India 2003

Delhi is my first experience of India, and it doesn't seem to be as overpowering as it had been billed to be. Yes, it's chaotic, packed, polluted, noisy and squalid, but in none of these more so than in some other third world cities. There are just more cows.Still, the combination brings a great vibrancy to the place, where life in its rawest form is played out on the streets, which for me is the great attraction of visiting the developing world.

I come to you from the Yak Cyber Cafe in Kathmandu. I hadn't planned to come back to Nepal, having spent a couple of months here previously, but it's no great hardship since it is such a pleasant country.The eternal visa search has brought Bernard and me here. Somebody must have had a change of heart in Tehran, since Iranian visas suddenly became possible and I now probably have two on the way, from two separate lines of attack! Pakistan was the next stumbling block. Despite our entreaties to their embassies in Delhi and London, they wouldn't play ball, so our efforts ground to a halt.

Varanasi is one of those places (like Amsterdam) that is so famed for certain things that people neglect to tell you how attractive it is.

Rishikesh stands on the banks of the Ganges, where the river still has the cleanliness and vigour of a mountain stream. On my drenched arrival, it was a startling turquoise, but it soon became a silty brown after the heavy rains.

In the hills above Rishikesh

We set out early one morning from Delhi towards home, with 6702km to go as the crow flies but rather further as the Bullet thumps.The last days in Delhi were notable for the immense excitement of the Indians at their cricket world cup match against Pakistan, which as far as they were concerned was the only one that mattered.

We made it across the Baluchistan desert without being robbed, kidnapped, shot or even breaking down, which altogether was quite a bonus.We made it across the Baluchistan desert without being robbed, kidnapped, shot or even breaking down, which altogether was quite a bonus.Much to our surprise, customs in Quetta proved to be a pleasure, thanks to Mr Raza (Assistant Collection, Car Section). He is a very urbane and well-informed man, with whom we discussed cloning, the limits of scientific knowledge, and Bertrand Russell's views on religion, before we even turned to the issue of bikes.

The first town we came to proved just what a change Iran would be from the subcontinent.Here the streets were clean and pleasant, with a developed air that would not have seemed out of place in Europe. Still, pulling up on our bikes we attracted crowds as large as those in India, but here it felt more threatening due to the presence of soldiers waving semi-automatic weapons at the crowd to make them disperse, and asking us to move on for creating a disturbance!

Esfahan is widely touted as the most pleasant city in Iran. So it undoubtedly is, but if the faint praise sounds damning, so be it.In fact, so be it for Iran in general. It's all just so pleasant. In Esfahan hardly a street is without a wide central pedestrian reservation of trees, fountains and flowers. Many of the buildings are attractive, while the city centre is more park than city. But it's somehow too civilised. I keep warning myself against making spurious comparisons, but in a curious way Iran reminds me of Chile.

Entry to Turkey has been accompanied by a two week hiatus in my biking exploits, on account of technical difficulties.Before then, in Iran, I discovered by the wonders of the web that there was another biker in Tabriz. I soon found a hotel with a BMW R1150GS Adventure parked in its lobby, and Jason wasn't far away. He's travelling the other way, from Holland to Australia, and reckons he's the first American to travel solo in Iran for ten years. We spent a good evening swapping information and maps - all we lacked was a beer to wash it down.

In memory of R.E. Bullet (24.5.1968-5.5.2003)