Bamboo Odyssey » Food | Bamboo Odyssey

Australian greetings

Jules — Mon, 11 Aug 2014 02:18:04 +0000

Twenty one countries by bicycle, twenty one nationalities where all people seem happy to greet us. On a loaded touring bike the vast majority of people lose their road rage and antagonism towards the bicycle. We receive waves, gentle toots of horns, ( though they don’t sound so gentle, the toot toot of a truck horn in a kilometre long tunnel!) smiles, shouts of hello, hallo, bravo, squeals of delight, children running, high fives, the occasional hand clap…..and waving. Each country in turn had its own style of hand waving, perhaps differing slightly from country to country but each wave each hand greeting remains homogeneous amongst the residents. Yes, the hand waves remained the same unless a thumbs up was thrown into the equation.
Not so in Australia.
We have received, thumbs up, and then, like a lazy drawl….the pointing finger raised slowly off the steering wheel… also twinkle fingers where five fingers wave reminiscent of a wiggling spider. Thumbs up again, with pointed finger, sometimes thumb following pointed finger in a sideways arch like pointing a gun harmlessly to the side.
Many of the truckies like to use their entire arm, outstretched clenched fist, there is the outstretched arm, splayed fingers, and then there is the military salute.
There is the frantic wave, arms and hands flying widely in case we do not see them, waves common from backpackers, in combi vans close to bursting or from kids gazing at us as cars overtake. The queens wave, stiff arm, fingers, hand moving, rotating side to side.
There is the “rock on” thumb and little finger….the shoulder and hand lift like WTF?,… and you are definitely loopy with finger doing circles close to the temple….and the singular head nod.
Australians greetings are as diverse and sweet as the fruit handed out of car windows to travelling cyclists. Happiness, sharing, recognition, strangers, a wave hello or goodbye keeps our morale strong.

A long time coming

Jules — Sun, 10 Aug 2014 00:25:28 +0000

“Nullarbor”…”you must be careful”….”crazy”….”how will you carry water?” “Isolation”, “Road trains” references to Wolf Creek and our worst nightmares. 1215km, a distance similar as that of John O’groats to Lands End, ( the length of the UK) the Eyre Highway, across the Nullarbor Plain is an iconic route crossing the largest limestone karst formation in the world with 10 roadhouses breaking the gaps of perceived isolation. Depending upon who you talk to it is flat, never ending, tiresome and boring…..dangerous…..or it is a place of unmarked beauty…perhaps it is a place to find yourself? Well….I wasn’t lost….but perhaps stripped bare, incredibly happy, serene, entertained, entertaining, challenged and we both have come out the other end wanting more. Anyway it is hard to get lost when there is only one sealed road for the entire 1200 plus kilometres.
We left the western gateway town, Norseman as the sun shone through a light fog and we wobbled with as much food provisions as we could carry…just carry! We had added at least an additional 10 kilograms to our usual 30 kilograms of kit, food and water. It would be almost 200km to Balladonia, the first roadhouse yet we knew we would get water from a station a short distance off the highway after 100km. Fraser Range is a working station and caravan park with amazing hospitality, the cheapest….but very limited food supplies…in the next 1100km. Limited, but we were able to purchase some baked beans and frozen bread. We rolled into the station early morning and were very keen to stay for the beauty and friendliness and curious but wary glances of the wild emus. We were welcome to make ourselves a cuppa, use the kitchen, despite only passing through. Fortunately we carried so much food as the roadhouses had bugger all, with us sometimes begging fresh food from their kitchens rather than subsist on dry goods alone. And of course the Grey Nomads frequently gifted us with fresh fruit, and even cooked meals and beer and wine.
Initially our desire was to make haste…time ticking and a vast distance for this section of our journey, let alone final destination, Sydney. It is not easy for us to make haste on the Nullarbor. It is mesmerising, ever changing, perfect camping, discreet and safe. Moody skies, ablaze at sunrise, sunset, 360 degree views changing by the second, clouds forming, disbanding, chasing shadows. Most nights, sometimes the morning too, we relaxed and found warmth around a camp fire. The first 2 nights the mercury dropped to below zero and our sleeping breath froze to morph our tent into solid panels rather than flowing folding fabric, as we packed up camp. The day temperatures were between 16 and 28 degrees however being plagued by wind day in day out, when off the bikes we were chilly. Head winds were mild and we plodded along. Tail winds…..ferocious, huddled behind any shelter we could find when requiring breaks, yet mammoth 30-40km/hr intervals on a fully loaded tour bike felt epic.
Cross winds, much of the time they did not hinder or assist our progress, yet one day as Li was blown into the gravel verge, followed by witnessing a monster road train blown into the verge, we continued on a rutted side track to Nundroo roadhouse where we took refuge, alternating between the restaurant and tent as rain and wind pounded sideways. We waited a day and a half for the weather to become safe enough to ride.
Before Nundroo, there was a day when the clouds miraculously disappeared, the sun in all it’s glory, a tail wind directed us 12km off the Highway to the Head of Bight. Southern Right whales….about 30 incredible creatures with calves frolicking in the shelter of a bay, we spent the day captivated at their breaching, tail lollops, spy hopping (google it) and gentle surfacing. Several times we tried to leave before being spell bound once again. All this in view of the Bunda cliffs to the west and post card white sand dunes and beaches to the east.
The Bunda cliffs stretch for 200km, as if a monster has taking a whopping bite to create a fantastic coastline that left us constantly in awe.
One day we deviated from the highway in search of a cyclists’ log book. Take an unmarked track between kilometre marking x and y until you reach the end of the world, the cliffs and absolute isolation, flat and treeless, howling winds, mist and spray from the crashing waves 90 meters below. Turn left and after 3 kilometres dig up fence post number 3. We dug….no log book, but fulfilled of our wildest fantasies. The salt bush and wild flowers highlighted in all their magnificent as the sun started to dip. We hastily made camp as nature raged about us and the tent our only shelter.
I spotted 2 red eyes with my flashlight. Still dark when we rose, the wind was still fierce but a visit by a dingo kept our spirits high….and wary, so that it would not steal our shoes or other possessions as it circled us for around an hour before disappearing at first light.
There are tablelands, drastic drops to flat costal plain, old ruins of the first settlers, vandalised emergency telephones, no telephone signal, no internet, dog proof fences, rabbit proof fences, rabbits and road killed dogs. Mostly there are no fences.
We cycled Australia’s longest straight stretch of road without a bend for 146 kilometres. I was sad as we finally came to our first turn after 2 days of riding. We had hoped to cycle this stretch in a day but did not bother to push as the morning brought a headwind upon us. Everything happens so quickly, the mind wanders for an instance and when you take a look out at the world again, minuscule trees, grass, the lighting, something has again changed momentously, everything is growing larger as the plain becomes more barren for a time.
I absolutely love the open roads, long distances and isolation. On the Nullabour I felt absolute peace, no fear, no longing, no missing, I felt exhilarated and alive…and I felt I was on a dance floor, intoxicated, whole, on this open road I found a euphoria that fills me the more frequently I live and continue to ride.

Augusta and Grey Nomads

Jules — Thu, 29 May 2014 14:04:22 +0000

We sped towards the most south western point of Australia. National Park Rangers had warned us of approaching adverse weather and rather than bulk and tie down in another perfect wilderness campground we wanted to watch the approaching storm from where the 2 oceans meet.
The wind howled….primarily from behind. Sun came and went behind grey forlorn clouds that moved swiftly above us. Eucalypts debris littered the roads and was caught in swirling eddies that lapped at our tyres, chased our tyres and then died into silence….before another onslaught from yet another direction.
As usual I was behind but I was bubbling with energy and excitement as the weather fuelled me and my imagination…..so yes….I sped on.
Cycle touring for as long as we have, it is far easier to brace whatever Mother Nature throws at us, rejoice in it…..or rather we could complain about the weather and go home.
We didn’t complain…but we did appreciate the undercover bbq’s and steaming hot showers upon arrival at Augusta…..then we waited. I rode 3km mostly uphill for a goon bag……snuggled inside a cosy tent, red wine and listening, feeling, while remaining dry…a raging downpour. Perfect thoughts….but as I left the bottle shop the heavens opened….someone up there with a multitude of buckets….thrown sideways with the gusts of wind that left me struggling to take a straight return route to our sweet home for the night. But no worries….until the last speed hump….goon bag launches up and over my basket, upon the ground like a burst dam trailing rivers of red…and the torrent running into the guzzling gutter that has no right to my hard earned imaginings of the indulgent night ahead.
One of the pleasures of traveling in Australia is meetings with The Gray Nomads….if you are not sure of these travellers the bumper sticker “adventure before dementia” sums them up nicely . When not towing a caravan these nomads will happily take their robust 4wd back up the 3km hill ignoring the onslaught of argameddon to collect another bag of red wine….if asked nicely…or assuming a look of soggy desperation.
So the storm came and went overnight….and it came and went again during the daylight. We strolled the rugged coast, then inland for 18km after a peaceful
nights sleep…. Perhaps I am use to the tent in all weather….perhaps it was the wine….and the coast, the forests, the giants, beloved karri….I would cycle 15000 km again for the love of it.

Goon bags and glamping

Jules — Tue, 20 May 2014 01:35:44 +0000

Another day setting off from Walpole towards a cyclist only hut 55km further east along the Munda Biddi
trail. We had slept the night by the inlet in the shelter of a gas BBQ picnic spot, happily dry packing up as the rain set in. The Munda Biddi is a mountain bike track crisscrossing through beautiful karri forests of giants, and scrubby sandy plains and mysterious grass trees …..on a fully loaded touring bike this is slow hard work. The rain became heavier in sync with the heaviness in our legs. When not slipping the track sucks at our tyres depleting us of energy. Downhill the rear tyres fish tailed and slid….on steep inclines the tyres slipped in pea gravel and sand. Maybe pea gravel is a mountain bikers delight…..it makes me quiver. There was a lot of determination, pushing….and yet incredible reward for every movement forward. South Western Australia is a cycle tourists’ dream….beautiful beyond imaginings.
After 10 km we decided to change course and head for the highway. We have to make Albany in time for Nick who has joined us for a stint, to catch a bus back to Perth and his return flight to the UK. So we will take the highway and head for a much recommended camp site on the rugged coast. We are drenched but increase our speed dramatically. It’s warm enough and our spirits are high as we leave a trail of spray lost into oblivion by overtaking vehicles.
Nick suggests we ask a campground if we can use their kitchen for shelter. Li and I are not that keen as it’s early and we want to make a few more kilometres towards our next home for the night. We reluctantly agree to our friend’s request….and quickly become soft. A wee bit of luxury quickly consumes. We meet Gareth the caretaker and share our meals. He whips out some wine and we are easily persuaded to join him. But we decline his wine in preference to depleting our own supply and to shed some weight….maybe 6 litres of wine is what slowed us down on the Munda Biddi? Yes we still carry the equivalent in water. Our route avoids towns for many days at a time and we like the luxury of a tipple at the end of a day. Aussie prices have proved expensive so we have found a taste for cheap sweet red in a “goon bag”….my sister says I have morphed into a bogan…..4 plus litres of cheap wine in a box and plastic bladder….we are fond of our goon bags. Less glass, more liquid. Anyway I am blissfully happy to go slow and merry amidst mother nature’s finest.
So we drink wine, share bread and are offered Gareth’s luxurious carpeted tent…..what the heck….let’s stay…..the rain will hide our pristine coast until another day and time is less precious having gained 2 days via the highway.
Merino sheep stare, we stare…. Sip wine, use a washing machine, shower and put on blissful clean clothes warmed in the dryer.
No need to pitch the tent we enjoy glamping with electric lights under thick watertight canvas and with carpet under our warmed feet.

Myanmar food?

Jules — Fri, 21 Feb 2014 10:27:41 +0000

Myanmar food? Exciting ….yes….. unique…… yes…. frightening… Absolutely, yes. Our first meal at a road side stall after we sidestepped rubbish and the odd sickly rat, mangy dogs….the food looked delicious, smelt scrumptious and spicy….and was served into our take away plastic bags…by hand. We survived half expected food poisoning in Uzbekistan, but here…..each morning we were to wake slightly nervous and then relived to find we are still very much….. well. After a week in the country my one and only bout of nausea, followed by the runs and vomiting hit me quickly after lunch and only lasted a few unpleasant hours. At first I had thought it was the sun…the beer….which I also thought was so very odd!
We have watched cats climb on plates and bowls to sneak away dried fish, watched flies buzz, drown in the oily slick, dogs, yet more commonly, people, sleeping on the food preparation surfaces……none of which stop the hungry cyclist from eating…..or the tired bus traveler……..food is always part of the adventure.
We drink tea from cups in the centre of tables, cups placed upside down in bowls of water to assume there cleanliness. Much of the time the water has evaporated or if not it is brown. We have also not said no to offers of drinks from communal cups, water in ceramic pots that adorn temples, the roadside, tea shops. We have no idea of the origination of this water. When not in company we sterilise water from taps with the UV light of our steripen.
Everyday, everywhere, cities, villages, farms….people cart water from wells and even the wealthy can not avoid the black outs, the frequent absence of electricity. Thus, much of the food, in this climate, makes sense.
Burmese food food has proved generally salty and oily, prepared and left to sit throughout the day, more often than not it has sat and it has sat and it is served cold. My eyes take in the sights, my nose the pleasant smells and my mind…. notes the hours allowed for bacteria to set in. Fortunately the oil does seam to preserve the food so that we avoided multiple bouts of food poisoning.
We learnt quickly that the food can be delicious, small amounts of curry and sauces mixed with lots of rice to take in the otherwise overpowering flavours. We had thought it rude not to finish the never ending bowls of food that appear each time one bowl is almost finished. It is not rude and not wise to consume an otherwise never ending banquet. Fortunately all sit down meals even in the most basic of tea shops in the smallest of villages comes with a brothy palette cleansing and thirst quenching soup….this can also be never ending….topped up in a blink of the eye. The locals also spoon this into the curry, rice concoctions which makes the heaviness of dishes somewhat more appealing.
What would have been rude was not accepting my gift of soup when we stopped for soft drink in the middle of the furnace, somewhere in the middle of Myanmar. Oh dear….I saw it coming…it was so hot that day and I was not at all hungry. OH DEAR! As I looked down at my offering….striped fowls feet, intestines, whole liver and ….All eyes upon me….I tasted the broth….not bad…. I gave Li the liver before I “enjoyed” the other bits and pieces….half gone…..all smiles…..the bowl again topped up! Well it did go down well with my first ever experience of palm wine. I was excited by what I expected was coconut or sugarcane juice in an old plastic bottle…..so the surprise at first taste was horrifying….and then refreshing and very quaffable…..and I never did finish my second bowl of guts soup!
Burmese food can be refreshing and more to our liking. Tomato salad with shallots, crushed peanuts and sesame seeds. Ginger salads with the glorious crunch of a dried and toasted assortments of beans. Fermented and tangy tea leaf salads. There can be a lot of tantalising texture.
We started seeking bastardised Chinese,Thai and Indian food which is readily available when in larger places, because it usually wasn’t swimming in oil and cooked fresh. For this reason I was looking forward to visiting Inle Lake in Shan State. Yet rather than avoid the food of Myanmar it was here that we discovered Shan Food. We had been searching for wine in the local stores when a tourist overheard us and said the wine we were looking for was available in a restaurant where he had just eaten. We asked about the food? …his eyes lit up and he literally sparkled. We headed straight to Sin Yaw for our first taste of Shan cuisine…..and we adored it.!Sun cured pork and spring onion tempura with tamarind sauce. Golden yellow crispy tofu with punchy coriander and lime sauce. White, local, seaweed salad. We returned to try more delicacies, always light, cooked fresh and immediate, and bursting with flavour.
Incidentally, near Inle we just had to cycle to both of the only wine producing vineyards in Myanmar, tasting 11 wines in total. The vintners are aiming at the local market and unfortunately getting your hands on a bottle outside of Myanmar would be difficult. Quality wine, of all shades including frizzante for the price at around $10 per bottle.
Oh…how could I forget the “donuts”. Guilt free because of our mode of travel. Many street vendors provide fried delights, samosas with hints of star anise, corn filled spring rolls, caramelised crunchy battered bananas, rings of batter with crisp palm sugared hard caramel….and our favourite, golden, soft centred donuts filled with fresh coconut and sugar. These were also a perfect gift…. along with tamarind and sticky rice flavoured cheroots, when we were granted the floor of a temple to spend the night…..our legs, nor the donuts were enough to propel us to the next town with a designated foreigner guest house where we could legitimately, legally, spend the night.
The best food comes with drama….a performance….and in this aspect the food of Myanmar is not lacking. The first time I placed my order, a young boy screamed this translated into Myanmar to a colleague….or perhaps his mum? As the order was being screamed down the line, starting a yelling match of banter back and forth….Li placed her order…..followed by the orders of our new found friends….no note pads or memory required….just a very loud cacophony of sound running through and over, and back and forth. This form of taking orders when sitting down at restaurants never ceased to delight and amuse me.
During meals and refreshment we also managed to provide entertainment. On several treasured occasions women merrily applied tanaka to our faces. Tanaka is worn by all genders but primarily the women and it is used as both make up and for sun protection. On a large stone the tree stump, (tanaka) is ground with water to make a smooth paste….and applied to the face ……”beautiful”!

Mangystau

Jules — Sun, 10 Nov 2013 04:03:59 +0000

After a few hiccups we did not leave Aktau until 3pm. Not such a big deal as we had already planned to stay until noon making the most of our hotel. We pedalled off on a lesser road to Shetpe. Travelling along what felt like an industrial waste land, the road quickly deteriorated and we followed power lines, a train line and gas pipeline into the starkness that was the desert.
I was feeling on edge, we knew finding ‘stealth’ camp sites was going to be difficult and I was feeling very, very exposed. Sooner than necessary we chose a place to pitch the tent….behind the pipeline and a few piles of rubble.
Fortunately we only traveled 36km as the next morning after another 2 km a car pulled us over enquiring as to where we were going. Much gesturing and crossing of arms later we understood the driver was saying the road to Shepte was impassable. We deliberated, looked at our map, looked at Google maps…..where the road mysteriously disappears about 30km before our first town….and turned back to Aktau. We would trace our steps, our pedalling, and take the longer route.
After Aktau, the road deteriorated further. The asphalt appeared fine, until we rolled, bumped….bumped, and jumped along it. The road was crazed and in places patched, thousands of patches never flattened down so that despite an absence of pot holes the road was slow and uncomfortable. Like cobble stones….irregular cobble stones. Occasionally we would be blessed with 10 meters, even 50 meters of a thin veneer of smooth bitumen but you could still feel many of the old patches underneath.
Again I began to feel edgy, where would we spend our night…..there was absolutely nothing, not a hill, tree, hump as far as the horizon. We descended into a valley situated well below sea level and as evening approached we noted a big climb back onto the steppe. Just before the climb a sign indicated a picnic area and small scrubby plants off the side of the road. We investigated. A small spring from the ground explained the plants but nowhere was invisible from the road. Li strolled off to further investigate the ridge we were soon to climb. She soon returned saying she had found the perfect camp spot. Puzzled….”but I could see you the whole time?”
“Can you see the 5 camels”
Well….”No?”
“Good…..then no one will see us”
“What about the camels?”
“There is plenty of room for all of us!”
The camels did not think so and wandered off as we descended into the banks of a dry river bed. Wild horses strolled the ridges as we pitched for another night.
…….more crap roads…..ferocious headwind. The wind was hindering, bitter, cold…..crap wind. Still on asphalt and so very slow. We took refuge in our music and after a 90 degree bend in the road, music and tail wind, we were feeling euphoric as we clocked 9000 kilometres on the odometer. We celebrated with a brief rest to watch the mechanical donkeys, oil and gas fields, and shortly afterwards an unexpected town to purchase some extra food and some beer. We requested and were given well water at the mosque.
With the beer we celebrated our next found refuge for the night. Our first experience of sleeping in a culvert, a small concrete tunnel directly under the road……after we cleaned out the fossilised human crap.
Shetpe…..our last chance to stock up on supplies, and we made our first purchase of water for the entire time we have been traveling. We knew there would be the occasional tea house and as it is getting cold we use less water so we only purchased two 5 litre bottles. We still had a small supply from Aktau.
Not far after Shetpe, about 30 km , the crap road ceased to exist and became a crap track. A very wide track as the 2 lanes became 6 as trucks and the fewer cars have over time worn a super slow ‘highway’ further and further into the desert, away from the centre of the “road” in an attempt to avoid the bumps and sand and dust holes and crevices of the original path. In places up to 7 further tracks weave their way in roughly the right direction, occasionally diverging and criss crossing and the traffic including ourselves, moves between all the lesser width tracks looking for the smoothest way forward.
Bull dust……Li thought I was making the word up, but the Oz outback is full of it…..this track was full of it, as were our eyes, noses, clothes, our underpants. Unlike sand it is not so abrasive, but gets in even more places, is sticky and cloying…..Especially in your mouth……We put on our ski goggles. Fortunately it was mostly shallow bulldust…..when not in the air…. and we rolled…..ok….bumped, relatively easily over most of it. In other places it was a foot thick.
We found another camp site between 2 hills above the road. It had been a beautiful day, riding in T-shirts. The temperature plummeted. As we finished our camp meal ice crystals formed on the remains. We woke struggling to remove the frozen caps of out water storage. Both 5 litre containers almost solid….we peeled our frozen bananas, packed away our frozen eggplant and remaining tomato for later on. Too cold to check the temperature over night it must have been our coldest yet going by the degree of ice. It was -2 when we climbed into the not so welcoming tent at 8pm.
More tracks, more wind, no wind, beautiful sun shine, even tail winds. The wind bought on the cold and we were in and out of layers of clothing as it picked up then abated. The wind chill could make a high temperature of 20 degrees feel like zero.
More culverts…..we slept in 6 tunnels under the road out of the ten nights. Mostly they were clean and a refuge from the wind, occasionally they became a wind tunnel. There was evidence camels had entered some, crawling on their knees which must be a sight. Their fur stuck to the small circular walls.
Despite the refuge from prying eyes I did not overly like sleeping in tunnels but I loved our desert adventure. The cold and our troglodyte adaption was well worth the extremes of experience. Starry nights void of all light pollution. Shooting stars. The sun rising, pinks, reds, blue hughes and camels silhouetted on the horizon. Picture books becoming reality, the real sounds of silence.
And occasionally the road became pure bliss, fresh new Tarmac for 20 kilometres or so, then tracks, then Tarmac. We rode on the unfinished road that is years from completion and joining up, but the small sections were a well earned break, briefly from the filling, teeth jiggling kilometre after very long kilometre to Beyneu…..our last town before Uzbekistan.

People stay with you forever

Jules — Tue, 03 Sep 2013 12:51:15 +0000

People stay with you forever, no matter where in the world you are. Whatever the time, the place. I am thinking of Nana Paula now. She made the perfect soft boiled eggs and soldiers. Just the right amount of too much butter. I should be sharing this dish with her now.
Naturally, in Georgia the first dish we should try is khachapuri. Our favourite food blogger raves about them in Food Stories. So we order 1 each, 2 varieties to share.
Soft cheese bread…..doughy cheesy, eggy bread. Doesn’t sound so amazing but we must try……oh my…..it is so amazing. The second one comes with a soft egg on top. You rip apart the sides and dip it into the egg and glorious dollops of butter…..almost like soldiers.
Two is too much, even for hungry, thinning touring cyclists.
I wash mine down with my first ever glass of Georgian white wine. They have been making the stuff for about 9000 years. Oh my……dry…..tropical scent…..without the coconut!……lingering notes of nut and apricot…..wow! I am going to enjoy Georgia.

Hello Georgia

Jules — Tue, 03 Sep 2013 12:07:14 +0000

Feeling immensely happy, feel like i am glowing….despite being covered in mud. Sitting in a cafe in Batumi, Georgia. Life is treating us so extremely well. We have located the Azerbaijan consulate and will shortly book into a hostel, get passport photos and apply for Visas for this, our following country…..after a brief detour back into Turkey.
Riding across the border from Turkey the change of culture, architecture, is immediate. So is the driving style! The driving is more chaotic than any I have encountered and to make sure we don’t get bored, the road surface has also deteriorated drastically. There are traffic lights…..round abouts…..but apparently no rules. Maybe, red, means go?……..Fortunately the drivers are kind and every now and then one lets us merge into the non existent lanes. Others toot and wave and hopefully continue to keep one eye on the road. It is strange for me to view women with short skirts, without head scarfs.
So we are back at the Black Sea, this time pebbles instead of sand, more ramshackle charm than the built up sterile resorts we witnessed in Bulgaria. Last night, rather than ride into Georgia, in the dark, we camped meters from the sea, still in Turkey, in a muddy but secluded area hidden from the road. We were also meters from the road, but confident not to be disturbed, as no one in their right mind…….would tramp through the bog…..to our refuge……
I am drinking coffee…..but have dully noted on the menu a huge drop in the price of beer, compared to Turkey…..ok…..shortly I will be drinking beer……and later I intend to sample the wine Georgia is renowned for. We have been relatively dry in Turkey, because of the heat, and often because of its absence in rural areas. It is only 10.30 in the morning but of course we are celebrating country number 12 so it must be close to beer o’clock.
I look forward to parking the bikes…..after our dry ish spell one beer has an effect. Gamarjoba Georgia……oh….can anyone tell me if I am back in Europe, or still in Asia?

Interpreters and the Jandarma

Jules — Tue, 20 Aug 2013 21:09:32 +0000

There is a machine gun between my knees……a bracket supporting it in front if me from where I sit in the back seat, traveling with the Jandarma to view some videos. I am thinking of the mountain we have climbed, the highest altitude to date and that we will have to climb all over again. I am thinking of how to document the most recent events. It is impossible for the negative stories to outshine the positive. I am somewhat uneasy about the future travels, but put at ease and in perfect company. A really crap day that was full of beautiful scenery, steep but comfortable climbs, bathing in idyllic streams and finally serious looking men with serious weapons that were caring, gentle and resulted in a prelude to more caring and hospitality, the Turkish way.
Yesterday, the usual, waking at 5.30am, mid morning we chose to stop for cay at a petrol station. The usual, curiosity, attempts at communicatio

Gifts

Jules — Fri, 16 Aug 2013 20:10:35 +0000

“Where did you get that!”
“From the man by the side of the road.”
“Did you buy it?”
“No…..it was a gift”
“I wondered why you were taking so long……where did you get that”
“From the man at the fruit stall….the policeman……the woman…..the farmer”.
Li is in a hurry, would not stop for the man at the melon stall…..5 minutes later I pedal along and he rushes out to hand me a honey dew…..lashes it to the back of my bike……it’s somewhat heavy so I can use it as an excuse when Li has stopped….is waiting at the top of the hill for me.
In Sarkisla, I wait with the bikes while Li goes to find an Internet cafe.
“Cay?”
I look at the bikes, back at the man who has spoken to me…..why not….. tea travels mysteriously from the other side of the street, into my hands…..Li comes back see’s me sitting smugly, a chair placed upon the pavement, drinking tea.
Li’s turn to watch the bikes as I go to get fresh fruit and vegetables…….I take a while…..back to Li and the bikes, she is rolling her eyes.
“What?……I was busy……getting hugs…..and the woman choosing my gift, the perfect bunch of grapes. She was only a decade older than me but makes me feel like a gleeful child. Squished and hugged, she is also glowing at my attempts to communicate, with her husband joining in on my welcoming.
Li is always faster on climbs and the past few days I have slowed down more, despite minor gradients. Li is usually waiting at the top of a hill…..sometimes ready to get back in the saddle before I get a chance to put my foot down.
Today was better…..she stopped outside petrol stations…..I arrived…..to tea…..honeycomb, kymak, bread, watermelon……and another stop……more tea…….a rest…..an encounter…..experience…..fuel…..rest…
Now we are in Sivas, I love it, vibrant, alive, full of history, markets that leave Istanbul feeling sterile. We go for a walk….tired….it’s late…..but insistent…..one more gift of tea.