Ken's Blog

Still snowing. Endless, large flakes, drifting past the window, settling on the roof tops. Serene. Unlike the previous evening. I’d gone for a quiet bite to eat in a small cafe, a short walk from where I was staying. Decent food, convivial atmosphere, rather liked the place. I was about to leave when a Turkish chap decided to join me. Uninvited.

At first I thought it was just a term of endearment for his wife. ’She crazy woman’ he kept telling me with great enthusiasm. Possibly. After a while it became apparent he knew quite a few ’crazy people’. But I didn’t think any of this was cabin fever brought on by the current snowfall. Not when you’d been living in Finland so long you’d taken up citizenship. Thought I was taking it badly.

After breakfast I dug out an old copy of The Times. Managed to crack the quick crossword in a couple of hours. Feeling pleased with myself, decided it was time to venture out. Left my fellow Brit, a Geordie who’d spent much of his adult life in Australia, whittling away the hours watching the BBC on satellite.

Passed a couple of snow ploughs. Watched workmen throw salt and grit from a lorry onto the road, only for local shop keepers to come and sweep it up, spreading it instead outside their own premises. Popped briefly into the cinema to see if they’d changed any of the offerings since my last visit the previous day. No. Smiled weakly at the woman in the ticket office, somehow hoping that this might materialise something to watch. Think she recognised me. I returned to the cold outside. Still snowing.

At first I was very reluctant. Never been my sort of thing. Suppose I’d been pushed into it. Swilling water over my face in the sink, I quickly sensed an unhealthily warm glow. Perhaps testing my newly acquired dog repellant in the sink the previous evening hadn’t been such a wise idea, although I thought I’d been careful to wash away all traces. Scientific endeavour is never without cost. Seemed sensible to skip shaving for once. Besides, thought, somewhat half-heartedly, the more rugged look might be quite fitting further east.

Finding myself trapped by snow and ice the previous day, I’d become increasingly convinced a case of sudden onset cabin fever was brewing. I’d tried to stave it off with a recent copy of The Times I’d found, but it hadn’t taken long for those in the Obituaries to feel like old acquaintances. There was a medical handbook in the bag, but things weren’t quite that bad. Maybe later. So, Turkish cinema it was. Unfortunately, the country has quite a strong film industry so options were limited. One. English with Turkish subtitles.

It hadn’t been the most enthralling of films, but it had given me an idea. The Georgian dog situation had been on my mind for a few days, ever since I’d learnt rabies is pretty endemic there. Now I’d a solution. Two actually. Took a while to find the local gun shop but they were very understanding of my predicament. Picked up an ultrasonic dog deterrent. Not cheap, even with a bit of bartering, and they’d been mixed reports as to its effectiveness, but thought I’d give it a go. Could always throw it at the dog. Besides, I’d been able to acquire a final line of defence. Made my eyes water just thinking about it. But that’s where we came in.

[Author’s note: Great care has been taken to ensure that possession of the non-lethal dog deterrents alluded to in the text is perfectly lawful in the current jurisdiction. This would not be the case in the UK, where, in any case, the risk to life from rabies does not exist. The measures adopted are a proportionate response to a potentially fatal threat]

CHAPTER I

The discovery – Chums Manfred and Ute – Early retirement – Settling on what to take – Maladies and disagreeable sea trips – Picturesque locks and provisions – A record of events

I thought there to be a good deal of similarity between Jerome K Jerome’s amusing Victorian classic novel ’Three Men in a Boat’ and my own earnest venture. I’d chanced upon a copy in a small barber’s shop in an Istanbul back street. Complete and unabridged, which for such a terribly short tale I heartily approved of.

Riding with my chums Manfred and Ute back along banks of the Danube, we had talked at some length of the story it recounted. I had become a little vexed at being unable to recall the author’s name, and I fancied Manfred felt the same. Sharing the same noble resolve, we eventually stumbled upon the answer.

Persuading the barber to allow me to borrow his copy for a few days, I retired early to my lodgings. I felt this to be a very reasonable request, fair compensation for him unexpectedly removing protruding nasal hairs with a lit cotton bud. I read vociferously, declining supper so I might marvel at the albeit fictional tales of Jerome’s creations.

Partaking of a plain breakfast the next day, I continued briskly with my reading, anxious to finish promptly and enjoy an early lunch. The characters had faced quandaries similar to my own, realising, as I had done, that when packing you should think not of what you could do with, but only of those things that you can’t do without.

And, like the narrator, I’d consulted a medical tome, being similarly impelled to the conclusion that I was suffering from every particular disease within, dealt with in its most virulent form. I too had also chosen my present venture because I had found sea trips disagreeable in the past.

There were obvious differences of course. The locks they encountered on the Thames I thought more picturesque, less tiresome affairs, than those on the Danube. And their provisions sounded far more appealing. Cold veal pie. Bread and Jam. Lemonade.

But what really struck me was the appropriateness to my own literary endeavours of the author’s remarks in the Preface to the First Edition ’The chief beauty…. lies not so much in its literary style, or in the extent and usefulness of the information it conveys, as in its simple truthfulness’.

Istanbul, January 2010

[Postscript: If you’ve been charmed by the accounts so far of my modern day Victorian adventure, without, of course, the riding breeches or Plus Fours, please consider a suitable donation to The Outward Bound Trust. My mileage – 3,000 so far – has bounded a good deal ahead of the funds raised so far. Emma and I, and The Trust, would be hugely appreciative of your contributions to such a noble cause as working with young people, especially as we head east in search of more tales of dare-doing, hardship, gritty endeavour and terrible toilets]

With thanks to Jerome K Jerome

Istanbul is a beautiful city. The old part at least. I’d enjoyed my time here, even the visits to the dentist. But now it was time to head further east, following the Black Sea coast into Georgia. Reputable travel advice mentions landmines, unexploded ordnance and kidnappings. Further east the scenery changes. The ’Stans – Azerbaijan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, back into Kazakhstan. Desolation. Deserts. Prohibited zones. Frequent police checks.

But first I’d have to get there. And that meant unraveling the Byzantine world of visas, letters of introduction, endless fees, mostly in US dollars. It’d all be worth it, a chance to follow the old Silk Roads into western China, to complete an unbroken land crossing of Asia. Epic days, gritty tales to tell. Tough times ahead.

Going a little against the tread, I’d decided not to fit a cycle computer, choosing continents over miles as my preferred unit of measure. But a good friend and former work colleague Tim had been very impressed with fellow English cyclist Myles Mellor’s statistics when he’d reach Istanbul, and suggested it might be interesting if I put some together. So here goes… A careful blend of gut instinct and personal whim. Enjoy.

Distance travelled

3,000 miles / 4,500 km across Europe

Best day by far

Through the mountains to Sofia, Bulgaria – bright but crisp, awesome scenery – well worth the night ride into an unfamiliar Capital city!

Most surreal moment

Police escort in northern Bulgaria, complete with blue flashing lights

Most epic days

Into Istanbul – torrential rain, ferocious traffic, tyre blow-out; Second day in Serbia – 100 miles of mud, mud and more mud, torrential rain, biting cold, and two hours of night riding amidst the potholes to finish; First day on the road – torrential rain and storms on Dartmoor

Favourite stops

Aboriginal Hostel, Budapest, with a breakfast to die for; Tim and Pierette’s campsite at Etables-sur-Mer; Chris, Ruth, Alex and Emily’s home in the hills of eastern Bulgaria

Most intriguing nation

Serbia

Favourite foods

Hungarian goulash; Bulgarian shopska salad and various bits of freshly cooked home reared pig; French chocolate eclairs; Turkish corba (pronounced ’chorba’) soup

Favourite music

Theme from ’Hill Street Blues’; ’Camouflage’ (Stan Ridgway); ’Axel F’ (Harold Faltermeyer)

Things I miss most from home

Family and friends; bacon and egg rolls; my two hundred year old traditional English cottage; Wiveliscombe’s heated outdoor swimming pool

Expedition best buy

Emma – my Thorn eXp expedition cycle; PHD down sleeping bag – cosy; Aspire One netbook

Emma’s contribution

Two punctures, one tyre blow-out, one set of brake pads, one hub gear oil change, various lubricants

Took me a little while to catch on to this. Couple of Turkish one Lira coins. There’s a great deal of old coinage in circulation – all quite worthless – an awful lot of which seems to come in my direction. Barely a transaction goes by without some appearing. Very annoying at first, but now I treat it like haggling in the bazaars, a piece of theatre. Offer me duds in my change and I’m visibly affronted. And quite clumsy. Forever dropping the duds over the back of the counter, once you’ve given the legal tender. And don’t even think about asking for a tip.

I’d been in a reflective mood on the ferry across the Bosphorus. Europe was now complete, crossing Asia the goal for the year ahead. The village send-off seemed an age ago. Storms on Dartmoor. Late summer in France. Biting cold in Germany and Austria. Then into the former Eastern Bloc. Slovakia, Hungary, Serbia, Bulgaria. Tougher going, but great warmth from those I’d met. Then Turkey. Striking. Modern.

I’d enjoyed much hospitality along the way, increasingly so as I’d headed east. Greater generosity towards strangers, perhaps in part because they had a better grasp of hardship, the need for reliance on others, and in part simple curiosity. But there were quite a few exceptions, particularly so in Western Europe. Family and friends at home who’d helped in so many ways. Tim and Pierrette back in France. Manfred and Ute in Germany. Many, many others.

Just as I’d experienced changing cultures, ethnicities, landscapes and climate, I’d found my own mindset shifting. This was no longer about days on the road, much more about countries and continents to cross. Adapting to life on the road. Establishing myself as a long-haul cyclist, an independent traveller. Greater confidence in dealing with unfamiliar environments, languages, uncertainty.

But I’d never have got this far without the support of others, and not just those I’d met on the road. Family and friends back home. My parents of course, Mum now an expert in logistics, Dad a dab hand with Google Earth. And friends, those from my own village in Somerset, those I’d worked with over the years or been at school with. I’d tried my best to give at least some recognition to their help on my Supporters page.

Perfect symmetry. Just as I’d had root canal treatment before boarding the ferry to mainland Europe, so it was with Asia. Stepped off the boat into eastern Istanbul and jumped straight on to a suburban train. Off to the dentist. In a small hastanesi – hospital – about thirty minutes along the coast.

Reaching the hospital in good time, I sat outside for a few minutes, studying my phrase book’s small section on visiting the dentist. But there was no need. I’d barely stepped inside when I was greeted enthusiastically by Hulya. We’d spoken on the phone a few days earlier to arrange the visit. The usual formalities taken care of, it was off to meet Gulsemin the dentist.

Both spoke very respectable English, and so, an X-ray later, it wasn’t too difficult to convey what exactly the problem was. Or the solution. Root canal treatment. It’d take three visits, but I was at least pleased that anaesthetic was the norm here. And the problem would be sorted. I’d read the FCO website advice about where to get medical treatment when further east. Turkey. Gulsemin made a start, sending me off with a temporary filling. Bit like the one I’d done, just much, much neater.

[The author is indebted to Dr Ramin Ordi for his copious advice on dealing with the symptoms, and for facilitating the dental appointment. And thanks also to James Moore at www.travelhealthconsultancy.co.uk and Jason Gibbs at Nomad Pharmacy for their advice and guidance on what to include in the medical kit. Especially antibiotics with a dental application]

I’d chanced on a few satellite news channels over the past few months as I’d headed east. Whilst most had an understandable regional focus – the de-facto blockade of Gazza dominates -and a sense of balance, a few portray a cleverly distorted picture of the West. Not blatant anti-capitalist rhetoric, but something much more subtle. A careful blend of selective reporting, the portrayal of disaffected minority groups and individuals as the representative voice of a nation, and a respectable veneer of engaging English speaking journalists. A number who’d started their broadcast careers in the UK Regions.

A leader torn between socialism and fascism. New media the death of television, newspapers close behind. The steady erosion of civil rights. US of course. But the UK didn’t fair much better. A nation about to run out of gas in the grip of an unprecedented winter. Whether the irony was intentional I couldn’t say, but the same channel chose to run a fairly scathing piece about a new rival, implying it to be nothing more than a conduit for propaganda.

But none of this had ever been reflected in what I’d found as I’d headed into the former Eastern Bloc countries. There’d been the same curiosity about the West as I’d had about the places I’d passed through. That’s not to say that sometimes people had very unrepresentative images of a nation, just that they were simple, harmless misunderstandings, quickly and willingly explained away over a coffee.

Divided by the Bosphorus, connecting the northern Black Sea to the southern Sea of Marmara, Istanbul is the only city in the world to bridge two continents, Europe and Asia. It’s more than just immense. Wander around the narrow labyrinthian streets within the walled city and you quickly get a sense of the sheer density of the place. Steep cobbled passageways, twisting and turning. A myriad of small shops, colourful carpets, bright, ornately painted ceramics, gold, silver. Tantalizing aromas from endless small eateries.

I’d found a cheap hostel in the heart of the old city, on the European side. It was one that’d be suggested to me by Pam Goodall. She’d stayed there when she’d cycled around the world a few years ago. Came across it quite by chance as I explored the back streets. By now I’d a map which gave you a sense of the place, a few landmarks and the main streets. But that still left out an awful lot.

Whilst there is a vastness, a complexity to the place, it’s not without order. Shops tend to be grouped together by their wares, sometimes just one or two streets like the cycle dealers I’d found the previous day. Others, like those selling gold and silver, occupying whole districts. There’s a sense that you can probably find pretty much anything you want here.

In the evening I ventured into the Grand Bazaar, a vast, cavernous, covered market. An ancient trading centre, it dates from the fifteenth century, some five thousand shops spread along sixty streets. Bright and bustling, a gauntlet of carpet salesmen, a sense of direction easily lost. Thought I’d left the same way I’d entered, but, by now dark outside, it was hard to tell. Circled around for ages before I found my one trusted landmark, the modern tram system. Quickly regained my bearings, but a salutary lesson in the merits of always carrying a map in an unfamiliar city.