Saint Patrick's Festival Comes to Ljubljana
On arrival in Ljubljana I waste no time getting to the important business - where to watch the six nations finale and where to find the greatest concentration of Irish people to celebrate St. Patrick's Day with. To do this I make my way to the Irish embassy and, as well as finding everything I need, I also manage to wangle an invitation to the Ambassador's house for a reception on Monday.
On St. Patrick's Day I head down to the Irish pub where I end up watching the matches with the Ambassador himself and Boris, a Slovenian rugby player who married an Irish woman. He was a huge guy, a near-film stereotype of his name, and the playful punches he gave me on the arm each time Ireland scored added up to quite a bruise.
Unfortunately the French robbed us again of victory but I was able to delay my grieving for a while as I got chatting to a group of NCAD (an art colleg
e in Dublin) Erasmus students who kindly offered me a place in their house. I went out for dinner with them followed by celebrations par excellence - including face-painting, céilidh dancing, an impromptu parade and dancing into the early hours at Metelkova, a lefty hangout based out of two abandoned parking lots.
Waking late the next day, I repacked my bike and cycled to the guys' house, spending some pleasant days there. I tried my best to fix their Yugoslav-era bikes to mixed success and convinced them to come along to the Ambassador's party.
That day a blizzard hit Ljubljana, ruling out any chance of my leaving the next day and also of cycling to the Ambassador's house meaning that I had to forgo my purist principles and take a taxi to the house which was in the suburbs. The house itself was lovely, boasting
a great library and some beautiful Louis le Brocquy prints of Joyce, Beckett and Yeats. At one point during the reception the power cut out and the Ambassador promptly lit up a candle declaring "I bet you didn't know you were being to invited to a candlelit r
eception". This witticism was met by bellows of laughter from fellow diplomats and shouts of "Brava, Brava!".
After some mingling, the Ambassador opened the floor to singing, explaining he wasn't a singer himself. After an awkward silence I volunteer to sing "Oró Sé do Beath Abhaile", the Ambassador declares that he will a
ccompany me and we pull off the old Irish ballad to the delight of the audience. The reception is capped off by some céilidh dancing led by Boris' wife, who runs an Irish dancing group for Slovenians, and then we make our way back to the capital to finish off the night, and indeed the morning, not getting to bed until 7.30am.
Hospitality and Hills
While leaving
Padova an Italian guy cycles up next to me, and on hearing I'm Irish, tells me about his cycle tour through Ireland and wishes me luck for the journey. It seems to rub off as I set a faster pace than ever before, flying around Venice. At a petrol station I stop to top up my water and a group of Italians, after my explaining my exploits, treat me to coffee and broken conversation - at one point a man saying "Albania e
Kosovo" and pointed his f
ingers, gun-like, to his temple before shouting "BANG, BANG!".
For the duration of the day I cycle with the majestic snow capped Alps on my left. At one point a squadron of Italian fighter jets, flying in formation, pass over me before breaking up at the Alps and swerving in and around the peaks. The only downer of the day is that I discover my tyre has buckled under the weight of the panniers and is about to blow out, needing to be replaced.
At dusk I pull into a house driveway, asking to camp in their garden. After some confusion they allow me and later invite me in for a delicious home-cooked meal. We chat afterwards for about two hours, despite the language barrier and they introduce me to their pets - a cat and parrot. After having a shot of a locally brewed lacquer and a welcome shower we say goodnight and my faith in human kindness is reaffirmed - I'm going to d
o this more often.
The next day I take a detour to the Adriatic, the last sight of sea before Turkey. The combination of Mediterranean and lagoon with small islands on the land side makes for some beautiful cycling, one island even having a full basilica on it - only in Italy.
I cross into Slovenia at an obscure border post and the landscape changes almost immediately, the bare trees and
vinyards reminding me of Sardinia. Slovenia's star is obviously on the rise, it's the first recent EU entrant to adopt the euro, there are a lot of new cars on the road and everyone seems to be making improvements to their house - all adding up to a feeling of confidence in the future.
Having been spoilt by
flatlands since Lake
Garda, I find some of the steeper hills tou
gh going. I camp a mountain pass and come to the house of Boris and
Suzana who let me sleep on their couch and again I am treated to food, wine, a shower and information about the road ahead - flat to Ljubljana.
Flat, I can only guess, must be a mistranslation from some Slavic word meaning "steep uphills followed by steep downhills, but on average your altitude stays the same". I struggle with some of the hills (but am showing signs of my fitness improving) and have to
brake heavily on some of the downhills, at one point reaching 52km/h - at that speed I would reach Kyrgyzstan in three weeks.
For lunch I cook myself a gorgeous meal. Mozzarella to start,
penne pasta with sun dried tomatoes and mozz
arella served with fresh baguette and chocolate for dessert. Accompanying wine was
Fanta Orange, 2006 vintage. And so, it was with a full belly that I cruise into Ljubljana, ticking over one thousand kilometres.
Pausing in Padova
The main square at Padova, Prata della Valle, is beautiful - a grass park within a circular stream lined by statues of Padovans past. There is also a bustling food market and I treat myself to some gourmet delights. The bike attracts a lot of interest from the bewildered locals and tourists. I try to ask one guy who spoke English, after a lengthy chat, whether I could sleep the night at his but I think he thought I was joking. I spend an hour fruitlessly trying to find accommodation and I start to resign myself to cycling out of the city in darkness as I sit to eat.
A group of American students pass by and I call to them, finding out that they are on a Christian mission and are staying in the local hostel and would be delighted to guide me there. The thought of a shower is too compelling and I decide to go for it. Later, one of the
American girls knocks on my door and leaves me an envelope which contains two things: a letter outlining how great she thinks the trip is and €35 which she said she felt she had to give me. I return the money to her and get an early night.
The next day is fantastically relaxing, involving reading in the square, catching up on correspondance and writing in a cafe terrace while drinking coffee and watching Padova pass me by. It's a magnificent lifestyle they lead here, very relaxed and social. After coffee, dinner and a spritz I head back to the hostel where I chat to a Japanese student and American art aficionado over some wine and cheese. I return to my room to that Murphy's Law instance particular to hostels: there will always be a loud snorer sleeping next to you. My unchargeable iPod, whose cable is resting chez Anthony in Bergamo, is sorely missed.
Back Roads to Padova
While getting lost on trying to get 
out of Bergamo's suburbs, I vow to quit the busy roadways of Lombardy and forgo some time by taking a detour to Lake Iseo and Garda further north. Iseo is beautiful and I stop for lunch at a restaurant overlooking the lake, sitting on a bench afterwards for an hour to digest, read and write in the sunshine. I decide to take an even longer detour, even though there are mountains in the way, to encompass more of Lake Garda the next day. The climbing is tough going but worth it for the spectacular panoramic views of Lake Iseo, mountains and forests. I pull off road into a s
teep river valley forest to camp. My camping stove fails to get going - I'm not sure whether this is due to the altitude or my not cleaning it properly - and I have to make do with a bowl of cereal and a kiwi. The slope of the valley did not make for the most comfortable night's sleep as I rest at an angle of about 20 degrees with my feet against a tree trunk to stop my falling down the valley. Even still, I'm in great spirits and enjoy reading in the silence of the forest, the incline helping me to avoid neck strain.
Wake up to a second helping of cereal and kiwi and start the day's travels with another 40 minutes of climbing to 
reach a 900m high pass. The great thing about going up is that you know at some point you have to go down and this downhill is stunning, following the path of a river where I passed locals spending their Saturday canoeing, tending to their gardens and fly fishing. En route to Lake Garda I have to traverse some long tunnels. Thankful as I am to skip climbing over the hills they cut through, these things are scary. Ranging from one to two kilometres long, the one lane you have to share with the frequently passing super trucks can put you slightly on edge. If you add to this the practice of pumping fresh air halfway down the tunnel at sufficient speed to 
make the bike difficult to control, it all combines for a pretty terrifying experience. Now I know what light at the end of the tunnel really means.
The rest of the day is more relaxed, pleasantly following the contours of Lake Garda with views of the snow capped mountains on the far side and pulling into Verona about 5pm. I walk around and take some photos of the colosseum followed by a search for some 
cheap accommodation but to no avail, the cheapest hotels being in the €60-80 range. I cycle a bit out of town, blatantly ignoring some of the bicycle not permitted signs (If I always followed these, I would still be trying to get out of Bergamo) and setting up camp in a field of long grass off the road, making for a comfortable bed with the sound of the odd passing car soothing me to sleep.
In the morning I take the back roads to Padova through the famous Soave vineyards which affords some stunning views. I pull up mid day and cook some pasta, the stove thankfully resuming operation, for some much needed energy. The kilometres and hours are now flying past effortlessly, my confidence about the future of the trip sky-high as I roll into Padova.
Bringing the banter to Bergamo
As I turned away from Milan, the rain started to pour down and I was surprisingly happy. The destination for the day was Bergamo where a friend of mine from college, Anthony Thuillier, was putting me up. With the prospect of a hot shower and a good catch up session ahead of me I kept pedalling and the pain in my knee wore away, allowing me to tentatively up the pace. I enjoyed cycling along by myself singing at the top
of my voice, pulling out the old Irish rebel songs when I needed a lift up a hill.
I also found myself having much more craic with my new companion - Italy's motorists. I found a license plate on the side of the road and strapped it on behind my tent. I have also been grossly exaggerating my signals at roundabouts (especially after one near miss). These two, combined with what I can only imagine is a general perception of incredulity of seeing so much baggage on a bike, all combine to a bit of banter with the drivers. People roll down their windows and shout "Forza!", take photos on their camera phones (quite a dangerous practice while driving) and generally beep and wave a lot. I can't wait to see the reception in countries that don't have Italy's tradition of cycling.
Arriving drenched in Bergamo, I was delighted to see Anthony and, more immediately, his shower. I felt a new man after this and we go for a stroll, chewing over the world's problems as we walk. He cooked a lovely dinner for us and with the combination of the rain, Irish Salmon, mammy-baked brown bread and discussing Irish politics with Anthony I felt at home again.
The next day we had a lovely lunch and Anthony tells me some of the eccentricities and phrases of the Italians. One choice phrase is to give a girl "a good sweeping"
- far removed, I think, from our sweeping a girl off her feet. After a bit of Anthony playing guitar in his apartment I encourage him to go out and busk and we head out, him earning €15.72. It was great to watch him and even singing along to some of the songs although the Bergamasche didn't seem to know what to make of some of the more esoteric Irish folk songs.
We had dinner at a pizzeria and before I opened my menu Anthony said to me "Now the problem with this place is that there's too much choice. Best to think of a pizza you like and see if you can find it". Incredulous, I opened the menu to see roughly two hundred pizza options! In the end, I picked using the blind finger drop method ending up with a delicious buffalo mozzarella pizza. With Anthony up at 3.30am for a flight to Istanbul and me with the road to Asia ahead we got an early night, aided in our sleep by a nightcap of grappa!
Niall and Neil's excellent adventure
The sun was shining and the sea was glistening as myself and Neil, a friend of mine from Nice, took off from the Negresco hotel on the Nice Promenade. Some kind friends got up early to see us off and after stretches and goodbyes we made our way eastwards.
At the first hill, about two kilometres in, I really felt the strain of the extra weight from the fully loaded panniers that I hadn't really trained properly to cycle with! I really started to have some doubts as to whether I was ready for this but keep going in that optimistic, determined manner of mine. I was really glad, though, to have the company of Neil for four days as far as Milan. He was travelling with much less weight and was able to keep the pace up so we made reasonable distances.
Before the Italian border we met a Swiss cycle tourer (website
http://www.walkabut.ch/, in French) and cycled with him for a while, crossing into Italy. He was obviously much fitter than us, coming to the end of a 19 month journey! He had passed through Iran as well and spoke highly of the welcome he received as a traveller there. I invited him to have lunch with us and he asked whether we were going to the approaching McDonalds. I laughed, assuming he was joking, but as he pulled in we said our goodbyes and exchanged details. Neil and I stopped fairly shortly afterwards and enjoyed the first of many delicious Italian meals.
As the sun was setting and with 102 kilometres on the clock, we pulled up to a beach and had a swim. After a meal, beers and some bad attempts to communicate with the locals we set up camp on the beach, hoping to avoid the attention of the local polizia!
We woke to the condescending stares of Italians and their poodles who seemed to think we ruined their morning stroll. While Neil got breakfast a man approached and tried to speak Italian to me. After lots of smiles and pleasantries he asked me if I had any money for him, quite surprising since he obviously saw where we slept that night! We cruised through the 55 kilometres to Savona with some beautiful coastal views - watching and listening to the Mediterranean crash against the rocks was stunning and peaceful.
At Savona we met the Swiss guy again and he advised us on a change of route, cutting inland earlier than we had planned. He also informed us of the fact that no matter which route we took we faced a small mountain pass of about 500 metres before the flatlands of Lombardy - very useful information!
We found the mountain tough going and we had to walk a lot of the uphills. The benefits of this was that we were in pretty good shape after the pass and were able to cycle a hour into dusk, reaching Acqui Terme with 115 kilometres on the clock. Again, we opted for stealth camping,
pulling into a field off the road. Using the cooking stove for the first time, we put together pasta and sauce which went down a treat after a tough day's cycling.
Industrial Lombardy doesn't provide much in the way of scenery and day three consists of stretch after stretch of busy roadways. My body is now starting to get into the rhythm of the cycling and are strengthening up although, slightly worryingly, I'm been having some pain in my thighs and knees. My legs will just have to get used to it though! As Neil and I pull into a field for our last night's ca
mping together it starts to rain and we quickly cook dinner (splashing out by adding some chorizo sausage!) and celebrate the nearing end of our journey together with a drop of whiskey.
The next morning, we journey the 12 kilometres to his turnoff for Milan, say goodbye and good luck and, here I am, alone in the middle of a raining Northern Italy with a bicycle, sore legs and a long road to Asia!
Central Asia, here I come!
Well my friends, another adventure is about to start and I am finding it hard to accept what I am about to do (or at least what I have told everyone I am going to do!). At 9am French time tomorrow, I take off from the Promenade in Nice and intend to cycle to Kyrgyzstan. Quite a few people have told me I'm
crazy and as the time approaches I'm starting to think they're right!
To the left, you will see my trusty steed. Loaded to the hilt with spare bike parts, tools, camping gear, cooking gear and one or two pieces of clothing we will be ready to tackle the 8000 kilometres I reckon it will take us to do the journey over four months. The route and even the mode of transport itself evolved over a period of time. I finished University last year and have a year of travelling before starting a job in London in September 2007. I had a fantastic trip to Africa, some of which is below although my blogging during that time was less than diligent, for four months followed by two months in Nice improving my French and generally enjoying the Mediterranean weather and lifestyle. The plan was then to fly into Russia and take public transport around the Central Asian countries Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan over about three months.
When I came back from Africa, I thought of doing a cycle trip around Ireland but found out that after 6 years of taking up space in the garage my mother had sold my bicycle! As I was looking at new ones I thought to myself, why not get a really good one and fly it to Russia for the Central Asia trip? With this in mind I found my beautiful companion in London and flew her to Nice for some training.
About a month and a half ago, while searching for flights to Russia, I was looking over the map of the world and I thought to myself, why not just cycle there? Some quick time and distance calculations later and I had more or less made up my mind, intending to traverse Italy, Eastern Europe and Ukraine to make it into Russia.
However, there was to be one more twist to the tale. With a month to go I was starting to get quite worried about visas. Not only was Russia's bureaucracy and border closures with other
countries an annoyance, the other factor was that I was not passing through any capital city with Central Asian embassies. Almost to the point of leaving Nice to take up full-time Visa applying in London, I had another look at the world map and decided to reroute. The country that saved my trip? Our good friends in the Islamic Republic of Iran. This has obviously added to friends' and family's concern but by all accounts, and by personal experience, Iranians are a fantastically friendly people and have a fascinating culture that I am looking forward to experiencing firsthand. The other highlight of the trip I am looking forward to is the Pamir Highway (
http://pamirs.org/) in Tajikistan - a mountain roadway about 4000 metres above sea level crossing some spectacular glacial passes (such as below) and with some of the best mountain trekking in the world.
It is with great excitement that I take off on this trip tomorrow. I hope you will enjoy the blog and photos. I don't have a clue what's going to happen, what I'm going to see, who I'm going to meet or even when I'm coming back but then it wouldn't be an adventure otherwise!
e in Dublin) Erasmus students who kindly offered me a place in their house. I went out for dinner with them followed by celebrations par excellence - including face-painting, céilidh dancing, an impromptu parade and dancing into the early hours at Metelkova, a lefty hangout based out of two abandoned parking lots.
a great library and some beautiful Louis le Brocquy prints of Joyce, Beckett and Yeats. At one point during the reception the power cut out and the Ambassador promptly lit up a candle declaring "I bet you didn't know you were being to invited to a candlelit r
eception". This witticism was met by bellows of laughter from fellow diplomats and shouts of "Brava, Brava!".
ccompany me and we pull off the old Irish ballad to the delight of the audience. The reception is capped off by some céilidh dancing led by Boris' wife, who runs an Irish dancing group for Slovenians, and then we make our way back to the capital to finish off the night, and indeed the morning, not getting to bed until 7.30am.
