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+ 0 - 0 | § ¶Iranian mountains, and the art of getting snowed in.

+ 0 - 0 | § ¶Iranian mountains, and the art of getting snowed in.

+ 13 - 2 | § ¶A holiday in India

It appears I have not given any news since I was in Pakistan. In this case no news is good news, as I have successfully arrived in Delhi. That was a while back.

It seems ages ago since my last night in Pakistan which I shall remember for a long while! On was still on a come down from the 3 weeks I had spent in north Pakistan and was feeling very fit.

 

I looked up Chris’ sufi night in Lahore. Got the train from Islamabad on the last day, arrived in Lahore station at 10pm leaving there my bike and luggage and set out for an all night sufi night, where two drum beaters kept a dozen Sufis in trance until the early hours. I got back to the bike in the morning and pedaled the 40km or so to the border, and the remaining 20kms to Amritsar, home of the Sikhs. Here I met up with Chris after us not seeing each other for a month or so. Chris left for the mountains and I went straight to Delhi from where Sarah, my girlfriend, and I would go for a holiday (yes I know, from the holiday, very funny!).

 

For me, the arrival at Delhi represented the end of a first chapter in the 360ways book.  When building this project Christopher and myself talked of every new day as being a new page in the book of life.

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+ 13 - 3 | § ¶The Tribune article on Christopher

While Christopher is meditating in search for enlightenment, here is the article that was published in the indian newspaper The Tribune on July 11th.

Thanks to this article, the 360ways website had its busiest day when the article came out, with more than 400 visitors in one day! Not sure this will help Chris's (quote) "supersize ego"... (suite...)

+ 11 - 5 | § ¶Shimla to Chandigarh: From the mountains of Himachal-Pradesh to the plains of Haryana

Under the rain in Shimla, I met Javed Dajar who comes from Kashmir. Javed told me of the landscapes of Kashmir and of its people, and nearly convinced me to go there with him.

Apparently the situation in Kashmir is calmer now. India and Pakistan are trying to resolve the conflict, somehow. I would have gone, but Kashmir isn't on my way, and by bicycle... well let's just say it would have taken a couple of months.

The rain continued regardless. The local news announced that the road ahead was flooded, in fact even my next stop, Chandigarh, was flooded. I was starting to give up hope until one day, a week after my arrival in Shimla, I awoke to find the sun pearing in through the window.

This was the sign I had been waiting for. I packed my bags, said goodbye to my new friends, and hit the road. Chandigarh lies about 130kms South of Shimla... the sun was shining and the road ahead was all downhill.

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+ 12 - 3 | § ¶Dharamsala to Shimla: mountains, monsoon and monkeys

Two weeks in Dharamsala was sufficient to make me fat and unfit again.

I stayed near Mc Leod Gange, in Bagsu. Days were filled with treks to the waterfalls, eating Banofi Pie, reading about Buddhism and the Dalai Lama (who now lives in Mc Leod Gange), and eating more Banofi Pie.

Friends came and went, and on my last day in Dharamsala, I realised that I had pushed my luck a little too far.

The clouds above were getting denser, and the word on every person's lips was... Monsoon.

It was an other one of those moments, where I had to tear myself away from the comfort I had so quickly grown used to. Staying in a hotel room, lounging in the local cafes, eating, drinking...

Shimla was 375kms away and it was raining heavily. One of those moments where you mustn't think, just pack your bags, get them on the bike... and go.

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+ 9 - 5 | § ¶Himachal-Pradesh, land of the thousand Gods

Himachal Pradesh.

Like a breath of fresh air in a trip with too many fumes.

It's 9AM, and I managed to get an early start to the day. I've been cycling since dawn. Now only 160kms and a couple of mountains stand in the way of the safe haven of Dharamsala. The rickshaws and monster trucks fade away as a long empty winding road opens up ahead.

Farmers continue waving from their fields. Pine trees appear, along with uphill slopes. The sun strikes harder and harder, avalanching onto the road.  Exhausting heat.

Wearing a turban around my head as a flimsy effort at shade, I follow the road to the mountains.

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+ 9 - 5 | § ¶India: And now for something completely different!

As I waved goodbye to my friends in Lahore, I could not help but feel a little nostalgia. Lahore, with all its pollution, had been home to me for a month now. That morning, at 40+ degrees Celsius I cycled my way through her congested roads, zigzagging past noisy two-stroke rickshaws, coughing and spluttering on their thick fumes. 

Badly singing "Nothing can stop me now" by Queen, I found the road to Waga Border. One sign post: "30kms to India" lifted my spirits to new heights. A new chapter was about to begin!

One slight problem... My daily delays in meeting the mayor of Lahore meant my visa for Pakistan had expired over a week ago. To extend it would have meant another trip to Islamabad. My friends at Lahore municipality had warned me that I may even get arrested at the border!

With my bicycle as my ambassador, and a 100 rupees note (2 euros) in my passport as a cheap attempt of a bribe, I decided to risk it.

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+ 9 - 4 | § ¶The Shimshal Experience

The alarm went off at 6am ready to set out on the little adventure we had set for ourselves. Yohann turned the alarm clock off, and we went for a full breakfast at 9am.

Yohann kept his bike light by leaving most of his stuff at the hotel and I decided it was going to be difficult anyway and took everything, including all camping equipment. We slowly cycled up the Karakorum highway to the point where the jeep track leaves the road in direction of Shimshal.

We made a break at the signpost indicating 'Welcome to Shimshal, this road was constructed in 2004'. At this point we were still in the main Hunza valley on the Karakorum highway, and before us was a gigantic wall of mountains which somehow had a track road going through it. After 15 minutes, we asked ourselves, do we go on? The track was mainly composed of medium sized rocks which were slightly displaced by the daily jeep passings, leaving for the bicycles, two strips to progress on. That and the sand patches were to make the day a 'Ca passe ou ca casse' day!

We passed the first bridge over the main Hunza river, and entered the gorge slowly. Yohann was faster on the way as he was lighter, and also on the recumbent bicycle things proved to be more tricky. The recumbent bike is perfect when you are looking into the distance, but when trying to look at the road 1m in front of the front wheel, there is a certain technique to acquire. We progressed along the road moving up and down from the Shimshal river that we would follow all day until we reached Shimshal.

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+ 3 - 7 | § ¶North Pakistan, and along the Karakoram highway

Well Chris and I seperated in Lahore. We had no fixed plans for the future, just that he would look after Lahore, whilst I would pay a visit to Islamabad.

Throughout Pakistan, people I met had told me of the Northern Areas of Pakistan and how unique these parts are. The whole northern area is on the west of the Himalayas on the Hindu Kurch and Karakoram ranges, where it is frequent to find peaks above 7000m. The Karokorum highway is the only road that goes to the north of the country and used to be a major silk route. Its now of political and strategic importance as it connects the subcontinent to central Asia and China to Europe. Built in the 1970’s, it now stretches from near Islamabad right up to the Chinese border at 4800m altitude on the Kunjerab pass.

Stefan and Anita the Austrian tandemists were going to cycle up and down again. This gave me the plan of finding a way to the top using public transport, to then cycle down again, from 4800m to Islamabad. First though, I needed to stop off at Islamabad to apply for the Indian via…

I got the train up to Islamabad. There I stayed a few days, for the visa, and preparing future visit of the municipality, meeting the Sustainable Development Policy Institute, and…the minister of the environment of Pakistan!

A couple of days later I cycled to Rawalpindi and got a bus for the north. I had no idea where I was going and just got a bus ticket for Hunza, the furthest north they could sell me a ticket for. I arrived 24hrs later, in a completely new environment. It is very calm compared to Punjab, the mountains are steep and high around you, and the religion is not the same. Here they are Ismaelites, they believe the Imam heritance is still alive today as the 49^th is alive today, and are basically the ‘peace and love’ muslims who simply believe in peace and nothing else.

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+ 5 - 8 | § ¶Lahore: Qawwali Music and Sufi Trance.

I'm not sure what it is about this polluted megapolis which entices me so and keeps me here. Yet here I am, still in Lahore. Maybe it's the endless Sufi nights, the drumming beats of the Qawwali music, maybe it's the relaxed atmosphere and the even more relaxed people. The heat keeps getting stronger (up to an average of 40 degrees Celsius), making it increasingly difficult to move.

Lahore is the most visited city in Pakistan, and for good reasons. With 7 million inhabitants (unofficially over 10 million), Lahore is Pakistan's second largest city (after Karachi). Those tourists who do make it here are usually the rough tough backpacking overlanding extra poor travellers, who are running out of countries to visit. Being only 30kms from the border with India, Lahore is also a stopping point for travellers entering or leaving the country.

I'm staying in the Regale Inn on Mall road, a crossroads for travellers, and highly recommendable. Those coming from India are very spiritual, and never cease repeating how India will change your life, how you should go to Rishikesh, the yoga capital of the world and find enlightenment. Those coming from the North of Pakistan talk of the amazing mountain scenery, the Karakoram Highway, and the Kunjerab pass. Peter left a while back for North Pakistan, a place I will have to come back to on an other occasion.

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+ 5 - 7 | § ¶Punjab, the Land of Five Rivers and many canals

Our hotel in Multan was a safe-haven to us after the chaos of illogical confrontations with the Punjab police on the way there. We spent four days nursing our wounds with comfortable beds and cable tv for 100 roupis each a night curry room service. The cheap price was due to the Punjab police accompanying us right to the hotel room, wanting desperately to get rid of us. They even tuned in the channels for Bollywood and American soap operas! So kind.

When they left they instructed the hotel manager to phone them when we left the hotel. Anita and Stefan are still with us and followed much the same routine during our stay, recovering from the outdoors. Multan was the first comfortable bed we had since Quetta, and even then it was pretty basic.

“We’re going to internet and we’ll be back in three hours”, and the manager would pick up the phone to let the police know we were going out for three hours and that we were going to the internet café. We visited the town, went round the bazaar full of its narrow streets, met a few locals, but on the whole Multan was not a very nice town. Very noisy, dusty and hot.

We packed our bags early on departure day, rushed downstairs, paid the bill, put the bags on the bikes and cycled off just as a police car arrived. “We’re going towards Lahore”, I say as we joined the rickshaw traffic heading for a roundabout, and thus losing them. And that was the last of our police escorts, at last! Since Quetta!

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+ 6 - 7 | § ¶Balouch soap-opera: guns and escorts

In Ziarat, Stephan, Anita, Peter and myself relaxed for a few days. We improvised a camping spot in the garden of an empty hotel with water and electicity facilities available... all at less than a euro a day.

Thus for each of three days, we woke up and decided to stay a day longer. Lounging around, reading, cooking, and resting our legs which needed time to recuperate after the bumpy roads and paths we had cycled across since Quetta.

Ziarat is a small village, high up in the mountains of Baluchistan, and it oozes with charm. The locals are so welcoming that it is virtually impossible to walk through the centre without stopping at least once to share a pot of tea and a conversation with some. These moments are always pleasurable and often turn into eye opening experiences.

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+ 7 - 7 | § ¶Quetta to Ziarat: In which country are we anyway?

Each new street we walk down in Quetta provides the excitement of the unknown and of discovery. Walking through the city I think, What would it be like to go a bit further? What would it be like to go further than the city centre, to take that road that leads towards the outskirts of Quetta, the one where you wonder if you're going the right way or not, the one where you have to ask your way, the one that will provide the locals on their doorstep with a visit from another world, the way that slowly leaves the hustle and bustle behind, to reveal that part of Earth that has been so welcoming to Quetta.  

We're leaving tomorrow Stefan announces! Yes! I thought I was not ready to leave, but the excitement to leave the next day is too much to say no. The bicycles call. (suite...)

+ 12 - 1 | § ¶Zahedan to Quetta: a dramatic change of scenery

The last leg of the journey was a hard one. Through the desert, up moutains, down again, over 4 days on the road, and i food poisoning on the way... so when we reached Zahedan at last, it was like arriving at a final destination. The plan was for the four of us and the three bikes to get a bus or a train from Zahedan, past the border and up to Quetta in Pakistan, on the other side of the infamous Baluchistan region.

Zahedan is still on the Iranian side, and proved to be the first melting-pt glimpse of what is to come! Here people were dressed differently to the rest of Iran, the faces are different : chinese faces, mongol faces, Afghan faes with the magnificient eyes, Baloutch, standard Persian....  Apart from that it is not an interesting town, and like us, most travellers use the place for a days rest before moving on.

We decided to forget the bus to make the crossing into Pakistan an exciting one,and to cycle to the border the next day. My diaarohea was over, well nearly, and we saw no danger on the way there, so why not give it a try!

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+ 12 - 1 | § ¶Bam to Zahedan, a jolly procession through the Dasht e Lut desert

It is a hot dry day as we wave goodbye to our new friends at Akbar's guesthouse.

This time, Peter and I are not alone as Stephan and Anita, our friends from www.ohnegrenzen.at had waited for us in Bam, with their Tandem.

People continue to warn us of the dangers ahead.

Baluchistan not being the safest place on earth, we decide to cycle this stretch together with Stephan and Anita: Strength in numbers.

As we slowly make our way out of the city of Bam, a strange procession of two recumbent bicycles and one tandem, hordes of mopeds, motorbikes, cars and even cyclists hoot, scream and shout around us in excitement.

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+ 6 - 9 | § ¶Back on the bikes from Kerman to Bam

I’m writing this from Akbar’s Tourist Guesthouse in Bam, south-east Iran.

We arrived yesterday (19th) afternoon after three days out in the wildenerness as we at last got back to what we are meant to be doing. And it felt very good!

Following a series of meetings in Teheran, Esfahan and Shiraz, on the 15th we got to Kerman, a city of some 500 people. We simply spent our time visiting the bazaar and making the most of the kitchen at our ‘deluxe’ hotel.

We met Alessandro, an Italian Indo-hindu-phile who uncovered many of our blind spots on India whilst evaluating the pasta cooking techniques we learnt in his country. At this point we need to start preparing our itinerary in India to know how we get through Pakistan (north or south) so the timing was perfect and no doubt we’ll be meeting more and more backpackers with the precious travel tips. (suite...)

+ 6 - 6 | § ¶“Hafiz, perfect man or perfect husband, and what’s the difference ?”

Quote from Pooya, our friend and guide from Tehran to Shiraz where we visited “Hafiz”’s, or Shams-ud din Muhammad’s grave. He was Persia’s most beloved poet.

Lived in Shiraz about 100 years after Rumi, another famous Sufi poet. Hafiz became a famous Sufi master, he wrote some 5000 poems during his life and as Hazrat Inayat Khan, the Indian teacher that was credited with bringing Sufism to the West, proclaimed, “the words of Hafiz have won every heart that listens”.

His collection of poems is called “The Divan of Hafiz”, here are a few short ones (translated from Persian:

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+ 6 - 6 | § ¶Iran, beyond expectations.

It has been over a month now since our arrival in Iran. During this time, we:

- Went skiing in the mountains north of Tehran
- Got snowed in by avalanches
- Met many good people in Tehran, and discovered the nightlife
- Got lost in the Bazaars of Esfahan
- Read poetry at Hafez’s tomb in Shiraz
- Did not meet any terrorists

Still last night, we camped under the stars, somewhere near Persepolis. Indeed, this last month has been an eye opening experience. An insight into Iranian everyday life. A taste of what Iran really is. Peter’s broken wrist has meant no cycling. We did not, however, let this get in the way of having a good time.

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+ 7 - 6 | § ¶Iranian mountains, and the art of getting snowed in.

Nine months ago, Peter and I waved goodbye to our friends and family.

With our high hopes, our new bicycles, and our bags full of all the equipment we thought we would need, we hit the road. First we cycled south through France and its vineyards, then east through Italy, north through Austria, then Hungary, Serbia, Bulgaria, Turkey and now Iran.

Since our departure, we have slept in many different places, ranging from a luxury villa in Cannes to abandoned houses in Serbia.

As we left in June, the summer sun followed us well into Hungary. In Hungary the rain started, and became more regular as we slowly made our way through to Turkey. With time and wear, I noticed the rain increasingly making its way through the fabric of my tent and into my sleeping bag...

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01 Sep - 31 Sep 2005
01 Oct - 31 Oct 2005