The Diary
Days 1-10 Days 11-20 Days 21-39 Days 40-48 Days 52-59 Days 60-69
Day 21 - 2 May - (Ostrava - Stary) - Miles covered: 161
Very soon after leaving the built up area of Ostrava, we found ourselves following the banks of the meandering Vah river, which ran parallel to our route, as if tracing its source, the river narrowing gradually as we climbed into the first low hills of the Tatras.
Our arrival into Slovakia, country 15 on our journey, came and went, came and went, as the road crossed the border several times on our picturesque route towards the Low Tatras. There was an interesting "homily" to previously noted border crossings, but this was a further ten miles inside Slovakia, and we were at a complete loss to explain it's relevance. However, as The Czech and Slovak Republics were once the same country, perhaps there was never any need to keep them separated.
Intially, the low, rolling hills, peppered with woods and coniferous forests, reminded us of parts of Sweden and Finland, if a little more "bunched up" for our viewing pleasure. The differences were the delightful, gin clear waters that accompanied our journey, and the more dramatic road "geometry" (some of the bends would do justice to the Stelvio Pass in Italy!).
As we crested one of the hills, a spectacular vista greeted us, in the form of what one would expect from the collected memories and imaginations of an accomplished artist. In the foreground lay the most "picture postcard" village we had seen to date, nestled amongst rolling fields of "manicured" pasture. Further out were large tracts of coniferous forests which, in turn, surrounded an enormous, deep blue lake. As if this wasn't enough for the eye to feast upon, the backdrop was filled with the snowy-topped mountains of the high Tatras, the peaks of which were dramatically outlined by the lake-matching deep blue sky!
It was on the only piece of dual carriageway that we decided that we just had to pull into what has to rank as the prettiest lay-by we have ever seen, blessed with 360 degrees of splendour.
The climb through the National Park, towards our destination, was filled with wonder, reminiscent of Canada's most beautiful parts, with Glacial meltwaters, chalky in hue, tumbling through the forest, with the growing presence of the mountains filling our view with every turn. It has been said to me that, in the "split", The Czechs received all the money, while Slovakia gained all the beauty. That person was right, I can assure you!
The one blight upon the idyll in which we rode, was the aftermath of the complete devastation that occurred here some three years ago, when, as if victim of a nuclear blast, the majority of the fir trees in the High Tatras were obliterated in the worst storm they had ever known. Even long after the trees themselves had been removed, we bore witness to the twisted, almost painful remains of the root systems, demonstrating the incredible force that had to have been at work, to rip so many trees from the ground.
This, however, may have proved useful in the long term, as it offers the people here an opportunity to create the skiing and recreational centre of Europe. Money has already started to pour into the area, so watch this space!
Nothing more can be said about our too brief stay in this idyllic spot, the memory not being of the helpful staff, delightful (and cheap!) accomodation, nor the excellent local cuisine. No, just of the incredible beauty that we have been privileged to ride in for the day, and the very real knowledge that "We'll be back"!!!
Day 22 - 3 May - (Stary Smokovece - Bratislava)
Waking to a view of the snow-capped Tatry mountains, set amongst a cloudless blue sky, with the knowledge that a day of mountain and country roads, on two wheels, lay ahead, is enough to have even the most lethargic individual leap from his bed in anticipation!
Breakfast included spicy local sausage, an interesting first of the day experience for our taste buds, but we were keen to be on the road, and wheels were rolling soon after.
Once refuelled in Poprad, we took the country route towards Banska Bystrica, via Brezno, which proved to be delightful.
Riding through the Low Tatras is what it is all about. The sights, smells and sensations are so much clearer and defined from the saddle of a motorbike, as opposed to the confines of a four-wheeled metal box. we were part of the reality, not mere sterile witnesses to the celluloid world that passes, emotionless, in front of the windscreen of a car. As we passed from the glorious sunshine into the shade of the forest, the distinct drop in temperature, along with the scent of pine, sent a frisson of excitement, up from the road below, through the tyres and frame, and directly into ourselves, heightening the senses and cementing the experience.
Driving a car round the switchbacks that came upon us with such frequency, one would have merely braked, turned and accelerated. For us, it was a case of: Check the road ahead, as it turns into the bend; study the condition of the surface, in case it may throw you offline; check for damp patches; check for cars, in the middle of the bend (frequent occurrence!); follow the vanishing point (biker speak); keep it smooth, and cool! With such a weight on board, every tight bend makes for a new challenge, but we wouldn't choose to do it on anything but two wheels!
The numerous villages that we passed through, as we traversed Slovakia, supplied a wealth of images, with young children running to the sides of the road to wave frantically to us, more still in school buses enthusiastically greeting our progress, cheering us on to pass the choking antiques and take advantage of the clear, meandering blacktop that stretched ahead of us.
The close relationship between apparently abject poverty and "weekend country cottages" is hard to fully understand, as we witnessed several "shantytowns" that nestled amongst some truly stunning properties, but, generally, things seemed quite normal in that setting.
As we approached Bratislava, the mountains seemed finally to have taken their toll on our clutches, mainly on Andy's, mine having discovered a new lease of life since its "hiccup" in northern Sweden, and we were unable to coax more than 4000rpm from the engines for the last 40 miles.
It was with a great sense of relief that we arrived in the centre of Bratislava, a truly stunning town (more to come), as this is where the bikes are to be serviced, and we hope that the clutch problems will be sorted out.
The greater sense of relief was that we were met by our loved ones, who we had last seen in London, and our first evening in Bratislava included wonderful Slovak cuisine, beautiful architecture and even a rock concert, followed by an amazing firework display, that we persuaded ourselves had been laid on to celebrate our arrival!
This place is truly amazing, spoilt only by the large groups of "Brits abroad" whose behaviour towards, and in front of, the pleasant, helpful locals makes one ashamed to speak the same language. Perhaps the arrival of the Euro will remove that blight from what is otherwise a location that we would highly reccommend for a long weekend.
Day 31 - 12 May - (Bratislava - Veszprem) Miles covered - 130
It was with a mixture of emotions that we awoke to the now expected glorious sunshine.
Firstly, the thrill of knowing that we could be back on the road today gave us a new sense of adventure, but this was over-shadowed by the nagging doubt that something might go wrong at the last minute, and our resunption of "the quest" would again be delayed!
After a subdued breakfast, where each was alone with his thoughts and concerns, the hours until "that call" came through oozed by like treacle. It was with a trembling hand (metaphor!) that I answered my mobile, and an audible sigh of relief could be heard when, in very broken English, I heard those magic words, "your crutch is with my hands"(!!)
Suddenly, everything went into fast forward, and it seemed like only minutes had passed before we were re-assembling our impossible pile of luggage (how is it that things seem to get bigger, as the bags get smaller?), and warmly thanking/praising our new friends at BMW Bratislava. Seriously, we want to take this opportunity to thank Boris ........ at Bavaria BMW Motrorrad, Bratislava. I'm sure that his English is much improved (especially the swear words!) after a week of visits from us, but his un-fazed, positive attitude and optimism, in the face of Teutonic indifference, helped us remain sane during this extremely stressful time. Thank you again, Boris, we won't forget your part in our adventure!
We would also like to thank the wonderful staff at the "Ma Maison" hotel and Appartments at Sulekova 20 in Bratislava, whose bright consitution, kind attention and long-suffering patience (how many coffees, each day, Kevin?!!) made our enforced residence as much of a pleasure as possible. We would highly recommend a stay at this modern, bright and peaceful hotel, nestled amongst a collection of "old-time" properties, minutes walk from the historic centre.
Our goodbyes dispensed with, the bikes fully laden, we pushed our way through the Bratislavan evening rush-hour, and were soon approaching the Hungarian border, the afternoon sun warm on our backs, I-pods re-connected, comm's working, tanks full, and the frisson of anticipation reverberating through us, in tune to the throaty roar of our newly-invigorated engines.
Soon after crossing the border into Hungary, our 17th country, we found ourselves approaching some low hills, on top of which sat an impressive ruin of a castle, which turned out to be castle "Csesznek", made even more beautiful by the effect of the reddening evening sun upon its ancient walls. A perfect place for a phot and film opp., which can be seen on our site.
The other main memory that we have of our relatively short journey to the Betekints hotel in Veszprem, was the sheer number of motorbikes that we saw on the roads. OK if it was on a weekend, but perhaps, in their own way, they were just taking advantage, as were we, of the glorious riding conditions that this balmy Monday evening offered us.
We're back, guys, and feel ready to add some extra miles each day, to recover some of those lost, although Bratislava will always be a special place for us.
Day 31 - 13 May - (Veszprem - Deva) - Miles covered - 344
We awoke to an already burning sun, the day promising to be the hottest yet!
We knew that our "mission" would involve a greater than normal mileage, so we intended to make an earlier than normal start. But the "best laid plans of mice and men........", and we left shortly before 1100hrs, the sweat already running down our backs, our feet damp in our boots.
Veszprem, as a result of our having become hopelessly lost in the centre (more about GARMIN GPS later!!), is a quite beautiful place and, on a Tuesday morning, seemed to possess a "holiday spirit", the large numbers of people appearing to be on vacation, or at least enjoying some obscure public holiday. As we left the town, we both agreed that it would warrant a future return, for more study.
Our impressions of Hungary, albeit brief, are of a country that is moving quickly into the European "way of life". It is obvious that money is being spent, and the general feeling is of a cleaner, friendlier and safer place than a few years ago.
What seems like a lifetime ago, but was only four days, and three countries away, we were sitting outside a bar in Vienna, chatting with the Serbian waiter, who went to great lengths to warn us about the dangers of Romania and Albania. He painted a picture of Romania, from "personal experience", that suggested to us a den of Mafia-controlled iniquity, with no tourist safe from the fake Police and highway pirates that cruise the lesser-used roads in the country. He advised us never to stop upon request, however genuine the Police seemed to be, and suggested that we "get out of there as soon as possible".
It was, therefore, with a slight sense of trepidation that we crossed the border, just outside Gyula, expecting to be accosted at the first bend!
Our immediate impression of Romania, however, was a perfect example of what one could expect Russia to look like, once they reach the very first stage of investment in any form of public infrastructure. We noticed that the standard of living took distinct downward turn, in spite of the brand new "black-top" that we were provided, for the first few miles of our journey into the country. After that, the new road continued, ONLY on our side, and eventually returned to conditions similar to some we had seen in Russia, although, extensive repairs had been made, reflecting the application of at least some public money.
Bizarrely, on the last hundred miles to our destination, we came across some of the best roads we have ridden, since the start of our journey. Bikers everywhere, pay attention! For sheer riding experience, the "79a" and "76", from INEU to DEVA, possesses the best quality, coolest run that this country has to offer!, the road surface, OUTSIDE the villages (cobbles, troughs and humps!) appears to have been designed by a fellow biker, and the meandering bends through the delightful forestry, fields and riversides, make you want to turn around, and do it al again!
Having covered the greatest distance in one day so far, on this trip, and having discovered that another time zone had been crossed, it was with relief that we arrived in Deva, just in time to take part in a strange "theatre", involving an hysterical cook, a perfect female version of Basil Fawlty, a belligerent waitress, two "near-explosion" customers (the only others in the vast space!), and two exhausted, slightly dazed bikers, who were too far gone to complain about the 1.5hour wait for some Heinz-type spaghetti!
The last thing we needed, as we made for the "comfort" of our beds, was the interested and expectant looks from the "ladies" at the entrance to the hotel, who seemed to know that summer was approaching, or they wouldn't have been wearing so little, so late at night!
Day 33 - 14 May - (Deva - Galati) - Miles Covered - 279
Knowing that we were to spend another night in Romania, Andy decided to get some cash out as a back stop for food and petrol as the credit card is often denied in smaller outlets (probably for their own advantages in accounting and Tax submission). Whilst at the Bankomat, which needless to say, is a machine which is known for not working whenever Andy gets within a hundred meters of it, a chap appeared to be taking great interest in the fact that the machine was taking it's time. After a few minutes, some Romanian was spoken at which Andy had no idea what was meant. His apology for his lack of the local lingo was met by a a retort in almost perfect English. It turns out that the chap was not a stooge trying to fleece our traveller but a retired Romanian Army Officer who spent almost 7 years at the Romanian Embassy in London!
We departed Deva and followed the winding and extensively "revovating" main road eastwards, towards Galati. However, After about 3 hours of riding, choking on the lorry fumes and great clouds of dust that the roadworks were happy to supply, we stopped at another, slightly surreal establishment, guarded by every one of the "Heinz 57" dogs that you could imagine. Perusal of the map indicated that a relatively "innocuous" route presented itself, in the form of "road 2d" from "Targu Secuiesc" to "Focsani". The comment, "this looks like a nice lesser road, that will get us away from the lorries and roadworks", was to become the great understatement of the day, closely followed by a comment made by someone in Focsani (read on....).
Leaving the E574 from Brasov, at a prominent sign that showed the direction to Focsani being some 130km, we were pleasantly surprised to find ourselves climbing up through exquisite rolling hills, ordered forestry, and little villages that time certainly had forgot.
The first inkling that we had that suggested that "things were going to get interesting", were the proliferation of hunting signs that adorned the roadside, not to mention the even more incredulous looks that we were getting from the locals.
As if with the click of a finger, we turned a bend in the road, and found ourselves at the start of our second "road of bones". Instantly, what had been an acceptable surface turned into a dusty track, the only bonus being that it was perfectly dry. After less than a mile, we both stopped, side by side, and stared ahead, into the hills, as the faint scar traced its erratic path into the unknown. We looked at each other, then at the spindrels of dust that were occasionally being spun around by the expectant wind, then into our mirrors, and came to the same conclusion: We would move on for two miles and, if things didn't improve, would retrace our steps, taking the slightly more major route via Buzau. Almost exactly two miles further on, with no change in the road conditions, we came across the only other vehicle in our "world". Pulling alongside, his first sight of us almost caused him to drive over the edge! He stopped, and we enquired as to the state of the road ahead. His response, speaking not one word of English (our one word of Romanian being only sufficient to respond to a kindeness!), gave us the impression that the awful conditions would end in about 2km. This having been established, we gamely pushed on, stopping short of that target to enjoy the spectacular view, and obey our all too infrequent "photo-opps". As we filmed the wonderfully tranquil and picturesque environment that we were so privileged to have been a part of, our new friend caught up with us, pulled over and, with gestures, pen and paper, indicated that he actually meant 20KM of nothing, not merely 2km!
It had been our intention to reach Galati tonight but, as 1800, 1900 and then 2000 came and went, with the so-called road relentless in its continuation, we realised that we would never make it, so decided to push for the town of Focsani, provided one of the deep potholes didn't "take us down" first!
As it started to become dark, we realised that conditions were becoming inreasingly dangerous, as our ability to spot the hazards in the road worstened, and our progress became slower and slower.
Something we have noticed on our journey through Romania and Bulgaria, is that horses, cattle and sheep are an important commodity in the cultural and economic sturcture of these lands. In fact, it seems very likely that their importance is valued higher than that of human life, in many ways. We have passed numerous horse-drawn carts in both countries, usually carrying the hand-cut grasses that proliferate the roadsides, as well as many horses grazing contentedly on patches laid out for them. All appear in the very best condition, and, as soon as the cart has arrived at its destination, the horses are un-tethered and positioned, in the shade, to relax whilst the humans toil in the fields.
Almost each cow is attended by one cowherd, on a lead, although we once saw a man showing off by attending to two cows on one lead, and groups of around 20 sheep are permanently attended by a shepherd. The dichotomy between this, almost feudal and ancient way of life, and the frenetic, desperate lunge towards Capitalism displayed in the towns and cities, is incongruous.
Eventually, our seemingly endless journey on the "2d" (pictured below) brought us to the outskirts of Focsani, and, exhausted, we began our search for some accommodation. The only sign that we spotted for a hotel indicated directions to the "Hotel Fashion Center" (?) and, with "open minds", we headed behind some factory buildings, to the front of what could be described as a "hotel". On enquiry, we were informed that they were fully booked (?), but a waiter gave us directions to another hotel, just outside town, that was "newly renovated and very pleasant". This proved to be the second "interesting" statement of the day, as the Hotel Bachus was just the opposite! The only stars that this hotel possessed were those that could be seen through the cracks in the walls, and my little friends in the bathroom, although shy, waved their antennae in support of my every activity! The staff, give them their due, were as helpful as they could be, but we both felt very motivated to make an early start the next day!
Our meal that evening had to be taken at a 24hr truckstop cafe, acoss the four-lane highway outside our "hotel", and in the absence of ANY language connection, supper was ordered by imitations of farmyard animals and considerable hand gestures!
Day 34 - 15 May - (Focsani - Varna) - Miles Covered - 245. Total Distance to Date 5274
With great relief and some uninvited itches, we left the Hotel Bachus, and sped away towards the Black Sea, steering well clear of Bucarest, and constantly fighting with our Garmin GPS systems which, it has to be said, are USELESS in any but the main European countries. You have a lot to answer for guys, and we will be making suitable noises on our return. What we cannot understand is how in the countries we pass through, we could easily buy GPS systems that work perfectly, but our German, BMW dedicated systems are HOPELESS, thinking, more often than not, that we are actually swimming in lakes and rivers, when we are actually on the road in question!
The is something very spooky about the "industrial" areas of Romania and Bulgaria. It appears that, when the Soviets left, they took everything wih them, INCLUDING the kitchen sink! As we rode past huge, abandoned "power station" skeletons, the only smoke rising was not from the myriad cooling towers and exhaust chimneys, which had lain dormant for so long, but from the burning piles of rubbish that scavengers had set alight. The scene could have been directly from another sequel to "Mad Max"!
In addition to the apparent complete absence of working industry, there are literally hundreds of "started projects", that have obviously been abandoned, mid barrow-load, left to rot into the growing weeds and shrubbery that give evidence of the last time each site was visited. These "private homes", considerably elaborate in their design (tessalated castle turrets, minarets and even a moat!), litter the countryside, in town and out. In similar fashion to the industrial wastelands, they appear to have been left at "close of work" on any Monday, never to have been revisited!
Add to these strange anomolies the fact that, all along the Black Sea coastline, hundreds of hotel and apartment complexes are being thrown up, haphazard and disorganised, with workers frantically attempting to keep to their timetables, everybody working to the Mission Statement, "If you build it, they will come"! Having seen them being built, we suggest that you don't!
Passing through "Slobozia", a country town teaming with people, who seemed to have little or no purpose (perhaps they had left the tedium of the fields, in search of the "bright lights", that seemed to have dimmed, somewhat?), we followed the "main road" in the direction of Varna. Soon, we passed a few of the obligatory and ubiquitous road workers, in their flourescent orange jackets, carrying their table tennis bats (human labour cheaper than an automated traffic light system), which indicated some more roadworks ahead. This turned out to be the greatest understatement of the trip, so far! We were then subjected to 15km of the worst riding conditions ever, the bikes skittering over sizeable chunks of hard core, interspersed with dirt track, made all the more difficult by the stream of huge lorries, crawling along at a pace just too slow for our progress. This meant that our top-heavy steeds, stumbling over the impossible surfaces, couldn't accelerate over the trouble, and foundered in every trough and pile. We came very close to losing them into the path of more oncoming leviathans, too many times to count, and too many that we care to remember.
This road, however, was the only route to the coast, and everyone had to take it. The experience will NOT be remembered with any sense of adventure - this was way too much!
Reaching Silstra, on the border with Bulgaria, we were tired, extremely dusty and ever so slightly shaken by the events of the previous hour and we rode through several miles of abandoned light-industrial areas, before arriving at the border crossing, or should I say, "one of the border crossings"! The guard approached us and, in excellent English (learned via TV), informed us that the next Ferry wouldn't arrive until 1600hrs, but we could use the smaller one nearby, which happened to be arriving as we spoke. I asked about the roads on the other side and, in spite of living within 1km of the border, he informed us that he had no knowledge of Bulgaria at all, language, people or Country!
We proceeded to the other Ferry where, as we waited, we were joined by a German on a mountain bike, then two more Germans on a BMW 1150RS tourer, who were headed in our direction! They had been to the Ukraine, and we exchanged reports of how awful the roads are in Russia, and its "protectorates". They had also ridden the "road to hell", as we had done, and she had fallen off on one of their many spills, eventually being given a lift by a kindly and sympathetic car driver!
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Our brief ferry crossing was so typical of this type of trip: you "bounce against" someone else on a similar "quest", share a few moments of camaraderie, and then go your separate ways into your own future. It's really quite special!
Once through the border control in Silistra, we were well overdue for a spot of lunch, so stopped in the town, again to be astonished by the totally insular nature of these countries. The waiting staff had no idea what we were saying, and our few words of Romanian, which we felt sure would illicit some understanding, were met by blank stares! Again, a game of charades ensued, which resulted in an "interesting" lunch.
We arrived in the Black Sea holiday resort "wannabee" town of Varna, one day before their season opened, and much of it was closed. All the pools were empty, restaurants closed, and even some of the hotels, newly completed, were deserted.
The first hotel we approached informed us that they were fully booked, an interesting statement as, later on whilst eating at the brasserie across the road, we noticed that most of the rooms were empty. Some people see bikers as second-class citizens!
Having passed a hotel that flew the Union Jack, three times, we eventually called in, and, after some persuasion by a pro-biking waiter who spoke at least four languages fluently, we were admitted, at a rate that was certainly "out of season".
Day 35 - 16 May - (Varna - Alexandroupolis) - Miles Covered 302
Breakfast at the Hotel was a strange affair. Our fellow guests, a handful of germans, appeared promptly at 0800hrs and didn't wait for all of the food to arrive on the hotplate and display stands. One chap proceeded to fill his plates with as much as he could squeeze on, leaving little for either his fellow countrymen or us, we were sure that had the hotel's pool been filled, there would have been towels on the sunbeds well before sunrise!
It seems that in some hotels when you ask to use a service, the staff never make a big thing out of any charge that may be due. However, The Ritza Hotel in Varna is different. For example, Espresso Coffee, which isn't readily available for breakfast, is 1 Lev extra and we were diligently persued by the hotels staff before our departure to ensure that we didn't make off without paying. As modern as the Hotel was, we found it strange that they didn't accept credit cards, yet after out departure a stop at a local garage on the road out of Varna, credit cards were freely accepted. (Do you detect a fiddle perhaps?)
We battled with the traffic and the car drivers who never see motorcyclists must have been holding a convention in that part of Bulgaria on this day as they were there in numbers. Views came and went of the Black Sea, but each time we caught sight of a view for a photo op there was nowhere to stop safely and the law of sod dictated that where it was possible to stop and park, the view was not picturesque or inspiring.
After covering about 150 miles we were looking for a small restaurant or cafe for Lunch and having passed through 2 small towns saw nowhere to stop and eat, so on leaving the town of Topolovgrad, (yes it's a real name), we came across a Police Car that had obviously stopped a motorist for speeding. Much to the miscreant's disapproval, we asked if there was somewhere to eat? The officer indicated that the garage about 300 meters away sold food. The garage with cafe attached looked promising enough but only sold sandwiches and the hostile attitude of the staff when we asked if we could leave the bikes in the shade made us move on.
A Hotel and Restaurant sign at the roadside about 10 miles further on took us up what appeared to be a deserted building. Modern in it's construction it provided a lunch which would have been better if the cooker had been turned on and cooked the chicken pieces contained in one of the dishes, but with a combination of sign language, guess work, and a staff member who spoke a little english, we again managed to eat.
Continuing onwards the scenery seemed to change within a short distance from the semi-managed and tendered fields to those which resembled cyprus and we knew we were approaching we were approaching Greece.
Our passing from Bulgaria into Greece went smoothly and after producing our passports and vehicle documents to the Bulgarian Checkpoint we proceeded to the Greek Border. We approached the Greek Policeman with a bemused look on his face. A following traveller in a vehicle behind us almost ran to the office to try to jump the queue, but was promptly waved aside by the officer seated in the Control point. Again were greeted by almost shock from him when he was informed of our travels and to much "tutting" from the attempted "queue jumper" the officer took genuine interest in our adventure. This was endorsed when he never fully checked all our documents and wished us a pleasant and safe onward journey.
The road surfaces instantly improved and the main route from the Border down to Alexandroupolis enabled us to make up some time. It was as we approached the turn off for Alexandroupolis that it became clear, this morning we had left The Black Sea and now in the afternoon we approached The Aegean Sea. We have covered over 5000 mile so far on our journey and visited 20 of the 28 Countries. It is savouring moments like this that are making the trip so memorable and pushing the frustration, and helplessness of last week to the back of our minds.
The Thraki Palace sounds grand but is infact just a normal hotel and conference centre. However, we were shown to our rooms and greeted by stunning views of the Aegean Sea which was no more than 50 meters from our Balconys. It was quite emotional for both of us as after getting showered and changed, we stood looking at the sea and realising just how much of the trip we had covered.
Supper that evening allowed us to review our progress and plan our future destinations. It was decided that after the week's hard riding, we would ask to stay till Sunday morning, extending our stay by 24 hours. Canadain accents at an adjoining table during supper drew our attention, and afterwards in the reception area we introduced ourselves and chatted. It transpires that our colonial cousins were Teachers who were currently working in Turkey and having a Long Weekends R and R before they commenced the exam season prior to the end of term.
Saturday morning bought the uncertainty of our stay as the hotel could not confirm our extended stay until 1200. Much to our relief we were told that although we would have to change rooms, we could stay another 24 hours.
Day 37 - 18 May - (Alexandropoulis - Prilep) - Miles covered - 317
After a pleasant day's rest, we set off reasonably early, with our first destination being Xanthia, further west, along the Greek coastline. With our Garmins refusing to help us (for GARMIN, read "Get Another Ruddy Map Instead, Norman"). We stopped off just outside Xanthia, to check the map, and refresh ourselves, prior to the push into the hills.
A combination of GPS inaccuracy and KDN's interesting sense of direction, had us squeezing the bikes through increasingly narrow and cobbled "alleyways", which became steeper with every turn. We found ourselves discussing whether, in the event of reaching a dead end, we would ever be able to extract the bikes from the "wedge" in which we would be stuck! However, more by luck than good management, we "popped out" onto the road that we were searching for, and started the "dramatic" ride to Drama. "Dramatic", because this route was perfect for the mode of transport that we were riding! The camber of the bends, in spite of the occasional rut and small pothole, and the breathtaking scenery, provided us with an hour's "entertainment", interspersed with the occasional "wild" tortoise and even wilder snake, that chose to play "chicken" with us on some of the bends!
After passing through Drama, we headed for Serres, and enjoyed more "biker-orientated" roads, before finding ourselves at a dead-end that just happened to have a very nice restaurant, ancient ruins and a continuous singer/organ player, who serenaded us throughout an excellent range of local fare, whilst we sat, overlooking a spectacular view of the sprawling town of Serres.
After lunch, we continued in the direction of Sofija, before turning onto the minor road that took us through Mandraki and Kastanoussa, before arriving at the border town of Doirani. It was here that we discovered that, in spite of their desire to enter the EU, our insurance policies for the bikes were not valid in Macedonia, and we were required to purchase, IN CASH (?!!),two insurance policies, costing 50 Euros each, that would give us "peace of mind" whilst in their country. We had the odd feeling that this was an excercise in "self-funding", and would advise all bikers to check this out, before coming to this part of Europe.
The Macedonian countryside is breathtaking, although markedly different from that of Greece. The hills are small and pointed, a little like the slag heaps of North Wales that predominate the slate mining areas, although these ones look as though someone covered them with topsoil a century ago, planted trees and bushes, then shaved them last week, leaving the "five o'clock shadow" to push through the verdant outline, tintingthe vivid greens with a soft black "fuzz".
We decided to spend this night in the town of Prilep, which is "famous" for the Monastery that is precariously balanced on the mountain that overlooks it, made more famous, perhaps, by Michael Palin's feature during his Eastern European travel programme. Sadly, we wouldn't have time to follow in his footsteps, but we were fortunate to bear witness to the "energetic" manner in which Macedonia is developing its Political structure, and how keen it is to join the EU. Indeed, old habits die hard, as the receptionist at our "very reasonable" hotel had to confirm to the security services that we were not spies for a rival organisation, nor were we officials from the EU, there to check upon their activities and/or suitability to "join the club"!
We enjoyed a wonderful meal at the "Macedonia House", amongst the bright colours and energetically waved flags of the main Political party (Orange), with the only friction being a race with the other party (blue and white) to get to the front of the "concert" that was being held in their honour.
Whilst sitting in the restaurant, we were surprised to be approached by a chap who asked us in "perfect" English (he was from Birmingham, so only Andy could understand him!) whether we were the guys from the same hotel as he was staying at. Andrew, our new friend, joined us for supper, and we spent a very pleasant evening, swapping stories of our travels, and sharing the experience that is Prilep.
Day 38 - 19 May - (Prilep - Prizren) -Miles covered - 142
The internet reviews about the "Kristal Palas Hotel" (no football team!) are spot on - the staff are wonderful, the rooms, whilst interestingly coloured (and shaped!) are fine, and the price is very reasonable.
We left the hotel with full bellies and great expectations, stopping soon after leaving the town, to take a "film-opp". We then pushed on, enjoying similarly exhilarating roads and incredible scenery, between Suvodol and Kicevo, before turning north towards the sprawling town of Tetovo, where we again were treated to a "Garmin tour" of the smaller roads in the town. Following the rule of "keep going in the general direction", we eventually found ourselves on the right road towards the border, our only regret being that we had to turn down the offer by a fellow biker to join him for a coffee. Whomever you were, we really would have liked to stop!
Approaching the border crossing into what we believed to be Serbia, we were struck by the deserted houses and abandoned developments that littered our route. Arriving at the border, we were informed that we again had to purchase new insurance policies for the bikes, as "Kosovo doesn't observe the green card". There we were, two intrepid explorers, completely ignorant of the new country into which we were about to enter!
The Border Guard, who became another new friend, helped us to mark out the borders of the republic of Kosovo, and provided us with a detailed, albeit slightly "one-sided" history of the area, from "Tito to Today". He even told us of an excellent restaurant to visit for lunch, even though he explained that we couldn't miss it, as it was immediately opposite the Unkrainian "KFOR" Army post and roadblock!
Very soon after entering Kosovo, we were struck by the rocky and undulating nature of the terrain, and reminded of the recent troubles, by the yellow signs proliferating, telling us exactly how many tanks could occupy a particular stretch, as well as stark evidence of numerous explosions that scarred the already dramatic scenery. The way that the sun-bleached rock opened up to display its ochre-coloured interior, and that the "specific" road repairs happened at such strategic locations, served to remind us exactly how volotile this region has been, for so long.
The very first village that we came to, as we rounded another energetic "biking bend", was preceded by a military checkpoint, complete with two armoured personnel carriers (APC's), and several heavy duty machine guns, pointed directly at us! The soldiers, in this region that was being "monitored" by the Ukrainian UN division, looked totally bored, if a little intrigued by our presence, and latest-technology smallarms were leant against the walls of the Guardhouse, whilst they all smoked and "caught some rays". This overt presence proved to be the order of the day, and we soon became blase about the proximity of such a quantity of firepower, even stopping next to the KFOR HQ, to wander across the road to "MONT" restaurant, that showed us which Forces had served here, owing to the English, French and Ukrainian translations on the menu. The food was excellent, with Andy going "local" with the largest "stuffed burger" we had ever seen, and the owner/waiter couldn't have been more helpful, a trend that we were becoming used to, in this entire region.
After a super-strong Turkish coffee, it was back into the mountains, for wonderful views, including snow-capped peaks, dramatic valleys and cooling forests, before we "burst out" onto the most incongruous sight we could have imagined! In amongst all of this "recent mayhem" sat the "White House", an enormous edifice that would have been at home in Florida's West Palm Beach, and it advertised as a Hotel! As we were only a few miles from our target, Prizren, we turned round to explore this mirage, which turned out to be our accomodation for the night (how cheap!!?)
Some time ago, I quoted "If you build it, they will come" (apologies, Mr Costner!). This has been true for so much of our journey through Eastern Europe and the Balkans, but should be changed slightly, to "If you merely appear to have built it, they will still come (the suckers!)". The Albanian(?) family that own and are buiding the White House are really trying hard, you have to give them credit. However, they are battling against a tidal wave of problems including, literally, a tidal wave of S**T and rubbish! That is before we examine the unreliable power supply, machinery and materials that show, when you scratch beneath the ultra-thin veneer of splendour, that you cannot turn a sow's ear into a silk purse! We really feel for these people, in their mis-guided dreams, and very much hope that, ultimately, they are successful in their endeavours, and the huge trout that they assure me still swim in the slurry of a river, will again start to jump and take the fly!
That night, each alone with his private musings in his individual "log cabin", in what could be a truly idyllic setting, we listened to the local dogs fighting over the tonnes of rubbish that was tumbling along the river, the intermittent and alarming electricity surges that punctuated the barks and howls, and the archaic water heaters/pumps, that had developed a language of their own and spent the whole night begging us to put them out of their misery!
Day 39 - 20 May - (Prizren - Budva) - Miles covered - 2225 (or was it 225?)
Over a superb, personally overseen breakfast, "Gary the Gangster" (our pet name for the Folly's "owner") insisted on helping us choose our route into Albania and on to Montenegro, owing to his son having reportedly followed a similar route yesterday.
We had the distinct impression that we were temporary witnesses to a thinly veiled enterprise, perhaps participants, or even accomplices, in the justification of such a bizarre complex. It was with hearty thanks to our "hosts" and a sense of relief that we followed the military convoy down into Prizren, even being treated to a Police escort throught the "Souk-like" town centre, that soon had us heading towards the Albanian border.
Our memory of the border crossing was dominated by two experiences: First, the stark contrast between the smart, well turned-out Kosovan officers, and their Albanian counterparts, who would not have been suitable as East-end night watchmen! Secondly, and a little more disturbingly, was the presence of a terribly grubby, little blonde girl, dressed in little better than rags, dirt-encrusted scabs around her mouth and eyes, who could have been no more than 12 years old, soliciting for money AT THE CUSTOMS DESK(!), offering God knows what in return. The strangely uncomfortable familiarity with which the guards treated her made us grateful to leave, putting aside for the first time, our trepidation about the journey that lay ahead of us.
In a parting discussion with the Albanian guard who stamped our passports, we established, in the absence of GPS assistance, that our route should follow the towns of KUKES, PUKE (yes!), and SHKODRA, before going through BUSHAT towards ULCHIN, and then up the Dalmatian coast to BUDVA. Another moment to gripe: We shall NOT be giving a favourable report about Garmin, at the end of this trip. Quite the reverse, it has served to hinder the most difficult parts of our travels, and is NOT up to the job of leaving any but the most major countries in Europe!
As we turned the corner, on the first few hundred yards of our journey across Albania, we encountered a large sign, announcing major roadworks ahead, sponsored and paid for by the Arab Islamic Banking Corporation, and we were horrified by the sight that greeted us! For as far as the eye could see, the road was nothing more than a dusty scar amongst the largest building site you have ever seen, disappearing then reappearing, at ever more giddy heights, away into the mountains that, themselves, seemed never-ending.
At this point, before making a miserable attempt to describe our day's ordeal, I can honestly say one thing: THE NEXT 100 MILES PROVED TO BE THE MOST INCREDIBLE AND DEMANDING BIKING EXPERIENCE, BUT ALSO THE MOST EXHAUSTING, DANGEROUS, PRECIPITOUS, SLIPPERY, RUTTED, IMPOSSIBLE AND CRAZY ROUTE THAT A BIKER COULD "CHOOSE"! This was borne out by our witnessing car passengers having to stop and be sick, lorry drivers being forced to stop and rest from such an ordeal, and the incredulous looks and negative waving that greeted us by so many people, who obviously knew what lay ahead.
The road to KUKES which, on the map, seems to cover a distance of no more than 30 miles, took us nearly three hours to complete, some 18-20 miles of which we were standing on the pegs, in a very real parody of the Paris-Dakar, the only difference being that we were carrying some 400kg of weight!
No written description can do justice to this experience, save for inviting any intrepid souls to follow our route, before the motorway is built, so that they too may echo our sentiments. It seemed that we were caught in a space/time continuum, ever returning to the beginning of the journey, as mountain after mountain passed, valley after valley dropped away, work-site after work-site blurred our dust and grime-encrusted eyes, and the sections of any form of tarmac at all rattled us to the core of our bones. It couldn't have become any worse,......... BUT THEN IT STARTED TO RAIN! The endless hairpins and sheer, 2-3,000ft drops, guarded by the occasional white pebble, became a slippery and precarious nursing operation, as our mounts struggled to cope with anything more than the gentlest persuasion, and our progress became painfully slow.
Did it ever end? It must have done but, writing this the very next day, we cannot quite believe that it ended, both expecting to "wake up" halfway down some steep mountain pass, with the world dropping vertically to either side, the rain soaking our clothes and covering the way ahead with a sheen of "grease" just to make sure that we both fall off the edge!
Our appearance at the border to Montenegro must have caused some form of a stir, but we were too dazed by our experience to really notice, and were so conditioned to wait wherever we were put, that the Customs official had to ask us to leave, wondering why we were cluttering up his space.
Our arrival at the Adriatic Sea was another emotional affair, both of us greatly relieved that we had "done it", and, in spite of the rain, we enjoyed a hearty meal in Petrovac (lunch having passed us by, completely!), before the last leg into Budva where, exhausted, we made our way to our rooms, oblivious to anything else.
A final word from today: As we sat in the restaurant, we struck up, as happens so often, conversation with a group of three guys at a neighbouring table, two Americans and a local. Their friendliness, and the local's assistance in sourcing accomodation for us, meant a great deal. Little did they know that we would have happily lain on the park benches, that night, rather than have to make any more effort. Thanks guys, we hope we meet again!
