Why oh why?

Stage 16: Jerusalem to Haifa (and Lisamol) (312km)
Day 1: 99.4km
Day 2: 125.2km where Jordan River enters Sea of Galilee
Day 3: 87.2km Haifa

Why was I cycling back up the section that had been such a wonderful downhill the first time round? It was just plain wrong. Cycling back the same way is never good, and cycling back UPHILL is even worse. It was about 4km too, so I had plenty of time to ponder the question over. Why...why...why...why...why, in time to the (new) pedals turning.

Fear had something to do with it. When almost everyone you meet tells you the way is dangerous, even though you don't believe them, it still lodges there in the back of your head. The what-if questions start to appear. What if it is dangerous? What if it does get dark and I'm still in there? What if someone decides to pull a gun on me, and this time it's not a joke?

But I knew it would be fine. The people were friendly and it was just the Israeli opinion on Palestine. I'd just cycled through Ramallah and all the Palistians I had met were as friendly and courteous as all the other Arabs I've met in the Middle East. One guy walked with me for about 1km to take me directly to the tomb of Yassar Arrafat before shaking my hand and walking back, probably the 1km to where I'd met him. There was no reason to be alarmed. Also, fear hadn't stopped me going into Pakistan or SE Turkey when most people were telling me it was a bad idea. So that wasn't the only reason.

I think I was just tired. I was tired of one set of people telling me the way was blocked and dangerous, and the other set telling me how there were no problems, that the way was fine. I was tired of coming across unexpected roadblocks and tired of roads being on my map, but no longer in existence; blocked off by some concrete blocks and razor wire. I was tired of the wind.

I just wanted to be able to get into a rhythm that has been missing since entering Israel. The wind has been the main factor, but the heat has also had a large affect. The 3 days coming up from the Dead Sea had been very, very tough. Each day, I couldn't have gone further even if I'd wanted to; the wind through Jordan and Israel had just worn me down.

And so, when I came across a checkpoint that I wasn't expecting, and was about to enter another Palestinian Authority Area that, according to my map, I shouldn't be reaching for another 10km, and was told that I couldn't really continue, I just accepted it. I turned my bike around, cycled back up that nice downhill section and took a turning I'd been at 2hrs before (I'd been invited to sit, drink coke, eat chicken and potatoes and drink tea by a Palestinian in the interim before the checkpoint) and started heading the long way around via the Jordan Valley.

The time in Jerusalem had been good. Had stayed with and was shown round the city by Doron, an Israeli I'd met in Petra (thank-you Doron). Topped it off with a sobering visit to the Holocaust Museum.

It took 2 days to reach the northern point of the Sea of Galilee with me camping out above the Jordan Valley half way through my little detour. Surrounded by green hills and light winds, I found new issues to curse at; the humidity was high and small flies in abundance. My eyes were turned into killing machines until I finally decided that it would be ok to wear sunglasses while it was still cloudy.

I was tired before I even got on the bike on the final day to Haifa. I'd had enough, but knew that I'd get at least one rest day once reaching the coast. I got there about 4pm and by 5 had booked myself onto the "ferry" to Cyprus the following day. The ferry is a cargo ship costing 170euro for a one-way ticket to Limassol. A plane would be about half the cost.

"Do you have brothers and sisters? What ages are they?" It was not a question I was expecting from an immigration man wearing jeans and a t-shirt standing in the middle of a car park in front of Haifa Port, but was one that threw me a little during the 10min grilling I got whilst leaving the country. They look at the photo, look at me, turn the page, see the Iran visa, turn the page, see the Syrian visa, turn the page, see the second Syrian visa, then the questions begin. Our passports were then taken from us (there were 5 passengers: a Swiss guy on his motorcycle; a Bulgarian diplomat and his wife returning home after their tour of duty; and a crazy Hungarian guy who defected to West Germany 30 years ago, had been through 2 divorces, had claimed the dole and had been an alcoholic for a few years - no prizes for guessing who I was sharing a cabin with) and returned 4hrs later. Who knows what they were doing with them, but I doubt very much they were idly sitting in a "To Do" tray for very long.

The boat was due to leave at 8pm, so we were pleasantly surprised when we promptly set sail at 11.30pm. After a 10hr crossing we arrived in Limassol Port in Cyprus where we had a brief wait before tying up to the port due to the ship next to us going up in flames. A typical kind of journey I'm sure.

As some people have noticed, the last month hasn't exactly been the most direct of routes home, but I'm finally back on track. The plan is to cycle across Cyprus and to catch a ferry from the northern part back to Turkey. From here, it'll be a (as yet undecided) route to Istanbul, then back across Europe, hitting as many countries as possible so I can bore my grandchildren to tears with stories that begin like: "One time, in Kosovo..."

This wasn't the way to Ramalleh
















This was the way to Ramalleh

















The mighty Jordan River (leaving the Sea of Galilee)
















Swimming in the mighty Jordan River (entering the Sea of Galilee). I didn't swim for very long; tish were splashing about and I wasn't too sure if they were fish that had developed a taste for the fingers and toes of passing tourists.

The Ferry

The Passengers

Burning Boats

The stick is dead; long live the broom

Stage 15: Aqaba to Jerusalem (353km)
Day 1: 31.3km Eilat (Israel)
Day 2: 143.4km Makhteshim En Yahav Nature Reserve
Day 3: 100.4km En Gedi
Day 4: 77.7km Jerusalem


Forget sea-level change, if my funding application is successful I'll change the title: "The occurrence of events to a particular item after discussion, mentioning and/or muttering of said item: a preliminary investigation".

Take Mr Stick for example. No sooner had I extolled his worth to the world (wide web) than he is wrenched unceremoniously from my life. After leaving him safe and sound resting in the shade of my tent, I found him (or rather what remained of him)on the cold embers of a bonfire lit by some Jordonian Philistines. Could they not have seen his immeasurable uses? What really got me aggrevated was that there was about 5 broken pallets lying 20m away! I was absolutely distraught and can only say that when I finally do get round to watching Castaway, I'll identify 100% with Mr Hanks after he loses Wilson.

Although Mr Stick's cycling days are over, his adventure continues; I hurled him into the Red Sea. The world is now his. Long live Mr Stick.

A replacement was in order, so I stopped off at a shop and purchased for myself a new multi-functional travelling companion: Mr Broom Handle. Although some Jordonian police at a checkpoint wanted us to part ways (they showed me a broom with a broken handle and pointed at Mr Broom before pointing at themselves), he is still in my company. Also, besides the best efforts of a taxi driver "Stopstopstop. I think that beyond that checkpoint no bicycles to border", I did manage to reach the border without a reliance on carbon-emitting fossil fuels.

Israel is Europe. The people appear European, the cars appear European and the prices are more than certainly European. The horns are also European. So far on my journey in Israel I have been beeped at 3 times; once because the car itself was carrying bicycles.

I had planned to spend 2 nights in Eilat, but a look on BBC informed me that there would be tailwinds up towards the Dead Sea. The following morning I set off...into a headwind. After cursing the pions in The Corporation for a full 15km, they came good as the winds died down and restarted from the south. Not a strong wind, but it helped.

After 130km, the wind changed to a Northerly and it was STRONG. I struggled on for a short while but had had enough so found a campsite in the lee of an extremely spikey Accacia tree. The wind was still blowing fiercly so I dug a pit in which to do my cooking. No sooner had this been completed than the wind died completely; nothing.

Lying covered in sweat that night in the middle of the desert, I muttered "wouldn't it be nice if there was a bit of a breeze". 2 minutes later I heard a roar as the wind came rushing through the trees. It built up and built up until I was sure the tent was going to blow away. I spent about an hour and a half with my arms against the inside of the tent, pushing against the wind. My main fear was that a twig, never mind a branch, was going to snap of the tree and rip my tent to shreds. Luckily I never mentioned this thought aloud!

The following morning I set off only to bump into Thibaut, the French cyclist from before. Monika had taken her flight back to Europe and he was heading down to Egypt. "I was just thinking of you and if we'd bump into each other" were his words (uttered in a french accent of course).

I camped for free at the free campsite next to the free beach at En Gedi on the Dead Sea, thus obtaining the obligatory float for free. People who say you get nothing for free are wrong.


Was talking to another cyclist along the Dead Sea (not a tourer) and she asked about anything going wrong on the bike. "Not so far" I gleefully replied. Normally when asked this question, I add that little muttered "touch wood" and make a grasp towards Mr Stick (I know, I know. Mr Stick was actually bamboo and thus not wood per se, but I don't really believe in the superstition anyway so it's really neither here nor there whether he was herbacious or not). With our relationship still in its early stages, I refrained from groping Mr Broom. With 15km still to climb to Jerusalem (-400m to +800m), my pedal broke. I got to feel the bearings drop out one by one as I clunked my way to the top of the hill just hoping the whole thing wouldn't drop off. It didn't. However, looking on the bright side, it costs some people thousands in therapy while being doped up to the eyeballs to feel good. It took me just four hours to lift myself out of the largest depression in the world (pictures are of a depressed me).

Am spending 3 nights in Jerusalem before heading north towards the Sea of Galilee.

Sexy Fold

Guess where?

This was my first foray into the old town, and the last thing I expected to find: a tractor faceoff!

At the risk of starting WWIII: It's only a wall people! A mighty fine wall made of micritic limestone blocks, but a wall nonetheless.