Dusty Old Bags, Central America and beyond 2010

"Is there a lot of snow in Ukraine?", asks the policeman in Spanish at the roadblock on the Pan-American. I look at him blankly and his colleague asks "What's the capital of Ukraine?" I go even more blank and the first cops says confidently "Kiev". They're looking at our "Importacion Temporal" documents for the bikes.

Pat unpacking an early Christmas present at Panama Airport.

Central American border crossings are notorious for the amount of bureaucracy (necessary and imaginary) involved. For some reason all border officials are obsessed with the need for copies of everything - you need photocopies of your passport, temporary importation document for the bike, international driving licence and vehicle registration document - sometimes you need two copies of these but you don't find this out until you've got to the front of the queue and presented one photocopy...

"Licencia, licencia, licencia" demanded the motorcycle cop who'd whistled us to a stop on the outskirts of the capital city Managua. Our crime was apparently to cross over an imaginary line on a deserted roundabout on a Sunday morning. I went dumb, and left Pat to undertake negotiations with her three words of Spanish and we went into a double act of not understanding what was going on at all. We knew that Nicaraguan police have the right to take your licence but were hazy about what happens next.

We exited Nicaragua, imported the bikes into Honduras, raced across the south of Honduras in about four hours and exported the bikes from there into El Salvador. We were very sorry to do this as the country looks very interesting, but the UK Foreign Office had decreed that along with Iraq and Afghanistan, Honduras should be avoided for all but essential travel.

We were feeling pretty spooked when we went into Guatemala. Everybody we'd met so far regaled us with tales of violence. Checking it out on the internet only added to our concern. The US government website lists in detail over a hundred serious armed robbery and assaults on US citizens alone over the last year, the last being a couple of weeks back – all in the areas we planned to visit.

Mexico is a large country.....Part 1, 25 January to 11 February 2010

We had planned to cross the Mexican US border at Tecate rather than Tijuana, so our planned route up through the mountains was somewhat scuppered. Marvelling at the wide freeways and much faster traffic, we arrived in Temulco California around dusk and suddenly found ourselves paying treble money for our accommodation and double for our food. But our room in a hotel run by an Indian couple from Manchester (their accents made us feel at home!) was enormous and we enjoyed the novelty of cooking a ready dinner from the supermarket in our microwave!

Back to reality and heading north over more mountains, we got to Zacatecas which was very full. Nightmare finding somewhere to stay, but we eventually defeated the one way system and ended up at the delightful Hostel de los Gallos at the top end of a steep cul de sac – parking was interesting. Pat had to chain her bike sideways onto a wrought iron fence and stick a large rock under her sidestand. Mine was chained to a telegraph pole on a narrow ledge. Pepe, the new young owner plans to organize parking in the near future...

Japan is legendary for the politeness of its people. Where else in the world would you be waved to a halt at roadworks by a workman in hard hat, who then bows deeply to you as he waves you on after a suitable interval? His colleague does the same at the other end of the roadworks to the oncoming traffic. The roadworks are of course properly cordoned off and there may well also be a set of lights. As a safeguard, the road company also puts their notice in place.

Base camp for the first three weeks was Tokyo with our great friend Yuko Sugeta who used to head up WIMA Japan (Womens International Motorcycle Association). She also used to test ride bikes for all the major manufacturers and edit LadiesBike Magazine. However now she runs her own acupuncture clinic and is mad about AcroYoga.

Yuko tells Pat to relax

You are never alone in South Korea – the Koreans have to be one of the friendliest, most hospitable people on earth. Not many travellers spend time in this truncated half of a country with its lunatic nuclear-armed brother to the north.

This blog was started by Pat in honour of the fact that her mum was born in Malaysia and her granddad spent several years out here building railways and bridges in the early part of the 20th century. It has since been extensively modified by Sho (says Pat…)We really don't know how we came to spend three whole months in Malaysia. We only intended to spend about a month here but we got sort of kidnapped on arrival at the airport.

We arrived back in KL to join the Tourist Board/WTR Magazine FAM trip. We used our own bikes: we did warn them they are not as fast as KTM950's or BMW1200's, so they gave us our own escort of two Goldwings - they called themselves the babysitters!We started with a coach tour of KL which included a stop outside the King's Palace and a visit to the Batu Cave Hindu Temple.

The year is 2553 in the Buddhist Calendar used in South East Asia. We are riding on the left, because the current king Bhumibol Adulyadej was partly educated in England, and learned to drive there, so he decreed that Thailand should drive on the left.

Poster in Sukhothai advertising an Orchid Festival sometime in 2011 or rather 2554.

Baguettes and Bombs. You could sum up Laos (or rather the People’s Democratic Republic of Lao) with these two words, perhaps inadequately, but it’s a start. We can thank the French for the baguettes and the first utterly delicious bread we have had for months.

Baguettes for sale at a roadside stall.

$2 came the surly demand at the Laos border post before they would stamp our passports. $2 was the jovial demand at the quarantine post (a tent) just inside Cambodia where our temperatures were taken. And $2 to get our passports stamped into Cambodia. We’d been warned this was routine at the only crossing between the two countries and paid up along with all the backpackers and locals who’d piled off a bus. Fortunately we persuaded the officials to take the $12 total in redundant Laos kip before heading for customs. No worries here.