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2010-02-07T09:00:00.001-08:00

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Cycling Lofoten - Impressions

2010-01-05T06:54:00.000-08:00

Hurtigruten cruise - Impressions

2010-01-05T06:31:00.001-08:00

Bergen

2010-01-05T06:05:00.000-08:00

In Bergen I was hosted by my friend Anna, who did an ERASMUS semester at the Marine Biology Faculty of Bergen University during a year. A keen cyclist, she went everywhere by bike and so I ended up riding like crazy around town, to- and from University to her dorm and to see the local sights. Only to visit Floyen mountain we left our bikes behind and hiked up the hill - while the Norwegians RUN up !

The tourist information provided extensive information about traveling and exploring Norway and looking at a map I was reminded that the Lofoten Islands where "just" a three days boat trip away. I decided to visit the sales offices of the legendary Hurtigruten shipping line.
The next days I spend relaxing in Bergen and thinking about my further route through Scandinavia. Once I am Bergen, which is the start and end of the Hurtigruten Boats, I decided to invest some money in good old tourism and take a cruise with the Hurtigruten towards Lofoten, spend a couple of days cycling on the islands and return by the same means.

The night before I bought the ticket I was overexcited and could hardly sleep thinking of the Lofoten with its over 1.000 meter high mountain range that seemed to rise directly out of the sea. These Mountains with its "feet in the water" form a more than 100 km long, so called "Lofoten-wall", some 20 kms west of Norways coast, just north the Polar Circle.

The mild climate on the Lofoten is the worlds greatest anomaly having in mind its northern latitude. This is due to the Gulf-Stream that surrounds the Islands and makes them first class fishing grounds for seafood, especially Cod-Fish which is fished from february to april.

The fish is then left to dry "open-air" on traditional wooden racks that have been erected all over the Islands. Some month later, the final product, in former times Norways Export no. 1 is ready to be shipped and sold all over the world - Stockfish.

First days in Norway

2009-11-11T07:58:00.001-08:00

After an uneventful two and a half hours flight we landed in Haugesund airport, in western Norway. I assembled my bike and rode out the airport building. The cold morning air and the slightly iced up road came as a shock. I was quite not yet prepared for this.As I rolled into town I stopped at a gas station to get my tires to proper pressure, got some money from the ATM, bought a map (16 €), had a breakfast (8 € for a coffee and a pasty).
The tourist info was closed for the weekend and Haugesund did not tempt me to stop for a night and explore the city, so I carried on cycling north towards Bergen, following the national cycling route No. 1.
The route was a constant up and down and twist and bends and quite some traffic. After a while the cycle route left the main road and I followed quieter country lanes towards the islands of Bomlo. After a 15 minutes wait the ferry appeared on the horizon as I chatted to a norwegian guy who took some interest in my bike. He told me wild camping would be OK all around Norway.
Bomlo is a very pretty island, lots of huge rocks and pine trees, scrubs with redberries of sorts make up a lovely scenery. I stopped to ask a beekeeper for some honey and waved my hand carelessly at some bees - HUGE error, the beasts attacked me right away, one got me on the cheek and another one right in the neck. I even had to pull out the stings. Quiet a fright so I decided to flee and cycled away fast. The beekeeper must have had a good laugh at my innocence towards the bees. So much to norwegian wildlife.
This night I camped in a small bay right beside the sea and had my first hot meal in Norway. I tried to light a fire but the wood was too wet and did not light properly. I soon gave up.The next day I continued riding on small back country roads that wound along the western norwegian islands. For the night I installed myself in the small waiting room of the last ferry
terminal before Bergen. I asked the maintenance guy if it was ok to sleep there and had to wait until the last ferry left to be able to lock the door. But before I could lie down on my sleeping mat the police arrived and inquiered what I would do there. Hearing that I am a tourist they wished me a Good Night and said they wouldn t disturb me any further.
In the morning I cooked breakfast by the sea and got ready for the last kilometers to Bergen where my friend Anna was waiting for me.

Leaving Scotland

2009-10-20T00:22:00.000-07:00

My flight to Haugesund in south-western Norway is scheduled for 6.20 h in the morning so I decide to leave my Edinburgh hosts Hayley & Morgan in the late evening, cycle the last ten kilometers and have a short nap at the airport.
The day before the flight has been busy with preparations: buy a bag to fit all my panniers in, wash my stove and fuel bottle, do last-minute preps for the norwegian journey, update my blog - it is 1 o'clock in the morning when I finally feel prepared, leave the flat and ride at a leisurely pace for half an hour along a deserted highway towards Edinburgh airport.

Already there is a couple of people sleeping in the airport chairs and benches as best as they can, I roll out my mat and sleeping-bag and set my alarm-clock to 4 o'clock in the morning, sufficient time to get my bike and luggage prepared for the flight.

Ryanair charges me 30 pounds sterling (approx 35 €) for flying with a bike. The good thing: I do not have to box up my ride, just take off the pedals, turn the handlebar and deflate the tires a bit. Just pray that the bike arrives in one piece to Haugesund.

Before long I negotiate the check-in, hand in my bike to the oversized baggage counter, get my passport controlled, hand-luggage x-rayed and finally we board the plane and take off towards Norway. I plug in my MP3 player and five minutes later I am fast asleep.

Scotland - Impressions

2009-10-16T15:08:00.000-07:00

Northern Scotland

2009-10-09T11:45:00.000-07:00

I have arrived to the northern town of Thurso to cycle along the coast and through the Western Highlands back to Edinburgh. Leaving the train I have a flat and push my bike through the driving rain to look for a campsite just out of town.
The wind is really strong and I struggle to put up my tent on the wet ground while I can hear the waves trashing. It never stops raining this night and the winds rattles my little shelter with such force I can hardly sleep. The next morning I break down my camp in driving rain, the tent gets stashed soaked as it is. In town center I find a little bike shop, buy a new chamber for my front wheel and repair my flat. Meanwhile my bikes rear axle gets some new, rain proof grease, I have a pot of tea in the nearby coffe-shop. It is still raining.

At midday, all my chores in Thurso are done and I start cycling along the coast towards Tongue. The rain is pelting down with force and a gail is blowing. I have to struggle to keep me on my bike when the wind comes sideways. I have some near misses with car coming my way. I am scared and very impressed by the conditions up here in the North.

In three hours I manage to cycle 15 kms. At the little village of Reay I call it a day and take refuge in a cosy Bed & Breakfast. The owners Jene and Derek are really lovely people, we have a long conversation and Derek offers to take me along the coast in his car and shows me the local church just opposite their house where he preaches as a lay preacher from time to time.

The next morning it is still raining but fortunately the wind has ceased and after a full scottish breakfast including a fantastic black pudding I am off towards Tongue.
The route is a constant up and down and often I can see dramatic cliffs, amazing beaches and tiny lighthouses towering on some rocks over the trashing waves, far off to the north, the Orkney Islands are visible as a distant, light blue shadow. Next stop - Shetland Islands and than the Arctic.

Near Tongue I stop to greet an old man next to a small camper van. John Corbett is photographer in his late sixties and he spends his time roaming Scotland to take fotos of the wildlife and scenery. In his youth he did a lot of bicycle touring and meanwhile I am getting colder and colder standing around in my light cycling clothes, he tells me all about his travels around Norway and his solo bicycle tour around Iceland in 1962 (!!).
He knows the area around Tongue very well and the youth hostel being closed for winter, along with one of his postcards he gives me some recomendations where to put up my wee tent.
After a quite night in an abandoned campsite near the Kyle of Tongue I have spectacular views on the surrounding mountains and the seaside. I find Johns camper van parked alongside the route and we have a little chat. The guy really does like to talk.

I tackle the road climbing up to 212 meters above sea level and looking to my left I find Ben Hope, the northernmost Munro.
Munros are the scottish mountains higher than 3.000 feet (approx 900 meters), there are about 250 of them all around Scotland and lately it became a popular past-time for hillwalkers to go "Munro-bagging". Those who climb all the summits are called 'compleaters'.

Dropping down towards the steel blue waters of Loch Hope I scare a troop of pheasants and grouses that had walk along the route moments before. The route starts to climb again and before long I can see the dramatic Loch Eriboll before me. It is 21 miles around the Loch and to the sleepy little town of Durness. Once more I find the Youth Hostel closed and decide to stay in a private hostel (14 pounds/night) and get my dinner in the local SPAR shop.

Just opposite Durness lies the secluded Cap Wrath, once you cross the straight by boat, it's a 15kms walk up to the lighthouse. Unfortunately the ferry stopped operating for this season and there area is shut down because the british Ministry of Defence is so kind to use it as bombing site and military training field during autumn and spring.

As a testimony I see a crashed military truck beside the road, it crashed into a small bridge leading towards the Cape and has not been removed yet, the bridge was closed for heavy traffic during days and delivery vans had to take a 100 miles detour to reach Durness.

Did I mention that it was raining again ? AND there was a hefty headwind on top of it. Just in case I felt to good this morning. In fact it rains so much that a guy in a delivery van stops to offer me a lift. I decline and he shakes his head as to say "these crazy tourists enjoy cycling in this weather".
Once I reach Laxford Bridge I head inland and for the first time in three days enjoy wind that pushes me along Loch Stack and Loch More (both spetacular) towards Lairg. As it is getting dark I camp a couple of miles outside town and find the campsites used books section very helpfull indeed. I leave one of my books behind and choose to "borrow" Reinhold Messners "Solo Nanga Parbat", a gripping account of his solo ascent that hooks me instantly.

From Lairg its all the way down hill to Rogart Station where a specially nice Hostel set up in old train sleeper car awaits me. Ploughing through a pile of good books I stay two nights, in company of a couple from Northern Ireland and a funny guy from Yorkshire whos accent I can hardly understand.

Entering the county of Ross-shire I meet a girl riding to opposite direction towards John O Groats on a fundraising "End-to-End" bicycle ride. We exchange some pleasantries and stare at each others bikes and split up before getting miserable from standing in the cold.

After a good days cycle I reach Dingwall and decide to take to train into Inverness, stay a night and fetch another train that takes me to Aviemore a busy little town at the foot of the Cairngorms Mountains National Parc.
I enjoy a day of off-road riding and border the Cairngorms on the western edge, through the Glenlivet estate, some nice up- and downhill riding along lonesome single-track roads brings me to Braermar, just 10 miles from Balmoral Castle, scottish residence of the royal family.

After two nights in the Youth Hostel in Braemar I cycle towards beautiful Glenshee valley that takes me towards Perth and to the train headed for Edinburgh, Haymarket station.

Today I packed my bags and made last minute preparations for the scandinavian leg of my journey, saturday morning Ryanair Flight nr. FR6671 will take me to Haugesund in Norway.

Cycling in England & Wales - Impressions

2009-09-20T17:54:00.001-07:00

Brittany

2009-09-20T15:26:00.000-07:00

As I write these lines I am sitting in the kitchen of Hayleys & Morgans place in the scottish capital Edinburgh, trying to remember all the little stories, great people and funny coincidences that happend to me on my way trough Brittany.

Hugues place in Nantes was just to comfortable and so I stayed a couple of nights more than intended but his flatmates managed to "activly motivated" me out of the house and into the saddle eventually.
Riding out of to cycle the beautiful Canal from Nantes to Brest I met Matthew from London.

He was obviously going the same way - on a shiny new SURLY CrossCheck- bicycle.
We took our time to stare at each others bikes for a couple of kilometers and chat our way to the next beergarden where we had some light refreshments. Matthew had taken a couple of days off from his family holiday, was travelling very light and riding much faster than I did, but curiously we met again and again for the next couple of days during the nearly 400km long ride and came to not only share the route but also the same hostel, a room in a french B&B, a couple of meals, several apperitives and loads of laughs on our way towards Brest.
Towards the end of our common ride he invited me to stay with his family in the house of "beau-pere" near Brest and I accepted willingly. After a hearty dinner, a good nights sleep and a huge breakfast, Matthew finally rode with me to the next village from where I cycled towards Plabenec where I was expected by Catherine whom I had met on the Camino de Santiago in June.

Once again I was received like the "lost son" by people I had never seen in my life,I was given a room, a bed, was watered and fed with delicious foodstuff and aperitives. During the next three days, Catherine took me to a Gaelic festival, treated me to a boat ride including picnic on a beach of tiny but pitoresque island of Batz, we visited the open-air music festival Fete-du-bruit in Landenau and the Brest aquarium.
Arriving late from visiting Brest, Catherines father willingly loaded me, my bike and the rest of my equipment into his van and drove me the last 40 kms north to the waiting ferry that would take me to Plymouth.

I had crossed France from south to north and the country had kept its best for last, the ride through Brittany, its people and hospitality and the calm alongside the Canal.

As I settled into my seat on the ferry that would take me to country number four on my ride around the globe, I checked my luggage and found a "good-bye" letter from Catherine - all the family members had signed a postcard for me wishing good luck for my further trip.

Bonjour la France !

2009-08-08T05:30:00.000-07:00

Welcome to France, the home of Baguette, Pain au Chocolat, Pernod, green fields, lovely blonde girls, Bordeux, the Loire River, hundreds of Chateuxs, Fromage, Crepes, Mont St Michel, Cidre and a couple of Velos.

Shortly after leaving Irun I finally cross into France with high expectations and looking forward to discover country number three on my way around the world and so I cycle along the coast through the area known as Les Landes de Gascone, unfortunately the school holidays have started recently and the roads and campsites fill with cars and campervans, people eager to reach the pre-booked campsites along the coast.

To my surprise, the roads are not very wide (especially in the villages) and the cars often have to que behind me and wait to overtake.

There is lots of cycling tracks criss-crossing the french south-west but I get soon bored of the straight routes and the pine-tree forests to my left and right - all day long. A couple of times I nearly fall asleep because the ride along this seemingly neverchanging landscape has become quite monotonous.

I stay in a couple of pilgrims hostals and private accomodations (thank you to Famille Lamothe!), do some wild camping and spend the night of the 14th of july (the french national holiday) in a small village campsite, enjoy the fireworks and try to speak french to the locals.

Bordeaux seems to be a nice and rich city with its stone buildings, bars and brasseries and intense student (night)life. A single night in the local youth hostal sets me back 20 € (incl. breakfast) , so I ride on through the winecountry of the Girdonde, along vineyards and past impressive Chateauxs, towards LaRochelle (where I am expected by Warmshowers host ean-Jacques) always tempted by the signs offering winetastings and good food.

Jean-Jaques and his wife welcome me like an old friend, feed me like a king and take me on a ride to La Rochelle harbour on their recumbent bikes. In the beginning I am really tense and can´t find my equilibrium on the strange machine but after 10 minutes I relax my shoulders and roll easily dow the street. It feels like cycling while sitting on a sofa. And you are the centre of attention wherever you go, people turning their heads, making comments, laughing. I am quite sure I will change to a recumbent bicycle soon...

Once in Tours I stay in the pilgrims hostel of St Martins basilica, chat with the nuns, visit the saints tomb and roam the historic city centre with its ancient little houses and small alleys right besides the Loire river. Leaing the city to cycle along the Loire to Nantes I have my first (altough harmless) accident. Somehow I fall sideways off my bike and the plastic hose of my front break rips. For the next 300 kms I cycle with one brake only, fortunately the Loire cycle paths are mostly flat and I do not have to use my break much.

Towards Irun

2009-08-08T04:09:00.000-07:00

In Oviedos pilgrims hostel I met several interesting people, one of them Horst, a goodhearted bavarian guy from in his fifties. He traveled all the way from Malaga to Oviedo, mostly walking or hitchhiking (including a solo walk across the Sierra Nevada in early spring!).
Altough he is equipped with good boots, a new backpack and all the other quality gear, he likes to travel the cheap way, sleep in parks (he was attacked three times while in Spain) and saving money where ever he can, but he loves to sit in cafés and spend his money on coffee and the occasional beer.
When he runs out of money, he returns to Germany, gets a job and work for half a year or so before getting fed up with german weather and nine-to-five job and taking off again.
Together we spend the night of San Juan watching the huge bonfire on the cathedral square, having a couple of Sidras and exchanging stories of our travels and our respective plans for the future. For my benefit Horst tells me about a couple of things how to save money on the road, like having lunch for 50 Cents, and so on. Good luck Horst!

After leaving lovely Oviedo I cycle towards Ariondas to rent a Kayak and cruising down the famous river Sella along spectacular scenery towards Ribadesella.

Back on my bike (crossing into Cantabria my cycle computer shows now over the 4.000 kms ) I take the costal route towards Bilbao where I am expected to meet with Leire, an old friend from my times as trainee at BOSCH, and her family and friends. They give me a hearty welcome, take me along to Barbecues and dinner parties and treat me just great.
I feel at home and once again it is hard to leave my friends and head for Irun. Gracias Leire and Jenny ! And I definitely have to come back to northern Spain to explore Galicia and Asturias and cycle the Picos de Europa, which I had seen from far away only.

From Astorga to Oviedo

2009-07-07T07:30:00.000-07:00

After two weeks in Astorga I was ready to go on and took public transport to Lugo (Ok, this is cheating, but I REALLY did not feel to climb the Cruz de Ferro and O Cebreiro AGAIN -it would have been the second time in three weeks- so I invested the money in a bus ticket, packed my bike and hopped on the bus) and started cycling the Camino Primitivo that runs from Palas del Rey in Galicia to Asturias capital city, Oviedo.
Soon I found out that cycling in Asturias is great but tough on your legs, entering Asturias from the west it is a steady up and down along steep mountain ranges and the most direct way between remote villages is often a short downhill followed by a long uphill, or so it seemed. After two week sitting at a desk in Astorga my legs felt like jelly, furthermore I had a slight cold and could hardly breathe. So I suffered my way trough to lovely Oviedo and most of the days ended in a tiny pilgrims hostel with only 30-40 kms cycled (which felt like I did 120 kms).

Morroco to Astorga

2009-05-31T07:43:00.000-07:00

Sorry for not updating my Blog until now. I haven' t been busy these days , but I just did not feel inspired to write... its just that some many things happend to me en route through Morroco.

I cross the plains to south-east Morroco, walked the Palmeries of Figuig with its 200.000 palm trees, enjoyed being invited to tea and couscous by strangers I asked for the way, took some tough off-road track ("pistes"), saw amazing sunsets, met the tourist hordes in their 4x4 drive vehicles near the Dunes of Erg Chebi, got sick with diarrehea and lost about 7 kilos in 5 days, cycled the beautiful Todra Gorge, camped in the High Atlas, got out of breath cycling the spectacular Tizi N Tichka pass, took a 40 kms long downhill towards Marrakech at 50 kms/hour,, shared my lunch with strangers in a road-side ramshackle restaurant, rode through the aparant madness of the Marrakech souk enjoying to ride alongside mule carts, street vendors and tourists. Once in Marrakech it somehow seemed unreal. Did I really ride my bike up to the Koutoubia mosque right from my doorstep in Madrid ? After lots and lots of couscous and tajine dishes I enjoyed a nice Hamburger, watched lovely Marrakeshi girls walk by, got a room in a cheap but clean hotel next to the station and bought a ticket for the overnight-train to Tanger.

Bak in Spain, I rode from Algeciras to Seville, visited Merida and returned to Madrid for a couple of days to fly to Germany for my cousins wedding. Then I left Madrid towards the north following the Camino de Santiago (St. James way) to Santiago de Compostela.
While writing these lines,I am in the small town of Astorga to help out as a Hospitalero at the local pilgrims hostal for a couple of weeks.

So I sit at the reception all day long stamping pilgrim credencials, receiving and registering the people staying in the albergue. I show them to their rooms, hand out blankets, run washing machine and dryers, cook tea, take out the rubbish and offer assistance and some advice in case the people need help or have doubts about the camino.
The albergue may offer space to 160 pilgrims and these days of mid-june there is always between 80 and 120 people coming and going each day. The majority is well over 50 years old and most of them from Europe.

From time to time I share my "job" with amazing people from Finland, Holland and even Corea. Some of them volunteer to help out for a couple of days while others decided to stick around due to some minor injury or fatigue.
Being Hospitalero - Definitely a good and recommendable experience for every pilgrim as it helps to see the camino in a different light.

En route to Tendrara

2009-04-13T11:48:00.000-07:00

Its "only" about 115 kms to the next town, Tendrara. The map shows no hills whatsoever so it should be rather easy to cover this distance cycling the whole day I think rather happily as I stock up on oranges, dates and water the next morning. Ibrahims mother gives me hoobz (home-made bread), still warm from the oven. I say goodbye to the family and roll out of the little village in company of Ibrahim who insists to come along for the first kms. As we say our goodbye he tells me I am always welcome in his home and invites me for his brothers marriage.

I thank him many times for the hospitality and out of the blue start crying.

After a couple of kms of flat road there is a little detour due to road construction and I hear someone calling my name ?! It s Ibrahims brother whos is working at the site and also wished me farewell and Bon Voyage.

From now on I am surrounded by flat mostly arid land without any trees in sight and nothing around for miles and miles. Only the odd bus, Grand Taxi or truck overtake me honking happily.

I stop at a couple of small houses to have a light lunch of oranges, hoobz with cheese and honey and some biscuits, there is a bunch of kids around which yell at me but keep their distance. Only three brave boys venture out to go see the stranger that arrived on a velo and is having a feast in the middle of their village. I share some of my bread with them and again they are off to fetch an adult to talk to me. A guy in dirty mecanics clothes and an old man approach me and wish me Salaam, inquire friendly about my trip and offer me some water. After a couple of nods and handshakes I leave. They must think me crazy cycling in Morroco.

As it prooves, I was wrong about the distance to be covered this day. After nearly 8 hours and only 85 kms cycling against a bloody steady headwind, I give in and decide to set up my tent for the first time during my trip in Morroco. I am rather nervous about this because there is nowhere to hide my tent behind and I will be seen from miles away.

I decide to approach some shepperds and ask them for permission (should they speak some french...). It prooves to be a good decision, "my" shepperds are a couple of funny guys, laughing at me they soon understand I want to set up my tent around here. They make gestures to come with them and making jokes we start walking towards their tents. As I start putting up my tent, they watch in wander and offer me fresh goat-milk for strong legs (actually they fill up my whole bottle !! The milk will last me a couple of days...) and call their mother and sister to come see and meet the foreigner. After having tea with me, they round up the herd of goats and sheep and lock them in the fence nearby their tent.

It is time for dinner and they ask me to join them for some couscous. I happily agree. The ladies are preparing a couscous with milk, onions and terfez. It has a sweet taste and is just delicious.

The running gag of the evening is that later I will encounter a donkey sleeping in my tent (On the way we saw a donkey and I asked wheter its theirs...).

But no donkey is around as I marvel at the million stars in the night sky, so I get into my tent and fall fast asleep only to wake occasionaly from the sound of coughing sheep and hoping goats hooves.

Ain beni Mathar

2009-04-13T10:45:00.000-07:00

So we leave Ibrahims place to visit the local horse farm across the road. The manager greets us with a friendly handshake and of course I am invited to watch and take fotos of the horses.

My host explains me this is the place where local people and berber nomads from the surrounding area bring their steeds to "have sex" with a worthy stag.
After visiting the stables (each stag has got a different price for his services -according to origin and percentage of pure arab race - stated on small signs-and is more or less willing/able to have sex several times a day) The "act" itself lasts only a couple of seconds but is truly impressive.

After watching so much horse-power we start to feel hungry again and head for the local store to buy lunch. I must have been quite tired from the trip because I slept for more than two hours when Ibrahim wakes me in the afternoon. He asks me wether I want to change my clothes for "going into town". I do not but nevertheless he offers me a couple of trousers and a shirt for his wardrobe - a simple carton box.

We share some deodorant and off we go. We cycle past the local red light district (right beside the local Gendarmerie) and roll past the weekly market with people selling all kind of vegetables and fruit and Terfez (the morrocan truffels) by the sack- or lorry-load. We greet several friends of Ibrahims and some men in the nearby cafeteria engage me in friendly conversation, they work in Spain, Murcia, Barcelona or Bilbao and some of them insist on giving me their phone number, just in case. After a little snack of morrocan sandwich (some strange canned meat, egg, salad and mayo + ketchup) I visit a small cibercafe to check on the news and e -mails from home. A rather slow connection and the usual crappy Pc with funny letter keyboard but just fine for 4DH/hour.

School is over and we meet Ibrahims favourite girl on the street. I want to take a picture of the two but Ibrahim tells me this is not a good idea in public!

We visit the remains of a church the french built some 50 years ago and cycle homewards.

For dinner there is couscous with chicken and terfez.

They really look like small truffels but their taste is a little bit of potatoe, a little bit of earth and you hardly have to chew as the texture is really light.
A great vegetable to go with couscous !

Done with dinner we go for a stroll but it being after nine o clock at night, nearly everbody is in bed already so we do the obvious; return to base and do likewise.

Morroco Fotos

2009-04-06T08:32:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been spinning the wheels a lot ( yes, this country IS huge) and the thoughts for the blog did not come easy... nontheless you may get a taste of Morroco while having a look at my fotos at my Flickr page. Enjoy.

Oujda - Ain Beni Mathar

2009-03-30T06:37:00.000-07:00

The following morning I leave Oujda towards Figuig together with David who decided to ride with me for the first 20 kms. We cycle on the road shoulder to avoid trucks and buses and I try getting used to the rearview mirror.

After about 25kms the road disappears into the mountains and starts to climb slightly. The lush vegetation around Oujda gives way to the more and more arid land on the high plains of eastern Morroco.

During the rather uneventful ride, my cycle computer ticks over the 1.000 kms and after 85kms I reach the village of Ain Beni Mathar where I planned to spend the night.

I approach a local school to ask for some accomodation. The friendly headmaster explains that I may not camp on the schoolground without permit of the minister of education (??). Shame. Nonetheless, there is a group of male pupils gathered in front of the school waiting for the girls to leave the afternoon class and maybe catch a glimpse of their favourite beauty during a few seconds. I ask the boys where it might be possible to spend the night and am invited by seventeen year old Ibrahim to stay in his house. While we walk over towards the town centre, school is over and we are literally overrun by children, they are everywhere, block up the whole street, start shouting as they see me, they push and pull at my bike and panniers, somebody throws a stone and I feel a slight panic with all the shouting and pushing and almost fall over a small boy trying to avoid the crowd.

Once the interest has lessened, we stop to take a group picture and one of Ibrahims friend gives me his palestinean headscarf to wear on my trip. In exchange I give him my black Buff which he puts on inmediately and he seems very happy with the deal.

The sun is down already and Ibrahim leads me in the dark to his village, a 20 minutes walk from Ain Beni Mathar. He knows me for about an hour but he begs me to stay at least a day at his home because he wants to show a lot of things. I want to continue my trip the next day but he insists and I finally give in and promise him to stay a day at his place.

His family lives in a simple house made of pale mudbricks with straw roof and consists of a living room, kitchen and 2 dormitories. I am introduced to father, mother and sisters, nephews and nices that all share the same house. They welcome me, help unload my bike and offer me mint-tea and home-made bread (still warm from the oven). All smile friendly at me and I start feeling at home but I marvel about the generous and honest hospitality these people offer me.

Ibrahim is sent to the nearby tiny butcher shop to buy chicken for dinner, I feel guilty at the thought that his family spends money they do not have only to be able to serve their guest a nice dinner but Ibrahim won,t let me pay for the chicken.

At the shop, I am introduced to Ibrahims friends, they smile big smiles and ask Ibrahim to translate in arabic as they do only speak little french. Said, the young butcher/shopkeeper sends his little brother next door - a couple of minutes later, mint-tea is served.

As we return home the living room has been transformed into a dining room, Ibrhahim brings me a bucket and sprinkles my hands with water to wash before eating and we sit down with the father to slurp tea and eat a great tajine (made of chicken with peas and potatoes) using bread to dipp and only our right head to eat. It tastes just great.

After dinner we stretch on the floor on woolen matresses and sleep in our clothes under thick covers. In the morning, I hear Ibrahims mother rumble in the kitchen around 5 o clock, she is preparing breakfast for the older son who has to leave the house for his job on a building site around 6. We get up at 7 and sit down on the kitchen floor beside Ibrahims mother who is busy preparing a kind of multilayered pastry which is to be eaten together with melted butter and tea.

After this breakfast, Ibrahim shows me his horse that is chained to the ground next to the house. The stud already has a small fowl and is supposed to have another one soon.

..... to be continued.

Oujda

2009-03-30T05:31:00.000-07:00

David is studying arabic translation and is member of Warmshowers.org and also of Couchsurfing.com, his place seems to be busy with people all the time. He shares an entire house with three french girls which are teaching french at the local Institut Francais and at the moment his friend Zakaria from Tanger as well as two other french girls (and myself) are on a short visit over the weekend. We help Zakaria prepare a Tajine with chicken, potatoes and peas which takes its time to cook properly but tastes just great after the 104km ride of today.

The next morning I wake early, do some minor repairs on my bike (and finally fix the mirror to the handlebar- it will come in handy with all the traffic) and wash my clothes (about time to do so...). After breakfast I relax in the patio in one of Davids mexican hammocks, study my map and plan my route through Morroco. In the afternoon we visit the local christian; jewish and muslim cemeteries looking for a grave of Saras grand-grand father who lived in Oujda before the family emigrated to France. The christian as well as the jewish cemetery are closed but the friendly guardians live nearby and let us in to have a look around.
In the evening we are invited to the Institut Francais for its Spring Party. Sangria is served and we enjoy morrocan cuisine and dance to the rythms of the local music. The rest of the evening we spend dancing on a local party with about 200 young Nigerians that dance like crazy.

Sunday morning I visit the medina of Oujda,
roam the local Souq and admire stalls with vegetables and fruit, plastic shoes and teapots, get my swiss knife sharpened (2DH)
and chat with the owner of a second-hand bicycle shop.

Later I decide its time to update my blog, read the mail and some news and am lucky to find a very decent ciber-cafe with good hardware ( 5DH/hour) and an even more decent employee.

I stay for a couple of hours and my new friend Amine treats me to tea and even invites me to share his lunch (!!) and presents me to his friends who stop by. Definetely the Employee of the Month !

Zaio to Oujda

2009-03-27T10:23:00.000-07:00

We get up at around 7 am because Fdal has a class at 8 o clock. After a short breakfast and laden with about a kilo of dates from Fdals family palm trees in Figuig, I take off direction Oujda where I am to stay at the place of a warmshowers.org member. But before leaving I a, asked to try on the tipical morrocan garment - the Djelaba. Fits me nicely and is warm and comfy - see foto on the right.

To road out of Zaio is busy but good tarmac and having a slight tailwind I make good headway towards the town of Berkane (known morroco-wide for its vast orange groves and the jokes about the inhabitants). In Berkane I visit a Ciber-Cafe and send my host a short e-mail and write down the descrition how to find his place. Riding out of Berkane I am overtaken by a middle aged morrocan on his moped. As we travel about the same speed, we start to chat and he tells me he is headmaster of the local school and on his way to a small weekend-break on his land where he planted a couple of figtrees some days ago. He invites me to come along and have a look. Sounds quiet interesting and is a good excuse to take a rest. We take a short detour from the road and arrive after about 10 minutes ride along green fields. He shows me the fresh rectangular holes which contain each 4 branches of a fig tree (as a morrocan tradition demands), a couple of the branches already have small sprouts. We talk about music and morrocan food and I am invited to see him shall I come back to Morroco in summer. Inshallah.

As I continue riding the road starts to climb gently into the mountains and I already feel the midday sun burning hot on my face as I meet a couple of guys at the roadside discharging a Toyota Pick Up-Van loaded with oranges - he could not cope with the load and refused service halfway up the climb. After a short chat and a good laugh about my bike they stuff my handlebar bag with oranges and wish me good luck. Shortly before arriving the top of the hill a couple of cyclists overtake me. We exchange a few words as we hit the pedals and one guy takes out his cell phone and starts taking fotos of me and my bike. After they bid their farewell I put on my helmet and start the short downhill. In the next village I take short break with mint tea, olives and bread before the final 20kms to Oujda.

The traffic gets worse as the road transforms into a 4 lane highway. After passing the local airport and olive groves filled with picknicking Morrocan families I ride into Oujda, overtaken by some road cyclists. With a smile I stop to ask them for the way.

They are a mixed bunch of guys, some on italian road bikes, others on mountainbikes, all of the with a big smile on the face. They start laughing, shake my hand and slap my back, acknowledge my bike and start taking pictures with their cell phones. They are pleased to help me find the way to Davids place and after a short ride "en groupe" through the busy streets, they leave me right on the doorstep.

Melilla and onwards into Morocco

2009-03-22T05:18:00.000-07:00

After a rather rough and unpleasant 8 hours crossing the Mediteranian, I touched african soil leaving the ferry in Melilla around 22h. Boarding the ferry in Malaga, my loaded bike has been the center of attention for the fellow passengers. Quite a lot of people made benign comments and asked me about my plans for cycling in Morocco, all smiling mildly.

Some spanish guy from Melilla warned me against thieves and thugs (and moroccans in general) waiting for me - their easy prey- just round the corner/over the border. Five minutes later I found the same guy chatting happily with a group of morrocans and he told them he absolutely loved Morocco and did have a flat there, very friendly people, todo genial, etc... (??)

Once in Melilla I took a small room at Hostal Rioja; just round the corner from the town hall and only 5 minutes walk from Melilla la Vieja, the old fortified town. Thursday being holiday and Melilla devoid of tourists; the owner of my hostel decided to call it a day and shut his business for a long weekend and I had to look hard for a place to leave the bike during a short visit to Melilla la Vieja. A nice lady watching over the public parking rescued me and allowed me to park my ride beside her booth.

So I went to enjoy the views from the higest point of the fortifications (being the military musuem including a bronce bust of Franco and all) and visited the Cuevas del Conventico; a network of manmade caves -cut three storeys deep into the rocks for the means of defence of the citadell and also used as storage facilities of christian relics and place for prayer during times of war.

After refilling my waterbottles I pedal towards Morocco. I feel a bit weird and unsure wether it was the right decision to enter the country by the east and have a somewhat strange fear of getting robbed right away. At the border-post of Beni-Enzar I fill in the due imigration form requiered by the local customs authorities, answer a couple of questions (You travel en velo? Two or three wheels ?) receive big smiles and a nice red ENTRY stamp (my third one from Morocco) in my passport, the customs official wonders briefly over my now unvalid visa for Saudi-Arabia and off I roll.

Some 13kms after the border lies the boringly noisy town of Nador. I wheel slowly through the streets looking in vain for some (tourist)ttrqctions that might convince me to spend the night. Instead I am drawn towards a huge pot steaming over a fire in an improvised roadside foodstall where I hope to find some Harira soup; bit the dish of the day is snails. Not very attracting for lunch- to be honest. But the snail vendor recommends a nearby restaurant for a good tasty lunch.

And thus I get seated to be served my first moroccan meal, bread, lentil soup, fried fish and squid (25 DH). The garcon speaks no french and somehow he is convinced that I can only drink Coke - he refuses to serve me water. Hm?

With renewed energy I cycle in direction Oujda, being impressed by the moroccan trucks who manage to overtake me with only centimeters to spare and greeting friendly laughing when I salute them from my saddle. The roads runs parallel to the Atlas mountains and is a gentle up-and -down which suits me just fine. BUT there are some tricky curves and some daring truck driver raced along with more guts than brakes, not being aware that he is carrying about 10 tons of ripe oranges. RESULT: half the load follows the momentum and lands in the gutter/curve and I receive my first load of free oranges when I stop to chat with the men gathered around to watch and discuss the desaster.

A short exchange of smiles, pleasantries and helpfull info about the road ahead and I roll on; my bike loaded with sweet ripe oranges.

I plan to stay in the village of Zaio and inquire in a cafeteria about possible lodging, not willing to spend my first night in Morocco in my tent. The waiter does not speak french; nor español but chats happily and ask a passerby to help out. Fdal is a local school teacher and tells me there is nowhere to stay, realized my anguished look on my face and rapidly offers to stay in his flat tonight. A gut feeling tells me this is a more than decent guy and I decide to stay with him, flattend by his offer.

He invites me for tea in the cafeteria and pulls out his laptop to show me some pictures of the end-of-the-road/oasis town of Figuig at the closed Moroccan/Algerian border after he learns of my plans to cycle there within the next days. What a coincidence Figuig is in fact his hometown and he is delighted to be able to tell me about it.

We head for his apartment where I am to sleep in his friends room, he helps me to haul the luggage to the second floor and after a quick tour we go out for a poulet - dinner. He already payed for my tea and insists to pay for the dinner also - I am speachless - BONJOUR, BIENVENU AU MAROC.

Road to Malaga

2009-03-22T04:22:00.000-07:00

My map promised a scenic ride crossing the sierra south-west of Ronda along the biosphere reserve Sierra de las Nieves; this I got - spectacular views on the surrounding mountains - AND as a sidedish some nice headwind uphill. What a "great" way to start my day. No wonder the col near Ronda was called Puerto del Viento by some funny guy. Pray I never meet him...

Having reached the top; I cruised with top-speed through hairpin curves; overtaking caravans and the odd car towards El Burgo and followed the A-366 direction Malaga. The traffic intensified noticeably from Coin on and the combination of narrow road, big trucks and rush hour traffic made me use my helmet for the first time during my trip.

Entering Malaga I treated myself to a nice ice-cream (3,60 € for a rather small "mid"-sized portion) before meeting Borja near his flat. He invited me for chinese dinner and a couple of Heineken, just the right thing for a hungry cyclist.

Unfortunately; looking up the ferry schedule on the web I made a mistake and looked for the monday sailing schedule only. When I reached Malaga port on tuesday in order to buy my ticket, the ferry to Melilla was about to leave -only the monday and friday departure is at 19h whereas on the rest of days, the boat takes off at 14h. Bad Luck.
I had to stay another day in Malaga. I took to roam the city and read, eat and write e-mails to potential hosts en route in Morocco.

I think Borja was quite surprised finding me still in his flat the same day in the afternoon...

Ronda

2009-03-22T02:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was very tiring cycling so I happily decided to give myself a break and stay for a couple of days in Ronda. The hostel Ronda Sol offered cheap and clean lodging only 200 meters from the Plaza de Toros (which is believed to be the cradle of spanish bullfighting) and spectacular Puente Nuevo.

Finished in 1793, being 98 meters in height, the bridge spans the gorge of the Tajo and allowed the city to expand beyond its boundary imposed by nature.

On friday afternoon I meet german touring-cyclist Till who is on his way from Morocco to Madrid and stays in the same hostel. He has got vast cycle-touring experience, mostly in eastern european and baltic countries, Turkey and the Caucasus. As you will understand I could not resist to pick his brain extensively over a couple of cañas. If you are interested in first hand info on his tours and want to see some great fotos, have a look at his website.

Saturday morning I got visit from Madrid and spent the weekend exploring Ronda with Nieves.

We enjoy the great scenic views onto the surrounding sierras, visit the Casa del Rey Moro and the adjoining mines that lead down narrow and slippery stairs to the level of river Tajo, we cross the ancient bridges and gasp at fortifications and of course had some nice tapas rondeñas.

A lot of businesses are carrying the name of the german poet Rainer Maria Rilke (who spent the winter of 1912 in Rondas Hotel Reina Victoria -his former room resembles now a small museum). Rilkes published despricptions of the dramatic clifftop-setting of Ronda must have helped to transform it into a must-see site for tourists visiting the Costa del Sol. Thus, from mid-morning to early afternoon, the city is plagued by tourists groups arriving mostly by bus.

So, after a three days rest and quite a dose of sightseeing and legstreching away from the bike, on monday morning I ll take the road towards Malaga, pay a short visit to Borja and then buy a ticket for the ferry to spanish enclave Melilla. From there I will cross into Morocco.

On the news

2009-03-17T12:16:00.000-07:00

Last wednesday I appeared on the daily news on Canal 12 TV of El Viso del Alcor (Sevilla) talking about my trip. To see the program, click following link and forward to minute 13:00. Enjoy.

From El Viso to Ronda

2009-03-15T11:06:00.000-07:00

On wednesday morning I left El Viso and headed direction Carmona and Ronda. I crossed the flat Vega of Guadalquivir having a slight tailwind. I made good progress and spun my wheels at nearly 20 kms/hour. As I reached Morón de la Frontera I was welcome by a member of a local fraternity preparing chandeliers and flower arrangements for the festivities of Semana Santa.

Leaving Morón I hit a very calm tarmac road where local cyclist like to train and met Miguel Alvarez on his road bike. We chatted about fitness levels, the Via Verde and my trip while we sped up the hills. Miguel told me he was in "quite" bad shape but he still had less effort with the climbs as I did with all the lugguage and as I struggled for breath I cursed him while he chatted happily away spinning lightly on his 9 kgs carbon road bike. Bless him !

In Coripe I loaded up with potatoes and galletas for dinner and hit the spectacular Via Verde de la Sierra. Once I saw the rock of Zafra Magon I pitched my tent right beside the Via and tried in vain to light my stove. Frustrated I gave in and had a sad cold dinner of cookies and bananas after 93 kms on the road.

The next day was very hard with a steady headwind and a fierce sun shining from the cloudless andalucian sky. Me knees hurt from the effort the day before and the terrain was little nasty hills with steep climbs and little downhills to recover. After tiring 53 kms I entered the spectacular town of Ronda and found a cheap hostel to rest my weary limbs. And of course a nice bar to feed and water....

Of saying goodbye, rain, wind & andalusian sun

2009-03-10T04:17:00.000-07:00

After eight days of riding I reached El Viso del Alcor near Seville where I am staying with Coral, a friend of mine. A welcome refuge and time to repose from the first 500 plus kms. I still need some getting used to the heavy bike so a day or two off will do some good.

But lets beginn with the farewell in Madrid: After a last hearty and (for me) very emotional breakfast with a lot of friends, Nacho and Guillermo as well as avid cyclists Alicia & Alvaro (who also run the fantastic website dedicated to bicycle-touring www.rodadas.net/), took to give me company during the first kilometers on the "anillo verde ciclista" that surrounds Madrid.

A welcome help as I had absolutely NO clue about the right way out of Madrid.

The next days passed by quite fast, heading south I hit the quietest roads I could figure out on my map, had coffee in small villages, bought fruit and vegetables in tiny shops owned by old grandmas or friendly marrocans that willingly gave me tips for exploring Morroco.

Thanks to caravandrivers and sheppards, I set up my tent each night savely in quite spectacular surroundings, near to roman ruins, besides a medieval castle, in the Cijara national reserve park or simply in a wood nearby.

I also had the first minor problems with the equipment, e.g. a stove that would not light, a flagpole that snapped (repaired by now) and there was also the large cable including lock that for sure found a new owner by now because I left it at some fountain in a castillian village and did not notice until 30 kms and several hours later. I REALLY wasn´t in the mood to cycle back and look for it.

Weatherwise, I had "un poco de todo" these first days. In Extremadura I had cold nights, one day of slight but steady rain (which I withstood thanks to my raingear and a dose of music from my MP3 player), the next day should bring dry weather but a fierce wind that changed from side- to headwind at will and crossing into Andalucia the sun decided to shine brightly and the temperatures rose to over 20 degrees Celsius. Time for sunglasses, shorts and sunburnt face....

All in all, I would say I had a great start and am happy that I chose to cycle across Spain in this time of the year. So far I loved the countryside and enjoyed the great scenery of the Sierras in Extremadura and Andalucia (although, I suffered with the climbs and ups and downs with the laden bike).

Well, El Viso is a memorable stop-over because of the fact that I gave my first TV interview on (and about) this trip, for the local TV chanel Canal 12. I was quite surprised when they offered to interview me but have to admit I was really nervous during the whole affair. The program will be aired this friday (sorry, in El Viso only) and you will be able to see it someday soon on Youtube.

On Wednesday I´ll head for Carmona and then south towards the cycleroute "Via Verde de la Sierra" that runs from Coripe to Olvera, my destination being Ronda where I might spend some days.

With a little help from my friends

2009-02-25T07:57:00.001-08:00

During my last days on my job back in january, friends and colleagues met me for lunch breaks and several fare-well parties and gave me quite a selection of useful gifts for my trip. Amongst others, I was given the book "1.000 places to visit before you die", a pair of red (!!) cycling tights, a compass, a guide to Youth-Hostels-International, a guidebook for the northern leg of St. James way, a pair of cold weather gloves as well as a high-visibility signal flag to be mounted at the rear rack of my bike. Thanks again for all the presents, I am sure they will come in handy before long.

On the above foto you may appreciate nearly all of the gear and clothing I will take initially. Quite surprisingly all of it fit on my bed and IN the panniers with some room to spare. For the ones interested I will compose a separate packing list to download from this site. Any queries regarding any part of equipment or gear, please let me know.

Shots, Drugs & Rock´ N Roll

2009-02-24T08:28:00.000-08:00

Part of my preparations durning the last weeks has been the task of refreshing and completing my health vaccinations for the trip.

Health official at the Foreign Medicine Board of Madrids Carlos III hospital recommended to get rabies, Hep A + B, tetanus, polio, FSME, thyphus and cholera. Only the yellow fever vaccination is compulsory when travelling to some parts of the worlds, as sub-saharan africa and most parts of south america, but nevertheless I prefer to have a rather complete spectrum of vaccinations.
Fortunately (and luckily for my travel funds), getting all the shots at the hospital is free of charge. I only had to pay for Dukoral (cholera) and Vivotif (Typhus) vaccinations. Only four days to go and I still have to stock up on the first aid department with painkillers etc in the nearby pharmacy.

You are going to do ... What ?

2009-01-02T09:16:00.000-08:00

Expect to receive these and similar kind of comments from your family, colleagues and friends once they find out about your (seemingly) crazy plans to leave your home, job and (obviously) them behind to fetch a bicycle and pedal around the globe for the year(s) to come .

Follow this Blog to find out about the further development of my journey starting 1st of march 2009 - less then two months from now.

I hope you get inspired by the stories & photos to be posted here every now and then.

And maybe ... See you on the road !