Road to Damascus
- Thread starter Pathologic
- Start date
Pathologic
Registered user
Jelly beans - no really!
Sorry for the interrupted report. Billy the Kid got in the way.
We did as advised and filtered bypassed the cars and squeezed in at the front for the exit from Bulgaria. This felt like the beginning of the adventure, although I was the only one who needed a visa and insurance so I would be drag on the company.
In the queue were Ali and his family. He beckoned me over and in broken English and jestures asked if I liked Turkey. It was amazing how pleased he seemed to be to see us visiting his country. I didn't like to mention that, at the moment, Turkey seemed to be a means to an end. Syria was in our minds and we were already behind schedule.
We emerged into 'no mans land' between Bulgaria and Turkey. It was clear someone expected this to be a popular spot. Lots of parking with no one in it and a big (tax free) shopping mall ( also with noi one in it). We kept going and parkled the bikes at the check point for turkey. I was sent off to get a visa whilst the others made there way thru, with only the bike import holding them up. At the kiosk for Visa I did my best numpty with no language act. Eventually, we sorted out the paperwork and the bloke offered me a cigarette. No I don't smoke. But its a good idea, so out come the jelly bellys I carry for an emergency sugar rush. They went down very well. Sevewral disappeared into his pocket. Then I had to hile back to the shopping mall for the insurance. Another ten minutes and I was back with the others for the impor and (importantly as it turned out) a vehicule licence plate check. One caller and one to enter the plate into the computer and we were good to go!. It took about an hour from start to finish.
So off we plunge in to Turkey. Having read a lot on here and elsewhere about traffic and speed limits and road quality. Well not to begin with. We find our way onto a newish autoroute. Three lanes of smart tarmac with no one on it. This was not like an English road with no one on it for a couple of miles. We did over 100 km without hardly a soul. The motorway just went on and on. We became bolder as time went on, riding 3 or 4 abreast. Mladen manged to work his camera out and took video footage and photos of us pratting about.
We found a fuel station and stopped. It was huge, well stocked and completely deserted!. We must have made their day. 5 bikes, one pump each and the attendants looked shocked. Getting fuel in Turkey is a bit of a rigmarol. First they take your number pplate and release the pump using a smart tag. Then they fill the tank, but of course with bikes its always a bit of fiddle to get the last bit in. Then you get handed a bill that you take to the till and pay. You then have to show the receipt to the pump attendant before you can drive away. Except we didn't drive away. Chi was brought, hot and bitter (maybe sugar is a good idea). Then the questions who are (CroATians), where are we going, how fast do the bikes go? and more. Many of the people we met had a link to the UK. Some time of study or tempoary work.
So onwards. The sky cleared and the wind picked up, then the Sea. The Medeterranean blue under a blue sky. I had ridden from THe cold North Sea to this beautiful view!
Suddenly there was more taffic and more to think out. We stopped to consider our location and agree rurles fro getting thru Istanbul. 'Try to stick together'
So this is where we came in. The sun sinking behind us and mad traffic everywhere. THe call of a hundred minerets.
As we are getting out of Istanbul there is a Toll booth. We need tickets to proceed. Most people seem to use smart cards or transponders. There are just two booths for 'cash'. We pile into the melee and push towards the front. People are out of their cars and arguing with a harassed looking official. The machines are obviously busted. Then there is a scrum for temporary tickets. So English reserve is set aside and I elbow my way in and grab some tickets for us.
Its getting dark so we pick on Izmit as our stop over. There is no point getting into the mountains with nowhere to stay. THe Sat Nav is still working well and points us at yet another five star hotel. Oh well. So I go and chat up the manager who is, of course, from Bromley
30 Euros secures each of us a bed for the night and breakfast. We walk 2 miles through an industrial estate to a retail outlet for admittedly cheap and tasty kebabs. No exactly the exotic orient, but getting better.
The following day looked like being another long one.
Sorry for the interrupted report. Billy the Kid got in the way.
We did as advised and filtered bypassed the cars and squeezed in at the front for the exit from Bulgaria. This felt like the beginning of the adventure, although I was the only one who needed a visa and insurance so I would be drag on the company.
In the queue were Ali and his family. He beckoned me over and in broken English and jestures asked if I liked Turkey. It was amazing how pleased he seemed to be to see us visiting his country. I didn't like to mention that, at the moment, Turkey seemed to be a means to an end. Syria was in our minds and we were already behind schedule.
We emerged into 'no mans land' between Bulgaria and Turkey. It was clear someone expected this to be a popular spot. Lots of parking with no one in it and a big (tax free) shopping mall ( also with noi one in it). We kept going and parkled the bikes at the check point for turkey. I was sent off to get a visa whilst the others made there way thru, with only the bike import holding them up. At the kiosk for Visa I did my best numpty with no language act. Eventually, we sorted out the paperwork and the bloke offered me a cigarette. No I don't smoke. But its a good idea, so out come the jelly bellys I carry for an emergency sugar rush. They went down very well. Sevewral disappeared into his pocket. Then I had to hile back to the shopping mall for the insurance. Another ten minutes and I was back with the others for the impor and (importantly as it turned out) a vehicule licence plate check. One caller and one to enter the plate into the computer and we were good to go!. It took about an hour from start to finish.
So off we plunge in to Turkey. Having read a lot on here and elsewhere about traffic and speed limits and road quality. Well not to begin with. We find our way onto a newish autoroute. Three lanes of smart tarmac with no one on it. This was not like an English road with no one on it for a couple of miles. We did over 100 km without hardly a soul. The motorway just went on and on. We became bolder as time went on, riding 3 or 4 abreast. Mladen manged to work his camera out and took video footage and photos of us pratting about.
We found a fuel station and stopped. It was huge, well stocked and completely deserted!. We must have made their day. 5 bikes, one pump each and the attendants looked shocked. Getting fuel in Turkey is a bit of a rigmarol. First they take your number pplate and release the pump using a smart tag. Then they fill the tank, but of course with bikes its always a bit of fiddle to get the last bit in. Then you get handed a bill that you take to the till and pay. You then have to show the receipt to the pump attendant before you can drive away. Except we didn't drive away. Chi was brought, hot and bitter (maybe sugar is a good idea). Then the questions who are (CroATians), where are we going, how fast do the bikes go? and more. Many of the people we met had a link to the UK. Some time of study or tempoary work.
So onwards. The sky cleared and the wind picked up, then the Sea. The Medeterranean blue under a blue sky. I had ridden from THe cold North Sea to this beautiful view!
Suddenly there was more taffic and more to think out. We stopped to consider our location and agree rurles fro getting thru Istanbul. 'Try to stick together'
So this is where we came in. The sun sinking behind us and mad traffic everywhere. THe call of a hundred minerets.
As we are getting out of Istanbul there is a Toll booth. We need tickets to proceed. Most people seem to use smart cards or transponders. There are just two booths for 'cash'. We pile into the melee and push towards the front. People are out of their cars and arguing with a harassed looking official. The machines are obviously busted. Then there is a scrum for temporary tickets. So English reserve is set aside and I elbow my way in and grab some tickets for us.
Its getting dark so we pick on Izmit as our stop over. There is no point getting into the mountains with nowhere to stay. THe Sat Nav is still working well and points us at yet another five star hotel. Oh well. So I go and chat up the manager who is, of course, from Bromley
30 Euros secures each of us a bed for the night and breakfast. We walk 2 miles through an industrial estate to a retail outlet for admittedly cheap and tasty kebabs. No exactly the exotic orient, but getting better.
The following day looked like being another long one.
Pathologic
Registered user
Izmit to Adana
So we are now a day adrift from our hopes and plans. But so what. THere is most of Turkey still to do. But breakfast at the Hotel Grand Yukslis is quite grand, so its not exactly and early start. Its also been raining so no one wants to get going. Not even the bride and groom. I wonder if they would like a motorcycle escort
The urban area quickly fallsbehind us and we start to climb and climb. THe rain petters out (it will be back!) and we follw a narrow valley up to a dark tunnel. the roads are fast and fun with just a bit of slipperness. Time for a stretch. Stand up, stand on one leg, then the other. Sit down. Suddenly Philip is trying to get me stop.
Apparently something fell out whilst I was jigging about. Check Testicals, wallet, watch, passport. All present and correct. 'It was read and fell out of your rear pocket. So no more jelly beans, now how am I going to get through the borders Not worth going back for. So fuel stop and then press on.
On we ride, past Ankara and then the roads change. THe E 80 becomes a batter single carriage way dotted with trucks, mad mercs and potholes (particularly potholes). We stop for food and fags. Danilo persuades the local valet to hose down the GSA with him still on it ( I told you the Croatians were made). Our travel rate gets slower even though the land gets flatter and the horrizon gets a lot further away. We stop fdor photos at Tuz Golu.
Its a vast salt lake that the road follows for 100s of kilometres. Full of water now, but completely dry in the summer. As we stop the trader in the layby gestures for us to move on to the gravel (for safety or the rozzers I do know and he could say in english). Still smiles and hanshakes follow. What is he selling?
Walnuts, in five differnet grades. Okay then, what are they like? He cracks one on the side of the truck (hard man). Yes they are good. Why not.
Every 10 seconds another truck rolls by, it would send me mental if I had to be here all day. Every two minuts one sounds his horn and waves. So we end up taking turns to wave back.
Onwards, another fuel stop in Aksaray (with chi naturally). The town is dominated by a snow topped volcano (Mount Hasan)
.
Its getting late and there is no significant town after Aksaray until we get to Adana. So we think we can make it, even though its still over 200 km.. Danilo asks if we can visit Tarsus since this is the Road to Damascus trip. Well there is not much at Tarsus. Paul grew up there, but didn't go back much. Its out of our way. Adana is better. 
Danilo, finally asks me straight out. 'So you are religeous are you?' Rats, I was trying to be undercover. 
The plain goes on and the rain returns. showery and with wind. I start to think of alternatives. There are lots of fuel stops, so lets go and beg a corner of some foreign field to pitch our tents and sleep up here. Its got to be better than decending through the mountains up ahead in rain and fading light.
I am ready to stop everyone, when there is a new road ahead. 8 km of road works and then a modern autoroute literally through the mountains. Little traffic, so I take the lead and push on at stupid speeds through more tunnels than I can count. Down and down we go I think we did 120 miles down hill. IO though we were decending into hell. Rain and traffic make it difficult to stay together. Danilo is leading. He sees a sign for Tarsus before Adana, so thats where we go. When we reach the final toll, he is shaken and stressed. I am too tired to listen.
Into Tarsus to the one hotel that our GPS know of. Except each GPS takes a different route. I arrive alone and first great). The others appear watch out for the wet marble on the apron
, just as I discover that the hotel is full
The manager speaks english well (studdied on Birmingham and has the accent). He directs us to another hotel at Adana airport. 40 minutes along a busy main road in the dark and the wet with road works.
Too tired even to want to eat. Settle down with Danilo's lap top to email, back up photos and try to get my new video camera to down load its stuff.
Tomorrow Syria.
So we are now a day adrift from our hopes and plans. But so what. THere is most of Turkey still to do. But breakfast at the Hotel Grand Yukslis is quite grand, so its not exactly and early start. Its also been raining so no one wants to get going. Not even the bride and groom. I wonder if they would like a motorcycle escort
The urban area quickly fallsbehind us and we start to climb and climb. THe rain petters out (it will be back!) and we follw a narrow valley up to a dark tunnel. the roads are fast and fun with just a bit of slipperness. Time for a stretch. Stand up, stand on one leg, then the other. Sit down. Suddenly Philip is trying to get me stop.
Apparently something fell out whilst I was jigging about. Check Testicals, wallet, watch, passport. All present and correct. 'It was read and fell out of your rear pocket. So no more jelly beans, now how am I going to get through the borders Not worth going back for. So fuel stop and then press on. On we ride, past Ankara and then the roads change. THe E 80 becomes a batter single carriage way dotted with trucks, mad mercs and potholes (particularly potholes). We stop for food and fags. Danilo persuades the local valet to hose down the GSA with him still on it ( I told you the Croatians were made). Our travel rate gets slower even though the land gets flatter and the horrizon gets a lot further away. We stop fdor photos at Tuz Golu.
Its a vast salt lake that the road follows for 100s of kilometres. Full of water now, but completely dry in the summer. As we stop the trader in the layby gestures for us to move on to the gravel (for safety or the rozzers I do know and he could say in english). Still smiles and hanshakes follow. What is he selling?
Walnuts, in five differnet grades. Okay then, what are they like? He cracks one on the side of the truck (hard man). Yes they are good. Why not.
Every 10 seconds another truck rolls by, it would send me mental if I had to be here all day. Every two minuts one sounds his horn and waves. So we end up taking turns to wave back.
Onwards, another fuel stop in Aksaray (with chi naturally). The town is dominated by a snow topped volcano (Mount Hasan)
Its getting late and there is no significant town after Aksaray until we get to Adana. So we think we can make it, even though its still over 200 km.
. Danilo asks if we can visit Tarsus since this is the Road to Damascus trip. Well there is not much at Tarsus. Paul grew up there, but didn't go back much. Its out of our way. Adana is better. Danilo, finally asks me straight out. 'So you are religeous are you?' Rats, I was trying to be undercover. The plain goes on and the rain returns. showery and with wind. I start to think of alternatives. There are lots of fuel stops, so lets go and beg a corner of some foreign field to pitch our tents and sleep up here. Its got to be better than decending through the mountains up ahead in rain and fading light.
I am ready to stop everyone, when there is a new road ahead. 8 km of road works and then a modern autoroute literally through the mountains. Little traffic, so I take the lead and push on at stupid speeds through more tunnels than I can count. Down and down we go I think we did 120 miles down hill. IO though we were decending into hell. Rain and traffic make it difficult to stay together. Danilo is leading. He sees a sign for Tarsus before Adana, so thats where we go. When we reach the final toll, he is shaken and stressed. I am too tired to listen.
Into Tarsus to the one hotel that our GPS know of. Except each GPS takes a different route. I arrive alone and first great). The others appear watch out for the wet marble on the apron
, just as I discover that the hotel is fullThe manager speaks english well (studdied on Birmingham and has the accent
). He directs us to another hotel at Adana airport. 40 minutes along a busy main road in the dark and the wet with road works. Too tired even to want to eat. Settle down with Danilo's lap top to email, back up photos and try to get my new video camera to down load its stuff.
Tomorrow Syria.
Invicta Moto
Registered user
Superb trip tale. Keep going!
Pathologic
Registered user
Syrian border (out of) control
So the day began with the usual, pack up and go. My sat nav took us through a wet and chaotic Adana on to the autoroute. Aleppo was not that far.
Very quickly the rain fell behind us and we were treated to beautiful views of the fag end of the Med. The land was low scrubland and full of flowers. Just great. To add to the mood, we found our first signs for Aleppo, our target in Syria.
Again the road was top notch and the price of fuel sky high. Looking back 18 litres costing about £28. This was the time time the bike excelled itself. 230 miles on a single tank with 2+ litres left. Of course this was partly explained by the number of miles where the wheels were driving the engine as we descended to the coast.
At Iskanderum the auto route was replaced by a fast dual carriageway that climbed steeply up a mountain through narrow villages. It was busy with traffic. When we reached the top a wide valley was below us, almost unaturally flat and green. The road snaked down via a series of wide hairpins. Fun was had by all. Have a look here <http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=Iskenderun,+Turkey&sll=36.479276,36.314621&sspn=0.372674,0.614548&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=%C4%B0skenderun,+Turkey&ll=36.479138,36.275997&spn=0.093169,0.153637&z=13>
This is where the middle East begins (a.
Once on the plain we turned towards the Syrian border at Reyhenli. It was all single carrigeway roads, in poor condition and busy. Lots of fun keeping the pace going. It was also hot. The plain was full of market gardens and poly tunnels. I wondered how much of this stuff finds its way to
Riding into Reyhenli we stop just inside the limits aof the town to check our bearings. The GPS are towards the end of thei useful maps. In a small garage at the side of the road were Mustafa and his young son. The lad was gob smacked by us and the bikes. Mustafa was quick to bring bottled water out. It was good to talk to him about his family and garden (hand jestures mainly).
Then on to the Turkish checkpoint and what turned out to be a marathon crossing, with some lighter moments. So first off get out of Turkey. Not as easy as we thought. Danilo's name was on both his and Philip's registration document (triptic). This always caused a double take, since Philip had the same surname . The registration plates for both their bikes had an 0 (zero) before the ZG. This had been recorded as an O (as in Oh dear) Danilo was invited to talk to the 'intelligence' department....Twice. We were all very concerned and checked for evidence of water boarding. Since there wasn't any the assumption was that other means of tresolution had been used. 
so off into no man's land. This time a brilliant bit of road thru a dry valley. Except, since no one owned it the tarmac was crap. Arriving at the Strian border we were immediately adopted by Sammy. Literally he was there as I got off my bike. As everyone in Syria said 'You are welcome'. The details of how to cross the border are in the middle East section. Sammy was quite right in saying we needed help. All the paperwork is manual and in Arabic. No computers. No here I want to talk about Sammy and his friends.
They had an office that seemed to be the tourist board, although no one else came and asked the a question. They were friendly and spoke good English. Sammy knew eveyone in the border offices and semed to have a history (good and bad) with many. On the face of it he was straight with us. THere was a fixed price for the bike import and insurance, and he asked know more. Nowhere was there written confirmation of the cost in English, so he might have been on commission. They were friendly and interested in us. We swapped family details. He was fascinated that my daughter is thinking of going to Damascus to study archeology and emerse herself in Arabic. His son works in archeology. Hannah should ring him when she arrives
. As I found several times, people take an interest in my job. So i find myself trying to explain cancer epidemiolgy in simple terms and listen to everyone's pet theories as to why giving up smoking is not important to reduce the risk of gettinig cancer. Still it passed the time, and there was a lot of time to pass. About 4 hours.
Finally we had visas, stamps, import forms, various receipts and one final stamp from a guy whliterally picked the stamp out of his pocket The remaining barrier was the traffic. THe place was heaving. Sammy suggested we use the raised payment. This was fine except for the 20 cm edging and the fact that it was narrower than a GS. Oh well, we've come this far. Remember confidence, once you start don't stop. Edging along the narrow strip of concrete with only one foot able to steady the bike is not good for the bottom. It felt good when we were down the other side and in Syria
So off on very mixed roads for the hour or so it took to drive in to Aleppo. Lots of traffic in Aleppo, with very little control, but oddly civilised. W had to stop to ask directions. We wanted the Hotel Baron. Not only did it have parking, but was famous as the place T.E.Lawrence stayed in Aleppo. the traffic got busier.
Eventually we found the Sheraton hotel and the famous clock tower. THat was enough. We parked up on the pavement and celebrated our arrival in Syria and day 6 on the road for me.
Aleppo the RTD riders have arrived!
So the day began with the usual, pack up and go. My sat nav took us through a wet and chaotic Adana on to the autoroute. Aleppo was not that far.
Very quickly the rain fell behind us and we were treated to beautiful views of the fag end of the Med. The land was low scrubland and full of flowers. Just great. To add to the mood, we found our first signs for Aleppo, our target in Syria.
Again the road was top notch and the price of fuel sky high. Looking back 18 litres costing about £28. This was the time time the bike excelled itself. 230 miles on a single tank with 2+ litres left. Of course this was partly explained by the number of miles where the wheels were driving the engine as we descended to the coast.
At Iskanderum the auto route was replaced by a fast dual carriageway that climbed steeply up a mountain through narrow villages. It was busy with traffic. When we reached the top a wide valley was below us, almost unaturally flat and green. The road snaked down via a series of wide hairpins. Fun was had by all. Have a look here <http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=Iskenderun,+Turkey&sll=36.479276,36.314621&sspn=0.372674,0.614548&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=%C4%B0skenderun,+Turkey&ll=36.479138,36.275997&spn=0.093169,0.153637&z=13>
This is where the middle East begins (a.
Once on the plain we turned towards the Syrian border at Reyhenli. It was all single carrigeway roads, in poor condition and busy. Lots of fun keeping the pace going. It was also hot. The plain was full of market gardens and poly tunnels. I wondered how much of this stuff finds its way to
Riding into Reyhenli we stop just inside the limits aof the town to check our bearings. The GPS are towards the end of thei useful maps. In a small garage at the side of the road were Mustafa and his young son. The lad was gob smacked by us and the bikes. Mustafa was quick to bring bottled water out. It was good to talk to him about his family and garden (hand jestures mainly).
Then on to the Turkish checkpoint and what turned out to be a marathon crossing, with some lighter moments. So first off get out of Turkey. Not as easy as we thought. Danilo's name was on both his and Philip's registration document (triptic). This always caused a double take, since Philip had the same surname . The registration plates for both their bikes had an 0 (zero) before the ZG. This had been recorded as an O (as in Oh dear
) Danilo was invited to talk to the 'intelligence' department....Twice. We were all very concerned and checked for evidence of water boarding. Since there wasn't any the assumption was that other means of tresolution had been used. so off into no man's land. This time a brilliant bit of road thru a dry valley. Except, since no one owned it the tarmac was crap. Arriving at the Strian border we were immediately adopted by Sammy. Literally he was there as I got off my bike. As everyone in Syria said 'You are welcome'. The details of how to cross the border are in the middle East section. Sammy was quite right in saying we needed help. All the paperwork is manual and in Arabic. No computers. No here I want to talk about Sammy and his friends.
They had an office that seemed to be the tourist board, although no one else came and asked the a question. They were friendly and spoke good English. Sammy knew eveyone in the border offices and semed to have a history (good and bad) with many. On the face of it he was straight with us. THere was a fixed price for the bike import and insurance, and he asked know more. Nowhere was there written confirmation of the cost in English, so he might have been on commission. They were friendly and interested in us. We swapped family details. He was fascinated that my daughter is thinking of going to Damascus to study archeology and emerse herself in Arabic. His son works in archeology. Hannah should ring him when she arrives
. As I found several times, people take an interest in my job. So i find myself trying to explain cancer epidemiolgy in simple terms and listen to everyone's pet theories as to why giving up smoking is not important to reduce the risk of gettinig cancer. Still it passed the time, and there was a lot of time to pass. About 4 hours. Finally we had visas, stamps, import forms, various receipts and one final stamp from a guy whliterally picked the stamp out of his pocket
The remaining barrier was the traffic. THe place was heaving. Sammy suggested we use the raised payment. This was fine except for the 20 cm edging and the fact that it was narrower than a GS. Oh well, we've come this far. Remember confidence, once you start don't stop. Edging along the narrow strip of concrete with only one foot able to steady the bike is not good for the bottom. It felt good when we were down the other side and in Syria
So off on very mixed roads for the hour or so it took to drive in to Aleppo. Lots of traffic in Aleppo, with very little control, but oddly civilised. W had to stop to ask directions. We wanted the Hotel Baron. Not only did it have parking, but was famous as the place T.E.Lawrence stayed in Aleppo. the traffic got busier.
Eventually we found the Sheraton hotel and the famous clock tower. THat was enough. We parked up on the pavement and celebrated our arrival in Syria and day 6 on the road for me.
Aleppo the RTD riders have arrived!
An interesting read, Pathologic. Thanks
Pathologic
Registered user
Aleppo in pictures (mainly)
Hotel Baron
THis distinctly seedy hotel was full of history. T.E Lawrence stayed here and King Faisel declare Syrian Independence in 1920. I think the bathroom must have been used by Lawrence himeself
GS alternative? Only 1000 Euros to you. I suggested he give me 1000 Euros and I would take it away
This looked a lot less at the time
There were a surprizingly large number of alcohol kiosks in Aleppo. I discovered that they were largely run by Christians. The old man I talked to was very keen to tell me how nice to Christian the President is OK.
On Tuesdays the citadel is shut like all other government buildings and museums, except that shut is a relative word, and for an extra 50 Syrian we were given access if not exclusive access
The view was pretty good.
The next day we planned to visit three ancient sites. Qat al Jabbar, Ar Raffar and Palmyra. Simples
Hotel Baron
THis distinctly seedy hotel was full of history. T.E Lawrence stayed here and King Faisel declare Syrian Independence in 1920. I think the bathroom must have been used by Lawrence himeself
GS alternative? Only 1000 Euros to you. I suggested he give me 1000 Euros and I would take it away
This looked a lot less
at the timeThere were a surprizingly large number of alcohol kiosks in Aleppo. I discovered that they were largely run by Christians. The old man I talked to was very keen to tell me how nice to Christian the President is
OK.On Tuesdays the citadel is shut like all other government buildings and museums, except that shut is a relative word, and for an extra 50 Syrian we were given access if not exclusive access
The view was pretty good.The next day we planned to visit three ancient sites. Qat al Jabbar, Ar Raffar and Palmyra. Simples
Pathologic
Registered user
A Couple more pictures
Middle Eastern care in the community. Seems beter than some of the waiting rooms for the morgue that I have visited. We were sat on the steps in frontof these gentlement when I blind man walked towards us. We got up and moved out of his way. Without any assistance he helped himself to water from the dispenser and then made his way to a seat. Very impressive.
This is one of the few ladees apparel shops I could post.
Random thoughts as we wandered the souk. When do they where this stuff? how come the vendors are always men? Who does the measuring
Probably been away from the missus too long at this point. Think about something else.
Another oneo fthe citadel.
Middle Eastern care in the community. Seems beter than some of the waiting rooms for the morgue that I have visited. We were sat on the steps in frontof these gentlement when I blind man walked towards us. We got up and moved out of his way. Without any assistance he helped himself to water from the dispenser and then made his way to a seat. Very impressive.
This is one of the few ladees apparel shops I could post.
Random thoughts as we wandered the souk. When do they where this stuff? how come the vendors are always men? Who does the measuring Probably been away from the missus too long at this point. Think about something else.
Another oneo fthe citadel.
Pathologic
Registered user
Into the desert at last
Sorry for the delay. Too many other things to do.
So we left Aleppo following the manager from the Baron Hotel. He showed us the way out of the city and we bought water for going into the desert even though it was raining. WE tiptoed along the autoroute because we had all heard stories of the poor grip on wet Syrian road. The land was incredibly flat and green with a fair smattering of industrial complexes. Not terribly romatic.
After an hour of this we stopped for chi. There was no one else in this roadside cafe. The owner was fascinated with our map reading and tried to help, but the language barrier made this difficult
Still whilst we were stopped the rain departed and the weather looked up. So we took off. A little too quickly it seems. Danilo left the belt for his BMW suit behind and had to go back for it. So we bimbled along whilst we waited for him.
<a href="http://s794.photobucket.com/albums/yy223/RTD2010/Road%20to%20Damascus%20Mladen%20photos/?action=view¤t=ToLakeAlAsad.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i794.photobucket.com/albums/yy223/RTD2010/Road%20to%20Damascus%20Mladen%20photos/ToLakeAlAsad.jpg" border="0" alt="desert fun"></a>
Our goal was Qalat al Jabur. The fort was a Muslim fort to keep out the crusaders. It used to stand above the Euphrates river. Now with the building of a large dam it stands on an island reached be a causeway.
To get there we had to ask directions from unlikely individuals
and have our passports checked by friendly soldiers (there and back again)
.
So it took a while, but it was worth it. The weather and the location were stunning.
We met a wagon train of italian campervans. They were massive and filled the carpark. Their presence made more imposing by the fact their leader had thoght to bring a megaphone to marshall the troop. but they were friendly enough.
We needed to move along to find our way to the next stop and as was too often the case I was fussing about fuel. So we stopped further up the main road (just as well this time). Then we missed the turning because it was hidden on a slip road with access only one way. To get to it we ended up going the wrong way dowwn a dual carriage way, not that anyone really minded.
Al Resafa Sergiopolis was a Roman outpost on the road from India. It is in the dessert proper with only a few small hamlets in the area. but the place is vast
we decided at least 6000 people lived, worked and worshipped here once. as you can see there is plenty of archeological wor to do here.
We parked the bikes at the back of the site thinking we could sneak in without paying.
We reckoned without the young lads on 125 bikes who buzzed around the site to make sure everyone paid. They quickly turned up with what were supposed to be tickets. Then they disappeared over the dunes and put us all to shame.
So the next bit was supposed to be a trek south for about 50 miles to the main road then another 40 miles to Palmyra. Like this
However, the sat navs were only giving bearings at this point and the weather was looking threatening.
After asking advice from locals and some discussion we headded off on the best road. This was fine until it started to veer off to the East. Then sout then East then North More discussion and more enquiry. This was the dessert, but it wasn't empty.
At one point we were approached by two large 4x4. The first stopped and we were addressed in very good english. This arab sheikh was in Syria to shoot birds (only little ones) but he did offer us assistance if we needed it
We needed to agree what to do. Danilo and the locals thought we should go back and take one of the turnings, Mladen and Nenad still felt we were on the right road. Philip choose not to opine so it came down to me. What to do. I still thought we were going on the right road so off we went. It was an interesting debate.
We weren't. With the light fading the road turned even further East and twisted through low hills. The surface detwriorate and sand was being blown across it. The idea of driving this road in the dark filled me with horror. By now we were agreed that that we had to go on. There was a main road to the north and on to the South which converged further East so we could get lost could we?
Finally after more help we came through onto a dry plain and could imagine that the main road was ahead of us.
Happiness is finding you are not lost
Back on the main road but which way. There were some who thought we could still make Palmyra. However, our local friends explained it was 180km through the desert. Dayr az zwar was much closer and there were hotels there, so off we went and found a humming metropolis.
We booked into a hotel and took advice on dinner. The restaurant had obviously been a theatre, some of the tables we on the prosenium arch stage and the roof had William Morris like stained glass..
Finding an interent cafe proved difficult, in the end I asked and the young guy took me to a quiter side street and pointed down some stairs. May be not my most sensible decision. No harm do. At no time did we feel threatened whilst in Syria, and the Syrians seemed to be very secure in themselves.
So the next day we needed to get back on track. Jo should be flying, volcano permitting. We had a day and half to do 250 miles, see some of the sites and cross the bordere into Lebanon.
Sorry for the delay. Too many other things to do.
So we left Aleppo following the manager from the Baron Hotel. He showed us the way out of the city and we bought water for going into the desert even though it was raining.
WE tiptoed along the autoroute because we had all heard stories of the poor grip on wet Syrian road. The land was incredibly flat and green with a fair smattering of industrial complexes. Not terribly romatic.After an hour of this we stopped for chi. There was no one else in this roadside cafe. The owner was fascinated with our map reading and tried to help, but the language barrier made this difficult
Still whilst we were stopped the rain departed and the weather looked up. So we took off. A little too quickly it seems. Danilo left the belt for his BMW suit behind and had to go back for it. So we bimbled along whilst we waited for him.
<a href="http://s794.photobucket.com/albums/yy223/RTD2010/Road%20to%20Damascus%20Mladen%20photos/?action=view¤t=ToLakeAlAsad.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i794.photobucket.com/albums/yy223/RTD2010/Road%20to%20Damascus%20Mladen%20photos/ToLakeAlAsad.jpg" border="0" alt="desert fun"></a>
Our goal was Qalat al Jabur. The fort was a Muslim fort to keep out the crusaders. It used to stand above the Euphrates river. Now with the building of a large dam it stands on an island reached be a causeway.
To get there we had to ask directions from unlikely individuals
So it took a while, but it was worth it. The weather and the location were stunning.
We met a wagon train of italian campervans. They were massive and filled the carpark. Their presence made more imposing by the fact their leader had thoght to bring a megaphone to marshall the troop
. but they were friendly enough. We needed to move along to find our way to the next stop and as was too often the case I was fussing about fuel. So we stopped further up the main road (just as well this time). Then we missed the turning because it was hidden on a slip road with access only one way. To get to it we ended up going the wrong way dowwn a dual carriage way, not that anyone really minded.
Al Resafa Sergiopolis was a Roman outpost on the road from India. It is in the dessert proper with only a few small hamlets in the area. but the place is vast
we decided at least 6000 people lived, worked and worshipped here once. as you can see there is plenty of archeological wor to do here.
We parked the bikes at the back of the site thinking we could sneak in without paying.
We reckoned without the young lads on 125 bikes who buzzed around the site to make sure everyone paid. They quickly turned up with what were supposed to be tickets. Then they disappeared over the dunes and put us all to shame.
So the next bit was supposed to be a trek south for about 50 miles to the main road then another 40 miles to Palmyra. Like this
However, the sat navs were only giving bearings at this point and the weather was looking threatening.
After asking advice from locals and some discussion we headded off on the best road. This was fine until it started to veer off to the East. Then sout then East then North
More discussion and more enquiry. This was the dessert, but it wasn't empty.
At one point we were approached by two large 4x4. The first stopped and we were addressed in very good english. This arab sheikh was in Syria to shoot birds (only little ones
) but he did offer us assistance if we needed it We needed to agree what to do. Danilo and the locals thought we should go back and take one of the turnings, Mladen and Nenad still felt we were on the right road. Philip choose not to opine so it came down to me. What to do. I still thought we were going on the right road so off we went. It was an interesting debate.
We weren't. With the light fading the road turned even further East and twisted through low hills. The surface detwriorate and sand was being blown across it. The idea of driving this road in the dark filled me with horror. By now we were agreed that that we had to go on. There was a main road to the north and on to the South which converged further East so we could get lost could we?
Finally after more help we came through onto a dry plain and could imagine that the main road was ahead of us.
Happiness is finding you are not lost
Back on the main road but which way. There were some who thought we could still make Palmyra. However, our local friends explained it was 180km through the desert. Dayr az zwar was much closer and there were hotels there, so off we went and found a humming metropolis.
We booked into a hotel and took advice on dinner. The restaurant had obviously been a theatre, some of the tables we on the prosenium arch stage and the roof had William Morris like stained glass.
. Finding an interent cafe proved difficult, in the end I asked and the young guy took me to a quiter side street and pointed down some stairs. May be not my most sensible decision. No harm do. At no time did we feel threatened whilst in Syria, and the Syrians seemed to be very secure in themselves.
So the next day we needed to get back on track. Jo should be flying, volcano permitting. We had a day and half to do 250 miles, see some of the sites and cross the bordere into Lebanon.
Nice report .... keep it coming.
Greg
Greg
Lord of the Manor
Guest
Crackin story there Pathologic
You made a good call getting to DEZ if the light was fading. Syrian roads at night are summat else.....bloody crazy and dangerous particularly in the more rural areas like DEZ or just outside of it. I worked not far from Deir Ez Zor for nearly 7 years so recognise some of the pics. Keep it commin it's most excellent Lebannon if your off there to is really good. Watchin for more
You made a good call getting to DEZ if the light was fading. Syrian roads at night are summat else.....bloody crazy and dangerous particularly in the more rural areas like DEZ or just outside of it. I worked not far from Deir Ez Zor for nearly 7 years so recognise some of the pics. Keep it commin it's most excellent
Lebannon if your off there to is really good. Watchin for more
Pathologic
Registered user
Yallah!
Yallah!
That was the first word I spoke he following morning. Up first as usual I opened the window at 5:30am on a beautiful morning and looked down on the street below. There was one guy sitting on Danilo's GSA and another close by. What to do, should I wake the others or what?
So I chose the East London default (Oi) and one of the few Arabic words I know which means I/we/you go! It worked the guys scuttled off and Philip woke to ask what the hell was going on. He and Danilo thought it very funny, which it was. Later when I went down stairs, I discovered the two guys were the night porter and one of the kitchen staff. He was beside himself with remorse and refused all offers to have his picture taken with my bike.
Dary Az Zawr is famous for many things. One of the less well known was commemorated just outside our hotel.
The Armenia church dates from the early 20th century, when the Ottoman Empire tried to rid itself of a possibly troublesome minority by marching them forcibly into the desert. I know the facts are disputed. Those minded to can read about it here. Some say it was one of the first modern genocides and formed a pattern for those which followed. We saw other signs of remembrance in Lebanon with a poster that read 'Remember April 24 1915', which many say was the start of it. We all have to live with our history, the English not the least.
So we hit the road with plans to head for Palmyra, then get as close to Damascus as we could without going into the city so we could use the autoroute to go round to Lebanon.
The trip to Palmyra was an uneventful, fast blat across the desert in a strong cross wind. The wind made overtaking the trucks interesting It was one of those times when as you overtake you are sucked in towards the truck and then as you reach the front you are blasted half way across the road. Definitely not one for the faint hearted.
As I past one truck there were leaves blowing across the road, which was odd as there were no trees. Splat
It was a locust. Definitely past tense after meeting me
The high wind and fast pace was not good for my thirsty bike, so I realised I couldn't make Palmyra with this tank of fuel. I begged the group to slow down for me and lead into As Sukhnah looking for fuel. The only fuel station was in the process of renovation. When I asked if they had Benzene they said no I thought this was the end of the road. It was still 60 km to Palmyra. Then, suddenly, fuel was available. Who knows what quality, but beggars…? tea was drunk and photos were taken including this iconic one. Including this one.
Refuelled and happy to proceed, we approached the town of Palmyra, when suddenly everyone disappeared down a side road. Danilo pointed to a Croatian flag. This was when I was let into a secret. The Croatians are planning to take over the world. They reckon it is their turn for a century in the sun, so they are making plans. This must be an outpost.
In fact it was an office INA the Croatian oil company who are developing reserves in Syria. Finding four of their compatriots (and one bemused Englishman) on their doorstep we were invited into their compound and fed coca cola and tea.
They helped us to plan our later assault on Damascus.
Palmyra proved to have few things other that the most incredible Roman ruins and the most persistent hawkers. They were polite and unremitting, like water on a stone. Philip was particularly vulnerable.
This is, apparently, a racing camel and worth more than a GS. Any offers?
The Roman ruins were overlooked by a Saladin fort and ancient tombs that looked like something from Narnia.
Our way out took us past them and over some rough tracks up onto the auto route to Damascus, Aleppo or Iraq.
Further down the road I could see what I thought was a shower approahing, until Danilo overtook me and suggested we shelter from the sandstorm Shelter turned out to be the shell of a bus half buried in the dirt at a road junction. The sand when it arrived was incredibly fine and not as bad as it looked. Nobody else seemed to mind and kept driving. Eventually, so did we.
Our route into Damascus was used a lot by coaches. Their drivers knew the road and no fear. I don’t know what the passengers felt, but they scared the willies out of me.
Nenad had been in touch with the proprietor of Bagdad Café (Route 66) using the interweb thingy and he for one was going to stop. It turned out to be a great place. I felt like I had slipped into a spaghetti western.
I even tried to tie up the GS on the hitching rail.
Inside there was an eclectic mix of paraphernalia and we were made very welcome in between coach parties.
Evidence of Croatian incursions was everywhere
It was getting late and we didn’t know where we could stay for the night. As we prepared to leave, the owner (why didn’t I get his name?) offered us a room to crash in and dinner for the cost of the food. It took no time to decide to stay. The location was perfect!
Before it went dark I begged some soapy water and cleaned the screens and lights on all the bikes. As I worked two GSers went past on the road, so I waved. 10 minutes later they reappeared; two young German guys with an R1200 and an F800, both dripping with bling. Danilo liked the screen extension. They discussed this Touratech add on for a while until I pointed out it had a Wunderlich bit on it:hohum. These guys were on a three month tour of the Middle East and North Africa. They seemed to have all of the gear and…. They were given a separate room from us and we didn’t see them at breakfast. Not sure what they hoped to gain from their tour, but it seemed to me they were missing a lot by being a little insular.
At 10pm the electricity went off. The stars were very close. Also notable as the only night we used sleeping bags and mats. Brilliant day and tomorrow I get to see my wife!
Yallah!
That was the first word I spoke he following morning. Up first as usual I opened the window at 5:30am on a beautiful morning and looked down on the street below. There was one guy sitting on Danilo's GSA and another close by. What to do, should I wake the others or what?
So I chose the East London default (Oi) and one of the few Arabic words I know which means I/we/you go! It worked the guys scuttled off and Philip woke to ask what the hell was going on. He and Danilo thought it very funny, which it was. Later when I went down stairs, I discovered the two guys were the night porter and one of the kitchen staff. He was beside himself with remorse and refused all offers to have his picture taken with my bike.
Dary Az Zawr is famous for many things. One of the less well known was commemorated just outside our hotel.
The Armenia church dates from the early 20th century, when the Ottoman Empire tried to rid itself of a possibly troublesome minority by marching them forcibly into the desert. I know the facts are disputed. Those minded to can read about it here. Some say it was one of the first modern genocides and formed a pattern for those which followed. We saw other signs of remembrance in Lebanon with a poster that read 'Remember April 24 1915', which many say was the start of it. We all have to live with our history, the English not the least.
So we hit the road with plans to head for Palmyra, then get as close to Damascus as we could without going into the city so we could use the autoroute to go round to Lebanon.
The trip to Palmyra was an uneventful, fast blat across the desert in a strong cross wind. The wind made overtaking the trucks interesting
It was one of those times when as you overtake you are sucked in towards the truck and then as you reach the front you are blasted half way across the road. Definitely not one for the faint hearted. As I past one truck there were leaves blowing across the road, which was odd as there were no trees. Splat
It was a locust. Definitely past tense after meeting me
The high wind and fast pace was not good for my thirsty bike, so I realised I couldn't make Palmyra with this tank of fuel. I begged the group to slow down for me and lead into As Sukhnah looking for fuel. The only fuel station was in the process of renovation. When I asked if they had Benzene they said no
I thought this was the end of the road. It was still 60 km to Palmyra. Then, suddenly, fuel was available. Who knows what quality, but beggars…? tea was drunk and photos were taken including this iconic one. Including this one.
Refuelled and happy to proceed, we approached the town of Palmyra, when suddenly everyone disappeared down a side road. Danilo pointed to a Croatian flag. This was when I was let into a secret. The Croatians are planning to take over the world. They reckon it is their turn for a century in the sun, so they are making plans. This must be an outpost.
In fact it was an office INA the Croatian oil company who are developing reserves in Syria. Finding four of their compatriots (and one bemused Englishman) on their doorstep we were invited into their compound and fed coca cola and tea.
They helped us to plan our later assault on Damascus.
Palmyra proved to have few things other that the most incredible Roman ruins and the most persistent hawkers. They were polite and unremitting, like water on a stone. Philip was particularly vulnerable.
This is, apparently, a racing camel and worth more than a GS
. Any offers?The Roman ruins were overlooked by a Saladin fort and ancient tombs that looked like something from Narnia.
Our way out took us past them and over some rough tracks up onto the auto route to Damascus, Aleppo or Iraq.
Further down the road I could see what I thought was a shower approahing, until Danilo overtook me and suggested we shelter from the sandstorm
Shelter turned out to be the shell of a bus half buried in the dirt at a road junction. The sand when it arrived was incredibly fine and not as bad as it looked. Nobody else seemed to mind and kept driving. Eventually, so did we.
Our route into Damascus was used a lot by coaches. Their drivers knew the road and no fear. I don’t know what the passengers felt, but they scared the willies out of me.
Nenad had been in touch with the proprietor of Bagdad Café (Route 66) using the interweb thingy and he for one was going to stop. It turned out to be a great place. I felt like I had slipped into a spaghetti western.
I even tried to tie up the GS on the hitching rail.
Inside there was an eclectic mix of paraphernalia and we were made very welcome in between coach parties.
Evidence of Croatian incursions was everywhere
It was getting late and we didn’t know where we could stay for the night. As we prepared to leave, the owner (why didn’t I get his name?) offered us a room to crash in and dinner for the cost of the food. It took no time to decide to stay. The location was perfect!
Before it went dark I begged some soapy water and cleaned the screens and lights on all the bikes. As I worked two GSers went past on the road, so I waved. 10 minutes later they reappeared; two young German guys with an R1200 and an F800, both dripping with bling. Danilo liked the screen extension. They discussed this Touratech add on for a while until I pointed out it had a Wunderlich bit on it:hohum. These guys were on a three month tour of the Middle East and North Africa. They seemed to have all of the gear and…. They were given a separate room from us and we didn’t see them at breakfast. Not sure what they hoped to gain from their tour, but it seemed to me they were missing a lot by being a little insular.
At 10pm the electricity went off. The stars were very close. Also notable as the only night we used sleeping bags and mats. Brilliant day and tomorrow I get to see my wife!
Pathologic
Registered user
Into the Chouf
Today was the day to meet the wife, but we were 200km from the border on the wrong side of Damascus. I excelled myself this particular morning by getting up before the sun.
I dressed quietly and went for a wander. The sunrise was fantastic and left me in tears. As I sat quietly by a dry river bed I was visited by two of the family dogs. A young one with no clue and a much older dog who was friendly. As I videoed the sun rising above the mountain the shepherd appeared leading the dogs and the sheep under the road via the river bed and up to the pasture. It was perfect. I half expected to hear the director call 'cut'. It is one of those moments when just being alive is enough. There are no words to express my joy and gratitude for visiting this amazing planet.
The others were up when I got back and we were earlier away from the cafe than any of the hotels we stayed in. The run into Damascus was largely good; not surprisingly we met more traffic became heavier and the road surfaces deteriorated. The GPS and map became nearly useless as we approached the city. We were aiming for the bypass, but ended up heading in the wrong direction towards Aleppo on what was obviously the old main road still used by a lot of trucks.
Asking for directions lead to us taking the gravel track across the valley on to the autoroute in the wrong direction for a twenty km detour to turn round back the way we came. Once heading in the right direction the roads were good and the traffic manageable. We climbed thru the dry hills towards the border. Eventually we reached the Beirut road, which I had been looking forward to. This road I had driven a long in a taxi a year before dreaming of riding my bike along it. Now we were here climbing up to the Syrian side of the border and then down towards the Bekaa valley.
Getting thru the border was tedious. This is a very busy crossing with lots of tourists, taxis and migrant workers. It took four hours and buying a year’s insurance for two day! We forgot pay our exit tax from Syria and had to go back. Then I left my helmet in the cashier’s office!So back I go again. In my hurry I didn't see a patch of mud and nearly wrecked the bike against a barrier.
In the packed transit halls we met some people who were friendly. From the American family we learned that having a young blond female Arabic speaker could be an advantage. I am working on that (or rather my daughter is). In particular I was touched by a Palestinian academic called Tahsn Al-Halabi. He was in the queue with me for a Lebanese visa. There was an air of quiet resignation and sadness about him. It seemed to me life had not dealt him the best of hands, but he was not bitter. I am glad I met him, however briefly.
The process of entering Lebanon was long but reasonably simple and honest. There is more detail in the Middle East section. By 3pm we were thru. Suddenly there were proper bikes around not just the ubiquitous CG125 we saw in Syria. The traffic was as mad as I remembered. It was hot and muggy. Ahead of us the Chouf Mountains climber to 1800 metres.
After fuelling and getting some cash (dollars are as available and useful as Lebanese pounds) we headed for the hotel. That meant going up the main road past two check army checkpoints round hairpins with four or sometime five lanes of traffic and no barriers.
We tried to use the Syrian maps on Malden’s GPS, but when it tried to take us the wrong way across an unfinished bridge, we gave up and did the drive up to Ain Zhalta from my memory. It just about worked.
The terrain is mountainous but not glaciated. The roads hug the mountain ridges and cut along the mountainsides until a suitable place to cross the mountain valleys. The towns and villages cling to cliff edges and along the roadsides. Many houses are new and unfinished. Being lived in, but with plans for extra stores witnessed by steel wires rusting in the afternoon sun waiting for the day when they might be encased in concrete. High on the mountains just below the top ranks of small trees cluster on steep slopes. These are the descendants of the mighty cedars of Lebanon. Only those in the reserves remain and many have only recently been planted. One day it will look amazing. You can only guess what it was like when King David came up to look for timber for the temple in Jerusalem with his friend the King of Sidon.
The Barouk Palace Hotel is a mini resort (OK that's too strong a word.) It sits beneath the reserves and is about the only hotel in this part of the Chouf. It was 4pm and any dream of turning up during school hours with the bikes was long gone. The others wanted a shower and beer and then to hit Beirut. I had to get Jo from our friends in AZ before they all went away for the weekend.
I dumped some gear and went off for Jo on my own, getting there just in time. The 12kg of children’s books were delivered and brief greetings made. I had made it and intact, even late it was a good feeling.
By the time Jo and I had returned the guys were ready to head for Beirut by Taxi. Jo and I went off to visit some friends who run an orphanage towards Ain Dare. Playing catch with a guy on an R1 who was out for an afternoon blat. Judging by the number of cars doing the same thing, there is not a lot to do in AZ in th evening.
Rulla made us welcome and her children brought me down to earth by making me play shuttle cock and read them stories. It was an incredible location, with the sun still on the mountain peaks above us and the air fresh and cool.
As always in Lebanon, memories of violence are not far away. At the back of the orphanage are tank garages from when the land was occupied by Syrian troops who had a gun emplacement at the top of the hill. For now that is in the past. The unfinished bridge we had seen is still being rebuilt after the Israel’s destroyed it in 2007.
After visiting we came back to the hotel ad went looking for food. Lebanese roads are not pedestrian friendly. Made worse by the power cut which was part or a regular cycle in these parts.
Eventually we found a rundown cafe and had chicken Taouk. This is a chicken kebab with local Taouk spices wrapped with some local flat bread with some salad and cooked on the fire for a few more minutes. It tasted delicious.
Brilliant day! Now I can relax.
Today was the day to meet the wife, but we were 200km from the border on the wrong side of Damascus. I excelled myself this particular morning by getting up before the sun.
I dressed quietly and went for a wander. The sunrise was fantastic and left me in tears. As I sat quietly by a dry river bed I was visited by two of the family dogs. A young one with no clue and a much older dog who was friendly. As I videoed the sun rising above the mountain the shepherd appeared leading the dogs and the sheep under the road via the river bed and up to the pasture. It was perfect. I half expected to hear the director call 'cut'. It is one of those moments when just being alive is enough. There are no words to express my joy and gratitude for visiting this amazing planet.
The others were up when I got back and we were earlier away from the cafe than any of the hotels we stayed in. The run into Damascus was largely good; not surprisingly we met more traffic became heavier and the road surfaces deteriorated. The GPS and map became nearly useless as we approached the city. We were aiming for the bypass, but ended up heading in the wrong direction towards Aleppo on what was obviously the old main road still used by a lot of trucks.
Asking for directions lead to us taking the gravel track across the valley on to the autoroute in the wrong direction for a twenty km detour to turn round back the way we came. Once heading in the right direction the roads were good and the traffic manageable. We climbed thru the dry hills towards the border. Eventually we reached the Beirut road, which I had been looking forward to. This road I had driven a long in a taxi a year before dreaming of riding my bike along it. Now we were here climbing up to the Syrian side of the border and then down towards the Bekaa valley.
Getting thru the border was tedious. This is a very busy crossing with lots of tourists, taxis and migrant workers. It took four hours and buying a year’s insurance for two day! We forgot pay our exit tax from Syria and had to go back. Then I left my helmet in the cashier’s office!
So back I go again. In my hurry I didn't see a patch of mud and nearly wrecked the bike against a barrier.
In the packed transit halls we met some people who were friendly. From the American family we learned that having a young blond female Arabic speaker could be an advantage. I am working on that (or rather my daughter is). In particular I was touched by a Palestinian academic called Tahsn Al-Halabi. He was in the queue with me for a Lebanese visa. There was an air of quiet resignation and sadness about him. It seemed to me life had not dealt him the best of hands, but he was not bitter. I am glad I met him, however briefly.
The process of entering Lebanon was long but reasonably simple and honest. There is more detail in the Middle East section. By 3pm we were thru. Suddenly there were proper bikes around not just the ubiquitous CG125 we saw in Syria. The traffic was as mad as I remembered. It was hot and muggy. Ahead of us the Chouf Mountains climber to 1800 metres.
After fuelling and getting some cash (dollars are as available and useful as Lebanese pounds) we headed for the hotel. That meant going up the main road past two check army checkpoints round hairpins with four or sometime five lanes of traffic and no barriers.
We tried to use the Syrian maps on Malden’s GPS, but when it tried to take us the wrong way across an unfinished bridge, we gave up and did the drive up to Ain Zhalta from my memory. It just about worked.
The terrain is mountainous but not glaciated. The roads hug the mountain ridges and cut along the mountainsides until a suitable place to cross the mountain valleys. The towns and villages cling to cliff edges and along the roadsides. Many houses are new and unfinished. Being lived in, but with plans for extra stores witnessed by steel wires rusting in the afternoon sun waiting for the day when they might be encased in concrete. High on the mountains just below the top ranks of small trees cluster on steep slopes. These are the descendants of the mighty cedars of Lebanon. Only those in the reserves remain and many have only recently been planted. One day it will look amazing. You can only guess what it was like when King David came up to look for timber for the temple in Jerusalem with his friend the King of Sidon.
The Barouk Palace Hotel is a mini resort (OK that's too strong a word.) It sits beneath the reserves and is about the only hotel in this part of the Chouf. It was 4pm and any dream of turning up during school hours with the bikes was long gone. The others wanted a shower and beer and then to hit Beirut. I had to get Jo from our friends in AZ before they all went away for the weekend.
I dumped some gear and went off for Jo on my own, getting there just in time. The 12kg of children’s books were delivered and brief greetings made. I had made it and intact, even late it was a good feeling.
By the time Jo and I had returned the guys were ready to head for Beirut by Taxi. Jo and I went off to visit some friends who run an orphanage towards Ain Dare. Playing catch with a guy on an R1 who was out for an afternoon blat. Judging by the number of cars doing the same thing, there is not a lot to do in AZ in th evening.
Rulla made us welcome and her children brought me down to earth by making me play shuttle cock and read them stories. It was an incredible location, with the sun still on the mountain peaks above us and the air fresh and cool.
As always in Lebanon, memories of violence are not far away. At the back of the orphanage are tank garages from when the land was occupied by Syrian troops who had a gun emplacement at the top of the hill. For now that is in the past. The unfinished bridge we had seen is still being rebuilt after the Israel’s destroyed it in 2007.
After visiting we came back to the hotel ad went looking for food. Lebanese roads are not pedestrian friendly. Made worse by the power cut which was part or a regular cycle in these parts.
Eventually we found a rundown cafe and had chicken Taouk. This is a chicken kebab with local Taouk spices wrapped with some local flat bread with some salad and cooked on the fire for a few more minutes. It tasted delicious.
Brilliant day! Now I can relax.
Lord of the Manor
Guest
Excellent stuff keep it commin, I'm enjoying it
Pathologic
Registered user
black hawk down
No one was up early the next morning. We were not in a hurry to be anywhere. Over a leisurely breakfast we decided to visit the ruins at Ba’albek. Instead of going directly Danilo el al agreed to humour me and try the mountain road thru the cedar reserve. Have a look here. It looked more fun than going via the main road.
http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?hl=en&q=gadfly+philosopher+greek&ie=UTF8&sll=33.675783,35.680504&sspn=0.035642,0.054932&split=1&filter=0&rq=1&ev=zo&radius=1.9&hq=gadfly+philosopher+greek&hnear=&ll=33.675783,35.680504&spn=0.035642,0.054932&t=h&z=14
The fun started straight out of the hotel with the satnav insisting we take a gravel track which looked like it was someone's back yard. Two up (even without luggage) this was more than I cold stand. So we turned around and followed the signs for the cedar reserve. Soon we reached the entry. We arrived we three bus loads of young people from the city, who were out have a great time, although communing with nature was not likely to be part of it. The view was spectacular
There was a charge of 5,000 Lebanese pounds to drive in the reserve. (that’s less than £3). The warder said the road was tarmac for 10 km then 2km of gravel. There was a barrier at the top, but we could squeeze the bikes past it and get onto the road down to the Bekaa. It sounded good so off we went. The narrow road wound around the mountain. Higher and higher. At the end of the tarmac the car park was humming with more kids and colourful buses.
We moved on to the tarmac which went steeply up. It wasn't the worst road in the world, but then I am not the best off road rider and I was two up for the first time on gravel. So up we went. Half way up Danilo stopped and I stopped with him. The hill was too steep so Jo had to walk the 200 metres to the top of the rise. Danilo and I both struggled to get going again. Once Jo remounted we I really started to enjoy myself. The view from the back was not so good.
We quickly reached the barrier. The gap was a tad narrower than described, about 18 inches with a drop of 50 feet if you got it wrong.
After some debate we decided that discretion was the better part of valour and retracted our steps all the way to the hotel! and then took the main road towards Baalbek.
It was not quite as straight forward as we hoped, but no harm done.
We had our papers checked at the top of the mountain. The soldier was pulling all the motorcycles when we were there, perhaps Saturday is motorcycle day. We past a banner say remember 24 April. There are Armenians here too. The crawl across the Bekaa was busy and the roads terrible. So it was lunchtime before we got there. This is Hesbollah country and posters of their spiritual leader were everywhere. There were other monuments harder to decipher
The ruins at Ba'albek need no words from me. Check them out.
They stand on an artificial mound that is sixty metres deep! It leaves you with deep respect for the romans and other ancient peoples. I wonder if people will gaze at the Olympic village in Stratford with the same awe in 2000 years.
THe Croatians continued their plans to take over the regions.
I wish to put the reader's mind at rest about England's role in the new world order of Croatian domination. I looked after my countrymen by immediately negotiating the transfer of state powers to me, as your governor.So show some respect next to me we meet.
After Baalbek we headed for the winery at Ksara. Lebanese wines are world renound, although I am not sure the others were that impressed. Sharing the tasting room with what looked like 16 year old school kids did not help.
Jo and I had promised our daughter we woud bring back some Baklava from her favouite sweet shop, Sea Sweets. Jo spotted a branch in Zahle so we stopped. The others said they would go on to the hotel. Entering the shop we were immediately greeted by Omar Sharif.
Ok not the real one, but there is a strong resemblance don't you think. Halfina is the owner of at least this shop. Whilst his minions picked out some selections for us he chatted about London and Lebanon. The one thing I regret is that I didn't ask him why the shop was called Sea Sweets.
A pleasant evening was had drinking beer and planning the return journey. Damascus, then Crac de Chevalier and back into Turkey.
No one was up early the next morning. We were not in a hurry to be anywhere. Over a leisurely breakfast we decided to visit the ruins at Ba’albek. Instead of going directly Danilo el al agreed to humour me and try the mountain road thru the cedar reserve. Have a look here. It looked more fun than going via the main road.
http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?hl=en&q=gadfly+philosopher+greek&ie=UTF8&sll=33.675783,35.680504&sspn=0.035642,0.054932&split=1&filter=0&rq=1&ev=zo&radius=1.9&hq=gadfly+philosopher+greek&hnear=&ll=33.675783,35.680504&spn=0.035642,0.054932&t=h&z=14
The fun started straight out of the hotel with the satnav insisting we take a gravel track which looked like it was someone's back yard. Two up (even without luggage) this was more than I cold stand. So we turned around and followed the signs for the cedar reserve. Soon we reached the entry. We arrived we three bus loads of young people from the city, who were out have a great time, although communing with nature was not likely to be part of it. The view was spectacular
There was a charge of 5,000 Lebanese pounds to drive in the reserve. (that’s less than £3). The warder said the road was tarmac for 10 km then 2km of gravel. There was a barrier at the top, but we could squeeze the bikes past it and get onto the road down to the Bekaa. It sounded good so off we went. The narrow road wound around the mountain. Higher and higher. At the end of the tarmac the car park was humming with more kids and colourful buses.
We moved on to the tarmac which went steeply up. It wasn't the worst road in the world, but then I am not the best off road rider and I was two up for the first time on gravel. So up we went. Half way up Danilo stopped and I stopped with him. The hill was too steep so Jo had to walk the 200 metres to the top of the rise. Danilo and I both struggled to get going again. Once Jo remounted we I really started to enjoy myself. The view from the back was not so good.
We quickly reached the barrier. The gap was a tad narrower than described
, about 18 inches with a drop of 50 feet if you got it wrong.
After some debate we decided that discretion was the better part of valour and retracted our steps all the way to the hotel! and then took the main road towards Baalbek.
It was not quite as straight forward as we hoped, but no harm done.
We had our papers checked at the top of the mountain. The soldier was pulling all the motorcycles when we were there, perhaps Saturday is motorcycle day. We past a banner say remember 24 April. There are Armenians here too. The crawl across the Bekaa was busy and the roads terrible. So it was lunchtime before we got there. This is Hesbollah country and posters of their spiritual leader were everywhere. There were other monuments harder to decipher
The ruins at Ba'albek need no words from me. Check them out.
They stand on an artificial mound that is sixty metres deep! It leaves you with deep respect for the romans and other ancient peoples. I wonder if people will gaze at the Olympic village in Stratford with the same awe in 2000 years.
THe Croatians continued their plans to take over the regions.
I wish to put the reader's mind at rest about England's role in the new world order of Croatian domination. I looked after my countrymen by immediately negotiating the transfer of state powers to me, as your governor.
So show some respect next to me we meet.After Baalbek we headed for the winery at Ksara. Lebanese wines are world renound, although I am not sure the others were that impressed. Sharing the tasting room with what looked like 16 year old school kids did not help.
Jo and I had promised our daughter we woud bring back some Baklava from her favouite sweet shop, Sea Sweets. Jo spotted a branch in Zahle so we stopped. The others said they would go on to the hotel. Entering the shop we were immediately greeted by Omar Sharif.
Ok not the real one, but there is a strong resemblance don't you think. Halfina is the owner of at least this shop. Whilst his minions picked out some selections for us he chatted about London and Lebanon. The one thing I regret is that I didn't ask him why the shop was called Sea Sweets.
A pleasant evening was had drinking beer and planning the return journey. Damascus, then Crac de Chevalier and back into Turkey.
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