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A Blind Woman,
Two Wheels and 25,000 Miles
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Update 3 Part 1Entry for 29 August to 4th September 2008 - five weeks on the roadIntroductionAfter six weeks of being away we are losing track of the days. They drift past before we are even aware of time passing us by and we have got to the point we have to ask each other "what day is it?" and "how long have we been away?" We are starting to feel a little dislocated from the rhythms of everyday life as our 'previous' existence with its routines of work, home, and sleep now seems so bizarre. Now we live each day, usually, in a different place. Our routines have changed to wake up, pack the bike, find petrol, ride all day, find somewhere to eat and sleep before the pattern is repeated anew every day in a different place. We are starting to feel like gypsies; always on the move unless something stops us. So it is that we write this update from Athens where we have become 'stuck' and we feel the irritation of not being able to move on. It has got to the point that Bernard is even threatening to start looking for a job as he is getting so restless. The wait for the lumbering machinery of Visa applications to thread their way through the labyrinth of regulations and the 'is big problem' language we have heard so much recently is grinding away at our spirits. We arrived in Athens on day 33 (2nd September) and we are still here. During the time so far we have been working on the Visas for Iran, Pakistan and India. To say that I know the route to the embassies would not be an understatement as we have been to them so many times but this is a story for later on as is the fact we also had an official apology from the British Embassy for their treatment of us! For now let me take you back over the journey and many events from Montenegro through into Serbia to the United Nations controlled area involving Kosovo where the term 'ethnic cleansing' was so powerfully demonstrated with burnt out houses. Then onwards we travel into Macedonia (or Makedonia as it is spelt) before entering Greece and our current location of Athens. Day 29 (29th August)
It was obvious the hotel staff had been talking about the stickers now covering the back of the bike and so Sloba then appeared with a Serbian (SRB) car sticker which he proudly presented to us as a gift with Alex (the hotel owner) noting that the sticker will not be well received in Kosovo where "They will poke your eyes out"; due to the events which occurred in Kosovo between Serbians and Albanians. It was a humorous exchange on the steps of the Hotel between
the Serbians over this but when Bernard later explained the history of events in
Kosovo I could understand his reticence about the sticker being on the bike
going in - which is controlled by fully armed United Nations troops. He
took the same stance with the sticker from Croatia. The problem was the staff wanted the sticker putting on
before we left and so it would have been impolite to refuse and so we -
eventually - left the hotel complete with not only the Serbian (SRB) sticker but
also a Montenegrin (MNE) for the trip into Kosovo! If you know We kept our fingers crossed. The road from the hotel soon had us in the mountains as we passed through gorges where the edge of the road defined sheer drops on one side (our side!) which wound their way down through the country. Tunnel after tunnel had been blasted through the mountains themselves and they came thick and fast, short and long, cold and warm as we wound our way ever higher into the mountains. Soon we arrived at the Montenegrin border and the inevitable game of 'where are you going, where have you come from (Montenegro?) passports and papers' was to be played out for the 21st time in our short trip. Even though we actually have this down to a fine art by now Bernard still gets stressed about borders as he seems to think there will be more problems than we have, so far, encountered. He seems to go into a different mental mode when borders appear, switching into a more cautious frame of mind. He sounds happy and confident but I can sense the anxiety whenever borders appear. He smiles and laughs but the anxiety is there although masked. He has talked about this and thinks it may be the 'natural' response to uniforms and guns which - he believes - many people probably experience when they are not used to seeing 20 year old people clutching automatic machine pistols which can put several hundred bullets out in the blink of an eye. He does cover the anxiety very well when he is dealing with the borders but I can hear it and sense it!
Bernard described how they all starting fiddling with the switches on the bike like school children. We have come across this behaviour before and he now minimises the problems by leaving the bike in gear and using the engine 'kill switch'. This means they can blow the horn, turn the indicators on, and flash the lights but not start the engine! It stills seems strange to me that grown men should be like this but I suppose 'boys will be boys' in whatever country and no matter what the language! I could hear several Serbians talking and then Bernard indicated we would have to get off the bike as there was a disagreement between some of the officials and people around us. It seems all of them wanted to just wave us through while one insisted on us getting off the bike. Up to this point nobody realised I was blind but Bernard did his usual mimic signs (point to eyes and cover them with hands and then wave 'No sight') to let them know I was blind and one of the 'plain clothes' officials seemed to understand immediately and fired off a string of language at which they all moved back to let me climb off; they were all right beside the bike. Fortunately they all moved and we avoided an International incident and I did not kick anybody and get arrested for assaulting a Montenegrin border guard! The long cane was duly popped and the distinctive 'click, click, click, click' was heard as I started to walk towards the office where the guard was indicating. Within seconds the guard said "No, No, just you!" and Bernard stopped. I could tell Bernard was not happy at leaving me but there was no choice in the matter according to the body language of 'Mr Stroppy' as we later called him. While I was guided back to the bike and Bernard placed my hand on the back box I was told there was a queue at the office and he would be gone for a little. Ever attentive to me being left he still reassured me he would be able to see me the whole and would come back instantly if there was a problem. The funny thing is I do not worry at all about events like this but he does all the time. The way I look at it is that I am at an International Border crossing; what could happen? He doesn't look at it in this way and worries about me constantly (apart from when we are on the bike itself where he has control over what is occurring). He was reluctant to leave me but one of the plain clothes officials indicated to him he would stay with me and waved Bernard off to do the paperwork and with a final "I can see you the whole time" Bernard disappeared to do the paperwork. Within seconds a voice said "You from England?" and I turned towards the voice and said "yes" and the voice came back with a soft whistle and a "You have come long way!" I felt him approach and he very gently got hold of my hand and placed it onto the back box before saying "must go, you stay here, safe for you here" I smiled and thanked him to the sounds of his disappearing footsteps. It was so sweet of him and so gentle. This simple action also meant that he had some awareness of being blind in an open space and so giving me a physical object to locate myself. Either he knew due to experience or he had watched Bernard do the same thing? I'll never know. The only thing I knew was that he was very gentle and this gentleness has been demonstrated so many times in similar situations over the 21 crossings so far. People have been the same no matter where we have been; considerate and kind. As I was standing wondering about people's kindness I heard two motorcycles pull up and Bernard told me when he arrived back after completing the paperwork that they were two Swiss riders on KTM motorcycles. He laughingly told me they had more equipment each for their few weeks away (so they told him) than we had for the whole journey. Once again it seems the border guards were all over the bikes and they even started them up and revved the engines like enthusiastic bike racers on the start line of a grand prix. They got on and off the bikes and took pictures of each other with their mobile phones and the two Swiss riders enthusiastically joined in and I could hear the hearty sounds of them all laughing and joking with each other. Boys and toys! As always when the Swiss riders realised we were doing the 'big one' (as they called it) they came over and took multiple pictures of Bernard and myself with the bike. The whole time at the border was a really interesting insight into men and their attitude to machines and all things mechanical. But I will always remember the kindness and gentleness of the short-sleeved man who placed my hand on the back of the bike; it spoke volumes and was louder than any bike engine. As we rode off from the border of Montenegro Bernard and wondered about the next check point (as he always does) I told him about this gentle act and before he had any time to respond we arrived at the entry to the Serbian border with a string of traffic being checked one vehicle at a time. There were police and army every where and there was a significant presence on the road all around us. As we edged forwards on the bike the whole scene was described to me with a particular emphasis on the amount of 'hardware' as he calls the massed weaponry. Ten minutes later we arrived at the front and the same merry-go-round of questions are asked and answered. This time we were waved to the side and told to get off the bike and so we pulled over and the whole 'Cathy getting off the bike' was performed for the twenty or thirty uniforms standing around waiting for something to happen. Our passports had already disappeared with the person who told us to pull over and by the time we got off the bike, the loud groan of Bernard pulling it onto the stand had occurred we had our passports back and were waved through. As we rode off from the check point - after entertaining the whole armed populace with getting on the bike - Bernard muttered about "Lot of effort for nothing, wouldn't you think they would have told us just to stay on the bike rather than all that effort (mutter, mutter, mutter)". But soon he forgot all about this as we rode into Serbia and he got excited about entering a new country as he always does. The roads were rougher than we anticipated and for long periods Bernard would be quiet as the tarmac would have channels dug into it which he explained would 'trap' the front wheel in it and the bike would veer to one side - a bit like the front wheel getting stuck in a tram line was the way he explained it. So it was that once he explained the road conditions I would know he would go quiet for periods as he concentrated on keeping the bike on the safest section of road he could see in front. Within a very short period we pulled up and he explained that the road split into two and the maps did not indicate the - obviously - new bridge across the river and gorge on our right which veered off somewhere. The road stretched ahead of us and there was another checkpoint which was manned by the Serbian police and above which flew the Serbian flag and denoted our exit from Serbia. Which way? We decided to keep going straight as the only explanation we could think of was that beyond this check point was the United Nations controlled region of Kosovo and, as such, we would be entering a 'no-man's land' between this disputed region which led to the United Nations launching air strikes against Belgrade (The Capital of Serbia as it is now). The bike moved forward slowly as we prepared ourselves for another crossing (the third in under an hour). The two policemen on the border smiled as we pulled up and asked for our passports and within seconds they waved us through and Bernard waved back at them as we pulled away. Thus we entered a strange area as there was not a single car on the road. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a person nor animal could Bernard see. As we rode through this twilight world Bernard talked about some of the things he knew and had seen about this area which has seen so much death, destruction and relocation of people which characterised the tragic conflict with the disintegration of the former Republic of Yugoslavia. The euphemism 'ethnic cleansing' was coined to encapsulate this disintegration of the country which saw Croatians, Bosnians, Serbians and Albanians all resurrecting hatred and seeking to push their neighbours out of 'their land'. It has been hard to reconcile our experiences of all these people's kindness and this period of their history. We have met all these people on our journey and we have pondered about the same event occurring in England with the example of the Scots, Irish, Welsh and English people all killing each other (as they did historically long ago) but in a contemporary time-frame; we cannot imagine it. Perhaps it is because we are just two people and, like most people in the world, we just want to wander through our lives peacefully and die of old age in our beds surrounded by our loved ones. Perhaps it is just us and the way we view the world and we make no apologies if this approach or view sounds naive and simplistic. We are both guilty as charged but it is the way we want to be. In the world of 'ordinary people' it is probably the same everywhere.
As we were unzipping jackets and settling down
to wait a The cameramen with their long lenses snapped everything in sight (including ourselves) and within seconds the officer was in front of us shaking our hands and introducing himself in a flurry of words ending with "Do you need anything at all?" We thanked him and let him know that we were fine and had everything we needed but he went on "The French camp is completely at your disposal and if you require anything, water, food, anything at all please let us know." Snap, snap, snap could be heard the whole time as this exchange occurred. Bernard did ask whether the SRB and MNE stickers would present us with any problems and he said the answer would be no as "Foreigners nobody bother about, now if you were Serbian or Albanian then it might be a problem, but for you no". We thanked him for his kind offer of assistance and he wished us well on our journey before disappearing surrounded by the 'click, click, click' of the photographers as we stood waiting for our pass. One of the aides approached and talked about what we were doing and where we were heading and she seemed genuinely impressed with the fact we had come this far on the bike. She clutched her own camera in her hand and asked if we minded if she took some photographs of us by the bike which she duly did. Thanking us she went off following behind the first French Officer.
He approached one of the troops standing guard at the carrier and indicated would it be ok to take a photo and got the thumbs up from the soldier. We walked over to the troop carrier and Bernard was about to take the photograph when the soldier indicated he would take one of both of us and if we wanted to get into the vehicle it would be fine. So it is, for one of the few pictures, Bernard actually appears in a photo! By the time we had taken the picture our special passes were ready and we waved our thanks to the on-guard soldier and the other UN staff as we set off into Kosovo through the myriad of concrete road blocks and razor wire emplacements on the road. Much like the entry to the border, the outward journey was surreal as we passed through a land where nothing moved. Not a single vehicle nor person was about. As we rounded one bend there was a whole squad of soldiers sitting in the shade and we both waved to them as we passed and the whole squad waved back as we rounded the bend and disappeared up the road. The road itself was littered with tunnel after tunnel and all of them were unlit which made it interesting for Bernard. We would go from the bright sunlight into the darkest night and the bike would slow down as he wears react-o-lite sunglasses and so would end up in the gloom actually wearing sunglasses until they could adjust; which took about 10 seconds each time. We entered one tunnel and a startled exclamation came through my helmet (he actually said "SHIT") as the bike was violently wrenched to the side as the tunnel suddenly filled with a roaring sound. It was that quick. The blink of an eye. Then we were out into the light and Bernard explained what happened. Bernard "Honestly I nearly died and I thought my heart would stop! We entered the tunnel and all was fine and then suddenly in the darkness two men are kneeling in the middle of the road facing me. In the pitch black of the tunnel they were burning white lines on the road with no light but the blaze of the tool they were using; which they must have only turned on a fraction before I nearly ran them over. No warning signs, no high visibility jackets with nice reflective stripes, nothing. Health and safety has obviously not reached the Kosovo Road Works Department as of August 2008! Talk about a near miss. Two Kosovo mothers must have been saying their prayers for their sons that day!" So it was that we survived and lived to fight another day! From Bernard's reactions it was obvious it was close, very close. The houses all through this part of Kosovo flew the Serbian flag; it was draped over every building and was flown from every telegraph pole and electrical pylon. It was everywhere. As the bike slowed down I knew from the descriptions that we were entering another UN checkpoint. We slowed to walking pace and started to weave gently through the various obstacles designed to stop cars crashing through the checkpoints. Bernard told me the check point was manned by the Swiss Army contingent who looked down from heavily protected watch towers as we passed underneath their position only to be waved through as they recognised we were not local! From this point onwards all the flags were Kosovo and UN. Then I realised that the UN position was probably to protect the Serbian community as they had moved from majority to minority at the stroke of a pen on a map. From being in the driving seat when the ethnic cleansing began now they have been reduced to back seats in the move onwards for the majority of Kosovo's towards their desired destination - some form of link or absorption into Albania. This feeling was reinforced as we moved away from the UN checkpoints and all the houses flew the Albanian flag. From this point onwards this was the only flag flying. Not another Serbian flag could be seen, anywhere at any point. The path south grew worse and worse and the bike started to weave across the road as Bernard searched for the best surface and the movements were hypnotic in their way as we swayed from left to right. I realised the road was pretty bad as long silences would appear or, in the middle of describing something, Bernard would just stop and I would wait until he worked out where to put the bike on the road. Our speeds never got above 40 miles per hour. For long stretches we would go even slower. My lasting impression of this landscape was of the burned out homes which littered the environment. Of the homes where bull-dozers had pushed roofs off leaving families without somewhere to live, forcing them to leave where they had lived for generations. Of the human misery which must have surrounded such an act that it is so hard to imagine for me. I tried to put myself in this position where, one day, people (and yes, they are people like you and I) would come and tell me I had to leave my home right now as I was no longer welcome. Then my local neighbours - whom I have known all my life - would bring in a bull-dozer and put the end against my roof and push the whole thing off. I couldn't shake the image of the Serbians I had met on our travels and the kindness we had experienced. It was hard to put the two events together in my head. But then again, and as we have said earlier, we are two innocents in such matters and may be embarrassingly naive for our years. The images of shattered buildings full of the signs of shell and bullet holes are a powerful reminder of people's inhumanity to their fellow beings who only want the same basics as we do; freedom and a sense of security for our families. I suppose like a phoenix rising from the ashes the consolation (if there is any consolation for these people) is that reconstruction is everywhere. Houses have been built right next to the shattered homes; which have been left standing and are precisely as they were when events unfolded. They seem to act as permanent reminder of how quickly and how horribly things can go wrong between peoples who have a shared history. We passed through miles and miles of this landscape and then I realised that none of the Serbian area where we first crossed the border seemed to show these ravages and I questioned Bernard about his descriptions at that point in the day. He assured me he was telling me things as they appeared to him on the road and he missed nothing out (which is what I have told him to do on our journey). Thus all the damage seemed to exist beyond the 'Serbian' area. It seemed to confirm the 'They will poke your eyes out with that badge' jokes made as we left Montenegro. As we travelled closer and closer to Pristina there were signs of construction everywhere and all the corners of the world seem to have a presence in terms of multi-national companies 'all helping' the Kosovo people. The flags of Germany, France, Italy, America, Switzerland and Ireland flew around towns and villages as we covered the mileage at this reduced pace. Convoy after convey of UN military vehicles passed us going the opposite way and we thought it likely they were heading back to base for the night after being on patrol. The road into Pristina was a nightmare as some serious road works was going on and the hard core under-belly of the road was the only surface available to us. The cracking and crunching of our tyres and the shifting, twitching rear of the bike made it a very un-nerving experience. The road to Pristina is under-going serious widening and it seems that there will be three lanes going in and out of the 'capital' as they seek to link to Macedonia; which has a well linked road network to Greece. Thus, in time, Kosovo will be linked downwards through this region until time passes and the wounds of the 1990's heal to whatever degree it is possible. For now it appears the Kosovo's are looking south rather than North for their development over time. After a while it was time to start looking for our pillow for the night and before long a hotel appeared on our side of the road works and we crunched across the three lanes of hard core to exit right. I could tell Bernard was relieved for the day to be over as it had been hard, hard work on the bike today due to the road conditions. Climbing off the bike we clumped up the stairs for Bernard to start learning Kosovon! The hotel looked relatively modern and on enquiring (in English) if a room was to be had he was met with German. Not to be outdone he then changed to French; only to be met with German again. Going back to English he tried once again and, yes, you're ahead of me, German again. Now the only things Bernard knows in German is counting and ordering a beer. He can say "I speak German very slowly" but he avoids using this. He also can say "Please" and "Thank you" when he is ordering his beer but that's it. Nothing more. So he was, once again, reduced to pantomiming the fact we wanted to sleep which involves two hands, palms together beside his face complete (if he is really struggling) with loud snoring sounds! It seems the receptionist was extremely puzzled by Bernard's response but sure enough he quoted "Tenty Euro" which we assumed was German for twenty and our smile indicated we'd have it. Bernard loves a bargain and he whistled a happy tune as we made our way up to the third floor; "it always seems to be the third floor" was his only grumble as it meant multiple trips up and down the stairs at the end of a hard day. After multiple trips up and down everything was in our room and we went down to the reception area to find something to eat and this was soon accomplished. As always the environment was described to me and it seems I was the only woman in the building which seemed strange as we sat and ate our food. Not giving it a further thought we retired for the night and lights went out at 9pm as Bernard and I were too tired to even write our journal of the day. Day 30 (30th August)In the early hours it started to dawn on me that this 'hotel' had more going on than we have anticipated! We had noticed when we went to bed so early that there was a television on in one of the rooms at a seriously loud volume but, once again, we thought nothing of it (apart from the person must have a hearing problem!) There was lots of laughing and giggling around the rooms but, again, we took no notice really. As always, Bernard was asleep within minutes while I drifted for some time. Eventually the TV stopped and I fell asleep myself. At midnight we were both woken up by loud voices and lots of laughing in the corridor and adjoining rooms. After a lot of grumbling about being woken up Bernard went hunting for his ear plugs within the mountain of gear in the room. After much rustling and thumping as he undid various bags and locks he reappeared and sank gratefully back into bed, inserted his ear plugs and within seconds was sound asleep. I lay awake and listened to the sounds going on around the hotel. It wasn't long before it started to dawn on me and I put several pieces of information together from the sounds from within the hotel. There was lots of laughing going on. There was the loud TV sounds. Heavy footsteps in the corridor to the room next door. Heavy footsteps to the room on our other side. There seemed to be an awful lot of people coming and going in the corridor, slamming doors and the whole atmosphere was full of noise. Surprising in many ways as, usually, by midnight most hotels have ground to a halt. Not this hotel. Soon other sounds started to penetrate the air. Sounds of passions and the throes of energetic and frantic sex. When I say sounds, I actually mean a wall of sound as it was coming from everywhere. It was all around me. Meanwhile Bernard slept on. I honestly thought that somebody was having a baby next door such was the level of throaty and bellowing voices coming through the wall. Loud thumps nearly shook me out of bed at one point. I swear my bed moved. And Bernard slept on. The walls vibrated and I could hear the lamp shades rattling on the bedside tables. I'm not sure if it was passing traffic but the windows did rattle at one point as well and I was seriously concerned for our well being caught in the middle of this earthquake. I remember thinking that I hoped Bernard had strapped the bike down like he usually does on the ferries. As the room rattled and shook from the pounding above our headboard guess what? Bernard slept on. As the baby was delivered next door to the full crescendo of "Oh Yes, yes, yes" (at least that's what I think she said) the same thing started in the room at the foot of our bed. Again all the noise was female. Not a peep could be heard from the male. Nana, nothing, zip. The only sound which indicated it was not a solo activity was the heavy, heavy sounds of slapping. When I say slapping, I am not talking about a little tap. I mean a CAPITAL SLAP. The sort which would normally have you arrested for assault in most countries. But it seems not in Kosovo where, it appears, it is a normal fun activity for two like-minded people. In some ways it may just be 'all in a night's work' for some people. Who knows? After it seemed to me that the poor receiver of such slapping must be unconscious the same, even louder, 'having a baby' sounds (but again female) spilt the night air with the frantic egging on which indicated that quiet may soon appear and, sure enough, with a final ear splitting scream all went quiet. And Bernard slept on. Personally at this point I was thinking "Thank god that's over" but, really, this was only a pit-stop to change drivers. After a short time lighter footsteps left the room at our feet and two female voices started to talk in the corridor. A man's voice joined the two (walking with heavy footsteps) and an exchange occurred between all three voices. Then the door slammed at our feet and it seems the coffee break was over as the whole scenario was replayed with even throatier exultations from our enthusiastic female performer. Meanwhile Bernard turned over. It was during this second (or was it third?) birth that I replayed the information of our arrival and the descriptions of the environment. Let me take you through my thoughts. 1. The receptionist seemed completely puzzled that we wanted to sleep. 2. There were no females in the hotel as far as Bernard could see. It was all men. 3. Our room had a king size mirror on the wall beside the bed. It was too big just to brush your hair in! 4. The very large shower had a frame but no doors (think about that one!) 5. The only bedding were sheets and a thin cover. It isn't that warm in Kosovo! So it was I reached the conclusion that for 20 Euro we had purchased a room at a Kosovon brothel. It was a startling realisation but, here I was while Bernard was still blissfully unaware. In the morning - after a fitful night's sleep would you believe - I told him of my deduction and he just laughed and said "Don't be daft, it's just a hotel you are imagining things." He took off for his morning constitution (meaning a smoke) and when he came back he seemed sheepish and he (unlike the previous tired night) paid attention as he went outside and looked about him. Every room was empty and remade already - it was only 8am in the morning. Not a single room was closed. Nobody was around and the whole place was deserted. He also managed to find the industrial size condom machine which, according to him, was the size of a dinner table. It was mounted on the stairs right where we had walked past to get to our room. He must have passed it about eight times during the previous evening! We went to see about breakfast and there was none until at least 11am. It seems that the girls were having a late start this morning after a heavy night and so we had to pay the price and do without breakfast. All during the day Bernard could not believe he had missed all the events and activities of the night. In some ways I think he was genuinely disappointed he had put the ear plugs in. He denied it off course saying things like "I'm sure it wasn't as bad as you make out and if I'd stayed awake......" at which point his voice would trail off and leave the sentence unfinished. Our breakfast was at a petrol station just down the road where Bernard tried to convince me that his Kosovon was so good he could read the labels on the bottles of fruit juice after just one day on the country. Needless to say, they were written in English or French and he seemed rather miffed I did not believe him regarding his knowledge of Kosovon!
The road alternated between brand new highway and heavily chopped up. Some sections looked like somebody had got hold of a giant rake and scored the whole road with deep channels which grabbed at the wheels of the bike and sent us in a direction we did not want to go. This went on for hours and hours of muscle wrenching effort from Bernard as he constantly corrected the line of the bike on the road. In the distance the valley was covered with a pall of smoke and on reaching this area it was littered with small factories of all ages pushing dense smoke into the air and it was this dome of smoke we had seen from the distance up the valley. Dry dust blows off the edges as no pavements seem to exist and it creates little whirlwinds on the road as we pass by. The valley is long and flat as we approach the mountains and with reaching the end of the valley and the dome of smoke, we soon spot the border out of Kosovo. The guard smiles and takes our passports complete with UN passes and asks "You coming back through?" to which Bernard replied "No, to Athena, Athens" he smiles and stamps our passes, removes them from the passports and waves us through into the twilight world of no-man's land to the Macedonian border crossing where the fun was about to begin. A heavily laden KTM bike is stopped in the middle of this 'nowhere' land while the rider shuffles papers. As soon as he sees us he reaches for his camera and takes pictures as we trundle slowly past waving to him.
Bernard - "When he asked me for the green card I knew there was going to be some problems. The green card is the insurance bond or certificate issued for the motorcycle and we didn't have one (our UK insurance company would not issue one). We were fine in the EU with our standard insurance but, much like in Montenegro we would now have to purchase insurance for Macedonia. I handed him everything. He fingered all the papers and then said "Green card". Giving him my best "I do not understand" look I just continued pointing to the sheaf of documents in his hand. He starts to get annoyed with me as the queue builds behind. "Green card" is barked at me once again. I smiled sweetly at him and shrugged my shoulders as if "Language, do not understand!" I knew perfectly well what he wanted but I didn't have one! He fingered the papers and was getting wound up at Johnny Foreigner. To defuse the situation I pointed to one side and indicated should I pull over there? He nodded and so I edged the bike out of the stream and we both climbed off. Before long we joined by a female officer who spoke some English and the whole Green Card was replayed again, and again, and again. "Big problem" she said "No Green card, no entry" I put on my most endearing face and asked her how this can be done and we would be so grateful for her help. Truly, truly, grateful. "No green card, no entry" she repeated. Time to change tact. "where can this be done?" I pointed up the road "Here?" and then I pointed down the road "here?"
I'm getting stressed now as everything I have read says I can get it at the border - like in Montenegro. I try again. "Must be way to get here? Please, you can help us?" I am nearly on my knees at this point. She waves at us to follow and at this point she realised Cathy was blind and there was a change. She talks as we walk past the barriers "May be expensive......maybe as much as 50 Euro to do". Personally I take this to mean we are getting somewhere as we approach a small window. "If is needed, is needed" I reply. Our documents disappear in through a hatch where a woman tries to read the English V5 Registration document and transfers the details onto a Macedonian set of paperwork. As this happens she says "Very brave journey" I point to Cathy and say "Very brave" pointing to myself I say "Very foolish" she laughs at this and then says "50 Euros" which promptly disappears through the hatch and my papers reappear with a scrape of paper indicating I can enter Macedonia. We pull through the border after about an hour and enter Macedonia!" Cathy - It was interesting to listen to Bernard in full diplomatic flow as he wrestled with the situation. It appeared for most of the time they would not let us in but he kept gently worming his way through the obstacles and got us through. It was very skilfully done and he seemed to spot every opening in the conversation where a gap appeared, it really was well done and this write up does not do it justice; we have abbreviated an hour of discussions and negotiations which went on. We'll come back to this event more fully at a later date. For now we were in Macedonia!
As we approach the capital the roads deteriorate and dust blows. On the outskirts traffic lights appear and we suddenly realise we have not seen traffic lights for some time now but with the traffic lights comes beggars. They descend on us and by-pass every other - local - vehicle like a swarm of flies. Hands outstretched for money; one girl even shoves a baby at Bernard on the front imploring him for money. The baby has the biggest pair of brown eyes Bernard has ever seen and he tells me for a second - just a split second - they looked at each other and connected in some way. He cannot explain it, the only words he can find is "we knew each other" and then it was gone. Just like that. The people become increasingly desperate as the lights change and then we leave them behind as we move off. The next lights the whole scenario is replayed as the bike is surrounded by unkept, lank haired people who all mime various aspects of need. At every set of lights the bike becomes a magnet for the same ethnic people as the previous lights although some do the inevitable washing of car windshields around us and realise we do not need this from them. The streets are full of people and carpets hang over balconies as we head for a large hotel in the middle of this dust bowl of a city; it really is dusty and beggars seem to be everywhere. We didn't stay long at the Hotel when they wanted more than in Paris or Rome for a room. We did manage to get the price down a little but it is highly likely they could hear us laughing as we pulled off at their idea they could fleece the tourist! Before long we hit the motorway network and handed over our one Euro toll (yes, one euro!). Mile after mile we travelled on this road for our one Euro in complete contrast with the French and Italian systems which seem to charge by the metre rather than the kilometre! After many miles the bike chugged onto reserve and we pulled over onto a service station where we met two Dutch lorry drivers who told us of their trips to England and their love of Liverpool ("so friendly") and of their dislike of London ("Not friendly and full of traffic"). We laughed about many things including their children and travelling stories before they climbed up into their rigs and with horns honking they set off leaving us to finish our drinks. Mile after mile of empty motorway was consumed as we thumped further along looking for a hotel in vain. At a further stop hours later I discovered the joys of 'traditional toilets' in this part of the world (a hole in the floor inside a cubicle) and I declined the pleasure; at least postponing it for as long as possible! This was to be the pattern at further 'hunting toilets' stops made on down the road. We travelled on the side of a mountain for many miles and would have to stop at temporary traffic lights which counted down telling you how long it would be until they changed. Viaduct after viaduct we passed over with similar lights controlling the single line of traffic allowed over the bridges between mountains. People would get out of their car and light cigarettes and talk to each other as they baked in the sun. The cars with air conditioning sat smugly while everybody else (including us) baked. Eventually we came to a sign for a hotel and Bernard counted down the kilometres to the turn off and then he said, "oooops, I've missed the turn off!" At this point I told him unless he wanted to die then he had better find the turnoff pretty quick! He laughed and I knew he was only joking as we were both very ready to stop for the night. Soon I could feel the bike drifting to the right and round a sharp right hand bend and I knew we coming off the highway. So it was we arrived at the Hotel Vardar complete with tree lined terraces and a cool breeze to sweep away the day's heat. After a quick meal we collapsed into bed at 10pm. Day 31 (31st August)We decided to stay at the hotel for tonight to give us a chance to catch up on emails, cataloguing the photographs taken so far (of which there are hundreds) and catching up on the update for the web. The day was put aside for catching up really.
He wanted to take photographs to put on the website he runs
for Macedonian motorbikers. He is so happy to meet us and his enthusiasm about
the trip exudes from him on all levels. We sit talking about the trip and the
fact that petrol is now so dear in Macedonia that the bikers are starting to
struggle to pay for it. The petrol is not really very much different than in
other countries we have passed through but it is relative of course to income.
He reads Superbike magazine and is very aware of the differences in motorcycles
available, attitudes and behaviours of UK riders through the magazine (which he
gets from Greece as it is not available in his home country). We talk about all
things bike and people as he snaps away before leaving and wishing us a happy
journey We spent the whole day writing and reviewing materials before spending the afternoon sitting on the side of a hill watching a forest fire consume the hills several miles away to the sounds of fire engines screaming past on the roads way below us. The wind swept the fire away from the small town on the mountain opposite and, after several hours everything was brought under control leaving plumes of white smoke trailing high into the air. Day 32 (1st September)The next morning we leave and discover the border is only a few kilometres away from the hotel and during this short trip I tried my hand at videoing with hilarious results. We have had problems with using the video for some time now as it fails to record when Bernard tries to run it on the bike (strapped onto the front). My first attempt on this short run ended up showing a beautiful blue sky (and nothing else) while my second attempt showed a very nice view of the tarmac. It seems that my new career as a camera-woman is getting off to a wobbly start! Perhaps this is a ground-breaking career move for me although Bernard thinks that the DDA may well not cover this profession for blind people? You never know, it could be a first perhaps? We flew through the Greek border with absolutely no problems (with Greece being in the European Union) and the bike hummed happily to the both of us as we flew down the empty motorways at over 80mph with not another car in sight. The wind picked up and started to blow us around and it was really, really windy at one point which meant the speed came down to make the bike more manageable. As a blind person I really do not like the wind. It is the same whether I am walking or on the bike. When I am walking you may have come across the phrase "Blind man's fog" and it really is when you rely on your hearing so much. On the bike it can be very unsettling as the gusts can blast you several feet sideways before everything comes back under control. This happens time after time after time until you feel a little sea-sick in some ways with the rapid and violent movement of the bike in completely unexpected ways. In one of the our stops we discover that we have gained another hour somewhere (it's now five o'clock instead of four) along the way and we are puzzled at this and can only assume Greece is one hour further ahead than Macedonia. Time to reset the watches again and now we are two hours ahead of the UK. Before I left the UK I bought an 'automatic atomic talking watch' from a well known specialist provider and as far as the blurb read the watch automatically sets itself to local time. On the trip I soon discovered that it may well set itself but it is not to local - nor correct - time! The watch uses signals from Germany, USA, Japan and UK; not a lot of use when you're in Greece! So I discovered it does automatically reset itself but, unfortunately, not to the correct time for anywhere else apart from these regions! As we have moved further out of synch with the UK the more I have wrestled with the watch trying to get it to give the right time! In the end I gave up and left it two hours wrong and corrected it mentally whenever I needed the time. At this stop Bernard found his Greece sticker (GR) and whistled happy tunes as he placed it on the bike along with the MK sticker of Macedonia which he had found earlier in the day.
Heleni (Helena) told Bernard that her "Heart was hot and heavy" when she realised I could not see and soon she had gone out into the garden and picked some flowers for me (which she did again in the morning as we were leaving). Heleni even gave us a gift of a Bible to take on our travels prior to leaving the next day. In the evening we went out for something to eat (the hotel did no food) and Heleni directed us to a fish restaurant and the short walk did not prepare us for what was to follow! The small building looked like it was about to close and the owner did not speak a word of English. Bernard indicated we wanted something to eat and was met with a barrage of Greek. As always he tried French and was met with a shrug of the shoulders to indicate no. Much like in Montenegro he waved in the general direction of the kitchen and said "Me and you, in there?" before following the owner into the kitchen. He came back with a plate of small whole fish (including their heads), cheese, tomatoes and something else which I could not identify at all. The bread I understood and recognised although like a lot of Greek bread it was extremely tooth testing! We had a glass of wine and a beer before giving up really; the meal even defeated Bernard who will eat virtually anything but he couldn't work out what was supposed to be done with the fish. When we came to pay the bill, the owner put his hand on his heart and made everything a gift to us. I was completely taken aback at this gesture. I really was. Bernard went over and shook hands with the owner and made our thanks obvious and he just waved them off in a simple 'no problem'. As we walked back to the hotel we talked about this situation and Bernard told me he has come across this many times before where people just give you things with no ulterior motive at all. I have never come across this where strangers give you a meal and drinks and then will take no money for them. I fell asleep thinking of values and how kind people can be even when you cannot talk to them. Day 33 (2nd September)The next morning we ate everything in site as
we were starving after our foray out the night before and we decided that when
we left we would go back to
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"Being Blind means you see the world in a different way" (Catherine Birchall, 2006) This web site and all contents belong to Catherine Birchall and Bernard Smith. Please respect Copyright by citing ownership of all materials. Copyright © 2006 - www.worldtour.org.uk. All rights reserved. Last updated: 30-06-10. |
We woke up this morning like two school children going on
their holidays. The feel of excitement was so powerful at the prospect of moving
on. Bernard flew up and down the stairs to pack the bike such was his eagerness
to be on the move. Never have I seen him move so quick - apart from to head of
problems at border crossings! Before long the whole 'clan' had gathered for the
big farewells and Sloba or Petrovic Slobadan (to give him his proper full name) our
faithful, and very humorous waiter / manager / runner of the whole hotel wanted copies of the pictures we took which we
promised we would email him (and indeed we did so several days later).
Balkan history
you will realise that Montenegro is predominantly Serbian before its peaceful
transition to independence in 2006 thus we were doubly defined by the stickers!
At this border the guards all came over to the bike and the whole
border crossing came to a stop as they left other cars and trucks to come and
look and there was an exchange which I heard through the intercom. The border
guards went to the back of the bike and lo-and-behold all came back smiling due
to the SRB and MNE stickers (proudly) displayed! Bernard waxed lyrically about
how fantastic our journey through Montenegro had been and how lovely all the
people we had met were. Soon we were all friends and there was much
'glad-handing' as Bernard calls it (shaking hands). 
Soon we entered concrete road blocks designed to make you
zigzag between them and they became increasingly closer together to slow down
your progress as you approached the heavily fortified and razor wired United
Nations area. Riding the bike at barely
walking pace we negotiated the various barriers and we went down a fairly
steep concrete trench in the road which acted as the final main barrier to the
crossing (designed to really, really slow down any vehicles approaching). Waved
down by the Kosovo police Bernard (in his usually jovial English voice) said
"Well hello there!" and it was immediately apparent she did not speak English
and within seconds we were joined by a United Nations Officer who smiled and
asked us where were going. "Athens" was Bernard's reply and it was explained
that we would need a special pass to enter Kosovo. Telling us to pull over
past the barriers and wait, he took our passports and explained it would
only take a few minutes to sort out. We pulled over under the full view of machine gun
posts and climbed off the bike. 
armoured troop carrier came thundering up the road followed by two
white UN four-by-four vehicles which all stopped in a cloud of dust. Soldiers
leapt out from everywhere and set up a cordon around the crossing while
photographers appeared from one of the white UN vehicles. Snap, snap, snap and
the sounds of French could he heard all around me and Bernard described a tall,
very handsome and very senior French officer striding towards us as we stood
waiting. 
We stood and waited and then Bernard's eyes lit up - a
photograph of me with the armoured personnel carrier perhaps?
The road out of Pristina was flanked by scrap yard after
scrap yard full of cars of every conceivable shape and size; Bernard commented
that the Indians and the Chinese would love this place for the sheer quantity of
scrape metal available. You never know, there may be a thriving export business
already established!
Within a few hundred yards we are in the queue for entering
Macedonia and we edge forward to the post. I hear a voice say "Green Card"
and at this point I'll let Bernard explain what transpired!
She thought and said "Not here" and looks adamant. 
There was immediate change apparent as Bernard described the
neatly kept fields which whizzed past on the good roads. The highway was quiet and vineyards appeared in neatly kept rows compared
to scrap yards and massive rebuilding we'd experienced in Kosovo. The whole
country feels cleaner and fresher. We head for the capital Skopje (pronounced
Skopia) and the speeds increase until we are whizzing along at 70 mph and the
bike stretches and strains as if it enjoys the speed. This is what this bike was
build for. Not for 30 mph straining along but eating miles over big distances
and we laugh as the miles are covered. It feels like we are really on the move
again. But not for long!
While sitting on the terrace writing Peter approached us and
introduced himself and asked if he could take pictures as he had seen the bike
and he was intrigued by the messages on the panniers about "A blind woman, two
wheels and 25,000 miles." 
through his country. 
Miles and miles of motorways quickly followed as we hunted our
pillow for the night before finding the Hotel Gonatas Beach where a lovely
elderly couple greeted us in a strange humorous mixture of Greco-English (ish).
Many hilarious misunderstandings and confusions occurred before we settled into
our room and when they realised I was blind they could not do enough for us.
the fish restaurant of the previous night and take a
picture of the kind owner. Heleni gave me big hug and kissed me three times on
the cheek as we were leaving after Bernard went and found her to say goodbye and
to thank her. Both Panos (her husband) and she waved us off as we set off back
down the road to capture an image of the man who fed us for nothing.
As we pulled up on the bike the cafe was
packed with locals all sitting under the shade and Bernard hopped off the bike
saying "Back in a minute" as he went to find the owner; later telling me he
marched into the kitchen past the staff and waved to him to come outside. Soon
we were altogether and - through another local translating - we told him why we
had come back and that we would like a picture of him for the story.
Navigating through the traffic which gives no quarter and is
complete pandemonium we arrived at the Hostel we were aiming for and found in
the Rough Guide to Europe. The room was much more expensive than we anticipated
in a Youth Hostel (64 Euro for the night). It was interesting to note that the
person who wrote the rough guide entry for this Hostel cannot in all honesty
have stayed there. The write up was completely unlike our experiences and
observations. Everything - apart from breathing - seemed to be forbidden. You
could not wash your clothes. You could not bring food or drink into your rooms.
None of the hot taps worked to stop you washing your clothes. If you wanted to
have your clothes washed a very expensive laundry service was available (1Euro
50 cents for example to have a pair of knickers, would you believe - ironed).
The bar itself is called The Red Indian and the owner is a Greek with
a serious affinity with all things 'American and American Indian'. He drives a
bright red jeep, wears fringed clothes, beads, bangles and cowboy hat as he sits on the
pavement outside his cafe. After a couple of drinks we walked to several hotels
to check prices and they varied considerably . We found our eventual new
home The City Plaza Hotel where we negotiated with the manager (saving 40 Euro a
night on the advertised prices) for a double room which was really en-suite; it
even had hot water and a proper shower! We would have to repack the bike for the
next day and move all of three blocks.
At least this was one problem solved for the time being.
The roof garden has the most fantastic view of the Acropolis
and the full panoramic view was sifted through later on so that I could
appreciate the site across the city. This is the city where over half the Greek
population of the whole country are situated. The population of Greece is
approximately 11 million and the city houses 6 million of them and the view from
the roof garden encompasses a large proportion of them. 