A very brief posting to say that myself and Will are doing just dandy. We have abandoned the two wheeled transport in favour of speedier modes of transport and are now in the city of Quetta in the Western Province of Pakistan. We will catch a bus to the Iran border tonight or tommorrow (depending on the availability of petrol!!). The blanks shall be filled in once we are Iran.
For now, I wish you all a very happy New Year. I have not touched a drop of alcohol for 21 days and it's looking like it could be several more weeks before I do so again. I hope you all take up the slack on my behalf!
Sunday, 30 December 2007
Tuesday, 25 December 2007
A sober Christmas (but a very good one nonetheless!)
Stage 4: Amritsar to Multan
Day 1: 58.9km Lahore
Day 2: 0.0km
Day 3: 135.6km Okara
Day 4: 0.0km
Day 5: 41.3km Sahiwal
Day 6: 81.8km Mian Channun
Day 7: 97.8km Multan
A clean, green, quiet city with wide boulevards and fast flowing traffic. I am, of course, referring to Delhi. Though it should be noted that this description is only the case when compared with the city of Lahore.
Eyes in the back of our heads would have been a significant advantage when approaching this city, and indeed any major town we have since passed through. I guess that mirrors on our handlebars may do a similar trick, but given the choice, I'd go for eyes. A motorcyclist almost took out me(or rather I almost took out him) in one manoeuvre as I tried to avoid an autorickshaw, and further along the road another autorickshaw ran into the back of me as I braked to come to a standstill in stationary traffic (minus the aforementioned tuktuk). It was stressful, dusty and dirty, but at least we got to rest for 2 days in our rat infested hotel. We preferred to refer to them as large mice while we were there, but they were definately rats!!
If the city was not fantastic, the complete opposite must me said for its inhabitants, and for all further Pakistani people we have met along the way. They are, without a shadow of doubt, the friendliest and most caring race of people I have ever come across in the 25 years of my existence. Everywhere we go we are offered cups of tea, cold drinks, food to eat and places to stay. Their hospitality knows no bounds. In the city of Okara we were taken on the back of a motorbike to the family home of one of the people we met on the street. It was the festival of Eid (one that lasts for 3 days and celebrates the sacrifice that Abraham was willing to make to god, being his son), and blood and guts of sacrificed animals lined the streets. We were entertained with good company, Islamic music and dance and provided with an evening meal. The food here really is fantastic.
The following morning we returned to witness the sacrifice of the family bull for Eid. It was quite a sight, and one which I will not go into. I have other photos, but figured that the ones below would suffice. Children watched on and not one shed a tear, or uttered a word of complaint; they were even eating their breakfast 2 minutes later beside the carcass. They already knew well enough where food on the table comes from and how it gets there.
before
after
After a lunch of the heart, liver and kidney's of the freshly butchered bull (almost the entire mass of meat is redistributed between poor friends and relations according to Islamic tradition, with the family just taking enough for a meal or two)we continued on our merry way. I have mentioned a long time ago that plain cycling can become monotonous, but here's another fact: we have now travelled over 500km without a single hill. Three times the road has inclined before declining as we pass over bridges over the train lines. THREE times in 500km we have had view of some description. I'm fairly sure that's further than the entire width of Ireland. And there's still more to go...
We arrived in Multan on Christmas Eve and have decided to spend a couple of rest days here. Our hotel is clean, has space to wash ourselves, clothes and bikes, and most importantly of all, is free from the pitter patter of tiny rat-sized feet. A Christmas (and even an entire November and December) without a single Christmas Carol is a Christmas well spent!
I hope you all had just a pleasant Christmas, and I wish you all well in the New Year.
Family we stayed with in Mian Channun
Day 1: 58.9km Lahore
Day 2: 0.0km
Day 3: 135.6km Okara
Day 4: 0.0km
Day 5: 41.3km Sahiwal
Day 6: 81.8km Mian Channun
Day 7: 97.8km Multan
A clean, green, quiet city with wide boulevards and fast flowing traffic. I am, of course, referring to Delhi. Though it should be noted that this description is only the case when compared with the city of Lahore.
Eyes in the back of our heads would have been a significant advantage when approaching this city, and indeed any major town we have since passed through. I guess that mirrors on our handlebars may do a similar trick, but given the choice, I'd go for eyes. A motorcyclist almost took out me(or rather I almost took out him) in one manoeuvre as I tried to avoid an autorickshaw, and further along the road another autorickshaw ran into the back of me as I braked to come to a standstill in stationary traffic (minus the aforementioned tuktuk). It was stressful, dusty and dirty, but at least we got to rest for 2 days in our rat infested hotel. We preferred to refer to them as large mice while we were there, but they were definately rats!!
If the city was not fantastic, the complete opposite must me said for its inhabitants, and for all further Pakistani people we have met along the way. They are, without a shadow of doubt, the friendliest and most caring race of people I have ever come across in the 25 years of my existence. Everywhere we go we are offered cups of tea, cold drinks, food to eat and places to stay. Their hospitality knows no bounds. In the city of Okara we were taken on the back of a motorbike to the family home of one of the people we met on the street. It was the festival of Eid (one that lasts for 3 days and celebrates the sacrifice that Abraham was willing to make to god, being his son), and blood and guts of sacrificed animals lined the streets. We were entertained with good company, Islamic music and dance and provided with an evening meal. The food here really is fantastic.
The following morning we returned to witness the sacrifice of the family bull for Eid. It was quite a sight, and one which I will not go into. I have other photos, but figured that the ones below would suffice. Children watched on and not one shed a tear, or uttered a word of complaint; they were even eating their breakfast 2 minutes later beside the carcass. They already knew well enough where food on the table comes from and how it gets there.
before
after
After a lunch of the heart, liver and kidney's of the freshly butchered bull (almost the entire mass of meat is redistributed between poor friends and relations according to Islamic tradition, with the family just taking enough for a meal or two)we continued on our merry way. I have mentioned a long time ago that plain cycling can become monotonous, but here's another fact: we have now travelled over 500km without a single hill. Three times the road has inclined before declining as we pass over bridges over the train lines. THREE times in 500km we have had view of some description. I'm fairly sure that's further than the entire width of Ireland. And there's still more to go...
We arrived in Multan on Christmas Eve and have decided to spend a couple of rest days here. Our hotel is clean, has space to wash ourselves, clothes and bikes, and most importantly of all, is free from the pitter patter of tiny rat-sized feet. A Christmas (and even an entire November and December) without a single Christmas Carol is a Christmas well spent!
I hope you all had just a pleasant Christmas, and I wish you all well in the New Year.
Family we stayed with in Mian Channun
Monday, 17 December 2007
The day that had it all
Stage3: Dharamsala to Amaritsar
Day 1: 94.3km Pathonkot
Day 2: 145.7km Amritsar
I am talking of the second day. The first day was relatively nondescript; that's if you can call a 1300m descent away from snow covered peaks nondescript, which you probably can't, but it was a straightforward kind of day. It was the first time I've cycled with someone else, and it was actually quite a strange experience seeing someone else on a fully laden bike for the entire day after weeks of nothing.
No, all the fun happened on Day 2 of this short leg towards the Pakistan border. As with all great days, it started with a lie in, a solid breakfast of bananas, chocolate and biscuits; and then, shortly before 9am, we were once again on our saddles headed towards Amritsar.
It didn't take long to remember the monotony of the plains. A lack of sugarcane made this journey somewhat different from the first 2 days, but the flatness was unmistakable. We stopped for a cup of sweet tea after an hour and following a leisurely sip was back on the road.
I'd been thinking earlier how great the trip had been so far. There was only 1 road that I'd cycled along twice (2 if you count my initial foray in Delhi), every other route was unidirectional. A certain smugness had settled at the thought of the greatness of circular routes.
It took a further 2km for the thought to hit me. Where was my bag with my camera charger? I'd taken it out the previous night, but couldn't remember putting it back. I stopped, checked all my bags, but it was nowhere to be seen. I must have left it back in the hotel a full 17.5km behind! The thought of continuing certainly did cross my mind. 17.5km is no small distance on a bicycle, but 6 months of no photos seemed (at the time) worse. I bid farewell to Will and returned towards Pathonkot, arranging to meet up with him in Amritsar.
The room had no bag with my charger in it, and a black cloud descended at the realisation of a wasted trip back and yet another proof of my idiotic self for my refusal to fully empty out my panniers by the side of the road. But I was saved on my arrival downstairs to find out that yes, I had left it there. Although I should never have left it in the first place, at least my return was not in vain.
By this time it was 11.20, and the thought of 106km to Amritsar did bring images of buses and trains into the recesses of my mind. But there they stayed. Flat roads at 20km/hr resulted in 5hrs of continuous cycling. I could be there by 4.30 with no stops, and that gave me 1.5hrs to play around with before it got too dark to cycle. If worse came to the worst, I could always catch a bus the last section.
Head down, my only thought was on Amritsar. It would be a monotonous day of plain cycling. How wrong was I...
The first interesting event occurred when a motorbike in front of me crashed into a dog. The bike flipped, the rider went over, and the dog went howling into a field. I stopped to check the rider was ok. He was up right away, but my lack of Hindi restricted me somewhat, so as soon as other people turned up, I got back on my bike, turning away from the dog dragging it's two back legs behind itself in the middle of the field, and continued on my merry way.
After another 20km or so, I decided to try my hand at truck surfing. It goes like this: find a motorised vehicle going at (or slightly above) the speed you yourself are going; extend a hand (left or right depending on preference); grab hold of vehicle; coast and enjoy the scenery. The best thing about it is that it works. Tractors pulling trailers of bricks work quite well, autorickshaws don't. I figured it wasn't cheating so long as my coasting was less than the extra 35km I'd put onto my journey.
Autorickshaw drives past, driver points to side bar. Translation: "you want to hold on?". I nod yes, grab hold, driver accelerates to over 30km/hr. I think "sh@t this is fast, but in no time I'll be in Amritsar". Truck comes from other direction, autorickshaw moves left, I let go. Truck goes on, disaster averted. Driver slows, I grab hold of bar, driver accelerates. Cyclist on left (another one, not me) decides to move right to avoid pothole just has autorickshaw driver decides to move left. I get caught in middle, wheel turns, I go off road.
Only, it's not just a road, we're on a raised bank with about a 10 foot drop either side. I end up at the bottom of said bank. I don't know what happened. I remember being in the air, but I don't know if I came off the back of the bike, or if the bike rolled over me. Either way, my panniers are off my bike, my brakes are off to one side, and I'm thinking my journey is over. Nowhere in India will hold the spares for my brakes. Nowhere.
So a little frustrated I stand by the side of the road while the autorickshaw driver yabbers at me in Hindi. I think he was being apologetic, but that was all I got. I get pissed off, think a bit of brute force on my brakes would be a good thing, and what do you know? It is. Brakes return to proper location, and gears appear to work. Sorted; all I have is a little graze on my right forearm. It could have been worse.
Adrenaline took me 10km of the final 24km. With thoughts of truck surfing put to one side, I concentrated solely on my destination. Sun is getting low, dust is being thrown up, but as I enter the outskirts of the town I spot 2 red bags attached to a bike and see Will's blond head. We make our way to the accommodation at the Golden Temple.
Once again, the job's a good 'un. We should enter Pakistan tomorrow. "Should" being the definitive word.
Fuzzy Golden Temple
Oh, yeah. Forgot to mention that my little detour back to the hotel has meant that today I passed the 1000km mark on this trip. It stands at 1036.0km (by my calculation).
Saturday, 15 December 2007
The beginning of the beginning
After a hellish night bus back up from Delhi to MacLeodganj that included broken seats, windows that opened themselves throughout the night and a distinct lack of warm clothes on my front, we are now set to begin the task of cycling back that short distance to Ireland.
My bike is oiled, the breaks appear tight and my panniers are half packed (in my usual fashion). Visas are in passports, cash is in the wallet and fears of so-called extremist islamic states are put to one side. I would like to state here that the decision to continue into Pakistan and Iran is choice made entirely on my own. WaterAid, nor any of the sponsors thus far have any responsibility for anything regarding this trip.
And with that little disclaimer aside, I can say that I am excited about the next leg. Nervous, yes, but excited all the same. It should be an easy 2 days to the border, with a little stopover to see the Golden Temple in Amaritsar, then good food a go go!!
My bike is oiled, the breaks appear tight and my panniers are half packed (in my usual fashion). Visas are in passports, cash is in the wallet and fears of so-called extremist islamic states are put to one side. I would like to state here that the decision to continue into Pakistan and Iran is choice made entirely on my own. WaterAid, nor any of the sponsors thus far have any responsibility for anything regarding this trip.
And with that little disclaimer aside, I can say that I am excited about the next leg. Nervous, yes, but excited all the same. It should be an easy 2 days to the border, with a little stopover to see the Golden Temple in Amaritsar, then good food a go go!!
Friday, 14 December 2007
Passport Please?
It was a simple enough question, and one that's asked at every hotel, guest house and rest house in India. I should have been prepared for it. I was, of course, not.
It wasn't until I'd actually opened my money belt that it dawned on me that of course I didn't have my passport, it was with the friendly Iranian embassy where we'd been that morning and had handed over our vital documents to be told that we could pick them up 2 days later (this was on Wednesday). It had been a good morning - we were finally getting somewhere.
But that all changed as I was standing in the foyer of Hare Krishna Guesthouse. No passport, no room; it was as simples as that. It didn't matter that I'd stayed there 2 weeks ago. It didn't matter that the guy recognised me, and it certainly didn't matter that ALL the info from my passport was written in the book from the last time, including my passport number and expiry date of my Indian Visa. Without a receipt from the embassy (which they hadn't given me), I could not get a room. I could sleep in the foyer on some cushions, but a bed was out of the question. A quick search of my bag failed to reveal the photocopies of my documents that must be with the rest of my gear in Dharamshala.
This all happened at about 4pm, just when the consulate was shut, but with no other option (Will was staying with Indian friends on the other side of town and I hadn't got their number), I jumped into an autorickshaw to take be back to the embassy. The consulate was closed, but the main window was open. I explained exactly what a fool I was, and inquired if there was there any way I could get a receipt. I was asked to wait, so wait I did.
About 20min later, the stern yet polite man who had softly shattered our dreams of easy visa obtaination (I think I just made up that word) with the line "only 7 day Transit Visa" emerged from the Consulate. In his hand were two red passports. After a stern scolding for returning when I shouldn't have and for not having photocopies of my important documents, he told me that "you only bring trouble on yourself", and handed me the little red books with two brand-spanking new Iranian Visas.
So now we wait for the bus to take us back up North. Pick up our bikes, and in 4 days we should be in Pakistan.
So, all in all, the moral of the story is that if you want a quick visa to Iran, be an idiot. The second is to always check your bags. When I finally did get into my room and empty my bag, what was there? Photocopies of certain relevant pages from a little book.
It wasn't until I'd actually opened my money belt that it dawned on me that of course I didn't have my passport, it was with the friendly Iranian embassy where we'd been that morning and had handed over our vital documents to be told that we could pick them up 2 days later (this was on Wednesday). It had been a good morning - we were finally getting somewhere.
But that all changed as I was standing in the foyer of Hare Krishna Guesthouse. No passport, no room; it was as simples as that. It didn't matter that I'd stayed there 2 weeks ago. It didn't matter that the guy recognised me, and it certainly didn't matter that ALL the info from my passport was written in the book from the last time, including my passport number and expiry date of my Indian Visa. Without a receipt from the embassy (which they hadn't given me), I could not get a room. I could sleep in the foyer on some cushions, but a bed was out of the question. A quick search of my bag failed to reveal the photocopies of my documents that must be with the rest of my gear in Dharamshala.
This all happened at about 4pm, just when the consulate was shut, but with no other option (Will was staying with Indian friends on the other side of town and I hadn't got their number), I jumped into an autorickshaw to take be back to the embassy. The consulate was closed, but the main window was open. I explained exactly what a fool I was, and inquired if there was there any way I could get a receipt. I was asked to wait, so wait I did.
About 20min later, the stern yet polite man who had softly shattered our dreams of easy visa obtaination (I think I just made up that word) with the line "only 7 day Transit Visa" emerged from the Consulate. In his hand were two red passports. After a stern scolding for returning when I shouldn't have and for not having photocopies of my important documents, he told me that "you only bring trouble on yourself", and handed me the little red books with two brand-spanking new Iranian Visas.
So now we wait for the bus to take us back up North. Pick up our bikes, and in 4 days we should be in Pakistan.
So, all in all, the moral of the story is that if you want a quick visa to Iran, be an idiot. The second is to always check your bags. When I finally did get into my room and empty my bag, what was there? Photocopies of certain relevant pages from a little book.
Wednesday, 12 December 2007
A brief history
Stage 2: Rishekesh to Dharamsala
Day 1: 95.8km Ponta Sahib
Day 2: 85.0km Sarehan
Day 3: 54.4km Solan
Day 4: 45.5km Shimla
Day 5: 0.0km
Day 6: 84.1km Bilaspur
Day 7: 101.0km Jwalamukhi
Day 8: 70.5km Gallu (near MacLeodganj)
The story as far as Shimla has already been recounted elsewhere, and I have never been one to flog a dead horse, but the picture to right was sunrise as I left the mountain town.
The fruits of my labour seemed to appear only after I had recovered from losing my lunch through the consuption of chips and chocolate in Shimla. It would appear (from the source of all knowledge - Wikipedia) that this fine city sits comfortably at an elevation of 2130m. The source of no knowledge (me) puts the less than fine city of Bilaspur at an elevation of about 900m. This discrepency results in a whole lot of fun as I found myself (for the first time) descending more than I was ascending. I have decided that this is what cycling is all about. Good roads coupled with these fine, fine gradients all led to me arriving at quite possibly the creepiest guest house I have sejourned; where I was the only guest, the man could speak no English, and the "restaurant" could only offer 3 choices off a menu with about 60 options. Rice was not one of the available options, and I had to make to with eating my 10th chipati of the day.
Highway 88: it wasn't all like this...
An early start to escape the possibility of being murdered in my sleep led me all the 101km to Jwalamukai. Apparantly there is a famous temple here. I did not see it; I was too tired. I had planned to stop at a town 15km before Jwalamukai, but after eating an Indian desert roughly equivalent to shovelling 5 spoonfuls of Demara sugar straight into one's mouth, it was made quite clear to me by the owner of that shop that there were no Guest Houses of any description in Nadaun (the town of my choice), which was (at that stage) about 9km away. As I passed by a hotel, a guest house and a rest house, I was forced to reflect on the accuracy of Indian advice, but decided that I would strike out for Jwalamukai all the same.
Then the fun began:
70.5km in 6hrs 40min resulted in the incredibly respectable average of 10.6km/hr.
Though before people start to think that all those banana pancakes have finally caught up with me, I would like to state that I crossed the 650m elevation TWICE, ending up at the reasonably respectable elevation of just over 2000m. From start to finish I must have risen over 1400m in the day. This included being chased up steep inclines by mangy dogs and swearing quitely through gritted teeth at tourists who rather than moving out of my way on steep sections, decided they would stand and gawp instead.
Having found nowhere inspiring to stay in MacLeodGanj, or the adjacent Bhagsue, I decided to continue up the steep road for a further 4km to where Lyon (a friend from Raleigh) was working. It was here that I ended up staying; away from civilisation and internet. It is for this reason that this update was so long coming, and indirectly why it is also so shit; all this happened several days ago.
Get with the times.
View from Eagle's Nest, up top
Day 1: 95.8km Ponta Sahib
Day 2: 85.0km Sarehan
Day 3: 54.4km Solan
Day 4: 45.5km Shimla
Day 5: 0.0km
Day 6: 84.1km Bilaspur
Day 7: 101.0km Jwalamukhi
Day 8: 70.5km Gallu (near MacLeodganj)
The story as far as Shimla has already been recounted elsewhere, and I have never been one to flog a dead horse, but the picture to right was sunrise as I left the mountain town.
The fruits of my labour seemed to appear only after I had recovered from losing my lunch through the consuption of chips and chocolate in Shimla. It would appear (from the source of all knowledge - Wikipedia) that this fine city sits comfortably at an elevation of 2130m. The source of no knowledge (me) puts the less than fine city of Bilaspur at an elevation of about 900m. This discrepency results in a whole lot of fun as I found myself (for the first time) descending more than I was ascending. I have decided that this is what cycling is all about. Good roads coupled with these fine, fine gradients all led to me arriving at quite possibly the creepiest guest house I have sejourned; where I was the only guest, the man could speak no English, and the "restaurant" could only offer 3 choices off a menu with about 60 options. Rice was not one of the available options, and I had to make to with eating my 10th chipati of the day.
Highway 88: it wasn't all like this...
An early start to escape the possibility of being murdered in my sleep led me all the 101km to Jwalamukai. Apparantly there is a famous temple here. I did not see it; I was too tired. I had planned to stop at a town 15km before Jwalamukai, but after eating an Indian desert roughly equivalent to shovelling 5 spoonfuls of Demara sugar straight into one's mouth, it was made quite clear to me by the owner of that shop that there were no Guest Houses of any description in Nadaun (the town of my choice), which was (at that stage) about 9km away. As I passed by a hotel, a guest house and a rest house, I was forced to reflect on the accuracy of Indian advice, but decided that I would strike out for Jwalamukai all the same.
Then the fun began:
70.5km in 6hrs 40min resulted in the incredibly respectable average of 10.6km/hr.
Though before people start to think that all those banana pancakes have finally caught up with me, I would like to state that I crossed the 650m elevation TWICE, ending up at the reasonably respectable elevation of just over 2000m. From start to finish I must have risen over 1400m in the day. This included being chased up steep inclines by mangy dogs and swearing quitely through gritted teeth at tourists who rather than moving out of my way on steep sections, decided they would stand and gawp instead.
Having found nowhere inspiring to stay in MacLeodGanj, or the adjacent Bhagsue, I decided to continue up the steep road for a further 4km to where Lyon (a friend from Raleigh) was working. It was here that I ended up staying; away from civilisation and internet. It is for this reason that this update was so long coming, and indirectly why it is also so shit; all this happened several days ago.
Get with the times.
View from Eagle's Nest, up top
Tuesday, 4 December 2007
5.5km/hr
What is faster?
Buses
Trucks
Jeeps
Cars
Motorbikes
Scooters
Dogs (normal)
What is slower?
People walking
Dogs (3-legged)
Cows
5.5km/hr was a sustained speed up much of the inclines on my journey so far. It was steep, the road was broken (a "potholed road" does not give justice to its description - it was impossible to find flat sections on either side to cycle across and each little bump is like a hand pushing you back, or a finger tugging at your top), and I have been puking (I was more interested in ensuring that the liquer the guest house owner was offering me wasn't meths and didn't register him topping it up with water). Below is the classy joint I was staying in. Note the fact that there is no pipe connecting the cistern to the hole in the ground. There is also nothing under the sink, as I discovered after pouring some water down there. You can't see, but the pillow cases are of Minnie Mouse. I think it gives the whole place a homely feeling. All for the bargain price of Rps125 (a little over 2 euro).
Though the highlight was heating the water for a "shower" (in India, this means bucket). Wires straight in socket (who needs plugs?); cracked wire casing (who's scared of a bit of electricity); wires in water. Though at least a full risk assessment was conducted, and a wooden stick was used to insert and remove the wires from the bucket. This nifty method took just 10 short minutes to change water from freezing cold, to nicely toasty.
Am now in Shimla trying to recouperate after emptying my stomach contents by the side of the road 10km back. After two days of trying to push on on a nearly empty stomach (yesterday I did 55km on bad roads with just 1 samosa and 2 banannas!) I decided to cut the day short and try and eat some bland, bland continental food.
Though there is some good news. Have found out that our bid for Iranian Visas was a resounding success. PTA has come up trumps. All we've got to do is pay the fellows...
ps Let me know if the video's working. It worked in the preview, but doesn't seem to now it's been posted!
Buses
Trucks
Jeeps
Cars
Motorbikes
Scooters
Dogs (normal)
What is slower?
People walking
Dogs (3-legged)
Cows
5.5km/hr was a sustained speed up much of the inclines on my journey so far. It was steep, the road was broken (a "potholed road" does not give justice to its description - it was impossible to find flat sections on either side to cycle across and each little bump is like a hand pushing you back, or a finger tugging at your top), and I have been puking (I was more interested in ensuring that the liquer the guest house owner was offering me wasn't meths and didn't register him topping it up with water). Below is the classy joint I was staying in. Note the fact that there is no pipe connecting the cistern to the hole in the ground. There is also nothing under the sink, as I discovered after pouring some water down there. You can't see, but the pillow cases are of Minnie Mouse. I think it gives the whole place a homely feeling. All for the bargain price of Rps125 (a little over 2 euro).
Though the highlight was heating the water for a "shower" (in India, this means bucket). Wires straight in socket (who needs plugs?); cracked wire casing (who's scared of a bit of electricity); wires in water. Though at least a full risk assessment was conducted, and a wooden stick was used to insert and remove the wires from the bucket. This nifty method took just 10 short minutes to change water from freezing cold, to nicely toasty.
Am now in Shimla trying to recouperate after emptying my stomach contents by the side of the road 10km back. After two days of trying to push on on a nearly empty stomach (yesterday I did 55km on bad roads with just 1 samosa and 2 banannas!) I decided to cut the day short and try and eat some bland, bland continental food.
Though there is some good news. Have found out that our bid for Iranian Visas was a resounding success. PTA has come up trumps. All we've got to do is pay the fellows...
ps Let me know if the video's working. It worked in the preview, but doesn't seem to now it's been posted!
Saturday, 1 December 2007
Carlsberg don't do internet...
But if they did, they sure as hell wouldn't own a subsidary company called Tata Internet. Anyone who has been to India will know that Tata are taking over the world. They're into everything from trucks, to tea, to t'internet (sorry). They're also shit at about everything they do. Think "Alba", then times it by 16, add 7 and you're about there. It reminds me back in the day when we all had dial up connections (which is actually what this is, at a whopping 230Kbps. I don't know what it means, but I know it's slow). So don't be expecting any updates on GoogleMaps, I'm going nowhere near that beauty.
Monkeys scare me what with their human characteristics, intense stares, incredibly sharp teeth and countless diseases, and unfortunately today I had to cycle past many troupes such as the one above. It's a bit blurry because I refused to stop in front of them, opening up possibilities for attack; but as it happens these monkeys were about as scared of me as I was of them!
I had decided that a week of stretching and 9 days of eating chocolate banana pancakes was sufficient and that it was time to move on. So at 7am this morning, I left the comfortable surroundings of Laxman Jhula and started (for the first time) heading West.
I had been lulled into a slightly false sense of security with the large distance I'd covered on the completely flat plains, and it didn't take long to notice the difference. Hills tend to slow me down, but after the first couple of hours, I found myself on flat ground once again. However, a combination of laziness and a suspected cold coming on made me stop after just 95km in a random town called Paonta Sahib. There's not much apart from an apparently famous Sikh temple of which I have only seen the outside.
I plan to rest up before tomorrow which promises to be a hard day. My give-up attitude results in an extra 40km of plain cycling being tagged onto my journey tomorrow before the joy of the hills start once again.
And a note on the cold. It's possible it's just something I picked up, or it's possible it has arisen from me pouring warm salt water into my nose before stuffing a rubber tube up there and removing it through my mouth. It's meant to be a cleansing ritual - I beg to differ.
Monkeys scare me what with their human characteristics, intense stares, incredibly sharp teeth and countless diseases, and unfortunately today I had to cycle past many troupes such as the one above. It's a bit blurry because I refused to stop in front of them, opening up possibilities for attack; but as it happens these monkeys were about as scared of me as I was of them!
I had decided that a week of stretching and 9 days of eating chocolate banana pancakes was sufficient and that it was time to move on. So at 7am this morning, I left the comfortable surroundings of Laxman Jhula and started (for the first time) heading West.
I had been lulled into a slightly false sense of security with the large distance I'd covered on the completely flat plains, and it didn't take long to notice the difference. Hills tend to slow me down, but after the first couple of hours, I found myself on flat ground once again. However, a combination of laziness and a suspected cold coming on made me stop after just 95km in a random town called Paonta Sahib. There's not much apart from an apparently famous Sikh temple of which I have only seen the outside.
I plan to rest up before tomorrow which promises to be a hard day. My give-up attitude results in an extra 40km of plain cycling being tagged onto my journey tomorrow before the joy of the hills start once again.
And a note on the cold. It's possible it's just something I picked up, or it's possible it has arisen from me pouring warm salt water into my nose before stuffing a rubber tube up there and removing it through my mouth. It's meant to be a cleansing ritual - I beg to differ.
Tuesday, 27 November 2007
No news is good news
At least, that's what I'm telling myself with regards to Pars Tourist Agency. Having changed the format of the scanned copies of mine and Will's passports and re-sent them, I have heard nothing.
However, I thought that although I have nothing new to post here (apart from the actual realisation of how inflexible I really am - Yoga HURTS), I would just put up some pretty pictures and draw your attention to the new link on the left. Defying my illiteracy with computers, I believe I have managed to set up a Google Maps page that should chart my progress home. I'll try and keep it updated, but will apologise now for the many lapses that will occur.
Hindi me (after visiting a temple)
The mighty Ganga (with Laxman Jhula, where I'm staying, across the bridge to the right of the photo)
I don't know which is worse...
About the only place so far that's away from the ubiquitous horn. I found this village about 45min up a steep path near another waterfall.
However, I thought that although I have nothing new to post here (apart from the actual realisation of how inflexible I really am - Yoga HURTS), I would just put up some pretty pictures and draw your attention to the new link on the left. Defying my illiteracy with computers, I believe I have managed to set up a Google Maps page that should chart my progress home. I'll try and keep it updated, but will apologise now for the many lapses that will occur.
Hindi me (after visiting a temple)
The mighty Ganga (with Laxman Jhula, where I'm staying, across the bridge to the right of the photo)
I don't know which is worse...
About the only place so far that's away from the ubiquitous horn. I found this village about 45min up a steep path near another waterfall.
Thursday, 22 November 2007
Stage 1 - Rishekesh
Day 1: Delhi-Muzaffarnagar (143.9km)
Day 2: Muzaggarnagar-Rishekesh (110.6km)
At 2pm on Thursday 22nd of November, 230km after setting off from Delhi, I started cycling up my first hill. That about sums up the plains of India. That and sugar cane and the incessant honking of horns.
I departed Delhi at 07.15 on Wednesday morning. It was a little later than I was hoping becuase although I had mentioned in my previous missive that my wheels were pumped, I was in fact lying. They weren't. This coupled with a mad search through all 4 of my pannier bags to find my pump delayed my leaving by about 30min. Not the start of dreams, but the type of which I am fast becoming aquainted.
After 15km I had left the environs of Delhi, but it took a full 70km of almost flawless asphalt road before I started thinking that I had escaped the smog. It was nice to finally believe that the air I was breathing was not slowly killing me and I decided to start taking stock of my surroundings. This soon became a bit tedious given that everything around me was sugarcane. In total, over the two days, I must have cycled past 150km of sugarcane fields. At one point, I thought I passed a field of maize, but I realised that it was just a trick of my mind to break the monotony; it was indeed sugarcane.
Having passed about 50 sugar refineries, I decided to stop off at just one. These were not monstrous buildings of steel, but smallscale affairs, where the cane was brought on carts pulled by water buffallo. The cane is crushed to release cane juice, which passes through three pans where the water evaporates off leaving a paste that tastes just like Scottish tablet. It is the discarded fibre of the cane that is used to fuel the fire under the pans. All in all, nearly a completely zero-carbon affair (was just one tractor powering the crusher). I was given a cup of the raw cane juice that, although making feel sick after 1 and a half cups, helped me on my way over the next few kilometres.
If the countryside was tedious, the people were not. At every village I stopped at I was surrounded by curious onlookers who appear never to have seen a bike with gears, let alone a fully laden one carrying a white guy. I get raced by kids and adults alike on their bikes and have even had payment for chai (tea) refused at a chai stall.
Arriving into Muzaffarnagar was a bit of a nightmare. I was racing the setting sun and appeared to have an inability to remember its name (this made asking for directions a tiny bit tricky). "I go Muzaf..." and just hope that whoever I was asking would fill in the gaps. I got a lot of blank faces. Even now, I can't tell people where I stayed without looking at a map.
I woke up the second day at 03.40, smug in the knowledge that although feeling well rested, I still had 2hrs 20 left to sleep. Then I realised that it was not lights on outside my room, but daylight. It was in fact 07.15; the clock I had bought not 12hrs earlier had decided to stop working. On my bike and off I went; again surrounded by sugarcane and the smell of its evaporating juice.
Just passed Rishekesh I was accosted by some Babas (some kind of holy men - they said they were not Hindi but sanskrit; I just nodded my head and smiled). Decided that a rest was in order, so lay down as one of them chanted "ohm" over me and encouraged me to expel the negative energy through my hands and feet. After 5min, I must say that I did feel quite revived. After 30min in their company I decided to decline remaining with them, sleeping in their temple and discarding all material possessions and made my way towards my guesthouse.
A quick dip in the Ganges and I was done for the evening. Time to relax and check internet...
"Dera Kieran
Hope to have good Day
We cant open your mail pplease4 send it for us with diferent format.
With Best Regards
Pars Tourist Agency"
Maybe not!
At least I have a week here to sort things out, start some Yoga, do some swimming, visit some waterfalls. Then it's off to Dharamsala.
Camel on road from Delhi
Buffalo carrying sugar cane to the refinery
Raddishes being washed in river
Shiva statue near Haridwar (25km south of Rishekesh)
Tuesday, 20 November 2007
Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes/"Hi Will, Bye Will"
I'd like to say that that David Bowie song has been running through my head all day, but given the fact that I don't know the lyrics and am amusical in all sense of the word (even if it is maybe a made up word!), it has just been that little segment. However, that should not take away from the pace of change that has just occurred.
Following our disappointing visit to the delightful Embassy of the Islamic Republic of Iran, it was looking that we were to remain in Delhi in perpetuance. Though with just one day passed I have the pleasure to announce that my bags are packed, my wheels are fully pumped and primed, and I am departing tomorrow morning.
That is correct, the trip is about to commence.
The reason for this sudden change in circumstances all comes down a wonderful tour company called Pars Tour Agency (www.key2persia.com - that address and name is not for you back home to "add to favourites", but for any other keen travellers out there and using google that are having difficulty getting into Iran). It's a long way from being finalised, but they now have our details and should be applying to Tehran for a magic 6 digit code that they then email to us, whereupon we return to the friendly man in the window of the embassy, and he smiles warmly upon us as he sticks in a 30 day visa into our maroon passports.
That is the theory. But theory and practice can't be much further removed than they are in India.
However, whatever the outcome shall be, it will not be learned for a full 10 days. So in the interim I am scedaddling out to the mountains for some cool, crisp air. I am heading to Rishekesh - a place that is only a word to most of you, but that is about 200km NE of Delhi.
I leave at 6.30am tomorrow and am doing this leg on my lonesome. Will's bike is in Dharamsala, so upon leaving Rishekesh I shall be making it poste haste to the home of the Dalai Lama to be reunited with Will
How do I feel...?
GOOD!
Following our disappointing visit to the delightful Embassy of the Islamic Republic of Iran, it was looking that we were to remain in Delhi in perpetuance. Though with just one day passed I have the pleasure to announce that my bags are packed, my wheels are fully pumped and primed, and I am departing tomorrow morning.
That is correct, the trip is about to commence.
The reason for this sudden change in circumstances all comes down a wonderful tour company called Pars Tour Agency (www.key2persia.com - that address and name is not for you back home to "add to favourites", but for any other keen travellers out there and using google that are having difficulty getting into Iran). It's a long way from being finalised, but they now have our details and should be applying to Tehran for a magic 6 digit code that they then email to us, whereupon we return to the friendly man in the window of the embassy, and he smiles warmly upon us as he sticks in a 30 day visa into our maroon passports.
That is the theory. But theory and practice can't be much further removed than they are in India.
However, whatever the outcome shall be, it will not be learned for a full 10 days. So in the interim I am scedaddling out to the mountains for some cool, crisp air. I am heading to Rishekesh - a place that is only a word to most of you, but that is about 200km NE of Delhi.
I leave at 6.30am tomorrow and am doing this leg on my lonesome. Will's bike is in Dharamsala, so upon leaving Rishekesh I shall be making it poste haste to the home of the Dalai Lama to be reunited with Will
How do I feel...?
GOOD!
Monday, 19 November 2007
Living the Alchemist's Dream
It gets harder and harder not to draw at least some parallels between the past two weeks and the writings of good ol' Paulo (thank-you Adam for bringing it up). The path is easy to begin with and gets harder and harder as one continues.
After the surfacing of a Pakistani sponsor from the depths of Delhi, and the subsequent issuing of our Pakistani Visas it appeared fate was not tempted by my previous ramblings; however, with only 20 days to cross the entire country, some might argue that he shrugged a shoulder in our direction. Those minuscule facts aside, it appeared that nothing stood in our paths between Delhi and Turkey (at the very least). Iranian visas would be a breeze. There was no state of emergency, we had our snazzy letters of recommendation from our very own embassy and we weren't British or American. Visas being a formality, we would be fleeing the smog of Delhi [as above] in a matter of days to spend the crystal clear winter days in the refuge of the foothills of the Himalaya.
With this in mind, I did an extremely brave thing (some may say foolhardy - but I prefer brave) and took my bike for a spin around Delhi. Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I actually cycled. With my departure imminent, I wanted to be sure that I knew my escape route, and I figured it prudent to discover this escape route "sans baggage" (as they say in France).
So...33km later, and exactly back from whence I started, I am pleased to announce that I have:
-found the road to Rishekesh
-traveled the Grand Trunk Road
-passed two elephants traveling the other way
-become dehydrated
-been smiled at and had my hand shaken at roundabouts
-complete and final proof of myself in India [see below of me with cow]
-calculated that, to date, if I was to end my trip now, and if my sponsors did not lynch me, and instead decided that WaterAid could keep their generous donations, that I would have raised 83.36 pounds for every kilometre. That's nearly 120 euro! (So thank you all so much to those that have sponsored; and to those that wish to, there is a link to the left)
And, most importantly, I have lived to tell the tale!
Such elation; such ease; it should have been easy to see the fall. But blinded by our luck to date, we arrived at the Embassy of the Islamic Republic of Iran with smiles aplenty only for the best laid plans of men to be shattered by a simple statement uttered in total politeness: "You can only get 7 day Transit Visa".
And so, I shall leave it there. We have irons in the fire so to speak. All is not lost. There is more that one way to skin a cat (or skin a dead cat as I used to say, until I was corrected by Ollie). Plus, you're probably bored of reading, so below are another couple of photos
I did miss the elephants, but here's a cow on the Grand Trunk Road.
And here's a boat on the Yamuna (the 2nd most holy river in India, and one that conveniently flows near Delhi).
Wednesday, 14 November 2007
Hhhhmmmm
I am a firm non-believer in fate; we always have a choice. But situations sometimes arise that make me look twice at things. So, do I dare tempt fate by writing about it? Of course I do.
I have mentioned before the series of events that led up to me being in India, but in many ways that pales into significance compared to what has happened over the last few days.
A couple of years ago, a boy met some Indian girls and befriended them. Another boy (Will) befriended that first boy, and so too befriended those Indian girls. We shall leave that story for now.
After mine and Will's visit to the Irish embassy on Money we were filled with a degree of hope that once again, our overland trip may still be a reality and we could make it across Pakistan. However, on Tuesday morning, those feelings of good fortune were muted somewhat when, upon arrival at the Pakistan embassy, Will discovered that he had left his passport photographs behind, and so applying that day could not go ahead. Another minor blow was that one of the criteria on the visa form was the contact details of a willing sponsor within Pakistan who would vouch for our characters if required. This looked not quite as good as it had the day before.
We couldn't return to the hostel to pick up the photographs because Will had arranged to meet one of the aforementioned Indian girls in one of the regions of Delhi, and there was no time for the return trip. So we decided to mull our situation over throughout the day, and see what came up. I returned to our hostel, while Will met Akancha for lunch.
When we all met up for dinner, Will had a broad grin spread over is face. Over the course of the afternoon he had managed to get that sponsor in Karachi. It transpired that Akancha had mentioned one place for lunch, and Will another. They settled on Will's choice and on entering the restaurant, bumped into an old school friend of Akancha. It should be stated here that Delhi is a city of 13,782,976 souls (I have just found that out on Google, so it must be true), and the randomness is further compounded by the school being situated in a completely different state; these girls did not even have Delhi in common!!
Akancha's friend was not staying in Delhi (i.e. on that day there was at least 13,782,979 in Delhi), she had arrived that day, and was leaving that evening on a flight to...Pakistan, her home country. On hearing our predicament, she gave Will the details of her father in Kerachi who could act as our contact, and invited us to stay if we go down that far. She also says that reports of the situation are blown out of proportion by the media, and it is not nearly as bad as what is portrayed.
So now we are playing the waiting game. Our passports are in, our letter of recommendation from the Irish Embassy is in, our contact in Pakistan is in. Come Friday 4pm, it is possible we shall be in posession of our brand spanking new visas. But, now that I have written that, maybe not.
(the photo is of Will having his application form typed out, in front of the Embassy of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan)
Monday, 12 November 2007
Where to go? Where to go?
After 5 days in India I find myself (and Will of course) at a crossroads. Not a literal one: that would be easy, I have today bought some maps, and a cursory glance at them could easily rectify that dilly of a pickle. No, this is a metaphorical crossroads, and as such is that little bit harder to sort out.
The situation in Pakistan looks to be less than perfect. There appears to be some unrest in certain areas. Upon my arrival in India, Will and I decided that perhaps the best option would be to fly from Delhi to Dubai, take a ferry to south Iran before cycling up the length of the country into Turkey. It would be a shame since it would mean not completing a section of the journey by road, but we decided our safety came first (which of course it does).
So why the crossroads?
From talking to other travelers (or, more accurately, from emailing other travelers) both in Pakistan and Iran, it would seem that the overland trip through Pakistan is not quite a lost cause. Everyone agrees that to do the trip by bicycle would be unwise, but trains are another story. It should be possible to get a train from Lahore to Quetta, and another one from there onto Zanhidan in Iran. Once there, we could quickfoot it out of Baluchistan (area that straddles the two countries) on the back of a bus, before continuing the journey correctly on two wheels.
With this in mind, we made our way to the friendly Irish embassy in Delhi, where we (to our surprise) managed to get letters of recommendation to enter Pakistan and Iran with very little hassle.
So, this is now where we stand. There is the possibility that tomorrow morning at the Pakistan embassy, we shall be granted Visas to enter their country. Once this happens, we have the decision to either go ahead with an overland trip, or turn tails and fly to Dubai. I guess crossroads is the wrong analogy, it's more a T-junction!
In the meantime, both to acclimatise myself to my bicycle and to make up some of those lost miles in Pakistan, I shall be doing a small loop of India. More on this to follow; I can't reveal all my secrets at once.
The situation in Pakistan looks to be less than perfect. There appears to be some unrest in certain areas. Upon my arrival in India, Will and I decided that perhaps the best option would be to fly from Delhi to Dubai, take a ferry to south Iran before cycling up the length of the country into Turkey. It would be a shame since it would mean not completing a section of the journey by road, but we decided our safety came first (which of course it does).
So why the crossroads?
From talking to other travelers (or, more accurately, from emailing other travelers) both in Pakistan and Iran, it would seem that the overland trip through Pakistan is not quite a lost cause. Everyone agrees that to do the trip by bicycle would be unwise, but trains are another story. It should be possible to get a train from Lahore to Quetta, and another one from there onto Zanhidan in Iran. Once there, we could quickfoot it out of Baluchistan (area that straddles the two countries) on the back of a bus, before continuing the journey correctly on two wheels.
With this in mind, we made our way to the friendly Irish embassy in Delhi, where we (to our surprise) managed to get letters of recommendation to enter Pakistan and Iran with very little hassle.
So, this is now where we stand. There is the possibility that tomorrow morning at the Pakistan embassy, we shall be granted Visas to enter their country. Once this happens, we have the decision to either go ahead with an overland trip, or turn tails and fly to Dubai. I guess crossroads is the wrong analogy, it's more a T-junction!
In the meantime, both to acclimatise myself to my bicycle and to make up some of those lost miles in Pakistan, I shall be doing a small loop of India. More on this to follow; I can't reveal all my secrets at once.
Saturday, 10 November 2007
Just to prove that I am actually in India, and not just writing these from my hideaway in County Donegal, here is a picture of the typical Delhi road: one along which I shall probably have to cycle in about 3 days. Yay!
And, for those doubting Thomas's still out there, yes it is true that anyone could have taken the picture, but further proof shall follow. I promise you that.
Wednesday, 7 November 2007
Idiot Boy
It is official. Many of you probably already know this, but I am a tool! It's like I actually set out to make life difficult for myself, and I'm not even talking about the cycling aspect of this trip. No, that can wait for a bit, I overcomplicate issues just getting out to India.
You'd have thought that I would have learnt from my swift departure from Dublin. Sitting on the computer, trying to find my airline receipt, when I finally decide to actually check the time of my ferry and find out that far from it leaving at 11.30 as I had thought, it was actually 11.10 - this was at the prepared time of 10.15, giving me just 25min to get my panniers on my bike (yes, there weren't even there yet!), hop aboard, pedal the 3 miles down to Dun Laoghaire, say goodbye to mum and Eoin, and check in. I did make it, but there wasn't much standing around.
So, when I finally did manage to get my hands on my e-ticket and see that my plane left at 09.45, you might just think that I'd have the sense to check it. You would, of course, be wrong. Why check it when it's right there in front of you? Why indeed.
I was a little disconcerted and flummexed to see on arrival at the airport that there was no 09.45 plane to Delhi - only an 08.45 one...that was now closed. But no worries, things work out - they always do. So I found myself on the 10am plane to Mumbai, with a link to Delhi the following morning. Sorted.
Unfortunately, things are never that easy in my life, so I found myself standing at the carasoull at 2am watching the same 3 bags go round, and round, and round, and round. My box, and of course, my bike inside, was nowhere to be found. It was about now that I started to curse my lacadaisacal attitude towards getting travel insurance. I meant to get, I really did, it just seemed to take a bit of a back seat to all my other "preparations". But, as it turned out, after a brief altercation with the friendly Air India staff, another trailer of cargo from flight AI124 was found and there appeared my box (I was luckier than other people on that flight).
From here I then discovered from my guardian angel Max (a guy from North India, working in LA, who missed the 08.45 plane because he was pissed and so was making the same route as me) that far from the 05.40 plane being direct to Delhi, it stopped off at about 3 other locations before landing in Delhi, so we (there was actually about 6 of us making the same trip) all stood in queue for about an hour and a half, being pushed out of the way by other desperate (more pushy) travellers. Until finally, at 05.45 we secured seats on the 06.00 flight to Delhi. Of course, we still had to check in our bags and clear security, but I'd grown more confident in my queue-jumping abilities, so just strode to the front of the line, went through the metal detector, ran down to the gate and managed to pass through the gates at 05.58.
The rest of the journey was fairly uneventful: fell asleep, almost left my passport on the plane (my neighbour pointed out that it was on the ground), you know the normal kind of flight. So now, 11hrs after I should have arrived, I'm finally here. And so, after all that, do you know who I blame for all of this? Those damned lazy farmers. It was them and their daylight saving malarky that created this fiasco.
Nothing to do with me...
You'd have thought that I would have learnt from my swift departure from Dublin. Sitting on the computer, trying to find my airline receipt, when I finally decide to actually check the time of my ferry and find out that far from it leaving at 11.30 as I had thought, it was actually 11.10 - this was at the prepared time of 10.15, giving me just 25min to get my panniers on my bike (yes, there weren't even there yet!), hop aboard, pedal the 3 miles down to Dun Laoghaire, say goodbye to mum and Eoin, and check in. I did make it, but there wasn't much standing around.
So, when I finally did manage to get my hands on my e-ticket and see that my plane left at 09.45, you might just think that I'd have the sense to check it. You would, of course, be wrong. Why check it when it's right there in front of you? Why indeed.
I was a little disconcerted and flummexed to see on arrival at the airport that there was no 09.45 plane to Delhi - only an 08.45 one...that was now closed. But no worries, things work out - they always do. So I found myself on the 10am plane to Mumbai, with a link to Delhi the following morning. Sorted.
Unfortunately, things are never that easy in my life, so I found myself standing at the carasoull at 2am watching the same 3 bags go round, and round, and round, and round. My box, and of course, my bike inside, was nowhere to be found. It was about now that I started to curse my lacadaisacal attitude towards getting travel insurance. I meant to get, I really did, it just seemed to take a bit of a back seat to all my other "preparations". But, as it turned out, after a brief altercation with the friendly Air India staff, another trailer of cargo from flight AI124 was found and there appeared my box (I was luckier than other people on that flight).
From here I then discovered from my guardian angel Max (a guy from North India, working in LA, who missed the 08.45 plane because he was pissed and so was making the same route as me) that far from the 05.40 plane being direct to Delhi, it stopped off at about 3 other locations before landing in Delhi, so we (there was actually about 6 of us making the same trip) all stood in queue for about an hour and a half, being pushed out of the way by other desperate (more pushy) travellers. Until finally, at 05.45 we secured seats on the 06.00 flight to Delhi. Of course, we still had to check in our bags and clear security, but I'd grown more confident in my queue-jumping abilities, so just strode to the front of the line, went through the metal detector, ran down to the gate and managed to pass through the gates at 05.58.
The rest of the journey was fairly uneventful: fell asleep, almost left my passport on the plane (my neighbour pointed out that it was on the ground), you know the normal kind of flight. So now, 11hrs after I should have arrived, I'm finally here. And so, after all that, do you know who I blame for all of this? Those damned lazy farmers. It was them and their daylight saving malarky that created this fiasco.
Nothing to do with me...
Friday, 19 October 2007
The here and now
It's slowly dawning on what I'm getting myself in for. Waking up this morning (over the course of about half an hour - I despise snooze buttons), I realised that I didn't much feel like cycling today. Only problem is that the cycling to and from work only racks up 20km/day. There does appear to be a small discrepancy between this and the 80km/day that I'll be expecting to cycle on the planned route from India back to Ireland! Added to this little shortfall is the rolling hills of Leicestershire, compared to one or two mountain ranges in Asia; the weight of my carrier bag to work, compared to a fully laden touring bike; and of course the weather!
Having said that, I now realise that I don't even know what the weather is going to be like!
That aside, I think it's fair to say I can't wait to start. Since the first suggestion of a mildly adventurous cycle by Will back in November, it hasn't been too far from my mind. It's only been in the last couple of months that the trip finally started to become reality, and with plane tickets purchased and visa (easily!!!) obtained, everything's in place. I don't think I'd ever have come up with the idea myself - I've always enjoyed cycling, but never really gone too far. I guess that's all about to change.
It's strange looking back and seeing the series of events that have led up to my imminent departure in under three weeks.
If I'd never:
gone to Newpark (I wouldn't have met Will or probably even...)
gone to St Andrews (I wouldn't have met Alex and so wouldn't have...)
gone to the Himalaya (and so wouldn't have...)
gone to Mick's house just before I left (where I wouldn't...)
have bumped into Will (who I hadn't seen for about 2 years and so wouldn't later have...)
emailed him about the Himalaya (where he was planning on going [without a bike at the time] and so he wouldn't have emailed back...)
"fancy cycling from Bangkok to Dublin?"
Which then, of course, kicked started the events that lead me to here and now.
It's a series of events that lead me to believe that were I on particular mind-altering drugs, that are sometimes known to increase paranoia, I would think that life is being shaped for me by some unseen force. Of course, being the atheist that I am, I simply believe that we make the best of any situation. Opportunities were offered and I was fortunate enough to be in situations that I could make the most of them. It was these opportunities that finally have led me to being in my final week of work (4 days left after a year working in the business of rocks) with 9 months of saddle sores ahead.
Like I said...
can't wait!
Having said that, I now realise that I don't even know what the weather is going to be like!
That aside, I think it's fair to say I can't wait to start. Since the first suggestion of a mildly adventurous cycle by Will back in November, it hasn't been too far from my mind. It's only been in the last couple of months that the trip finally started to become reality, and with plane tickets purchased and visa (easily!!!) obtained, everything's in place. I don't think I'd ever have come up with the idea myself - I've always enjoyed cycling, but never really gone too far. I guess that's all about to change.
It's strange looking back and seeing the series of events that have led up to my imminent departure in under three weeks.
If I'd never:
gone to Newpark (I wouldn't have met Will or probably even...)
gone to St Andrews (I wouldn't have met Alex and so wouldn't have...)
gone to the Himalaya (and so wouldn't have...)
gone to Mick's house just before I left (where I wouldn't...)
have bumped into Will (who I hadn't seen for about 2 years and so wouldn't later have...)
emailed him about the Himalaya (where he was planning on going [without a bike at the time] and so he wouldn't have emailed back...)
"fancy cycling from Bangkok to Dublin?"
Which then, of course, kicked started the events that lead me to here and now.
It's a series of events that lead me to believe that were I on particular mind-altering drugs, that are sometimes known to increase paranoia, I would think that life is being shaped for me by some unseen force. Of course, being the atheist that I am, I simply believe that we make the best of any situation. Opportunities were offered and I was fortunate enough to be in situations that I could make the most of them. It was these opportunities that finally have led me to being in my final week of work (4 days left after a year working in the business of rocks) with 9 months of saddle sores ahead.
Like I said...
can't wait!
Tuesday, 9 October 2007
The Buildup...
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