France

Ahoyhoy you lucky lucky buggers,

Well I guess I am the lucky one really but I´m just feeling a bit shagged & sick today so really I want to swap with you and lie down on a sofa with a huge telly, hot tea, my hotter girl Sam and the blankie of sleep. But you didn´t log on here to hear this drivvle.

I left you at the fire station in Suriname. I woke early to blog to you and then set out for the port. I had 75 Suriname dollars which Roy the fire god found a shop that would change it for me as the ferry only acceps Euros and I needed 15 of them. My 75$ was worth 15.625euros. OK, I admit it, I am a lucky bugger. So after waiting 30mins for the immigration officer to get out of bed it was ferry and France time.

The deck was wet and rather lacking adhesion as Sir Humphrey and I skidded a third of its length but came to a squeeky but gentle halt just in the right spot. France was closer than standing on the white cliffs and looking south.

On arriving I missed the border hut and had the immigration plod running after me but I stooped anyway so he was cool enough about it. I was even able to use my UK bike insurance! It was then time to get as close as I could to St. Georges, the port/border to Brazil and fairly pretty it was en route with nice tarmac.

I then made two not so great discoveries. Sir Humphrey really did need a clean and I had lost a pannier cover. I must have not locked it properly and the wind had torn it off. I repeat for the umpeenth time I AM A BLOODY HUGE MORON. I swapped the remaining pannier top to the left which I use lots more often and improvised a cover for righty with packing straps and bubble wrap. I had the bubble wrap spare as when the top box came loose in Guyana my Incan pottery facemask was smashed to bits.

I paused for a while as I was feeling a bit dodge then headed off for Cayenne in a peppery sort of way. Once there Emily (who was happy as a pig in pooh to be back in Europe as she thought) guided me to a bank. I then followed instructions from a bank clerk to where I could change some to dollars having been told the Macapa Belem ferry only took US dollars. The instructions were bad but i found the Banque du Post where a guard confirmed that they exchanged money. I queued for 45 mins to discover they didn´t. I was sated when around the cornour I found a bike shop with nothing but bicycles and a few scooters that sold me a Michelin heavy duty rear innertube. I was delighted and wanted to jump for joy except it would hurt to do so and i would propbably fall over as it was again tipping it down with rain. I had a bright idea and let Emily guide me to the airport where I was sure to be able to change money. Nope. Not a single change place in the whole international airport. I gave up and headed off in the direction of St. George assuming I was bound to find a petrol station as I had passed so many over the last few miles. Nope again but I guesstimated that Sir Humphrey´s huge 45litre fuel tanks should just get me there. We therefore pootled through the intermittent downpours through twisty jungle road until nearly there we were stopped by a gaggle of french customs officers.

It started with a few questions and a look in one pannier and quickly evolved into me parking Sir Humphrey up and having a good chat. Before long I´d had an offer of a nights sofa bunking from 7pm when Oliver finished his shift. The guys above from left to right are (and I must get this right as I know we´ll check) Vincent, Oliver and Fred. One and all great blokes and a credit to France, their profession and families.

I mooched off to waste a few hours. St. Georges was a tiny town with nothing to see and an internet cafe without internet access. It certainly didn´t have an ATAC or a St. Cyriles. A new bridge, about 4miles from the town, was to be the new border post but apparently the Brazilians very a tad tardy so it wasn´t open yet alas.

The rain soon came down so Sir Humphrey, the customs dog who i later discovered was called Parfait and I huddled under the marquee covering the as yet unsed customs booths until Oliver arrived to lead me back to his digs.

Here I realised that Magpaws and Basil the Guinea Pig are starting to look rather scary. Maybe I should given them a bath?

Anyway Oliver was a great host and later we went for supper with the whole team including Fred´s wife and son.

Next morning, this morning in fact, I was feeling decidedly off colour. Oliver amazingly kindly paid to fill Sir Humphrey up with petrol but alas was unable to get permission for me to cross the bridge despite it not yet being open. I would have been the first bikler and first Brit to cross it but the Brazilian bod who needed to say yes was off work so alas. The only other way across is by little boat and this was by far and away the most scary 20mins of the whole trip for me. Just look at the pictures and I am sure you can see why.

When we got to the other side it was raining as heavily as I´ve ever seen but they still managed to get him onto a rickety wooden narrow slipway for me to ride to the safety of terra firma. So sooner had I reloaded him and set off for Oyapock I was treated to this sight. Thank god it was up hill and not down and I had recently put on a new rear tyre.

Anyway I made it upright to Oyapock, found the Federal Police station and got by passport stamp. I then went to start the ride to Macapa when Sir Humphrey did his playiong dead act again. This time it occured to me that it wasn´t just potholes that seemed to prempt it but water filled potholes. I took the sump guard and paraphinalia off, squirted the connector I was fiddling with before with chain lube and her started first time. I wrapped the conector in polythere and duct tape and can only wait and see if my guess was right. By now it was gone noon, Macapa was 370+ miles away and I was feeling poohy so after a grand sum of 21miles I called it a day. I found a reasonably priced hotel in town and can just hope to get to Macapa after an early start tomorrow.

TTFN,

Recently terrified Tigger