Day 50 – “Only Fools and Horses”, Kikinda to Sečanj, 70km

After breakfast with my adopted family (I tried refusing the continuous offers of food and failed miserably), I explained that I really did have to go. Can’t I stay for a few more days, they asked, sliding the sweet-smelling bread just an inch closer?

No! I had to put my foot down. This is a fundraiser, not a holiday! This phrase I seem to constantly repeat wherever I go fell on deaf ears. How could I explain that I was supposed to impress potential World Literacy Canada sponsors with my biking prowess…not my ability of swinging in a hammock all day long sipping juice?

I rushed back on the road, my sandwhich for lunch packed safely away.

Hello there, wind! Head and crosswind. Good morning to you dear flat, straight and mind numbing roads!

I stop at a small town to get some juice and yoghurt. Taking a seat at the only available bench in front of the hairdresser’s and right on the main street for all to see, I am surprised to see an available, and open, wifi connection. But before I have the opportunity to send even one tweet, I see an older, swarthy woman approaching me from the house across the street. She motions to me, big, strong movements, that I must come inside into her home. There’s no messing with this tractor-driving farmer woman; I meekly follow her, not really sure what all the fuss is about. I look around me and see the gathered crowd on the street sending me encouraging smiles; all is well.

Inside, I am roughly sat down in front of a glass of lemonade. Drink! Then there is coffee and cake. Eat! It’s not a request, it’s a command.

Between mouthfulls, I tell them the usual Ride to Read story embelished with personal details about myself and my family. The other woman present, a gentle, little one with kind eyes, tells me of her 26 year-old son. He is single and good-looking she promises me.

These repeated marriage proposals are starting to be
comical, although I do my best to keep a straight face so as not to be rude. But is it really this nation’s group mission to find me a Serbian husband?

They send me away with more cake. While I tap back into the Internet world, comfortable on my exposed bench, passing women gift me with fresh apples and plums. I can hardly believe my good fortune and the openness and curiosity of these people.

Of all the nations I have passed through on this trip, no where have I been welcomed, fed, housed and questioned with such warmth and enthusiasm as in Serbia. And I’ve only been here 2 days.

By mid-afternoon I’m faced with a cycler’s dilemma. There are still 60km left to Vršac, the next place where I have a WarmShowers host awaiting my arrival. If not for the strong wind I could power through the remaining distance for a late evening arrival at Sanja’s place. But I know that it will be a huge struggle to do so in the wind, and I may end up in a 9pm burnout 10km before my destination, which would be plain stupid.

So I decide to stop for the day and make Vršac tomorrow’s final destination.

Again, I send out a little prayer in hopes of finding accomodation in the teeny town that I approach. I hold my breath when asking a local for a hotel, but he responds cheerfuly with “Da!“, it’s just down the main street and to my left.

The hotel is indeed there; it’s dingy, old and unkept, but nevertheless very present. And endowed with hot water! I reflect that I really can’t complain since I didn’t specify in my prayer what quality of accomodation I was looking for. The universe heard me and it provided, the fault is mine for not mentioning “no cobwebs” and “clean floors”, please. Hehe

I switch on the TV, momentous occasion in and of itself as it usually happens only a few times a year. …And what do I find but a subtitled episode of 80s British sit-com “Only fools and horses“. I’ve never seen it before, but British humour and I have always seen eye to eye. I laugh out loud and love it. I can feel my stress and tension dissolving.

With the old music that plays on the radio and the wide range of outdated sit-coms on TV, I have to admit that it’s proof of the old cliché that Eastern Europe is kind of stuck in the past.

Well, as far as TV is concerned, it’s fine by me. In my opinion they haven’t come out with anything good since Will Smith was young in “the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air”. …But…I guess that’s a whole other topic not meant for a literacy/cycling blog

Kasia – your Eastern-European cyclist

Day 40 – “nudist camping” – from Maribor to Banovci, 70km

Woke up to any empty and quiet house – Peter and Jelena having left very early to go the mountains for the day. Moments of trust like that – my hosts have left a complete stranger alone in their beautiful home, after all – always make me smile. As I set the kettle and search for a teacup in the kitchen cupboards I can’t help but marvel at the success of networks such as Couchsurfing and WarmShowers. It goes so far beyond simply hosting an individual, as it’s really a whole mentality and philosophy that support the basic assumption that we don’t have to be life-long friends with someone to allow them a certain, basic level of trust. But… just for fun, I imagine myself a vindictive bicycle-propelled robber with all my luggage and my host’s flatscreen TV perched atop my bicycle attempting to race away at full speed, with an evil grin,
but unable to move the heavy load more than an inch. How ludicrous!!

I’m tired after breakfast, so I lie down again for a little while. I’m tired again (come on body, pull through this!) around noon and pull into a quiet field to sleep again for an hour. I wake up feeling better, and make myself lunch and a coffee, which finally gives me some kind of acceptable level of energy. I continue cycling, slowly and steadily, heading east towards the border with Hungary.

After a grocery stop at a Lidl in Ljutomer, I pull out a Slovenian campground guide, gifted to me by another cyclist several days ago. My location, in Ljutomer, gives me really only one option of a campground about 30 minutes cycling distance away – I glance at the description, reading something about healing waters and swimming pools…and also a nudist section ?

Now nudist beaches I’ve heard of, and also envy those who are evenly tanned all over… but what’s the point of being naked while you camp?

Either way it’s getting late and I haven’t too many other options available to me. I would wild camp, except for being low on water, in need of a shower and desiring human company, or atleast the sound of voices, and not engines, around me.

The campground, hotel, swimming pool and spa are one big resort in the small village of Banovci – I haggle down the price for my stay, and leave reception to find a spot to place my tent. I haven’t yet seen any marked distinction between the nudist or “classic” sections…

It begins to dawn on me that it’s really just a free-for-all. It takes some getting used to seeing the two factions so mixed up: 4 people in shorts and t-shirts chatting on one lot while on the one next to it a buck-naked woman is having a bowl of cereal. Next to her a Mr. Shorts-clad is setting up his table while his nudist buddy is perched atop his bicycle talking to him loudly in German. Everyone is cheerful, German-speaking and over 50; the men proudly strutt around with their big beer bellies finally liberated from constricting clothing. Some are dressed, most are not, and the grey-mustached Austrian across from the lot where I’m setting up my tent is smiling hopefully at me. Sorry buddy, you’re out of luck this time. It’s enough that I’m a spectacle during the day – a breathless, sweaty woman riding a fully-loaded bicycle, occasionally singing at the top of her voice just for the hell of it – the last thing I feel like doing in the evening is hanging around in the buff. I’ll take it easy tonight, thank you!

It does, however, bring me a rare satisfaction and pleasure to see people happy, liberated and content in their own skins. And it makes me laugh, for the sheer unfamiliarity of it. I casually glance to my right on my way to the shower, momentarily startled to see a little, wrinkly, tanned bum belonging to a skinny, older gentleman leaning over digging for something in his suitcase!

It’s so funny, hehe

The unexpected comic relief of this nudist campground has brought some laughter to my tired day and I fall asleep with a smile,

Kasia – your sleepy-cyclist

Day 39 – “recumbent bicycle and a drastic change in itinerary” – Celje to Maribor, 94km

A long day of cycling, a huge change in itinerary and the discovery of the recumbent bicycle.

Woke up to clouds and rain! Youpee!! So great to have a break from the heat, even if only for a few hours. Cycling in the coolness felt fantastic, I took a good lunch break but decided against the usual 20 minute lie-down, it wasn’t hot so I could do without it, I reasoned.

Wrong! The body and legs started shutting down around 16:00, I was getting what the Spaniards call “pajaro”, which simply means “bird”, but in cyclist jargon refers
to the feeling of whoosiness and lightness akin to that feeling of flying away…when in fact you should be here, on the pavement, pedalling. I stopped for numerous breaks to regain energy, apologizing to my beaten body during the last 20km for pushing it more and more – with a bit of patience I will get to Peter’s place, my WarmShowers host for the night, I told myself.

And make it I did; miraculous what good breathing, lots of water, and a helpful road cyclist to show me the way can achieve – a little past 19:00 and I was greated by Peter and his girlfriend Jelena at their lovely home with even lovelier view.

Over some cups of green tea and apple pie, we discussed Polish films, Slovenian language and my planned for itinerary for getting to Istanbul. We laughed over how it’s going to be a chore just to get inside the Turkish metropolis itself; Istanbul is one of the largest cities in the world, with an approx. population of 14 million. I can see that future blogpost in my mind’s eye already: “Day XX – Istanbul to Istanbul – 70km”, lol!

And then Peter started telling of his own cycling adventures (he travelled on a recumbent bicycle, but more on that later), the good, the amazing and the not-so-great through his past trek of Eastern Europe. Bulgaria was splendid, he reminisced with a huge smile, fantastic people and paved, quiet roads… But Romania, he shook his head as if to rid himself of some unpleasant memory – “it was terrible.”

Romania terrible (it’s one of the countries I meant to go through), I questioned him anxiously, why??

Not because of the people or the country, he quickly corrected himself, both are great – but it’s terrible for bicycle travel.

Peter went on to explain exactly why Romania, at this point and time, is unsuitable, or to be precise, is very uncomfortable and difficult, to traverse on a bicycle.

Firstly – there are no secondary, paved roads – anywhere. There is a ton of traffic and transportation from north to south Europe going through Romania and nothing else except 3 main paved roads that everyone takes. Not that sharing the road with cars, trucks, motorcycles etc. doesn’t happen to a bicycle traveller on a regular basis – but to have it non-stop for days on end is mentally and physically exhausting, not to mention downright unpleasant. In Peter’s experience, there wasn’t any point in searching for rideable secondary roads since they were never paved…and unless you’re riding a mean mountain bike, pebble and gravel roads won’t get you very far for long.

Second – there are a ton of stray dogs. OK, I think to myself, I’ve already biked in Bolivia which is rampant with strays. Yet, I must admit, to have to deal with dogs for many days in a row would also be difficult – even if there are tricks you can use, like stopping your bike and pretending to pick up a stone from the ground, in prospects of chucking it at your furry offender…to which gesture (whether you have a stone or not) most strays will back off and leave you alone. But again, I wondered, how far would I get in a given day if I have to keep stopping to mimic stone-throwing because of strays? I would have to kiss my +80km days goodbye, as well as any hope of finishing the ride before August…

So what are my alternatives, I asked the one more experienced than I.

“Go through Serbia”, he said.

“Are you sure it’s OK there?”

“Definitely”, but rather than wild camping in the middle of nowhere, make sure to ask people at their homes, and they will lend you their garage or a spot of their lawn for the night. The roads are great and there are plenty of secondary ones to choose from. You’ll get by OK with Polish too, he assured me, not knowing that I had already picked up little bits of Serbian from my days as a Serbian folk-dancer in Calgary. Oh yeah, and you can follow parts of the EuroVelo bike trail no. 6 that runs along the Danube river!

Well, I didn’t need more convincing than that. Of course, I’ll be discussing this Romania-nay and Serbia-yay situation with other cyclists that I meet in the week ahead (as this change of plans doesn’t affect my traversing southern Hungary), and compare notes with them…but all in all, Peter has me pretty well convinced. Looks like Romania’s beauty, as I’m sure it is a very interesting and diverse country, if not for this biking complication, will have to wait.

And then, we checked out Peter and Jelena’s tandem bike (very cool!) and I even got to try out Peter’s recumbent bicycle… tough to get your balance at the beginning, but it has many advantages over the upright, traditional bicycle including more comfort and a more ergonomic design. Also it is significantly more aerodynamic than an upright bike and therefore faster!

Here some photos from my first test “ride” which wasn’t so much riding as it was Flinstoning my way around trying not to lose my balance!

Kasia – your always-learning cyclist

Day 37 – catch up on life day, 20km (in Ljubljana)

A day to catch up on sleep, bike repairs, purchases and friendships.

Searched for ages for bike service alone, wondering how there could be so many cyclists and no repair shops anywhere, until my WarmShowers host Bojana took me to a mechanic across the street. Grumbling something to me in Slovenian about my feeble attempts at fixing the gear switches myself, he got it up and running again, and did so for free.

Never, and I mean never, underestimate a local’s knowledge and influence!

Also had the rare opportunity to meet up with good friend and roommate from my days in Granada, Spain – Uroš and I hadn’t seen eachother in over a year! As is always the case with good friends, it was as if no time at all had passed since we last shared a coffee, only that we were talking a zillion words per minute trying to fill eachother in on everything that was happening in our lives! Uroš loves cycling too, and I could tell that the Ride to Read intruiged him; perhaps after he finishes his physics degree he will take to the road as well?

Only time will tell.

Otherwise enjoyed my time in Ljubljana, observing the Slovene people to be very athletic. Tons, and I mean comparable to the Dutch scale, of bicycle commuters, and lots of rollerbladers and joggers out on the sidewalks too. It’s a good thing the bicycle path system is so abundant and well designed as I’ve also heard (but can’t say that I’ve personally experienced it out on the road) that Slovenians have a reputation for reckless driving…

Otherwise the transition from west to east Europe, as unpolitically correct as it is to continue to make that distinction (but make it I shall), is apparent to me in 2 key ways.

1. Everyone looks grumpier and more serious (even if they aren’t actually once you start talking to them)

2. Everything is harder to find. The grocery stores are hidden, the parks and bars are fewer and tucked away in dark corners…

Result: Kasia (me) cycling very slowly through towns and small cities or stopping all together for lengthy minutes to observe people in an attempt to figure out food, rest and coffee sources. If I was likely to get a smile from a stranger (unlikely) without this dodgy behaviour, I receive scowls and frowns instead, which is not surprising as I must look like some kind of sweaty, brightly-clad stalker…

…sigh…

Kasia – your harmless wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly cyclist

Photos

- would you have known, from the outside, that this is a grocery store?
- Bojana, WarmShowers host in Ljubljana, with my bike
- Bojana’s one-eyed, hence in a permanent wink, Beagle
- Uroš and I, with view out on the city

Day 23 – recovery = sleep

…atleast this is my conclusion after waking up at noon today!

Yes, after a fantastic evening spent with Filippo and friend Tommy, Kasia K. and I headed to bed around midnight, sighing with delight at the sheer pleasure of sleeping in a warm bed. I was tired, simple physical exhaustion, my legs rejoicing in nightime non-use, Kasia K. however was going through inflammation, minor fever, congestion and the like, essentially experiencing the same symptoms that I went through in the first week of the ride. It looks like the body needs a certain time to adjust to constant cardiovascular activity and the repetitive muscle and joint strains involved in cycling; it needs to settle into the new rhythm of life associated with bicycle travel.

So today, waking up to a day already half gone due to sleep and with an appetite reminding you that you haven’t eaten in 14 hours… led us to the conclusion that the day would be a rest and catch-up-with-other-stuff day.

We did some laundry (photo 1) and since the gas stove was without gas we took the time building up the fire in the gorgeous old-fashioned wood-burning stove (photo 2), to enjoy our hot morning (ahem, I mean 15:00) coffee.

Also, because this beautiful 800 year-old house in the middle of a divine park deserves it, a few photos of the property too (3 & 4)

Then, deciding against taking the bicycles, we walked to town to get groceries, meeting locals along the way who pointed us in the right direction (“what are these two bella ragazze doing in Ferrania?”, they teased) and just in case you didn’t realize that you found yourself in Italy, photo 5 shows you the impressive selection of pasta’s, lasagnas, noodles, spaghettis etc. found here at even the smallest of convenience shops!

Armed with food for the next 2 days or so, we headed to the outskirts of town in a planned attempt to take advantage of wifi at Filippo’s parents’ house. He had told us that “in that big field with horses you will see big house – this is my parents’ house – there you have their wifi, and there is no pass code for it!”. It sounded too good to be true, and in a way it was since upon arriving at the horse field we couldn’t quite figure out which “big house” was the one with the promised connection to the outside world. Was it the two-storey run-down building in the next field? Or the fancy bungalow across the street? Were all my unread emails just a connection away in the little casa hidden behind high shrubbery? Deciding that it was best not to jump fences and hang around stranger’s porches looking suspicious we headed back home hoping to stop by a wifi-endowed cafe in the morning, as we take to the road again tomorrow.

So, in general, a quiet day, although with a surprising amount of unexpected guests stopping by the cascina. Since its location in the regional park puts it in the path of several nature trails, hikers and locals come by, to stop and chat and get a drink from the fountain. Unknown to them Kasia K. and I would hear their voices below and come out unto the balcony to watch them, in silence. It’s fun to see their eyes gaze up and then their whole body jump a little at the realization that there is someone, not 2 meters up, looking at them! Ofcourse we would all just laugh about it and then attempt a few more jokes in our now signature hybrid tongue of inglo-span-italian.

By the end of the day I was marvelling at the irony of receiving and personally meeting more people while at home in the middle of a park with no other houses around you, then you would living in the urban heart of a big city! I guess living in nature is a natural people magnet

Kasia – your rested cyclist, ready to continue the adventure through north-east Italy!

Day 22 – “wild pig on a bike” – From the coast inland to Ferrania (80km)

In summary, one of the most beautiful and grueling days up to date!

Slept like a log at my first ever “wild camping” site! Last night, the guys spotted our personal campground from the mainroad, a sign with “proprieta privata” and an obviously abandoned flat space of rocks and grasses. We pounced on the opportunity, and the site proved one of the most beautiful and well equipped spots ever. While Kasia K. , Edgar and I went for a quick dip in the Med (in lieu of shower that evening), our chefs and campsite guard, Pepe and Sergio, prepared dinner. We returned to some delicious soup and “pan con tomate”, a Spanish classic, served on a table while sitting on chairs. I tell yea – that improvised campsite (photo 1) had it all!

We headed out in the morning continuing along the up and down coast – direction: Genoa. Around 13:00, in scorching 32 degree weather we stopped for lunch and another swim in the refreshing sea. We said our goodbyes with the Catalan guys, a little sad to part ways but with hopes to meet up later on the road and/or later in general, and headed inland to Ferrania – home to our WarmShowers host for the evening. The guys had plans to continue along the coast to Genoa and then to cut across north to Croatia. For more info on their adventure you can check out http://www.pangeats.com

As we rolled inland I looked at Filippo’s, our host’s, directions for getting to his place. As we passed one village and then another I wondered when we would meet the 400m climb that he had warned us about in his email, since up to then the road had been fairly easy. Upon turning into a narrow, and beautiful, road tucked into a valley between mountains, I understood the challenge at hand. It wasn’t the continuous steady climbs I had been used to in France, with steadily burning legs that you can learn to ignore as you mentally set-in for a 5 kilometer long hill…no, this was a climb of a whole other caliber – the very steep, at times downhill and then mad steep once again, type of hill. Mentally, it’s exhausting since you have no idea when it’s going to end and physically, you learn to change gears with lightening-speed efficiency.

We did the best we could. A few times we pedalled, legs flying, chain straining and wheels advancing inch by painful inch. Sometimes we pushed our bikes up. Always we double-checked we were going the right direction by asking a passerby.

…Because the only thing worse than struggling up hills is struggling up them when you are going the wrong way.

Actually we successfully navigated the whole way, right up to Filippo’s village where his instructions ended and we were advised to ask a local for the location of his cascina. This is where our troubles began. It wasn’t the Italian that got us (I’m reserving language barriers for when they get really big, like in Hungary, for ex), but the locals mistaking Filippo for his father and directing us to the wrong house (same last name, you see). 2 hours later we had gone up many unnecessary hills, my chrono was showing 80km and my legs were crying for mercy – all sure signs that it was time to stop riding for the day – and we were still lost and calling back and forth with our host who was was driving around the village frantically trying to find us.

We, thank goodness, did finally find each other, and were soon home safe and sound and tucked into a delicious dinner of home made bread, goat cheese and zucchini-mushroom-pasta dish. But not before Filippo informed us that we were his first pair of girl travelers (he had had solo female cyclists and couples but never two girls) and that we were also the first ones incapable of finding his house on our own!
My navigator’s ego a little bruised, I comforted myself with the fact that it did, after all, take me 22 days to lose my way! …which, for a first time bicycle traveller, is not too shabby

We spent a really enjoyable evening with Filippo and Tommy, of the kind of comfort and easy-going nature generally reserved to good friends who have known eachother for many moons. We learned of his passion, and obvious talent for photography (already a few shots sold to National Geographic!), his young wife, now pregnant with their first bambino, and of course his passion for cycling. He works with an organization that promotes mountain biking in the area, logo of which is the funny wild pig on a bicycle (photo 2)

…and the wine and carbs kicked in and we were arrivaderci for the day…

Kasia – your very-sleepy-cyclist

Day 18 – From “Graine et Ficelle” to Nice (25km)

Another packed day of people, laughter and awesome encounters!

Started off the day by looking at the map, I had to get to the train station in Nice to meet my friend Kasia arriving from Dijon in the afternoon. I learned then that we were in fact very close to the coastal metropolis, maybe 20 or 25km away… and the ride to the Mediteranean would be all downhill! If my biking spirit had forgotten what easy and leisurely biking was like, it would remember it today.

We whiled away the morning chatting, working and munching on delicious snacks with Iza and her friend Pierre. The two of them, proudly in their 50s, were loving my biking project and eager to hear more about it, regardless of any nostalgia it might bring up for them. Pierre in particular, with shining eyes, told me of his biking, touring and travelling adventures from way back when, some of which also took place in Canada during a dog-sledding expedition he undertook in Quebec. He was amazed at all of the networks available to travellers and bicycle tourists these days, he loved hearing about the WWOOF, Couchsurfing and WarmShowers networks. By the end of it, I could tell he had been bitten by the bicycle bug like so many of those I meet – he wanted to get back out on the road too! “But, Katya (as he liked to call me by the Russian version of my name), what will my wife say when she hears that I am sleeping on stranger’s sofas?”.

Ah, well…

I had planned to leave at noon, knowing that in good company noon would morph into 14:00, and indeed I didn’t get going to Nice until past that time. The hour long trip from Iza’s was effortless, as I flew down the mountains I had biked so hard to get up, reaching the coast in no time and continuing east along the bicycle paths until I reached Nice.

I rolled into the train station and found Kasia there, rested from her train ride, with panniers, sleeping bag and all the necessities for surviving her 2 weeks with me on the road. Kasia and I are good friends, back from our days at the University of Calgary, with more things in common than just a first name. We are both Polish-Canadian (although she grew up in Saskatchewan and I in Alberta), we speak the same languages, and share many interests including healthy eating and biking. I am happy to spend time with her and discover a different biking dynamic than the solo-travelling I have been doing thus far!

So, having successfully found eachother in the touristy and overcrowded mess of downtown Nice we headed over to our Couchsurfing host for the next 2 nights – his name was Alex and he lived in a clean and quiet flat with his 5 year-old son Sandro. We immediately settled in and felt right at home, helped I’m sure by our host’s attending to our every need and desire – he even gave up his bed so that we could rest more comfortably!

In the evening, we spent a short while visiting vieux-Nice (the historical area), with a quick visit to the beach at night too.

A few more photos for you,

- Pierre helping me tweek some bits on the bike
- Iza and Pierre
- Nice beach at night
- one more photo of beautiful “Graine et Ficelle”

Day 13 – from Salon-de-provence to la Malle (65km today)

Today was as unpredictable as days can get.

So I woke up bright and early, and got going with breakfast, washing up, packing etc. Every morning I try to get up even earlier and pack even more efficiently in hopes that it wont take me so long to actually start riding – alas these morning starts seem to be lengthy by definition.

There isn’t just breakfast to make and have, but also the camp to take down, returning everything to its places in the panniers. Ofcourse in the meantime you run around getting dressed, brushing teeth and applying sunscreen while pulling down your clothes line and packing it too, the half-dry clothes remaining await to be perched on top of the luggage once your stuff is packed. Then there are dishes to wash and regular maintenance check-ups to perform and most likely a little tweak of the tools, application of oil or reinforcing of something with duct tape is necessary. At that point you look at the time and realize it’s almost 9:30 (you woke up at 7:30), and you haven’t checked emails or planned your route for the day yet! One thing leads to another and you’re lucky if you get on the road by 10:30, most likely though it’s 11:00 once the wheels really start rollin’.

Mornings are hard work!

Today’s morning was particularly lengthy, although all the more enjoyable, since a group of women hikers camping next to me got interested in me, my bike and the ride and we ended up talking for quite some time.

It started the previous evening with flirtatious middle-aged receptionist greeting me loud enough to alert the whole camp of the fact that I had taken a shower and donned a skirt – he announced
my reclaimed “elegance” to all, nicknaming me fondly the “canado-polonaise” (Polish Canadian).

So the girls recognized me as the Pole in the tent “next door” and struck up a conversation. Where was I going? How long will it take me? Am I travelling alone? We got past the typical questions soon and into more interesting topics like necessary gear, the WarmShowers network and World Literacy Canada. We all shared a “global village” moment when it turned out one of the women knew of WLC! She had lived in Toronto for 20 years, and recognized the organization immediately. Needless to say I left them with a WLC card and the blog URL so that they could read more of my happenings on the road to Turkey and maybe get inspired to plan a similar trip! Like so many of the people I have met on the road thus far, I feel like my endeavour inspires them to rethink their concepts of what is “doable” or “reasonable” where bike touring is concerned. Turns out if a young foreigner can do it alone, then maybe they can do it too! I love seeing people come to these types of conclusions and it is a pleasure to share travel and gear tips with them

So, after this jolly meeting I finally got going… sort of. I’ll admit the first few hours of riding were awkward today – partially because I kept having to navigate through closely placed villages and also because my knees kept bothering me. So between stopping to stretch or ask for directions I didn’t really get riding until 30km or so into the day.

All was going well until navigation became more difficult than usual as I approached signs indicating direction-to-village-x … And for the life of me I couldn’t find this village “x” on my map! Thank goodness for speaking the local language as I bothered some people out of their Sunday reveree and got redirected to where I needed to be heading: south-east of Aix-en-provence.

Biking continued and so did the knee pain, since I didn’t have much hope of finding an open pharmacy on a Sunday (I’d like to chat with them to see what solutions they might have to repetitive muscle/joint strain such as this), I figured my best bet would be to find a place to sleep for the night, and poke my nose into pharmacies in the morning.

So…after learning of a nearby campground I biked the few km to it, and cheerfully entered looking forward to a hot shower and some rest.

I found the office deserted, reminding me it was Sunday evening, and a lot of young people just hanging about and looking suspicious, as teenagers often look when bored and in groups together. That, and lack of personnel were my first bad signs, but I ventured on in anyways to have a look.

I found the “camping la Malle” to be in a sorry state, as different from last nights clean and organized spot as night and day. This one looked more like a trailer park, a bit dirty and disorganized and it was packed with people, a lot of them from Portugal. One of the guys I found miraculously spoke Spanish and told me that he and his buddies lived there, while working somewhere nearby… Strange! The whole set up was not quite right, so I continued on the road in search of other options.

I came upon a lady walkng her dog who told me to try the maçon up the street, he has a big property and will let you set up your tent there, she assured me.
So in fact here I am typing this story for you, cosy in my tent and enjoying the serenity of this spot. I’m not more than a kilometer away from the Portuguese campsite, and from the potential of a hot shower… Yet I feel safer and better here, and I figure it’s high time I skip a shower at some point! I’ve been living the life of luxury so far with daily cleaning, so no harm in staying stinky for one night

Goodnight all! I continue my trek east tomorrow, perhaps I’ll even plan my route now and thus save time in the morning pack-up!

Cheers,

Kasia – your knee-sore cyclist