A ride to Asia

Dubai

2007-10-22T10:45:00.000+05:30

Yup, this is the end.. last stop before returning to the "real life", in Dubai where Miriam and Peter have settled down. Chill out a bit, go skiing (much better snow than in Switzerland at that time), get drunk at the Oktoberfest.. the typical Dubai stuff really.

The native Emirates are a minority here, they rule the country, cash-in the oil revenues and don't need to work. Most inhabitants are either Pakistanis/Indians/Bangladeshis who are brought in by the plane load to fill in low-wages positions, mostly to work around the clock in miserable conditions in the thousands of construction sites in Dubai or the UAE and build the next insanely high tower. Or the western ex-pats who fill in the grossly overpaid business positions, live 24/7 with A/C in their expensive houses and enourmous SUVs, spend their money in ridiculously huge malls and outrageously luxurious hotels and bars. Three societies in one country who live very differently and don't mix. Amazing.

On the roof of the world

2007-08-30T13:31:00.000+05:30

Yeah, I have diseappeared from the blogosphere for a while, but only because I roam now in the Indian Himalayas where Internet cafes are few and far between, and when there is one - and it happens to be working - the connexion is slow and the prices are extortionate. Photo uploading is out of the question, obviously, though the landscapes are incredibly picturesque. I'll try to catch up when I'm back to the civilization - which won't be long because I'm flying back by the middle of October.

In a nutshell, after getting acquainted with my new Enfield, I rode it directly to Shimla, avoiding the start of the monsoon - not! But as I climbed into the high valleys of Kinnaur and Spiti the rain subdued. Since then I haven't had much rain (except for a hailstorm on the Stok Kangri trek), although the clouds often build up they rarely give more than a few drops of rain. That explains the harsh, desertic landscape.

After a week in Spiti exploring the side valleys and the gompas, I met the Manali - Leh road behind Rohtang pass, carefully avoiding Manali and the Parvati valley, famous Israeli ghett.. - I mean, hangouts. Israelis are generally fine people, but they tend to flock in large groups all in the same place, turning by their own weight the places in small Tel Aviv's with Hebrew signboards and restaurants sporting Israeli food. And of course they find cheap drugs, which is #1 reason Israeli come here. "Chai, chillum, chapatti: chello Parvati" as the saying goes, but I found out they also crowd Ladakh, and Leh sports its own Israeli/backpacker ghetto. Nevertheless, in the month or so I spent in Leh and around, I made some good friends and met some fine people. Life is easy here, and it's just as easy to get stranded as it was in Goa.

Ont he way from Spiti to Lahaul I met 2 Swiss Italians bikers coming from Manali, and we rode in 2 days on the famous Manali-Leh road, crossing on the way a pass at 5300m. Altitude was not a problem for me as after having spent 1 week at 4000m in the Spiti valley I was well acclimatized, but Andreas theTicinese had a mild case of AMS, not surprising as you go from 2000m (Manali) to 4500m for the night. This is actually worse than flying from Delhi to Leh as it is only 3500m in altitude.

After this eventless ride (you know, the usual Enfield way, losing unessential parts such as the exhaust pipe, the chain guard or - almost - the oil drain bolt..) I based myself in Leh and spent the last few weeks exploring the areas around: Pangong Tso, Tso Moriri, Nubra valley and the countless gompas on the way.. fantastic vistas - sorry you'll have to wait for the pics. I also went for a small trek, which ended up climbing Stok Kangri overlooking Leh, at 6145m. I had cold feet about that, given my pathetic physical conditions after 1 year of sitting on a bike, but learning that everybody and his grand-mother goes there, I decided to tagf along with a group of other guys, without guide or support. As it turns out, the base camp, although at 5000m altitude, has a parachute-tent dhaba, so you don't need to bring food. A tent and sleeping bag, warm clothes, crampons and ice axes and off you go, as if you went for a 3000m peak in the alps. Amazing.

The season is reaching its end here in Ladakh and it's now much more quiet than on the peak of July and August. Next on my shopping list is Zanskar and Kashmere, before heading back to Delhi, sell my bike and fly back at the end of October.

No, still no photo, sorry.

Hotel Calfornia

2007-06-30T17:48:00.000+05:30

Delhi, 33'000 km.

Delhi for me is like Hotel California: I can check out anytime I want but I can never leave (plus, I haven't found the pink Champagne on ice yet). So I'm back to the capital, this time to ship the bike home. Something is seriously wrong with it, so I'm sending it back and will rebuild the engine entirely this winter. It's just not reliable enough anymore, and although the last 10'000 km around India and Nepal have been great it's taken a big toll on it (plus the heat, the bad Nepal petrol, etc..). Painful as it is, it's the only sensible choice.

Incidentally, it's been just 1 year since I left Switzerland. Total: 33'000 km. My goal was to reach India in the first 6 months, but I figured that after 1 year I would have found a way out of it. Not so, but I had no firm plan so this is just as good.

But the trip ain't over for me. I've been shopping for another bike to keep going where I was heading to, in the Indian Himalayan. Here's the beast:

Pretty nifty, uh? But wait until it gets an engine, it looks even better.

Hasta la vista!

Bad luck. Or is it?

2007-06-13T11:50:00.000+05:30

Almora, Uttaranchal, 31'110 km

The mood is bad for this entry. By the time I left Kathmandu, I was pretty keen to get back on the road and get some nice riding in the Himalayan hills of Uttaranchal and Himachal Pradesh. It turned out that instead of enjoying the spring in those valleys, I ended up stuck in the stifling heat of the pre-monsoon in a shit-hole of Uttaranchal's lower plains. My bike has failed on me again.

I had made some good time across the Terai to reach the border with India, completing my north-east to south-west crossing of Nepal. From Kathmandu that's 700 km under a scorching sun, the temperature hovering in the low 40's at mid-day. At that time North India (and Nepal's Terai) was suffering a heat wave that brings the temperature to 45 in Delhi and even 51 in Jaisalmeer! Not too bad though, as I was looking forward to gaining some altitude soon after crossing the border. My bike on the other hand started to behave a little strange when starting it up.. which cast dark memories of my earlier ride into North India last December. Hoping for just some bad temper due to the heat, I kept going quietly and crossed easily the ramshackle mess that is the border between Nepal and India. By then it was getting late and much cooler, as I was heading north right into the mountains. The road to Nainital (a hip hill resort) is very nice, windy with a very good blacktop, but the heavy traffic didn't really allow me to enjoy it very much. In fact, I was following this guy on a vespa and couldn't quite catch up with him, because he was recklessly passing truck and buses in the most risky places. Eventually there was a long stretch of straight road and I passed him easily - only to hear my engine suddenly die out of the next curve. I pulled over to the side of the road, and as I was cursing heavily on my bike, the vespa dude parked in the middle of the road and walked to me asking what was wrong. I told him my bike broke down, so he offered me the only help he could, handing out a tole of charas. It sure would have helped me, but it was certainly no cure for my engine.

I freewheeled it back into the next town down the hill (which happened to be Kathgodam, last train station before the mountains), checked into the first hotel I found and pulled out my multimeter: sure enough, the freaking ignition coil had broke - again. Now I was a bit devastated because I had it replaced by a reinforced one after it had happen twice before, in Siberia and in India last November. There must be some other reason for it to fail, and if I don't find out why it could happen again anytime. I can't have spare parts sent over every couple months at considerable expense. It's just ridiculous.

But in the mean time, I had no choice but to order the new part. I didn't want to have it FedEx'd to this lousy town, so the logical choice was Delhi, just like I did 6 months ago. But I had to do a round trip to Delhi, 300 km away, and all the trains until the end of June are fully booked. And I remembered the hassle at the DHL bureau last time, so I tried to be smart: there's this Swiss woman, Cecilia, riding a BMW and gone trekking while I was in Kathmandu. She's supposed to follow me a few days later, just about time for the package to arrive, so I asked her if she would bring it to me. It said it was fine, so I rushed the package so that she wouldn't have to wait for it. Meanwhile I took a bus and went to the hills to escape the miserable conditions in Kathgodam: it's hot, humid, noisy and polluted, the hotel room is shabby and expensive. In fact, everything seems to be double he normal price, while there is absolutely nothing to do there.

After all the wrecked buses I've seen in Nepal, I wasn't keen to take a ride, but apart from the (not much safer) shared jeeps, there's no other means of leaving the place. It turned out that the biggest danger was sitting between the window and a sick Indian.. First stop was in Nainital, the famous hill station. So famous indeed that it is crowded with thousands of noisy, stupid and arrogant upper-middle class Indian tourists (like every upper-middle class tourist in the world, that's the effect of globalization I guess). They're all pretty well off, showing by the size of the SUVs they're driving and the nice clothes their spoilt kids are wearing. All this inflates the price in ridiculous proportions, so I took my guide book and decided to leave for Kausani, a very quiet place, and then Almora. It is supposed to be touristy but fortunately, all the Israelis gathered in that place a little away to enjoy the influence of the locally grown plants. The town itself is therefore pretty nice and quiet, and at 1800m quite a bit cooler.

Meanwhile Cecilia sent me a message that she got the package but she would be 2 days late, and then finally that she would leave Kathmandu 1 week later than I thought! So I end up being stranded 2 weeks in the North India plains in June, certainly the last place you want to be in. The worse is that there's nothing I can do and I just have to wait. I went back to Nainital just to find a bookstore where I could buy a couple books to spend the next few days (of all things, the Lord of the Rings that I wanted to read again anyway). Because of the heat, the conditions in the high valleys of Himachal Pardesh were I was heading were just perfect, but now the rain is coming and the monsoon is looming not far away.. just what I wanted to avoid. If at least I can fix my bike and keep going!

Hippie Geek

2007-05-28T20:48:00.000+05:30

Kathmandu, 30'313 km

Gosh, I almost got trapped in the easy-going atmosphere of Kathmandu, nice hotel room, plenty of good food, great bars to have a drink and chat, nice weather, what else could you ask for (well OK, a beach maybe). Even the hashish and tiger balm hawkers fail to annoy me.. it would be all too easy to stay here another few months (right Khim?).

But I've only spent about 4 weeks in total in Nepal, as I flew back and spent 3 weeks in Switzerland, to see people, do some shopping and other administrivia which is easier to do at home, like a new carnet, new visas, etc... Mainly I had to get a new shock absorber (Oehlins refurbished) and a few parts for the bike, and replace my camping gear which is either missing or needs to be replaced. Thamel may be plastered with (mostly fake) hiking gear shops, but a good tent is impossible to find here. I gave away my old one in Goa, as it was pretty worn out and I didn't need it during the last few months. I sent my mat by post in Hyderabad to fix it, but the package is still "on its way" after almost 3 months. And I want to replace my synthetic sleeping mat with down for the cool nights in altitude. I also bought a new Primus stove here for a lot cheaper than in Switzerland (it's much easier to haggle at the end of the season).

So now that my bike is fixed and ready, my camping gear sorted out, and the weather has improved, there is no reason for me to stay here. It's nice to have breakfast with Khim, in a nice cafe with free (but slow) WiFi, spending most of the morning (and sometimes the afternoon) playing with our MacBooks, as true "neo-hippie" Kathmandu geeks.. Well, it's not only playing, I did some serious photo and video editing, which is the main reason I carry this pice of hardware. Khim has shipped his bike to Brazil, so he's a happy camper, but as the monsoon just about hits Sri Lanka I want to take advantage of the last window of good weather to explore the upper himalayan valleys of Himachal Pradesh, before heading to Ladakh when Cecilia joins me end of June.

The situation here is a bit unstable. The fuel is in short supply: Nepal is not paying their bills to India so they're pulling the plug; I had to wait 45 minutes this morning to top up my tank. It was not hard to find the petrol station, it was heavily guarded by police forces. But when I arrived very early they hadn't received the petrol yet. I returned after breakfast and a long queue was quickly forming as the rumor spread. Fortunately the guy didn't restrict me to the 500 rps quota so I have a full tank now. Not enough to make it to the western border though, so I'll have to find some on my way (or head straight for the nearby Indian border but that doesn't look very interesting).

A demonstration by teachers on strike yesterday had been brutally repressed by the police, so today there's a general strike to protest against it.. it's hard to tell which direction the country is going, I guess I'll find out when I'm back in fall, on my way to Tibet and China - Inch Allah!

Well, that it for a quick entry. As usual, check out the portfolio for the latest pics.

Same same.. but different

2007-04-12T15:08:00.000+05:30

Kathmandu, 30'150 km

I was looking forward to moving to another country, the last 5 months in India were very exciting but now I've had enough of it and need some fresh air. By all accounts Sikkim and Darjeeling have been the real change, so the crossing of the border was remarkably undramatic. Same language (almost), same religion (almost), same chaos on the road and spitting on your feet, communist flags hanging everywhere (as in Kerala), cows munching on garbage on the street and dhal baat in the menu. The main difference seems to be that they prefer football to cricket and metal-rock to bollywood songs. I'm not sure it was worth making 2 different countries just for this.. Seriously, the Nepalese seem to be more laid-back and friendly than the Indians (especially north Indians), but that was the case in Sikkim already. And they definitely don't like the Indians..

My first reaction to Nepal was somewhat like Obelix returning from Switzerland: it's flat. That's true, the Terai, is flat like a pancake although beautiful with many rivers where farmers bring their water buffaloes and green paddy fields. Of course the northern half is in the Himalaya and boasts the highest mountain in the world, but Pakistan has #2 and India #3, so they're not short on high mountains either. It's not until I reached Kathmandu that I had to cross a pass. The highest one was boasting "the best views in the whole Himalaya" but Spring is definitely not a good time in Nepal either: haze, fog and late afternoon storms are the norm.

Kathamandu very interesting, a mix between a historically and culturally rich center with dozens of Hindu temples and Bouddhist stuppas, and a tourist area choke full of trekking shops selling fake Gore-Tex gear and hawkers selling Tiger Balm or marijuana.

I haven't followed the news so I don't know about the current political situation, but it seems that everything is calm. No petrol shortage has reported by some only a few weeks ago and no military/guerilla check-point on the road. So far so good.

Massala Driving

2007-04-11T19:07:00.000+05:30

One favorite topic of discussion with fellow foreign bikers that I would come across in India - and there are quite a few - is our experience with driving in India, or Pakistan or Nepal for that matter. Everyone has a favorite horror story of his, as well as a hundred hilarious anecdotes, which makes for long and entertaining story-swapping nights in the popular backpacker hangouts. And the non-drivers just can't believe how we can make it (unscathed) to the traffic. And then there are 2 categories of Indian drivers: those who have been through Bihar (and lived to talk about it) and the others.

Invariably, the first reaction about the traffic is that it is a total chaos and there are no rules. This is very far from true, as if it was the case the roads would be filled with smoldering wrecks and the country would count by now far less than a billion people. The thing that confuses us is that the rules that govern the Indian roads are not the ones that are written in the law books in Delhi. So the first few days (weeks) is spent figuring out the consensual and unwritten rules that make driving in India possible, if not entirely safe by Western standards.

So after almost 5 months and 12'000 km of driving in the subcontinent, I thought I would share my experience. But before all, for prospective Westerners who hesitate about making the big jump, I would say that it's not as bad as it seems by reading this. Although sometimes it goes beyond any description, if you've been driving in southern Italy (Sicily is a good example) or Greece, and survived it, than you can go right ahead as after learning The Rules, you'll find out that it's not that worse in India. Indeed, a major difference is that unlike in Western countries (Italy of France come in mind..), the Indian drivers never shout, insult or get angry at each other, no matter how stupid or rude the other can be. They seem to accept their fate with fatality and a seemingly unlimited patience.

A clear advantage over Western countries (including ex-USSR) is that they very rarely drink, by law in Pakistan and some Indian states but also in general in India

. This is counter-balanced though by the almost free consumption of other drugs, such as marijuana (charras, bhang).

The Rules

The first rule, for an overland-travelling continental European at least, and that we're reminded of when crossing from China to Pakistan - Pakistan being much like India as far as driving is concerned (politically correct disclaimer) - is that in India one must drive on the left-hand side of the road. Well, it turns out this is mostly wishful thinking from the authorities (just like most Indian laws I should add). The truth is, it is very acceptable to drive on the right-hand side of the road, or right in the middle if the driver fancies it. Examples that come in mind is if the tarmac happens to be better on the other side, or if the speed bump is lower there. The only rule of practical value that you are suppose to follow is that, as much as possible, and if you care about your life (which seems not to be a big concern for Indians), one crosses each other on the left-hand side. Note that the hard shoulder is part of the road, so that trucks routinely overtake each other in front of an incoming vehicle as long as there is some escape route on the side of the road. And for a bike that means a 50 cm-wide rubble shoulder is plenty. Which leads us to the second (and most important) rule: priority between the vehicles.

In india the rule is very simple and goes by the aphorism: might is right. That means that the bicycles give way for the rickshaws and the rickshaws to the trucks, etc.. this is a simple law of self-preservation (of your vehicle more than the passengers): an Indian driver will give way only if there is a chance of his vehicle being badly hurt. Of course, at this game of chicken I would always lose, only able to scare some bicycles at times. But at the very top of the hierarchy, the one who can use the road almost blindly, is not the heavy 18-wheelers or the military convoy heading for the Kashmere border: the king of the road is the almighty holy cow, who in its phlegmatic stroll dismisses all motorized traffic as pure inconvenience, and undeterred by the furious horn blowing, knows perfectly well that no Indian in its right mind would hurt it, no matter what. Incidentally this is one major difference between Pakistan and India: the muslims like the cows better in their plates than on the road, so they keep a very low profile over there and steer clear of the traffic.

An interesting category is the tractor drivers. They usually have little common sense and lack the most basic instruction on driving on the road. Coming out of a field or dirt track onto a road, a tractor driver will never pay attention to the incoming traffic and cut right in front of you without even a glance in your direction.

Another major road hazard is made of the various oxen- or camel carts. The point is, the "drivers" don't always have full control over their animals and they can have unpredictable behaviors. Better to steer clear of them when possible.

Walking

India is a very big country, but it is populated by more than 1 billion people, and it seems a fair size of these live near or on the street. Apart from some desert areas in Rajasthan or Ladakh, it's hard to drive more than 5 minutes without crossing some village, and invariably the bazaar borders the main road and most of the population either works, shops or just hangs out there for lack of anything better to do. Including children of course. And those pedestrians seem to be so used to the roaring of the trucks, buses or jeeps crossing them that they barely pay attention to anything not deafening loud (and I reckon most of the Indians must be deaf for living there, proof of it if needs be the way Indian shout to each other instead of talking). Which means that they cross the road without watching and often right in front of you unless you constantly jam your horn. Failing to do this makes for some very near misses and heavy cursing from each side. Crossing a town without horning is considered very dangerous and inexcusable. A working (and if possible painfully loud) horn is the single required piece of equipment for your vehicle to be considered road-safe. The brakes come a distant second. I've witnessed (and cursed) a mechanic in a bike shop spending hours tuning a horn that was not quite loud enough for the owner's liking - even though the tires needed much more immediate attention.

Walking around is therefore pretty annoying, as you're in a constant threat by incoming vehicles. You think you'd be safe on the side walk, but the thing is, they are in such a bad sate of repair, and usually crowded by various shops and hawkers that most of the time you end up walking on the road proper, which is usually in a much better condition. Which means that you have to live with the horns blowing right into your ears, for no apparent reason. At first I would stop and turn around to see what's wrong. Then I found out that the horning is not to complain about something but just to warn people that a vehicle is coming, as Indians never look and walk with their ears. So after a while I got the hang of it and tried to ignore the horns and keep walking (they will pass you a few centimeters away but won't actually run you down - well, I think). Actually, I'll never get used to these auditive aggression, and just thinking about the people living in the street in that noise (and pollution!) makes me sick. When I ride in a city I would wear my in-ear headphones to muffle the noise and save my nerves - even at the expense of ignoring the occasional legitimate horn blow.

Orientation

It's not easy to find a road map in India, but it is impossible to find a good one. I've used 3 different ones and all show gross mistakes and omissions. Some roads shown on the map are just inexistent or in construction. Some very good roads are totally missing from the maps. Different map have different errors, but in all cases they're only useful for rough planning and estimates of distances. As it happens, the world map on my GPS wasn't much worse as only the bigger highways can be trusted on the printed map anyway. And I used it at least as often as in Mongolia to find my way around!

It's much easier to ask for directions when people speak English, but in some places virtually nobody speaks English. A beginner's mistake is to ask "is this the direction to .." as the answer is usually "yes" (or just a head wobble) even though they didn't understand the question or have no idea about the answer. It's much better to ask "what is the direction to .." but then you have to ask several different persons to have a reliable answer (Ask the audience).

Another basic mistake is to take out a map. Most people have never seen a map and they will just be curious and start to read out location names without making any attempt at helping you out. In addition some locations have different names depending on the language (local or Hindi or English) or your pronunciation is far enough from theirs that they don't understand what you're talking about. As if it wasn't confusing enough, as soon as you start talking to somebody, a crowd will rapidly form around you and they will start to argue about the directions. In addition, for some reason, they want to know where you come from and what's the bike's price before they listen to your question.

Every so often, looking for some "National Highway" on my way out of a town, I'd hit a really rough piece of dirt road, which at first would make me turn around to ask for the correct road, looking around until I would eventually venture pass the bad stretch and find out it was actually the highway. It tuns out that the load of traffic and presence of buses and trucks gives a better hint to the importance of the road than it's width or state of repair. I've also taken minor roads (not even on the map), which although narrow wore excellent tarmac and little traffic and allowed me to make better progress than a major highway which might be badly pot-holed and jammed with thousands of reckless buses and slow-moving trucks.

Sometimes the larger highways would have 2 lanes in each direction, separated by a ditch or a barrier, western-style. That might give you a false sense of security, thinking that the incoming vehicles couldn't overtake on your lane (see below). That may be true, but that doesn't matter because if a vehicle is getting on the road and wants to go right, the driver will do so anyway until he reaches the next crossing, driving on the right-hand side of the road (another perfectly legitimate exception to the first rule). You just have to be ready for that. One day I was driving on a very fine highway south of Rajasthan with light traffic, relaxing a little, when coming out of a curve I saw in front of me 2 trucks overtaking each other and coming toward me. It took me a couple seconds to take in account the fact that they were driving on the wrong side of the road (and not me). I just had time to scramble out of the road, and keep moving slowly among the increasingly chaotic traffic. Only later on did I see the overturned truck that blocked both opposite lanes. As it happened at a place where it was possible to cross over to the other side, the vehicles just kept moving on the right-hand side without so much as slowing down or even restraining to overtake.

Slow Vehicles

Which leads to the last rule: if you can't see any immediate danger from where you are, then you can overtake. That means not only in blind corners but also if the incoming vehicle is lighter (see priority rule above). And if there isn't enough space for overtaking, you carry on and just blink your lights to signify: "Hey buddy, if you care for your life then get out my way because I'm not backing off", maybe blow your horn to ask the vehicle you're overtaking to slow down. If both vehicles are of equal weight (such as two trucks) then it's a game of chicken, usually ending with the 2 vehicles passing with just millimeters between them (often a little less, as attested by the badly scratched body of the buses). But even in India the laws of physics prevail and that explains some of the wrecks along the road. Now, an added convention is that the incoming vehicle is supposed to make room for you, by stepping on the hard shoulder. Only that sometimes there's a ditch and that's ends up with yet another tipped-over truck on he side of the road.

The first thing you notice in India is that virtually all trucks and buses wear the sign "Blow Horn" on the back. Quit puzzling at first, but then I found out that the truck wallahs don't look much into their mirrors (when they have one) so they expect you to warn them when you want to overtake Often they have no door so they will hear you, but see the rule about the loud horn. The well-behaved driver will then with a lazy sign of the hand show you to stay put or to go for it, although according to the basic overtaking rule they will motion you on right into a blind corner. Quite often though they will just ignore you, and keep driving in the middle of the road, if that's what they've been doing, for a reason best known to themselves. It's then up to you to wait until he changes his mind, or force your way through the narrow space. That still leaves a reasonable margin for a bike, but the jeep drivers would do it as well, much to the despair of their occasional Western passengers.

The most dangerous category in this sport is definitely the million of buses that roam the country. They're all driving like there's no tomorrow, I guess there's a bonus for keeping the schedule. The trucks in comparison are much more laid-back. They also drive quite a bit slower, 40-50 km/h, so the buses are pretty much forced to overtake at any cost to keep up.

Speed

One thing that keeps India apart from central Asian is the complete lack of speed controls. As it happens, I don't even know what is the general speed limit on Indian roads. But that doesn't matter, because in general the bad state of repair of the tarmac or the load of traffic prevents you to speed. In general, te Indians are no speed freaks, ut nevertheless in the villages the speed in controlled by the frequent (and generally unmarked) speed bumps ("speed breaks" or even "speed brakes" in Hinglish). That definitely slows down the trucks and buses, but it just happens that on my bike some of these bumps are easier to pass around 40-50 km/h, so I would find myself accelerating in view of such an obstacle. More often though I wouldn't pay attention and be suddenly jerked up by the bump, which is harmless on my bike but that could wreak havoc on a normal passenger car.

The debated question is: is it safer to ride really slow ? in my opinion it is not, as that mans you constantly have vehicles tailgating you. Tailgating here means about 50 cm behind your back, sometimes even less as I remember feeling a bumper leaning on my boots. This is quite unnerving and certainly not very safe. Note that if you try to keep away from the vehicle in front of you by keeping a safe 5-10 meters, this is immediately defeated by some car passing you and inserting itself right into that slot (which means, 50 cm before your front wheel). I found out that the only way to avoid that is by keeping an average speed a little higher than most vehicles, around 80 km/h, which allows me to keep out of reach of them - at the expense of having to often overtake, which is sometimes impossible, particularly in towns or on very twisty roads.

City

Driving in a city is definitely not a lot of fun, but often cannot be avoided as even the major highways would run right in the middle of it. Besides the chaotic circulation, finding his way through is not easy as there are generally no direction signs nor any kind of street name. Given the anarchist way of driving and the overload of vehicles, it's a miracle that you don't end up more often stuck in a gridlock. The thousands of auto-rickshaws and seven-seaters (called like this because they normally fit between 12-15 people) compete with the countless buses operating on routes that don't show on any map. The traffic lights are purely decorative unless guarded by the police.

There aren't that many cars in India, mainly because of the price. The cheaper cost more than 2 lakhs (about 4000$), more than most people can afford (Tata is currently designing the so-called "1 lakh" car). Much cheaper and therefore more popular is the small India-made motorbike, typically between 125-180 cc, that can easily accommodate 3-4 people, often more, and allow to drive at reckless speeds in towns - in particular in the narrow and crowded lanes of Kathmandu or Varanasi. In larger cities, almost half the bikers even wear a helmet, although in general none of their pillions. Helmets cost money of course, but the main reason is certainly that it is impossible to talk on the phone while driving a bike if you're wearing a helmet, so that means being handicapped for most Indians.

Railroads

The railroads are crisscrossing the whole country, so it's not uncommon to be blocked at a crossing. They are always man-operated, and they seem to be pretty conservative as it is not unusual to wait 20 minutes for a train to come. Of course, pedestrians, bicycles and small bikes don't wait and duck under the gates, which means that the train come very slowly blasting their horns.

Meanwhile, the vehicles keep coming, and in the best Indian tradition they will pack as close as possible to the gates, occupying both lanes of the road on either side of the gates. Normally, after the gates open the situation would end up in a huge gridlock, and for a while it does when everybody runs at the same time as if their lives depended on getting through as quickly as possible. But amazingly, after an initial chaos and noises of metal-against-metal grinding, the traffic clears out in a few minutes, giving way to the more cautious trucks and the occasional Western biker.

Mechanic

Where Central Asia meets India is on the frequency of trucks break downs. Although the Kamaz drivers spend probably more time under their truck than in the cabin, at least they try to keep out of the road. The Tata wallahs don't seem to mind and they would stop dead in the middle of the road to change a tire, or an entire axle for that matter. And they do spend a lot of time changing tires as they only change them when they blow up. That explains the millions of tire repair shops at every corner of the country, who are capable of repairing the most worn out tires. It's hard then for me to repair myself the few punctures I experienced, when for 30 rps I can have it done by the nearby tire wallah and help him make a living, while sipping a chai at the next dhaba.

If the break-down is more serious and need help, typically when a truck as overturned, the wallahs will stay there and camp until they get some help, even for a few days. Never would hey leave their vehicles as their payload would disappear in a minute. But it takes a really big hit to stop a truck, as I have seen on the roads wrecks missing most of the cabin and the rear wheels going a different direction than the front ones, on a straight road.

If after that you think that driving in India is too dangerous and rather take the public transportation, then think twice. Except for the trains and planes, the buses and shared jeeps share the same roads and hazards. And after having ridden a local bus, up and down the mountains, I can attest that you need good nerves and a certain lack of sense of self-preservation to do it. Unless the God for which the driver has set up an altar on his dashboard is watching closely after you. I guess the fatalism and belief in reincarnation shared by the Indians goes a long way about explaining the danger of the roads - and the 100'000s of casualties every year.

Red pandas in the mist

2007-04-05T15:46:00.000+05:30

Arriving in West Bengal at the foot of the Himalaya (without seeing it), I waited a few days for the weather to improve in the heat and mosquitoes of the lower plains. As it didn't I fetched my permit and headed for Sikkim. The roads are very good, no doubt thanks to the heavy military presence in the tiny state squeezed between Nepal on the East, China on the North, Bhutan in the West and just a few kilometers in the South Bangladesh. Gangtok itself is crossed by the highway and the traffic is almost unbearable. As the roas is very steep, and the jeeps and trucks belch noxious diesel fumes right into your lungs.

Fortunately the guesthouse was very nice (although cold) and the few days I spent there were very enjoyable. The smiles and friendliness of the (mostly Bouddhist) Sikkimese is very refreshing after the coldness of the Hindous. This feels like a different country. The food also makes for a good change, the Indian thalis making room for Tibetan momos (dumplings) and thukpa(noodle soup) . The beer is cheap too, but even better is the tongba, a kind of sake made from fermented millet.

The day trip to a lake at 4000m, above the clouds, was the only way to get a goof view on nearby Kanchenjunga, 8500m. In the couple days I spent in Western Sikkim I saw mist, haze and gray valleys instead of the "stupendous" views boasted by the guidebook. Oh well, after 4 months of solid blue sky..

Next stop is in Darjeeling, at 2100m (but it feels much colder than that). A heavy storm broke up the night before that cleared up (momentarily) the sky, so the ride up was fantastic, a very steep road (30% most of the time I guess) in the lush tea plantations until I reached the traffic-congested and misty ridge where Darjeeling is built. Only the British could have thought about built a resort in a place with such miserable weather.

Trekking was quickly dismissed in those conditions, but fortuntely again, the guesthouse was very cosy and hosted an extensive library which allowed me to get into some solid reading. I also bumped into some backpackers I had met before. That's also probably the only place in India where you can have good black tea; drinking "high tea" in a posh hotel makes up for the total lack of view.

Bihar.. bizarre!

2007-03-22T16:28:00.000+05:30

Siliguri,

To make a long story short, Bihar is a different world. I wouldn't have been so surprised if that had been my entry point in India, expecting a third-world country. But after having driven 8000 km in a dozen different states, on mostly acceptable to good roads, I'm impressed by the generally good infrastructure of India. After all it's a very rich country, developing incredibly quickly. But Bihar is taking a back seat to this process and the roads there are amazingly bad. Indeed, they're on a par with the worst roads of Siberia and Kyrgyzstan, and I'm talking about (what is described as) major highways. They should learn something from the Mongolians, who know that bad tarmac is worse than no tarmac at all. Even the Grand Trunk Road, a link between Delhi an Kolkatta is in a pretty bad state of repair. Crossing the cities were not any better, as they are easily the filthiest and most chaotic I've seen in India yet. The sign posting is inexistent or in Hindi only at best, so the GPS was at least as useful as in the middle of Mongolia.

Unlike central Asia, the road are busy with thousands of trucks, buses, jeeps and tractors. Cars are rare, and the buses are always overcrowded, including the roof which apparently is not the worst place. Shared jeeps are heavily used also, and of course the roof is put to good use. I counted once 11 people on the roof and 8 hanging outside, in addition to the indeterminate number packed inside, which is more typical than a record. And as if the roof wasn't that busy already, they still manage to strap on it a loudspeaker blasting heavily distorted music. Go figure.

To be fair I didn't feel insecure at all in the 3 days I spent there, despite the stories of bandits and Maoists rebels roaming the state. Driving conditions notwithstanding, as you feel happy every night to be still alive, after fighting with the worst drivers of all India and dodging the suicidal pedestrians (run down somebody and the next thing you have to do is run for your life, as the locals may well try to finish you off).

People are just as friendly as in the rest of India, although the conversations are quickly put to an end by the language barrier. Literally nobody in the state speaks English, and the most literate of them would only manage to go as far as "country ?", "mileage ?", "price ?", etc.. By that time I'm pretty used to people surrounding me (or, should I say, my bike) as soon as I pull over. In Bihar though, it takes a different dimension, as the crowd quickly grows to several dozens people, to the point of disrupting the nearby traffic. They mostly stare without speaking, but eventually somebody will go with the usual questions, straight in Hindi as is seems quite inconceivable to them that somebody wouldn't understand it.

It may be the least touristy state in India, but it still boasts a couple attractions. I left the Grand Trunk Road to reach Bodh Gaya, where Buddha lived and taught. The whole place is built up with fancy hotels for the millions of Buddhist pilgrims coming from as far as Thailand and Japan. The touts quickly put me off so after a quick photo in front of the huge statue of Buddha I left for Rajgir, which was supposed to be nice and quieter. That turned out to be a mistake as the site was pretty boring and the I got lost going there, misled by fuzzy directions in that big mess of a city which Gaya is, so I ended up on a secondary road. As it goes, in Bihar, take anything less than a highway and you have to ford rivers as they "forget" to mention on the maps that the bridges are in construction. And with 2 people and a run-down caterpillar, it may take them another 10 years to finish it up.

The electricity supply there is as bad as the roads, with frequent power cuts (so that means a diesel engine running the whole night below your hotel room so that the staff can watch cricket). Granted, that's the case in many other places in India, but here it's so bad that they don't even bother putting lampposts in the towns and at night the streets fall into darkness, lit only by the bulbs or candles of the various shops, which reminded me somewhat of central Asia (there they have the lampposts but little electricity, so the bulbs shine a useless dark yellow). Now the problem is that as usual in India you walk on the road, not on the sidewalks which are a total wreck, so that brings a new challenge of avoiding the velo-rickshaws. One night I even practically ran into a (black) cow in the middle of the street. I was walking, of course, driving at night in Bihar is synonym to suicide.

The state is crossed by the Ganga, the holy river, and it can become so wide at monsoon times that the bridges are massive - 2.5 km long in Patna. More in line with the Bihar experience I skipped the bridge and went for the ferry crossing instead. I wasn't disappointed, that was pretty unique. During the winter the Ganges is not that big, so to reach the river proper one has to walk (or ride) more than 1 km on the sandy river bed, which was fun and very eerie. Then you reach an improbable contraption of 2 barges tied up together, reached by a flimsy bamboo bridge. Much to the delight of the dozens of spectators I managed to ride my bike without dropping into the water (although purifying for the Hindu, I'm not sure Ganga would do any good to my engine). A few guys helped me haul it across 2 boats to its final destination, tucked between dozens of other bicycles and light motorbikes. The barge was loaded with a few more hundred people, and we crossed safely to the other side. Of course the ferry wallahs tried to get an easy 50 rps out of me, but I saw the usual price for helping a bike in and out of the boat is 5 rps so I gave them 10 for the extra weight, after a little discussion.

The entry into West Bengal on progressively better roads was very much appreciated, as the 1000 km or so of Bihar roads have taken a toll on my bike: the rear shock has lost its mojo after faithfully getting me through 30'000 km on mostly no or bad roads and badly needs to be replaced. Time again for some surgery if I want to keep going, but I hope it can last until Nepal.

Elusive tigers and playful horses

2007-03-16T16:16:00.000+05:30

Khajuraho, 27338 km

Leaving Hyderabad, I headed straight north for Madhya Pradesh, known for its tiger parks and archaeological ruins. I chose Bandhavgarh, because supposedly the odds are pretty good to spot a tiger there (in many other "tiger" parks it is very unlikely). When I arrived around 12AM, the manager of the hotel told me I jut missed a tiger that was seen lying next to the main road a few hours earlier, that sounded like a good omen. I ganged up with David and Paul, who I met there, and hired a jeep. But after 3 half-day visits in the park, only once we could see a distant tiger walking between the trees, followed a few meters behind by an elephant. Of course the rumor spread quickly and within 10 minutes there were more than 20 jeeps on the road, with tourists extending their mighty zooms. As soon as the animal walks away, all the drivers rev up their engine and try to move to a better place, in a big chaos of jeeps reversing in all directions. If the tiger had any intention to cross the road it was of course quickly put off by this big mess.

As it turned out, when a tiger is spotted the rangers set up a business of elephant rides to get closer. The jeeps queue up according to the number they were given when they entered the park, and when your turn comes up (for us it would have been a 2 hours wait), you climb on the elephant in a group of 4, the elephant walks toward the tiger (if it's still there), you snap your pictures with your expensive gear and within 5 (!) minutes you're back and the next load boards for another shuttle, for 600 rps per head. Pretty good business, but the scared elephants seem not to appreciate it as much as the park authorities, and for me it was pretty much meaningless. If you want to learn about tigers' life switch to Discovery Channel. And if you want a close-up photo of it go to the nearest zoo.

Never mind, the rides in the park were very nice with tons of deers all around, and the little bazaar very easy-going, as most tourists are on a package and stay and eat in the big hotels around, and I quickly found my friendly local serving decent food during these 4 days. The weather also was much cooler, not only because it's up north, but also because of a cold front which brought a little rain - first time for months.

So I dug into my bag and retrieved a wooly for the ride to Khajuraho, the major tourist attraction in MP. And it was well worth it as the temples are truly beautiful, each with literally hundreds of finely carved statues, most of them well-endowed nymphs and of course the world-famous erotic carvings, which understandably have shocked the Victorian discoverers. The nightly son-et-lumiere show on the other hand was pretty boring, even annoying at time with Indian tourists speaking out loudly and taking photographs with flash of the distant monuments.

My next destination is Sikkim, separated by the (in)famous state of Bihar. I had heard a lot about it by Indians, describing it as underdeveloped and plagued by corruption and banditry, so I was a it anxious, but also very curious about discovering it. The road goes down the Deccan plateau toward the very flat Ganges basin. I came close to Varanasi, and although I liked it very much when I came there by train in December, I was not in the mood of going into the huge chaos of that big city, so I turned east on Grand Trunk Road and Bihar.

Hyderabad pit stop

2007-03-07T11:42:00.000+05:30

Hyderabad, 26'030km

Here's another non-touristy post, as I had yet another pit stop, for doing some mechanics although this time it has nothing to do with the bike. My (still) camera was down since Rajasthan, and recently my video broke down so I was left without means to record the trip. Not a show-stopper of course, but still I enjoy a lot taking photos and videos on the trip. The conditions (sand, dust, humidity, shocks) are taxing the electronics heavily and I'm not that surprised that these gizmos finally gave up. So I stopped in the next big city, Hyderabad, where I found a facilities to fix them, but it took 2 weeks in total.

Before I got there I stopped in Hampi, which is an ensemble of dozens of temples set in a very picturesque environment. The landscape is so beautiful and the atmosphere so peaceful that I spent 4 days there, not even bothering to visit the ruins after the first couple days. Having a chai next to the river, watching the Indians washing, eating a dosa for dinner at the light of a candle due to the usual power cuts, getting an auspicious tap on the head from the temple's elephant (for 1 rupee), all this contribute to the atmosphere.

The change with Hyderabad metropolis is striking, here there's a mix of middle-class and lower class people leaving together but very differently: eat and work on the street for the poor, hang out in malls and coffee shops for the richer. You sure can find everything here: McDonald's, Barista & CCD (Starbucks rip-offs), IMAX cinemas, even a beef butcher (Muslim for sure, and he made to sure to put a sign saying:"imported beef"!).

Still there was something strange in this city that I couldn't figure out, until suddenly it popped up: there are no cows! How strange it is to walk in a city without bumping into a cow at every corner. But you get used to it, and of course it's better for the traffic, a nightmare of course with 19'000 buses running like mad (and on petrol unlike Delhi where they all switched to CNG) and innumerable rickshaws serving 6 millions people.

One thing also that's so relaxing, probably because Hyderabad sees very few tourists: you can actually walk around almost without touts, and the rickshaw mostly run by the meter, avoiding the time-confusing haggling before taking a ride. So much that I even have been asked directions in Hindu twice. That's very different from Delhi and the touristy places.

Some people avoid India's big cities like plague, but I find them always interesting, there's always something that will amaze you at one point or another. And after a few days you get to know the good places to drink your chai, eat your thalli - and write your blog. There's not a lot to see though, the landmark Charminar is pretty uninteresting, only the Golconda fort and the Qutb Shia tombs are worth the visit. It seems that the big thing to do for Indians is to visit Ramoji Film City, where most Tollywood (Indian films in Telugu) films are shot - supposedly, up to 40 at the same time, which make it the largest film studio in the world, well ahead of Universal Studios and others.

Having a room with TV (and no power cut), I've been able to follow with the news - in order: the world cup (yeah, cricket, what else?), the "Q" scandal and the 2007 budget (total: 6.8 lakh crores). But also catch up on "Desperate Housewives" and enjoy the weirdness of Crorepati: the Indian version of "Who wants to be a millionaire" (2 crores, so about 500'000$), with questions written in English but asked in Hindi, often related to cricket or Hinduism.

Last week-end was Holi, the Indian carnival, celebrating the end of the winter. Of course, there isn't much of a winter here in south India, but it is also a religious celebration. It starts by lighting huge bonfires right in the middle of the street, and then continues with people throwing each other color dyes, so that during a few days you see purple faces all over the city. See the photo album for more pictures.

End of the vacations!

2007-02-17T21:07:00.000+05:30

Goa - Patnem Beach / 25'248 km

There hasn't been a whole lot of activity on this site since I arrived in Goa, simply because I haven't done much riding since then - mainly short rides around the area here. And this is a biker's blog. Gosh, 2 months already.. It's been very enjoyable living here on the beach, everybody is so relax and easy-going. And you quickly make some good friends - which of course you have to leave at some point. Tom, Peter & Anders the bikers, Dee & James, Davina, Ana, Adam & Lenny, Valeria, Lorenzo, Johanna, Carrie, etc.. that was way cool.

Besides swimming, sunbathing and drinking, which are the main reasons to come here to Goa, we also went a couple weeks down to Kerala on train, to visit Cochin and the backwaters on a houseboat, a lovely way of sight-seeing. Then I went alone in the hills game viewing in a park (wild elephants mainly) while others went to Bombay. Oh and I did some Yoga - trying to fix the damage occured by the hours of driving.

Although you could easily get stuck here and spend the rest of the season (as many other people do - most people end up rescheduling the flights back), now is the time to go and tomorrow I'll be hitting the road. I'll be alone, as Peter and Anders are sending their bikes home. Tom left us unexpectedly a few weeks ago. I miss you Tom. We'll all miss you.

From Booze City to Booze Beach

2007-01-08T12:37:00.000+05:30

Goa, 24'800 km

Finally, after a long drive I've reached Palolem beach in Goa where the other guys have settled down. Anders had already joined up Tom & Peter a while ago, and they've spent some good time partying and drinking. What else would you expect? the beach here is picture-perfect, nice sand and palm trees, the sea is at the right temperature.. but somehow it doesn't feel like India, as everything is centered around the Western tourists, with the usual inflated prices for everyhting - except beer. Save for the plam trees (and the occasional cow sleeping on the beach..) it could be Ibiza or Daytona Beach. But somehow it's also a nice break from the intensity of the Indian life for the last few weeks. Much appreciated and about time to get busy doing pretty much nothing.

After New Year's party in Diu, where half the foreigner's population ended up on our church's rooftop, lighting Indian unpredictabl fireworks and walking on narrow ledges - but amazingly without anybody being hurt - it was time to recover and slowly prepare psychologically to leave. I could easily see myself staying a few weeks in this nice backpackers atmosphere, especially since I discovered the local ice cream shop, which I have hardly seen in India until now.

The Czech couple I met in Little Rann told me much about Sasan Gir and how much fun they had watching lions, and it's an easy 2-hours drive from Diu, so I thought I would give it a try. Sasan Gir, like Ranthambore and other Tiger parks are really a huge zoo without fences. The animals are free but they are also tamed and very much used to human presence. Which means that when a jeep comes the lions won't flee, but it's also hardly wild life. In a 1-bilion people country every square meter of land is precious and humans are competing with wildlife for possession. The local guides are also abusing it and selling illegal walk in the park for extra money - indeed I was told that's the reason behind the government closing down Ranthambore
How long can it last ?

We didn't see any lion in the safari - bad luck - but we say a leopard crossing the road right in front of us. We stopped and quiety looked around, see if it was still there, until a minivan arrived and unloaded a group of Indians loudly talking, and reversing with a funny tune playing. Too much for the leopard who understandably was definitely gone.

I could have stayed for more opportunities to see lions, but it was also rather expensive. I moved on to Palitana and wole up at dawn to walk up the hill to see the incredible and intricate build-up of Jain temples on its top. The ascent itself on 3500 stair steps is just as interesting, among the strange mix of Jain pilgrims all white dressed, Hindus more casually clothed and porters, men and women alike, carrying people of goods up the hill on bamboo chairs (for a charge of course). It is said there are more than 800 temples on the hill, but it seems most pilgrims go directly to the main 2 or 3 temples, which are the most interesting as well.

By them I had enough of sight seeing, and although I had planned to go visit Ellora on my way down, I keep it for a later trip and do some serious driving down to Goa, only stopping for sleeping along the road and a break from time to time to eat a thali and drink a cup of Chai - I mean a saucer of Chai, as they use to drink tea in Gujarat. The driving was pretty intense, with some of the worst traffic on the highway between Ahmedabad and Mumbai, some police dodging on the motorbike-prohibited expressway between Mumbai and Pune, and a very nice ride in the hills over Goa. I guess I'll have to write a full entry on driving in India, as it always reserves a surprise around the corner, at least for my first 5000 km experience. Stay tuned.

All this was pretty eventless and I'm happy with how the bike is running - cross fingers (well, an offering to Ganesh might help as well). Now Peter will join us back from Europe and we'll talk about how we proceed ahead, but not before a couple weeks at least. No hurry..

Watching Palaces and Chasing Asses

2006-12-31T11:30:00.000+05:30

Diu, 23'066 km

First of all, HAPPY NEW YEAR to all of you who are reading this. Yeah, I've been lazy updating the blog - but good Internet Cafes are few and far between in the countyside. Incidently my (still) camera broke on the way out of Delhi, so I took only some pictures with my Video camera, which snaps decent pictures but I'll have to take it apart and see if I can fix it.

I've settled for Diu, an ex-Portuguese enclave to spend New Year's Eve. It's a quite a nice place, with a small town that still looks very Portuguese and sand beaches, on an island off the south coast of Gujarat. It's packed with Gujaratis coming here to party and get seriously drunk, but most foreigners end up in this backpacker guest house sharing an old church with a museum.. so I'm here sleeping on the roof of a catholic church with an incredible view on the sea, along with many other backpackers, sipping beer and smoking joints. Only in India you can find this.

Some time ago leaving Delhi I first had to hack my way through the crazy traffic on Haryana roads, until I hit Rajasthan and took some very nice little roads with very good tarmac. Generally, Rajasthan roads have been very good, even smaller ones, and with much less traffic, especially in the north west Thar desert.

I decided to bypass Jaipur, the big Rajasthan capital, and head west through the Shekhawatis to Bikaner and Jaisalmer, trying to avoid the touts of the shopkeepers. Arriving in Jaisalmer the first view on the majestic fort is amazing, even through the desert haze. It's an invitation to go and spend hours walking through the little lanes around the palace and other old buildings.

The weather was very foggy and windy, so I decided to skip the (very touristy) camel safari in the desert and head down to Jodhpur. I found a very friendly guest house that let me set up my tent on the roof and sleep there for free. The old city is painted all in blue, and it looks beautiful with the impressive fort overlooking it. It was well worth spending a couple days just hanging out in the fort and around.

Another stop was at the huge fort of Kumbhalgarh, bordered by a very well preserved 36km wall.. second in the world only to the Great Wall of China. By chance I came during a folkloric dance and singing festival, set at night under the illuminated fort. Very nice.

I had to decide whether to go for Udaipur or Mt. Abu, or both. The nice romantic city or the amazing Jains temples. Well, the Indians are on holiday between Christmas and New Year so it seemed Mt Abu would be overcrowded and not so much fun. Udaipur looked good and pretty much on the way so I headed there. Well, it may be a very romantic place to stay, but like Venice it also is a lot more enjoyable if you have big money and stay in a nice hotel. Half of the palace and the adjacent lake side island has been taken over by big palaces, and it's difficult to even walk there if you're not a resident. The guest houses in the old city generally don't have a good view on the lake (but they show "Octopussy" almost around the clock, so thanks to James Bond you can see nice shots of Lake Palace).

In turned out the Indian tourists were invading the place for Christmas as well, so I retreated and left for Gujarat, away from the tourist track. Indeed, the atmosphere is much more relaxed and quiet, and people who approach you just want to talk, they're not trying to bring you to their handicraft shop. Of course it's a bit difficult as they generally only speak Gujarati and maybe Hindi. Even the road signs are often only in Gujarati so it's a bit problematic at times.

Again I avoided the big city of Ahmedabad and took the secondary roads direction the Little Rann Sanctuary, stopping on the way at the beautiful Sun Temple in Modhera. Set in a nice garden it is a very well preserved 11th-century temple that sees very few tourists (and even less foreigners).

Gujarat is on the western tip of India, bordered by Pakistan in the north and the Arabian sea in the west and south. The Rann of Kutch is a very particular place, a very large completely flat desert area that is generally dry except during the monsoon when the whole area is flooded, partly by the rivers and partly by the sea. When the water retreats it leaves these flat salty plains where not much can grow, except on some higher grounds that remain islands during the monsoon.

The Little Rann is home to the rare asiatic Wild Ass, which looks sort of like a zebra without the stripes. A sanctuary has been set here to protect them, as well as the blue bucks and a big population of birds such as flamingoes, cranes and pelicans who spend the winter here coming from Europe or Siberia.

I spent a full day on a jeep safari, shared with a couple from Czech Republic who are big on wildlife photography. I also took my bike and for a half day had some fun riding around the animals, not something I was supposed to do I guess but then those guys have no natural predators, so a little exercise won't hurt them.

After a couple easy days it was time to find a place to spend New Year's Eve. Gujarat is not very good for this as they enforce a strict prohibition on alcohol, but the little island of Diu on the south coast is outside its control and you can find cheap booze everywhere. Time to get ready for the big party, so see you in 2007.

Living in Delhi

2006-12-18T12:17:00.000+05:30

New Delhi. 21'000 km

Yes, I'm still alive, back online after one month. The satellite tracking is still working, but the bike has been sitting still in a workshop in Delhi for the whole time..! In a nutshell, I had to stop in Delhi to fix my bike, and that quickly went out of hand. But now I have received the spares, Anders is gone rushing down to the beach, but I will be quietly touring Rajasthan on my own. So morale is up.

So why the hold up ? well, if we go back in time couple month, in Pakistan I started to complain my bike was running bad when it was heating up. It was still running though, and as I couldn't figure out what was going wrong we kept going. In India it was really bothering, it would run at half power and on those steep and windy roads it wasn't very enjoyable. Eventually our mechanic in Switzerland gave me a hint: it's probably the generator coil failing again.. Remember, it already broke back in Siberia, so I had to have a new one sent there in emergency (and then it happened to Anders in Mongolia). But unfortunately the replacement was not reinforced, to avoid this known problem, so now due to heat and vibration it's showing signs of weakness.

On news of that, I immediately requested a new, reinforced part to be sent to India. But again, for some unknown reason, we needed a contact and fixed address in India. So as we were heading toward Delhi (that was mid-November), I said let's just find a workshop there, leave the bike in a safe place and send the package there. We had decided to do some heavy maintenance on both our bikes anyway down in Goa, where we have much time and enjoy the stay on the beach while waiting for the spare parts. But I was feeling the bike wouldn't make it another 3000 km or so.

So arriving in Delhi a local Enfield dealer we enuired redirected us to this bike workshop dealing with Japanese superbikes, and stocking on some hard to find tyres and chains that we would need. The Indians do have a lot of Honda/Yamaha motorbikes, but of the local type, 50-125 cc, locally produced, often through a joint-venture with a local brand. And those need smaller tires and chains. There are only a handful bikes imported from Japan (due to hefty import duties), and it seems all of them get serviced in that one place in Delhi, so it seemed a good place.

But by now Anders had jumped in the bandwagon and asked for me to delay the shipping so that he could do some maintenance on his bike as well (the suspension was not 100% although it was running just fine) and add some items of his own to the package. Fair enough, I could easily wait another couple days while we do a side trip to Agra. So he asked the mechanics at the workshop to take apart the swing arm and figure out what needed to be changed.

Coming back from Agra we went back to the workshop, and there still was something else to check. So we waited some more, while Anders was figuring out what exactly he needs. When the laundry list was ready and sent to Switzerland, I couldn't be asked to wait in Delhi doing basically nothing (there is some nice sight-seeing, but not worth 2 weeks), so I took an overnight train to Varanasi to spend 3 days there.

Varanasi was really great, that was very interesting to see the sacred side of India, with people bathing in the sacred river (Mother Ganga), and bringing dead people to be burned there (no pictures, you don't want to take photos in this environment). It was also very nice to sit on a rooftop restaurant overlooking the Ganges, in this very peaceful atmosphere. Peaceful, that is, when you're away from the touts and hassling on the river front, and the hectic activity in the maze of narrow streets of the old city. But very different from Delhi.

Unfortunately, the spiritual atmosphere is somewhat spoiled by the impressive deployment of police and army forces in the area around Golden Temple and the mosque. You have to pass a metal detector to get even near the area (no camera are allowed in, and I even had to surrender my ball-point pen at the entry). The mosque itself is surrounded by high barbed-wire fences, reminding of a military camp - it turns out that during the last Hindu extremists uprising against the Muslims in 1992, when they destroyed a mosque, they said Varanasi's mosque would be next..

Back in Delhi, where Anders had been hanging out on his own, I found out the parts had still not been delivered due to a delay with Anders' shock absorber, and that the workshop hadn't made much progress on our bikes. That was the worst. But the following week was worse - and then it went downhill from there.

Another week passed by until we got news our package has arrived in Delhi - but blocked for customs clearance. We've been told the customs expected 23000 rupees (more than 500$) duty, where the invoice stated a value of 900 Swiss francs (730$), which was of course much less that the real value. But that was still quite a bit more than the 36% we expected (yes, that's correct, 36% import taxes in India). So we went to the DHL office, and I asked them to sow me the calculation. As I feared, there was an error: they had calculated on the basis of 900 Euros, because sadly the original invoice didn't state any currency so they though since it was coming from Europe it has to be in Euros. To cut a long story short, it was then another 5 days of struggle, unreturned phone calls and camping in their offices until I got hold of the package. That's how it works in India.

Meanwhile we often discussed with Anders where to go next. The initial idea was Rajasthan, with its large forts, magnificent palaces and great landscapes. But Anders somehow had that idea of spending Christmas Eve on the beach in Goa. Besides, Anders is quickly fed up of the cultural side of touring, and more inclined toward riding the bike in great landscapes, which is what we've been doing until now. On the other hand I had been missing the cultural/historic side of traveling until now so I was eager to see those places on the way south. And that was the reason also I wanted to go to Varanasi.

That would have been fine with the initial planning of a short stay in Delhi, but now with only a few days left before Christmas, Anders decided to make its way most directly to Goa (2000 km), whereas I had no reason to change my itinerary with 4 months left on my visa and no strong attraction toward the Christmas-overcrowded beaches of Goa. Although I reckon it must be good partying on New Year's Eve. So we decided to split up once our bikes are fixed and meet again sometime in Goa.

But now come the best part: suddenly, after 3 weeks of waiting, and only 1 day left to finally receive the package, he decides to leave immediately with no change on the bike, before the spare parts arrived! so we've been waiting an extra 3 weeks to fix his suspension and finally he buggers off without anything and asking me to forward the parts by mail to Goa - which is exactly what we had planned initially. Go figure..

But that's okay with me: him staying here won't speed up the process, so if he needs to go that's fine. Now I just need to fix that leeking oil and I'm gone as well..

New Delhi is actually not that bad, it can be quite enjoyable at times, and there are quite few interesting places to visit. The weather has been good also, with a few chilly nights but now it's around 25 degrees at midday. But there's a striking difference between Old Delhi and its very typical cow- and rickshaw crowded bazaars, and New Delhi which is organized around large avenues, velo rickshaws are forbidden and cows seldom to be seen. Of course you still have to watch your steps for sick dogs sleeping on the street and monkeys are wandering in the roofs looking for food to steal so it's not quite Europe. But around Conought Place, where we found a cheap guest house (125 rps per night, 3$), the fancy shops and hip Starbuck-lookalike coffee places can make for an expensive stay as well.. you could very well eat in a local restaurant for 25 rps (0.50$) and then have a cup of coffee and chocolate cake for 100 rps (which is still cheap compared to Europe of course). Indeed there's a bookshop serving very good tea (very hard to find in India..) and an awesome Apple crumble!

There's also a very luxury cinema theater where we watched the latest James Bond, for 175 rps (4$). It was OK but not really a Bond movie if you ask me, although Daniel Craig pulls a pretty decent job and the dialogues are pretty funny like the "Does it look like I give a damn?" The security was very picky and didn't allow us to bring in any cell phone or (still) camera, pretending an anti-terrorism mesure. In fact, they were probably a bit cranky about people filming the movie and copying in to DVD. Well, they shouldn't, as the "screener" is already available in the bazaar across the street for 3$..!

It seems the average DVD copies go for 80-90 rps (2$), with variable quality, and the pirated PC games go for 150 rps. All of this is sold quite openly in Palika bazaar, the hardest being getting past the barrage of porn movies thrown to you (do all tourists really come to India to watch porn flicks?) to get them to reach for the box of burned DVDs under the shelf. Still, the copies in Kashgar (China) looked of much better quality for about the same price.

Recently I went to see the current Bollywood hit धूम 2 (I mean, Dhoom:2), that started with no less than 1200 copies all over India.. The theater was of the local kind, pretty cheap (25 rps, 0.50$) but you have to put up with the seams of the battered screen showing through the projected picture. The movie itself was OK, a lot of action and CGI effects, some good humor, and the romance.. which climaxed with a full-fledged kiss! This is still quite taboo by India standard, and indeed the scene made quite a fuss in the audience around me; it is even subject to a trial for obscenity. The obligatory singing and dancing was quite enjoyable, as was the abuse of gratuitous slow-motion, especially since it often involved a close-up on one of the stunning actresses (but where do they come from?), who would give the run-of-the-mill Bond girl a run for her money. All of this was in hindi of course, but I don't think I really missed a lot.

Anyway, it's been exactly one month I arrived in Delhi and now that my bike is ready it's about time I hit some serious road. Tomorrow, I will be in Rajhastan - Inch Allah.

The road to Taj Mahal

2006-11-24T10:33:00.000+05:30

We leave Amritsar early to meet up with Tom and Peter who are riding ahead of us by one day. We meet them in McLeodGanj, a small town up the mountains home to the Tibetan refugees (the most famous of whose is the Dalaï-Lama himself). Quite a nice place, but unfortunately a bit spoiled by all the tourist shops and the hassling by the shop keepers and the beggars. But it is a touristic place, as well as a magnet for those people who are here in a quest of spiritualism. You easily spot them by the way they dress and behave.

As my bike is not running so well, we decide to go to Delhi to do some preventive maintenance; it seems the part that I changed in Mongolia is failing again.. We ride along Tom and Peter for that, on nice windy but busy mountain roads. Tom even has a close encounter with a truck.. ending up with a bent pannier (again). We're in no hurry so we stop in Kalka and take a narrow gauge train to visit Shimla, at 2000m it used to be the summer capital of British India. It's a very picturesque ride through more than 100 tunnels and bridges to get there.

When we arrive, indeed it looks very British as the rains pours down and blocks all views from up there! At least our fellow English riders feel home (uncomfortably so says Tom). We end up sipping drinks in the bar of the best hotel of the town, for the ultimate British experience.

Delhi is just a short ride away, so no big deal even in the pretty heavy traffic. The road and the general infrastructure is very good and modern, and we end up stopping over for lunch in a McDonald.. but really, what is the point of a McDonald if there is no BigMac ? Of course, beef is out of question in a hindu country! All you have are McChicken and VegMac.

New Delhi is quite modern and doesn't look like a big Indian city. Large avenues, modern infrastructure, western-style shops, etc.. but a short ride to old Delhi and you're back in the landmark "organized chaos". We find a nice workshop for our bikes, it seems the only one in India dealing with big japanese bikes. We leave them here and wait until Anders has figure out what part he wants to order as well for his.

In the mean time we do the obligatory visit to Agra, home of Taj Mahal and just 3 hours away y train. Well, that is, when the train is actually running, because it took us actually 7 hours waiting for - and in - the train. When we arrive we're told that the Taj has been closed the whole day to allow for the Chinese prime minister to visit it.. fine, we intend to visit it at dawn the next day anyway. As it turns out, 6AM is a good time to come to avoid the crowd of tourists. As the sun is raising at 7AM, everybody is lines up on the entrance terrace to take a good shot at the monument with the early sun hitting it, so it's a good time to walk around without too much hassle. As much as you've seen it in post cards and books, it is still a fantastic monument to look at, and I hardly got bored with it when I left 3 hours later, when the big crowd comes in. The other guys on the other hand had a bit of mixed feelings about it; maybe they expected something more, whereas I expected to be disappointed and I was definitely not.

Before returning to Delhi, we hire a taxi for a day trip to Fatehpur Sikri, a very well preserved archaelogical site nearby (see the photo album). We get a good price from the owner by dealing only 2 visits to shops. The usual way to get extra money for a driver is to bring the tourists to various shops where the manager would pay them 100 or 200 ruppees for this. That's OK as long as the deal is open, but we didn't want to spend hours in those souvenir shops, so we quickly dashed in and out of the stores, much to the disappointment of the driver who wouldn't get his money for such a short visit. Too bad, but that's what we had agreed on.

We spend some time walking in the streets, filming as we try to dodge the constant hassling of the rickshaw drivers and shop keepers that jump out on you as soon as they spot you. It seems only the cows can walk quietly in the streets, stopping by the shops to ask (and get) some food. It's good for your karma to look after a cow, so they look pretty healthy and not too unhappy.

Smoke and more smoke

2006-11-13T16:58:00.000+05:30

After 2 weeks in the camping we leave Islamabad for Lahore, looking for the motorway that leads directly to Lahore. As we reach the toll gate, the police turns us down: the motorway is forbidden to motorcycles.. of course, all they ride here are 70 or 125cc Honda/Yamaha. So we have to get to the other side of Rawalpindi to reach the normal road, which is quite okay except when it crosses a town's bazaar.. All this means that when we arrive in Lahore, it's quite late and we have to find our way in the totally chaotic trafic. We end up giving the address of that backpacker hotel to a rickshaw and ask him to lead us there. Easy enough in any "normal" city, but here the rickshaw drives like a maniac to be able to find a way through this chaos, and the only way I don't lose him is to stick 50cm behind is rear wheel (and of course Anders has to do the same with my rear wheel). But it also happens to be the dirtiest rickshaw in the city and I can hardly see the road through the black smoke. My lungs must now look like I had been smoking for the last 20 years..

We arrive in "the" backpacker place in Lahore, but all rooms are full, so we lay our sleeping bag in the (outside) smoking room.. a bit worried by the mosquitoes as there are rumors of Dengue fever around here. And also we met 2 people who allegedly cought malaria in Pakistan. But as the local wisdom goes: the mosquitoes like clean water, and there is no clean water in Lahore..!

That same night, the hotel owner organizes a trip to Lahore's must see event, Sufi drumming and dancing. This has to be one of the most bizarre "concert" I've ever been to. It takes place in a Sufi shrine where hundreds of Pakistanis sit down to smoke charas and listen to the hallucinating rythms played by drummers. Then come the Sufi dancers, who shake their heads like madmans or turn around at incredible speed like dervishes, for hours, in a surreal atmosphere. Foreigners are welcome, they even make room for us to sit and a few Pakistanis spend the night rolling joints that they pass around to us (only to foreginers..?). Totally amazing experience, very hard to describe.

The next morning we meet again with Tom and Peter and decide to go see the flag lowering ceremony at the Pakistani-Indian border. As much as the Sufi dancing was mesmerizing, this one event is monty-pythonesque weird. Those guys (Indians and Pakistanis alike) actually built a stadium on each side of the big gates that close the border, for the sole purpose of bringing people to see their respective border guards perform a very aggressive marching and screaming ceremony in front of each other. The spectators participate as if it was a cricket game, and keep screaming "Pakistan-Pakistan-.." louder than the Indians just meters away. They disagree on many subjects, but it seems they at least they came up with a common choregraphy that takes places every night for years. Now, these are the same guys who point nuclear missiles to each other..

When we actually cross the border we must make our way through a huge line of Pakistanis and Indians passing each other hundreds of tomato crates (or onion bags), that they must unload in India and reload in Pakistan on Pakistani trucks.. that's how far the Pak-India cooperation goes.

From the border to Amritsar is a short ride, and our first impression of India is not very different from Pakistan (okay, the first thing we do is to buy a beer, that's different). The traffic is just as bit as chaotic, a bit less aggressive but more messy. I'm not sure if it's because of the cycle rickshaws, the cows strolling the road or because many more women are driving..

First to see of course is the Golden Temple, and that truly is a very special experience. When you pass the gates and walk around the inner lake, around the Golden Temple, you're surrounded by a feeling of serenity and peacefulness that makes a striking difference with the city's constant noise and activity. Here the Sikh priests read in huge sacred boks all day long, accompanied by musicians, and pilgrims and tourists alike walk around them in quietness. Fantastic impression.

Islamabad

2006-11-08T13:41:00.000+05:30

It's been a while since I last published something here, and as you may have noticed, my satelite transponder is also frozen. Indeed, we've spent the last 10 days here in Islamabad waiting for our Indian visa. But now we have it (6 months duration, but not without much hassle) so, at last, we can go. Although we have a good time chatting with other tourists in the heavily guarded foreigner's campsite, there's not so much to do in Islamabad. And the nights are a bit cool and humid.. looking forward to seeing India!

Actually, we need to wait for Anders' bike to be repainted. Yeah, while Anders was busy fixing stuff for his bike and Tom's, I went to Rawalpindi to try and find one of those truck workshop where they build these world-famous wildly decorated trucks (mostly old Bedfords, but newer ones as well). After some searching in the bazaars, I finally found one and met some very nice and friendly people. So I let my bike there for them to repaint the fuel tank. I got it back 3 days later with a nice paint for just 25$. But now it seems Anders is starting a "Jacky" contest, although we have no chance next to the Pakistani rickshaws, buses and trucks.

Check the results in the photo album.

8000 meters

2006-11-03T19:45:00.000+05:30

After a few days in Gilgit, watching polo and chatting with other backpackers we decide to go see the famous Nanga Parbat Rupal face. Nanga Parbat, 8125m, marks the begining of the Himalaya range on the other side of the Indus, and its north face stretches 4500m high. Amazingly, you can almost drive up to the base camp, it's just a short 3-hours walk to reach it (as opposed to 1 week to get to K2 base camp). Unfortunately, while the weather was good until now, clouds start to build up as we reach the bottom of the face the top of the mountain is hidden. We even get some rain during the night (which means snow at Khunjerab for our fellow English bikers Tom and Peter as we will find out later).

Time to get down in the valley. The Indus valley at this point, which is so narrow and steep that the raod has been carved all the way into the cliff. Very impressive. It starts to rain again so we overnight in Besham, only customers of the hotel, so we get a very good price.

From there on the weather and the landscape changes radically: it's now hot and humid, and the buffaloes replace the yaks on the side of the road. I even cross a couple camels, but the one-humped kind, not Bactrians camels. This is definitely another country, and indeed we're now in Punjab, and this shows also in the traffic which gets progressively more intense and chaotic.

Arriving in Islamabad, we pitch our tent in the tourist campsite, reserved to foreginers, and heavily guarded by police outside and soldiers inside. But the atmosphere is good and of course we meet many other tourists on foot, bicycle, motorbike, car, 4x4, truck, you name it.

Islamabad is not very interesting, being a new city planned from scratch to become the capital of the new state. We came there for the sole purpose of getting an Indian visa. All embassies are grouped in a heavily guarded enclave where it's forbidden to enter on foot, you have to use a special shuttle after having given away your cameras, cell phones, etc.. And since Prince Charles in currently touring Pakistan the police is pretty cranky.

Our passports in the hands of the Indians, we have to wait 1 week for ours visa, which we hope will allow us 6 months (but the rumor here says you can get only 3 months). Meanwhile we chill out, chat with other people and do some maintenance on the bikes (as usual, Anders like to do some mechanics, for himself and others. I on the other hand go by the rule "if it ain't broken, don't fix it").

KKH

2006-10-22T19:21:00.000+05:30

As we leave Kashgar, Leni.. I mean, Mao shows us the way. Different guy, but same ubiquitous statue and cult of personality. The Karakoram Highway (KKH) really starts from Kashgar, but the Chinese side is very different from the Pakistan side: it follows the edge of the Pamirs (Kongur, 7719m and Muztagh Ata, 7546m). There's a very touristy stop at Karakul lake (another one), where noisy Chinese climb on a camel and take pictures in front of Muztagh Ata. At Tashkurgan our guide finds out that most hotels are booked by an American crew shooting a movie supposed to take place in Afghanistan, but we eventually find a (cold) room for the night.
Although Tashkurgan is more than 100km away from the pass and the border, the customs are conveniently located here, so we start the day by going through the papers. Our passports are stamped out and our temperature taken by some bizarre machine (or so I guess, could be also a "M.I.B." brain wash..?). Then the custom officer wants us to open all our bags... as a matter of fact, we have avoided this until now, and don't miss it as it is a pain to unpack all the panniers. I start with my big black bag containing my sleeping bag, tent and books. The Chinese asks to see the bag with books and maps, so I open it and he immediately spots and takes out... my Russian Playboy magazine! Good snatch, as Playboy is only available in the black market here. He starts to flip the pages and not deterred by the Cyrillic text he quickly walks away, telling us we're OK and can go. When I bought it back in Kazakhstan I didn't think it would save us half an hour at the customs! Of course we all had a good laugh about the Chinese (including the Uygurs around), thinking about what he's about to do in the privacy of his office.

Eventually, after 1 1/2 hour we're cleared, leave our guide and follow a long and wide valley that slowly climbs from 3100m to 4300m in 100km. It's a bit boring and very cold, and doesn't look very much like a pass, except for the last few switch backs to the last Chinese check point. As we reach the pass we meet a couple Pakistani border guards who shake our hand, without even bothering to check our passport. Picture, congratulations, and we quickly leave before freezing our ass, after a perilous change to left-hand drive (the Chinese truck drivers tend to forget that detail as well, which makes for interesting crossing...).

Here we are in the junction between the Pamirs, that we have just left, the Hindu Kush that leads west across Afghanistan, the Karakoram and the Himalayas! This the last part of the globe to have been fully explored by Europeans, and now we see why. At that time, in the 19th century, Afghanistan was a very dangerous country to cross, although the most direct route between the central Asia trading centers and India. 150 years later it’s no different, but now the Khunjerab pass offers a safe way for traveling the Silk Road, and as in the old tradition of the caravans, the Chinese tax us heavily for this privilege.

The way down on the Pakistani side is very steep, and the road is much worse than in China, but OK as far as we're concerned. The mountains and glaciers surrounding us are spectacular; we’re literally in the middle of 6000- and 7000-m high mountains. That's an awesome work done by the Chinese and Pakistanis workers in the 70's and 80's, and even now there are many Chinese workers repairing the road all along. We quickly lose 2000m of elevation (but gain a few much appreciated degrees) to reach Sost, acting both as a Pakistani border post and a truck terminal where Chinese trucks unload and the colorful Pakistani trucks take over.

Next day we reach Karimabad, up the side of the beautiful Hunza valley, where we chill out and spend a day hiking up the amazing water channels. The weather is great and the atmosphere very friendly, even during this time of Ramadan, so much that we find without problem a restaurant serving us lunch, and even a shop selling beer.. the explanation is that this particular village is Ismaili Muslim, and they are much more relaxed about the rules than Sunnite and Shiite, as we already experienced in Tajikistan.

Further down the valley we stop in Gilgit, the major town half-way to Islamabad. We stay at a very friendly guest house where we meet backpackers from everywhere. Anders would have preferred the Girl's school but then there was this armed guard at the entry. The army is very present around and inside the town, with many heavily armed check points protected by sand bags, even an Indian Army helicopter displayed there as a hunting trophy. It seems that the army is keeping a close eye on those Northern tribes, and indeed on our way down we were stopped in a village by an anti-American demonstration, ending with a burning flag. People seemed not very much interested though, and more keen to clean up the road so that they could drive through, so we didn't feel threatened at all. Well, I kept alow profile anyway, you never know..

Kashgar

2006-10-15T21:12:00.000+05:30

Here we are, China. Actually I should say Xinjian, as it is very different from the rest of China: people are Uygur in majority (75%), the language is Uygur (Turkic like Kygryz and Uzbek, but written in an arabic script), the food is Uygyr, etc.. We feel more in Central Asia than in China, except for our license plates.. yes we now have a Chinese license plate and a Chinese driver's license!

Kashgar is now a modern city but in the old city one can still see craftsmen working in the street, and in the rug factory the women still work like centuries ago. Although they also make wool rugs the local specialty is really silk rugs, and the precision and patience needed to make one is mind-boggling. It would be nice to buy one as a souvenir but even the small ones run for more than 1000$.

We were looking forward to seeing the world-famous Sunday market, and we
weren't disappointed: it truly is amazing in its diversity and size: it is
said to have 10'000 shops. The livestock market on the other hand was half-empty and a bit boring. The one camel there was surrounded by tourists taking pictures more than by potential buyers.

And, at last, we get some good food! Soup and potatoes is OK to feed you and keep you alive, but after 3 months it's a real pleasure to enjoy eating someting that was nicely cooked.

Tomorrow we hit the road, and not just any road: the Karakoram Highway (KKH), another mythical road that will lead us south to Pakistan through the mountains, just a couple freezing days away.

Oh, and I finally got rid of that beard, courtesy of a barber working in the middle of the livestock market, between donkeys and sheep.

Back on the Silk Road

2006-10-11T16:09:00.000+05:30

We left Murgab to Kara-Kul Lake. A short drive, but over the highest pass in Pamir, Ak-Baital at 4655m. That also about the same altitude as Khunjerab pass (depending on the map, some put it 4700), at the Chinese-Pakistan border, so it is for us the top of our trip. Amazingly, the highest pass in Ladakh is a whole 1000 meters higher, so we still have a challenge in front of us. The bikes are doing OK at that altitude, although I cheated a bit by removing one of the air filters; it does quite a bit of a difference, and not much harm on this mostly paved road. It was a bit chilly up there obviously so we shortly stop for a tap on the back and snap a few pictures, before going down to lake Kara-Kul, situated in a large plateau 3900m high.

We stop in Karakul, the only settlement around the lake, as we find the first home stay of our trip that is well advertised on the roadside. No need to stop and ask people. In summer there are yurt camps around there where one can sleep, but at this season the Kyrgyz herders have buggered off to warmer countries. The town is a bit depressing, as is the food: the breakfast is made of tea, bread and butter, period.

The next day, we decide to cross over to Kyrgyzstan as there is not much else to do around there, and we need to get in contact with the Chinese guide to check if we're OK for China. It's a short ride along barbed wires, a hint that the Chinese border is just a few kilometers away. That must be the easiest border crossing of all central Asia: 10 minutes on each the Tajik and Kyrgyz side and we get through. But the no-man's land between both border posts is also one of the worst roads we've seen so far, it seems both countries are waiting for the other to fix the road.

First such incident in the trip, I lost my rain gear on a long stretch of road along the lake. When I noticed, we had crossed only 2 cars, but when we drove back 25km to Karakol, the gear were nowhere to be seen, so one happy sunnuvabitch in those cars stopped and snatched it, and it must be now for sale in a Bazaar in Tajikistan.. Oh well, my fault. And it's not going to rain again for the next year or so anyway..

Down the pass marking the border we exit the Pamir and reach a high valley (3100m) that runs along the Pamir Alay range, of which Peak Lenin is the high point: 7100m. Looking back it's a stunning view, much different from the Tajik side because the foot of the mountains starts literally in the valley, unobstructed by other high peaks as on the Tajik side. So we ride at sunset down the valley and stop at Sary Moghul, right across the 4000m vertical drop of Lenin Peak, just 50km away.

A guy offers us to stay overnight at his place, so off we go. As often in these places, the hosts give us constant attention, trying to ask questions, posing when we take pictures, following us everywhere and literally stuffing us we as much food as they have, no matter if we try to decline for the sake of our overloaded stomach. After 10 days of this, we are a bit tired and are looking forward to just stay on our own and relax a bit.

We also tried to phone China from Sary Tash. We find the "Telephone" center and wait for somebody to come and open up for us. They have so little work that they stay home and wait that somebody comes knocking at their door to open the office. They're still running the place on an old soviet, mechanical switchboard. After a few tries it's clear that the communication is not getting through so we decide to go to Osh, second biggest city in Kyrgyzstan and some 180km away.

But 180km on very bad road, some old potholed asphalt that is much worse than any dirt track, so it takes us the best part of the day to make it, while I notice both a leak in my oil tank and my speedometer stop working. Anders on his side experiences a cracked on his baggage rack that he fixes with a strap. No show-stopper though, and we check in in Osh in a hotel for the first real shower in 2 weeks.

First thing first, we call China (10 cents per minute in one of those IP telephony centers that's all the rage in central Asia) and get the confirmation that we're all set for crossing 3 days later. That gives us one full day in Osh to fix the bikes and get some other food than the soup-bread-and-potato that kept us alive in Pamir.

So in 2 days we're in Kashgar, China, a major Silk Road trade post. Also, and finally, we get out of the "Vodka empire", the Russian sphere of influence after 3 months from St Petersburg to Mongolia to Tajikistan.

The Roof of the World

2006-10-06T16:00:00.000+05:30

Eventually we reach the end of the valley and we climb up a pass at 4300m that gives access to the Pamir plateau itself, between 3600 and 4000 meters. The temperature drops dramatically, and we have to put the warm clothes on. The pass leads us to the Pamir highway near lake Yashil-Kul. According to my excellent Pamir map there is a village near the lake, so we ride there and we end up in a settlement in the middle of nowhere, in a moon-like landscape where only sheep and yaks can survive. We’re welcome by a few people who argue over where we should spend the night. The winners (three brothers) install us in their house, start up the generator and sit and watch TV while their sister is cooking and serving us dinner. We’re of course a bit surprised to see in that remote place a satellite dish hooked to a nice TV, but unfortunately most of these people don't have much to do and TV is the only entertainment that they can get.

In the morning we find out it had been snowing a little during the night, not enough to stop us though, and by midday it has mostly thawed. We ride along the lake for some sightseeing, before carrying on to Murgab, main town of the East Pamir, populated mainly by Kyrgyz in majority. Unfortunately at that time of the year most herders have left the high plateau for lower valleys, so we see no yurts on our way in the desert-like landscape.

In Murgab we register at the police again (free this time) and get us a permit to go to Rang-Kul lake. This area is very close to the Chinese border, so any side road apart from the main highway needs a permit. We've been told that the area beyond Rangkul is prohibited altogether, but we decide to go as close as possible until we're turned down by a military check point. Arriving in Rangkul we stop and just see a deserted watchtower but no gate or fence of any kind so we keep going, at which time somebody far away comes waving and yelling at us. We fake not to see him and carry on, bringing us along the Chinese border with very fine views of Muztagata (7400m) in China, knowing that we will ride down the road just 10 km away in China a few days later.

Finally we reach a military camp and a gate guarded by a soldier. He's very surprised to see those funny guys in this restricted area and doesn't quite know what to do, so he runs away to fetch the commanding officer. He arrives wearing sweat pants, sneakers and a lose sweater and instead of lecturing us on restricted areas he gives us a warm welcome, telling us to ride into the camp for a cup of tea. There are only 11 people manning what was used to be a big soviet military post, at the time when the relations between the Soviet Union and China were very bad.

And with the tea comes a plate of very tasty fried pieces of meat, and the officer explains us proudly that this is from a Marco Polo sheep. And indeed he shows us the whole severed head with the long curly horns. So much for protecting an endangered species, but what can you do against bored militaries? But I have to admit it's the best meat I have eaten for 3 months!
Before leaving, he gives us a piece of paper where he’s written something for his colleague down the road in Rangkul, probably (it’s in Tajik) telling him that we’re nice guys and he should let us go without hassle. Good for us, because as we reach Rangkul, the soldier who was waving at us a couple hours ago is now standing in the middle of the road with his Kalashnikov well in sight. No way to ignore him, so we stop and he leads us to his officer, this time wearing an impeccable suit with shiny shoes. He gives us the bad eye and starts yelling at us but we immediately show him the paper, and after careful reading he lightens up and become almost friendly (but still a bit pissed to realize he’s function is totally useless as a couple funky bikers just pass through his guards without any problem). He must be the only one military that we’ve crossed (and we’ve seen a lot in all those check points) really believing in his function, but his soldiers of course don’t have a clue what they’re doing here in what seems the end of the world.

Wakhan

2006-10-04T15:43:00.000+05:30

Back in Khorog over the main highway, on a very slick asphalt but the wide valley is just a bit boring. We register our visa (22$ each, thank you) and immediately leave by taking the third road out of Khorog to Ishkashim all the way south, that marks the entrance to the magnificent Wakhan valley. We prefer to overnight in a village next to a hot spring and sanatorium, Garm-Chashma. We stop and ask a guy on the road for a place to sleep, and (not surprisingly) he immediately leads us to his place, a very nice house up the village. A very nice typical Pamir house with a well-crafted ceiling in the five-pillar room. He insists heavily on giving us some food, although it’s only early afternoon, and then leads us to the hot spring and to a mineral water spring. Somehow that was a bit suspicious, and we’ll find out later that he’s actually running a guest house, and asks us 17$ each for the stay, which is way overpriced (the usual price is around 6$ for a night and 2$ for a meal). But as we haven’t discussed it beforehand, we don’t argue and pay what he’s asking for.

We keep following the river (and therefore the Afghan border), which is now named Wakhan. Across the river is a narrow stretch of Afghan territory, that leads all the way to China, called the Wakhan corridor, designed by the British and Russians when they split up the region in the 19th century as a buffer between their respective empires. This means that Pakistan, where we eventually want to go, is a mere 15km away, but quite far indeed as one would have to cross the Hindu Kush range, with its 6000m and 7000m peaks. As a consequence also there is no direct border between Tajikistan and Pakistan.

After chatting on the way with schoolchildren (practicing their English) and farmers in the fields (fluent in Russian, but unfortunately it doesn’t help), we try to get some petrol, not knowing where we could then get some. So we buy what’s probably the most expensive petrol in the whole central Asia, at a bit more than 1 Euro per liter! Next day we stop over at another sanatorium next to another hot spring, Bibi Fatima, where I hope to cure my cold. Tough luck, this spring is supposed to improve woman fertility, so I’m not sure what is the effect is on us, except that my cold took another few days to get rid of.

The Pamirs, at last!

2006-10-02T15:24:00.000+05:30

The day we leave Dushanbe is actually the day where the daylight and the night are each exactly 12h long. That means for us that by 17h we need to find a place to stay as we don’t ride at dusk. That also means that if we’re camping, then we need to eat before 18h and spend at least 12h in our tent waiting for the sun to come back (and the temperature to get warmer). Not as pleasant as Mongolia, where we had time to put up the tents and eat dinner, and go to sleep at sunset. Also, the nights at 4000m in October are quite a bit colder than in Gobi in August, so we’ll try to find home stays as much as possible. The downside of course is that we’ll miss some privacy and quietness in the long run.

There are two roads to go to the Pamir from Dushanbe, the traditional M41 highway, and a new road, longer but that avoids a high pass so is open all year around. We're going to face much higher passes later in Pamir so there's no reason not to take the “official” Pamir highway. We took it easy, and by the second day we hit the Panj River that marks the border with Afghanistan, and becomes later the Amu-Darya (formerly known as the Oxus). This part of Afghanistan is inhabited by ethnic Tajik people as well, and indeed they live in the same kind of Pamir houses made of clay. The only difference between the two sides of the river seems to be the infrastructure: paved road bordered by electricity poles on the Tajik side, a mere donkey trail for the Afghans.

We cross many small villages on our way, and as soon as they see us coming everybody is turning around and waving at us, so we spend our time waving back at them (when we can free a hand). Of course, the kids are running toward the road to see us drive by, as if it was a Tour de France stage. Strangely they also sometimes throw rock at us, or more probably fake to do so as I’ve never been hit by one, so I guess it’s more of a game to see if we would react by ducking.
In Khorog, the Pamir capital, we stopped to register our visa, as we were told, although not sure if we have to deal with the police or with the militaries. After asking around, we find the office.. which is closed on Saturday, not to open before Monday.
Now instead of staying in that little town that’s just boring, we decide to ride up a side valley (Shakh-Dara) which turns out to be one of the prettiest of the whole trip. The sun is shining (as it will during our whole trip in the Pamir) and the temperature is perfect, around 25 degrees. The road is very nice, paved only half-way so the upper part is good dirt track, unencumbered by remains of asphalts. The tree leaves are now turning bright yellow and the farmers are busy harvesting wheat in the fields, often by hand with just ox and donkeys to help them. As we stop in mid-morning to rest by a nice waterfall, the nearby farmer drops his work in the fields and asks us to stay there until he’s back. He returns from his house carrying bread, jam, yoghurt, dried fruits, etc.. all this with a large smile and much interest for us. With a few words of Russian we manage to tell the basics of who we are, where we come from and where we're going (besides the mandatory technical details about our bikes, needless to say).

At night we would stop by a house and ask where we can sleep, and usually the answer would be: you can stay in my house of course. Then they start by giving you some water and soap to wash your hands, before taking you inside and offering you the mandatory tea with bread and butter, often with very good apricot and cherry jam. But this is just the welcome, after comes the dinner, a simple soup with pieces of meat or a plate of fried potatoes with onions. During the day we would just eat alone as they mostly respect Ramadan, but after sunset the men would sit with us and share the meal. The women are eating in a different room with the kids, and serve us. The men don’t help to anything inside the house, it’s the woman (and girls) job. Then they would make a bed, in the same central room, by taking away the low table (or simple table cloth spread on the raised floor) and lay a mattress and cushions. These houses have almost no furniture, but many rugs and cushions to sit on. The next morning when we wake up (usually at the same time as they do, as they use the room for storing a lot of stuff) they serve us the breakfast, tea with bread and butter, and often some very good yoghurt from cow or yak milk, depending on what they have. For us Europeans it's really an extraordinary display of generosity, but so natural for them, and quite a bit embarrassing when they firmly refuse our money if we try to pay for it. We respect this and don’t argue, but try to find other ways to leave some bills.

It would have been a shame to miss that experience, but we crossed several bikers who just dashed through the well paved Pamir highway without stopping to share the Pamir lifestyle. I guess it depends on what you’re looking for.

Instead of backtracking on the same road to Khorog, we prefer to continue all the way up the valley and join the main road over a pass that is overlooked by Marx and Engels (6700 and 6500m; not yet rechristened by the Tajiks as they’ve done with Peak Communism, top of the Pamir at 7400m but out of sight). The road pretty much disappears on the top and we make our way across rivers and big round rocks that are a bit tricky to get through, but always a lot of fun, even at more than 4000m.

Dushanbe

2006-09-27T19:46:00.000+05:30

We have our visas! Yes, this morning we got our Chinese visa. Then we came back to the Pakistan embassy with a letter that the Swiss consul wrote for us. The guy that refused us the visa on Friday was a bit annoyed because we he figures we bypassed him. Nevertheless he took our passports and went off. Half an hour later he came back a bit embarassed because it worked.. the ambassador/consul was okaying our visa. Thank you Swiss passport (and the Swiss consul of course), we are now clear for the Pamir Highway and the Karakoram Highway! We leave tomorrow, so no web update fot the next few days.

Oh, one last thing: Anders just discovered a new nail in his tyre.. now I think we definitely don't skew the statistics anymore!

Mountains and visas

2006-09-26T10:54:00.000+05:30

Dushanbe, 15'050 km.

The next day is yucky, pretty cold and light rain. It's also my birthday so Anders wakes up and gets me a snickers bar and some nice chocolate cookies.. Pretty nice of him, though I'm still depressed by the weather conditions.The idea was to get across a first high pass and sleep over in a nice mountain lake resort, before crossing the last pass to Dushanbe. We decide to move anyway and see how it looks, because we'd like to be in Dushanbe soon to apply for our visas. So it's a pretty miserable ride through Khojand and Istaravshan. We stop at the bottom of the pass when we enter the clouds as we can't see 10m in front of us. It's not very safe to continue on this very bad road, in addition we would miss the fantastic scenary.

Back to Istaravshan, called Cyropol by Alexander the Great, where we feel the change from Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan: the bazaar is very oriental, some women (a minority) wear a chador, the muezzin is chanting and some people greet us with a "Salaam" instead of the usual "Zdraztvouytye". We're on the silk road! Also the Tajik language sounds very different from the Kazakh/Kyrgyz, as it is in fact a Persian language, not Turkic. On the other hand, the signs are all in cyrillic, wheras in Kyrgyzstan most were also in roman alphabet.

The next morning is just as grey and cloudy (and depressing) as the day before, but we decide to check out the road anyway as there is not much else to do. Hurray, half an hour away the clouds break and the sun starts to shine! Quite a difference it makes, we can now enjoy the fantastic mountains and gorges and by the end of the afternoon we reach Dushanbe. We check in the cheapest hotel in that not-so-cheap but very nice city (yes, you guessed it, another run-down, soviet-style hotel).

In Tajikistan even more than Kyrgyzstan all the kids on the side of the road wave and shout at us, the truck drivers honk as we overtake them and the cars give us a thumb-up as they drive by us in the cities, that keeps us pretty busy waving back at them. As for the cops, they keep pulling us over, not to check our passport or ask for money, they're just curious and want to chat and ask where we come from, etc.. Some cop even insisted that we stop to drink a cup of tea, but it was getting late and we didn't want to ride at night. They're all very friendly and it's nice for a while, but when it's every 10km or so (police is everywhere is Tajikistan) we just look straight and ignore them. Fortunately, the Tajiks don't play with radar guns like Kygryzs.

In Dushambe we start with the Chinese embassy: closed on Thursday, we'll come back on Friday. On Friday we fill up the form but they say that can't do it for Monday, so we might as well come back on Moday and get our visa for Wednesday. Next we check out the Pakistan embassy, but it's not anymore at the address found in the Lonely Planet, so we ask a taxi driver to find out where it is and drive us there. While he waits outside we wait half an hour in the lounge, until some guy comes and explains us that they deliver visas only to Tajik nationals..! we should have gotten ours in Switzerland. We insist and explain him why we hadn't done so, and that the embassy in Almaty does issue visas to any foreigner. He would just say he would call Islamabad for instructions. We call back later and he confirms he wouldn't issue us a visa.
That's a big problem for us, as it is the last capital we cross before the Pakistan border. We try the whole afternoon to call the Pakistan embassy in Bern to see if they can help (wrong number), the embassy in Bishkek, where we could go back and get it (wrong number as well). Finally we ask Chris in Switzerland to make a few phone calls for us as it takes 1/2 hour in the TakijTelecom center to get a phone call, and most of the time it doesn't work.

Next idea is to ask for help from the Swiss embassy, maybe they can make them change their mind. Too late for today, we'll do that after the week-end. Instead of staying in Dushanbe, which is nice but a bit dull, we take the bikes and leave for Iskander Kul lake, back over the pass, and sleep over there. The weather is splendid and we enjoy the ride until a few kilometers from the lake Anders stops with a flat rear tyre. He repairs under the close scrutiny of the village kid, but it doesn't hold and 10 minutes later he stops again and take the inner tube out again. New patch in place we ride the last 10km or so to the lake, barely making it with a half-flat tyre..

Near the lake is a very nice resort with a dozen or so (quite beaten-up) huts. We search a while for the manager to check in, it turns out he had a bit too much vodka and was sleeping in his hut. 10$ for both of us is OK, but there is no hot water, not even light in the shower room. It's almost empty, only a dozen people around: a group of Russians who offer us some Vodka, a group of Italians from an NGO and a couple of Germans who drove there on their landmark old Landcruiser. We chat and share a campfire on the beach, cooking our own food as the power went out in the camp. The next morning Anders uses the river to find the second puncture in his inner tube, so now he can do a proper repair.

I check my tyres as well and pump the rear one a little as it seems a bit low.. without thinking about it, we leave. Just 10 km away, I have to believe it: I do have a puncture in that tyre! Pretty funny, actually after examining the inner tube it seems the nail had been there for a while and had eaten into it until it finally broken in. I just put a new inner tube and fix it back the hotel in Dushanbe. Pretty nice week-end.

On Monday the weather is still nice, 28 degrees or so (but chilly at night). We leave our passport at the Chinese embassy, to be picked up on Wednesday. Then we go to the Swiss consulate and manage to talk to the consul. He told us he would write a letter to the number 2 at the Pakistan embassy who he knows, and that may let us through to him and to our visa. Meanwhile we spend the night with the Italian and German guys and show our pictures at their house.

Crossing Kyrgyzstan

2006-09-19T15:06:00.000+05:30

We've had some rain in Bishkek, which is fine as we don't ride. One night as we come back to our hotel we hear some heavy music coming from the nearby stadium; sure enough we head in this direction, and as soon as we approach the gates, a group of cops jump and propose us a ticket-free entry for 5$ each. We negociate at 2$ and enter the nearly-empty stadium, which is understandable after hearing the lousy tunes of the band, and the terrible quality of the sound reinforcement. We leave after half an hour and have dinner in a yurt where I play (and lose) a chess game against a half-drunk Kyrgyz.

We leave on a sunny morning, and of course the mood is up. We ride along the steep mountains range watching the nice snow that now caps those peaks.. knowing that our first pass is at 3500m. At the bottom of the pass we have a bet with Anders: he says the snow starts at 3301m, I say 3000m. We start our climb on a surprisingly excellent tarmac that would give the Gothard a run for its money. We were also looking forward to figuring how the engine would behave at that altitude, knowing that it was not breathing easily along lake Issyk-Kul at only 1600m. But we had cleaned up the air filter (boy, did it need it..) and also removed a piece of the air intake before the air box, put there to muffle the sound. That did the trick because we reached the pass with good power.
The top is actually at 3100m as there is now a tunnel that's not on my map. Which is OK for us because the snow was starting at 2800-2900m and at 3100m there were still some patches of snow thawing on the road. We stop in the cold air (but in the sun) as the tunnel is closed down; we find out 20 minutes later why, as a herd of horses comes out.. no reason they couldn't use the tunnel as well. We don't come down very low as we hit a high valley that we would follow on a very gentle slope to the next pass, 3100m as well. Some horses and sheeps are grazing through the snow, as the winter is not there yet.

The road to Osh then goes around a big lake, and is bordered by numerous people selling fish. We decide to set a camp soon as the sun goes down, so I stop to buy a trout-like fish to cook with tomato sauce and rice. The guy pulls it out of his freezer, which makes me more confident than one of those that the kids are waving in the sun all day long..It turns out to be very tasty.

Next day we have a long ride under a hot sun in the between the crop fields: women picking cotton and men harvesting the cereals. We have our first break in a Chaikhana, a tea house where people sit bare feeted on a raised platform to drink tea or eat lunch. The Fergana valley is actually shared by Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. It's probably one of the most absurd border in the world, inherited from some bizarre Soviet Union decision. The main road crosses over to Uzbekistan and back to Kyrgyzstan, which now makes it much more difficult to reach the southern part of the country without a multiple entry Uzbek and Kyrgyz visa (or risk a hefty fine in case you're caught). We gave up on the Uzbek visa so we're faced with a navigational challenge of sneaking around the border and between the Uzbek enclaves to reach Betken, the gateway to Tajikistan, on a road that doesn't exists on the maps.

The next day is much cooler, we lost 10-15 degrees overnight. Soon after leaving our camp that we shared with some horses, we run into a German NGO Landcruiser at a police check point, and as we discussed with the expat we find out he's heading in the same direction and facing the same problem (but with a Kyrgyz driver). He proposes to show us the way until the turn-off where we have to leave the main road. We almost lose him as Anders has to stop for yet another a bathroom break (you thought that traveling without women you would avoid these problems, but hey, everybody's got a feminine side to him, don't they Anders?).

We've been pretty lucky to have this guy showing us the way, because it is utterly impossible to find it.. it's a narrow, very bad gravel track that runs along an irrigation canal, next to the border. So close sometimes that we can see the Uzbek cars on the metalled road just 50 meters away. It's only 120 km but it takes us the good part of the afternoon. We ask for directions from time to time to be sure, until we're stopped by a custom officer who want to take our passport to his office a few km away. We're a bit reluctant, and try to explain that we don't want to go to Uzbekistan, which he answers is no problem. At least he would show us the way. He wants to climb on back of my bike as he has no vehicle, but I show him there's no room with all the baggage. So he flags down a passing car (driven by a drunkard) and we follow him to his office. He just writes down our names in his registry, but then asks for some money. With our best smile we firmly turn down the "offer", and we must have seem friendly enough because he gives up end even gives us some bread before showing us the way, an improbable gravel track in the hills.

Finally we reach Betken and from there the Tajik border, manned by heavily-armed militaries, a reminder that the country has freshly come out of civil war and in a sensitive situation near the Afghan border. The paperwork is promptly done, we pay 20$ for a dubious vehicle entrance fee (no receipt of course), but by that time it's getting cold and dark and we're exhausted, so we stop in Kanibadam, where we find quite possibly our worst soviet-style hotel (no running water at all in the hotel), but also nice people who accept our rubles (we had no Somani yet) and and let us park the bikes in the lobby.

Canyons and Beaches

2006-09-15T10:35:00.000+05:30

Leaving Almaty we have an extra day to spend before we can cross the border, so we decide to go for Charyn Canyon, south-east of the country.

Pretty boring roads on very flat country, with people on the side of the road selling various things. Just like in Russia, they seem to all sell the same stuff at the same place. It's 20 booths selling grapes, then in the next village 20 other booths selling just honey, then maybe only red peppers and later watermelons. Weird.

We stop on our way in a small market and eat a shashlyk for lunch. Then we reach for Charyn Canyon, where many Kazakh go for picnic on that warm Sunday afternoon. We were supposed to pay an entrance fee but the guy at the gate just let us in, another case of discrimination in favor of those crazy bikers!

We ride around taking pictures from above and find the way into the canyon: a very steep and very rough trail with deep holes. No big deal coming down, just pretty bumpy, and a very scenery ride down between the cliffs until we reach a river and set up a very comfortable camp. I go back up with an empty bike at sunset to do some video up the trail, and it was a bit tricky but made my way without a hitch.

The next morning the weather was excellent, and we left for the Kyrgyz border. We just had to climb up the canyon, and what was OK with a light bike, was very different with a fully loaded one! After a first missed attempt and I try again with a bit more speed, but with the baggage hanging behind the from wheel doesn't hold ground and I tip it over. Unfortunately it falls down on my foot, and although the boot took the worst of it, my foot will end up pretty bad at the end of the day..

The bike also took its toll, with a broken strap, a broken clutch handle and a dented petrol tank. No big deal, I was carrying a spares and the petrol tank will do just fine like that. The good thing about the human body is that it fixes by itself with time; it's fine when I'm riding the bike, it's the walking that's painful, so it's OK.

After a very easy border crossing (10 min on each side, very friendly border guards), the landscape changes from the dry steppe of Kazakhstan to grassy, tree-bordered fields. The road is in worse shape than in Kazakhstan but mostly sealed. Welcome to Kyrgyzstan!

Reaching Karakol, we decide to spend a day here so that I can heal my foot. I just sit in the hotel reading a book while Anders organizes the trip into China with Ali, it seems the paperwork can be done in time, so that's a good thing.

The next day we leave for Bishkek, following the northern shore of Issyk-Kul lake. We stop on the way in one of the many beach resorts, and it turns out to be one of the most expensive one.. We bargain our entry at the gate (first they asked 10$ just to let us in..) and bask in the sun on the very nice sand beach. The water is clear and warm, even at 1600m elevation. We leave barely resisting the temptation to eat lunch at the club house, but 8$ is a bit too much. We end up buying a piece of bread on the street and eat it with cheese and chocolate insted.

Time to leave for Bishkek, and after a getting my first speeding ticket, thanks to the radar-gun maniac in a downhill turn (76 km/h instead of 60, $2.50 "straf"), we land in Bishkek in one of our usual soviet-style hotel with stinky toilet and almost-functioning shower.. Next step is to get our Tajik visa. After a couple phone calls I had the LOI sent to us directly by e-mail, we print it and jump in a cab for the embassy; the next day we have our visa!

It's been a bit cold and rainy here, and we can see the snow has been falling on the mountains surrounding Bishkek.. Not a pretty sight when we think about the 3500-m pass that separates the north from the south of the country! Well, we'll just go and see how it looks. Or another possibility would be to detour to Naryn to meet with some Landy friends of Anders who we just missed in Karakol.

After a bit of planning, we found out we should be able to leave Dushambe for the Pamir Highway at then end of the month (!) and have enough time to be at our rendez-vous on October 10th at the border with China. Weather and embassy paperwork permitting, of course.

Maintenance and wait..

2006-09-09T17:50:00.000+05:30

Already 5 days in Almaty.. and 200km riding in the city traffic! We thought we would spend some time for the visas, and we got one for Kyrgyzstan, even paid a fortune for express, double-entry. But after that we suffered a few setbacks in this department:
- the LOI for Tajikistan was expired, we need a new one and Great Game Travel is really slow on that, so I told them to prepare it for Bishkek and we'll hit the embassy there
- the Pakistan embassy wouldn't issue us a visa if we don't have a visa for the previous country; we can't have our Chinese visa now without a LOI, so no Pakistan visa either
- we could get a visa for Uzbekistan (even with an expired LOI), but we also decided to skip it because we're running out of time (and to save a few bucks). It's really too bad because this country has so many historical wonders to visit in Smarkand, Bukhara and Khiva. I do miss the historical/cultural part in our trip.

Since then we've been busy trying to get spare parts for our bikes, new chains. Finally we had a good deal through Serguey at Silk Off Road, the local motorbike club. The guys there are just great people, very niceand helpful. We already have had a few beers with them, and they explained us how the bikers of all countries belong to the same family and that they were happy to see us visiting Almaty. 2 chains for 320$, that's about half-price from what we've been quoted..

We also need a new sprocket; we had 2 spares, but Anders changed his in Mongolia because the one he had was wearing out quickly. Unfortunately, as he didn't change the chain the new sprocket wore out again in 3000 km. So as it is impossible to find one over here, we had to ask for a mechanic to make a new one, and as we had a spare (new) we could give him a model to copy. It was supposed to take 2 days (a bit surprising), but eventually we got it after 4 days. Turns out the mechanic went to a factory making torpedoes for submarines.. Of course Kazakhstan doesn't have much of submarine fleet being landlocked, but the Soviet Union used to test their torpedoes in nearby lake Issyk-Kul in Kygrysztan, away from American ears and spy submarines. So we'll see if the "torpedo sprocket" lasts as well (or better) than the orginal.

Meanwhile we did the usual maintenance: oil and filter change. valve clearance, etc.. We also had to do some servicing of the clothing: we found a snowboard/motorbike gear shop, and got some replacement gloves (after 13'000 km not much was left of it, and we anticipate some cold weather in the mountains), a replacement rain pant for mine that was falling apart, and rain over-boots (for Anders who was starting to have wet feet under the rain).

On the trip planning, Anders received some not-so-encouraging news from Caravan Cafe (Anders got a new quote from his contact that's no so much better..). It will be difficult for them to organize everything for the 10th of October, the date our visa expires. They could do it for the 20th of October, but that's pretty late in the season: at 4700m on Khunjerab pass there's a 50-50 chance of it being to icy for riding, and therefore mandating a truck to haul the bikes over the pass. The other contact says she can do it in 15 days.. ? that's a bit complicated, with too many contradicting stories from multiple sides.

It just feels wrong to spend 2000$ to dash through a (tiny) part of a country without seeing much of it, merely giving away our money to the communist goverment. And still not being sure to be able to ride the pass if the weather is bad. I'm still in favour of the Afghanistan solution, much simpler and straightforward: go straight south off the pamir highway in Tajikistan to Kabul (this part of the country is fairly safe). That would save 2-3 weeks to the schedule (and mucho $) and give us some time to organize the transfer to Pakistan across Khyber Pass. But the security factor cannot be put aside, and of course I won't push for going a trouble area (both on the Afghan and on the Pakistan side; indeed the Pakistanis seems to refuse the crossing to foreigners, even with an armed escort). So we'll try the Chinese way and enjoy the Sunday market in Kashgar and the ride down KKH!

Personally, I also had a bit of maintenance on my hair and beard, so now I look less like a Tajik moudjahdin back from a party with Ben Laden..

So finally we can leave Almaty, city of easy money and sharp contrasts! Serguey proposed us a ride in the mountains on Sunday, but after Saturday night/full moon party at the biker's club, he's not up to anything! So we leave for Charyn Canyon and will cross to Kyrgyzstan on Monday.

Almaty: embassies and petro dollars

2006-09-05T11:42:00.000+05:30

12'137 km

After a long detour through Russia, under rain and bitter coldness (7 degrees in Barnaul), we crossed Kazakhstan north to south, 1200 km of mostly good but boring roads. And west to east is even longer, this country is huge (and amazingly empty, just flat steppe). The closer you get to Almaty, the better the roads (and the weather).

Reaching Almaty itself is a shock, instead of the big, dark, dull soviet city I was expecting (as in Russia), we hit a very modern and plush city, on a par with most European capitals. The occasional run-down Lada which accompanied us throughout Russia and the northern country is now as bizarre as if we were in Geneva or Milano. It's solid Mercedes, Audi and BMW, with brand new SUVs all over the place. Amazing. The petro dollars are flowing like it was an Arabic country, and it seems they're looking for ways to spend all this unexpected money. Also quite a change from Semey in the North, where everything is old and dusty, factories are abandoned.. but then it's also near the place where the Russians were testing their nukes (460 detonated, many in open air..), so that's not too sexy.

Now our plan is to stock up on visas for the next leg to India, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Pakistan (1 down, 3 up..) and find out how we'll cross these huge mountains to Pakistan and India. There are basically 3 options:

- Tajikistan - Afghanistan - Pakistan. The most straightforward, straight south, and not so dangerous in Afghanistan. But then the rumors are that Khyber pass is closed to foreigners (crossing from Afghanistan to Pakistan). So that would rule it out.

- Kyrgyzstan - China - Pakistan. This is the trickiest in term of red tape because of China, but then it is possible. We just have different conflicting stories about whether we need a guide to ride in China, how much it costs, etc..

- Uzbekistan - Turkmenistan - Iran - Pakistan. Quite a long way around Afghanistan, and now Turkmenistan is closing down their border during October, so that's another no-go.

We met 2 Englishmen on BMW 1200GS who already spent 4 weeks here, waiting for new tyres to come in. They're also trying to figure out a way into India, so we met and discussed the options. They want to enter China mid- to end of October but that sounds pretty late to me to cross a 4600m-high pass! for this reason, they also plan a backup plan with a truck to haul the bikes all the way to the Pakistan border, on top of Khunjerab pass. But then of course you'd have to hitch a Pakistan truck down the KKH..

Then Anders wants to challenge his Chinese contact, who already made us a very expensive proposition that we had to turn down. And there is also this Swiss couple who hired yet another Chinese agent to make it through China. So now we have to sort this out and make a plan.

While we're waiting for our visas we don't even go shopping or bask in the sun on a terrasse, we have some mechanics to do: we need to find new chains for our bikes, they wore out really quickly in the last 2000km, so it probably won't make it to India. We already have had 2 propositions, one for 270$ (not sure what kind) and another at 330$ for a brand new nice chain. We're still looking for something cheaper..

Out of Mongolia

2006-08-26T17:11:00.000+05:30

After our trip in Gobi, we reached a flat land, a steppe that we crossed in 3 days of riding on long, pretty boring roads (lots of washboard..). We quickly stopped over at Altai (no hot shower in the hotel) and dashed through Khovd to end up in Olgii, to the extreme west of the country.

The last camp was nice, next to a stream with 2 neighbour gers so of course we had some visit. The woman was washing the clothes in the river while I was pumping some water, and when she saw me she went and came back with a bowl of fresh yak milk. All without a word. Do you think this would happen anywhere in Europe? We used it to improve the mashed potatoes (tastes like fresh cow milk to me). Some guys joined us after they had rounded up the goats so we shared a cup of tea and a few cookies.

In Khovd we met a group of Swedish bikers going from Korea to Sweden across Russia, Mongolia and Kazakhstan. They were pretty heavily loaded (a couple BMW 1200, KTM LC8 but also a more reasonable Dominator and F650) and they were also followed by a 4x4. They passed us when we stopped for the night, but then we overtook them the next day while they were crawling on the washboard (once you manage to get over 70 km/h then it becomes much more bearable; but it does take balls to do it on sand and holes and big rocks..).

The weather was really cold (crossing a pass at 2600m), with a few drops of rain, so it was a bit painful in our worn-out summer gloves.. Arriving in Olgii it turns out the (best) hotel has no hot water, so we dash to the public bathhouse and get a long and much necessary shower after 1 week without.

Anders wanted to take a break to do some various repairs (12-V power supply, etc..) and some shopping in the market, and sort out the pictures on the computer, so we'll stay 2 nights here. Today the weather is improving, hopefully tomorrow we'll cross the broder and enter Russia without freezing our ass in the Altai mountains. But the rumor goes that the border is closed on Sunday.. we'll see, but I hope we won't have to spend a day camping at the border (not sure we can even have a cheese fondue over there..?)

In the dunes of Gobi

2006-08-17T11:53:00.000+05:30

We finally leave Ulaanbataar (with our extra generator just in case..), and ride 2 days straight south to Gobi National Park, with a few drops of rain to welcome us in the desert (!), and we start by visiting the famous "ice gorge" at Yolym Am, riding in very pretty small roads up valleys in these 2000-m high mountains. We find a very nice spot up a steep valley to pitch our tent so we stop there and made a horse-shit campfire, to show it really burns well (and besides, there is no tree anywhere around, so no wood).

The first "electronic" casualty in this trip is my bullet cam, it just stopped working. So I somewhat fitted my HD cam on my helmet and kept filming like this. A bit heavy, and not very discreet, but then the quality should be much better.

The next day we exit the mountains through a very pretty (and narrow) gorge partly in a river bed, and head west for the big sand dunes of Khongorin Els. The road starts to be more and more sandy, so that's where the fun starts.. we each have our first crash as we learn the hard way how to fight the sand..!

We end up riding along the big sand dunes, on more or less hard dirt tracks, and when we arrived near the highest ones (Kongorin Els), we wee not one but at least 5 ger camps 15km around, and each with probably 30-50 gers.. so that's some touristic place! We try to bargain a place in a camp, but they didn't drop the price enough (I think it was around 18$), so we end up pitching our tent a few hundred meters away, next to a ger.

Of course the ger owner somes to look what's going on, and he's very firendly. He invites us for a drink, so we go there and try camel airaag, a bit thick but not bad. He has a wife and 3 kids, and he owns about 40 horses and 30 camels. That's about as many animals as you need to live with your family in Mongolia.

We decide to take a day off, so the next morning we leave with light bikes (no baggage) for a ride in the nearby dunes, that's a must of course! A bit difficult at first, but we quickly find the trick to ride in soft sand. You just have to believe in it, it's all on the mind.. Then I started a little contest, who would make it higher on that dune. My first attempt was a bit lame..

Then it was Anders turn. So he kick starts his bike.. and kicks, and kicks, and kicks.. (all this in the sun of midday). Eventually he stops sweating his jacket, there must be something wrong with the engine. Can't be the generator of course, we just changed mine.. but still.. we left without any tools of course (first time: we had to have a break down!) so I turn into the assistance vehicle, go back to our camp, pick up the tools and spare parts and come back, looking as the messiah to Anders stuck in his dune.

It took no more than 10 seconds to measure up the coil..: dead! yes, we better believe it, the part that may "very rarely" break in the Tenere just went down twice in a couple weeks. So now we're really happy to have gone through all this hassle to order a second spare part, and have the first one brought over from Russia to Ulaanbataar. Otherwise, that would have been quite a longer ride for me to go back to Ulaanbataar to order a new part, wait for it and ride back here!

So Anders gets his hands dirty again and changes the generator (3rd time? 4th time? he's OK with the procedure by now..). All this in this patch of grass in the middle of the dunes, couldn't be any better for an improvised workshop!

Of course it runs all right after that, so the next day we're OK to ride out of Gobi toward the western border. But to get there, the road crosses the sand dunes in a "pass", where they are shallow and only 1 km long. Yeah, but 1 km in soft sand on a fully loaded bike, that takes some time.. for the interest and amusement of a busload of tourists waiting at the pass exit.

But that was just the begining, we had a long day of sandy tracks in front of us, to arrive in a lost, depressed small town. Anders is always into camping, but I insist to sleep there as the wind is pretty strong and blowing sand. So we end up in.. the police station! The 2-3 policemen there (what could they spend their day on?) probably don't have use for all the communist-era building, so a woman set-up a room with a few beds, and another one with tables and chair for eating. How easy. We have a pretty good night sheltered from the sand storm.

The next day is a very nice day (it seems that we alternate good and bad days, so the morale keeps good), we just miss the main track and end up instead crossing some shallow round hills on very small tracks, where we have a blast! Very cool ride that nicely breaks up the tiresome, flat sandy tracks.

We cross a few towns, all pretty dull, dark and miserable, with abandoned buildings. We just hit for food (whatever they have, usually some water, pasta, cookies and instant noodle packages) and fuel, usually 80-octane on a run-down crank-operated russian pump. Once we could only get 76-octane, and the engine complained about it by refusing to rev up past 3'500 rpm. But it still runs, that's all we ask it for.

Back in business!

2006-08-12T07:36:00.000+05:30

Yesterday we received the DHL package, as promissed when I showed up at the agency the day before. Anders does a great job of mounting the new ignition anf fixing the bike, and now it runs like a charm!

We also change our tyres and put the knobby ones we've been carrying all the way from Finland, so we're all set for Gobi and the crossing of Mongolia. It took us the best part of the afternoon (not too hot fortunately) in front of 2-3 guys from the guest house who just sat there and made fun of those crazy guys pumping up their tyres.

Only that I would like to get the other package, that actually made its way to Ulan-Ude, picked up by Zena and given to a bus driver that was coming to UB. So I went there and waited but saw no bus coming. Tried to cakk the guy on his cellular but he was only speaking Russian, so I asked a lady who was spoeaking English, but she didm't know Russian either. So she asked an old Mongolian who knew Russian, talked to the guy on the phone, tranlated in Mongolian and she then translated it back in English. At the end of the day I couldn't really make sense of what was going on..

So today I'll try again to call the guy and get our package. Even though I don't need it it's good to have a spare and it'd be too bad to waste that expensive part of course.

Life in UB

2006-08-09T17:27:00.000+05:30

In a nutshell: Hang out in UB, waiting for the parts that should come tomorrow, nice temperature, a little rain during the night. Very enjoyable, although we're looking forward to the countryside (and leave the pollution behind).

It's been 5 days that we're in UB and we're getting the hang of it. Not much excitation, so I'll fill up with impression about UB (Google Earth .kmz here).

Gana's guest house is very enjoyable, on a small hill overlooking the city. We meet several groups of travelers, at the start or the end of their trip, sometimes in the middle. Most are looking for a guide and a vehicle for 1-2 weeks in the country side. Some come back with horror stories, this summer being so wet most roads are very bad.

And some are just staying here. There is this Dutch guy building yurts in Holland and here to study the history of ger design ("ger" is the Mongolian name for yurt; "yurt" is a Russian word encompassing all Mongolians, kazakh and kyrgyz designs), and exchanging tricks with the locals. Anders went with him in a workshop, but they wouldn't let him take pictures! He's been in Mongolia quite a few times so he knows a lot and like to share it with us.

There's also this English medicine student coming in UB for a few weeks to work on infectious diseases in the hospital. And this obnoxious German running a business of selling Chinese motorcycles, and always criticizing the work of the Mongolians.

Fortunately the life in Mongolia is much cheaper than in Russia:

1 night in a ger at the guest house: 5$
Lunch for 2 (2 meals + 2 cokes): 2.50$
1 mirror for my motorbike: 1.25$ (although I had to bargain to get the right rice ;-)
1 pair of sunglasses: 1.25$
1 horse: 150$

We even found a cafe with espresso AND free wifi! Now that's Mongolia in the 21th century. Of course, imported goods are not any cheaper, like gasoline for example: 0.80$.

Looking at all these new Japanese of Korean 4x4, I keep wondering where all this money comes from, probably foreign aid because Mongolia is not exporting anything, except copper, gold and some Cashmere, but that doesn't go far. Of course tourism brings in some cash, but that's only during the 2 months of summer..

We were looking for a shop to photocopy our passports, etc.. and we figured that in Mongolia, if you want to xerox something (as known in the US) you need to look for a Canon..

Oh yeah: the good news is that both packages are making their way to here. The first one finally arrived in Ulan-Ude, after 2 weeks, so Zena is going to give it to a bus driver coming here tomorrow. The second one is (according to DHL) in Korea, so it should also arrive tomorrow here.. half joking we always said we would probably get the 2 packages at the same time, but we didn't have another option really.

We also did a little servicing on the bikes (valve clearance, carb), can't hurt after 6K.

I'm a little tired of sitting here waiting for the part, to say the least, I'm really looking forward to get the hello outta here. We planned to leave for a short trip around, but then I have to catch the bus driver when he arrives, and got to the DHL office to let them know that we're waiting for the package and make sure they're not delaying it any further. There's not a lot to do here once you've seen the monasteries and Shukbataar square (and we missed the Scorpions playing live there on July 31st..).

On the way to UB

2006-08-07T08:32:00.000+05:30

We leave the monastery and instead of the paved road we take a long detour on dirt tracks as Anders wants to visit the huge copper mine at Erdenet after reading about it in the LP. But we’re turned down at the gate by the security. So instead of going back the same way on the paved road, we keep going and take the long way on the dirt road. Soon after Bulgan we’re hit by a huge storm with heavy winds that makes any driving impossible, so we pull over in a field, cuddle up next to our bike and wait until it stop to pitch our tent. It doesn't last very long, so we start to cook something, and enjoy an incredible sunset (right before the mosquitos launch their usual dawn attack and force us to retreat into our tent). Next morning the sun is back and the temperature is excellent, 25-30 degrees, so we leave for a long ride (300km/8h) on not too bad dirt tracks until UB.

Arriving near UB we first notice (and smell) the clouds of pollution surrounding the city. We manage to find our guest house (Gana’s), a fine place on a little hill overlooking the city where we meet quite a few other backpackers (or other kind, such as this Dutch guy studying yurts here, and building them in Holland, or this German importing and mounting Chinese motorbikes).

I have a check on the web, hoping the new package is well on its way to UB.. no such luck: Philip let pass 2 days of holidays and.. didn’t even send it! He says UPS needs a private address, fair enough, so he could have selected any hotel out there where we could checked in meanwhile, but nope.. so back to square 1 after 2 weeks. I'm a bit disappointed after all the promises he made before leaving, about not taking too many spares and being able to ship them anywhere in the world. But then we're not on such a tight schedule that it ruins our day.

So now he says 8 days minimum to send it (how come the UPS office says 3 days ? and how come the German guys last week got a part sent in from Germany in 4 days ?). Within this time the first package might actually make its way to Russia, so we'd have a spare for the other bike..

The land without fences

2006-08-03T09:20:00.000+05:30

Today we show up at the border around 10h30. Quite a few vehicles are already there lining up, but we just ride in front of the queue and go talk to the border guard ushering vehicles one after another. He’s pretty friendly and he even speaks a few words of English. Our status of bikers seems to work in our favor so he let us in before all the others. The other custom officers are also very kind (not at all like the Swiss customs), and always very interested in the bike (well the guys in any case). How much does it cost is the first questions, then how many cubic centimeters and how many cylinders, etc.. But after paying our Mongolian insurance and a 1 $ (!) entry fee of some sort, we’re in Mongolia, “only” 2 ½ hours later.

As my engine is running OK we decide to make a little detour to the monastery of Amrbayasgalant. The road to Ulaanbataar is excellent, better than most Russian roads, and it’s all straight and the temperature in the high 30’s, so I almost fall asleep, just missing a slow truck crawling up a hill. Fortunately we have 35 km of dirt track to reach the monastery.. it’s despised by most tourists doing it on a Russian jeep, but for us it’s fun and after all that’s what we’ve been looking for. The track is excellent and the landscape fabulous, just a couple river crossings to wet our socks and we reach the monastery. Anders wants to pitch the tents nearby, but I anyway go ask the price at the nearby ger camp, and at 6$ the night for a nice yurt with 2 beds I convince him. Good pick because it rains the whole night and most of the next day.

When the sun is back the ground dries up pretty quickly so we leave with the bikes empty and have a blast riding up the hills around. A wet dream for off-road bikers!

Heading to Mongolia

2006-08-02T09:34:00.000+05:30

We're back at the store, and as decided we mount the stator: it starts (with a good leg), “Russian mechanic good” as would say our friend Alexei. I go for a trial run to heat up the engine and check if the coil is resisting. The engine runs poorly, we’d have to retune the engine but then as I would drive slowly anyway it should be OK until we mount the new part, hopefully in Ulaanbaatar. Morale is up so we stop to say good-bye to Zene and bugger off to the border. Too late to cross it today so we pitch our tent a few kilometers before on a nice hill.

Trying the fixed coil

2006-08-01T09:36:00.000+05:30

Today we need to do something about these bikes, so we go to the store. Anders needs to fix a broken spoke on his rear wheel (taking the tire off by hand of course) and change oil. The guys there catch us and insist on us trying the newly fixed part. We're a little reluctant as the first try just blew up after 5 minutes, but they argue that the first repair was quick-and-dirty, but the new one is much better. Anders is a little bit afraid to see the spool break off in pieces and wreak havoc in the engine, possibly destroying it entirely. But then the fix does look better, so I decide we give it a try. Meanwhile I called Philip and have it send a new spare to Ulaanbaatar, as I would like anyway to have a robust one for the next days out in the wild in Mongolia.

We then go ask Zene out for dinner, and we have a nice chat with her and her friend on a terrasse, the weather is just fine.

Stuck in Ulan-Ude

2006-07-31T07:27:00.000+05:30

It's been more than a week in Ulan-Ude since my ignition coil blew up. We had the part sent just a week ago from Switzerland, but unfortuntely we found out that they used a TNT service that won't track it, and that it would take the regular russian post to Ulan-Ude! so it can take anywehere from a couple days to a couple months.. if it arrives at all, that is.

But we're also bored to death, there's nothing really to do over here. We tried a train trip along the Baikal lake, but it was cold and rainy.. not much to see. And the company we got on the train wasn't really of the same standard as the petrol station chicks we met entering Russia..

So we are ready to ask for (yet another) new part to be sent over to Ulaan-Bataar, this time using UPS or FedEx so that we know when it arrives, and Ulaan-Bataar being the capital of Mongolia, UPS and such have offices there. Pretty expensive of course, but better than another couple weeks in the hotel here drinking beers!

Question is, how do we get the bike there ? 3 options:
1/ try the original part that was rewound by a guy here. He already did it once, we tried it on and it was able to power the bike but only for 5 minutes, after which it broke and spilled its winding.. not so good for the engine I reckon. But that may last the 500 km or so until Ulaan-Bataar where we can mount a good one.
2/ have the bike shipped by truck to Ulaan-Bataar. May be expensive and tricky due to the customs.
3/ ship the bike up to the border only, then drag it across and make all the papers and find another Mongolian truck for a lift to Ulaan-Bataar.

We'll go and tak to a nice girl we met in a travel agency, who speaks well English (very rare here) and may help in getting our point through to the Russians.

Ulan-Ude by night

2006-07-30T09:38:00.000+05:30

First thing first, we phone Philip and find out where our package is. It's been 5 days (he sent it out on Monday) so we're looking forward to getting a tracking number. The one Philip gives us is unknown on TNT's website, so we call again. And then he explains us that it's a bit complicated because it went through the Swiss post to TNT and then.. to the Russian post! We’re a bit depressed to hear this as we translate that to "Lost in a black hole". We could well spend another couple months here waiting for this package that may never even make it to Ulan-Ude! Of course we're very much disappointed, because he could have sent it safely using FedEx or DHL, etc.. even if we have to go get it in Irkutsk (can do a round trip by train in 24h, no big deal) and cost us 100$ more (guess the hotel cost us more than that).

So we decide to consider this package lost and we'll ask Philip to send a new part to Ulaanbaatar where we bring the dead bike somehow, it's only 500 km. We could find a truck going there, or we could try the new spool that was wounded by the guy at the store; it could make it to Mongolia, and we could swap it with the new one when we receive it. And we would get our ass out of this shit hole!

We walk into a travel agency to try and find somebody who speaks (even broken) English and could explain to the guys at the store what we're up to and help us find a truck driver for the bike. Luckily we meet Zena, a girl who was in high-school in Philadelphia so she speaks English fluently. She's very friendly and explains us plainly that she's been here for 1 year and there is just nothing to do here.. I was thinking of renting an Ural (Russian side-car) for the week-end, but no way. You can't even rent a car! She suggests to go to a night club as it's Saturday. So there is one? Sure, it's called "Fabrica". So we go there, pay the 250r cover (10$) and walk into it. It's pretty expensive, and doesn't include a drink; but then the vodka is only 40r (1.5$) so getting drunk is never much of a concern in Russia.

Train around Baikal

2006-07-26T09:39:00.000+05:30

So we figure we could have the part toward the end of the week at earliest, so we check what we could do meanwhile. There's this circum-Baikal tourist train that's supposed to be very scenery, so we decide to take the train to Slyudianka and from there a ticket to Port Baikal. We arrive late, and it's cold (30 degrees in Ulan-Ude and 15 degrees next to Baikal, only 5 hours away by train). We ask a taxi driver for a hotel and he brings us to a place that's both a geological "museum" (ok, a random selection of stones thrown out on the pavement) and a hostel with little cabins (kitchen and living room but no shower).

In Slyudianka train station we find out we just missed the train by 5 minutes (that's what we figured) and that the next one is the following day.. so we decide to go to Arshan to kill time. Supposed to be a nice place in the mountains, and we find a bus going there in 3 hours. Indeed, it's very touristic (mostly people from Irkutsk), but not so interesting either.. we find a home stay for the night and take the bus back to Slyudianka to catch our famous train.

The bus leaves at 7h30 AM and it's cold and rainy. That’s a pretty miserable trip to Slyudianka, where after a couple hours we finally manage to buy a ticket. 37r (1.5 $) for a 5-hours trip, that sure isn't going to kill our budget. It’s a small train with just 2 passengers cars and a diesel locomotive. We start 30 min late, run for 10 min and stop for 1hour.. they change the locomotive and we can keep going. So we cross numerous bridges and tunnels, and watch people camping near the tracks wherever there's a flat surface.. even with that shitty weather.

We end up in Port Baikal, pretty uninteresting so we just wait there a few hours in the brand new train station (10r per hour to wait in the lounge with sofas, pool table and music). We meet a group of Germans who spend a couple days here.. wtf? we only spent a couple hours and we already want to leave! At 1:50 AM we climb in the train (pitch black, there’s no light in this train), lie in a bunk and go for a sleep. 37r for the night, that's OK!

Russian mechanics at work

2006-07-25T09:44:00.000+05:30

We show up at the store, and we find out the stator had been fixed meanwhile by the old guy with a new coil. The guys there are pretty proud of Russian mechanic skills, and would like to see it running. We measure the resistance of the coil and it reads ok, so we decide to give it a try. We mount it and lo and behold, it ran! It starts pretty badly, worse than before, but it starts. We figure it might bring us to Mongolia and have the new part shipped there instead. So after much cheering and kudos to the electrician who fixed the bike, we start to pack up and load the bikes. I keep it running idle as it is so hard to start (Anders manages it much better than me), and just when I'm about to put on my helmet and wave good-bye the engine suddenly dies (sounds familiar?). Kick-starting it makes a pretty bad rattling, so we figure there's something broken in there.

So we're back to square one: take off the clothes, unload the bike, take out the engine cover and... the coil just went lose in the engine. No wonder the engine won't run! We show this to the guy who fixed it; he nods and wants to redo it. We try to explain him that it's not worth it and we'll just wait for a new part. But we can see that he's not content with this failure and he just wants to do it again, better.

Back in town we meet Gino that we had already met in Listvianka, together with Suzi & Herve, on motorbike as well, and 2 German guys in a camper. We all go to that chinese restaurant where I manage to order something in Russian (which means basically a suprise menu for everybody).

Break-down

2006-07-23T08:09:00.000+05:30

We left Ulan-Ude very enthousiastic about entering Mongolia. A little more than 100 km and we would hit the border.

But only 15 km after Ulan-Ude my engine suddenly dies. As if I had turned off the ignition. That doesn't look very good, but on the other hand that's really our first break-down, so we pull over and we check the one part that we've been warned about: the ignition coil. Bad news: instead of reading the 200 ohm or so it shows aa an open circuit on the multimeter, so the part is dead. In a way, we figure it's best to handle it over here in a fairly large city (300'000 people) than in the middle on Mongolia.

Philip had warned us that, very seldom, this part can break without any warning, but usually it lasts for ever. So we didn't take the spare part as it was expensive and a bit bulky, and Philip said he can have it quickly sent anywhere in the world in case it breaks. And of course, the rule is, whatever spare part you take with you, it's another that breaks. So we better travel light.

Tough luck.. so we're back in town, towed by Anders. Stop at the first petrol station and ask around for a place where we could store the bike, do some mechanic and wait for the spare part to be sent over to us (with a few russian words and lots of gestures). Eventually a nice guy takes me with him by bus to a big automobile spare parts store, not immediately useful for me but I meet the boss and he kindlz offers me some help: send a truck over to the petrol station to fetch the bike and store it there. He also can have the part sent to him and tell me when it's arrived. I even borrowed his computer to send a mail to Philip to ask hinm to send the part ASAP, DHL or FedEx or so.

Then we leave with Alexei to the petrol station (and Anders waiting there) with his truck to bring back the bike. We quickly unmount the stator and show the guys around what the problem is (they're all very interested and willing to help). An old guy comes up, looks at the part, understands the problem and leaves with the part. We don't give it too much hope as this winding is very difficult to do right, and we rather wait for the orginal spare part. So we leave the bikes here and go find a hotel.

Baikal

2006-07-21T09:50:00.000+05:30

We have to see Baikal Lake, so we leave for this little town only 70km away. The temperature drops dramatically when we approach the lake (and the river Angara), and the weather is very cloudy. In town we find a nice B&B run by Irina, with Sauna and pool... we'll stay 2 days here, servicing the bikes (between 2 rain showers). We would like to go to Olkhon Island, but we figured it would be disappointing with this kind of weather, so we decide instead to leave for Ulan-Ude.

I guess when the hot and humid air comes in contact with the very cold Baikal waters, it builds clouds and often rain. We sleep in a kind of summer camp resort near Baikal, pitch our tent on the beach while dozens of people come by, sit on the beach and make a fire to drink beer.

Krasnoiarsk - Irkutsk

2006-07-17T07:10:00.000+05:30

The road from Krasnoiarks to Irkutsk goes from pretty good to.. no road at all basically. Some stretches it seems they just gave up on maintaining them, as there are huge holes that the trucks can barely cross. That’s just fine for our bikes, but you have to watch for those incoming trucks in front of you, because if there’s a hole in front of them when they cross you, they will move to the other side of the road and you better pull over or you’re just another casualty of the Siberian road!

Of course with this kind of roads the average speed is not very high, so we split these 1000 km in 3 days. The first day we stop in a little village and ask if there’s a place where we can pitch our tents. Nobody understands or knows, so we carry on. As we leave this little town I spot an abandoned house; we go have a look and as there’s a way to hide the bikes from the main road we settle down and sleep there. We’re also protected from the attack of the mosquitoes, something that Siberia is never short of.

The second night Anders insists on pitching the tent (I notice he’s very much into camping in the wild) and anyway we didn’t spot any hotel on our way, so he finds this lovely field for camping. He’s stops and turns to me, and by the time he’s finished saying “let’s stop here and pitch our tent”, he’s surrounded by so many mosquitoes that I can hardly see him.. so we decide to keep going until we leave that swamp. Finally we take a side track next to a cultivated field and end up in a nice place, where the mosquitoes are a little less present (but you still have a few hundreds around you at all time). The campfire doesn’t seem to bother them at all, and by sunset they launch a large-scale attack that see us retreating under the shelter of our tent.
Rain starts to fall during the night, which isn’t much of a problem by itself, but as we find out the next morning, the little dirt road that we took the day before had changed in a muddy, boggy mess that took us 1 hour to get through with our useless road tyres.

We had quite a long road to get to Irkutsk, and as we didn’t find any kind of hotel on our way we ended up at 2AM in Irkutsk, trying to find a hotel at a decent price. Of course when you’re tired you don’t search very long, so we ended up in a stupid tourist hotel, but it had a hot shower.. and was serving an excellent espresso!

In the Transsiberian

2006-07-13T07:02:00.000+05:30

We leave early to be at the train station around 8 AM, where our new friends (and our bikes) are waiting for us. It takes a couple hours to prepare the bikes (fortunately they had given up on requiring a crate), weight them and pay for it. They don’t speak any more English, but once they know what we want, the rest goes easy with some gestures and a handful of Russian words.
At 1:30 PM we board the train for a 3-days journey across Russia toward Krasnoiarsk. Our train is not one of the fast express trains that most tourist choose (it takes just 10h more on this one), but a “local” train where most travelers are Russians, which makes it all the more interesting. But we quickly meet this Dutch couple sharing our wagon, and later on a Russian girl who speaks English, and could translate some phrases for us.

The train stops for 10-20 minutes every 3-4 hours or so at a main station, which enables us to get out and stretch our legs, and buy some food and drinks from the kiosk or the local “baboutchka”. Hot water is provided in every wagon on a samovar (running on wood!), so we spend the day reading books sipping tea, watching through the window (trees.. and more trees), sleeping (a lot) and occasionally chatting with people (those we can understand). I must admit that it gets a little bit boring so we’re pretty happy to leave the train after 3 days. And it’s only mid-way the whole transsiberian!

We find our bikes and baggage all right in the wagon where we strapped them (quite relieved; we weren’t totally sure the cargo wagon was even part of the train), and with the help of the station guys we quickly unloaded them. Hooray! The hardest part is over, now we’re independent and free (well.. read on) .

Why Krasnoiarsk? some people called us crazy as that is where the road gets pretty bad. Well, that’s precisely why we skipped the former part: riding on paved highways is not our cup of tea. But the stretch from Krasnoiarsk to Irkutsk (1000 km) is another matter.
The city itself is not very interesting, but the little booths they set on the side of the Yenissei are quite enjoyable, and the weather quite nice. We spend a couple days here to relax and pack some food for the departure.

Bikes on a train

2006-07-08T14:24:00.000+05:30

We pack all our stuff and leave for the station. On Saturday the traffic is pretty light so we quickly make our way to the station. Too happy to reach it I just dash through a no-way sign, which of course immediately attracts a couple greedy cops who make an easy 2000 rubles (receipt? we ain’t giving no freakin’ receipt..).
We then try to explain why we’re on the platform with motorbikes, that we want to load the bikes on the train, and that attracts train attendants who then tell us no way, this train doesn’t have a cargo wagon.

So I wait on the platform with the bikes, while Anders goes with the guys in the office to sort things out. That took 2-3 hours, so I have time to chat with a few Russians very interested by our gear. Finally Anders comes back with new tickets for 2 days later, for another train that has a cargo wagon for our bikes. He explains me he’s been “discussing” in the offices, calling Gallia several times on the phone to translate back and forth between him and the Russians. Meanwhile a guy came to me introducing himself as a biker as well (riding a Glodwing). We chat a little bit as he speaks decent English, and he tells me he has a place to store the bikes while we wait for our train. It turns out to be one of the head train attendants in the station, but off-duty as he didn’t wear a uniform. He was around by chance, heard our story (guess it quickly made its way throughout the offices) and the bikers connection made the rest.

When we had our new tickets we left our bikes at that garage right at the train station (that seemed to be used for the personal use of the boss to store his bike and 4x4) and headed back to Gallia’s place where we met those 2 bikers, also invited by Ivan to stay at his place (coming from Croatia and Serbia). One of the guy is a professional video producer, and he is carrying his whole gear on his bike; a semi-pro HD cam, a pretty heavy tripod and even a light reflector and projector.. He found our trip interesting and insisted on interviewing us. So he started set up a whole video studio in Gallia’s apartment in the middle of the night and asked us to talk about our trip.. Crazy.

We spend the next couple days sightseeing in Moscow, the Kremlin, etc..

Moscow

2006-07-07T14:23:00.000+05:30

Ivan, my contact in Moscow I met on the Internet, told me we should come on the 7th to present our bikes at Moscow’s train station, so as to leave on the 8th, and because we lost some time on the way unfortunately we have to dash through St-Petersburg (not a single road sign indicating the way to Moscow in the whole freakin’ city, and it’s big!). We arrive late in Moscow but we bought a good map in a petrol station so I lead the way through Moscow to Ivan’s home. He happens to be out of town, but his wife(Gallia) is kind enough to offer us a room in her nice apartment. In fact she’s a little bored alone with her kid, so she appreciates our stay, and she’s happy to practice her English.

The next morning we leave with the bikes for the train station, which is on the other side of the city. We decide to take this ring motorway around Moscow, but it’s totally jammed from one end to the other: we end up making our way between the lanes (and the exhaust fumes) for about one hour until we reach the station. The first real challenge of our trip is to find a person who speaks a little English behind the dozens booths. After a few tries we understand that it’s not something that’s required to work on the capital’s main train station. Finally we bump into this nice lady who’s willing to help us, so she leads us to some booth where she gets us tickets for the bikes for such a low price that we don’t really believe it.. but what else can we do ? so we come back to Gallia’s place and we’ll find out tomorrow.

Leaving the west

2006-07-05T14:20:00.000+05:30

So, there we are, at the border between Finland and Russia. That’s where our trip really starts to get interesting. We left Denmark on July 3rd, after a BBQ party with Anders’ friends by a very fine weather (but the Danes warned me that I didn’t get the real Danish experience: it’s supposed to be cold and rainy; well, I don’t mind). Then a long ride through Sweden, spend the night on the deck of the ferry to Finland, and look around Helsinki for a good set of knobby tyres. Not very exciting really.

I actually crossed 4 countries without seeing any custom officer (Austria, Germany, Denmark, Sweden), and a very informal one in Finland (thank you EU) but now this is different: Russia means quite a bit of red tape. Of course they don’t speak English, and they don’t try to help you (except this young soldier who was bored to death) but the female custom officers are attractive and we have time, so eventually we enter this huge country spanning no less than a quarter of the earth!

First stop right after the border to get some petrol (half price compared to Finland), and we find a couple blonde girls very lightly clothed to fill up our tanks; as the saying goes, you don’t have a second chance to make a good first impression, and those Russians do it the right way..

Beta test

2006-06-28T02:54:00.000+05:30

Before leaving we had to try the gear as close as possible to the reality.. although of course when we really hit the road we found out we had some more to take.
To try and match the off-road conditions, in a country where off-road biking is not well received, our best option was to go to Bure, where the Swiss army tanks had already destroyed much of the land. On a sunday, we would sneak in and nobody would complain. After a little detour by St-Ursanne (a biker's hotspot) we arrived and met with Chris. We searched a bit and Chris found a nice place to pitch our tent, and of course have some fun in the rough proving grounds.
Anders decided it was a nice opportunity to check the tooling, so he took his wheel off and changed the inner tube.
This is why you never leave without your mechanic.. good job, Anders, now let's see if Chris has another cold beer.

On our way back I took the opportunity of showing off some of this wonderful country to our Danish friend.

'nuff said, the next best panorama will be in the Pamir, so stay tuned!