Turkey (3)

Back in Bandirma, we get the bikes back from our friend Bora to set off and cross Turkey within three rather long riding days through Anatolia and a brief sightseeing stop-over in Capadoccia.
Our last day in Turkey begins in Erzincum and takes us to Dogubayazit (or ‘Dog Biscuit’), about 40km from the Iranian border.
Some 100 miles before Dogubayazit, all at once the landscape is opening and getting decidedly more dramatic, with Turkey’s highest mountain Mt Ararat peeking through the clouds every now and then.

Strong side-winds make it difficult to keep the bike in a straight line – and at times, we find ourselves riding at quite an angle, pressing the bikes against the wind. There’s hardly any vehicles going our way, and oncoming traffic is dominated by large Iranian and Turkish trucks coming towards us – causing strong air turbulences that make it even more difficult to keep the bike upright and steady.

Dogubayazit has a distinctive frontier-town appearance to it. It’s located in the middle of nowhere, in a valley between two mountain ranges at the end of a long deserted highway. As we enter, a huge sandstorm is making its way across town. In a very strange way, I feel that I’ve just found myself in the middle of the first ‘Star Wars’ movie, and Dogubayazit is in fact Mos Iceley – a remote desert town where adventures start. I wouldn’t be surprised if, anytime soon, I bumped into Han Solo & Greedo having a game of poker at the bar.

As soon as we stop the motorbikes, people gather around us and look at us as if we were aliens, with either a funny nose & ears, or growing two heads. Within seconds we’re surrounded by children practicing the two words of English they know: “Hello” and “Money”, over and over again. We soon find a suitable hotel where the motorcycles sleep in the hotel lobby – and even better: a restaurant with decent food on the other side of the street. Some tasty kebabs, salads and a few beers in front of us, we can finally relax and look forward to tomorrows first ‘serious’ border crossing into Iran (which I heard can take anything between 2 and 5 hours).

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Turkey (2)

With nearly 15 million people, Istanbul is the largest city in Europe. And although I’ve had three years of practice with London traffic, I’m quite happy to leave the bike behind for a change and get on a passenger ferry instead. The crossing from Bandirma takes about two hours, and with the atmospheric late afternoon light shining down onto Istanbul, I couldn’t think of a better way of arriving in this beautiful city: as the boat approaches the harbour, the Blue Mosque emerges first, then Aya Sophia and finally a stunning panorama of European & Asian Istanbul opens, divided by the Golden Horn and the Bosporus. The atmosphere is particularly good tonight, as Turkey is playing Croatia in the European Cup Semi-Finals, and after one of the most dramatic games I’ve seen in a long time, Turkey won after penalties – which makes earplugs mandatory for a good night’s sleep.

Istanbul to me seems the best place to sort out my tooth problem: one of my friends grew up there and already e-mailed me a dentist recommendation, and so I give Andy’s advice of putting on some superglue a miss. It’s Saturday afternoon as I make my way to the harbour and catch a ferry to Kadikoy, on the Asian side of Istanbul, where I will meet the dentist. It is week-end, and in most countries I would imagine it to be be difficult for a stranger to get a same-day dentist appointment anyway, let alone with a 3-hour notice on a Saturday. Not only that: the dentist, Mr. Kesimgil, also picks me up from the ferry and takes me up to his practice, some 30 minutes drive away. At first I feel a little out of place, sitting in a car and talking with my new dentist whilst he’s making his way through dense city traffic. With a mix of French and English we manage to communicate quite well, and by the time I enter his practice, I already feel much more at ease than ever before a dentist appointment. If you ask me: I think there’s a huge market gap for this “chat before you drill” kind of service. Anyway - 45 minutes later I’ve got a new composite filling. Total cost: €60, return-journey to the ferry included!

I spend the evening away from the touristy Sultanahmet (the ‘Old Town’). As I’m strolling along one of Istanbul’s most vibrant quarters, Ortakoy, it soon becomes apparent how open and multi-cultural Istanbul really is, and how close tradition and avant-garde can be: it doesn’t seem to be unusual for young women to wear a head-scarf and at the same time tight neon-coloured trousers and high heels.

The last day in Istanbul is dictated by sight-seeing: Aya Sofia, Blue Mosque, Underground Cistern, Bazaar, Topkapi Palace, Galata Tower… Istanbul has a lot to offer, and I would love to stay at least another two days to get a better feel for the city and soak up more of the pleasant atmosphere. But unfortunately our visa for Iran starts running very soon, and we only have a few days left to get there. But I’m sure I’ll come back one day – it is a fascinating place!

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Turkey (1)

It’s a quiet evening just after sunset in the West of Turkey, and I’m surrounded by a group of people who are all curious about me and my motorcycle. A few of the people speak good English, trying their best to explain directions to the nearest hotel to me – and although I’m trying hard to listen, I can’t. Their words end up somewhere in the back of my head – but instead of processing the words, my brain is occupied with a rather discomforting discovery: Just a second ago, whilst asking for directions, I realized that one of my teeth has a huge hole in it. But how did it get there?

It slowly dawns on me: over the course of the day, I had been concentrating on the roads and didn’t talk much – hence I didn’t realize what had happened in Sofia this morning: what I thought was a small stone on that takeaway pizza I had prior to departure, was in fact a bit of an old composite filling that’s now missing. It’s OK for now since it doesn’t hurt – but it’s a fairly big hole just above my gums, on the inside… and on the long run it could be difficult to keep clean and possibly cause further problems. However, since there’s not much I can do about it right now, I better concentrate on the immediate priorities of a some food, a beer and a good nights sleep. And so I ask for hotel directions again.

The next day, I meet up with my travel-partner Len in Bandirma, on the South of the Sea Of Marmara. As part of our trip preparations, Len had made contact with Bora Eris, a local motorbike enthusiast from Bandirma who also owns a shop for tires and helped to organise various spare parts. Just as Len and I walk back to the hotel, we bump into Graham (another overland motorcyclist we had met before in England) and another 10 minutes later his travel-partner Andy arrives.

Over the next few days, Bora proves to be very helpful and accomodating: in between sorting out spare parts and servicing the bikes, we drink lots of Turkish Tea, and towards the end of our time in Bandirma, we can leave the bikes in safe storage for a few days and take a passenger ferry up to Istanbul. Top man Bora!

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Eastern Europe: Time to play catch-up

Time to play catch-up: I’ll have to meet up with my travel partner in Turkey very soon, which unfortunately leaves little time for Eastern Europe. My Green Insurance Card is not valid in Serbia, and from what I heard insurance at the border there costs up to €80 – far too much as I’ve already stretched the travel budget considerably. So I decide to bypass Serbia, and instead go through Croatia, Hungary and Romania into Bulgaria.
Although Hungary means the end of motorway road taxes for the first time since Germany, I leave the motorways behind and travel along the smaller main roads. I’ve heard a lot of good things about Hungary from other travellers, and it is indeed very beautiful, with friendly and accommodating people. The villages and small towns have a very open and spacious feel to them: streets are fairly wide, and most houses have a large garden with a bit of lawn and trees in front of them before the actual street begins.
Two more rather long riding days take me through the western part of Romania. Road conditions are generally OK, but every few minutes there’s another never-ending village stretching along the main-road. The speed limit inside villages is 50 km/h, but with no motorways available in the country, long queues of cargo trucks are pushing for higher speed from behind. Police are waiting at the entrance or exit of every other village, and so I’ve got the choice between getting done for speeding, or getting caught by a truck in one of their breathtaking manoeuvres.
At least I’m lucky with the weather: whilst in Italy I wished for warmer weather – now I’m glad that the Romania is getting some cold air from the North, resulting in temperatures ‘only’ around 30 degrees.
In a small village, about 100 km before the border to Bulgaria, I stop for some food and water – and just as I’m getting off the bike, one of the gates opens and I get invited in. “Kafe?” the owner Constantin asks, and with a big smile on my face I nod my head. It’s been hot and tiring ride so far – perfect timing for a caffeine booster.
Constantin owns a small house with backyard farm here, together with his wife and parents. It’s not a big place, but enough to grow vegetables and keep some chicken and turkeys to support the family income. With a question mark on his face, he shows me a bag of Lavazza espresso. Thumbs up: Of course Lavazza is good enough – no need to ask! I go back to the bike to get some chocolate biscuits I bought in Hungary, and five minutes later, there’s a big jug of proper, strong, unfiltered cowboy coffee standing in front of me – just what the doctor ordered.
Two hours later, a quick ferry crossing takes me over the Danube River from Romania to Bulgaria. I’ve got about 2-3 hours if I want to get to Sofia before it gets dark. For a brief moment I hesitate and consider finding a suitable camping spot, but road conditions are good and so I decide to set off for the capital. Just before the motorway, as I’m going past a roadside café with a few motorbikes in front of it, the bikers cheer enthusiastically, giving me thumbs up. Shortly after, I’m surrounded by them: they overtake me, pulling wheelies at about 120 km/h (whilst standing in the pegs), to then slow down with a classy front-wheelie and let me overtake them again. Over and over again… Welcome to Bulgaria!
Unfortunately, the police in Sofia turns out to be a little less accommodating than the bikers: it’s already dark as I’m staggering through the busy streets trying to find accommodation for the night, when suddenly I experience my first police shake-down. It was long overdue already, but why did it have to happen at 10pm, after a 12-hour ride? I mean, I didn’t do anything wrong… Passport? OK. Paperwork for the motorbike? Not OK – that’s somewhere in the bottom of my panniers, and I’m dead tired! They insist, and so I unpack the panniers on the search for the bike registration. 15 minutes later, after they looked at the damn bit of paper for 2 seconds, I’m back on the quest for a hostel.
I eventually make it to the Art Hostel – a friendly but slightly run-down place in the heart of Sofia. Nicky, one of the staff, opens the door. Are you looking for a bed? – Indeed! – Have you got a reservation? – No! – So you thought you’d just come here and see if you’re lucky, hey?
I’m getting slightly concerned and can already see myself biwaking next to the bike, but as it turns out Nicky’s only joking: there’s space in the dormitory, and even better: space for the bike. The entrance to the hostel garden is only about 80cm wide, but somehow we manage to reverse lift the motorbike inside.
Without a doubt, this has been the longest and most tiring day of this trip – and hadn’t it been for the coffee-break in Romania, I probably wouldn’t have made it this far. My mind’s buzzing and although it’s nearly midnight, it’d be impossible to find any sleep now – I’m simply beyond tired. Time for a well-deserved, cold beer and for Nicky’s welcome-drink: a mild anis-flavoured schnapps, straight from the freezer, with small bits of fruit fibre inside. “We call it The Cloud. That’s because after three of them, everything goes cloudy”. And so it does.

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Traffic in Italy

Italian drivers seem to feel obliged to use the steering-wheel single-handedly: using their left hand whilst they’re on the phone, chatting away mile after mile – or using their right hand whilst the left arm is hanging outside the window: either in a downwards/relaxed fashion or (finger tips connected) the hand pointing towards the sky, giving clear signals to the driver in front of them (who’s likely not to look into the rear mirror anyway).

No matter if it’s a long straight on the motorway or a coastal road with sharp bends and hairpin-curves (the stunning Amalfi Coast being a prime example), another phenomenon I observed during the last few weeks is that most drivers seem to genuinely believe that the strange white lines on the roads (which in most other European countries are understood to separate the various lanes of traffic), are merely a proposal or suggestion (not even a guideline). And: it HAS to run right beneath the centre of the vehicle.

As for motorways: Never use the right hand lane – no matter if you’re revving your scooter to 40 mph, or if you’re going on a family holiday in a tiny Fiat 500 with 5 people and luggage inside. The right hand lane is reserved for lorries, and lorries only! No lorries in sight for the next few miles? Don’t ask – just stick to the middle lane like everyone else does. And if you’d like to change lanes, please – heaven forbid – do not use your indicators. Instead: Give the other drivers in your close proximity enough time to react, don’t make any sudden moves and slowly(!) change over to the neighbouring lane.

Seriously though: Despite all this, it’s relatively easy to get used to the traffic here, and in a way I find the Italian style of driving quite refreshing and forgiving, as I imagine it to be simply a reflection of the amicable Italian lifestyle.

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Leaving Italy

It’s sad to leave Michi and Lisa back in Lazise, but time is getting very short otherwise. On the way to Venice, the long awaited blue sky is finally coming out, and I decide to go for one of the campsites near the city.

A quick glance at my bank accounts tells me that I really shouldn’t spend too much time here. What I didn’t realize when I set off for my journey is that Italy is actually Europe’s most expensive travel destination. And Venice is its crowning jewel – not only in terms of romance and beauty, but also price-wise:

Camping €20 per night (1 person/motorbike/tent)
Boat from campsite (in Fusina) to Venice €5
1-day public transport boat ticket €16
single fare boat ticket €6.50
1 beer (0.5l) €10
Local residents get a 1-month boat & bus ticket for a bargain €24. Nice…!

The only solution to this: get up very early & try to see as many things as possible before the last ferry-boat leaves back to the campsite in the evening. The next morning I’m off to Slovenia.

On the way to Ljubljana, I once again get soaked down to the bones. It all happens rather quickly: shortly after Venice, the first clouds make their way into the blue sky. Half an hour later, I find myself in what I believe is the centre point of a thunderstorm. The rain is so dense, it only takes 10 minutes before the ‘waterproof’ gloves are soaked in water and I take shelter underneath one of the bridges (together with another motorcyclist and even some cars!). Every few seconds there’s another lightning in the sky. As soon as the rain gets a little bit better (still bad enough), we get back on the bikes & try to move a few miles, before it gets worse again. After 3-4 bridges, I am tired of this game. It seems that the storm and I are constantly playing catch-up, and so I decide to keep going until it stops raining. And so it does, 80 miles later – about 2 miles after the Italian/Slovenian border.

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Italy (4)

I’m at Italy’s East coast near Rimini, on a campsite in San Marino. And once again, it’s raining. I make use of the time to organise a new rear tyre, before I continue up to Verona. (Even if it had been sunny I wouldn’t dare to go sunbathing or swimming in Rimini: most of the beach is split into little sections which are privately owned – all separated by high fences, with a little hut in the middle for the facilities, changing rooms and the cashier’s desk. I’ve never seen such a monetized & ugly stretch of coast-line before! Like most things in Italy, the rear tire turns out to be fairly expensive. But when the mechanics at ‘Pneus Rimini’ hear that I’m on a world-trip, they check the spokes and give the rim a real good polish, so it now looks like new.

Dinner, yet again, exists of pizza – and this time I’m absolutely shocked by its sheer size: I had ordered a standard ‘Calzone’, but what is now in front of me is about 60cm long, 20cm wide and at least 10cm high. People from the neighbouring tables start asking me “What kind of fish did you order here?” and if they could take a photograph, whilst I’m having difficulties explaining that it REALLY is only a pizza Calzone…

The next day I set off for a little town called ‘Lazise’ near Lake Garda. Last year, an old friend of mine, who I met in Nepal over ten years ago, moved to Lazise with his Italian girlfriend, and very recently they got married. Michi and I haven’t seen each other for 8 years now, but we instantly recognise each other at the arranged meeting-point. As we arrive back at their home, his wife Lisa has already prepared lunch, and I very quickly forget about the latest soaking on the motorway on my way here.

Lake Garda used to be one of my parents’ favourite holiday destinations, and being here brings back a lot of childhood memories. My initial plans were to stay here for a day or two – but time flies, and very quickly this turns into some joyful and relaxed 4 days. The days that Lisa and Michi are at work, I take the bike for a spin around Lake Garda – and the evenings are filled with with lots of laughing, talking about old times and stories from what happened in the 8 years that we hadn’t seen each other. This truly was the best time I’ve had so far on this trip.

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Cluster Bombs

On a conference in Dublin last week, more than 100 countries agreed to ban the use of cluster bombs. It's a step in the right direction, but unfortunately some of the biggest producers of cluster bombs & main military powers (the US, China, Russia and Israel) didn't take part in the negotiations/treaty.
A US spokesman even said that the US "don't believe they are indiscriminate weapons."
I'm sorry, but: Did I miss something? Ever seen the effects of cluster bombs on civilians, still happening many years after a war?

Hopefully the results from Dublin will stigmatize the use of cluster bombs & put more pressure onto the non-participating countries over time.

As mentioned in the 'Charity' section on this website, I am raising money for Handicap International. HI runs worldwide programmes, helping disabled people and campaigning for a complete ban of cluster bombs.
You can donate money to them through a secure webserver here. 100% of your donation goes straight to Handicap International. At the end of my journey, there'll be a raffle where you can win large format prints from one of the pictures from my journey and as a special price: a signed copy from Sam Manicom's new book "Under Asian Skies". Leave a comment

Italy (3) - Florence & the dreaded visas

My next stop is Florence (again): once Siena’s main rival and now capital of Tuscany, Florence had its peak time during the renaissance. It’s my second visit to the city, and it’s raining again. This time, I can make good use of this ‘city-hoppers downtime’: the ‘Hostel Monaca’ I’m staying at in the city centre has free wireless internet access, and – on a less encouraging note: the first mail that I receive indicates that I am about to spend a fair amount of time on the internet over the next few days, as yet another(!) visa issue is going to keep me entertained for a while.

It’s an e-mail from my travel partner Len, who I will meet up with in Turkey in 3-4 weeks. Due to his later departure date from England, Len is about one month behind me with his paperwork and has just received his Iranian visa – which means he was ready to apply for his Turkmenistan Transit Visa. However, the Turkmenistan Consulate we were going through, has 5 days ago changed their visa policy and apparently we now need a Letter of Invitation for the transit visa. Not good. I spend the best part of the day e-mailing other overland motorcyclists about their situation, emailing the Consulate and trying to find tour operators in Turkmenistan to see who could provide a Letter Of Invitation for a transit visa – to no success. No ferry connection across the Caspian Sea (Iran to Uzbekistan) either. I get so desperate about the situation, I’m even investigating a quick stint through Afghanistan, just to bypass Turkmenistan. A phone call to Len tells me he’s up for it as well. Then again, the political situation in Afghanistan is a little too hot for my liking at the moment…

(Two days later, things should change for the better: one of my contacts (another motorcyclists who was in the exact same situation) had been on the phone with the consulate – and the transit visa policy has now changed back to what it was before: we don’t need a LOI (touch wood), and a quick e-mail to the consulate confirmed this. Phew!)

In the meantime, the at least the weather in Florence got a little better and I leave the hostel to go for a little stroll and take some snapshots. With its abundance of bridges (which are very helpful to find your way through the city), Florence reminds me a little bit of Prague. Florence’s most famous bridge is the Ponte Vecchio: unaccessible by car, it boasts an endless number of jewelry shops in ancient buildings, all terraced next to each other. There’s so many buildings that I forget that I’m actually standing on a bridge. I imagine some of London’s bridges must have been like this before the fire of London.

I visit most of Florence’s tourist landmarks, but I decide to give its most famous attraction a miss: Michelangelo’s David statue. Although I do appreciate the arts, I don’t cherish the prospect of queuing up for several hours, just to then enjoy myself in a cramped museum and have a glimpse at the David for a few minutes. As I walk past the museum in the evening, I can see the ugly side-effects of people’s boredom when they’re standing in a queue: the outside museum walls are covered in adolescence-style writing & tags in various languages, often saying something like “I’ve been queuing for 3 hours and THIS is how far I got”. The funniest thing about it is that there’s a CCTV camera just above all this waste of ink. (I suspect the CCTV operator is probably just as interested in his job as the customs officers at the Swiss-Italian border).

Later that evening I go for a meal in a local restaurant. On the table next to me sits a man in his 60s. His name’s Warwick and he’s a retired violin player from Canada, who came for an audition for the Florentine Orchestra some 25 years ago. We end up talking about music, Italy and Tuscan food specialities. The moment I mention the word ‘traffic’, he laughs out loud and tells me about his first year in Italy, when he had to do his Italian driving license. A few of his anecdotes from that time confirm exactly what I had been thinking.

It’s getting cloudy again – and I wanted to see the leaning tower in Pisa, some 70km from Florence. By the time I arrive in Pisa, the sun’s gone completely. A few pictures of the tower, and I find myself in a familiar situation: the pursuit of sunshine. This time I’ll try my luck on Italy’s East coast, near Rimini.
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Italy (2) - Rome and Siena

A quick look at the weather forecast tells me it’s a good time to go to Rome. The Youth Hostel there is right next to the Olympic Stadium, and just as I arrive there in the evening, it’s the biggest match of the season: Cup Final, AC Milan against Rome. Literally all the streets are covered with parked-up scooters, using every inch of space. Half an hour later I got my bike parked up safely: straight opposite the police station.

The Youth Hostel in Rome isn’t the greatest: no electric plugs in any of the rooms (‘for security reasons’), a really lousy breakfast (with the worst instant coffee I’ve had years), and no toilet brushes in any of the toilets (I mean: in a Youth Hostel with shared facilities? You got to be kidding!).

The next few mornings, I catch a bus into the city to visit the main attractions. There’s so much to see here – I’m sure a week wouldn’t be enough, and I’m trying to put everything into 2 days… The highlight for me were the Colosseum and the Forum. Just like Pompei, they give you an idea about life in ancient Rome & give you a different sense of place. I still can’t fathom how an important ancient site such as the Roman Forum – the centre point of the Roman Empire, with Caesar’s grave – could disappear off the map for such a long time before being re-discovered: according to one of the guides, even 5m high buildings had completely gone.

I did a lot of walking in Rome, and I’m glad it’s all over now as I don’t think my legs would have taken me any further: one of the compromises of this journey was done on shoes: I’ve only got bike boots and flip-flops with me. I might get some cheap sneakers before I do another 2 days of city-walking.

Luckily, the next stage takes me away from big cities into the heart of Tuscany, where I stay on a beautiful campsite just South of Siena, with a stunning valley view and even more stunning roads: lots of bends & curves again – a welcome change after the endless city walks and yet another boring straight stretch on the Autostrada.

I do a quick service on the bike (clean & adjust the chain, change air filter, change spark plugs) and visit Siena and its surrounding countryside for a day. Siena is a very pittoresque and charming medieval city, with lots of Gothic architecture and, thanks to banned traffic from the city centre, a very calm atmosphere. “The heart of Tuscany” is no exaggeration at all, and it’s a shame I didn’t pencil in more time – but I’ll definitely come back here one day.
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Italy (1) - Pursuit of Sunshine

Italy – sunshine, amazing coast lines and la dolce vita. Sounds good, right? Well, not for me this time: with solid rain since Switzerland and all passes over the Alps closed, I have to take the motorway & decided to stick to it until just after Milan. The only sign of ‘dolce vita’ are the two customs inspectors at the Swiss-Italian border, who are more interested in leaning against the wall smoking their cigarettes than checking passports. This is what border crossing should all be like!
After getting soaked for eight hours in the rain, camping is the last thing I want to do. So I take a hotel near Milan to dry the bike gear and get a good night’s sleep.
Well – the next day the bike gear shouldn’t stay dry for too long: thick clouds, rain and thunderstorm all the way down to Florence with not a single bit of blue sky in between. I’m already prepared to go all the way to Naples. But the moment I’m having a quick break on the motorway, the sun comes out for a bit & I decide to treat myself for a pizza and stay the night on a campsite in Florence.

Florence is the first major Italian city I enter by motorcycle, and traffic is exactly as I expected it to be: completely mad. My ‘waterproof’ GPS (Garmin Quest) had given in to the rain & died just before the Italian border. But to make things worse: just as I exit the autostrada and start heading for Florence, I notice that my horn doesn’t work anymore either – so by Italian standards, I suddenly find myself way down the ‘traffic food chain’ and hardly get noticed at all. Thankfully, I can later manage to fix it on the campsite. (As for the GPS: I tried to rescue it by cleaning it with isopropyl alcohol to get rid of any moisture, but to no success).

I wake up the next day, by the sound of rain drops hitting the tent – this is starting to become a test for my positivity. I quickly pack the panniers & the tent, and with the horn working this time, I am ready to head out of town and down to Naples, in the pursuit at least a full day’s of sunshine. The situation in there: rain. I bypass Naples to find the Youth Hostel in Agerola just off the Amalfi Coast, south of Naples. The entire Amalfi Coast is a World Heritage Site, due to its natural beauty. Besides that, it’s an absolute dream for motorcyclists – just to give you a better idea: I counted some 25-30 curves to a mile – that’s one every 50 meters!

Later in the week, I shall find enough time to ride this beautiful coastal road without all the luggage and, more importantly: in the sun. But for now, it's still raining and I had to get up the windy mountain roads for 20km through dense fog to find the Youth Hostel.

Half way up the mountain – it’s already getting dark – things start to change for the better: the rain reduces to a dribble (which is enough to put at least a little smile on my face), and a friendly Italian man, who looks (and drives) like Roberto Begnini in ‘Night On Earth’, asks me to follow him in his car: Agerola is a complicated one-way-system, and he’ll guide me to the hostel.

The ‘Beata Solitudo’ hostel is the perfect place to relax & wait until the rain has finished: remote & quiet, with extremely friendly and helpful hosts: Paolo speaks quite good English, and he’s more than happy for me to use the telephone (with my own calling card) for as long as I need to. He’s interested in the visa and bank problems that I’m still having to deal with – and after I explained a few more details, he tells me that he is dreaming of a similar adventure: to take his campervan alongst the Silk Route in a few years, together with a few friends.

Whenever the weather gets better, I make use of the time: go for a walk, visit Pompei and the Flegraen Fields. The later are the highglight of my visit to Naples and its surroundings: I had heard of this place through a radio podcast a while ago, and thankfully it hasn’t been discovered by ‘Lonely Planet’ yet. (So it was actually quite a lonely site to visit). Even better: the whole day, from morning to evening was a celebration of blue sky & sunshine.

One of the main attractions of the ‘Campi Flegraei’ is the ‘Solfatara’, a tiny yet active volcano. Unlike Vesuvio, the Solfatara doesn’t elevate very high – hence it’s difficult to find & doesn’t look much like a volcano. But once you’re on the site, it is amazing: lots of sulphurous smoke coming straight out of the warm earth, bubbling water and even a disused, ancient sauna.

Large parts of the site are fenced off for safety reasons. At some point, I unvoluntarily loose the path and all at once, I can hear my foot steps echoing underneath me – I’m on shallow ground! And just as I am reading the last page of the visitor’s booklet, I find out that the Solfatara site is actually the crater itself. Apparently, on a ‘good day’, you can feel the earth trembling underneath.

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