Bamboo Odyssey » France | Bamboo Odyssey

London, UK to the Black Sea- Sunny Beach, Bulgaria

Jules — Thu, 04 Jul 2013 04:51:51 +0000

We did it…..as the sea came into view….oh, not again .I am crying…. again……have we really done it? I am calling out….I can see the sea….i can see the sea. Li doesn’t hear me….she is racing the last leg.
The first real hurdle is now complete. I remember day 1, wondering wether we would even make the UK coast. Then, would we make it to Paris….Champagne… Germany?…the crest of the next bloody hill, each day, sometimes each moment, a new challenge, with the span of Europe, our journey to the Black Sea, a thought almost as daunting to me as the cycle to Australia. I never considered myself a cyclist, I’ve been a slow developer with a slowly growing passion for the bicycle.
The Black Sea, like our future destinations, was a shadowy goal rather large for my initial lack of fitness and queries as to my will power. Not just will power, would i enjoy myself, and if i didn’t, would i go home? It was enjoyable. This is stage one. Done! Yes we still have a few days ride, to Turkey, Asia, over the mountains until we say our goodbyes to Europe but we have swam in the Black Sea and it feels.,…done!
I am rather pleased with myself…..pleased with Li….our journey, but also my own journey as Li lives her own. If Li were not so busy navigating so she could spend more time writing, I know her observations, challenges, ups and downs would be significantly different to my own. Some days i am sure i am her challenge….And I need to thank Li. If not for her, the past 3 months adventure, would not be the story it has become. The landscapes, the people, the animals, day and night, the effort…..It has been fantastic, surreal, so that the occasional discomfort is just a reminder that I am awake and not still in London soon to rise from bed and make self ready for another day’s work, a days work that at this point i can not imagine.
Passing slowly through 10 countries there have been stresses, times when it is too easy to take out the toll on each other, together constantly, but this is my journey….no, this is your journey. You cycle too fast, cycle too slow. Our journey….we have become just that little bit kinder, more gentle, more caring, motivating and I wouldn’t chose to ride any other way. Thank you Li.

Rivers Rising

Jules — Sat, 08 Jun 2013 05:34:00 +0000

Since April in France we have followed numerous canals and rivers, and apart from the trickles at source….without exception all of the water ways have been swollen, close to bursting and fast flowing, many already submerging park benches and low lying trees.

We have pretty much followed the Danube River, the mighty queen of rivers from its source in Donaueschingen in Germany to Budapest, Hungary. We took a slightly large detour and deviated near Passau heading up to Prague and then back south, rejoining the Danube nearing Vienna. Heading up to Prague we also attempted to follow the Vlatava River.

The Vltava left us speechless, 3 days pedal from where we joined it at lake Lipno in the Czech Republic. It begun as a small river, a stones throw to the opposite bank. Cycle touring you don’t actually see the river that often, even when following its general course. Busy roads, hills, towns, forests, all obscure its view. We had not seen water for 3 days of pedalling when somewhere near the Vltava we came to a bridge and were to cross to the other side. In maybe 150km the small river had become immense, the bridge a few kilometres long with the wide fast flowing river far below. The following day it joined a beautiful, scenic lake we had the pleasure of camping besides, and river again and then the fast flowing river that we left behind and that has apparently now submerged many areas of Prague.

Back on the Danube, just before Vienna, huge power stations and appearing more like a lake, this river is awesome. The station humming like whale song. And the river, its flowing fast. I was impressed by the size it had become way back in Passau where it was joined with the rivers Ilz and Inn. Back then we were moved from our camp site to high ground after a phone call to the site explaining water was coming. The Danube it is bigger than I could have imagined, is not at all like the small stream we chose to follow well over a month ago.

Our route, the Euro Velo 6 which follows the Danube from start to finish is closed with much of where we have already been reported as underwater. We left Budapest as the route we briefly inspected on June 5^th was close to being submerged and then underwater on June 6^th. The water is rising and expecting to peak at about 9 meters on 10^th or 11^th.

As the river rises we have ridden in circles, zig zagging the major roads that without warning throw up signage prohibiting bicycles. Neither the major book shop or petrol stations have had maps and our only map being suitable for submarines at present. We briefly decided to skip Croatia and Serbia heading for hills in Romania however, until we chose to ignore the signage we are pretty much stuck. Today we head back south and the unknown, will keep our distance from the river but head in that general direction. If needs be we will help with sand bags or shifting mud as its time to keep on moving.

Laundry on a bicycle tour

Jules — Fri, 17 May 2013 08:34:35 +0000

Apparently it is uncouth to dry my pink underwear on my front bicycle basket in Paris. Well it was an embarrassment to Li as were my five finger shoes. Not in Paris!
But I love my basket and the fact I can hang an assortment of articles from it. Primarily underwear and socks so I have a constant supply of clean fresh ones. (Little Ted, my soft cuddly sheep also has pride of place at the front.)
Laundering our clothes has become more important than washing ourselves and if we are lucky enough to have a bath, clothes go in first. Shower…..clothes first. We can prance around in our fold away ortlieb sink, like pressing grapes while in bliss from an overhead spray, often racing before the water turns cold or stops altogether within 3 to 5 minutes. The faster we tread, the cleaner we imagine our clothes within the grey, black puddle below us.
We have also had the pleasure of a laundry mat in Besancon, France. Apparently it was not appropriate for me to change into my warm clean dry trousers in from of the other customer waiting for his clothes. But they do it on TV……Li……”You are not on TV!”
We had the pleasure of our sleeping bag liners washed for us at a hostel in Cesky Krumlov after 50 or so days on the road. Unfortunately no place to shower the following day when we went to use them.
Drying our padded cycle shorts is almost a daily occurrence. Usually drying them from wet by the warmth of our bodies, I imagine this is somewhat like wearing a giant nappy but far surpassed the idea of saddle sores from not wearing them. If it is not raining they actually dry quite quickly. The only item of clothing that does not dry readily is our shoes.

Our MSR Hubba Hubba HP tent review

Jules — Sat, 20 Apr 2013 20:46:44 +0000

Why didn’t anyone mention buffeting winds are not nice and pitching a tent upon top of a mount no matter how pretty, is not so wise? We did get more than bargained for when wanting excitement and Diderots predictions of the weather in Langres were really,really spot on.
After our first night at this camp spot we lay in the tent procrastinating about wether or not to move on. Spread half in and out of the main door I felt the first warmth of the suns rays in uncountable months and the decision was made. We would stay one more night, dry off more and explore the town.
Dry off we did, get wet, dry off some more. We again experienced all seasons before retiring to our tent for the night.
Around about midnight we were both woken to the sound of gail forced winds. The tent shaking and bending in all directions. I popped up my head to check all was secure….did not pop outside as the wind was truly frightening. I did briefly consider what I would do if the tent was not holding and imagined undignified naked leg cartwheels over the precipice. I burrowed deeper into my sleeping bag.
It rained and it blew and at times the fabric lay almost flat against us before popping back up on its half moon poles. We remained dry and the pegs, fabric and poles held without us lashing the remaining guys we had chosen not to secure.
Our 2 person Hubba Hubba HP tent was chosen after much research with us being keen to find something lightweight, compact and with enough room so that living in a tent remains a pleasure, not just a necessity to avoid some of the elements.
Similar weight yet it has twice the footprint of our previous euro hike backpacker tent, ….ok…also 10 times the price….the newly chosen having a door for each of us and sitting/ crouching room so we can dress simultaneously or go to the loo without waking each other in the night. Two things that make for much calmer relations when together 24/7.
The tent has withstood downpours that intrude through our best gortex and the only moisture inside being from our own breath. Unfortunately the tent does not stop these vapours turning to ice although it is much warmer inside than out when taking refuge.
We are yet to see how long the fabric lasts and how our Hubba stands up to heat and mosquitoes but so far so good. We also bought a vestibule , “Gear Shed”giving almost the same foot print again to store our luggage and for extra space in foul weather and use when staying somewhere longer than a day. At a push we could fit in bikes lying down. It’s been so easy to set up that we have used it every site to this point, with the exception of wild camping when stealth is our main priority. When the weather permits the use if pegs is not necessary for an even quicker departure. The tent comes in 2 colour options and yellow for us was definitely not a stealthy option. The green is adequate and really depends upon the environment. We have managed to blend in satisfactorily when wild camping however a darker green in Europe at the end of winter may be more appropriate camouflage. My coughing and Li’s sneezing a likely more of a flag to our whereabouts but as yet we have had no problems with detection including Germany where camping outside of designated sites is forbidden.
I really enjoy this tent and hope it stands up to the next 18 months which will be the real test. I smile to myself as I remember my parents remark each time I left a door open….”do you live in a tent”……actually….yes I do!

We are back in France

Jules — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 20:53:49 +0000

Back in France after a quick visit to Switzerland…..France…..Germany……France. ….The beer and camping significantly cheaper in France than Switzerland and then as we ran out of supplies we strolled across bridge into Germany as the sun set for wine this time, and a few un tried wurst and just because 3 countries in an hour or so seamed fine, and why not?
From Huningue where I am writing this we snaked into Basel, roads, rivers and canals like my fading, unclear Celtic tattoo, also industrial and chaotic….but no passport required we arrived in Switzerland. Crossing the Rhine the contrast was immediate, we are not in France…..architecture….oh shit….the driving….the French very courteous to the velo….and the prices! It was also very beautiful and actually spotted a swimmer in the river. At a third of the price we have back tracked and are camping back across the river in France, shopping in Weil Am Rhin, Germany, and will avoid the same route tomorrow to see if the euro velo 6 ( joined in Besancon and can follow all the way to Black Sea.) through Germany and then very soon afterward into Switzerland maybe more appealing than the chaos of earlier. And it is better than a British summer…..after snow, hail, rain….sideways rain , cold and wind, we have had 3 beautiful days, warm nights and our only aches…..sunburn……feeling stronger and more alive and free and content….need more wifi to blog… Previous days remain as pen to paper until time legs and bum and soul really need to rest or Macdonalds appealing and available.

Escargots, my first

Jules — Wed, 10 Apr 2013 15:01:14 +0000

Shortly after pitching our tent in Langres we pootled in to town proud that our camping in vile weather equated to guilt free fare outside of the camp kitchen.
Discovering a restaurant offering local cuisine we shrugged off the embarrassment of mud and Bike booties we soon realised the lack of flow of service was universal and not individually directed at us. I spied escargots on the menu as I always do but rather than liking it to the worm on my ground mat I decided it was now or never.
My snails came minus shell, burnt my fingers before realising the eyelash curling implements were actually to hold the tiny snail sized ceramic pots.
Grass….no….parsley, fresh and tangy, the morsels were delicious, garlicky and green, no slime, definitely doable, again, even desirable but I can’t decide if hey taste of anything else.
My main. I was more interested in Li’s tripe sausage, or something even more…..my imagination does not want to go there, it was stinky but good….
Between us taster of 4 cheeses. The local cheese was a nipple tweaking cheese. Like a good creme brûlée, food should make you feel…..I should keep my thoughts to my self, told I have to run around rampart 5 times before sharing a tent if it makes me feel like that….and desert, Dame Blanc, looked like obscenely large Viennese hot chocolate. Dug down through cream to warm runny chocolate surprised by runny cold sauce like melted ice cream at the bottom, shock to senses, cold, hot, warm, cold yum. But I enjoyed the sense more than the taste.
I’m ready for more snails and Langres cheese.

Langres

Jules — Wed, 10 Apr 2013 14:06:13 +0000

Langres. I like this town…this walled city of medieval and classical history…..even the hill I could not cycle…..not with my luggage and possibly not ever. Most of all I love our pitch, our tent dwarfed by the Navarre Tour hundreds of years old and anywhere else, fenced off, it’s barred windows definitely not used to lock bamboo bicycles, not to lock bikes of any kind.
We are the only tent in this camp ground and the few camper vans are away from the ramparts and buffeting winds. Why miss the excitement. We did briefly wonder if our tent would still be where we left it as the sky turned moody and black, but maybe the wind would dry anything left behind and new delights were waiting.
This is the birth place of Denis Diderot, founder of the encyclopaedia. I am pleased by his description of the inhabitants, and the weather that appears no different 300 years to the present.
“The inhabitants of this country are full of spirit, too much vitality, an inconsistence like that of a wind vane…..the craziness of the atmosphere which within 24hours passes from cold to heat, from peace to thunder, from open sky to rainy. The head if a Langres inhabitant head on its shoulder is like a church-cock on top of a clock tower”.
The weather is so changeable that standing outside the mammoth Cathedral Mammie I chose to take a photo where Hobbitty Middle Earth like shadows stretch out towards Li, sitting on a bench enjoying another beer. Shadows come and go 5 times as I look through view finder to take photograph. I give up I run back as sun comes, seconds literally seconds weather changes. Oh well give up better things to do…..like drink beer.
We are also so changeable….spending another day….sitting in my padded bike shorts as we planned to move on, but the weather was temporarily promising dry socks…..4.30pm we are still in Langres.
And I’m dreaming of Diderot, his life, this city, his letters , amorous and philosophical……Diderot…..and a day dry and not caring, I love this town that was once a city.

It’s raining….no….it’s hailing!

Jules — Tue, 09 Apr 2013 15:03:30 +0000

Four days we have predominantly followed the Canal entre Champagne et Bourgogne from Vitry Le Francios to this bleeding hill, the ramparts of Langres.
The beauty of canals….i figure its training…prep…for what is to come, for an insane bicycle ride on bikes built by ourselves in bamboo….that may or may not be sturdy….
It’s been a relatively easy few days as canals mean… flat….no hills.
There have been wee hills….bumps over the occasional roads that disturb our moderate isolation for 150km. There is an occasional dog walker or fisherman but we are otherwise alone choosing to deviate from course only for provisions, water, bubbles in form of Demi sec, bread, cheese, sausage, chocolate.
Day 1 was hilarious, speedy even for me, my luggage and my bulky beast. Warm enough that I was definitely not experiencing the euphoria of hyperthermia….though I giggled, laughed out loud banking each hill….yeah….bump…..but my legs were strong and happy and craving more. This day was pretty and fast and nothing could stop me, and Li and I pedalled side by side. We stopped at 71km, for beer and after several an hotel after too little beer ruled out the mayors very appealing but cold gardens.
Day 2 we lost our pace by about 3km/per hour. Each day we wake between 6.30 and 7.30am, planning to hit our path shortly afterwards. Coffee, 2 or 3, photographs, more complex breakfast than we need, Li performing functions of the GPS, we are finally in saddle an hour or so later than would be ideal, usually 10 or 11am. . We complete 81 km on day 15 with little to note other than tuning into our bodies and more unusual when we had prepared ourselves to uneventful passing of the day….Joinville. A wee town we turned into to find water early evening we thought we had ride into a festival, music blared from somewhere we could not pin point and as we went deeper into the heart of the village the music continued. Only a sole shop and the empty church were open, and the music played. Music speakers were mounted to every building within this tiny rambling, atmospheric town, and it played on to closed shutters and the vacant streets, and to us, welcoming our arrival. Hat off, a quick hello to Saint Joan in the church for our friend Kevin, re stocked and we were away bewildered and amused.
Early on Day 3 we discovered a public but private bath house, roofed and just for ourselves. Too cold for our still soft bodies, but the plaque stated the upper basin for laundry…..does that include camp cooking dishes? We cycled until 8.40pm forced to find a slightly less appealing camp site to secret ourselves from the passing cars that chose to use the canal path as an easier route than the road between villages. Nestled between river and canal in woodland amidst the rotting leaves and other debris that was preferable to the other boggy areas we vaguely considered in haste to pitch camp in fading light.
The 3rd day on the canal it rained and we discovered we prefer cycle touring in the snow. This was wet and warm for us at 5 degrees reaching 13 during the day. We cycled 76km and just over 700 in total.
Day 16, our forth following canal out of champagne region we came to a deviation, this hill only 20 plus kilometres after emerging from our muddy home. Stuck with leaves and goodness knows what else smelling slightly of the back of a poorly ventilated wardrobe we had been washed by numerous downpours with no improving results. There was warmth and promise of food…..up that damn hill. We cycled past the first signage to the town, cycled further around the hill reassuring ourselves the other side would be slightly less aggressive to our senses. Ok….how much do we really need….anything….this walled city is apparently worth a visit…ok, let’s do it it is beer O’clock.
We rode, we , pushed, we stopped, we pushed, stopped, pushed, sun, wind, rain, push, sun, wind, push…..there was a river running down my back, not rain, hat off for first time outdoors in 17 days, tshirt, push, stop……would turn back but muscles would no longer control bike on such a descent. At some point I’m pushing on gravel like thousands of marbles and braking the bike is moving backwards propelled anywhere but up and I dig in my feet, my whole weight my mind, push and….stuck, push….we are up. 27km, the sky changes, it growls, it hails, we are even more wet, it hails again but by now we have taken refuge and are going nowhere. We deserved this, this hill is ours for now and 27km is ok.

Not Nana’s Creme Caramel

Jules — Sat, 06 Apr 2013 05:51:17 +0000

I almost swore….ok i did swear….but somewhat politely under my breath. My creme caramel arrived with sprinkles! Li noted my face and that I was horrified. As I was about to scrape the offending , so very, very crass SPRINKLES off I dug in with a spoon. The resistance left me feeling very unhappy. A snob when it comes to creme brûlée and creme caramel this was not at all what I considered French and definitely not of any resemblance to the ball park in which I hold my judgments. Nana Paula made the perfect creme caramel. Putting the spoon in my mouth my eyes bulged….surprised….I was in bliss,even with the damn stupid sprinkles. Creamy,eggy, smooth, caramel….bliss. This was good. Not Nana Paula’s but still damn bloody good.

Headwinds for Champagne

Jules — Fri, 05 Apr 2013 07:43:56 +0000

Leaving Chateau-Thierry we decided to take a larger and relatively straight road to Epernay so that we could arrive in time to find a dentist. (Despite lengthy check ups and X-rays prior to leaving London I lost a filling on day 3 and need to get it sorted before it becomes problematic-we also left our emergency dental kit as a care package to be sent to us once we exit Europe.)
The road was at first unremarkable, industrial, with the whoosh and whirl of overtaking trucks and farm machinery including the odd vehicle looking more like a giant praying mantis than something fit for the road.
The wind was fierce and unrelenting, hitting us head on so that we pedalled with all our might even on the down hills. Until I took up spinning I had never been much in touch with my body and only my thighs seemed to hurt on long cycles. Now all my muscles seem to work and on this day, thighs, hamstrings and calves all screamed in harmony. Li was finding it tough also contending with sore throat, eyes and chest infection, we discussed calling it a day at a mere 24km.
With the trickery of the wind and thoughts that it had abated, in the relative quietness of villages with high walls we chose to continue.
The vines appeared in the bleak grey landscape, gnarled and stretching to the horizon in all directions. Labourers were dotted about, backs bent tending to ever single vine, infinite tendrils , twigs really, being attached by hand to wires one by one. Occasionally someone would look up I would wave and receive a wave, bonjour in return. This picked up my spirits and slowly I sensed the history, the tradition seeping out of the soil and admired the opalescent green waters of the Marne that dipped in and out of view. I ignored my legs and let emotion and imagination take me where I hope to go. Nearing Epernay we were tickled with a fairy tail chateau to spurn us on the remaining 10km. Finishing around the 58km mark with undulating hills rather than steep inclines we had expected to finish this stretch in half the time. We met a the first cycle tourists on the road returning from Georgia and 7 months on the road. Today’s wind was no hindrance to them and relatively easy. I am curious as to my body’s reaction to such challenges months from now. In the mean time the camp ground is closed and thus we are wrapped up warm enjoying champagne, a hotel and the delights of Epernay, content with achievements so far.