It was my intention to sit here and write some more postcards but frankly I'd rather be riding my bike.
Laters potaters
Saturday, 3 July 2010
FAQ
How are your legs?
My legs are fantastic! A bit stronger and browner than a month ago but - other than some minor niggles early on and mosquito bites - they're in great shape. On the other hand, I seem to be losing dexterity - my hands are really tight so my ability to use cutlery and type is diminishing.
How's the bike?
It's okay. It's failed twice, both times quite seriously - the first the pannier rack broke, ruining the only available holes on the frame for mountaing a new one and the second issue was that I wore out the rear cassette, making the bike completey uncyclable. Each of these problems resolved itself with only minor delays and not too much expenedture. Rerospectively, the ease with which I got back on the road is moreorless empirical proof for the existence of a guardian angel of cyclists.
Are you sure you're eating enough?
If I do a full day's cycling I'm eating about 5 meals a day with inbetween-meal snacks of whole packets of biscuits. That said, I think I've lost a little weight, though not too much.
What are you eating?
Everything. I now know my way around German and Polish bakeries well enough to write a phd on them.
Where are you sleeping?
Occasionally in a hostel or campsite but for the most part I'm wild camping in forests, in farmer's fields or on the beach. I'm happiest away from civilisation but occasionally the lure of a cold beer or the need to wash my clothes (and I mean need) exerts a certain pull.
Oh yeah - and the ambassador's residence in Berlin. Obviously.
Aren't you lonely?
No. I like my own company (as Dr Leary said when they put him in solitary "Great! I have the undivided attention of the most interesting person I know") and besides I seem to constantly attract people that want to talk to me (even if we don't have a common language).
How far have you cycled?
3004 kms in the month of June.
My legs are fantastic! A bit stronger and browner than a month ago but - other than some minor niggles early on and mosquito bites - they're in great shape. On the other hand, I seem to be losing dexterity - my hands are really tight so my ability to use cutlery and type is diminishing.
How's the bike?
It's okay. It's failed twice, both times quite seriously - the first the pannier rack broke, ruining the only available holes on the frame for mountaing a new one and the second issue was that I wore out the rear cassette, making the bike completey uncyclable. Each of these problems resolved itself with only minor delays and not too much expenedture. Rerospectively, the ease with which I got back on the road is moreorless empirical proof for the existence of a guardian angel of cyclists.
Are you sure you're eating enough?
If I do a full day's cycling I'm eating about 5 meals a day with inbetween-meal snacks of whole packets of biscuits. That said, I think I've lost a little weight, though not too much.
What are you eating?
Everything. I now know my way around German and Polish bakeries well enough to write a phd on them.
Where are you sleeping?
Occasionally in a hostel or campsite but for the most part I'm wild camping in forests, in farmer's fields or on the beach. I'm happiest away from civilisation but occasionally the lure of a cold beer or the need to wash my clothes (and I mean need) exerts a certain pull.
Oh yeah - and the ambassador's residence in Berlin. Obviously.
Aren't you lonely?
No. I like my own company (as Dr Leary said when they put him in solitary "Great! I have the undivided attention of the most interesting person I know") and besides I seem to constantly attract people that want to talk to me (even if we don't have a common language).
How far have you cycled?
3004 kms in the month of June.
Postcards from Poland 2: Wild in the streets
I arrived in M_________ hungry, tired and drenched. I quickly found a campsite, showered, found and ate food and was going to bed ready to explore nearby Wollinski national park in the morning.
As I was wriggling into my sleeping bag I heard giggles outside my tent. Banter ensued. Before I knew what was going on, 3 (admittedly extremely petite) Polish girls were trying to get into my tent. Now, this was partly my fault as - when they asked if it was a tent for 1 person - I told them it slept 4. However, my tent is barely big enough for me. Turning over requires effort and getting dressed in it levels of contortion I have not yet mastered.
The following is an extract from the conversation that happened once we were all out of the tent:
- Come with us
- I'm tired
- It's early
- I'm tired
- It's Saturday
- I'm tired
- Please come with us
- I'm tired
- Please
- Alright. 1 minute while I put clothes on.
...
[1 minute later]
- Where are we going?
- We drink Wodka and we dance.
And they weren't lying. We went to a shop, bought a bottle of Wodka, a carton of juice and took 14 plastics cups. Wodka is poured into 7 of the cups and juice into the remaining 7. In unison we down the Wodka and then do whatever we like with the juice. Note that they are not mixed in the same glass. Then we went into a club and danced like maniacs. My goodness, do those girls know how to let go! When a tune comes on that the girls hate, or someone is tired or thirsty the cycle begins again. So we went to a shop...
And thus began a night I'll remember for a long time (and one that probably took years off my life). From what I gather, this is a fairly typical night out with neuvo middle-class 17-years-old Polish girls. This is Poland.
As I was wriggling into my sleeping bag I heard giggles outside my tent. Banter ensued. Before I knew what was going on, 3 (admittedly extremely petite) Polish girls were trying to get into my tent. Now, this was partly my fault as - when they asked if it was a tent for 1 person - I told them it slept 4. However, my tent is barely big enough for me. Turning over requires effort and getting dressed in it levels of contortion I have not yet mastered.
The following is an extract from the conversation that happened once we were all out of the tent:
- Come with us
- I'm tired
- It's early
- I'm tired
- It's Saturday
- I'm tired
- Please come with us
- I'm tired
- Please
- Alright. 1 minute while I put clothes on.
...
[1 minute later]
- Where are we going?
- We drink Wodka and we dance.
And they weren't lying. We went to a shop, bought a bottle of Wodka, a carton of juice and took 14 plastics cups. Wodka is poured into 7 of the cups and juice into the remaining 7. In unison we down the Wodka and then do whatever we like with the juice. Note that they are not mixed in the same glass. Then we went into a club and danced like maniacs. My goodness, do those girls know how to let go! When a tune comes on that the girls hate, or someone is tired or thirsty the cycle begins again. So we went to a shop...
And thus began a night I'll remember for a long time (and one that probably took years off my life). From what I gather, this is a fairly typical night out with neuvo middle-class 17-years-old Polish girls. This is Poland.
Friday, 25 June 2010
Postcards from Poland 1: Ignorance is hell
Imagine arriving in England for the first time in Hull, or rather somewhere like Hull but 3x larger.
The docks you pass on the way in are so oversized that the JCBs look like tonka toys. When you finally catch a glimpse of something that is not huge and industrial - a church spire - you laugh at the incongruity.
You speak less English than the chimps in London zoo, you have no map and all the signs are long conglomerations of consonants, which could be sentences, words, abbreviations or accronyms. You don't even know how to pronounce "Hull".
Any attempt you make to ask directions illicits a similar response to if you had rabies and people sternly ignore you, some turning away in the hope that if they can't see you perhaps you won't bite.
The centre is dispersed and incoherent, making navigation a game of chance.
Take a moment to create a picture of this place in your mind. Then remove all the glass, for Szczecin is opaque. Not quite literally, of course, but this place is impenetrable. Any glass-fronted bar or cafe (there's a couple) are full of outsiders huddled in hushed conversations witha smattering of locals seeming to beleive that to be Western is to be seen. Every other establishment must be entered through a huge wooden door to determine what it is.
This is Poland.
The docks you pass on the way in are so oversized that the JCBs look like tonka toys. When you finally catch a glimpse of something that is not huge and industrial - a church spire - you laugh at the incongruity.
You speak less English than the chimps in London zoo, you have no map and all the signs are long conglomerations of consonants, which could be sentences, words, abbreviations or accronyms. You don't even know how to pronounce "Hull".
Any attempt you make to ask directions illicits a similar response to if you had rabies and people sternly ignore you, some turning away in the hope that if they can't see you perhaps you won't bite.
The centre is dispersed and incoherent, making navigation a game of chance.
Take a moment to create a picture of this place in your mind. Then remove all the glass, for Szczecin is opaque. Not quite literally, of course, but this place is impenetrable. Any glass-fronted bar or cafe (there's a couple) are full of outsiders huddled in hushed conversations witha smattering of locals seeming to beleive that to be Western is to be seen. Every other establishment must be entered through a huge wooden door to determine what it is.
This is Poland.
What will not be told
So you will have realised from my previous entry that you were not destined to read about my catestrophic bike failure in the outskirts of Berlin (deemed irrepairable by the first bike shop i took it to), my subsequent rescue by a drill-wielding knight in shining lycra, my explorations of an abandoned amusement park, my attempted adoption by a probable serial killer, my musings on the differences between Germany and Poland having cycled the same stretch of the rover Oder/Odra on both sides or my hilarious descovery that Poland's currency is mot the euro.
Friday, 18 June 2010
blog off
this is not a blog entry.
i'm not into this blogging malarky:
1. this cunt of a computer in this wretched polish internet cafe just lost a long (and needless-to-say erudite and witty) entry, which i'm currently too enraged to rerwrite.
2. sleeping in a forest does something to a man that makes blogging seem about as relevant as self-flagalation.
3. computers make me think of real-world things that take me away from my dream-state existence.
i'm not into this blogging malarky:
1. this cunt of a computer in this wretched polish internet cafe just lost a long (and needless-to-say erudite and witty) entry, which i'm currently too enraged to rerwrite.
2. sleeping in a forest does something to a man that makes blogging seem about as relevant as self-flagalation.
3. computers make me think of real-world things that take me away from my dream-state existence.
Monday, 14 June 2010
1282 kms
Well, I made it to Berlin. It's not all been easy, least of all the diametrical switch from forest-living, stream-washing cycle-bot to mansion-dwelling, beer-fuelled Berlin night-owl but so far... So. Much. Fun.
It's almost 13 days exactly since I arrived at Dieppe ferry port to disappointingly English weather. I hadn't gone very far (about 30kms) when i saw an oak tree sitting about 100 yards from the road - an excellent rainproof camping spot. A premature stop but at least I was drying out.
Belgium has been the surprise highlight. I didn't know much about it before, only that they're good at beer and they don't know what language they speak. (i got by with a mix of french, german and english, which more-or-less sounds like flemmish but isn't). i plotted my route to germany by looking at a map and riding through the green bit without many towns. very hilly, forested, an abundance of rivers... not the flat tedium that i was expecting. Some of it was pretty tough going - i ran out of food and water on the hottest, hilliest day so far - but mostly it's just been beautiful.
I've participated in both ends of the cycling spectrum. firstly: a race! let's call it 'the tour de belgium'. i was pootling along when i was snatched from my reverie by a passing pellatron. we were near the top of what turned out to be a longlong decent, so i put my foot down (alternately and repeatedly) to try and keep up with them. before i knew what was going on i was also passed by camera crews on motorbikes and in an open-topped 4x4 (i like to think that i made it into the belgium cycling press). i got completely carried away, reaching 58.3 kmsph and missed my turn. when i stopped for a break before heading back up this endless hill i was passed, in the space of about 10 minutes, by hundreds of serious-looking lycra clad cyclists with not a wave or a smile between the lot of them.
I also passed my Belgian cycling proficiency test with a bunch of 9 and 10 year olds, though i didn't wait around for the certificate.
One night... I can't have been asleep for many minutes when I was woken by bright white light shining into my tent. I was expecting to hear sirens or the yapping of hunting dogs or whatever humming sound an alien spacecraft makes during landing but instead was shaken by deep rolls of thunder that seemed to be just a few meters above me. For the next few hours I was privy to a storm, the power and proximity of which I have not witnessed for more than ten years.
Berlin, of course, has been a ton of fun. I've been staying in the British Ambassador's gargantuan residence with Jules (the ambassador's son) and 8 of our friends, ostensibly to support Bunty for her Berlin tour but mainly to explore the renegade nightlife of this highly-charged mecca of hedonism and pretentiousness. We've been to some radical places that I don't think could really exist anywhere else, such as Bar 25 - a huge outdoor compound of crusty chic, minimal techno and pirate deco almost exactly like the hippest corner of an English festival, say the secret garden party. A real temporary autonomous zone. Except that it never stops... and looking at many of the (somehow still beautiful) revellers neither do a lot of people here.
It's been a blast but i'm ready for sweat and dirt and the open-ended road...
It's almost 13 days exactly since I arrived at Dieppe ferry port to disappointingly English weather. I hadn't gone very far (about 30kms) when i saw an oak tree sitting about 100 yards from the road - an excellent rainproof camping spot. A premature stop but at least I was drying out.
Belgium has been the surprise highlight. I didn't know much about it before, only that they're good at beer and they don't know what language they speak. (i got by with a mix of french, german and english, which more-or-less sounds like flemmish but isn't). i plotted my route to germany by looking at a map and riding through the green bit without many towns. very hilly, forested, an abundance of rivers... not the flat tedium that i was expecting. Some of it was pretty tough going - i ran out of food and water on the hottest, hilliest day so far - but mostly it's just been beautiful.
I've participated in both ends of the cycling spectrum. firstly: a race! let's call it 'the tour de belgium'. i was pootling along when i was snatched from my reverie by a passing pellatron. we were near the top of what turned out to be a longlong decent, so i put my foot down (alternately and repeatedly) to try and keep up with them. before i knew what was going on i was also passed by camera crews on motorbikes and in an open-topped 4x4 (i like to think that i made it into the belgium cycling press). i got completely carried away, reaching 58.3 kmsph and missed my turn. when i stopped for a break before heading back up this endless hill i was passed, in the space of about 10 minutes, by hundreds of serious-looking lycra clad cyclists with not a wave or a smile between the lot of them.
I also passed my Belgian cycling proficiency test with a bunch of 9 and 10 year olds, though i didn't wait around for the certificate.
One night... I can't have been asleep for many minutes when I was woken by bright white light shining into my tent. I was expecting to hear sirens or the yapping of hunting dogs or whatever humming sound an alien spacecraft makes during landing but instead was shaken by deep rolls of thunder that seemed to be just a few meters above me. For the next few hours I was privy to a storm, the power and proximity of which I have not witnessed for more than ten years.
Berlin, of course, has been a ton of fun. I've been staying in the British Ambassador's gargantuan residence with Jules (the ambassador's son) and 8 of our friends, ostensibly to support Bunty for her Berlin tour but mainly to explore the renegade nightlife of this highly-charged mecca of hedonism and pretentiousness. We've been to some radical places that I don't think could really exist anywhere else, such as Bar 25 - a huge outdoor compound of crusty chic, minimal techno and pirate deco almost exactly like the hippest corner of an English festival, say the secret garden party. A real temporary autonomous zone. Except that it never stops... and looking at many of the (somehow still beautiful) revellers neither do a lot of people here.
It's been a blast but i'm ready for sweat and dirt and the open-ended road...
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