UKRAINE

UKRAINE

We were delighted to be back on the bikes. The journey from Suceava to the Ukrainian border was longer and more difficult than we had expected and so we arrived late afternoon/early evening. The crossing from the EU to the former soviet satellite wasn’t difficult but there seemed a noticeable change in temperature. The Romanian border guard was friendly and jocular. The two Ukrainians (one initially to make sure we filled in an immigration card, another behind a small window to process our passports, both unsmiling, both resisting our efforts to be friendly and both ignoring our smiling enthusiasm as we crossed yet another border) were not. But we passed through successfully and were on our way. We had read that camping in the wild in Ukraine was not only easy but actually legal and so we found it. It was too late in the day to make it to the nearest town and so we were almost immediately looking for somewhere to camp. It didn’t take us long. We saw some woods not far off the road and a track leading to them. Following the track it soon became clear that this was a well used area for camping and we found a spot tucked out of the way where we felt safe and were not only able to pitch the tent but felt we had enough privacy to use the pocket shower how it was designed to be used hanging from a tree. We cycled in the Ukraine for five or six days and camped wild every night. We only once struggled to find somewhere appropriate and only once were we nearly put off by a couple of inquisitive and rather unpleasant police men. As far as wild camping Ukraine was a complete success.

Wild camping in the woods in Ukraine

As far as the actual cycling wet Ukraine was a disappointment. The roads were very straight and undulating and lined either side by tall trees. The trees were very good at protecting you from the wind which was well appreciated considering just how windy it actually was but they also cut off any view to the side making you feel like you were in an extremely long tunnel. The distance between villages was huge and there was very rarely anything in between – no houses, very few petrol stations and never any signs to tell you how far you had to go. The road surfaces were poor and the traffic quite heavy considering it felt like you were in the middle of now where. The rolling hills were always tough to climb but rarely long enough on the down to give any satisfaction or make the up feel worth all the effort. It short it was case of turning the pedals and putting in the miles – sometimes against a strong head wind. And that is probably where we went wrong. Bridget mat have been cycling again a few days early but we should have at least taken it more steady, doing shorter days, resting longer and more often, making sure we protected her knee. Instead, in response to the nature of the landscape, the roads and the weather we cycled hard, taking comfort from the distance we managed to travel each day, happily cycling from early morning to late evening as there was so little else to do. In hindsight it is of no surprise then that Bridget’s knees failed here again. At least this time she realised they were troubling her before she damaged them further and suggested that we took a train to Kiev while she was still able to cycle to train station. We were only a day’s cycle away so it didn’t feel like we were cheating too much and we thought at the time discretion was the better part of valour.

There are a couple of other things worth mentioning about Ukraine. One good, the other at the time slighty scary. The good was how friendly and kind we found almost everyone we met. We again found that people were keen to give us things as though they wanted in at least some small way to help us on our way. Little things perhaps, fruit, water, chewing gum but always the gesture was far greater than the gift itself. These small but extremely appreciated acts of kindness were heart warming. They often made us think of what would have happened back in the UK if two cyclists who spoke not one word of English turned up in a village in the middle of Warwickshire and did nothing more than sit down to rest. Would anyone have tried to say hello? Would anyone have offered to give them water, fruit or something else to eat? Would those cyclists have left the village thinking that the English were some of the kindest people they have ever met? Why are the English so reserved (why am I so reserved?), why so unwilling to say hello to strangers, why so willing to share?

In one village in the middle of Ukraine we had the most delightful encounter. We were taking a rest by a memorial near a park. Our bikes were parked alongside and were sitting eating a snack. A villager comes past with his own cycle and does a double take at ours with all the panniers on and looking extremely heavy. The next thing we know two of his friends have joined us and we are doing our best to explain what exactly we were doing passing through their small village in the middle of relatively nowhere. Out comes the point to it picture book and soon we are almost having a reasonably decent conversation using sign language, the book and a lot of nodding and shaking of the head. Soon we are sitting on a park bench with them drinking champagne and eating dark chocolate. We explain where we are heading and the woman offers a bed at her place for the night. We say thanks but explain we need to continue cycling some more and she writes down her phone number for us and we think explains that we should call her if we need any help. How we would have been able to explain on the phone to her just what help we needed is a moot point – it was the generosity and the kindness and the genuine willingness to help that were special and probably never to be forgotten. It was a highlight which made the Ukraine special and more than made up for the other disappointing aspects of countryside.

Strangers can really make your day!

There was only one village we passed through which didn’t feel friendly. It in fact felt pretty hostile, people staring at us but not in a nice way. There was one bar in particular where a number of men were drinking who stared at us so keenly and with such venom we felt most unwelcome and keen to pass through as quickly as possible. It was in this village that we came across two policemen who gave us a bit of a scare. Initially they we passed them standing on a corner possibly with a speed gun. We waved and said hello (possibly not the brightest thing to do but no one had terrified us yet with tales of corruption and hostile eastern European policing and we treated them like everyone else we had come across in Ukraine thinking they would be as kind and as friendly) and carried on cycling not giving them further thought.

About 8 kms outside of the village we decided it was time to find a campsite. We were still twitchy, not because of the police but the reception we had received from the rest of the village and so when we found a suitable place I suggested Bridget check it out and leave her bike with me so that if anyone happened to pass by it would look like she was going to the loo. We never really expected anyone to stop or to bother but it was an easy precaution to take. How thankful we were for our over the top imagination because just as Bridget was climbing back up the grassy bank to the road a police car came storming up to us, stopping suddenly at an angle in front of where I was standing with the bikes. The two policemen we had passed in the village then got out of the car and walked back towards us. Now everything is open to interpretation and how we read their intent may have said more about our paranoia that about what was going through their minds. But even now looking back I am convinced they wanted money and were prepared to use menace to get it. Had we been in the process of putting up our tent I think we would have been forced to pay some sort of “fine”. As it happened we stuck to our story that Bridget had been taking a leak. They didn’t speak English, we had no Ukraine. They leaned over my bike and peered at the map. Where were we going? Where were we staying?

None of this sounds too unpleasant but it was. There was a real air of hostility, not helped by the fact that another car had pulled up and we weren’t sure why. The policemen continued to try to ask me questions. They even tried to suggest where we were on the map, a good few miles away from our actually location. No I said, pointing to where we really were, pointing to a village where we told them we planned to stay the night – easily reachable before it got dark. This pointless circular conversation if you can call it that when neither party speaks the other’s language went on for a few minutes before they finally became bored or decided the language barrier was proving too difficult to illicit the desired bribe. In the end they returned to their car, turned around and went back towards the village. The other car also drove off. A strange encounter and one that really spooked us. It felt as though they had coming looking for us specifically, especially when they turned around and left, showing that they hadn’t simply stopped as they passed by heading in the same direction. Why had this other car turned up? Was he the owner of the land and was he going to play his part in making us pay had we been caught camping in his field? It’s possible they were being kind, had a friend who owned a b and b and were offering to show us the way. It didn’t feel like that kind of encounter and it really shook us up. That night we must have cycled 2 or 3 kilometers off the road and put our tent up in an avenue of trees making is so well hidden that it couldn’t been seen for miles and still we worried they would be looking for us, that they might seek us out at the motel in the next village and not finding us there come looking for us, determined to get their bribe. Of course they probably just went home to their wives and their tea and forgot all about us.

Unbelievably, more interesting than the countryside!

BULGARIA AND ROMANIA

BULGARIA AND ROMANIA

I am writing this with some difficulty on a very bumpy train from Kiev to Moscow. We are not cycling even though we have enough time because we are determined to give Bridget’s knee ample opportunity to get better. Having made the mistake of getting back on the bikes too quickly when she hurt it while cycling in Bulgaria we are not making the same mistake twice. We think it isn’t trip ending serious but with Korea, Japan and Vietnam to come we don’t want to take any chances. It helps that we are deep down cowards who aren’t too upset to miss out on cycling through Russia and our experience through the Ukraine where it was dull, windy and hilly in the worst kind of rolling hills way made us think we may not be missing out on too much.

We crossed the border from Greece to Bulgaria quite late the day and having listened too sincerely to too many people in Greece who told us that Bulgaria was full of bad people and that we should be really careful we decided to try make it to the first big town Sandanksi and find the camp site the map told us was there. Of course it was a few kilometres too many and there was no camp site, that we could find anyway, so we booked into a reasonable and not too expensive hotel who allowed us to bring the bikes inside and eat sweets from the jar on reception. Not much to mention of note about Sandanksi other than it’s grotty exterior wasn’t entirely indicative of the town centre and that the hotel belied the general down trodden feel of the place.

Our second day in Bulgaria was not a good day. We were having a pretty good ride through really pretty scenery but were toiling against the wind again and travelling up hill. Bridget was on fine form and bombing up the hills in great spirits. But then we paid for the very long and tiring day previously and whether because of the extra effort required in the wind and up the hills or simply ill luck her knee went again. We were fortunate that we were able to make it to a nearby town which though small and more run down that Sandanski did actually have a quite decent hotel. She just about made it but that was to be the last time we cycled for more than a week as we gave her knee time to recover. The next day Bridget managed a painful 20 kms or so to a town with a train station where we caught a train to Sofia and with the help of some friends back home via text managed to get ourselves booked into a fantastic hostel.

The hotel we stayed in the night Bridget’s knee went caput was in hindsight quite interesting. It didn’t have very many rooms and was run by about 5 women it seemed. We were the only couple staying, all the other guests were men. Our room we very nice with a huge and comfortable bed but it is the first hotel I’ve been in with a huge mirror on the ceiling above the bed. Then later Bridget read that prostitution is legal in Bulgaria and that many men travel across the border from Greece to partake in the local pleasures. When we put all this together we wondered just what kind of establishment we had been staying in. It wasn’t how I would have pictured a brothel – it was extremely clean and modern and the staff were kind and friendly and again let us bring our bikes inside and lock them to a radiator in the lobby but I do think that if ever asked at a dinner party or during a game of truth whether we have ever been in a brothel we can both answer in the affirmative.

The next day we were both really down but were relieved when we made it without too much difficulty to Sofia and to Hostel Mostel. The hostel was brilliant and without doubt the best thing about Sofia. We stayed there three days enjoying our time in the hostel but not taking to Sofia. We stayed long enough to find somewhere to couchsurf in Bucharest and then booked our train. Although all our train journeys have so far been successful (“touch wood” – I write this on the way to Russia and have yet to run the gauntlet of the border, still very concerned there may be some issue with the visa and mentally preparing myself to pay my first ever bribe) they have not been easy. It is far easier and simpler to cycle than to lug bikes on and off trains. And then there is the issue of trying to explain to the ticket office that you have bicycles and want tickets if they are required. Of course what the ticket office tells you and what the ticket inspector or guard on the train tells you can be two entirely different things. We didn’t need a ticket for our bikes on the train between Sofia and Bucharest – not according to the ticket office, the excess baggage department at Sofia train station, the guard who guided us to the right carriage and our seats, nor the ticket inspector who checked our tickets just before we left or the one who checked them a few hours later.

But according to the new inspector who checked our tickets a couple of hours before crossing the border we should have bought tickets at the station. They should have cost us four lev but he couldn’t issue them at that price. On the train they would cost 21 lev. If we could read Bulgarian we could read it in his considerable thick rules and regulations manual. This was a problem. As we were leaving Bulgaria with absolutely not intention of ever returning we had spent all of our money and had just one crumpled 5 lev note left. We tried to explain he was the first person in a long list to believe we needed a ticket. We had honestly and openly tried we told him to buy a ticket but at every turn had been told it was not necessary. What could we have done. How could we have bought a ticket if no one was prepared to sell us one. It is in my book he repeated, it is in Bulgarian but trust me it says so in here. Well we only have 5 lev will that not do? No you will have to get off at the next`station and go to the ticket office and buy one there. Something I duly tried to do, only to be told that on international trains it wasn’t necessary as we had a large baggage allowance that covered bicycles – but the ticket inspector says … lots of loud Bulgarian and a phone call later and still the same answer no ticket required. So I went back to the train thinking how I would explain this to the man with the Bulgarian rules and regulation handbook only to find that he was no longer on the train and another inspector had taken over who didn’t give our bikes (which were parked very neatly and not in anyone’s way) a second glance. How we have come to love Eastern European bureaucracy and we’re not even in Russia yet.

So it was that we happily left Bulgaria and moved on to Romania and Bucharest where we couchsurfed with Frank and Tia. Frank is Irish and Tia Romanian and both work on the Internet and have a lovely St Bernard who’s name I never came to grips with but which I think means Little Bear.

She was due to be spayed the day after we arrived so Bridget at least felt she could be useful if only in a comforting I am sure everything will be ok kind of way. Of course she had to work hard not to express too much concern when she heard how Romanian vets do things but things went well and Little Bear came home safely and was in the end fine. We helped carry her up 4 flights of stairs in a blanket – and we both wondered how appropriate a dog a St Bernard is for a one bed roomed flat in the middle of a city but she was a gorgeous natured dog who gave us some much needed pet therapy though she also made us pine even more for our own dogs Megan and Pateley and brought about some photo therapy on the lap top and questions such as why we missed the dogs more than our friends and family!

There’s not much to say about Bucharest other than it is a step up from Sofia and that we had a pleasant stay with Frank and Tia and their St Bernard. We soon moved on though, again by train, again to give Bridget’s knee a rest, this time to Brasov, a chocolate box town in the Transylvanian mountains.

An opportune chat with a kindly American at the station pointed us in the direction of an excellent hostel where we met some friendly people – namely an Australian teacher (Jacquie) who had been working in Liverpool but was about to move to Ireland and was working as a supply teacher so she could bit by bit travel around the world. She was trying very hard she said not to meet any nice men as potential husbands tended to tie one down to one place; comments which brought a glint of understanding (and longing perhaps?) to Bridget’s eyes.

We spent a very enjoyable and restful few days in Brasov, the highlight of which was a visit to Sinaia and the summer palace of the former King. It was spectacular, mainly for the intricate wooden interior which had been carved in Germany I think and transported to the palace around the turn of the century.

One aspect I found particularly interesting was that during the guided tour there was very little if any mention of the communist era and the impact it had had on the history of the Royal Family or the country. It was all glossed over, whether through embarrassment or recent history simply being to close for comfort I am unsure.

After a rest in Brasov in was back on the bikes and though at the time it felt fantastic in hindsight it may have been a little too soon as Bridget’s knee was again to fail her as we neared Kiev forcing a month’s rest and the real possibility that we would have to freight the bikes home and continue on with rucksacks. (I am writing this on the Trans Siberian Express. We are on our way to Vladivostok and then via boat to South Korea where we will again try to cycle. If B’s knee lets her down again we have decided we won’t try to fight the situation and risk long term damage. A difficult decision and after a month’s rest this time we hope it doesn't come to that but our minds are now made up).

We had a lovely cycle ride from Brasov to the Ukrainian border – the first day was nothing special with appalling roads and unpleasant weather but after that we travelled through some stunning scenery,mountains, deep gorges and beautiful open and rolling hills.

We cycled for four days and rested for a day in Suceava at yet another lovely and far from busy hostel where we had the room to ourselves. We were now within a day’s cycle of Ukraine which one website had informed us was not flat and not boring. Well it definitely wasn’t flat but the route we had chosen WAS distinctly boring and unfortunately extremely windy. The next five days was really tough and sadly ended with a Bridget’s knee failing her more seriously than before, a train to Kiev and then another train to Moscow.

GREECE

GREECE.

It took some effort to admit that Italy had been a disappointment. There had been fantastic highlights but generally it was too expensive and we stayed too long. What a welcome surprise was Greece. Having spent a lovely few days with my Mum and Dad in Venice, again acting like tourists rather than travellers we waived good bye to them at the campsite and cycled to the port to catch the overnight ferry to Igoumenitsa. I may be nearly 40 but I still have the ability to enjoy life like a five year old and setting up camp on one of the outside decks, snuggling up in a sleeping bag and feeling the sea breeze across my face as I tried to get some sleep reminded me of how excited I

used to get when travelling on holiday as a child. Thousands of people travel to Greece this way every year and it really shouldn’t have been that big a deal but I loved the ad-hoc way families, couples and friends (one family even had a very excited Labrador to keep them company) just settled down anywhere they could find – either buying a pizza and coke from the bar or opening a packed tea. Some planned their campsites with great care and had tents to shelter them from the sun and then later the wind and huge cool boxes with all their food. Many weren’t in cars and so had all their luggage with them on deck. It was so random and carefree and nothing you would ever experience in more regulated and foul weathered Britain. The ferry to Greece put me in such a good mood and then there was the icing on the cake, Greece itself where the countryside was more beautiful than we had imagined and the people by far the kindest we had met so far.

The first thing we noticed when we got off the boat were the mountains. We had expected parts of Greece to be hilly but not really anticipated full on mountains from coast to coast which is the end was pretty much what we got. We felt a little nervous – with Bridget’s knees and the fact we hadn’t cycled for more than a few days at a time for quite a while but we also felt excited. We love mountains. They are tough especially with heavy bikes but the challenge is fulfilling and the scenery always worth the effort. Our first day wasn’t too bad and although there was a pretty big up from the coast we also had some fantastic downs as well. We didn’t really get going until around mid day but still managed to get a good distance in. It was really hot but cycling seems actually to be cooler than just standing around with the self generated breeze. We did struggle – as we so often seem to do – to get our timing right as far as finding somewhere to camp and in the end pitch our tent in a tiny village, next to a gazebo in an enclosure containing a monument to country women. We worried slightly if we would offend any of the said “Good Country Women” but no one seemed to mind and we were up bright and early the next day and on our way before anyone could complain.

This account of our traverse across Greece may be somewhat condensed and possibly not entirely in chronological order as I am writing it some time later. My memories have faded as far as some of the scenery is concerned but the impression the country had on us both remains extremely strong. In all across Greece we camped twice in camp sites, stayed once in the porch of an orthodox church (both showering around the corner and though possibly in the face of God hopefully not the congregation or villagers) and we also camped wild a number of nights.

We also encountered some of the longest and toughest ascents of the trip so far. One ascent lasted nearly two days ( the night at the church coming half way up in a small village). We reckoned about 60 kms in all with a small amount of down in between the two main ups.

The flip side of that of course was that we also had some of the best descents of the trip. One lasting more than 40 kms all the way from the side of Mount Olympus to the sea. We also cycled through what was probably the scariest storm I have ever been in with lightening forking down and landing what seemed like just metres away, accompanied by the loudest thunder I had ever heard, so loud it made you feel like you were right inside the clouds where it was produced and struggling against gale force winds and driving rain, all at altitude with no where to seek cover and more false summits than I care to remember. Going down the other side wasn’t much better – 40 kms/ph into horizontal rain without trousers or gloves. I became so cold my legs couldn’t stop shaking but didn’t want to stop for fear of being hit by lightening.

By Greece we were taking karma very seriously. Bridget saved a tortoise, helping it to cross the road and a hedgehog twice. The hedgehog was so interested in some road kill that when she picked it up and placed it the side of the road it scuttled back into the road for seconds and we watched and held our breaths as a truck trundled past and fortunately for he spiky little fella didn’t squash it flat. Bridget then picked it up and brought it to the other side of the road where it turned round and climbed up on to her shoes and sniffed her legs – perhaps still trying to get back to a free diner in the middle of the road. It wasn’t until she placed the creature into a bush much further off the road that it got the message and disappeared into the undergrowth. It was long after helping the tortoise and the hedgehog that we arrived at a fruit stall and the first of a large number of friendly retailers who were determined not just to sell us food but also to give us treats – a free melon this time, but later we were given extra peaches, tomatoes, nougat bars, cold bottled water and free petrol. It may be people thought we were crazy and needed all the help but we think it was more to do with open hearts and genuine kindness.

The fruit seller who gave us the free melon also tried (in a kindly though misguided way) to advise us on which road to take. We must take the new road over the mountain, it is much safer and quicker. But isn’t the new road a motorway? In England it is illegal to cycle on the motorway. No problem in Greece we were told. The new road is much better. Three lanes rather than single carriageway, better condition and far less dangerous. We considered the advice and cycled off in the direction we had been told wondering whether motorways were safer in Greece with less traffic perhaps and therefore somewhere it was perfectly acceptable and normal to ride your bicycle. We were unsure and apprehensive but seriously considering it, local people surely know what is what but fortunately we got lost and by the time we realised we had come to our senses and decide to take the “old” road which because of its age had very little traffic, stunning views and became very quickly one of our favourite day’s cycling. It was also fun to spend time that day with some very friendly cyclists from Britain who take part in a different thousand mile trip each summer and this year were travelling from Thessalonika to Athens. Of course they had two support vans and were on light road bikes and so were able to travel much more quickly than us but they still slowed down to keep us company for while chatting away helping us to cover the miles without really noticing.

Our attempts at wild camping were the most successful in Greece and it is about the only country (other than the Ukraine which came later) where I have felt reasonably comfortable pitching the tent in the middle of nowhere. I even enjoyed a liberating shower in the middle of a field as the sun set over the nearby hills and afterwards doing a naked jig as Bridget looked on laughing and wishing she had her camera to hand. Greece was such an antidote to Italy and far more what we had come looking for. We loved every minute of it. It was tough, the heat was oppressive at times and the hills real bitches at times but I can’t remember feeling down, merely cheated that we could have spent more time there had we planned better and left Italy earlier.

FLORENCE

FLORENCE

I have already written at length about Tuscany and how disappointing it was. Florence was much better (though still far too many paintings of the Madonna and Child. I say child because that’s what it says on the tin though to my untrained eye most looked more like the Omen baby than cute and cuddly Jesus.

I think that’s what you get when you put a man’s face on baby’s body). Florence was also much, much better because we saw Ruth and Mark. We all stayed in the only camp site over the river and up the hill not far from the third David – this one a bronze replica of Michael Angelo’s original

The views were spectacular even if the facilities not the best. It was lovely to spend time with Ruth and Mark and to take delivery of the things we had left at home. We had a few days taking in Florence at a leisurely pace – the only disappointment was the Uffizi which was over priced and relying too much on its reputation . For me it was like a dishevelled old man wearing what once had been extremely expensive but now very old clothes which hadn’t been cleaned for a long time.

One major plus for Florence was the fact we managed to find somewhere to get our last Tick Bourne Encephalitis jab. It was a bit earlier than scheduled and took some finding but was cheaper than England and meant that all our inoculations were up to date until we got home.

Leaving Florence we took a short train ride and then cycled a couple of days to Venice. Again we had company, this time my Mum and Dad. Venice was a bonus as we had initially planned to get the ferry from further south. Both my Mum and Bridget’s Mum and suggested that Florence was more impressive than Venice. We arrived with this in mind but were absolutely blown away by its beauty. Yes it was touristy and yes it could be a twee in places but we fell in love with Venice almost immediately. It was our kind of city – one you had to walk round and one you could explore and get lost in. We didn’t spend much time in museums and visited just the one church (after Tuscany we’d had enough of that kind of tourism). We simply wandered around soaking it all in.

It was lovely to see Mum and Dad and to see how comfortable they had become in their camper van. Sadly their travels around Italy were cut short after Lucy (their Golden Retriever) was taken ill and they had to drive back to France to see the vet.

So after what seemed like a long time in Italy (around six weeks), most pretty damn good, some not so good, we boarded a ferry which took us from Venice to Greece. After playing the tourist, we were on the move and looking forward to travelling again.