Category Archives: Europe

An Historical Tour

Apologies, this is published about 3 months after we got back! A certain lack of immediacy pervades it.

So, exit the wilds of Scandinavia to a different mode of touring. From here on,we have crowds of cities, book-loads of history.

We knew little of Finland before. One salient point striking us Britons, not just about Finland but everywhere until near home, was how recent so many countries are. From Finland through to Poland, for most of the last several hundred years they had been part of the Czar’s empire. Freed in the Russian Revolution, all but much of Finland were back under Russia’s thumb by 1940 or 45, until the end of the 1980s. So “independence” in the modern age lasted just 20 years or so, before restarting in 1990 or thereabouts. And in that 20 years, they’d fought amongst themselves quite a bit. In the last hundred years north eastern Europe’s national borders have been far from static, and don’t entirely match the language and cultural boundaries. So a lot of the “history” felt as if it were still lurking nearby, and might resume any moment. Well it did resume: The ongoing war in Ukraine added a very big dose of edginess to that feeling.

I should probably apologise for my historical ignorance demonstrated below, and for accidentally treading on anyone’s sensitivities.

We rented a budget apartment in Helsinki for a few days. Importantly, we were able to get one with secure parking, although access was convoluted. It was a sunny 4km hike into central Helsinki. Nice to wander and explore, as true tourists. We found a huge deli supermarket, the first time since Copenhagen there had been such a choice of yummy, or healthy, things. Though, no, there weren’t any paper maps of eastern Europe in the shops. Lots of history to visit and try to comprehend.

The Russian Orthodox Cathedral in Helsinki (I think!)
Russian Orthodox Architecture
An Industrial Era cannon defending Helsinki
Industrial era cannon on island of Suomenlinna outside Helsinki
A WW11 era Finnish submarine from the Winter Wars
WW11 Finnish submarine Vesikko

On 16th August, 2 months after our ferry to Holland, we boarded the comfy ferry from Helsinki, to Tallin, capital of Estonia. Aboard we chatted with pair of Latvian bikers and admired their Smartin Adventure luggage and crash protection on their bikes, a new TransAlp and a T7. Another  young Lithuanian was on a CFMoto. Of course, we all had been to Nordkapp.

In Tallin we stayed at a curious camping-in-a-garden, in a sort of cubicle in a sort of gazebo. It worked well enough, and was walkable to the centre. It’s a lovely old town, although far less old than it looks, being rebuilt, after WW11 laid much of it flat. Like many Baltic ports, it is famously an “Hanseatic” city, founded by the medieval trading alliance. We started learning about the Livonians, and were surprised to learn that they and others brought (presumably, imposed) Christianity to these parts only around the time the Muslim Ottomans finally extinguished the Christian Byzantine Empire at Constantinople, in the 15th century, 800 years after the monks brought Christianity to the back-end-of-beyond island of Britain. But, of course, the Romans never controlled this territory or anywhere nearby. What did they ever do for us, eh?

We knew Clare’s bike would be due a major service while we were away, now it was due, and my rear tyre looked pretty sad. Unfortunately no outfit in Helsinki could fit the big service in over our three days planned stop, but Helsinki Honda did do me a new tyre. I’ve ended up defaulting to Bridgestone’s BT23, my earlier fitting of 80:20 road/offroad adventure tyres brought no reward on dry gravel tracks or wet grass, and they’re never in stock; the BT23s seem to always be ready, be it Oban, Worthing or Helsinki. Yamaha Tallin did Clare’s big service and a fork service too. Mechanic one of those slightly curmudgeonly sorts who will often go a bit beyond. Good value, that was.  Two pillion runs as we shuttled about for a day exploring Tallin.

We explored further east in Estonia, along the northern coast, ending up in Narva, whose medieval fortress looks across a river at a contemporary Russian fortress. Nearby is a heavily secured border crossing, much less busy than it was before 2022. The mediaeval fortress was interesting to explore, but had been rebuilt. We recalled our cycling adventures in the ‘stans, also part of the Czar’s empire, later the Soviet Union, now independent. There also, the great historical castles were quite often thoroughly maintained, and kept in good repair. We saw a lot more of it as we worked our way west. A very different approach to here in the UK, dotted with scenic ruins, most of which have been left unrepaired since Cromwell blew them up.

We’re in Narva. That over there is Russia, the sea is not far to our right.

I’d always thought of the three Baltic states as “small”, but actually they are each very roughly twice the size of Wales; yet the combined population is less than twice that of Wales, so there’s plenty of forest. Somewhere in the Baltic capitals, we managed to acquire a paper road atlas of the three countries. It made planning a lot easier, and just fitted in my map case. Many of the minor roads were unsurfaced, often the atlas legend was a good guide. As remarked in our Finland posting, we’re pretty slow on dirt roads! Having escaped from the Soviet Union only 30 years ago, and being sparsely populated, the countryside in the Baltics is often a bit unimproved. As always in countries with lots of space, there are derelict buildings – it must make more sense to start again on a new plot.

It’s a small world. We stopped at a rather posh campsite, and there, again, was a German couple from the Tallin campsite-in-a-garden. Less probably then arrived 2 guys, Danes, a father on a Harley and son supporting in car, we’d met before at a curious backroad roadhouse in Finland. But, to confuse us, they’d parted from the second biking father & caged son they were then with, and, they’d exchanged facial hairstyles – the beard had moved to the son. Monthly shaves, like me! Beer was a reasonable €1.50 for a can, so I had my first since Denmark or Germany.

Speaking of beer, somewhere random in Estonia, we turned a corner on a country road, and dropped straight into a random breath test. Clear, of course, and no trouble, but a reminder that from Tallin on, there are really rather a lot of police about. In Scandinavia they are almost invisible. Poland, too, we were pulled over there for no apparent reason, and the cop’s explanation seemed rather, err, weak. Apparently there had been a lot of accidents, so he was certain he wanted to check our V5s (vehicle registration documents). Not sure how those avoid accidents, and he didn’t check our insurance, tyres, or breath. Perhaps he was just curious – seemed a nice chap.

We moved on to Latvia. And wondered in our ignorant English fashion – why are there three countries here, anyway? As so often: Language and religion. Each of the three is quite distinct: Estonia’s language is related to Finnish, and Lutheranism dominates religious life, plus a fair following of Orthodox churches. Latvia’s language is one of the last remnants of the Baltic family, and again Lutherans are the most common religious community. Lithuanian is also a Baltic language, but quite different from Latvian, and most of the population is Catholic. We were also noting, whenever we learned about recent history, that the monolithic Soviet Union, that dominated a lot of the UK’s foreign attention in our youth (the far off sixties, seventies and eighties), wasn’t quite so monolithic after all. The three Baltic states (and for that matter, the ‘stans) did a lot of stuff their own way, and were quite careful of their borders and differences. Much more like the USA than the UK, except that Russia was rather more dominant than the USA’s most populous state.

One of the most fascinating places in Latvia was a 1980s bunker, built by, and for, the government, so they could continue during and after a nuclear war (that’d be, ahem, our bombs then. Blush). The Latvian civilian politburo probably weren’t treated to the latest technology available, and, the Soviets didn’t much go on consumer electronics, and it had to work in a nuclear war, and, it was a bunker, so the technology and ambience looked pretty archaic. You could film Stalin, or Hitler, or Churchill working in this bunker and “continuity” wouldn’t baulk at almost all the equipment. It would have impressed Lloyd George or the Kaiser though. And it might still work, unlike modern electronics with a 5 year life. The generators do still work, as they use them to power the sanitorium above the bunker.

It’s ok – Clare doesn’t speak Latviski or Русский!

It might seem a bit of an odd, though pleasant and countrified, location for the, still operating, sanitorium, but apparently it was built there only to disguise the bunker. Did MI6 know about the bunker? Well, Latvia wasn’t alone – try googling “UK cold war bunker”. Indeed – Subterranea Britannica describes several, albeit smallish, cold war bunkers in our home county Sussex alone!

Bunker green by Dulux
They still run, we’re told
Not sure if way in or way out!
Tactfully, there’s no national emblem on those planes

Riga gave us a shock by having an actual, congested, rush hour. After two months of absent or free traffic, this was a shock. Rather smelly, too, as many of the vehicles date from the early days of Europe’s diesel boom. Well, we have one at home, too. Riga’s old town was attractive, but mostly a late 20th century facsimile as it was flattened in WW2. We listened to a church organ concert and visited the city market. Perhaps Latvia has more liberal trade practices than it’s neighbours as I was able to buy medicines that needed a prescription in some countries (not in the UK), and a SIM card for Europe because my roaming had ended after 2 months (thanks Boris). We stayed in a cheap hotel, and were entertained by the top floor guests who were migrant workers – all men – from Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and more. We had language-hampered reminiscences of our time in those lands. The communal kitchen was very well used, but fortunately I didn’t have to take Clare any plov.

Riga, new and old
Babushkas!
Riga, old and new

Out of town, sometimes in town, our time in the Baltics probably produced around one castle a day. There’s loads. Many are in good repair, some are ruins. Trakei was particularly striking.

Trakei, Lithuania
Trakei, Lithuania. What’s she done to deserve that?

Lithuania’s Hill of Crosses grabbed our attention shortly after crossing into Lithuania. Pretty much all summer, if we’d seen a religious site, it was Lutheran, or latterly, sometimes Orthodox. Hill of Crosses is all beads and Popes (three, IIRC). It was sort of charming, attractively scruffy, but also a little creepy. Its actual religious purpose is, well, it just is. No miracles or martyrdoms. It does

to mark an element of national consciousness for Lithuanians. Perhaps in repressive times crosses were tolerated and national symbols not.

We travelled east to Vilnius, capital of Lithuania. Vilnius is scarily close to the Belarussian border. Unusually for us, we didn’t think of going and peering over the fence, to add Belarus to our little list of countries we have seen close over a border, but not visited (for the record: Iran, China, Afghanistan, Russia). This is a tense part of the world: NATO countries’ territory squeezes nervously through a narrow gap between Russia and Belarus; and that exclave of Russia, Kaliningrad, is surrounded by NATO countries except for its Baltic coast.

Vilnius is a nice old town, mostly original as it wasn’t flattened in WW2. It’s also less medieval, less Hanseatic than the coastal capitals (the Hanseatic League was nautical), it’s more 18th or 19th century. But our enduring memory of it is the horrible museum of the worst period of the 20th century when they endured two Soviet occupations and one Nazi one. The small museum is actually in the old KGB premises and mostly details the Soviets’ appalling oppression and methods. It was also eye opening how long resistance against the Soviets endured, nearly till Stalin’s death.

Vilnius Cathedral, outside
Vilnius Cathedral, inside

So it’s no wonder that Vilnius was enthusiastically hosting its second Military Tattoo with bands and parades by many NATO allies. Just the second, in 2023: They started in 2022, odd that. It was free to attend, and we waited on a bench for it to open. We were joined by a military officer off duty with an injury. He had relatives studying in UK, and we chatted about, well, stuff. Alas, that was it for the entertainment, the VIPs were all in situ, the parade descended the boulevard towards our temporary auditorium, prepared for the ceremonial entry, and – the heavens opened. And how. Totally torrential, and it didn’t stop. Military intelligence had warned of it, and they’d been handing out free ponchos for a while, as even the VIPs had no roof. But this was mega rain. Even the submariners gave up*. Also, the wind started blowing parts of the auditorium over. The outside audience, including us, broke and ran, hiding under the great portico of Vilnius Cathedral. Which unfortunately was also very tall, and facing into the wind, so only kept some of the rain off. I think the event was abandoned.

*Fiction on my part, Lithuania does not operate submarines.

Off from Vilnius, by the afternoon we were in Poland …. what? I haven’t written about motorcycling in the Baltics? Oh? Well it’s fine. Pretty good, not too busy, main roads – where there are motorways we avoided them. Pleasant minor roads. A lot of forest, but it’s normally cut way way back from the road. A lot of the minor roads are unsurfaced, and many then have very loose surfaces, but aren’t much corrugated. Most of the countryside is flat, and the population is modest (and doubtless easily displaced in Czarist or Soviet times), so the roads are usually pretty straight. So unless you actively want to ride dirt roads, it’s not especially interesting riding. There were some pleasantly winding bits though. There are campsites, and cheap hotels, and apartments for short rents. Food is cheapish but you won’t find low fat yoghurt and muesli.

Oh yes, Poland. Ah Zlotys. Didn’t have any. But cards accepted, so we’re good. This border area of Poland is quietly pleasant, a sort of Kotzvolds perhaps. Everyone has been friendly all along, this is no different. I can’t remember if there was really a border; it’s all very European and easy. The day after, we arrived in Gdansk, as following our Baltic theme, we’d take the coast, rather than head for Warsaw and other cities. We rented a little apartment. With secure-ish parking, but rubbish instructions to get in. Including, we didn’t know that non-resident motor vehicles aren’t allowed in the day. So the apparent baffling one-way system is, actually, and really, a no-way system. Good job we didn’t know, because we got in, eventually. And, unusually for a flat advertised as in the city centre, it actually was.

Gdansk is a fair sized city, yet the central old town area is compact and very walkable. Again, “old” town means rebuilt after WW11 to look like the old town. A clue is probably that walls and roofs tend to be straight. Attractive though. We spent a day sightseeing (and getting a haircut) and another day seeing most, though not all, of the WW11 museum. Like the museum in Vilnius, it could, maybe should, give one nightmares. Learned a lot. WW11 was large in Britain’s historical background during my 70s childhood, and I vaguely remembered the 37m+ death toll from WW11 – now we were in areas where the bloodbath was at its worst. In comparison, history I’ve read since suggests that the UK government was quite careful to limit its casualties to under 0.5m, as the memory of losing 4m in WW1 was fresh.

Now, following the Baltic coast west from Gdansk on motorcycles, for us, was a mediocre plan. This is Poland’s riviera, and like England’s, it has an air of having seen better days. But it was still crowded, and even at the fag end of the season, plenty of Poles and maybe others, were ambling about, idling outside tat shops or licking ice-creams. It’s not as pedestrian and bicycle friendly as Germany or Holland, but there’s a lot of crossings! Chug, chug went the bikes, 50kph almost all the way. Still we saw some beautiful beaches, the Baltic was warm and not very salty, and camping was cheapish.

We crossed into Germany, still in a holiday zone. Even though this was our first time ever in the ex-DDR, everything looked smarter, and bigger, and shinier, especially the prices. More cycle lanes. The Ruge campsites were organised to a painful level of do-this, don’t do that. It’s rather the same in our UK Camping and Caravan Club; could it be camping brings it on? Of course, if you actually got past the notices and systems and spoke to the Fraulein of the campsite, she couldn’t be more helpful.  I can’t remember whether Poland or Germany, away from the coast, we stayed at a huge, old, much underused, disorganised campsite with creepy dark pathways to giant, echoing, slightly decrepit shower blocks. No notices there.

Although there were still lots of (other) tourists, the roads became much freer. The speed limit went back up to 100kph (for the first time on ordinary main roads since leaving Germany in June). More to the point, we welcomed the end of the ex-eastern bloc habit of posting micro limits covering a few metres, with ambiguous endings. 1 ferry, to island of Ruge, very scenic and perfect, very expensive.

At home we have a Simon Weir guidebook, and before we’d left home, we’d grabbed a few GPS files from it. They were nice roads, strung together with little bits of Autobahn. Little used autobahn at that, so the answers are: Just about 140kph true flat out in 6th, and gets-wobbly-at-the-front at about 170kph. But our IT was frustrating at times, and reversing GPS routes doesn’t work well when there are slip roads onto dual carriageways, especially if you don’t know the local town names. Oops. A cheerful old codger in the welcome caravan at a huge campsite relieved the frustration with a bit of comedy. He was a right joker he was, directed us to a wriggly pitch full of odd noises. Woke up in the morning to a tent full of molehills. I had a minor scare, thinking my bike was leaking oil, but it was just the very thin Norwegian “Racing” chain lube reacting to warm continental temperatures.

Celle, and SilberSee camping. Celle’s a charming old town, with enough to see. We stayed two days. The campsite was lovely, loads of space, freeform pitching, few punters, and a big, warm, lake with a beach. And a simple restaurant. We dived in and caved in. My diary says: “Decided to walk into Celle but bus arrived. Driver chatty, used to play darts with BAOTR at Bergen Belsen (!). Wandered town, old and neat and pretty, homogenous tho. Castle,  more palace, outside impressive. Walked back via supermarket,  but 500m from home the same bus driver insisted on giving us a freebie. Swam again”. We fixed a minor electrical issue on Clare’s bike and cleaned a leaking fork seal on mine, both satisfactorily.

The next campsite, the distinguished looking owner saw the bikes and became chatty. The more so as we each explored our previous travels.  Stunning photos arrayed on his wall. Herr Wolf had had some epic journeys especially in Africa, way back when. On, natürlich, a BMW flat twin. With a sidecar, which, in retrospect, he wasn’t convinced about. The bike was still in his barn, worn and dusty and sans sidecar, but looking sound.

7th Sept. Having decided to skip a flog across the Ruhr and then Essex we entered France. The frontier signage was even less than usual. Clare didn’t notice until we sat down for lunch when I mentioned it. Immediately, a lady passed and said Bonjour, then Bon Appetit. Voila!

Our trip ended with some lovely French roads, charming villages, towns and cafes. A last minute booking on the Dieppe ferry, which drops us almost back home after a 4 hour crossing. Before that, a last leisurely coffee outside a harbourside cafe filled with old radios. Finally we survived the challenge of getting out of Newhaven, on the wrong, or right, side of the road, in the dark.

The Continent sees us off in style – two days before we’d have been thrown out!

We were away for just a few days short of our post-Brexit 90 day limit, and covered almost exactly 8,000 miles. What a lovely trip!

Forests, more Forests – Finland

The plan had long been that, after reaching Nordkapp, we’d bum about a bit in northern Norway, travel south through Finland, then home east via the Baltic coast. Well, we’re well on our way, here’s an update.

We did indeed bum around in Norway a bit more. Rode around the the most easterly bit of Norway, peered over the border at Russia. Took a short hike to the “triple border” where Norway, Finland, and Russia meet. Only Norway guards it, and the very civil national service lads explained the rules. As you might expect, nobody was allowed to approach the Russian segment. Then, to our surprise, they said that, since Brexit, we were also not allowed on the Finnish segment. I’ve no idea why. Happy Europeans romped around it, taking pictures with the guards. But we got our first glimpse of Finland, and saw another lump of Russian forest, while we picnicked in Norway.

Border Guards get plenty of photo practice! Norway left, Russia right, Finland behind Gid.

Finland was going to offer us miles and miles of peaceful gravel roads with us wild camping where we pleased by a lovely lake for a swim (sans, obviously though mysteriously, any biting insects). It was not to be.

Firstly, the Finns have tarmaced a bigger proportion of their roads than we’d assumed. Which is just as well, because, well, of us.

Our access at home requires passing 50-500 metres of roughish track, that has to be taken slowly because it’s so uneven, and also quite crowded. I (Gid) feel quite chuffed that standing up on my 500X, I can take some of it at nearly 30mph/50kph quite comfortably, and remembering driving cars in Canada, and riding dry tracks on a slick tyred MTB, I thought biking on well graded gravel would be fine. However, our home surface is mostly quite compacted, so firm under tyre but, err … faced with a real gravel road, that’s a lot flatter, but also usually rather looser, I can go …about the same… Clare’s somewhat slower (and actually standing isn’t feasible on her MT07). Well 50kph max doesn’t really cut it if you want to ride 300 kilometres a day. Plus, it’s uncomfortable sitting, and arduous standing for long periods (my longest was about 25km, I think). It’s also possible that our firm and rather slick road tyres and Clare’s firm suspension don’t help – we both recall enjoying a led trip on CRF250s around Fuerta Ventura’s dirt tracks: Although that probably wasn’t much faster, it felt a lot more natural: tyres, pressures, soft springs and lightness probably account for that. And also, perhaps critically, neither of us has the skills to use offroad steering techniques (ie slinging the back end out to use drive to make the turn, whatever it’s called), and have to corner at speeds where the front wheel can get enough grip, which was often “dead slow”. A real eye opener, and if we aspire to do longish trips where the roads are gravel, we need to resolve.

So, we pretty much stayed on Finland’s tarmac. Mile after empty mile of it. Little traffic. Lots of trees. Occaisional reindeer, who own the road. Seriously, lots of trees. And so, mostly, formal campsites, too. They usually have pretty good facilities. Even some informal, but known, campsites had toilets, which was nice. And everything seemed a bit cheaper than Norway, though not by much.

Shop cashier told us to go back 3km and take the track to the lake. A lovely camp spot.
For €20 this had showers and a huge lake.

We had some nice stops as well, especially those connected with Sami culture. Ok, and Santa’s HQ. Clare found out about a famous hiking trail, the Bear’s Ring. Of course, we got to the tourist info for it at 4pm on Sunday, just before it closed. To be told that the bus link to resolve the logistics ran on Monday at 9am. But not on Tuesdays. Cue absolutely frantic getting ready-ness. We’d been scratching our heads about carrying capacity, couldn’t resolve it. My ancient 35 litre packable sack would suffice, both it and me groaning, but Clare had only a micro bag. In the end we bought a new 50 litre rucksack, Intersport’s cheapest. I took the heavier stuff and Clare took the bulk.

The Bear’s Ring is 82km, and the terrain is middling for a hike. We took the default 4 day/3 night option, although a slight misunderstanding of the (must be used) camp locations put us a bit out of sync with other folks from the bus: But, maybe the peace was a good thing.

Apart from a cafe in the middle, good for 1 meal, there’s no resupply option, so food has to be carried. We were super lucky with weather, fine, fine, fine and fine… until, literally the last, steepest, hour. When it rained in biblical fashion. Before we could don waterproofs, we were soaked. After 30 minutes, wading up and down the torrential path, we spied a shelter hut, crowded. Where we all sat and stood the last of it out. Before leaving, we emptied our boots. I was wearing shorts, and my boots had cupfuls in. Clare’s fabric trousers had at least deflected such gross amounts. Let’s be clear: We both had decent waterproofs, but it happened too quick to don our overtrousers.

I think this was late on the last day, before the sky turned black…

We indulged in an hotel for a night to recover. The boots took a few days…

From there, it wasn’t so far to Helsinki. Where starts, really, a quite different phase. From wildness and scenery and lots of camping, we’re now faced with dense history, a border every week. A cultural and historical tour of a part of the world that our anglo-centric history gives us little knowledge of. Another post, I think.

Nordkapp?

23rd July. Well, here we are: Nordkapp, the iconic European touring destination. We know we’re at 71° North plus a bit. But where, actually is the kapp bit? It seems the problem with Nordkapp is that it’s a 300m high cliff. Warm land, cold sea… so yup, it’s under this cloud somewhere, as are we. The extensive flat, stoney area is full of people, especially motorcyclists røyking, wandering around saying “where is it?” in a multitude of tongues.

Photo of the plateau on 25th, with much less cloud. Or wind.

The more numerous folk who have sensibly travelled in motorhomes, are inside them, probably drinking, waiting for the sun to break through. They’re not inside the commodious cafe/museum/shop building, because, like the motorcyclists, they will be charged £25 each to enter, and it’s “røyking forbudt”. There’s a lot of bicycles, too. But the actual cyclists are inside because, commendably, hikers and cyclists are free. And don’t, by and large, royk. The other reason they’re inside is it’s blowing a hooley, and blooming cold, and they’ve just climbed 300m. A nice tourist took our murky picture at the monument.

But we dun it! It does feel like a diminished achievement compared to this cyclist from Milan, and these other long haulers from Belgium (…wistful moment…), but we dun it: It’s taken us 5 weeks, and about 5,850 km/3635 miles. Rather indirect and explorey miles.

Two days later, we hiked to the roadless point that is actually the northernmost point. A much nicer day, and, this place, Knivskjellodden, slopes gently into the sea, so we lunch at maybe 20m, in clear blue sky. We can see Nordkapp, hurrah! The poor folks at the visitor centre can’t see us though, because the top of it is inside a cloud. Rather beautifully. We think Nordkapp is the leftmost bit of land.

To be fair, we did then pop in briefly at the top, and the clouds did break at odd moments. So we got a new photo.

And Clare found a rainbow.

Except… did I write “actually the northernmost point”? Ah, well, of what though? Trophy or not, Nordkapp and Knivskjellodden are actually on an island. It’s not, therefore, the northernmost point of the European mainland. And the island of Svalbard (Spitzbergen) is hundreds of km offshore, to the north. But, you can’t ride, or walk, to Svalbard. Nordkapp, then, is the most northerly point of Europe you can get to by road.

So, another quest required: Ride a day east to Slettnes, the most northerly point of the european mainland that you can get to by road. From there it’s an 2 night hike to Cape Nordkinn, the most northerly point of the european mainland. But we’re not set up for that, and settled for a short potter. Here’s the trophy shot of me (Gid) having a chilly dip in the Arctic Ocean, with Slettnes Fyr in the background. While I was drying in the sun, a minke whale came by just offshore. A memorable day.

We’ve taken longer than most motorcyclists to get here, but explored a lot. Our thanks, anyways, for the great advice from Norwegian and other motorcyclists and occasionally non motorcyclists we met along the way. Especially Froda, and we hope you got your other rubbish home safely.

Onwards – east, and then south, aiming, roughly, for Helinski.

Yo Yam! Hi Honda!

Time, perhaps, to reactivate our blog?

Five years have passed: Eventful, frustrating ones – grounded by this, that, pandemics, injuries, tennis, the other – but finally we’re ready to go on another (modest) adventure. The new bikes are ready, and loaded to go:

Yes! These have engines. It’s all the fault of our Cairns Warmshowers host, Nick. Nick’s travel theory is that mountains call for engines. At least one of us is definitely convinced.

So, we’re all loaded up with the intention of trundling slowly, but much faster than before, to Norway’s North Cape. There’s definitely mountains en route. In maybe 2015 we cycled from Bergen south to Denmark, so we’ve crawled up some of them. After Nordkapp, we hope for a long, relaxed loop home via Finland and the Baltic states, then west along the Baltic coast. Brexit, alas, has limited us to 90 days, as there are no non-Schengen countries on the route. We planned this so long ago that St Petersburg was originally contemplated, but no longer.

Fingers crossed we manage it this year, unlike 2020, 2021, 2022…

Rain, Rain, Rain

‘We’re having a drought.  Haven’t had any rain for months. The Roman cistern is so low due to the lack of rain,’ were the cries we heard but the streets were jammed full of umbrellas: doorways blocked by umbrellas, umbrella stands packed with umbrellas, street sellers brandishing umbrellas, eye level – a sea of umbrellas.
‘I’m a cyclist too,’ explained one fed-up man cowering in a tavern. ‘Five days this week I’ve been soaked to the skin,. Today I’ve walked. So many months with no rain and now we’ve got it all at once.’ he exclaimed, arms flailing wildly.

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Bayonne

In amongst the armies of umbrellas were the two silver cyclists dressed from head to foot in water proof cycle clothes. Well nearly, I’ve only got sandals and I’m not sure my waterproof socks work anymore. ‘At least you’re properly dressed for the weather,’ said a Lisbon museum curator, as we wandered through his rooms, but he was clearly pondering over my ‘choice’ of footwear. Suitable it certainly wasn’t: In Segovia, spotting a Decathlon near our hostal, I dived in and upgraded back to boots for my off-bike footwear. It was Gid’s idea (back in Phoenix) to use sandals – and waterproof socks if necessary – off the bike, since he’s done the whole trip riding in sandals. But somehow, he didn’t ever actually do it off the bike; I enthusiastically took his lead. Oops.
Sporting our newly purchased rain hats, we were pretty water resistant in our cycling gear. With a slight bit of modification the hat fits under our cycle helmets adapted to allow the all important helmet mirror to work. Sun hat, rain hat, come what may, one-hat-does-all. One minor catch is that the brim is so good at stopping the rain from penetrating the fabric that a river flows off it when you tilt your head; on several occasions, nearly tipping a deluge of water into our bar bags as we looked down, cracking a hole under the lid, to sneak something out.
Walking around town, with very little exertion, the rain kit is perfect but for an entire days cycling all is not so good. Flying into Lisbon we had plunged full-on into hilly country. Whilst we’ve had a couple of flatter days hills dominate the terrain.
And as we got higher, the rain turned to snow or hail. Here we are in the minor range of mountains between Madrid and Segovia. You might see a skier or two in the background.
Cycling up hills in rain kit results in massive amounts of perspiration inside, soaking the clothing and lining the garments. Attempts at venting the attire allows the rain in. Gid seems to stay dryer is his relatively new jacket with arm pit ventilation while my, again newish, rain legs seem to do the trick. But older kit is showing signs of being beaten. Design flaws are exposed too – Gid’s Endura  jacket keeps him dry, but the “waterproof zip” front pocket actually is more of a bucket – after a day in the rain everything in it is awash as rain gets in, but not out. Amazingly, the waterproof sock system works pretty well. At least, it does for Gid. Clare’s are shorter, and older, and seem to leak – mind you, she has darned them (eh?). The Ortlieb and Carradice panniers do pretty well, but Gid’s rack bag and bar bag – both a decade old when we started – have wear holes, which inevitably leak.
Although our cased-up maps, and outdoorsy Garmin Edge work irrespective of the weather, the same can’t be said of the phones. We tend to use the phones especially for finding accommodation as we approach or search in some place (the Garmin doesn’t really do this level of detail). But arriving in Caceres, that went horribly wrong. Raindrops confuse the touchscreens, and torrential rain confuses them utterly. And as we tried our few pre-planned hostels, we realised the town was full. It was so wet it was difficult moving around the city or talking. We really needed those phones to work to show us the places to try. Eventually, old school, one helpful hostel owner, who couldn’t offer us accommodation, rang round the others to find us a space. Gracias Senora.
Our tent, which held off riverlets and heavy torrential rain several years ago in Alaska, is one such casualty. While crawling into the vestibule with weight on the groundsheet, water oozed up. I moved our foam mini mat over the offending area and tried to ignore it but by the morning water had seeped up through the inner tent leaving a soggy mess. Our aim that day was to crack a challenging mileage to make a major town. Helpful Warmshowers host Fernando had told us he could do the trip by lunchtime. With the Garmin set, off we went, panniers full of wet camping kit, up the nearest hill. We’d forgotten to tell our future host that we were actually not quite in the fortress town we’d told him but, in fact, we were the far side of the mountain it stood on!  It took us 1 1/4 hours to cover the 10km in pouring rain. The Garmin, repeatedly trying to take us on short cuts up one dirt track or another, finally succeeded as we took off on a short linking track to get us back on course. The start was fine but in the 1.5 km we had to cover at least half of it was steeply down some farmers lane with, in this rain, deep cut rivulets and wet rocks.
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Once back on our future host’s nice smooth, nearly flat road we limped into the newest town with a hostel to cancel the rest of the day. Achieving merely a third of our target distance we draped the room with dripping tent, sleeping bags, mattresses etc.
All part of the adventure it seems. It’s good to read accounts of trips 20 years ago, before any of this electronic nonsense or longer, before breathable waterproofs and English being the universal travellers’ language, and then consider ourselves as lucky.
We had better note, that after some of our previous weather-related moans, so far in Europe, we’ve only had one day of bonkers headwind. Mostly winds have been light and/or on our backs. This may change as we approach France’s Atlantic coast.

The Penny Drops

Looking back now, I realise what was missing from our route across the ‘States and come to think of it, since Southeast Asia – it was the ancient history.
From our outset we traveled across Europe progressing through, for us, more alien countries reaching a climax in India or perhaps Sumatra. Once in Australia much of the awe and wonder was lost. Having spent nearly 8 months in New World countries it has been quite an awakening to return to ancient history again. Even though we both spent part of the trip reading Guns, Germs & Steel , and other interesting works, the impact is greatest when the past is physically present.
Cycling down through Australia we weren’t wowed by Victoriana. Frequently there was just a plaque notifying us that some Victorian house had once been there. It’s simply far too plentiful in our own home town. There was a rare nod to the Aborigines ancient cultural history – an occasional sign informed the reader of the importance of a site or even once or twice a museum, but there was little evidence left by these societies. Neither of us can even recall any rock or cave paintings in Oz, although we’d seen them in India and the USA.
The celebrated – by some – Captain James Cook made several appearances on plaques and information boards. The town Seventeen Seventy is even named to commemorate his historic landing date, but that brings us into New World history. It’s interesting for sure, but not as awesome as Romans, Mughals or King Midas.
Equally in the USA, the Wild West was thrillingly different with, vast space, saguaro cacti, cowboy hats, boots, belts, team roping and the occasional fort or Spanish Mission. The 19th C forts in the west defended settlers from Indians while as we reached the southern coast it was the 18th C French and Brits who were the problem for the Spaniards.  But as we cycled further east, in Gid’s words, ‘It’s the same dish with a few different spices.’ The fabric and cultural background was similar to our normal home lives. A few cliff dwellings in the desert hills hinted at more ancient cultures, but weren’t actually, so old.
Lots of places were delightful, NASA in Houston, New Orleans with its hip culture and wrought ironwork balconies a la Francais, the Keys with the island hopping despite large areas of hurricane damage around the Marathon area , the Everglades with its wonderful wildlife, Miami Beach with its 1920-30s Art Deco and bronzed beauties, to name a few.
But now in Lisbon we are back to ancient history in every direction you look – starting with bronze age,  stone walls and mosaics from the Roman times, 400 year old tiles still adorning some houses, ancient narrow cobbled lanes winding up and down hills, a city center rebuilt after the great earthquake in 1755 . A Moorish castle, with breath taking views in every direction, built over ancient remains which were then rediscovered in 1938, providing yet another turn in history.  Our cameras are drawn, cocked and firing every which way.

Floored by ancient history?
Caceres – Moorish cistern, recycling Roman & Visigoth columns

To be fair we did visit one monastery and chapel in Goliad, Southern Texas, dating from around 1700, and in the deep south there are wooden shacks which housed the cotton pickers and workers for other local industries but wooden shacks aren’t going to last centuries. It had never really dawned on me how rich Europe’s history, and Asia’s is, in comparison with the New World.
Yet for all the fascination and wonder of these ancient cities and palaces, I – this time Gid – think back also to the wide open plains and wide open country towns of Australia and the USA – and find these Iberian cities claustrophobic. It’s wonderful everything is close together and walkable via tiny lanes and steps. But one can’t take two steps without swerving around an old buffer or a fashionista or wandering tourists, there’s people everywhere, never mind the tiny, uneven sidewalks. Where do they build anything new? Why are all the rooms so small? I think home is going to feel exactly the same. Oh dear. Should I emigrate, or at least, move to Northumberland, the least densely populated county in England, with only 62 people per square kilometre, and Roman remains?
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Uzbekistan – On the Road

Uzbekistan had so much to see, do and snap, that we made a number of themed blog posts, instead of trying to tell one story.  We hope this posting will give an overview of our tour in Uzbekistan, and show of the pictures we took between the “sights”.

Our posts on Uzbekistan:

Uzbekistan’s roads were generally good to us. We were often on main roads, which were often dual carriageways. But this was rather like Turkey – there was plenty of room and not too much traffic, albeit the roads were not as smart and new as Turkey’s. It was flat. And it was sunny but not too hot. Not too much wind. Out of the desert, there were plenty of little shops and teahouses. Really nice touring conditions. The only bugbear was trying to comply with the hotel registration rules. We mostly managed this, with a few deviations into teahouses.

Uzbekistan’s people were invariably friendly and helpful. We were often flagged down, or addressed from a car crawling alongside: “atcuda, atcuda?” – Russian for “where are you from”. Strangers rushed to take pictures of themselves, or their friends and family, with us. In towns especially, young people would come up and ask to practice their English with us. We were, of course, given melons. And one lovely family invited us in, with delicious food in the local style, and the extended family all joined in too. That was an especially lovely experience, and we thank them again for their kindness.

Just before we got to Uzbekistan, on the ferry, Clare had a severe, if short, bout of food poisoning, and Gid’s tummy was a bit uneasy as well. The timing of it made us suspect a pre-ferry pasty rather than the actual ferry food. But Clare’s tummy then kept suffering from recurring problems which had us calling on pharmacies as we went along. It wasn’t desperate, but the overall effect was weakening and depressing. We took a few extra rest days in an attempt to ease the impact. With various tummy pills and a very plain diet it was sort of kept under control. We needed rest and a long break stop, but the Uzbekistan visa was only 30 days. Whereas we’d always planned a long stop in Bishkek (visa free for 60 days). Thus we altered our plans a bit:

  • Original Plan: From Samarkand, south into Tajikistan’s capital Dushanbe, then loop south taking the Pamir Highway along the Afghan and China borders, then north into Kyrgyzstan, Osh, then Bishkek. A classic, but tough ride, and in the back country.
  • Plan B: From Samarkand, north to Tashkent, then east over mountains into the Ferghana valley (this road might’ve needed our Tajikistan visas. Across this valley; flat, fertile & historic (have you heard of the Bactrian empire?), to Osh in Kyrgyzstan, then north to Bishkek. Less back country, and three significant passes to cross, but easier  and shorter than A.
  • Plan C: From Samarkand, north to Tashkent, then north to Shymkent in Kazakhstan, then east to Bishkek. This route is pretty flat, and on major roads. This we took, and indeed were able to make pretty long distances most days.

Gallery

Cotton Picking

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That’s one big pile of kapok
Lots of three wheel tractors in cotton areas, but rare elsewhere.
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On The Road

Mosque under construction
House under construction
A mud roof to fix
Ayuz Kala 1 and 2
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Not a great picture. But interesting for western Europeans like us – look at the dates.
GAZ 52 or 53
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On the way to market?
Bukhara furniture shop had a fleet of these.
Bukhara furniture shop had a fleet of these.
Tashkent

 Generous Hospitality

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A Last Bit of Georgia – And a Big Day

Finally, having calculated, and re-calculated the interaction between the Azerbaijan visa period, the Kazakhstan visa validity, and travel times, we left Tbilisi (really late in a day, see previous blog post about postage), for a fairly horrible main road ride east. Can’t remember where we stayed that night, but towards the end of the day, the traffic was much less of a problem – it was all Tbilisi traffic, not long distance. The next day’s ride was pleasant enough but unmemorable (at least, I can’t remember much of it). Nino, our Tbilisi landlady had recommended a friend’s guesthouse in Sighnaghi, which apart from being up a big hill, was a fine choice. Well, the whole town was up the hill, and a very nice, if totally touristic, town it was too. In Georgia, it’s the town of love, and popular for honeymoons. The guesthouse made a bit of a thing of the family’s folk music, so in the evening, after we’d come back from a nice meal, there was Georgian wine, Georgian brandy and travellers from all over (especially Israel, including Vicky and Aaron we’d met at Nino’s). This sing-song was especially appropriate as it was CLARE’S 60TH BIRTHDAY! Happy Birthday my love!

Sighnaghi, looking north towards the Greater Caucasus
Every town has a war memorial, this one I hope was regional, as there were a lot of names on it. I think she may have been honeymooning…
It’s a tourist town…
Birthday Girl at the top of Sighnaghi
Lightly loaded

After a 12km winding route down hill we cruised along on the next day, crossing the flat plain towards the Greater Caucasus (see picture above).  We experienced a new kind of road side stall.

Using a tree trunk as a cutting platform
Cuts of pig hanging long the roadside
A fridge unite. No idea how effective it was.
Hanging sides of pig. Cooling unit in background.

 

 

We stopped in the afternoon under a random tree for a swig of water and handful of nuts. Along just a bit someone was working in a bit of field. After our “gamma joba”, somehow, they decided we were worthy of inviting in for chai. We didn’t have much language to share, muddling by with a bit of Russian phrasebook, Google Translate, and pointing and laughing. The old couple showed us a postcard – they’d previously invited in a Swiss cyclist(s?): So, lacking a postcard, we had to sketch them one to add to their collection. Chai was on offer, these were Turkic folk, Azerbaijanis – if they’d been Georgians it would probably have been wine. It’s an interesting difference to Northern Europe, this: borders have been stable for at least 95 years, and in nationality terms these were Georgians – to go to Azerbaijan they indicated they need a visa. But one of the first things they said – about the time we said we were English – was they were Azerbaijanis. For all these Caucasus countries, statistics are quoted X% Georgians Y% Azerbaijanis, Z% Russians, etc. The ethnic identities are (I think) defined from the mother tongues, which is why in the early-mid twentieth century, the big governments (Turkey, Russia), made efforts to stamp out, or at least discourage, the local languages, and teach only the “empire” lingo. They also at times forcefully moved tens of thousands of people about, to achieve particular ethnic mixes to suit their purposes. Not so nowadays AFAIK, but a lot of the border troubles in the region must be because of the mismatch between culture/ethnicity, and state borders. Some of which is our own government’s fault (up to Mr W. Churchill’s generation), as the British Empire was very much a force in the region, and had a particular habit of setting borders to divide peoples, and create weak, manipulable states. Together with our lot, the Czars, the Ottomans, and the Persians were all meddling away in their “Great Game”, it’s hardly surprising the borders, people and politics are rather unsettled. Anyway, these folk were extremely friendly and generous, and I for one felt rather guilty we had no present to leave. Perhaps we should have a stash of postcards from Worthing. The old couple (err, well, they may not have been much older than us) lived in very humble circumstances. Their house was tiny and made of bits. Shady in summer but, if they didn’t move to town in winter, rather horrible then, I expect, even in the mild, plain winter. The kitchen area was out back and roofed, but unwalled and a mud floor, running water from a piped spring . Yet, it was a nice place to be, shady, with a cooling breeze, and everything vital close to hand (yes, including a mobile). They also offered us milk – fresh, but scalded & warm: This was delicious. It seemed to be a truly subsistence farming operation; the cow chewed the cud nearby, ducks on the pond, the agriculture looked like a smallholding, little bits of everything.

Round the table
The kitchen – stove a bit like our MSR, but probably more durable.. Cooking utensils & tool kit on shelving unit.

Next stop was Lagodehki, chosen as a town to let us cross the Azerbaijan border early in the day. It’s also the edge of Georgia’s easternmost national park, a remote area that runs up into the Greater Caucasus mountains and the Russian border. We knew there’d be guesthouses, and arriving mid-afternoon, were cruising relaxedly up one of the main streets, looking for somewhere to stay. We passed one or two but carried on. A young man seemed to be dozing on a bench, but leapt up as we passed, to ask (in Georgian) if we needed a guesthouse. Well, we didn’t understand the words, but the context made it all plain. The house was unsigned. This seems common for Georgian guesthouses. A cynical  British view would suspect something to do with the tax system. In Tbilisi we’d been mildly scammed when a fellow enticed us into a restaurant, which afterwards presented an appalling bill (and didn’t offer change, when we certainly didn’t intend leaving a tip): Fortunately we’d only consumed one hot drink each, so the “appalling bill”, while infuriating, wasn’t actually much. So we were wary in this case, but with no reason. After a small delay while the landlady whizzed up from the village centre, we inspected, learnt the cost of (amazingly cheap, so we lazily opted for breakfast and dinner, which was still good value, especially as the breakfast was enough to doggy-bag for lunch), and were soon ensconced. Nino (most Georgian landladys seem to be called Nino) provided us with a self contained ground floor apartment. She also wielded a sheaf  of leaflets, and indicated we were only about 500m from the National Park office, and how nice the park was, etc, etc, again all in Georgian, or was it Russian.  It’s amazing how clear it can be without understanding a word. So after a shower, we wandered up to the park office for more information. Reassuringly, the stuffed & mounted bear was quite small.

… and replanned again, so we’d hike tomorrow, staying two nights not one, delaying our entry to Azerbaijan another day. The hike involved a 14km cycle to the start, blissfully unloaded. It was only a day hike, so only a picnic, camera, and swimmers were needed.

The hike had a few tiny scrambles, but the only challenge really was the log river crossings. Compared to the earlier Georgia hike, the logs were wider, and less high up, and the exercise felt less committing – so we managed to walk across them this time. At the top there was a lovely waterfall, a nice pool for a dip, and a dozen or so Georgians also enjoying the day out and a picnic. One suspects Georgians should be rather good at picnics.

We’re getting good at this now
It’s just a larf if there’s a handrail

 

Tourists in Tbilisi

Heading into Tbilisi from Mtskheta we’d tried to miss the main road.  The Garmin had come up with another route that seemed fairly direct.  All was going well until it directed us to turn right onto a dirt track directly up a hill.  No way!  The total journey was only 26km but that could take us all day if we hit a really lumpy dirt road, and we were cruising along nicely without too much traffic.

Shortly after this decision the motorway merged with our main road; the traffic increased exponentially.  With a few hair raising moments you’d expect when cycling in a city we made it into the tourist centre and from there to our accommodation.

We had a few days to kill, while waiting for our Azerbaijan visa to become valid. So off we went exploring.

Churches – the most prominent being the new cathedral built in time for the millennium (that doesn’t include decorating the inside, which may take decades). Others date from Byzantine times.

Jvaris Mama Church, 1793
Entrance to Cathedral
Tsminda Sameba Cathedral
Tsminda Sameba Cathedral
Sketch for a frescoe
Tsminda Sameba Cathedral
Ball tower Tsminda Sameba Cathedral
Tsminda Sameba Cathedral
Chuch if St. Nicolas, nextto the fortress.
Church of St. Nicholas
The bow
The debate
Four’s a crowd
Revival of the steele

 

Balconies are a special feature of old Tbilisi.

Gold roof of the new cathedral in the back ground.

We also visited museums: one on Tbilisi itself, another on Georgia, and the outdoor Ethnographic museum (very similar to Sussex’s Weald & Downland Museum).  We baulked at the 11GEL each for the music museum where it is compulsory to have a guide.  Most of the museums, so far have had information within the cabinets in the home language, Russian, and English and we prefer to  wander round at out own pace.

Easterly view from Peace Bridge
Gid in cable car going up to fortress.
Clare in cable car
Easterly view from inside cable car.
Westerly view from cable car.
View from fortress
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The Flea Market is another feature of Tbilisi. It’s also good for buying original paintings, or at least, it appears so to our unschooled eyes. Generally the city wears its artistic endeavours on its sleeve, including where we stayed, in Nino’s Guesthouse, which is like a mini gallery.

You can buy almost anything there…
Pook!
There was its twin on another stall (NB: Bright green)
Don’t think the underlying Lada was for sale?

And there’s lots more to see, out and about on the streets.

A wonky clock tower in ‘theatre land’.
A nut snack with a caramalised covering.
A fairly typical minor street in the old town.
The bread shop was closed
Kartlis Deda (Mother Georgia)
Kartlis Deda (Mother Georgia)
Stairs are usually outdoors
Your headstone’s not straight
Taken straight out of the door of Nino’s Guesthouse
Save cats!
Cobbler, just down Chavchavadze Street from Nino’s Guesthouse

New Tbilisi arises in any big gaps. Glass, steel, new and classical shapes. Just as long as it doesn’t look remotely soviet.

Contrasts in Tbilisi

The Museum of Ethnology – most houses are between 100 and 200 years old.

Mud floor, central cooking pot.
Mainly wood construction houses.
Inside stone house, mud floor, central cooking pot, no chimney.
Baby walker
Wine press – capacity = 5 cubic metres
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Rug, lamp
Lamp, rug
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Have you heard the one about the bears and the porridge?

All in all, a thoroughly photogenic city, with lots and lots of cheap accommodation.

Day trip to Davit Gareji Monastery Complex (yet more caves)

Chapel in Lavra monastery
Chapel of Ressurection
Salt lake enroute
Lavra monastery
Azerbaijan on the left, Georgia on the right
Looking out over Azerbaijan
Fresco, and grafitti in Russian and Georgian
Inside a frescoed cave
Bit of a scramble
Spot the monk on the phone?

Errand

Finally, 19th Aug, we left Tbilisi. We had one errand to do first – post the Tbilisi souvenirs home. It took quite a while to find the Post Office, but as from Turkey on, the helpful chap serving wanted to know what was in there, for the customs declaration. Whereupon we came unstuck! The main item is a saddle bag, made in the same way as a kelim rug. Clare’s wanted one since Cappadocia. Normally, carpet shops claim they are “antique”, although often the age is faked, and want well north of $100 (yes, dollars, for some reason). However, Tbilisi’s flea market made no claims of age, and Clare beat the seller down to 110 GEL, much more realistic (about $40). Good. But. Both online and in Nino’s LP guide, there are warnings about the potential difficulty of taking out of countries, or sending, carpets especially and anything that might be part of the nation’s cultural heritage. So, post office man sends us off to the Ministry of Culture to get a letter certifying it isn’t old, and while we’re about it, also covering the two felt glove puppets. They obviously are not antiques, but to be fair, customs might have to open the package to see that. The ministry sent us on to the correct agency. All three are within about a square kilometre of central Tbilisi, but the bikes, one way system, and step-ridden pedestrian accesses, plus the moderate difficulty of finding the places, means it takes a while. The letter itself takes about 30 minutes, and a pleasant surprise is – no charge. Then, embarrassingly, it takes us an hour at least to find the same post office again. Now it’s lunchtime, so everyone is in there, except most of the staff. An hour queueing, then at least 30 minutes to send the thing (lots of forms). We finally set off from Tbilisi at 14:30. Good job we’d planned only a 55km ride to Sagarejo, where, fortunately, it was very easy to find what we think was the only hotel. Let’s hope the donkey bag proves as useful as expected once (if) it gets home.

Photograph by Agency for Cultural Heritage Preservation
The main post office in Tbilisi

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Georgia – first impressions

Already on the Turkish coast, as we’d read, the dry heat of inland Turkey was replaced by the steamy heat of the subtropical forest. As we progressed up Georgia’s coast it got more so: greenery abounded, the sun baked.  But sweating didn’t work because of the high humidity; naturally, we sweated more as a result. So must the locals, as even before getting to the holiday resort, it was abundantly clear that Georgians don’t follow the dress codes of their Islamic neighbours.  Gid could hardly keep his eyes on the road.
The Georgian side of the crossing was a sort of informally busy hub of transports and retail. It also revived memories of Budapest. Gone were all the Turks’ small practical Fiats,  Fords and Hyundais and their archaic Renault 12s and 70s Fiats. Instead, it seemed every expiring 80s German big saloon had made its way to Georgia to die. The quintessential Georgian motor seems to be a blackish ’85 Mercedes E class, with the front bumper missing, some very dodgy paint repairs, and a really rough engine.

Is this old Volga still in use, or quietly rotting. Plenty are still on the road. Which apparachnik had it originally?

With more dough, an X5 or M class SUV is chosen, although again, bumpers are optional. The reason soon became clear. Traffic is fairly dense, but there are few dual carriageways and rarely are there Turkey’s generous hard shoulders.  So Georgians put their foot down and overtake up the middle of the busy road. Thus it pays to have something big looking, fierce looking, heavy, fastish, with a loud horn and disposable. It also helps that gas is about €0.50 a litre.
That’s the cars. Georgia’s numerous minibuses, buses and commercial vehicles look rather like Turkey’s old ones; everything is a generation older than next door. That’s in the towns and on main roads. In the sticks we see the same, plus a lot more battered Ladas, Volgas, and other Soviet era transport, often ex military in appearance. Of course, Georgia was not only behind the iron curtain, it was one of the Soviet Union’s Socialist Republics. On a bike it  has mostly manifest as being a bit more noise together with a lot more smoke and unburnt petrol fumes. Yuk.

The bread is slightly less fresh after he’s gone past…
When one Georgian sets up a stall, others will follow; selling the same product range.
Old military-type jeeps in the country towns. To be fair, the more modern Lada Niva is much more common.

Once we’d got over the initial scare of the overtaking, actually the traffic isn’t too bonkers. In town, Georgians are no less considerate than most Euro drivers, just a little less inhibited with right foot, horn, and what might count as parking. But the English-like traffic density on pretty narrow roads, and fume laden air, were very unwelcome after rural Turkey.  In Batumi bikes were quite common around the seafront, including rental stands. Less common in the towns, and so far, we’ve seen just one on the open road.
We’re also struggling a bit with shopping. The little shops we pass aren’t as poorly stocked as Bulgaria’s, but we sometimes struggle to find variety for lunch, and especially, the “iced tea” that Clare has become very attached to. Plus of course, packs are marked in Georgia’s unique alphabet, often Cyrillic as well; in Batumi often Turkish or English too, but that is less so inland.  Milk = რძე in Georgian and Молоко in Russian. Gideon OTOH now has the option of drinking beer again, though it took a week for this to take effect. We’ll probably get better at shopping, it may well be us, not the shops.
Our first stop was a 5 day collapse in Batumi, Georgia’s premier Black Sea Resort. We’d sussed out a few possible hostels beforehand, but ended up in a guesthouse next door: cheaper and more comfortable. We hadn’t realised how tiredness had built up: This was the first rest stop where we really did very little, over 4 days we achieved:
  • 2 swims in the (warm) sea, one accompanied by a couple of surprises – eurrgh!
  • 2 ambles round sights in the town.
  • 2 or 3 thrillers read.
  • Extra laundry washed.
  • 2 new chains, Gideon’s bar tape and bus-damaged brake cable replaced.
  • Slept lots.
  • Cooked evening meals with potatoes.
  • Failed to significantly improve our Georgian or Russian.
Batumi has clearly been building attractions over recent years, and is very clearly a holiday resort. It was pleasant enough wandering around gawping and failing to find any decent maps.
After Batumi we had initially planned to swing south before heading East. However advice in the hostel was this was a lumpy dirt road and very steep, so we rerouted north, up the main coast road, which was unpleasant, before turning East on more minor roads, which were nice again, except for interludes where topology forces us back to the main road, or the map deceived us into thinking a main road would be, well, a road. There are some hills, but it’s mostly river valleys. We can see steep, densely wooded hills in all directions, but most roads are well graded. The steamy heat makes them harder than they ought to be. On the third day from Batumi we did encounter some short hills of up to 19%, this was in an area flagged with brown signs for a vineyard tour. However locals regard us with bemusement, so we don’t think tourism is a great industry here.
As we progressed east, the climate gradually got drier. No less hot, but once we got to Gori we were definitely back to hot and dry again.
The bigger of the little towns have so far always managed perfectly serviceable hotels or guesthouses. Except once (Kaspi – Nothing!), so we continued 30km to Mtskheta, which turned out to be “not to be missed”, the historic cathedral of the Georgian Orthodox Church. We could rough camp, but showers are sooooo nice in this heat. Accomodation isn’t well signed, but asking around in the centre has worked so far. A rather smart, new, but underused (totally unsigned) hotel for 60GEL (€23) with aircon and an huge breakfast; then a rather stuffy double room in Bagdati’s hostel for 30GEL; then 40GEL in Kharagauli  for a nice double, which also was stuffy, until the manager tapped on the door with a fan (really, really appreciated). In Bagdati there was a storm late evening and the town’s water supply was cut off, but this was foreseen by the staff who came to warn us so we’d already showered by then. In Gori, which has some tourist attractions including a (the?) Josef Stalin museum, a nice smart central hotel for 60GEL. In Mtskheta, which looked a real tourist trap, Lali’s guesthouse (unsigned but in the Garmin OSM) was very comfy with our own kitchen for 50GEL. The only mis-hit so far was near Surami, where, in gathering dark, exhausted by our hike and 40Km of really rough hilly road, we emerged onto the main road by a shop, and on asking folk where there might be a cheap hotel (iap’i sastumro), were directed above it. The owners (two or three middle aged ladies) seemed flummoxed by the idea, but eventually we were let in. It was only 30GEL, the room was basic and tatty, the washing facilities, without running water, primitive, and the toilet, well, Clare wasn’t impressed. But we slept well enough and nothing unexpected seemed to live in the beds.

The lower end. But no bugs. Unfortunately the main highway is 10m from the window. The picture is sellotaped onto the wall.
Winter arrangements are obvious.

In Kharagauli, we were, as often, trawling along the street looking for the hotel the locals indicated, and Gideon observed, 2 doors before, “National Park Office”. We’d not anticipated that from the maps (which, strictly, are of Turkey, except for the little tourist leaflet). Gideon did the shopping, and Clare went to the office to see what we might observe next day: She came back with a plan, which had better have its own post*.
*It does have its own post, blogged immediately before this one.