I am, without question, "Homeward Bound" ... I've booked the Euro Tunnel; that, in its self, as if I needed reminding, is the final acknowledgement that my trip is over. Although as you have probably noticed from the general mood of my blogs and the distance between them recently, that ever since turning around from Romania and the realisation that my quest had quested, a certain amount of wind has been taken from my sails.
This travelling, this exploring, really started to come into it's own once I had passed what we commonly accept as Western World civilisation but it is the 'yet to get there' countries that had the most fascination for me. As someone has already suggested and brilliant with it, that my starting point the next time should not be the UK but somewhere far and then journey back. Like China, South Africa, India or Rio Grande (that's not the one in America but the real one at the southern tip of South America).
So I last left you with my German sausage on Monday night and followed it by spending all of Tuesday basking in the expected, 30 degreeC, cloud free heat, by the lake which enticed me with a couple of cooling dips during the day. The sunbathing was made all the more bearable by Marcus du Sautouy's BBC Radio 4 podcasts of a 'History of Mathematics'; all 10 episodes. I know it may sound bizarre too many but maths really does it for me.
Wednesday morning's internet research had me heading in a south-westerly direction towards Dijon as it seemed a better forecast for the next day or two. It was near 800 kms to Dijon and unlikely that I would get there before nightfall but head in that direction I did. Sun at first all the way to Munchen, where I had a munch, but as I left the big city, I could see the grey horizon did not hold a good message and indeed the clouds split, letting all beneath know of their full contents. I was prepared, so not disheartened, but simply plowed on with my mission of the day to cross the border into France.
It rained all the way. It seemed never ending. How far was France? Then. without warning other than a sign showing French speed limits, I was there and not a moment too soon as I had done over 500 kms at this point and was saddle sore.
Fifty k's later and the 'Le Cheval Blanc' restaurant sign 'avec chambres' had me swerving 'a gauche' to simultaneously satisfy my hunger and tiredness, in that order. Nothing to report other than an extremely good meal and good night's sleep, oh and a peace and quiet, and I mean quiet, not a sound, from these tiny, remote, French villages. Quite harmoniously wonderful.
Having made the decision that I don't want to ride the full 800 plus kilometres to Calais, I book a Premier Classe (French equivalent to Premier Inn), in the vicinity of Reims, about half way. As I leave the room, the very attractive French weather lady, tells me there are storms, sun, rain, fog, hail, drought coming ... drool ... was she talking ... anyway, I set off for what turned out to be a perfect day. Motorcycle, sunny and dry, jeans, mountains, winding roads, charming coffee-shop stops and twice as much time as I need. Yes, that's a perfect day and a sweet finish to the trip. I was in the zone.
I'm back in the hotel now after an evening of contrasts viz staying in the infamous champagne region, a gastronomic centre in its own right, having just finished the 8 Euro All-You-You-Can-Eat buffet at Fujim, the local Chinese restaurant. E voila!
With a slightly sad heart, I head for Calais and the train tomorrow but the journey has been fantastic and provided experiences that I shall hold dear and never forget, but I did first write the word 'epic' but changed it to 'fantastic'. Why? Because, it's not over; when it is, I will know and then it will deserve the word 'epic'.
I will do a summary in the next few days, in the meantime, thank you for following and although it was impossible to mention everything, I hope I shared enough to give you a flavour of my experience because an experience it certainly was.
Life and it's people are beautiful .... Thank you for reading.
The Incomplete Nomad On Two Wheels x
Thursday, 4 August 2011
Monday, 1 August 2011
Lake Chiemsee
Lake Chiemsee, that's where I am, about half way between Munich and Salzburg and where I took that last sunset picture. The day started overcast but turn into sunbathing rays by lunchtime and the forecast for tomorrow is excellent.
The minute I entered Germany, it was, as you would expect, pristine. Everything works, the roads are smooth, sign posts galore and clean.
I ride the back-roads which isn't easy here as the country is literally criss-crossed with motorways, it is an incredible infrastructure but it's real Germany I'm after.
Although the butt-end of German humour, Bavaria is very attractive; country roads are scenically delightful and the villages are cleanly manicured with every windowsill and balcony adorned with colour. I slightly find it all a little too precise, a bit Stepford (if you've seen the movie Stepford Wives), somewhat personified by the biker's who mutually frequent the pub I visit opposite the campsite. Squeeky-clean, sparkling motorcycles straddled by riders in blemish-free, wrinkle-free leathers that must have wondered who is this, slashed-jeaned, dirty-jacketed, un-shaven rider on his off-road muddied, sticker-covered, fully laden R1200. Do they ask, no, but I do my usual "guten-tag" as I pass and order my pint. Not that this is a fair experiment, but I have had no confrontations at all, anywhere on my journey, until here; "You can't park there" said one on the first day, not that I was blocking anything and a kid, about 7 or 8 years old, who called me a "dummkopf" because I couldn't speak German. His mother was rather embarrassed but I joked it off. Germans outside Germany are a lot more friendly, I know, I've had the pleasure of meeting them.
I took a stroll around the lake today and came across a vintage car works with quite a few classics including this fully restored, wooden framed, Morris Minor Traveller and they only wanted 12,000 Euros for it. That sounds cheap to me. Maybe it didn't have an engine. Still cheap and bloody tempting. The bike costs more than that! Whatever, she was a beauty and in deep, rich green too.
"SOLD" to the scruffy Brit .... no I didn't.
Oh, managed to convince the jolly camp commandant (should I say that) to let me have electricity in the tent which does look very odd I must say. A large-diameter, electrical cable that disappears into the front flap of the tent, must look like I'm powering a gin distillery or a marijuana plantation; just want power for my laptop and phone, honest.
Anyway, am in said earlier pub and just finished a curry-covered sausage that's longer than your arm and I'm consequently, properly stuffed. Basking in evening sunshine, I think a coffee and sticky are in order ...
ta ta x
I ride the back-roads which isn't easy here as the country is literally criss-crossed with motorways, it is an incredible infrastructure but it's real Germany I'm after.
Although the butt-end of German humour, Bavaria is very attractive; country roads are scenically delightful and the villages are cleanly manicured with every windowsill and balcony adorned with colour. I slightly find it all a little too precise, a bit Stepford (if you've seen the movie Stepford Wives), somewhat personified by the biker's who mutually frequent the pub I visit opposite the campsite. Squeeky-clean, sparkling motorcycles straddled by riders in blemish-free, wrinkle-free leathers that must have wondered who is this, slashed-jeaned, dirty-jacketed, un-shaven rider on his off-road muddied, sticker-covered, fully laden R1200. Do they ask, no, but I do my usual "guten-tag" as I pass and order my pint. Not that this is a fair experiment, but I have had no confrontations at all, anywhere on my journey, until here; "You can't park there" said one on the first day, not that I was blocking anything and a kid, about 7 or 8 years old, who called me a "dummkopf" because I couldn't speak German. His mother was rather embarrassed but I joked it off. Germans outside Germany are a lot more friendly, I know, I've had the pleasure of meeting them.
"SOLD" to the scruffy Brit .... no I didn't.
Oh, managed to convince the jolly camp commandant (should I say that) to let me have electricity in the tent which does look very odd I must say. A large-diameter, electrical cable that disappears into the front flap of the tent, must look like I'm powering a gin distillery or a marijuana plantation; just want power for my laptop and phone, honest.
Anyway, am in said earlier pub and just finished a curry-covered sausage that's longer than your arm and I'm consequently, properly stuffed. Basking in evening sunshine, I think a coffee and sticky are in order ...
ta ta x
Sunday, 31 July 2011
Seek And Ye Shall Find ,,,
After a major study of weather maps the lesser-cloudy skies appeared to be South-West of Prague, so much so in fact that Southern Germany was the target. I estimated that 400 kilometres should find an ambient ceiling that changes enough from the grey misery that has tested my resolve in the last four countries I've traversed.
I set-off full of optimism from a wet Prague and in a drizzling rain that lasts pretty much to the border. Every view to the horizon reveals no break in the greyness but I remain resolute to the mission for sunshine or at the very least, a dry road.
I enter a borderless Germany, indicated by the Welkom sign and immediately the roads are perfect; wet but perfect. After 10 minutes, the rain gets heavier and is then followed by a dense fog that drops visibility to less than 100 metres. I'm riding in full winter gear, the heating grips are on their full setting, my feet are cold and the ambient temperature read-out shows 11 degreesC; I'm now in a frame of mind that promises to keep me going to Calais if this weather doesn't break, even if I have to ride through the night.
Then we (bike and I), start a decline from the mountains that border Germany with the Czech Republic, on contoured road that would be such a delight if dry ... hey wait a minute .... has the fog lifted, has the rain stopped, am I leaning a little more ... Oh Yeh Baby, we are rocking now! BMW, BMW, Mercedes, Audi, BMW, start eating these boys up, tyres are warm again, sun's up, never been so happy to see my shadow reflected in the road .... sing ABBA, sing anything, no, sing Amy Winehouse ... oh Amy, why do all the greats die at 27 .... Hendrix, Morrison, Joplin, Kobain, Bruce Lee (he was 32 but still too much talent wasted).
Cut to the point, coz finding a campsite was tiresome, but lakeside I am and look at the sunshine, what's more it's biker country, the Box Hill of Germany (biker speak), I'm on fire again.
Campsite, tented, lakes, sunsets, it's all good ... furthermore, I consume the local stuffed shnitzel with equally delightful herbed spuds, quenched with local red lubrication and actually, I'm shnitzel'd ... Aye thang yaw!
Just a bit of sunshine is all it takes, albeit that by Thursday more storms are due but I will be eating sunshine-seeking kilometres before then, Oh yes.
I'm back and so are those sun-setting lakes ...
Who loves you baby x
I set-off full of optimism from a wet Prague and in a drizzling rain that lasts pretty much to the border. Every view to the horizon reveals no break in the greyness but I remain resolute to the mission for sunshine or at the very least, a dry road.
I enter a borderless Germany, indicated by the Welkom sign and immediately the roads are perfect; wet but perfect. After 10 minutes, the rain gets heavier and is then followed by a dense fog that drops visibility to less than 100 metres. I'm riding in full winter gear, the heating grips are on their full setting, my feet are cold and the ambient temperature read-out shows 11 degreesC; I'm now in a frame of mind that promises to keep me going to Calais if this weather doesn't break, even if I have to ride through the night.
Then we (bike and I), start a decline from the mountains that border Germany with the Czech Republic, on contoured road that would be such a delight if dry ... hey wait a minute .... has the fog lifted, has the rain stopped, am I leaning a little more ... Oh Yeh Baby, we are rocking now! BMW, BMW, Mercedes, Audi, BMW, start eating these boys up, tyres are warm again, sun's up, never been so happy to see my shadow reflected in the road .... sing ABBA, sing anything, no, sing Amy Winehouse ... oh Amy, why do all the greats die at 27 .... Hendrix, Morrison, Joplin, Kobain, Bruce Lee (he was 32 but still too much talent wasted).
Campsite, tented, lakes, sunsets, it's all good ... furthermore, I consume the local stuffed shnitzel with equally delightful herbed spuds, quenched with local red lubrication and actually, I'm shnitzel'd ... Aye thang yaw!
Just a bit of sunshine is all it takes, albeit that by Thursday more storms are due but I will be eating sunshine-seeking kilometres before then, Oh yes.
I'm back and so are those sun-setting lakes ...
Who loves you baby x
A Tourist In Prague
A taxi to the 'New Town' first, the commercial part of the city, so I can buy a brolly and stickers. Stickers: I try to buy them in each country I visit, usually a flag or emblem, then stick them on the bike as a memento of where I've been, however, they're very difficult to find unless you want a fridge magnet. Anyway, on this occasion, I'm easily stickered and brolley'd from the same shop, a souvenir shop, where I secure my needs for less than 4
I wander over to the 'Old Town' and marvel at the many buildings, churches, museums, galleries, cobbled streets and market-stalled open squares. Gothic, Renaissance, Baroque, Art Nouveau, Neoclassical, Cubist, the architecture is striking and varied, even in the rain, I can appreciate why tourists flock here, it is well worth the visit. (The night view reminds me of Budapest).
I wander along a riverside park to the pedestrianised Charles Bridge (above), it's magnificent, stone-arched entrance prepares you for it's elegance. Commissioned by Charles IV and built in the 14th Centuary, this is probably the most popular attraction in Prague; ornate baroque statues adorn its walls but sadly a weather-defeated lack of musicians and artists that normally fill this bridge are missing. It's understandable, it's a miserable day and a bit chilly too.
The restaurant is conveniently at the end of the Charles Bridge and beautifully located in a Venice-like setting (above) and surrounded by courtyards of coffee shops and art and craft boutiques. It really is very pleasant.
I enter the Three Gangley Birds and am immediately greeted by Weslas who sits me at a perfect table in the wood-beamed dining room. Weslas is the sole waiter in the place but manages with grace and efficiency to keep everybody fed and watered without hesitation or interruption.
I take his recommendation of 'Becherovka' as an aperitif which is a local drink, a multi-herb liqueur whose recipe is a well guarded secret and only known by two people. I stuck with all Weslas's advice and he didn't let me down; quail egg tartar, traditional Czech soup and patato dumpling accompanied duck confit, local white wine and water. Excellent! If you go to Prague, remember the Three Ostriches.
It's early Sunday morning as I type and a check of the forecast brings no respite, rain again today and tomorrow, so I will take a hearty breakfast on board while researching where to head for ... I shall look for sun.
Hope you're having a good weekend and a dry one.
Saturday, 30 July 2011
Pra-aaargh!
It's been 5 days since my last confession ... I mean, blog, so please excuse my tardiness, although in my defense the weather has not provided much incentive to do anything and therefore write about it.
As a penance, I shall say 10 Hail Mary's, wear my pants outside my jeans in a Superman stylie, sing 'Waterloo' by ABBA for a day while introducing myself as Bjorn.
Moving on, I title this blog, Pra-aaargh!, not because Prague is a bad place but because it is still raining and raining hard today, but let me go back to Poland where I last blogged.
When I read about Krakow or Cracow, it is described as a cultural, musical city, full of art and history which is probably best reflected in the city's main square and surrounding pedestrianised streets and alley-ways. Like many Central European cities I have visited, it has its share of architecturally pleasing buildings and church's and also being a University town, has a vibrant cafe and bar scene. I spent an overcast day strolling around and people watching from a couple of the many coffee shops. I liked the warm atmosphere of the friendly people, the stylish shops and the alley-way stalls selling hand-made gifts and goodies of all sorts.
Although it is not advisable to drive in Krakow as parking is a major issue, I took the bike as parking is not an issue, so while I was obviously looking a little lost, a fellow biker pulled up alongside and asked if I need help. "Yes", I replied, so he immediately parked up and offered his help. I basically wanted to know where I could park, "Anywhere", he said, so we talked a little about the city and what to see, he re-iterated that I should not leave anything at all on the bike, then off he disappeared into the maze of traffic.
I really enjoyed Krakow, it has a pleasant feel and is very clean given the number of tourists although I didn't notice any street cleaners. The main square, about 5 or 6 times the size of Covent Garden in London, also has it's street entertainers, including this walking pint of beer that did make me giggle.
I was most impressed by three accordionists who had me mesmerized for some time as they squeezed out many classics including Czardas, that incredibly fast Russian piece that is most often heard on a violin. I have tried to load one of the video's I took of the trio but I'm not sure how well it will download and play, but try it anyway.
I returned to campsite just as a light shower starts and glad that I had opted for a cabin rather than pitching the tent. Not being constantly damp and sleeping in a dry bed is really worth the extra 15 Euros per day that the cabin cost.
The next day (Wednesday) continued dull and overcast and an invite for coffee and cakes with Graham and Cathy who I had met the day before was keenly accepted. Graham and Cathy are 3 months into a one year tour around Europe in their monster of a caravan or 'Fifth Wheel' for you travelling aficionados out there. Their mini-juggernaut home is amazing and once docked expands to create an enormous (in relative camping terms) living area, with a proper fixed-bed bedroom and bathroom; complete kitchen, hot running water and underfloor heating.
Having decided to stay another day in the hope that the weather will improve before my ride to the Czech Republic, we make a collective call to enjoy the rest of the day with a long lunch. Cathy organises a local restaurant and off we trott to what is basically an outdoor eatery but we choose the cover of a marquee and boy, was that the right decision as an hour later the heavens open up and deliver a savage downpour. The rain did little to dampen our fun lunch which started with a near rendition of 'Old MacDonald Has A Farm' as our charming, non-English speaking waitress was struggling to translate parts of the menu for us. So having had a successful 'moo-ing' event in Romania, I followed it up with a nasal, pig sounding, double-grunt that had our waitress reduced to fits of laughter and a giggle, every time she returned to our table, however, I did establish that I was about to order the pork dish! It was a great lunch that continued in Graham and Cathy's beast on wheels; I enjoyed their company and was slightly envious that their journey was still outward bound while mine was heading towards home.
While in Krakow, I did think about visiting Auschwitz which was less than 45 minutes away but much thought about the subject left me emotionally cold; we have all seen the horrific images and footage of these dreadful atrocities and the thought of actually visiting a place where masses of people were murdered was not something I wanted to do and Graham and Cathy's account of their visit to the camp (without going into detail) confirmed why I didn't want to go.
On a happier note, check-out Thurs-day, started with home-made pancakes, a la Graham & Cathy, who team-worked a delightful breakfast which we enjoyed in the sunshine. Yes! in the sunshine.
Bike loaded, followed by fond farewells and I was on my way to Prague which was a surprising near 600 kilometres away; for some reason I thought it was a lot closer. A non-motorway, uneventful, journey that was mostly pleasant, save the odd heavy rain shower, had me in the hotel I had booked in Prague (Praha) by 6.30pm after seven and a half hours of riding. (Broke the total journey 10,000 kilometres mark today)
Although very tired, I decide on a quick bite before bed or at least that was the intention until I met Stephen, a Financial Director of a large UK company, in the restaurant. We were having such a jolly time and decided on a nightcap in the hotel bar which left us both totally gazebo-ed well into the early hours of the morning. Consequently and probably also due to the full day of riding, I ended up sleeping, uninterrupted, until 5pm yesterday! Well over 12 hours of comatosed slumber; I've never done that before (the sleeping 'til 5 thing) but I did feel recovered, however I had lost a full day, a day that I wanted to see Prague, so I have extended my stay one more day.
I'm off now to do some sight seeing and need to start thinking about where I'm headed for tomorrow too.
Oh, it's pissing down with rain, by the way ...aaaargh!
As a penance, I shall say 10 Hail Mary's, wear my pants outside my jeans in a Superman stylie, sing 'Waterloo' by ABBA for a day while introducing myself as Bjorn.
Moving on, I title this blog, Pra-aaargh!, not because Prague is a bad place but because it is still raining and raining hard today, but let me go back to Poland where I last blogged.
I really enjoyed Krakow, it has a pleasant feel and is very clean given the number of tourists although I didn't notice any street cleaners. The main square, about 5 or 6 times the size of Covent Garden in London, also has it's street entertainers, including this walking pint of beer that did make me giggle.
I was most impressed by three accordionists who had me mesmerized for some time as they squeezed out many classics including Czardas, that incredibly fast Russian piece that is most often heard on a violin. I have tried to load one of the video's I took of the trio but I'm not sure how well it will download and play, but try it anyway.
I returned to campsite just as a light shower starts and glad that I had opted for a cabin rather than pitching the tent. Not being constantly damp and sleeping in a dry bed is really worth the extra 15 Euros per day that the cabin cost.
Having decided to stay another day in the hope that the weather will improve before my ride to the Czech Republic, we make a collective call to enjoy the rest of the day with a long lunch. Cathy organises a local restaurant and off we trott to what is basically an outdoor eatery but we choose the cover of a marquee and boy, was that the right decision as an hour later the heavens open up and deliver a savage downpour. The rain did little to dampen our fun lunch which started with a near rendition of 'Old MacDonald Has A Farm' as our charming, non-English speaking waitress was struggling to translate parts of the menu for us. So having had a successful 'moo-ing' event in Romania, I followed it up with a nasal, pig sounding, double-grunt that had our waitress reduced to fits of laughter and a giggle, every time she returned to our table, however, I did establish that I was about to order the pork dish! It was a great lunch that continued in Graham and Cathy's beast on wheels; I enjoyed their company and was slightly envious that their journey was still outward bound while mine was heading towards home.
While in Krakow, I did think about visiting Auschwitz which was less than 45 minutes away but much thought about the subject left me emotionally cold; we have all seen the horrific images and footage of these dreadful atrocities and the thought of actually visiting a place where masses of people were murdered was not something I wanted to do and Graham and Cathy's account of their visit to the camp (without going into detail) confirmed why I didn't want to go.
On a happier note, check-out Thurs-day, started with home-made pancakes, a la Graham & Cathy, who team-worked a delightful breakfast which we enjoyed in the sunshine. Yes! in the sunshine.
Bike loaded, followed by fond farewells and I was on my way to Prague which was a surprising near 600 kilometres away; for some reason I thought it was a lot closer. A non-motorway, uneventful, journey that was mostly pleasant, save the odd heavy rain shower, had me in the hotel I had booked in Prague (Praha) by 6.30pm after seven and a half hours of riding. (Broke the total journey 10,000 kilometres mark today)
Although very tired, I decide on a quick bite before bed or at least that was the intention until I met Stephen, a Financial Director of a large UK company, in the restaurant. We were having such a jolly time and decided on a nightcap in the hotel bar which left us both totally gazebo-ed well into the early hours of the morning. Consequently and probably also due to the full day of riding, I ended up sleeping, uninterrupted, until 5pm yesterday! Well over 12 hours of comatosed slumber; I've never done that before (the sleeping 'til 5 thing) but I did feel recovered, however I had lost a full day, a day that I wanted to see Prague, so I have extended my stay one more day.
I'm off now to do some sight seeing and need to start thinking about where I'm headed for tomorrow too.
Oh, it's pissing down with rain, by the way ...aaaargh!
Monday, 25 July 2011
Rain Rain Go Away
The picture also shows a severe lack of blue sky as there hasn't been any for some time. I would love to say that the weather isn't everything but like the frazzled parents who are desperately trying to keep their rain-dampened children amused, it does take its toll.
It's raining heavily but I decide to move on to Poland regardless so I loaded the bike and wet-saddled it to Krakow. The clouds are mountain top low, thick and grey as far as the eye can see but I stick to last nights planned route and head for the hills.
I take the road to Zdiar, continuing through the numerous ski villages including Tatranska Javorina where I stop for coffee, then into Poland, not that you would have noticed a border although the traffic seemed to increase exponentially for some reason; maybe it's a Monday thing.
More rain and more traffic later, I arrive at the internet-searched campsite located within the city limits of Krakow, which turns out to be ideal because they have cabins. I secure one without hesitation especially when I notice the weather chart pinned to the reception hut that colourfully forecasts thunderstorms for the next 3 days. Oh Yippee!
As positive as I try to be, this poor weather is beginning to get to me, as, in reality, it changes the whole experience when you're on a bike. A storm or two, here or there, can be a welcome change but day after day, and it just saps your enthusiasm, literal water torture! Hey ho. I shall take a wander around Krakow tomorrow, now that I'm here and move on somewhere on Wednesday.
Pray for sunshine or send some, whichever works best for you ...
Thanks,
Damp of Poland
Friday, 22 July 2011
Hungary - Slovakia
I need to bring you up to date as my last blog and my favourite was about the Transfagarasan ... I promise I won't mention that name again.
In brief, I find a campsite for one night (Tuesday), near Sibiu, Romania having decide that a head-down run to Budapest, another 450 kms away, after a huge days excitement, was not a good idea, besides, it's 4.30pm.
I rest and Wednesday, head straight for Biker Camp, Budapest, where I stayed before. The weather is not good and not forecast to be so for days, therefore, nothing to say, all just grey and boring but miles are eaten up. I arrive at Biker Camp, again for one night, and meet Jason (American) and his wife, Kate (Irish) who are cycling through Europe on their way to the Far East; we exchange stories.
I leave for Slovakia, heading for a large lake in the north of the country; it's only 300 odd k's, Slovakia is not that big and I'm already less than 100 kms from the border. Weather still poor, but already, a much more interesting countryside north of Budapest versus the flat, featureless south.
Enter Slovakia and stop to zip the quilted lining back into my bike suit. It's bloody July for crying out loud ... where have I heard that before? ... Oh yes, back home, in the UK!
First stop, coffee, and while admiring the carved, wooden pillar that holds up the roof to the restaurant, I realise I have no Euros but after a scrabble into the abyss of my top-box, I find some loose change, enough to satisfy the very friendly staff.
First impressions of Slovakia are indeed impressive, especially as I head closer to the Tatra Mountains which are basically, the start of the Carpathian (horse-shoe of) Mountains. Shame about the weather as it is absolutely beautiful; the roads enjoy its contours and I do my best to ignore the odd down pour.
I read somewhere that Slovakia is two-thirds covered with trees and I'm not going to argue with that simply based on the number of logging trucks I have passed. I guess the carved pillar I coffee'd with, the first of many, was the give-away.
The abundance of wood is everywhere and the main ingredient of most buildings, even their roofs which, in some cases, are very ornate, made up of what appears to be thousands of small pieces of carved wooden tiles.
Even the local village houses offer their wooden splendor with a look that blends in perfectly with their mountainous, deciduous surroundings. The pictures unfortunately fail to show the intricate workmanship of the tiling
and grooving in all it's subtle glory but rest assured, it's very authentic and attractive. The one on the right is for sale.
I like Slovakia, reminds me of Western Slovenia, only the trees are more dense; in truth, I just like lush, tree covered mountains with winding roads, so if you're wondering what to get me for my next birthday ....
A constantly overcast, frequently heavily, rain showered journey via Banska, right in the middle of the country, had me circumnavigating the dam'd Lake Liptovska to look for a site on the water. I stop in Liptovsky Mikulas (lots of dots and sqwiggles missing from above and below these letters) for some fuel and cash and then head round the north shore of the lake. It is now hammering the proverbial catsh'n'dogsh, as I'm sure they'd say it here, and the idea of putting up a tent in this torrent is not an option. After 5 or 6 stops at various places offering cheap rooms, I quickly realise that they're full because this is late July and I'm in a tourist/family hotspot (or was it that I'm now an unshaven, long-haired biker). Eventually, I get temporary residence in a wooden, of course, chalet-like hotel that is not only cheap but has Wi-Fi and a very good, really good restaurant, over-flowing with very friendly people. Oh, and it's as cheap as chips and not UK chips because they're expensive.
That was yesterday and I asked to say another day because the weather is so poor but I want to move on to Krakow in Poland, however, according to the news, Poland is experiencing immense rainfalls and floods they haven't seen in years. I think about another route but Central Europe is one big cloud and doesn't look like getting any better until Monday earliest.
Undeterred, I venture out today because I know Orava Castle is not far and as it turned out, the road to get there, loops through the mountains, all the way around the lake; couldn't have designed it better. Please ignore the blue sky in the internet-borrowed picture of this magnificent, domineering edifice that towers powerfully above the land on it's own hill, but my weather-dulled image just doesn't do this beast justice.
I'm probably going to spend some more time in Slovakia and not that that's a complaint by any means but the idea of Poland right now is an unacceptable misery.
Let's see, I will think about it in the morning ...
In brief, I find a campsite for one night (Tuesday), near Sibiu, Romania having decide that a head-down run to Budapest, another 450 kms away, after a huge days excitement, was not a good idea, besides, it's 4.30pm.
I rest and Wednesday, head straight for Biker Camp, Budapest, where I stayed before. The weather is not good and not forecast to be so for days, therefore, nothing to say, all just grey and boring but miles are eaten up. I arrive at Biker Camp, again for one night, and meet Jason (American) and his wife, Kate (Irish) who are cycling through Europe on their way to the Far East; we exchange stories.
Enter Slovakia and stop to zip the quilted lining back into my bike suit. It's bloody July for crying out loud ... where have I heard that before? ... Oh yes, back home, in the UK!
First stop, coffee, and while admiring the carved, wooden pillar that holds up the roof to the restaurant, I realise I have no Euros but after a scrabble into the abyss of my top-box, I find some loose change, enough to satisfy the very friendly staff.
I read somewhere that Slovakia is two-thirds covered with trees and I'm not going to argue with that simply based on the number of logging trucks I have passed. I guess the carved pillar I coffee'd with, the first of many, was the give-away.
Even the local village houses offer their wooden splendor with a look that blends in perfectly with their mountainous, deciduous surroundings. The pictures unfortunately fail to show the intricate workmanship of the tiling
I like Slovakia, reminds me of Western Slovenia, only the trees are more dense; in truth, I just like lush, tree covered mountains with winding roads, so if you're wondering what to get me for my next birthday ....
A constantly overcast, frequently heavily, rain showered journey via Banska, right in the middle of the country, had me circumnavigating the dam'd Lake Liptovska to look for a site on the water. I stop in Liptovsky Mikulas (lots of dots and sqwiggles missing from above and below these letters) for some fuel and cash and then head round the north shore of the lake. It is now hammering the proverbial catsh'n'dogsh, as I'm sure they'd say it here, and the idea of putting up a tent in this torrent is not an option. After 5 or 6 stops at various places offering cheap rooms, I quickly realise that they're full because this is late July and I'm in a tourist/family hotspot (or was it that I'm now an unshaven, long-haired biker). Eventually, I get temporary residence in a wooden, of course, chalet-like hotel that is not only cheap but has Wi-Fi and a very good, really good restaurant, over-flowing with very friendly people. Oh, and it's as cheap as chips and not UK chips because they're expensive.
Undeterred, I venture out today because I know Orava Castle is not far and as it turned out, the road to get there, loops through the mountains, all the way around the lake; couldn't have designed it better. Please ignore the blue sky in the internet-borrowed picture of this magnificent, domineering edifice that towers powerfully above the land on it's own hill, but my weather-dulled image just doesn't do this beast justice.
I'm probably going to spend some more time in Slovakia and not that that's a complaint by any means but the idea of Poland right now is an unacceptable misery.
Let's see, I will think about it in the morning ...
Wednesday, 20 July 2011
Motorcycle Mecca
Yes, yes ,yes ,yes ,yes ,yes ,yes .... as you may have guessed I have done the length and breadth of the Transfagarasan. This is all about my BMW R1200GS and an epic road, so if you're not a motorhead the rest may be a little boring. Let me start at the beginning ...
Hotel Scala, Bucharest, Monday night. Light supper, two glasses of wine and in bed by 10.30pm. I want to be in top form for the big ride the next day. I've read and I've been told, by many, about its magnificence. Even Top Gear took a Lamborghini, a Ferrari and an Aston Martin to pay homage to the road of all roads.
I'm up early, consume a hearty breakfast and check-out; even the lady at reception knows I'm off to the Big T (word must have spread from the conversation at dinner with waiter Janoots who is also a keen biker). I repack all my luggage, shifting all the heavy stuff to the lowest point of the panniers, lightest in the top box, I want the centre of gravity to be as low as possible; I'm taking this very seriously. I load the bike and check everything, most importantly tyre pressures. She starts, she purrs, she respectfully caresses the cobbled drive of the hotel to a thumb's up from the concierge, Andre and we head for the only motorway in Romania. It's 100 kilometres in length, that's it, but it helps me get to Curtea de Arges quickly, the town that begins the DN 7C, the Transfagarasan. I'm not interested in looking at sights and horse'n'carts are now a hazard rather than a fascination; I'm an addict in withdrawal and I need the fix.
I purposefully let the tank run low and don't stop until I reach a Petrom petrol station as they have unleaded rated 100 octane; there is one in Curtea, I pull up and fill up. I wash and clean, the screen, lights, mirrors and visor, all is ready, I'm ready, the R1200GS is ready ... just one more thing. My normal, half-litre, gulp of water is all I usually need to focus but I decide to sharpen the image; I drown a can of Red Bull ... I will be climbing over 2,000 metres, I need wings!
I look up and the odd fluffy cotton ball dots a vast, pale blue sky, the weather is perfect and was worth the extra-expense wait. I keenly set off from the petrol station, the arrow-straight road pointing straight to the hills in the near distance; the gate-keepers of the Fagaras Mountains, they interlock like the fingers of two clasped hands.My excitement is building. I wave to a couple of enthused bikers as the first arrow-head signs warn me of the first of a thousand bends.
It twists, it turns, I'm in it, the Transfagarasan presents its worth. I quickly realise that I'm trying too hard, the adrenalin to great, my sweating palms gripping way too tight, "Enjoy the moment, Chris" I say to myself. I remember my California Superbike School lessons ... 'relax the hands and the rest will follow'.
I'm there, I'm at one with my two-wheeled beauty, like a horse, she knows and we gel together through corner after corner with ease of a dolphin through water, then a short distance after crossing the Vidraru Dam .... wollap! A pothole the size of a builders bucket, clatters through the front wheel and all of a sudden I'm standing on the pegs riding motocross style. The bends continue in abundance but the road surface and gravel have me still standing on the pegs for better forward vision of the irregular surface. I'm not perturbed as I know the road improves but the R1200 is just sapping all that is thrown at her and I keep up the pace passing same and similar bikes, not to mention cars that are literally crawling the terrain. A few bikers that pass in the opposite direction signal me to slow down; I understand their concern, the road is rough, the bends are sharp but it's not Sunday, I'm not on a school run, there are no towns or villages on this road, no traffic lights and no junctions; that's why it's a road to behold and I'm going to enjoy every last inch of it no matter its condition.
More importantly, ridiculous meets sublime and the tarmac just couldn't be better. Snow-white lined, jet-black, hot tarmac now stretches out in front me like the longest piece of licorice string you've ever gnawed and I know the worst is behind me. I now realise the significance of the advice to take on this road from South to North.
The bends start to flow like ripples on water with one in every 5 a hairpin. We are contouring the east side of Lake Vidraru, an enormous, spectacular, cauldron of green-blue water which, quite frankly I only glanced at, a couple of times; I was here for the road, not the view.
A small break at this point for some facts and figs of the Transfagarasan ... 92 kilometres of two-laned road that winds its way through the Fagaras Mountains that reach their highest point at 2,544 metres (approx 8,200 feet). The road itself hits a high point of 2,042 metres and is, consequently, only open for a few summer months of the year. Built in the early 70's, over 3 million tons of rock were removed using (according to Jeremy Clarkson) 6,000 tons of dynamite and 40 to 100 men lost their lives depending on which article you read. I won't go into detail but the amounts of concrete, steel, anchors, nets, tubes, pipes, gravel, etc., used, is mind-blowingly staggering and if you have a moment, I strongly recommend you take a look at the opening scenes on this clip http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DVa7ITLQAPU for an excellent view of this amazing piece of road and its surroundings.
Back to the ride ... by now I am totally 'in the zone', in motorcycle heaven and just when you think it couldn't get any better, it does. Enter the climb to the 2,000 plus metre peak and down the other side. Take a long piece of silk ribbon, scrunch it in your hands and let it drop to the floor; this section of road is the result. Hooks and bends, 90 degree corners, switch-backs that have the bike's foot-pegs scrapping the tarmac, hardly a straight piece of road connecting each turn; the concentration is immense. So much so, that I pass many tourists that have stopped at many a vantage point to awe at the view, but I don't stop, this is just too great. It took over the hour to complete but it felt like 15 minutes. Orgasmic!
Without hesitation, I must mention the bike; no matter the road condition, the corner characteristic, the altitude, hard acceleration, even harder braking, whatever was thrown at her she took it without complaint, never missing a beat and even more impressive, with full load. BMW R1200GS, you are truly the best all road bike I have ever ridden and probably the best all terrain motorcycle ever made.
Typing this account of the journey, one I will never forget, has me buzzing as I re-live the experience; again referring to Jeremy Clarkson, he described it as taking all the best corners from all the best race tracks and knitting them together. I agree with him, it is .... "the best road in the world".
Although not planned, the DN 7C was the turning point of my trip, the point at which I started my return journey to the UK. I know my trip is far from over but this has to be the pinnacle and what a pinnacle it was.
Thank you Transfagarasan ... you will never be forgotten.
I'm up early, consume a hearty breakfast and check-out; even the lady at reception knows I'm off to the Big T (word must have spread from the conversation at dinner with waiter Janoots who is also a keen biker). I repack all my luggage, shifting all the heavy stuff to the lowest point of the panniers, lightest in the top box, I want the centre of gravity to be as low as possible; I'm taking this very seriously. I load the bike and check everything, most importantly tyre pressures. She starts, she purrs, she respectfully caresses the cobbled drive of the hotel to a thumb's up from the concierge, Andre and we head for the only motorway in Romania. It's 100 kilometres in length, that's it, but it helps me get to Curtea de Arges quickly, the town that begins the DN 7C, the Transfagarasan. I'm not interested in looking at sights and horse'n'carts are now a hazard rather than a fascination; I'm an addict in withdrawal and I need the fix.
I look up and the odd fluffy cotton ball dots a vast, pale blue sky, the weather is perfect and was worth the extra-expense wait. I keenly set off from the petrol station, the arrow-straight road pointing straight to the hills in the near distance; the gate-keepers of the Fagaras Mountains, they interlock like the fingers of two clasped hands.My excitement is building. I wave to a couple of enthused bikers as the first arrow-head signs warn me of the first of a thousand bends.
I'm there, I'm at one with my two-wheeled beauty, like a horse, she knows and we gel together through corner after corner with ease of a dolphin through water, then a short distance after crossing the Vidraru Dam .... wollap! A pothole the size of a builders bucket, clatters through the front wheel and all of a sudden I'm standing on the pegs riding motocross style. The bends continue in abundance but the road surface and gravel have me still standing on the pegs for better forward vision of the irregular surface. I'm not perturbed as I know the road improves but the R1200 is just sapping all that is thrown at her and I keep up the pace passing same and similar bikes, not to mention cars that are literally crawling the terrain. A few bikers that pass in the opposite direction signal me to slow down; I understand their concern, the road is rough, the bends are sharp but it's not Sunday, I'm not on a school run, there are no towns or villages on this road, no traffic lights and no junctions; that's why it's a road to behold and I'm going to enjoy every last inch of it no matter its condition.
The bends start to flow like ripples on water with one in every 5 a hairpin. We are contouring the east side of Lake Vidraru, an enormous, spectacular, cauldron of green-blue water which, quite frankly I only glanced at, a couple of times; I was here for the road, not the view.
Without hesitation, I must mention the bike; no matter the road condition, the corner characteristic, the altitude, hard acceleration, even harder braking, whatever was thrown at her she took it without complaint, never missing a beat and even more impressive, with full load. BMW R1200GS, you are truly the best all road bike I have ever ridden and probably the best all terrain motorcycle ever made.
Typing this account of the journey, one I will never forget, has me buzzing as I re-live the experience; again referring to Jeremy Clarkson, he described it as taking all the best corners from all the best race tracks and knitting them together. I agree with him, it is .... "the best road in the world".
Although not planned, the DN 7C was the turning point of my trip, the point at which I started my return journey to the UK. I know my trip is far from over but this has to be the pinnacle and what a pinnacle it was.
Thank you Transfagarasan ... you will never be forgotten.
Monday, 18 July 2011
Patience ...
Need to stay one more day in Bucharest before my ride into the mountains as storms continue to erupt in the region, however, the forecast for tomorrow is perfect. Below is a picture of what I can expect; soooo looking forward to it.
Took a ride round the city this morning and found some tree-lined boulevards that straddled pretty parks but still have to conclude that I'm not going to miss this place when I leave. Sorry.
Oh, didn't tell you ... when I first arrived here, I took a stroll to find a place to eat, when I was approached by a young, ice-cream licking lady who said something in Romanian.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand", was my reply
"Message", she says
"You want to send a message", as I point to the phone in her cone-free hand
"No, massage" ....
Couldn't help laughing at the 'Lost in Translation' moment which thankfully, she found funny too and if you're wondering, no, there was no massage or message for that matter, albeit that she was rather attractive.
Too hot outside and another storm is on it's way, so I will spend this afternoon catching up on missed episodes of House MD ...
Sunday, 17 July 2011
Turning Point
Up early yesterday, as mentioned and as intended, for the long haul to Bucharest. I see Klaas to say my good-bye only to find the whole family and others are present. It is an extremely fond farewell, full of hugs and kisses, as it's been two weeks here, at Camp Vineyard, a very comfortable, worthwhile, satisfying place to be. I really could have stayed longer. I felt deflated as I left, the bike's tyres crunching the gravel drive as I waved my last good-byes, but I smile with wonder that I may well return another day.
The roads are shocking and I mean dreadful, A-class, red roads on the map, but still appalling; how am I going to make the capital city, over 600 kms away, in good time. Under normal circumstances, 600 clicks in a motor-propelled day, is time-consuming but not difficult, however, when the speed ranges from horse'n'cart to a bone-shaking max of 40 mph, you're not covering much ground.
I ride via Hunedoara, not too far off route, as I want to see the gypsy palaces that I've heard so much about. Well, this pic is just one and it's still being built but they are all magnificent in their over-elaborateness. The story follows: there is a definite hierarchy in the Romanian gypsy community (not that there isn't in any other, in most cases) and the really rich gypsy's are the roof builders. They are specialists in metal roofs and after the Ceaucescu era of destruction (especially non-orthodox churches) and consequent over-throw, the rebuilding of much of Romania kept gypsy talent in demand. The few in this field did well and in doing so showcased
their talent through the medium of their own homes. This building (right) in Bucharest exemplifies their work although you cannot see the intricate detail, form and interfacing of the metalwork; it really is quite something with many recently built churches that I passed on route, also richly displaying their art.
Back to the ride and not wanting to drone on, but it was the craziest and toughest ride to date. Roads that twice had me stopping to re-arrange shifted baggage; from cloudless blue skies to two proper fork-lightening, torrential-rain thunderstorms; valley-deep, river-following, dry, reasonably tarmac'd roads (excellent fun), temperatures that ranged from 17 to 39 degreesC; three petrol stops, three weather-gear changing stops and two coffee breaks. 648 kilometres in 8 hours 46 minutes (actual moving time) according to TomTom; I can tell you I was totally buggered when I finally arrived in Bucharest last night.
Bucharest: lonelyplanet.com say you should give the city a chance and gave it's (not many) reasons, so I wandered today to appreciate the city.
Nah! ... Litter everywhere; beggars and homeless, every corner (not their fault); graffiti; smelly (urine mostly); armed guards protecting buildings; truncheon carrying private security guards; stray dogs; yes, a few historic buildings but drowned out by the grey, concrete tenement blocks that you would expect to see further out of town. But read up on, here's that name again, Ceausescu's hurried attempt at 're-building for the people' and the end result is dour.
Maybe it's unfair to paint such an awful picture of a city especially in the light of one day's experience but no other city to-date, gave me such an uninspiring initial impression. This picture (left) of a main street telephone pole says it all: it's a mess!
Bucharest, is however my turning point, my furthest point East (Booooo!) which I really wanted to be either Istanbul or better still Armenia but time is now against me and they will have to wait, but my excitement still prevails as I'm hoping to run, as mentioned before, the Transfagarasan tomorrow ... described by Jeremy Clarkson as "probably, the best road in the world!" Unfortunately, there's another thunderstorm just moved in as I type and it's belting down, so as the lights in my hotel room flicker due to the storm, I will ask at reception if there is room for one more night if I need it. In truth, the only reason I came to Bucharest is because I'm told the best way to run the Transfagarasan is from South to North and riding this legendary road in the wet would be no more fun than skiing, off piste, in a bikini, on chopsticks.
My next blog will be after the Transfagarasan run (pronounced Trans-fa-ga-ra-shan) ... can't wait.
PS Oooops, power in the hotel just went down and looking out of the window it's the same for the area. Welcome to downtown Bucharest! Thank God, no, Alessandro Volta, for batteries.
The roads are shocking and I mean dreadful, A-class, red roads on the map, but still appalling; how am I going to make the capital city, over 600 kms away, in good time. Under normal circumstances, 600 clicks in a motor-propelled day, is time-consuming but not difficult, however, when the speed ranges from horse'n'cart to a bone-shaking max of 40 mph, you're not covering much ground.
Back to the ride and not wanting to drone on, but it was the craziest and toughest ride to date. Roads that twice had me stopping to re-arrange shifted baggage; from cloudless blue skies to two proper fork-lightening, torrential-rain thunderstorms; valley-deep, river-following, dry, reasonably tarmac'd roads (excellent fun), temperatures that ranged from 17 to 39 degreesC; three petrol stops, three weather-gear changing stops and two coffee breaks. 648 kilometres in 8 hours 46 minutes (actual moving time) according to TomTom; I can tell you I was totally buggered when I finally arrived in Bucharest last night.
Bucharest: lonelyplanet.com say you should give the city a chance and gave it's (not many) reasons, so I wandered today to appreciate the city.
Nah! ... Litter everywhere; beggars and homeless, every corner (not their fault); graffiti; smelly (urine mostly); armed guards protecting buildings; truncheon carrying private security guards; stray dogs; yes, a few historic buildings but drowned out by the grey, concrete tenement blocks that you would expect to see further out of town. But read up on, here's that name again, Ceausescu's hurried attempt at 're-building for the people' and the end result is dour.
Maybe it's unfair to paint such an awful picture of a city especially in the light of one day's experience but no other city to-date, gave me such an uninspiring initial impression. This picture (left) of a main street telephone pole says it all: it's a mess!
Bucharest, is however my turning point, my furthest point East (Booooo!) which I really wanted to be either Istanbul or better still Armenia but time is now against me and they will have to wait, but my excitement still prevails as I'm hoping to run, as mentioned before, the Transfagarasan tomorrow ... described by Jeremy Clarkson as "probably, the best road in the world!" Unfortunately, there's another thunderstorm just moved in as I type and it's belting down, so as the lights in my hotel room flicker due to the storm, I will ask at reception if there is room for one more night if I need it. In truth, the only reason I came to Bucharest is because I'm told the best way to run the Transfagarasan is from South to North and riding this legendary road in the wet would be no more fun than skiing, off piste, in a bikini, on chopsticks.
My next blog will be after the Transfagarasan run (pronounced Trans-fa-ga-ra-shan) ... can't wait.
PS Oooops, power in the hotel just went down and looking out of the window it's the same for the area. Welcome to downtown Bucharest! Thank God, no, Alessandro Volta, for batteries.
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