White Cars

Stage 13: Beirut to Amman (351km)
Day 1: 78.0km
Day 2: 37.3km Damascus
Day 3: 85.8km
Day 4: 83.0km
Day 5: 67.3km Amman


We woke up to find that one white car had been replaced by another, and that the four occupants of the first car (3 men and Mr Kalishnikov) and been exchanged for four men (and Mr Hidden Kalishnikov). We don't know if they stayed there all night, but we guess we did.

For once, the use of first person plural does not refer to Sicander and Mr Stick. No, not at all; this time Kieran had found himself some living, breathing fwends with whom to cycle. Thibaut was French and Monika was Hungarian/Polish. They lived together in Berlin, spoke their respective languages, conversed with one another in German and spoke perfect English. I'd met them in Damascus (they started in Southern Turkey; Monika was going to Tel Aviv, Thibaut from there on to Cairo) and we agreed to set off together towards Jordan.

The ride to Damascus had been tough. I'd sufficiently recovered from the hangover of my night out in Beirut, and sweated out all remaining alcohol on the climb out of the city; 32km of uphill taking about 5 hours to complete! Between the two countries it took almost a full hour to cross from the Lebanese border gate to the Syrian one, with 6km of uphill between the two. I camped about 10km inside Syria, leaving a leisurely 40km day into the Syrian capital. I had thought of staying 2 nights in Damascus, but the possiblility of actually having someone to talk to on the road was too great a temptation and I set off the following morning.


We chose a quiet road to the west of the main route to Jordan and it was nice. Few cars passed us and those that did generally refrained from excessive use of their horns. It was a very welcome change.

It was during lunch that the blacked out BMW stopped beside us. "We are security, we are here for your safety". We gave our details, handed over our passports, said when we arrived in the country, said when we were due to leave. We provided details on where we had entered the country and where we hoped to leave. We gave the dates we entered Lebanon and when we had returned to Syria. We mentioned the towns we had visited in Syria, and those that we were going to pass through on our way out. All our responses were relayed through our translator to a man on a mobile phone, who passed them onto his superior. They thanked us for our time, said what a wonderful free country Syria was, how safe it was and how welcome we were to be there. Then they drove off.

We passed the car about 2km down the road. It started to follow us. 5km down the road it pulled passed us and asked us to stop.

"We have just had a phone call 5min ago to say that the road ahead is corrupted. There is many many roadworks. It is not suitable for bicycles. You must go to the main road. You can follow this motorbike"

Our objections were rebuffed and we found ourselves following a man on a motorbike for about 10km. He eventually left us, much to our pleasure, but 1km further, a white car that had been cruising behind us made us stop. Again, we handed over our passports. This car (with the 4 occupants mentioned above) then proceeded to follow us for 10km; they wanted us to go another 20, but Monika successfully changed their mind with an admirable display of tears. They sat and watched us while we set up camp in an olive grove.

The car the following morning followed us for 15km. It disappeared soon after the final right-hand turn when the only other direction was to the Jordonian border. We had realised the previous evening that the quiet road we had been on was about 30km away from the Golan Heights: maybe that was the reason for the hightened security. In all, we had company for 45km.

We parted ways about 10km into Jordan with Thibaut and Monika making their way to Israel; possibly to report to their superiors (how well do you really know someone after 48hrs??!!). It was still 90km to the border, so I found myself camping outside the house of shepherds where I was plied with tea and ate a yellow dish containing rice and bread. Homemade yoghurt was on offer, as was homemade butter (tasted a bit like rancid lard, but managed an enthusiastic thumbs up as I was encouraged to take a second helping).

Arrived into Amman with a slight niggle in my knee, but hope that my rest day will provide suitable recouperation.

My next stop will be Petra. For those of you that don't know Petra (as I did not about 3 months ago), just watch Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.


Monika and Me entering Jordan

















A well-scrubbed shepherd boy

















Sicander gets a new rider

Getting the sheep ready for milking

German biker in Amman. I guess pedalling your way uphill really makes you think about what you need...and what you don't!










And for all you Aggregate Industries employees out there:


Holcim...in Lebanon

















Lafarge...in Jordan. Don't worry though, I spat on the ground in front of this sign. I would have spat on the window, but I'm in a foreign country and wouldn't want to be rude.