Bulgar wheat

Does Bulgar wheat come from Bulgaria and if so why isn't it on any of the restaurants menus or do they export it all?

We left Istanbul and thought ourselves clever ignoring Mr Garmin by following the coast for 22km till well clear of the traffic. And it was a Saturday morning too.

Then we hit traffic. Nearly 5km of it but there had been an accident. It was not a good start.

The ride into Turkey was pretty boring and it was the same on the way out. There are only that many withering sun flower heads you can look at/ take pictures of. The road was pretty quiet too, but it took us a few  hours to get to the Bulgaria border and it was 32 degrees C. We are coming back via Bulgaria, as we dont have enough time to ride back and Bulgaria is EU whereas Turkey isn't.  So it should be easier /cheaper to get the bike brought back to the UK from Sofia.

Sometimes we think we are a lone voice in Europe but it's not just the UK that hasn't adopted the Euro - welcome to the land of the Lev.

   

 

Although there wasn't much traffic leading up to the border there was a stationary queue of nearly 7km of trucks. Then when we got through the Turkey passport and customs clearance it was a massive free for all with cars everywhere. And 32degrees C. The penny dropped; last weekend in August and all the German, they were mostly German, Turks were on their way back to Germany. Francoise was embarrassed and thought that we shouldn't; Paul was very hot and could see hours of waiting - this was a real border crossing. So we weaved through the parked melee of cars to the front and looked hot and bothered, not too difficult, hoping the border official would take pity on us, which he pretty quickly did and we went through. Francoise could look up again.

The next indignation was the disinfectant spray - guys, it's different in a car, it just gets on the car - it's not like that on a bike. At least they then waved us through the Disinfectant Fee paying booth as that would have been too much.

                         

It nonetheless cost us 75 minutes out of our day and then we were back into withered sunflowers for another 150km. At least we now know where butternut squash comes from. Truckers had special road side stops being indicated by young ladies in short shorts. Well it is very hot and we didn't think they were driving the lorries. Plovdiv. There is no nice way of saying it. Locals stretch it out into P-love-div but that's as good as it gets. Just before we left, Paul saw an article in The Times saying that Plovdiv was the must go to tourist destination of 2015. On arriving it was just another of those recent ex-communist towns and a bit grim. We had more of those recently ex-communist cobbled streets. Then we had a pretty steep incline on what looked like Greco-Roman cobbled stones. Plovdiv used to be called Philippoupolis. We reckoned that the cobbles had recently been dug up to put utilities in and then relaid because none of them were smooth. It was a cobble by cobble process getting the bike up to the hotel. And it was 32 degrees C. And what goes up usually has to come down too.

                                                  

                            

There were no two ways about it, the hotel owner/manager/keeper was unfriendly. We felt communist era. WebSites inform you about poor/slow restaurant service and lukewarm meals. We had proof of the second, though the service was fine but maybe it was because the waiter was young and possibly/probably post communist era. Plovdiv, which is Bulgaria's second city will be the European City of Culture in 2019 and has a remarkable old town and some surprising Roman ruins. It will doubtless change by 2019 and maybe that's what they wish.

                                           

                          

Onwards to Sofia. The main thoroughfare in was a version of Wizard of Oz with a yellow brick road doubtlessly designed to carry very heavy military vehicles during the parades of yesteryear. And there is another Hagia Sofia in Sofia. The idea was that it was a short ride today, so we can have lunch there and explore Bulgaria's capital. Well we had the same sort of reception at the hotel and were basically ignored at the cafe and left for another without eating or drinking. The national culture? Francoise had prepared things to do and see in all our stop overs and even though it was a Sunday afternoon we 'did' Sofia in a couple of hours. This is not the place to come for a long weekend unless you spend most of the time getting here. One of the things to see was the monument to the Soviet Army. It was a bit sad to see how it was being poorly maintained with broken stone and weeds growing between the stones. It was now a proper skate and BMX park. Social realism? Trams and trolley buses have been a bit of a theme on this trip and some of the ones in Sofia were certainly not of the latest vintage. The driver has to get out of his cab to change the points with a big stick.

                                       

                                       

                                       

                                       

Tomorrow we say goodbye, temporarily, to the bike and fly back. Sunday night in Sofia was better than the day and believe it or not we managed to find a more than half decent restaurant where the staff smiled, were reasonably efficient and the food was served hot.

A safe, interesting, fun and stimulating 4,600km ride, though without Istanbul the last bit would have been a tad boring. Almost there now.

                                       

Bad Hair Day

Not every day is unremittingly wonderful in all respects. Yes, we have had some wonderful scenery and unexpectedly  good stops on the way but some of the riding through Greece was pretty boring and the ride in Turkey before we hit Istanbul traffic was also almost totally without interest.

                  

On a bike, with our helmets we have bad hair days every day. But what is worse, for us, is if we have a bad food day. Our last day in Greece, first day in Turkey/Istanbul was a bad food day. Breakfast at the Greek hotel was poor. They had a great pool which we profited from but food wasn't on their agenda. Never mind we had eaten very well the night before so we can put up with a poor breakfast. We struggled in Turkey to find a good road side stop and in the end it was a sort of motorway cafe. OK it was cheap but that was all that was going for it.

 

                  

Our intention was to get into Istanbul as early as we could and visit things. Traffic delayed us and by the time we had got to the hotel, parked and unloaded the bike, checked in and got cleaned up it was 1530 before we went out as tourists. The hotel was just below the Blue Mosque and we walked along the coast around the Golden Horn so we could benefit from the sea breeze and have a drink on the Galata Bridge - a great example of a 'habited' bridge. On our walk there we saw dolphins and from the bridge with our drink we watched the ferries criss crossing the various seas. Extremely pleasant and a touch exotic. We wandered around the bazaar area, smelt the fish bread sandwiches and made our way back to the hotel.

 

 

 

 

  

We decided we would go the fish restaurant area, Kumkapi, a cultural and traditional must. NEVER go there. It sets a new depth for pits. A street of restaurants all selling identical meals at identical prices with astronomical prices on the wine. We ate badly. Very badly. We begrudged every Turkish Lire we were obliged to spend. They added up the bill wrong - oh really, how much of an accident was that? And then a mysterious service tax appeared that wasn't a very round percentage of anything. Luckily we had sensed what we were getting ourselves into at the beginning with the ridiculous wine prices and the offer of a 10 Lire reduction when we asked whether they had anything cheaper - yes, us and we don't normally stint on wine - so we just chalked it up to the equivalent of a bad hair day and Paul fumed all the way back to the Hotel. Give us fish and chips on the Golden Mile at Blackpool or Great Yarmouth and we would have felt tons better about it.

The Hotel is super with a dining terrace with views over the sea and the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sofia. Breakfast was at the same quality level as the views. We lingered.

 

                

  

In a not too stressful day we managed to visit the Blue Mosque, after all it was only a 15 minute walk away - probably twice as long in a taxi - and Hagia Sofia  before a nice cafe lunch in a very touristic area where we weren't ripped off or at least didn't feel that we were being. Blue Mosque was magnificent but there was that unfortunate smell of sweaty feet and it wasn't us!. Hagia Sofia was interesting as it was built as a church and then had some minarets added to convert it to a mosque and it is now a museum. The christian iconography was plastered over during the mosque period and is now being revealed during its restoration. So one has both Christian and Islamic iconography literally side by side in the same building. But in a lot of ways that sees to epitomise Turkey. It also had a very interesting, well Paul thought it was, 'official' Tourist tat shop that had some pretty cool metal, fake jewel encrusted Crusader period helmets with ear flaps that Paul envisioned himself wearing when riding out of Istanbul. But we didn't ask the price and it wasn't marked.

                         

                        

                                     

                                     

We monopolised free help.

                          

Afternoon was the underground cisterns, the Grand Bazaar, the Spice Market and the market areas around the two which were thronged. THRONGED. So much stuff which was basically tat. Can they really sell so many gruesome pairs of jeans, suits, T shirts and knock-off underwear - ladies and mens? Why do you need a row of shops all selling identical belts and nothing else? Or what looked like belt or curtain accessories? Is there something going on here that we don't understand as there was never anybody in the shops and the owners were almost barring entry by sitting outside the shop door on their chair? It wasn't as though the bazaar was full of tourists either as Turks were in the majority. They must be buying this stuff. But there are 15 million people we think in Istanbul and even at a relatively small percentage that is a lot of circumcision best suits for the little boys and shiny ones for their dads. At least we weren't hassled much. Paul struggles with this and it is best that we try and avoid any cultural incidents. So we didn't venture far for our evening meal and ate wonderfully well with stupendous views with the sound of the call to prayer echoing around from all the different Mosques.

                        

 A true day off the following day as we visited some Blackheath neighbours/friends in their summer retreat on Buyukada, an island on the Asian side of the Istanbul divide with no petrol driven transport. And apart from get the tram and the ferry there and back we did nothing all day. Oh so tiring.

                     
 

West meets East

The Turkish border is about 50km East of where we were staying at Alexandroupolis in Greece. Paul had been through this border in the other direction when he did the Doha-London trip in 2009. He was leaving Turkey then, whereas now we were entering. When he entered Turkey it was at one of the Syrian border crossings and the conversation he had with the Turkish customs official at the time had been short: ' Hello'. 'Bakshish'. And it cost about 80€. But he was wearing a silly helmet, silly clothes and with a dodgy Qatari number plate that just asked for trouble.

  

 

No man's land between Greece and Turkey is a real border crossing. Quite a long stretch with men with guns at either end and barbed wire fences either side.                         

This time there were no real issues paperwork wise. A bit burocratic as we seemed to have to show the paperwork at least four times. It was a little disconcerting to the both of us, for different reasons, that the last customs official said, ' I love you Paul'. We took that as a cue to leave. Quickly.

                          

                          

                         

The run in to Istanbul is pretty boring, made worse by it being into a headwind. It's a long way of nothing really. The only upside was being pulled over by the Police, probably for speeding but they were just happy looking at the bike and waved us on.  However fun started about 34km out when we hit a traffic jam that continued all the way to the hotel, which is just next to the sea below the Blue Mosque.

                         
 

                        

                                        
 

We even tried to be clever by taking the airport road and following the coast rather than going through the centre of town. Overall it cost us an hour and a quarter and we managed to weave, or was it more wobble, through the traffic.  When we were not blocked by water sellers and others selling their wares. We took short cuts that ended up in diversions that we tried to avoid by taking cobbled side streets that became blocked by delivery vehicles in the old town and then dipped down under a very limited headroom passage below a railway line before, having had enough by then, doing a U turn on a dual carriageway between a gap in the Aramco.
 

Traffic is quite something else here.

                         

Round and Round

We left Macedonia. FYR Macedonia if you please.

The border into Greece was slow but painless. We think it was more 'mediterranean' in its efficiency rather than anything else - there were only six cars in front of us but time was taken.  However we were in the shade and from the swallows(?) nests stuck to the underside of the roof we weren't the only ones appreciating the shade. That and the peacocks that strutted backwards and forwards across the border without passports or visas.

We promised the Customs officials that we would only use cash in Greece and everything was fine.

Since leaving Durres in Albania we had climbed to about 1000m and stayed there. The air temperature in the shade was fine, but the sun was hot.

In Albania it would have been impossible to run out of petrol as there were so many petrol stations. Macedonia was similar, but we weren't quite sure about Greece - had austerity and lack of cash closed them down? So we filled up just after the border. This is oil country by the looks of it. Sunflower and corn.

 

 

                           

We were soon in the mountains again and there were masses of organic feta cheese machines everywhere. It was a long coffee/photo break during which time not one car came past. Clearly a road not often travelled. Which was confirmed on the descent as it clearly hadn't been maintained. There were plants growing out of the cracks in the tarmac and the branches of the trees encroached somewhat on the road.

The afternoon was in the plain riding down to Thessaloniki and somewhat less interesting, except for the loads of apple orchards. Or were they peaches? No, they were giant nectarines and the cafe owner where we stopped in the afternoon gave us some as a present. It's Nectarine harvest time here in Greece!

                         
 

We had decided to stop in the hills outside of Thessaloniki as Paul had been into town previously and thought it not very nice. So we have a panoramic view of Thessaloniki from the Hotel Panorama in Panorama  - maybe that's where the word comes from?

                           

Oh, and we are back in Macedonia now. The other one.

We are not sure whether it is this area of Greece or austerity but there is literally no one on the roads. We tend to eat early both at lunchtime and in the evening, but there is never anyone in the restaurants yet there are tables for 60 people or more. At lunch we were the only people in the beachside restaurant. In the evening we were one of four tables at the best restaurant in Alexandroupolis.

 

Note that the locals say it is not hot now - July is the hottest month. But we are hot. Very hot.

We are still in the other/original Macedonia, but tomorrow is Turkey and one of the things to do will be to leave Europe and pass into Asia. Oh, and listen to a different countries waiters explaining how they have the worst drivers in the world.

 

 

Nice one Cyril

 

Onwards now to Macedonia. But first Albanian back roads where the road side stalls and children sell an abundance of fruit. The tomatoes we had eaten in Shkodar were probably the best tasting ones we have ever had.

  

                            

Some things are constant. Some things evolve. Heading South, road quality had evolved in a negative sense - it was still fine as we have had good training in East Asia but it's certainly getting a bit rattly. In Italy the national dish is as we all know Pizza. In Slovenia the national dish would also seem to be Pizza. And Croatia. And Montenegro. And Albania. Some things stay constant. There was French Pizza on the menu in Macedonia?

We had our standard paperwork prepared for Macedonia but had not bothered to check exchange rates etc, so we took out a random sum and headed for the Macedonian beach for lunch after a totally uneventful and sleepy border crossing. Macedonia is land locked, so the beach is on a lake and we were now in Russian/ cyrillic territory with Pekopah for restaurant. Still not getting used to so many people smoking in restaurants.

We are now in Bitola, Macedonia's second city and have just dined outside two mosques whilst drinking a bottle of Macedonia's best Rose and surrounded by girls in crop tops and tight jeans or dresses with a call to prayer as the background music at a restaurant called Grne but spelt rPHe. Welcome to cyrillicism. This is just like when we started in Uzbekistan last year.

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Corrupted childhood memories of Herge

It was hard to get going. 

We didn't have too many kilometres to do but nonetheless it was a bit of an exaggeration to have stopped three times for photos and coffee before doing 25 km and it was gone eleven. And we had two borders to cross today.
 

                                                    

Nice roadside sign for a cafe/restaurant saying 10% off for ' baykers' - presumably 20% for car drivers?  Others showing the inherent dangers of wild boar but there was no pork on the menu at any of the restaurants.

                                 

Montenegro border was a border in that you actually had to show a passport and the gruff swarthy asked to see the Green Card. Passports were stamped though clearly ink was in short supply, as it hardly makes half a stamp and you can't even read the word Montenegro. Francoise nonetheless got reprimanded for trying to take photos and about a 5km queue in the other direction. Road becomes good again, but the surface has deteriorated and its a bit too bumpy for Francoise and the photos. Beaches are now far more formal with perfectly aligned beach parasols all of the same colour. Wonder whether they had reserved beach towels too?

                                

A nice little baby adventure in that we had to take a ferry and they all looked like retired Woolwich Ferries. Francoise used her extensive Montenegrin to buy a ferry ticket for a motorbike but, honestly, dressed like that would she be in a car?                 
                
                               

The day's stress point was entering into Albania which was, in our childhood times, almost impossible. It was as closed off as North Korea is today. It was the land of King Zog and President Hoxha and somebody told us even birds couldn't fly over the border. For some reason it makes Paul think of his early memories of reading Tintin - treasured xmas presents from nearly 50 years ago.

     

We started wending our way into the hills and the road became single track. One questioned Mr Garmin. But it was the right road and we were waved out of Montenegro, but we were not waved into Albania? Nothing, no passport check, no insurance check, no border point, men in uniform, sign or flag. We thought that there must be a rather long no-mans but it wasn't the case.
                             

                            

We thought that maybe Albania was a figment of our, or Herge 's imagination but then we came across the single horse-powered vehicles, the mothers with children coin collectors and the cows in the roads. And then we were in Shkodar which was our destination and all a bit grim. But our stopover was in a building dating from 1694 sandwiched between grey and orange post war soviet style blocks. We immediately decided we would be eating there that evening but went for a walk outside down the main pedestrianised route. We were wanting to get a drink but there were no women in any of the cafes. All a bit tough but we managed a slightly more forgiving atmosphere at the other end of the street.

                            

Dinner was great. Wild Boar on the menu and they knew how to make sausages with it. Paul always reckons that a country should be judged on its sausages. Albania passed and came with entertainment too!

                           
 

In the morning we decided to hit the sites and visit the local castle but the cobblestone approach on quite a steep incline proved too much for Paul and it didn't feel safe to leave the unattended bike at the start of the incline. So we read up about the myth of three brothers and one of the wives being half built into the wall as some sort of sacrifice - clearly an old wives tale. So we failed on the castle, but there was still the Balkans biggest lake just next door - but although we could find it nobody had seemed to build a road down to it and it was best viewed from the top of the mountains. So two down and two failed. The ride back through Shkodar on a Saturday morning reminded us of China. Dogs, children, bikes, everything in the street and we would have ridden on the wrong side of the road but it was just as busy that side too.                          

So we gave up and headed for the beach where we were to meet up with one of Francoise's friends from school and her family. Durres is apparently the Albanian Riviera but the road to it was strewn with dead dogs and cats. The wandering dogs are quite scary - but we have knee high boots beneath our jeans! At least we seem dressed for riding a bike - and hot. There are plenty of Italians on BMW's wearing little more than a NoFear bandana and road burn will make such a mess of their tattoos.

 

                         

                                           
 

Durres was dead when we arrived. So much for the Riviera. So we meandered, saw the 

roman and venetian remains and then rode out to meet Francoise's friend for a family dinner. Fantastic feast and warm welcome.  And then there was a 1km traffic jam to get back into Durres - it had woken up!