leaving so soon?

   

   

   

Two months in Colorado sped past like the weather systems there (mostly COLD and SNOW....ugh). Visiting our families was a warmer experience, thankfully, except that whole driving 70 miles four or five times a week from one city to the other and back and forth and .... I calculated the total distance over two months exceeded the outbound leg of our motorcycle ride from Hungary to Spain! And boy, was it nice to get home!

And then, six days later, before the jet lag wore off, I realized that our plane tickets to Qatar and beyond left four days earlier than I had recalled. Ooops! What followed was a mad scramble of outfitting, getting meds and antimalarials, paying bills, arranging neighbors to watch the house again and transport to Budapest.... But all that's done now, and we're just counting down the last hours of this icy cold winter until we get to balmy Doha (75 degrees) and then boil-your-brains-Bangkok (97 degrees and 100% humidity) a week later. 

Packing for this trip is, well, a trip, because I haven't ridden my backpack for a few years, since the last time I was in Myanmar and Cambodia, in 2008. Since then, the trips have all been either living out of the VW, or atop the motorcycle, both of which offer a far more relaxed approach to packing.

Being on the road for three months plus out of a backpack is actually much more liberating than knowing you'll only be gone a week or two. For a short trip, the temptation is to bring too much to avoid time-sapping chores like laundry and buying toiletries. But you and I both know there is no way to pack three months into a single little bag, so no pressure! I've got two of my trusty lightweight cotton button-front short sleeves, a pair of shorts, a pair of light canvas slacks, swimsuit, teva sandals, and no socks or undies anywhere in sight! A camera, a toothbrush, a few dozen passport photos, a book.... what else do you need? With a little time and washing powder, ain't nothing can't be done. 

On a disappointing note, playing to my romantic sense of meeting old friends in far-flung lands, we were meant to intercept not one but two old pals somewhere in Asia, but sadly, neither were able to make it happen. Which is a damn shame! These are some of my very favorite places, and I would have dearly loved to take them in in good company. Of course, Erzsebet is the best company, so I'm never at a loss for that! 

Tentative route for the first few legs: 

1) Qatar: Qatar Air flies without backtracking from here to Asian destinations, so I jumped at the chance to not only NOT have to fly three hours in the wrong direction to change planes to fly three hours to be back over Hungary, but also to fly one of the best rated airlines in the world AND take a few days in a new country. It'll be a short sojourn, the plane landing at midnight and taking off again in the morning three days later. But Qatar is practically a microcountry, and there's an inland sand sea forty miles north of the capital which we'll check out. In Doha, there is also a fantastic Islamic history museum, and a huge souq to wander around and revisit some of my Arabic culinary favorites. 

not my photo, but it'll do until I get there....

2) Bangkok: A few days to adjust and to savor the deliciously backpacker Khao San, get back to our favorite dive of a hotel, eat some durian from the wandering durian salesman, get plowed, and arrange for Myanmar visas and tickets. 

khao san road, 2008

3) Myanmar! We had been tossing this back and forth, but we've decided to go for it. It's about the only place left in Asia without any tourists, so a month of respite will be lovely. Plus, we'd love to revisit some of our earlier haunts and check out one or two new ones. But just wandering for days around Yangon is one of the best things, too!

yangon, 2008

That's all I know. I'll try to update and post pictures every week or two, except in Myanmar. Internet is very difficult from that country, so the blog will likely suffer, but it's for a good cause. Wish us luck, and see ya on the road!

    

  

Pecs to Pyrenees Part Who-can-remember: Last Legs and Coming Home

  
  

   

So it's come down to coming home. After only a few weeks on the road, we've covered a grand total of eleven countries and a whole lotta miles on the motorbike, all with no accidents, no malfunctions, not so much as an inconsiderate peep from her even through some hairy mountain passes, days of sleet and rain, days of flat out throttle up hill and down. I've heard it, I've lived it, now I'll say it: If you want a bulletproof motorcycle, you could do a lot worse than a Kawasaki. And for the value for money, I don't think there is a better one anywhere. 

After Rome and the Vatican and our agrotouristic adventures in Giove, we cut a swath through Umbria and made for San Mario, the final tiny country to knock off the travel list. The drive was uneventful and gorgeous. 

I posted pictures of Umbria the last time, so I'll just leave you with this one:

a break from the usual view of the buggers

San Marino is as far as I can determine a country comprised of exactly two things: a castle, and a parking lot. Or rather, a system of them. Thankfully, we were able to roll up to the very base of the fortifications, and jam the Kwaki between some scooters at the head of the line. I asked these friendly boys to look after her. 

i'm tasking you with watching his bike, ya got it?

They seemed to like my chutzpah or friendly banter or whatever you'd call it (stupidity? lameness?), and off we went. There are a few winding streets, quiet and peaceful: 

a typical street scene: regal architecture and black merc

but a whole lot more steep stones flowing with folks. All the shops were selling tchotchkes (boy, i'm really busting out the yiddish today!) or ice cream or utterly delicious crepes, of which I sampled one. 

more typical street scene

Escaping the crush, we got out onto the ramparts and soaked in the view.

i could look at this all day

 

mmmm, more ocean....

had a drink, and then decided that that distant ocean (see above) looked too good to miss out on stuck waaay up here: 

san marino

with our respective treats

Rimini was just a quick blast downhill, and we made it with plenty of time before dark. Unfortunately, both of us are rather allergic to crowds, especially on beaches, so we didn't take a swim. I couldn't really see the water from the sand to find it. 

beach at rimini

umbrella forest

kite salesman, or extreme enthusiast

But we had a nice dinner of fresh fish on the strand, amid a line of endless little hotels and restaurants. The restaurant was empty (we eat pretty early for Italy), and the kindly restaurateur generously allowed us to smoke, even though it was a smoke-free establishment by law (just-a throw the butt outta tha window if anyone comes in....) After, we took a constitutional along the breezy promenade just as the sun was setting. All in all, a very fine way to end a trip. And by the next night, we were sleeping in our bed at home in Pecs. 

And so ended the Pecs to Pyrenees 2010 Motorcycle Adventure! As I type this from chilly northern Colorado, where we've been for the past month and will be for the next one too, I am reminded that the ride was beautiful, exhilarating, and very very warm. Except when it wasn't. 

Just like life! L'chaim! And fee sahitkum, too.

  

   

   

2011 South East Asia Ramble

   

  

   

After we return from the US in a few months (Nov - Jan), we'll rest in Hungary for two weeks, trimming trees, doing some winter wine and vineyard work, but then it's off again! And to someplace much much warmer, for a goddamn change. Nine countries: Qatar, Thailand, Myanmar, Laos, Cambodia, Singapore, Malaysia, Brunei, Indonesia. Here's the route so far. I hope it isn't too ambitious for three and a half months! 

Some highlights we're hoping to get in: 

1) Our wedding rings are silver filigree with lapis lazuli melted between the swirls. Like so:

love that knuckle hair.

They were made in a stilt hut in a little village by a Burmese silversmith, and I've never seen another pair like them. But as you can see, chunks of lapis have fallen out over the years. Well, I saw how he made these, and know he could reblue them for us. If only we could get them to him. So that's what we intend to do. 

2) There's a very cool project I've been supporting for six years now, ever since my first visit to Cambodia. They're called Sustainable Cambodia, and I'd like to see their model village, and meet the little girl (not so little anymore!) who I've been sponsoring all this time. Check them out--they're great, honest, NONRELIGIOUS folks--and sponsor a kid today!

http://www.sustainablecambodia.org/

3) A whole lot of motorbike rentals. I'd love to fly Ripley (our Kawasaki) over, but I'd be terrified about theft the whole time.

4) Motorbike + active volcano = FUN! Mt Merapi is a target on Java. Unfortunately, it just this week decided to blow its top. We'll see if it settles down by then.

5) Two long riverboat rides: The whole western coast of Myanmar from Yangon to Sittwe; and the Mekong from Luang Prabang to Kratie.

5) Beach beach beach, wherever, whenever. There's no shortage!

I'm getting exhausted just looking at it, but here's what we're thinking...

2011 South East Asia Ramble Route

View 2011 SE Asia Trip in a larger map


 
 
  

 

Pecs to Pyrenees Part IX: Umbria, Old Men and the Chupacabra

  
  
  
With another set of travels upon us in six days, I thought I'd better get this blog up to date!

I'm just going to start this entry with my favorite shot of the whole trip, quite possibly one of the best landscapes I have ever managed to capture. It was taken on a beautiful slow roll south from Florence toward Rome. Our goal was to find a village to crash outside the big city and make unencumbered daylight dashes. On the way, the countryside became drier; the vineyards were replaced to some extent by rolling fields. The sky was blue again at last, the sun hot, the aromas of the countryside filling our helmets and hearts. Here's Umbria:

talk about falling in love!

There was this guy who built a sculpture garden a long time ago in a hilltop village called Bomarzo. We're talking 1552 here. Only he was not a happy guy. In fact, the death of his wife left him quite heartbroken. So instead of creating beautiful sculptures, he created the Parco dei Mostri: The Park of Monsters. They're also HUGE. Try this one on for size: 

There are several dozen in a similar vein, set in a beautiful shaded forest. I imagine at night they'd be quite creepy, but during the day it's a popular local picnic place. There is a link to the official site in English for the interested; you should certainly check out the photographs of the rest of the monsters....

The village we picked was called Giove, about forty minutes north of Rome. 

Giove

 me at the overlook

B at the overlook

Giove was unremarkable except for one thing (and even this is probably unremarkable in Italy, but it was the best example of it we've ever seen. There was a small main street that ran beneath an ancient fortification / church. Opposite was a little trattoria or some such with minimial food and wine. On both sides of the deserted street, a row of benches, and a few tables in front of the trattoria to round things out. At three or four, old men would start to trickle up the street.  A pair of them here, a single oldtimer hobbling up from there.... in no time flat, every bench and chair was occupied by an old man. I counted as many as forty per night. They started gossiping, laughing, playing cards. About ten minutes later, as though playing musical chairs, men would rise from one bench and drift over to another to occupy the still-warm place where the old guy who was now shuffling over to one of the tables had been sitting.... They made room for us straight away, and seemed like a friendly lot. Absolutely no English was spoken, but I did glean from one dude that he liked our bike (they had seen us roll into town the night before), and had a collection of several dozen himself. We tried to buy them drinks; they refused, but bought us drinks instead. We sat and smoked and drank wine and listened to the latest Italian gossip for hours each night, and it was an absolute delight. I mused about taking a series of mugshot type photos of them and doing something with the images (each face was so different, so weathered....), but Beth talked me out of it. It would have ruined their night and ours, so we stuck to smiling and sipping. But I did manage to sneak a shot of them while pretending to shoot Beth before the fortifications. Can't see much, but it's better than nothing. 

see? already getting suspicious! With 30 more on the other side of the street, that's a rumble you want no part of!!

They were great, though, and one of the highlights of the trip. We stayed several nights at a "agrotouristic development" just down the hillside from the meeting place. I put agrotouristic in quotes because it was as near as I can tell a painter living with his wife who loved to host dinner parties for his friends (not guests) and happened to have a spare room around back. Still, it was dirt cheap and very pleasant! Nice guy, too!

 see how friendly he is?

The combination of hearty wine and pitch dark, steep, unfamiliar country lanes led to some funny stumbling around. Not on my part, of course:

boom goes the paparazzi!!

And to a possible chupacabra sighting:

that's a brush with death right there, dude

From here, we would duck into Rome and the Vatican. I'll save that for the last post, because there's a whole stinking heap of art to post up! Cheers!*

  

  

  

*and don't let the chupacabra get you! When you hear that woof in the night, run!!**

** and watch out for those Italian longtimers, too.... they'll gossip you to death!***

*** and here's that link to the Park of the Monsters! http://www.bomarzo.net/index_en.html

  

 

     

Pecs to Pyrenees Part VIII: Tuscany

Leaving the wine country of the south of France was a small sorrow mitigated only by the knowledge of an even better one coming up: Tuscany! Cutting a path along much of our outward route, we followed the path of least distance. We slept in a deserted and I must say somewhat freaky old town called Beaucaire, beneath Avignon, where a cold wind was blowing along the Rhone riverfront, rattling debris in the gutters and chilling the sweat on our backs. What few people there were in the huge warren of windy alleys, all male, were huddled in packs on street corners, and half the shops were shuttered. A shame, too; it would have been a nice town otherwise. We got out of there fast the next morning and shot along the coast toward San Remo and beyond.

Our first Italian sleep was in the postcard pretty town of Portofino. A glass of whisky (house) ran 25 Euros on the harbor. The scene was, at least, commensurate:

click to expand

the dead rhino sculpture, not so much....

While we had drinks and dinner, a monster yacht backed in to the bathtub-sized harbor. A long hour of maneuvering later, it managed to tuck its 150+ feet away between the little fishing boats. Curious to see who the owner was, I was pleasantly shocked when what looked like an ancient and slightly mummified Mayan queen dripping with gold and serene in her throne was carried down the gangway by her "boys". Okay, the throne was a wheelchair, but the gold was real, and she looked regal as they pushed her all around the harbor front until she'd had enough and they carried her back to her floating palace. The fish plate for two was almost as magnificent; the wine, a localish Chianti, was positively decadent.

By the time we got underway to Florence, the weather had turned sour again, and it was only the protection offered by our full gale suits and even fuller vocabulary of expletives that got us to Florence in one piece. We wasted no time checking in at place near the heart of the town, stashed the bike in a nearby underground garage, and began roaming the city we had really come all this way to see. 

Why Florence, amid all the other treasures of Italy? Elizabeth has a deep and abiding love for Galileo, you see, and when she learned that his desiccated finger was on display at the Galileo museum (along with his telescopes), it had become the must-see of the trip. I was happy to oblige; I'm not so course as to ignore museums entirely in my perpetual quest for wine and beer and beaches and fast turns. And it was fascinating, not only Galileo's stuff, but the several floors of primitive science equipment, astrolabes, alchemists' cabinets, sextants, the works! It was very exciting, and that most rare treasure in Florence in the summer: lineless and almost empty! Believe me, when the Uffizi has a wait time of four hours, it was a genuine treat to walk in off the street and be browsing within literally one minute. Maybe less. 

We spent several days in town, and one of the other highlights (no surprise) was a walk into the hills around the city to view Galileo's house. A good two hour hike in the rain, but the views of the hills, dotted with estates and cypresses, olive groves and overgrown gardens along tiny stone-walled lanes, was worth every pant. 

that's his house straight above the gate

Finally, we located it. No one answered the door, but we discovered from a passerby that Galileo's daughter's convent was only another mile down the lane, so off we went. This time, I wasn't taking no, and prepared my bribing pocket with a handful of twenties, and prepared my face with a big shit-eating grin to complement Beth's small, sad face (Galileo always makes her cry). Ring ring, nothing. Ring ring, a man's voice in Italian. We plead for a while--can we come in, two minutes, I pay you, Mary Celeste, Mary Celeste!--he mutters "no" and hangs up. Rule Number One of traveling: you can't bribe someone if they can't understand or see you. As we debated what to do, a door creaked open in the courtyard five minutes later and a priest came nosing out into the rain. He chatted with us, and before I could do something uncouth he said the building we wanted was next door, owned by a private family, and they weren't around. We thanked him, and left. 

On the way back into the city, we emerged above Michaelangelo's Square. This is where all the postcards of Florence are shot. 

see?

I usually find at least one place in every country I visit where I could see myself living for a longer term, and Florence was most definitely it (even without knowing what lay ahead, and it proved true). There are far too many pretty scenes I could post up about Florence, so I'll just have to close this post by throwing a bunch up and see what sticks. 

   

   

    

Pecs to Pyrenees Part VII: Southern France

  
 

Where were we last time.... trickling out of the bluey embrace of the Pyrenees and heading into the French wine country! Being budding viticulturists and well-blossoming oenophiles, driving around the vineyards in this part of the world was an intoxicating experience. It has been noted by more than one person that Beth's and my life consists pretty much of hurrying from one place to sit/rest/relax/drink coffee/wine/beer to another as fast as we are capable in order to maximize the available time in the new place to sit/rest/relax/drink coffee/wine/beer. It was a fair enough assessment. In keeping with ourselves, then, we took our time stopping for our frequent coffee breaks in villages and squares wherever we could find them. One was prettier than the next.

see? how pretty is that?  

The highlight of this leg back through France was undoubtedly Chateau de l'Hoste. It was nice enough that I'll even plug their site at the end of this post. 

How did we end up staying at an 18th century French chateau? Well, we drove around and around one day looking for the smallest village in which to sleep. The day ran out, and I saw the sign. I was prepared for the hit in the wallet, and knowing what to expect, we rolled up confidently and took the last room they had available. Can you blame us? The place was stunning!

The fun started as we pulled up. You've seen a photo of the bike loaded up in this blog. Add a few thousand miles of dirt and bug-spatters (same goes for our jackets and helmets), and the somehow irreproducible roar of the bike, and it becomes a head turner, especially when squeezing itself between the parked Mercs and Beemers at a bona fide French Chateau! But we were on our best behavior, there was one room available, the young woman managing the place seemed to like us, and of course I could pay. So that was that. 

We cleaned up, wandered around the grounds, wrote a little in our respective notebooks. And then it was time to get a little refreshment on. Dinner was served at tables scattered amid the trees that surrounded the house, and soon enough a middle-aged man came trotting up with a broad smile and a wine list. The sommelier was an extraordinarily friendly guy, either a Frenchman raised in England or an Englishman raised in France. He was obviously intimately familiar with the wines of the region, and he deftly talked me out of a bottle of generic French Merlot in favor of a grape I've never heard of before. Malbec was the name, and the Cahors region was apparently quite famous for it. The prices weren't exactly down to earth, and I expressed doubt. He simply said: If you don't love it, I'll buy the bottle back. Well, how can you refuse an offer like that? 

Needless to say, or I wouldn't have spent the time on the setup here, the wine was one of the best I've ever tasted. He told us about the grape: rough, filled with character, very very dark. Indeed, the region has been trying to lobby the EU into allowing another category of wine, just for them... not rose, not red, but black. That's right, black wine. And it was, like a hot sun setting behind a goblet of violet ink. To soften it, this particular blend had 20% Merlot and 10% Tannat as well, and the combination was like a velvet slipper kicking you in the side of the head. Cahors is famous for the grape, but you can get a good Malbec made in Argentina these days as well. In any case, as budding winemakers, we were unable to come to terms with the flavors and texture before we came to the end of the bottle, and so we were forced to order a second. For professional tasting and evaluation purposes, of course. And let me tell you, we learned something about Malbec, my friends. We learned a great deal. For some reason, though, I just can't quite recall most of it just now....  

By this time, dinner was being brought out. I think mine had three different kinds of gooseliver preparation, as well as an amuse-bouche and other nibblies. Beth ordered an ice cream. At a French chateau, this is what an ice cream looks like: 

Idiots. The treble stave has five lines.

Now, I don't like ice cream. I mean, it's okay, but as a general rule, I just say no. That said, this thing looked almost good enough to eat. If you want a better review of it, along with ice cream from every country we passed through on the trip (eleven), then click over to Erzsebet's blog and read all about it. 

http://erzsebetgilbert.blogspot.com/2010/09/2010-golden-scoop-european-ice-cream.html

It was a wonderful night, a very rare luxury but one that I vehemently do not regret allowing myself. And the next morning, we took some Advil, strapped the bike up, and rumbled down the lane, heading for Tuscany, where I'll pick up next time. And until then, go find yourself a bottle of Malbec, and tell me how it goes down!

The Chateau de 'lHoste:

http://www.chateaudelhoste.com/en/

        

Pecs to Pyrenees Part VI: Spain

  
  
  

Originally, we had intended to set a course from Andorra to Barcelona, and then down and back along the coast before returning to France, but our aforementioned conversation in Soldeu gave us a new heading. I had always been a bit leery of this part of the trip: Costa Brava isn't exactly off the beaten path. Over coffees (or was it something stronger??), the plan was evolving minute to minute: 

Let's go to Bilbao! 

No, Pamplona! 

Have we got time to duck into Portugal? 

Idiot. (fair enough, I admit)

Wait, why not along the foothills to the Atlantic, and then up the Acquitaine coast?! 

Well, whatever, we seemed to have decided to hang a right from Andorra, not a left, so that was enough to get going. The rest, I assumed, would unfold organically. 

It wasn't a particularly all-encompassing visit to Spain; okay, not at all. But the roads were beautiful and deserted, the mountain slopes beckoning from their irresistible cloaks of distance and dust, the Spanish/Basque/Catalan towns charming to a fault. Each seemed to have two things in common: a church bell tower that was missing the steeple, and a ruined fort overlooking it from the dry hills.

not kidding; they were all over the place!

here's another one

foothills of the pyrenees

this is what's called being "artistic"

This part of the country is the poorest and least traveled, or so we were told. After seeing it, I'd believe it. But lovely, lovely.... We rode on and on and on through this parched dreamscape, running out of daylight to end up just shy of Pamplona, in a town called Jaca. The first thing we noticed was the huge fort beside the old town. 

The second thing we noted was that the empty grassy moat was filled with deer! At least twenty (you can see two in the photo above), including this beautiful buck:

twelve points, I believe... honey, did you pack my crossbow?

With ice creams and camera in hand, we circumambulated it with our usual reverence for ancient stone things. After walking for ages among the grassy flats that surrounded it, meandering among families sunning themselves after dinner and entirely ignoring the herd of deer, Beth paused, scratched her head, and said: Am I crazy or does this thing have five sides??

I hadn't noticed, except that it was taking a surprising amount of time to do the lap. I suppose a body feels when it's gone too far for what it had been expecting. In any case, a satellite image proves her right: 

see?

Jaca's old town was the usual atmospheric jumble of crumbly facades and narrow alleys.  

okay, not so crumbly

wait! ah, there it is....

Heading back into France over the spine of the Pyrenees the next day, we enjoyed coffee in little alpine villages like this one called Borce: 

The villages (communes, actually) were set amid sweeping green valleys emptying out from the high country behind us:

It was coasting country, but soon, the land flattened out and we could smell the must on the air. Wine country. And not just any old wine country. Serious wine country. Their grapevines put ours to shame. 

mechanically box-pruned, as I learned later! of course they're neater! (cheaters)

Being budding winemakers ourselves, we were needless to say tremendously excited to be rolling through the South West wine region of France. On and on through Gascony, Armagnac, Cahors the road unreeled, bringing us ever nearer to Bordeaux, to inspiration, illumination, and big-ass reds. 

You could start a novel from that last sentence. Really, what more does one need?