After two travelling months we are comfortably back into our nomadic lifestyle but the transition from sofa to steering wheel is always a testing one. Routine. This changes dramatically, generally we don’t know where we will be sleeping each night. It takes a couple of weeks for that daunting uncertainty to again be replaced by the excitement of the unknown and the freedom and fun of our situation. Focus. Life simplifies considerably back to the basics of being fed and watered, keeping clean, warm, dry and safe. The Monday to Friday work emphasis is (easily!) replaced by exploring, learning and new experiences. Priorities change and life becomes uncomplicated in some respects yet challenging at the same time. Familiarity. We go from the comforting familiarity of our home life to a constant bombardment of the new and foreign; language, money, food, customs, social etiquette, culture and road rules. In the last 8 weeks we have journeyed relatively quickly through 10 new countries, making it easy to confuse your “Ciaos” and your Kunas with your “Zdravos” and your Dinars. A desire to embrace the new makes becoming accustomed fun and we are soon greeting and eating local. Communication. Andy and I shift from daily social interaction with family and friends to again being approximately a metre apart from each other 24 hours a day. Fortunately our relationship has been rigorously tested through a combined total of 11 months of ‘social solitude’ and we’ve survived smiling! Strangers become friends and you adopt an openness to meeting and talking to new people that is often missing back home. Distance from family is always difficult, on this trip my sister had her first baby which has been a stark reminder of the biggest sacrifice we make for our expedition existence.
Convenience. Flicking the kettle on for a brew is now replaced by a lengthier process of boxes, pans and water pumps. Opportunities to do laundry are sporadic, internet connection is irregular, supermarket shopping becomes experimental and when the weather worsens there is no drawing the curtains and settling down in front of the TV. Stuff. Going from a full wardrobe of clothes, kitchen of equipment, larder of food and array of personal items to a few boxes of belongings takes some getting used to. However it doesn’t take long to appreciate the benefits of a minimising your material possessions and appreciating what you really need. In all honesty though, a couple of different T-shirts at this stage would be welcomed!
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For the last 54 years the people of Ptuj in Slovenia have been celebrating the end of winter with a festival called Kurentovanje. The 11-day rite of spring and fertility is most likely connected to Slovene mythology and Slavic Paganism. The original organisers were strongly convinced that this event could help prevent what they perceived as the extremely rapid disappearance of traditional carnival customs in the area. The Museum at Ptuj Castle houses a large collection of traditional Kurentovanje masks and costumes. We were lucky enough to visit and learn more about this fascinating tradition and it’s costumes. The celebrations feature many different characters including the Ploughmen, Bears, Fairies, Cockerels, Log-haulers and Mourners. Undoubtedly the stars of the festival are the Kurents dressed in elaborate masks and heavy sheepskin coats. The Kurent’s primary roll is to scare away winter by jumping from side to side, bell ringing and performing rituals.
For the participants, the festival permits a certain amount of anonymity, allowing for much tomfoolery. The greatest disgrace a Kurent could face was to have his mask taken off.
Over the years the festival has grown, with many surrounding towns in the region also contributing. In 2013 the largest population of Slovenians outside of Slovenia, in Cleveland, Ohio, have started to run a smaller Kurentovanje event. For more information about the carnival and it’s characters please visit http://www.kurentovanje.net/en/ At the start of a long stretch of mind-numbing jobs and stupidly long hours to raise money for our trip I was discussing our plans to an employer when she fired the unexpected question at me “… but what will you do every day?” Such a basic, rational, yet strangely odd question but so difficult to answer. My normally animated adventure chit-chat was silenced and I found myself speechless for the first time when discussing 800 days. So, to clarify “what we do every day” here is a breakdown of our day-to-day 800 days activities; Driving
Exploring
Planning
Washing
Drinking
Eating
Sleeping
communication
Chores
Maintenance
Relaxing
We leave in 80 days and are pleased to launch our new website and new plan. Bigger, bolder, brighter (yet naturally still in Bee-bee) the new 800 days promises to valiantly continue our overland adventure.
Setting off from England on July 21st, we’ll weave our way down through South-Eastern Europe; Belgium, Germany, Austria, Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia, Montenegro, Kosovo, Albania, Greece, Bulgaria, Turkey and Cyprus (phew!). By early 2015 we should be venturing into the lesser-travelled Caucasus region through Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan. Crossing the Caspian Sea by ship we’ll arrive in Kazakhstan and pick up our original route through the ‘Stans and Iran before voyaging into Asia. Let the 80 to 800 days countdown begin… Emma Olive, almond, shrimp, potato, octopus, salami, chorizo, sardine, frittata, anchovy, peanut, manchego, salmon, pate, bruschetta, steak, croquette, sausage, calamari, chip. TAPAS Cerveza, red wine, white wine, rose wine, sparkling water, g&t, sangria, rum & coke, on the rocks, champagne, lime soda, cocktail, lemonade, fruit juice, ale, cider. TAPAS. Backstreet bar, corner café, five star brasserie, michelin restaurant, greasy truck-stop, fancy bistro, family eatery, fast-paced diner, hole-in-the-wall snack joint, trendy coffee shop, high-brow cocktail lounge, posh tea-shop, loud music bodega, cosy pub, city wine bar, sleepy village taverna, noisy nightclub. TAPAS.
Coffee with partners, brunch with chums, lunch with colleagues, tea with family, dinner with friends, supper with lovers, drinks with acquaintances, party with mates, dancing with strangers. TAPAS. Emma The gateway Bab Boujeloud stands proudly as the entrance to the ancient city of Fes, beckoning you to enter through its asymmetrical opening into the frantic bustle beyond. From here the streets taper into narrow passageways of vibrant city dwellers. Unlike its cosmopolitan counterpart, Marrakech, with its throng of tourist groups, Fes maintains a genial mixture of sightseers and everyday existence. Randomly selecting the left of two parallel narrow thoroughfares, I passed a make-shift Butchers with a young, blood-splattered boy determinedly cutting the tongue from the severed head of a cow. Wandering down the lane I passed plastic containers piled high with sticky black dates, strings of leather sandals hanging, sizzling doughnut vendors and narrowly avoid a lumbering donkey laden with rusted gas canisters. Carts of oranges, hand-hammered copper cauldrons, intricate brass lanterns, silver tea sets and deep-fried sardine stalls all line the pulsating veins of the souk. A side-step through the inconspicuous doorway of the Medersa Bou Inania reveals a jaw-dropping vision of Moroccan Islamic architecture at its finest. A central marble courtyard is surrounded by domed arches and fringed along the roof by elegantly carved wooden beams. Ceramic mosaic tile-work, ‘Zellij’, adorns exterior and interior walls, flowing calligraphy fusing seamlessly with the exact precision of the flanking geometric patterns. Dinner begins with a jostle and squeeze into tightly packed, street side tables where hot, syrupy mint tea is efficiently produced. A waiter weaves expertly down the street from an unknown kitchen carrying a plate of steaming Couscous, vegetables balanced on top and dribbled with rich, aromatic cinnamon and sultana T’fia. Against the backdrop of a dark, vivid indigo sky, the elaborate wooden and carved stucco archway to a mosque frames the hive-like coming and going of scurrying worshippers. In the eaves of the archway a feverish mass of alpine swifts explode from their roost and jostle vigorously with a frenzied twittering for position in the crammed rafters. Serenading all the activity are the hypnotic, wavering tones of the Imam peacefully calling to prayer, the echo of the Azan “Allaaaaaaaaahuu Akbar” exuding from the buzzing epicentre.
Emma P-Cunt! A curious name for a shop, I thought to myself whilst fumbling for the camera with a smirk, I wonder what it sells? Unfortunately (or thankfully) the owners of P-Cunt are probably unaware of how amusing the sign above their door is and can be forgiven for their faux pas. English, I’ve been told, is a very difficult language to learn; we borrow from other languages, the rules don't show a lot of consistency and to top it all off English has a huge amount of slang and idioms that are not found in other languages. All this I can believe, I barely have command of my native tongue let alone any foreign languages and so I’m fully aware of the irony in mocking the weak efforts, flagrant abuse and pure comedy gold made by foreigners in an attempt to master the Queen’s English. As a graphic designer I understand the importance of words and that you have to place them in the right order to communicate the intended message. My appreciation of this mastery makes it even more amusing when I come across great examples of ‘Lost in Translation’. After much thought we concluded that classic acts of ‘Lost in Translation’ fall into three categories; signs, menus and products. Strangely P-Cunt was not the first time we’d encountered an amusing shop sign. Who could forget Restaurant Le Tit, Café Colon, A Dong Restaurant, The Red Cock Poultry Centre or Souvenir Wang? My urge to resist the shop advertising ‘over 300 slags’ in the window was unbearable! Whilst on the road how could we not go on a road trip to Bimbo, Pastorsexp or Hornos. Ordering food can be a real problem in foreign countries. Imagine our relief (and excitement) when we came across menus with an English translation! I love ‘Stomach Salad’ and ‘Language & Chips’, but who could choose between ‘Old Czech Mushroom Soup’ and ‘Ear from salmon with pie with fish’. Visiting supermarkets is equally as exciting. I’m surprised Bee-bee isn’t loaded up with Funny Cocks, Piles Tea, Gayelord Hauser Minceur, Chocolate Negro Filipinos, Breast Enlarging Soap (I tried to convince Emma to get some) and Colin, a rather fancy looking glass cleaner! …and lastly, possibly the most inappropriate item I’ve ever seen for sale anywhere let alone in an Arabic country; a New York city skyline lamp and lampshade featuring the twin towers, a jetliner and a hot air balloon that looks strangely like an explosion. The lamp rotates when the bulb heats up creating a moving panorama of the whole scene! All completely innocent as the product was dated pre-9/11, was made in China and was in a shop selling some of the most amazing tat you’ve ever seen, but for about 30 minutes the part of my brain that deals with conspiracy theories was going mental! Oh…and P-Cunt sold shoes!
Andy As far as overland expo’s and festivals go, it’s not very often we find ourselves in the right place at the right time. So imagine our delight when we discovered that the Adventure Travel Film Festival (ATFF) was only one day away and then to discover it was located just 30minutes down the road! I nearly wet myself with excitement. Unfortunately due to the late notice (and lack of funds) we could only attend on Friday evening. Our ‘for one night only’ attendance didn’t dispel our enthusiasm for the event and excitedly we hit the road. On arrival we were welcomed by the naturally charismatic, overalled and recently named ‘Overlander of the Year’ by Expedition Portal, Austin Vince. Austin’s warm welcome set the tone for the evening. Austin however is only one half of the organising duo. Lois Pryce in her own right is a truly inspirational woman. Between them they have accomplished some great achievements. Austin was one of the first Europeans to traverse the Zilov Gap by motorcycle and reach Magadan after the collapse of the Soviet Union. This amazing feat predates Ewan and Charlie’s ‘Long Way Round’ trip by nearly 10 years. Lois is an accomplished writer, banjo picker and in 2003 rode a little Yamaha XT225 from the northernmost tip of Alaska to the southernmost tip of South America, solo! Clearly both Lois and Austin have a penchant for the vintage; this is reflected in Austin’s love of 70’s overalls and Lois’ love of historic expeditions and vintage British motorcycles. Something Emma can relate to as her late Grandfather (also a well travelled inspirational man) had three exceptionally clean Vincent’s; a Black Prince, a Comet and a little 45cc Firefly. This was the 3rd annual ATFF and it’s clear that Austin and Lois, along with an army of volunteers, know how to throw a party. The camping ground, full of adventure bikers, cyclists and a few overlanding 4x4’s was home to the 700+ crowd for the weekend; obviously, the audience sharing the same authentic passion for adventure as the organisers. Lois and Austin’s love of retro is also reflected in the appearance of the vintage cinema bus. The bus is a slice of cinema and automotive history, a truly unique vehicle. The festival is complimented with a schedule of workshops, seminars, displays, trade-stands and cooking competitions and demos. We attended Louise Wilson’s ‘Blogging from the Road’ presentation. The seminar was aimed at blogging virgins, albeit we managed to get a few new ideas to improve our own blog and website. We had the chance to have a little chat with both Louise and her partner David, you can download the interview here. Of the 15+ films that were screened over the weekend we only managed to catch Gaurav Jani’s very Indian ‘One Crazy Ride’. A tale of overloaded motorcycling camaraderie through the uncharted ‘roads’ of the Himalayan state of Arunachal Pradesh, in north-eastern India. The film is a touching story of brotherhood (and sisterhood) in the face of unforgiving terrain. On our return home we decided to purchase and download a few of the featured films. Tom Allen’s incredibly life affirming and at times raw and introspective ‘Janapar’ is an emotive story that gives the viewer a real insight into the struggles faced by solo long distance bicyclists. Beautifully shot, edited and with a well-crafted soundtrack this tale is more than just a travel film, it is a good old-fashioned love story that never fails to move! An unexpected late addition to the program was a talk given by an unpaid Ben Fogle entitled ‘The Accidental Adventurer’. Like many people attending I was unaware of the extent of his achievements. This quote from the synopsis of the book with the same name highlights some of his greatest.
“He has rowed across the Atlantic, walked to the South Pole, run the Sahara and skated across Sweden. He has encountered remote tribes-people in deepest Papua New Guinea, caused a Boeing 747 to dump £100k of fuel before making an emergency landing in Sao Paolo, and been mistaken for Prince William on numerous occasions.” Despite his Royal doppelgänger I think he missed the irony in denying he was posh as during his talk he “poo-pooed an idea” and “had blisters on his bottom”. Despite my internal sniggers, Ben Fogle has an endearing character and is a great public speaker. After hearing him talk I had a newfound respect for him. We also missed a great photo opportunity with him as I was in the queue for the burger stand! On its own admission and to its credit the ATFF is by no means a big Hollywood affair, I’ve certainly never heard of long-drop compost toilets in Cannes! And that is what makes this event so great. The 5-point manifesto states one of the aims of the ATFF is to bring together the adventure travel community. This criteria is certainly met. The festival has undoubtedly inspired us to think more about increasing and improving the quality of our own films. Our time back in the UK will give me a chance to catalogue and edit the hundreds of hours of footage we’ve shot so far. Maybe we’ll see our names in LED camp lights at next year’s event! Incidentally if you missed this festival you don’t have to wait a year before the next one just hop on a plane, jump on your bike, paddle your canoe or fire up your 4x4 and head to the Australian or U.S. leg, the latter being part of Overland Expo. If not, see you next year in Dorset! Andy When travelling it’s often the spontaneous events, the unplanned, the chance meetings and getting lost which result in the most memorable experiences. When venturing disorientated through the heights of the High Atlas we found ourselves having to make a hasty stop to let Bee-bee’s overworked brakes cool down. We unavoidably blocked the street in a tiny Berber village; “Mafi Mushkele” (“no problem!”) came the jovial response from a group of men carrying out maintenance work on a clay and stone house. The reek of burning brakes emanating from the car must have signalled that we weren’t moving anywhere for a while. As the workmen downed tools, accompanied by a chatter of Arabic and some gestures, we understood them to be inviting us into their home and to join them for breakfast. Berber mountain houses are unassuming, clay and stone dwellings with several small rooms surrounding a central courtyard. We stooped through a low doorway into a sparse room with only a low table, a TV and a hazardous gas burner balancing a kettle. The seven of us made ourselves comfortable on plastic woven matting while a shy woman ushered into the room timidly carrying a tray of food. Warm, soft, homemade bread was torn, shared and dipped into clear, rich, nutty Argan oil harvested from the surrounding hills. A small plate of salty goats butter with a distinct pungent blue-cheese taste was also generously applied to chunks of bread amidst chatter, gesticulations and excited pointing and animated discussion over our photo album from home. Breakfast was washed down with copious glasses of mint tea from a seemingly bottomless pot; the hot gunpowder tea and green-flecked infusion so sweet it made your gums twinge. As we left, youngsters scampered down the road with makeshift toys consisting of plastic bottles on wheels attached to a long stick. They weave and steer down the bumpy track with the skill and pride comparative to a child with the latest super-powered luxury radio controlled toy car hundreds of miles away.
The people expected nothing in return, a sharp contrast to the streets of Marrakech and Fes where just asking for directions comes with a price. Children here were not the cocky, street-savvy, dirham-hankering kids of the cities but shy and wary, peeping over walls in their ‘fun-size’ traditional dress. We departed leaving small gifts of notebooks and pencils for the children which the family reluctantly but appreciatively accepted; a small token incomparable to the memorable hospitality and welcome we had received. It put smiles back on our previously stressed faces as we fired-up Bee-bee and lurched ahead on our uncharted way. Emma Morocco’s notorious Rif region, a mainly mountainous area in the north, stretching over 300km from Tangier in the west to the Melwiyya River in the east is a natural boarder between Europe and Africa. It is also an area synonymous with Marijuana production. According to some sources, the country is home to approximately 220,000 acres of Marijuana fields and it is believed that Morocco produces nearly half the world’s hashish supplies. Called “kif” by the locals, hashish takes on a new culture and power in the Rif Mountains; unfortunately this isn’t a positive thing. Despite the production, sale and use of Marijuana being illegal it is still a massive income for the country and one of its biggest exports. The areas reputation also attracts tourists only interested in getting stoned. Unfortunately if you are travelling in this area the locals assume you are only interested in buying drugs. For us these vast limestone mountains with forests of towering oak and cedar should have offered up what the guidebook described as “One of Morocco’s most memorable journeys”. With previous knowledge of the areas notoriety is was with no surprise that on arrival our vision was impaired by a thick dense cloud and seemingly the Rif was living up to its reputation. Upon opening Bee-bee’s windows and not being hit by a recognisable stench it become blatantly apparent that the dense cloud obscuring the road wasn’t a thick weed haze but a naturally occurring fog. As with most criminal activity the drug business here is far from friendly, Ketama in particular is by all accounts a rough and dangerous place with plenty of scams involving tourists, drug dealers and the police. Driving through this busy town we didn’t see one woman. The fog only exaggerated the seediness of the area as ghostly men desperate to make sales appeared through the haze at the side of the road and attempted to stop our car. For most of our journey between Al Hoceima and the beautiful town of Chefchaouen visibility was at times down to about 15m. Driving on these narrow roads in such conditions, often with sheer cliff edges (we think) and impeding doom around every corner was not a pleasant experience. Occasionally we’d make a futile attempt to wait for the fog to lift in small laybys. These were always hampered when our car was surrounded by groups of men who’d appear from the forest edge aggressively trying to make a sale. At times our car was tail-gated by gangs of menacing men in Mercedes and vans who overtook and attempted to stop our vehicle.
Sadly what should have been a spectacular drive through some of the countries most impressive scenery became quite a stressful 6-hour chore until we descended the 1500m high ridge and the fog cleared. Fortunately our final destination at the end of our perilous journey was the beautifully friendly town of Chefchaouen; restoring our faith in what is a wonderful country. Andy |
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