“And when you arrive, will you meet the Dalai Lama?

Of course not! Well, maybe to his teachings.”

//// If we had been told, we would not have believed it!

After 8 months, 15 countries, 14,000 km, 100 Tibetan prayer flags raised, we arrived in Dharamshala, home of Tibetans in exile (North India) for a few days!

Everything went by VERY quickly.

It’s hard to realize that we’re here; we let ourselves be carried by the smooth and freshness of the Himalayas!

We put our bicycles on the terrace with a view on the valley, and considering the difference in elevation, they might stay there for a while!

Soon, our Tibetan friends tell us:

“After such a long journey, you must ask for an audience with his Holiness!”

So we laugh a little, we don’t believe it at all! But pushed by their optimism and their kindness, we try an email!

Just as we are thinking that we have created a false hope, the phone vibrates: we have an answer! See you on Wednesday 9 November, at 7.20am! Wow, that’s in less than 36 hours! We reread the email 5 times to make sure we understood it correctly, we are in shock! There must be a negation missing somewhere, for sure!

But what do we offer the Dalai Lama?

A bicycle? A drawing? A letter? A book?

Ok, let’s do the last three at the same time! Anai launches into the express layout of a booklet mixing illustrations, photos and texts! Printing, collage, annotation and binding: it’s done. Not quite perfect, but the heart is in it at 2000%!

D-Day, we arrive a bit early at the temple. Léa, a friend who joined us for our arrival, accompanies us. She didn’t think she would be allowed to go through the door: palpitations, emotions and sudden stress when she understood that her name was on the list!

Once through the security gate, we try as best we can to get our cute little key-ring of pastis and momo in: nothing to do, “alcohol is forbidden”.

In the queue, we meet Anne and Gérard, two Frenchmen who are very engaged in humanitarian work in Bhutan. A moment full of kindness and gentleness, just like the general atmosphere at Tenzin Gyatso’s doorstep.

“Cycle, cycle!”

Our turn comes. With our hearts ready to explode, the three of us are led towards the Dalai Lama. He takes our hands while one of his translators explains what we have just finished, with the map of the journey in front of us.

To our surprise, His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama thanks us!

“Thank you

“Very appreciate

We pitch slightly before asking him for a blessing of the last prayer flags.

We float, a little haggard: “put yourself there” for a last photo, the one that proves that all this was not a hallucination!

We are so grateful to have been able to live this moment, a few tears flow. It will be half an hour before we are able to leave the temple.

Dazed, we recover our spirits over a coffee.

“After ecstasy, the laundry.“

PS: no photomontage was involved, yes, yes, for real!

• Click HERE to see more pictures of Dubai by bike (or almost) !

Landing in Dubai by bike.

The ferry is approaching a coastline from which not a single strand of the horizon can be seen. In the night that has fallen, we discover an illuminated army of parallelpipedal, phallic, octagonal, curved, pointed, twisted silhouettes: there is something for everyone!

Paradoxically, we feel calmer: we have FINALLY changed countries. That’s it! 

We don’t like the city, the buildings and even less the idea we have of Dubai, but who cares! We are OUT! Well, almost. 

There’s one last detail: the day before the ferry (at 10pm), we realised that we needed a PCR test to enter the Emirates. We played the “they won’t check, and if they do, we hand them a QR code they can’t read” card. We know it’s a gamble but we have no choice. We will NOT RETURN to Iran, even if we have to get down on our knees at customs. 

As soon as we disembark, an officer yells at us: we have to get on the bus! We explain to him that we have to get our bikes back: we have to get on the bus! He gets angry, boils, stamps and gets impatient. Before imploding, the captain explains that we have to get our bikes back. As he realises his error of judgement, he raises his voice even more to regain his composure. It’s both comical and unpleasant but whatever. 

We are put in a separate room (the one for foreigners who are not covered by a full veil or a gandoura). The wait is interminable: the hyper-high-tech machine that reads passports by itself doesn’t work. None of our passports passes the terminal and all the staff is scrambling around to figure it out. The man VS machine battle begins .

It will take us not far from 3 hours for them to finally comply with a good old fashioned customs stamp. And no PCR-test checked, we go for it! (or almost… Another good hour to scan the panniers of all the bikes for the first time of the trip and ask Raph about the strange content of his water bottle: “send! “send?” “beach” “send bitch?” “oh, sand! beach you mean! OH YAYAYA!” …)

We hit the traffic, at night. 

Hurry, hurry. 

The transition is brutal: the vehicles are of a power and speed that we had forgotten! They are lined up, each in their own lane, one by one. It is square, even confusing. The horns have changed dynamics: they are no longer there to greet us, but to invite us to get out of the way. We feel out of step, in Dubai on a bike, with our big bags in the middle of all these gigantic illuminated signs: is this New York?

Here, we discover that we can order a helicopter on Uber! No time, do it faster !

And then a scooter stops, a Moroccan man greets us: “Enjoy Dubai! It’s hard to imagine how, but then again, who cares: we’re out of Iran!

New space, but no Emiratis. 

We found the cheapest hotel in town: it’s still overpriced, but it’s hardly possible to camp around for a week. 

After a good hour on the highway of the skyscrapers, we discover with delight that the lodging is held by an Indian: we get closer! Hilarious, we discover that they put our bags on a luggage trolley: the absurdity is at its height. 

Serge, the bouncer, explains to us that there are 8 nightclubs (Pakistani, Bengali, Indian…) with or without dancers in the building, “because people here are shy, they don’t want to be seen going out and then coming back accompanied, there at least, they can just go upstairs”. It’s unbelievable. 

/The hidden side of Dubai.

Gold on sand. 

While we were looking forward to having a drink legally, we quickly went downhill when we discovered the prices charged. Yet we are in the cheapest area of the city: here, an astronomical number of people have arrived from abroad thinking of making a fortune in the Emirates before finding themselves stuck there. It’s quite simple, in one week, we have met ZERO “local” people. We can finally play the “where are you from” game. And such a diversity of cultures in such a small space: it’s confusing!

Religion. 

Only one thing doesn’t change from Iran: the sound of the minaret. In every restaurant, market, shop, car park, every little nook and cranny has its microphone to assiduously transcribe the prayers.

While we are discovering “modernity”, all the shops close one after another: it’s prayer time. What they didn’t tell us is that it’s THE prayer. Suddenly people are lining up everywhere with their rugs side by side. From the parks to the pavements to the road, the traffic is blocked and people start bowing on the rhythm of the loudspeakers chanting. It’s amazing. The whole city seems to have come to a standstill.

Fifteen minutes. And then everything starts again, even faster!

LA biggest. 

The biggest activities of the biggest tower of the biggest mall of the biggest scam of the biggest souk of the biggest artificial ski slope of the most luxurious hotel of the biggest air traffic of the biggest wallet of the biggest excess of the biggest absurdity: welcome to Dubai!

Unless you are a student of architecture, the interest of the place does not jump out at you. You spend almost your entire month’s budget on practically nothing. Everything is imported, frozen. So when we get to the beach, the question arises: is it the original sand, or is it the finest, most hypoallergenic, sandy sand of the rarest island in the unknown archipelago of a tax haven?

The masters of the package. 

In this curious transition, we are accompanied by our two German friends on bikes -Monica & Bernardht-, met on the ferry! Like us, they are going all the way to India, before heading East. 

They take the plane one day earlier: that’s enough to teach us the art of folding and tetris -the German way: after two long hours, they manage to fit their two bicycles in the cardboard without even taking advantage of the elasticity of this material: it’s straight, it’s impeccable. It’s perfect. Not even a “blister”. Bravo!

The same day comes the time to say goodbye to Raph, who takes his flight back to Montreal and to his Doudou: enjoy the fish&chips! . 

Looking for the lost boxes.

Now it’s our turn. We thought of a lot of things for the departure but we “underplayed” the difficulty of one task: “finding a box is easy, we’ll see later!”. Not in Dubai, obviously. 

No bins. Nowhere. Waste is suddenly invisible. Nothing is lying around. We comb the whole neighbourhood, the post office, the parcel companies, the electronics, electrical and sports shops, the shopping centres… Nothing! In the best of cases, we find a few boxes that have just been emptied but “too small”. So at nightfall, Anai tries everything and enters the transit area for planes and freighters “the Sea and Sky logistic hangar”: where EVERYTHING arrives: a real labyrinth where thousands of people are busy unloading, loading, emptying, filling, closing, connecting, driving… One thing is sure: this is THE cardboard paradise! After asking about thirty people, Anai gets tired. We end up taking her to a shed that does custom packing with one detail: it’s for wooden boxes : might be a bit heavy na. All the other boxes are not made to measure. The plane takes off tomorrow and still no box. So GG ends up contacting one last bike shop, a little further on.

Our last chance. BINGO! He has two. A South Indian, who ends up SELLING us his “bin”! Tired, we end up giving him 7 euros; our faithful steeds are worth it!

The folding. 

The next day, it’s off to the Tetris, in the gloomy basement of the hotel -under the empty gaze of groups of unwelcoming Chinese.

It’s a surprisingly simple affair: saddles, luggage racks, wheels, handlebars, pedals, crutches, everything is easily dismantled!

The only problem is how to fit it all into such a small box! We slip clothes into the hollows, trinkets into the corners. We stuff a little. 

By dint of pushing and pulling we end up almost joining the two ends of the box, quickly quickly, let’s tape it up! Come on, let’s do 10 laps! It’s yawning, it’s swollen, but it will do! Let’s go ! Let’s fly to India, tchallo!

“It’s over 32kg, it’s not allowed”. 

Are you sure? 

Despair: it’s the bike’s box that she points to. 

“It’s true that it was a bit heavy…” 

After a delicate opening-closing operation (without having any knife or tape at hand), we fly to India now, come on! Tchallo for real!

Delhi. Mother India.

Arrival at 3am, without having slept in. Our mounts finally arrive, the wheel axles have punctured the two boxes. The reconstitution of the puzzle on wheels does not look good. 

In the middle of the airport luggage belts, we assiduously start assembling the first bike, almost easily. The tyres are inflated and we congratulate ourselves: nothing seems to be missing!

We attack the second bike with our eyes already less in front of the holes. As we take the frame out of the box, the fork slips off the handlebars, the ball bearings fall off, the joints follow. We widen our eyes a little more:

“Did you know that this was there?”

“No. Was it above or below?”

“No idea.”

And here we are, groping around, trying to put a seal here and a bearing here. In one direction and then the other and then all in the same place. Never mind, that’ll do. 

The problems continue: the chain has made a knot. After a quarter of an hour, we start to despair. An airport employee asks us “Chai?”, we answer him “Bike fixing?” He immediately gets down to work, without seeming to know what he’s doing, he pulls on the chain, fiddles, pulls, turns and paf! He has just saved us. Without doubt the best tea of the trip! Let’s go! 

Crossing Delhi. 

While we imagined leaving early and avoiding the traffic, here we are outside at the rush hour of the Indian capital.

We are seriously tired and after a few kilometres we say to ourselves that it was a really stupid idea. GG’s handlebars wobble and then the fork screams: we start to understand the importance of these tiny parts. 

The traffic intensifies, we ride on the left, everything is reversed, the pollution is tasty, the cows are dragging, the tuktuks are coming, the trucks are driving, everyone is forcing their way through, the horns are making a very long and continuous strident sound (and slightly aggressive in the morning): no doubt, we are in Delhi! 

“Ah no, we can’t get run over now!”

After 40 very long kilometres we see it: the Tibetan quarter! Majnu Ka Tila! Prayer flags fly on the roofs of the settlement. The faces are familiar. We made it! 

Looking back, this cycling through Delhi will have been a necessary rough transition after a giant leap from Dubai to India!

Tomorrow Dharamshala . 

This feedback is honestly one of the most difficult to write down, as bipolarity have been the key word of this travel on bicycles in the “Islamic Republic of Iran”.

It will not have the same format as the others: no sharing of photos/info/names/places related to the people who – defying the government – have warmly welcomed us: what may seem like a detail for us may cost them their freedom.

Like Armenia, it is a country that we had immediately removed from our itinerary (the first itinerary, the one that imagined that Azerbaijan would open its land borders). Iran attracted us with its story but politically it was a serious problem for us. Worse, 6 months ago, we read “Sufi, my love” (the meeting between the poet Rumi and the dervish Shams Tabriz) regretting not being able to discover birthplaces of Sufism.

And here we are! At the border of the country, hesitant. Regarding the latest news, we review our route a little: we decide to carefully avoid the capital Tehran, Kurdistan and the north coast of the country : places where the protests seem to be more intense since the death of Masha Amini.

“We go to Khoy and see how it goes. If it’s not okay, we’ll go back to Turkey” was our first idea.

——-> more pictures of Iran HERE

To cross THE Iranian border by bike.

We’ve heard so many stories… “they even take the white vinegar off you”, “they searched everything”, “you have a drone?!” Send it back from Georgian post office! “, “hours of questions”, “everything you have may seem suspicious”, “hide your cameras, hard drive, memory cards”, “they take away all your food to force you to re-buy everything on the spot”, “you won’t find anything for at least 100 km”…etc etc. We get carried away, we make a whole mountain of it and here we are, a few kilometers from the country, tight feeling in the stomach, at 5am, reorganizing our bags by 0°C. We hide the drone under a pile of dirty panties, sanitary napkins and socks. We hide our memory cards in the middle of the coffee; we store the hard drive in a make-up box: real smugglers. We then take out our longest clothes. In Iran, you have to hide every part of your body (especially for women): arms, hair, legs. Honestly, with this temperature, it doesn’t really bother us.

As we approach the tiny border post in the mountains, our paranoia is at its peak. 

Trembling, we groped our way forward. One of the officers calls out to us and beckons us over. After carefully bypassing the X-ray, our bikes are dropped off and kept at the exit. No search, no strange questions and nice customs officers! As an added bonus, a gang of soldiers took care of getting us past everyone – we didn’t ask for much! Relieved, we still need 20 km of descent to dare to take a camera in the middle of nowhere. 

First stopover in Khoy.

First mission: to change dollars into Rials.

No foreign bank card works in the country because of the embargo, so it requires a little anticipation! Beginning of the confusion: with only one note we came back with enormous bundles: we are millionaires and we do not understand anything about the local currency. In this peaceful town, we discover with amazement that it is here that the Sufi dervish Sham Tabriz is buried! After saying hello to him, we set off again.

Women and the veil.

As soon as temperature rise up, the lengths that cover our whole body begin to be felt: Pedaling with a veil is not that easy! How to wear it without looking like an Easter egg? How to make sure that it holds despite the wind and the effort? How to make it not drag in the pedals? How to position it so as not to have half of the blind spot field of vision? How can you bear the heat that emanates from it, under the blazing sun? And there? Are wicks sticking out? By dint of effort, we do too much and quickly the question arises: “Are you Muslim?”

“You wear the veil better than an Iranian!”

Iranian women often wear coloured veils that they nonchalantly let down to reveal their hair and when we are invited, we are quickly invited to remove the hijab and make ourselves comfortable! Our friends are often embarrassed by this dictate imposed on all women, regardless of their beliefs. We don’t really know where we can stand in this context. Especially as we also come across different discourses: a woman calls us to ask our opinion on the veil, we reply – a little confused – with a ready-made answer. The exchange concludes with a lively “Thank you for respecting the Muslim culture of our country”! We then hastily put up the scarf on our hair, a light embarrassment on the corner of our lips. 

Veil or no veil, what strikes us from the first days is the approach of these women. They are strong, charismatic and friendly. Never in any country have so many women come to meet us with so many questions and so much spontaneity, for an exchange, a smile, a tea! 

As we approach the cities, we are also surprised to see so many Iranian women with a small square bandage on their nose. 

• That’s a lot of head-butting!

We then understand that they are rhinoplasties! With this compulsory veil, there is a real obsession with the “perfect face”: when your nose is one of the only visible parts of your body, it is understandable that you pay particular attention to it! Of course, full make-up is also there and plastic surgery is a “graal” towards which many people (even men) tend!

Freedom of expression?

We are quickly surprised to hear people speak so freely about politics, the disastrous economic context and the violent repression. Iranians are particularly curious and open to discussion. Of course, we are aware that there are certain subjects to avoid and that we have to be careful with every word we say: there are many spies and we never know who we are dealing with. 

We are often approached in public places to ask us where we come from and what we think about Iran, politics, Iranians, the government, religion… It is frustrating not to be able to answer these questions sincerely and freely! We have to deal with evasive and superficial answers. But words don’t need to be spoken: the eyes say enough. 

The only subject that can be substantiated is the way the French look at the Iranians: many people ask us (insistently) if we think they are terrorists! While all of them dream of fleeing the country, they are worried about the label that Westerners may put on them because of the stupidity of their government.

The arrival in a more “free” region: Azerbaijan.

The locals quickly point out to us with pride that this is not Iran, this is Azerbaijan. Turkish people! The transition is smooth: we enjoy exchanging with our few words of Turkish. 

However, the excess of kindness is even worse than in Turkey: we are stopped every kilometre to offer us fruits! As we pedal on, our panniers are filled with apples, grapes and peaches! Even better than the refreshments at the Tour de France, on the four-lane road a car slows down getting close to Anai, the passenger rolls down the window and hands her three apples. Anai nimbly grabs them – all without stopping!

To add a bit of adventure, on the same day, we noticed a white car -recognizable because it’s a brand new one- follow us for almost 10 km. We salute the effort: it’s not an easy task to follow bikes going at 20km/h on a busy motorway and stopping every 500 metres to eat fruit! The guy doesn’t give up: he stops tirelessly on the side of the road at each break and then starts again when we overtake him. This absurd ceremony will have kept him busy for a good hour! We finally lose him at the entrance of the city -thanks to the traffic jams. We will never know the reason for the slowest chase in history and the worst tailing of the century.

We then push the bikes into the city, waiting patiently for it to wake up from its daily nap. We had in mind to push the door of the Red Crescent to spend the night there: it seems that it is possible! We didn’t even have time to reach it when a car stops, an enthusiastic man gets out, followed by his wife. He makes us understand that he is a cyclist and that he will find us a place to sleep. So we follow this car which leads us to a bike shop. Here we are in what we will call the “Iranian whirlwind”, an effervescence of people swarming around us with the photo session that goes with it! We are taken from all angles. So many photos that we could make our own 3D model! While the smartphones are waving, the bikes are being re-inflated without us even noticing. We are then taken to a flat where we are welcomed like queens! We spend an incredible evening with another family who takes us from shopping centre to cafes, then from other shops to restaurants to introduce us to everyone! They even took care of picking up their 16 year old niece with her perfect English who, from then on, had the heavy task of translating all the exchanges!

The next morning, we woke up early! The whirlwind is not over! We were far from imagining that the town’s club was waiting for us to cycle the first 20 kilometres with us, followed by a broom wagon! More than forty people: young people, old people, women, it made us feel good to take this nice little world with us! While yesterday we were still imagining leaving like mice, the group of young people was busy: they confided to us that they were stressed by the idea of meeting foreigners for the first time: they spent the evening revising their English and making revision sheets!

First interaction with the police.

After a huge straight line without the slightest shadow, we see a building on the side of the road, we don’t really know what it is but we stop! Two policemen sitting cross-legged, cup of tea in hand, give us big signs and invite us on their picnic carpet on stilts. We comply. We sit down in front of them, not very comfortable with the Iranian police in this context. Inside, we smile: “Even in uniform, a cop in socks with a çay loses complete credibility.” 

Then begins the parade of food, the tea flows freely, the selfies follow one another. We quickly understand that we are in a restaurant. The owner makes us taste our first fresh pistachios! A discussion starts quickly, with their few words of English and our few words of Turkish, we almost understand each other well! We take the opportunity to ask them if we can pitch the tent behind the building.

“Sleeping under the tent? No way!”
In their view, it’s not safe to camp for two women, it’s even unthinkable (it will often be impossible for us to succeed in wild-camping without being invited, under the pretext that “it’s dangerous here”). The policeman then set out to find us a place to stay. Finally, the manager of the restaurant and his wife welcome us. Food at will, laughter, and visit of their pistachio farm! We spend a nice evening in their house with a floor covered with pistachios (drying)! The next day, we are ready to take the road again, our hearts full of gratitude and our stomachs full of a champion breakfast!

Tabriz.

After a very long day on the road, here we are, arriving in Tabriz before 4pm (THE Tabriz of Shams Tabriz!). We won’t meet Shams there, but Lamin, an Algerian traveller in his sixties. He amazes us with his positivity. He has just arrived after a 36-hour bus ride from Istanbul, tired but still on his feet and ready to explore the city, even though he forgot his shoes on the shuttle. We spend a nice day with him, we like to listen to his stories of life on the road and in Algeria! We meet him again completely by chance on the island of Hormuz, three weeks later!

A new teammate.

After ten days in Iran, Raph’, a friend from Quebec, joins us to share his 3 weeks of holidays towards the south, Dubai, where we will take our respective planes. On paper the idea is ideal, the reality is, of course, more contrasted. Between the joy of seeing a friend again and the difficulties of matching our wishes and visions of the trip, these 3 weeks with 3 are a new challenge! We feel the difference between a long trip and a holiday. And the more we are, the more complicated the decision making can be: so in a context as particular as this one, you can’t even imagine how hard it can be! We have already shared parts of the road with many travellers, but this is different! A new dynamic is established, we have a good laugh, and we notice again how different it is to travel with a man. People don’t even talk to us anymore and we have to admit that in some contexts, it’s not unpleasant!

They stare at Raph before saying: “Iranian?” Dark-eyed, they all fall for it! With his local bike and his Sherpa bags, he can only be our guide! With the few words of Farci he has learned, Raph plays along. When they understand the trick, they still don’t believe it: “You look like Iranian!”

Caravanserai.

After having fortuitously started crossing the desert (luckily, the day before someone warns us that there is nothing left for the next 120 kilometres: “no asphalt, no water, no gas station, no food, no trees, the real desert!”), we stop for the night in a caravanserai. A vast courtyard surrounded by buildings where caravans used to stop on the Silk Road. A haven of peace where you can pitch your tent in the desert immensity, in the shade! Here, no light pollution, the night is black and lets the milky way appear!

In the middle of the night, Anai wakes up GG. “Someone is walking around the tent.” The sound of footsteps comes closer and closer, until they step on the plastic sheets a few centimetres from our heads. We then pluck up the courage to open the canvas: who is roaming around here, in the middle of nowhere? A beautiful and fierce fox raises its head and stares at us without moving! We disturb them (him and his family) while they feast -in the bin we left in front of the tent! 

Internet and the connection with reality.

In the country, internet cuts are numerous and to get around the censorship you have to use a VPN. The first days, we manage quite well with the wifi we got on our way. But it stops working quickly: the Iranian government shows an infinite creativity to restrict communication between people, to censor the release of information (especially images of repression) outside the territory: they succeed every day in destroying one by one the best VPN. We met a young man who told us he had 36 VPNs.

• What government is capable of cutting off access to the internet, even at the risk of self-destructing its own economy?

The art of shooting yourself in the foot, but the governement bearded ones don’t give a shit.

Without access to the internet, it’s so dangerously easy for us to become disconnected from the political reality of the country. We cycle in the middle of nowhere, meet incredible people. Each new random connection to the network is a violent reminder of how dramatic the situation in the country is and how it is deteriorating day by day. Iranians injured, imprisoned for protesting, sometimes killed. Arbitrary arrests of tourists, phone searches: photos, contacts. The repression is getting stronger and stronger. 

We’ve been on the road for more than 7 months now and we’ve never felt so many contradictions. What are we doing here?

A complete opposite vision of “wild camping”.

While it was almost impossible for us to camp with 2 people, Raph’s presence suddenly calms the Iranians’ fears. They advise us all the same: “don’t camp far from towns and villages, the more people around, the better!”. We are confused but we finally comply: there are dedicated spaces in each city (“no no, don’t put the tent in the grass, but on the concrete part”): the park suddenly turns into a shisha-çay-camping party at night!

Young people and homosexuality.

We sympathise with the young waiter in a restaurant. The next day, he invites us to his house with his family. Impossible to pay anything: we are his guests! He confides in us, with tears in his eyes, his desire to leave Iran, like so many other young people. He learns English quickly and eagerly. He also tells us that many of his friends are homosexuals, and that they risk the death penalty for that. As he asks us about the situation in France, he gets stars in his eyes when we tell him that marriage is legal there. 

• With each beautiful person we meet, we can laugh out loud as well as feel deep sadness when we hear some of the stories.

What the hell are we doing here?

The more the days go by, the more dramatic stories we hear and the more powerless we feel. We are in the middle of the country when the French embassy asks all its citizens to leave Iran as soon as possible. And for good reason, there are many arbitrary arrests of tourists. 

• Is it worth risking your freedom for a trip? And maybe even to put in danger the freedom of the people you meet? Westerners have an unstoppable ability to convince themselves that they are smarter than others, that they will not be arrested, that they know how to look after their own safety. We can convince ourselves of the contrary, but we have no idea what is really going on.

Nadushan, the çay fight.

After two days in the desert, we collapse under the first tree to devour our picnic. People are intrigued by our presence here. Children approach shyly and emit amused “hello” “hello” over and over! The first family approaches and invites us warmly. We refuse several times, in accordance with the “Taruf” rule, then we finally accept, specifying that we will finish our lunch (piece of bread) before coming. A second family arrives a few minutes later and invites us for tea! Everyone insists, on the right, on the left… We don’t know where to turn!

A few hours later, a man guides us to a guesthouse that was recommended to us! Here we are in front of an incredible building: a castle on top of a hill. The view on Nadushan is just incredible! We laugh: there must be a mistake! He shakes his head: it’s right there!

From now on, we are entitled to an exclusive visit of the village: we enter the prayer room, we discover the person behind the psalmodies which flow from the high towers of the mosque, we climb on all the roofs, terraces, all the courtyards open up and we even climb to the top of the minaret! We wonder if we are not turning into a heresy but the authenticity of our host relieves our doubts.  

Still in desert areas, and in the incredible harmony of the village, we are once again far from being able to imagine the issues at stake in the big cities. The Internet has suddenly started working, like a reminder. 

Shiraz, not Shiraz?

After much debate, it’s off to Shiraz, “since we have to”. Visit the famous pink mosque and the site of Persepolis. Probably the most touristic site of the country that “must be seen”. We don’t retain much of this city that we visit very quickly, with a tight heart: what are we doing here?

24 hours on the clock before taking a night bus to Bandar Abbas.

• Is burying your head in the sand the key? For us it is impossible. Visiting a country in this context becomes an ordeal. We have only one desire, to cross the border and take our damn flight to Delhi. But now there are three of us, we make decisions together and we have to make compromises. Compromises that put our freedom at risk? Let’s do some damage control, together. The gargantuan size of the country means that we have to cycle less and travel from city to city in buses. To be honest, we don’t like it. We just feel like we’re flying over, it goes way too fast and at the same time, not fast enough. We get off the bus feeling like we’ve changed countries – but still not. It’s quite frustrating, but we try to adapt, it’s also part of the trip!

Hormuz Island: finally out!

First relief: not being on the “mainland” anymore. It’s not much, but we already breathe better despite the sudden 40° and the extremely high humidity. We remember Hamed, an Iranian we met in Turkey: 

“If you have to visit ONLY ONE place in Iran, it’s the island of Hormuz!”. We understand better.

Hormuz is a small fishermen’s island with mountainous and volcanic landscapes whose colours are as magnificent as they are unreal! Here, the red sand is eatable! 

The price of freedom?

New encounters remind us of the severity and control of the government: we learn that iranians have to do a 2-year military service to hope to get a passport. Those who don’t comply “can” pay $20,000 to hope to travel outside the borders. 

Qeshm Island: waiting for the ferry to Dubai.

Funny feeling, as if the trip was over and we were waiting to catch our flight. The atmosphere on the island is different from the Iran we have been in! Buildings are growing like mushrooms, cars are brand new and women are hidden by coloured masks/burqas. We leave Raph, well surrounded, for a few days, the time for each of us to do a bit of the road in our own way, on this peaceful island, before meeting again to happily cross the Persian Gulf.

Final reminders. 

We have just found a VPN that works and we receive the testimony of a German cyclist who was arrested and questioned at length, again.

In Bandar Abbas, as night falls, Iranians gather to demonstrate and shout at the dictatorship: the reaction is immediate: the motorbike militia takes charge of shooting all the demonstrators and non-demonstrators. The inhabitants start buying weapons to defend themselves. We are told of a civil war.

The opportunity to ask ourselves the same questions: why are we here? To risk our freedom for a trip? To consciously visit a country that millions of locals dream of leaving? To visit a police state that sows terror? Why are we there?

• We no longer feel in tune with the values of our own journey. But travelling as a threesome means finding compromises. We could have split up and gone off on our own – it’s impossible to let a friend go off on his own in such an unstable context. We feel so helpless in this situation. There’s nothing we can do but talk about Iran, to speak out about the incredible people we meet and the stupidity of this damn government. 

• That’s what we tried to do. 

Step away.

We get the bikes on the ferry the next morning, with other bike travellers. They share the same questions and visions: it’s good to exchange on these subjects -and on other, lighter ones too. 

On the ferry deck, the wind blows the veils off , falling on shoulders. 

Dubai appears with relief in the distance: we really didn’t dream about it but we are infinitely grateful to see these huge modern towers: we are out of Iran!

——

On our entire trip, Iranians are by far the most open, caring and generous people we’ve met. But they are people who are fed up with the repression, violence and bullshit of their government – which has only gotten worse in the last two years. We can only hope that one day they will be able to live fully in the freedom and peace they deserve, regardless of their religion. We also hope that we have been able to make their voice resonate a little more beyond their closed territory.

[Armenia Georgia Turkey, D+ 199 – 8,214 km. 15-27 September] 

Let’s rewind! Political absurdity and the closure of the borders between Armenia and Turkey push us to go back up through Georgia and Turkey by bike to continue! 

Click HERE to see more photos of our trip to Georgia and Turkey by bike!

Ninotsminda.

After a last Armenian pass and incredible (though very arid) landscapes, we are back in Georgia for only one night. On the road we meet a lot of smiling and nice people, we seriously start to wonder if we are in the right country. We then realize that many Armenians live here: everything is explained! Precisely, after this long day, we find a guesthouse run by a hilarious Armenian. A simple but well thought place where we feel very comfortable. Cherry on the bike: he accepts that we pay with the Armenian banknotes still in our pockets. The next morning, the manager is with a friend. When we ask him if he is Armenian too, he answers us laughing “of course he is Armenian, don’t you see his nose?” We already miss Armenia! 

We then take the road to the Turkish border by bike, which is only about fifty kilometres away. We decide to trust our GPS to take a shortcut which avoids the main road (which we imagine dense). We are alone on the road, surrounded by the immensity of these arid mountainous landscapes. Some inhabitants look at us, surprised – this famous look, which should alert us, but no!

Then, bang!, a few kilometres later, things start to go wrong. The asphalt gradually disappears until we can hardly distinguish the road from the fields of stones! Miracle, a car. The guy stops and makes us understand that we should not continue, the road is really bad and way too steep. He then points to a direction “Asphalt”. In the distance: nothing. Hilly and rocky fields as far as the eye can see. But hey, we trust him more than our GPS. So here we are through drought, rocks and hills for several kilometres. We admire raptors of an impressive size on each small “summit”. Then, after pushing, pedalling, pushing, pedalling: we finally find a “real” road! To celebrate, we treat ourselves to a comforting snack. A van stops at our level, two men inside. An Armenian and a Turk, they explain to us that they are friends: that makes even more heart-warming when we know the political relationship between the two countries!

Back in Turkey.

After passing about twenty kilometres of stopped trucks, we cross the border in only few minutes. Once on the other side, we find a beautiful deserted 4-lane, with “our” splendid and so familiar hard shoulder! The joy of the reunion is short-lived: a pass awaits us, in full sun. GG is lagging behind today, so a family in a Ford Tourneo-Connect takes pity, stops and insists on loading the bike in the boot. It’s very tempting, but GG declines, and valiantly continues the last 500m of his ascent at the strength of his calves – with some regrets. But this time, it was worth it! A sign awaits us at the top, as if to congratulate us and FINALLY acknowledge that we’ve just had one hell of a climb (and it’s FINALLY over)!

Çildir. A magnificent descent rewards all our efforts until we reach the town of Çildir. The opportunity to change money and to eat! Tired, we spend the night in this village before setting off for 97km, our -almost- record! We ride along the incredible turquoise blue lake of Çildir for 30 kilometres, alone in the world.

Arpaçay. We branch off in the village to find food (yes, it’s repeated quite often!). As usual, we do not pass unnoticed with our strange load! Without even having had the time to enter any shop, we are warmly invited to share a tea with the mayor of the village and a dozen other people. They suggest we stay, but seeing how far we have to go we decide to continue. After having managed to buy some bread and a piece of cheese, we escape. We only stop when we are sure we can eat without interruption/invitation: in the middle of the heat, on the hard shoulder: perfect!

Karma catches up with us: this time it’s a big white dog, hungry, that comes barking out of nowhere. We get back on the road and so does he. He starts a frantic race to follow us as we attack a 10% descent!

Kars. After several exhausting days, we stop for 3 days in Kars. This is the opportunity to repair our crutches whose bolts have broken inside the frame. With the few tools in our panniers, we feel like idiots! But it’s rarely a problem: we find a bike repairer who does it in a few minutes, not without offering us a çay and asking for our number.

We decide to anticipate and buy our bus tickets for Van a bit in advance. We go to the bus company, the opportunity to specify that we travel with our steeds, and that we take some space! The person confirms us that there will be no problem for the bikes and that we have to be in front of the agency at 8 am. On the day, we are in front of the agency. A shuttle bus arrives, the guy gets off and looks at our bikes with a cautious look. At that moment, we understand that it’s not going to fit! Plan B is on: he loads our panniers in the vehicle to lighten us and we follow him with our pedals! We feel like we are following our own luggage. We have a lot of fun with this little 5 km morning chase: we don’t need much! As expected, the bus driver is a bit annoyed when he sees what he will have to put in the hold. After a few words, we finally cheer him up, and above all: make him accept to take the bikes! 

Koçhkoy. With the wind in our faces, we pedal on the hard shoulder until we arrive at a small campsite facing Lake Van. A soldier welcomes us and invites us to pitch the tent next to a family’s pitch – the only campers. Just a few minutes after setting up everything, we go back home to take a break. We quickly feel the wind picking up. We laugh about it, we even make a “we’ve seen much worse” video. As if we had provoked it, the wind becomes stronger and stronger, in fits and starts to stop. We smile while gobbling sunflower seeds. The calm is short-lived and the wind is back with a worrying increase in intensity. A tornado! From the inside, we try to support the poles and hold the tarpaulin as much as possible to prevent it from breaking! But the tent folds, with us, the canvas flies away, we feel sucked in (and terrified). It is rather impressive, and clearly, at this moment, we are not laughing anymore! Then the wind suddenly calms down. It rains. Then it blows again, in waves (less intense). Anai goes out to weight down the tent with bricks while GG puts the stuff away from the water. Two soldiers come in, armed with cinder blocks and good will. As the struggle against the wind and adrenaline continues (because the whole thing is still a bit fragile and wobbly), one of them uses his translator to communicate with Anai, without much success, her attention is elsewhere: our house is still on the verge of blowing away! Then she finally reads: “Let’s have dinner!” What a sense of priorities!

The weather finally calms down, our tent now has more bricks than a solid house. The soldiers invite us into their rest hut. We share a meal, under two AK47s that stand on the wall. 

• Excessive to guard our tent, isn’t it? Well, our stuff is safe. 

We then understand that this is an equine brigade, the stable is just opposite. The commander takes us there and proudly presents us his horses that he pampers with love! We then spend the evening drinking litres of çay – to Anai’s great delight… – watching the “news of violence”. A TV news programme that lists all the most violent events from all over the world. Probably one of the most unhealthy TV shows we have ever seen; all this in a warm and friendly atmosphere: a destabilizing mix! 

Agzikara. After a few days of rest and practical adjustments, we set off again in the direction of a magnificent lake: the perfect bivouac spot except for one detail: the wind and absolutely nothing to shelter under! A little shaken by the last blows, we push further.

We stop at the first (and last) supermarket in the area. Whereas we enjoy a fresh drink, the salesmen bring us (silently) hot water and soluble cappuccinos, on the carpark: luxurious! 

We set off again with a full belly, wondering how we could find a place cut off from the wind: on the horizon the mountains are bare and trees and houses are rare. After a good 20 km, the universe has heard us again! On our left, a small green grove: exactly what we needed! We enter the path that leads to the heart of this protective vegetation. We see a rucksack and the remains of a fire to make tea – probably the belongings of a shepherd. We set up camp a little further on, hidden by the trees. We are invisible from the road, it’s already been two hours, we haven’t met anyone! Suddenly, gling, 1 sheep, then 2 – 3 – 10 come towards us. The shepherd comes to see us and wonders about our presence here. We don’t understand, and the translator doesn’t help us : his formulations are too complex and in French, it doesn’t make sense. We understand that according to him it is too dangerous to stay here. We ask him why – because except for the sheep, there is nobody! He explains that it is dangerous because we are women! He suggests that we go 200 metres further down the “path”, to be even better hidden. We don’t really see the difference, but we comply. We may find him a bit strange at the time, but he is just benevolent! 

Very fresh awakening. Last night, the temperature went down to 5°. With numb legs, we consult the weather forecast: they announce 0° at 2200 m. Mission for our last bivouac in Turkey: find a plaid on the road!
After a day of cycling, with the wind in our face, in the aridity of the hilly landscapes (again), the mountains become slightly sharper, steeper too and subtly greener: we are about to change country. Our mission successfully accomplished (strangely easily), we set up the tent in a ruined building whose last walls still standing shelter us from the wind. 

At the gates of Iran, the night will be short, full of questions and apprehension for this border crossing so dreaded by travellers. 

In our case, wrongly so. From the very first meters we are enveloped in benevolence, generosity and kindness. And it continues!

[Armenia D+185, 7 372km – August 28 to September 15]

A mountainous country with humble and smiling inhabitants!

Azerbaijan is bombing Armenia.

Very big changes of itinerary, again!

Armenia, a small Caucasian country with a turbulent history, wedged between Turkey, Iran, Azerbaijan and Georgia. We have been dreaming about it since we were preparing our itinerary (and always have). But, of course, we quickly crossed it off the itinerary:

Armenia by bike ? A giant mountain : never!

And then finally (like every time we say “never in a million years”), here we are, and we like it!

To see more pictures of Armenia, it’s HERE !

Border. The first “word” -in one breath-: “Hello-welcome-to-Armenia-bye.” Simple, welcoming, efficient, expeditious. Here we go!

Once again -at the risk of being repetitive-: we still don’t understand this beautiful alphabet! To add a bit of crackle, we note a tendency to “subtitle” in Russian where we would have hoped to have English. In any case, it’s nice and it distracts the calves on the climb .

Toumanian . Soon, we find ourselves nose-to-nose with the mountains. Everything is true, we were not lied to this time: high altitude is there! On the road, the fruit sellers regularly stop us to fill our bags with provisions! And above all, impossible to pay anything! No doubt about it: we have left Georgia, it’s the return of the great cuckoos of the hand and the symphonies of Klaxons of encouragement!

We cross landscapes that we didn’t really imagine in Armenia, large arid spaces and gargantuan abandoned Soviet factories.

We end our hilly day in Toumanian, in an hostel (incredible, we are really in the middle of nowhere). It’s actually former Soviet baths that have been transformed. This is where we meet the other side of the “fuck Russians” that used to be displayed on Georgian walls: the point of view of a Russian artist who had to flee her country and cut off all contact with her family and friends in order to denounce Russian oppression without ending up in prison. The village has given an old factory to allow a collective of international artists to create and express themselves in the heart of the mountains – we can’t wait to follow it all!

Sevan Lake . After climbing beautiful dry passes, we see a glimmer of coolness in the distance, a large turquoise blue spot that refreshes the heart: the Sevan Lake: one of the largest high altitude lakes in the world. In these magnificent landscapes and this peaceful atmosphere, we bivouac happily.

From Sevan lake to Yerevan, the road is nice! A small road with freshly finished asphalt leads us to the capital via Tsakhadzor and its monastery. We camp in the area before a big day of 74 km, but well, it goes down!

After only 10 short kilometres, a clac-gling-gling-glagla! from GG’s bike raises the alarm! The rim has broken, a spoke has gone! This is clearly beyond our repair capabilities. We may have some nice new spokes in the pannier, but that doesn’t help us. We end up tinkering with a Sunday rim bandage which (we hope) will do the trick for the remaining kilometers. Well, it’s a real drag, but it’s a drag! The arrival is (hopefully) via a bike shop where the repairer makes us understand that we have to change the rim and that it would be good, in the future, to remove the sticker of Turkey that is displayed on the bike.

Yerevan. We then take a few days to discover this capital on a human scale but full of life and events! In Albania, we had met the old buses of the city of Rouen, here, it’s the city of Lyon which has unloaded its old buses. A little more and we found ourselves at Bellecour square!

We went on a free walking tour with a guide who was passionate about the art and history of his country. We learnt that Armenians are geniuses: for example, the guy who invented the mixer tap – the tap that prevents you from scalding yourself – is Armenian and that chess is a compulsory subject in school! We also take advantage of this time (especially Anai) to fill our eyes with patterns, each one more splendid than the next one .

It’s also the perfect time to see a dentist and sort out our little problems! When you arrive in town, that often means “sorting out the boring stuff”!

It’s also the opportunity to get our Iranian visas , and it’s so easy. Well, if we disregard the logistics to anticipate: apply online beforehand, go to an Iranian bank in Yerevan to pay the visa fee (in euros), then finally, go 10 km further, to get the precious sesame at the embassy.

We also took time to plan the rest of the trip and set a date for our plane tickets to Delhi from Dubai! A great moment of curious celebration and sudden excitement .

Khor Virap . We leave the capital, pedaling towards the majestic Mount Ararat. Luckily, the sky is clear and lets the little roof of eternal snow appear! This volcano is considered as the place where Noah’s Ark landed. It is a real symbol for Armenia, Christianity and Anai. Except that since 1923, Mount Ararat is in Turkey!

We spotted an apricot field/picnic area on the side of the road. We contacted the owner at the number on the sign to ask if we could pitch a tent for the night. Once the message is sent, a Lada with two men arrives. Neither of them speak English, so we have a brief exchange via Google Translate. They offer us a glass of vodka and a barbecue. Tired, we refuse. In fact, we don’t have a good feeling with them, so we stay cold and decline all the propositions. They turn on the electricity and leave. Mea Culpa, we turned parano, maybe our feeling was bad, we were unpleasant for nothing, too much mistrust? A few minutes after their departure, we receive a message already translated in French: frankly disgusting advances. Furious, we fold up our panniers and get on our bikes to sleep elsewhere. The guys are bound to come back and it’s going to be exhausting. These two cowards didn’t even have the courage to try a face to face approach. They would never have allowed themselves to do such a thing with an Armenian woman. Night falls and we end up pitching our tent in the bushes and rocks, for lack of anything better. We spend a bad night of bivouac, tired and angry to have to face again the male disrespect. The next day (once away) we exchange a few messages to explain our thoughts and the answers are even worse than the previous day’s message. We let go of the matter not without having (oops) ended with a slightly insulting message .

Fortunately, the weather is good. We stop in a shop to give ourselves courage just before starting the ascent of the pass. This is where we meet Greta, who, she doesn’t know it, cheered us up in two seconds! She manages the shop next to her house, a few hundred meters from the border with Azerbaijan. We chat for a while, it’s fluid, we understand each other quite well despite the language barrier. The sparkle in her eyes is contagious, we finally break down the concrete barrier that has been freshly laid the day before.

And to add a little more beauty after Greta: as soon as we left her shop, we met Camille and Antoine, two French (with the same Extrawheel bags as us) who have been on the road for more than a year to reach Nepal. We already “know” them: when we talked about our project last November, they were the ones recommended to us. We would never have imagined that we would meet them! But, no doubt, they know how to take their time! We cycled together, at our own rythme, for two days. In Georgia, between our separation with Lasha and other events, we had a little slump. But since Armenia everything is better! This country gave us a boost in just a few days! We have a good pace and we start to struggle less in the mountains! The meetings with the Armenians are (for the most part) pleasant!

Then we decide to take it easy one afternoon by the river about fifteen kilometres from Jermuk to take time to write and draw. As crazy as it sounds, we hadn’t had much time the last few days. The bike and the daily chores keep us fully occupied – especially when it’s uphill! We find a quiet place with no one to interrupt our creative process. At nightfall, an old man comes to see us and tells us that we are on private land, oops. He finally sees the bikes and allows us to stay for the night!

On the riverside. This morning, we wake up hearing a gunshot. At this precise moment, we tell ourselves that it is probably a hunter, early in the morning. We put our things away peacefully to take the road around 7am: we decided to take advantage of the coolness of the morning to climb the pass that awaits us (“enough to drive in the heat!”). As we get back to the main road, we notice a crowd of policemen and a blockade of soldiers blocking the road going up to Jermuk. Something serious must have happened, a death perhaps? A settlement of accounts? No idea, nobody informs us of the situation and they let us pass. The first 10 km are gentle, the climb is progressive, it’s even pleasant. The slope becomes steeper and steeper, fortunately it is early. With only 6 km to go to the summit, we get a phone call. Nicole tells us that Azerbaijan bombed Armenia last night around midnight (especially Jermuk). At this moment we don’t realise the extent of the attack. But it all makes sense, that’s why almost no cars are going down south and why we had passed so many soldiers.

We are exactly between Goris and Jermuk. We have 4 km to go up to join Antoine and Camille, flat tires and out of bike pumps. We have never climbed a pass so fast in our lives! Once at the top, we realise that it’s not just a simple exchange of fire at the border, it’s a war. The fun is over. So we have two solutions: hitchhiking without stopping towards Iran or turning back towards Yerevan.

We stop all the trucks that pass by: in vain. Then suddenly a dump truck stops and seems to be able to take the bikes in the back but can only take 2 people in the front; it will be our turn. Camille and Antoine decide to keep the bikes and take the next one.

We don’t really understand each other with this man, but he shows a legendary calm, just like the Armenians. He stops to offer us some peaches, and offers us a little shot of vodka: yes, you have to give yourself courage! Our pilot is now driving at full speed (at the moment, it’s so shaking-sliding-sliding-sliding that we wonder if it’s to stay alive that we got on – we even ignore the fact that our bikes and panniers are waving and flipping like pancakes at every hole in the road) to reach the city of Yerevan, carefully avoiding all the roads along the border with Azerbaijan. In the other direction, military trucks and cannons come up the pass in legions.

Yerevan. It’s hard to find sense of the journey in the face of all this absurdity and violence. We spend the night in the capital, a bit shocked to see that these tragic events are taking place silently. We feel a lot of sadness for the country, and we have the feeling that the tensions will persist for a long time. For us, things are very clear. There is no question of taking unnecessary risks in a conflict area for a trip: our lives do not depend on a bicycle route and we have the choice to be here. No question either of being an extra problem to manage for the country we are in.

So here we are, heading back to Iran via Georgia and then Turkey! We rewind the tape, fast forward, then slow down. A good diversions of at least 1,000 km compensated by heart-warming encounters and magnificent landscapes. But it’s so futile compared to the situation the locals are going through in the south of Armenia!

The next day we decide to take a train to Gyumri. The wait is long. We still feel under tension. Suddenly, the station is evacuated: a bomb would be on the tracks. The Armenians look calm, the tourists run out: it’s like a Parisian train station. The dogs come out, the ambulance and the bomb squad leave: false alarm. The train finally arrives; no luck: it is forbidden to eat sunflower seeds. Despite the restrictions, we bravely slide the bikes inside the carriage. Arrivals in Gyumri: climatic shock: a curious feeling: it is cold!

Later, we push the door of a mini-market. The old lady who manages it, sitting in front of the TV, asks us where we come from. When we tell her “France”, she has stars in her eyes! She calls her grandson Nshan: he studied in France and therefore speaks French!

The next day, before leaving the city, we come back to say hello to the old lady. Nshan then invites us to share a moment with her parents. A nice meeting to end (in a particularly anticipated way) our adventure in this incredible country!

On our way to Georgia, our hearts are a little heavy and confused. We leave with regret, but with the hope that peace and quiet will finally return. But Armenia does not let us go so easily: we cannot leave its borders without a last pass!

This was probably the slowest escape of the 21^st century.

Record of elevation by bicycle: 2610m!

Our most beautiful meeting?

Very big itinerary changes!

More pictures of Georgia by bike here!

Just 100 meters after the border crossing, the first word out of a Georgian’s mouth is “vino?!”

Georgia has an ancestral wine know-how, a national pride! At that moment, we didn’t know yet that this exchange said a lot about the turn of our journey!

Georgia is a country that we particularly wanted to discover without really knowing why, a bit of a blind attraction. Maybe because it’s a mountainous country (but on a bike, it doesn’t look like us) and then Anai and his graphic designer’s deformation had a fantasy about Georgian carpets! Well, that’s not enough to explain why we had so many expectations!

New country, new alphabet, it’s nice, but we really don’t understand anything anymore (well ok, we say that every time), nice occupation to decipher those rounded letters while pedaling!

We are gradually finding roads that are less busy and we are not unhappy about that. Too bad for the gas stations!

Batoumi. Funny place between modernity and tradition where buildings grow like mushrooms! Nicknamed the Georgian Vegas, some Turkish friends told us it was THE place to play casino (it’s forbidden in Turkey)! We didn’t really spend too much time there even if there are surely a lot of treasures to discover. In summer it’s crowded, so we prefer to go on! Arriving a bit late in the torpor of city life, we quickly look for a spot for the tent before nightfall. We naively bet on the beach; it was without counting that the edges of the sea are frequented on tens of kilometres at this season: people meet to make the party and drifts, families benefit from the sunset. It’s really not the place to be quiet, and we don’t have much time to explore the surroundings (it’s getting dark). We decide to fall back on the cheapest hotel in the area where we are greeted in Russian by the security guard and a drunk guy who improvises himself as a bike valet. Sorry guys, “Ruski niet”! We quickly realize that English is not very useful here, and that even if the Georgians have a history full of tensions with Russia (still today, since Putin’s dictatorship occupies 20% of the Georgian territory), they mostly speak Russian. Fortunately, Anai has a great command of “KaKti biazabouk” (thanks Rinzine!): “what’s your name?” 

It makes the exchanges quickly unproductive but it always has its effect and we now take pleasure in using it in all sorts of ways!

Georgian hospitality. 

Unlike Turkey, the Georgian hospitality that everyone talks about did not jump out at us! Georgians have a rather closed face and a nicely drawn smile. 

We also quickly felt a rather particular climate in the villages we passed through, and at the same time the chacha (local alcohol), it hits the head!
From experience, we assumed that Georgian hospitality did exist, but simply a little more in some regions than others, or maybe you have to be in a hurry to feel it?

As we leave a mini-market, a guy points to Anai’s rear tyre and says “problem! We proudly retort “Problem yok” (“no problem”) before realizing that indeed the tyre is completely flat! Let’s go for the repair, Zaza and her gang come to give us a hand and supervise the operations in a good mood! At the moment of repairing the tube, our tube of glue is all dry. Zaza’s friend loads GG in his own bus and takes him 2 km away, to the “boui boui” of a mechanic for trucks. In 3 minutes, watch in hand, it’s fixed! During this short time, Zaza and Anai were able to play volleyball and football. A good time with this big-hearted team, which, at first sight, didn’t look very warm!

Sulphurous hot springs.

After a night in a gloomy campsite where we are the only people on a huge field, we cycle to Senaki. It’s not easy to camp around here. In Georgia, cows, buffaloes, pigs and horses are free on the roads, on every square meter of grass, and the area in question is quite “urbanized”. There are no guesthouses (many seem to be deserted). The only hotel in the centre of town hosts some form of funeral reception and a bunch of drunk people. Tired, we pass all the same our way to pedal again, towards the river. 

We finally find a small guesthouse where, exhausted (and seduced by the incredible place), we decide to stay a few days. The family -who is also hosting their own family- offers us to share a “Georgian barbecue”! 

On their advice, a few kilometres away, we discover Beelzebub’s place: smoke escapes from the ground and the water that comes out is boiling!

These are the most curious hot springs we have seen so far! In the heart of the forest, the atmosphere is mystical. To finish the picture, Russian tourists alternate between a boiling seat in the spring and an icy bath in the river: the Georgian sauna? 

Svanetia starts intensely. Dive into intoxication at the first positive altitude difference.

We arrive at the first/last village to get some food before starting to climb. A bunch of merry men stop us, including an elderly taxi driver with gold teeth. Apart from the alcohol fumes, the exchange is short and not unpleasant. We stop a little further on in a shack sheltered from prying eyes to drink a coffee. The regular customers seem amused and intrigued by our presence. But they don’t understand why we don’t have a beer. Pivo? Vodka? Vino? Niet?! We exchange a few smiles. Then a guy finally gets up to take a picture with us and the bicycles. Excited, he grabs us in turn and gives us a kiss on the forehead. Our route continues on a rocky path (which climbs). As the clock ticks, we start to think about where to pitch our tent. We take a break on a bench when a taxi arrives with a bang and stops at our level, music blasting. It’s the one from earlier with the gold teeth! He sits down between us. We understand that he lives next door and that he invites us to sleep at his place. We refuse this invitation about 30 times, which obviously smells like a trap (and vodka), and the anti-kidnapping alarm is triggered.

We feel that the guy is sensitive, so we have to act tactfully and extract ourselves from this situation gently. We end up standing up when he grabs our arm forcefully and gives us a kiss that is just waiting to get out of hand. We push him away this time with much less diplomacy and get on our bicycles before engaging on a sloping pebble road. After this particularly annoying episode, we don’t want to bivouac in the area. We pedal to the next town where we find a newly finished hotel that has neither a sign nor an employee. Two guys from the shop next door make a few phone calls and a convertible car pulls up. Three guys get out, bottles of beer (1L, regulation size) in hand. One of them will be for us. The manager apologizes a thousand times for not having any staff yet, shows us the room and leaves. His drunken, slimy band of friends/neighbours take care of us. We have to refuse about 30 times new beers and 10 times the night city tour – while drinking beers. (Incidentally, it’s raining and no one speaks English). Sometimes there are moments when you have to trust your snag detector! 

With this day’s sequence, we are seriously getting tired of it. “It would be so much easier to travel if at least one of us was a man!
Finally, the only thing we hope is that men don’t behave this way with women in their country!

The next day, we start climbing again. It’s hard but beautiful. On the lower side, tourists stop and get out of their state-of-the-art 4×4 to take THE picture of the viewpoint (the one on the edge of the ravine-if-you-drop-a-don’t-be-dead-but-it’s-beautiful). We stop in turn to have a look, a drink and above all, a break! Several cars pass at full speed on the steep road, honking their horns. One of them slows down, the guy in the passenger seat takes out a gun and shoots through the window in our direction while his buddy at the wheel shoots a bottle of vodka: handy to have two hands! Georgian tradition or stupidity? We were stunned (and a bit deaf). 

At the end of the afternoon, as a chalet-café-restaurant takes shape in the distance, we stop and congratulate ourselves for all this beautiful climbing. “We’ve earned a break! A big, beautiful mountain dog passes by. “Splendid” is the only word that comes out of Anai’s mouth. GG remains on his guard, he is still impressive. Shortly after, a painful puppy cry is heard. No taller than three apples, “Loustique”, takes refuge under our table, his head bloody. There was a fight over a piece of kachapuri… the other “bad dog” from the mountains is chased away and Loustique lies on our feet. The coffee turns into writing, drawing, the time passes quickly and the rain starts. We ask if it’s raining to pitch the tent there. Da. Perfect.

Several dogs approach and are severely chased by the small but courageous Loustique. We laugh. “Ah, if we had a Loustique like you with us, we wouldn’t be so annoyed!
When we wake up, we find Loustique sleeping at the entrance, under the tent. We are already sick to our stomachs to have to leave this little cute dog and his other puppy friend who follow us everywhere in our morning preparations. In the background lurks a third dog, the “bad guy”. We push him away several times (especially Loustique, who had a fight with him the day before).

The start. Did the universe hear us?

Just as we imagined Loustique running desperately after our bicycles, he stops at the door of the café. Sad but relieved, we start the descent at full speed. But when we look in the mirror, we realize that it’s the “bad guy” who follows us, hair in the wind, lips and tongue in the air, more determined than ever, at an incredible pace. 

After 30 km, we stop to eat. The dog is still there. A girl feeds him: we think he will stay there. But no, he seems to have a life mission and decides to go back on the road with us! 

Shortly after, two drunk men, dressed as military rangers, stop us on the roadside to invite us to have a drink (on the edge of the grave on the side of the road). It smells like a trap, we don’t understand much, they are nervous and not very friendly: we politely refuse! One of the guys insists, gets closer and pulls us by the arm: neither one nor two, the sheepdog doesn’t like it and starts to show his fangs and mimic an attack! It calms down! They leave and take the road again (drunk).

We leave silently, a little shocked by this kind intervention. 

We spend a first night in a peaceful bivouac, all three of us.

In the early morning, we hurry to look at the front of the tent: Lasha -that will be his name- is still there. The shepherd who patiently guards his two cows. This will be the meeting that will change the course of the trip, at least for the next few days. This big and beautiful mountain dog full of testosterone, who pees everywhere!
We feel like a herd on bicycles: he pulls us over as soon as we stray too far from the middle of the road, and groups us together if one of us is getting ahead, or behind. He teaches us to find water and shade and to enjoy the rain and the climbs (conditions in which he can join us without difficulty). He even pushes us to confront the wild dogs to defend him. We are now decked out in stones and facing up. Crossing villages is never done discreetly or without pain: he takes the time to greet all his colleagues (who are wandering or not) and it doesn’t always end peacefully. Bivouacs have never been so easy. The pace is slow and life is simple and without any sloppy guys.

Svanétie is a magnificent region, we do not regret one second to have gone up!

So we cycle for a very long week with Lasha, from Mestia to Ushguli and we climb two passes: we find it quite funny, especially as we have never cycled in the mountains (or only the downhills)! We always thought it was “not far from being stupid” when we saw the cyclists pedalling like crazy on the climbs. So, with a loaded bike….

As we never imagined to climb so high, we didn’t imagine it would be cold either. Only equipped with a sheet ( with 40° in Istanbul, we sent our sleeping bags to India…!), the nights are extremely fresh. We end up finding a sleeping bag/blanket with some relief in Mestia. We can continue the climb. 

The first pass: 1900m. We spend a nice evening with our German friends in a van who bivouac next to us (as long as they don’t get too close to the tent, they are “allowed” to talk to us), Lasha takes care of keeping the cows, bulls and buffalos at a reasonable distance. If you’re going to climb a pass, you might as well stay and enjoy it!

The second pass: 2610m. Our ultimate record without even loading the bikes in a truck (besides, we would have trouble finding one)! The rocky roads didn’t help us but we did it! We imagined a party committee at the finish, champagne, confetti, fanfare, polka dot jerseys, photos… NADA! Meadows, meadows, meadows and glaciers! (We are not far from shedding a small tear of emotion, under the bewildered eye of Lasha, who is just looking for a spot of shade).

The way down.

We asked ourselves all the questions in the world and we turned the situation in our head in all directions: what to do with Lasha? He decided to follow us, he seems to have adopted us! It’s true that it’s quite common for a traveller to be followed by a dog in Georgia: dogs are so cool! But over such a long distance? That doesn’t happen. We imagined adopting him, finishing the trip with him, taking him to India and then to France… Then, even if it broke our hearts, we had to settle for a much more banal ending. Lasha is an old dog, he doesn’t like the heat and above all he likes his freedom! There was no chance of putting a dog collar on him or forcing him to be tied up with a chain. We kept on wobbling; and then another wolf-like compatriot also started following us and guarding the tent with Lasha. We did everything to prevent this from happening: it was impossible to get rid of her! After some good descents, we end up crossing some villages with peaceful and smiling people: it feels good! They seem to take good care of the dogs. Small hitch: a third one started to follow us. Next village: a fourth! Next village: a fifth, but this time with a collar! Our nerves can’t take it anymore: from laughing to cracking up, we understand that it’s a good idea to leave them together, in this cool and peaceful place. A big descent is coming, the road has improved, so we decide to go for it: we pedal at full speed, without turning around, silently shrieking. It’s a bivouac with a heavy heart, 40 km further on. We secretly and selfishly hope to see Lasha in the early morning. It will of course be a disappointment.

To make our tears flow through our armpits (and become poets). So we get up and decide to do in one day what we would usually do in two. We pedal without stopping and we swallow kilometres under the heat which starts to increase more and more. After the greenery and the coolness of the nights, it’s an oven and a climatic shock! We share a part of the road with Mickaël, a Frenchman who thought he would “only go as far as Croatia” with his old Decat’ bike and his backpack. While chatting, we realize that he knows the tiny village (400 inhabitants) where Anai comes from as he went to high school with one of its locals: it’s a really small world!

Just before arriving in Kutaïssi, we are greeted on the side of the road: incredible! It’s our two Germans in a (rented) van, waiting for their plane. They look at Mickaël and ask us where Lasha is. You’d think he’d turned into a human! 

The arrival in town is in heavy traffic: Lasha is definitely better in the mountains!

Kutaisi and the Guesthouse toilet. 

We ate some delicious specialities in a restaurant but obviously Georgian food does not really suit Anai. For this reason, we stay a few more days in Kutaïssi to recover from our emotions.

After such a long break, we wonder if we can still ride a bicycle! We get on the bikes early in the morning to avoid the suffocating heat. The road is not really fun, the traffic is busy, it’s hot but above all the gusts of wind make the task exhausting and dusty! At an intersection, a man insists on pointing us to the (hight)way. We resign ourselves to listen to him (especially as he has decided to escort us to the junction), finding ourselves pedalling on the 4 lane road with the wind against us. A treat. After a lot of sweat, a good dust bath and only 40 km on the counter, we end up in a beautiful gas station at the entrance of Zestafoni. A motel in the background. “What if we made our wildest dream come true and slept IN the petrol station, overlooking the car park? “Come on!”. 

On our way to the capital. Ok this time, we really move forward! Today it’s going up, it’s still windy, and on this road under construction, the traffic is still very busy (and the trucks, legions). After 20 km, we take a quick look. “As soon as we find a shady spot, we stop and hitchhiking! We don’t even have time to set up when a 4×4 with a trailer (that we look at with envy) stops: “need help ? Come, too much traffic ” Life is magic ! We load the bicycles in Levan’s trailer and head for Tbilisi, a little help for 200 km, anyway!

We spend a pleasant journey in good company talking about Georgia (oh yes, because in addition to being nice, he speaks English!)! Today, we really moved forward! Incredible change of landscapes: in only one tunnel of 2 km we go from a green nature in the west (humid, and even almost tropical sometimes) to ultra-dry landscapes (like Far-West, almost desert) in the east!

Tbilisi. It’s easy! We unload the bikes from the trailer, and we are in the heart of the Georgian capital. It’s huge, we clearly didn’t expect this! After these exhausting kilometres, we take a well deserved break for a coffee on the terrace. After a few sips, a waiter arrives with a tray full of good things to eat: we think it’s a mistake, but he insists “Gift from my boss”. Surprised, we follow him with our eyes; he then goes to another restaurant: “Istanbul Café”! Undoubtedly ! Turkish generosity has struck again, but in Georgia! We even get an çay: it’s heartwarming!

Getting out of the capital. After 15 long kilometres to get out of Tbilisi, here we are in arid landscapes worthy of what we imagine of Texas. People are smiling, they offer us fruits, they say hello. In spite of the heat, we ride for miles. While we had planned to bivouac before the next border, here we are in front of the customs of a country that attracts us a lot but for which we had said to ourselves over and over again: “never in a million years on a bicycle”: Armenia!

To end our loop of Georgia by bicycle in style, a final interaction with one of its inhabitants. 

It’s 8am, we’re a few km from the border. We see a guy getting out of his shiny 4×4, Texan profile, hat, pointy shoes, white shirt over a crisp tank top. He seems to be holding something but we can’t quite make it out. He moves forward and crouches down next to a dog that comes wagging its tail. And suddenly: BAM! The dog turns around, whining with all its might, tail between its legs. We have just realised that he has just been shot at point blank range by a pellet gun held by this same guy who then looks at us and displays a certain smile of satisfaction that is chilling. Tradition? Foolishness? The question is asked.

Even if this country has been a very nice cultural, historical, ( dog) and natural discovery; at this very moment we are happy to leave to meet Armenia! Moreover, from the first km, we feel good and the people are sober, smiling and warm: it’s good for the mood!

As soon as we start pedaling, we feel the incredible Turkish hospitality:

Invitations to drink litres of çay (pronounced “tchaye”), to eat, to sleep, to get into a truck, not to mention the numerous gifts… The bags fill up as fast as our hearts (we become so soft on love). It’s horrible to be so kind – receiving so much is not as easy as it seems! In short, it’s a real invitation to let go and to take it slowly, on the rhythm of these multiple encounters. And also (especially?) a BIG lesson of hospitality!

Turkey by bike is dangerous:

At any moment you can fall into an ambush and find yourself drinking litres of tea!

Swallowing litres and litres of cay, at any time of the day: you sweat tea. And here, it is much more than a drink, it is an art – even an institution. Even when camping, the Turks never leave without their teapots and their wood fire!

It is worth mentioning that despite the huge prejudices and false ideas that circulate about this country, we always felt safe as women and as human beings. Of course, it happens that we meet some heavy and macho men, but it’s a universal phenomenon and we can’t say that it’s specific to this country!

On the contrary, we felt at home: always encouraged on our way by the sounds of horns (saying hello, bravo or good luck), thumbs up from the windows of the vehicles, big waving-hand from the passers-by (it’s not much but a simple hand in the air waving gives back strength and smile), friendships and an unrivalled HOSPITALITY: Hasan, his family, his friends, Huseyn, Ahmet, Tunçay, Ethem, Ebru… The list is endless.

On the other hand, you can count on the fingers of one hand the people you meet who speak English! Positive point: immersed, we quickly learn words that allow us to have basic exchanges! Short but effective interactions (especially to make people smile) – and thank you “Hasan translate” and technology for the technical details!

Well, initially we had planned to cross the Black Sea by ferry from Burgas (Bulgaria) to Batumi (Georgia). But after a discussion where GG suggested going to Istanbul, Anai retorted that the name didn’t inspire her and that, for example, Constantinople would be more attractive: during the day, someone came by to clarify: Constantinople is the old name of Istanbul… So we can’t avoid passing by this city! And there seems to be a giant conspiracy pushing us towards this country.

So here we are, on our way to Istanbul for GG’s birthday (and Constantinople to please Anai) where we’ll stay for 10 days (it’s not too much to immerse ourselves in this gargantuan city of nearly 20 million inhabitants!)

Oh yes, also, we had a crush and a little change of itinerary: the detour via Istanbul was transformed into a crossing of the country (and incidentally we saved almost 500 euros on the ferry, a bargain!)

If the people pushed us towards Turkey, we can’t say the same about the forces of nature. An endless headwind where pedaling 40 km a day already seems like the end of the world. We even dare to say it: with this wind, we were COLD in the evening!

——-> more pictures of Turkey HERE

Turkish border. After a switchback error, we arrived with great fanfare on the motorway (fortunately deserted). Here we are facing the impressive (imposing?) border between Greece and Turkey. A new stage in the journey: the gates of Asia are opening to us!

Hungry, we stop at the first service station-restaurant. Then Savin -a French on his pilgrimage to Jerusalem, Jay Huyk/Andy -a South Korean on his way to Georgia, and Will -an English on his way to the -stan countries also stopped! This meeting of cyclists in a petrol station, in the middle of heavy trucks is quite absurd and hilarious. We happily pedal on the national road, until we find a place to bivouac together near Kesan, in the woods, maybe a bit too close to the farms (the famous and huge dogs with spiked collars arrive to defend their territory in a minute, then end up changing sides when Andy grills some meat and jokes “we could eat them, they are well-fleshed and there is enough for everyone”: we will have some bodyguards for the night).

Adatepe. We cross vast agricultural areas punctuated by a few villages. Stopped at the edge of the road in front of what seems to be the entrance of a village, we hesitate to take the path to go and drink a çay. From where we are, we see no sign of human life. A moped passes us and suddenly stops. “Welcome! Çay!” We then follow this man on his scooter, which is magically hold up by the “brown tape”, through the bumpy roads that lead to the village centre. Suleman then slips away for a few minutes and comes back with his hands full of food that he gives us. Here we are in the middle of terraces of about fifty men drinking their çay and playing cards.

They observe us, a little curious. The attraction begins. The young waiter brings us a handful of cherries (between 6 or 7 çay) while Suleman takes out his smartphone to play Turkish music. He then puts on his Rayban (bright red) and sings “Frère Jacques” to us! (By the way, many Turks seem to have learnt this song at school, so we’ll have other great performances afterwards).

Sirinkoy. The road is quite monotonous, fields as far as the eye can see, the gas stations are a real ray of sunshine! For several days now, we have had the wind against us: 40 km covered; felt: 90. So we pedal painfully against the wind when suddenly an old white Renault 12 fishtails us and stops right in front of us, on OUR hard shoulder. At this point we think that Turks are REALLY polite, the guys even stop to say hello! Hasan and Husein get out of the car and wave to us. Hasan speaks English, he explains that some neighbours called him because we had to look for him! He offers us to come to his place 1 km away to take a shower and spend the night there! Wow. What hospitality! We accept willingly, listening to our instinct: we can trust them! And here we go, we follow them. Hasan opens his house and shows us the shower then he leaves: “take rest, do whatever you want, see you”.

Hasan is a passionate of motorbike travels, he has already travelled in many countries and when he is not travelling he likes to welcome travellers at his home where he lives with his wife and daughter! Huseyn doesn’t speak English, but we understand each other anyway. The next day, everything goes on! After a copious Turkish breakfast prepared by Hasan’s wife, we offer our help. Here we are, all 3 of us, tinkering to finish the new henhouse door (Hasan is joking: a new henhouse door is points gained towards his wife to leave longer on his motorbike). Well, we mostly took the nails out of the pallets to get some nice boards (yes, you don’t have to be a bobo to do “upcycling” here ).

Once the door is finished and fixed, he drops us off at home and tells us that in 10 minutes we’ll go and eat at his sister’s with his wife and daughter (neither of them speak English), while he goes to see a friend. Here we are between women, around a well-stocked table. We don’t understand each other very well, but we eat royally! After the meal, Hasan’s sister slides between the two of us on the sofa, takes out her smartphone and introduces us to her whole family through pictures. Sometimes, there is no need for words! Back home, Hasan explains that some friends are coming tonight to meet us. We arouse their curiosity, but especially in the traditions, when someone has guests, everyone is warned and comes to the house!

He tells them about our meeting and questions each new person who joins the meal: “a car stops in front of you, two men get out and offer you to sleep at their place, what do you say?” All exclaim: “NO, I say no, of course not! ” At the end of the afternoon, Hasan shows us his workshop (he’s quite a handyman) and his bikes, each with its own story. He insists a bit to make us try one of them. After a few tries on the path, we would almost be fooled: it would still go much faster than on a bicycle! After two beautiful evenings, we leave our adoptive family (with a very heavy heart and a headwind) hoping to see them again very soon on the road, in France or in Turkey!

Istanbul. A break into the crowds of 20 million people and at least as many cats. We have known more restful moments! We took advantage of the city to fix the bikes, find patches to repair the tent, mail 7kg of winter gear to India (ironically, that’s when it started to get cold at night – yes, yes, COLD!).

Getting around a city of this size takes time! Shuttles allow you to cross the Bosphorus and connect the European and Asian sides in about 20 minutes. Istanbul was for us a strange space-time where we didn’t really feel in Turkey. Even if this city is full of treasures to discover, what a pleasure to leave the city euphoria to get back on the road! We definitely prefer the great outdoors!

Hammam. We thought we would take advantage of our “rest” to go to the Hammam! What could be better than a bit of softness to relax the muscles after all those kilometres?! After having sweated in the room close to 50° and 100% humidity, we are directed to a corner, like a broom cupboard, already occupied by 3 imposing ladies in pants, flip-flops, toplessness -sipping a lemonade. For two seconds we wondered if we were in the right room. Sensing our hesitant step and our probably bewildered look, they all started laughing heartily! Here we go, each one of us lying on a kind of marble table, being soaped, rubbed, scrubbed, turned over, folded, unfolded, sat on, laid down: every millimetre of skin goes through it! One thing is certain, it’s been a long time since we were so clean! However, for the softness break, it was not the right place!

Kapakli-Narlija. Turkish hospitality in the morning. We wake up in a campsite next to the sea. As soon as we get out of the tent -our eyes still misty- our tent neighbours bring us breakfast and çay. If there is one thing the Turks don’t joke about, it’s camping: they are like at home: dishes, cups of çay by the dozen with their cups, trays, water cans, teapots, tables and chairs… Before leaving, two children run towards us to bring us drawings filled with love and talent. Around 11am, we finally set off, the wind in our face, the day looks like being tough. We stop every 10 km (a guilty pleasure) at the petrol stations. At the end of the day, we finally arrive at a lake by a small pleasant road. Well, it’s not easy to find a place to pitch the tent between the doggies hidden in the olive trees, slopes and farms. We go down a steep path to get closer to the banks.

After a few meters, a quad bike passes us again (we had met it in the previous village). The couple gets off, gives us a big hug and beckons us to come and drink a çay in their magnificent garden facing the lake. And as they don’t joke with the çay, they light a wood fire for the occasion. Tunçay arrives. It’s time for the sausage. Nobody speaks English, we try to understand Turkish and we gibber, but the misunderstandings are sometimes magical. Just when GG thought she understood how to say “sausage” in Turkish, she cheerfully repeats “Domus super!” General laughter! “Domus” means pig, and they were actually explaining that this sausage was not made of pork!

Joking aside, we end up asking our new friends if they know where we can pitch the tent for tonight. They lead us a few meters away, on a beach. We all set up our tent together. Amet, their friend and owner of the fisherman’s hut next door, joins us. Seeing that we have just put on a jumper because the sun is overcast, Amet tells us not to sleep in the tent and proposes to spend the night in the hut, in the warmth! (As always, the Turks are ready to “make themselves comfortable, everywhere”: two sofas adorn the room – you can find sofas/armchairs/balancelles everywhere on the roads and lakesides where it can be pleasant to sit/wait).

Turkish hospitality has struck again! They leave for a while and come back with Raki and chips. We spend a very nice evening with our new fishing buddies. We manage to understand each other thanks to gestures and the help of the translator! The next morning, Amet arrives with his tractor. Once he is sure we are awake, he comes to see us and brings us some vegetables from the garden. He also makes us a delicious mixture of purslane, olive oil and yoghurt! We end up having a hard time getting back on the road – he offered to stay another night!

Cakesli. The roads are pleasant, lined with olive trees and peach trees, we go along the lake before arriving in Iznik. A small town with a very rich heritage that our fishermen friends highly recommended to us! At the end of the day, we are in front of a second lake which is used for irrigation of crops. We take a break in a restaurant, then we ask the manager, Ethem, if he knows a place where we can camp near the lake. Ethem learned French at school (a long time ago), his eyes sparkle when we tell him we are French!

He invites us to pitch the tent on the magnificent lawn of his restaurant on which we hardly dare to walk! We have fun transposing the situation in France, if we camped between the tables of a restaurant-terrace (open), on a lawn worthy of the Stade de France). We spend a very good evening in his company before leaving the next day for Sakarya where we decide to take a night bus to Samsun (the first bus of the trip!)!

We had been suggested to do the night in the town of Adapazari. But the translator on the phone that the man waved at us indicating “do you believe in love at first sight” ended up convincing us to look for the “Otogar” station. We save ourselves a few kilometres of heavy traffic, and we also save Anai’s thigh which is acting up! It’s a funny feeling, between the frustration of not being free to walk around and stop wherever we want and the satisfaction of taking a giant step forward with a disconcerting ease: we don’t even need to dismantle the bikes in the hold!

Samsun. Here we are, facing the Black Sea! We meet Hamed, a passionate Iranian musician on the road for 4 years! He plays the Santûr to the great pleasure of the people who have the chance to listen to him! He offers us two ears carved in wood as pendants: “to listen to your heart”.

A kilometre or two further on, we stop to eat. A woman offers to translate for us: she speaks incredible English. She explains that she is Turkish but that she has been living in Toronto for several years. She is having lunch with her father, a teacher. Both of them check scrupulously that the waiters are not trying to rip us off. But against all odds, the manager, smiling ear to ear, keeps offering us things; obviously this is the first time tourists have stopped at his restaurant and he is over the moon. The discussion becomes technical when Ebru’s father (who doesn’t speak English) launches into the grammatical and etymological rules of the Turkish language. Valiantly, she translates the whole thing for us, and it’s even very clear! We are making progress! We can now certify, for example, that the word “Ekmek” (which means “bread”) is 100% of Turkish origin because it has a double vowel.

With a clear head, we set off again on a four-lane road with heavy truck and bus traffic. We pass tunnels, petrol stations and seaside towns. It’s far from a pleasant little bike ride. It’s not far from being unpleasant and stressful, but it’s also part of the trip! A bit tired of all this traffic (even if these landscapes between the sea and the mountains of hazelnut forests are very impressive), we say to ourselves that it’s “not far from being stupid” to pedal on a section like this one! Then from town to town, from petrol station to petrol station, smiles and friendly exchanges brighten up this monotonous and tiring crossing.

Trabzon. A large port city between the sea and the mountains, a favourite holiday destination for tourists from the Emirates in search of coolness and rain! Very big change of atmosphere! We walk in a bazaar where we end up falling for two carpets which will be used as mattresses in the tent!

Sumela Monastery. Sumela Monastery, a magnificent Greek Orthodox monastery on a cliffside located at 1200 m altitude, 60 km from Trabzon. High tourist place, one can understand why! For practical reasons, we decide to leave the bikes and bags in Trabzon and we look for a place to put our butts in a vehicle. After some research on the internet, we ask the receptionist of the Guest-House for advice on the most convenient way to get there. After a few phone calls, she tells us that she has just found us two places to join a group, the unique opportunity to consume three tourist places in only one afternoon for the modest sum of 60$! Panicking at the idea of being locked in a bus with a group all that time, we politely decline this tempting proposition.

We finally opt for a taxi, departure 9am the next morning. After 40 minutes of road, our driver is obliged to leave us in front of the carpark (by seeing the price posted with the meter and the price announced by the receptionist, one understands well that one made nicely enfler), the remainder of the voyage must be done in dedicated shuttle. We try to go up on foot, but the policemen signal us to go and buy our tickets. So we get on the minibus to finish the climb. We visit this impressive and freshly renovated monastery. Too bad, from where we are, we can’t admire its atypical architecture. We wondered about the possible presence of hermits, we quickly got our answer!

The minibus is waiting for us. It is at this moment that we decide to escape to go down on foot and enjoy this natural environment, a breath of fresh air! We then go back to Trabzon in a much more economic way: two men dropped us off in Maçka where we could take a shuttle for about 2 euros… No regrets, this place is beautiful and we are in the middle of summer! We were a bit too used to travel far from the crowds, out of season!

Continuing along the Black Sea and a string of trucks stopped on the tracks, what had to happen, happened: a new border post that announces a radical change of atmosphere: Georgia!

We certainly didn’t choose the most pleasant route by bike but it was worth it!

It’s quite a slap behind the ears on opening up to the other. The houses welcome the guest, the foreigner, the traveller. Mistrust and prejudice are overturned by the overfull teapot and the armchairs ready to be drawn at any moment.

The tourist season is full of hassles. The championship has begun.

Pitfalls: 1. GG-Anai: 2. Let’s hope it lasts!

Trap 1: Arriving at the port of Bandirma, a taxi offers us two çay and tells us that there is no more ferry crossing to Istanbul for 8 months. So we have to travel another 200 km during the day to get to our hostel. After many investigations, interrogations and confrontations of testimonies: we have a ferry at 4pm.

Trap 2: End of the day, night falls, only one flat space to pitch the tent: a picnic/camping area on the side of the road. We stop. A disgruntled dog makes us hesitate. Two guys come and tell us (via the phone) that the place is full but that they can take us a little further, to their mate’s place. We just have to leave the bikes there. Suspicious, while Anai distracts the drunk man with an incomprehensible translation, GG investigates further down. There’s plenty of room, “Gule gule, bye bye and ciao goodnight”.

Trap 3: The Sumela Monastery.

We cycled through the (deserted) roads of Greek Macedonia, far from the Greece of postcards and history books! We are still looking for the naked and well sculpted gentlemen (?!) but on the other hand we found religious knick-knacks EVERYWHERE!
We didn’t think we could find a more religious country than Italy: Greece gloriously proved us wrong! Miniature chapels are legion: on roadsides, behind groves, in front of houses… There are even autels IN the houses. The whole thing is nicely sprinkled with colourful frescoes and mosaics!

Greece by bicycle is also the country so feared for its famous “wild dogs in the mountains”, mentioned many times by cyclists (and even cars!).

Here, we sweat olive oil, but it is a pure delight!

The discovery of this country was under the sign of “vréki vréki” (rain, rain)!

To see even more pictures (far from Athens and other mythical places) it’s here !

Borders . The peacocks are at the table to welcome us at the customs post. After this warm welcome, we are on deserted roads punctuated by farms and abandoned buildings in post-apocalyptic weather. It’s quiet. Far too quiet.

Florina. We meet two very nice Germans who are heading for Istanbul. Two rockets going at full speed: we will probably never meet them again! A few minutes later Hans, another German, stops and heads in the same direction! Florina is definitely a real crossroads for travellers. As we take the road again, the storm catches us. We decide to pedal anyway, taking breaks when it rains too hard. Our GPS guides us on paths through fields where we can clearly see fresh dog footprints in the mud.

The rain calms down, and the sun even makes an appearance; a (short-lived) miracle.

Sitaria . At the end of the village, we take a dirt road from which we see a large shed with an open gate. A big dog, a bit angry, comes out barking and heads towards us. We stop and get off the bicycles, trying to open negotiations to get through. Soon, the big buddies appear: one, then two, then three, then four, then… It’s hard to tell how many of the first doggie’s companions are staying here. One thing is certain: there are already about ten of them, they are not very polite and are determined to block the way. We try several techniques in vain: from sympathy to threatening and diplomacy: they continue to advance towards us. A little stunned, we slowly back away.

Very slowly.

We walk for about a hundred meters (which seems like an eternity) until we reach a man sitting in his red pick-up. Once we reach him, he tells us in Greek that we should avoid this road, and offers us fresh eggs! The rain starts again. Wassily invites us to enter his farm to take shelter.

Communication is more than complicated; we understand absolutely nothing! But our rescuer is extremely patient and tirelessly repeats sentences punctuated by “Katalavèss?” (understood??) – remember that “nè” is “yes” in Greek: that doesn’t simplify the matter! We go round the owner: cows, sheep, goats, pigs, chickens and he hands Anai a stick. She takes it, without really knowing what to do with it. He seems to ask her to come and milk the sheep. And here they are both in the sheepfold for the evening milking!

When the work is done, Wassily makes us understand that with the rain it is better to stop and that we can put our tent here, at the farm. So we set up the house, a bit happy not to have to go back on this delicious road in the rain, at night. He then explains to us (with great mimes, arm movements, unbuttoning of the shirt) that he’s going to change and that he’ll come back to pick us up to have a drink in Florina (“Florina”, we understand!).

Break. Waiting. Questioning. Will he come back?

We got it right! 30 minutes later, Wassily is back, clean as a whistle, with a new car! He takes us to the Kebab and then he seems to say that we’re going to meet some people to go dancing. We still don’t understand much, but his motivation and enthusiasm make us surrender: we continue to follow him, on foot, in the streets of the city, silently trying to put together the bits of interpretations to create a plausible scenario. We get back in the car and don’t head for the farm: none of our scripts fit anymore and it’s getting dark. So here we are in the car on a narrow mountain road and we have no real idea where we are going!

In our heads, secretly, each of us starts to imagine the worst scenarios, are we crazy to leave with a stranger we ABSOLUTELY don’t understand? Where is he taking us? We were just supposed to go to a bar and come home! However, our intuition reminds us that “we can trust him”. After 45 long minutes of meandering and talking where no one understands each other (holding the steering wheel makes it very difficult to picture the words), the LIGHT!

We arrived in a village, many cars parked in every corner and people coming from all sides. In fact, Wassily wanted to take us to a village party organised for the Orthodox Pentecost. We sit with him at the table, we fight nicely about who pays for the food and drinks, but Wassily insists on inviting us. We give in! The music starts and the crowd stands up to start a traditional collective dance where women and men hold hands and make rhythmic steps. Here we are in a crowd of a hundred people, with Wassily, trying to reproduce clumsily the dance steps, to the rhythm of this gigantic circle that keeps on growing: it is not only on the Avignon bridge that we all dance in circles! Far from the tourist Greece (very very far), here we are for a first evening bathed in authenticity!

All three of us are tired and decide to go back to bed. We have to find our tent and our bicycles at the farm. Wassily makes us understand that we have to go back to “spiti” (we think that it must be the name of the village or the farm)! Except that when we arrive in Sitaria, Wassily doesn’t go towards our tent but stops in the village, in a farmhouse. He jumps out of the car under the barking of the dog, knocks on one of the doors, an old lady gets out and hands him a duvet under our eyes full of incomprehension. (We understand much later that it is his mother). He invites us to enter the house and guides us to a room. In fact, from the “guinguette”, he explains that afterwards the three of us will go to the “spiti”: the HOUSE! Everything becomes clear, he invites us to his house!

A touch of stress before closing our eyes: we left our bicycles and all our belongings in the farm closed by a wire and guarded by a 3 months old puppy… Quite an exercise to let go! We feel a bit stupid to have had some doubts (sometimes necessary for our survival) dictated by all the conventions of society, the sordid front pages of the newspapers and other creepy police investigations! The contrast is all the more striking when his mother comes to bring us… slippers and pyjamas for the night!

A few hours later, to crown this day full of emotions, Anai, who did not digest the kebab, spent the night in the bathroom! Again, a huge thank you to our friend Wassily! We’ll see you next year (by tracing “2022” then “2023” on the ground and pointing at the bikes and the farm)!

We meet Hans the next day: he had taken a hotel in Florina and like us, he pedals towards Edessa, a small pleasant town known mainly for its impressive waterfalls! We’re on a peaceful road although dotted with signs indicating the presence of bears and wild boars: it doesn’t make you want to sleep here!

Edessa to Thessaloniki. The road is long, straight and particularly monotonous; but, positive point, the traffic is rather calm before entering the city! We meet Hans, AGAIN.

Only 10 km to go but the storm that has been lurking for a while catches up with us! We take shelter under a barnum installed in the industrial zone (probably to carry out the famous covid tests) with all the two wheels passing by – we end up being a big dozen waiting patiently for a lull! We meet 2 Croatians (very very nice) who travel by motorbike. This is the opportunity to check each other’s bikes. Then, before leaving, one of them tells us “you would be my daughters, I would not have let you go”. We laugh and leave happily in the flood waters that soak us up to our knees, in the traffic jams that force us to put our legs in the water.

Thessaloniki. Not a very restful break, we didn’t ride our bicycles but we walked so much to discover the corners of this city! Our knees have difficulty to bend, we feel a bit stuck like Playmobils! This city is full of contrasts: the thousand-year-old vestiges keep on rubbing shoulders happily and without complex with the blocks of flats and the graffiti. Giorgios confesses to us: “Thessaloniki is an ugly person, but it’s only when you’re around it for a long time that you see its beauty and end up loving it with all your being”.

We take advantage of this city to fix the mechanical problems on Anai’s bike: new derailleur, cassette and chain! We also adjust GG’s derailleur. We hope to be back on the road with bicycles like new!

Being in town also means meeting new people. We meet people from Paris who work in finance and who go fast, very fast. The meetings don’t happen by chance: we think that it’s a good reminder of certain realities that seem light years away from our way of life and thinking!

Agios Vasileios: Άγιος Βασίλειος . Short stop to get off to a smooth start. We spot a lake on the map that should be able to offer us a spot for the night. Opposite, we stop in a restaurant, a not very shy pet stork struts around at a reasonable distance from the tables. What a beautiful bird perched on its fine stilts!

We ask the waiter if we can pitch the tent in the area: it’s a yes, without any hesitation. He comes back to us a little later and starts with “I talked to my boss and… “. We already start to think that his boss is not very enthusiastic about us staying around. But no! “There are too many mosquitoes near the lake and the streetlights don’t work! So he suggests we bivouac on the lawn (and terrace) of the restaurant! Wow. What benevolence; once again. We settle down a few meters from the tables.

Our presence intrigues and the inhabitants on their Sunday evening digestive walk come in turn to ask us sympathetically about our trip. The village priest, who speaks French, comes to meet us and says: “I don’t think it’s very… Hm… Safe here.” then leaves without giving us any more information… Theatrical. Creepy. All scenarios are possible. We have a wonderful night though. Looking back, we think he imagined we had pitched the tent in the restaurant without asking the owner’s permission!

Asprovalta . We found the sea again! Big change of scenery and luxury bivouac at the edge of the beach, with abandoned but functional shower and toilets. We set up the tent next to the motor home of a Polish couple who have been here for a week already! We meet a dog (we’ll call him Tommy for an evening) who takes pleasure in frightening the ladies walking along the beach. The scene is quite funny. They wave a stick to scare him. Incomprehension.

Tommy runs at them happily to catch him: they wave at us in fear thinking that this dog is ours!

Kavala. Our Polish friends told us “it’s great Kavala, it’s beautiful and there is the house of Mohamed Ali, but not the boxer”! In fact we understood later that there is the house of Mehemet Ali, Ottoman officer and viceroy of Egypt considered as the founder of modern Egypt! We take a break in a restaurant, the waiter is very happy to see bicycles and even offers us a bottle of Ouzo!

Back on the road, we find an abandoned thermal complex. The hot spring water baths (40°C!) are still accessible, free of charge. The locals still come to enjoy this incredible natural place and we are not unhappy to have braved the unwelcoming front door.

Muddy bivouac at Nea Kessani Νέα Κεσσάνη – East Macedonia and Thrace National Park.

Once again, we are caught by a storm, a real deluge! We take refuge in a service station, the lady welcomes us warmly with stools! We take advantage of a moment of respite to take the road again. In the next village, a nice man offers us a good kilo of unripe mirabelle plums and a cucumber. On the way out of the same village, a dog tells us straight out that he is not very happy to see us. We feel stuck again but a boy of about 10 years old comes to save us with his water gun: very very very effective!

We leave the road to find a place to pitch the tent near a lake. Here we come face to face with a particularly muddy crossing, but we go anyway because the next part looks passable! We carry the bicycles with two of us, our feet and the wheels sinking in a slippery and sandy mud. We think we’re out of trouble, but the path we think we can take is in fact a real quicksand!

We stop -literally- every 10 meters to remove handfuls of sandy and rocky mud stuck in the brakes, the luggage racks and all the sensitive parts (We are happy that Gérard and Renaud didn’t see that!). It took us about 1h15 to ride 800 meters in this mud; good point: it’s said to be good for the skin!

We finally arrive near the lake, greeted by a swarm of mosquitoes (“la CAMARGUE?!”) which dissuades us from pitching the tent. We set up a little further back, near a chapel. We find a hose to clean the bikes covered in mud! The timing is perfect, just enough time to set up and wash the bikes before the rain (and this time, the storm) regales us again.

We leave the next morning, the road is obviously in the same state, even if we tried another way. We come across a sheepfold guarded by dogs (yes, AGAIN!), a man comes out to escort us. The dogs didn’t look so bad, they just watch over their flock! GG, who didn’t want to wear his wet shoes from the day before, finds himself in flip-flops on a path that is sticky with greenish mud: a sweet mixture of manure, sheep urine and other sweet things from the sheepfold!

The sun finally comes out and we ride along the wild coastline and sparsely populated farmland! We had the opportunity to clean the tyres by crossing a flooded road – not surprising given the weather of the last few days! (it’s refreshing)

Anai has been dragging his feet for several days, a little injury? A break is necessary at the Kryoneri campsite. After a discussion with the manager, we decide to make a detour to Istanbul for GG’s birthday; we’re no longer 300 km away!

It goes up to Alexandroupolis where we realize that we follow the Via Egnatia, the old Roman trade route! There is really little traffic, we wonder where all the cars are!

This part of Greece is particularly pleasant: roads just for us!

We cross peaceful villages where all the inhabitants stop us to show us the direction of Turkey by bicycle while we are just looking for a place to pitch the tent!

There was obviously no way to avoid this country!

Initially we didn’t think we would be cycling here, but the road took us to the Republic of Northern Macedonia for a few days!

New currency (the most beautiful banknotes we have ever seen), language, architecture and new alphabet!

If you don’t have many more pictures, it’s HERE (with the rain, we couldn’t take the camera out)

We took the opportunity to have a little history lesson on North Macedonia

In 1991, the country declared its independence from Yugoslavia as the Republic of Macedonia. Greece REALLY didn’t like it, and for almost 27 years it was a real semantic war between them!

In 2018 the country capitulated, changed its name and became the Republic of North Macedonia!

In fact, the name Macedonia, refers to the region of Ancient Greece carried by the powerful Alexander the Great (the famous king of Macedonia)! Greece obviously couldn’t stand to see its neighbour take over this part of their common history! Oops.

And it goes on until the most basic element of language: to say NO in Macedonia one simply says “nè”. And where it gets tricky is that to say YES in Greece you say… “nè”. Alexander the Great left some traces and some absurdities (seen from the outside, anyway!)

Easy border crossing with a splendid view on the Ohrid lake, one of the oldest in the world! The sky is getting cloudy. For a change, the big question is: when will it rain? It’s the one that comes up most often these last few days!

We notice with amusement policemen more or less well hidden behind trees, sitting on benches in the shade, on cafe terraces, behind dustbins, between two cars… every 100 meters! The game is to find them, which keeps us entertained for a good ten km! Well, we learnt later that we were not in the middle of a game of hide and seek or “where is Charlie” just to entertain us, but that an important political congress was being held in Ohrid on that very day, bringing together the heads of Balkan states: less fun!

Ohrid. After our Albanian crush, far from the tourist trails, here we are in a particularly touristy city. The contrast is striking! That said, we understand why, this small seaside resort is full of charms. Between two showers, we go to soak up its old town, its medieval churches and its monasteries. Even if the bicycle is a slow way of transportation (even if you pedal at full speed), the transitions are sometimes brutal! We smile because the thought that emerges in our heads is that we have the feeling of being “in Europe again”.

On the way to Bitola. Here comes THE day we’ve been afraid of for weeks: THE summit at 1,200 m altitude. Enough to make our newly muscled calves tremble! After a good night’s sleep, commando preparation and a champion breakfast before setting off for what promises to be a tough day. The road is pleasant, little traffic except for 5 garbage trucks that pass us at full speed.

Found: A large and beautiful open-air dump in the heart of the mountain Below, the giant burner is in charge of making the frequent arrivals disappear.

It’s 12 o’clock. We arrived at the summit YAHOU. We realized while laughing that we had made a whole “mountain” of this day but that finally, it was really nothing compared to what we had already climbed in Albania, because we were already quite a lot in altitude! Barely time to breathe from this hillock when here come some wild dogs.

We quickly start a nice descent to Resen in the rain! We decide to continue anyway and book a dry room in Bitola!

Bitola. After a night of rest, we book a second night in another guesthouse: it’s still raining and obviously for a while! We push the bicycles in the streets of the city centre, trying to find the address of our host! A man comes out of a restaurant and kindly offers us his help. As we talk, he asks us if we had tried to contact a Warmshower in Bitola. The answer is yes! What did he say to you?” “He explained that he had moved and was now living in the mountains. “Well, hello, it’s me, Goce!” So improbable, that you come face to face with Goce in this tiny street, in a town of 75,000 inhabitants! He was visiting the city for a few days to spend some time with his friend Mihail from Skopje (the capital). They invited us to join them to share a bürek (delicious)!

The lunchtime bürek was transformed into a café, discovery of the city between two showers, an inspiring and incredible exhibition of works by talented children from all over the world (the “Little Montmartre of Bitola” competition www.smallmontmartreofbitola.com/), tasting of food, each more delicious than the last, and finally a waterfall of wine in the rain! A very nice and unusual meeting from which it took us several days to recover!

We take again the road with a notable physical laziness, under a threatening sky, in direction of a new country: Greece (and the region Macedonia).

At the border post, the Albanian customs officers are so welcoming that they offered us to stay in their lodge! We hesitated, but with hindsight, it was definitely a good idea to continue!

Albania is a nice little mess. The country of the off-road Mercedes, of the huge and energetic “hand waving” when we pass, of the bunkers and the people with smiles up to their ears.

The smells, the currency, the language, the culture, the faces and the architecture change: certainly the biggest (and most beautiful) change of scenery since the beginning of this trip!

More pictures of Albania here!

Shkodër. Our first pedal movements in a traffic that goes in all directions but it is fluid, we let go and we feel good. Here, no one is offended by seeing a two-wheeler going the wrong way, a car parked in the middle of the road or a scooter going the wrong way on a roundabout! Horns and zig-zags, it’s always ok! We pedal at the rhythm of this traffic to discover Shkodër, all our senses are on the alert to catch the little jewels of this new country. Our first impression: we will like it here! We feel like we are already in India, and it’s not to our displeasure! We smile wryly. Dogs roam the streets in teams, but they don’t really care about our presence.

Between Shkodër and Tirana, the plain is dotted with villages and crops as far as the eye can see. Vines, fruit trees (cherries, apricots, peaches, pomegranates…), cereals: you can find everything! Horse-drawn carts from another century pass us at full speed!

Tirana. Visit of the capital: a curious mix between modernity and soviet architecture!

A great place to learn more about the fascinating and intriguing history of Albania, the country that is a continuation of the Balkans but not really part of it (with Eri and her @tiranawalktour). This small country has completely isolated itself from the rest of Europe and is considered one of the worst communist dictatorships in history! Albanians discovered bananas and Coca-Cola only in 1991! The dictator Enver Hoxha -maybe a bit paranoid- had about 170 000 bunkers built to protect himself from an imaginary nuclear attack. Eri humorously explains that at that time, the United States and so many other countries had never actually heard of Albania: big disappointment!

One of our trousers is already out of breath from the trip, it must be said that it has a hard life! While passing in front of a small shop (about 2 square meters) of a tailor, we take the opportunity to entrust it and thus give it a second life! When we go through the door, the gentleman theatrically throws his newspaper over his shoulder and welcomes us with a shining smile! After a few mimes and gestures we manage to understand each other easily, he invites us to come back in an hour, the time for him to operate. He has worked miracles!

Elbasan. It’s starting to climb (in altitude and temperature). To change a little bit from the meetings with the cyclists, we met 2 very nice German bikers: let’s go to Australia! A trip so different from cycling, it was really interesting to compare our means of transportation! We thought that we had the same problems and that in the end it’s “the same stupid and crazy idea”!

Gramsh. Biofarm at 7 km! Cool, we heard we can pitch a tent and take a shower there! The worst and best idea of this trip. It’s 7pm, we take a steep, rocky mountain road that forces us to push the bikes. A little disconcerted by the road we ask a lady in her farm for confirmation, she indicates to us, with big turns with her arms “right, left; then right, then left then hop -hand going up- then left then right and to finish, hand going up perpendicularly: biofarm, yes”. It is at this exact moment that one should have suspected the trap. But no. We continue on our path, right …. Left… Barking dogs, left, left. Slowly, very slowly: it goes up. We pass a young man surprised to see us here with such heavy bicycles: “The biofarm? But it’s far, you’ll be there for two hours! In this kind of situation, you never know if you should trust this kind of remark! “5 km in 2 hours? Come on, you have to crawl! So we continue, pushing our bicycles with more and more difficulty, left, then right… under the light of the setting sun. At each turn we think we’ll see it, this famous biofarm; but no, a new mountain on the horizon, then another, and only vegetation as far as the eye can see. Just as we have seen the “hand up” part of the farm, we finally collapse on the side of the road, UNDER the sign that taunts us “Bio Farm on the left”. (with an incredible view of the mountains!) We have to pitch the tent and cook the semolina before it gets dark.

After a short night, we get up (for the first time) at 5 am to admire the sunrise. We quickly set off again before the heat, to reach this famous farm. We could have turned back, but we say to ourselves that we did not do all that for nothing, and especially that we are almost there. We push the bike on this damn rocky road again and again for at least 4 long kilometres through the mountain before FINALLY arriving in this farm (at 9:30 am)! We are greeted by babies of all species: rabbits, kittens, puppies, chicks… who happily cohabit. A strange place where we are the only humans with the employees and we can understand why! The kid was right, the road was still long! -They call it an “OFF-road camping”.

We thought it couldn’t get any worse, but at around 6am, we just elected the most dangerous path of the trip on the way down! Stuck in a narrow pebbled stream on a slope of more than 20%, we had to go down because it was impossible to turn around. Our 50kg bicycles have never been so heavy! One by one, we have to balance our bicycle to help each other in the sharp turns: a more than perilous exercise! Luck, miracle or agility: no damage to the bikes and no fall! That’s it, we see a road! Barely recovered from our emotions, on the now flat trail without too many rocks, we are greeted by big dogs that are not very polite. The main road is only 15 meters away. But to top it all off, the access is via a steep, smooth slope with a central gully over which water overflows and makes the path – of course – slippery (we won’t mention that a wild blackberry compote adds the missing cachet). GG, whose wheel got stuck in the pipe, goes aquaplaning, trying to hold back her faithful steed as well as herself. A slow-motion surfing stunt that ends (miraculously or muscularly) without too much trouble: the bicycle falls slowly to the ground and GG remains standing, brave. All this under the eye of the grunting dogs, who are now more numerous (each problem in its time). That’s when a lady comes to our rescue by vigorously shaking… a small stick: strangely rather effective!

It is in these mountains (and on the same day) that we beat our record for the highest positive elevation of our entire life: 1200m in 40 km (under a suffocating heat)! Even if it was particularly physical, the landscapes were well worth it!

(Too bad, that’s when the drone breaks down. Surely a sign to enjoy these moments with our eyes, and not behind a screen!)

Small pleasant surprise as a bonus: we discovered several spring water taps: a real blessing to refresh, hydrate and wash ourselves! The Albanians come there with the merco full of bottles to fill!

Here, even in the lost places where you think you’re alone, or that you think you’ll find a bit of shade: there’s always a shepherd, a donkey, a cow, a dog or children! It is amusing to note the unlikely contrast of the cowherd who watches over his two animals patiently for hours in the middle of a green landscape and then suddenly takes out his smartphone and starts scrolling. Or the brand new Mercedes 4×4 towing an old wooden trailer. Or the guy who gets dropped off by an old merco in front of his field, then sets off again on horseback!

After these climbs in the mountains, we finally find a small shop, it’s been a long time! We buy some food – one of the two men, Alban, speaks English! He warmly offers us some apricots for the road!

After the village, we hear again shepherds’ dogs in the distance, we decide not to stop: we have a head start. They pursue us for a while, before getting bored; this speeds up our arrival at the next stop.

Malik. First “big” city for a while, we take the opportunity to buy some food. At the exit of the shop 3 women seem to talk about us, probably intrigued by our equipment. The oldest of the three sits down with us and a mimed discussion begins, interspersed with laughter and big claps on the back, we may not have completely understood each other, but we had a good laugh!

Pogradec. Back to civilisation, we have passed more cars in ten minutes than in the last three days in the mountains, it feels very strange! Carriages come to accompany us at a reasonable and reassuring rhythm on the edges of the national road. We then put our bags down in a family campsite opposite the Ohrid lake, Camping ARBI Bar-Restaurant. We feel so good there (and we are so knocked out) that the night has turned into 3 days! We met Jean-Paul and Chantal, two experienced travellers on recumbent bicycles, a beautiful Alsatian encounter: we hope to see them again in France!

We still don’t know when or how, but Albania (and the Albanians) really made us want to come back! In fact, we had a real crush on this country from the very first days! We had the feeling that we were getting closer to India while we are still so far from Asia, India, Tuks-Tuks, Himalayas and momos!