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The day we left Sophia, the gods were crying again. Rain and snow were pooring down over the city. For the last bit, we had little hope for good weather as the forecasts were terrible for whole of central europe. In the late evening, we reached the Donau River, which we had to cross to get into Romania. The border procedures were so easy and we praised ourselves happy being in the European Union, not knowing what would await us the next day. The sunshine the next day accompanied us over all the little village roads. It was needed for the stretch of 500 km, which were probably the worst during our whole trip…   

Then, the Hongarian border lay ahead, our entrance to the Schengen countries and thus the last border for us to take. It was going to be a though one. After the passport check, we were told to continue, but didn’t see the officials behind the next desk. Pissed off as they were, they ran out and stopped us, pointing at our broken window. "Nein, Nein!", was all he said. There was so little reason in the pathetic guy, he couldn’t explain why we couldn’t continue our journey. "Shit, Shit, car is Shit!", was all he said. Noor talked to the manager, who was clearly more easy going, but the Shit-guy persisted: this car won’t go! Returning to Romania to fix the window and tires (the second ‘failure’ of our car’) was not really an option, as Lada (spare parts) is not very common. After some more threats and shouting, we drove back into Romania and continued another 3 hours to the next border gate. Arriving there at 23.00 hours, the officials could only praise the heroic journey we made and let us through without a single remark.

After crossing all these ‘dark and corrupt’ countries, we encounter the biggest discrimination and lawlessnes at the border of our own Schengen-fortress.

The last two days through Hongaria, Slowakia, Check Republic and Germany were just triumphant. After more than 11.500 km, we made it to Amsterdam, to the Boerenkool met Worst!

May the Lada rest in peace…

It definitely is! We are in Bulgaria at the moment and although the Lada’s and the Russian alphabet create the feeling of Central Asia, the rest is Europe. The churches, the cobble stone streets, the  smell of spring, the faces of the people and ofcourse the EU flag everywhere! The Bulgarians seems to be proud of their membership and show the flag whenever they can. Bulgaria is mountainous and we have been tempted to go skiing. The temperature reached up to 20 degrees at the foot of the mountain, which means that the snow conditon must be horrible. It’s really tempting to go skiing without a freezing ass, but still, skiing on mud is bad for the environment and not as much fun as the powder in Kyrgyzstan.

We are staying in a hostel in Sofia at the moment and are back to backpackers living standards. Free internet, free beer and spagetti and breakfast included. I assume you can imagine what breakfast will feel like. We sleep in a cosy "stapelbed" near a non smelling toilet (yahoo!).  And we can talk again. The Russian we learned in Uzbekistan is very useful.

At the border they totally undressed the Lada, looking for drugs from the country of origin: Kyrgyzstan. We made the border officials laugh because of our adventures, but still they didn’t trust us. The EU developed a wonderful border check for the Bulgarians and a nice garage for car checks. It’s all brand new. I’m in big favour of the EU, but their border control is awful and a waste of money.  But there’s an other side of the coin: There hasn’t been any paperwork to enter the union, which is a big relief in comparison to all other countries we’ve crossed. We are hopeful for our return: did the EU really abolish some of its bureacratic procedures?????

We arenxb4t only able to smell Europe now, but we can also see it! We are in Turkeyxb4s most western prov?nce where Odysseus conquered Troy long before jesus was born and where the All?es tr?ed to conquer Turkey dur?ng the f?rst world war. Itxb4s also the place where Paulus rece?ved Godxb4s message apparently and where the east and the west have fought aga?nst eachother, exchang?ng land back and forward for a wh?le. We dec?ded to v?s?t the old town of Troy as the only s?te among all the others, and havenxb4t been d?ssapo?nted. To make the d?vers?ty of ?nfluences complete, we were accompan?ed by the prrayers com?ng out of the ne?ghbour?ng mosques.

Troy ?s situated at the street of Canakkale, wh?ch connects the sea of Marmara and the Med?teranean Sea. At the other s?de of the shore we can see Europe. Here ?t,s spr?ng, but Ixb4m afra?d that once we take the ferry to the other s?de, ?t w?ll st?ll be w?nter. The grass ?s green, blossoms everywhere and espec?ally sunsh?ne! Tomorrow we dr?ve towards Bulgar?a and w?ll challenge the EU border off?c?als w?th our oldy, Lada. The EU ?s famous for ?ts regulat?ons, so are they go?ng to accept our, ?n the?r eyes, trashcan?

From Vietnam till Turkey, it have been men: Men on the street, men in the tea-houses, men in the internet cafexb4s and men on TV. Turkey is not very different, but here men are a bit more physical than elsewhere. And although I am not totally againts a b?t of same-sex touching and kissing, it becomes a bit too much for me (Koen).

Looking for a hotel in Kirrekale last night, I was escorted by a young friendly guy who took my hand and wouldnxb4t let go of it. Later, someone took my arm and kept touching it til we reached the place of destination. It is all meant very well, I understand, but when I want to check my e-mail and some 25 year-old is rubb?ng my shoulder all the time, I eventually become a bit impatient.

Yesterday, a very nice truckdriver stopped immediately after we had some mechanical problems. We understood very little of eachothers monologues, but pointing at some women, he made very clear he didnxb4t like headscarfs. He was happy that his hometown Izmir is a different world: short skirts and nice dresses covering the minimum possible. When he made sure we were safe and we reached the LADA-service, we said goodbye. But mine was not enough and although we new eachother for less than an hour, I got two big kisses from him. We went through so much together…

From Vietnam till Turkey, it have been men: Men on the street, men in the tea-houses, men in the internet cafe´s and men on TV. Turkey is not very different, but here men are a bit more physical than elsewhere. And although I am not totally againts a bıt of same-sex touching and kissing, it becomes a bit too much for me (Koen).

Looking for a hotel in Kirrekale last night, I was escorted by a young friendly guy who took my hand and wouldn´t let go of it. Later, someone took my arm and kept touching it til we reached the place of destination. It is all meant very well, I understand, but when I want to check my e-mail and some 25 year-old is rubbıng my shoulder all the time, I eventually become a bit impatient.

Yesterday, a very nice truckdriver stopped immediately after we had some mechanical problems. We understood very little of eachothers monologues, but pointing at some women, he made very clear he didn´t like headscarfs. He was happy that his hometown Izmir is a different world: short skirts and nice dresses covering the minimum possible. When he made sure we were safe and we reached the LADA-service, we said goodbye. But mine was not enough and although we new eachother for less than an hour, I got two big kisses from him. We went through so much together…

As two pilgrims we enter the holy city of Mashhad in Iran. Without knowing, we arrive on the day that the eighth imam died several hundred of years ago. The holy shrine in Iran, the holiest place in the country, is the place where he died. More than 12 million pilgrims come to the city every year to worship and it seems we arrived at the right moment. During our first steps among the chadors we end up in a procession in which pilgrims (read men) are praying and hitting themselves on the back. Itx92s frightening for the first day, everybody wears black and the music is loud.

We are totally unprepared for Iran. No guide book, no map and no chador to wear. While walking on the street, we meet Vali. A men who offers home stays and who is eager to show us around and to provide us with tons of delicious Iranian food. He has a carpet shop for the unavoidable Iranian souvenir. Itx92s wonderful to meet him. He speaks fluent English, is enthusiast and brings us to nice places in the city and outside. With him we take our first public bus ride. Women have to sit in the back and the men in front. He has a beautiful house full of carpets and his wife is the best cook in town.

The streets are filled with men. The public domain is dominated by just one sort of human being. However, women are definitely there, but covered by a chador. This means that you still see their faces. Ix92m just wearing a headscarf, which is enough adjustment to the practice that I find discriminatory.

During our last day in Mashad we visit the tomb of Emam Reza. I need to wear a chador to enter, so I borrow one from Valix92s wife. Finally the temperatures reach above 20 degrees, and instead of enjoying this, Ix92m imprisoned in a long black dress! The other side of this society is wonderful though. I havenx92t met so many friendly and genuine people while traveling. People are interested, and offer assistance from all sides. Itx92s all in the context of the worsening relations between

Iran and the west, it seems the people here want to show they arenx92t barbarians. Iran is modern, has a great infrastructure, modern people (again, read men), you can drink water from the tap and the roads are a real present for the Lada. The only thing, really the only thing which I donx92t understand so far as an outsider, is the way they treat women. In my point of view itx92s as if you go a few centuries back, while to country goes ahead. One big contradiction it seems.

The youth is exploring the boundaries of the society and women do wear their headscarf in a very x93liberalx94 way sometimes. Especially in teh evenings we see only a small head cover and loads of make up. Vali tells us that Iran has the most nose and eye jobs done in the world. Thatx92s nop surpirse if thatx92s the only thing you can show.

Tehran is busy but nice and buzzling. From Tehran we take a bus to the city Esfahan, ptraised by many poets throughout history. Seeing Esfahan means youx92ve seen half of the world. Adding teh countries wex92ve seen so far to this visit and you can say we made a round the world trip! Esfahan is nice where we, again, meet several great people who invite us for tea, to chat about life, politics and other issues. Iran is a real great country and we are very sorry to leave after only 12 days. The border crossing is smooth, thanks to our insurance arranged by hero dad! Thanks! After osme initial non smiling faces, it seems that the Turks in the east are as nice as the Iranians. The first bookshop we enter, we are provided with a nice cup of tea!

De wind giert door kapotte huizen en een half overeind staande gevel. Het zand straalt iedereen die zich toch op straat begeeft. Omdat Hotel Oybek dicht zit, worden we gastvrij ontvangen in het mooie huis van de buren. We zijn in Moynaq, ooit een havenstadje aan de Aral zee, nu een hels oord in de woestijn, 150 kilometer van het water. De Amudarya en Syrdarya, levensaders van Oezbekistan en de Aral zee, zijn in de jaren ’50 door het centrale gezag in Moskou bestempeld de leveranciers van irrigatie water voor de katoenteelt. Het wordt vaak als voorbeeld gegeven van een van de grootste klimaat- en natuurrampen en het weer werkte mee dit aan den lijfe te ondervinden: het is grauw, koud en het waait vreselijk hard. Het museumpje opent speciaal voor ons ‘touristi’ de deuren en het laatste blikje vis uit Moynaq staat er tentoongesteld. De laatste 40 jaar heeft iedere familie moeten omschakelen van de vis industrie naar iets anders. Maar behalve zand is er weinig. Jonge mensen proberen werk te vinden in het rijke Rusland of Kazachstan. De oude van dagen maken er het beste van met drie geiten en een koe. De super vriendelijke familie waar wij logeren werkt voornamelijk in de lokale school. ‘Mama’ is directrice, ‘papa’ wiskundeleraar en een van de dochters lerares Kazach. We krijgen koekjes, thee, en het beste stuk vlees. Trots laten ze alle buitenlandse kanalen zien die ze via de satelliet kunnen ontvangen. Met handen en voeten, beetje duits, engels en russisch hebben we veel lol en begrijpen ook nog heel wat van elkaar. Mama valt snurkend voor de TV in slaap en wij krijgen om 21.30 een eigen kamertje toegewezen. Een goed alternatief voor de koude zandstorm die buiten woedt.

The Lada made it to Tashkent, and even further than that, we are in Buchara now, the city with one of the seven world wonders. But this didn’t happen without the necessary troubles. After a smooth trip from Karakol to Bishkek and from Bishkek to Tashkent, via Kazachstan, our lovely Lada had had enough. We wanted to drive it to a garage in Tashkent, for a second check up, but weren’t able to get it started anymore. A full day, two car mechanics and three potential buyers later, we decided to continue the trip with the Lada, direction Buchara. The Lada doesn’t start when it’s cold, and with minus 10 degrees (as an avarage), this is a problem. Especially when you drive through the dessert! We have some little trics, in order to make it easier to start, which seem to help. Once the motor is warm, there’s no problem anymore, so in fact, once driving, we are safe!

The option to sell the Lada is a non option. When we entered Uzbekistan, we received a paper in which is stated that we can only transit the Lada through the country. We can sell the Lada in a legal way, and show the right papers when we exit, but because of the high taxes here, nobody is able to buy the car in a legal way. This will mean that we need to pay a few thousands to the buyer, instead of the other way around.  On the way to Buchara, we made a stop in Jizzakh. Jizzzakh doesn’t appear in guidebooks, which is exactly the charm of this place. The only hotel in town is the Uzbekistan hotel. The term "vergane glorie" has been developed here, for sure. The woman behind the reception desk has one phone, a big book and a pencil. She is dressed with a big coat and a warm head scarf. The lady, not young anymore, has probably already forgotten how it feels when the central heathing system works. The first price she mentiones for the night, is 80 USD. That’s four times the avarage price for a hotel with heathing, hot water, and clean sheets. We try to be polite and start to negotiate for a better price, ready to discuss for a while. After two minutes, we are able to spend the night for only 10 Euro. The Uzbeks have a good sense of humor!

The "apartment" where the corridor lady brings us to, is amazing. There are three rooms: One living room, a bedroom and a bathroom. The pipes that we see in the bathroom suggest that there is all kinds of water available (though some leakage expected). The opposte is true. No hot, and sparcely cold water is available to us, after a long day in our Lada )-; The bedroom is heated up with a spiral, which are used in primitive water cookers. The spiral, normally part of a system, is being put on two stones, in order not to damage the furniture. It does warm up my head, but the rest of the room is still freezing. We decide to have dinner on the fifth florr of the hotel. The restaurant is empty, but the cook is prepared to make something for us. He shows us a chicken leg, some sausages, a tomatoe and some juice. We decide to take it all. The chicken is swiming in oil, but the smile of the cook, makes it a delicious meal.