Niall's Travel Blog

Sofia to Istanbul

2007-07-02T14:02:00.000+01:00

It was a quick hop to Sofia where I hung out with the McKinsey girls Maya and Raya and the cheeky Aussie Raff. The first night we were out I was refused entry into a nightclub because I didn't have any jeans - the bouncer wasn't very appreciative of a cyclist's need to pack light.

Myself and Raff found a climbing wall in Sofia University and tried not to look too silly in front of the students who were incredible.

I got back onto the road again and had one incredible day of tailwinds clocking up about 190km. Above is me taking a rest in the shade - it's a tough life on the road.

I made a quick, 3 hour, detour into Greece to withdraw euros from the ATM. Was pleasantly surprised by a brand new road which cut about 50km out of the journey I had expected to the Turkish border.

A view from the new bridge.

The Greek - Turkish border was, as expected given their long enmity, heavily militarised. I caused a bit of an international incident when a Greek attack dog started chasing me on the bicycle. The Greeks couldn't control it for quite a while, much to the delight of the Turks watching from across no man's land. I got a lot of thumbs up and a warm welcome to Turkey.

I was then plunged into the madness of Edirne, a Turkish border town. A huge mosque, crazy traffic, music blaring and the buzz of commerce were a stark contrast to the quiet of Bulgarian and Greek backcountry.

I cycled on past Edirne, the road is tough with countless undulating hills and valleys. At a small town I am called over for chai and am then invited to stay and fed some delicious Turkish food and copious amounts of chai.

I have an interview with the mayor who finds me a place to stay and I use the floorspace to pull out my maps and decide whether I have enough time to cycle the whole way to Bishkek and get back in time for an unexpectedly early start to work. Unfortunately I don't if I want to go through Tajikistan and decide to try for a train to Tehran.

I keep moving and am delighted to see the sea again for the first time since Italy - I waste no time in stripping down and jumping in.

And, after over a month's travelling and about 2700km I arrive in the ancient city of Istanbul.

Serbia in Photos

2007-05-09T12:36:00.000+01:00

A beautiful old car performs his last task in life, a lovely retirment.

The Serbians are a very friendly people, this old farmer starts waving on seeing me coming down the motorway.

The Serbian countryside

In Nis I meet Kika who takes me for a traditional Serbian meal, delicious!

He also gives me a guide around Skull tower, where the heads of Serbs defeated by the Turks in the independece war we plastered into a tower as a warning against further uprisings.

Dragana and Milan invite me to their home where their sister's 21st birthday party is just about to kick off.

DJ Lazar keeps the music flowing while the local rakija brewer presents us with his ambrosia.

The next day, I make merry with the town poets...

...and say goodbye to my Serbian family

2000km clocked up, all good so far

And a beautiful sunset backlights the Orthodox church as I cross into Bulgaria

Border to Belgrade

2007-05-09T11:40:00.000+01:00

I cross into Serbia by night, passing Slobomir City – billed “The City of Freedom and Peace” – that looked like a bit of an US and EU funded reconciliation project cum white elephant. It’s a crystal clear night and I stop a while to watch the stars over a bite to eat. I’ve squeezed over a hundred and twenty kilometres out of my legs in a nasty headwind and I am afraid that they’ll refuse to budge tomorrow, my last day before Belgrade – I even briefly consider cycling through the night while they are still warm.

I knock on a door to discover a mini-fiesta celebrating the the birth of the owner’s first child and I enjoy a few beers before sleeping in his absent sister’s chalet, decorated with life drawings.
The headwind continues unabated the next day and I can only manage a paltry fifteen km/h average speed. Sometimes I wonder whether it is better to be going downhill where you struggle against the wind or uphill where you struggle against the slope but the wind is blocked! The slipstream caused by passing trucks also causes some frustrations as you are suddenly jerked forward and then blown back when the truck passes.

The Serbian countryside is quite pleasant when not passing industrial areas and I pick up the trail of Sava river again. After some minor chaos entering Belgrade, I find myself relaxing with fellow travellers at the Three Katz Inn, where I enjoy the rest and city for three nights. I have started using a website called http://www.couchsurfing.com/ to meet local people (and possibly a place to stay) and my first experience of it is meeting Marko for a coffee, football match on TV and a chat about Irish and Serbian politics and history. Even for Serbian university graduates it's a struggle to find a decently paid job and even harder to get a foreign work visa.

In Belgrade I get some bad news, I need to be in England for a training course on the 8th of July - this means that part of the journey will have to be done by train and I have to pick up my pace on the road to Istanbul. With this in mind I take up my struggle against the wind which seems to be following my direction, during my rest in Belgrade it has changed from Easterly to South Easterly. Having enquired about the enforcement of Serbian motorway law I decide to go for it, and before the toll plaza I slip off my bike, walk through looking unconcerned and use the trucks to block the line of sight between me and the police.

P.S. I'm hoping to do a big update now am going to switch the format to photo based with a few lines for context. Hopefully that will mean it will not only be quicker for you to read but quicker for me to write!

Detour through Bosnia

2007-05-02T15:29:00.000+01:00

In the hazy morning, I pause to warm up at a café - a working man’s place with the typical calendar posters of topless women straddling motorbikes. I ask for some information about the road ahead since there is a gap in my maps and they kindly give me a map of the area. I notice Srbenik in Bosnia Herzegovina, the place of the massacre in 1995 and decide to reroute from the direct road to Serbia, crossing at a border post one hour’s cycle away.

The roads in Bosnia are terrible and, again, remnants of the recent war are omnipresent. People are very friendly and each time I stop to rest, people offer me their house to sleep in. One man asks me to take a photo of his family outside his destroyed house and to give it to newspapers in Ireland so that people will send him money. The conversation goes like this: “Serbians (Over arm throwing motion), Grenade, Boom!” to which I reply with “In Irlanski, Ingliski (Over arm throwing motion), Grenade, Boom!” which reduced them to tears of laughter.

The call to prayers informs me of dusk and I keep cycling for an hour in the dark before pulling up to a farmer’s house and asking to sleep in the garden. They understand what I am saying but put me on the phone to their English-speaking niece just to double check. Tomic, a brother, arrives and we discover that we both speak French and have much to talk about, he having lived in Nice for eight years and having served on peacekeeping missions with the Yugoslav army in francophone D.R. Congo, both places I have spent time in the last six months. They cook me a lovely dinner and the whole family assembles to watch me eat it.

The next day I realise that Srbenik is unfortunately not Srebrenica (which is 200km further south) as I thought and I decide to take the most direct route to Serbia. I have coffee and rakija, a locally brewed whisky, for breakfast and head off. The rakija goes almost immediately to my head and I have to stop after 20 minutes to eat some cereal to dilute the effects. The day is tough going, and I have now accepted the Slavic translation of the English word flat to mean not extremely mountainous rather than the more commonly accepted definition. At a town approaching the border with Serbia, I ask some police for directions to the crossing and after some consultation they give me an escourt for about 5 kilometres, bringing traffic to a crawling pace, before stopping at a fast food restaurant off the road in the direction of the post.

P.S. Just to give you the quick update (as in to this date!), I am actually in Tehran at the minute and, contrary to what the lack of blog updates might suggest, I am still alive! Unfortunately, due to some work commitments, I had to speed up my trip by taking a train from Istanbul to Tehran in order to make it to Central Asia and will be flying back to London on the 5th of July.

Some of the highlights, which will be soon described, include a 21st birthday party in Southern Serbia, tailwinds through Bulgaria, being chased by a pack of dogs (my arch-enemies), a mayoral meeting in small town Turkey, a three day train ride and an unexpected drinking party in the mountains overlooking Tehran.

Beginning of the Balkans

2007-04-11T17:17:00.000+01:00

The snow remaining on the mountains and fields makes for some stunning scenery as I leave Ljubljana, making my way towards Zagreb. I follow the course of the mighty Sava river for the day and camp beside a forest stream waking to a beautiful view of the nearby mountains.

I get an early start and it is literally freezing, my tent having been frosted hard during the night. A woman passes me in her car and shakes her head dumbfounded - I must have made for a strange sight cycling with all that luggage in the mist at 6.30 a.m. I make great progress and quickly reach the Croatian border. The guard informs me of the problem that this border post is only open to Croatian and Slovenian citizens but, after politely emphasising that cycling 30km to the next post is a different proposition to driving there, he allows me to pass.

Arriving in Zagreb, I call into the office of the firm I start to work with when my travels finish for a chat, have lunch and move on - conscious of the amount of time spent at Ljubljana. I have a fall on the bike while stopping, not being able to get my cleats unclipped in time to save myself, but thankfully my helmet takes most of the damage and I escape with a cut elbow and damaged pride. I later discover one of the cleats came off but by that time I was too far on to make it worth my while going back. I pull up to a house at dark and am allowed to camp. I wait a while in vain to see if they will come talk to me or ask me inside for some food. Instead I eat some cereal and milk, thinking it rude to light up my cooking stove in their garden, and write and read before falling asleep.

In the morning Anna, the daughter of the household, invites me in for coffee and explains that they were going to ask me in for dinner but thought I was asleep. As I progress through Croatia I start to hit the region that was worst hit by the recent Balkan wars. All buildings not newly refurbished are peppered with bullet holes and EU and US aid placards are placed beside the town name signs. All the men I see working on farms or buildings wear military camouflage, seemingly ready at a minute's notice to report for duty. As if by design to cap off a personal presentation to me of Eastern Croatia's bleakness, it starts to rain and I pull my bike into an abandoned house to cook dinner. It doesn't look like letting up and so I set up camp in what would have been a family's living room thirteen years ago.

Saint Patrick's Festival Comes to Ljubljana

2007-03-28T22:22:00.000+01:00

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 college 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 reception". 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 accompany 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

2007-03-27T15:21:00.000+01:00

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 fingers, 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 do 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 tough 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 mozzarella 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

2007-03-20T19:27:00.000Z

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

2007-03-16T14:20:00.000Z

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 steep 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

2007-03-12T15:21:00.000Z

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

2007-03-08T19:37:00.000Z

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 camping 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!

2007-03-03T14:29:00.000Z

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!

Quick Update

2006-09-19T20:59:00.000+01:00

Hey guys,

I've been terrible for keeping the blog up to date so apologies to those who keep checking in! I spent a fantastic three weeks in Malawi, staying with the World Bank country manager in Lilongwe and two weeks chilling out on Lake Malawi, including a music festival. 'm currently in Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania and am starting to head towards Rwanda tomorrow. I booked my flight home yesterday, arriving back on the 4th of November so it's really starting to hit home that this is the last leg of the trip.

Hope all's well,

Niall

One Day, Four Countries

2006-08-26T11:03:00.000+01:00

From Katima we drove to the Botswanan border where we had to go through a Foot and Mouth disease check, a relic of the UK disaster. There was no hassle at the border post and we drive through the Chobe National Park to the last town before the Zim border. We stop to top up our tank but baulk at the two hour long queue - a sign of things to come with severe fuel shortages in Zimbabwe!

My three year old guide book told me that Zimbabwean visas were free for Irish citizens, a fact I used to slag Frank for not being Irish. So I strut into the the Zim border post, full of national pride, when I am shocked to hear the official tell me that not only did I have to pay for a visa but, furthermore, at almost double the rate of the other E.U. countries! Initially I refuse to believe him, thinking he's trying to pocket some cash but after much insistence he tells me that this visa exemption was revoked last year.

Frank, laughing at this turn of events (deservedly, I must admit!), goes to pay customs for the car, a US$16 charge. Knowing there would be a 30 dollar charge for insurance he hands the official a fifty expecting $34 in change. He takes about two minutes to count and recount the change slowly and then promptly places it on the floor behind the counter upon which he rests his hands with a faint smile. After a pause Frank asks "What about my change?" to which the reply was "I already gave you your change"! This dialogue was repeated three or four times before the official, recognising we were not giving up, looks to the ground with a surprised expression, picks up the change and says "Can I keep it?"!?

After grabbing the change we drive 20km before being stopped by the police who told us they were looking for Zimbabwean currency. When we said we had just arrived and had no cash they proceeded to search our bags. Instantly assuming they were trying to supplement their meagre (and oft unpaid) incomes I started to sweat that they would find my US$500 but managed to conceal it before they searched my things. Satisfied that we had nothing we passed through with a sigh of relief... if our first hour in Zimbabwe was anything to go by we were in for a tough time!

After settling in our hostel I crossed over to Zambia to see their side of the falls and the Natural Wonder did not disappoint. It was incredible how much water flowed over those cliff, even though it wasn't anywhere near the peak season flow. The water was being kicked back up so that there was a fine rain coming horizontally and from below. This mean that the rainbows were inverted producing a fantastic effect. After a hectic day I was delighte to have dinner back at the hostel I was delighted to have dinner back at the hotel, watch a film and hit the sack.

Break for the Border

2006-08-26T10:01:00.000+01:00

From Etosha we had to cover 1200 kilometres to reach the Zimbabwean border. Since we left Etosha in the evening we set up camp in the town of Tsumeb, a two hour drive away. The fact that I hadn't been able to buy a mat with the tent, the use of a rolled up hoodie as a pillow and the freezing nighttime temperatures were all compounding to make it fairly difficult to get a decent nights sleep and after only getting three hours I woke determined to rectify this. When leaving Tsumeb I stopped in "Pep", the equivalent of Pennys/Primark and bought a pillow, blanket (which doubles at a mat) and, the icing on the cake, a hot water bottle! That night I never slept better!

The road towards Zimbabwe gave me my first taste of real Africa as we drove through what seemed like the same village ad nauseum. There were huts made from mud, sticks and straw; animals roamed freely around the village and over the main highway and kids played with footballs made from scrunched plastic bags tied up with string. At the rundu, the last major town in Namibia, we stopped to buy supplies and saw what looked like a hundred strong mob starting to riot but wisely enough we didn't stick around to investigate!

Further along the road we stopped to help some fairly well heeled locals with a tyre change (they didn't have a spanner or jack in the car). While Frank was trying to loosen the ridiculously tight bolts one of the guys asked me for my address and contact details. At first I thought this was so that he could send us a present or thank you card but, no, he wanted me to help him get a visa to work in Ireland! (You get a lot of this around here)

After detouring to stay in the fantastic Ngepi campsite we start to head back onto the main road when we pass a herd of goats. Slowing down to a stop we let the goats cross the road and when the last one is across we start off again. However, once we started moving one of the goats turned around and ran right in front of the car braking his leg. We wait for the owners to come and half their initial compensation claim to N$100 (about €11). They are still delighted with this and as we leave it looks like the village is gearing up for a feast that night!

Driving along the Caprivi strip is quite surreal, it's a thin strip of Namibian territory with the land on our right being Botswana and the left civil war torn Angola! Our final stop in Namibia is at Katima Mullilo, camping on the bank of the Zambezi river. Even the armed guard patrolling for illegal Zambian immigrants crossing the croc and hippo infested river couldn't ruin the spectacular sunset and the mist rolling over the river in the morning.

Decent Internet at Last!

2006-08-19T16:04:00.000+01:00

Hey all,

The blog is quite badly out of date but I'm hoping to rectify that this week. I'm currently in Zambia after two great weeks in Zimbabwe and am heading to Malawi next week. I've managed to get photos up on the web for the first time in ages so hope you enjoy them. The website is: www.flickr.com/photos/niallotuathail. To whet your appetite here's a hungry pelican I saw in Walvis Bay!

Hope you're enjoying the blog and are having fun wherever you are in the world,
Niall

Etosha Park

2006-08-16T14:50:00.000+01:00

In Swakopmund I saw a postcard of Okaukuejo waterhole in Etosha showing a ridiculous density of animals. Thinking this would be much like a Big Mac advertisment we arrived in Etosha with much lower expectations. However, our first sight of Okaukuejo was even more incredible - there were about a though or so zebra, springbok, wildebeast and oryx packed into an area the size of a football pitch all waiting their turn for a drink.

We spent three days driving around the park from waterhole to waterhole spotting black rhino, giraffe, elephants and even a rare leopard. Some of the more noteworthy scenes included a magpie incessantly biting the tail of big lizard that was too slow to retaliate, a pair of giraffe fighting in a matrix-style flurry of neck swings and being stuck on the road for about twenty minutes behind a herd of sixty elephants!

With the elephants in the way we thought we weren't going to make it to our rest camp (they close at sunset and it's illegal to be outside a camp after dark) when a truck of locals came speeding towards the elephants. At first our only thought was that they didn't see the elephants (how this could have been was another matter) but as they approached they started swerving the truck and beeping the horn. The elephants had no option but to hightail in order to avoid a collision and using the temporary gap in the road caused by the chaos we were able to make it back to the camp just as the sun hit the horizon.

The Road to Etosha

2006-08-16T14:27:00.000+01:00

From Spitzkoppe we started heading towards Etosha stopping first at the coast for a swim in the sea (the last time I'll see oceans until the Indian Ocean at Tanzania). On the beach we see three youths walk towards something, take turns to whip it for about five minutes and then walk away. Once they're gone we discover a seal, thankfully long dead but quite a disturbing scene all the same.

At every petrol station we stop at we are subjected to a barrage of gemstone traders who tell you they are selling precious stones from the local mountain ranges but they are actually fake imports from the United States! One group, once they see we have no interest, return to their dice game trying to multiply their day's takings.

As dusk approaches, we see a family of eight elephants drinking from a waterhole about thirty metres from the highway. It's a fantastic sight watching them pick up dust with their trunks and pour it over themselves and rolling around on the ground. A jeep approaches from behind us beeping and flashing his lights so we move off. About 400m up the road he pulls alongside us and claps his hands as if praying and says: "Did you not see the elephants? Look, we love you but these are wild animals - while you are looking one will come creeping around the other side and attack - you won't even have time to start the engine". With this not too subtle warning we move on and get to a camping site a few hours after dark.

Spitzkoppe Mountains

2006-08-06T17:15:00.000+01:00

Frank and I had two nights to burn before heading off to Etosha park so we buy a tent and head to the Spitzkoppe mountains about 70km from Swakopmund. It felt great to be driving again, especially on the Namibian roads where you can drive half an hour without meeting another car. Most of the secondary roads are gravel surfaced which can be great fun to drive but quite dangerous as it's easy to overcorrect the steering and turn the car! We arrive at Spitzkoppe to meet the campsite manager, a local women who runs the project under a women's empowerment programme. She pronounces all the placenames for us in the local language (which involves clicking sounds!) and shows us the road to the campsites.

It's a beautiful area with bungalow-sized boulders everywhere that have rolled down from the mountains during various rockfalls. We set up camp and go for a hike up the mountain which turns out to be a tough climb. On the way we see lizards, rock dassies (rodent like animals that scream like little girls), loads of different birds and desert mice. The mountain itself is beautiful and a lot of the rockfaces look like animals (gorillas and sharks!). The place is so quiet with absolutely no sound except for the wildlife. After the climb we cook up a stirfry and hit the sack.

The next morning we go for another climb through a boulder field and see the precariously balanced boulders that are destined to add to the field. The climb was extremely enjoyable, despite the constant fear of an earthquake!

Swakopmund's Scamsters

2006-08-06T16:03:00.000+01:00

Swakopmund's tourists (myself included) attract a lot of attention from purveyors of crafts, gems, sunglasses and fake clothes. There are some funny characters who must make a fortune off the less street wise of the foreigners and here's how they do it:

Key Ring Sellers
These guys are geniuses! They come up to you all smiles, shake your hand and ask you your name. By the time the first syllable is out of your mouth they start to carve your name into a keyring and open the bidding at a ridiculous price! I was lucky that when I first met one
he didn't know how to spell Niall and had to write it out in the sand at which point I realised what was going on! Once he's carved your name in and you don't want to buy it he starts to make you feel bad for ruining his keyring and the price drops dramatically to about one
hundredth of the first asking price when you are about to drive off. It's all put on though - he just carves off your engraving and moves to the next unsuspecting walking wallet!

Animal Drawings
I was sitting outside having a meal watching a pretty talented sketcher finish off a sale with some tourists. When he's finished he comes over and starts talking to me, giving me his story so far - he's a bushman from Spitzkoppe mountains (more on these soon) and has made the transition from a poor farmer's son to a poor artist. He tells me an American tourist was looking for a drawing of an Oryx but he'd never seen one before and asked me if there was one in my lonely planet book. I lend him the book and he goes to draw it. Five minutes later he comes back which a good sketch and puts it down on my table -it's a present especially for me. I tell him that I couldn't possibly accept it as he'll need to look at it if someone asks him again for an Oryx but to no avail, it's a present.

We have a chat and then he starts telling me that times are hard for artists in Swakopmund and he wants to go back to his hometown to teach kids how to draw but he desperately needs supplies. Reckoning this is as likely as him opening a Parisien gallery I commiserate with him and again say I can't accept the drawing but that he should sell it for the kids. He changes his tune and now needs some bread, a shameless tug at the heartstrings given he's just watched me eat a nice meal! However, I'm fairly ruthless with this kind of stuff, offer to give him back his drawing, shake his hand and make my way back to the hostel where I hang the drawing up on the wall! Later I compare it to the lonely planet photo and realise that it is a replica of another oryx photo later in the book that I didn't show him!

On Going On

2006-08-02T20:34:00.000+01:00

I start to think about how to get to Etosha Game Park, the big safari park in the North of the country and slowly come to the realisation that there is no possibility of getting there by public transport. My next thought is to hitchhike it but assuming I could hitch there (a big assumption!), it would be impossible to get around the park and I would be confined to the rest camp water hole to spot game. With this in mind I arrive in Avis and ask to hire a car. Car hire is pretty steep in Namibia because most of the roads are gravel surfaces which makes it easy to overturn the car. For a small car I am quoted about 45 euros a day which as well as petrol, park fees and accomodation would add up to about 120 euros a day to see Etosha park. I make the booking as this is a once in a lifetime thing and just as I'm about to hang up I ask whether there is any charge for being under 25 - an extra 20 euros a day, ouch!

I consider the financial impact of these 6 days on my year of travelling as I walk back to the hotel and I am told that I have a new roommate. He's a Dutch guy called Frank and has been travelling in South Africa and Namibia since finishing an internship in a university in Johannesburg. He was with a few friends who had to go home recently and was now having to pay the costs of his cheap South African hire car (about 20 euros a day) by himself (my ears prick up!). He tells me he is travelling north to Etosha, Botswana and Zimbabwe and at this point we start to discuss plans over a beer and within a hour of meeting each other I decide to call into Avis the next morning to tell them where to put their young driver's surplus charge!

An interesting journey and turned away at the inn

2006-08-01T10:49:00.000+01:00

After my trip to Katutura I picked up my stuff and headed to a petrol station on the outskirts of the city to try to catch a minibus to Swakopmund. I duly pay my namibian 80 dollars (about 9 euro) for the four hour journey and am told to wait in the minibus where there is about 6 people waiting already. The funny thing about these minibuses is they don't leave until it's full to the brim and when 14 seated passengers (as well as two kids lying on the floor) arrive two hours later it takes off! On the way one guy tries to make the best of the situation by cosying up to a girl and chatting her up and it works because he leaves with her phone number. Another guy beside me gets a bit tired and falls asleep on my shoulder for most of the journey!

I arrive in Swakopmund well after dark (sunset is about 6pm here) and the B&B I was supposed to be staying in is full. It's about a twenty minute walk to the next hostel and after walking 10 minutes down the main street past some unsavoury characters I take my Dad's advice and hop in a taxi to the next hostel (which is closed) before finally arriving at a lodge with a spare dorm bed. I met my new room mates, a group of English guys about my age travelling through South Africa, Namibia and Botswana. They were out fishing that day and were cooking up a storm. They kindly offer me a plate, a cold beer, a bit of craic in the hotel pub and a snowboarding session in the morning which was a vast improvement on my planned salami sandwich, warm water, early night and morning stroll around the town!

Contrasts Emerge

2006-07-27T17:06:00.000+01:00

From taking strolls outside of Windhoek city centre I've started to see the contrast of lifestyles in Africa. There are some leafy suburbs that wouldn't look out of place back home except for the electric fences and constant barking of guard dogs. I walk out to Avis Dam, a beautiful reservoir where the people of European decent go to jog, fish and walk their dogs. On the way out I pass a dog club where all the dogs are being trained to obey orders as their owners bring them around an obstacle course. The dam is lit up beautifully when I get there at dusk and I get some great shots. I meet a German guy who I talk about travelling with (he tried to travel from Germany to Namibia in the 80's but couldn't get into Tanzania at the time) and things to do in Windhoek (after his nightlife advice I get my upteenth warning about staying away from the local women!!). He offers me a lift for the mile or so it is back to the house which I gratefully accept because it's just gone dark.

The day I leave Windhoek I travel out to the black township of Katutura. This is where most of the poorer people live and is a startling contrast to where I've been living for the past 4 days. Since I have arrived here people have told me that if I do travel there, I should be careful as there is quite a lot of crime as a result of unemployment in the area. I ask my taxi driver to show me around but doesn't understand what I'm saying so he drops me off at the Northern end of the township and I'm out on my own! I try to look as confident and purposeful as possible and walk down the street toward the local market. Half way there a young guy stops me to talk so I sit down and have a half hour chat with him about foreign countries he's been to and wants to go to, his foreign friends (which I've been added to!) and his business idea to build a rest lodge in Katutura. I walk around the market, buy a 5c doughnut from one of the ladies, and have a chat with a stall owner over a fanta orange. Unfortunately I couldn't really take photos as I was on my own and with all the characters of questionable quality lurking about I didn't really feel safe taking out my camera. Nearly all the people there though where fantastic, even if a little surprised to see someone like me in their part of town!

--Note: The internet bandwidth isn't fantastic at all so I'm having a bit of difficulty uploading photos. As soon as I get a decent connection I'll post them up. For the mean time you can see some of the latest photos (without explainations unfortunately) at http://www.netsoc.tcd.ie/~notoole/africa

First Impressions of Windhoek

2006-07-23T12:38:00.000+01:00

I guessed that meetings with Government top brass was not exactly par for the course in Windhoek and I've been exploring the city for the last few days to find out exactly what goes on in Windhoek. The city centre is about a 30 minute walk or a 80c taxi after a few walks in I've reverted to the lazier method! The first thing you notice going around Windhoek is it's place names. For example, I don't think you would find an intersection of Independence Avenue and Fidel Castro Street in many international capitals. The British High Commission is on Robert Mugabe Avenue and they obviously weren't too happy when this became their new address!

On the way into town I stop outside the house of parliament called the tintenpalast, literally the ink palace - a dedication to the pen ink sacrificed for bureaucracy! It's a beautiful building with lovely gardens and statues outside. Outside there is a momument remembering the German soldiers who died in Namibia. I can't really believe it's still standing (it's probably the equivalent of Nelson's column in Dublin or the Saddam Hussein statue in Baghdad!) but I'm told the Germans (of which there is still a sizable population) wouldn't be too happy to put it mildly.

The city itself is really relaxed and it's been a great choice to start the trip here because there just doesn't seem to be any stress here. Everyone is friendly and willing to chat. The closest I come to being hassled is a teenager asking me to bring him back to Ireland but he gives up when I tell him it's like the raining season all year round!

Allowed in and mix it up with the top guys - 20th July

2006-07-21T15:03:00.000+01:00

I get about three hours sleep and wake up over Angola. The sunrise is beautiful and I get my first sight of Africa. As we land in Windhoek I see springbok or eland running across the bushland and the fact that I'm here really sinks in! Thankfully the immigration queue is long and the woman was trying to get through as many people as possible. The printed e-mail confirmation just about managed to convince her I wasn't here to stay and she grumpily allowed me to pass!

My uncle Michael had a driver pick me up and bring me to his office. He works as Chief Technical Advisor to BCLME, a UN Development Programme project that manages the marine eco-system of Namibia, Angola and South Africa. He is about to go into a big meeting and asks if I want to come along. So, I put on my unironed shirt, trousers and shoes, have a shave and within two hours of almost being denied entry into Namibia I shake hands with three cabinet ministers and high ranking civil servants! My two main contributions to the meeting were setting up a backup projector when the first one failed mid-presentation and holding up a broken window that wouldn't shut from time to time so that the hammering on the street below would be less audible!

The meeting was a summary of Mick's work to date where he outlined his concerns about Namibia's fragile marine eco-system that has been hit by scandalous levels of foreign fishing fleets, a large seal population (On Wednesday in London there was a small demonstration against Namibia for starting a seal cull) as well as low o2 levels and toxic algae blooms. Mick's presentation was followed by protocol discussions over the signing of a convention with Angola and South Africa that Mick has been working towards and it looked like everyone was onboard.