Europe

Current location: England, Shropshire, Home

Distance: 15,850 miles (25,360km)

Countries: 24 

Months: 10

Route

Onwards from Albania, my route through Eastern Europe took me up the coastline of Montenegro and Croatia before dropping down into the land locked country of Bosnia. I then enjoyed a brief stint through Slovenia before pedalling across northern Italy towards Turin. Here I pedalled north over the French Alps towards Paris. Finally, I made my way to the familiar waters of the English channel where I boarded a ferry to Dover, England- just a 4 days ride to my home in Shropshire. 

Eastern Europe

Eastern Europe is a truly captivating part of the world in light of its varied history- in particular Bosnia and Herzegovina; My time cycling through this country, albeit brief, will always stand out as highlight on my world tour. Prior to entering Bosnia, I had cycled up the coastal roads of Croatia and Montenegro- equally beautiful, but in high summer, I was so far from alone- much of my time was spent hustling my way alongside streams of tourist traffic, negotiating my way through one teeming tourist town after the next. The pleasure of pedalling along these ocean fronted cliffs was constantly overshadowed by the tiresome daily activity of just being on a bike amidst one of Europe's favourite holiday hotspots. Thus, I opted to head inland into Bosnia. I hiked myself up the steep mountainside separating the two countries before descending into this comparatively silent abyss, Bosnia. A place once synonymous with war, destruction and overwhelming sadness- and as I cycled down its narrow lanes passing from one abandoned settlement to the next, crumbling buildings, run down bus shelters, looted shops, the aftermath of these events never felt more real. Clearly thriving communities once existed in these parts. I spent the entire afternoon pedalling down these endless one tracked lanes barely passing a vehicle, barely seeing a person, the region eerily quiet. And yet again, it never ceases to astound me how one can cross a line on a map and with it enter a land so far removed from the one you were in just half an hour ago- Just 30miles in land, away from the high rise hotels, the tourist packed beaches of Croatia, here couldn't have felt more different. I cycled way into the evening, soaking up every inch of this place, every corner drawing out another emotive scene illustrative of its decadent past. I had never experienced anything quite like it before. Foolishly, I had assumed I would pick up food and water supplies somewhere along my route but no sign of life showed up until I stumbled across a small parish late into the evening. To my luck, I was kindly offered supplies. That night I slept in one of their out buildings. I lay there staring out of the window up at the stars, a moon lighting up the distant mountains and I couldn't have been happier. The hectic chaos of that action packed coastline so far away now. And all it takes is a moment like that to remind oneself of why I'm pedalling my way around the world. Because when its good, its really good. 

Anyone for a baby?

Wherever I find myself, whoever I speak to, I often feel like their conversation can enrich my trip somewhat or perhaps shed new light on my bike ride, giving it some sort of purpose. I have to admit, I’d never quite seen it from this point of view before;

Whilst sitting on a park bench alongside an elderly fellow in Montenegro..

“So how long have you been cycling for?” the gentleman enquired

“9 months” I said

To which he matter of factly responded, with an almost disapproving tone; “Oh, you could have had a baby in that time?”

Im not entirely sure what the right answer to that one is…

I opted for something similarly matter of fact; “Ah yes, well, it was either/or”

 Bridges 

It was one of those mornings where I woke up at the bottom of a field in Albania (we’ve all been there) and I just wasn't up for riding my bike another 70miles down the same old road (this particularly area of Albania was far from thrilling). I was looking to add some spark to my day, I needed that dose of adventure, even if meant being completely irrational with my decision making, to the point of blatant stupidity. Thus, I did just that. Instead of taking the clear route (the only route) towards my intended destination, I instead opted to take a few smaller roads which would eventually lead to a dozen dirt tracks and ultimately i’d arrive on the banks of river. A river which needed to be crossed. Conventional traffic would of course take the main road to the town where there was a bridge, and I was all too aware that when I arrived at my select point on the river, should it not be a tidily stream (something that I could paddle across), or better still a dried up river bed, then I was going to have to back track 30 odd miles to reach that town and cross that established bridge. With my recipe for failure fully prepared, off I went. 

After an enjoyable morning pedalling through Albanias rural communities I eventually neared this river praying with every pedal stroke that this was a piddly obstacle that my bicycle and I could navigate our way through. Nope. Instead we were faced by something the size of The Amazon, complete with raging torrent. Its usually at this stage I give myself a good ‘talking to’- “Oh why Katherine Liver, why?! You sodding well knew there wasn't a bridge here, but yet you still insist on trekking your way here, just to be bloody sure!” 

-I guess its one of those situations in life where you just have to check for yourself- every one of us has been there- standing in line for the ATM only to be told by the person in front that its not working, but yet still, still, you insist on trying it anyway, just to be sure. And you too will advise the person next in line of the systems malfunction, but they too will bat your advice into the afternoon air and try for themselves anyway -

So I stood on the banks of this river weighing up the difficulties of dragging my bicycle, myself and my gear across these waters. I was mostly concerned the iPhone 5 wouldn't make it though. Upon purchasing my iPhone several years ago, I distinctly remember the shop assistant urging me to take the iPhone out of the box, out of the paper bag and into a secure dry interior pocket…because it was, well, spitting outside and the iPhone was “incredibly vulnerable” in such conditions-  and It only took the thought of his pained ‘no, no, no, not in the river?!’  face to decide against wading my gear through these treacherous waters- plus I'm not entirely confident that the warranty covers encounters with raging torrents and river weed. So with the swim off the cards, I started looking for more intelligent folk to help me out. Fortunately a farmer passed by and upon acknowledging my dim situation, he started yelling out to people on the other side to bring a boat over. Sadly no-one was there to hear his calls though. Eventually he left, forced to return to his farm work. I sat there a little longer, hours passing, twiddling my thumbs (*Clubbed thumbs), looking at drift wood, dreaming of rafts…..when  eventually, to my luck, a kind young man, my knight in shining armour, my captain in canoe came to my rescue and happily took me and my bicycle across. Once again, that friendly network of support was there to help me out, and as always, I'm so very grateful. 

Italy

It wasn't long before I made it into northern Italy and I don't think I have visited anywhere quite so effortlessly sophisticated before- the city streets filled with stylish shops, stylish people, beautiful cars cruising down these cobbled alleys. Weathered stone walls displaying sporadic pieces of art- in fact, cycling through some of these towns, it felt as If I had just stumbled onto a movie set. Having been so long away from England now, part of me wondered whether I’d get that same feeling cruising down the A20 into Dover too. I didn’t.

France

The final leg of my trip from Turin to Paris, I had the pleasure of pedalling alongside a friend from home, Rosa. Together, we took on the stunningly beautiful Alps- the land of lycra- it was like i’d taken this global pilgrimage to the home of cycling. The place was swarming with two wheeled enthusiasts. For much of my trip, I knew I was likely to cycle the Alps during the european summer months- a thought that had always excited me and they didn't disappoint. And with the Tour De France just around the corner, this whole area was hyped up for the big event. A number of villages we passed through were decked in bunting and banners gearing up for it the weeks ahead. It wasn't long before Rosa and I began to feel like we too were part of this great event. After all, we were taking the same route, we were both sporting a pair of matching Lycra's, I was donning the essential wrap around sunnies….to be honest, we could have fit right in…….I could almost hear that British commentary box supporting my race “Liver’s stepped up her game, easing her way to the front of the pack…..”- though sadly, this whole facade came to an abrupt halt as I peered behind to see my laundry flailing in the wind on the back of my bicycle. It escapes me why Chris Froome is rarely found drying his smalls whilst racing along? I gather thats just not the ‘done’ thing on the Tour.  Give it a few years….Goodbye Team Sky, Hello Team Daz #TheSoapYouCanBelieveIn

Cycling through France en route towards Paris was just beautiful, in fact France stands out as one of my favourite countries. The luxury of being in Europe is the rich history that comes with this region, evident in every settlement you pass through however small or large. And Europe is a part of the world where nothing is too far- the landscapes occasionally dramatic, yet manageable at the same time. Our days through France were spent cycling through an endless array of petite, hidden villages, complete with their laid back coffee shops, the local baker a stones throw away, and all against the soothing sounds of the french language. Because it has to be said, having cycled through 20 odd different languages, not all are quite a so kind to the ear…..- thats the thing, when you don't speak the language, it just becomes a constant background sound. Its like you’ve been failing to tune in to BBC Radio 2 for several months, battling against a constant crackling sound and then ‘hurrah’, one border crossing later and its tuned in, it never sounded clearer, a gift to the ear, and better still they’ve secured an afternoon with the philharmonic orchestra- thats the pleasure of listening to french all day long. 

Almost home

I said goodbye to Rosa in Paris and continued my final few days across northern France towards the English channel- and with each pedal stroke closer to home that cloud cover thickened ever so slightly. The last night of my time in continental Europe was spent camping on the rugged coastline of northern France. That evening I stared out at the White Cliffs of Dover, 20 odd miles of water separating me from that soggy island, my soggy island. I had come so far, and at last I was almost home. Fortunately for me, accompanied with my EU passport, the journey from Calais, to Dover was effortless, but for others, no doubt their intrepid journeys from far off corners of the world were likely to be less easy. On the other side of this channel, I knew I had a home to return to, a family, stability- pillars of a comfortable existence. My life in a tent was a finite one- unfortunately, not the case for many others. 

English soil

Arriving into England was a damp affair, but fortunately I had just the gear to take on these climes; The cagool, the anorak, the macintosh, the wet weather poncho-  call it what you will but its a garment first brought to our attention on the school field trip check list, aged 7, and has since remained a staple item in most British wardrobes. Some deem it unfashionable. Some say they’ll only don it in extreme situations….like the log flume at Alton Towers, but I hear Mac in a Sac and I think practical, I think prepared, I say panic not, put on your poncho! Because a British life without weather gear, well, quite frankly, its no life at all. 

It was good to be back on English soil again though- finally I was in a part of the world which I was truly familiar with- I didn't need an adjustment period to get the hang of how things work here- I knew that milk was going to accompany my tea as standard, not a special request. I knew that here an interesting anecdote about the weather could create the foundation to a lasting friendship and finally, here I could bid a farewell to the metric madness of ‘km’s’ and welcome home those age old ‘miles’- the distance markers spoke my language again! For someone who’s always been mathematically challenged, after 10months of km signage, I can confidently say I have nailed that conversion calculation. 

Home

Four days later, having cycled through the delights of the British countryside, I was soon taking those final pedal strokes down my lane and up the driveway to my home. Seeing my house and family waiting for me was utterly brilliant- a surprisingly emotional affair in fact. I had pedalled all the way from Melbourne, Australia and I guess there was an overwhelming sense of relief that I had ‘made it’ more than anything- I have lost count of the number of days where I have sat on the roadside beaten by the weather, beaten by the relentless routine of riding a bike, feeling exhausted, feeling low, feeling alone, yearning to be in the comfort of my home again but knowing full well the only way to get there was to board that bicycle, turn those pedals and ride on into that never ending horizon. And here I was at last. I’d done it. 

People

It has to be said though that my trip was only really made possible by the constant network of support around me along the way- people readily available, willing to help me out whenever I was in need. I never felt unsafe, I have never really felt vulnerable, I have not had anything stolen. I trusted people. Because I never encountered a reason not to. And having spent 10 months pedalling across a good cross section of the world, I think that puts this place in a pretty good light. 

Life beyond the bike

Its amazing how quickly you slot back into ‘regular’ life again- very little has changed in my absence- aside from Zayn Malik leaving One Direction of course. 

I guess priorities begin to change; I don’t spend my evenings staring at the gradient of the ground wondering which end to rest my head in my best efforts to avoid waking up with a nasty rush of blood to my head. Nor do I look at public places simply as facilities for charging, washing, bottle filling and soviette stealing. Life has taken a more ‘civilised’ turn.

Of course there are still plenty of moments when I wish to be back on my bike, particularly when I think back on those late evenings when its quiet, the business of the day is over, the weather has calmed and i’m in this far off place, in a stunning landscape, on this tiny two wheeled vehicle slowly making its way across a gigantic landmass. And I cant help but smile to myself because Its been incredible. Waking up excited about the day ahead of me, jumping on my bike doing something Iv wanted to do. Nothing beats that.

So whats next?

Good question. I was wrong to assume 10 months on a bicycle would be long enough to suss that one out. 

Katherine

xxx

Georgia - Turkey - Greece

Current location; Tirana, Albania

Distance; 14,032miles

Georgia

So, accompanied with my latest cycling recruit, Lizzie Liver, together we pedalled out of the Georgian capital of Tbilisi and onwards towards the Black Sea

Similarly to Azerbaijan, Georgia is yet another refreshingly green part of the world, filled with glorious rolling countryside (scenes straight out of Postman Pat) and plenty of smiling farm folk. I could tell almost immediately that Lizzie really wanted to make the most of her time cycling across the country, clearly wanting to get a real ‘feel’ for the place- so much so, that she could often be found lying on the roadside cheek to tarmac. It later became apparent that this actually had nothing to do with building any emotional bond with the place, but actually just a complete lack of competency when it comes to using cleats (Clip in pedals). The phrase ‘All the gear, but no idea’ springs to mind……

The best of Georgia can probably be found in the beautiful sun drenched vineyards which deck the steep hillsides in the south western parts of the country. And how better to soak up their beauty more than to ride that bitumen roller coaster through them….I thought. One wall of tarmac after the next, we pedalled our way across this undulating (to put it mildly) region. Im not sure if it was up the 23rd or 24th ‘serious’ incline that I began to readdress whether this was actually such a smart move- to drag a first timer across such brutally punishing terrain. I say this because it rapidly became clear that the pleasure of being in my company had hit somewhat of a plateaux round about then.

But clearly not phased by the challenging early days, in no time at all, Lizzie and I had breezed our way towards the lapping waters of the Black Seas shores- shores lined with holiday resorts and Speedo sporting sun bathers. I must admit, this shocking sight of near nudity had me very almost fall off my bicycle; Having spent so long in the likes of conservative, muslim countries, amidst a culture where half naked sun worshipping would seem unimaginable- much like a middle aged mother I found myself thinking “Jeez, put some clothes on?!”

Turkey

So, having enjoyed a brief stint of pedalling with my sister, we parted ways and I began my ride into Turkey. Turkey is a sizeable nation, bordered by the Black Sea to the north, Asia to the east, Europe to the west and the middle east below- it was the country which really bridged the gap between Asia and Europe, becoming that final rectangular puzzle piece on my ride towards my home continent. 

I began my ride into Turkey along the well established coastal Highway which hugs the Black Sea along this northern stretch of the country. Without doubt, this made for some pleasurable cycling. It offered so much that one might seek in an enjoyable bike ride; The road was in pristine, immaculate, silky smooth condition, it was relatively easy going, I had stunning blue waters to my right and tall green rugged mountains to my left. It was pleasant. It was comfortable. It was, well…’nice’. But I think we can all agree, ‘nice’ is probably the greatest slap-in-the-face compliment of them all. No-one wants ‘nice’ in their life- Especially when you know theres a world of excitement and adventure several thousands metres skyward to my left. In short, I was currently indulging on Aldi’s value pack Turkey; albeit tasty, I knew Tesco’s finest existed and I just wasn't willing to settle for second best. So, having cast a casual eye over the map which marked out these wafer thin zig zagging roads leading high up into the mountains, I eventually decided to ditch this increasingly bland highway and head for the hills. #TheHillsAreAlive #YesTheyAreJulie. I was on a mission to find the tastiest chunk of Turkey this place could offer and I began by ascending these scrumptious looking mountains. And It only took a few hundred metres down the road to know I had made the right decision. Immediately, the fun factor had increased tenfold. Though I had 60 odd miles of steep up hill before I was likely to meet the gaze of that 2200m summit sign, the adventure was back on- that unknowing element of whats around the next corner- something that a highway can never offer; because, much like that sinking feeling one gets when they find out the teacher has decided to accompany your  group on the school trip, thats what pedalling along main roads  is like- any opportunity for interesting escapades is fairly limited…

The following weeks across Turkeys interior were some of my best riding to date; pedalling over the extensive mountain ranges in the east, through its characterful hillside villages, across its high rolling central plateaux, passing by its ancient towns steeped in storied histories has been a truly fascinating experience. And of course not forgetting the people- Much like central Asia, a day barely passed by where I wasn’t shown a gesture of kindness, whether it be a meal, a bed, a sack of vegetables….. Yes, most recently, I was kindly given a sack of onions, 27 to be precise. 27 large, hefty onions. The sight of them almost brought me to tears- not the pungent smell of them as such, nor the profound kindness of this act, no, more the fact that this undermined my no.1 rule when it comes to touring #KeepItLightweight #KeepItEasy. I pedalled into town feeling like an athlete, I left town feeling like a farmer heading to market…

On another occasion I found myself enjoying the company of a staff room full of school teachers- often its the case that I pop into a shop and before I know it I’m being toured around the town, fed lunch or in this case, thrust into the local school for a round of ‘Question time with Katherine’. As I sat amongst the teachers, naturally they enquired as to why I was pedalling home from Australia? Perhaps wondering if there was a charitable cause fuelling this activity or more simply, because I carried such little confidence in international public transport system? For some reason, the idea that one might be pedalling for pleasure just doesn’t seem enough, people find that almost impossible to comprehend. To be honest, sometimes I too find this too be a little far fetched. After all, Its relentless cycling day after day, miles and miles, building your home, packing up your home, eating, sleeping, planning, pedalling…….and the roads I'm riding on were built to accommodate the engineering advances that brought about the car, the engine, and yet I'm riding a push bike?  So I settled for a tongue in cheek answer; “Im afraid of flying”- now, imagine a balloon heavily laden with lead plummeting at rocket speed down to earth- thats about how well this joke went down. I was faced by an audience of slightly concerned looking teachers clearly thinking “bloody ell, she’s going to some lengths to avoid her fears..?!"

My final days in Turkey were spent pedalling south of the sea of Marama, across the Bosphorus  and eventually into Greece. Now, anyone with a good knowledge of Turkey will know that this route doesn’t pass through Istanbul - and as I say that, I can very almost hear those gasps of disapproval; The thought of even contemplating a visit to Turkey and not a visit to Istanbul?! Blasphemy! But, in truth, I chose a route which would intentionally avoid this iconic city, because I have come to accept that cities on bicycles just aren't all that enjoyable; they’re expensive (camping in the city park is probably a no-go), they’re busy, full of traffic and full of people. Furthermore, the 50 odd miles before and after are so often filled with ugly suburban infrastructure. Thus, on balance, I would favour a few days pedalling through peaceful countryside any day. And for me, I'm not out to tick a check list of ‘must see’ places- providing I can draw some joy out each of my days ride, whether it be from the people I meet or the scenery I pass through, then I reckon I'm onto something good!

Bed time

Aside from a few nights spent in the comfort of hospitable Turkish locals, camping has remained the main source of accommodation each night- From cherry orchards to olive groves, I’v tasted them all…. No, I mean, I’v slept in them all……and maybe just had a teeny weeny taste of the odd berry or two along the way. Only the ones that had already fallen of course…..after an encouraging tug.  Ok, I hold my hands up; I apologise Greece, I realise you’re in a financial deficit and Im ashamed to say, I might have put you into a cherry one too…

Often I have opted to camp at the back of fuel/service stations- the benefits of such come from its abundance of amenities - bathrooms, charging facilities, wifi, water and an endless supply of chat from passing Truck drivers-  Though the impenetrable language barrier restricts any real conversation, Im 90% sure each of their sentences starts with phrases like “At the end of the day….” or “I’ll tell you something for nothing…”

Of all the gas stations available, its the BP garage that I have the strongest track record kipping next to. Im not sure why but I appear to have this natural tendency to favour this fuel station, half acting like its this familiar, friendly British outpost ….. because theres nothing quite like that comforting feeling one gets from pitching their tent next to a homegrown multinational oil and gas corporation.

Sometimes the kindness of the fuel station staff has meant I’v been invited stay in the staff sleeping quarters or, once, almost controversially, and most certainly not my idea, the prayer room…..I wasn't entirely convinced Allah would be comfortable with this, but the staff insisted it would be okay..

Greece

In light of Greece’s financial troubles, I wasn't all that sure what to expect as I pedalled my way into the country. Part of me wondered whether one might receive a ration book on arrival or ATM’s might display signs reading “Limited cash available, if any”. But as I cycled down its coastline, I encountered very little of the sort. The towns appeared to be functioning as normal, shops open, resorts busy with tourists, usual routine life continuing…

(….and if the Greek ministry of tourism is reading, its Katherine with a K when your making out that cheque)

Interestingly, one thing that I have noticed in this region of the world are Learner plates on cars, driving schools, driving instruction?! I found this observation to be slightly concerning seeing as I have just cycled 14,000 miles across the world alongside streams and streams of vehicles, yet only 9 months in have noticed anyone taking a lesson in how best to safely operate them?! Of course, thats not to say that they don't exist in other parts of the world, because Im sure they do,…..only from what I have encountered, no-one uses them....

Eastern Europe

Following my week long jaunt across Greece, I enjoyed some light relief from the wallet crippling eurozone as I headed north into the mountains of Macedonia and Albania. I particularly enjoyed cycling through this part of the world; 50 years behind western Europe, donkeys and carts still remain a reliable source of freight and more primitive farming practises clearly still exist here. With eastern europe compacted with so many small nations, I appear to be pedalling my way from one country to the next every 48 hours rattling off Greece, Macedonia and Albania over the past week!

Where next

So, having pedalled my way through 18 nations over the past 9 months, I have just a handful remaining as I enter my final month 'on the road'. Almost home!  #ShowMeToTheShower

Kazakhstan - Azerbaijan

Current location: Tbilisi, Georgia

Distance: 12,200miles

The Kazakh Steppe

The route between the far western city of Nukus, Uzbekistan and the Caspian Sea is a pretty straightforward one from a navigational point of view; One long straight road north through Uzbekistan, and then another west through Kazakhstan. Simple stuff….if you’re a hover craft gliding several metres up from the road surface that is; Sure, I have cycled along a number of rack rattling, backside bouncing, unsealed roads before. Regularly in South East Asia I would escape the busy main roads instead choosing to explore interesting back lanes, but this was always a choice, an adventurous alternative with the option to return to the tarmac as and when I please. However, the road leading across western Kazakhstan, through the lifeless lands of the semi-desert Kazakh Steppe was quite different. This was essentially a main road, a common transit route, an artery connecting Kazakhstan and Russia. And yet the road (for want of a better word) was in such dire condition. Its hard to believe that the oil rich nation of Kazakhstan could fail to address the urgent need to implement efficient infrastructure in such a place, but alas, to my displeasure they haven’t. And if I were an influential member on Kazakhstan's board of transportation, I would suggest you keep yourselves a healthy distance away from me, forever.  

On one particular day, I spent over 9 hours in the saddle clocking off the painfully slow miles along a rutted dirt track. Quite possibly one of the most challenging days of my entire trip. And the only relief one has from this irrigated sand track are the occasional Chaihanas (tea houses) which crop up once or twice a day. In the midst of a desert these beacons of sanity make the dusty days very almost bearable. They also provide the perfect venue for exhausted truckies to drown their rattling  sorrows over several bottles of liquor. You couldn't blame them, I was almost reaching for the bottle myself, but quite frankly, I draw the line at ‘drink cycling’- didn't want to risk any points on the ol’ cycling proficiency certificate now did I….

Theres no denying that the Chaihanas along the way made the miles all the more easier though, giving you a reason to keep turning the pedals, knowing there was something up the road to aim for, there was something out there offering a moments break from the arduous hours of solitude in such a desolate, bleak environment (this place made outback Australia seem like a blimmin’ theme park); these small, seemingly insignificant buildings in far flung places (locations that would most likely have Phil and Kirsty reaching for the bucket) offering that much needed dose of caffeine to keep you going through the day. The days became mad desert dashes from one cuppa’ to the next- A bit like a pub crawl I guess- a really bad tea bag based pub crawl in an even worse location. And similarly to how one wakes up the following morning after that alcohol fuelled day feeling jaded, worse for wear, telling yourself “thats it, I'm not doing that again, I'm never putting my body through such hell again”, you do anyway, because a part of you relishes that buzz, the challenge, the excitement that came with the days events.

The Caspian Sea

But after several long days, I did finally make it to the Caspian Sea and into the the coastal city of Aktau marking the end of my central asian experience.

I spent a week here organising my visa for Azerbaijan. Much of this time was spent gazing out at this landlocked sea ahead of me, jotting down some time/distance calculations in order to swim across. In the end I realised this probably wasn't a feasible option- I’d left my swimmers in Thailand. 

Having initially anticipated taking a boat across to Azerbaijan, with a  Kazakh visa deadline fast approaching combined with the uncertainty of not knowing when the next boat would cross, I was forced to instead fly to the port city of Baku, Azerbaijan and perhaps more relevantly, the current host of the 2015 European Games.

Azerbaijan

Over the past week I have cycled my way across the nugget sized nation of Azerbaijan and into the Georgian capital of Tbilisi. This area of the world seems relatively unknown; a small collection of countries trapped between the Caspian and Black Sea- nations perhaps torn between Europe and Asia? But, without doubt I felt this overwhelming sense of Europe both in culture and landscape. My days pedalling across the illustrious landscapes of Azerbaijan, hugging the Caucasus mountains along my route have been utterly brilliant. Azerbaijan became this gateway to greenery again! Rolling hills, streams, sun bathed meadows, stray cattle, dewy mornings, cosy stone walled villages, hedges (#HeartHedges)! I have spent my days cycling simply binging (in the visual sense) on foliage, sapping up everything I have missed over the past month. Likewise, I really felt this renewed vigour for pedalling once again, a reason beyond just ‘making it’ to a pin point on a map, but the joy of just being on my bike had returned. I was back on familiar soil again, home turf nearing; temperate scenery, temperate weather, countryside similar to that of England on a summers day, if it were sunny, imagine. Like i said, imagine. 

Georgia

It wasn't long before I had crossed into the 13th country along my journey, Georgia, and yet again I was blessed with beautiful countryside; vineyards, idyllic camp spots at every turn, hilltop castles….it really has been an absolute pleasure to pedal trough this region of the world. 

Im now in the capital city of Tbilisi which lies in the foothills of the Trialeti mountain range. Im currently preparing for the next leg of my journey towards Turkey, well, not so much preparing in the organisational sense but more mental preparation; Tomorrow my sister will be joining me for a weeks cycling. *Takes a deep breath*…..Laughter, smiles and joy every pedal stroke of the way……I should imagine.