Across the Red Sea

Day 257

Mileage 23,117 (36,987km)

Dead Sea Sunset

It was with a mixture of sadness and relief that I packed my bike with all my worldly possessions and took the Dead Sea road for the final time to the port city Aqaba. Sadness at leaving behind some of the wonderful people I’ve met while in Jordan; Damo and Naomi who opened their home and their hearts to me, Maya and Bishr at Deserttrax, without whose help this journey may have come to a stuttering halt. Relief at finally putting behind me the recent past and continuing with the next leg of this journey to Cape Town. As the road wound its way down from the Amman plateau to the Dead Sea basin a subtle haze of sand and dust filled the air, the jagged profiles of the central mountains that flank the valley appeared as a succession of fading ridge lines softly vanishing off into the distance as far as the eye can see. 

Ancient Olive Groves of Jordan

The past couple of weeks have involved chasing paperwork down some frustrating dead ends. At one point it felt as though I would never be able to leave Jordan until, with Maya's help, I made a breakthrough and obtained a Carnet for Egypt. All this was interspersed with some incredible excursions with the local GS riders of Jordan. Numbering barely a dozen it is a close knit group of bikers who make the most of the wide and varied terrain the diverse landscape has to offer. From open desert to scenic twisting asphalt to challenging dirt tracks, they have it all and they aren’t afraid to stretch their bikes and bodies to the limits of their capabilities. It is truly a biker’s paradise. Bisecting the country’s mountainous central region are endless Wadis (valleys) where the Bedouin people still roam freely. Dotted with ancient ruins dating from 7000 years ago, every period of history is represented indicating how long this region has been inhabited. I put many more miles on my bike than I had expected to and my off road abilities improved dramatically thanks to some helpful tips from my fellow riders. Highlights included finishing a long day of on and off road riding with a relaxing soak in some 2000 year old Roman hot pools and breaking fresh trails through the eastern desert linking visits to 8th century fortifications that stand lonely and abandoned throughout the region. I will miss Jordan and the genuine hospitality of its people.

Equipped with the required paperwork for legal entry into Egypt I boarded the ferry from Aqaba to Nuweiba, lashed my bike to the cargo deck and settled in for a long sleepless night as the boat slowly chugged its way across the Red Sea. Why this overcrowded, stinking hulk of a vessel couldn’t make the crossing during daylight hours remains a mystery, but in the chilly predawn hours it dumps its tired cargo on Egyptian soil long before the border officials wake and prepare for the sudden influx of traffic. Knowing what to expect, after a previous failed attempt, certainly helped to ease the frustration and I quickly commandeered the services of a local police officer with the promise of a little backsheesh for his help. Piece by piece we put the jigsaw of paperwork together, acquiring an importation permit, obtaining vehicle insurance, getting Egyptian registration plates fitted to the bike, and applying for a driver’s license in Arabic, all while trying to satisfy the security detail on duty that I wouldn’t pose a threat to the country. Recent events in Cairo and the Sinai have, understandably, left the army and police on a state of hight alert.

Off road in Egypt

All of this may have been relatively straight forward had it not been for the fact the ongoing renovations to the port facilities had been abandoned since the recent changes within the country’s leadership. It is a vast and busy complex in a state of confusing turmoil. At one point I had to bang on the door of the vehicle inspection office who ascertain whether or not the bike contains any hazardous goods. After five minutes of knocking a tired groan emerged from within and another five minutes passed before a sleepy looking officer in a nightshirt cracked the door and peered at me, then the bike and then me again before reaching out his hand for the required fee. The door slammed shut and another ten minutes went by as he re-organized his furniture looking for the correct form. Finally the door rattled and through a thin crack my certificate emerged confirming that I posed no threat. Eventually, after several tedious hours, I was directed towards the exit which I assumed was my cue to leave. I paid a little backsheesh to the helpful police officer and rode between the heavily armed soldiers guarding the gate with a satisfied grin spreading across my face. I had to slam on the brakes as one more official stepped into my path and we went through the reams of paperwork that had been stuffed into the numerous pockets of my motorcycle jacket. After a long, slow inspection, much staring and shrugging of shoulders, he stepped aside and said “Welcome to Egypt”.

Although I won’t technically enter Africa until I cross the Suez Canal it feels as though another significant milestone has been passed. I no longer have to keep banging my head against the brick wall of Egyptian bureaucracy and although there are still another 15,000 kilometers between Cairo and Cape Town and many more borders to cross, I feel as though the most difficult one is behind me. One by one countries are slowly moving away from the Carnet system and soon this archaic piece of paper will be a thing of the past where it belongs.

St Katherine's Monastery, Sinai

I spent the first few nights in the Sinai at the crumbling but quaint beach side resort of Dahab on the eastern side of the peninsula. Accommodation was very cheap so I opted for a deserted hotel overlooking the ocean. As the only guest I was treated like a VIP and even allowed to bring my bike inside the compound and park it outside my room. The Bedouin staff immediately befriended me and I was soon being taken around the town and introduced to more people than I could possibly remember. Everyone seemed to be suffering because of the lack of tourists and many businesses had closed since the revolution three years ago. As a result, I was made to feel very welcome for having made the effort to stop by. The shops and restaurants that had survived were mostly empty and desperate for trade but the instability in Cairo has scared off the majority of tourists and what will become of Dahab remains to be seen. Evenings were spent at the Tree Bar sipping the locally produced Stella beer and playing pool with the locals on a table with some challenging undulations. 

Less than fifty meters from my hotel room the ocean floor dropped off in a dramatic shelf, the edge of which is home to a spectacular coral reef teeming with life. I rented a set of snorkeling gear and a wetsuit and spent a long time swimming along the edge of the reef in awe at the variety of fish and coral so close to the shoreline. At one point a sea turtle swam next to me appearing to enjoy my company as we both examined the coral and vividly colored fish of all shapes and sizes seemed oblivious to my presence as they scoured the reef for tiny morsels of food. 

Chilling on 'The Island' a kite boarding paradise

Through my friends in Jordan I had made contact with an Egyptian biker, Nabil, who lives on the western side of the Sinai. He agreed to meet me in Dahab and, together, we rode to some of the hidden gems of the region. The Wadi Gnai provided an opportunity for some challenging off road riding in loose sand but the rewards were worth it, the serenity of the canyon was only disturbed by the quiet ticking of our cooling engines as we stopped to explore the dry creek beds than fan out from the valley floor. We rode north to the infamous Blue Hole, a diving mecca that attracts explorers from around the world because of the beauty of its location and the wealth of sea life that inhabits its pristine coral reef. Plaques adorn the walls on the walk in honoring the divers who allowed the reef to draw them down deeper than they should have gone. As we snorkeled along the surface I could understand the allure of wanting to see more as the crystal clear azure water supported an impossible variety of fish and coral. 

We left Dahab early the next morning and made our way to St Katherine’s Monastery, a Greek Orthodox site from the 8th Century, still in use today. We stopped briefly to explore the area before making our way towards the direct road to the western Sinai. The roads in this region are dotted with security check points, every forty or fifty kilometers barricades cross the road and heavily armed police and soldiers man the temporary installations. as we crossed the final check point before entering the heart of the Sinai I was told I could not proceed, being a foreigner I was considered a high value target for the Bedouin who occasionally kidnap tourists. When the police arrest one of theirs the Bedouin take a tourist before an exchange is made and both are released. A couple of tourists who experienced this recently admitted afterwards that it had been one of the highlights of their trip to Egypt. The Bedouin had treated them like honored guests and had been polite and gentle until an exchange had been arranged. Unfortunately the police were unwilling to risk a repeat of this and would not let me proceed so we took a long detour around the coastal road of the Sinai. It was a spectacular road but a strong headwind made for an exhausting ride. As we neared our destination of Ras Sudr night fell and I had my first experience of driving in the dark in Egypt. Many bikers had warned me of the unusual practice of the locals who drive at night without headlights. On my bike the light stays on all the time and oncoming cars would flash me to remind me that I had forgotten to turn it off. Cars would creep up behind unseen until a quick flash would indicate their intention to pass, it is not the safest practice but it served as a good reminder to be off the roads before nightfall. 

Playing in the sand with Nabil, Ras Sudr

I am now in Ras Sudr, a peaceful resort on the shores of the Red Sea just south of the entrance to the Suez Canal. Heavily laden cargo ships slip quietly by on the horizon, a steady procession of supplies going to and leaving the Mediterranean. The canal is the primary source of income for Egypt with tourism coming a close second. As the media reports on only the bad news from this beautiful country tourism numbers are well below normal and the economy is suffering as a result. From the majority of people I have spoken to most are tired of the situation and are willing to accept a stable but corrupt system over that proposed by the Muslim Brotherhood. Only time will tell how this situation will be resolved but an upsurge in violence in the last few days to mark the third anniversary of the revolution has left several people dead and the advice I am receiving from locals is to avoid the capital for a little longer until things settle down. 

The lagoons of Ras Sudr

For me this leg of the journey has come with its own challenges but the rewards have been abundant. I miss being able to share experiences with a riding partner, a photograph can only capture so much. The inside of a crash helmet can be a lonely place at times and as much as I try to prevent it the tape of the last few months begins to play and I sometimes slip into a deep state of melancholy over what has been lost. Traveling solo, however, seems to have made me more approachable and the interactions with locals have been so much more enlightening and enjoyable. People seem to be much more willing to approach a solo rider and offer advice and hospitality. I am on my own now and seemingly less intimidating than before. It speaks volumes about human nature that when we are alone people feel the need to offer company. Some want to enquire about my journey, some simply want to practice their English but with all a smile is never far from the surface and as with all my travels it soon appears as though we all have more in common than not. Being single is a strange concept to adjust to after so long in a relationship but if I am to truly discover who I am then it can only be a solitary undertaking.  As I sit here writing this under the hot desert sun the ghostly white strip of skin where my wedding ring once sat is slowly beginning to disappear as will my feelings for the person I have lost. With that comes the realization that for the first time in many years I am truly free to follow my own path. The future seems  much brighter with each day that passes.

Meeting the Bedouin

The road to redemption.

Day 240

Mileage 21,310 (34,096km)

Back in Ireland with the siblings

They say it only rains twice a week in Ireland, from Monday to Friday and then from Saturday to Sunday, only twice. Coming home for Christmas and New Year’s was one of the best decisions I have ever made, not even the cold, wet weather could dampen the spirits of my family and friends as we gathered in Strabane to see out the old year and welcome in the new.

I arrived home, to Ireland, feeling discarded like an empty shell. Devoid of hope and lost in a sea of confusion, I was still in shock over the events that had led to this moment and stunned by the suddenness of losing the person I had expected to spend the rest of my life with, my ‘soul mate’, my best friend. I don’t buy into the idea of a ‘soul mate’ anymore. I no longer believe there is such a thing as the perfect partner and no two people are ideally suited for each other. It’s cynical, I know, but it would be a boring world if that were the case, thankfully we are all unique, with our quirks and faults, our gifts and abilities. It is through our actions that we define who we are. We all have a free will and a conscience, we can choose to do right or wrong, to be good or bad. It is rarely that black and white but if the outcome of our actions causes pain, emotional or otherwise, to another individual then it shows a lack of sensitivity to follow that path. Relationships are hard, they require effort, it is much easier to walk away at times than it is to continue.

The future I had expected is no more and the narrative of my past is now being cruelly rewritten. It was almost convincing enough for me to question my own memories. Utter fatigue plays foul tricks on the mind and had it not been for the support of my family and friends from around the world I would have begun to doubt my own sanity. Bathed in a deep, warm pool of love and understanding I finally began to find peace. I was home.

Ireland is a magical place, of course I am biased, but the generosity and hospitality of its people are second to none. Grounded in reality by the shared experience of a troubled past, we tried to live ordinary lives in extraordinary circumstances. The quick wit and the dry humor are merciless but beneath the tough appearances there lies a kindness and warmth that would melt the ice of the coldest hearts. I’ve always suspected the Irish climate has played a pivotal role in the formation of the national psyche. Where better to avoid the inclement weather than at the kitchen hearth drinking tea and telling stories or around the fireplace of the local pub sharing music and poetry. I could think of no better place I would rather be during these dark days than with my family, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of my youth. 

As the entire Anderson clan gathered under one roof the scene was set for several days of eating, drinking, chatting, singing, joke telling and general merriment followed by more of the same. I can’t remember how many cups of tea I drank during the days I was home but that may have something to do with the amount of whiskey I consumed in the evenings. I was reminded constantly of just how fortunate I am to have such a close, supportive family by my side when I needed them most. I am eternally grateful to each and every one of them. 

Petra, Jordan

Coming back to Jordan, home of some very painful memories, was challenging. I’d already pushed my flight back once so I could spend more time with family but I knew I would have to get back on the road eventually. The return journey was greatly eased by the overwhelming hospitality of Damo and Naomi, a couple of wonderful Australians living in Amman, who were taking care of my gear and motorcycle while I was in Ireland. As I entered the arrivals area of the airport a smartly dressed driver was holding a sign that read ‘Mr Irish Dave’ and by 2am I was back in Amman. As exhausting as the journey had been I spent another sleepless night toiling over what my next move should be. Throw in the towel or keep moving, since our breakup several attractive opportunities have presented themselves but deep down I knew it would be cathartic to finish what I’d started even though it has cost me so much. I made the decision to pursue several options, the first of which involved trying to transit through Saudi Arabia to Yemen where I could, hopefully, catch a boat to Djibouti. 

Obtaining a visa for Saudi Arabia is notoriously difficult if you are not an arms dealer and my first visit to their embassy proved to be a fruitless waste of time. Reluctant to deal with a westerner I was refused entry to the building and directed towards a visa agency ‘on airport way, near bridge two’. Directions can be challenging in Jordan and addresses are rarely used, it felt as though they did not want to disappoint me with a flat no but they would prefer if I went elsewhere. Bureaucracy and fatigue do not go well together so I meekly agreed to move along and attempt what I thought would be the simpler task of extending my permission to keep the motorcycle in the country for a few more days. On entering Jordan a temporary importation license is granted for foreign vehicles allowing you to stay for up to 30 days. Mine was about to expire so I took a drive to the border in order to renew or extend my time limit. 

Approaching the border I pulled over at the first of three checkpoints on the Jordanian side and began to explain my predicament. The police officers were friendly enough but they shook their heads together after inspecting my paperwork and repeated a phrase I’ve heard many times before on this trip, “You have problem”. Phone calls began back and forth between the various border agencies and as the sun began to set I wondered if I had made a mistake by trying to play by their rules. Finally, I was allowed to proceed to the next checkpoint where the entire procedure repeated itself in a surreal episode of deja vu. It was dark by the time a very senior looking police officer approached and informed me that I would have to leave the country and return tomorrow in order to extend my stay. I’d left most of my gear in Amman expecting this to be a simple case of paying a small fee but the customs officials were determined to do it all by the book. When I refused to leave the senior police officer suggested I overstay my welcome, break the law and pay a small fine upon leaving, considerably less than the cost of the extended import license. 

Jordanian 'Rorschach' Sandstone

The following day I tried to track down the mysterious Saudi visa agency with my vague directions. Making the assumption that ‘airport way’ may be in some way connected to the airport I traced a route along all the possible roads that led out of the city in that direction but to no avail, so, I returned to the Saudi embassy and asked for a more accurate location. I spoke to a different set of officials who gave me a completely different set of directions but by now the day was wearing on so I decided to give it another go the next morning. Returning to the Amman apartment of Damo and Naomi, with its armed guard stationed outside, I spent the afternoon working with Damo on his bike repairing some damage  to the front end after a mishap in the desert.

For the third day in a row, after yet another restless night, I tried to pursue the Saudi visa option, finally tracking down the agency that processes applications for foreign visitors. In Jordan there is a term used to describe how well connected you are, often referred to as simply ‘wasta’. The king of Jordan would, presumably, have the most wasta and I, as a foreigner have no wasta. It’s all about who you know in positions of power and achieving  the simplest of tasks without adequate wasta can be next to impossible. The staff at the visa office were most helpful and, initially, quite positive about my chances of obtaining the 72 hour transit visa required to race across the country and into Yemen. That was until they asked what type of vehicle I was driving. I had assumed that would be obvious, I was wearing a full motorcycle outfit and carrying a crash helmet after all, but as soon as I mentioned the bike attitudes changed and my lack of wasta sealed the deal. Saudi Arabia shares an odd paranoia with much of the Middle East when it comes to motorcycles and a transit visa would not be issued for all motor vehicles of the two wheeled variety. And so it goes, I am now dealing with yet another rejection and my options for moving forward are gradually falling by the wayside. A solution is out there and it will present itself in time if I am patient. With rejection comes time for reflection.

It feels as though I’ve just woken up to find myself middle aged and single, Beth helped me feel young. For the last 10 years I’ve had it pretty good, plenty of adventures with the person I loved and I am thankful for all of it. I felt lucky to have found a kindred spirit, someone to share my hopes and dreams with. I would often wake early in the morning and quietly watch her peacefully sleeping, thinking to myself how fortunate I was to have her in my life. I swear it wasn't as creepy as it sounds. I don’t know at what point she turned off her love for me but I realize what has gone can never be recovered. I’d rather she be happy with someone else than unhappy with me. I still choose to look back and cherish the good times we had and try to learn from the mistakes we made. I’m not sure if I will ever love or trust again, it’s still too soon to say and to consider it, even now, feels like betrayal. I’m sure that will change with time, I hope it will. For now I’m taking it one day at a time while dreading the nights when a chaotic state of mind takes over and my thoughts run amok. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve slept well over the past month and even those were with the help of either alcohol or medication, sometimes both. I miss dreaming. Days pass by in a haze of hyper-reality and I struggle to focus on the simplest of tasks, like this blog for example. I feel as though I need to recalibrate who I am and reconsider what direction I want to take my life. I want to learn to put myself first again, it’s time to begin the process of moving on. 

Riding with Damo in Wadi Walla, Jordan

A new beginning.

Day 225

Mileage 20,833 (33,334km)

                                         “It’s not a delay to stop and sharpen the scythe.”

Irish Proverb

It took a little over seven hours to retrace a journey that has taken more than 7 months and covered a staggering 20,833 miles. The flight from Amman, Jordan, back to Belfast was, by comparison, uneventful but as the plane soared high into the night above a darkened Middle East and then Europe, I couldn’t help but wonder about all that has changed since I began this motorcycle odyssey back in May. 

Riding solo

After Beth’s departure from Aqaba I felt banished into a dark exile of solitude, alone with my emotions, paralyzed by feelings of loss. For three days I waited, watching and listening. I wandered aimlessly through the city streets hoping to see her face among the bustling crowds of strangers, desperate for one more glimpse of her radiant smile. Every time I would hear the sound of a motorcycle my heart would race and my spirits would soar but time after time my hopes were crushed. In a seedy hotel room, neglecting my hunger and fatigue, I would stare endlessly at my laptop waiting for her to reach out until I could take it no longer. Without the support of my family and friends I would still be lost in those dark woods. As time passed and words of love, wisdom and encouragement reached me from around the world I slowly came to accept that our bond, our marriage, our connection had ended. The flame I carried within me that once blazed with passion now smoldered and quietly faded. On the morning of the fourth day, lost in my thoughts, I dropped a slice of toast on the floor and it landed face up. I smiled for the first time since this nightmare began and I knew the moment had arrived to let go, to transform my anguish into something positive.

Traveling alone brings with it a whole new set of considerations. Above all it forces you to push yourself out of your comfort zone, to open your eyes to what is around you and to actively seek out opportunities for social interaction. You are forced out of the habit of turning to your partner for solutions or advice. At times, you have to be more aware of the situation you are in and the consequences of your decisions. Ironically, it makes you more independent and less independent all at the same time. 

With Christmas approaching and the rare opportunity to see my entire family together in Ireland I made the selfish decision to squander a sizable chunk of my budget on a flight home. I haven’t been in Ireland for Christmas since the turn of the millennium and the thought of being surrounded by people I love was too much to resist. Through the Horizons Unlimited network of adventure riders I was able to make contact with a new HUBB community in Amman and after a few emails I had secured a place to store my bike while visiting Ireland. Methodically, I gathered my belongings and began to secure everything back on to the motorcycle, like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle every item has its own place and focusing on a practical task helped to distract my thoughts after so many days in limbo. With the bike packed I turned north, taking one last detour past the last place I saw Beth. As I wound back the throttle and sped off into the desert I remembered an old saying I’d heard once, ‘Anyone can love you when the sun is shining,  it’s in the storms where you learn who truly cares for you’. I did not look back.

It was an effort to keep my mind on the road and I was thankful for the lack of traffic on my chosen route. As the miles rolled by strong crosswinds pummeled the bike and pushed fine sand across the road. Gradually, the road dropped down towards the Dead Sea, the lowest place on earth, and as the sun sank lower in the sky the temperature began to plummet. As night fell a lonely police outpost appeared on the road ahead, I checked my speed and realized I’d been pushing my bike too hard, I eased back on the throttle but they’d already spotted me and as I approached they flagged me over towards the side of the road. I greeted them in pidgin Arabic and my sorry effort was acknowledged with smiles and laughter, for the next thirty minutes the three officers on duty gathered around my bike and I tried to describe my journey, when I explained I was trying to get to Africa they pointed over my shoulder and informed me I was going in the wrong direction. They were friendly and helpful and very curious about my thoughts on their country. Thankfully, they showed no interest in issuing a ticket for my obvious speeding infraction and I was soon on my way again. 

The next morning my route took me inland and up, climbing 4000 feet as it entered the capital, Amman. A recent storm had left the city with a heavy blanket of snow and the locals were struggling to get all the roads open without any significant snow removal equipment. Most government buildings had closed their doors for the week and those that were open were providing limited services. My contact in Amman turned out to be a wonderfully kind Australian diplomat, named Damo, who met me as I entered the city and guided me back in to his part of town, founded in 7000BC the city’s streets seem to follow no logical pattern and I was glad of the help in finding my way around. I spent the evening enjoying the warm hospitality of Damo and his partner, Naomi, who kindly opened their home to me, a complete stranger, and made me feel welcome and cared for. After so many days alone it was just what I needed. That night we dined at the local ‘English pub’ and met up with some fascinating, local adventure riders who were keen to share stories and advice from their travels at home and abroad.

The following day I locked up my bike and made my way to the airport after a brief stop at the Royal Automobile Museum. An armed soldier at the entrance informed me that the museum was closed because of snow but, after I stubbornly refused to leave, the curator emerged and we talked. When I told him of my journey he opened the doors and I had the entire building to myself. Inside was a collection of vehicles gifted to the King of Jordan throughout the country’s short history including over 50 motorcycles. As the expansive roof overhead groaned and creaked under the weight of the snow above, steady drips of water splashed onto the exhibits and the surrounding floor. Parked at the entrance was a working replica of the world’s first ever motorcycle and I wished I had brought my own to compare the two. How things have changed in such a short time.

A day later, as I stepped off the plane in Belfast an icy wind quickly found its way into every gap in my clothing but the warm smile and strong embrace of my father brought a comfort I had longed for. To be home with family and friends after such a difficult period is just what I need right now. I still feel broken and raw but, with time, I will heal, the wounds will close and the memories will fade. Turning my back on a decade of devotion to one person is the hardest thing I can imagine but I will do it. As 2013 slips away so must my hopes and dreams of a future with Beth. With the new year comes a new beginning. I will return to Jordan on December 30th, collect my bike and continue my voyage to Cape Town. What lies ahead is unknown but one thing is certain, it can only get better.

Wadi Rum, Jordan, The Valley of the Moon.

The road is long.

Day 214

Mileage 20,615 (32,984 km)

Personal Diary Entry, December 5th 2013:

“A strong wind whips the desert into a state of confusion. Atmosphere and earth combine and a bright, brown smudge hovers above the vague horizon, a hint of the blazing sun that lies beyond the sand choked air. Obscured shadows blot the endless dunes, lonely trees, silent camels, dust caked Bedouin driving parched goats across the unforgiving landscape. These are tough people  scraping a meager living from a land that reluctantly yields enough. 

Today, Beth broke my heart. She loves, and has loved, another and the revelation hurts me more than I can admit, the thought of her with someone else plays over and over in my imagination and I struggle to control my thumping pulse. I don’t feel anger but I am sure it will come. Ten years together and it feels as though I barely know her, she talks of emotions beyond what we have experienced together, she has no regrets and she wants me to understand so that we can ‘move on’. I want to wake from this darkness that now consumes my thoughts but with each hour comes the realization I will have to live with this painful new reality. Life without her seems impossible but life with her will never be the same. What is love without trust and respect but another empty, overused four letter word. What is life without Beth?  I feel too old and used to start again and I wonder if I have the strength to ‘move on’. She has been my best friend, my closest companion through good times and bad. We have shared more than I will ever remember and to know that she has now shared herself with another brings with it a sense of loss so painful it feels as though a part of us has died, lost forever.

Grieving for what once was is a fruitless waste of emotion but am I equipped with the fortitude to forgive? A heavy pendulum swings back and forth with every breath I take, a storm is approaching, I see the lightning in her eyes, I feel the thunder in my heart. What will remain when the dust settles?”

A week has passed since I wrote those words and today I find myself in a cheap, grungy hotel in the port city of Aqabah, Southern Jordan. Alone. Beth has decided to follow her heart and be with her new lover while my world lies in pieces. This morning she rode north, returning to Israel. I will continue south and attempt to enter Egypt tomorrow. Our life together is over.

Looking back through previous blog entries it’s clear I have tried to paint a rosy picture of our journey together. What we have experienced has been spectacular but not every day has been easy. Just like every couple we frustrate each other, we bicker and occasionally we argue and say hurtful things. We both have our faults but I feel absolutely blindsided by her sudden determination to discard our relationship and be with someone else. Whatever spell she is under allows her to focus only on the bad times and it pains me to think this is how she will remember all that we shared. The ease with which she could walk away from the life we built together leaves me feeling stunned and confused. Am I so terrible? If it really was so miserable, perhaps this is for the best. 

I will move on, I will grow, I will learn. I will spend time with myself and try to discover who I am. As impossible as it seems now, I will recover and rebuild, I will forgive. I am excited about what lies ahead, where the road will take me and who I will meet along the way. With no schedule or agenda I can follow my own heart. I feel it is time for the real journey to begin.

Out of Africa

Day 205

Mileage 19,557 (31,291km)

Negev Desert

With every door that closes, another one opens. Yesterday we spent an entire day trying to gain access to Egypt without success and today we are back in Israel. With our progress currently suspended we are now searching for that open door. Denial of entry into Egypt, the gateway to Africa, puts a significant roadblock in our way but we are both confident it will only be a temporary upset. We knew we would be entering unfamiliar territory and had been adequately warned about potential problems but the obstinacy of the border officials on the Egyptian frontier felt like too much too soon. The legacy of British imperial bureaucracy has been embraced and taken to a whole new level by the Egyptian authorities. After a long, hot day of waiting, watching  and being watched we ended up back where we started with nothing to show for our efforts. Where we go from here remains a mystery but if we knew the outcome of everything it wouldn’t be much of an adventure. It has been a very full couple of weeks since we landed in Israel, for a relatively small country there is much to see and do and the welcome we have received has overwhelming.

Jerusalem at night

After our slow voyage across the Mediterranean onboard the Alios container ship we arrived early in Haifa, rested but eager to get back on our bikes. Once the boat had docked a group of security officials came onboard to begin the slow process of clearing us through customs and immigration. They quickly established our intentions and we were allowed to take our bikes off the boat so they could be thoroughly inspected. An immigration officer met us as we cleared the loading ramp and issued a special entry stamp which attaches separately to our passports and is removable upon exit, proof of entry into Israel can create problems when applying for visas to enter other countries. Once off the boat we continued the security checks, removing articles from the bikes to be x-rayed and inspected, as soon as we had satisfied the security personnel that we were harmless we were led to a bonded parking area where we had to store the bikes until we completed the rest of our paperwork. In order to obtain a temporary importation permit the bikes needed to be insured so we were allowed to exit the port on foot in order to visit a nearby insurance broker. Fortunately, our good friend Shalom had agreed to meet us and his help proved invaluable. 

Western Wall, Jerusalem

With what we thought was the necessary documentation we returned to the bonded parking area and asked for our bikes only to be informed that we still had more to do. Unfortunately the parking area and the clearance offices are some distance from each other so each time we had to walk from one to the other it added another half hour to the whole process. As the day wore on and we jumped through the required hoops it felt as though we may not get our bikes cleared until the following day. Thankfully, the last person we had to satisfy was willing to stay late just to release the bikes and as we made our way to the last security check point we breathed a sigh of relief. By now it was dark and we had been at the port all day, Shalom had patiently waited outside, unable to enter the restricted area, and without a phone we were unable to keep him informed as to our situation. At the final check point an impossibly young guard noticed a missing digit on the vehicle identification number of Beth’s importation papers and she had to turn back to have it rectified, luckily the customs office was still open and after the problem was resolved we were allowed to leave. 

Old stuff

It was a relief to leave Haifa and we were soon on the road to Tel Aviv stopping there briefly to snack on some tasty falafel. By the time we reached the Negev desert, our destination for the evening, it was 2am and after a few shots of the local beverage, Arak, it was off to bed. We slept well into the following morning before beginning our first excursion into the region and we soon found ourselves off road enjoying some challenging riding conditions. 

Over the next two weeks, using the tiny settlement of Ashalim as a base, we explored much of this diverse country, from the fertile forests of the north to the barren deserts of the south, from the Dead Sea in the east to the golden beaches of Tel Aviv in the west. Our friend, Shalom, rode with us taking us to some of the less visited parts of the country. An invitation to join a group of local riders saw us riding along the normally closed Sinai border road, a deserted stretch of twisting highway bordering Egypt. We wild camped on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, crossed the Jordan River, wandered the ancient markets of Jerusalem and had our efforts to swim in the Dead Sea thwarted by its unnatural buoyancy. With the clock ticking on our temporary importation documents we knew we could afford little time to relax and with a couple of days to spare we turned south to make our first attempt at crossing into Egypt.

Beth, ready to drive about a bit

After a particularly rough off road ride through the Makhtesh Ramon crater Beth’s bike had developed a worrying electrical problem, occasionally at high speed her engine would briefly cut out. When we arrived in the coastal city of Eilat on the Red Sea it became apparent we would have do diagnose and treat the problem before venturing into the Sinai desert. Again Shalom’s help proved invaluable as he called the mechanics at 2Alex Motors in Tel Aviv and translated the symptoms. Thankfully Beth and I ride almost identical bikes and by interchanging parts we were able to narrow down the cause to a faulty kick stand switch probably damaged by a rock on the rough desert roads. Bypassing the switch solved the problem but only after Beth stripped her bike down to its bare essentials, not once but twice, as Shalom and I stood by and watched. We were both impressed by how fast she completed this on her second attempt but felt she could have been faster still wearing only a bikini. She ignored our advice and continued working through the heat of the day, dusty and sweaty but pleased with her efforts. 

By now we felt as though we were delaying the inevitable and the time had come to say goodbye and enter Africa. On the day of our departure we arose early and packed our bikes expecting never to return. We bade a sad farewell to Shalom who accompanied us to the border and began the crossing procedures. Exiting Israel was relatively painless, after cursory checks of our paperwork and a few brief questions they lifted the barriers and let us through. Two friendly Egyptian security officers asked us a few questions about our intentions and waved us past a large sign listing all the prohibited articles we shouldn’t be carrying. A mixture of fatigue and a mild hangover prevented us from paying too much attention to the sign so when we arrived at the first checkpoint the border guards had a field day going through my belongings. Initially the search was relaxed, as the call to prayer sounded it seemed as though the office was quite understaffed. The guards seemed reluctant to look too closely at Beth’s belonging but as each piece of my gear went through the x-ray machine something caught their eye and I had to empty and explain the contents of each bag. They became rather excited when they found our binoculars, forbidden in the Sinai, and the discovery of a couple of knives in our tool kit had them summoning the entire hierarchy of security officers on duty. Finally a couple of large plain clothes officers approached and casually enquired whether we had any intentions of getting up to mischief while in Egypt. There were long moments of awkward silence when we wondered if this was the cue for offering backsheesh, an informal though widely practiced system of bribery. Eventually a very senior looking official with more stripes, stars and ribbons than we could count inspected us and our impressive arsenal and pointed us towards the customs outpost. 

Contemplating a hair cut

As we rode up to the front door of the customs building a fierce looking thin, old man in a wrinkled yellow shirt pointed us toward a parking space as he glared at our bikes suspiciously. We jumped off the bikes, removed our helmets and gave him a warm smile, hoping to soften his sour mood but he simply barked the word ‘Carnet’ and our spirits fell. The Carnet de Passages en Douane (CpD) can be a traveller’s biggest headache and we had deliberately decided to travel without one after hearing stories from fellow over-landers who had managed without. It is, in essence, a simple guarantee of payment of fees and duties should your vehicle not be re-exported from the country you are entering. It is required for taking a vehicle into a significant but diminishing number of countries around the world and it can be prohibitively expensive. Egypt requires a refundable deposit of 800% of the value of the vehicle, a more affordable option is to purchase an insurance policy which can run into the thousands especially when Egypt is included. It is valid for only one year and often serves to restrict travel rather than enable it. We had visited several online forums and heard of cheaper options being available at some border crossings so we decided to try first and buy one only if necessary. The customs officer lead us into his smokey office and sat behind his suspiciously empty desk. We told him we were traveling without a Carnet and he rummaged through a pile of dusty folders on the floor, opening one and leafing through a random selection of paperwork before discarding the folder and choosing another. As he held up and examined the documents inside, each one in a different language, he finally found what he was looking for, he placed it on the desk where we could see it, tapping it with his finger repeating the word “Carnet” with increasing impatience. We repeated “No carnet” and enquired about alternatives to which he replied “No Carnet, no Egypt”. Again, there followed the awkward silence as he glared at us waiting for our response, perhaps backsheesh would have helped our cause but we didn’t offer so he walked us briskly from the building repeating his words “No Carnet, no Egypt”. 

More scenery

As we turned to leave we enquired about buying one locally at which point he informed us we could buy one in Nuweibaa, sixty kilometers down the road, when we offered to drive there to pick one up he told us we would have to go back through Israel and on to Jordan before catching a slow ferry back to Egypt and into Nuweibaa. And so it goes. We are back in Israel planning to do just that. Information is vague as to how accurate the customs official’s information is and only time will tell. We will try to pursue this option and if that fails we may have to by-pass Egypt altogether. It is sad that alternatives exist to this archaic system but some countries are slow to adopt them. The money we will spend on the Carnet would have been better spent supporting local businesses and not these fat cat insurance thieves. Many more over-landers would consider the African route if it were not for Egypt’s insistence on maintaining the status quo. 

Our new lifelong best friend 'Whateverhisnamewas'

Continental Drift

Day 183

Mileage 16,322 (26,115 km)

Sunset over the Mediterranean

Gentle vibrations and a steady hum permeate our new surroundings as a slow cargo ship carries us across the Mediterranean Sea towards the Middle East and ‘the country which cannot be named’. We have seen all our intended routes into Africa, since we began planning this trip five years ago, gradually become less appealing as the conflicts and turmoil of the ‘Arab Spring’ continue to reverberate throughout the region. Our original intention was to pass through Syria but another motorcyclist who recently attempted this route was denied entry by heavily armed soldiers at the border. In Turkey we found ourselves within a day’s ride of the Syrian frontier and the temptation to have a go at crossing was difficult to resist. When the situation in Syria deteriorated we briefly considered the western Iraq route but, along with the rumored risks, this would commit us to entering Jordan and, without permission from the King of Jordan, riding a motorcycle is strictly forbidden because of an assassination attempt many years ago. A sporadic ferry service did exist between Turkey and Port Said but they have recently suspended operations until the troubles in Egypt subside. It is disheartening to watch helplessly as each door into Africa slowly closes but as our journey plods forward regardless other opportunities arise and so we find ourselves in a cramped cabin onboard a heavily laden cargo ship, our bikes tethered to the deck below dwarfed by shipping containers and semi trailers. Months ago on a rainy day in Slovenia, a fortuitous encounter with a fellow motorcycle traveller had us considering other options for gaining access to Egypt and the decision was made to cross the Sinai. 

Meteora, Greece

Our two weeks in Greece came to an end yesterday as we took our place aboard the Alios container ship after a long day of “hurry up and wait”. Each country becomes our new favorite and Greece is no exception. The people, warm, welcoming, bursting with life made our stay very special, our bikes and outfits drew curious stares and encouraging smiles in the smaller villages while in the cities people were less bashful striking up conversations and enquiring about our journey.  Combine this with an amazing diversity of landscapes, flora and fauna, exceptional roads (dirt and paved) and you have a unique riding experience. As if this weren’t enough relics of the country’s long and distinguished history are on display at every turn. Two weeks could easily become two years and that still wouldn’t be enough time to explore all Greece has to offer. We didn’t even make it on to one of the thousands of islands that surround the mainland. As our ship quietly glides between the distant islands of the Cyclades we can only fantasize about what we are missing. 

What's in your closet?

The  tranquil village of Kastraki became home for a couple of days while we explored the wondrous monasteries of Meteora, perched impossibly on top of enormous rocky pinnacles each one is still home to monks and nuns of the Greek Orthodox church. The contorted shapes of the ancient rock formations support the more familiar dimensions of artificial structures hundreds of feet above the valley floor. We could only imagine the difficulties involved in building atop the steep sided pillars of stone. Only six remain in use and each is accessed by either a modern bridge, cable car or tunnel carved up through the rock itself. Connecting all six sites is a wonderfully smooth twisting road from the village below too beautiful to resist driving multiple times. 

More from Meteora

With the prospect of acquiring a fresh set of tires in the city of Patras, further south, we picked out an interesting route through the mountains and down towards the Peloponnese region. This turned out to be one of the highlights of our trip, empty roads occasionally cluttered by recent rockfalls, breathtaking vistas of the mountainous terrain and smooth sweeping turns eventually leading down to the pristine coast made for a challenging and exciting ride. The friendly staff at Motoraid had agreed to supply us with fresh rubber and a few other extras so we pulled up to their shop early on Friday and set about fitting a new set of Heidenau K60 Scouts to my bike while the exact location of Beth’s tires remained a mystery. Although our tires, Metzeler Tourances, still had a little life left in them and had performed well beyond our expectations we felt as though a slightly more aggressive tread pattern would be more appropriate for the roads we are likely to encounter in Africa. Beth also felt as though a set of handlebar risers would enable her to ride more comfortably in the standing position so, while Giannis and his team at Motoraid tried to pin down the exact location of her new tires, we pulled out our tools and set to work on her bike. By late afternoon it was apparent that her tires would not arrive until after the weekend so we set off to explore the Peloponnese area ending the day at a quiet campground on the coast. The following day we rose early and completed a quick oil change before moving further south, through Sparta to Mystras, spending the night at a beautiful hotel in the shadow of the Taygetos Mountains. Surrounded  by ruined palaces, temples and monasteries the ancient town of Mystras once served as the effective capital of the Byzantine Empire. 

Beth making it look easy

It is unusual for us to have a place to be or a set schedule but the arrival of Beth’s new tires in Patras had us moving north before we could fully explore the area and, sadly, a delay in their arrival meant we could have spent more time in the region. It took a couple of extra days for the tires to arrive but when they did they were promptly fitted by George at All Terrain Tires and we were soon on the road again. We crossed the Gulf of Patras a second time and took the road east to Athens, stopping briefly in Delphi to consult the Oracle about her thoughts on our journey only to find her no longer in residence. 

Dark clouds accompanied us as we descended into Athens and as we arrived at our camp it was, thankfully, obvious we had missed the worst of the weather. Sleeping bags and clothing hung from every available hook as pools of fresh rainwater surrounded bedraggled tents. We chose our site carefully avoiding any obvious low spots in case more heavy rain was forecast. The weather gradually improved and we spent a couple of days exploring the city of Athens and sourcing the last of our spare parts before we leave Europe. We stripped my bike of it’s panniers and rode two up through the city carefully observing the local bikers to see what is considered acceptable riding etiquette. Splitting traffic is expected and at each traffic light a wave of motorcycles filters its way to the front of the line so that each time the light turns green it feels like to starting grid at a motorcycle race, engines scream and rubber squeals as we all race to the next light. Our powerful bike gave us a slight advantage but what we gained in horsepower we certainly lacked in bravado as the more seasoned city riders barely squeezed through the minuscule gaps that would briefly open between the cars and buses. By the end of our first day in the bustling city we were beginning to get a feel for the more aggressive riding style and by day two it became quite enjoyable. 

New shoes for Beth's bike thanks to George at All Terrain Patras

Exploring the sprawling city of Athens becomes less daunting as you catch occasional glimpses of its most recognizable landmark. The Acropolis overlooks the city and serves as a useful tool for navigating the labyrinth of city streets below. As we kept to the inner confines of the busy centre we noticed a strong police presence, fortunately they seemed to show little interest in our riding as we ignored one-way streets and performed illegal u-turns along with the multitude of local bikers. We visited multiple motorcycle shops gathering most of what we needed, the crew at BMW Athens were particularly helpful and even gave us a significant discount when they learned of our plans. We received a warm welcome at the Touratech store and even though we didn’t buy anything the friendly staff wouldn’t let us leave without a taking a few freebies. On our second day in the city we hiked up to the top of the Acropolis past the exquisitely restored Theatre of Dionysos. Once on top the true scale of Athens became apparent as it spread off in every direction. The Acropolis is arguably one of the most important ancient monuments in the Western world but it is the Parthenon, its most prominent structure, that draws most attention. Completed in 438BC its architect manipulated the size, scale and shape of the columns so that, to the eye, it appears perfectly balanced. Each column is subtly tapered with an inward curve for the effect of appearing straight when viewed from below. Every dimension is based upon one rudimentary measurement taken from the human form, for such an imposing structure it yields a sense of timeless grace and harmony. 

The Parthenon at the Acropolis

With our impending departure from Greece now looming we returned to camp and packed our gear with the prospect of spending our last night in Athens on the southern side of the city with Dimitris, the local Horizon’s Unlimited representative. Meeting Dimitris was like being reunited with a long lost friend. With overwhelming hospitality he invited us into his home before taking us out on an amazing off road adventure in his little two wheel drive Mazda to a mountain top where we witnessed the sunset as we gazed over the city and the nearby Marathon Bay. Full of knowledge he pointed out many of the local landmarks enlightening us with glimpses of the region's remarkable history. As night fell we returned to the city where he insisted on treating us to a delicious feast at a local Cretan restaurant and it was well into the wee hours of the morning after numerous shots of mysterious local beverages before we returned to his apartment dreading the early morning wake up call and the race to the southern port of Lavrio. After a comfortable but short night’s rest we woke with furry mouths and cloudy heads, said our goodbyes to Dimitris and climbed onto our bikes before speeding south to our 9 o’clock rendezvous with Salamis Shipping.

The Caryatids of The Erechtheion

Our over enthusiasm to be on time saw us at our shipping agents five minutes to nine and we began the slow process of having our documents and bikes inspected while waiting for the boat to arrive. As the day wore on we jumped through the necessary hoops and prepared to bid Europe farewell all the while scanning the empty horizon for anything resembling a cargo boat . We didn’t catch our first glimpse of the approaching container ship until dusk and it was fully dark by the time we rode on board. At 10pm a change in pitch of the engine vibrations preceded our departure and the next leg of our journey began as we sailed into the night.

To see roads like this check out
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMngqAcJlNE