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.

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.

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 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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!