Eating Habits - March 28th

(Saddleman, Franziska, Bilal and Suzan - in the Istanbul restaurant where they welcome comments, sort of)

I am open to advisement from Middle Eastern friends but I think eastern and western people go to restaurants with different objectives in mind, at least regarding the food.

In the West, a restaurant meal is a treat. To enjoy something that you would not normally eat at home, perhaps because it requires special ingredients or takes time to prepare.

In the (Middle) East people go to restaurants to see if it can possibly measure up to their own home cooking. Of course it can't. And today it didn't. So Suzan's Dad let it be known.

It was the rice in the Dolma. It wasn't the right sort. So he had a discussion with the waiter, and then with the chef. Perhaps the water that the rice was cooked in wasn't correct. So a bottle was brought out and the trace content list scrutinized. Ah! the calcium and salt may be a little high. But come to think of it, the meat was not perfect. Much downward kneeding of their own flanks by all concerned. This is where you need to take the meat from the sheep for good Dolma.

The chef may have been a little put out by the criticism but it was intended to be constructive. If he wants an easy life then he should have a sign in the front window saying "English Customers Only Please". But then his takings may go down a bit and he would not have access to such free expert advice.

Sitting on Top of the World

Wouldn't you know it, Sally said that I should take lots of photos. Then the best one comes along and I didn't have my camera. Not that I could have done it justice.

We looked out of the top floor balcony of Suzan's office at the Turkish-German Orient Institute. Laid out before us was a panorama that took your breath away, stretching from high up the Bosphorus to our left, into the Sea of Marmara to our right, across to Asia and around to the Golden Horn. The expanse of blue water in the afternoon sun was mesmerising but here was 1,000 years or more of history: The Galata Tower, Suleymaniye and Blue Mosques, Aya Sofia and the Grand Bazaar, plus the Bosphorus bridges.

Sorry that I did not get a picture but the view is stored away on my own little internal SIM card. (and Suzan said later that she maybe able to send me one)

Seeking Certainty

In the West we crave certainty. That's why chain restaurants and brands thrive.  We want to know what we are getting and what the price is. To some extent we are willing to pay a premium for that knowledge. We hate to haggle. I have seen it in my recent behaviour.

You have heard it before, I want to take bike with me on the train. "What! That may not be possible. You must ask the conductor." But the ticket needs to be bought soon, not when the train is about to leave." Perhaps there in lies a clue. It is not a no, it signifies that something more is involved. I buy the ticket. "And for the bike?"

"I speak with the manager. Come back later"

I come back later."You may have to pay." Ah, progress.

"How much? I will have to change some more money and do not want to leave with too much local currency."

"Maybe some dollars or euros". I obtain small denomination euro notes.

Board indicates departure platform, I rush with bike.

"Ah hallo Sir, the man with the bike. I have arranged a private sleeping compartment for you and bike". He helps me get on board. "It will cost 10 euros."

So it wasn't just the price. Things had to be arranged. It involved a lot of uncertainty.

 Private Train Accomodation for Bike and I, to Istanbul

Must Try Harder

Sally works hard at nurturing relationships, always keeping in touch. She phones me every evening while I am on this trip just to catch up and check everything is OK. She does it too with friends. No one has ever dropped off Sally's address list if she could help it. To her it is never a chore, she loves it.

Me? Too often I need a reason to call. I try hard to change, to call just to say hi. My friend Mark once said that he was glad that he'd made the effort to become friends with me. That was a real shock, a revolutionary concept to me. I loved him for it.

The trouble is that it's difficult to change completely. Some friends may rightly say that I don't work at it as much as I could. They are probably right. But I am trying. Also it's one of the reasons that I married Sally. Her friends are my friends too.

Small Steps, Big Leaps

It takes all types, even when you share many of the same genes. Me, I'm practical and set myself easily achievable goals. My brother goes for the bigger things, like answering the fundamental questions of life. Ones that I don't even get to ask. I guess it can be a blessing and a burden.

He gets to look over the horizon to see what's out there, whereas I would think, likely it's another hill. I just focus on the ground in front of me so that I don't fall off the bike. My brother leaps overall that. As I say, it takes all sorts.

Being Bulgarian

"We are a real mixture", he said "With influences from lots of countries. It's because we are at a continental cross roads, Europe to the West, Asia to the East. People have to come through Bulgaria via the land route."

"We don't have a single race, like blond haired Scandinavians. Here you see fair, dark and everything in between." Fair haired himself he was rather disparaging of his own culture but perhaps that comes from youth when everywhere else is new and exciting. Not yet old enough to appreciate what he has.

"We don't have a culture like in the West. I am a bit ashamed." But he shouldn't be. "We are all individuals" he added, perhaps in a way to distance himself.  But then  maybe that captures the essence of being Bulgarian. When you are at a cross roads you see all different types and are influenced by them. If you can appreciate, absorb and not reject, then that is a strength in itself.

 Bulgarian `Louis Armstrong` plays "I Did it My Way"in Sofia park

One for Phill - Springtime Meeting of Sofia Motorbike Enthusiasts - A couple of Ducatti's but no Motor Guzzi's

No Bones to Pick

Meet my friend Igor, the best fish filleter in the Western Hemisphere. No bones to pick out of your meal with Igor. He proved it for 15 years in a restaurant next to the Stefan Dom in Vienna, Well known he was. Even got his picture taken with Mohammed Ali.

Now he's back in Serbia due to a little visa problem (we didn't go into the details), sepaerated from his wife and three children. Nice guy. Good luck Igor.

Some Days

There are some days when it just cannot get any better. I have had a few in my life and this was one of them. I woke up after camping in a wood in Romania and cycled through the sunshine for 75kms with friendly people waving hello as I rode past all the way into Calafat.

Breakfast in Gruia (shame about the men drinking at 8am)

Women doing the work, as usual...

...While men feel they have more of a celebrity status

And that's as far as I can go one the Danube. 3000 kms from home and 2000kms from the source of the river way back in Germany.

I cycled through the town and down to the ferry to take me across to Vidrin in Bulgaria. The cycling book said that a planned bridge should be completed by 2008 but there was still no sign of any construction, but heh, that's the pace that life moves at around here.

Several kind people then directed me to the railway station...

The ticket office lady was patient with my lack of Bulgarian and the lady on the bank even came outside to help me use the ATM cash machine. There was a train to Sofia in one hour and the conductor even helped me lift my bike up onto the train. This was unbelievable. But it got better.

There were texts waiting for me on my mobile phone now that I can access them. One from Becky says that she has received an offer to do a Phd. One from Sally said people were actually reading what I wrote in these blogs. A couple from my brother Mick made me think, as usual, and another from my friend Martin was just looking out for me. Some days are just like that.

Mad Dogs and Englishman

You hear the barks first and then catch sight of them running across the field towards you, out of the corner of your eye. Four or maybe five so far and you begin to pedal fast but you cannot out run them over a short distance, you need to stay ahead long enough so you hope they will tire. The quickest soon comes level and is barking but the more aggressive ones behind have bared teeth and are snarling. They are bigger and stronger with staminer for a longer chase and they are gaining on you.

Still you pedal faster for this is for real. The dogs have to weave in and out of the drainage culverts but this does not delay them too much and they keep coming, snarling visciously. You could turn out into the road to use passing cars as a shield but you are just as likely to get hit as the dogs.

It's been said that it is their hunting instinct to chase any thing that moves fast. They see it as prey, like an antelope, but these dogs know there is a human on that bike. The bigger ones keep coming, how far back you cannot tell for turning to look could be disasterous. And then finally a wire fince separates off the next field and the dogs are unwilling to go further. You are safe, this time

Thank Goodness for Little Girls...

I stopped at the aptly named Panorama Cafe in Tekija as I had earned a beer after the 50km ride, taking me almost to the crossing into Romania. The lady served me while her three feckless sons hung around chatting but not responding to my efforts to engage them in conversation.

Then she brpught me a surprise cup of coffee with a wonderful tasty little sweet on the side. What a nice gesture. Perhaps she liked the fact that I had climbed the hill up to her place to give her some business, or that I had come by bike, or that I was British. Who knows.

I consumed both drinks while contemplating the kindness of these hospitable people. Time to go, so I requested the bill. It showed both drinks. With lazy sons it takes the women to drive this economy.

Narrow Gaps

As the Danube cuts its way through the Carpathian Mountains It narrows to just a matter of 100 or so metres across. It seems that you can almost reach across and touch the other side.

Photos: Sequence of approaching the narrowest part of the Danube

That is Romania behind, Serbia to the right and me in the middle. Notice how my hair blends so well with the mountain colours.

History Lesson

It was once the home of the Dacians who, under their King Decebalus (which means 'Strong as 10 Men') fought the Romans , twice.

That bit in the middle is a recent carving of his head seen from the Serbian side

They only let you do it once, so to quell the rebellion Trajan's soldiers built a road to bring supplies from the upper Danube that required 'moving mountains and streams' according to the inscription on the monument they left at Tabula Traina. Heroic acts in a heroic landscape

Oh What a Beautiful Morning...

It was an idylic start to the day. The Danube was like a mill pond, with barely a ripple on the surface and it stretched for a mile across. More like a lake than a river. The morning mist settled on the water and partially obscured the surrounding mountains. As I was forced to travel up a tributary, drowned by the dam built further down the main river, and then cross a bridge before heading back for once I welcomed the extra time spent. It reminded me of the Italian Lakes or maybe Switzerland. (close your eyes to the litter - just poor shot selection)

The girl at the tourist information office in Donji Milanovac gave me a brochure before I set off after I admired the photgraphs displayed on the walls. She is rightly proud of this wonderful region.

Ralja UpDate

It does now appear that the train from Belgrade takes you to a different Ralja than that shown on my cycle map. I have yet to hear back from the publishers but the case looks solid. Both they, and therefore I using their information, got it wrong.

This means that I need to eat some Humble Pie. There I was venting my frustration about villagers who could not direct me to a place that I thought was just down the road when in fact, it was over 30 kms away. If anyone asked me the same question back home then I too would be at a loss. It does not excuse the conviction with which some of them directed me on my way, out into oblivion, but prehaps that is an example of people wanting to tell others what they think they want to hear.

So by rights, I should go back and correct all the criticism of Serbian villagers that I made in that 'Decreasing Circles' blog. But I won't. Let it stand as testiment to my occasional stereotyping. And I will add a note refering any future reader to this correction. So I apologise to all those poeple I maligned. But not to the dogs. They may just have wanted a leg to remember me by, but that is still unforgiveable.

Wild Camping

I have got all the camping gear, hauled every painful mile from the UK, so it seems daft not to use it as much as possible. There are no campsites in this part of the Danube so the obvious strategy is to wild camp. After all, that's what real adventurers do. Wait until it gets dark the books say, then pop back into the woods without being seen. To avoid being moved on? No, to avoid being robbed.

OK...? I am still game but the road is carved from vertical cliffs and every square metre of flat ground is already lived on. There are no woods to 'pop back' into. You see it's really not me being wimpy, it's just not possible. So I can look instead for a nice cheap, warm hotel with a clear consience. Can't I?

Dark Places

The Danube is getting narrower, the cliffs steeper and the road clings to the sides as best it can. This requires a series of tunnels - 21 in all, they conveniently number them - which for cyclists are a test of bravery. The short ones are fine, even a bit of fun, it's the long ones that scare me, those over 200 metres.

(Honest, there are real tunnels - this is just to show the 'cling to edge' bit)

They are not lit and so with a bend or two in the middle you have no daylight. It's pitch dark and dripping water. Bicycle lights may help you be seen but they don't help you see. So for about 100 metres in the middle you are steering blind.. You can't see the centre of the road, but the biggest fear is being hit from behind. The rushing wind roars through the tunnel and stops you hearing any approaching vehicle. Then headlights appear so you grope your way to the side, your bike lights hopefully giving them a chance to see you. But if two vehicles pass alongside you then there's not enough width for three.

Tomorrow I face Tunnels 1-5. I hope they are little ones.

Update (March 25th):

Oh no they weren't... Tunnel 4 shown was 371 metres long but luckily it did not have a bend in the middle so there was always daylight.

And another picture of road cut into mountain...

*** BREAKING NEWS *** Two Raljas

The Danube cycling world is reeling today with news of the possible discovery of two Raljas. The first is shown on the Danube cycling map. The second, about 30kms away, is where the train from Belgrade actually drops you. Investigations are still underway to confirm these startling new facts but the case looks solid.

It could lead to a reassessment of the apparent previous lack of ability of Serbian village people to give good directions and a downgrading of the accuracy of Swiss cycling map makers. When interviewed, Saddleman who was central to this discovery said "Is this the way to Amarillo?"

Yes folks, we are rewriting the cycling maps.

Full Circle

I rode into Belgrade alongside Daniel from Dallas on Sunday. He works as an internal auditor with US Steel ensuring that the company adheres to a high standard of financial, safety and environmental controls. Today, by coincidence, I rode past the US Steel plant in Radovic. You approach these huge chimneys belching smoke. It's like entering a different world after the peace and (comparative) cleanliness of the Serbian countryside.

I am sure that US Steel have made great strides in improving the enviromental impact since they acquired the plant some years ago. But it is a reminder of the price someone pays for our mateial comforts.

Oh Serbia!

I feel that I have been very nice to Serbia, pointing out people's friendliness and independent spirit. You can do anything youi want, they say, and no one can stop you. But that also includes Fly Tipping.

The eastern centre of the country is one great rubbish dump. All the roads, rivers and railways are lined with refuse. It will take a huge effort to clean up.

What makes some people take pride in their envoironment while others care so little that they just foul the countryside. I feel for environmentally conscious Serbs. It must make them weep.

Appreciate the Familiar

OK, today was hard, even embarassing, but now I am looking at it in a different light. It's not been 50kms of wasted effort. It's been a useful learning process. It has provided new insights. In fact, I needed today. The blog was becoming to self indulgent. It was losing its edge. Today's pain was necessary.

John Simpson doesn't bring you reports from Iraq without suffering a little. It has been a real insight for me to realise what it is like to live in a village and only relate to things up to 5kms away. And to be a dog that snarls at anyting unfamiliar. And take direction signs for granted. And see how people want to help even when they have little idea. And meet a kid who was very friendly but would have pinched my helmet if he'd had half a chance.We take our familiar world for granted. Don't.

Ever Decreasing Circles - March 23rd

(If you read this please also read the "Breaking News" and "Ralja Update" Blog to get a complete picture.

This is going to be a difficult blog to write. Today was an unmitigated disaster. No, I'm sorry, it's still to raw to talk about. Give me a minute.

OK, that's better. It's now early evening and I am about 15km further on than I was at 11.30 this morning. Since that time I have cycled, Oh about 50kms, in a circle. It's not my fault. OK not all. I should have bought a map of Serbia but the Danube maps I have been using have done just fine, so long as you stick to the route. But I didn't. I caught the train out of Belgrade, like the guide suggested and just needed to link back up with the cycle route.

So I left the station in Ralja and asked someone the way, showing my map and pointing to the route which I wanted to follow. I needed a place called Mala Krsne.

"Take this road" he said comfidently and that's where my problems began. The real issue is that no one in Serbia knows where they live. I must have asked 30 people today for directions. They either had no idea of any village more than 5kms away or else they confidently directed me off to where they thought I wanted to go. But they were wrong. 100% of the time.

And it was hilly, and there were loads of aggressive dogs. I resorted to carrying a rock or two and developing a fierce growl. In the end I resented the people too. They'd debate with each other for ages and still come up with the wrong directions. Then they'd say you are 65kms from there. But I was there just 2 hours ago and even I cannot cycle that fast. Very dispiriting.

In the end, I took matters into my own hands. I ignored their advice, cycled 5kms back down the hills, 10kms along the motorway - illegal I know but needs must - and then over the hills and back down to the Danube, a reassuring site. After all this I got close to where I left the train. But at least now I know where I am.

Take the First Train to Ralja

I'd forgotten what it was like to travel in a country where you cannot understand the language, where you haven't pre-booked the transport and they don't use the same written alphabet. To be honest, I don't think that I ever knew.

Add to that the "don't ask me, I just work here" officialdom and it tends to go something like this:

Go to Ticket Window 15. "I would like to go to Ralja, please", pointing to map
"OK". Writes down 10.25 and shows it to me.
"And take my bike".
"Oh". Discusses with colleague. They agree: "Maybe no bike. Ask Conductor".
"Which platform?"
"Ask Information." So I do.
"Normally #9." I go to Platform #9.
"Hello" to official conductor-looking person. "Does this train go to Ralja?"
"No, stays here. Ask office #5."
"Hello" to office #5, entitled International Ticket Reservations.  I want to go to Ralja with my bike."
Nice lady makes phone call. "Please buy ticket from Window 14 or 15, costs 125. Pay conductor 5 for bike. No special carriage"
"Thank you"
At Window 15. "Ticket to Ralja, please" Pointing to map.
Lady types 125 on calculator and shows it to me.
Pay and get ticket. Go to Platform #9.
Kind gentleman asks where I am going.
Say "Ralja" and show ticket.
"Train leaves from here" pointing to adjacent Platform 8.
"Thank you".
I undo all panniers from the bike so that it will fit on the train when it comes. Look up to see that platform is now empty.
Kind gentleman gesticulating from afar to go to Platform 10.
"Thank you again". Struggle with bike and panniers to Platform 10.
Ask conductor looking person whether OK with bike.
"Go to First"
"That's nice, First Class. Then realise that he means first carriage way down at end of platform.
Struggle to end and heave bike up to shoulder height onto train. Throw panniers and myself in afterwards.
Sit down.
Train leaves dead on time.
Conductor checks my ticket.
"And my bike", I say.
"Bikes not permitted on this train" he says, then winks

Let Us Count

Welcome to Cyrillic world. It makes finding the right place or street a puzzle. Here is a flavour of what I mean.

Now imagine if you are only shown the Cyrillic version on street corners.

It's not just a different language, it's something that would take Ultra code breakers to decipher. Daniel, who rode along side me into Belgrade, gave me a useful pointer. If you know the name of the street in 'English' then count the letters. If they match then you may be in the right place.

 Kalemegan Fortress protecting Belgrade ay promentary over Danube

Largest Cathedral in Europe and still building

Disconnects

When travelling, especially on a tight budget, you are open to the vagaries of services being available and then working. At home you are in control. If it doesn't work then you get it fixed. On the road you just move on and try again.

Take internet access, in some towns it is hard to find, in others it appears on every street corner. Access to Skype represents another level of sophistication. There is a huge market for Skype compatible headsets to replace the millions of dead ones that lie around in internet cafes, many with a disconnected wire, probably caused by user frustration.

Another example is waiter service. You depend on them spotting you. With counter service you are somewhat in control: wait in line and eventually you should get served. In Belgrade, Costa Coffee have moved to table service. Their takings must have plummeted with customers mislaid or missed altogether. So you chose a table and wait. They eventually find you or you return to the counter once more to flag your presence. Of course, you could have gone to the Four Seasons Hotel but you have traded your time for a reasonable price.

Oh good, here comes my beer after 25 minutes, but then it should only cost 1 Euro for half a litre.

Passionate People

I am starting to forget my prejudices forged by recent history and international news broadcasts. I like Serbian people a lot. They have been the most open of all the nationalities I have met - volunteering greetings, responding to my waves and on several occasions stopping me when I have been on the wrong track.Children shout hello and old men cheer me on. Probably they have always welcomed visitors to their country but they certainly seem to want to correct the recent international perception.

My superficial delving into their history suggests that they are a people of firm beliefs with which you may take issue but they pursue causes because they believe in them not because they are necessarily winnable, and they have come up against some formidable foes during their long history.

They have a passion like the Spanish which reveals itself, sometimes as insufferable, but intense and committed, certainly not bland. But then how would I know? I've only been here two days. It's been a fun start

Addendum: I asked the guy working in the Belgrade hostel what's great about being Serbian. He said 'Independent Spirit': If you want to drink in the street, you can; smoke in a bar, you can. No one can stop you. It fits with my view on the Serbian psyche: insufferably passionate. The Spanish of the East. I blame those Muslim invaders.

Diplomacy At Work

Please let me introduce Majstorovic Milos, Radovan Blagojevic, Kotur Zeljko and Janko.

We met in the Cafe -AS at Svetosavska 95 in Novi Banovci on Sunday afternoon and drank a couple of beers before I headed on my way.. We also took the opportunity to discuss British-Serbian relations and seemed to have ironed out any remaining issues. So things are now fine. Thanks guys. It was nice to meet you

Puppet On A String

I have noticed that I have developed a manic grin and a pivoted arm. It is my standard greeting as I pass people along the road. No wonder many recoil in bewilderment at this licorice marionette. They are probably trying to spot the string.

Hot Sausage

Forget Alan Sugar or Donald Trump, the real wheeler dealer in this world is the lady on the left. Don't let her grey hair fool you. She runs the apple wagon franchise at the cross roads outside Novi Sankaman in Serbia. But I think that is just a front.

She saw me coming a mile off. When I got there, I asked for 3 apples and she laughed. Apples were 18p for 5kg but her friend saw my transportation problem. We settled on 5 and then she threw in a couple more. A shrewd move. Weighed down to this extent I was forced to eat a couple there and then. As I indicated this intention she said something like 'Then what you really need is this' and furtively pulled back the flap on a cardboard box hidden under the wagon. It revealed hot sausage and it appeared that she was open to do a deal.

My mimes to enquire whether I could eat it now, raw, without cooking were returned with affirmative nods. This was clearly the best stuff.. She selected two lengths and weighed them. About 2 Euros seemed a good price to pay but then I couldn't really refuse. You have to play it straight when you deal in the hot sausage market.

So I ate two apples, a length of sausage, plus some bread her friend gave me. It may have been illicit but it was all good stuff

Practical Winter Camping

Lesson 1 - Finding a Camp Site

I have become quite proficient at talking Hungarian camp ground owners into letting me pitch for the night even when the site is closed for the off-season. It does have its drawbacks. The first night I was locked in from 4pm, second night no water, third night no hot water.

Lesson 2 - Don't Breathe

As the night temperatures routinely drops below zero, snow being an added feature, the real problem isn't cold, it's claminess. As you breathe and perspire at night the water doesn't want to leave. It just sticks around. And sticks to you, in the sleeping bag.

Lesson 3 - No Reserve Tank

The biggest problem of all is lasting through the night. How can I say this? My tank just isn't big enough. So around 2am you are faced with lying awake all night or facing freezing temperatures outside. Quite a dilema, no wonder Sally gave up camping years ago. And my final advice is: camp alone. These are not the sort of things you want to share even with your closest partner.

Now for that cold shower

Saddleman - Biking with Intent

Who Let the Dogs Out? - March 15th

I was relaxed having negotiated my way into the closed campground, set up tent  and gone for a nice meal in the nearby restaurant. Back at the campsite the gate was locked and a huge dog eyed me from the inside - he looked like a St Bernard-Rottweiler cross. But there was nothing else for it - all the things I depended on were in the campsite - so I climbed the wall. He came across and wagged his tail so I gingerly dropped down next to him. I needn't have worried. He was a softee.

In fact, the biggest problem was getting rid of him so I could sleep. He loved being petted and kept coming back for more, nudging me with his 50kg weight. He inspected the inside of the tent while I briefly pondered the benefits of a living hot water bottle on a freezing cold night - it later snowed 2 inches.

In the morning he was back, pawing at my leg for more strokes while I tried to dress, Then he disappeared for breakfast. The last I saw of him was chained up near the now open gate. He looked forlornly at me as I cycled off into the cold morning. Some guard dog. He just wanted a friend

On Track

These signs plus the warning of land mines if you stray off the main road help keep me on track

Ranting Lady

I cycled passed a lady as she walked along the road just over the border into Serbia. She immediately started ranting at me so I stopped and turned around. She still went at it hammer and tongs. I could not understand a word but what I presume she was saying was: "Did your mother never teach you to wear a cycling helmet on a busy road like this?" So, soon after I stopped to put mine on. It was nice of her to think about my safety like that.

The Boss - March 18th

We'd never met though we new of each other. He was the faceless person, just a name but one who had to be consulted before any decision could be made.

The hotel reservation was made by Tourist Information. It took them several calls to reach the boss. A bargain was struck and the room was mine. That is if we could find it, for Mihaela the temporary receptionist didn't know where Room 6 was. Perhaps the Boss wanted to keep even these things secret. We eventually found it and so I offered to pay, but first the Boss had to be called.

Next morning I arrived for breakfast throwing the waiter into a degree of unease until he checked with the Boss. All was fine: A great breakfast and the room price we had originally agreed. Perhaps the Boss likes to remain anonymous at the other end of the telephone line. But a little delegation wouldn't go amiss.

 On the way out of Osekja towards Vukovar. The lads only English words were "Maney, Maney" and "Robbers". But at least he didn't run off with my camera after he'd taken this picture

Temperature Rising - March 19th

The Danube is like a thermometer of European harmony. You can feel the mercury pushing ever further down the river as more and more commerce and tourism starts to reach Croatia, then Serbia and soon Romania and Bulgaria. I feel like cyclists are the early pioneers soon to be followed by the high spending tourists. The German caravanners will be next, they currently make it just to Hungary. You can see it played out at the hotel in Llok. At the moment through the internet and other advertising Dubravko and Tatjana are starting to get the occasional foreign visitor but give it a few years and they will be coming in their droves.

 Dubravko next to his open fire grill - of which he is very proud

Police Scars

I arranged to eat at the hotel and it happened to coincide with the local (Llok) police dinner. Twenty eight upholders of Croatian law and order drinking heartedly, cigarettes aplenty and cars outside ready to drive home in the early hours with no chance of getting stopped. The black leather jackets added that practical justice feeling. I'd better behave myself.

But it was much more than that. During the 1990's war all Croatians left Llok before it was occupied and the police force relocated to Jakob 30 miles away near Osekja. This was a reaffirmation of friendship between those two local police forces forged in those desperate times. Grace lasted for a couple of minutes and was said by all with great solemnity, followed by a minutes silence for fallen comrades.

I had cycled through Vukovar earlier that day, past the artillery scarred water tower, past the monument to those who fell in the war. Relatives still tend the graves. The flowers are all fresh and the feelings still raw.

So the policemen laughed and drank, hugged each other and danced as one but the occasion had a tragic undertone.

p.s. There was a traditional band at the dinner singing 'typical country songs'. It was composed of Croatians, Serbians, a Romanian and a Slovak, So despite past conflicts the countries still interlink, day to day practicalities take over from emnity. I asked what the songs were about. My host said "Oh things like: My wife has gone off with another man, or Our love will last forever". It sounded like Mexican Marriarchi with words by Dolly Parton. Wherever you go we are all singing about the same things

The guitar-like instruments is called a Tambura and sounds rather like a mandolin

Crossing Borders

Just an observation: When I approach a national border, I do it with trepidation. As I cross it I feel unease for an hour or two. By the next day I'm at home. As I leave it is with regret. So it all proves that there was nothing to worry about. But come the next one I'll feel the same

Hot Cars

It is interesting, as men do, to observe the types of cars that are popular in each country. As perhaps a reflection of their economic and social development.

Some have big black BMWs or Mercedes in abundance. Huge behemoths, Sports Utility Vehicles or large coupes. There is something daunting about them. They own the road but also exclude, like gated-communities. A badge of opulence but perhaps a sign of decadence.

Others have hot hatches driven at high speed through the streets by testosterone-filled young men. These are found in young countries, ruled by the young, all their lives ahead of them. No time to slow down.

Still others have sinister black, high powered Mercedes sedans that force you back to the pavement. Their windows are blacked out. These are power brokers that drive the new economy and in turn rule the road. Mere pedestrians must watch their step. A bike rider just observes.

Ode to Duct Tape

Raising the Bar

Some people are multi talented while others should stick to bike riding. Here is the link to a song that Bike and I have been working on. If any one else feels that they could make a better cover version (e.g. Mr Stidham) then the words are on the blog and I will upload any link you give. But as you will hear, the bar has been set high

Dam and Dam - March 13th

A great day of straight smooth cycle paths, running with the wind, under a warm sun, out of Vienna. I deserved this after the slog across northern Austria.

 Now that's what I call a bike track

5km of Hauptallee on the edge of Vienna

The track runs along the Marchfelder Dam in Austria and then Gabcikova Dam in Slovakia with Hainburg in between. This town is a crucible of history stretching from the Romans to the Hapsburgs, with Turks in between. It impressed on me that in Britain, safe behind our high seas moat, we had the time to go explore the world while the Austrians just prepared to invade or be invaded.

Vienna Tor (Hainburg)
Another Publics Works Project 1230

Building A Safer Europe for You

Paid for by a Grant from The English Tax Payer

I had a great lunch in Eckartsau of Goulash containing lean chunks of beef spiced with cumin and accompanied by a wonderful Ottakringer beer, while local farmers with drooping handlebar moustaches discussed politics in  thick Austrian accents.

An Austrian Hunting Lodge outside Vienna
I had been hoping for something from Dr Zhivago but you take what you get

Then into Bratislava in Slovakia by 4pm and checked into the hostel. This place has a nice comfortable feel to it, none of the bustle of  a major capital. The people are friendly and take the time to help. Life is good.

Missed, By a Whisker

I had to cut one of the team yesterday. It wasn't an easy decision. He'd been with us from the start, way back in England, performing his role every day except once when we wild camped near Melz. It was Disposable Razor.

I didn't want to drop him but he couldn't cut it any more. He was up to scratch, so he had to go. Tough decision but it had to be made. He took it well. I left him out in the morning in the hostel in Vienna and by the end of the day he'd gone.

Looking back, I'm glad I brought him along. One of my better choices. 22p from Superdrug. But there are others keen to take his place. He just didn't have the edge any  more.

Yes, a tough decision but then, in a way, Dispozable Razor helped make me what I am today: "the Best a Man Can Be"..... Now where's the girl in the ad who is supposed to stroke my face and look lovingly at me?

Respect

A small tip. If you are on a trip and someone asks you about it then always mention the point furthest away. That impresses most. Girls smile brightly in excitement while boys nod knowingly, as if to say they would join you if only their bike didn't have that puncture. Either way, they realize that someone over 50 maybe worth talking to and you get respect

Leave Them Laughing

My aim in other countries has always been to tell a joke. Sally likes to learn the language, at least enough to be able to say the simple things, to show she has made the effort, tobe polite. While I just want to make them laugh, at least once. To leave a trail of good feeling for the British behind me.

So far it seems to be working. I can't say that the jokes are ever very funny. Just throw away lines. In Barcelona once the girl in front of me as I went to pay in the tapas bar asked it she could have a small dish. So I asked if I could have a small bill. The waiter tore the total off and gave it to me. That's when you know you've connected.

Nether Regions

I am going to talk about an intimate subject, so those of you of a sensitive disposition please look away now. You see, it's my bum. It's numb. In fact, I haven't really felt it since Arras.

Let me say up front that I really like my saddle but it doesn't prevent the numbness. In fact, the real problem is that it is not just the bum, it's all the surrounding regions and that's not where you want numbness.

I hope that there is no long lasting effect but it could be the most effective contraception ever invented. Well a sort of pre-contraceptive. Could it be that the way to slow population growth is to give everyone a cheap Chinese bicycle. Maybe that's what the Chinese Government did.

So the name Saddleman has taken on a whole new meaning. With the result that unless this numbness goes away, now there can never be another like him.

Saddleman - 'Taking you places you may not want to go".

Mistakes that Make It - March 11th

I sat at breakfast with some classical history post grads from Notre Dame University today. They had come to Vienna to research ancient documents.

Each was focusing on just one, say a 12th Century copy of the 1st or 2nd Century original by Cicero or a divinity tract. It was interesting for a couple of reasons.

Firstly, these weren´t the most oft read items in the Viennese Library. One student said that the most recent previous borrower was in 1995.

Secondly, they said that it was the mistakes or additions to the docuemtns that gave them clues as to the true content of the original which was long lost. Often back in the 16th Century when printing presses were first invented the printer would then destroy the, say 12th Century, version they had copied as being inferior to his new work. So the historical lineage comes to an abrupt halt. However, by cross referencing copies from different sources they can put together a true picture of the original.

It´s like a tree with most of the branches cut off and you are trying to find your way back to the trunk. If medieval transcribers made a mistake then they would cross it out, paint over or try to erase it. But as some  survive you can piece together the true content of the original.

It seems that mistakes are worth making.

Faces in the Wall

I loved this exhibit at the Deutsche Museum in Munich. I was meant to represent avatars each describing a person´s life and health due to variations in their DNA. As you touch a button each tells their story.

However, I had visions of another butting in to correct their colleague and eventually an argument breaking out. I´d love their frustration at not being able to look each other in the eye so just having to report to verbal exhortation.

It made me think that Sue Berridge andYear 11 at Coleridge/Parkside could do it justice.

Beer, Like It Used to Be

It was what I had been yearning for, a relaxing time drinking a glass of German beer in a bar, knowing that I had a nice warm bed to go back to. And I found it here in Vienna but it was like walking back in time. Graham Green must have written the script.

I ground my cigarette into the pavement (poetic licence) and walked into bar in the the grey stone building on the corner of Kaiserstrasse, in Bezirk 7. The lights were low, the decor sagging. A blond, late middle-aged lady rose slowly from her table, apologised for the lack of other customers and asked for my order. Her timid yorkshire terrier stumbled after her - it had a cough, of course.

I ordered a pils, a large one. The beer came and she sat down. Quiet descended once more. It was perfect. I wanted her to break into "Lilly Marlene". She would have sung it well.

Going Down the Tubes

Trying to navigate around Vienna to find my youth hostel last night was surreal. Vienna is a city of tubes. I rode into town in my cycle tube, below the car tube, and next to the train tube.

When you want to change tubes that's when it gets interesting. I had to take a lift up to the next level travel along another tube and then you come out into a TUBE JUNCTION.

These are very scary when you do not know which tube you want. It is so disorientating because you lose all sense of direction. You just have to ask another tube dweller.

It reminds me of those hamster homes that you can build with plastic connector pieces from the pet shop. Maybe I am in someone elses hamster home that they have designed for me. Or else marble works world.

Of course this is not all of Vienna and I will discover the enchanting bits tomorrow, that is if I can just find my way out of this tube.

Dust Pans (Part 2) - March 10th

For those of you who think that I am obsessed with litter, you are right. On the way into the suburbs of Vienna today, I saw a new take on keeping the streets clean. As this old lady was wlkking along she was picking up litter and tossing it over the hedge into the nearest garden.

I guess her thinking went: You are responsible for this bit of verge outside the front of your house, so I am helping make it easier for you to tidy up.

It also saved this public spirited lady from having to carry a bag to hold the litter as she walked. It makes litter dropping more personal. Now instead of afronting society in general and relying on the local council to clear it all up you are now causing work for a particular person, the householder. It's genius. Watch out Cambridge.

A Wandering Minstrel - March 10th

Bike and I came across Durnstein castle today. It's the place where Richard the Lion Heart was held hostage for ransom by Bad King someone or other on the way back from the Crusades. Apparently, when he went missing his faithful minstrel criss-crossed Europe singing outside each castle. Then at Durnstein, Richard heard him and shot an arrow that landed at the minstrel's feet (what a Category A prisoner is doing with a bow and arrow I have yet to work out).

So Bike and I decided to reconstruct the event, just in case someone else needed saving. So we stood outside and sang. Sure enough something landed at our feet. It may have been a rock. However, who ever had thrown it did not seem in need of saving. Still, we've done our duty.

Cold, early morning start in the dash to Vienna

There is a Place I Go - March 9th

Just about every day, normally around 3pm, I go to another little world. It extends from the handlbars of my bike to the road about 15 feet in front. If I focus totally on that space for one or sometimes two hours then I can churn through the miles to get where I need to go. Snow, wind or rain do not enter into this private little world. It involves some pain but mostly just concentrated effort and determination. You know that if you stop to rest then after that time you are no further forward, so you may as well just press on. It's not all pain. There is an exhilaration in pushing yourself harder.

In the end, I leave my world and find myself 30kms further on, having broken the back of the journey. What a feeling!

View from the Cockpit

Circle of Life

Bike and I have worked out that almost 31 years ago to the day my Grandfather died and my Dad had a heart attack (he then lived 25 more years). In fact, at the time my Dad was almost exactly the same age as I am now.

So what can you read into this coincidence? Absolutely nothing. I loved my Dad but I know that he wouldn't have wanted to cycle to the Lebanon. Only a few fools would.

Tipping Point

At what stage of life do you start to use age as an excuse, or even a badge of honour? I am conscious of the fact that I included my age in the profile for this blog. I am not sure why, it just seemed relevant. Was that saying: Look even a 57 year old can do this? Or was it an insurance in case I don't complete the challenge, like: Well, what else could you expect?

A 40 year old wouldn't use his or her age as a safety net. So where is the tipping point?

Five Things to Say

The more people I meet the more I realise that I've only got five conversations: Wife, Children, Bike Trip and, err..... better make that three. It's why I have to keep moving on. I'm scared of boring people.

Of course at home it wasn't like this. They put up with hearing the same old stories again and again. Or perhaps that's why they encouraged me to take this trip.

When speaking German the subject is often limited by my (lack of) vocabulary. When I was working in Hamburg 16 years ago I could only talk about cat food. Now it's mainly cycling. I may have to dust off the old cat food stories to broaden my reportoire.

He Who Goes Before - March 8th

There's someone ahead of me. I can see his tyre tracks in the snow and this time they are definitely not mine.

In some ways I am comforted. If he can make it then so can I. But then I wanted to be first. The first down the Danube this year. The first arbinger of Spring with other cyclists to follow. Yes, I wanted to be the first to bring this message. And now I'm not. It's a real shame. Of course, he may just have popped out to the local shops

Lucky Socks

I've noticed that I've started wearing my grey socks all the time, as I've decided that they bring me luck.

The trouble is that I only have two pairs so the people I meet pay a high price. I am not normally superstitious but perhaps it's like agnostics hedging their bets and heading for church when they get old.
Anyway, so far it seems to be working, so the world around me will just have to suffer.

Bennett, Done That

As the pounds fall away due to all this exertion, I'm reminded of the Tony Bennett song: 'I Left My Heart in San Francisco'. Only in my case I think that the Double Chin went in Cambrai and the Belly in Breisach.

As you can see it has turned me into a lean, mean cycling machine

Spot the Difference

Sally said that I'd get one if I didn't wear lip salve. From all the physical stress and sun and wind exposure. She said to start early, as by the time you notice that a cole slaw is coming, it's too late.

But I decided to ignore her advice and waited. Sure enough I got one. She often gets lucky like that.

The cole slaw always stands out like beacon on the side of my lip. However, some lady in Guenzburg still took the tiem to come up to me in the market square and point out that I had one. So kind.

Frozen Asset

Poor Bike, he doesn't like snow. It makes him look like something from that disaster movie: "The Day After Tomorrow". Everything freezes up under chunks of ice and the panniers get covered in layers of snow.

But he presses on gamely, across fields, up banks to get back onto the road when the cycle path suddenly ends, through icy tracks in the woods. Nothing stops him

If Scott had taken Bike with him he'd have got back from the Antarctic, or at least Bike would have.

Sure it looks nice now, but you should have been with us outside Haag yesterday

That's more like it