Friday, October 24, 2008
Bent forks bent head
The search for a bike in Dharamasala has taken me tripping this way and that all over the countryside, to most if not all of the scuffy 
back yard Enfield workshops and garages in and around Dharamsala. Its hard work, and a real exercise in keeping your cool when dealing with people and their attitude to the money they think youre hiding in your pockets. It seems to me theres just too much disposable tourist money up here coupled with people with little to no idea about motorcycles .This equates roughly to people trying to sell me any old rat bag at hugely inflated prices with a sales patter better placed in a Rolls Royce dealership. At first I was sympathetic to this kind of foolishness, but after seeing at least 10 bikes all of similar scrapyard, side of a riverbank quality, being punted with the same sugar coated honey slickness Ive became totally blase and upfront about my opinions.The nicely nicely gently does it approach falls on deaf ears here.
Yesterday I spoke to a mechanic, telling him how utterly fed up I was with being punted bikes that would be better seen as part of a gocart slash submarine on an episode of Scrapheap Challenge and that if he had anything that was worth me looking at that wasnt going to waste my time I'd be more t
han happy to see it. "Oh yes" he say "I have a lovely 2002 model in perfect condition, beautiful nothing wrong with it, lovely paint, perfect". Great! I thought to myself as he totted off to find it and I waited patiently by the side of his tiny garage optimistic that someone might come up with the goods. When he comes back, even before he's thought about lifting his leg off the bike I take one look and see the forks have decided to emulate a set of holy cows horns and are neatly bent under the frame. I smile to myself and say, "The fork are bent under the frame my friend". He looks at me like Ive just walked out of the local asylum and rapped him round the face with a smelly wet trout and says "Theyre not!". Honestly, its desperate, this sort of nonsense seems to be par for the course, and I tell him the forks look like bananas and walk away before he has time to look at me like Ive called him mother something awful.
This seems to be a common theme, Im sure somewhere theres a big warehouse full with banana forked, buckled wheeled, banging, clanging, rattly, broken down bikes with a big flashing yellow and purple sign saying "only for use as submarine slash gocart or for sale to stupid senseless foreigners who happened to leave there brains behind on the plane". It seems to b-791470.jpg)
e some kind of sport of a sort, like a game, but for me its just a really disheartening, slap in the face introduction to the intricacies of motorcycle purchase in India. So as it stands I still have no bike, and being mechanically minded I think its going to take me some time before I find anything that resembles quality motorised transport of a reliable, safe and resaleable nature thats not going to implode or explode,or send me floating into the skies with little wings or scurrying down to his redness below.
So to a change of subject and to the more serious nature of anti malarial medication. I started taking my larium medication for malaria aproximately 2 weeks ago as recommended by the doctor and the instructions on the packet. I really thought nothing of it, I'd taken it in Africa with no problems so there would be no problems here I thought. Wrong! Just for those that dont know, Larium is an anti malairial thats renouned for sending the perfectly sane members of society totally screaming lock me up in a padded cell 
with tranquilisers, bonkers. Well, after my second dose of the stuff I started to feel very odd indeed, like someone had given me a mild to moderate dose of amphetamine and LSD, couple with terrible vivid and realistic nightmares, sweating palms, and a pounding heartrate. I was seeing things in the corners of my eyes that I couldnt quite decide whether I'd seen and feeling very, anxious, paranoid, angry and aggressive towards anyone and everyone. The crunch came on the bus coming up the mountain side to Mcleod Ganj after a day looking for bikes, I simply wanted to attack the person sat next to me for absolutley no reason and jump off the bus while travelling at high speed. The impulse to do this was so very real and strong it was difficult to control it and I knew immediately that something was really very very wrong with me. When I got back I immediately enquired about seeing a doctor. I also did a whole load of research on the web and found numerous reports of people doing all sorts of attrocious t
hings under the influence of this drug. Soldiers murdering their wives, travellers committing suicide, many many things. Whoever markets this drug should be taken to court as its extremely dangerous. After a bit of dredging around I found that the company smudged the research reports to some degree. In these reports they suggest that something like 1 in 10000 people suffer some sort of serious psychosis from taking larium, however an independent report was ordered and found the figure to be actually more like 1 in 150! people affected. What upsets me is how a drug can be allowed on the market that has a non compliance rate like that. One of the problems is also that it has a half life of 2 weeks, which essentially means Im stuck with this for a while. Im just glad I was aware of the possible problems and that I hadnt taken more doses. I just wonder if others are made aware by doctors of exactly what could happen to them? Anyway suffice to say Ive switched my anti malarials and am just allowing this effect to slowly subside, Im ok now in case anyone who knows me is worried but Im pretty upset and dissolutioned by the obvious and transparent link between pharmaceutical profit and general medical care. I mean why give someone this medication when you can give him or her as simple antibiotic alternative with fewer side effects and the same effectiveness at 10% of the price tag! Just doesnt make any sense. In case youre interested heres one of many artciles written on the subject.
http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2003/01/27/60II/main538144.shtml
So for now Im just taking it easy and recovering. If I dont find a bike here soon Im heading to Delhi and the worlds largest motorcycle market, called Karol Bagh where apparently you have the largest selection of second hand mortorcycles in the world. Should be fun if nothing else. I dont really want to go to Delhi but Im starting to think that I really dont have much choice. So until next time, Namaste, and blessings to you all. Jonny
back yard Enfield workshops and garages in and around Dharamsala. Its hard work, and a real exercise in keeping your cool when dealing with people and their attitude to the money they think youre hiding in your pockets. It seems to me theres just too much disposable tourist money up here coupled with people with little to no idea about motorcycles .This equates roughly to people trying to sell me any old rat bag at hugely inflated prices with a sales patter better placed in a Rolls Royce dealership. At first I was sympathetic to this kind of foolishness, but after seeing at least 10 bikes all of similar scrapyard, side of a riverbank quality, being punted with the same sugar coated honey slickness Ive became totally blase and upfront about my opinions.The nicely nicely gently does it approach falls on deaf ears here. Yesterday I spoke to a mechanic, telling him how utterly fed up I was with being punted bikes that would be better seen as part of a gocart slash submarine on an episode of Scrapheap Challenge and that if he had anything that was worth me looking at that wasnt going to waste my time I'd be more t
han happy to see it. "Oh yes" he say "I have a lovely 2002 model in perfect condition, beautiful nothing wrong with it, lovely paint, perfect". Great! I thought to myself as he totted off to find it and I waited patiently by the side of his tiny garage optimistic that someone might come up with the goods. When he comes back, even before he's thought about lifting his leg off the bike I take one look and see the forks have decided to emulate a set of holy cows horns and are neatly bent under the frame. I smile to myself and say, "The fork are bent under the frame my friend". He looks at me like Ive just walked out of the local asylum and rapped him round the face with a smelly wet trout and says "Theyre not!". Honestly, its desperate, this sort of nonsense seems to be par for the course, and I tell him the forks look like bananas and walk away before he has time to look at me like Ive called him mother something awful.This seems to be a common theme, Im sure somewhere theres a big warehouse full with banana forked, buckled wheeled, banging, clanging, rattly, broken down bikes with a big flashing yellow and purple sign saying "only for use as submarine slash gocart or for sale to stupid senseless foreigners who happened to leave there brains behind on the plane". It seems to b
-791683.jpg)
e some kind of sport of a sort, like a game, but for me its just a really disheartening, slap in the face introduction to the intricacies of motorcycle purchase in India. So as it stands I still have no bike, and being mechanically minded I think its going to take me some time before I find anything that resembles quality motorised transport of a reliable, safe and resaleable nature thats not going to implode or explode,or send me floating into the skies with little wings or scurrying down to his redness below.So to a change of subject and to the more serious nature of anti malarial medication. I started taking my larium medication for malaria aproximately 2 weeks ago as recommended by the doctor and the instructions on the packet. I really thought nothing of it, I'd taken it in Africa with no problems so there would be no problems here I thought. Wrong! Just for those that dont know, Larium is an anti malairial thats renouned for sending the perfectly sane members of society totally screaming lock me up in a padded cell
with tranquilisers, bonkers. Well, after my second dose of the stuff I started to feel very odd indeed, like someone had given me a mild to moderate dose of amphetamine and LSD, couple with terrible vivid and realistic nightmares, sweating palms, and a pounding heartrate. I was seeing things in the corners of my eyes that I couldnt quite decide whether I'd seen and feeling very, anxious, paranoid, angry and aggressive towards anyone and everyone. The crunch came on the bus coming up the mountain side to Mcleod Ganj after a day looking for bikes, I simply wanted to attack the person sat next to me for absolutley no reason and jump off the bus while travelling at high speed. The impulse to do this was so very real and strong it was difficult to control it and I knew immediately that something was really very very wrong with me. When I got back I immediately enquired about seeing a doctor. I also did a whole load of research on the web and found numerous reports of people doing all sorts of attrocious t
hings under the influence of this drug. Soldiers murdering their wives, travellers committing suicide, many many things. Whoever markets this drug should be taken to court as its extremely dangerous. After a bit of dredging around I found that the company smudged the research reports to some degree. In these reports they suggest that something like 1 in 10000 people suffer some sort of serious psychosis from taking larium, however an independent report was ordered and found the figure to be actually more like 1 in 150! people affected. What upsets me is how a drug can be allowed on the market that has a non compliance rate like that. One of the problems is also that it has a half life of 2 weeks, which essentially means Im stuck with this for a while. Im just glad I was aware of the possible problems and that I hadnt taken more doses. I just wonder if others are made aware by doctors of exactly what could happen to them? Anyway suffice to say Ive switched my anti malarials and am just allowing this effect to slowly subside, Im ok now in case anyone who knows me is worried but Im pretty upset and dissolutioned by the obvious and transparent link between pharmaceutical profit and general medical care. I mean why give someone this medication when you can give him or her as simple antibiotic alternative with fewer side effects and the same effectiveness at 10% of the price tag! Just doesnt make any sense. In case youre interested heres one of many artciles written on the subject.http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2003/01/27/60II/main538144.shtml
So for now Im just taking it easy and recovering. If I dont find a bike here soon Im heading to Delhi and the worlds largest motorcycle market, called Karol Bagh where apparently you have the largest selection of second hand mortorcycles in the world. Should be fun if nothing else. I dont really want to go to Delhi but Im starting to think that I really dont have much choice. So until next time, Namaste, and blessings to you all. Jonny
★ 0 Comments. | Jonny, Friday, October 24, 2008 2:54 AM
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Newcastle to India
The flight to Delhi was a long one, but Ive been on worse, New Zealand for example was a monster 30 hour bonanza of stopovers and 12 hour shifts, but then was way back when I didnt have deep lines on my brow, a rickety back and could hack being crunched up sideways in an econonomy airline seat next to a snoring fat man. Fortunately for me it turned out I was sat next to the exact opposite, a beautiful young American woman. I think its safe to say this did absolutely nothing for my ability to relax and concentrate on sleeping and remaining poised and calm for the onslaught of the Delhi chaos only a few hours ahead of me. But Joking aside, in reality the flight was a breeze.Its been a long time since Ive been on a plane and theyve certainly changed, I'd bought a paper and even considered buying a crossword book. Wrong! now you dont need any form of entertainment whatsoever, everything is provided at the touch of a screen in the back of the seat infront of you. I watched the newest releases on film and played backgammon, saw Razorlights most recent concert and saw an episode of cringeworthy friends all from the luxury of my seat, easy, or worrying whichever way you choose to see things. With a 4 hour stopover in the bling capital of bling Dubai, where you can purchase a classic 1960's convertible from the inflight magazine, or buy any kind of anything from the duty free, I nabbed a 1.50 chicken curry (Gorgous, shame on you heathrow airport with your prices and wilted lettuce!) and slept a couple of winks on the carpeted floor alongside an austrian guy and various other nationalities. Seems Dubai is the stopover capital of the world also, Ive never seen so many nationalities, cultures and clothing all getting along so famously, or at least sleeping along side each other so famously.
The last haul into Delhi from Dubai was all of 3 hours and I think I slept most of that which was good because I wanted to feel at least half human to take on the touts, crazed taxi drivers, mountains of forms and chaos everyone warned me about. But, in reality i had none of this. I dont really know what it is about me but people mostly leave me alone. Ive experienced this in most countries where folk tell me to be wary of hassles and chaos. Maybe I look scary or skint, I dont know, but I only had one taxi driver gingerly ask me if I wanted a taxi and that was that.Im sure that will change However I did encounter the usual Indian taste for formality,I was trying to catch the free shuttle bus between the International and domestic terminals and walked out of the terminal towards the bus, once I got to the bus I jumped aboard and was quickly told to get off by a soldier and instructed to walk all the way back through the terminal, through to customs , past various officials, and various gates, to return to the exact spot I started at where they could check my ticket and book me on the bus! Crazyness, I was a step away from the checking office. But nevermind I was grateful to be on a free bus and free of any hassles so all was good. I grabbed a tiny twin prop plane to Dharamsala which bobbed and weaved through some of the most amazing scenery I-744639.jpg)
ve seen yet. Out of my window, I'd thought ahead and got myself a window seat, I saw a big bank of clouds on the horizon and then far far way on my left I saw a jagged mountain way abovwe the clouds, the only one and it must have been Everest in Nepal it was so big and so far away, no other mountains look like that and none of the other mountains broke out of the clouds like that either, amazing! Flying certainly is beautiful.
Once I arrived at the airport I was picked up and taken to a hotel I'd organised and I tried to rest. Strange thing though, the owner of the Hotel kept smiling at me in an odd way and touching my knee while in the taxi. I kind of felt uncomfortable with this but put it down to my stuffy Englishness. The light didnt really shine down on me till I was in my hotel room and he got behind me and started massaging my shoulders and asked me to lie on the bed. Finito! woahhh not nice! I had been warned about this kind of thing but really hadnt expected it to happen just stepping off the plane! I got a real taste of how women feel with this sort of daily bullshit and in that respect it was a great practical lesson but in general a nasty, sleasy, dirty experience and one I dont wish to repeat. So I made plans to leave the next day which I did, to a Tibetan guesthouse, with a bussling community and much more beauty.
Dharamsala, or Mcleod Ganj to be correct, a little hill station above Dharamsala, is a strange mix. I remember Brendan at Lothlorien talking to me with fond memories of it in the late 70's, early 80's. However, knowing Brenadan I think its a very different place to the one he remembers. As much as the Dalai Lama has residence here,-776341.jpg)
and there are Buddhist monks in full crimson attire everywhere, this is very much a backpacker destination. Dreadlocked Isrealis charge up and down the stray dog streets on trooped up Royal enfield motorcycles, looking like something not too far removed from the motorcyclist from Bat out of Hell. Robed Monks rub shoulders with buisnessmen, tibetan refugees, backpackers, tourists, travellers, you name it its here. The shops -746204.jpg)
are a similar mix of real Tibetan Handricrafts, made by tibetan societies inhouse, and boutiques selling rucksacs, cargo pants, tacky souvenirs and such. This is all separated by fedex bureaus, ticket offices, barbers, scruffy tea shops, restaurants and beautiful Tibetan women selling Momo's. Of course you have the usual freeloading holy cows, stra-752862.jpg)
y bonking dogs, pleading beggars on rackety wooden scateboards, maniacal scooter riders and suicidal jeep drivers. But I gather this is the norm for India, just seems to me like a scruffy old place for his holiness to have his residence to be honest!
One of the highlights for me has been watching the monks shouting at each other in the coutryard of the temple. Sorry, one of the highlights for me has been watching the monks discussing serious philosphical points with each other in the courtyards of the temple. Now this to me seems-731246.jpg)
strange. Correct me if Im wrong, but isnt buddhism all about loving kindness and compassion. Well, these guys really go for it, stomping feet, slapping hands and at times I have to say I dont really detect that loving kindness so talked about, they seem pretty angry. Seems like this is a kind of sport to me, much bravado, and Im not sure how much of it is a display for the onlookers. But its pretty entertaining stuff. Ive sat with the robed monks during prayers and been served piping hot tea and bread with the other gatherers, followed in the foot-752971.jpg)
steps of little old men and spun the bronze prayer wheels of the Dalai Lamas temple, eaten steaming Momo's from a Tibetan steet seller, yum yum, and searched endlessly for a motorcycle to continue my travels.
To be honest aside from the Dalai Lama being here at Mcleod Ganj theres not a great deal to do unless you get involved in voluntary work or have -731188.jpg)
a penchance for one of the therapies or yoga schools that seem to have sprung up around and about. Theres a lot of voluntary work about and I think that would be the most fulfilling thing to do up here to be honest. You can work teaching Tibetan people various things from English to IT aside from working on social projects in and around the area. Ive thought about this myself, but I dont really think this is the right time or place for me to be doing that kind of thing. McCleod Ganj in reality -776256.jpg)
seems to be just another hopping off point on the traveller circuit of India, which I kind of thought it would be.
So, for now, Im just getting used to the way of life here and trying to ease myself into India while trying to find a motorcycle to continue my journey. This is proving a little more difficult than I thought it would be as every Tom Dick or Harry wants to sell you a bike,even if the wheels are falling off, the tyres are bald and the engine sounds like its about to shake itself to pieces. Aside from that the-745961.jpg)
prices up here are just crazy, crazy and Im sure this is becasue theres too many tourists and disposable money floating around. What you can buy in Delhi for 18,000 IRP costs you double up here, and being a foreigner hikes the price up immediately. Its also frustrating for me not having a working knowledge of these motorcycles, although I can rebuild just about anything I can get my hands on I dont really know what these things should or should not sound like. To me they all sound like a very loud rattly bag of spanners thats about to implode, but maybe thats how they sound. For all the bikers out there the gear shifts on the right on the older bikes ..hmmmhhh.
So my search continues.With a little research Ive also found out that its a normal operation to put your bike on the train, just wrap in straw and sack and stuff it in the luggage van with all the other crap! Great! This really helps me as the country is huge, distances vast and Royal Enfields SLOW! In effect this means I can tour the different states I want to see and then ship the bike between them at little cost and better care for the environment and my backside! This is a good finding, I can sleep while Im travelling over the vast distances and places I dont wish to see or ride through.
From the little cafe Im sat in I can see the thunder storms and rain crashing down over the mountains, its very beautiful and very wet as you can imagine in the foothills of the Himalayas, so today is a day for writing and doing very little, the roads are muddy the electrics keep failing and mooching about in these storms isnt a sensible option unless your a duck. So until next time many blessings and love to everyone. Jonny
The last haul into Delhi from Dubai was all of 3 hours and I think I slept most of that which was good because I wanted to feel at least half human to take on the touts, crazed taxi drivers, mountains of forms and chaos everyone warned me about. But, in reality i had none of this. I dont really know what it is about me but people mostly leave me alone. Ive experienced this in most countries where folk tell me to be wary of hassles and chaos. Maybe I look scary or skint, I dont know, but I only had one taxi driver gingerly ask me if I wanted a taxi and that was that.Im sure that will change However I did encounter the usual Indian taste for formality,I was trying to catch the free shuttle bus between the International and domestic terminals and walked out of the terminal towards the bus, once I got to the bus I jumped aboard and was quickly told to get off by a soldier and instructed to walk all the way back through the terminal, through to customs , past various officials, and various gates, to return to the exact spot I started at where they could check my ticket and book me on the bus! Crazyness, I was a step away from the checking office. But nevermind I was grateful to be on a free bus and free of any hassles so all was good. I grabbed a tiny twin prop plane to Dharamsala which bobbed and weaved through some of the most amazing scenery I
-744649.jpg)
ve seen yet. Out of my window, I'd thought ahead and got myself a window seat, I saw a big bank of clouds on the horizon and then far far way on my left I saw a jagged mountain way abovwe the clouds, the only one and it must have been Everest in Nepal it was so big and so far away, no other mountains look like that and none of the other mountains broke out of the clouds like that either, amazing! Flying certainly is beautiful. Once I arrived at the airport I was picked up and taken to a hotel I'd organised and I tried to rest. Strange thing though, the owner of the Hotel kept smiling at me in an odd way and touching my knee while in the taxi. I kind of felt uncomfortable with this but put it down to my stuffy Englishness. The light didnt really shine down on me till I was in my hotel room and he got behind me and started massaging my shoulders and asked me to lie on the bed. Finito! woahhh not nice! I had been warned about this kind of thing but really hadnt expected it to happen just stepping off the plane! I got a real taste of how women feel with this sort of daily bullshit and in that respect it was a great practical lesson but in general a nasty, sleasy, dirty experience and one I dont wish to repeat. So I made plans to leave the next day which I did, to a Tibetan guesthouse, with a bussling community and much more beauty.
Dharamsala, or Mcleod Ganj to be correct, a little hill station above Dharamsala, is a strange mix. I remember Brendan at Lothlorien talking to me with fond memories of it in the late 70's, early 80's. However, knowing Brenadan I think its a very different place to the one he remembers. As much as the Dalai Lama has residence here,
-776526.jpg)
and there are Buddhist monks in full crimson attire everywhere, this is very much a backpacker destination. Dreadlocked Isrealis charge up and down the stray dog streets on trooped up Royal enfield motorcycles, looking like something not too far removed from the motorcyclist from Bat out of Hell. Robed Monks rub shoulders with buisnessmen, tibetan refugees, backpackers, tourists, travellers, you name it its here. The shops -746223.jpg)
are a similar mix of real Tibetan Handricrafts, made by tibetan societies inhouse, and boutiques selling rucksacs, cargo pants, tacky souvenirs and such. This is all separated by fedex bureaus, ticket offices, barbers, scruffy tea shops, restaurants and beautiful Tibetan women selling Momo's. Of course you have the usual freeloading holy cows, stra-744600.jpg){kind=link}
-752885.jpg)
y bonking dogs, pleading beggars on rackety wooden scateboards, maniacal scooter riders and suicidal jeep drivers. But I gather this is the norm for India, just seems to me like a scruffy old place for his holiness to have his residence to be honest! One of the highlights for me has been watching the monks shouting at each other in the coutryard of the temple. Sorry, one of the highlights for me has been watching the monks discussing serious philosphical points with each other in the courtyards of the temple. Now this to me seems
-761490.jpg){kind=link}
-773833.jpg){kind=link}
-731258.jpg)
strange. Correct me if Im wrong, but isnt buddhism all about loving kindness and compassion. Well, these guys really go for it, stomping feet, slapping hands and at times I have to say I dont really detect that loving kindness so talked about, they seem pretty angry. Seems like this is a kind of sport to me, much bravado, and Im not sure how much of it is a display for the onlookers. But its pretty entertaining stuff. Ive sat with the robed monks during prayers and been served piping hot tea and bread with the other gatherers, followed in the foot-752984.jpg)
steps of little old men and spun the bronze prayer wheels of the Dalai Lamas temple, eaten steaming Momo's from a Tibetan steet seller, yum yum, and searched endlessly for a motorcycle to continue my travels. To be honest aside from the Dalai Lama being here at Mcleod Ganj theres not a great deal to do unless you get involved in voluntary work or have
-731203.jpg)
a penchance for one of the therapies or yoga schools that seem to have sprung up around and about. Theres a lot of voluntary work about and I think that would be the most fulfilling thing to do up here to be honest. You can work teaching Tibetan people various things from English to IT aside from working on social projects in and around the area. Ive thought about this myself, but I dont really think this is the right time or place for me to be doing that kind of thing. McCleod Ganj in reality -776275.jpg)
seems to be just another hopping off point on the traveller circuit of India, which I kind of thought it would be. So, for now, Im just getting used to the way of life here and trying to ease myself into India while trying to find a motorcycle to continue my journey. This is proving a little more difficult than I thought it would be as every Tom Dick or Harry wants to sell you a bike,even if the wheels are falling off, the tyres are bald and the engine sounds like its about to shake itself to pieces. Aside from that the
-746149.jpg)
prices up here are just crazy, crazy and Im sure this is becasue theres too many tourists and disposable money floating around. What you can buy in Delhi for 18,000 IRP costs you double up here, and being a foreigner hikes the price up immediately. Its also frustrating for me not having a working knowledge of these motorcycles, although I can rebuild just about anything I can get my hands on I dont really know what these things should or should not sound like. To me they all sound like a very loud rattly bag of spanners thats about to implode, but maybe thats how they sound. For all the bikers out there the gear shifts on the right on the older bikes ..hmmmhhh. So my search continues.With a little research Ive also found out that its a normal operation to put your bike on the train, just wrap in straw and sack and stuff it in the luggage van with all the other crap! Great! This really helps me as the country is huge, distances vast and Royal Enfields SLOW! In effect this means I can tour the different states I want to see and then ship the bike between them at little cost and better care for the environment and my backside! This is a good finding, I can sleep while Im travelling over the vast distances and places I dont wish to see or ride through.
From the little cafe Im sat in I can see the thunder storms and rain crashing down over the mountains, its very beautiful and very wet as you can imagine in the foothills of the Himalayas, so today is a day for writing and doing very little, the roads are muddy the electrics keep failing and mooching about in these storms isnt a sensible option unless your a duck. So until next time many blessings and love to everyone. Jonny
★ 0 Comments. | Jonny, Wednesday, October 15, 2008 8:48 PM
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Turkey,Switzerland,Scotland
After spending a couple of weeks in the lap of luxury in Switzerland I felt really unsure as to whether I wanted to continue my trip. Somehow I felt tired of travelling and tired of constantly being on the seat a -781447.JPG)
motorcycle with all the concentration and stress involved in travelling in that way. Many days I wished for the lack of responsibility for the bike and the joy of sitting relaxed on a bus or train with no camping gear and only a few possessions. Having to lug my bags on and off and set up camp every day was feeling like a weight rather than a joy and my heart really wasnt leaping at sights and sounds each day. So with a rather confused step I went back to the UK to look at renting a small farmhouse in Dumfries and Galloway and to see just how I felt about being back in the UK and not being on a bike. I guess there are times like this when things just seem quite tricky and you loose your direction and all you want to do is come back home to all the fond memories you dream up in your "the grass is always greener " thoughts.
Well, the farmhouse was indeed very beautiful, set in rolling scottish countryside, way away from any hussle and bussle, quiet and secluded and just round the corner from my friends at Lothlorien. But,it just didnt feel right to be back, I still felt like I needed to move, I missed my bike and my attatchment to everything involved with it. Seems strange and a little cliched to say that the bike had become part of me,part of my identity and my being, but its true , it felt a little strange without it.
So, after a week of looking at the options for staying in Scotland I decided I needed to keep to my path and my plan, so I hopped back on my bike and headed east, a quick stop in Switzerland for a few days and then once again the long ferry journey from Venice to Greece.
I landed in Iguomenitsa on the north east coast with a German biker called Christian. We'd met on the ferry and clicked almost instantly, talking about so many subjects wide and varied subjects from communism, global warming, western lifestyle, religion, possible world solutions and such, sleeping on wild beaches and broken headlands. Th-752110.jpg)
en one day while riding for the port in Athens I had my visor up, much to Christians anoyance and something stung me slap in the middle of my face, God knows what, but boy did it hurt. Had to stop, pull out the offending sting and ride on in quite considerable pain.We kept riding and arrived late at night in Athens and and slept on the port in waiting for the ferry to Chios Island and onto to Cesme in Turkey the next day. H-785480.JPG)
owever when I awoke the morning my face had other ideas for travel my eyes had started to shut from the sting and I looked like a clihgon from star trek! I thought about a tip to the doctor but just nipped to the pharmacy and ttook some antihystamines. We did manage to grab the ferry to Chios, but by then my eyes were almost closed and after a night camping on the beach I awoke with both eyes closed and a trip to the hospital in Chios was inevitable. I was put on a cortisone drip and left for 2 hours to recover. A little better I left, slept the night on a beach but over the night my heart started racing like a train and in the morning I feltt like death and another trip to the hospital and another drip and an overnight stay. Apparently the cortizone lowers the blood pressure and increases the heart rate and mine was dangerously low and dangerously fast. I wish they had told me that before they gave me it!
Once out of hospital I was on my own again, Christian had to leave the day before as he had only a short time a-765451.JPG)
way from work. So I caught the tiny ferry to Cesme in Turkey and rode the mediteranean coast to a huge gorge near fethiye where I spent a couple of dats recovering in a treehouse camp. Very touristy but what I needed after two days in hospital.
I stayed ten days or so in Turkey, sleeping rough in the mountains and riding dirt tracks through mountain villaes with chickens and hens and kids shouting and waving from windows. I kept heading east as I was aware that by now things were tgetting cold in central Turkey and near the Iranian border almost down to freezing at night. I stopped for a few day-752151.jpg)
s in Capadoccia which is like no place Ive ever seen. Its truly amazing. Think of the star wars landscapes and youve got it. Its too hard to describe, but imagine caves cut into rock formations that are from another planet and youre not far off. Its easiest for me to post the pictures.
While I was in Goreme in Capadocia I started to hear mixed reports of the declining situation in Pakistan. Apparently the goverment was becoming unst-785230.jpg)
able, diplomats children were being sent home and armed escorts were being used on the roads. Now, this didnt dsound good to me, on a bike and having to ride Taftan quetta road near the Afgan border. After checking the foreign office website which confirmed my fears, but then it always does, and with the bombing of the marriott hotel and other overlanders turning back I started to think it might be wise to do -795770.JPG)
the same. For me riding alone across Pakistan started to feel like too much of a liability.
So, after much deliberation and research I decided to come back to the uk and look at my options which is where I am now. Im pleased I decided not to ride across Pakistan and Iran, but I would have liked to have made it at least to India with my bike. So for the last few days Ive been researching what to do back at Lothlorien and the conclusion is to store my bike here as its finacially not feasible for me to ship it to India and I dont have the time ior space to organise freighting and Im flying to India tommorrow (only option thats really viable) and hiring or buying an old Royal Enfield Motorcycle to ride round India and continue this trip. As to whether I can continue on from there I dont know. Its hard to ship Indian bikes out of India now but I will look into the situation as it emerges. For now Im just going to concentrate on riding around India and allow things to develop from there. I may have to do a Charlie Boorman and travel by whatever means possible. So on Friday I will be in Dharamsala and from there I will keep you all posted. Many blessings to you all. Jonny
-782016.JPG)
motorcycle with all the concentration and stress involved in travelling in that way. Many days I wished for the lack of responsibility for the bike and the joy of sitting relaxed on a bus or train with no camping gear and only a few possessions. Having to lug my bags on and off and set up camp every day was feeling like a weight rather than a joy and my heart really wasnt leaping at sights and sounds each day. So with a rather confused step I went back to the UK to look at renting a small farmhouse in Dumfries and Galloway and to see just how I felt about being back in the UK and not being on a bike. I guess there are times like this when things just seem quite tricky and you loose your direction and all you want to do is come back home to all the fond memories you dream up in your "the grass is always greener " thoughts.Well, the farmhouse was indeed very beautiful, set in rolling scottish countryside, way away from any hussle and bussle, quiet and secluded and just round the corner from my friends at Lothlorien. But,it just didnt feel right to be back, I still felt like I needed to move, I missed my bike and my attatchment to everything involved with it. Seems strange and a little cliched to say that the bike had become part of me,part of my identity and my being, but its true , it felt a little strange without it.
So, after a week of looking at the options for staying in Scotland I decided I needed to keep to my path and my plan, so I hopped back on my bike and headed east, a quick stop in Switzerland for a few days and then once again the long ferry journey from Venice to Greece.
I landed in Iguomenitsa on the north east coast with a German biker called Christian. We'd met on the ferry and clicked almost instantly, talking about so many subjects wide and varied subjects from communism, global warming, western lifestyle, religion, possible world solutions and such, sleeping on wild beaches and broken headlands. Then one day while riding for the port in Athens I had my visor up, much to Christians anoyance and something stung me slap in the middle of my face, God knows what, but boy did it hurt. Had to stop, pull out the offending sting and ride on in quite considerable pain.We kept riding and arrived late at night in Athens and and slept on the port in waiting for the ferry to Chios Island and onto to Cesme in Turkey the next day. However when I awoke the morning my face had other ideas for travel my eyes had started to shut from the sting and I looked like a clihgon from star trek! I thought about a tip to the doctor but just nipped to the pharmacy and ttook some antihystamines. We did manage to grab the ferry to Chios, but by then my eyes were almost closed and after a night camping on the beach I awoke with both eyes closed and a trip to the hospital in Chios was inevitable. I was put on a cortisone drip and left for 2 hours to recover. A little better I left, slept the night on a beach but over the night my heart started racing like a train and in the morning I feltt like death and another trip to the hospital and another drip and an overnight stay. Apparently the cortizone lowers the blood pressure and increases the heart rate and mine was dangerously low and dangerously fast. I wish they had told me that before they gave me it!
Once out of hospital I was on my own again, Christian had to leave the day before as he had only a short time away from work. So I caught the tiny ferry to Cesme in Turkey and rode the mediteranean coast to a huge gorge near fethiye where I spent a couple of dats recovering in a treehouse camp. Very touristy but what I needed after two days in hospital.
-752122.jpg)
en one day while riding for the port in Athens I had my visor up, much to Christians anoyance and something stung me slap in the middle of my face, God knows what, but boy did it hurt. Had to stop, pull out the offending sting and ride on in quite considerable pain.We kept riding and arrived late at night in Athens and and slept on the port in waiting for the ferry to Chios Island and onto to Cesme in Turkey the next day. H-785918.JPG)
owever when I awoke the morning my face had other ideas for travel my eyes had started to shut from the sting and I looked like a clihgon from star trek! I thought about a tip to the doctor but just nipped to the pharmacy and ttook some antihystamines. We did manage to grab the ferry to Chios, but by then my eyes were almost closed and after a night camping on the beach I awoke with both eyes closed and a trip to the hospital in Chios was inevitable. I was put on a cortisone drip and left for 2 hours to recover. A little better I left, slept the night on a beach but over the night my heart started racing like a train and in the morning I feltt like death and another trip to the hospital and another drip and an overnight stay. Apparently the cortizone lowers the blood pressure and increases the heart rate and mine was dangerously low and dangerously fast. I wish they had told me that before they gave me it!Once out of hospital I was on my own again, Christian had to leave the day before as he had only a short time a
-766129.JPG)
way from work. So I caught the tiny ferry to Cesme in Turkey and rode the mediteranean coast to a huge gorge near fethiye where I spent a couple of dats recovering in a treehouse camp. Very touristy but what I needed after two days in hospital.I stayed ten days or so in Turkey, sleeping rough in the mountains and riding dirt tracks through mountain villaes with chickens and hens and kids shouting and waving from windows. I kept heading east as I was aware that by now things were tgetting cold in central Turkey and near the Iranian border almost down to freezing at night. I stopped for a few days in Capadoccia which is like no place Ive ever seen. Its truly amazing. Think of the star wars landscapes and youve got it. Its too hard to describe, but imagine caves cut into rock formations that are from another planet and youre not far off. Its easiest for me to post the pictures.
-752161.jpg)
s in Capadoccia which is like no place Ive ever seen. Its truly amazing. Think of the star wars landscapes and youve got it. Its too hard to describe, but imagine caves cut into rock formations that are from another planet and youre not far off. Its easiest for me to post the pictures.While I was in Goreme in Capadocia I started to hear mixed reports of the declining situation in Pakistan. Apparently the goverment was becoming unstable, diplomats children were being sent home and armed escorts were being used on the roads. Now, this didnt dsound good to me, on a bike and having to ride Taftan quetta road near the Afgan border. After checking the foreign office website which confirmed my fears, but then it always does, and with the bombing of the marriott hotel and other overlanders turning back I started to think it might be wise to do the same. For me riding alone across Pakistan started to feel like too much of a liability.
-785242.jpg)
able, diplomats children were being sent home and armed escorts were being used on the roads. Now, this didnt dsound good to me, on a bike and having to ride Taftan quetta road near the Afgan border. After checking the foreign office website which confirmed my fears, but then it always does, and with the bombing of the marriott hotel and other overlanders turning back I started to think it might be wise to do -795788.JPG)
the same. For me riding alone across Pakistan started to feel like too much of a liability.-772434.jpg){kind=link}
So, after much deliberation and research I decided to come back to the uk and look at my options which is where I am now. Im pleased I decided not to ride across Pakistan and Iran, but I would have liked to have made it at least to India with my bike. So for the last few days Ive been researching what to do back at Lothlorien and the conclusion is to store my bike here as its finacially not feasible for me to ship it to India and I dont have the time ior space to organise freighting and Im flying to India tommorrow (only option thats really viable) and hiring or buying an old Royal Enfield Motorcycle to ride round India and continue this trip. As to whether I can continue on from there I dont know. Its hard to ship Indian bikes out of India now but I will look into the situation as it emerges. For now Im just going to concentrate on riding around India and allow things to develop from there. I may have to do a Charlie Boorman and travel by whatever means possible. So on Friday I will be in Dharamsala and from there I will keep you all posted. Many blessings to you all. Jonny
★ 0 Comments. | Jonny, Wednesday, October 1, 2008 11:35 PM
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Anafi and switzerland
After the ordeal that was trying to process my Indian Visa in Athens a week earlier, I was prepared for the worst on travelling back to collect it.However when faced with the exact same prison guard of a woman who had me scurrying here there and everywhere seven days ago, this time everything went lîke a dream, all the timings went as planned, the boats arrived on time and didint depart without me and more importantly the lady at the desk in the Indian embassy seemed to have had a personality transplant or a week with a new lover, who knows, she simply smiled sweetly at me and with a bat of her eyes handed me my visa, no problems, no questions asked, Indias open to me. Hoorah
So I hopped on the Romilda, as thats what I call the ferry now that takes you out to the islands, Im so familiar wi-770063.jpg)
th her, I think Ive been on her at least eight times now and headed back to Folegandros, fully expecting to head out to Koufonissi and then on to Turkey. Sleeping on the deck of the boat is an art form, you have to hold on tight in the middle of the night as the wind gets up to gale force and your sleeping bag tries to enter orbit, most people seem to hate this but I find it great fun, its warm on deck and you can see the stars and with the wind and the night it gives a sense of freedom Ive not found anywhere else, kind of brings you back to your inner child as you imagine yourself crashing through monstrous seas in high winds and terrible danger, great fun!
On arriving in Folegandros for the second time I check my emails and find a note from a friend I met on the island a couple of days earlier asking me if Ì would like to catch up in Anafi a small island a couple of hours south of Santorini. So,with a slight change of plans and a little diversion I hopped the overnight ferry to anafi. By this time I was totally exhausted, I had bascially been travelling for three nights on different ferries sleeping on the open deck, with little sleep, poor food and hectic schedules.So when I arrived at the port on Anafi all I wanted to do was find a bed and sleep sleep sleep. However on the island that proved a whole heap harder than expected. After three hours of wandering windy little streets, and riding out to tiny coves, and beaches I finally found a place to rest, put my head down and try to sleep off the exhuastion in the only village high up on the cliffs overlooking the port.
After I woke, I found my friend and we spent the next four days eating and swimming, reading and lazing -770125.jpg)
about with very little to do, it was great. I felt very civilised sleeping in a room and not a tent, in fact it felt like luxury and really quite frivolent, eating out in restaurant, sampling the different fish and dishes. Looking back I think its important to let go once in a while or life on the road can become tiresome and tedious and you can loose your will to move.
And now where am I ? Im in Switzerland at my friends house fixing my bike after catching the ferry from Patras to Venice and riding up to Luzern. A couple of days relaxing in Ticino, the Italian part of Switzerland and now taking things easy in a quiet little street in the city. I started to feel very tired of travelling in Greece, and a little worn out constantly moving and began to question what I was doing? So at the moment Im just collecting my thoughts and my energy and figuring out my direction. I will keep you posted. Blessings and peace to you all. Jonny
After the ordeal that was trying to process my Indian Visa in Athens a week earlier, I was prepared for the worst on travelling back to collect it.However when faced with the exact same prison guard of a woman who had me scurrying here there and everywhere seven days ago, this time everything went lîke a dream, all the timings went as planned, the boats arrived on time and didint depart without me and more importantly the lady at the desk in the Indian embassy seemed to have had a personality transplant or a week with a new lover, who knows, she simply smiled sweetly at me and with a bat of her eyes handed me my visa, no problems, no questions asked, Indias open to me. Hoorah
So I hopped on the Romilda, as thats what I call the ferry now that takes you out to the islands, Im so familiar with her, I think Ive been on her at least eight times now and headed back to Folegandros, fully expecting to head out to Koufonissi and then on to Turkey. Sleeping on the deck of the boat is an art form, you have to hold on tight in the middle of the night as the wind gets up to gale force and your sleeping bag tries to enter orbit, most people seem to hate this but I find it great fun, its warm on deck and you can see the stars and with the wind and the night it gives a sense of freedom Ive not found anywhere else, kind of brings you back to your inner child as you imagine yourself crashing through monstrous seas in high winds and terrible danger, great fun!
On arriving in Folegandros for the second time I check my emails and find a note from a friend I met on the island a couple of days earlier asking me if Ì would like to catch up in Anafi a small island a couple of hours south of Santorini. So,with a slight change of plans and a little diversion I hopped the overnight ferry to anafi. By this time I was totally exhausted, I had bascially been travelling for three nights on different ferries sleeping on the open deck, with little sleep, poor food and hectic schedules.So when I arrived at the port on Anafi all I wanted to do was find a bed and sleep sleep sleep. However on the island that proved a whole heap harder than expected. After three hours of wandering windy little streets, and riding out to tiny coves, and beaches I finally found a place to rest, put my head down and try to sleep off the exhuastion in the only village high up on the cliffs overlooking the port.
After I woke, I found my friend and we spent the next four days eating and swimming, reading and lazingabout with very little to do, it was great. I felt very civilised sleeping in a room and not a tent, in fact it felt like luxury and really quite frivolent, eating out in restaurant, sampling the different fish and dishes. Looking back I think its important to let go once in a while or life on the road can become tiresome and tedious and you can loose your will to move.
And now where am I ? Im in Switzerland at my friends house fixing my bike after catching the ferry from Patras to Venice and riding up to Luzern. A couple of days relaxing in Ticino, the Italian part of Switzerland and now taking things easy in a quiet little street in the city. I started to feel very tired of travelling in Greece, and a little worn out constantly moving and began to question what I was doing? So at the moment Im just collecting my thoughts and my energy and figuring out my direction. I will keep you posted. Blessings and peace to you all. Jonny
So I hopped on the Romilda, as thats what I call the ferry now that takes you out to the islands, Im so familiar wi
-770079.jpg)
th her, I think Ive been on her at least eight times now and headed back to Folegandros, fully expecting to head out to Koufonissi and then on to Turkey. Sleeping on the deck of the boat is an art form, you have to hold on tight in the middle of the night as the wind gets up to gale force and your sleeping bag tries to enter orbit, most people seem to hate this but I find it great fun, its warm on deck and you can see the stars and with the wind and the night it gives a sense of freedom Ive not found anywhere else, kind of brings you back to your inner child as you imagine yourself crashing through monstrous seas in high winds and terrible danger, great fun!On arriving in Folegandros for the second time I check my emails and find a note from a friend I met on the island a couple of days earlier asking me if Ì would like to catch up in Anafi a small island a couple of hours south of Santorini. So,with a slight change of plans and a little diversion I hopped the overnight ferry to anafi. By this time I was totally exhausted, I had bascially been travelling for three nights on different ferries sleeping on the open deck, with little sleep, poor food and hectic schedules.So when I arrived at the port on Anafi all I wanted to do was find a bed and sleep sleep sleep. However on the island that proved a whole heap harder than expected. After three hours of wandering windy little streets, and riding out to tiny coves, and beaches I finally found a place to rest, put my head down and try to sleep off the exhuastion in the only village high up on the cliffs overlooking the port.
After I woke, I found my friend and we spent the next four days eating and swimming, reading and lazing
-770259.jpg)
about with very little to do, it was great. I felt very civilised sleeping in a room and not a tent, in fact it felt like luxury and really quite frivolent, eating out in restaurant, sampling the different fish and dishes. Looking back I think its important to let go once in a while or life on the road can become tiresome and tedious and you can loose your will to move.And now where am I ? Im in Switzerland at my friends house fixing my bike after catching the ferry from Patras to Venice and riding up to Luzern. A couple of days relaxing in Ticino, the Italian part of Switzerland and now taking things easy in a quiet little street in the city. I started to feel very tired of travelling in Greece, and a little worn out constantly moving and began to question what I was doing? So at the moment Im just collecting my thoughts and my energy and figuring out my direction. I will keep you posted. Blessings and peace to you all. Jonny
★ 1 Comments. | Jonny, Wednesday, August 6, 2008 8:42 AM
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Athens and theTurquise Isles
The picture many paint of Athens is one of a grubby, grimy, dusty city thats only worth getting out of as quickly as possible and indeed if you follow all the guides and advice this is what they'll tell you, but having to stay there for some days while I processed my Indian visa taught me just how guides and books are only really one persons view and ideas of people and places theyve seen. I admit Athens isnt the picture perfect tourist destination people are looking for when they come on holiday, but increasinly I dont feel like Im on holiday, I feel quite separate to the tourists in a way thats hard to describe, like Im part of the land rather than simply passing through unconnected as perhaps others are. So Athens for me felt very real and gritty and not painted over with the pretty tourist brush that can wear a little translucent when you get used to it. For me I loved the dirt and dust and the broken down old buildings with their shabby balconies
and peeling paint, I loved walking through the the fish market and meat markets at dusk, saw stalls piled up with dates, seeds and nuts, sold for pennies, watched sadly junkies,husslers and prostitutes hanging around scruffy squares and amazed at street stalls selling everything and anything you could ever want and some stuff you might not ever need. I did do some of the touristy things however like see the Acropolis and the other many ancient monuments and ruins, but like I said I find the real life of the city far more interesting than traipsing from this site to the next. I will say however that the view from the top of the hill overlooking the Acropolis into 
Athens is something everyone should see, everywhere you look is Athens from far off mountains in one direction to distant blue sea with ships and islands in the other,its simply breathtaking, such a mass of houses and monuments, steets and cars, buildings and rooftops as far as the eye can see. I tried to c
apture it on my camera but its simply impossible, you'd need a lense that looks behind you and more.
And then the day came when I came face to face with the amazingly crazy beurocracy that surrounds getting an Indian visa, oh man, its just simply bizzare, everything has to be just so and the amount of useless information they want from you is both bizarre and fantastical. A word of advice to anyone doing this, approach with a sense of humour and a continuous and unflinching inner smile. Apparently my photocopies of my passport were the wrong size,they had to be A4, they needed to know where I was staying in Athens, and also a statement written on A4 size paper as to why I had not got my visa in London, and what I was doing in Greece on a motorcycle, all this in a two hour slot in a hot sticky visa office in central Athens with a woman behind a screen who had managed to acheive a startlingly good impression of a prison camp guard, I tried to make her laugh, but an unflinching scowling face made me realise that that was certainly not the way forward. Anyway she sent me scuttling across Athens to grab my camp address from an internet cafe, 2 new correctly sized photocopies of my passport from a pokey little shop in a backstreet, and addresses of where I intended to enter and exit India all to be back within the space of an hour. To say it was a mad dash is an understatement, spinning in and out of streets, trying not to trip over people and bags in a search to find an internet cafe and somewhere for photocopies, but I made it back, albeit in need of a shower and an iced drink and after once again giving me a suspicious look and rifling through the papers she eventually lifted up her hand and stamped my documents like a judge sending a man down.
So with that I packed up my tent, headed for the port and booked myself and the bike onto the cheapest oldest ferry Ive seen floating and slept my way to the greek islands. I landed 5am on the island of Ios and found camp on the beach. The least said about Ios the better really. I had some fun there when I was younger and only really went there because I knew the island and knew there was a good base top make plans. The place is overun with young kids who have no respect for the island the people or the culture, all they want to do is party and live in a world of hedonism, booze and self gratification. It really swung me and looking at the locals it seems to me that its taken its toll. People seem tired and with little patience and if you take time to ask them how they are they seem genuinely suprised that you care. Its such a shame because the island is so beautiful, but now its energy is somehow heavy, its hard to describe, not dark but not clean. I think it seems the party tag has become a noose on the islanders collective necks, they need the money but they dont want the kids who litter their streets each night with bottles, rubbish and in some cases themslves.
So, not need
ing any part of that I got my bearings and caught the next boat anywhere out of Ios which happened to be where I am now sat in a little camp cafe on the island of Folegandos. The change is indescribable, 
a tiny little port with a few tavernas made out of old fishing boat housings and the prettiest old town with winding, rickety streets, all white washed with hidden alleys and courtyards. A few tavernas in the central square with book exchanges and seafood to make your mouth water and the energy here is amazing. I lay on the beach and it felt like all the days of little sleep Ive had in my life were being pulled from me into the rocks and the pebbles of the beach, beautiful, solid, warm energy filled with life and goodness and the locals happy and smiling, stopping to talk with you, easy. I met an old man sat sideways on his donkeys, trotting down a steep hill from the local church perched high up on the cliffto
ps, he slowed down and stop to ask me "you english" I said yes, "this one" he said pointing to the donkey, "this one Mercedes, the other one Rolls Royce" and off he plodded chuckling to himself. Great!
So, today I head for Athens just me without the bike to pick up my Indian Visa, god willing, prayers to the universe and all, it'll be a dash of overnight ferry to Athens arrive 8am tommorrow, grab the visa and some essential supplies (new pair of crocs) overnight ferry back to Folegandros same day, same ferry, 5pm. I keep trusting in the universe that all will go to plan and work out in the end, but I suspect some things might well go totally pear shaped, but thats just how it is I guess. Once I get back Im straight off to Koufonissi a small island just off naxos where you can camp for free, so for now many blessings and much love and peace to all who know me. Jonny
The picture many paint of Athens is one of a grubby, grimy, dusty city thats only worth getting out of as quickly as possible and indeed if you follow all the guides and advice this is what they'll tell you, but having to stay there for some days while I processed my Indian visa taught me just how guides and books are only really one persons view and ideas of people and places theyve seen. I admit Athens isnt the picture perfect tourist destination people are looking for when they come on holiday, but increasinly I dont feel like Im on holiday, I feel quite separate to the tourists in a way thats hard to describe, like Im part of the land rather than simply passing through unconnected as perhaps others are. So Athens for me felt very real and gritty and not painted over with the pretty tourist brush that can wear a little translucent when you get used to it. For me I loved the dirt and dust and the broken down old buildings with their shabby balconies and peeling paint, I loved walking through the the fish market and meat markets at dusk, saw stalls piled up with dates, seeds and nuts, sold for pennies, watched sadly junkies,husslers and prostitutes hanging around scruffy squares and amazed at street stalls selling everything and anything you could ever want and some stuff you might not ever need. I did do some of the touristy things however like see the Acropolis and the other many ancient monuments and ruins, but like I said I find the real life of the city far more interesting than traipsing from this site to the next. I will say however that the view from the top of the hill overlooking the Acropolis into Athens is something everyone should see, everywhere you look is Athens from far off mountains in one direction to distant blue sea with ships and islands in the other,its simply breathtaking, such a mass of houses and monuments, steets and cars, buildings and rooftops as far as the eye can see. I tried to capture it on my camera but its simply impossible, you'd need a lense that looks behind you and more.
And then the day came when I came face to face with the amazingly crazy beurocracy that surrounds getting an Indian visa, oh man, its just simply bizzare, everything has to be just so and the amount of useless information they want from you is both bizarre and fantastical. A word of advice to anyone doing this, approach with a sense of humour and a continuous and unflinching inner smile. Apparently my photocopies of my passport were the wrong size,they had to be A4, they needed to know where I was staying in Athens, and also a statement written on A4 size paper as to why I had not got my visa in London, and what I was doing in Greece on a motorcycle, all this in a two hour slot in a hot sticky visa office in central Athens with a woman behind a screen who had managed to acheive a startlingly good impression of a prison camp guard, I tried to make her laugh, but an unflinching scowling face made me realise that that was certainly not the way forward. Anyway she sent me scuttling across Athens to grab my camp address from an internet cafe, 2 new correctly sized photocopies of my passport from a pokey little shop in a backstreet, and addresses of where I intended to enter and exit India all to be back within the space of an hour. To say it was a mad dash is an understatement, spinning in and out of streets, trying not to trip over people and bags in a search to find an internet cafe and somewhere for photocopies, but I made it back, albeit in need of a shower and an iced drink and after once again giving me a suspicious look and rifling through the papers she eventually lifted up her hand and stamped my documents like a judge sending a man down.
So with that I packed up my tent, headed for the port and booked myself and the bike onto the cheapest oldest ferry Ive seen floating and slept my way to the greek islands. I landed 5am on the island of Ios and found camp on the beach. The least said about Ios the better really. I had some fun there when I was younger and only really went there because I knew the island and knew there was a good base top make plans. The place is overun with young kids who have no respect for the island the people or the culture, all they want to do is party and live in a world of hedonism, booze and self gratification. It really swung me and looking at the locals it seems to me that its taken its toll. People seem tired and with little patience and if you take time to ask them how they are they seem genuinely suprised that you care. Its such a shame because the island is so beautiful, but now its energy is somehow heavy, its hard to describe, not dark but not clean. I think it seems the party tag has become a noose on the islanders collective necks, they need the money but they dont want the kids who litter their streets each night with bottles, rubbish and in some cases themslves.
So, not needing any part of that I got my bearings and caught the next boat anywhere out of Ios which happened to be where I am now sat in a little camp cafe on the island of Folegandos. The change is indescribable, a tiny little port with a few tavernas made out of old fishing boat housings and the prettiest old town with winding, rickety streets, all white washed with hidden alleys and courtyards. A few tavernas in the central square with book exchanges and seafood to make your mouth water and the energy here is amazing. I lay on the beach and it felt like all the days of little sleep Ive had in my life were being pulled from me into the rocks and the pebbles of the beach, beautiful, solid, warm energy filled with life and goodness and the locals happy and smiling, stopping to talk with you, easy. I met an old man sat sideways on his donkeys, trotting down a steep hill from the local church perched high up on the clifftops, he slowed down and stop to ask me "you english" I said yes, "this one" he said pointing to the donkey, "this one Mercedes, the other one Rolls Royce" and off he plodded chuckling to himself. Great!
So, today I head for Athens just me without the bike to pick up my Indian Visa, god willing, prayers to the universe and all, it'll be a dash of overnight ferry to Athens arrive 8am tommorrow, grab the visa and some essential supplies (new pair of crocs) overnight ferry back to Folegandros same day, same ferry, 5pm. I keep trusting in the universe that all will go to plan and work out in the end, but I suspect some things might well go totally pear shaped, but thats just how it is I guess. Once I get back Im straight off to Koufonissi a small island just off naxos where you can camp for free, so for now many blessings and much love and peace to all who know me. Jonny
and peeling paint, I loved walking through the the fish market and meat markets at dusk, saw stalls piled up with dates, seeds and nuts, sold for pennies, watched sadly junkies,husslers and prostitutes hanging around scruffy squares and amazed at street stalls selling everything and anything you could ever want and some stuff you might not ever need. I did do some of the touristy things however like see the Acropolis and the other many ancient monuments and ruins, but like I said I find the real life of the city far more interesting than traipsing from this site to the next. I will say however that the view from the top of the hill overlooking the Acropolis into 
Athens is something everyone should see, everywhere you look is Athens from far off mountains in one direction to distant blue sea with ships and islands in the other,its simply breathtaking, such a mass of houses and monuments, steets and cars, buildings and rooftops as far as the eye can see. I tried to c
apture it on my camera but its simply impossible, you'd need a lense that looks behind you and more.And then the day came when I came face to face with the amazingly crazy beurocracy that surrounds getting an Indian visa, oh man, its just simply bizzare, everything has to be just so and the amount of useless information they want from you is both bizarre and fantastical. A word of advice to anyone doing this, approach with a sense of humour and a continuous and unflinching inner smile. Apparently my photocopies of my passport were the wrong size,they had to be A4, they needed to know where I was staying in Athens, and also a statement written on A4 size paper as to why I had not got my visa in London, and what I was doing in Greece on a motorcycle, all this in a two hour slot in a hot sticky visa office in central Athens with a woman behind a screen who had managed to acheive a startlingly good impression of a prison camp guard, I tried to make her laugh, but an unflinching scowling face made me realise that that was certainly not the way forward. Anyway she sent me scuttling across Athens to grab my camp address from an internet cafe, 2 new correctly sized photocopies of my passport from a pokey little shop in a backstreet, and addresses of where I intended to enter and exit India all to be back within the space of an hour. To say it was a mad dash is an understatement, spinning in and out of streets, trying not to trip over people and bags in a search to find an internet cafe and somewhere for photocopies, but I made it back, albeit in need of a shower and an iced drink and after once again giving me a suspicious look and rifling through the papers she eventually lifted up her hand and stamped my documents like a judge sending a man down.
So with that I packed up my tent, headed for the port and booked myself and the bike onto the cheapest oldest ferry Ive seen floating and slept my way to the greek islands. I landed 5am on the island of Ios and found camp on the beach. The least said about Ios the better really. I had some fun there when I was younger and only really went there because I knew the island and knew there was a good base top make plans. The place is overun with young kids who have no respect for the island the people or the culture, all they want to do is party and live in a world of hedonism, booze and self gratification. It really swung me and looking at the locals it seems to me that its taken its toll. People seem tired and with little patience and if you take time to ask them how they are they seem genuinely suprised that you care. Its such a shame because the island is so beautiful, but now its energy is somehow heavy, its hard to describe, not dark but not clean. I think it seems the party tag has become a noose on the islanders collective necks, they need the money but they dont want the kids who litter their streets each night with bottles, rubbish and in some cases themslves.
So, not need
ing any part of that I got my bearings and caught the next boat anywhere out of Ios which happened to be where I am now sat in a little camp cafe on the island of Folegandos. The change is indescribable, 
a tiny little port with a few tavernas made out of old fishing boat housings and the prettiest old town with winding, rickety streets, all white washed with hidden alleys and courtyards. A few tavernas in the central square with book exchanges and seafood to make your mouth water and the energy here is amazing. I lay on the beach and it felt like all the days of little sleep Ive had in my life were being pulled from me into the rocks and the pebbles of the beach, beautiful, solid, warm energy filled with life and goodness and the locals happy and smiling, stopping to talk with you, easy. I met an old man sat sideways on his donkeys, trotting down a steep hill from the local church perched high up on the cliffto
ps, he slowed down and stop to ask me "you english" I said yes, "this one" he said pointing to the donkey, "this one Mercedes, the other one Rolls Royce" and off he plodded chuckling to himself. Great!So, today I head for Athens just me without the bike to pick up my Indian Visa, god willing, prayers to the universe and all, it'll be a dash of overnight ferry to Athens arrive 8am tommorrow, grab the visa and some essential supplies (new pair of crocs) overnight ferry back to Folegandros same day, same ferry, 5pm. I keep trusting in the universe that all will go to plan and work out in the end, but I suspect some things might well go totally pear shaped, but thats just how it is I guess. Once I get back Im straight off to Koufonissi a small island just off naxos where you can camp for free, so for now many blessings and much love and peace to all who know me. Jonny
★ 2 Comments. | Jonny, Wednesday, July 16, 2008 2:34 AM
Saturday, July 5, 2008
A mad dash acroos the Med
After riding nearly 500 miles up the western coast of Morocco in one day to catch the ferry back to spain, my backside was telling me I neaded a rest. So I promptly holed up in Tarifa again for a few days to relax and enjoy the beach, the
sun and the surf and generally calm down after the storm that was Morocco. Being back on european soil made me realise just how well structured and clean and organised we have it in Europe and also how much personal space we give each other. Sure thats not always such a good thing but when youve experienced the stresses and hassles of travelling in Morocco it felt pretty good to have things easily organised and accesible and to be free from people constantly wanted something from you.
I remember when I left Scotland, someone saying to me "Morocco you'll either love it or hate it" and I know what they meant. I can say I felt both ways at differnet times. The rural areas are wonderful and the landscape in the atlas mountains can be breathtakingly beautiful, and I guess like anywhere in the world, here you find the most real people and to me the most beautiful. Berbers in all their colourful clothes, kids selling honey and fruit by the side of the road, helpful smiling folk. But in the towns and the cities, people seemed to turn to tugging your arm, following you around trying to sell you something or their services, few real genuine smiles without a "whats in it for me" and that I found exhausting and frustrating. So one day I'd had enough and rode all the way back to organised, policed, structured Europe. I woman I spoke to before I left for Morocco confirmed what I thought when I returned, she said " 10 days and thats enough for me" and in my book shes right. My feeling is that Morocco is too close to Europe to not be affected by all that seems to glitters over there and its a shame because it stops you really connecting with the people in a meaningful way.So I stayed in Tarifa three or four nights, recharged, cooled down, and got organised for my 800 mile trek up the coast of Spain and across the Mediteranean to Greece. The plan being to catch ferries from Barcelona to Rome and from Bari to Patras and get to Greece and relax for a month or so, grab my Indian Visa in Athens and then head for Turkey and Iran around the middle of august.On the way up I stopped in Granada ( famous for making guitars for all those-795406.jpg)
Musos out there)for a couple of nights because wanted to visit tthe Alhambra Palace, something I'd missed doing the last time I was here because I was broke. So with decisions made I headed up the steep hill to the Alhambra.-735363.jpg)
Its a wondefully beautiful place, part moorish, part spanish from different centuries perched high up on the hill peering solidly over Granada. From a distance it looks incredibly domineering and once inside its a place of timeless wonder and beauty. Its hard to describe really, ornate palace gardens with every kind of bushy tree and shrub, rambling twisty paths and green fish ponds, castle turrets and broken down moorish ruins. Inside the palace theres the most exquisitely intricate mosaic tile work and ceiling carvings, galleries and open courtyards, its very beautiful and too much to put into words really. However, unfortunately for me I found the place saddened and weighed down by tourists, its popularity has made it a place that was once light with energy and beauty into a place thats somehow heavy and burdened. Loaded with bus crowds of burger eating daytrippers dredging along the tick list of sites to see on their 10 day trip the Alhambra has lost its charm, people are sheep herded from one part to the next on time tickets, and theres no freedom in the place, and in a place that eminates lightness and space thats at a real juxtaposition to its true identity. I felt exhausted and perplexed by my experience there, in so much that somehow we've made something so beautiful and spacious into something so ugly and tight by revolving it around tourism and cash generation. To be honest it was a sad day for me as Im one of the tourists although I gave up eating burgers a while back.
On a more postive note, while in Granada I set about redesigning my seat again, trying to somehow eliminate the ass hell Im living in everytime I sit on the bike. So with a 
bit of cunning and guile I designed a foam pad made from 3 layers of camping mat, some contact adhesive and scissors. Sculpted and placed under my sheepskin rug in the butt position this seemd like the ideal solution and setting off from Granada to Barcelona I thought it would be, but oh no,no,no, after riding the 530 miles up the coast I wondered if I'd ever walk again or father any children for that matter, I was living in serious Ass Hell again, wiggling this way, dangling my feet of the bike that way, doing pelvic exercise, it seemed like every area of my backside was crippled and paralysed. So on arriving in Barcelona I finally decided to give in to the financial worries of buying an air seat for the bike. Still havent found one yet but I will, believe you me I will.
A couple of none descript days in Barcelona, the best Spanish city by far, all spacious and airy, has a real free and e-799697.jpg)
asy feel to it. Spent most of the time organising and arranging things and problems although I did see Gaudis masterpiece the Seven Sister, fruits bowls on turrerts and all, bizarreness redifined. Hopped on the ferry to Rome, camped in a wonderful green froggy wood in Italy, cooked rice boiled in Canal water (yuck), -747153.jpg)
argued wholeheartedly in true English "thats just not cricket" style with a booking agent at Bari who charged me an extra 20 euro for my internet prebooked ticket to Patras. "Port tax" she said, "oh yeah" I said, nothing about port tax from any of the other companies here, "oh ok, not port tax, fuel surcharge" Made me realise things are no longer set in sto-718677.jpg)
ne as Im getting further east.
So here I am now, camped up in Athens, waiting till monday to try and get my Indian visa and perhaps extend my Iranian one by a month or so, so I dont hit the rains in Pakistan or the monsoons in India. Its a good feeling to slow down a bit and know that Im close enough to my visa deadlines to not have to worry too much about getting to the border. I love the greek people, I love theyre energy and exuberance, it has a good feel to it and is a welcome relief after many long hours riding on the road.
Last night when I arrived I set about one of my main headaches of finding a new tyre for the rear of my bike, I suspected it would be almost impossible to track down the right one in Iran or Pakistan so I decided to carry a spare. I thought "I'm going to struggle to find a bike shop in Athens and if I do manage to find one I wont be able to get the same tyre" Walked up to the first tyre place I saw 200 meters from the campsite, told the guy what I needed, he sat me down, gave me a Frappe coffee, told me to wait 5 minutes,and low and behold the tyre arrived by courier, the price is agreed, a bit over the odds for sure but, hey ho who cares, i have my exact tyre, with no hassles, I love Athens! So this weekend Im going to relax take it easy and see a few sights, gently gently, oh and try to find a blow up cushion for my seat! Peace love and blessings to everyone. Jonny.
After riding nearly 500 miles up the western coast of Morocco in one day to catch the ferry back to spain, my backside was telling me I neaded a rest. So I promptly holed up in Tarifa again for a few days to relax and enjoy the beach, the sun and the surf and generally calm down after the storm that was Morocco. Being back on european soil made me realise just how well structured and clean and organised we have it in Europe and also how much personal space we give each other. Sure thats not always such a good thing but when youve experienced the stresses and hassles of travelling in Morocco it felt pretty good to have things easily organised and accesible and to be free from people constantly wanted something from you.
I remember when I left Scotland, someone saying to me "Morocco you'll either love it or hate it" and I know what they meant. I can say I felt both ways at differnet times. The rural areas are wonderful and the landscape in the atlas mountains can be breathtakingly beautiful, and I guess like anywhere in the world, here you find the most real people and to me the most beautiful. Berbers in all their colourful clothes, kids selling honey and fruit by the side of the road, helpful smiling folk. But in the towns and the cities, people seemed to turn to tugging your arm, following you around trying to sell you something or their services, few real genuine smiles without a "whats in it for me" and that I found exhausting and frustrating. So one day I'd had enough and rode all the way back to organised, policed, structured Europe. I woman I spoke to before I left for Morocco confirmed what I thought when I returned, she said " 10 days and thats enough for me" and in my book shes right. My feeling is that Morocco is too close to Europe to not be affected by all that seems to glitters over there and its a shame because it stops you really connecting with the people in a meaningful way.
sun and the surf and generally calm down after the storm that was Morocco. Being back on european soil made me realise just how well structured and clean and organised we have it in Europe and also how much personal space we give each other. Sure thats not always such a good thing but when youve experienced the stresses and hassles of travelling in Morocco it felt pretty good to have things easily organised and accesible and to be free from people constantly wanted something from you.I remember when I left Scotland, someone saying to me "Morocco you'll either love it or hate it" and I know what they meant. I can say I felt both ways at differnet times. The rural areas are wonderful and the landscape in the atlas mountains can be breathtakingly beautiful, and I guess like anywhere in the world, here you find the most real people and to me the most beautiful. Berbers in all their colourful clothes, kids selling honey and fruit by the side of the road, helpful smiling folk. But in the towns and the cities, people seemed to turn to tugging your arm, following you around trying to sell you something or their services, few real genuine smiles without a "whats in it for me" and that I found exhausting and frustrating. So one day I'd had enough and rode all the way back to organised, policed, structured Europe. I woman I spoke to before I left for Morocco confirmed what I thought when I returned, she said " 10 days and thats enough for me" and in my book shes right. My feeling is that Morocco is too close to Europe to not be affected by all that seems to glitters over there and its a shame because it stops you really connecting with the people in a meaningful way.
So I stayed in Tarifa three or four nights, recharged, cooled down, and got organised for my 800 mile trek up the coast of Spain and across the Mediteranean to Greece. The plan being to catch ferries from Barcelona to Rome and from Bari to Patras and get to Greece and relax for a month or so, grab my Indian Visa in Athens and then head for Turkey and Iran around the middle of august.On the way up I stopped in Granada ( famous for making guitars for all those Musos out there)for a couple of nights because wanted to visit tthe Alhambra Palace, something I'd missed doing the last time I was here because I was broke. So with decisions made I headed up the steep hill to the Alhambra. Its a wondefully beautiful place, part moorish, part spanish from different centuries perched high up on the hill peering solidly over Granada. From a distance it looks incredibly domineering and once inside its a place of timeless wonder and beauty. Its hard to describe really, ornate palace gardens with every kind of bushy tree and shrub, rambling twisty paths and green fish ponds, castle turrets and broken down moorish ruins. Inside the palace theres the most exquisitely intricate mosaic tile work and ceiling carvings, galleries and open courtyards, its very beautiful and too much to put into words really. However, unfortunately for me I found the place saddened and weighed down by tourists, its popularity has made it a place that was once light with energy and beauty into a place thats somehow heavy and burdened. Loaded with bus crowds of burger eating daytrippers dredging along the tick list of sites to see on their 10 day trip the Alhambra has lost its charm, people are sheep herded from one part to the next on time tickets, and theres no freedom in the place, and in a place that eminates lightness and space thats at a real juxtaposition to its true identity. I felt exhausted and perplexed by my experience there, in so much that somehow we've made something so beautiful and spacious into something so ugly and tight by revolving it around tourism and cash generation. To be honest it was a sad day for me as Im one of the tourists although I gave up eating burgers a while back.
On a more postive note, while in Granada I set about redesigning my seat again, trying to somehow eliminate the ass hell Im living in everytime I sit on the bike. So with abit of cunning and guile I designed a foam pad made from 3 layers of camping mat, some contact adhesive and scissors. Sculpted and placed under my sheepskin rug in the butt position this seemd like the ideal solution and setting off from Granada to Barcelona I thought it would be, but oh no,no,no, after riding the 530 miles up the coast I wondered if I'd ever walk again or father any children for that matter, I was living in serious Ass Hell again, wiggling this way, dangling my feet of the bike that way, doing pelvic exercise, it seemed like every area of my backside was crippled and paralysed. So on arriving in Barcelona I finally decided to give in to the financial worries of buying an air seat for the bike. Still havent found one yet but I will, believe you me I will.
A couple of none descript days in Barcelona, the best Spanish city by far, all spacious and airy, has a real free and easy feel to it. Spent most of the time organising and arranging things and problems although I did see Gaudis masterpiece the Seven Sister, fruits bowls on turrerts and all, bizarreness redifined. Hopped on the ferry to Rome, camped in a wonderful green froggy wood in Italy, cooked rice boiled in Canal water (yuck), argued wholeheartedly in true English "thats just not cricket" style with a booking agent at Bari who charged me an extra 20 euro for my internet prebooked ticket to Patras. "Port tax" she said, "oh yeah" I said, nothing about port tax from any of the other companies here, "oh ok, not port tax, fuel surcharge" Made me realise things are no longer set in stone as Im getting further east.
So here I am now, camped up in Athens, waiting till monday to try and get my Indian visa and perhaps extend my Iranian one by a month or so, so I dont hit the rains in Pakistan or the monsoons in India. Its a good feeling to slow down a bit and know that Im close enough to my visa deadlines to not have to worry too much about getting to the border. I love the greek people, I love theyre energy and exuberance, it has a good feel to it and is a welcome relief after many long hours riding on the road.
Last night when I arrived I set about one of my main headaches of finding a new tyre for the rear of my bike, I suspected it would be almost impossible to track down the right one in Iran or Pakistan so I decided to carry a spare. I thought "I'm going to struggle to find a bike shop in Athens and if I do manage to find one I wont be able to get the same tyre" Walked up to the first tyre place I saw 200 meters from the campsite, told the guy what I needed, he sat me down, gave me a Frappe coffee, told me to wait 5 minutes,and low and behold the tyre arrived by courier, the price is agreed, a bit over the odds for sure but, hey ho who cares, i have my exact tyre, with no hassles, I love Athens! So this weekend Im going to relax take it easy and see a few sights, gently gently, oh and try to find a blow up cushion for my seat! Peace love and blessings to everyone. Jonny.
-795800.jpg)
Musos out there)for a couple of nights because wanted to visit tthe Alhambra Palace, something I'd missed doing the last time I was here because I was broke. So with decisions made I headed up the steep hill to the Alhambra.-736134.jpg)
Its a wondefully beautiful place, part moorish, part spanish from different centuries perched high up on the hill peering solidly over Granada. From a distance it looks incredibly domineering and once inside its a place of timeless wonder and beauty. Its hard to describe really, ornate palace gardens with every kind of bushy tree and shrub, rambling twisty paths and green fish ponds, castle turrets and broken down moorish ruins. Inside the palace theres the most exquisitely intricate mosaic tile work and ceiling carvings, galleries and open courtyards, its very beautiful and too much to put into words really. However, unfortunately for me I found the place saddened and weighed down by tourists, its popularity has made it a place that was once light with energy and beauty into a place thats somehow heavy and burdened. Loaded with bus crowds of burger eating daytrippers dredging along the tick list of sites to see on their 10 day trip the Alhambra has lost its charm, people are sheep herded from one part to the next on time tickets, and theres no freedom in the place, and in a place that eminates lightness and space thats at a real juxtaposition to its true identity. I felt exhausted and perplexed by my experience there, in so much that somehow we've made something so beautiful and spacious into something so ugly and tight by revolving it around tourism and cash generation. To be honest it was a sad day for me as Im one of the tourists although I gave up eating burgers a while back.-735083.jpg){kind=link}
On a more postive note, while in Granada I set about redesigning my seat again, trying to somehow eliminate the ass hell Im living in everytime I sit on the bike. So with a
bit of cunning and guile I designed a foam pad made from 3 layers of camping mat, some contact adhesive and scissors. Sculpted and placed under my sheepskin rug in the butt position this seemd like the ideal solution and setting off from Granada to Barcelona I thought it would be, but oh no,no,no, after riding the 530 miles up the coast I wondered if I'd ever walk again or father any children for that matter, I was living in serious Ass Hell again, wiggling this way, dangling my feet of the bike that way, doing pelvic exercise, it seemed like every area of my backside was crippled and paralysed. So on arriving in Barcelona I finally decided to give in to the financial worries of buying an air seat for the bike. Still havent found one yet but I will, believe you me I will.A couple of none descript days in Barcelona, the best Spanish city by far, all spacious and airy, has a real free and e
-700338.jpg)
asy feel to it. Spent most of the time organising and arranging things and problems although I did see Gaudis masterpiece the Seven Sister, fruits bowls on turrerts and all, bizarreness redifined. Hopped on the ferry to Rome, camped in a wonderful green froggy wood in Italy, cooked rice boiled in Canal water (yuck), -733159.jpg){kind=link}
-747646.jpg)
argued wholeheartedly in true English "thats just not cricket" style with a booking agent at Bari who charged me an extra 20 euro for my internet prebooked ticket to Patras. "Port tax" she said, "oh yeah" I said, nothing about port tax from any of the other companies here, "oh ok, not port tax, fuel surcharge" Made me realise things are no longer set in sto-719192.jpg)
ne as Im getting further east.So here I am now, camped up in Athens, waiting till monday to try and get my Indian visa and perhaps extend my Iranian one by a month or so, so I dont hit the rains in Pakistan or the monsoons in India. Its a good feeling to slow down a bit and know that Im close enough to my visa deadlines to not have to worry too much about getting to the border. I love the greek people, I love theyre energy and exuberance, it has a good feel to it and is a welcome relief after many long hours riding on the road.
Last night when I arrived I set about one of my main headaches of finding a new tyre for the rear of my bike, I suspected it would be almost impossible to track down the right one in Iran or Pakistan so I decided to carry a spare. I thought "I'm going to struggle to find a bike shop in Athens and if I do manage to find one I wont be able to get the same tyre" Walked up to the first tyre place I saw 200 meters from the campsite, told the guy what I needed, he sat me down, gave me a Frappe coffee, told me to wait 5 minutes,and low and behold the tyre arrived by courier, the price is agreed, a bit over the odds for sure but, hey ho who cares, i have my exact tyre, with no hassles, I love Athens! So this weekend Im going to relax take it easy and see a few sights, gently gently, oh and try to find a blow up cushion for my seat! Peace love and blessings to everyone. Jonny.
★ 0 Comments. | Jonny, Saturday, July 5, 2008 8:51 AM
Monday, June 23, 2008
Hospital, souks and seagulls
After spending a couple of days camped in the hillside forest of Chefchouen i felt it was time for a change of scenary, and made my mind up to set off for the imperial city of Fez with its famous leather Tanneries and walled winding Medina. So i packed up the bike, which Im used
to now and headed off through the windy Cedar trees of the Rif mountains and down through the valleys to the plains. I arrived late in the afternoon, unpacked and decided to head into the city in the morning. However the next morning I awoke feeling terribly ill, and this progressed further and futher into full blown food poisoning in the 40 degree Fez heat and a campsite with little shade. I had this for three days solid, I couldnt eat or drink or move much which started to become a serious problem in the heat and I knew enough to realise I was becoming seriously unwell in the sun. So on the 4th day I got a lift to a taxi on the back of a moped and took myself to the public hospital not wanting to pay the private hospital charges. Well, that was a shock to my already unstable system, imagine an episode of Mash and youre not far off. People with serious head injuries just draped on rickety old beds with saline drips ties to wind
ow ledges, a man across from me looked as though he had been hit face first by a car,all swollen and battered, a woman to my left just kept falling over each time she stood up, blood splattered all over the walls and floor, health and safety, what, forget it. And theres poor old me with a bout of food poisoning, I felt i didnt really qualify for entry to this drama! Irrespective of that i got seen to and given an injection of God knows what and three different drugs again of which I have only a vague idea what they were. Adviced to stay cool I headed to an expensive hotel with air conditionijg and slept for 24hrs.
When I awoke i felt a deal better and packed the Iron Horse and got the hell out of Fez, I was sick of Fez litterally, and headed for Marraketch across the heat of the plains.
Maraketch is like no place Ive ever been, on the one hand you have all the neon signs and boutiques and men and women in gucci suits, designer shades and fancy clothes and on the other theres all the madness of the souqs and the medina. I was really taken with it. The cent
ral square is the buzz that propels the whole medina, storytellers, snake charmers, acrobats, drummers and food,food, food which is exactly what i wanted after 5 days of not eating. And boy did i eat, i sat in the square as the sun came down in one of the communal open air market stalls eating kebabs and fish and cuscous and chicken and olives watching all the chaos going on around me. I ate like a king for about 6 quid and felt bliss and heaven.
My itchy feet dont seem to want to stay places long at the moment and knowing I was only in Morocco for a holiday as such makes them a bit itchier wanting to get on with the travel east. So I booked my ferry from Barcelona to Rome and headed for the coast and back up to Spain, took in a quick stop in Essouira on the coast just to see what all the fuss was about. Jimi hendrix had a house here. But by this
time I was getting fed up with all the constant hassling and tugging from the touts and sellers and hawkers and guides. To be honest it really got to me in Essouira, seems the people are really poor but fed up about it, being so close to europe and such and this kind of seeps out of them towards foreigners. I started to feel less of a person and more of a dollar sign and it kept me from really interacting with the people. Its seemed to me asthough Morocco had lost its identity with the influx of european travellers and unless you get into the mountains and the berbers its hard to be treated without a "whats in it for me attitude"Not wanting to be part of that I rode the 500 miles up the coast on my new shhepskin seat as the old one melted in the Maraketch 44 degree heat, and grabbed the Tanger tarifa ferry back to Spain and was glad to arrive back on european shores. Yes my bike is now half bike half sheep! Till next time blessings and love Jonny
After spending a couple of days camped in the hillside forest of Chefchouen i felt it was time for a change of scenary, and made my mind up to set off for the imperial city of Fez with its famous leather Tanneries and walled winding Medina. So i packed up the bike, which Im used to now and headed off through the windy Cedar trees of the Rif mountains and down through the valleys to the plains. I arrived late in the afternoon, unpacked and decided to head into the city in the morning. However the next morning I awoke feeling terribly ill, and this progressed further and futher into full blown food poisoning in the 40 degree Fez heat and a campsite with little shade. I had this for three days solid, I couldnt eat or drink or move much which started to become a serious problem in the heat and I knew enough to realise I was becoming seriously unwell in the sun. So on the 4th day I got a lift to a taxi on the back of a moped and took myself to the public hospital not wanting to pay the private hospital charges. Well, that was a shock to my already unstable system, imagine an episode of Mash and youre not far off. People with serious head injuries just draped on rickety old beds with saline drips ties to window ledges, a man across from me looked as though he had been hit face first by a car,all swollen and battered, a woman to my left just kept falling over each time she stood up, blood splattered all over the walls and floor, health and safety, what, forget it. And theres poor old me with a bout of food poisoning, I felt i didnt really qualify for entry to this drama! Irrespective of that i got seen to and given an injection of God knows what and three different drugs again of which I have only a vague idea what they were. Adviced to stay cool I headed to an expensive hotel with air conditionijg and slept for 24hrs.
to now and headed off through the windy Cedar trees of the Rif mountains and down through the valleys to the plains. I arrived late in the afternoon, unpacked and decided to head into the city in the morning. However the next morning I awoke feeling terribly ill, and this progressed further and futher into full blown food poisoning in the 40 degree Fez heat and a campsite with little shade. I had this for three days solid, I couldnt eat or drink or move much which started to become a serious problem in the heat and I knew enough to realise I was becoming seriously unwell in the sun. So on the 4th day I got a lift to a taxi on the back of a moped and took myself to the public hospital not wanting to pay the private hospital charges. Well, that was a shock to my already unstable system, imagine an episode of Mash and youre not far off. People with serious head injuries just draped on rickety old beds with saline drips ties to wind
ow ledges, a man across from me looked as though he had been hit face first by a car,all swollen and battered, a woman to my left just kept falling over each time she stood up, blood splattered all over the walls and floor, health and safety, what, forget it. And theres poor old me with a bout of food poisoning, I felt i didnt really qualify for entry to this drama! Irrespective of that i got seen to and given an injection of God knows what and three different drugs again of which I have only a vague idea what they were. Adviced to stay cool I headed to an expensive hotel with air conditionijg and slept for 24hrs. When I awoke i felt a deal better and packed the Iron Horse and got the hell out of Fez, I was sick of Fez litterally, and headed for Marraketch across the heat of the plains.
Maraketch is like no place Ive ever been, on the one hand you have all the neon signs and boutiques and men and women in gucci suits, designer shades and fancy clothes and on the other theres all the madness of the souqs and the medina. I was really taken with it. The central square is the buzz that propels the whole medina, storytellers, snake charmers, acrobats, drummers and food,food, food which is exactly what i wanted after 5 days of not eating. And boy did i eat, i sat in the square as the sun came down in one of the communal open air market stalls eating kebabs and fish and cuscous and chicken and olives watching all the chaos going on around me. I ate like a king for about 6 quid and felt bliss and heaven.
ral square is the buzz that propels the whole medina, storytellers, snake charmers, acrobats, drummers and food,food, food which is exactly what i wanted after 5 days of not eating. And boy did i eat, i sat in the square as the sun came down in one of the communal open air market stalls eating kebabs and fish and cuscous and chicken and olives watching all the chaos going on around me. I ate like a king for about 6 quid and felt bliss and heaven. My itchy feet dont seem to want to stay places long at the moment and knowing I was only in Morocco for a holiday as such makes them a bit itchier wanting to get on with the travel east. So I booked my ferry from Barcelona to Rome and headed for the coast and back up to Spain, took in a quick stop in Essouira on the coast just to see what all the fuss was about. Jimi hendrix had a house here. But by this time I was getting fed up with all the constant hassling and tugging from the touts and sellers and hawkers and guides. To be honest it really got to me in Essouira, seems the people are really poor but fed up about it, being so close to europe and such and this kind of seeps out of them towards foreigners. I started to feel less of a person and more of a dollar sign and it kept me from really interacting with the people. Its seemed to me asthough Morocco had lost its identity with the influx of european travellers and unless you get into the mountains and the berbers its hard to be treated without a "whats in it for me attitude"Not wanting to be part of that I rode the 500 miles up the coast on my new shhepskin seat as the old one melted in the Maraketch 44 degree heat, and grabbed the Tanger tarifa ferry back to Spain and was glad to arrive back on european shores. Yes my bike is now half bike half sheep! Till next time blessings and love Jonny
time I was getting fed up with all the constant hassling and tugging from the touts and sellers and hawkers and guides. To be honest it really got to me in Essouira, seems the people are really poor but fed up about it, being so close to europe and such and this kind of seeps out of them towards foreigners. I started to feel less of a person and more of a dollar sign and it kept me from really interacting with the people. Its seemed to me asthough Morocco had lost its identity with the influx of european travellers and unless you get into the mountains and the berbers its hard to be treated without a "whats in it for me attitude"Not wanting to be part of that I rode the 500 miles up the coast on my new shhepskin seat as the old one melted in the Maraketch 44 degree heat, and grabbed the Tanger tarifa ferry back to Spain and was glad to arrive back on european shores. Yes my bike is now half bike half sheep! Till next time blessings and love Jonny★ 0 Comments. | Jonny, Monday, June 23, 2008 9:55 AM
