A Breath of Fresh Air - Hanoi

Big fat cheat Flight number 2 completed smoothly. Smoothly that is apart from the £200 excess baggage charge and the near run-in with immigration when it emerged my visa was scheduled to begin the day after I arrived. Thanks are due to the super-friendly Thai Airways check-in ladies, the lenient (i.e. couldn't care less) Vietnamese immigration staff, and the Kingfisher check-in guy for pretending I was only 10kg overweight, not 30. Another case of Iran being better than the rest - the lovely folks at Imam Khomeini International saw fit to charge not a penny for the same amount of stuff...

This is my first time in South East Asia, and my first impressions are good. From the airport in Bangkok and the streets of Hanoi there seems to be a pleasing overabundance of females, and a strikingly high percentage of stunningly beautiful ones. Elegantly riding bikes as well as the Danish, menacingly riding scooters with Burberry helmets, sitting on the street arranging flowers, cooking meat or noodles, or just smiling sweetly. They won't challenge the Persian beauty, but they'll come a close second.

Hanoi is a pretty crazy city (3.7 million people, 2 million motorbikes and scooters) but in spite of this it's sweet relief after the even crazier streets of Delhi. Here there is uniformity, which allows prediction and anticipation. And there are pavements without holes down into sewers. And no cows. Crossing the road is still a challenge though. The Hanoian technique is to assume a slow and deliberate stroll, allowing the shoal to navigate around you. The only Indian technique I ever mastered (aside from simply staying indoors) was to put my hand out confidently and run. The Iranian roads had lanes so could be crossed 7 feet at a time, usually with a panicked, sprinting finale.

So now I wait. Eight more days to pass before I get to hug the person I last hugged over 7 months ago. Then we ride, and I have my first day back on the bike for about 7 weeks, and Georgie the first of 4 months to come. I can't wait!

Six and a Half Months On The Road

• 193 days since home.
• 16 countries.
• 5,794 miles ridden.
• 74,198 metres climbed.
• 483 hours and 28 minutes of riding.
• 2 continents.
  
• 22 border crossings.
• 3 visas, 3 weeks of waiting.
  
• 29 nights of wild camping.
• 16 nights in people's houses.
• 84 nights in backpacker hostels.
• 61 nights in hotels.
• 3 nights on transport.
• 1 broken frame.
• 4 broken spokes.
• 1 broken freehub.
  
• 3 punctures.
• 4 mountain ranges.
  
• 10 jars of Nutella.
  
• 100s of cups of tea.
• 25 dog chases.
• 1 horse chase.
• Innumerable acts of kindness.
• 100s of people met, 10s of friends made.
• 6 kilos lost, 4 put back on.
• 13 other long-distance cyclists met.
• A handful of scary moments, a whole load more joyful ones.
• A 100% increase in faith in humankind.
• 10 cms of beard growth.

Fifty Days in India, 3 Weeks in Delhi

Riding through Delhi at night. Not recommended.

Riding through Delhi during the day. Not recommended.

Persistent questioners in monsoon rains.

Very wet and muddy.

Many miles passed under someone else's steam. It's not really cheating...

North India's version of the stinging nettle

The first sign of trouble up ahead, on the road to Manali

The ever-present watching men, no matter what you're doing, they're watching

Another nice spot for lunch

So far only 1 very narrowly missed cow - I think our weights are about equal

This is one of the cleaner eating establishments

Contrasty.

Everyone's Equal: Eating at the Golden Temple

Hey, how are you? I'm Kris. Where did you arrive from? Oh wow, how are you finding it? This must all be quite a shock for you! I remember leaving the airport last time I was in Delhi 4 years ago after flying in from Heathrow in 7 hours and being so overwhelmed. I've been here for 3 weeks now. I actually got here from Iran - no, well actually I've cycled here from London. Ha! No it's been great fun! Oh no, actually I mean bicycle, not motorbike!!! That's why it took 5 and a half months! Well I left my house in the UK on February the 15th and caught a ferry over to the Netherlands, then rode the whole way through Belgium, Luxembourg, France, Switzerland, Italy, Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia, Montenegro, Albania, Macedonia, Greece, Turkey and Iran. Unfortunately I couldn't get a visa for Pakistan as they changed their rules after I left so I had to fly from Tehran to Amritsar. I spent a month riding up into the Himalayas as far as Manali and then down to here. Yeah, actually I left on my own but met another guy in Istanbul who was doing the same thing. Yeah! There are quite a few people doing what I'm doing, I've met at least 20 along the way. We split up from Delhi after 3 months together so now I'm back on my own. Up to now I've cycled 5794 miles - usually around 60 per day but as many as 106 and as few as 2. I'm pretty much doing nothing here in Delhi, just relaxing and enjoying the chance to socialise. I have a flight booked from here on the 27th August to Hanoi where I will meet up with my best friend from back home and then cycle with her down through Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia and then Australia and New Zealand. I'd initially planned to continue on from there to South America and make my way up and across to New York and then over to Africa, but having been away for nearly half a year now I can't envisage spending another 2 years on the road and riding 15,000 more miles - also I will have no money left by that point!

So what are you doing today? Ah yes, the Red Fort is nice...


So go most days in the Nirvana Hostel, South Delhi. The story exists more as a story than as reality for me now, I've told it so many times.

To those who have pestered me over the past month to write something on here, thank you for caring, and to those who have been checking in (or waiting for the RSS feed to update), I apologise for my lackadaisical approach. I suppose it's a combination a few things; after 178 days of doing this many things now seem unremarkable which would in the beginning have had me excitedly typing away in the nearest internet cafe. I think it's also India and the nature of travel here, in my case especially when contrasted against the time in Iran. I don't really feel like anything has happened that is worth recording, despite having done and seen what for most would be more than on a long holiday.

The biggest differences from day-to-day; you can't camp in Northern India. Between leaving town A and arriving in town B there is always a nether-town made up of tarpaulin shelters and charpoys, paddy fields and water buffaloes, dhaba food stalls, domestic tourist 'resorts', identikit crisp and fizzy drink shops, bizarrely named and iron-barred 'English Wine & Beer' shops, universities overlooking slums, or simply big piles of rubbish. Luckily India has its fair share of cheap hotels so a new routine was developed that removed the need to find food and water and a safe camp spot and instead involved shopping around for the perfect hotel room, for which exists a rather complicated equation involving the number of beds multiplied by the size of the TV and number of channels, divided by 2 for air conditioning or 4 for a fan, adding 100 for electricity to make these things work and subtracting 100 for no hot water, more than 2 flights of stairs, and anything that looked like it might lead to electrocution, illness or plague, whilst factoring in the lateness in the day and the tiredness and hunger levels, along with the level of tourist extortion attempted by the owner. Most of the time it was £2 and on all but 1 occasion, crap. Having gotten used to cycling off of the road and rolling down in to a field, transporting all my bags no more than 2 feet from the bike, setting up my tent, cooking as the sun sets and sleeping with the night, this added a headache while getting rid of a pleasure. And waking up in a double bed with another man night after night isn't as fun as it sounds (love you Adam).

Then there's the people. Iran received enough gushing positivity which I don't need to reiterate - I imagine any country would be a step down for the cycle tourist, but India is quite a stark change. It is fascinating for its diversity, and a thoroughly mesmerising, enchanting and just generally bizarre country, but for the specific needs of me on my bike it's not in the same league.
The initial welcome by the Sikhs of Punjab at the Golden Temple was remarkable, and the culture shock from seeing women riding motorbikes, working in the fields in multicoloured saris and showing off their long ponytails was intense - there is no easing in to India.
The cultural analysis between a Middle Eastern Islamic theocracy and a toddler Asian democracy is the stuff of text books, but basically I've experienced so little genuine kindness and so much blatant money grabbing as to sour the experience. I do believe that Hinduism has a part to play in this but that book is a long one. If you can break down the tourist/Indian barrier I'm sure there is a lot of kindness to be discovered.

After looking forward to cycling in India, I now have no desire to cycle here again. Once the crazy sights and sounds and smells of India lose their ability to amaze - a crew of cows chilling in the middle of the road, a gang of monkeys rampaging through a town, the goat/pig/car/elephant/cow/child/horse/camel/holy man that need to be avoided in every town, the sheer noisy chaos of every person beeping their horn - the enjoyment fails to sustain. I'm over it.

So for the past 3 or 4 weeks, since the 22nd July when Adam and I rolled through the gate of the Nirvana Hostel after 4 hours spent battling through Delhi's congested streets, I have chillaxed to the maximum. I've been to the mall. I've been to the movies. I've seen no tourist sights, no mosques, no markets (in my defence I saw them all 4 years ago). I've eaten almost exclusively western food but still managed to maintain an illness-to-wellness ratio of 1:1. I've stayed up till 6am more nights than ever before and drunk more rum then I ever will again. I've met some friends for life, and been offered some very glamorously located floors to sleep on. I've felt almost as at home here as at home. But step back out that gate and it's chaos, death and destruction in each direction. If you can walk down the street without falling in a steaming pile of trash, or a sewer, or walking into a cow, or getting hit by a rickshaw or bicycle, then you're doing well. I have realised at this point that I am Western, and European, and will always need some semblance of that around me.

So since last time...
I went to the Dalai Lama's 75th birthday party in his temple at Mcleod Ganj. That was fun. I've eaten numerous unidentified fried foods which have infected me with numerous bacteria and resulted in varying levels of diarrhoea. I've spent 2 nights vomiting. I've ridden up to 2000m and witnessed Adam make it to 4000m while I was, surprisingly, ill in bed. I've cycled in the monsoon, I've been handed beer from a moving motorbike and drunk it whilst riding, I've overtaken an elephant, I've enjoyed hours of long, swooping Himalayan mountain descents and pushed the tyres' grip to the limit. I've sweated more than I care to ever again. I watched the World Cup final in Manali where marijuana grows in hedges by the roadside. I've drunk Cognac and hung out with Delhiites, and met a handful of very lovely women. And of course I said goodbye to my riding buddy of 3 months, my wingman and copilot, the guy who made me feel lazy to just be riding my bike to get to places - you should ride it on your days off too! : P Adam valiantly battled on to Kolkata and is currently having some kind of empathy illness in Bangkok - good luck with the rest of the journey making it back to Oz.

So from now - the 30,000,000 Hindu Gods have conspired against me and so far foiled my 2 attempts to leave Delhi, this city I would actually say I hate, to see the more beachier parts of the country, one event involving me jumping very un-James Bond-like backwards from a moving train (top tip - always jump with the direction of travel); a train I'd waited for 5 hours to get on. Stick to bikes I told myself. I've decided to wait out my time in the safe confines of the hostel, being as lazy as I want to because hey, I've cycled here from London, even though all my friends have now moved on or home. On the 27th August I have a flight to Hanoi in Vietnam where I will wait for 10 days until my best friend from home Georgie lands with her bike to begin a 5 month trip through south-east Asia to Australia, with me. I think I'm a pretty lucky guy. Not to be promoting rival blogs but if you'd like to get a female perspective over the next few months (or just hear all the bad stuff about me) take a look at http://georgie-isabel-cycles.blogspot.com/

And the reason for flight number 2? The original route took in Nepal, Tibet and China. 1. Once out of India I'd be stuck for 2 months under their new rules, so any failure in Nepal would be an issue. 2. Independent travel in Tibet seems to be a near impossibility, especially after recent crackdowns. 3. I probably should have got my Chinese visa in the UK.

I'll definitely keep on top of this a lot better from now on, though between now and the flight my only tasks are to find a box for my bike, post home all my now-redundant winter clothing, and work my way through the 30 movies sitting on my laptop, whilst fighting off illness at every turn.

From Iran to India; Desert to Monsoon; Theocracy to Democracy

After traveling at 12 miles-per-hour for the past 4 and a half months, to suddenly eat up 1,376 miles at about 600 miles-per-hour was always going to leave me in a bit of a haze.
The boring but necessary logistical challenges all came off without a hitch; finding and then transporting a bike-sized cardboard box on the back of said bike; checking-in to a flight with 60 kg of stuff, 100% more than allowed; rebuilding the bike in the middle of an airport.

I now sit surrounded by Tibetan monks being looked over by the Dalai Lama rather than Ayatollahs and Imams Khamenei and Khomeini. Most people are Hindu, Sikh or Buddhist. The air is wet, my mouth doesn't get dry in 3 breaths. Everything is green, and in English, and people nod their head sideways. I've been soaked by early monsoon rains, and nearly expired climbing 400m vertically in 2 miles. I'm in McLeodganj, above Dharamsala, the home of the Tibetan government in exile. Last week I was in Tehran, the capital of an Islamic Republic. Fundamentally, through all the differences, the people are still people, most are still good. Everyone still bloody beeps.

My first ever ride on a motorbike - Royal Enfield, dirt road, Himalayas (concentrating)

Sun set at Mcllo

Golden Temple, Amritsar

Resting Sikh with dagger

Henna, Pakistan-India border (the closest we could get)

Crazy border closing ceremony, Wagah

The mud-brick streets of Yazd

Our desert hosts back in Iran

I must apologise for the briefness but beer and the World Cup (or preferably the Tour de France) await. More soon!

Esfahan to Yazd and Back to Tehran - Three Sleeps 'till India

I hope the photos told some of the story in the last post and made up for the lack of words. Iran is a tough country for the blogger, but not for the reasons you might think. There is simply just too much happening each day to record, and faced with so many quickly fading memories of different sights or encounters the pressure to do them all justice and get them down for posterity overwhelms and I end up writing nothing. Even just to pick out highlights seems unfair and, really, they are all highlights.

However, in list-form, the time had passed like this:

Woken from midday slumber on roundabout to spend the rest of the day and night with another bunch of students in Natanz. More great hospitality from an endlessly kind and interesting bunch of young Iranians. The complexities of girlfriend trouble, the looming prospect of military service, the complete lack of freedom to travel outside of the country.

The criminalizing of everyday acts. In the UK I'm not the most confident of guys when it comes to approaching women, but there was one - nameless and uncontactable and forever resigned to being a memory - who exhibited such sheer beauty that I had to do something. After an hour of sneaking glances and smiles I left my comrade answering the usual questions with an over friendly fat man and made my move. Over the following hour of phrasebook conversation I thought on a number of occasions I was going to get into trouble. A number of people approached the girls (now 4 of them) in an unfriendly manner and got feisty responses - despite my constant searching for reassurance (and the reassurance offered due to the worried look on my face) I got the impression that these 4 young women shouldn't be talking with us 2 young foreign men, or us unrelated men full stop. After their twentieth meerkat-esque look at passing motorbikes and potentially uniformed men we bid hasty and distant farewells. I can console myself with the fact that my atheism would have prevented the relationship progressing any farther anyway. She remains on my mind though.

Endless intrigue. Simply sitting and reading a book is not an option in Iran. Many times I've woken up from a doze in a park or lowered my book to see 5 or 6 people standing over me eager to chat. Walking 20 yards from a teahouse to another park spot saw me stopped at 3 or 4 times for photos. Often it is the same few questions asked - where are you from, where are you going, what is your job - but almost always it is followed up with 'what do you think of Iran'? I think they are the most self-conscious nation, and understandably so.

Endless kindness. As I mentioned before, the minefield of Taarof can be tricky to negotiate, but within or aside from that the level of generosity shown to foreigners, and 2 smelly, dirty cycling ones at that, is astounding. Riding through the desert, rather bizarrely in a rain-, thunder- and sand-storm, we stopped for water at a petrol (actually CNG) station. Within minutes a young lady approached proffering a plate of cherries and plums. Not to be outdone, a truck driver followed with 2 bunches of grapes. Clearly feeling left out, the station attendant returned with a cantaloupe. Nope, not enough. 30 seconds later half a watermelon was added to the pile. We briefly considered opening up a stall but decided to scoff what we could and have the rest for pudding. Sitting in the desert, pitch black, topping off a hearty tagliatelle with a still-cool melon was like heaven for us.

Whilst I was stopped to record my passing of the 5000 mile mark a car pulled up and handed us cake and juice. We rarely leave after a midday rest without having been bought ice cream or handed something from a family's picnic basket (and the Iranian picnic basket is surely the world's best - they take it seriously, though not a sausage roll in sight...).

Approaching the 60 mile mark around midday after a 0530 wake-up to beat the heat of the day, which has so far topped out at 47 C, we noticed we were being followed by a man on a motorbike. I found this a bit annoying as his spluttering engine was spoiling the small amount of peace that the desert was temporarily providing (peace is very rare on the roads here). Eventually he passed and made the universal gesture for food and to follow him. We did, I reluctantly; I'd gotten through the riding with thoughts of relaxing under a tree with a new book - my life has simplified that much - and the thought of having to work hard at conversation over lunch didn't appeal this time. However, 20 hours later when we were leaving our new friend's house the following morning I was so happy to have gone along with Adam's insistence. Our new friend lived in a tiny village in the middle of the desert, surrounded by very big guns. He and his wife are bakers and work out of their garage. They had 3 lovely children - 4, 9 and 16, and many, many friends and family who passed through the house in that time. There is no way I can cover everything that went on or thank them enough for their kindness. We ate one of their chickens (killed in front of us), we drank their sheep's milk, we put away gallons of their tea along with a few lbs of sugar (you drink it with the sugar cube in your mouth here). We were the subject of intrigue but also treated as equals. We were fussed over but also left alone. We slept under the stars among cushions and blankets in their courtyard. It was hard to leave these lovely people, but I hope they realised how great a time we had.

We have just arrived back in Tehran after 3 days in the desert city of Yazd. I could have spent a few weeks at the Silk Road Hotel. Pure, relaxing luxury for only $7 a night! Admittedly I didn't see as much of the city as I should have - a downside of the fatigue of having pedaled 5000 miles to get somewhere and staying at a place with day beds surrounding a shady courtyard inhabited by lots of interesting people - but the narrow mud-brick lanes of the old city dating back 7000 years and the sun setting behind the 'Towers of Silence', the place where the Zoroastrians would place their dead to be picked clean by vultures, were quite special.

The trip has now officially been broken by the 10 hour bus ride, though not yet in a easterly direction. Indian visas are secured - 60 days and 2 entries, perfect - so all that remains is to arrange for the bikes to be packed up and hope that we have enough rials left for excess baggage. Talk of more bombings and shootings in Pakistan, as well as the 65 degree C temperatures on the way and the uncooperative police and military escorts are preventing me from being too upset about the enforced airborne stage, but talk of the ever burgeoning traffic in India and the coming of the monsoon rains, as well as knowing from experience what a crazy, attention grabbing place India is, are still keeping my mind active over what lies ahead.

As hard and tiresome as this trip can get sometimes, the idea that from waking up in the morning almost anything has the potential to happen is quite thrilling and I'm sure will keep me going. 

The next stops on the way are Amritsar, where we land on Monday, then the home of the Dalai Lama in Dharamsala, down to Delhi, along to Varanasi and up to Kathmandu in Nepal, where yet more geopolitical uncertainties will determine the onward route - Tibet, China, Bangladesh?

(Photos to follow).

Tehran to Esfahan - Hot, Tough and Beautiful

Imam Square in Esfahan - 'Half of the World'

Tea Under Si-o-Se Pol Bridge

More Tea and Qeylan Overlooking the Square

Chadors in Jameh Mosque

Chilling Out at the River - So Much Attention

Our Tour Guide and Photographer

Mr. Ayatollah

Ali, The Man

Tobacco-Free, Honest

Desert Camping

Iranian Hospitality - Words Can't Describe

Iranian Symbols - Khomeini and Blue Zamyad

Orchard Camp

Company for Lunch

For my Mum!

Company Again...

Fed, watered, tead

Salaam

Pastries passed from a moving car!

Afshin and the Engineers - The Best Hosts

Most people say that their conceptions of Iran are completely blown apart after visiting it. Unfortunately I spoilt the surprise by reading so many reports back in the UK that I knew exactly what to expect, and forthcoming it most certainly was.

There was a beautiful contrast - riding the road through Kurdistan from the last town in Turkey to the Iranian border we were savagely ambushed by, well, some 8-12 year old shepherds. Now that may not sound too scary but when they have sticks with nails in, big scary dogs and no one to discipline them within 10 miles it's not an ideal situation. Following stick/bike contact my Aussie counterpart chose the direct approach and chased after then with a quite terrifying volley of swear words and suddenly they were just scared children. Another guy who rode the same road and faced the same encounter nailed them with pepper spray, hah!

Compare that with the first 50 miles in Iran where we were instead forced to fend off offers of tea and picnics that would have seen us stopping every 20 minutes, and over enthusiastic drivers eager to chat whilst negotiating roundabouts, and you can see why I'm happy to be here.

At the border the Iranian contrast began - I was led away by police to be fingerprinted (twice), a special treat just for the British, after having been offered a place to stay with the very first Iranian we spoke to. The government and the people are such separate entities in the most part, but unfortunately our views are shaped by the news that reflects on the government and not the people. I will limit my mention of the G word now until I'm safely across the border. You never know...

We've been here for almost 2 weeks now with non-stop riding from Turkey to Tehran. The capital city is madness and our trips to the British, Australian, Pakistani and Indian embassies have been both exhilarating and terrifying. It's not much better on the back of a motorbike or even in a taxi. Crossing the road is a real life game of Frogger with only one life.

Iran will be where the continuity of the bike ride ends for me. Having pedaled every inch from The Netherlands to Iran I've been refused a visa for Pakistan - the vital link overland to India - so will be getting as far east as Yazd or Bam in Iran before returning to Tehran to catch a plane to the west of India at Amritsar. Owing to time, equipment, knowledge and visas the northern Turkmenistan/Uzbekistan/Tajikistan route is not much of an option so will be saved for another time.

Owing to the visa here we only have about 17 days left and owing to the embargo preventing foreigners from withdrawing money we are watching every 1000 rials as once it's gone, it's gone!

I've unfortunately lost track of all the kindness we've experienced in this short time, but we've been bought numerous ice creams and cold drinks, offered tea, cooked food, handed cakes - generally been assisted no end and treated like celebrities. Being British this is all very embarrassing for me and I don't know how to convey my thanks enough, but for the Iranians this is just how things are done - it's part of a social minefield called Taarof which I'm still trying to master.

The final photo above is of our now very good friends in Takestan. Hijacked by one of them as I was hypoglaecimically trying to buy lunch and ordered to go to his house I eventually gave in and we followed him to his student pad where he and a bunch of childhood friends all live while they study mechanical engineering. We were treated like kings and had one of the best, most relaxing nights of the trip so far - thank you all!

There is so much more to tell but, as ever, so little time. Off to see what the rest of Iran has to offer and then into the even hotter, even madder world of India...