And Another (longer) Ride Around Kent

I arranged a day out cycling with my mate Chris for yesterday. Our intial plan to ride around the Calais region of Northern France was ruled out due to ridiculous ferry costs so we settled on Northern Kent, which as anyone who knows me knows I absolutely love that area. We met up at the Tilbury ferry and made our way over to Gravesend, accompanied by hordes of grey haired tourists on their way to the Pocahantas ferry cruise on the other side, with Chris refusing to believe an Native American Princess could possibly have links with a gritty Kent port town. But Chris, I am happy to inform you that after marrying an English settler, a Mr John Rolfe on April 5th 1614, she moved to England in 1616 with her husband, settling in Brentford, Middlesex. In 1617 Mr and Mrs Pocahontas decided to move back home to America, however she became seriously ill on board the ship, having only got as far as... Gravesend. She was taken ashore but subsequently died there, thus establishing the unlikely link between an Native American princess and Gravesend.

I have to admit to being a little concerned as to my ability to keep up with Chris over a long ride. For a start Chris is much more experienced than me, fitter and has done many long rides. To put it in perspective, Chris' eighteen mile ride to the ferry from Collier Row was only one mile less than my personal best of nineteen miles which I set a few weeks ago.

We joined the Sustrans route one to Rochester where a problem quickly arose. The pebbly cycle path was fine for my hybrid bike with bigger tyres but it was a nightmare for Chris' road bike with narrow wheels.

We had to take it quite slowly for the length of the path which was around 5 kms. Having got to a proper road we had a lovely downhill stretch where we hit 32mph ( 51kph). However every downhill has it uphill and around the corner this was in the form of a very steep hill near Strood on Ministry of Defence land. Predictably Chris made it up first and took the following photo of me about to explode near the brow of the hill.

Annoyingly immediately at the top of the hill the Sustrans route directed us straight back down again on a different road, I couldn't help but wonder why they couldn't route cyclist around the hill. I felt like one of The Grand Old Duke Of York's 10,000 men...

The route took us through the delightful little village of Upper Upnor, and a more picturesque village you couldn't hope to see. Only two streets with a pub and a church but it was lovely. It's major attraction is Upnor Castle which perches impressively over the River Medway.

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We finally got to Rochester after about an hour and 10 minutes with my legs and stamina holding out well so far. I was still mindful of the ride back though. We locked up the bikes to a lamp post in the high street with two locks. We quickly dismissed the Tourist Office bike park as hopelessy useless. I swear the flimsy metal loops could have been cut with a set of nail clippers.

I have never visited the museums here in Rochester so I was happy to go along with Chris' suggestion to go to The Six Poor Travellers House first and then to the Guildhall museum which houses the Prison Hulks Experience; a very lifelike portrayal of life aboard a 17th century prison ship. The Poor Travellers House was founded by a local MP, Richard Watts, to provide shelter for, you've guessed it, poor travellers The bedrooms are exactly as they were and it's a very interesting place to visit.

We had a walk along the High Street and to the Guildhall museum and to the highlight of Rochester's museums. The first part is dedicated to Victorian Life and Charles Dickens and across the street is the Hulk Experience. Complete with sounds and smells it makes for a very authentic experience.

I'd never made it as far as Chatham on my travels around Kent, despite it only being a few miles south of Rochester. It is the complete opposite of Rochester and is where all the chain shops are located. It is a far cry from the charm of Rochester. We cycled down to the High Street where a local driver questioned our rights as cyclists to use the road in somewhat colourful language.

We just breezed through the High Street on our way to the main attraction of Chatham, The Historic Dockyards. Chris had been there before and thought it wasn't worth the £15 admission fee so we just looked at the free bits.

After a surprisingly easy climb back up a hill in Chatham we headed for the Golden Lion pub for their very reasonable burger and a pint for £4.99 deal. Chris somehow got his for £3.99! He did however have an altercation with a Millwall fan in the bar. Chris was wearing his West Ham shirt. For the unitiated, wearing a West Ham shirt south of the River Thames, especially South East of London it's similar to walking into Mecca wearing a Jewish skull cap...

We stopped for a few

photos and

watched the Town Cryer deliver a message and decided to make our way back to Gravesend.

I was feeling the efforts of the ride so far and was a bit apprehensive about the right back, I didn't want to show myself up! Immediately after leaving Strood on the outskirts of Rochester was a very tough climb and this was a real struggle but it was nothing compared to one further along. It was another side of the hill I'd had a problem with earlier and this was very tough. I was struggling to get into my bike's hill climbing gear and once I'd managed it I was at the top. Even Chris admitted he'd found it tough.

Due to the problems with the surface on the cycle path Chris really wanted to find an alternative route back to Gravesend and was convinced another path existed, called the Saxon Way. We found it after riding through a military firing range but it was even worse than what we were trying to avoid. It was just rough off road ground that horses were grazing on and with my tired legs it was impossibly hard going. It was a long distance walkers route completely unsuitable for cyclists. We were cycling right on the southern shore of the River Thames and the views were spectacular but with the ride as tough going as it was we couldn't really enjoy them. We eventually got back to Gravesend and caught the ferry back to Essex. I'd had a great day, pushed my cycling boundaries even further and despite being exhausted I was proud of what I'd achieved.

My total milage for the day was 38, ( 60.8km). I prefer the metric system, sounds much more impressive.

A little bike ride around Kent.

I decided to go for my longest bike ride today, my initial plan was to cycle all the way to Rochester in Kent, however I decided that this was too ambitious for my unfit legs so decided to let the train take strain to Tilbury and jump on the ferry over to Gravesend. So dressed in shorts, t shirt and sunglasses I set off for Benfleet station, the weather was perfect for cycling. Overcast, but not warm and about 16c and not much wind.

There’s something I love about the Tilbury Gravesend ferry. Evidence exists to suggest that a ferry service has been in use between these two points since 1571 and it has been in almost constant use since the advent of the railways in this area in 1852. It’s a ramshackle tired looking old boat that has long since been superseded by bridges and tunnels over and under the Thames but thanks to local subsidies it continues and chugs back and forward on its 8 minute journey over this narrow part of the Thames, dodging huge tanker ships on its way.

First thing that strikes you as you get off the ferry is the comparison between the two sides of the water. On the Essex side is a desolate port area with container yards; as soon as you get off at Gravesend you are met by a lively vibrant town that I think it its own small way is quite nice.

I had pre planned a route to Rochester which used something I’d never heard of before today called Sustrans routes. These are a UK wide cycle network symbol with numbered routes. They have quite distinctive signs of blue backgrounds with a white number in a red circle. I began following Sustran route one when I realised I had my bike lock but no key. So I had to make an emergency dash to a local Halfords to buy a cheap lock.

Initially the route followed Gravesend riverside and was quite nice but shortly the route entered an ugly industrial estate. The printed itinerary I had wasn’t proving much use as the new directions seem to be every 100 yards or so and I was stopping every 5 minutes to check, and when I did they didn’t always seem to match up with what I was seeing. I just decided to follow the Sustran signs and not use the itinerary too much. I passed a sign which said Rochester 11 miles and joined a lovely purpose built cycle path through the gorgeous Kent countryside. I had views over the water to Essex to my left and rolling fields of corn to my right. Occasionally rabbits darted on the path in front of me.

I trying to pace myself, I had no need to rush although I did find some of the climbs approaching Strood a little tough. Although with every climb comes a lovely downhill part and on one I’m sure I must have come close to 30mph. I eventually got to Rochester after about an hour and a bit. I was quite tired but glad I had finished my modest but longest ever ride. Have to build up my range gradually!

I have been to Rochester quite a few times but I always enjoy it there. It really is a charming town, one of the most beautiful in England I would say. Its High Street is quite unique in the sense that aside from banks there are no chain shops that blight every other High Street in this country. Just quaint old shops such as antique shops, book shops and sweet shops. It’s like stepping back in time going there. The Roman castle is one of the best preserved in the country and has been there since 1127. Right next door is Rochester Cathedral, which is equally splendid. It’s even older than the castle and dates back to 676.

I had lunch in a pub and just walked along the high street. I had noticed a few clouds gathering earlier and now they were almost overhead. Within minutes the rain was absolutely torrential and I had no waterproofs. I checked in a few charity shops but no one had any. I took the disappointing decision to take a train back to Gravesend from Strood. I walked over to the castle to get a photo. I didn’t quite trust the guy sitting under a tree clutching a can of Tennants Super so I asked a lady in a snack kiosk to take a photo. Think she was quite bemused to see a man in a red t shirt and shorts and very wet asking for a photo. Disappointed I took a train back, paying a ridiculous £4.20 to go one stop.

I had a lovely day out; it really is quite liberating and rewarding to cycle to places instead of driving. You see places you’d never see otherwise and probably enjoy your destination more with the satisfaction of having gotten there under your own steam. I intend to extend my cycling ambitions further.

* Total milage for the day, a mere 19 miles. It felt like more. Wasn't gonna include it here as this constitutes a warm up for some of my advanced cycling friends...

24 hours in Ohrid

With nothing keeping me in Pristina I decided to leave on the first bus at 0630 back to Skopje and connect on to the first bus to Ohrid, the supposedly jewel of Macedonia and self styled Macedonian Riviera. I really was disappointed with Pristina but the sensible thing to do was to move on and make the most of the short time I had left.

The connection in Skopje went well and I arrived in Ohrid 3 hours later. Thanks to a good tip from a lady behind me on the bus I got off a stop earlier which was nearer the town and saved me a taxi ride from the out of town bus station. The heat was searing, I dodged the room touts and walked into town looking for the Sunny lake Hostel, a difficult task which proved very difficult and tiring.

After the drab concrete of Pristina and the disappointment of Skopje I was very impressed with Ohrid as I walked down the sun drenched streets of the Old Town. There was a vibrant laidback atmosphere that you would come to expect of a country’s premier holiday town. The views when I got to the banks of Lake Ohrid on which Ohrid sits took my break away. Crystal blue waters flanked by mountains on all sides with the sun glistening off the waves. Looking away from the water the red roofed houses clinging to the hillside added to the picturesque scene. It was easy to see why the town was made a UNESCO heritage site. I didn’t do much for the rest of the day, just walked around the town and along the lake enjoying the ambience and of being in somewhere that was aesthetically pleasing. I sent off a few postcards and committed the holiday error of buying a hat that I will never probably wear again back at home; it was a large wide brimmed thing, not too dissimilar to Indiana Jones! I wore it around town with surprisingly few odd looks. Personally I thought I pulled it off! I visited the St John Kaneo church which sits high on a cliff top overlooking the town and harbour where the views were spectacular. I actually found it by mistake as I was looking for the fortress but took a wrong turn.

After dinner I walked back through town to the hostel weaving my way through the hordes of tourists and avoided the very pushy restaurant reps lining the streets, loud music was pumping out of bars and clubs and it really wasn’t my scene so I went back to the hostel.

The following morning, my last few hours in Ohrid I was struck by a thought, my opinion of Ohrid had diminished drastically. From my initial impressions I now felt myself looking at a town that has given itself up to mass tourism and lost many of its old charms. Well not lost exactly but struggling to be noticed above the neon signs, countless restaurants and thousands of tourists. Its cheap bars, loud music and endless rows of tacky souvenir stands really detract from the beauty of the old town. It was impossible to walk along the harbour without being harassed for boat tours and I had quickly grown tired of the place. Last night the old town resembled Bar Street in Faliraki.

I decided to walk up to the fortress, the task I had failed the previous night. Except then it was a comfortable 20c at sunset, now it was midday and 32c. I made it, not without some discomfort and took some nice photos.

When I returned to the hostel I got chatting to some English guests who were booked on the same bus back to Skopje as me and also the same flight back to London that evening so we joined up to save taxi costs, both here and to the airport when back in Skopje.

To sum up Ohrid, yes I was disappointed that the town really is just a tourist Mecca and a pretty over stretched one at that, but you have to separate the stunning views from the negative aspects of the town. They are among the best views anywhere in Europe. But in all honestly, I can’t remember my opinion a of town changing so drastically in such a short period of time, I loved it on arrival but within twenty four hours I was tired of the place and glad to be leaving.

Pristina, Kosovo

I kind of knew that yesterday that my trip to Pristina in Kosovo was a bit of a box ticking exercise. I just held hopes that it would be worth a visit in its own right and would justify the effort. I have to be honest and say that aside from the fact I have added another country to my list it didn’t.

I left Skopje on the first bus at 0900, full of optimism and excitement of country number 41 on the horizon. After a hassle free ride I got to the bus station and having decided the guesthouse I had booked was out of walking distance I went over to a taxi company, avoiding the vicious guard dog that was foaming at the mouth and barking furiously in the car park.

I had pre booked the only guesthouse in Pristina, the Velhania which according to Lonely Planet was run by a jovial Professor of Engineering and “perfect for anyone missing the hostel atmosphere or their Granddad”. Intrigued by such a description I was looking forward to it. Even if this place was within walking distance I’d never have found it. I was checked in by two chain smoking middle aged women and shown to my room in another building. I had a triple room to myself in a building seemingly lacking other guests. I was let down on the hostel experience promised and time would prove me to be let down on LP’s other promise; I never did get to meet the Professor during my time there.

After walking into the city centre I soon realised there was very little here of interest, my quest to unearth some hidden gems would be a fruitless one. I went to the UNMIK (United Nations Mission in Kosovo) building and watched with fleeting interest the UN emblazoned cars coming and going but the novelty soon wore thin so I went off in search of a nice Mosque, The Carshi. Honestly, I walked past it twice as with the dirt and smashed windows I assumed it was derelict. The only thing that drew me to explore closer was the National Library, a peculiarly designed building. It looks like a badly designed set from the original Star Trek or a building covered in large eggs encased in wire mesh. Would love to know what the architect was smoking when he thought that was a good idea. Picture is at the start.

There was nothing else in Pristina for me to look for. The Bazaar area mentioned in LP I’d already inadvertently walked through it, I was quite disappointed. I just reminded myself that the main attraction was being in Kosovo itself. In the evening I indulged in some people watched along the main street during the Passagiata along Bulevard Nene Tereze (Mother Therese) and just took in the sense of national pride from the world’s newest nation. Maybe this is just imagined but the Kosovans are a fiercely proud people and it seemed evident to me.

It’s just a shame Pristina isn’t more of a tourist town and during dinner I took the decision to take the first bus back to Skopje and move on to Ohrid. This means an 0630 bus but there was nothing keeping me there a minute longer. Was happy to be there, but definitely not one of Europe’s gems.

Beni

My evening had an unexpected ending. A friend of mine on my nursing course, upon learning I planned to go to Macedonia, told me they had a friend here and would pass on my details to them. Having heard many “ I've got a friend there’ yarns I didn't think much of it. Anyway, shortly after posting the earlier entry I got a call from Beni, the ‘friend of a friend’. He said he’d be at my hostel in 10 minutes. I waited with intrigue outside when a brand spanking new Audi pulled up, sticking out like a sore thumb among all the 20 year old Yugos which seem to be the car of choice among people in this neighbourhood.

He asked if I’d eaten- I hadn’t- and so he took me to a expensive looking Italian restaurant, parking virtually on top of a busy intersection right outside the restaurant. I had a lovely pasta meal ( now wasn’t the time to be paying attention to my low carb diet) and had several beers. It was a nice evening and the conversation flowed nicely. I asked him about his work and he tentatively and vaguely said he worked for the government. When it was time to leave I said we should get the bill to which Beni said to me dismissively, “ Don’t worry about that...” and we returned to his Audi, parked conspicuously on this busy intersection with neither of us having paid a penny. On the way back he reiterated his desire to help me here in any way he can. I think that he, being of Kosovan parentage, was happy to hear of a foreigner making the effort to visit the country of his heritage. As we were sat in traffic he turned to me and asked, “Richard, have you ever held a gun?” I replied that I’d never even seen a gun in my life, let alone held one. (Those attached to the waists of policemen don’t count). He then opened up the glove box to reveal a loaded semi automatic hand gun, the real deal. He was careful to remove the magazine and then placed the gun in my hand. A weird surreal moment indeed. He said he carries it for ‘protection ‘when I asked if was something to do with his job. I gave him the gun back, he reloaded it and placed it carefully back in the glove box, at the same time pointing out a CB radio that he uses to listen in to police channels. I didn’t want to ask but I’m guessing there’s more to Beni than meets the eye.

Skopje First Impressions

I wasn’t expecting the capital of Macedonia to be stunning and to be honest it’s not. The research I did prior to coming here indicated that even Macedonians consider Ohrid in the south to be the jewel in the country’s crown. Keeping an open mind and determined to seek out the best of the city I left Shanti Hostel at 11 into the searing heat. Skopje’s lack of aesthetic charm isn’t entirely its own fault. It suffered a devastating earthquake in 1963, destroying virtually all the old buildings. If you consider that Marsal Tito, the then Communist leader of Yugoslavia replaced the former charms with ugly sprawling concrete masses with the aid of a Japanese architect then you’ll understand why a lot of the charm was lost. The Communists never were very much into pleasing architecture and their ugly influence is stamped all over this city.

Visually my first impressions were ruined by extensive renovations and bridge building works that are going on right in the centre of the city. The city’s focal point is the Stone Bridge which links the Orthodox south bank with the Muslim North and crosses the Vardar River right next to the National Theatre. I walked along the banks of the river toward the Stone Bridge but the eye sore that the building works have created have completely ruined the view and really have created an eyesore, with piles of gravel, tall cranes and scaffolding obliterating the view I had seen in travel sites at much as could be. The Stone Bridge is considered the symbol of Skopje and dates back to the 15^th century.

Even the huge statue of Alexander the Great at a square at the beginning of the main Boulevard Plostadi Makedonija couldn’t escape the scaffolding curse. I couldn’t help but wonder how nice it would look once all the work is completed. After having my shoes shined by an old guy along Plostadi Makedonija I stopped off at Bar Roma to test Lonely Planet’s claim that it has the best espresso in Skopje- if there’s better I’d like to know- and went to the City Museum. It’s housed in the old Railway which was destroyed in the 1963 earthquake and whose clock on the front eerily displays the time 5:17, the time the devastated earthquake struck. The museum was disappointing, just a bizarre art gallery and an odd display of Communist era furniture.

There wasn’t much to keep me in the new part of town and even though I was hoping to save the old Ottoman Quarter until tomorrow I decided to go there today via a stop at Soboren Hram Sveti Klimenti Ohridski, Skopje’s main orthodox cathedral. On the way a few welcome spots of rain fell.

After crossing the Stone Bridge and I got my first glimpse of the Ottoman Quarter I had the impression that for me, this old atmospheric part of the city IS Skopje. The sights and smells were quite atmospheric and not surprisingly reminded me of Sarajevo, although not as charming of course. It was a world away from the new part of town and I spent most of the afternoon walking through the markets and ambling along the cobbled streets. I bought a little waist bag from a seller where a language problem worked in my favour. I assumed they were 200 Dinar and asked the seller, to demonstrate the price he punched 100 into his phone.

I walked into a Mosque, with permission of course, and was approached by a man who spoke good English. He was a bus driver who told me a lot about the history of the Mosque. It was called the Ahmed Mosque and was apparently the oldest and one of the most significant in the city. The mosque was criminally overlooked by my error strewn Lonely Planet book that didn’t even deem it worthy of a mention. I went to another Mosque, the Sultan Murat which was in my book, gave an old man 60 Dinar for the privilege of letting me inside and looked around, it was quite plain inside and I thought the unmentioned Ahmed one was nicer. I like Mosques, especially when I’m lost. Find a mosque; look at what direction the men are praying towards and you’ve instantly found east. Clever eh?

Wilting a little from the heat I decided to head back to Shanti for a rest. May go out for a drink later but may well end up staying here. Have to say Skopje has its charms but you have to work hard for them.

Skopje

I arrived last night in the Macedonian capital Skopje. I flew over with the most unpunctual airline in the world, Wizzair, whose cabin crew's manners make Ryanair's look like Virgin Atlantic Upper Class...

Didn't see much last night as thanks to the aforementioned airline I was two hours later arriving. The hostel owner Peter picked me up as arranged from Alexander The Great airport and we rode back over the potholed surface Macedonia have deemed a motorway. I was quite alarmed when he spoke to me and I smelt something worrying, to use a Mike Reidism I suspected he'd been on the turps since lunchtime. After several late breaking moments and taking exits slightly too fast we got to the hostel , I was quite relieved. Hostel is great, typical Eastern European hostel. Clean, friendly and Peter has that essential mix of eccentricism and commitment.

I was a little late for breakfast this morning, when I came down I was told " only spinich and cheese are left". No one's ever said that to me at breakfast before!