Greece is the word..

Woop woop! It is de sound of da Polis!

Day 44.

Now where was I.
Ah yes.
Did I mention Turkish driving is terrible? Might have done. Anyway.

****

Ramble fact 82.

TURKISH HIGHWAY CODE

When moving away from traffic lights, remember the correct sequence:

Message > Send > Manoeuvre


The fact is, you could beat any Turkish driver off the line in the traffic light grand prix, even on a unicycle. The internet has far more allure..

More ramble facts later.

****

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Breakfast is quiet. The place is quiet, the few people in the restaurant of the hotel sit in silence. The road outside is quiet. To cap it all the staff move around in the hotel like they are floating along. Very peaceful and pleasant.
The honey out here is something else.

Today can be pretty much summarised as ‘Riding through large towns on dual carriageways at high speed’. Contrary to recent experience, today becomes much more of a trawl along highway. Just Kilometre after kilometre of well developed and modern roads. It is fairly unremarkable riding but the constant coastal views to our left do make it interesting.

We have a break for an early afternoon and have the most delicious snack. I spied a local 650GS parked up there and so went in to explore. Only thinking of a drink, we ended up diving in with the food, which was fabulous. We sit and watch the locals trundle out of the mosque on the other side of the main road.

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A man happy in his work.

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Back to the road, refreshed for more of the highway. We join up with a group of Turkish bikers on assorted machinery. There’s some guy on a Super Tenere who stands repeatedly up on the pegs and bounces himself up and down on it repeatedly. It sort of looks like he’s trying to hump it. Erm, that is more than just a bit weird. As a group they don’t seem capable of riding at any consistent pace; either not particularly quick followed by very fast. They ride pretty recklessly; overtaking on the hard shoulder and riding anywhere and everywhere. Trouble is, we don’t seem to be able to get away from them and keep end up joining them continually, going past, then them coming past us shortly after.

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The novelty and curiousity value of this becomes very old very quickly so we stop for ten minutes at the roadside to have a break and let them go. Of course ten minutes later we join up with them again. How on earth is that possible? Fuckity fuck.

Fortunately the reunion is brief as they clear off and take a slip road south and so we’re free and continue the brisk running along the coast dual carriageway.

Approaching a section near a corner and there’s two fun-sized road cones, one with a small triangular sign saying ‘Radar’ on it. I see this and back off, but Brian doesn’t (he’s getting tailgated by a white Skoda Superb which is about a foot from his rear tyre.
About a mile down the road we’re both ushered in to a Police Checkpoint, along with the Skoda driver, who is sent on his way interestingly following a brief exchange with Turkiye Five-o.
The Policeman shakes both our hands intently and asks for documents.

Brian still has a paper licence. Five-O are baffled by this and this culminates in an additional rozzer who appears by climbing over a fence.

It emerges that I’m not getting collared, but Brian is, but my documents are needed as a handy reference to reconcile what features on Brian’s aged licence.

I didn’t risk a photo of Five-O as I’m not sure how they would have taken it. Instead, I photo the cut out car, which incidentally we’ve seen loads of as we’ve crossed the country.

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The fine was pretty small, although for a moment Brian through it was 235 Euros
Being the thrifty type, he almost has an aneurism :D
Happily it is not, for it is in local currency of groat. We gingerly ride on.

We decide we’ll quite likely fall short of the city of Trabzon tonight; by now its fairly late afternoon. We start looking not far outside in the town of Akcabaat. After not having a great deal of luck looking around we eventually are directed to a hotel in a side road for the main drag. It looks promising, large grounds, a large private car park behind a gate with a guard. When I say guard, what I really mean is a bored man in shorts and fip flops smoking a cigarette. But he knows how to operate the barrier. Which is nice. We go in. After our moment of high spirits thinking we’ve done well, it turns out the place is full. Bollocks. It is Friday night so maybe that is it. Anyhoo, we’re directed to the sister hotel, of which the manager just happens to be at this hotel.

We’re directed to a much grottier place around the corner with on road parking where a surly man behind reception greets us to gruffly tell us move our bikes a foot to the left once parked up. This appears to be for no apparent reason. He then spends an age on the phone before he will even bother with us eventually checks us in. Brian looks like he’s ready to have a pop.

After the delightful check in experience, the lift happily works and our room is right by it, so that is one plus. By now, I’m heating up, very hot and sticky and could well do with a rest. Hell, I could possibly even do with an imaginary beer, because that’s probably all we’ll get now we’re in deepest darkest Turkey..

I peel myself out of my gear and then head to the facilities. Whilst showering, and listening to a podcast, my phone drops to from the windowsill and onto the bathroom floor, shaterring the screen. Balls.

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Yes, just what I needed. Sigh.

Luckily, in my top box of spares I carry a spare Android mobile for just such an occurrence. This is one of those points where people who tell me 'I carry too much stuff' can feck right off :D

I fire it up my shiny but well used standby and using the wifi update the apps and get the phone ready. Everything is synchronised through google so it doesn’t really take very long at all to be back in the mobile phone game. The only downside is the thing doesn’t appear to be charging very well, but for now it will do - well it will have to.

After a rest darkness is upon us and we venture out to find a cash machine and some dinner. There are no street lights and its raining. The only illumination is from the headlights of speeding cars and the illumination from the shop signs and such. It feels a little like being on the set of Blade Runner.

We find some cash, have an adequate dinner, then try and find more orange juice. You can forget about a beer here.

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Until tomorrow.. :thumb
 
Rainy day in Georgia

Breakfast is included here. I’m up early. The breakfast room is a bit of a scrum; short people with pointy elbows, screaming kids a plenty, but it works as I’ve managed to sort music and podcasts on to my new phone and things become calm.

Out to the bikes and we continue east. We ride into through and out the city of Trabzon, where I treat the great Turkish public to a lesson on aggressive filtering with metal panniers. I’m in the mood. Roberto 1, locals 0.

Trabzon and its madness thins out and we are back to usual rapid dual carriageway stuff to exit the city.

We’re now getting closer to the border frontier. We pass what must be a thousand full size pictures of Erdogan, the Turkish leader, in a blue suit and on a red background, which are attached to every lamp post on the road. It starts to get boring and I’m happy to see the back of them. The frontier land continues onwards, with lots of big Turkish flags fluttering about. They like a big flag, and the big flapping red flags are quite impressive.

As we get closer towards the border, the dual carriageway finishes and we work our way from the shoreline up into a road higher up in the cliffs that works along the coastline.
It clouds over and begins to drizzle. A couple of kilometers or so from the border, we encounter a huge convoy of parked lorries and take care to navigate past. Nothing is moving and everything seems eerily deserted. It turns out these lorries are queueing, so goodness knows how long it’ll be taking those to get through.

Through a tunnel in the hillside, we’ve got to the front of the local Operation Stack and have emerged abruptly at the queue for the first checkpoint. I ask the man if we can filter up on bikes by miming what we want to do followed with friendly thumbs up. The response is a positive one so we tootle on and a break in traffic for a manoeuvring car handily lets us in right at the front. In a relatively brief amount of time we’re up to the window.

We begin the amiable ‘Let’s not get stopped’ charm offensive routine. Brian’s tactic is to immediately talk about Football, which seems to get everybody engaged. The fact he’s a Leicester fan is useful, for the plucky antics of the Foxes a couple of seasons ago means they’ve registered on the radars of folks in the backwaters of beyond. For me, after Brian, I then have to confess I’m a West Ham supporter, and this is greeted with sympathetic gestures and the hint of pity, which I’m well used to. I also have my plastic season ticket for the last season which is a good prop. I never actually used it to go to a game but as a prop it proves actually useful.

The important thing is though, that these tactics actually work.

Whilst waiting at one of the further checkpoints to do our routine we come across a frustrated looking German chap who is stood to one side by his alpine white WC1200 Adventure. He comes across for a chat. He tells us he’s been selected for an x-ray, and he’s been here a few hours waiting. No one, him included, seems to know what is going on.
Yikes. We only hope we’re spared it, which it turns out we are. Goody. Feeling slightly guilty we move on to the next stage.

The girl at the next window is sat very high up in the booth (mastermind assumes this is for the lorry traffic). She’s wearing a headscarf with her face uncovered. She has striking features, a beautiful smile and the most incredible blue eyes you have ever seen. It was reminiscent of that famous National Geographic photo if you ever saw it. I have to reach up to hand her the paperwork, like a toddler reaches upwards to mummy sat at the table. We both are having a chuckle at my exaggerated reaching. She struggles a little with my battered and now in bits V5 and I have to paddle the bike around so she can properly see the number plate. A colleague helps her with the detail and after some concentrated keyboard input everything is in order. We can go. “Where have you come from?” she asks. “London!” I tell her. “London” she exclaims, “that’s amazing. I would like to go!”

With that, one side of things is complete and we set off to the Georgian side of the border crossing. This part is a vast expanse, like a football pitch with several lanes and markedly different to the bottleneck Turkish side.
We’re directed to the far end of these many lanes with just a couple of cars in front we are up to the checkpoint; it must have been in under ten minutes.
Documents are shown and there’s very little fuss. The burly border guard tells us we need to buy insurance and points to kiosks and shops over in the melee over the border.

We’re through. We are now in Sarpi, Georgia :thumb

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The Georgian-Turkey border..

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Oooh, Georgia border Five-O.

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Things are kind of a chaos on the other side of the border. Buses, cars, taxis stopping anywhere, unloading, loading up with lots of people milling around. We find a place to stop amongst the chaos and Brian sets off to find insurance with me minding the bikes. The drizzle starts up again and gets slightly heavier.

This was my second Blade Runner déjà vu experience in 24 hours.

Whilst we’re waiting around I manage to break my tooth on a boiled sweet. Eek. It doesn’t instantly hurt so that’s a bonus. We’ll see how it goes I suppose.

Brian emerges with Insurance..

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… and then its my turn.

I arrive at what turns out to be a small office; a peculiar and amusing cross between a nightclub and a money change come insurance bureau. There are three young guys in there, smoking away and listening to loud dance music- generally having a ball. They cheerfully sell insurance and change some cash up whilst chatting football.

Apologies, the photo is a bit blurry but it seems kind of appropriate, I think my ears were bleeding..

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The insurance was pretty cheap for a week, something like fifteen Euros equivalent in the Georgian groat. Using my tried method of evaluating the value of a currency that is previously unknown to me, I ask the gents how many beers the remaining Georgian groats will buy me, at which I’m assured it will by me many, many of them. That’s a currency conversion I can simply understand, so I’m very happy, and of course it feels good to be back in a land of beers, wines and spirits.

Whilst we’re on the subject of insurance, it reminds me- I’ve seen lots of posts about in other countries that people haven’t bothered getting insurance. Let me say it now, in Georgia DON’T DO THAT. I’ll explain later.

It’s raining a little more now as we ready ourselves to ride into Batumi, which we decide to be our destination.

Prior time on my hand internet research told me that Georgia has the worst road safety record of all of the Caucuses. They’re not big on regulations and those that exist are pretty lax. For instance, they have no MOT, so if it rolls, you’re basically good to go. This accounted for some of the stuff we were to see here and in the coming days. Much of it wouldn’t be out of place in the film Mad Max.
The driving standard is assured to be also equally appalling, but to be honest its hard to tell after the tiring auto twattery that was Turkey.

The schlep into Batumi is that. A low speed, rain schlep. Mostly suburban and semi suburban riding in traffic. The rain has picked up and seems to have a calming effect. Batumi arrives in short order and provides an interesting skyline with many modern buildings and construction of future ones going on. We’ve seen nothing remotely like it since the towers of Istanbul.

We have no accommodation booked, so in the heart of things we spy a McDonalds. We drop in to see Ronald and loiter around the reception soaking the tiled floor and using the free WiFi. It is actually a pretty interesting place to be, I don’t suspect there are many McD’s in Georgia and there are lots of people around taking photos and posing for selfies. This is in addition to the usual lurkers you find in McDonalds, plus us a grubby pair, so it was interesting. It looks as though they had door staff of sorts but they were too polite I think to come and tell us to bugger off.
After fifteen minutes or so, and a bit of discussion on a decision, using our app we find a place tucked away but near the city so it seems. There are ‘Courtyard by Marriot’, Holiday Inns and other big chains in town but that’s just not what we are after.
Once booked Brian carefully uses Maps Me on his phone to pick our way through the streets to our destination. We don’t have maps on our GPS units anymore- they ran out in Turkey.

Our destination is on an unmade road in the city and we bumble through the rain filled pot holes until we reach a house with a metal gate. Credit to Brian’s navigation here. I haven’t seen a single street sign.

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The place, now found, doesn’t look particularly inviting; a house facade directly on to the ‘street’ but Brian finds a route in by an unlocked metal gate and discovers that looks are indeed deceptive. We’re given a very friendly welcome. After unpacking we’re told we can leave our bikes in the neighbours garden behind some large gates. Excellent and a really hospitable start. We get the warm ‘we’ve landed on our feet’ feeling.

We can part our bikes in the neighbours garden. Sweet!

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It gets better. We’re showed to a very nice self contained one bedroom apartment. Perfect and it works out at something like 20 quid a night. We decide it’ll be good to perhaps stay a few days to explore. The owners tell us to come down and join them once we unpack, so showered and changed we go and join them where they’re having lunch and want us to join them. It’s an all round fabulous experience. We eat and chat. The two sons speak English and translate for Mum and Dad. They pour wine- they have red and white- and both are incredibly tasty. We figure it probably should be- Georgians are the oldest wine makers in the world.

It turns out the wine is home made. The two sons show us around. They make it. Talented fellas.

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The Georgian sauce (plum derived as it happens) was remarkably tasty.

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Great hosts. Number one son and Dad.

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We spend hours sat there and the hospitality is first class. Whenever a glass gets to half way, one of the sons appears, like the shopkeeper from Mr Benn, and tops it up.

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A few hours spent. Musical accompaniment..

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The family, the two sons, mum, dad and Brian doing an impression of Eddie Cochran :)

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I’m feeling quite pissed by this stage. We could have sat there all night- but Brian and I break off, feeling obliged to see a little of Batumi on a Saturday night.

So we stumble off into the fading light of Batumi.. hic! :ChrisKelly
 
You’re meant to suck boiled sweets, ya daftie! :D
 
Great RR, looks like a cracking trip. Nice to be a bit random rather than all preordained from a computer back home before you have a feel for anything.
 
Cracking RR :thumb2 ,, must get back to Greece on the paraffin pony , loved it :thumb2
 
At this rate this’ll be a year long ride report! :rob:D
 
Where were we?

Oh yes. In Georgia. Before we get going again- I missed the opportunity to add a couple of photos.

The end of Turkey meant the end of the GPS… leave the road?!!

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Brian’s photo of the border captures a little more of the madness than mine.

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ბათუმში დაკარგული

Right, so where were we before the intermission? Oh yes, having found our digs and being plied with food and a vat of wine on a Saturday lunchtime, we’re now wandering out into the fading afternoon of Batumi, Georgia, feeling slightly worse for wear.

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We wander around here and there. My replacement phone from Mary Poppins’ Top Box has just a few percent of charge on it. It is semi-useless for navigating anyway, I’ve got no maps on it or offline data. Normally I have a good sense of direction, even using the beer compass, but this combination of freely flowing wine and zig zagging has left me pretty much in the unknown.

Trying to get some intel from the locals..

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I remember being told in the past “Never eat at a place where they have pictures of the food on the menu”. Don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see pictures of stuff.

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We stop and have a couple of beers in a mild haze :thumb

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Whatever it is, its slightly out of date.

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Signs of rain and looking a bit pissed.. :D

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After we leave the bar we wander more and get separated. It’s now very dark and raining hard. No steet lights, no street signs. Lots of people milling around. Blade Runner part 3.
I have no jacket. Just T-shirt, cargo shorts. I am soaked. On the positive side of things it is quite warm though so a bit peculiar.

I decide to use my time quite positively so pit-stop to have a haircut whilst contemplating my continuing search. The girls in the salon think I’m hilarious (or hilariously odd, they didn’t clarify).

Feeling refreshed – there’s nothing quite like a haircut – and with a new spirit of intrepid I begin my search again for the apartment. It doesn’t help that I haven’t got the address the place. I know it begins with a ‘K’ and sounds a bit like Kamikaze Street, but the verdict is no cigar for that.

Before the phone completely runs out of battery I switch it off. Eek.

Its now gone 10pm. after an hour or so more of fruitless wandering things really are getting late.. so I give up and go into a small hotel. The girl behind reception looks at my bedraggled state amusingly.

“Hello. Do you speak English?” in my best BBC accent, slightly slurred no doubt.
“Yes, I do” smiles the girl.
“I need a room please” I ask.
“Ah, yes of course” is the polite response.

“Passport?” she asks.
“I don’t have it” I respond.
“Where is it?” She asks
“It’s at my hotel” I say.
“Where is your hotel?” she asks with a pensive look
“Erm, you see, I don’t know” I say with a smile, chuckling at my own ridiculousness.

Fortunately for me I guess, she finds this all quite amusing and with a shrug, singly bypassing all of that needless bureaucracy, places the the form carefully back under the counter. I’m handed a key.
“Sleep well sir” she chuckles.

I actually do sleep well. I dream dreamy dreams of something or other.

:beerjug:
 
Sixty something or other Kamikaze Street

The following morning I wake quite early and am as bright as a button. I wasn’t expecting that. I switch my phone on and get several beeps of texts. Where are you..? are you alright..? are you OK? I text back and cross my fingers… it is sent… “No battery, need address”. Quickly, I get a text back with the address.

So, it turns out wasn’t actually Kamikaze Street but it was damned close.

I settle up for the hotel with a different bemused smiling reception girl who has obviously been tipped off about the odd guy in number 135. I make my way out into the morning. The sun is out and it’s a bright, clear pleasant day. With the power of new information I have the address now written down and look to find a taxi. I find said taxi, and it is at this point I realise that addresses, nor roads in Batumi are not the strong point of taxi drivers. They are strong on beaded seat covers and cigarettes.
He has to find two other taxi drivers who tell him where it is, with a third one bought in to the conference late on who points the other way and looks put out.

After the conference finishes, and a short cigarette break to inspect the front of the taxi, a ten minute ride is taken and the pot holed road of our HQ comes into view.

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I pay the taxi driver pennies and wander in to the apartment to tell a highly amused Brian of how the previous night events unfolded.

We hadn’t had a day off the bikes since Corfu and it seems like the right thing to do here.

We carried on developing some of our ideas we’d thought about on the road of late. I’d read about a ferry from Georgia which could take us back to Bulgaria, so Brian, refreshed, has decided to take a walk out to see if he can get some information.

I’m going to put my feet up. I lounge around for a while and watch Netflix.

Comfy digs.

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Many hours later Brian returns. After long slog he’s found the shipping agent (closed). In other news he’s been attacked by a dog that has taken a lump out his jacket, but fortunately not a lump out of him.

The agent will supposedly be open tomorrow so we will swing by again.

The following day we head off to see the shipping agent. It is a fair walk to the port and quite an interesting one at that. Trying to get to the agent itself yesterday was an achievement. Brian had been sent from the docks to one place, to another place, and eventually found the agent in an anonymous apartment building with minimal clues to what it was. No wonder he was gone so long.

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Craft beer pub “Georgia Style..”

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A pitstop for a pint..

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One of the only street signs in the suburbs of Batumi. No, really.

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An excellent lunch of pressed sausage roll.. with a pint, naturally :thumb

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The do-it-yourself veranda extension seems to be all the rage in these parts.

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There’s nothing quite like the quality of a Bosh boiler :D

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Somebody lives here..

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The suburbs are just a touch different to the flashy centre of town.

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So at least we know the ferry exists and runs from here – there it is over the back. (there was some information on the internet about it running from a place called Poti which is 50 miles or so North).

The shipping agency is in the anonymous apartment building with the Coca-Cola sign on the roof.

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One for the trainspotters.

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After the long walk across town we reach the place but it remains still closed.

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It says 10 until 6 but it isn’t open. This is all a bit of a puzzle. All part of the fun I suppose. eek.

We return back to our apartment. The owners son is really helpful and calls the number and gets an answer. We are to go back tomorrow.
 
It’s a good job you’ve got a good sense of humour, after that lot!
 


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