It was Friday, the beginning of the weekend in Judaism and Islam. That meant the border was only open in the morning, so I set off early from Jerusalem. Soon I began a long descent, from 800 metres above sea level to 300 below.

Continue reading “Jordan” →

After about six months of not cycling, it was finally time to go again. My plane landed in Jordan late at night, and I settled down to sleep in the airport until morning.

Continue reading “Israel” →

I just had 70km to go to the border but I set off early, not overly confident in the embassy’s assurances that the border guards had been told I was to be allowed through. I wasn’t feeling fantastic but there was no headwind and little traffic so the ride to the border was pleasant enough.

Continue reading “Cote d’Ivoire” →

(Note: I’m going back and uploading the last couple of posts from Africa, a few months late.)

I cycled out of Lome and cycled beside the beach for about ten kilometres before reaching the Ghanaian border.

Continue reading “Ghana” →

I didn’t have far left to go to exit Nigeria, but it would turn out to be a challenging enough day, that left me and the bike soaked and covered in mud!

Continue reading “Benin and Togo” →

I left Bali (not that Bali) and continued following the road’s big loop around the mountains. I’d made it across the potentially dangerous border zone but Nigeria still had corrupt police and kidnapping gangs to be wary of.

Continue reading “Nigeria part 2” →

Nigeria and Cameroon share a long border. In the coastal region, there’s unrest due to anglophone separatists. Further inland, Boko Haram wage their jihad on both sides of the border. Between these crisis zones there’s one semi-open border crossing, high in the mountains. That’s where I was headed.

Continue reading “Nigeria (Part 1)” →

It was an even more misty morning than usual when I started cycling toward Bitam, the last town on the Gabonese side of the border.

Continue reading “Cameroon” →

I thought it was drizzling when I woke up. It wasn’t; it’s just so humid that water was condensing on to the tree leaves above me and then falling off. It’s called a rainforest for a reason.

Continue reading “Gabon” →

After six slow, bumpy kilometres I arrived in the village of Ndalatando, the last village in the DRC. As I rode toward the immigration office, a man stopped me in the street and told me he was the immigration chief. Right from the start he seemed angry and unfriendly.

Continue reading “Congo-Brazzaville” →