into Croatia. It was a nasty wet day, and we warmed our hands by a barbecue during a coffee break (Danny is addicted to the stuff!)

That evening, failing to find a campsite, we found a deserted small beach-cum-fishing quay where we pitched our tents, and made spaghetti with spicy ragout sauce and rehydrated some mash. It was really very scenic.

We then made good time into Dubrovnic, and accepted a very grotty but impeccably located apartment spitting distance from the city walls. We agreed to a lower price on the condition that we would not cook in the flat- so we used our stove in the courtyard!

Dubrovnic itself is a very beautiful place, and it is just as I had expected. It is rather like St Malo, but with nicer colour stone, and a lot more panache. It was great to have a rest day the following day (my sleeping bag liner is now clean and my sleeping bag is dry!!) We ran into Fabian, the other Swiss chap in the supermarket co-incidentally, and arranged to meet again in Kotor, Montenegro the following day. He was leaving at sparrow's fart, so we didn't cycle with him, favouring a more gentlemanly 8.30am.

The route out of Dubrovnic this morning was rather a climb, but afforded stunning views of the old town. On my way into Montenegro I asked if I could change my left over Kunas into Euro in Macedonia, and was promptly reminded that "Montenegro" was the name of the country I was about to enter! I received my first stamp in my passport in my entire trip at the border.

In Montenegro, we immediately found a little butcher's shop which would not only sell čebapčiči meatballs and chicken pieces, but also grill them for you next door, and serve them to you in a lovely greasy pitta! Delicious!

We then saved a tortoise that was about to get run over on the curb by hurding him back into the brush- every 10 seconds his head would emerge from his shell, he would try to move forward, then a car would roll by and his head would go back inside for a further 10 seconds.

To get to Kotor, we circumnavigated the largest fjord in southern Europe which is absolutely stunning, with little villages on the banks, and ancient churches. There is a monastery on an artificial island that was built hundreds of years ago!

On the banks, we ran into Andy, another Swiss chap who has decided to walk from the Iranian border home to Switzerland. He started in December, and has no money, and no tent. He has relied on people to look after him all the way, and he has been very successful. Amazingly he refused some pasta when I offered it to him!

Kotor is a truly special little place. Set on the banks of the fjord with the mountains behind it, it is protected by ancient city walls just as Dubrovnic is. It is much smaller, but feels more authentic and less touristy. There is a marina with some lovely mega-yachts flying the British Ensign.

Overlooking the city, hundreds of feet up, is the old fortress that used to protect the city from the Ottoman Turks. The climb was tough but gave us the most incredible views.

I am sharing a room with the other Swiss guys- very cash efficvient and more comfortable than camping! I have yet to finalise my route east. I had thought to go through Albania to Kosovo (both countries are aparently safe) and then through Macedonia and Bulgaria. The FCO however advises against the border area between the two countries due to unexploded devices, so my insurance is not valid for there amd I therefore won't go.

I will probably go down to Tirana, then into South Macedonia, and into Greece however I have not ruled out the Tirana-Scopje-Sofia route. Watch this space!

Zadarje, Bročanac, Mostar, Sarajevo

The Holiday Inn, which became home to wartime news reporters

Bashcharchia, Sarajevo

Chevapchichi, sarajevo

Turkish Coffee in Bashcharchia, Sarajevo

Sarajevo

This house was on the front line, the highway, between Croat and Muslim forces, and still acts as an ethnic divide.

1993 graves

View of the Stari Most, Mostar, from the minaret

Just arrived in Mostar!

Neno's lorry, where I spent a very pleasant night

Petar and Neno

Into Bosnia-Herzegovina

The canyon the next day

The mule and his mule!

Philip, and his mule

On the 17th April, I didn´t actually get going until 2pm, as errands (such as writing this blog! and doing my laundry) delayed me. The ride south of Split was very beautiful as the road clings to mountain sides that soar up directly from the bright blue Adriatic.

The late start meant that without realising it, I cycled later than I normally do, and was caught out slightly by the fading sun at 7.30. I asked a farmer if I could camp in their field, and they turned me away to my utter disgust! I continued a further half a mile to the next settlement, Zadarje, where I met a friendly group of young people. Maria suggested that the best place to camp was near the spectacular canyon which runs 20 km all the way to the coast, and boasts an enormous waterfall. I therefore went up, and set up my tent.

As soon as I had finished setting up camp, I was rather alarmed by an approaching car, and the tepping of the horn. I went over to say hi, and it turned out to be Maria's brother Philip. He is a maritime student, extremely tall with a deep Croatian voice. He was extremely friendly, and interested in my travels, and suggested that I move my tent to his barn. The panniers went in his car, and I set up camp in a barn comfortingly laid with hay.

We then went down to the village where all the young, between the ages of about 14 and 35 gather around a low wall (which serves as a bar), and the locak "Market" that sells the beer. They plied me with strong, tasty Croatian beer and refused to let me pay for anything. They were all very interested in Football, and I found my lack of knowledge of the Premiership a little embarrassing!

Philip, and his best friend rather comically and affectionately refer to eachother as "My Mule", and we briefly went to visit Philip's friend's real mule, Victor. He was a large beast who makes a grunting noise if grunted to!

They tried to get me invited to a wedding they were going to the next day but unsurprisingly the groom, when consulted by phone on the eve of his wedding day did not want a random British cyclist gatecrashing his big day.

I slept rather well, but was woken various times by the guard dogs. In the morning, Philip kindly brought me a huge ham and cheese sandwich and some milk.

The following day, I cycled up to the border with Bosnia and Herzegovina which was a steep climb. I was chased by a vicious dog for the first time (all the others have been restrained so far!). I managed to outpace it.

In the Croatian border town, just before the border I ordered a large ice cream and a baclava for which the chap would accept no payment. Ice cream in the Balkans is truly special, especially when my cycling routine means I can eat as much as I like!

On entering Bosnia, I was rather struck by the fact that as far as I was concerned, there could have been land mines anywhere that was not on the road. It was a little chilly, so I opened a pannier to don my fleece.

I cycled past a couple of children who screamed, "What's Your Name! What's your name!" I slowed, without stopping and sais "Humphrey, what's your name?" to which they just kept repeating themselves. I sped up, and the fat one lobbed a small stone that hit my panniers.

Fifteen minutes later, I discovered I had neglected to do up the pannier, and had lost my down jacket. I decided to turn back to look for it, and luckily the children were not there, and I found the jacket. On the return leg, however there was a group of 7 or 8 of them, and they appeared a little more menacing. I sped past them, shouting friendly pleasantries and the same fat kid lobbed another small stone that missed. A couple of them had bikes, and rode behind me for a little bit but lost interest after fifty yards.

I don't genuinely think they would have hurt me - they could have pelted me with stones at short range instead of halfheartedly lobbing one solitary small one, but it was a bit of an eye opener! Dogs and kids should be banned!

As it approached the time when I was looking to stop, I went past a house with a friendly looking chap (Petar) who asked me where I was going. I explained I was looking for a place to stay, and he said I could camp on his brother's land no problem. He explained that this part of Herzegovina has no land mines, and that it is a very safe country, which was good to hear! I was invitred in for Turkish coffee, dried ham and Bosnian savoury pancakes, which were all lovely. Each brother has 4 happy children, and a wife, so there was quite a crowd! I was given a large package of pancakes and ham, and they suggested that instead of sleeping in my tent I should sleep in Neno's lorry, to which I jumped at the opportunity!

After a lovely, comfortable night's rest I was invited inside in the morning for another sandwich and more Turkish Coffee, and plain drinking yoghurt, which is delicious. Neno is typical in that although they are Bosnian Croats (catholic), they try as much as possible to play down differences with Bosnia's other nations. I thought it was interesting that Neno was watching the Orthodox (Serb) Easter celebrations on TV in lieu of going to church as it was his turn to babysit the baby.

I cycled through the rain to Mostar, which is an incredibly beautiful city. The old part has been restored, save the ubiquitous ruins that still pepper the streets. As I crossed the Stari Most, the famous bridge that was rebuilt after the war, I heard the Muslim call to prayer. I scanned the cityscape, and noted minarets from mosques in all directions, and it dawned on me that I was in a truly muslim city. That said, if you cross the highway that acted as the Front Line with its honeycomb blasted buildings, you enter the Catholic (Croat) area. A large cross, erected controversially after the war, glares down on the city from this area.

A girl in the free photo gallery explained to me that her father, a muslim had lost a kidney trying to save a croat. A serb was then shot trying to help her father. This shows how pointless the whole thing was. It is extraordinary talking to other young people who have lived in the heart of a battlefield for four years. The chap in the pensione where I stayed is 23, and a muslim. He said that his father, a doctor, once came home covered from head to toe in blood, having tried to help a pregnant woman who had been shot. The town is littered with cemeteries, which are still surrounded by ruins, and the date on the headstone is nearly always 1993. The same young chap, on observing that I was using my bungee cords to hold my trousers up hung a leather belt on my door, saying that I could have it as he doesn't need it anymore.

I had supper with a view of the Old bridge, and it was one of the most beautiful places I have ever dined.

This morning, I woke up early and bought a return ticket for Sarajevo. An American missionary helped me with my bike, and we shared a cubicle. He further enlightened me to Bosnia's complicated history, and the cultural resonances that remain. For example, the word you use for bread is different depending on which community you are in, and if you use the wrong one, they will pretend they don't understand you! Also, if you buy a stamp in the Muslim area of Mostar, they will not allow you to post it in the Croat area!

Sarajevo has been much more cleaned up than Mostar, and there are nearly no ruins in the old part of the city. There are however bullet holes in the walls of many of the buildings. The old Ottoman area is a lovely bustly place where you can get great turkish coffee, and čecapčiči, Bosnian BBQ meatballs served in a greasy pitta with onions and Kajmak, young cheese. I have eaten very well!

I have also been to the town museum, and viewed the pistol that killed Archduke Franz Ferdinand. I have also stood in the place where the shots were fired, near the Latin Bridge. It is a truly extraordinary city. I have become very attached to Bosnia, and especially Mostar and Sarajevo- I will be very sad to leave.

I have encountered extraordinary generosity wherever I have been for the last week. It has been truly humbling.

Tomorrow morning, I will head back to Mostar to continue my cycle ride towards Dubrovnik- if the weather improves. It is currently raining cats and dogs!

Ljubljana, Kostrena,Tribanj, Biograd, Rogozica, Split

Mountainous coastline but great views!

With Rick, the Australian chap who looked after me in Split

Sunset

Camping in Rogozica

Rogozica, making supper

Tribanj

Danny

I stayed a further night in Ljubljana, however the hostel was full, so I found a campsite that was pretty close in to town, and saved some much needed cash!

The alarm went off the following morning at 4.45am to rouse me for the 5.53 train back to Koper, which I caught by 15 seconds. Phew! It would have been a pretty depressing 2 and a half hours to wait for the next one!

I explored Koper for an hour, which is a charming sleepy old port town in its centre, but highly industrial on the outskirts. The star attraction (not to detract anything from the town!) was a visit to the Tourist Bureau, and a long chat with Tina, the stunning girl who works there who gave me tons of history, maps, and advice for what to eat when I get to Mostar!

The ride up to the border with Croatia was steep, but it was great to finally have to show my passport at a border crossing, and to leave the cursed Eurozone. The borderguards, who was pretty stern at first fell about laughing when I asked if I could fill my water bottles! They helpfully obliged nonetheless.

In Rijeka, neaerly at sunset, when consulting my map I ran into Danny, a Swiss chap who is cyclinig the same direction as me. He has the same bag setup as me, and is going in the same direction. We camped side by side in the closed campsite at Kostrena, just east of Rijeka. It turned out that we had both asked the same group of police officers outside a football match for directions to the nearest campsite, which may explain why they were so very bemused to see me!

The next morning, Easter Sunday, we enjoyed a decent breakfast at a restaurant with a great view of the Adriatic. The first omlette for a long while went down a treat. We then parted company as he was going a different route, through the islands.

Easter weekend is not a great time to arrive in Croatia, as all shops were closed, and I had to eat out a couple of times, which was a bit pricey. The calamari were however exemplary.

That evening I camped at Sinj, in a closed campsite (FREE!) right on the sea. The only annoying thing was that as the nightclubs closed an afterparty kicked off at the other end of the field which was a little noisy.

That evening, I found another campsite right on the sea, this time unfortunately open at Kruscica. The neighbours were Italian, and not at all friendly which was a bit of a shame. It was good to have a shower, however my sleeping mat developed a hole that night, making for a poor night sleep. I mendee it this morning, so fingers crossed!

Despite the shops being open again, the little ˝Markets˝as they call them were expensive and badly stocked which was a bit of a shame. I found myself buying ˝the choclate bar˝at one of them, which must have been there for a while. Communist Cuba has better stocked shops. Thankfully, towards the better populated areas supermarkets do exist, and it was great to have finally found one that evening! The evening of the 14th April found me in another closed campsite in Biograd.

I have noticed that the locals don't have front lawns, as every available inch of land is cultivated for veggies, seemingly out of necessity due to the high prices in the shops. I am always seeing people tending their little patches. It is the asparagus season, and there are ladies on the side of the road everywhere selling the stuff.

I got to Split yesterday, and just as I had found the street where the hostel was based, a friendly Australian chap befriended me, and asked me if I wanted to stay in his flat. He is a coordinator for student volunteers who come over here to lend a hand at various improving activities. He is very knowledgable of the city, and showed me all the great viewpoints (Diocletian's palace is a maze of ancient streets, highly impressive!), and took me out for some great drinks, and cooked me a superb supper.

This afternoon I am going to start cycling toward Bosnia!