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adventure begins around 6 years ago when I was working on a Moshav in the Golan
Heights. My home for 11 months had been a caravan overlooking the Sea of Galilee,
which I shared with Darren the decorator from Preston. He was planning a trip
to Asia and had handily brought along the ubiquitous Lonely Planet S.E Asia guide.
This, along with the sides of Israeli Kellogs cereal packets, was the only reading
material available to me. So, having mastered the Hebrew for Niacin, Vitamin A,
D, etc. it was time to move on to the L.P. India and Sri Lanka caught my
eye but the general consensus appeared to be transport was a bit of a bugger.
Buses were overcrowded and taking them meant ending up upside down in a ravine
buried under the 10 other passengers on board or having all your belongings stolen
en route. Trains were rated as relatively safe and the fact all stations employed
guys with large sticks to beat up beggars almost gave train travel the nod. However,
as every single train is scheduled to arrive 12 to 24 hours after the timetabled
time - no matter what the distance - that didn't really appeal to me. There
was only one logical choice for an Englishman who'd been working 12 hour days
in 40C sun could make - travel by bicycle. Undeterred by never having ridden a
bike more than 10 miles before in a single stretch (Ingleton to Settle on the
A65) I arrived back in the UK in Oct '96 with a plan and without a clue. Two
weeks later I was in Sri Lanka at the start of my experiment in bicycle touring.
8 months and about 13,000 km later I ended up in Bangkok with 10 kilos of luggage
- including the bike, but without enough money to move on. For better or worse,
I've been here ever since. From my time on the Moshav I'd bumped into some
travellers and I'd learnt that one couldn't really earn the title of 'traveller'
without being seen to spend every evening pondering, biro in hand, bottle of local
beer (never Heineken, Carlsberg or other generic worldbrew) on the table, over
a tatty loose leaf book. I was never much of a writer, 'O' Level English having
put me off for the previous 10 years. Therefore I determined that investing in
a 365 page, leather bound , A4 journal would be a serious waste of money. I opted
for the Letts pocket diary - a 2.5" x 4" tome small enough to guarantee that even
the most reluctant scribe could jot down the day's adventures or lack of them. Rather
than boring you senseless with the usual descriptions of waking at sunrise, riding
through poverty stricken villages, punctures and 15 Rupee Thalis, I've decided
to cut and paste a few of my original thoughts from the little green book, which
for the last 5 years has made the bottom of a plastic bag of odd & sods it's home.
It's interesting to look back trying to connect place names to images in my head,
figuring out why the hell did I wrote some of the things I did and went to some
of the places I visited. Ahhhh, the benefit of hindsight. Sri Lanka
"Guys it's showtime. So you are the cool type. And you want others
to know you look for ways to impress and ways to show your manly qualities. Hey,
why not join the Navy as an Officer. Yes sir, a Cadet Officer. How do you like
to be really cool?"
Advert in a Colombo paper How do you like to be
stone cold dead? As you can see the Sri Lankan armed forces were struggling to
find recruits to become suicide bomber fodder at this time. Most 'guys' with a
double digit IQ were giving any job vacancy, that involved travel outside Colombo,
a miss. "Staying at the Pink House in Kandy 125Rs night, nice new bathroom.
Bought sarong from Buddhist temple for 500Rs" I know realize that paying
the equivaent for 4 nights accommodation for a 2 metre piece of dyed cotton is
what more expereiced backpackers refer to as a 'rip off'. At the time I didn't
think so because I'd skillfully bargained the seller down from 1,000 Rs. "Spotted
an embalmed calf, shark foetus and 'sluggish crocodile' in the National Museum." No
mention of being surprised or even the slightest bit inquisitive as to why the
National Museum of any country would proudly display these three exhibits. I guess
the journalistic instincts were still in hibernation at this early stage of my
travels. " Went through LTTE territory on the way to Polonaruwa, quite
a few guys in black carrying machine guns - didn't look like soldiers." At
the time, the LTTE ( Liberation Tigers of Tamil Elam') were in control of areas
linking the ancient cities of Anuradapura and Polnaruwa. I was riding along minding
my own business and I came to a fork in the road -one way was the long safe way,
the other was far shorter but outside government control. Helpful soldiers were
on hand at the junction to answer security questions:
"Can I go this
way?"
"Up to you."
"Is it safe?"
"Not for us. Might be for you."
Figuring that a sunburnt white boy on a bike wouldn't easily ,be confused
for a cool guy looking for a way to show his manly qualities I took the shortcut
and survived to tell the tale. (In Trincomalee) "Staying at Votre Maison,
basic + friendly refugee camp. Nothing in guide book about this." No
other foreigners in the town, sandbagged machine gun nests on street corners.
Hmmm, perhaps fellow travelers had been put off by the checkpoints every 20 km
or so on the way here or the fact that the US Government had issued a 'travel
advisory'. But there again, if you only visited places which received the US Govt
stamp of approval as being 'Touristsafe' (TM) you'd be limited to Disneyland and
Monaco. "Got 7.30 ferry to Mutur, yesterday a bomber blew himself up
100 yards from the jetty. Rode potholed road south, like being in an Oliver Stone
movie, camouflage troops everywhere. Got to the last checkpoint, Captain took
me to see Police Chief see if I could get pass to enter Tamil territory." If
I'm coming across as a bit of an adventurous sole, that wasn't the case at the
time. I had a map of the island and it clearly showed a main road leading south
to Batticaloa. Obviously the message that the road had been downgraded dirt track
status hadn't yet been relayed to the cartographer. I remember talking cricket
with the Police Chief in his fortified outpost. Over tea and cakes he explained
only Red Cross personnel were allowed past the final barricade and although I
probably wouldn't command a particularly high ransom, he wasn't willing to take
a chance on having to write a lengthy report on a kidnapped bike riding idiot
who was technically in his jurisdiction. Fair enough. A few days later I
read in the paper that the same outpost had been attacked by the LTTE the and
20 or so people killed. (Colombo) "Went to Pagoda tea rooms, scene of
one of Duran Duran's early 80s videos." Some people go on a pilgrimage
to Graceland, others to Mecca. I had a rather nice afternoon tea at the Pagoda
tea rooms. I admit it is rather sad when the highlight of a capital city is a
run down coffee shop - no matter how good the French Fancies are. I'm not sure
if this is a reflection on myself, Colombo or both. "(Tangalle) Another
lazy day spent walking along the beach. On my way back I helped the locals pull
in the fishing nets." Absolutely no recollection of this at all. "Stood
idly by and watched locals pulling in the nets" I can believe. It appears as though
I was hedging my bets at this point. If I died during my trip and my journal was
found lying alongside my decomposing corpse at least my final days would have
included doing something vaguely Hemingway-esqe. "Missed the turn off
to Budrawagana but decided not to back track - seen enough Buddhas already. Excellent
bakery 50 metres east of crossroads in Wellawaya." This extract illustrates
the cyclist's main priority - loading up on carbohydrates. Bakeries featured prominently
in my ramblings. After riding all day, a couple of loaves of bread and several
cakes made for a great mid afternoon meal. One day I'll come to terms with the
fact I missed out on seeing some of the world's oldest Buddha images but did discover
the best Apple Tart in southern Sri Lanka. Win some, lose some. "Got
three mangoes for 5Rs - NOT a rip off." At least I was learning, although
why I stated the obvious is lost in the mists of time. (Haputale) "Great
views from guesthouse. See all mist in morning on floor of valley." Now,
if I had had any real intention of writing about my travels at the time I'm pretty
sure that I could have been a bit more poetic in my narrative. "(Colombo)
Had to wait 2 hours in Indian Enbassy - not sure what for, never found out. Only
told 'Must wait for woman to come. Not sure if she did or not but I got my visa
nevertheless." Any comment would be superfluous but memories about having
difficulty even filling a single 2.5" x4" page leap to mind when re-reading entries
such as this. "(Colombo) Notice at the airport. 'Our motto for
November - Safety' Pity today's December 18" Sarcastic bastard. "Stayed
at Orient Pearl Hotel because flight was cancelled. Reading material in lobby
consists of Aug '91 issue of Electronics Today." Not one of the most
riveting mags on the market at the best of times but I did kill 10 minutes of
a thoroughly dull day browsing ads for the latest $2000 20Mhz 286 DX PCs. Next
. . . . India awaits . . . . . Wednesday 18 December, my first day in India.
A land of confusion, chaos and mystery and therefore it was inevitable that I'd
mention: "The price of apples is cheaper than Sri Lanka and there's more
variety". Ian McNamara Other Ian McNamara
stories: Into the Great Wide Open
: Koh Chang Notes | 
