Friday 1 June.
I woke at 05-20, you know the feeling, you sleep light and can’t wait to get up and get yourself going… There’s nothing like starting a motorbike journey to make an early morning worthwhile! I had some breakfast, loaded the panniers onto bike (flippin’ heavy!), then the tank bag, the tank panniers and an Ortleib roll bag. I’d been faffing about with the luggage for the past week, and I was sick of thinking about it, I just wanted to go.
I rode to the local Asda for fuel, on the way I saw Rob heading for my street, resplendent in his new hi-viz flip front lid. First thing he asked when I got back is can I sign his Will! Although ultimately sensible, it left me with an uneasy feeling as we set off...
It’s hard saying goodbye (I thought I'd be away for a month), but as soon as the bike was fired up, and we rode out of West Bridgford, a weight lifted from my shoulders, and I knew we were on our way…
Hi Viz Tossers amuse schoolgirl...
Heading for the Tunnel, down the A1, I realized that my old R100GS (which I had had some reservations about), actually felt really good, although obviously heavily loaded. Knowing that you're leaving England, and heading for the mainland, never fails to excite me. The Tunnel was its usual efficient self; nothing like as much fun as the Ferry, but a lot quicker and certainly easier.
We left its stuffy confines, rode out into the sunny optimism of France, both wearing our hi-viz vests, (which we in fact didn’t need). There was (for me the Navigator on this trip) the eternal dilemma – big roads, or small roads. I chose the latter, riding towards Lille, then into Belgium, passing through small towns, sometimes on the Autoroute, and sometimes on country lanes.
I’d loaded ‘Archies camp sites’ Link onto my Garmin 2820, and towards the end of the day I headed off the route towards a farm campsite, in the back of beyond, just north east of Tournai. It was simple, there were few people there, but it was peaceful, flat and the landscape was oddly English.
People always thought I was German...
An untroubled Rob...
On various peoples advice I put up my tent a respectable distance from Robs massive dome, because of his apparently extraordinary snoring. After cooking a tin of beans from Dubai, and some basmati rice, we got an early night. I fell asleep to the sonorous, but not overly loud sound, of Robs snores…
Saturday 2nd June.
I woke early, aware that it had rained for most of the night, and that everything was soaked. Of course I’d have the pleasure of packing everything up wet. The first morning away always means that the easy packing at home has now become a comic struggle in a field, nothing fits, and the rationale seems to have been lost overnight. Nonetheless, after a brew of mint tea for me and Army tea for Rob (made on the Coleman petrol stove) that kick started my brain, it all seemed to begin making some kind of sense.
Breakfast...
We found the farmer (never an easy task) and on paying were surprised at how cheap it was. I had to check if the 10 Euros was for both of us, it was. I think he thought we were sharing a tent
Ready for the off...
Rob was determined to find something that summed up Belgium (never an easy task); I found this eccentric house, and under the watchful eye of a nosy neighbor, took this photo:-
The agenda was simply to ride east, so I got the compass on the face of my Nav. II and followed its direction. Soon we headed into Germany, the route going from Bonn to Frankfurt. Being a Saturday there were significant numbers of bikers out on their immaculate bikes, one couple riding identical big Jap. cruisers. The Autobahn was dull, but got us some miles under our wheels. Rob thought he has a slow puncture in the front tire, so his £2.99 compressor was pressed into service, not sure if it helped, but it’s the beginning of a lot of tire related hassle on this trip.
Later on, at an Autobahn stop, we met a woman touring solo on her GTR1400, heavily accessorized and running both forward and rearward facing real time video cameras… She was eating a bag of self-heating ‘all day breakfast’, which looked awful. She certainly loved her bike, and was heading to the 'Ring to give it a good thrashing...
Towards the end of the day we rode through central Frankfurt; the amazing ‘central business district’ skyline with its chrome and glass skyscrapers was awesome. In contrast was the ‘anti capitalist’ tent city spread out, rather neatly, in their lee, I though we could always camp there! Out the other side, and after a few ‘no way will I stay there’ campsites, we found an OK one by a lake, and booked ourselves in. It was the sort of place that has white picket fences round the static caravans, but we were knackered, and all was good…
Sunday 3rd June.
Up and at ‘em, eastern Germany beckons, so it’s on the road for another early start. This turns out to be the best days ride so far, with a definite feeling that Europe is changing as we go further east...
Two contrasting views...
Robs hi-viz helmet is always in my mirrors...
The pace is steady, and my bike feels good. Bayreuth comes and goes, and not a Wagnerian opera to be heard. We reach the border with the Czech Republic and I feel for the first time that it’s going to get interesting…
Immediately the atmosphere changes, the German feel has gone, and I know I prefer it here. We head for Plzen (where the beer comes from), but all we want is a cash point to get the local currency, there's no Euros here.
The town is beautiful, trams clanking along, and a Gothic Synagogue right by where we stopped.
No time to hang around though (why not?), and we were soon out and heading for our third campsite, another ‘Archies’ waypoint. It had a definite ‘Communist era’ feel about it, very down at heel, with rows of dilapidated chalets (all unoccupied), a kids playground straight out of the 1950’s, and a bar that mysteriously shut just after we got there…
Booking in was a laugh, the woman spoke no English, and so it was sign language and ‘brm brm’ noises to signify ‘motorcycle’. She cracked up, and I saw her tired and worn face explode into beautiful laughter. I used the rails on the side of the chalets to hang out the gear to dry, rain was becoming our constant companion. We ate, got attacked by swarms of forest mosquitos and as far as I can remember, were in the tents not much after 8pm.
Monday 4th June.
I wake up at some ungodly hour (05-00 I think), and it’s raining… again! We get some biscuits and a brew for breakfast (coffee for me, British Army instant tea for Rob). I load the bike, fire up the Garmin’s (the 2820 showing the map, and the Nav II showing the compass), and we’re off, into the vast central European forest…
It dries off by mid morning, so we stop up a track in the forest, get the Coleman out and have another brew, some bread, sausage and cheese.
I get a powerful sense of Alan, my late father, who would have done exactly the same thing, but from the back of an old Peugoet estate, rather than a motorcycle. First minor problem, the stuff sac that I put all my cables and power leads in (for phones, ipods, netbook etc.) also had a tube of superglue in it; and the top came off, gluing the whole lot together… A bit of time with a sharp knife and some electrical tape and order was restored, but a lesson was learned!
The eastern side of the Czech Republic was beautiful, but with a gloomy side to it too, the torrential rain didn't help...
Rob stopped to balance his Bings, complaining of rough running; he did mine, but they were still spot on.
We pass Brno (where the Bren Gun was from), and then into Slovakia near Trencin. My plan was to head into the eastern side of this country near Presov, where it’s much more mountainous and remote, but Rob wants to clear the rain (some hope!) and suggests we set our sights for Hungary.
I find us a campsite, with a kitchen, and space to dry our gear (and my Michelin map, which is falling to bits), and make some dinner. There’s a dormitory block near us, soon filled by the Slovak ski team, who have a good evening, Rob glares at these ‘youngsters’, and we’re soon asleep.
Tuesday 5th June.
Out of Slovakia, and into Hungary, heading for Budapest...
Rob’s been having trouble with his iPhone, which has given him the iPhone equivalent of the ‘blue screen of death’, and requires connection to a). iTunes, and b). the Internet.
Now as all you seasoned travelers know, the WiFi is the only reason to go to a McDonalds, so after dismissing the wonders of Budapest (the only entertainment being caught in the middle of a cop car trying to catch a cheeky super-motard style KTM through the traffic… he didn’t!), we pushed on. Anyway, Rob loves McD’s, so while I fired up the Asus netbook, he queued for a biker version of a ‘Happy Meal’. Eventually the phone was returned to its virgin state, and although Rob had lost all his Apps, numbers, etc. etc. he now at least had a working phone (but for how long..?). Of course my boring Blackberry was as solid as a rock…
It was about now that we started to see the huge number of trucks, and on the roads we were riding (2 lane A roads) they were a real presence. I’m sure that they weren’t restricted either, certainly seeming more powerful than the ones at home. We camped east of Budapest at the wonderfully named Puspokladany, a lovely site with its own ducks waddling about amongst small clusters of trees.
I took the opportunity to sort out my gear, did some washing and generally relaxed...
Weds 6th June
Rain, rain and more rain… In June I still think the weather should be good, but of course one has no such assurance. We cross into Romania, again the atmosphere changes; the driving becomes mean spirited, aggressive, and humorless. It’s all a bit depressing, and Romania really does start to grind me down.
Through towns the ‘Communist era’ blocks of flats start to get pretty much universal, sometimes there are several huge blocks built together, and they seem like whole towns.
The language barrier means that I can rarely get into any conversations; stuff like getting fuel is monosyllabic at best, the main problem (found all over Europe) is that people automatically assume I’m German!
The route took us south east through Romania, heading for Bucharest. To be honest, what with the truck infested roads, the terrible weather, and various other frustrations, I’m afraid that much of this day was lost to me.
By the end of it we were so raddled that the lure of a roadside Motel was impossible to resist. Rob had been having problems with his throttle cables, so after a beer he set about replacing them, with the help of a Romanian lad who gladly took away the clapped out set. Nothing gets wasted, he planned to use them on his bicycle...
The menu (not having pictures) was a complete mystery, so the chef invited me into the kitchen for an inspection of what was on offer. On the floor was a massive pot full of unidentifiable meat, on the stove was a pan of white beans in sauce, and on the counter a few salad vegetables. With a hearty ‘thumbs up’ we awaited our dinner…
It was great! More pork than I could eat, beans in paprika sauce, bread, beer, salad, and a crappy film on the TV on the wall. Later on, after crawling into my sleeping bag, the trouble started…
Robs extraordinary snoring left me terrified that he’d swallowed his tongue, and that I’d have to do some crude surgical procedure with my Buck knife to save him. It never came to that luckily, but sleep was sparse, and in the morning he complained about my snoring!
The moral of this is, middle aged men should not share rooms!
Thursday 7th June.
Bleary and barely rested we got back out on the road, Rob determined to find an alternative to the route we were on. A combination of factors led to him dropping back after a few km’s, and I resumed my normal position, up front.
A dodgy Truckstop provided a bottle of peach nectar for a Euro, the woman behind the counter possibly the most miserable person I'd met so far...
I had the feeling that things would improve once we got to Bulgaria, and they did! The atmosphere changed immediately we left the Border; the traffic thinned out, the aggressive drivers melted away, and suddenly the roads were good…
We came to an area of low mountains, the road running through endless pine forests, it was a classic motorcycling road, perfect hairpins, great road surface, and almost no traffic! Even as heavily laden as it was, the bike handled well on its Tourance’s, Rob was certainly less pleased with his tires, and rode more cautiously.
Needing supplies we rode into a small town, down long back lanes which got progressively ‘worse’ until it necessitated a full ‘up on the pegs’ riding style. We had huge potholes, gravel, dirt and sand; it was great fun. We parked up, and I bought tomatoes, cucumbers, red onions and a bag of black olives in a friendly small shop. There was a great atmosphere there, and under different circumstances I would have found a cafe, got a beer, and simply seen what happened...
As it was, we pushed on, more ‘enduro’ riding, and a route to another ‘Archies’ campsite. As sometimes happens, the waypoint proved to be illusory, perhaps it was a campsite years ago, but now there was nothing... We road down a track, looking for any sign of it, but it was not to be. Rob was for wild camping there, but we had no water, and it was pointless.
The next site on my list was in Edirne (in Turkey), so not mentioning our imminent border crossing, we rode another 60km onwards. A huge queue of parked lorries, km’s long, signaled our proximity to the border.
We checked out of Bulgaria, then rode up to the Turkish border, a massive set of buildings and booths.
After working out where we needed to go for our Visa, we got that, then started the process of showing our documents what seemed like countless times. Interestingly I never once showed the originals, but always color photocopies, and no one at any Border ever noticed. Rob was convinced that his Insurance was OK for Turkey, and had ignored my advice back in England to get himself a Green Card. So while I was being bitten by the virulent local mosquito’s, he was queuing yet again to pay the 60 Euros or so for his Insurance paper. As I waited a pickup truck with a massive anti mosquito smoke generator on the back, drove in and out of the booths, dispensing smoke.
By now the sun was setting, and I sat with my back against a concrete barrier listening to the call to prayer coming from the local Mosque.
Rob made it through eventually, and we rode into Turkey.
I was following the main road to Edirne, where there is a campsite run by (I was to find out the next day) a frankly bonkers woman, and her daughter. We got there, after a hairy U turn across the dual carriageway, and via another ‘false’ waypoint, in the dark. Tents up, stove out, and two cup-a-soups in my ’58 mug for dinner.
I was asleep in about a minute!
Friday 8th June
We spent the morning doing chores; this is when I ran into the mad Dutch woman, who intercepted me walking (in shoes) too near to her ridiculous (and empty) swimming pool. She let fly a deafening tirade of invective (and spit), which, as it was in German, I couldn’t understand. Anyway, we paid our money, packed up, and got out, onto a beautifully easy road heading towards Istanbul.
We found a small town where we stopped for tea…
Here Rob enjoyed a cuppa with the locals…
From there it was an ever increasing madness of traffic; Istanbul sprawls for km’s, and there’s one big road that everyone seems to be on. It really was more intense than anything I’ve experienced, and made London look like a sleepy village. The Turks don’t seem to be used to large motorcycles, and consequently accord them little respect.
Before I left England I fitted some very loud horns to the GS, and now I was really grateful for them… I'm sure they saved me a couple of times!
After what seemed like hours of defensive riding, in increasingly high temperatures, we got to the waterfront. We were finally there, and what better way to celebrate than with a kebab!
I woke at 05-20, you know the feeling, you sleep light and can’t wait to get up and get yourself going… There’s nothing like starting a motorbike journey to make an early morning worthwhile! I had some breakfast, loaded the panniers onto bike (flippin’ heavy!), then the tank bag, the tank panniers and an Ortleib roll bag. I’d been faffing about with the luggage for the past week, and I was sick of thinking about it, I just wanted to go.
I rode to the local Asda for fuel, on the way I saw Rob heading for my street, resplendent in his new hi-viz flip front lid. First thing he asked when I got back is can I sign his Will! Although ultimately sensible, it left me with an uneasy feeling as we set off...
It’s hard saying goodbye (I thought I'd be away for a month), but as soon as the bike was fired up, and we rode out of West Bridgford, a weight lifted from my shoulders, and I knew we were on our way…
Hi Viz Tossers amuse schoolgirl...
Heading for the Tunnel, down the A1, I realized that my old R100GS (which I had had some reservations about), actually felt really good, although obviously heavily loaded. Knowing that you're leaving England, and heading for the mainland, never fails to excite me. The Tunnel was its usual efficient self; nothing like as much fun as the Ferry, but a lot quicker and certainly easier.
We left its stuffy confines, rode out into the sunny optimism of France, both wearing our hi-viz vests, (which we in fact didn’t need). There was (for me the Navigator on this trip) the eternal dilemma – big roads, or small roads. I chose the latter, riding towards Lille, then into Belgium, passing through small towns, sometimes on the Autoroute, and sometimes on country lanes.
I’d loaded ‘Archies camp sites’ Link onto my Garmin 2820, and towards the end of the day I headed off the route towards a farm campsite, in the back of beyond, just north east of Tournai. It was simple, there were few people there, but it was peaceful, flat and the landscape was oddly English.
People always thought I was German...
An untroubled Rob...
On various peoples advice I put up my tent a respectable distance from Robs massive dome, because of his apparently extraordinary snoring. After cooking a tin of beans from Dubai, and some basmati rice, we got an early night. I fell asleep to the sonorous, but not overly loud sound, of Robs snores…
Saturday 2nd June.
I woke early, aware that it had rained for most of the night, and that everything was soaked. Of course I’d have the pleasure of packing everything up wet. The first morning away always means that the easy packing at home has now become a comic struggle in a field, nothing fits, and the rationale seems to have been lost overnight. Nonetheless, after a brew of mint tea for me and Army tea for Rob (made on the Coleman petrol stove) that kick started my brain, it all seemed to begin making some kind of sense.
Breakfast...
We found the farmer (never an easy task) and on paying were surprised at how cheap it was. I had to check if the 10 Euros was for both of us, it was. I think he thought we were sharing a tent
Ready for the off...
Rob was determined to find something that summed up Belgium (never an easy task); I found this eccentric house, and under the watchful eye of a nosy neighbor, took this photo:-
The agenda was simply to ride east, so I got the compass on the face of my Nav. II and followed its direction. Soon we headed into Germany, the route going from Bonn to Frankfurt. Being a Saturday there were significant numbers of bikers out on their immaculate bikes, one couple riding identical big Jap. cruisers. The Autobahn was dull, but got us some miles under our wheels. Rob thought he has a slow puncture in the front tire, so his £2.99 compressor was pressed into service, not sure if it helped, but it’s the beginning of a lot of tire related hassle on this trip.
Later on, at an Autobahn stop, we met a woman touring solo on her GTR1400, heavily accessorized and running both forward and rearward facing real time video cameras… She was eating a bag of self-heating ‘all day breakfast’, which looked awful. She certainly loved her bike, and was heading to the 'Ring to give it a good thrashing...
Towards the end of the day we rode through central Frankfurt; the amazing ‘central business district’ skyline with its chrome and glass skyscrapers was awesome. In contrast was the ‘anti capitalist’ tent city spread out, rather neatly, in their lee, I though we could always camp there! Out the other side, and after a few ‘no way will I stay there’ campsites, we found an OK one by a lake, and booked ourselves in. It was the sort of place that has white picket fences round the static caravans, but we were knackered, and all was good…
Sunday 3rd June.
Up and at ‘em, eastern Germany beckons, so it’s on the road for another early start. This turns out to be the best days ride so far, with a definite feeling that Europe is changing as we go further east...
Two contrasting views...
Robs hi-viz helmet is always in my mirrors...
The pace is steady, and my bike feels good. Bayreuth comes and goes, and not a Wagnerian opera to be heard. We reach the border with the Czech Republic and I feel for the first time that it’s going to get interesting…
Immediately the atmosphere changes, the German feel has gone, and I know I prefer it here. We head for Plzen (where the beer comes from), but all we want is a cash point to get the local currency, there's no Euros here.
The town is beautiful, trams clanking along, and a Gothic Synagogue right by where we stopped.
No time to hang around though (why not?), and we were soon out and heading for our third campsite, another ‘Archies’ waypoint. It had a definite ‘Communist era’ feel about it, very down at heel, with rows of dilapidated chalets (all unoccupied), a kids playground straight out of the 1950’s, and a bar that mysteriously shut just after we got there…
Booking in was a laugh, the woman spoke no English, and so it was sign language and ‘brm brm’ noises to signify ‘motorcycle’. She cracked up, and I saw her tired and worn face explode into beautiful laughter. I used the rails on the side of the chalets to hang out the gear to dry, rain was becoming our constant companion. We ate, got attacked by swarms of forest mosquitos and as far as I can remember, were in the tents not much after 8pm.
Monday 4th June.
I wake up at some ungodly hour (05-00 I think), and it’s raining… again! We get some biscuits and a brew for breakfast (coffee for me, British Army instant tea for Rob). I load the bike, fire up the Garmin’s (the 2820 showing the map, and the Nav II showing the compass), and we’re off, into the vast central European forest…
It dries off by mid morning, so we stop up a track in the forest, get the Coleman out and have another brew, some bread, sausage and cheese.
I get a powerful sense of Alan, my late father, who would have done exactly the same thing, but from the back of an old Peugoet estate, rather than a motorcycle. First minor problem, the stuff sac that I put all my cables and power leads in (for phones, ipods, netbook etc.) also had a tube of superglue in it; and the top came off, gluing the whole lot together… A bit of time with a sharp knife and some electrical tape and order was restored, but a lesson was learned!
The eastern side of the Czech Republic was beautiful, but with a gloomy side to it too, the torrential rain didn't help...
Rob stopped to balance his Bings, complaining of rough running; he did mine, but they were still spot on.
We pass Brno (where the Bren Gun was from), and then into Slovakia near Trencin. My plan was to head into the eastern side of this country near Presov, where it’s much more mountainous and remote, but Rob wants to clear the rain (some hope!) and suggests we set our sights for Hungary.
I find us a campsite, with a kitchen, and space to dry our gear (and my Michelin map, which is falling to bits), and make some dinner. There’s a dormitory block near us, soon filled by the Slovak ski team, who have a good evening, Rob glares at these ‘youngsters’, and we’re soon asleep.
Tuesday 5th June.
Out of Slovakia, and into Hungary, heading for Budapest...
Rob’s been having trouble with his iPhone, which has given him the iPhone equivalent of the ‘blue screen of death’, and requires connection to a). iTunes, and b). the Internet.
Now as all you seasoned travelers know, the WiFi is the only reason to go to a McDonalds, so after dismissing the wonders of Budapest (the only entertainment being caught in the middle of a cop car trying to catch a cheeky super-motard style KTM through the traffic… he didn’t!), we pushed on. Anyway, Rob loves McD’s, so while I fired up the Asus netbook, he queued for a biker version of a ‘Happy Meal’. Eventually the phone was returned to its virgin state, and although Rob had lost all his Apps, numbers, etc. etc. he now at least had a working phone (but for how long..?). Of course my boring Blackberry was as solid as a rock…
It was about now that we started to see the huge number of trucks, and on the roads we were riding (2 lane A roads) they were a real presence. I’m sure that they weren’t restricted either, certainly seeming more powerful than the ones at home. We camped east of Budapest at the wonderfully named Puspokladany, a lovely site with its own ducks waddling about amongst small clusters of trees.
I took the opportunity to sort out my gear, did some washing and generally relaxed...
Weds 6th June
Rain, rain and more rain… In June I still think the weather should be good, but of course one has no such assurance. We cross into Romania, again the atmosphere changes; the driving becomes mean spirited, aggressive, and humorless. It’s all a bit depressing, and Romania really does start to grind me down.
Through towns the ‘Communist era’ blocks of flats start to get pretty much universal, sometimes there are several huge blocks built together, and they seem like whole towns.
The language barrier means that I can rarely get into any conversations; stuff like getting fuel is monosyllabic at best, the main problem (found all over Europe) is that people automatically assume I’m German!
The route took us south east through Romania, heading for Bucharest. To be honest, what with the truck infested roads, the terrible weather, and various other frustrations, I’m afraid that much of this day was lost to me.
By the end of it we were so raddled that the lure of a roadside Motel was impossible to resist. Rob had been having problems with his throttle cables, so after a beer he set about replacing them, with the help of a Romanian lad who gladly took away the clapped out set. Nothing gets wasted, he planned to use them on his bicycle...
The menu (not having pictures) was a complete mystery, so the chef invited me into the kitchen for an inspection of what was on offer. On the floor was a massive pot full of unidentifiable meat, on the stove was a pan of white beans in sauce, and on the counter a few salad vegetables. With a hearty ‘thumbs up’ we awaited our dinner…
It was great! More pork than I could eat, beans in paprika sauce, bread, beer, salad, and a crappy film on the TV on the wall. Later on, after crawling into my sleeping bag, the trouble started…
Robs extraordinary snoring left me terrified that he’d swallowed his tongue, and that I’d have to do some crude surgical procedure with my Buck knife to save him. It never came to that luckily, but sleep was sparse, and in the morning he complained about my snoring!
The moral of this is, middle aged men should not share rooms!
Thursday 7th June.
Bleary and barely rested we got back out on the road, Rob determined to find an alternative to the route we were on. A combination of factors led to him dropping back after a few km’s, and I resumed my normal position, up front.
A dodgy Truckstop provided a bottle of peach nectar for a Euro, the woman behind the counter possibly the most miserable person I'd met so far...
I had the feeling that things would improve once we got to Bulgaria, and they did! The atmosphere changed immediately we left the Border; the traffic thinned out, the aggressive drivers melted away, and suddenly the roads were good…
We came to an area of low mountains, the road running through endless pine forests, it was a classic motorcycling road, perfect hairpins, great road surface, and almost no traffic! Even as heavily laden as it was, the bike handled well on its Tourance’s, Rob was certainly less pleased with his tires, and rode more cautiously.
Needing supplies we rode into a small town, down long back lanes which got progressively ‘worse’ until it necessitated a full ‘up on the pegs’ riding style. We had huge potholes, gravel, dirt and sand; it was great fun. We parked up, and I bought tomatoes, cucumbers, red onions and a bag of black olives in a friendly small shop. There was a great atmosphere there, and under different circumstances I would have found a cafe, got a beer, and simply seen what happened...
As it was, we pushed on, more ‘enduro’ riding, and a route to another ‘Archies’ campsite. As sometimes happens, the waypoint proved to be illusory, perhaps it was a campsite years ago, but now there was nothing... We road down a track, looking for any sign of it, but it was not to be. Rob was for wild camping there, but we had no water, and it was pointless.
The next site on my list was in Edirne (in Turkey), so not mentioning our imminent border crossing, we rode another 60km onwards. A huge queue of parked lorries, km’s long, signaled our proximity to the border.
We checked out of Bulgaria, then rode up to the Turkish border, a massive set of buildings and booths.
After working out where we needed to go for our Visa, we got that, then started the process of showing our documents what seemed like countless times. Interestingly I never once showed the originals, but always color photocopies, and no one at any Border ever noticed. Rob was convinced that his Insurance was OK for Turkey, and had ignored my advice back in England to get himself a Green Card. So while I was being bitten by the virulent local mosquito’s, he was queuing yet again to pay the 60 Euros or so for his Insurance paper. As I waited a pickup truck with a massive anti mosquito smoke generator on the back, drove in and out of the booths, dispensing smoke.
By now the sun was setting, and I sat with my back against a concrete barrier listening to the call to prayer coming from the local Mosque.
Rob made it through eventually, and we rode into Turkey.
I was following the main road to Edirne, where there is a campsite run by (I was to find out the next day) a frankly bonkers woman, and her daughter. We got there, after a hairy U turn across the dual carriageway, and via another ‘false’ waypoint, in the dark. Tents up, stove out, and two cup-a-soups in my ’58 mug for dinner.
I was asleep in about a minute!
Friday 8th June
We spent the morning doing chores; this is when I ran into the mad Dutch woman, who intercepted me walking (in shoes) too near to her ridiculous (and empty) swimming pool. She let fly a deafening tirade of invective (and spit), which, as it was in German, I couldn’t understand. Anyway, we paid our money, packed up, and got out, onto a beautifully easy road heading towards Istanbul.
We found a small town where we stopped for tea…
Here Rob enjoyed a cuppa with the locals…
From there it was an ever increasing madness of traffic; Istanbul sprawls for km’s, and there’s one big road that everyone seems to be on. It really was more intense than anything I’ve experienced, and made London look like a sleepy village. The Turks don’t seem to be used to large motorcycles, and consequently accord them little respect.
Before I left England I fitted some very loud horns to the GS, and now I was really grateful for them… I'm sure they saved me a couple of times!
After what seemed like hours of defensive riding, in increasingly high temperatures, we got to the waterfront. We were finally there, and what better way to celebrate than with a kebab!
