Turkey

April 17, 2001

Finally back in business! After two long months of work I am back in travel mode.

Stayed up until 4am pushing off my last few farewell emails and packing. I am starting to gain travel experience and it shows as I have reduced my pack to under 20 pounds and have included more useful items, leaving the waterfilters, stove, and point and shoot behind in favor of a real SLR. A very light Canon Rebel 2000 with a 28-80 lens, polarizing filter, and a small daypack to carry it. Replaced my mini mag with an LED light, .5 ounce, 100 hours on one battery and nearly as bright. Was about to leave my tent behind to be replaced by a simple skeeter net, but changed my mind on the way out the door. A big gain was a smaller lighter pack, a Gregory Forester. It is still a bit big for my needs but should have plenty of room for junk collecting. I also found an inexpensive waterproof and breathable jacket that actually works. Threw in a few extras like underwear just to see how things go.

Plane left Philly at 4pm, and I am not so sure my mom was saddened to see me go. 2 hours to Detroit, 7 hours to Amsterdam, and 6 more to Istanbul. A long flight next to an overweight two seat neighbor, but no kicking screaming children and an excellent window seat view. I spent most of the flight playing with my new camera. There is some pure satisfaction in using a real photographic tools as opposed to a point and shoot. It really makes the act of photographay much more enjoyable and I will surely get better shots.

I am excited to be back travelling, this time with no real agenda. Infact, I don't even know what I am doing once I land. Marty, and old grade school friend, now a pilot/teacher in Texas is talking about joining me for a couple months during the summer. We'll see...

April 18, 2001

What started out to be a sunny day in Philly turned into a rainy day in Istanbul. Atleast my raingear got put to good use. Since I was here 4 months ago, the Turkish Lira took a real shit. What was 700,000:1 is now 1,300,000:1 yet somehow the entry visa stepped up from $40 to $45 and they won't accept Lira. What this means is they are now making twice the money off the entering tourist but once you are in everything is half price.

Took the bus into the city center. While wandering aimlessly, I ran into a French backpacker also aimless looking for a place to stay. Together we made our way to the Interyouth hostel in Sultanamet, a well known traveler rest stop. Picked up a dorm room bed for $6 (costly in Turkey) and laid our wet gear out to dry.

Apparently Anzac (Australian New Zealand Army Corp.) weekend (memorial for the thousands of lives lost here during WWI) is on the 25th in nearby Gallipoli and a tour group of 300 Aussies happened to be passing through. The place was peaked with life. Playing the tour guide I grabbed a handful of them and lead them on a quick walk around town. The Agios Sofia, the Blue Mosque, Sultanamet Park, the Grand and Egyptian Bazaars, and the wharf. Eventually hunger struck wand we decided to take advantage of the discount on our first night and do dinner at the Orient Express, four stars and white gloves for under $5.

The remainder of the evening was spent drinking, singing, dancing, and watching belly dancers and drunk Aussie girls take their clothes off. Tucked myself in at 5am, a full and entertaining first day.

April 19, 2001

The tour group took off at the crack of dawn and I watched, smug from my bed. Eventually I made my way up and caught a taxi to the Syrian Consulate to apply for a visa. 3 hours and $80 later I had it. Much easier and far more expensive then I had expected.

Spent the rest of the day slowly lumbering home. A beautiful day, upper 80s and blue skies. On the way back I happened into a local grade school which was busy holding some ethnic pageant for the kids. Class after class would fill the schoolyard wearing exotic costumes singing and dancing as more students and parent looked on. I spent a few hours just watching and taking photos. A full roll of film. This SLR thing can be addictive. A real experience.

Otherwise I toured a few mosques and bazaars but mostly just strolled through the lesser known streets and enjoyed the local life. A remarkable day, the most enjoyable of my time in Istanbul. It feels good to be here. Took a nice shower and an early night. A few mosquitos. Tomorrow a day of relaxing before heading south on my way down the coast toward Syria.

April 20, 2001

Just catching up on relaxing. Not sure whether I want to avoid Gallipoli or hit it dead on during the Aussie onslaught. Everyone is signing up for 3 day tours for $100, but I would rather just do it my way and setup my tent somewhere stealth.

In the evening I joined a gang heading out for dinner. Unfortunately, their idea of a perfect dinner included the tackiest tourist trap restaurant in all of Turkey. A place I had joked about in the past. Not wanting to create waves, I decided to just button up and try to make light of it and enjoy myself. An extremely well flourescently lit 60x60 main street fully windowed room on main street. While three old ethnic Turkish ladies slaved away rolling pita dough on heated rocks in the middle of the room, 200 tourists wearing Sultan costume hats looked on in awe while shoveling 'authentic' 4 million Lira kebaps down their throats. Other then the service, not a Turk in sight and I wouldn't go so far as to say the servers were Turkish either. It was difficult to contain my distaste which peaked when they had everyone get up and train dance around the room ending with the Macarena. The food was aweful, the service poor, and the prices ridiculous, but aside from me, everyone was smiling and seemed to be enjoying themselves, looking as though they knew of no better way to spend the evening. Ashamed and pathetic.

The night concluded with some live music back at the hostel offered by a couple of California girls with a guitar. I already miss my guitar. Tomorrow I plan on catching a ferry to the Princess Islands.

April 21, 2001

Buyukada is the largest of the nine islands that make up the Princess Islands in the Sea of Marmaris. Lazied out of bed and hopped on the ferry. Overcast but warm. The view leaving Istanbul would have been incredible had it not been so cloudy, and after an hour of windy seas we arrived.

The main form of transportation on the island is by horse and carriage as there are no cars. The drivers swarm the port looking for island tour victims. I decided to walk the 15k instead. There isn't much of interest on the island aside from lush greenery. Mostly a summer haven for the Turkish well to do. Half way around a path leads up the highest peak to a monestary and restaurant. At the top it started to rain and I decided to camp the night instead of pushing on in hopes of a clear day and a better view. With the money saved I sat down and treated myself to some Sucuk Sis, which turned out to be not so much of a treat. Sucuk is a gritty mystery sausage. Tomorrow I will step it up a notch and go for the Kuzu, lamb.

After moving three times I eventually settled on a rock sheltered stealth plot with an incredible view of the island. Setup my tent and worked up a fire.

April 22, 2001

A windy and restless night. Feeling sluggish but glad I stayed. Eventually scattered showers made way to clear skies by noon. The Kuzu was much better and so was the view. Finished circling the island and hoped on a one hour ferry to Yalova. Yalova, a modest port town, was swarming with local tourist when I arrived. After walking around for an hour, I had yet to find reason for the activity and realized there was nothing to hold me in the town. Hopped into a dolmus and packed like sardines, headed to the nearby village of Termal, famous for its natural hot springs and Hamami (Turkish baths). Just as we entered town, it began to pour. After a bit of searching in the rain I checked into a hotel for $4 and headed off to the Hamam for some much needed relaxing.

The first decent Turkish bath so far. Really hot water, a real massage, and the presence of real Turks. The Hamam is divided into 6 sections. Rinse showers, soaking pool, lounging rocks, steam sauna, and massage. I spent atleast 2 hours going through the rotation twice. A real relief.

Taboo: Men wash men with enthusiasm

April 23, 2001

Awoke to the sound of a parade marching down the street. Jumped out of bed to see what I was missing. Apparently, good ol' Ataturk dedicated this day to the children and instead of going to school, they spend the morning parading around banging drums, blowing horns, and waving flags.

By the time I caught up with them, they were just finishing up an Ataturk memorial in the nearby countryside and on their way back through town. When they reached the schoolyard, the kids were given a break and immediately they swarmed me, the obvious foreigner with a camera. I felt like a movie star, and wouldn't be let free without first autographing a few hands. Eventually the whistles blew them back into formation. On they continued to the town square where the remainder of the afternoon was spent dancing, giving speeches, acting skits, and playing games like musical chairs. It was good fun and there were plenty of Kodak moments.

Afterwards, a few of the older locals invited me to join them in doing what they do best, sitting in small circles drinking Chai (tea) and socializing. It is these circles where all the important town decisions are made. Every now and then a local speaking broken english would join in helping to satisfy their curiosity and loading me with questions. Where? When? How? What? Why?

'Tirtee meter... waterfalls... you must go...' so I did. Packed with a fresh roll of film and my raingear I was off out of town hiking 12k on a dirt road across the unknown through the countryside and into the mountains. It was absolutely breathtaking to look down over the lush green rolling hills dotted with villages, mosques, and lakes. The wind blew strong, but the skies were blue, the sun was warm and there was a smile on my face. After a couple hours with no one in sight I arrived and moments later so did a Range Rover full of photographers from Istanbul. Together we forged the final fallen bridge separating the road from the falls. The falls were impressive, but developiong clouds prevented a good shot. I just stood and admired. The clouds began to threaten and I caught a lift back. The rains came in buckets and the winds blew as hard as I have ever seen.

Back in town I filled up on lamacun (Turkish pizza) and kebaps before heading down to the hamam for another relaxing night. A very good day indeed.

April 24, 2001

Up in good time and on a dolmus back to Yalova to catch a bus to Cannakale in time to be an innocent bystander to the Aussie onslaught on Gallipoli tomorrow at dawn. Changed buses in Bursa and arrived by 6pm. Cannakale is just another port town only noted as being the place to catch the ferry to the Gallipoli peninsula. After avoiding being steered into the tours being organized, I decided to bite the bullet, take a seat and perform my first travel update at an internet cafe claiming satelite access. Well 6 hours later I finished sending 60 photos and writing as many emails. Doubtfully a satelite, but at .50 an hour who is to complain? Besides, I needed a break and there was nothing else to do until the midnight crossing. Spending that kind of time in any one place gives plenty of opportunity for local chit chat and by the end I had arranged to do 'the tour' with some interested locals for free. They call themselves the 'Phantoms' for no obvious reason.

Grabbed a few doner kebaps and off we went. The Gallipoli peninsula is eyeshot from the Cannakale port and .40 and 30 minutes later we were across and boarded a dolmus to Anzac Cove on the far side, site of the dawn service, where we joined in with thousands of Aussies and Kiwis camped out and waiting till 5am for the services to begin. Was it all worth it? I don't think so, but then again it is hard to feel the emotion when you are not Australian and sitting with a group of Turks laughing during the moments of silence. Rude? Maybe. I kept my mouth shut. The Aussies all seemed quite moved by the experience, but I wonder how much of that is just a desired response to feeling a part of the social scene. I mean we are talking WWI here.

Anyways, got to talking with Barbaros, the leader of the 'Phantoms'. A smart guy with similar interests. A 'jack of all'. After beating him in a few games of chess he invited me to stay at his place pending his roomates approval. He will let me know in a few hours what they think. So here I sit in his tea shop on my second day without sleep, sipping banana chai and wondering if I will ever get any rest.

April 25, 2001

Today actually started halfway through yesterday. A sunny day, not a cloud in the sky.

A roomate dispute arose and so I decided just to take off for Selcuk on the night bus. Spent the day just walking around town, particularly attracted to a few block of town where as I approached everyone would try to steer me away from. The low budget neighborhood, the ghetto, not meant to be seen through tourism eyes I guess. Took photos of the street children in exchange for the promise of mailing copies. They were particularly spirited over the exchange, and my only out was to convince them that I had run out of film.

Casually drifted in and out of market shops. Visited a tailor who fixed my favorite travel shirt and a tool shop, the oldest in town. 52 years and 3 generations later, nothing has changed. With a sinking economy business was particularly slow today as he only sold $3.50 worth of bailing wire today and so was delighted with my company. We talked about motorbikes, drank chai, and played backgammon. Slowly curious neighboring locals joined in and by sundown, half the town was involved. Eventually the crowd hungered and we closed up shop and headed out for dinner. A bottle of Raki and a Kuzu Shish later I said my goodbyes, promised I would visit again, and crashed on the bus. The world was spinning.

April 27, 2001

Arrived in Selcuk at 6am. A small and pleasant town a short distance from Ephesis, site of some important roman ruins. Off the bus I immediately began the hike taking pictures of wildflowers along the way. Lots of tourists, and lots of old rocks. Wasn't too thrilling.

Jumpers away! Up in the sky I noticed parachutes. An active airport just over the hill doing what I love the most. Ditched Ephesus and decided to redirect my days mission to skydiving. On the hike out, a hostel van pulled up. 'Wanna ride?' 'Sure!' Jumped in and immediately side tracked to lunch at Seven Sleepers. Once again, three old ladies, but this time without the extreme tourism and with good food at a reasonable price.

Afterwards I decided to set my pack down and check into the hostel. The gang decided it was a proper beach day and so into a cherry red 57' chevy and off we went. Stopped at the airport on our way. Apparently my license photocopy wasn't proof enough to make a jump, bummer. Layed on the beach for a few hours and returned to a BBQ Outback style.

A night of drinking games and second hand smoking, a stage I outgrew 5 years ago.

April 28, 2001

Had planned on leaving today for Pammulkale, but was easily talked ino staying the day to visit some mud baths nearby. Spent the afternoon walking around town. Took a visit to the berber for the best $1.50 haircut I have ever had, and treated myself to some shish. A nice town.

Returned by 5 to catch up with the gang and head to the bath only to find out they got excited and left early. Caught a dolmus. Was told they would pick me up at the site but saw the big red car returning on the way. Finding the bath was no easy task. After an hour of hiking through the countryside and hitching rides on a motorbike and a tractor I made it just as the sun set. A beautiful evening slopping in the mud all alone. Rinsed in a cave of dripping thermal waters and started my hike home.

Dolmuses quit at 6 and so I found myself thumb in the air and flashlight in hand on a 70k hitch home. Plenty of cars heading to Izmir but none to Selcuk. Offers to stay but I was determined to spend the night on the road in search of new adventure. After 20 minutes a van pulled over. The hostel van. Apparently they had been on the road for 2 hours looking for me after realising what happened.

Dissappointed in the lost adventure but impressed by their character I thanked them, jumped in, and returned home. Turkish people are extremely kind.

April 29, 2001

Mark, owner of the hostel was relived to see I made it back. Apparently the whole mixup caused him quite some stress.

Took an early bus to Pammukale, home of pools formed from a calcium rich spring. Pure white and rock hard the pools climb the side of a mountain some 1000m high. One day free running and open to lounging hippies, today peaked by a resort and piped water. A real dissappointment.

According to the postcards I was supposed to be lounging in the pools surrounded by hundreds of half naked women. In reality, a single file hike up and down one side of the mountain and 'certainly no entering of the pools'. A pricey tourist trap. My advice, skip it. Don't waste your time on this one.

Too late to catch a direct bus to Dalyan I caught one instead to Marmaris. Pulled in at 10pm and checked into a very seedy pension for $1. Spent the evening walking around the port watching young pretty women being wined and dined by sugar daddy rich and old sailors and their 60' yauchts. Another place you can safely skip without missing a thing.

April 30, 2001

Blazing hot sun. Early bus to Dalyan, another small coastal town. Schnitzel town. German package tourism as far as the eye can see. Didn't do much of anything today. Hiked up and down the delta and taught the locals Blackjack and got eaten alive by mosquitos.

May 1, 2001

If you can't beat em', join them. Took a full day boat tour to the mud baths, hot springs, roman ruins, and turtle beach. More fat and out of shape Germans per square inch then Berlin. All bone white, wearing speedos, and wondering why lunch doesn't include sausages. A real horror scene. Slightly overcast, but otherwise pleasant.

May 2, 2001

Arrived in Fethiye around noon and immediately set to work arranging a sail boat trip to Olympos further down the coast. V-Go travel to the rescue with '4 days and 3 nights of sun and fun'. Just what I need to ease the stresses as of lately. Opted out of a boat leaving tomorrow for a better deal on one the next day including waterskiing.

The wizard of Oz. I am not in Kansas anymore. Anzac Aussies and Kiwis everywhere. Spent the evenging showing the kids around town. It is suprising how little experience these travelers have outside of the well worn Lonely Planet paths.

Eventually we brought our buying power to the local hamam for an excellent experience. Everything I had ever hoped for in a Turkish bath and more. Everyone left glassy eyed and smiling. A real improvement over my previous experiences here.

May 3, 2001

As expected, the boat was cancelled due to a dozen or so excuses, none of which made any sense. 'Next boat, Saturday... You wait.' Okay, so now I have a few days to blow around here...

Daypack in hand, I took off to nearby Olundeniz beach for the afternoon. Incredibly irradescent and clear postcard grade blue waters in a crescent bay. You can even see the bottom at 50'. A day of swimming and sunburning.

Instead of returning to Fethiye, I decided to take a ferry further down the coast to Butterfly Valley. The payload, 6 fully equipped camp-aholics with all the latest gear and empty handed me. Butterfly Valley, a remote valley between two sheer rock cliffs with very few butterflies. Accomodation options, camping in the valley or scaling the rock faces to George's Pension at the top. Met two guys on the boat determined to make the climb, Jessie of NY and Boz of NZ, and joined in on the adventure.

A tough hour straight up, and I mean straight up. Climbing ropes, foot holds, and all. Thankfully I only brought a daypack, the others weren't so lucky. Less is more. During the climb the sun quickly retreated toward the horizon and no more then half an hour after reaching the top we were treated to one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen. 500 meters above the valley.

Welcome to George's Pension. A farm home opened up for crazy vagrants like me; where, besides a spectacular view, $4 will get you a bed, breakfast, and one of the most incredible home cooked dinners you have ever had. A hot shower and an evening of strumming a perfect sounding guitar held together by bubble gum glue and rusty nails. Just the three of us and Jackie, a masseuse girl from Oz. This is what dreams are made of.

May 4, 2001

It would be a sin to leave such a place so soon and miss out on another dinner, so I settled in for the day. Eventually the gang gathered enough ambition for a hike to the beach. A beach of slabs of crystalline rock baking in the sun and no one else as far as the eye can see. A hike to a peak overlooking Olundeniz. Surreal and breathtaking views. Coming to Turkey and missing this would be a big mistake. A great day.

Another relaxing night of great company, incredible dining, and more or less nothing.

May 5, 2001

Not wanting to miss my boat, I decided to hightail it back to Fethiye. Lost the trail on the climb down and ended up free climbing the sheer face for a half hour before finding my way back. A quickie to the waterfall deep in the heart of the valley and back to the boat to meet up with my new friends slow to rise.

Back in Fethiye, 'Boat will get here tomorrow... electric problems' V-Go = No go. The two heading on toward Kas said their farewells and split. I sat down to the internet and lost the day. A nice dinner outside of the tourist strip and night under the stars sleeping on the deck of a donor boat.

May 6, 2001

Today is the day to finally board the boat to Olympos. Packed with food and drink (more drink then food), a gang of 13 hopeful and quickly angering travelers sit and wait. It is noon and the boat has yet to arrive, and I would be personally suprised if it ever does.

With suprise it eventually did, and off we went one full mile down the coast before dropping anchor. Apparently the Greeks are reporting the perfect storm over the radio and the captian is hesitating. Spent the day swimming and windsurfing in a cove of deep blue waters and shifting winds. A couple unuccessful attempts at windurfing.

The gang, divided perfectly into two and a half groups; the conservative 'we are here to relax'ers, the all out partiers, and me. One of the interesting conservatives, a girl helicopter pilot of the Australian Army. The crew is leaning toward the free radicals. A reckless night of drinking, belly dancing, and deep discussions on the proper way to eat mangos and why everything tastes like chicken.

May 7, 2001

Strong winds and rain all night. Looks like there may be some truth in the storm scare. Can you believe that in the month I have been here not a hint of rain until I board a boat and then all hell breaks loose. I am beginning to believe this trip was jinxed from the start.

The captain fires up the engines, pulls the anchor, and turns back toward Fethiye. Frustrated by the inconsiderations of last night, the two groups divide even further. 'I am going to have to have a bitch' one of the conservatives pipes up during breakfast. 'Blah Blah Blah, inconsiderate and must stop' 'Blah Blah Blah, a 12 o clock curfew' 'Blah Blah Blah, and you shouldn't sleep on the Turkish flag' Tensions rise.

Back in Fethiye the conseratives decided to cut their losses and take a partial refund to rent a car. The free radicals smiled of certain victory and dug in deeper, deciding to stay on the boat and hope for a better tomorrow. An early night.

May 8, 2001

As luck would have it, the weather turned raw; however, the crew carried a renewed determination to make a trip out of it and set sail anyways. However, instead of heading South toward Olympos we turned North toward the 12 Islands. But then again none of the crew speaks english so this is really just our best guess. A well outlined trip suddenly turns haphazard and we are all just trying to enjoy ourselves. In blissful ignorance the drinking and bonding continues and by the time the boat drops anchor in a second remote cove the gang has become a tribe, wearing tshirts on their heads and playing charades. Everyone has a tribal name. Mine is Mango.

Took some time off the boat to walk around the island alone. Isolated and beautiful. An unsurpassed view of the surrounding islands, birds swooping down to scare me and storm clouds looming. Heavy rains begin and I rush my way back toward the boat where the tribe continues on toward oblivion.

After ignoring a persistantly ringing cellphone all morning the captain finally decides to answer it. On to pick up three more passengers and restock the boat. A dingy paddles out and three girls board, taken back by the tribal initiation they reluctantly join in. The games and island hoping continues its way into another reckless night.

May 9, 2001

We awake to a beautiful morning and hopes of getting to Olympos are high. Still no signs from the crew either way. A bit of windsurfing. The food onboard is excellent but I am tiring of its predictability.

We pull anchor and move on to a small port town further North where we finally receive word that we will not make it to Olympos. The tribe angers and the negotiations begin. The decision is to stay the night and board a private dolmus tomorrow to travel to Olympos by land, stopping at the sights on the way. Dissappointed but not wanting to create waves I go with it. More carrying on.

Poetry by Steve - One Candle

May 10, 2001

After breakfast we said our goodbyes to the crew which was obviously sad to see us go and packed into the dolmus finally heading South. A sightly tribe indeed, not sure what to do back in the land of norms. After a few hours of rah-rahs and sing alongs we rolled out and onto Oludeniz beach for some lounging. Back in the van and onto Kas, a town with no obvious appeal.

After a quick stop we were back on the road to what quickly became know as Tube Town (Myra). After looking down on the agricultural mecca of Turkey with its thousands of closely packed greenhouses the name seemed to fit. Checked into a pension and whilst the rest of the tribe sat down to an arranged dinner I hijacked a motorbike on its way into the Centrum. A small town center without much of anything going on but strangely pleasent.

Back at the pension the tribe rallied and off we went in the back of a pickup truck full of wood to the beach for a bonfire. A full moon and music. Beautiful.

May 11, 2001

Hired a 4 seater boat to take the 12 of us to see some offshore sites. A pirate cave, kinda boring. A sunken city (Kekova), really boring (no swimming allowed). A castle island (Simena), where I spent a roll of film almost immediately. A climb up the mountain affords you an incredible view of the surrounding islands you won't forget. This is a 'must do'.

On the way back down an ice cream caught my eye and 3 twinkies, a box of cookies, and a bottle of wine later I was feeling pretty good. 'Sorted' as the Aussies say. The best of Daryl (mango) in full form, where for the firsyt time in 3 days I successfully outdid the rest of the tribe. I surely had them scratching their heads. A magical and crazy adventure the rest of the way down the coast to our final destination, Olympos.

Tree houses and tourists, that is it. Don't get me wrong, it is for sure a lovely place, and you should see it, but you won't find any locals here. $5 a day gets you breakfast, dinner, and a house on stilts, or if you whine hard enough a tree house, which is exactly what I did. A penthouse suite in the tallest tree in the forest.

After dinner we all packed into a van to see the 'eternal flames' of Chimeara. At the end of an endless trail up, a rock face littered with natural gas leaks ignited by the air. Literally a field of flames. With lightening filling in the backdrop, a unique and memorable experience.

May 12, 2001

A lazy day. A hike to the typically rocky beach and my first game of cricket (if you can't beat em join em). Cricket is a silly game of bowling to a batter who tries protecting his wicket and frantically runs back and forth scoring points along the way. It was actually pretty fun in a strange Euro way, but that could have just been the beer and the crowd.

The rest of the tribe took off toward Cappadocia. I decided to head to Antalya tomorrow morning for a day to play my own game of internet catchup before continuing on. We will meet again. Said our heartfelt goodbyes and promised to keep in touch and do a reunion tour someday.

An evening around the campfire fueled by Mexican travel talk by the self proclaimed expert.

May 13, 2001

The early morning bus to Antalya - 40 miles, 2 stops, and 2 washes. Between all the hamams and bus stops Turkey must consume more soap and water then anywhere else on earth. I have been to Antalya before and only planned on using the city to play internet catchup. Over 150 photos, 2 weeks of story, and dozens of emails. A relative success using the fastest computers I have seen in Turkey so far. Finished up just in time for the night bus to Goreme.

May 14, 2001

Originally I had planned to skip Goreme on the way to Syria as I have also been there before, but it is actually on the way and the tribe calls. Didn't get a second of sleep on the way. The prices have doubled from 3 months ago; however I managed to negotiate me previous arrangements at the Panorama Pension. Met up with the gang returning from a tour later in the evening, did dinner, and made plans to rent motos tomorrow and spend the evening in the hot springs which I was dissappointed to have missed last time. My bargaining skills seem to impress the locals so much that they have been giving me everything for free and offering me jobs. Not interested.

May 15, 2001

Moved the tribe over to my pension saving them each $10 a night and causing a scene between the pension owners who along with every business in town have 'agreed' on a fixed pricing.

Picked up a motorbike from a friend of a friend and took off for the day with Zoe. Together we rode with a smile from town to town taking in the local life. Invited in for teas and a photo shoot. Recently I have been averaging around 20 teas per day, and the caffeine is starting to get to me. By the time the heavy rains began we realized we were 100k from home and quickly our smiles vanished. A long, miserable, and cold trip home, stopping along the way at gas stations for a warming and a tea. It didn't have much affect on me as it really wasn't much compared to my rides through Mexico, but I think it got to Zoe.

Returned just in time to catch the van to the hot springs. Hot curative waters, an incredible massage, and a good BBQ had us all smiling again. I couldn't have asked for a better night.

May 16, 2001

Day 2 on the bike, this time with Carol, an older lady from England. Scattered light rains, a much better day. Spent a bit of time with the bike owner and family at their onyx shop, who invited us in for dinner and the night. A small family of 4, modest in their dwellings. Two children, Mustafa a school aged boy busy learning English and Jasmine a newborn girl.

May 17, 2001

Day 3 on the bike, again with Carol. Only a brief light rain, an excellent day. Spent half the day at a gas station drinking tea with a road crew and the other half watching half the town watch one man knee deep in mud trying to fix a leaky waterpipe. What about the other half of the town? Content to spend their days just sitting and staring. Caught a beautiful rainbow off in the distance.

May 18, 2001

The first rain free day and ofcourse I returned the bike yesterday. Spent the day just laying in the sun, taking photos, and saying our goodbyes. At 10pm the buses came and with teary eyes the tribe parted. Some to Bursa, some to Konya, and me a last second decision to head east to Kahta to see the rock faces of Mt. Nemrut before entering Syria a full month later then expected as expected. A great gang, I will miss them all.

May 19, 2001

Hoping to get some shuteye during the long overnight ride I popped the cork on a bottle of local red wine Rebecca had given me. Within minutes the conductor was trying to shove the cork back into the bottle. 'What an ass' I thought. It wasn't until I reached Kahta 9 hours later when the only english speaking person in town informed me I was in the middle of Kurd country now. Real muslims and strictly no drinking. '...very very bad...' he continued 'His father murdered for drinking' pointing to another shaking his head in shame. Immediately I corked up and buried the bottle as deep in my bag as possible. Now who is the ass? Lucky for me my Jamaican necklace colors just happen to match those of the Kurdish flag, causing the people to believe I am some sort of freedom fighter.

Kahta, a dodgy small town with plenty of sheisters feeding on the lure of Nemrut. After some typical indecisiveness and cheapassness about joining a canned tour to the heads I lost the group of girls I had arrived with and started wandering town in search of a quiet place to take a nap. Before long I was properly sidetracked. There I sit sharing lunch with a construction crew taking a break from building the next big marketplace. Fresh pide bread and a tray of grilled tomatoes and peppers. Impressively simple and tasty.

Back to work, with great pride they demonstrated their trade, quick to point out their lack of technology. Building the old way, with weights and string.

After a quick nap at the site I borrowed a bike for a look around. Quickly I got myself into and out of trouble taking pictures of the gypsy children camped just on the outskirts of town.

Back with the crew, I was invited in for dinner and the night. A bottomless bowl of yogurt and Dolmas and a peaceful 4 hours of sleep before heading out by foot to see the sunrise from Nemrut.

May 20, 2001

After a bit of walking and deciding I would never make it in time without some help I thumbed up. Before long a bus of teachers visiting from Bodrum pulled over and I was on my way. Unfortunately none of them had any clue where they were going and by the time we made it the sun had been up for an hour. As far as Nemrut goes, this one is a no brainer, skip it because it sucks. Instead spend your time walking around Kahta practicing the art of avoiding eye contact.

Another child festival day thanks to good ol' Ataturk. Made the mistake of bringing my pack with me and drew loads of unwanted and relentless attention. So much that to leave town without conflict required me to turn over my half empty bottle of wine to a thirsty deviant who after following me around for half the day instantly stashed it and dissappeared. I just hope they don't kill him, he wasn't all that bad, just starving for a taste of Islamic sin. A desert oasis. You really gotta question tradition and religeon sometimes.

Relieved to get a dolmus and leave that all behind. One good thing about travel is that it is easy to make problems dissappear, you just leave. Had planned to switch buses in Urfa and head straight to Syria, but met Ridvan, and interesting local at the otogar who convinced me Urfa was worth a day. Checked into a dank old hotel in the old town center, took a shower, and did my laundry.

Later met up with Ridvan for a great dinner and some heavy discussion about the Kurdish struggle. A struggle I liken to that of the blacks in America. The real problem here lies in an incompetant system of justice and ignorance of the people towards its reform.

May 21, 2001

In contrast to the initial trashy appearance at the otogar, old town Urfa is actually quite beautiful. The oldest city in Turkey, dating some 2000 years and claiming to be the birthplace of Abraham and many other religeous figures. Narrow Venician streets, huge elaborate mosques, and high quality/low price bazaars. The main attraction being a park with a lake full of thousands of fat and lazy fish. Great kebaps and a castle with a great view overlooking the city. All this and suprisingly very few foreign tourists (I saw 2), mostly local toursists and others from Middle Eastern countries like Syria and Iran. The only thing it could do without is the 'just married' caravans of honking blazing cars that seem to cruise the strip on the hour.

Spent the day just strolling around and meeting with various curious locals, all a little strange, in particular Ridvan. A true intellectual. A discussion about the virtues and rules of being Muslim and why no one seems to follow them and why chasing people down the street to sell them carpets just doesn't work. Isn't it obvious?

Syria

May 22, 2001

Packed up and took an early dolmus to the border town of Akchakale in order to finally cross into Syria. A small and typical border town flustering with activity and people trying to convince you you need a cab to make it 1k to the border gates.

After sitting for an hour for a cup of chai with the guards the crossing went unexpectedly smooth. By far the easiest crossing so far. Apparently they only see a dozen or so crossers per day.

After avoiding a few inflated offers for rides I stepped onto Syrian soil. Welcome to Syria where the official language is Arabic, the unit of currency is the Syrian pound trading at 50:1, and gas is cheaper then water at .50 a gallon. In Turkey it is $4 a gallon, world politics.

Walking down the dirt road entering the Syrian side town was in many ways surreal. Unlike Turkey, no one badgering me to buy a carpet, infact there was no one at all. A ghost town of sorts but still very much alive. Every now and then a child would peer out from behind a cracked door for a quick 'hallo' before once again dissappearing. Simple square cement brick buildings with eleborate entryway designs announcing a pilgrimage to Mecca. An inspiring travel scene.

After an hour of perplexing over the signs in Arabic (chicken scratch) I found my way the the garage. Bus to Aleppo, a 2 hour wait and one of only 2 buses leaving the garage today. Not a busy station by any standards. In good time the curious locals gathered rags covering their heads and all, and for the entire time were convinced I knew Arabic and could drink their water. The usual 20 questions and then another 20. Strange people.

Eventually the Pullman Tourister arrived and off we went. The countryside, flat as a board, dry as a desert, and dotted with villages of some 20 or so adobe huts separated by miles of fields of wheat. The road, no lanes just poured asphalt just wide enough for 2 and a half small cars. The driver, a crazy lunatic obsessed with playing tunes on his 3 note symphonic horn. The ride, $1 and 4 hours of the scariest roller coaster ride I have ever been on. A minute didn't pass without either a trumpeting of the horns or a near miss. Needless to say by the time we arrived I had quite a headache and an uneasy stomach.

Aleppo, welcome to a real shit hole. I don't mean that in an entirely negative way but this place is a real piece of work. Old, rundown, crowded, dirty, loud, and haphazard. Dilapidated buildings, strung loose wiring, antennae and satellite dishes across the skyline, as much litter on the streets as people, and 10 taxis for each car all at once honking and swerving all over the place in a fashion that would make even a NY taxi driver grip tight and cringe. In comparison this city makes Istanbul look like Santa Barbara.

Together my local bus mate brushed me under his wing and off we went in a taxi to his home for family introductions and to find a shawrma and a place to stay. $3 a night across from the museum. My stomach is telling me there is trouble on the horizon.

May 23, 2001

With great ambition I got up and out of bed early. A few hours of footing around the streets found myself back in bed, sick. Cold, shaking, coughing, and peeing from my butt. 'Whoas me!'

Later in the evening my friend showed up and took me to a pharmacy where a 'doctor' prescribed me with:
  • Trimezole - Anti-Bacterial - 2/day, 5 days
  • Flagyl - Anti-Parasitic - 500mg, 3/day, 7 days
  • Ibuprofen & Actifed (I decided not to take) costing a total of $2 and made with pride in Aleppo. 'Oh no!'

    May 24, 2001

    Sick in bed. Looks like I am not headed anywhere too soon.

    May 25, 2001

    Once again my ambitions got me up to tour the citadel and wander the old town streets and bazaars for a few hours in the morning before returning to bed. The word that enters my mind everytime I step outside is 'insane'. It isn't possible for me to paint for you a picture of this city. Utterly complex, a place you cannot be prepared for and must experience to believe but may never understand. Sensory overload. This is no place for a recovering white boy. Everything I do only makes me sicker.

    Yet, amongst all the chaos live some of the kindest and dearest people in the world. To give rather then to take and showing no signs of hostility contrary to American perception. In part, I attribute this behavior to them knowing that the rest of the world doesn't like them and feeling pressure to overcome this. Also in part, to the fact that I must appear to be some sort of immigration officer ready to hand them an American visa for being a friend. Anyways, regardless of the reason everyone I have met has gone out of their way to help me and unlike Turkey expect nothing in return. They are a good people and deserve a greater respect.

    Met the gang in the evening for my first decent meal in 2 days.

    May 26, 2001

    Starting to feel better, hopefully tomorrow I will continue on.

    May 27, 2001

    While attempting to check my email I got sucked into spending the day hopelessly revamping the internet cafe computer system. The government proxies all communications and it makes for a crap condition. The first year of internet in Syria and absolutely nothing works.

    May 28, 2001

    A few people pointed at Latakia on the way so that is where I decided to go. A mediterranean port town supposedly with fresh air and none of the annoyances of Aleppo. Exactly what I need to get better I thought.

    Another lunatic bus. Staring in the face of another Aleppo, only slightly smaller and less congested. In desparation I headed out of town in a dolmus and found semi-peace in a nearby beach village. A local vacation spot with overpriced and tasteless bungalows crowding an unattractive and badly littered beach.

    A bad fish dinner. I cut my losses and camped out on the pier where I learned my mosquito net isn't very good at stopping mosquitos.

    May 29, 2001

    A restless night. As soon as the sun came up I saw it as my break and dolmused my way out of town further down the coast in search of an oasis. First stop Jableh. A small and unimpressive town with its only attraction being a poorly preserved Roman amphitheater and a polluted coast. Wandering the streets I met an agricultural engineer who imports vegetable seeds into Syria from Holland, France, and America. He invited me to join him to Bania on the coastal scenic road where he arranged for me a motorbike to see some of the supposedly beautiful surrounding mountains and castles. Unfortunately, not wanting to leave the bike with a stranger, it also came with a driver. A crazy but non-adventurous driver at that. Happy to wiz around town overloaded and at dangerous speeds but with no interest in going deep into the mountains where he had never been before. After considerable arm twisting he finally gave way and we managed a decent trip to Hamam Waser and back, affording spectacular views of the surrounds and renewing my faith in Syria as a travel destination. Terraced stone mountains with small villages dotting its sides and castles at its peaks. Having squeezed that grape for all its worth I continued on to Tartus for the night.

    May 30, 2001

    Syria has no ATMs so bring cash and be prepared to wait in line at the bank. The Syrian Government Bank. The only bank.

    After a leasure stroll through town I boarded a dolmus to explore the mountainside village of Safita. Enroute I met a local civil engineer and he and his friend invited me in and proceeded to show me around for the day.

    A sidetrip to Dreikiche, famous for its spring water and a climb of the tower for a panoramic sunset of the area. Later on they helped me find the only computer in town to check my email and show them my website.

    The worst internet of any country by far. Not only slower then postal mail, but monitored by the government. Within 15 minutes of accessing my email and website for the first time, they were both explicitly denied access. No wonder it is so slow, someone is sitting there reading everything that gets sent. A real load of crap. Web updates from here are not possible.

    May 31, 2001

    It is entirely possible to get lost wandering the ancient streets of Syria's only island, Arwad. With a camera in hand, that is exactly what I did. An old castle island with a catecomb of Venician streets and ofcourse typically with the rest of Syria littered with trash.

    The main industry on the island is ship building. It took me a year to build a simple 14 foot hovercraft from cut lumber. These guys go from tree to 24 foot boat in 2 months using only the most basic handtools. Amazing.

    After circling the island twice making many friend along the way I decided to return to the hotel, pick up my gear and move on. But first, before leaving I was required to share lunch with the hotel family. In return I helped the kids interface an electronic project to their stone aged computer. MS-DOS, LPT ports, and Quick BASIC, the good ol days.

    Too late to catch a bus all the way to Mashtal Helu, I stopped in Safita for the night and to meet up with my local friends. My stomach seems to be really acting up again after having finished the prescribed medicine.

    June 1, 2001

    My first world tour hospitalization!

    At 2am I awoke in a cold sweat, breathing heavily and terribly stomach sick. I hardly made it to the door before collapsing on the ground groaning 'hospital'. The hotel management awake and sipping Mate made light of it chuckling until I started simultaneously vomiting and shitting all over the floor. Immediately one ran for the police while the others made themselves as far away and lost as possible trying to hide on the back side of a glass door. By the time the service arrived I had packed my bags and cleaned my mess, leaving $4 and my dirty underwear behind.

    For the next half hour, instead of promptly rushing me to the hospital, the police decided it best to harass me thinking I was a product of drunkeness. All the while the van driver lulled around and delayed, crying for me to pay his 10x inflated rate upfront and determined I didn't really need to go anywhere. There I lay in the back of the empty van shaking and incapacitated trying my best to demand the one hour trip to Homs, the nearest big city with decent care.

    Eventually they gave in and off I went. A typically .50 trip cost me $15, all the while the driver trying to pawn me off on anyone slightly resembling a doctor. Having been in this type of situation before in Mexico, I persisted in stubborness to leave the van until we finally reached a real hospital with an english speaking aid. Carried into the ER and after sufficient and intelligent questioning was admitted into the hospital.

    After putting holes in both arms the nurse finally found a vein and set me up with IV solution and something to knock me out. Drifting into a deep sleep trying to reassure myself that everything would be okay in the morning.

    Day 1

    I awoke in the morning with a dry mouth and a wet hand. At some point during the night the improperly inserted IV started to leak. Working up all my energy I successfully put the IV back together just in time for breakfast. An egg, olives, cheese, and milk. Hardly appropriate for someone admitted for gasto-intestinal illness. It is times like this when I wonder if these people have any common sense. Atleast I have a real toilet, a moderately clean bed, and to my surprise they appear to be using sterile needles.

    By 11am I met with the specialist, a self-proclaimed 'expert' in the field. After discussing my current condition, my past travel illnesses, and my family history he took an ultrasound in search of liver cysts. He reassured me everything looked good and sent me back to my room in preparation for a full colonoscopy tomorrow morning in search of colon troubles. From the sound of it this treatment will cost me $200.

    After 4 liters of ColoClean solution, a foul drink somewhere between sweet and sweaty foot water and carrot juice, and 6 hours on the toilet, I am convinced my insides couldn't be cleaner. I hope everything goes smoothly tomorrow.

    June 2, 2001

    Day 2

    Once again a complete breakfast first thing in the morning. This time the confusion is in the fact that I am supposed to be fasting until after the examination. 5 minutes later the nurse realizes she made a mistake and returns to notify me not to eat what she just brought and leaves without taking it with her. 5 minutes later she returns once again to take it back.

    Apparently they aren't as convinced as I am that I am clean enough. My first enema. A man with a big grin on his face clutching a pump and a long tube enters the room. After an unpleasent experience he directs me to the bathroom which I thought obvious.

    Off to the OR. A painful and burning shot in the arm, and after that everything is a blur. About an hour later I wake with another tube hanging out of my ass trying to comprehend the surgeon who is now convinced I am comprehending him fully and prescribing me with some medication.
  • Fasigyn - Anti-Parasitic - 2g in the evening, once
  • De-Spasm - Colon Tranquilizer - 3/day 30m before meals, 10 days All I really understood was 'Good news... No problems... Like you born yesterday...'

    Pushing me to leave the hospital still in a trance reminding me to return tomorrow to pick up the video and report. I pack my bags in a daze, manage to bargain the price down from $250 to $150 and step out onto the street.

    Spent the rest of the day strolling around slowly trying to recover. Homs, an unimpressive city much like Aleppo but more tolerable, especially on this Friday as all businesses are closed. Met an English student who invited me in.

    June 3, 2001

    Spent the entire morning at the hospital waiting for the video and report and finalizing the negotiations. After everything, a bus to Mashtal Helu, a village in the mountains with a decent panorama. On to Hosn Sleiman a twisted village with Haram ruins where to this day the men sit around all day at home while their 4 wives each with 10 children are out in the fields bringing home the bacon.

    Too late to make it to Hama, the driver after jacking the price up from $2 to $20 and settling for $4 dropped me off in Mystas. In order to avoid dealing with anymore sheisters, to the top of the mountain I climbed and setup camp in an olive orchard. A warm and pleasent evening with a steady breeze and an incredible view.

    June 4, 2001

    Reached Hama early enough to realize it wasn't worth the stay. Another dirty city famous for its waterwheels that make a racket as they move the river water to the fields.

    After being harassed for an hour at the bus station by kids insting on 'baksheesh' (money) the bus to Palmyra set sail. 2 and a half hours sweating in an overcrowded Pullman in the middle of the Syrian desert. Palmyra, a true desert oasis surrounded by sand as far as the eye can see. Littered with ruins and an impressive castle overlooking it all. Similar in spirit to Turkey's Cappadocia and likewise a town fueled entirely by tourism. None the less a worthwhile visit.

    Checked into a hotel for $4, took a shower, washed my clothes, and hiked the castle for sunset. Beautiful. Met my first tourists in Syria. A photojournalist from London, man from Holland travelling by BMW, and a doctor from Beirut. Joined them for dinner. Asked me to call if I make it to Beirut.

    June 5, 2001

    The hottest day so far, spent wandering through the desert ruins and the palmed oasis. Picked up a white mandel to cover my face and head as I have seen Arabs wearing. A real savior in the desert sun.

    Happened across the spring of sulphur rich water fueling the oasis and took a long swim along with the local kids. I like Palmyra, a living dream land. Somewhere until now I have only heard about in story books.

    A midday siesta and out again in the evening for dinner. The winds really pick up at night and chill the air. The streets, typically empty during the day fill with life. I am invited in for chit chat and chai. The usual 20 questions and force feeding. Unfortunately the extreme hospitality is wearing on me. Anonymity isn't an option as I stick out like a camel in a swimming pool. I would like to explore blending in through dress.

    June 6, 2001

    Decided to accelerate my motion a little and take the early bus to Damascus. The trip went quickly as I filled the time talking to some Aussies while trying to absorb the Jordan section of their Lonely Planet. I haven't been using any guidebooks and almost think it is better this way. I am liberated from the beaten path. A good map could really help though. I know the journey is more then the destination but it is comforting atleast knowing relatively where you are.

    Joined the gang to the 'recommended' hotel and after unsuccessfully haggling .50 off the price of a rooftop bed left out of principle. Happened into the Ziad hotelfrequented only by locals. A dorm style room shared with three men from Jordan. A great lunch soup at the connected Sudanese restaurant. 100% African (I was thge only white) and the best food in town as far as I am concerned. No Lonely Planet crowd here and I am happy for it.

    Strolled the bazaar streets of the old town. Damascus is claimed to be the oldest city in the world. Much cleaner, quieter, and more interesting the Aleppo. A relief from what I was expecting.

    Happened into a hamam. Half the price of Turkey and half the quality.

    June 7, 2001

    Service to Sedanaya, a small village 15k outside of Damascus. Lots of churches and a story about some virgin saint, nothing terribly thrilling. No service 25k onward to Malula so I hitchhiked instead. Hitchhiking in Syria is not as easy as it sounds. Imagine trying to grab the attention of a single track minded Arab barreling down the road at supersonic speeds determined that with Allah as his co-pilot to set new land speed records. You basically have to stand in the middle of the road with a machine gun jumping up and down and waving your arms, which is what I did, enlisting the help of a soldier. The back of a pickup full of building tiles.

    Malula, a much more interesting site with great views from sheer cliffs riddled with caves. Instantly a local took a liking to me and guided me around, offered me to use his shower, and served me lunch. Another 'California dreamer', hopeful that Allah willing and with my help will someday bring him to America. I feel sorry for their political position. Here I am travelling the world while they only dream of someday leaving their village. Saddening.

    Back to Damascus. More street wandering. Back at the hotel Abdullah, one of the Jordanians guided me through all the styles of wearing a mandel. Meticulously documented through photo, and one step closer to anonymity.

    Lebanon

    June 8, 2001

    I was told by another vagrant that I could get a 48 hour transit visa to Lebanon for free so I decided to give it a go. No problems, no border hassles, couldn't have been easier.

    Welcome to Lebanon, to my surpise a big step closer to western life. The currency, Lebanese pounds at 1500:1 but dollars are prefered. The speak, half Arabic half English. ATMs and internet, McDonalds and KFC, economically a little rich for my budget travel blood.

    The bus ride over the mountains and dropping into Beirut offered a spectacular view. A wartorn city along a beautful coastline, recovering from its past at a remarkable rate. Fifteen years of civil war ended but 7 years ago, and if it weren't for a few remaining machine gun riddled buildings you would never know. Business card in hand I set out to find Omar, a friend met in Palmyra.

    The American University of Beirut. One of the 10 most beautiful campuses in the world and argueably the most posh. Where some of the richest and most beautiful of all set down their cellphones to socialize in strict English over an $8 cocktail. If you didn't know any better you would think you were at UCSB.

    Omar welcomed me in, quite surprised that I actually made it and set me up with the first working internet I have seen in almost a month to catch up on my email. With some difficulty he also helped me to find a cheap hotel.

    A long walk up and down the coast during sunset. Beirut is quite a bit different then I had anticipated.

    June 9, 2001

    Spent the day making my way up the coast. First stop Junei, where I took a lift to the top of the mountain for a world class panorama from the temple of Mother Harisa, the Lebanese 'holy lady'. An expensive climb at $7 but well worth it. Next stop Jabel, famous for its TamTam beach and the Babel ruins. They are certainly not riding the conservative side of the muslim spectrum here. Women wearing next to nothing and flirting hard with men who work equally hard to impress. Guess they forgot to read their Koran. Took a tan and a swim and browsed the ruins. A nice and relaxing afternoon.

    Back in Beirut to meet up with Omar and friends for a night of posh bars in the middle of the cross fire district. After being billed $8 for my 1st cocktail I decided to make it my last. I think the conversation was good but it was hard to tell over the blaring music. An inflated social scene I could do without.

    June 10, 2001

    Everyone was convinced I couldn't leave Lebanon without first seeing Balbak, so off I went. Balbak is a nice small town with some massive and impressive ruins, but I wouldn't call it a must see. Ran into the BMW man from Palmyra making his way South. Nice conversation.

    Well my 48 hours have expired and even though Lebanon deserves more time I decided to keep moving instead of extending the visa. Back at the border, $20 under the table got me back into the corrupt land of Syria, the bastards. Caught a ride South to Chahba on my way to Jordan. A very small village with an even smaller museum. 3 rocks and a few tiles. Invited in for dinner and the night, terribly friendly people.

    Jordan

    June 11, 2001

    A quick stop in Bosra to see what all the hype was about. A Roman forum and a town of beduins still living in the scattered ruins. Enough of that, on to the border.

    Talked a taxi down from $5 to $1 and spent the next two hours sitting at the gates while the guards thoroughly strip searched every car, pulling out door panels and carpets. Apparently the activity between Israel and Palestine has them worried. Otherwise a smooth crossing after paying the $15 for a Jordan visa, a pleasent surprise from the $40 I was expecting. I probably could have asked the taxi driver for it as having me in the car only helped to grease the wheels for him to smuggle 'cigarettes' over the border which was his real business from the start. Dropped off as soon as possible without it being obvious. He didn't seem to concerned about my dollar.

    Welcome to the kingdom of Jordan where the dinar is king and trades at .7:1. A late night delivery to Idleb, the closest city where I determined myself to find a place to stay for free just for the fun of it. A failed attempt at a rooftop followed by a streetside invite in with some kids from the university studying computer science. After writing them a hash table in C++ to complete their assignment I took a nice shower and hit the bed.

    June 12, 2001

    I had planned to press on to Jarash but instead spent the day at the fastest internet cafe in the middle east happily updating my website after a month of inactivity. Alot of work, but well worth it. Back at the house I helped on another computer project before bed.

    Being an Arab

  • Men - Wear either cheap patterned office clothing or a robe and a rag on your head
  • Women - Drape a black sheet over your entire body
  • Say one thing and do another
  • Call all foreigners 'my friend' and then demand for 'baksheesh'
  • Continue to talk to them in Arabic even if they don't understand you
  • Begin every sentance with 'lah lah lah...'
  • Instead of simply saying 'no', click your tongue and raise your head like a camel ready to spit
  • Grow a hump on your stomach instead of your back
  • Eat portions that make your cheeks bulge (with perseverence the effect will be permanent)
  • Despite there being toothbrush stands on every street corner, never brush your teeth
  • Practice chain smoking
  • Have your nose enlarged, broken, and bent half way down
  • Spend hours picking your nose and flicking it
  • Throw your trash indiscriminately
  • Drive like a maniac

    June 13, 2001

    Jarash, another 'must see' in all the guidebooks, and like Bosra only so so in my book. More roman ruins. I guess I am jaded of these sorts of sites. Instead of using the main entrance, I walked around back and found an open service entrance saving me the outrageous $7 entry fee. The days here are extremely and increasingly hot and dry, not my ideal clime. On to Amman, Jordan's capital city.

    June 14, 2001

    The Grand Baghdad hotel. $2 a night for a bed on the roof and a bipolar owner that works hard to find reasons to make a fuss, assuring you an unpleasent stay. The last time I leave my shoes outside the shower for sure.

    Sunrise at 6:30, and sadly my Mexican Specials have given in for the last time. After a hard year on the road and a half dozen shoddy repairs they are begging for retirement. Upon picking them up for another day, both heel straps fell off simultaneously. I took it as a sign. A proper burial is in order. I will miss them.

    An unbearably hot day of walking around downtown. A Roman amphitheater where I met a local jazzed on imitating American moviestars and shuttered by my suggestion that I was not religeous. It blew him away. Listening to him go on and on about Islam provided some good comic relief for the first 30 minutes, but quickly got old. Conversations here seem to be one sided and go in circles. I assume this to be a language problem.

    Left that behind and climbed Citadel Hill, one of 7 surrounding hills that fence in the old and only interesting part of downtown. Explored the citadel with little interest and got a decent panorama on the city. A stop for a soda on the way back turned into another 'take me to America' scene and after brushing it off, returned to the hotel for a siesta.

    Back out in the evening for dinner with a couple from London who upon returning to the hotel caused all hell to break loose by telling the manager he was an ass. Again hours of onesided and circular argueing, eventually leaving the poor man feeling somewhat sorry for his behavior but still convinced that it is his life and his business and he can do whatever he wants. Me, confused and tired.

    Tomorrow I think I will make a trip around the desert castles.

    June 15, 2001

    Said my goodbyes and packed out early taking with me all my gear in preparation for the unexpected. The manager gave a very kind goodbye, we must have struck a chord in him.

    After a couple hours of wandering through the markets dressed like an Arab (it seems to draw more attention, maybe it is the pack) I happened across my next pair of sandals. 'Air Jordans', stylish and synthetic and talked down from $18 to $7. Clinging to the side of my pack, I could almost hear my Specials let out a sigh of relief. It is never easy finding a replacement for something so dear.

    Back on my feet I eventually made my way from one bus to the next to the castles. 3 castles and all very boring, not at all worth the time. Atleast I found the waterwell of one to be a perfect place for the burial.

    Hitchhiked my way back and all the way on to Madaba, home of some famous church tiles. Skipped it. Settled for a few falafels at a small restaurant and the owner invited me to stay the night.

    June 16, 2001

    Streetside falafel stand turned super disco night club. When I was invited in for the night they said the restaurant closed at midnight. Maybe so but that is when the loud music, lights, and partying crowd began, carrying on until sunrise. All I heard was my name, America, Clinton, and Monica Lewinski followed by laughing repeated over and over. Apparently the impromtu party was out of excitement for me being there. I wasn't so excited, just curled up in a corner of the empty 'women only' section hidden in my sleeping bag and trying to get some rest. That didn't stop them. Guess I shouldn't complain, the spot on the floor and all the abuse came for free.

    Up at sunrise and on the road half walking and half hitching the 25k to the Main Hotsprings. The springs are situated at the top of the mountains overlooking the Dead Sea. Picked up by three like age and minded local tourists taking a break from the hectic life of Amman. Beautiful views along the way. Blocked off by a resort, we managed to negotiate reduced fares and get in.

    Incredible 100 degree hotsprings, cascading down from 60' over moss covered sulphuric stone and clay. Within 10 minutes we had passed the 'don't climb' signs and were lounging happy in pools at the top. A lazy hour later we managed to work our way to the fresh water olympic pool for a swim and evetually on to the second and larger spring. A cave turned into a natural steam room and a waterfall into a hard hitting shower. Only a handful of local tourists, magnificent.

    Together we continued on back to Madaba for a mixed grill lunch (the food seems to be cheaper and better if you speak Arabic) and then onto the Dead Sea. With 4 times the concentration of salt of normal ocean water you simply cannot sink. It feels like you are sitting on a raft. I even floated out with my camera gear in hand, unbelievable.

    Back to Madaba, picked up my gear and off we went to some campground 10k South of Amman. A locals only hangout and pickup scene. The guys trying to look cool repeatedly dragging their Pintos up and down the entrance road while the liberal girls (only half shrowded) walked around with makeup kits trying to appear uninterested. No one talking.

    Eventually the three amigos gave up on the hopeless scene and took off for home. I decided to stay the night as it *is* a campground contrary to the fact that no one was interested in camping there. More social gatherings. Beduins, music, clapping, and dancing. A real experience. Tired of the games I used my camera (my 'unbreakable' flashlight broke) as a light and searched for a quiet place to camp. A cool breeze and a million stars. A day and night I will never forget.

    June 17, 2001

    Hitchhiked to Karak. Spent most of the day in the home of the town preacher. With wife carefully hidden behind closed curtains and kids and neighbors passing in and out he force fed me eggs, hummus, and olives while trying to convert me to muslim. Koran in hand and conveniently translated into English for me to enjoy. After a session of prayer at the mosque watching the locals chant while bouncing up and down from feet to knees I was set free.

    Too late in the day to enter the castle, I just stood outside to watch the sunset. Determined to save a buck and continue the adventure I set off across the countryside in search of a place to camp. An old orchard. A cold and windy night with looming storms clouds. Awoke in the middle of the night and decided it best to pitch my tent. The winds pressed harder but no rain. A sore throat, cough, and headache is developing.

    June 18, 2001

    Hitchhiked to the Afra Hotsprings turnoff and began the 15k hike with gear through the desert canyons. Sweaty and tired I enjoyed a ride in the back of a pickup of locals also headed to the springs for the last 5k. As they continued on and passed the gate for 1 dinar, the bastard demanded 5 from me. Out of principle I turned around and began the long hike back. Dissappointing.

    Along the way I met up with a beduin who offered me cucumbers, convinced that I had to eat them without peeling or washing them. Eventually I prayed to Allah and caught a ride in the back of a passing tomato truck. Conveniently dropped off at a soda shop on the way into Tafila.

    Raucass kids frantically tearing open biscuits and ice creams, trying to relieve me of every cent I had. Saying no doesn't help and once the package is open, you gotta pay. Distracted, I left my pack for a second to grab some water and on the way out noticed the lock had been tampered with. It wasn't until an hour later and 30k South of Tafila that I realized the sheisters had stolen the battery charger for my digital camera. Completely useless to them, but to me the end of web photos so I decided to return and try to get it back.

    On the return I was picked up by an english speaker working in a French cement factory who was able to translate my dilemma into Arabic on paper along with a plea to the kids to return my charger. A second ride and this time by an undercover police officer. Handed him the note and together we returned, found the pathetic little bastard and apprehended him.

    Relieved, happy, and with charger in hand I hitched my way on to Dana. Checked into the Dana Hotel for $2, took a much needed shower and washed my clothes. A solid night of sleep.

    June 19, 2001

    Dana Village, one street, a few dozen abandoned old stone houses and 2 hotels overlooking acres of wildlife reserve. Dana Reserve, the road ends abruptly to an 800m canyon and a 'please go to the office and pay your $10 permit' hiking trail. Yeah right... As if... Spent the day hiking the village and reserve. Nice, but again, terribly hot and dry and worsening my condition. I suspect there are much better times of year for this trip.

    Caught a ride to the nearby city for some grocery shopping. After a dissagreement over using the hotel kitchen, I moved out and over to the Tower Hotel, where I got a spot on the roof and full kitchen access for $1, a much better place. Met a couple of French ladies and joined them for sunset from the summit. Spaghetti for dinner followed by another dose of Fasigyn. The shits have returned.

    June 20, 2001

    Some early morning exploring before heading onward to Wadi Musa (Petra). Hitched a ride, 2 hours cramped into the front of a loaded pickup with a couple of lunatics and my gear all the while forced to repeat every word they said in Arabic and give a spirited karate 'KAI!' every now and then. Strange behavior. After making the mistake of trying to catch a photo of their dashboard at a rest stop the rest of the trip was spent preventing them from pocketing my camera. A hot, sticky, and dusty dirt road all the way.

    Wadi Musa, the over-hyped site of Petra and the only reason for the towns existence. Checked into a hotel and spent the afternoon avoiding sheisters and checking email. Tariq, the Arab I met in Greece and the self proclaimed 'fun king', emailed me and is on his way. Looks like I will have a travel buddy for a few days.

    Beat the hotel manager in a few games of chess followed by the claiming of the wagered Movenpick ice cream prize. Met a few ragged travellers, the three amigos. Roggy and Lue of Quebec and Andre of London. Tomorrow we will try to sneak into Petra the 'secret' back way, avoiding the $30 entrance fee.

    June 21, 2001

    Well, we did manage to get into Petra the back way, and just as quickly we got caught and were sent to the office. The Petra Perpetrators. Our good story apparently wasn't good enough and after a couple hours of trying to weasel out of it, ended up paying the full admission avoiding the going to the Police option. With no real interest in seeing Petra and on their last day in town, the amigos said their goodbyes.

    Ticket in hand, I walked through the front gate and spent sunset and the evening wandering around Petra without the crowds and in the dark.

    June 22, 2001

    Woke up in the middle of the night by a big mouth and bad breath. Right away and before opening my eyes I knew who it was. After bailing out of work early and a 10 hour all night drive from Saudi there he stood in full form, the king. After blinding him with my camera light and some shit talk we managed a few hours of sleep. 4 hours and up in hopes of beating the crowd and the heat to Petra.

    No luck. A day of slothing around under the intense heat and wondering how Petra got such a hype. Unimpressed and dissappointed in shelling out such big bucks to see a few carved stones while trying to avoid the tourist camels and souvenir stands. A few nice views entering the canyons and looking down from the monestary but otherwise a exhausting and not terribly thrilling day. Decided to cut our losses and leave early for Wadi Rum.

    After a few hours of Racer X driving we settled into the valley at dark and setup camp in the sand dunes just outside of town. Tariq's first night of 'wild' camping. Millions of stars.

    June 23, 2001

    To do it right you need to bring your own 4WD, otherwise you gotta rent one including the 'guide' and pay around $50 a day more then you should. Tariq working his Arabic tongue managed to scratch us up a truck outside of town at less then half ofthe 'official' rate. $28 per day plus gas. After a bit of hob-knobbing with the family trying to convince the father we were friends of friends of his son and not just tourists and stocking up on groceries we were off.

    First stop, the set of a movie shoot. Some Arabic flick about Lawrence of Arabia and the Beduin struggle. A battlefield scene, pretty cool. Thanks to Tariq's Arabic ear we managed to leave before they finished their plans on how to steal all our gear.

    The rest of the day was spent aimlessly cruising through the dunes of the valley. Luckily we brought a GPS along as we quickly discovered that our 'guide', who wouldn't stop bragging about being a Beduin, had no idea where he was going. A beautiful sunset and another night of camping in the valley beneath the stars.

    June 24, 2001

    Tired of driving in circles and seeing nothing we again decided to cut our losses and continue on. It was then that the concept of a day was brought to question. As far as we were concerned there were 24 hours in a day and we had used 22, one day. As far as he was concerned we had slept the night, two days. As usual alot of circular argueing and hopeless compromises. One day and a half. If it were up to me the sheisters wouldn't have gotten a dime.

    On to Aqaba, a small coastal resort town on the Red Sea and the main port for a ferry to Egypt. Lots of concrete and big overpriced hotels. We had some shish for lunch before settling in at a camp on the beach just outside of town.

    Egypt

    June 25, 2001

    Took a quick snorkle (nice but nothing compared to Dahab according to Tariq) before boarding the boat to Egypt. Perhaps the slowest and priciest boat I have ever been on. 5 hours and $22 to cover the 100k crossing of the sea.

    Welcome to Egypt. The Egyptian pound trades at 4:1. The entry was pain free after shelling out the $15 for the visa. Joined in with an American family living in Amman on a minibus to Dahab and shortly thereafter found a spot in an abandoned apartment under construction on the beach.

    June 26, 2001

    A one road hippie take a break from travel beach town on the Sinai peninsula, famous for SCUBA diving, snorkeling, and windsurfing in the clear blue Red Sea. That and alternating sessions of sunning, sleeping, and eating. There is absolutely nothing Egyptian about this town, but then again no one here really cares, including me. $1 gets you a bed and another $3 fills your stomach. A budget travellers paradise.

    Spent the night hiking to the monestary atop Mt. Sinai for an incredible sunrise. A tough hike.

    June 27-29, 2001

    SCUBA diving, snorkeling, windsurfing, sunning, eating, and sleeping. Oh, and a few games of chess against the locals and a lot of mango banana shakes.

    June 30, 2001

    An overnight 'micro'bus to Cairo. $15 and 8 hours of typical sardine packed comfort. Between the periodic near death experiences and passport control checkpoints it was impossible to sleep. Welcome to Cairo, one of the most crowded cities in the world. 12 million chaotic people acting more or less the same as everyone else in the middle east. Ready to run you over, sitting on their horns, and able to load 15 into a moving minibus in under 5 seconds. People with no concept of the queue. The first to the window gets the first ticket, with lots of pushing and shoving and little social respect.

    This turned into a problem when I went to the hospital for an xray to determine whether or not the Syrians forgot to remove the catheter from my wrist. Will an xray even detect a thin plastic tube in your wrist? Anyway, a mob of broken boned locals all doing their thing and determined to be the first one into the room. After sitting back and waiting patiently for two hours a kind doctor recognized my dilemma and let me in through the back. According to them what feels exactly like a piece of plastic in my wrist is just a hardened vein. 2 hospitals and 2 prescriptions. I will go with the 'smarter' one:
  • Thrombophob-S - Topical Gel - 3/day
  • Cataflam 50 - Anti-Inflammatory - 50mg 2/day

    A typical blazing hot day in Cairo. What is worse is that with all the tossing around of luggage on the bus I have lost my waist belt snap. After a few hours of wandering around with all the weight on my shoulders, avoiding overpriced taxis I made it to the Sultan Hotel. Checked in and took off with David of DC to see the Whirling Dervishes perform in Islamic Cairo. These people are crazy. Hours of music and spinning themselves into a nauseating trance. Silly and entertaining.

    July 1, 2001

    A token trip to the pyramids and sphinx. Cool but not as cool as you imagine. As usual lots of sheisters trying to steer you wrong and inside of the pyramids have nothing to impress. All the goods have been moved to the museum where they sit lifeless and out of context and like animals in a zoo.

    A midday siesta and a return to the pyramids for a hopeful sunset scene. Rented a horse (and guide) for a few hours and watched the light show from a nearby dune. So so.

    July 2, 2001

    A trip to the museum and as expected not so cool. Like a zoo but for rocks and mummies. Everything is out of context and lifeless. The mystery and intrigue are lost.

    Dave and I took a feluka ride around the Nile with a couple Canadian girls we met at the pyramids. I would have to say the highlight of it all was colliding with another boat. It really freaked out our 70 year old driver, but he still managed the courage to ask for baksheesh in the end.

    July 3, 2001

    Don - A 47 year old runaway from the midwest, sent out for bread and milk and never returned. Atleast that is what he jokes. After spending a couple years living in Israel without a visa was caught and kicked out. A stamp in his passport makes it clear not to let him back in. So here he is, an Israel lover tossing around aimlessly in Muslim country. The two don't mix. Jokes about the howler monkeys that sing karaoke from the minarets 5 times a day, the hassling street touts, and the neutron bomb that he dreams will put an end to it all someday. Because an atomic bomb might damage the architecture, and he loves the architecture.

    Obviously a comedian, but first and foremost a coffee shop philosopher. Days spent reading about plato and the likes while sipping coffee and thinking deeply. He has kept quite a journal since he left home, a journal I would love to read someday.

    Anyways, Dave picked up his ticket for the train to Luxor in the morning while Don and I secured 'Student' Cards and wandered Coptic Cairo, the old christian neighborhood. Lots of Greek and Roman churches but with everything closed for restoration it wasn't much of a thrill. Spent the evening at an internet cafe updating my website. Over 200 photos and a few weeks of story. Off to Alexandria tomorrow in search of a boat to Greece.

    July 4, 2001

    While packing my film to have it shipped home, Don suggested I have it developed locally, a novel concept. 7 rolls of print film and 9 rolls of slide film, $60 and 6 hours later the project consumed the whole day.

    Took off to the citadel while waiting for the film to develop. At 5pm they closed the gates with me still inside and within minutes found myself an unlocked door to the mosque and climbed the minaret in stealth. A beautiful panorama of Cairo from the top with the pyramids just visible in the distance. Unfortunately during a second mission I was detected by security and escorted out.

    Picked up the film (prints bad, slides good) and returned to the hotel to meet up with Don for a showing of Pearl Harbor. A good flick with incredibly realistic special effects. We both left pissed off at the Japs.

    July 5, 2001

    Planned on mailing the package home, but sidetracked once again at the internet cafe. I am beginning to think I may never leave this town. Spent the evening wandering around Kan Al Kalili in Islamic Cairo with Don and a Swedish girl from the hotel who has spent the past 2 years teaching grade school english in Cairo. Tired of men grabbing her ass and excited to return home to Sweden next month. She looks very tired, and I don't blame her. This city really wears on you quickly and to be a pretty girl in a Muslim country makes it all the harder.

    NEWS FLASH

    Peter Birch of AdventureProne is flying in tomorrow from South Africa, where he has spent the last 6 months exploring. I decided to hold off on leaving another day to hopefully meet up.

    July 6, 2001

    Peter - Introduced to me by a common friend via email over a year ago and also on an extended world tour. Another burned out computer engineer fleeing from the materialistic rigors of the Silicon Valley and in search of adventure. To this point we have taken almost identical paths of travel and kept in touch along the way but somehow never managed to cross paths. After a morning of phone tag we finally met.

    A true engineer - Nothing is done half-assed, extreme in every sense and in this we are very much the same. He either jumps in full-ass and gives it his all or he stays away and avoids it entirely, coupled with the smarts and gusto to follow through on his ideas. However, what starts as an exercise in pure rationality quickly submits itself to a whim. Straddling the fence between classicism and romanticism. This is the trait that separates him from the rest.

    An avid photo-journalist - Toteing around 15 pounds of professional camera gear and determined to make the most of it. Not a minute goes by without him composing a shot in his mind or for real. I must say, his dedicated efforts and website have helped to inspire me along the way.

    Driven by an invisible and mighty force.

    After catching up on stories and packlist show and tell we hit the streets for some grub. Ignoring the repeated passerby warnings not to use the Nabu Bank ATM to fill his pockets with pounds, Peter fell victim to the card monster. 'Card Detained - Please contact your bank... Thank you'. 'Ahhhhh!!!' a travelers nightmare. And once again Daryl becomes the loan shark.

    A night at the coffee shop with the gang. Chess and chai.

    July 7-16, 2001

    I have indeed turned into a real lazy ass. After 10 days of not writing a thing I look back and try to remember what happened. Seeing as I cannot remember what I did yesterday, this could be rough...

    A first class sleeper train to Luxor (pure luxury). A couple days sweating our asses off taking photos of tombs and temples and motorbiking through the villages along the Nile. A third class train back to Cairo (pure crap). An Egypt Air flight to Athens, Greece.

    Greece

    July 16, 2001

    Welcome once again to Greece where the dracma now trades at 400:1. Where after a few wasted days of motorcycle shopping in Athens with Peter, we gave up and took a ferry to Ios for some sun and fun. Don arrives from Cairo and waits in Athens.

    Ios - A hedonistic paradise. By day, beaches of naked and drunk college aged students on break. By night, a party goers paradise. Clubbing until day break. After a couple days baking on the beach surrounded by half bikinied babes and endless dance club nights we were ready to move on. Peter heads off to Santorini on his way to Istanbul in further search of a bike. [Details Peter?]. I head to Paros and rent a bike.

    Paros - Secluded beaches and a beautiful countryside. A typical scooter session around the island with beautiful vistas and a stunning sunset and on to Mykonos for a final day of sun and fun before returning to Athens on my way North.

    Mykonos - Like Ios but upperclass dining and shopping replaces the brute force partying. Where after wandering streets full of typically pretentious fashionables and realizing how little we have in common, settled my bag on a small cement pier on the outskirts of town for the night, avoiding the outrageously priced hotels and campgrounds. A world different from the low season when I circled the entire island only to find one old man, his herd of goats and a donkey. I think I liked it better then.

    July 17, 2001

    Rented a scooter (big suprise) and spent the day migrating from beach to beach working on an uninhibited tan (sorry, no photos ladies)along with a thousand others showing it all to the world. Defacto standard for the Greek Islands, it is what they are famous for. Real and fake, porn stars and plumbers, they are all here participating more for the show of it then actually looking to erase tan lines. Mostly Italians. At first I was a bit nervous and now I just take it off and get comfortable. Thousands of eyes bouncing around trying to catch a peek without appearing interested, it is actually quite amusing. I guess it really isnt that much different from any beach or bar in the world, just more obvious. The scene varies slightly from beach to beach but they are all more or less the same, with the epi-center being Super Paradise.

    Otherwise my time was spent just driving around and taking in the classic island scenery. Goat filled countryside mixed with white washed churches and homes.

    My shortest haircut ever and gyros for dinner as I couldn't afford much else around here. The midnight ferry back to Athens.

    July 18, 2001

    A cold and windy night on the deck, but more then compensated by the sky full of stars, the fresh smell of the ocean air and the sound of the waves lapping against the hull. The ferry arrived in Pireaus port at 7 where I caught the metro into Athens and immediately set to work preparing to head North. A trip to the tourist office for the train schedule to Meteora, one train at 5:50. A few hours at the internet cafe uploading my island shots. A visit to the local repair shop to fix up a half dozen odds and ends: broken zippers, delaminating sandals, and the waistbelt snap for my pack which was lost on the microbus from Dahab. Little things that have been bothering me for weeks.

    Met up with Don, partner in crime for the trip, boarded the train and off we went. A beautiful 5 hour ride straight through the mountains and valleys of North Greece. Lush green farmland. A refreshing change of scenery from the dry deserts of the middle east over the past 3 months. Olive trees, grape vines, cucumber, tomatoes, sprinklers and rainbows fill the valleys, surrounded by peaks of 2,000m, exciting me about climbing Mt. Olympos the highest peak in Greece.

    The train arrived after sunset in Kalambaka, a small and pleasent village supporting treks through Meteora. Negotiated our hotel for $8 and sat down to one of the finest meals to date. Greek salad, lamb souvlaki, and eggplant beef mousakka, all freshly prepared and all for under $6.

    July 19, 2001

    A day of hiking Meteora and by far one of the most peaceful, scenic, and memorable days on record. An unusually flat valley with scattered 600m shafts of rock jetting from the ground, created by seismic wave activity millions of years ago. With monestaries perched atop, the landscape is just amazing, mind altering. Today 5 of the original 24 are still inhabited and if you take the time and energy to hike the old trails you can avoid most of the German package tourists. Most of them...

    July 20, 2001

    What was to be an hour and a half trip to Kalambaka took the entire day. Two buses, a train, a swim in the Aegean Sea, and a hitch in the back of a semi. Kalambaka - an equally small and pleasent town supporting treks up Mt. Olympos. Too late to begin the hike we setup camp on the outskirts of town.

    July 21, 2001

    We begin hitchiking to 17k to Prioria (the trail head) at the crack of dawn and happened into a ride without much trouble. Not bad concidering the taxi drivers wanted $20 for the 15 minute ride. Fully loaded with all our gear we began the climb. A strenuous 3.5 hours up 2100m to Refuge A where we were glad to find plates of meat and pasta waiting and a bench to sleep on.

    After resting up I got the sudden urge to push on to the peak for sunset and sunrise. Don didn't share my ambition, following his 'good sense' which told him that camping at the peak in sub-zero temperatures and 30 mph winds without a sleeping bag wasn't a good idea. I agreed, lightened my load to the bare essentials, and off I went.

    Another 3.5 hours straight up, and when I say straight up I mean it. On the way I bumped into another gang of 4 crazy locals with the same plan. Panagotia, Petros, Dimitrios, and papa Ioannis of Thessaloniki all on a happy family outing. They didn't seem to realize what they were getting themselves into, and their smiles turned upside down once I told them. Luckily, they had packed a tent and some warm clothes. And even luckier, when we did finally make it to the peak we found dugouts to set our tents up in and shelter ourselves from the winds.

    The most beautiful sunset I have ever seen.

    July 22, 2001

    I awoke to find a layer of ice on my sleeping bag. Definately sub-zero as expected, but my gear kept me toasty the whole night. Woke the gang to enjoy the sunrise. The night wasn't so kind to them as they had to get up every hour during the night to reconstruct their dome tent from the relentless winds.

    An early start on the final push to Mytikas, the summit. After an hour of scratching at the sheer rock face we finally made it. Victory! The highest peak in Greece and obviously the best view. A very happy gang. After an hour of triumph photos and the signing of the pinnacle guestbook we realized the climb was only half the battle. To get back down.

    An alternate path straight down a rock slide. On the way down an avalanching rock passed within inches of my head. Another man wasn't so lucky. Nearly half the bones in his bones shattered and lifted out on a stretcher by the mountain rescue team. On to Refuge B for another break before returning to Refuge A.

    Don was worried sick to say the least. With helicopters flying overhead and me being a few hours late on the way down his imaginationran wild. Very relieved to see me back safe. A few games of chess before the long and painful hike down.

    Said goodbye to the gang and got a hitch with some friendly Germans back to Litohoro where we fueled up on Souvlaki before boarding the bus to Thessaloniki. Aching, moaning, and tired we checked into a hostel on the opposite side of town (on the 3rd floor and without hot water) and that is the last thing I remember. Slept like a rock.

    Macedonia

    July 23, 2001

    A nice seaside city with, like all of Greece, more then its share of beautiful women, scattered ruins and churches. Spent the morning updating my website and walking around. Said my goodbyes to Don who decided to stay a few extra days in search of a date and boarded the 6pm train to Skopia, Macedonia.

    5 hours in a dirty smoke filled sleeper car across some very impressive countryside. A firey sunset. Off the train and into a sea of taxi touts. 'It 10k to centrum... long walk... i take you...' Funny, my map shows it as being only 1k and sure enough it was.

    Empty and quiet. Separated in the middle by a river with a bridge conntecting the old Turkish settled town with cobble stone streets to the newer Soviet style town, tall, lifeless, and economized cement slab. A walk through town and dinner at the only happening river side diner. Good music accompanied by stares of curiosity and suspect by the locals. Locals who rarely see foreigners and who were convinced I was a news reporter ready to spread some rumors. Taken under the wing by the owners son. 'There no trouble here... you report we good and Albania bad...' in broken but otherwise good English. Something learned in school but never put to practice. Referring to the civil war going on in Tetova and other nearby mountainside villages. Beer after beer, kebab after kebab, he forced down my throat. After a few too many I slumbered out and into a park where I crashed under a tree for the night.

    July 24, 2001

    Spent the morning walking around aimlessly. A bit busier then last night but not much and certainly not enough to justify the scale of the surrounding buildings and courtyards. A similar feeling I got when I was in Pittsburg.

    All the days activity was concentrated in the old town bazaar, brightly colored and humming with life. The biggest of its kind in Europe. Climbed to the fortress for a view of the city. Gate locked. An old lady walked by and squeezed through a hole in the door, so did I. Within minutes I am being escorted out by heavily armed soldiers, excited by my camera gear and once again suspicious. A military outpost to keep an eye on the activities of those below. Apparently the fortress is closed today and perhaps as long as the war is going on.

    Ok, guess I will stick to the markets. Well, after a few hours the market lure faded. Finished with Skopia I decided to catch a bus to Ohrid, the only other town listed in my guidebook.

    For 4 hours the bus slowly worked its way through the mountains, stopping 3 times for security checkpoints and snacks. An atmosphere of anxiety, justified by the fact that at any point trouble could flare. The military here is on full alert. Every half hour a fighter jet screams overhead practicing aerobatics and showing off to all below.

    Lake Ohrid - the oldest lake in the world and the deepest in Europe. A Macedonian vacationers paradise with a Greek island feel. I am living in a trailer down by the lake for $3 a night. King of the hill.

    July 25, 2001

    At .10 a scoop you could eat ice cream all day, and that is exactly what I did, reversing the effects of all the exercise I have done over the past week. Italian gelati style and in my opinion, just as good. That and walking around the bazaars, churches, and fortress (this time with success). A midday siesta, my legs are still sore from Olympos.

    Sat down to some goulash and witnessed a marriage party where the bride and groom and 15 of their closest friends friends held hands in a circle and shuffled more or less counter clockwise while one stood in the middle with an outdated over the shoulder VHS recorder capturing the faces as they passed. And passed... And passed... For hours, the longest song I have ever heard. I couldn't help but wonder if they were as bored dancing as I was watching.

    Tomorrow I head to Bulgaria to spent some time with friend Galia who I met before xmas.

    Bulgaria

    July 26, 2001

    An entire day of busses and trains covering the 400k between Ohrid and Plovdiv, Bulgaria. 12 hours in total, putting the average speed at about 20 mph. The typical doubling of travel time phenomenon in full effect. Otherwise, nothing unusual besides the train to Sofia where the neighboring cabin full of teenaged girls used the train as a nightclub, smoking and dancing in the halls to a boombox blaring of Popeye's Olive Oyl on steroids and a shirtless old man who argued with the snack cart boy over a beer for a half hour before deciding he didn't want it afterall. Well, at $2 for the 2 hour trip (which took 3 hours), what should I have expected.

    Welcome once again to Bulgaria where not much seems to have changed besides the weather and the leva which is trading at 2.2:1.

    I just received this 'final' update from Mark! Unfortunately it looks like his travel days are through for now.

    Mark's The Hangovers Were Worth It
    ...and this update from Rolf Brunner who I met in Mexico...

    Rolf's Week Off

    July 27 - August 11, 2001

    A vacation from my vacation. 2 weeks of much needed downtime. Nothing but eating, sleeping, and seriously thinking about doing things without actually doing them. Actually we did manage a 3 day trek through the Rila mountains to Bulgarias biggest and most impressive Rila Monestary. Here is Galia's account of the adventure.

    Galia Recounts Rila

    Otherwise I did a little failed motorcycle shopping. It is interesting to note that for Galia to get a carnet it costs nothing, but for me to get one it costs over $1500. The lady freaked when I told her I planned on selling the bike.

    I also cracked the Bulgarian Cyrillic written language alphabet for anyone trying to learn this twisted language.. Here it is...

    The Bulgarian Cyrillic Decoder Ring

    *All letters are represented in capital case*
  • X is a H
  • H is a N
  • Y is a W
  • P is a R
  • B is a V
  • Y is a CH
  • C is a S
  • U is a Q
  • Upsidedown N is a I
  • Upsidedown U is a P
  • Upsidedown V is a L
  • Upsidedown L is a G as is the backwards S
  • Backwards E is a Z
  • Backwards R is a A
  • Upsidedown and backwards g is a B
  • Upsidedown and backwards q is a UH
  • The house thingy is a D as is the g
  • The circle with the verticle line through it is a F
  • The circle with a verticle and horizontal line next to it is a U
  • The Asterisk is a J
  • The W is a SH and if it has a tail it is a SHT

    Oh, and I played a bit of chess and walked around a few towns here and there.

    With plans to make it to Riga, Latvia by their 800th anniversary in mid-August to see my buddy Egils, and with only one week to go I realized I had better catch a flight. Polish Airplines, one way through Warsaw for $150.

    August 11, 2001

    Leaving Vlasko Tarnovo directly for the airport, we caught the 9am bus to Sofia. And ofcourse with 15 minutes to go it broke down. A quick and pleasent hitchhike to the airport and a taxi back into town to exchange the forgotten $300 worth of motorcycle money I had started saving. A conversion into US dollars and a half dozen candybars, the only real world hard currency. Said my goodbyes to Galia, sad to see me go.

    Galia's Poetic Moment

    Poland

    So here I sit, window seat flight 632 to Warsaw where I have a day to hang before continuing on to Riga, Latvia. A flight where the stewardis understands no english but three yes's repeated lands me a Zwiec beer, a smooth Polish Pilsner. The inflight magazine features an article on the Sturgis, South Dakota Harley motorcycle rally in August. Next year is the 100th aniversary, an event I can't miss.

    Welcome to Warsaw where everything old is new again, there are 100 Groszys in a Zlotych and 4 Zlotychs in a Dollar. A remarkably clean city with a renovated old town with a Pragu-esq/Brussel-esq feel. Lots of tourists, street acts, and drunken locals trying their best to pick fights. Did the standard walkaround and had some pierogies for dinner.

    Latvia

    August 12, 2001

    Woke up to a beautiful early morning and a town full of late sleepers. Until 9, the streets were virtually empty. A good time for photos of the old town and the surrounding parks. Checked out and jumped on airport bus 175. A half hour later I was on the plane to Riga, Latvia. An unevenful flight.

    Entering Latvia was a breeze. No questions asked and no money paid. Welcome to Riga, Latvia where the Lat trades at .6:1. A pleasently confused day of sun and clouds and back again. It took a half hour for Egils to find me at the airport fighting with a newspaper in the wind. 'Nice hair' and together with his girlfriend Maija and their 'driver' off we went to settle me into a hostel just outside of town. A nice place at $6.

    Dropped my bag into a shared room of one other, Paul from Australia. A typical Australian traveler with a typical Australian story. A year or so of world travel. A year or so of work in London. Repeat indefinately.

    Hit the old town for an excellent feeding, a few sights, and a bit more beers. About as clean as it is ever going to get and in preparation mode for the anniversary celebrations beginning on the 16th. This is a beautiful city. Will meet Egils tomorrow at noon at the freedom monument.

    August 13, 2001

    My hopes of another nice day were shattered at 9am when I awoke to find it raining like no other. Deciding it best to avoid the circumstances I settled back to bed and just long enough to sleep through the meeting with Egils. The hotel lady breaks in, wakes me, and hands me the phone. 'Daryl, wake up it is 1:15!' 'Huh? Oh shit, I forgot to adjust my watch... How about 2:30?' and so I got my lazy ass outta bed and made my way to town, but not first without sitting for 45 minutes in a bus pulled over by the police for speeding. Late again. 'Sorry man...' 'Dude, yer hopeless' At this rate there certainly is no hope for me.

    Off to the Latvian art museum to brush up on impressionism and on to another royal feeding buffet style in a converted old farmhouse. An afternoon of walking through the rain and redesigning the English language. An evening of jazz, beer, and philiosophical arguements on what is art. Tomorrow Egils and Maija are outta town, leaving an empty apartment. I'm movin' in.

    August 14, 2001

    Upon waking, Paul had the great idea to spend the next few days before the celebrations away from Riga. With Egils and Maija heading outta town, I decided to join him on a train 1.5 hours through the typically flat and forested Latvian countryside alongside the local wild mushroom pickers union. Baskets of the forested fruitful fungus and warm smiling faces excited about their catch of the day and the big one that nearly got away.

    First stop, Sigulda - A small 3 castle tourist town in the hills surrounding the Gauja River, the longest in Latvia. Grabbed a beer in town and headed out with gear on back across the river by cable car and along the nature trail connecting the castle ruins and caves. Nice overall but a few notes. On the caves, in the depressed words of a Swede passing by 'The biggest cave in the Baltic, but it really ain't very big'. On the castles, what little remains exist could easily be mistaken for rocks or have been built up into something new totally different. On the nature, I've seen better.

    Before long the clouds moved in, followed by the rains. Wet and depressed by our sightings we drudged our way back to town in search of a meal and a place to stay. A marginal meal, once again buffet style as seems typical in Latvia. After an hour the rains quit and we gave gave up on looking for a place to stay. Took a hike along the train track and setup camp at a spot just outside of town right next to a bobsled track.

    August 15, 2001

    Cesis, Latvia

    The clouds were beginning to lift when we woke, so we decided to hold off on leaving in hopes of the emerging sun improving our attitude about the town. Took a walk along the bobsled track. Built by a bunch of Yugoslavs and the biggest in Europe, unfortunately only open for trial runs on weekends. You can see the tracks climb vertically around the hairpin turns. I may have to return for a run at it.

    Eventually the clouds cleared to shine down upon us a most beautiful day. I re-explored the castles for a few photos and my attitude improved somewhat but not enough to stick around. With the wrong train time table in mind we sat and drank a beer... 'Dude, check out all those people waiting for the train over there. Should we go?' 'Naw, we got time' 'Dude, the train is there and it looks like its ready to go. Should we go now?' 'Naw, we got time' 'Dude, the train is leaving' 'Awww shit!' Missed the train, 1 of 3 daily. A long and bitter walk to the 'main road' bus stop. Missed the bus, also 1 of 3 daily. 'Why me?' And in my moment of whoasme from over the horizon, a hot and crowded minivan arrives to carry us onward.

    Second stop, Cesis... A truly old town out in the boondocks which has yet to see heavy renovation and tourism due to the fact that it isn't in all the guidebooks. A town actually worth getting excited about. Took a walk around the Old Town loop and rented bicycles for a day to explore the surrounding countryside, most of which has acheived National Park status.

    Checked into a hotel on the outskirts of town, dropped our gear and took off in a random direction down a dirt trail. Mixed dense forest and open rolling valleys, a real find. Just in time for sunset, we pulled in on a cliff overlooking the Gauja River. A river that seems ideal for an extended canoe outing. Calm water slowly making its way to the Baltic, bordered by lush forest and sandy outcroppings ideal for camping. Secluded and peaceful. Returned in the dark and scored on the perfect 'locals on the edge of town' tavern for dinner. An incredible meal at half the city prices, another real find.

    Tomorrow morning we plan on getting up and out early for another ride before returning to Riga in time for a Classical Music concert that Egils already bought me a ticket for. I would love to stay a few more days.

    August 16, 2001

    Up early and out again on the bikes. What started as an overcast day quickly turned into a scorcher and by noon we were completely lost, hungry and tired, sweating our sore asses off on long forgotten trails through the thick of the forest. Somehow by miracle we happened across a road back to Cesis.

    Picked up our bags at the hotel and stopped for a power feeding at the market on the way to return the bikes. An uneventful bus ride back to Riga, but for once seated next to a supermodel instead of a fat sweaty old man. I wasn't so lucky as to avoid the token crying baby however.

    Paul decided to catch the night bus to Estonia and so when Maija arrived at the station to move me into their apartment, we said our goodbyes. An evening of classical music in the seaside town of Jurmala, ravioli 'dumplings' for dinner, and ofcourse a few beers. Tomorrow the celebrations begin.

    August 17, 2001

    Egils and I spent the morning farting around town, doing little errands like stocking up on chocolates and watching the tourists filter into town. A few million are expected. Actually the real celebrations begin tomorrow.

    Back at the apartment, Maija whipped up a dish of Magical Mushrooms and Potatoes.

    Maija's Magical Mushrooms & Potatoes

    I introduced The Dominos Puzzle to Egils, and had him stumped for an hour before helping him converge on the obvious answer.

    The Dominos Puzzle

    A game of chess, some guitar and then back out on the town for the opening choir performance in the Dome Church followed by concerts in the plaza. The theme, 800 years of history in 800 minutes reviewed on huge monitors around town. It started with the ice ages, so you tell me the logic here. Uninterested in the first 10,000 years and 10 hours of dripping water 'mood' music, we retreated to a techno bar. Hopping along, the second stop a posh bar that wouldn't let me in with sneakers on, claiming they were 'sports shoes'. They were letting people in with Tevas on, so you tell me the logic here. The third and final stop an English pub where alot of Guiness was consumed and the philosophy flowed until early morning.

    August 18, 2001

    A day in observation of the real celebrations. Folk song and dance and crowded streets. The most crowded city I have ever seen, easily beating out NY during the Y2K new years. Beer gardens and picnics in the park.

    At 11pm, after 24 hours the 800 minute countdown finally came to an end. Celebrated by some sissy Latvian rock band that everyone seemed to adore. The fireworks began. 30 minutes straight and by far the most impressive show I have ever seen.

    Off to the local hangout, the 'dumpling' house where we stood in line for over an hour socializing with the other local drunkards before finally getting a seat. I don't remember much after that, but I think I played some guitar.

    August 19, 2001

    While the rest of town continued celebrating, I decided to work on a travel update. 6 hours.

    Egils last night before returning to London for work. The most expensive dinner in all my travels. Vincent's assorted sushi for $25. Good but it wouldn't stand a chance against The Piranha in SB.

    August 20,2001

    Saw Egils off to the airport early in the morning and back to bed before Maija woke me to take my passport down to the Russian Embassy for a visa. A 1 month single entry visa. $75 including 'sponsorship' and ready in 7 'working' days. Looks like I am stuck in Latvia for awhile.

    An overcast day. Spent the afternoon walking around and in the Latvian Occupational Museum, where I learned the shocking story of Latvian deportation during the war when control was passed between the Russians and Germans and over 15,000 people were packed into a train and sent to Siberia. Living in small unheated wooden shacks and working as slave with little food in sub-zero conditions, for 10 years before the few survivors were allowed to return. Turns out Maija's grandfather was one of them. A shocking story of propaganda, lies and treachery by the Russians. Apparently the Germans weren't the only misfits during the war. It wasn't until 10 years ago when Latvia finally gained its freedom from the Russian oppression.

    Back at the apt. Maija whipped up another masterpiece meal.

    August 21-27, 2001

    Never quite worked up the ambition to leave Riga. Spent some time around town in the towers and market squares, some time at the excellent Brivdabas Ethnographic museum on the outskirts of town in awe of the beauty of the changing season, and some time teaching Maija's brothers chess and poker and blackjack.

    Oh, and I also spent some time thinking and repacking and shipping in preparation for moving on. 'Moving on?' you ask? 'What's next?' Well, torn between two options of where to go from here, I posted my dilemma for a GroovyDomainer vote and was flooded with responses. Looks like a landslide decision to can the rest of E. Europe and head through Russia by Trans-Siberian Rail to China. I have a feeling I won't be needing my mask and snorkle or my Lonely Planet Europe Guide for awhile.

    The Big Decision

    Maija and I went to see the movie 'Blow' (Kokaine in Latvian) a true story about the twisted life of an American druglord. Interesting story. I was crying like a baby in the end, man this guy has feelings too. Subtitles in both Russian and Latvian, which I guess is better then the TV where the English is overdubbed in Latvian but still irritatingly audible and incomprehensible and subtitled in Russian.

    August 28, 2001

    Finally received my Russian visa today and after having broken the record for the longest time a tourist has ever spent in Riga am ready to move on. The vote was indeed unanimous, and I am going with it. For better or for worse, China here I come. I have decided to spend the next few days touring some small towns west of Riga, which I should have spent last week doing and then moving north through Estonia for a few days before entering Russia and heading east.

    Spent the entire day moving new beds in and out of Maija's apartment and watching other people move in and out of their apartments. Spent the night in my tent out front. I needed the fresh air and motivation to get going again. Maija thought I was crazy. Maybe I was.

    Thanks Maija and family for everything.

    Maija's Grandma's Groovy Pork Ass & Potato Carrot Soup

    August 29, 2001

    Maija's brother's father suggested Kandava and Sabile on my way to Kuldiga and loaded me up with road maps incase I got the urge to foot it. Off I went, once again guidebook free. Welcome to Kandava, a very small town of about a thousand and an unremarkable town except for the girl I met while climbing a hill on my way into town. 'It's a castle from the 1200's' she said in broken english as I looked down on a pile of loose rocks. 'Uh, ok' and off we went walking and talking, just me and her and her three little nieces bouncing along and finding a playground in anything material along the way. After a year of life in 'the big city' Riga working at a music store she got the urge for something different and spent a year in Sweden as a nanny. Finished with that now and back home in Kandava where she sits wondering what's next. The royal tour and after an hour it was over. As I said, unremarkable.

    Dropped off at a cafejnica near the bus station where a fat man endlessly drains away his hard earned Lats on video slots while trying to impress the cashier and $2 gets me a huge plate of meat and potatoes with all the fixins. With a bar of Laima (Latvian chocolate) and a bottle of Kagor (cheap Russian desert wine) in hand I wander off into the forest in search of a place to setup my tent. It feels good to be moving again.

    August 30, 2001

    Packed up and unpacked again at a racetrack between the forest and town to dry my gear, wet from the morning dew. Took one last loop around town to assure myself there was really nothing to see and hit the road to Sabile. I got the urge to foot it. A dull 3 hours and 15k along a road of one or two 'gotta get there now' cars and mixed countryside, throw in a cow or two.

    Welcome to Sabile, an even smaller and less remarkable 'village'. When I saw the bus to Kuldiga idling in a parking lot, I decided to cut my losses and hop aboard.

    Welcome to Kuldiga, finally a town with some promise. Tired from the hike and hungry I sat down to another cheap meat and potatoe feeding in a three star hotel where they were conviced I spoke German. At first they worked hard to convince me there were no hostels or camping areas around, somehow I doubt that. When that failed, they tried overcharging me on my wine, an honest mistake. Imagine that.

    Anyway, I asked around and found what I was told was the 'biggest' waterfall in the Baltics. 1m high by 200m wide. After a good laugh I reckoned it was a misunderstanding, maybe it's the widest.

    Setup my tent in a secluded and forested plot down by the river.

    August 31, 2001

    Founded in the 1200's, Kuldiga has its share of old rundown houses and crooked streets, but just outside of town it also has some beautiful and untouched countryside. Spent most of the afternoon exploring it by bicycle. Rented for $5 and returned by 5 with a missing seat. Apparently around here if it ain't locked down it's fair game. After reporting it to the police and whinjing over the contract that I signed (written in Latvian) for an hour they gave in and returned my passport. They must hate tourists like me.

    Aside from lots of fields, forests, and garden flowers, I happened across some labrinth caves dug into moist white sand extending deep into the earth with mysterious flowers and candles along the way. On the way out a lady appeared and started whinjing for 2 Lats., the 'entrance fee' so I guess it isn't all so one-sided.

    Some wreckless grocery shopping and out of curiosity, a search for a youth hostel which after getting half the town involved in the search felt obligated to take. The Sporte Skole (like a YMCA) and all alone for only 2 Lats. I am quite sure I am the only one to have ever taken advantage of this offer as it took them an hour to figure out what I was looking for and if they even did that. The two ladies at the desk got so excited and made a big bother over fixing my bed and finding me a working toilet they forgot to charge me. Well, atleast it gave me a chance to dry out my camp gear. Tomorrow I plan on passing through a few more towns on my way back to Riga on my way to Estonia.

    September 1, 2001

    Another perfect day. Light cloud cover but no rain. The trend since I have arrived in Latvia.

    What came so easy in the middle east is near impossible here, hitchhiking. After 2 hours and 20k of stupid looks through the windows of the racecars passing by I gave up and flagged down the bus to Jurmala. Paid my 2 Lats and stretched out over 4 seats to relax from all the stress.

    Welcome to Jurmala, a series of laid back beach towns along the Baltic coast. White sand and the typical pale, out of shape, banana hammock wearing Eastern European crowd. A bunch of German look-alikes, or perhaps they are actually Germans on vacation. I dunno, but the sights scare me.

    Stayed just long enough to amuse myself before deciding there was too much trash tourism to stick around. Gave another go at hitching and immediately caught a ride all the way back to Riga for a night of recovery, restoring a little faith.

    September 2, 2001

    Spent the morning posting an update from a great internet cafe. .40 centimes per hour and lightning fast, with functional keyboards and sharp 21" monitors, a real treat. Much better then the crooked one in the old town charging 5 times that.

    Estonia

    After stuffing my face full of pankookaas and dumplings for one last time I set off for Estonia. With .20 centimes in my pocket and a new faith in hitching I quickly caught a ride all the way. Connel, returning from his girlfriends in Riga to his home in Tallinn. Looked like an axe murderer, but when Elton John came on the radio and he got goosebumps, I knew I was alright. An hour to the border of broken attempts at communication and radio sing along. It started to rain hard. An easy crossing where we picked up Mark and his girlfriend, a couple of hitch hikers also from Tallinn. 'So, what's good in Estonia' 'Girls' was his response. 'What is there to see' 'Girls' with greater enthusiasm. 'How is Parnu' 'Ah, the girls!' This conversation wasn't getting far either, but it all sounded good to me so I had them drop me off just outside Parnu, an hour North of the border.

    Retreated into a grocery to avoid the rains and stock up on jogurt and chocolate. Welcome to Estonia, where the automat shelled out 17 krooni per dollar. Found myself some heavy bush near the coast and setup my tent. Outside, rain all night. Onside, warm and dry.

    September 3, 2001

    Estonia looks and feels the same as Latvia with the only exception being the language. A derivative of Finnish, where for some reason they like to double up letters in case you missed them the first time. A terribly inefficient way to represent the long sound.

    English Words With Estonian Roots

  • OO - doodle, poodle, poop, scoop, moon, loon, noon, balloon, ...
  • EE - knee, pee, see, geeeeee, ...
  • LL - call, mall, fall, tall, wall, ...
  • NN - nanny, fanny, granny, ...
  • SS - press, dress, mess, ...
  • PP - mississippi ...
  • MM - hmmmmmm ...

    An overcast day with scattered showers, I think summer is over. Packed up my wet gear and took a walk into town. An old cemetary, an empty beach, some nice parks, and alot of old buildings. A fairly active main street even in the off season. I took shelter from the rain in the mom and pop shops. Found a guidebook for Russia and after getting lost in the section on Trans-Siberian travel got excited and impulsively bought it. Probably a mistake, as later I realized it was 6 years old. I took shelter in the rain in the bars. The beer ain't that cheap here.

    Caught the evening bus to Kuressaare on the island of Saaremaa. A stormy ferry crossing. Arrived in the dark and after pushing down a 'traditional dish' (chops and taters) wandered cluelessly until I reached a flooded but otherwise empty park to roll out my already wet tent.

    September 4, 2001

    More rain and generally miserable weather. Walked through town and explored the nearby castle. Normally closed on Tuesday, but I shuffled in quietly behind a privledged and elderly tour group. The best preserved castle in the Baltics. Everything here seems to come with extravagant claims. It really wasn't all that impressive. The only excitement was when one of the old ladies nearly killed herself by slipping down some stairs in the watch tower. For the next hour everyone couldn't stop talking about how old and crooked the steps were. I ran down them, whatever.

    Also weaseling into the tour were Fabian and Gunnas of Germany. Taking a break from their Baltic Management studies for a month long tour of the area. 'Wanna rent a car' 'Uhhh, Ok' and so off we went on a 24 hour whirlwind tour of the island in the rain. Along the way we saw a meteroric crater, windmills, a 400 year old living village, and the only football field in the world with an oak tree growing in the middle (another claim). Camped the night in a field, of ants.

    September 5, 2001

    An overcast morning slowly cleared to broken blue skies. Back on the road with a renewed determination to make the most of our rental. Across the countryside, along the coastline, and all the while through the marsh. Happened across the old port from where an old man paying a visit to his homeland with a tear in his heart showed us where his grandfather, along with many other Estonians, was deported to Siberia. He was the park ranger of Russias first national park, the land we were standing on. It was touching. Jumped in the cold water spring nearby for my first bath in 4 days.

    Returned the abused car early and in full hope of hitching back to the port and on to Tallinn. After 2 hours and 20k later we stand by the roadside carrying alot less hope. It wasn't until our only ride up to that point returned from his errands to find us still in the same place he left us hours earlier. Sympathy saved us, and with the radio blaring of Shaggy, off to the port we went. 'You guys are pathetic' Yes, we are. Pushed in for gas and thanked him considerably. Our best friend and savior in Saareema. Hopped on the ferry where we managed to weasel our way onto the bus headed to Tallinn. A memorable sunset.

    A drunken bus ride to Tallinn of twisted travel talk. After 3 days of camping in the rain, my gear is starting to smell of mildew. Looks like it's time to kick down some hard dough and find a room. Another drunken bus ride, this time to the outskirts of town where for 8 bucks each we turned a warm dry triple into a dripping wet laundry room for the night.

    September 6, 2001

    Welcome to Tallinn, an impressive city with a remarkable old town. Another confused day of rain turned blue. Off to the port the Germans went to reserve their spot on the SuperCat to Helsinki for tomorrow morning. Then on to the old town where as I burned through roll after roll of film, the Germans dissappeared in the smoke, never to be seen again. A day of wandering and photos and a night of waiting for a planned meeting with Mark at the 4 star Hotel Olympus. A no show. Probably too distracted by 'the girls'.

    Tomorrow some more wandering and hopefully a night bus to St. Petersburg, Russia.

    September 7, 2001

    A visit to the English bookstore in the morning resulted in yet another guidebook. Lonely Planet China, more reading material for the Trans Siberian and another pound in my pack.

    Did some serious photography today, a perfect and sunny day in the old town. Toured the old and mighty bastion castle tower, Kik In Der Kok (not a joke) which today holds a fascinating museum. The old lady almost had a heart attack when I opened a window on top and leaned out for some great shots looking down on Alexander Nevsky Cathedral. It really shook her up. About a hundred shots later I finally decided to call it quits.

    Russia

    A lengthy internet update and a rush to the bus terminal where I caught the night bus to St. Petersburg, Russia by the skin of my teeth. A pocket full of Kroonies I can't change.

    September 8, 2001

    A sleepless no thrills ride and border crossing with the exception of the beautiful Russian countryside at dawn.

    Met an Asian American named Dawn off the bus. Working for the Peace Corp. in Ukraine for the past year she has managed to learn survival Russian, a real score. Together we set off through the chaos of the city in search of a hostel.

    The effects of the Soviet and cold war era immediately obvious. Into the metro, murals of Lenin marking every doorway where masses of ignorant and pushy people all looking to the ground without a smile. Outside again, the skies are ominous, overcast, and rainy. Across the streets, dated transport running on broken tracks in the middle of wide concrete boulevards lined with rundown buildings. Rampant and intrusive construction everywhere. With all the signs of a history of political corruption, a sense of apathy fills the air. With all things complimenting each other perfectly to form a prevailing and evident city mood. Depression.

    Welcome to Russia where 30 Rubles make a dollar unless ofcourse you are a foreigner then it is only 28. A two tier pricing structure. What is .10 for the local becomes 1.00 for the foreigner. Doesn't really make you feel wanted here, which the people are quick to reassure you of every chance they get.

    Eventually we found our way to the Russian Youth Hostel, just off Nevsky Prospekt, the main drag through the heart of the city and the most famous road in all of Russia. $17 for a shared room of 4. In the lead for the most expensive accomodations in all my travels so far. Unable to move into the room until noon we stashe dour gear and headed back out, tired from the restless night and burning only on fumes.

    Toured Nevsky Prospekt in a daze, visiting the churches, markets, and museums along the way. The Church of the Ressurection (Locals .10, Foreigners $4 - We had a local on the street buy our tickets for us) with its wildly ornate domes on the outside and richly detailed tile mosaics on the inside. The first indoor mall in the world. The Hermitage museum (Locals .20, Foreigners $10, Students free!), up there in the ranks of the Louve. Together we ran through in the closing hourswith our mouths dropped open in awe of the sheer opulence of the Winter Palace decor. The tsars had some serious dough to blow.

    With all our energy spent and our reserves on empty we returned to the hostel to check in. Dawn with a developing sickness decided to call it an early night. I headed back out with a cellmate to help him sort out a relationship crisis over a beer and some live music.

    Hazel Recounts Russia

    September 9, 2001

    After a good night rest, Dawn was feeling alot better and suggested we check out Peterhof. Peterhof, Peter the Great's palace along the Gulf of Finland 30k West of St. Petersburg. Essentially a fancy palace turned museum surrounded by a huge park with over 150 fountains. The most impressive fountain was the one falling from the sky. A day of heavy rain. After losing Dawn within the first 10 minutes and a few hours of exploring I returned home soaked head to toe. It was pretty cool but the weather wasn't on our side. Back at the hostel a gang formed to see the ballet. Sold out. In a miracle moment the clouds cleared to offer a spectacular sunset over the river.

    September 10, 2001

    Took Peter's walking tour of the city, given by Mike. Peter is on vacation. A good tour of the same style as the one I took in Prague. About 5 hours of walking and talking about whatever came to mind. Learned a bit about the history of the country and city in the process, but by far the most valuable information was what vodka to buy. Picked up a bottle after the tour and off to a hole in the wall with two others from the group to finish off the day.

    'I have hour before my train. I want to spend quality. Can I join you?' Dmitry Shvetsov on his way home to Murmansk after a weekend of skydiving. 'Definately man... Sit down!' A beginner with only 7 jumps but overflowing with the same spirit and excitement that grabbed me as a beginner. An instant connection. A night of beer, peanuts, and spirited talk about the meaning of life.

    September 11, 2001

    The first and very much welcomed beautiful day. Spent entirely in photographer mode, with a short break in the middle for a few games of chess at the local market (USA 1, Russia 2), obviously I was distracted by the sights.

    Boarded the 11pm night train to Moscow, the first stop in my Trans-Siberia adventure. A bitch of an attendant that wouldn't unlock the bathroom for me (relieved inbetween cars), and tried to charge me extra to use some sheets I didn't even want, and a kind coach-mate who practiced his english with me (in the end we had to call in a translator) by informing me of the terrorist activity plane crashes in America. I was shocked. Apparently the bastards took out the Pentagon and the World Trade Towers, killing thousands in the process.

    September 12, 2001

    A restful night on the rails. A tapping on the door at 6 and a stop into the Leningrad Station of Moscow by 6:30. Reassembled myself and stepped out onto the streets and into a thick haze. A decidedly more soviet feel then St. Petersburg. Around the station, a cement jungle seething with park bench beggers and bums. A light rain.

    Found my way to the Travellers Guesthouse where the receptionist informed me the only way I could get my visa registered (since I had no idea who actually 'sponsored' my visa) was to spend a night in a 'state' hotel. She handed over a list and off I went. Spent the next few hours learning about the metro going from place to place. Worst offer, the Cosmos Hotel for $200. Best offer, the Alpha Hotel for $30 including registration. A sweet deal but not until I okay it with the local police as it has been 5 days since I arrived and I was supposed to register after 3 working days, go figure.

    With a grand smile on his face the Uzi toting officer took my passport and 50r, eventually returning with a hand written receipt. 'Goodbye' he waved me off joking and laughing with his 'partners in crime'. 'Americanski... hahaha...'

    Checked into luxurious room 1213. Shower and a nap. Took a stroll through the nearby craft market and walked out with a bag of fur hats behind the vendor who decided to keep my change. After a mile or so he realized I wasn't about to give up and gave in.

    Russian food never exceeds you expectations and tonight was no different. An expensive plate of essentially chopped potatoes and hotdog. Atleast the beer here is decent. Internet update and bed.

    September 13, 2001

    Checked out of the pleasure palace, smiling and with a registered visa in hand. After 2 hours of walking and riding the metro found my way back to the Travellers Guesthouse. In a hurry to get to the Mongolian Embassy before closing time I checked in, dropped my bags, and ran.

    More of the metro game. Even though the metros are fast and frequent, they never seem to go where you want and you have to switch lines often. Switching lines means long flights of stairs or crowded escalators that seem to climb forever. The metro was built to double up as a bomb shelter during the cold war, so the tracks run deep and the connecting hallways are long.

    Climbed the final flight of stairs in a sweat. Too late, 1:01 and the curtains were drawn. 'Said he would be back at 2' offered a girl slouched on a bench with a Ulan Bator tix in hand. Maria, a local from St. Petersburg on her way to Mongolia with high hopes of getting a job there to be closer to her 'friend'.

    Believe it or not, the guy actually showed at 2. I was suprised but what got me more was when he informed me that as of July, Americans no longer need a visa to visit Mongolia. All that work for nothing, a depression offset by the beautiful sound of what I was being told. A good day indeed.

    Maria and I spent the rest of the evening walking around the Red Square in the rain while waiting for her train. Good luck Maria. Maybe we'll meet again in Mongolia. Russia may be the only place in the world where the street vendors sell caviar pankakes and I had to give it a try. Ehhh, salty and fishy, ignore the temptation.

    Back at the hostel I joined the gang in the common room and caught up on the recent terrorist activity on TV. A few games of chess (USA 3, England 0).

    September 14, 2001

    Saw a Russian smile today. Actually contrary to popular opinion I am finding Moscow to be a much happier place then St. Petersburg. The people aren't as stand-offish and at times are almost friendly. I am also finding it more interesting here. People call it a 'big village' and I would tend to agree. Unlike St. Petersburg where all the action is centered on or around one main street, here there are no main streets and there seems to be something going on everywhere I turn.

    An attempt to get Depeche Mode tickets for the concert on the 16th, but when I found out the 200r price was a missprint and the scalpers were asking 2000r I gave up. Mostly sunny. Spent the day strolling inner south Moscow and eventually made my way to Red Square by evening. Gorky Park and onion dome churches pretty much sums it up. Night shots of the Kremlin.

    Did a bit more terrorist catch up on the internet. This whole thing is starting to worry me. Atleast I should be safe once I make it to Siberia.

    On my way home stopped for some fast food pierogies. 3 makes a complete and well rounded meal:
  • Potatoes - Starches
  • 'Meat' - Protein
  • Mushroom & Cabbage - Vegetables

    Decided to get my chinese visa in Mongolia. Tomorrow I check out the Trans-Siberia train schedule to Irkutsk.

    September 15, 2001

    Had a lady at the hostel write me a note in Russian for the ticket as the cashiers don't speak english. When I handed it in at the kassa she gave me 2 options which I had translated by a school girl in the station. Option 1, 3600r on a train with a final stop in Irkutsk. Option 2, 1800r on a train that stops in Irkutsk and actually continues on. Confused by the simplicity of the decision and why I was even offered the pricey option to begin with I took the cheapy and left the station ticket in hand and scratching my head. Odd. The Trans-Siberia 'Rossia' train #2 to Irkutsk scheduled for Monday at 16:25, Wagon 11, Berth 38.

    The police here love to hassle foreigners. Twice during the day I was accosted.

    First Incident - Red Square to check my visa for registration. The officer concluded that my Russia registration was ok, but my 'Moscow' registration expired. 'Oh, big troubles section 178... Get in the car, I take you to station.' Knowing that my registration was ok 'Fine by me... Let's go.' After 15 minutes of sitting in the back of the car while he tried to convince me to just pay him 1000r and avoid facing his 'terrible boss' and the 3000r official fee and the hassles he finally let me go. 'Ok, my boss busy right now. You go. Just get registered ok?' 'Okay' and off I went. A big smile on my face, I beat the system. What a wimp I thought. I would have expected a Russian cop to be much stiffer about his corrupt convictions and not let me, a scrawny American tourist, off so easy.

    Second Incident - Caught red-handed taking pictures of the ex-KGB building. A hammer and sicle plaque of perfect Soviet influence. 'No cinema' and after another 15 minutes of me blindly answering 'Nyet' to every question he threw at me in Russian and gestures of carting me away and exposing my film he gave in to my pretended stupidness and let me go. Once again, wimp. All bark and no bite.

    Kept a low profile for the rest of the day. Back at the ranch a gang organized a bar hopping, but after bar number 1, everyone retreated to bed. Talk about terrorism and in general, why muslims are such loose guns. Tomorrow I would actually like to see the Kremlin and Lenin's tomb before packing up for the 4 day ride across Siberia.

    Hazel Settles Into Seoul

    September 16, 2001

    A beautiful day. Up and out of bed early to head down to Red Square with my roomate Dan from London to queue up for Lenin's Tomb. Lenins Tomb - Entering the mausoleum, eyes not adjusted from the outside sun one at first sees nothing, not even the steps infront of you. A chilly and exact 60 degrees. After stumbling down the steps a pitch black corridor except for the illuminated face of a guard every 50' along the way. Haunting. Around a corner and down more stairs, eyes starting to adjust. The corridor opens to reveal the tomb. Encased in foot thick bulletproof glass and lit only from above lay the stone cold figure of Lenin. Propped up and wearing a black suit, spotted tie, and bone chilling expressionless face. Slowly walking around three sides of the tomb. Lingering for a moment to let eyes adjust. On again into another short corridor and back out into the blinding sun. Continuing along the line is guided through a graveyard of famous Soviet figures. Don, still in line, missed the entrance by 2 people.

    The Kremlin - A large brick fortress of Italian design. On the inside, a few nice parks, churches, and guard to blow whistles at anyone stepping out of the invisible tourist boundaries. A monstrously huge cannon and a bell that cracked before it was ever rung. Nothing too thrilling, but a peaceful getaway from the surrounding city. Alot different then I had imagined.

    Dan picked up a ticket for the train tomorrow, same train, same wagon, different berth.

    On the way home we stopped at the Olympic Stadium and lucked into the last 2 scalper tickets for face value (500r). The Depeche Mode Exciter tour. Dropped off everything at the hostel in a flash and returned to find our seats in the nose bleed section. 'Dez-Pez-Mod... Dez-Pez-Mod...' the crowd chanted. From up above, thousands of arms waving frantically and then together in rythm. Snuk our way down to the VIP section. An excellent concert with a great mix of old and new. Wish I had brought my camera.

    September 17, 2001

    Up and out early with hopes of posting an update before the big trip. No luck. Adhering to the typically Russian attitude of 'don't know & don't care', the best they would do was transfer my photos to CD.

    Shopping for 'supplies'. Armed with 4 bottles of champagne, 2 bottles of vodka, a half dozen beers, water, a loaf of bread, some cheese, and various ramen soups off we went. Track 4 with a departure at 4:25 on the dot.

    Hussling along the platform at the last minute each with arms full. !!!CRASH!!! I turn to find Dan grasping toward the ground covered in shards of broken glass with a bloody hand. 'I don't know what happened' standing in disbelief as the surrounding crowd stared in shock. Blood sprouting from the deep cut 'Shit! What should I do?' at the same time looking at me and down at the glass and blood. I stood speechless for a moment 'I don't know' with arms full, trying to discover anything that might help. Then out from the crowd, a savior babooshka stepped in and bandaged his hand with a roll of fresh gauze. The train whistling to leave I grabbed all the bags and dragged them into wagon 11. 'What should I do?' still standing in disbelief clutching the bandaged hand instantly and completely saturated in blood. 'Just get in... It's leaving!' And off we went...

    The damage, one lost bottle of champagne and one vodka. A rough start to the beginning of the 4 day trip across Siberia. Scared 'Do you think I'll be alright? I don't want to lose a hand. Maybe I should get off? What should I do?' Comforting 'Relax, its just a cut. We can disinfect it with vodka later. You'll be alright.' Satisfied by my reassurance we sorted out the cabins and moved in.

    Dan, a standard 4 berth cabin #24, shared with one local woman and Susumi, a Japanese tourist on his way home after a year of travels. Me, a special 2 berth cabin #38, bigger and less crowded shared with an old but social Wasiliy Switalsky of Ukraine. With the commotion sorted and settled, we were well on our way. The finger stopped bleeding.

    Leaving Moscow, the concrete jungle made way for a beautiful and bright autumn colored countryside. Reds, oranges, yellows and greens separated small settlings of old wooden shacks along the way. Small talk with the locals and an exploratory walk through all 20 wagons. Met another traveller of London smoking in the caboose. Currently living in Thailand and with loads of story.

    Worked our way toward the dining car for a great stuffed pepper and chip dinner and after ignoring 4 heavy and drunk Russian ladies pleading for us to drink with them we opened our own bottle of vodka to celebrate the trip. Energetic discussions about world culture while the Brits tried to rationalize why their people are such bastards. After 2 more bottles of champagne we called it the night.

    September 18, 2001

    'Suq... Yogurt... Borsh... Pepsa' called a hawker passing through the hallway, waking me from a solid night of sleep. Despite the fact that the train jerks around like mad and my bed is rock hard, lumpy, and only 2 feet wide the night passed effortlessly. A 20 minute rest stop in Perm, giving the opportunity to stretch legs and stock up on the typical rail-goer staples of fresh bread, dried fish, noodles, and cheese. A walk through the train for exercise, bustling with local activity. Children running through the halls and doing gymnastics from the handrails while the adults gather in between cars for a smoke. With the exception of the man playing Yesterday on the accordion and singing in Russian, the adults aren't a terribly social crowd. Travelling with family, they stick closely to their cabin with a banquet of food spread out on the 2x2 table in the middle.

    Moving along. It has gotten colder but the scenery has changed much. It is beautiful though and I spend most of my time gazing out the window and hopelessly trying to capture the stunning images on film. Dan's finger is doing much better and he is glad he didn't bail on the trip. Susumi, his Japanese roomate, is an interesting guy also with plenty of good story, an invaluable asset on a trip like this. We passed the day discussing the ins and outs of oriental food while playing ShitHead, an entertaining but confusing British card game.

    A fruitless trip to the dining car. Apparently the service is on local time, not Moscow time.

    We think the local time is Moscow Time + 2, but nobody is sure.

    September 19, 2001

    With a 15 minute stop every 4 hours or so, the ride really isn't all that exhausting. Infact, the solemn time is kinda enjoyable and don't think I would mind doing the full 8-day trip to Vladivastok next time. I think it would make a perfect trip for a couple. Go first class. Don't bother packing food. There is plenty along the way and it gives the breaks a sense of purpose. My only regret is not bringing my guitar.

    A day dominated by sleep. The scenery doesn't change quickly and the land for the most part is flat, so staring out the window you often catch yourself in a dream. At one of the stops Dan and I took a walk through the station and upon returning the train was pulling away. Luckily there was one door still open and we managed to jump in. 5 seconds later and this could have turned into a real adventure.

    Hit up the dining car, this time taking into account the local time and scored on another good meal. A typically Russian chips and chops. A vodka party in the attendants room turned sour and some Russian dancing to the accordion man (as he has become known) at a rest stop in the middle of the night. Some authentic good fun, complete with fur hats. More vodka, beer, and champagne. After too much of a good thing, Dan threw up.

    We think the local time is Moscow Time + 4.

    September 20, 2001

    A heavy sleepin from last nights drunken fest.

    A quiet day. People are beginning to self-reflect. Susumi in a deep concentration within himself working on writing a song. We think he must be a Japanese rock star on the run away. He laughs. With all his luggage stolen on a train in India 6 months ago, he is travelling light. Only a handbag with a few essentials. My bag on the other hand is getting heavier. There are loads of inexpensive and quality hand knits and fur hats available from the hawkers that frequent the halls. I recommend you bring an empty bag and stock up.

    A hazy day. Forest made way to fields which made way to rollings hills and rivers. More clusters of dilapidated wooden shacks with corrugated and galvanized roofs and ornimented by brightly painted window frames. Light blues, greens, and reds seem to be the popular style. They don't turn the lights on till well after dusk so I am writing this in the dark.

    The lights go on. The routine by now prescribes Dan and I to take a trip to the dining car at about this time, so we go. A dining car for foreigners. Inflated prices and freshly cooked food is the sort of thing that the locals steer clear of. Interesting in that despite the obviousness of this assertion, the menu which appears to be quite extensive is written in Russian and the waiter/cook/manager doesn't speak a word of English. But none of this really matters because you can order anything you want so long as it is chips and chops, soup (solanka), and salat. To not be fussy over these sorts of decisions just makes the process run smoother.

    Dan and I get our food. Good. Even though we get the same thing nightly, the prices seem to be increasing. Odd. The story isn't the same across the room where 2 obviously American ladies sit. The only other tourists on the train and hence the only other customers today spend a half hour in a hopeless arguement with the man over the menu. Having begun a game of backgammon, we can't help but laugh. After all is said and done their meals come. Chips, soup, and salat less the chops. They must be from California. Doesn't he ever get tired of this? This same scene must repeat itself every night. Wonder why he doesn't have the menu translated. Humourous.

    A final night of accordion spectacular and off to bed early in anticipation of an early arrival into Irkutsk. The station clock reads 21:45 Moscow Time when we finally arrive. 89.25 hours in total and only half the trip Susumi is on. We say our goodbyes and with 'complimentary' souvenir tea glass in bag dissappear into the dark.

    The town thermo reads zero, but we know it is colder. The fur hats come out. A strange interlude with three drunk and horny local women on an unlit back street avoided. A fruitless search for a hotel and a cold park bench night. I felt sorry for Dan without a sleeping bag and lent him my silk sheet and tent. Don't think it much helped though as while I slept cozy he stared at the stars all night.

    The local time is Moscow Time + 5.

    September 21, 2001

    My Russian visa expires on the 26th, so I plan on staying in Irkutsk and exploring Lake Baikal until then. Searched our way to the Dosaaf house, an apartment style dorm listed in the guidebook. Only 150r a night, much cheaper then the Intourist hotel by the river which is asking 3000r. A shower, shit shave, some seriously dirty laundry and sleep. A real savior.

    Denied chinese food, the restaurant occupied by a wedding party, we continued on to find a small outdoor cafe serving shashlik (shish is a bad word in Russian) and pierogies. Not sure what was more entertaining, the Russian karaoke or the women in short skirts and heels trying to look unaffected by the sub-zero temperatures. It's all about layers girls. A quick internet update followed by foregoing a posh and pretentious club for a few Millers in an empty hole in the wall bar. The best of Madonna on video.

    September 22, 2001

    A beautiful day. The Irkutsk market, like all markets in Russia is a magnificent place. A magnet of the masses on a weekend morning like this. Immense and clean with loads of perfectly arranged fruit and vegetable and everything from cows head to deodorant on sale, the latter being more difficult to find. Grabbed a few pierogies of who knows what for breakfast and did some sight seeing around town. Beautifully decrepid but colorfully painted wooden lace houses, a museum, the defacto Lenin statue, and cheery parks and fountains, where since Russian weddings typically last atleast a week you are bound to see newlyweds parading around.

    Picked up tickets for the overnight train to Ulan Bator, Mongolia scheduled for the 25th. 1300r and nearly as much as the 4 day ticket that got us here. This pricing system doesn't make any sense to me.

    Tourists are still a curious commodity here as we quickly learned. A search for the circus (closed till October) ended in a wreckless night of drinking in the bars with the locals. Mostly girls on the prowl. Lots of vodka and beer and an invitation into a private birthday party which proved fatal for Dan who by 2am was passed out and sleeping on the street. Luckily I still had some sense about me. Called a taxi and dragged him home, literally. If you see a Russian flicking their neck with their finger and repeating the words 'Russian Vodka', stay clear.

    September 23, 2001

    'What happened? What happened?!?!' Dan blurted immediately upon awaking, in utter confusion and lacking all memory of the night before. 'You passed out on the street and I called a taxi and dragged you home, literally.' I replied. 'Awwwww... What happened?!?!' In denial and hoping he what he was hearing wasn't the truth. 'Yeah, a passing ambulance even stopped to see if you were alright. I waved them off.' 'No way...' a pause and then 'Man...never drink with Russians!' And with that we broke into laughter and began packing up, attempting to fill in the many missing details.

    Wandered down to the market for a quick feeding and across town to the train station where we assertained (with some local help) that we needed to return back across town to the bus station for tickets to Baikal. Determined that we needed a tram for the return trip, our helper guided us on and off we went. Dan, still very blitzed, slept. Well the help wasn't so helpful after all and what should have been a 20 minute walk back turned into an hour and a half ride all over the countryside, turning up at the bus station with only a minute to spare. Don't waste your time with the local busses and trams here. The town isn't as big as the locals would have you believing and before getting where you want they loop all over the place at a snails pace.

    Baikal is beautiful. Surrounded by a spectacular landscape of rolling hills, autumn colors, and snow peaked mountains. The oldest and deepest lake in the world, estimated to contain 20% of the world's fresh water. Enough to supply the entire world population for 40 years during a drought. It is this fact that makes me question California's tizzy on water conservation. I really don't think we have a problem.

    The bus dropped us off in the 6 house on one road coastal town of Lidyanka where hawkers were waiting, busy smoking aways batches of fresh Omu (a regional fish) for the primarily Russian tourists. A full 1 lb. smoked fish and a beer for a dollar, and one of the tastiest and best deals I have ever come across. A real treat in an otherwise culinary desolate country.

    Spent some time dipping our hands and feet (I should live 5 years longer) and exploring around. Met a couple for the Czech Republic that bought a jallopi in Moscow for $900 (looked like a ripoff to me, but I kept silent) and spent the last month driving Siberia. Some interesting stories, but frankly they were more interested in researching our Lonely Planet. Not having a sleeping bag and too lazy to search out a room Dan hitched his way back to Irkutsk with them and I climbed a nearby peak for an unreal sunset. Setup camp, dawned the fur hat, and was out for the count.

    September 24, 2001

    Woke up to some heavy clouds rolling along and sat at the peak in hopes of a burn-off. It did and my patience was rewarded with an incredible morning view, looking down on the lake. Packed up and headed back into town. A few more Omu and some quiet time by the lake before catching the evening bus back to Irkutsk.

    Checked back into the Dossaf and met up with Dan, our 'helper' and friends from the day before and a gang of 4 cyclists that just finished 6 months from London and are on there way to Hong Kong. And I thought the Czechs were a little crazy. Another night of drinks and story.

    September 25, 2001

    A rainy morning spent best in an internet cafe playing catch up. I haven't found a computer to FTP from in Russia, so my updates are dragging. Returned to Dossaf to find Dan in his typical sleeping position.

    'Let's go man, we'll miss our train!', and in a bustle of confusion by the management insisting we hadn't paid (we had) we packed up and left. 'We got 20 minutes' looking at my watch. 'We should take a taxi' Dan adds cautiously. 'Naw, lets just hop on this tram' forgetting my previous experiences. And that about sums it up. Arrived at the station to find nothing but empty track. Missed the train by 2 minutes. Non-refundable tickets, on bad terms with the hotel, and last but certainly not least an expiring visa. In a resentful and crying over spilled milk manner we hit the streets wondering why we. What to do now? 'Maybe we shoulda taken the taxi' I admit. 'DAMMIT!'

    Undecided on where to stay and what to do we gave a shot at crashing on the station floor. With no luck there our next best plan was to hit up a 24h internet cafe and so off we went. As luck would have it, and as it usually does, we ran into an Aussie traveler named Ben who I had met in Baikal. A most graceoius offer for us to crash on his hotel room floor. A true legend.

    September 26, 2001

    Well my visa expires today and a rescheduled train will put me through the border late. This could mean big trouble depending on the sympathy of the guards. Seeing that I am in Russia this worries me greatly. I hate visas.

    In a stroke of luck we manage new tickets for half price with a good story that an unusually nice ticket lady sympathized with. 1400r for the both. A train we can't afford to miss. Not wanting to take chances we spent the day lazy, a stones throw from the station. A nice chinese lunch, some internet news of the terrorists followed by computer war games and a proper dinner. When the time came, we walked half way to the station and I called the taxi for the other half. No chances.

    After reclaiming our bags and frantically searching the tracks for our train we board with only 2 minutes to spare. 'That was too close' reckons Dan. We are on the train, and to me that is all that matters. Well, that and my expired visa. The train leaves the station.

    A mongolian train, much more chaotic then the Rossia. A medly of cars mixed in character, some with 2 beds per cabin, some 4, some 6. We landed a 4 with two of the beds unused. A walk through the cars fails in finding us a diner.

    Attracted to the sound of Lenny Kravitz from down the hall we met 2 travellers of S. Africa. Whites scared of the blacks. An evening of travel talk and horror stories of African crime and disease. They paint us a pretty grim picture.

    September 27, 2001

    After a cold and restless night of visa worries I wake to a beautiful countryside view. Out the window I see flat plains of grazing cattle infront of a backdrop of mountains and lake. Rounding Baikal was supposed to take 8 hours but technical difficulties with the train is lengthening that. Frequent and long stops.

    Our window opens and I take advantage of that. Hanging out like a dog, with a grin on my face and the wind through my hair. It feels good. A beautiful day. Cruising along at 20 mph on a single track. That explains it.

    A 4 hour stop at the Russian border where they reduced our train to one wagon. The tension mounts. A 550r fee for my visa and a thorough roughing through the cabin by the patrol. Not that he actually would have found anything, be he did throw things around alot. Looks like I got off easy. Goodbye Russia.

    Mongolia

    10 minutes further down the rail and another 3 hours at the Mongolian border where they dragged a video camera through the car and filmed a training video of their equally useless customs procedures. Nothing to declare. A true comedian, that official.

    With that nonsense complete, the wagon filled up with 8 conductors and our cabin with 2 Mongolians. Out came the lamb brain dumplings and warm yak milk (butter water) chai which we were 'forced' to eat. Scrambled for some lemon flavoured soft drink with my final 50r to cut the curd. The flys started to swarm.

    I thought this trip was a one nighter, but it is nearly two. Met a couple from Germany (South) and Yuko, a Japanese girl travelling solo. The world series of chess (Mongolia 1, Africa 0, Germany 0, USA 6).

    September 28, 2001

    The train arrived at some ungodly hour in the morning. While Yuko and I decided it best to crash in the station till day break, Dan wandered off with Serge, a hotel tout.

    Ulan Bator is the working capital of Mongolia and it's only real city. An Asian country with a Soviet style. Mixed in with folks that dress like the Dali Lama, the cement slab architecture just doesn't seem to fit. A 'digestible' city, big enough to keep you curious but small enough to sort out. A poor city, where manhole covers are missing, making way for an underground network of trash and serving as a shelter for the homeless. You really gotta watch your step.

    Yuko and I checked into a Japanese guesthouse listed in her guide. A refuge for the Japanese backpacker uncomfortable speaking english, where sitting around a low table in a communial room they congregate to chat, drink tea, and eat noodles. Yuko went on her own and I rallied a gang for breakfast. The options: A. Predictable Bernards Euro Bakery on the main tourist strip where a donut costs $2 B. Any of the back street cafes where an entire meal could be had for $1. We went for B and after the game of charades required to order had a decent serving of mutton soup, dumplings, 'meat' pancakes and drink. Not bad, not good.

    Spent the afternoon touring a Buddist temple and monestary in the old town. Small wooden shacks and people in traditional garb praying to the budda in small and brightly painted wooden rooms. I feel like I am already in Tibet. A magical atmosphere.

    Happened into a music shop on my way to the Chinese embassy and left with a guitar. A used Chinese StarSun for $25 complete with new strings and sounding pretty good. No more whinjing for me.

    Dropped off my passport for a visa. $30 for 30 days, single entry, and ready on the 10th. Looks like I am stuck here longer then expected.

    Back at the hostel I raised the idea of renting a jeep for an extended outback tour of Mongolia to receptive ears Susumu and Diota. Worked out the logistics on it and it looks promising. 10 days at $20 per day each including all gas,food and accomodation. A day at Terelj National Park followed by a week or so through the Gobi Desert and then on to the North West countryside.

    Off for dinner and to catchup with Dan who we found in a bar with Serge, big smile, exstatic to see us, and already a beer or two past sloshed. Carried on with them for awhile before realizing we were too far behind to catch up and returned for bed.

    September 29, 2001

    Checked out early with high hopes of finding a jeep and heading out. After a few hours of running around looking for camping gear and Dan we resigned ourselves to stay another night to better organize. Checked into Nassan guesthouse with a promising deal on a jeep and driver for $45 per day plus gas and including gear. Found Dan by miracle in bed and recovering. Forced him out for lunch and started planning. A taxi to the bus station. Looking for the schedule to Terelj we negotiated a jeep for $30 per day with driver Gambaa and immediately took off to the market for food. Outside of Ulan Bator there really is nothing available so we loaded up the jeep with $120 in staples and beverage and returned to Nassan where we agreed to meet the driver at 10am to head out.

    Caught a taxi to the 'Black Market' on the outskirts of town to pick up a few more odds and ends. One of the craziest markets I have ever seen, selling everything but the sleeping bag Dan needs. I suggested we make one instead and with 4 yards of 2" polyfill mat in hand we returned by minibus. I counted 20 in the small van but there may have been more.

    Back at Nassan we met many other travellers returning from various trips across the country who were happy to educate us. One in particular did it by bought horse. Together we hit up a jazz bar for continued travel talks and beer. We hate to break it to them but elevator music ain't jazz. Neither is elvis.

    September 30, 2001

    Day 1 (18,000k)

    Up at 9 and out by 10. Took us a few hours to run some last minute errands and drag Dan outta bed. At the very last moment, emminent disaster loomed as Diota wimped out of the trip, but Susumu, Dan and I stuck it out and so off we went prepared to spend a bit more.

    First stop Terelj National Park some 80 km North East. Out of the city and across a vast and empty countryside. Rolling hills and herds of animals. Terelj, nothing more then a big 'Turtle Rock' and a bunch of organized tourist camps set in what looks like typical Monglian countryside. Nothing special. While Gambaa setup camp outside of the 'designated areas', we hiked a peak for a nice panorama.

    A roaring fire followed by a bone chilling night.

    October 1, 2001

    Day 2

    I awoke to find a layer of ice on my tent. An eye opener indeed, especially for Dan who now holds a renewed determination to build a monster sleeping bag. Struggled with scrambled eggs for breakfast and found another dozen or so things that we need to fix before continuing on. Back to Ulan Bator.

    Sent Susumu on a battery charging mission and Gambaa, Dan, and I spent the day at the 'Black Market' righting all the wrongs. More food, various utensils, extra thermals and 8 yards of flannel and 8 yards of nylon shell. From that Gambaa found us a local garment factory and $7 and an hour later we left with a killer bag to brave all storms. A 'Dan Sack'complete with drawcord, commissioned in England, engineered in America, and made in Mongolia.

    Treated ourselves to a final and proper celebratory dinner of excellent chinese and too late to go spent the night sleeping in Gambaa's friend's office. A Driver Education school classroom. A restful night.

    October 2, 2001

    Day 3

    Up and out early heading due South straight through the Gobi Desert. A spectacular shot looking back and down on Ulan Bator from one of the surrounding mountains on the outskirts of town. Blue skies and scattered happy clouds. In the background a clustered city with smoke stacks billowing and an airplane departing overhead. In the foreground a rancher nudging along his heard of grazing sheep. 'Click...THUNK!' camera mirror retracted and shutter locked. 'What the...?' I look to see the battery indicator blinking. 'Oh, lucky I brought extras' I think while making my way to the jeep. Threw em in and returned to the sight. 'Click...THUNK!' same same. A broken camera at Murphys finest hour. The beginning of 10 days through Mongolia by jeep without my film camera. Only my digital which has limited battery life and can't do scenes like this justice. Perfect.

    Deep into the desert, an atypical desert. Miles and miles of salt-rich dry grasslands. Grasslands where thousands of small rodents run for cover from the approaching vehicle, ducking into the underground. An underground empire where for every one we see, I imagine a city of a thousand more working diligently on expanding the vast underground network. A complete universe invisible to us passing by. Majestic hawks unscared by our commotion, standing motionless and turning only their head at the last minute to watch us pass. Small groupings of gers and ranchers on horse tending to their herds. Otherwise there is nothing as far as the eye can see.

    After a few hours, a grouping of mountains appears on the horizon which Gambaa proceeds toward. Riding along a single track dirt trail indicated on our map as a road. An unmarked fork in the path. A decision is made and we continue on, bucking back and forth and rumbling over rocks. The motion repeats itself over and over.

    The tape deck works. After a few more hours of MTV Super Hits (songs I have never heard), A-HA and Elton John's Greatest Hits and Mongolian Hip Hop (The Real Slim Shady - translated) on pirated cassette we reach the mountain. 'Mt. Zaroljaila', Gambaa proudly announces. And with that we stop for lunch. Gusting winds. Curious ranchers spot us from afar and eventually close the gap. 3 teenaged boys tending to a herd of cattle. Mezmerized by my guitar, they offer me a ride on their horses in exchange for a few songs.

    Continuing on a few more hours brings us to an outcropping of rocks and a few scattered trees. 'Mt. Gobi', Gambaa once again pipes up. The sight of an old monestary. This is not obvious. Our first camel sighting.

    The sun begins its decent and another 30 minutes brings us to an old lady gathering dried camel poop into a basket over her head. She points us to 3 lone gers where we plan to spend the night. Things are sorted out and we move in. Total strangers to us all, even our guide. A family of 9 and surely an indigenous experience, one which I could never describe. Nothing is familiar and therefore I have nothing to work with. Strange history, customs, and foods. We three sit humbled in the ger as a traditional life carries on around us and even tries to include us. Offered bowl after bowl of milky beverages followed by soups rich in ligamentus 'meat' and noodles. A ceremonious vodka passing and while I took a spin on the family motorbike parked out front, the rest huddled around the packs of cigarettes that Dan and Susumu handed out. Absolutely nothing much further then the eye can see. Must be a lonesome life, inpart explaining why we were so graceously taken in. Eventually things wound down.

    Lacking a stove, our ger got pretty cold at night, but our thorough preparation paid off and everyone slept sound except me. My stomach started to turn and I think I know why. Just the other day my good friend and fellow traveller Jim wrote me emphasizing that I was 'having way too much fun'. It is times like this when I question that assertion and at the same time am most thankful for it.

    October 3, 2001

    Day 4 (19,150k)

    I got the shits.

    Spent all morning working on Spanish omlettes, determined not to face another round of 'milk'. And for 3 hour the family gathered and sat in a silent confusion over our strange cooking methods. Meticulously dicing vegetables they had never seen (there isn't even a word for 'vegetable' in Mongolian) and adding spices in stages, raising the heat and lowering it. Every so often they would jump in to sharpen a knife on the back of a ceramic bowl or throw more poop on the fire. Curious to try our concoction, it was quickly passed around and back again. Don't think it struck their fancy, which was a good thing for us. It was delicious.

    Watched them knock off a few sheep and lay out their laundry on some tumbleweed and said our goodbyes. Snapped a family photos which I promised to mail our guide, as I would have no way to address them directly, and hit the trail.

    Alot more hopping along the vast nothingness. Today we seem to be following a lone powerline stretching endlessly across the land and into the horizon. Less rodents and more camels. The desert really heats up during the day and by noon I had shed all but my thermals. A stop at a swamped in monestary to fix the leaking stove which had turned the jeep into a gas chamber. Luckily no one lit a cigarette. A break for gas in the first town we have seen in 2 days and on to a 'tourist camp' near a landscape of ruins nested in some small hills. Avoided the trap for somme gers on the outskirts of the monestary where we whipped upp some pasta as Gambaa sorted out our accomodation. A beautiful sunset followed almost immediately by an even more beautiful moonrise.

    This family is a bit more well to do then the last. Judging this by their more attractive and less field worked appearance. Fashionable clothing, intricate wooden carvings, and a floor void of plastic and replaced by carpet. The ger is missing the inner layer of canvas but this may be by choice. It is warmer here.

    October 4, 2001

    Day 5 (19,441k)

    Up and out in record time. A long afternoon still heading South. Today our sights are set on a snow covered mountain range in the distance. The true start of the Gobi National Park. More camels and wild gazelles to add to the scene. The landscape changes so gradually that we are all lulled into sleep. We climb a plateau and at the top we take a break to admire the view. A small forest of desert trees and sand. I take a short and unnecessary nap. A few hours further we meet back up with the powerline which guides the jeep through the valley between the snow covered peaks which the overhead sun is turning to slush and mud.

    'Welcome to Gobi' the sign announces. And with that the powerline terminates at a sole souvenir shop and museum at the base of the mountains. 'Ain't that something' dan and I amused. 'All this way for some souvenirs' we laugh. Gambaa is excited and so we humour him and take a look. Worthless and trying to sell 'dinosaur' bones. Amazing. In a traditional Mongolian game of bones I rolled 4 goats meaning 'Bad Luck'. Obviously. We are the only ones here and wonder if they have even seen any others today as we certainly havent. Dan haggles over a chess board, we whip up some PB&J and continue on.

    Deeper into the mountains and to the head of a hiking trail where we spend the rest of the afternoon. Climbed the peak for a great view and slid-skied back down. Frozen hands. Wandered along the river at the mountian base determined to find the end. Back in the jeep and off to find a place for the night. Intent on camping out, but Gambaa would have none of that. He pulled into an empty tourist camp instead. We simply laughed when they asked $12 per ger and another $6 per meal. Adios.

    Tried to convince Gambaa we would be fine pitching a tent. And with this nerving prospect he quickly found 'a friend' to let us stay. A traditional old man with a friendly smile. A musty efficiency style room on the outside of the camp. We stood fast and pitched the tent just outside. Upon seeing this the old man shook himself spastically gesturing that we would freeze to death.

    We seem to be 'feeding the town' as all our hosts long for a taste of the west, or the east as it turned out tonight. A dinner of chinese stir-fried rice and beer prepared by master chef Dan. We hope our quickly fading supplies will last.

    A cozy night under the stars.

    October 5, 2001

    Day 6 (19,636k)

    It wasn't near as bad as the old man suggested, infact we slept like rocks. Spent the morning playing chess against the old man and Gambaa (a worthy competitor) while Susumu battled it out with the old man's son over a game of Super Mario Bros. and ofcourse Dan slept. Reheated last nights dinner for lunch (always better the second day) and packed out.

    Tired of the desert we motion to start heading back North. A big sand dune and some volcanic rock provide todays entertainment. Pasta for dinner and another night in the tent.

    October 6, 2001

    Day 7 (19,948k)

    Can't seem to beat Gambaa in chess. He's got one opening and uses sly tactics, something I should be able to take advantage of. Maybe tomorrow.

    Today we finally made our way back to paved road. A long day on the 'road'. At 40k/h we put in a full 8 hours to cover the remaining 300k of desert on our way toward the North West mountains which Gambaa is persistent in reminding us are cold. In theory we are no longer in the desert, but in practice I still have yet to see a tree and besides the addition of a few hills the landscape hasn't changed. What actually constitues a desert anyway?

    Passed through a couple villages in search of a proper cafe and hotspring. The cafe served up the typical crap roadkill once again leaving us wondering what they do with the 'real' meat and the hotspring was more like a musty warm public bath which out of concern for our health we skipped. After 7 days without a shower I am actually starting to think I really need one. We demand results which Gambaa promises on tomorrow.

    We raise the tent on a sloped and grassy hill far from anywhere and I destroy what could have been a good meal.

    October 7, 2001

    Day 8 (20,077k)

    Victory is sweet! Batting 2 for 2, I spend the morning taunting the self proclaimed Gambaa Khan with my victory dance. He's good for sure but not quite good enough. I've got his tactics nailed.

    Overcast and scattered freezing rain. Toured a monestary or two. Finally some trees. Tangled rivers and more pronounced peaks.

    Delivering on his promise and doing so in shining colors , perhaps the best most glamourous and homegrown patchwork rig job of a hotspring ever. Tucked away between hills and not on any tourist map. Opened doors just for us and simply wonderful. .50 for a true bathing experience. '30p that's what I pay to use the toilet in London' Dan adds typically. I was so happy I gave em .55 and didn't think twice. Even washed my clothes. We love Gambaa.

    I've never met anyone who fiddles with his car more. At every stop the hood goes up and he climbs in. A spotless engine with no problems. A keen believer in preventative maintenance. The only car that would break as a result of over-attention. Right now he is fixing the hood latch cable which is starting to stick, go figure.

    Invited in for the night to a properly wood heated ger. Us, 3 happy amigos. Them, a kind family with a kid, cheeks so scarlett they look painful and a playful puppy. We pack in while Susumu tries to keep them entertained on guitar. Off with the flourescents on with the candles and the evening begins. Flourescents back on. They have a CD player and Dan's been carrying around 20 CDs since Moscow he's dying to try. Mood instantly damned. Thankfully the CD player doesn't work and the candle lit environment slowly returned.

    October 8, 2001

    Day 9 (20,300k)

    The bombings against the Taliban have begun, according to the transistor radio in the corner. Some pointless and ill informed discussions concerning whether we should or shouldn't be doing what we are in retaliation. Some more laundry by the spring followed by Gambaa's revenge. I let him win this time. Sometimes it's best to apease the driver. Gifted the family $8 for using the ger and off we went sliding along the muddy trail once again between snow covered peaks.

    The scenery here definately beats out the Gobi. We never quite know exactly where Gambaa is heading but we think it is a lake. A stop in a town in search of some meat for tonights dinner. Another 'Black Market' where we had to search long and hard to find 'real' meat amongst assorted heads and intestines. Selected what appeared to be rump at .60 per kg. Our selection confused them, an 'ordinary' cut. Why we didn't want the spinal chord? They just didn't get it. They weighed the cut at 1 kg and the lady rigorously typed 1 x 600t into her calculator to return with the final price 600t. We laughed.

    Passed up on what appeared to be a brothel ger and lucked into a locals only hotel asking .90 per person. Not ones to fuss over inflated prices in times of need we accpeted. Foot into the bar and we find 3 locals digging into a goathead and with real enthusiasm Gambaa joins in. 'Oh, what the hell' we give it a go. Unimpressed we stew up our 'ordinary' cut. 'That's it!' exclaims Dan. 'They just don't like the good parts' in a moment of revelation. Our stew turned out exceptional reassuring us we were on the right side of the tracks. And for $1 we fed 5.

    This place is slanted, literally. Made from unstripped tree trunks and set at an angle of atleast 5 degrees. The walls to the left and the floor to the right giving it a good 10 degrees of off kilter character. Walls covered in animal skins, plastic fruit and tacky wrestling posters there is more going on here then I could describe. A real interesting find and a place I would imgine returning to someday. Just think for under $15 you and a mate could stay here for a week, and if you like goathead you'd be set. I can't picture a better deal anywhere else.

    I actually wonder if they should be paying us as our entertainment value to the family that operates this place exceeds .90. Everything we do or have they are stunned by. Dazzled by Susumu's head lamp and damn near started doing cartwheels when they saw their picture on my digicam. Amazingly detached.

    On the Mongolian language. Simply put, they never use their vocal chords. Everything sounds like a loud whisper, made by forcing air through their tongue and teeth. Repeated S's and T's, Ch's and Kh's and the sound one makes when coughing up a luggie. Imagine all the sounds you could make without actually using your throat and that's it. I think they are called fricatives and stops in linguistics. An example say 'Tso Shat Chisinka Khirr Shku Pst' but don't pronounce the 'n' and let a wind of air out in place of the 'a'. If in the process you blow out all the candles in the room you got it right.

    October 9, 2001

    Day 10 (18,375k)

    The first toasty night all the way through. On to the lake, a lovely one surrounded by interesting beaches and rock formations. A day of fruitless fishing along a nearby river and hiking 'Fire Mountain', an extinct volcano.

    On Gambaa and fire. If he ain't continuously pestering it, pushing otherwise happily burning wood around into some ideal positions all the while throwing burning ambers everywhere, he's pouring petrol on it in a fatal attempt to relight it, which is exactly what I awoke to find him doing. With a heavy scent of petrol emminating from the sheet steel stove and omnipresent throughout the ger, a shivering Gambaa sits next to the 4" open door with a match in hand. Before I could say anything he strikes it and tosses it in. I instinctively reel back. 'BOOM!' and out from the door shoots a 6 foot blast flame, nearly setting fire to the ger and everything in it. Everyone awakens in a daze over what just happened. Startled , setback, and satisfied all at the same time he sits back in anticipation of a roaring firee that he can prod along. Nope, two minutes later the gas burned off and the flame extinguished. Not one to give up so easily he has another go at it ignoring all warnings otherwise. Same story. It wasn't until the 3rd try when he resigned himself to simply cutting the wood smaller, a solution which ofcourse worked without further incident. Definately no boyscout. Even with the fire now burning vivaciously the fiddling continues. I move my gear out of the spark path and with my fear tempered by the fact that he is finished attempting anything brutally dangerous try to get back to sleep. 'Maybe good sleep now' as he knocks over a poorly placed candle for the 4th time, burning a new patch into the floor near where I lay. 'Yeah...maybe' I return. He continues to play with the fire for the rest of the night.

    October 10, 2001

    Day 11 (20,737k)

    Thankfully I awoke and when I did the ger was still standing. A brisk morning with a heavy frost on the ground all the way to the lake edge where I met a couple from Holland travelling together with two girls from Sweden. Intent on a fire after a numbing night of tent camping. 'I've seen enough of this' their 5th day of touring by public transport and sleeping in tents. 'Tomorrow we return to Ulan Bator and hire a jeep to tour the Gobi for a week' continuing on. 'Suit yourself, but their ain't that much to see' I interrupt. 'Well atleast it'll be warmer' they add hopefully. 'True... I'll introduce you to our driver' and with that found Gambaa's next victims.

    Today was all about Gambaa's home. Supposedly on the way and halfway back to Ulan Bator and the first time I have seen the jeep top 60. Excited to spend the evening with mom and pop and we just happened to be along for the ride.

    On Gambaa and driving. If it's a new road, stay away. Fearing the unknown and the chance that an abyss may suddenly open up and swallow him and his beloved vehicle whole he sticks to the well travelled 'knock me around' frontages. As we sit antagonized by the smooth, straight, and graded highway within eyeshot beside us, the jeep jerks back and forth and up and down violently at a lightning 40k/h slowing down to 20 to take on the bone rattling big bumps. The bumbs which are steered into by blind acceptance of the most worn and travelled of all offroad trails. A cycle which appears to be followed by all wayward Mongolians and by its very nature cripples itself. Successively accentuating the bumps on each pass. Upon suggestion to take the 'good' road a quick glance over is followed by a subdued cackle implying 'you silly tourist'. If the nagging is continued eventually the fixation is broken down and he gives it a shot. Ah, all the sudden a tranquility descends on the vehicle and the speed safely doubles. No more shaking about. But with wild abandon he can still be found veering and diving into the odd pothole along the shoulder. A gleem in his eyes says he enjoys it but this he won't admit. Eventually he works his way back to the frontage, and this we can't explain. Dan's hypothesis parallels that of the meat story. They just don't like the 'good' roads.

    A broken power steering belt on the way had Gambaa out of the car and in full form. Elated by the fact that he was prepared by carrying an extra and also nearly broken belt to replace it with and was able to pop the hood, dive right in and show off his mechanical prowess, putting us back on the road within 10 minutes. We think he may have also thrown in an oil change just for kicks.

    Our patience was starting to wear when what we were told was to take 2 hours was pushing 4. Gambaa again to the rescue, pulling the car of some stranded locals out of a flooded river bed. Once again back on track in under 10. Approaching lights on the horizon. A town where after a quick word given to Kid A on Street A, we proceed to Street B where Kid B suddenly appears with a bottle of vodka for sale. A welcome home gift to his parents.

    Continuing along another 15 minutes outside of town his face lit up as we finally pulled up to the door of his home. A proper home and the only home in the 'neighborhood'. Infact, the only building for miles. 'A lonely childhood' I thought to myself. Entered to find mom and pop startled awake.

    By now the unloading of the jeep is routine for us and before we even finished rolling out our beds momma Gambaa was busy heating yak milk and working up dinner. A darth vader like sound and bursts of heavy coughing followed poppa around the room. Smokers emphasema I am guessing. Dan and Susumu broke out a few packs of cigarettes for offering and ofcourse were obliged. Is this all for help or harm I wonder. Anyway, the evening progressed along and after repeated servings of a suprisingly tasty 'meat' and rice soup and the now typical ritualistic vodka drinking we called it quits. Turned my bag around to face the budda and climbed in. The coughing continued for most of the night.

    October 11, 2001

    Day 12 (21,150k)

    Awoke to the sound of chopping onions. The natural light filters through the windows illuminating a cozy one room 'countryside' home. Log cabin style 30' square with walls and floors covered in stunning Mongolian carpets. To the left, two ornamented steel frame beds, the further Gambaa's childhood bed and where he is still fast asleep. Straight ahead, typically decorated cabinetry holding a small budda shrine, assorted family photos, and country like knick knacks. To the right, the 'kitchen' and stove where momma is busy preparing the breakfast soup while poppa sits bypuffing away, completing an entire pack before stepping out to round up the herd. Everything against the walls, leaving a 25' undisturbed square in the center of the room. That is where we sleep. Dan still hidden away deep inside his beloved Dan Sack, Susumu already up and out for a walk, and me just admiring the environment.

    Today we are to do some horse riding through Gambaa's old stomping grounds before returning to Ulan Bator. I am excited. More like a pony then a horse. Down to the watering hole. The wooden saddle took some getting used to but felt more secure then a leather saddle. A relaxing day of visiting around brother and sister gers, sacrificing sheep, force feedings of the soups and milks (which I have definately had enough of) and a few spirited games of chess with Gambaa's 'students'.

    Waved goodbye and after a final 6 hours on the road (the only truely paved road so far) saw the big city lights. Almost too big. Strange to be back, but looking forward to a couple days recuperation before heading off to Beijing, China. Gambaa was a great guide and we left him with a few gift of appreciation and a few words of advice. Never take up chess as a profession, learn the 'good' roads from the 'bad', and stay aways from fires. A touching exchange.

    Trip Stats

  • 12 days - 2,350 km - 300 photos
  • Accomodation: 11 nights (Campouts 4, Gers 4, Hotel 1, Proper Home 1, Driver Education Classroom 1)
  • Cost: $233 each (Jeep & Gambaa $330, Food $160, Gas $170, Miscellaneous $22, Accomodation $15+half our food)
  • And in the end we had $30 worth of broken crackers and $10 in unused gas left

    With a deep desire for some real food we scoured town during its closing hours only to find some really bad chinese food. Maybe tomorrow.

    Some internet catchup. God bless the internet. Computer Motion, the company I quit to travel, just received FDA clearance for Zeus, a surgical robot. The stocks doubled overnight. This could be good.

    October 12, 2001

    Getting my freshly visa'd passport back from the Chinese embassy proved to be a tribute to loopy third world beaurocracy (can never spell that word right besides it's an ugly word) and godly American efficiency. Having mistaken my 'receipt' (chinese invention) for a spoiled bubblegum wrapper somewhere back in the Gobi, I approach the man behind the window sheepishly and without 'the only proof' of my identity according to a hand written sign hovering over his head. Never mind the fact that I am carrying my license, student id, a dozen or so major credit cards, and photo copies of my passport as alternate proof, as this is all immaterial. 'Receipt Please' barks the man over the cackle of a cheap Radio Shack intercom. 'Uh... I lost it' And with that was given a short lecture in chino-aglais on the importance of the receipt system and why they could not return my passport to me without it. Also, never mind the fact that I almost exactly resemble the image of the man whose photo appears on page one of said passport (my hair isn't blonde anymore). Apparently the only solution for me is to have the Amercian consulate write me a letter to the effect of 'please give Daryl Robert Fortney his passport back'. 'Cheers' I thought, that oughtta happen sometime this year. And with the depressed thought of spending the next few weeks waiting in Mongolia for my letter, headed out to find the American embassy.

    A 5 minute taxi ride to the outskirts of town where behind what appears to be a military installation on high alert following the recent series of international events waved a red white and blue flag of such sheer beauty it almost made me cry. A little homesick I guess. Welcome to America. And in under 15 minutes after explaining my circumstances to the most pleasent front desk lady I have met throughout my entire travels I walked out with said letter in one hand, translated into Mongolian, a copy of some recent news and travel warnings in the other hand and smile on my face, only suprised that they didn't send me off with a donut and a cup of coffee. No diddling around, no red tape, no bullshit. God bless America.

    Took a photocopy for keepsake and returned to 'Chinatown' where after having my finger print taken and filling out a number of forms was finally handed my passport and visa in suspicion. China, here I come. Dan and I set off for the train station to pick up tickets.

    Getting international train tickets in Ulan Bator proved to be an exercise in tempering the vigor and corruption of a third world institute. Firstly, the booking office isn't in the train station, but finding it is a whole other story. Secondly, good luck finding the 'ticket window' as there are no signs to tell you it is on the 3rd floor in room #308. But if you do manage to get that far let me tell you what happens. A fat lady #1 behind a desk will ignore your presence as long as possible, all the while acting busy with a phone to her ear. When you notice that she is getting tired that you haven't left, that is your 'in', make your request. '2 tickets to Beijing on Sunday please' you kindly offer. This will be quickly met by 'No Seat' put quite bluntly and matter of factly. 'Okay, well how about the next train?' you understandingly and patiently add. The reply is a simple 'No'. 'This is the ticket office?' you ask now confused. And in a frantic fit 'Maybe room one nine' as she scribbles #109 on a piece of scrap paper and tosses it at you. Off you go. Another fat lady #2 also behind a desk and also playing the lets see how long I can ignore you game. Finally after spying on the scrap paper in your hand she knows how you've gotten here and puts down the phone. Take your seat and let the negotiations begin. '2 tickets to Beijing on Sunday please' again you offer, upon which a ludicrous price will be silently scribbled out on scrap and pushed in your direction. A first class ticket for $150 a seat. At this point, sheepish looks and persistance are your only weapons. Whinjing at the paper recalls it for a second class seat and a 30% discount. Whinjing again doesn't help as there are no third class seats. You pull out your student id recalling it again for another 20% discount. Well done! 'It's just too expensive...' you counter. Now the blank stares begin. She begins nosing through her papers appearing to legitimately research the price tables, tables you would love to take a look at were it not for her non-disclosing methods. More blank stares. The third class seats magically become available and the price drops another 20%. Finally the tickets you were originally looking for. With that she scribbles out a note in mongolian seemingly indicating seat numbers and the agreed price and hands it over to be taken back to 'room three eight'. Upon seeing you return, #1 quickly picks up the phone in a hopeless attempt to appear busy. Again you wear her down until she accepts the note given by #2. Reluctantly she turns to the printer, loads it with ticket stock, and produces the tickets. To make the whole transaction appear official out comes a calculator and in a well rehersed manner she adds up the 'fair' ticket price, a standard 'booking fee', and quick $2 for herself. A $2 that if you call her on, she instantly becomes outraged claiming it is an 'agent fee'. This is when you just pay up to avoid losing the ticket and walk away as insults are thrown at you. The result, Ulan Bator to Beijing, Sunday at 8am, Wagon 14, Berths 23 & 24, at $45 a seat.

    With tickets in hand and the day half over we hit up the temple for a little sight seeing, this time spending the $1 to see the 60' golden budda (200kg of gold, so they say) surrounded by a thousand small buddas. Nice. Found some decent Mongolian feeds (a rare find) amongst the wooden shacks of the old town and haggled over some incense and a few souvenirs.

    A trip to the State Department Store, a thoroughly Soviet concept. Through the door a pickpocket attempt failed. He wasn't so swift and I felt his hand. Grabbed his wrist and pushed him back through the crowd. Normally I travel with empty pockets, carrying my valuables in a shoudler bag which I am always clinging to. Today was laundry day and decided it was due for a bath. What was in my pocket? My passport, the train tickets to China (god help me to go back and do that all over again), and $100 in cash. A close call. On the way out we saw the man again, this time being screamed at by a woman and pummeled by a police officer.

    Back at the hostel we rounded up Susumu and a Brian of Australia for a retry on dinner. Brian, a travel writer and the author of 'Rule #5: No Sex On The Bus' a book about his experiences as a tour leader in Europe. For him this is 'business travel', working on a new book 'Planes, Trains, And Camels'. An interesting guy with an interesting book, inspiring us all to give it a shot. I dunno... is this 'book' interesting?

    A night of 'dance' club entertainment. Juggling fire and female strippers. Suprisingly a Mongolian norm, nothing taboo, infact there were more women in the club then men. Actually I think we were the real entertainment for the night. Susumu was in heaven and Dan wouldn't stop talking about his girlfriend, waiting patiently for him in Hong Kong.

    October 13, 2001

    Dan spent the day sick in bed. Travel Rule #1: Never eat the potato salad. Brian and I took off to do some sight seeing. Back to the temple to witness a strange religeous ceremony which we quickly lost interest in and on to the Winter Palace where we were dazzled by the architectural beauty and disturbed by its state of disrepair. On to the black market which on Saturday afternoons is a place of terror for anyone even slightly clausterphobic. A square mile of stalls and shoulder to shoulder shoppers, beggers, and pickpockets which had Brian rightfully clutching his bag against his chest and anxious for his life. On the way back what started as an innocent cab drive to the State Department Store for some last minute Gobi goods turned into a frenzied drive across town as the driver turned salesman and tried tempting us with his friend's blankets. After finally giving up on the sell, he tried sticking us for the 20k of driving along the way. No way, and things got touchy. Ripped the shoudler strap off my now clean bag in an unsuccessful attempt to take it from me and we ended up at the police station where only one side of the story was heard, nobody really seemed to give a shit and we settled 'out of court' for half fare. A real bastard.

    Earlier today, and to my sheer surprise, the Irkutsk bicycle gang rolled into town. Tired and hungry from the last 2 weeks of solid cycling we hit the streets for some pizza and storytelling. An inspiring gang. At this rate I might see them again in Beijing.

    October 14, 2001

    The 8am train was delayed to noon, giving me the chance to do the last minute shopping I missed out on yesterday. A morning of wind and freezing rain. According to the locals, the real beginning of winter. In the hostel van and on our way to the train station, all the while argueing with some Spaniards over the merits of my Paella Hut idea.

    All aboard and off we went, almost too easily. Snuggled up with my new Camel Wool blanket and into bed in a hopeful attempt to catchup on the past few late nights. A stunning serenity until I was startled awake by a brash slamming of the cabin door. Enter Mendba and Gana, two Mongolian representative of Korea, on their way home and already a few vodkas into the trip. 'Never mind' I thought trying to close my eyes and ignore. Hopelessly.

    BOOM. Butt down on my bed, yapping away and whacking hard boiled eggs on the table in front of me with no regard whatsoever. Getting even more restless, thrashing their luggage around in search of the missing salami and hoking luggies on the floor. These are sounds that are hard to ignore. Shut out for a moment and then back again I awoke to the sound of my guitar, once securely stashed under my bed, and now in the hands of Mendba busy strumming away and singing in mongolian. I was instantly outraged and before I could react, soothed by the comforting sounds and the letting go of my conceptions. Noticing me awake, 'the offender' offered up juice and an egg and quickly his eyes lit up as he pulled a bottle of Esukia vodka from his bag, all the while pointing to the artwork on the label and explaining in broken english the Esukia was Ghengis' father. This set the tempo for the evening, half of which was spent passing the bottle between locals gathering to hear and sing along with me giving a shot at learning early 60's Mongolian classics on guitar (which I forget now) and the other half in the socially active dining car where Mendba favored a Hite beer to a Cass (both Korean beers) and a condiment tray across the table to an ashtray right infront of him.

    All was going so well until we reached the frontier. Apparently, unbeknownst to him, Dan's visa was valid for 'about 10 days' as written in Mongolian on the visa. Today was day 18 and trying to convince the irate officers that 18 was 'about' 10 just wasn't erasing the profit potential from their glassy eyes. 'They want $5000' Mendba translated while trying to push around his 'diplomatic' status to get Dan off the hook, only infuriating the guards more. 'But they will take $250'. and with that Dan borrowed $40 in bribe money from me gathered up his luggage and packed out, surrounded by guards and never to return. Detained at the Mongolian border past midnight.

    Having concluded that shocking chain of events, the train continued on toward Beijing.

    China

    October 15, 2001

    A restful day of recovery from last night for me and apparently another party day for the wagon gang. Knocking back another bottle before noon and making the prospects of rest even more difficult for me.

    Out the window the flat scenery of the Gobi desert quickly turned as we continued deeper into China. Desolate grasslands replaced by rice fields of workers and sand dunes by foreboding mountains. Lush vegetation and local life working the now fruitful land. Oriental villages of single story clay brick houses where the locals are seen on bicycle and the animals wade through the organic compost that accumulates in the valleys between. Stunning scenery, rich with the Asian culture. A culture seemingly so distanced from that of Russia and Mongolia, yet only a stones throw back along the tracks. A different world indeed.

    As the sun begins to set the Great Wall appears over the horizon. A first and unforgettable sighting. Stretching itself timelessly across the land. Twisting like a dragon between mountain peaks. Almighty and at the same time frival, it's importance instantly sapped by technological invention. I forget where I have come from and am reminded where I am.

    Welcome to China. Excited I pack my belongings in anticipation of arrival. After another hour, and 8 continuous days from Moscow, the train comes to its final resting place, Beijing, China. The official end of my trans-siberian adventure, and the beginning of another adventure as yet undefined.

    Say my goodbyes and step out onto the street. Feels strange to be once again travelling alone. An immense and modern city suprises me. Immaculate and orderly and steaming with life. Much more sophisticated then I had expected.

    Found my way to the Metro and within a half hour settled myself into the Zhoulong International Youth Hostel. Dropped my gear and back out onto the streets. A grumbling stomach steered me to my first Chinese meal. Unable to decipher the menu I simply pointed to a good looking dish across the room and said 'same same', a phrase which seems to be recognized globally. This and watching what they pay I have learned is your best bet for getting good food at a fair price when all else fails.

    An entire white meat fish (Silver Carp I think) chopped into a boiling soup of light oil and various sprouted beans and hot peppers. Sides of pickled carrots, celery, and a different type of bean. A Yanjing beer. All this for $3. No fortune cookie.

    As I silently sniffled my way through the tasty meal I look around. A small 20'x30' room complete with fish tanks and among the dozen or so guests I counted 9 waitresses, 4 cooks, and 4 apprentice cooks, in total filling over half the room when they sat down to feed themselves. A massive and stunning workforce. And my step father operating a family style restaurant back home is burdened over a payroll of 6. There cetainly is no lack of attention and service here.

    Back to the food. Big enough for 2 and spicey enough for 3. Ah, my stomach is starting to turn but certainly not from parasites. Coming from Russian and Mongolia this is sheer spice overload. This may take some getting used to.

    October 16, 2001

    A productive day to say the least. Had my shoulder bag repaired for the 5th time ($2), bought a new bike ($20), got a haircut ($1) and met a local named Tommy in a noodle shop who helped me find and negotiate a Canon shop to fix my busted camera. Did a bit of window shopping for other camera gear I have had my eyes on (slightly overpriced but available). Spent the evening biking around Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City. Witnessed a small street parade and found a fast and cheap internet cafe where I will surely post an update from (.50 / hour).

    October 17, 2001

    Up in bed in the early morning catching up on my journal and reminiscing over the series of events since Ulan Bator when the door cracks open and in walks Dan. His appearance tired and dazzled, confused and elated. He had beaten the system and wiggled his way out on the $40 I had given him. A long night of borderline turmoil, best described by the man himself. Here's his story...

    [Dan's Story]

    And in the wake of all the tragedy he broke down and resigned himself to head straight to Hong Kong to see his girlfriend, because 'It's been two months you know...' 'Man... she's dying to see me.' Had planned to move to a cheaper place but checked in for another night to see him off.

    Spent the afternoon in a Mikey D's catching up and discussing the merits of a 'World Rating' book and the PDA software and email server we would need to pull it off. Kind of like a Consumer Reports, but on countries. Ofcourse, like all good ideas it was quickly dismissed for consideration of another.

    Picked up my camera ($40) and with a new 'chip' it seems as good as new. Ran into Tommy and invited him along for a farewell dinner of Peking Duck. I've had better.

    October 18-23, 2001

    After 4 days in Beijing I still had only chalked up the Forbidden City on my list of sights. Why? It's the food. Everytime I take off somewhere on bike a steaming bamboo basket of dumplings lures me in. I promised myself to try anything once before entering China and as a result I've been eating non-stop since I arrived. Noodles, stirfries, scorpions on a stick and ofcourse the special wonton soup. All incredibly cheap and tasty, so long as you don't ask what it is.

    I love Beijing, but it isn't just for the food, it's also for the people and the places. A city that fully represents life. Friendly smiles and helping hands. Broad avenues where taxis compete with trucks and bikes compete with busses, at the same time chaotic and orderly. Back alley hutongs where old men huddle around a game of chinese chess or Go. Buddist temples and flourishing markets where anything goes. I could easily consume months here just observing street side oddity, let alone doing the tourist things like flying kites in Tiananmen Square and wandering around the Summer Palace.

    There is just too much to say about Beijing. You really gotta experience it for yourself.

    October 24, 2001

    Spent half the day on Silk Road customizing myself some pure silk sheets and the other half sitting in the shop strumming my guitar and waiting for them to be sewn up. 2 queen sized sheets doubled up and some pillowcases so soft and supple it shouldn't have been so easy all for under $150. A day well spent.

    Roggy's News Flash

    October 25, 2001

    Picture this, 3 15 pound bags of accumulated tourist junk on the handlebars and me on the seat, backpack on back, guitar strapped to one side and camel wool blanket to the other, shoulder bag across chest. On the way to the post office, Beijing style. Actually didn't draw so much attention considering most people around me were carrying more. Unloaded, boxed up , and shipped off 20 kg in total. Silk kites, incense burners, scrolls, film, and various souvenir knick-knacks gathered since Moscow.

    On to the Great Wall. The wild wall of Huang Hua Cheng. 80 k North and a two stage transport made difficult. First, a bus 50k to Huarou for $1. They wanted 3 tickets, 1 for me and 2 for the bike. 'Ok', I gave them 2. Second, a minibus 50k to Huang Hua Cheng for $3. 'No Way!', and too cheap to give in I half biked and half hitched the remainder, arriving well after dark. 'Shia Shia' and dropped off infront of a mom and pop shop where I traded songs on guitar for noodles and dumplings. Instantly I gained celebrity status with the local school girls, which seemed to aggrivate the local school boys. Silly teens.

    Continued on down the road to the great wall. LED light in hand I crossed over the a dam and along a footpath, up a ladder, and onto the wall. A wild wall for sure, crumbling apart and overgrown with weeds. Continued along until I found the 'Perfectly Preserved Tower' as my guidebook had it. Climbed a tree branch ladder inside and setup camp on top. An evening perched up high, just me and my guitar, eating Chips Ahoy, and searching for stars through the thick haze. Eerie, lonely, liberating, amazing.

    October 26, 2001

    All night the sky hinted at rain but never followed through. Awoke to the sound of nothing. No tourists, no hawkers, not a sole in sight. A stunning view from the tower. A countryside far below of autumn colors and a magnificently lost wall snaking its way between the peaks toward the horizon.

    As I started packing I notice a minivan in the distance dropping off the first group and before I finish they are climbing my tower. Unlike the popular tourist sections of the wall, this section has no ticket windows or trinket sellers and on a day like today only sees a few dozen like minded budget travelers like myself. 'Wow! You stayed the night?!' 'Yeah sure, why not?' Ok, well maybe not so like minded. And off they went further along to the next tower while I stayed behind favoring the serenity. Watched them inch their way from tower to tower and again out of sight.

    Dawned my pack and off I went, working my way from tower to tower. Since the wall meagers its way betweek peaks, the sections inbetween are quite a challenge. Quickly I realized that lugging all my gear around wasn't so bright.

    Climbed a ladder to the next tower and hopped inside. 'Two yuan' sprouted a shifty looking local tending to a fire inside the tower. 'You must be kidding' wondering what he could possibly be asking for money for. Apparently at some point in time he destroyed the natural entrance to the tower and constructed 'my ladder', the only other two words in his English vocabulary, to enter the tower, proving that no matter where you are in the world enterprise will follow opportunity. And after 15 minutes of listening to him moan and observing him eyeing my bag he saw his opportunity, snatched my camera from my pocket, threw some rocks at me, and ran. Out a side entrance to the wall and along a path ending in some heavy bush. After him I went, and before long I found the little weasel's hiding spot. A group of brits passing through stopped to help and we had him cornered. He surrendered. Got my camera back and snapped his photo to point to the authorities back in town.

    Continued on. A few hours of breathtaking climbs and unreal views later my tour of the wall was finished. Along a footpath and back to town to pick up my bike.

    The return trip to Beijing was a repeat adventure, this time in three stages. First, an easy hitch to Huarou. Second, a rough and tired 25 k bike on a busy highway. Biking for an hour with 20 pounds on your back really hurts. And last but certainly not least, was picked up 25 k outside of Beijing in a backfiring truck of construction workers delivering supplies. 4 hours of dropping off the goods, constant engine repairs, and me trying to keep the crew entertained on guitar finally found me in Tiananmen Square. A 25 k I could have easily walked faster.

    Back in Beijing. Made my way to the Far East hotel on Silk Road (definately the best deal in town) and to save myself the inevitable adventure, had them book my train ticket to Datong. Hit the bed hard after an exhausting day.

    October 27, 2001

    Spent the morning out again on bike in search of the Beijing West train station. Took a wrong turn along the way and by the time I finally found it and finished arguing with the guards over bringing a bicycle (they don't allow it) I ofcourse missed the train by a minute. 'Dammit!' I may never leave Beijing. This bike has been more of a pain in my ass then anything else from the start. Contrary to its appearence it has been an endless source of travel hassle. Rescheduled for the night train and hours later and even sorer found my way back to the hostel where I was more then happy to trade my bike to the event coordinator for a ticket to the Chinese acrobatics show. A final Peking duck (I have found 'the' duck) and off to the show.

    Diving through hoops, balancing on sticks, 16 girls on 1 bike, and loads of double jointedness. An incredible show where a minute didn't pass without me saying 'What the...?', 'How's that...?', or 'No way!'

    Took an early taxi to the train station and found my hard seat. A freezing, crowded, and uncomfortable trip to Datong.

    October 28, 2001

    Welcome to Datong. At one time, a capital of the Turkic Northern Invaders. Today, a crowded, polluted, and noisey city of coal miners trapped in what appears to be a chinese fashion mecca. Interestingly, a city where upscale shops line the main street, and the filthy poor fill in the alleys between. A place where it isn't unusual to see a shiny new Mercedes pull up besides a donkey cart full of coal and dirty faces. A confused city of ramshackle shacks mixed with 12 story hotels like the one I checked into. Looking down from my room it isn't hard to see this city going nowhere. Conjested and sprawling with the honking of a thousand horns and a thick smoke filling the air.

    A day of mixed sun and shower. After a few hours of catchup sleep I setout to find 'the caves' everyone talks about. Apparently the only attraction that brings foreigners to this town. A 30 minute bus ride to the outskirts found me a few hours of enjoyment walking the 1k alleyway of caves. Tired of buddist carvings and with my curiosity satisfied I returned to town. A rainbow filled the sky, stetching almost ironically over the entire city scape. 'A real pot of gold this place', I thought.

    Spent the evening strolling the streets where neon lights and street stands of mixed nuts, candied fruits, and kebabs set the mood. An incredible dinner at what is touted as the best restaurant in the province of Shanxi. Duck, fish, vegetables, and on and on. Seated next to the local big shots and all for under $10. Quite expensive by Chinese standards but a real budget travel treat.

    Back at the hotel I met a couple of London on their way to Wutai Shan, a small mountain range of buddist temples. Sounds like a worthwhile diversion.

    October 29, 2001

    Decided to take a easy day before heading off. A sunny day, warm and pleasent. A leisurely walk from the hotel down main street through the heart of the old town and back. Took me all day.

    Observed a few games of chinese chess where there really are no opponents. It is just the winner verse the rest of town and a move isn't made without first a lengthy discussion by everyone around the board. It gets pretty spirited at times. A few back alleys where the stare count soared. A monestary under heavy reconstruction and what appeared to be a whore house.

    A 20'x30' room of old men seated on benches smoking, drinking, spitting on the floor, and cackling through their 3 remaining teeth at the rotation of ladies on stage whining (singing) pathetically into an over-amplified microphone. At the end of their act, proceeding to the back of the room to pick up one of the men standing in line and moving upstairs to the balcony for some wining and dining before stage 2, the bedroom near the entrance. At first I wasn't sure what I was entering but it quickly bacame clear when everyone turned as I entered, their mouths dropped, and moments later shit eating grins overwhelmed the room. Had a laugh 'with them and not at them' and continued on.

    A nice view of the street commotion from a drum tower in the middle of a typically busy intersection where I charted out my route home through the dankest looking back streets possible. The city is undergoing massive reconstruction and most roadways have been turned to mud pits where hundreds of workers slave away with shovels day and night. This place is a total and beautiful mess. I kinda like it.

    October 30, 2001

    The 6am bus to Wutai Shan had me out in a daze. A FREEZING ride. Windows down, heater broken, and snow on the ground. A 5 hour ride hidden deep inside my sleeping bag across the back seat trying to shut eye while the driver displayed true and typical 3rd world horn honking behavior.

    A few short blasts upon overtaking any vehicle (which is attempted at any opportunity) and one long blast when anything even remotely appears to hinder or consider hindering the right of way. Add it up for an average of a half dozen short blasts and a couple long ones per minute. Every minute. The whole way. Has anyone written a book about horn honking in the 3rd world? I think there is enough twisted comedy to it to make a best seller.

    Anyway, needless to say I didn't catch any sleep. In desparate need of mental repair I checked into the 1st hotel that made itself evident (don't worry about having to find one) and took a short nap.

    Welcome to Wutai Shan. Templeland, a virtual theme park of Tibetan buddist temples and monestaries centered around a one road town Taihuai and nestled between 5 peaks. Very cool and well worth a stay. A tourist town but more popular with Tibetan and Mongolian pilgrims then 'civilized' foreign tourists. A buddist holyland. A mecca of sorts.

    Spent the day climbing to Dailou Peak. A thousand steps up to a monestary at the top overlooking all of Taihuai and the surrounding valley. Quiet and seldom a sole. An excellent place to just lay down in the sun and take a nap.

    Woke in time to climb down and on to Taiyuan Si. A 'Great White Pagoda', bottle shaped and some 100m in height, towering over the center of an otherwise two story town. Impressive. Underneath lots of moaning monks sit around facing each other blowing long horns and banging gongs. Spiritually uplifting.

    A crappy dinner and a arguement back at the hotel over the 'broken' room heater which landed me a new room and a roomate named Andres of Los Angeles. A guy who has spent the past three years as an english teacher in China and has alot to say about it. Quit his job over a disagreement with his boss and decided to vacation around some before finding another. Filled me in on a great itinerary leading me to Chengdu, only part of which I think I will have time for. There is loads to see in China and one month or even two doesn't even scrape the surface.

    Did you know that the word for 'internet cafe' in Chinese is 'wangba' which translates to 'fishing net alcohol bar' and if said wrong means 'turtle eggs' which is an insult? Explains some strange looks I got back in Datong.

    October 31, 2001

    Andres is off to Pingyao, also my next stop and we talked travel and said our goodbyes over a bowl of overpriced but authentic Mongolian mutton, completely unrecognizable and completely loaded with bones tendons and veins. As he searched out a bus onwards I searched out a motorbike for rent.

    A perfect rice burner, a Jialing 125, and a typically reluctant driver (foreigners aren't allowed to drive in China) whose name I still don't know. Fueled up and ready for an overnight circuit to the monestaries atop the peaks surrounding town. A potent package which costs all of $10 a day.

    A heavy fog obscured the sun for a cold but invigorating back seat experience to the East Terrace, my intended stop for the night. A monestary in shambles and under complete renovation but with an excellent view otherwise. Welcomed in to a quick lesson in prayer and a cup of steaming tea to warm my numb hands and shaking bones. This in exchange for a few tunes on guitar and with that the one semi 'English aware' Michael Jackson loving deviant invited me in for the night. The driver returned to town and I moved in.

    A delicious vegetable soup which I am guessing they had all day to prepare, as nothing much seems to be going on around here, followed by a bitter cold walk dressed as a monk alongside my new 'sponsor'.

    An evening of exchanged song and an early night. A rock hard straw mat and bean pillow shared between two noisey monks who all the night snored profusely, grinded their teeth down to stubs, and talked back and forth in their sleep. Apparently their life isn't as stress free as they would have you believe.

    November 1, 2001

    Awoke to a beautiful sunrise at precisely 7. A clear sky but chilly up at 2700m. The restless night earned me a cough and the onset of a cold.

    The smell of freshly steamed rolls, exotic spices, and incense permeated the air as the sounds of prayer filled in the background. Unfortunately breakfast wasn't as tasty as it smelled and my childhood practice of emptying the bowl when no one was looking came of use. A cold soup on a cold morning. A hit or miss I guess.

    The driver arrived by 9 and I said my goodbyes to the overly kind monks. Off to the real peak, the North Terrace at 3000m 'The Rooftop of North China'. As we approach the peak the winds reached a steady 40mph with gusts up to 60. My guitar strapped to my back acted like a sail, setting the bike at an angle and at times almost lifting us off the ground. Numbingly cold, bundled in 6 layers of everything in my bag and still freezing. A near fatal spill close to the sheer edge. Decided it best to hike the rest of the way.

    Faint of breath and frozen. 100m from the top a SUV cleared the corner and seeing my pathetic condition offered me a lift. Government big wigs on their way back to Beijing after a holy tour around China. Friends of Mao I believe, atleast that's what they said.

    The North Terrace, another monestary under rehabilitation and covered in snow. Not much to see other then an incredible 360 of the surrounding Wutai Shan. Snapping away at photos my hands froze stiff and my camera shut down. Slight frostbite. Back in the SUV and down the mountain, maybe a day better spent around town. Finished the day off exploring a few impressive monestaries nearby.

    Worn by a rough day I checked into a hotel for $1 and took an early night. Coughing, aching, sniffling, and a fever. Definately a cold. Downed some vitamin C.

    November 2, 2001

    Spent the entire day in busses and vans on my way to Pingyao. Most notably the final stretch from Taiyuan.

    On public transportation in China. The van circles town until it is fully loaded, and I mean fully. I counted 26 but I may have missed a few and ofcourse there was always room for one more along the way. Shoulder to shoulder and enough to scrape the transmission over the 'speed bumps'. At any one time 3 of your 8 nearest neighbors are smoking profusely. 1 hour into a 2 hour ride and the man behind me has just finished his first pack. The other 5 are involved in a heated arguement. The driver ofcourse graduated from the same school as the rest, doubling as both a lunatic and a virtual musician behind the wheel. 1 broken headlight, 3 near misses, and loads of noise. All the while the man to my left hits me with an evil eye, pronouncing his distaste with my guitar blocking his view and interfering with his smoke rings. 'Yeah, that's the real problem here.' I think to my self sarcastically as my headache worsens. The van instantly rears to one side narrowly avoiding an oncoming vehicle. The passengers pause for a moment in recognition and return to their ways.

    10pm and the van stops on the outskirts of Pingyao. I stumble out of one mess and instantly land in another. As the van speeds away a dozen motorbikes surrounds me. 'San Wu Yuan...' 'Er Shur...' 'Wu...' haggling between themselves over the going rate of a lift the 2k further along into the center of town. Quickly encrouching closer, the gap closes to withing inches and I have no where to go. 'Shia Shia' and please get the hell away I temper myself, holding my bag close and struggling my way from the now clawing clan and into the nearest roadside diner for a bite and hopefully for them to lose interest. No luck, they follow me in. I sit down and one immediately slides up a chair, pours my tea and continues touting. 'Please get lost' and with that more pile in. I switch to ignorance tactics, but ignorance is futile. In these situations time is your only weapon, and so I ponder over my bowl of lard noodles for a half hour until they finally give in and disperse.

    I make my own way through the historic city walls and into the heart of town. A half hour is spent laughing at hotel touts asking way too much before settling on a reasonable room for $2. A plate of tourist priced crap followed by a short walk down the street for a plate of local priced tasty. This place is quickly turning bad. Welcome to Pingyao.

    November 3, 2001

    A nice town in the early morning. A stroll outside the wall to the real markets where a street side stall had me smiling over mung bean pancakes, steamed dumplings, and noodle soup. A stroll on top of the wall for a great overview of town. Took in a temple or two and raked through the lonesome capillaries leading away from main street. A cold and misty morning perfect for back alley vistas.

    Satisfied that I had covered Pingyao and increasingly becoming aggrivated by the late waking tourism sectors I decided to continue on to Xian and so made my way to the train station for a ticket. Boarding time 5pm and time to kill. Back through town where a curious me had my nose through a partly opened door and before I could withdraw I was invited in.

    A Chinese BBQ, festive and family style. While the kids slurped away on noodles the parents dabbled in the more exotic fare, offering up to me the 'good parts' and slap happy over a game of 'watch the foreigner eat the hot pepper'. Eventually the excitement moved from me to my digicam and before long I had become the family portrait photographer. Great food and great spirits, alot of fun. Back at the station, I killed the rest of the wait strumming my way into stardom.

    The train from hell. Just because your ticket is for a hard seat doesn't actually guarantee you a seat at all, and this trip was certainly no exception. A quick head count of 225 in my wagon, but there were surely more as most peoples 'heads' weren't visible. More people piled up on the floor then in seats and it took me a half hour to settle into a place I could stand. It looked like we were off to some concentration camp. This didn't seem to phase the locals, busy in their typically rude mode of pushing, picking noses, spitting, smoking, and throwing trash everywhere. Like orangetangs at the zoo, they bite into moldy apples clutched in both hands as though they have no thumbs and let the disaggeable parts fall from their mouths onto the floor. Nor did it phase the chicken feet on a stick vendors or noodle carts that brave the crowd every few minutes inflicting only minor injury along the way.

    Lucky for me my musical fame landed me a seat in exchange for a few tunes. And all at once the entire wagon crowded around piling five high and livened up, doing their best to clap in rythm (which the Chinese have absolutely none of, infact sometimes they miss their hands) and mouth the lyrics. It was when they offered over their coveted hard boiled eggs that I knew I had been assimilated.

    Playing the entertainer and being the center of attention quickly grew tiring and when I retired the guitar (which found its way through the unskilled hands of the entire car) they were nudging at me to have their seat back. Back to standing room only.

    A long night awake and on foot only moving twice to ease the pain in my back. A 10 hour journey turned 12. Atleast half way through I was entertained when a clan of 3 'pirates' boarded toting leadpipe canes and proceeded to parade through the cars using their canes to violently whack people awake and out of their way while together singing a harmony of a Chinese muskteers theme and taking everyones money using scare tactics. A train from hell indeed.

    November 4, 2001

    The train pulled into Xian at 5am and I couldn't have been happier to get off. The worst public transport experience in my life. Going on 24 hours without sleep and a near broken back, spazed-out and ceased up, I set out to find the nearest reasonable hotel. Still dark and cold outside. Avoided the red light 'barber shops' and the pestering and persistent girls lounging out front. 'Hello... You need good haircut' and found a decent hotel for an astronomical $5, a price unheard of elsewhere in China. Not into creating hassle I paid up and crashed into bed. Awoke by noon only slightly less tired but determined not to throw the day. Showered up and hit the streets.

    Xian, a great city with excellent street food. Clean and orderly but with a touch of back alley adventure. Alot like Beijing, only smaller, and like Pingyao, surrounded by a city wall.

    Set out to see the terracotta warriors, one of China's principle tourist sights. Almost sneaked in on a reduced Chinese student fare but was caught at the gate and force to pay the difference. They saw me coming from a mile away. An expensive but incredible sight. Over 6000 perfectly preserved life sized warriors standing in formation. Impressive in scale and on first sight your jaw is sure to drop. One of the few tourist sights in the world that I would recommend.

    The typical Chinese 'wangba' (internet cafe) is composed of 2 dozen pimple ridden teenagers seated at an equal number of age old and functionally crippled Win2000 boxes setup for the express purpose of playing Counter Strike. Headphones on and screaming at each other, energized and lost in virtual conflict. Without a complete windows interface, file explorer, notepad, or even a disk drive it is impossible for me to update my site. With war-torn keyboards even the simplest email is a task. Tonight was a stunning exception. A $1 all night internet cafe that actually worked. Spent the entire night on a massive update and catching up on world affairs. Looks like the Middle East is really heating up.

    November 5, 2001

    An exploritory stroll through town. The morning market. Main Street. The bell tower. The muslim quarters. All nice, all day.

    November 6, 2001

    Realizing I have been dragging ass on my goal of getting to Tibet and Nepal before the season expires, I decided to catch a train direct to Chengdu and get my ass in gear. This time a hard sleeper to avoid a repeat performance. A clear blue sky and one of the first sunny days since Beijing, difficult to justify spending on a train, but if I leave on the afternoon train it should have me in Chengdu in the early morning giving me time to organize. On the way to the train I met Enio, a Brazilian on a quick tour though China, and together we boarded. A much better train. Good food and a good bed. Impressive scenery.

    November 7-10, 2001

    Chengdu, a nice city with a relaxed atmosphere.

    Dropped off my passport at the PSB for a visa extension and spent the next 3 days in limbo.

    Toured around. A trip to the panda breeding center. A course in Sichuan cooking. A night of hanging out in Paul's Cafe. Some great massage.

    Recovered from my cold. Everyone here got it.

    Tried to decide how to get to Tibet. The only 'official' way from here is by 2 hour plane for 2700y including a tour and all required permits, but my heart was set on the 'other' way, which is illegally hitching it overland. 7 days along the highest pass in the world. Terribly dangerous but adrenaline surging and unsurpassed in breathtaking views.

    Unfortunately, the season is waining and if I go for it and fail to pass the checkpoints along the way (which is extremely likely) I would be fined, possibly jailed, definately sent back, and most importantly miss my chance to enter before the heavy snows move in completely closing off access to Tibet and the through to Nepal. Something I definately don't want.

    Regardless, in the name of adventure I was prepare to give it a go until this morning when Liz of London, who I met here and had planned to do the trip with changed her mind at the last minute as girls do. Not wanting to risk the danger alone I resigned to taking the plane. A wallet lightening and adventureless approach. An approach I am somewhat depressed about. Atleast I am guaranteed to make it.

    Tibet

    November 11, 2001

    The 7am flight left at 11am, delayed by heavy fog. 2 hours in the air crossing over and looking down on the mountains of Tibet. By far the most spectacular landscape I have ever seen. Crystal clear snow covered sheer peaks with small white clouds follying above, extending in every direction into the horizon. Dotted with lakes of deep turquoise and twisting rivers. Small villages occupying the valleys between. Magnificent and unforgettable.

    The plane touched down like a feather and within minutes I stepped out into Tibet, Shangri-La, the land of snow. Far easier and less adventurous then the overland route, but the instance of arrival is special just as well. As expected there was no 'Tour Guide' waiting for me at the airport as required for the flight, money in someone's pocket, and I found myself hitching the 95k on a bus to Lhasa. For 2 hours I admired the surroundings as the bus slowly squirreled its way along the road shouldering a river at the base of the surrounding mountains.

    At an altitude of 5000m, extremes are amplified. Blazingly hot in the direct sun and ice cold in the shade, found me in and out of my fleece the whole way. Thin air and a lack of oxygen left my breathing slow, shallow, and rhythmic. A slight headache develops, typical of such extreme changes in altitude, nothing to worry about. Within a day I should be adjusted.

    Entering Lhasa was a suprise for me. First sight, the Chinese established 'new town'. Much more built up and commercial then I had expected, and hardly any different from any of the cities I had been though in China. Triangulated and squared off with broad boulevards lined with upscale shops. Jeeps and taxis wizzing in every direction. Busy and misdirected. My conceptions are instantly shattered.

    Second sight, the Potala Palace. A massive and ancient structure which towers over the center of town. An architecture which assures me that the Chinese haven't always been here. An amazing array of thousands of rooms built onto a hillside, washed in white and brown and contrasting sharply against the blue sky..

    The bus drops me off and I set my sights to the Barkhor district, the older and more Tibetan part of town, in an attempt to distance myself as much as possible from what I thought I had left behind. The further West I walked, the more chaotic things became eventually leaving the Chinese influence lost somewhere in the background. The 'real' Lhasa, an overgrown village still clinging to its roots. A religeous fever fills the air. Pilgrims fill the streets, traditional and ornate in dress. The murmuring sounds of prayer. The awakening smells of burning incense. The inspiring sights of smiling faces and spinning prayer wheels.

    Checked into a room at the SnowLand Hotel (thanks Eric) and set out for an easy dinner next door. The overpriced SnowLand Restaurant, where you can get 2 Mongolian grade meat pancakes and a Pabst Blue Ribbon beer for $4, a true ripoff. Strolled the lively market streets at night.

    November 12, 2001

    Decided to hold off on the strenous hike to the Potala for a day or so and give myself some time to aclimatize. Unlike a percent of others, I've been lucky enough to avoid real headaches and altitude sickness. Joined the 'Barkor Circuit' and toured the Jokang Temple instead.

    Everything is clockwise in Buddism and as such I merged with the religeous progression of monks and pilgrims circling the temple clockwise, past souvenir shops through the back Barkhor streets. This 'circuit' is ongoing, all day, all night, every day. A course for the pilgrims from around the world to show off their faith and devotion, and a course which will have you in awe, overloading your senses with eastern sillyness. Exotically dressed nomads humming in verse and busy spinning away their portable prayer wheels, every now and again stopping briefly to lay on the ground and bring their hands together. Somewhat of a far eastern MardiGra. A little of bit of everything unexpected in all directions. An extreme dedication that carries with it a mystical energy.

    Eventually the crowd works its way into the temple. Inside, hundreds of small coves full of gold painted wooden Buddist figures sit patiently waiting for offerings of buring yak butter (they use commercial vegetable ghee nowadays) and yuan. Prayer wheels line the halls inbetween, giving the clan something to do on their way to the next cove. The complex smell of burning oils and incense fills the air. Cold and dark and lit only by candle and small portals cut from the roof. The walls frescoed in religeous icons, now obscurred through years of buildup from the smoke that fills the room.

    After a few hours I lose temple steam and my hunger finds me back on the streets. A hole in the wall shack serving up a killer vegetable stirfry, wonton soup, and the standard green tea for under .50, a deal and a half over last nights tourist trapping. Spent the rest of the afternoon exploring town, the highlight being the area directly behind the Potala. A second 'circuit' to the pilgrim ghetto, where I sat outside a locals bar with more whining women inside and watched the old men play games of dice and drink a potent alcoholic beverage made of barley, all the while heckling the passers by and beggers.

    November 13, 2001

    Woke up early with the intention of seeing as much of the Potala as possible before the 1pm closing time. However, on my way out I ran into a group, suprise including Liz, arranging a 4 day jeep to NamTso Lake and a few monestaries up North leaving tomorrow. 'Is 6 a crowd?' 'The more the merrier' and so I signed up. $30 to cover the jeep, gas, and ofcourse an unwanted driver.

    Another day of extreme sun and blue skies and a strenuous hike through it.

    Got to the Potala in time for a good viewing (looking down on town from the roof was the best part) and eventually made my way to a nearby park and the zoo. Monks teasing the chimps. They aren't as peaceful as you would believe. Throwing down at the poor caged monkeys full cans of soda just to see what kind of fights break out. On to the Bokang Monestary up on a hill overlooking town. A nice hike to peaceful and less touristed spot.

    Met the jeep gang at the more overpriced and crappier Pentoc Restaurant for dinner. Picked up groceries for the trip and spent the night off-loading my photos in an internet cafe. Returned at 2am to find myself locked out. A very long cold night of banging on the door and unsuccessfully trying to break in. Screaming through an opened window at the night guard who atleast acted fast asleep, despite my flashlight shining in his eyes and the rocks hitting him in the nose.

    'Hey Daryl... Ready to go?' came a couple of the gang from another hotel down the street. It must be 6:30.

    November 14, 2001

    Day 1

    The guard finally awoke and I got in with just enough time to take a hot shower before the driver arrived. Packed up and piled into the jeep. Too crowded to all fit into seats, I inflated my Therma-Rest in the back amongst the gear and slept my way to NamTso Lake. Atleast most of the way. The last stretch had us out and pushing all 4 wheels of drive through 2 feet of snow.

    NamTso Lake, one of the most stunning sights of my entire trip. Turquoise waters surrounded by 1000m peaks, snow covered all the way to the waters edge. Pristine and uninhabited, less a lone monk and a cabin with a handful of nomads willing to rent out some space. An afternoon of hiking along the coast and a slow free climb up the mountain face to the peak for sunset. Curious to the eagles and owls soaring overhead and surrounded by the emerald lake below. Absolutely breathtaking.

    Climbed down in the quickly chilling dusk and despite warnings of literally freezing to death and a bitch over not paying the price to join the rest of the gang in the rat hole cabin, woas the difficult and anti-social Daryl, hiked out and setup camp alone in a cave I spotted earlier in the day. Nestled myself in 3 pair of long underwear, fleece, shell, sleeping bag, silk liner, bivied tent, and camel wool blanket and slept through a -10c night. Crystal clear with millions of stars.

    November 15, 2001

    Day 2

    Awoke to a thick layer of ice on the tent and a gelled mucous layer over my eyes blurring my vision. A condition which quickly dissappeared facing the direct sun during the hike back. A bitter night indeed, but not nearly as bad as the gang suggested. A gang that was suprised and relieved to see me back alive. I had to laugh.

    A quick breakfast of warming oatmeal and off we went. What was to be a 4 hour ride over some pretty crappy road, turned 6 over some really crappy road. A scenic ride to Reting, stopping along the way for some Kodak moments.

    Reting Monestary - A pleasent little prayer booth situated in the middle of a tanglewood forest up a good distance on the side of a small mountain overlooking a typically Tibetan village. A relaxing scene and another perfect place for a camp out. Took a stroll around while the others negotiated their rooms and returned later for a spirited evening of 'monks admire the tourist' entertainment. On trips like this you really start wondering who should be paying who. They were just dying to show off their TV and DVD to us. Fired up the generators and let the games begin.

    Another beautiful and 'daring' night under the stars, unexpectedly much colder then the last. Hints at stomach sickness.

    November 16, 2001

    Day 3

    We still don't know our driver's name, but since the only words he seems to know are 'NoNo' and 'LetsGo' that is what we call him. The antithesis of Gambaa in every way except for his equally screwy driving behavior. The standard horn honking and wrecklessness. Unsociable, dishonest, in a hurry, eager to strip the tourist sheep of their money fleece, and all together unpleasent. A guide I wouldn't recommend.

    Another rough day on the road to Drigong. Since no one else is willing to accept discomfort, I took my seat in the dusty luggage cramped trunk. Travelling Mongolia was good practice for this trip and by now I no longer respond to the bumps. Even the ones that toss me airbound hardly cause a stir. 7 hours of absolutely incredible scenery gave me the idea to return someday and do this section by foot. Tibet is definately a place you shouldn't miss.

    Drigong Monestary - much larger then Reting, much higher on a much bigger mountain, and much more a tourist trap, with the monks 'taking a piss' as the Brits. would say. Pathetic locals and kids swarming around outside open-handed and pestering for handouts, while inside the monks sit in a private room off-center huddled around an incense burner, sipping cha-suma (butter tea), a brown version of the Mongolian favorite yak milk, while counting their quay ($). Otherwise it is a beautiful monestary with an unforgettable view of the surrounding valley.

    Another night of 'the entertainer' and a treat to myself of forgoing a campout for an overpriced ratty bed in a musty room. Not much of a treat actually but since I managed to avoid paying for it, I couldn't complain. They were dazzled by my guitar.

    November 17, 2001

    Day 4

    In his typically brute manner, the driver had us up and out by 10, assuring we had no time to actually enjoy our stay. The plan, a stop at Ganden Monestary on our way back to Lhasa, and judging by his gestures another long day on the road. It wasn't.

    3 hours to Ganden, one of the largest monestaries in all Tibet, and actually impressive. An architecture alot like the Potala, with a commanding view of the surrounding valley, a trend I reckon. Hundreds of monks gathered around to emphatically debate sutra, while a dozen or so more (probably the misbehaving ones) were stuck on 'carry the cheese up the hill' duty. I chose this motley gang to hang out with and even carried a few hunks up myself for moral support. They thought I was crazy. It really opened them up. It was alot of fun.

    1 hour to Lhasa. Home sweet home. Not wanting to play another night of 'lock Daryl out', I followed the rest of the gang and checked into Kirey Hotel, taking advantage of the free laundry service and the real bathtub, both of which I badly need. Suprise, sharing my room with the Japanese bloak I met in Xi'An. Coughing up a lung and just in from China, still carrying around the common Chinese cold. Out for a tasty wonton soup and an early night to bed.

    November 18, 2001

    Didn't do a damn thing today but tend over my drying laundry and burn a CD of our trip photos with the gang. Met a South German on vacation from his Chinese studies in Chengdu and had a good talk over a dinner of fried noodles and yak. His plans to visit NamTso Lake were cancelled by weather; we may have been the last of the season. I gotta get moving toward Nepal soon.

    November 19-21, 2001

    More sights and such around town, a bit of souveniring, and alot of relaxing in the proper and royal hotel bathtub. Plans for Nepal.

    All this time and I forgot (conveniently?) to mention a thing about the NamTso jeep gang.

    The Gang - A couple of German Swiss - Interesting Ivan who woulda been a hoot if not tempered by his girlfriend Nasty Natasha, the prissiest evidently single child I have ever met. A girl who had a bitch on me for accidentally stepping on the seat while scrambling my way into the trunk, and was convinced from the get go I was someone she couldn't be happy around. A couple of French Swiss - Solemn and Stylistic Cedric and Celina, sporting identically matching clothes and gear, all by the same label and properly vogue by design. Last but not least, Loopy Liz - indecisive and prone to last minute mind changes leaving you and your plans in a cloud of dust.

    Needless to say I didn't fare so well with any of them and when it came time to plan a jeep to Nepal we went our separate ways. Two posters right up besides each other on the bulletin board (the only two). First mine, looking for a group of three and a day later theirs looking for one more. Same departure date. Silly.

    Anyways, I did manage to find another gang and in theory we are headed out on the 23rd for a 7 day trip to Nepal through a handful of lakes, monestaries, small villages, and most excitingly Mt. Everest. I say in theory because I am predicting sabotage from the other gang in price negotiations with our driver. 'Somebody' has already pulled down my signs.

    November 22-24, 2001

    Seven years in Tibet. Or atleast it seems that way. Organizing this jeep has turned out to be far more work then I expected.

    Dishonesty - A trait I have run into quite a bit over the past month. The original 'committed' gang was me, 2 Korean girls, and 2 Japanese guys. That was until the morning before when the Japs had a bad hair day and cancelled. Another day searching for replacements. Enter 2 more Koreans, friends of the girls, both of which unfortunately the 'committed' driver had previous issues with. A cancellation the night before. Another day spent searching for another driver. Dawa Tsering, recommended by ZBT brother Eric. Another late night cancellation. Another day another driver.

    After 5 days of last minute headaches,persistant shiftyness, and rescheduling; finally a gang and a driver that seem true. Scheduled for an early departure tomorrow morning. 'The Kimchee Crew' - 4 Koreans (3 girls and a guy), driver Tring speaking not one lick of English and not interested in our shennanigans, and me reluctant to believe anything until I am in the jeep and on my way.

    Thanks to my guitar and the two funky strumming Japs next door for teaching me a dozen new tunes and keeping me 'together'.

    A final supper of BulGoGe and an evening of entertainment at JayJay's, a circus of musical chairs and flashy amusement park smoke dancers.

    November 25, 2001

    Day 1

    One of the best.

    Not just because we finally managed to leave Lhasa, but because of the incredible scenery on our way to Gyantse. YandrokTso Lake, turquoise and stunning, mountainside dirt roads along lazy rivers, snow-capped peaks, and top of the world vantage points. Good sights, good food, good song, and good company. Even a cool driver.

    Pulled into Gyantse in time to stroll Palcho Monestary, my favorite so far. With a monster Kumbum Pagoda of over 1,000 buddas and a small and digestable community. Surrounded by a wall which we climbed for an overlook on town and a most memorable sunset.

    An excellent dinner, given a frugal Korean discount, and an evening slideshow of digital pictures on a laptop one of them brought. A memorable day.

    November 26, 2001

    Day 2

    One of the Worst.

    A long day on a terrible road to Shigatse. Our first flat tire and nothing to see. My stomach turning. Checked into the Orchard Hotel and spent the day sick in bed (BulGoGe?). Ventured out in the evening in search of a cure.

    The local pharmacist, an old lady quick to dispense and a bit slower to explain.
  • Blue/White Capsules - 2/day, I think
  • White Tablets - 2/day, I think
  • Herbal Tonic - 1 elixer/day, I think

    • Don't ask what it all is, cause I don't know. A half hour arguing with a crooked rickshaw man over the fair fare and a sleepless 'just in case' bowl by the side of the bed night.

    November 27, 2001

    Day 3

    Felt much better by noon. On to Sheggar. Well, the truckers hotel just outside of Sheggar, and the 'official' permit office for trips to Everest. Arguements over the need for a permit (the guys don't think we need one, the girls and the driver do) and barking dogs all night.

    November 28, 2001

    Day 4

    Undercover asshole? Today Tring pulled out all the stops and showed his full colors by coaxing us into purchasing the $100 permit. A permit that we didn't need and nobody checked. Further, along the way he denied all our 'detours' and commented on leaving us and returning to Lhasa. Up until now he has been cool, maybe a bad hair day.

    Passed the unmanned checkpoint and started to climb. After an hour of switchbacks we caught our first intense viewing from the peak of the pass. Far off on the horizon, snow-covered, and towering magnificently over everything in sight, Mt. Everest. Unbelievably beautiful.

    Continuing on down hairpin turns hugging the side of cliffs and into the lower valley. Somewhere along the way the Kimchee Crew decided they were under represented and jumped at the chance to invite along 2 more Korean girls found by the side of the road. The new crew, 6 Koreans and 1 American tipping the scale in their favor. A cramped ride across some beautiful countryside. Alot of confusing talk.

    Rongbu Monestary, at the foot of everest and situated with a commanding view. 4k from Base Camp, and our stop for the night. Devoid of tourist so late in the season, but occupied by grubbing monks interested in yanking 40 yuan for an unheated crap of a cell. Dropped our gear off with the needy monks and continued along the rocky road to Base Camp for sunset.

    An impressive view of the North Face, but honestly no better then the view from the monestary or the view from the pass for that matter.

    To spite the greed of the monks I opted for 'camping out'. And while the rest of the gang bit the bullet and snuggled up in a room, I dissappeared into the dark. A long forgotten and back alley room of the monestary. A door without a lock and a big mistake on their part. The middle of a large unlit cavernous room once used to hold banquets and now used to house varments. Stealth mode, and brutally so. A -20c sleepless night wrapped up in everything I brought.

    November 29, 2001

    Day 5

    Determined to make the most of coming all this way I packed out early and headed back out, this time on foot, to Base Camp and beyond. Armed with only a few broken cookies and a couple chocolate twinkies I set out.

    Harsh conditions on the way. Slid down a hundred meter avalanche and trudged through boulder and ice fields; at an altitude above 20,000', a temperature of -10c in the shade, and faced into a 20mph headwind, up hill. Snot freezing to my face, breathing deep and heavy, and moving slowly, all the while with the monestary dog at my tail. A beginners taste of what climbing the mountain must be like.

    An hour forty five to Base Camp, a five minute cookie stop, and an hour further past the warning signs, making it half way to the 1st mountain camp. A better view? Not really. Too windy and cold for a photo. Somehow dissappointing. My recommendation? Skip it, satisfy yourself at the pass, and save the trouble.

    The return trip. Sun in the valley, the wind at my back, and downhill; but no easier with me facing severe exhaustion. 6 hours and 12k in total and one of the most strenuous treks I have ever done.

    Back at the monestary the restless gang was busy packing out. Prepared to leave me behind had I not returned in time, showing more respect to their new Korean friends, still mooching along for the ride, then the one who organized the trip. Out the way we came in and on the road to Tingri. Moonlight over the mountains.

    November 30, 2001

    Day 6

    Tingri isn't really much of anything. A one road town with the typical overpriced crappy tourist restaurants and a full herd of street dogs asleep all day and active all hours of the night.

    A hotel staff with the token 'only man in town who speaks English' proud of his perceived stature and on call to unite the world with broken phrases. Helped to translate my medication for me.
  • Blue/White Capsules - For cold and cough, I think
  • White Tablets - For stomach, I think
  • Herbal Tonic - For 'STRENGTH'

    • and with that him and his wife excitedly invited themselves to a vial and started strutting around with their hands in their armpits clucking and making rooster gestures. An herbal viagra I guess, sure to bring back the love in their life. This stuff is more precious then money out here. Lord help us all.

    A short and enjoyable day on the road to Nyalam, sans the tag-alongs. Pushing our way through the Himilayas. More roads on the edge and villages way down below. Suprisingly no snow, only occasional patches of ice around the bends.

    Nyalam, another one road town, this time propped up on a mountainside akin to Amalfi. Some bad food on the streets and some good homemade noodles and yak soup cooked up by the friendly hotel staff. An entertaining night of Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer and drinking games backed by scenes of nature and Tibetan hip-hop playing on the karaoke at the Nyalam Song & Dance Hall.

    December 1, 2001

    Day 7

    "When the day is over; it's over, it never comes back"

    Our last day in 'China' on the 'Friendship Highway' to Nepal and another one of the best.

    "The best photos are never taken"

    Dropping 15,000' from the desolate plateau of Tibet into the lush tropical valley of Nepal. An absolutely unreal contrast, and an absolutely stunning journey through the heart of the Himilayas. Lots of 'Ewww's and 'Awww's from the Kimchee Crew between spatterings of Korean and beginners Chinese.

    A remote secret hotspring along the way. Off the road and along a trail down the mountain side neighboring a rapid river of emerald green. A mix of hot and cold sulphur and iron rich mineral waters. A welcome diversion after 7 bathless days on the road. Only us. Rejuvenated, we continue on.

    Zangmu, the Chinese border town. Another Amalfi town, with a commanding position overlooking all of Nepal. One dilapidated switchback heavy lane cluttered with heavy truck traffic edging to cross the border. A stop for lunch. I am absolutely convinced that all Korean travellers carry a secret stash of Red Pepper paste. As sone as one expires, a hand reaches deep and another emerges, even hotter and better then the last.

    The Kimchee Crew's Kickin' Kimchee

    A quick goodbye to Tring (where did he go?), and while the rest of the crew lazied into arranging transport the 8k further along to Kodari, Nepal I chose to hike it by foot. A paced 1 hour, avoiding the incessant switchbacks for a shortcut trail through the 'jungle' straight down. A bit of a challenge carrying a backpack and a guitar. No challenge to the locals passing me along the way... A man offering me a ride to Kathmandu, another wanting to change money, a third carrying a dead chicken, and a dozen or so more hauling 50 pound sacks of potatoes on their backs and wearing sandals. The pathetic foreigner. I think I've seen everything.

    In a sweat, I met back up with the 'suprised you made it' gang at the Nepalese Immigration Office and in less time then those who already had visas, arranged a 2 month single entry for 30 USD (only USD) and walked in.

    Nepal

    Welcome to Nepal, where there are 9.5 ruppies per yuan or 78 per dollar, 7pm curfews due to recent Maoist exremist activities, and the first dozen or so mosquitoes I have seen in months buzzing circles around my head. Speaking of firsts, I put on my first street performance.

    Setup a chair and tossed down my hat right infront of the Immigration Office while waiting for the others. 'Why not?' I thought. A smoking success, earning me 170 ruppies, enough for my first nights stay at the border hotel and an extremely spicey Indian style dinner of Dal Bhat (curried lentil soup and basmati rice) and Frooti, a put a smile on my face mango juice.

    A night teaching the Koreans and locals 'Spat', a West Virginia family favorite gambling card game. Lost as usual. Promises of banana pancakes for breakfast. Who could ask for more? A day to remember.

    December 2, 2001

    Well, the brutal banana pancakes and 'Spat' combination was such a hit, that it continued on well into the late afternoon when we finally packed up and dedicated ourselves to making it to Kathmandu. That is ofcourse after spending some time bathing at the local hotsprings, composed in a refreshing ten cents for an iron ore shower from a lions mouth format. Girls one side, boys another.

    The bus to Kathmandu - A caliopy of colors, smells, and sounds. Packed inside with a goat in the isle and a full crew on top, hanging from the roof and ducking from the exposed powerlines with less then a foot of clearence. Back to the land of the 3 finger salute, the driver eagerly trumpeting away on his organ. $1 for a 6 hour trip along the 'Friendship 'Highway'', a crippled one lane dirt road. Swaying from side to side and leaning dangerously inches away from a cliffs edge. 6 military checkpoints along the way targeted at weeding out the Maoists, but more effectively training everyone how to pack out and back in without getting their ass beat. One poor guy wore fashion camo. Sounds of machine gun fire echo outside the bus as guards and snipers with machine guns dodge in and out of the bush, practicing their tactics dangerously close. Eventually we made it, well after dark and well after the 7pm curfew. A curfew which doesn't appear very strict.

    Kathmandu - A chaos of run down streets and back alleys full of tourists busy shopping away in what appears to be the world's largest dollar store. Everything for nothing. Goretex jackets $20, knit sweaters $10, hotels & meals $2. An atmosphere of neon lights, smells of incense and curry, sounds of negotiation, in a background of 2 cycle engine sputter and honking horns. Again, much much larger and more commercial then I had expected. Dissappointing but with an inspiring energy.

    Thamel - The epicenter of the tourist district. Checked into the Khangsar Hotel with the gang sheerly based on its proximity to the Kimchee House restaurant and right away set to work consuming. Contrary to popular belief, the Kimchee House doesn't serve very good kimchee.

    December 3, 2001

    Strolling and of course shopping. A great place to prepare for xmas.

    Enter Maun, a street hawker pawning Tiger Balm (both Chinese and Singapore) smelling heavily of alcohol and determined not to give me a minute of peace. "Good friend... I show you everything... Only for little money..." carying himself pathetically in a way reminiscent of the Isla Vista neighborhood bum Bruce, back in Santa Barbara. Speaking english well and with a natural humor. "OK, let's go..." and with that rented a motorbike and started driving.

    A Yamaha 125 for $3/day, no paperwork, no required 'driver', nothing. A tremendous feeling of freedom after months of touring through freedomless governmentally anused countries. Left behind a dated fake student id as a deposit and off we went...

    India
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