Advertisement
Published: April 5th 2010
sunset in Northern India
40 km before Sunauli and border crossingSoon after leaving Varanasi the 20th of March, I realize this will be a long day. The road up to Nepal has a reputation of being very bad. It's full of potholes and disappears here and there in a dirt trail. After 6 hours driving, I'm still not in Gokhtapur, 220 km from Varanasi. My ass hurts from the many bumps and hits and I decide to have a drink in a roadside cafe. People are sitting outside, watching this weirdo coming at their place. I sit down in silence next to them and ask a Coke. Trying to start a conversation, I want to ask them if the road will be that bad further on. With mimics, so I decide to point at my sore behind and to put a painfull face. My hand is already lingering in the air when I realize this could be completely misunderstood and they could bring me at a toilet again. I make a wavy movement with my hand and ask them "road very bad up there?" They look at each other and suddenly start talking to me. All together at the same time. Not that it matters because I don't understand a word
of Hindi, but in my mind I hear them say "no buddy, from here on it's pure German Autobahn". Glad with this idea, I swing my leg over the backpack and hit the road again. They were only partly right. After two kilometers of the same hopeless hellroad, I suddenly end up in a trafficjam. I work my way forward and see the origin of all the trouble. They are building the new road. I pass the machines and come on a beautifull fresh strip of new smelling asfalt. All and alone for me! I open the gaz and for a few moments, I fly. But after 3 km, the new road disappears into the same old dirt track. The same process will repeat itself several times that afternoon. I don't know why, but new roads are built here in pieces of a few kilometers, united by strips of medieval paths. It's politics they say.
Late in the afternoon, I realize I have been put on the wrong track and I have been driving for more than an hour in the wrong direction. This will happen a few times more. People don't send you off in the wrong direction
on purpose, it's just that they don't want to disapoint you by saying they don't know the way. So they say straight on, or just give you that old tilt of the head, which can mean anything. Anyways, I manage to retrace my steps and find the road North again. After a while I see a few people on the road. A young man is holding his wife in his arms. She's unconcious and looks very pail. I see anguish and anger in his eyes. I ask if I can do something, but they called for help already. As far as I understood, she fell from the back of his bicycle and hit her head against a tree. I propose them my medicines, but they refuse. Maybe better I think afterwards. I have no clue of medicine, and for all I know an aspirine could only worsen an internal bleeding. I leave them my bottle of water and continue. It's dark when I arrive in the dirty dusty town of Sinauli.
Boarder formalities don't take too much time. In the dark and dust I manage to find the several offices and I get a stamp from India for leaving
their country, I take a visum for 14 days in Nepal and I pass the customs without stopping. This last move saved me quite some money, but I didn't realize that at the time. Despite the dark, I drive 5 km further to a more charming place with a better choice of guesthouses. I'm in Nepal!!
In Varanasi the people had warned me for the Nepali. "They drive very dangerously there" they said. This coming from an Indian means something and is enough to scare you. "Yes" they said, "in Nepal they drink and drive". Maybe the latter is true, but my first hours on Nepali road were bliss! Splendid stretches of beautiful flat road, meandering through dark green forests, hardly traffic and a cool breeze in the face. Left of me, I saw the contours of the Himalaya rising through the morning fog.
At noon I arrived in Narayangarh. So far the road had been almost straight and the km's followed fast. That would soon change. From there on the road bends left into the mountains. The landscape changed fast and for hours I climb at low speed. Partly because of the trucks you have to pass each
time, partly because the road becomes so bad that my front shockabsorber reaches it's limits. I bounce left and right, but it never takes long before the good road comes back. It's over 4 pm when I arrive in Kathmandou.
The capital is congested like any Indian town, but has a very particular feel about it and I find my way instinctively to the centre. I have no guidebook on Nepal and realize I actually hardly know a thing of that country. I remember from Pilar however that Thamel is the place where backpackers come together. It's my only reference point so far, so I want to ask the first tourists I see for the name of a guesthouse. Between all the Nepali, I suddenly see two white faces and I ride up to them. I open my helmet and smile at them. It are two middle aged women and they stare at me with their mouths open. I can't ride up to them on the pavement, so I wave at them to come closer. They stare at each other and then back at me. I shout to make myself clear over the noise of the traffic and ask if
they speak English. They still keep their distance. They would prefer to walk away, or even run away, but politeness brings them a step nearer to me. " No English" says one of them, "Nederlands" she says in perfect Flemish and only to get rid of me. "What a coincidence" I say, also in Flemish. From that moment, they bloom open, they are from Antwerp and start chattering away and tell me that they travel with a group, but that they are free now for two hours and they got lost and this morning they went to a temple where they still slaughter animals. She puts a sour face when she explains me the story. "like Buffalo's?" I ask. "No she says, "goats and chickens". "But only on wednesdays and sundays". "But you have to watch out here because people haggle for everything" and from there on and from there on the conversation loses all coherence, if there ever was any, and I don't follow anymore. Ah, and no, they don't know where Thamel is. I try my luck with a young guy waiting at the corner of the street, it turns out to be an Austrian living in Kathmandou,
and he gives me a good reference. Twenty minutes later, I'm in a hot shower and drinking my first real beer in more than a month. In Nepal, they have Carlsberg, Tuborg, San Miguel and Oranjeboom (that the dutch can sell their beers abroad only shows what a great marketeers they are).
I spend the next day visiting the old town, which conserved a very medieval feel and many old temples. Durban square is, with the help of Unesco, practicaly completely conserved in the original state. It's a pleasure to lose yourself in the narrow alleys for a few hours. If you really get lost, there is always someone to put you in the good direction for Thamel. That day I also visit Swayambunath, the hill on which this typical stupa is built that appears on every book on Nepal and on many postcards. I thought this building was actually somewhere on the top of a 5000 m high mountain, but it turns out to be found on a hill in the very centre of Kathmandou. It's under restauration, but the whole hill has a very pleasant athmosphere and many people come to pray in the surrounding budhist temples.
odd picture
check down right corner I make a few sketches and make a draw of the main square. I get the attention of three street urchins. They must be around 5 years old and are dirtier than any kid I've seen before. Their faces are black, their hands, their bare feet, it's all black and dirty and snot drips out of their noses. Their clothes have never been washed, but they are happy like only kids can be and I have a good time with them. At a certain moment, two of them are playing on the steps on which I'm sitting. One of them supports completely on me to hit the other. In a reaction, I pull my arm away. His support is gone and the kid falls down the steps, head first. His face hits the floor with a loud bonk. He screams so loud that everyone watches me. I try to help where I can, but it takes like 10 minutes before his mother appears. She picks him up at one arm and drags him along. Later I will go and look for him to check out if he's ok. He's already playing again with the others, smiling. "Strong head" says his
father. "He'd better" I think.
The next day I decide to visit Bakthapur, one of the four biggest cities of the Kathmandou valley, besides Pathan and Boudha. Baktapur is one of those places where the time stood still. There are more temples than houses and all this in a beautiful mountain setting. You are supposed to pay 700 Nrs at one of the many checkpoints and leave cars and motorbikes outside the city. By accident I get off the main road and end up in a labyrinth of paths and ride through ricepaddies and narrow alleys and suddenly arrive on the main square. Without passing a checkpoint and without paying. That's two free meals I think. And a nice photo opportunity of the Dracula Ye Ye before the tempels. I spend a few hours there and decide to go and visit the Changu Narayan temple, 6 km away from Bakthapur, built on top of a hill in the 4th century. It's Unesco heritage, but despite it's historical vallue and beauty, few tourists make it till here. I park my bike next to another. Turns out to belong to Bi Zhen, or Peter as he presents himself later, from Beyjing.
wild with colors
sadhu in Kathmandou He proposes to go and look for Boudha. We drive over countryroads and go downhill over a sandy slope, that becomes steeper and steeper. I have a though time trying to follow him on my heavy machine and he disappears in a cloud of dust. This guy is a pro I think. Or he's very lucky. Turned out to be the latter. He rented the bike for two days and didn't drive anything with gears before. It gets darker soon and we decide to give up our search and to drive back to the centre to have a beer. He proposes to go to a steakhouse and boy was that a brilliant idea! After several weeks of Indian vegetarian dishes, the beef felt like heaven. Sorry to admit it. We talked for hours about work, family, traveling and life in general. He loves traveling and already during his studies, with little money, he crossed China from North to South. On a bicycle. Always surprising to see how much alike we are, despite the 1000's of km that separate our homes. He tells me about this trek he's done on the slopes of the Anapurna and the more he tells me
about it, the more I'm eager to try it as well. I start the next day early to get on time in Pokhara. The road is beautiful and there are far less trucks than on the road to Kathmandou. I just have to watch out for the occasional speedbump that are, just like in India, never announced and made to rip your vehicle in pieces. At a moment, entering a village, I see a truck stopped in the middle of the road, loaded with two buffalo's. A third one of those heavy black animals is sitting on the road behind the truck, looking dazed and confused. It's bleeding heavy from it's head and it's only then that I see that both of it's horns are broken off. The truck had taken one of those speedbumps a bit too fast and the beast had flipped over the rim of the truck and landed on it's head.
But for me things go smooth and only a few hours later I drive into sweet laidback Pokhara at the border of the mountain lake. The Hippie shirts are changed here for the North Face gear and boots and backpacks are tried on before
the serious work. People come here for the trekkings. And the rafting and the paragliding, but main business is trekkings. The most popular are the Anapurna circuit (18 - 21 d) or the Anapurna Sactuary trek or Anapurna Base Camp (ABC) trek (10-14 d). I go for the latter. I buy a few fast drying T shirts and buy water and snacks. I hike a ride to the starting point in Phedi and start climbing. It's steeper than I thought and once you have been climbing for a while, the path brings you all the way down to a river again, so you have to start over again. This will happen several times and is pretty frustrating at moments. But the views are magnificent and after so many days on the motorbike and wandering through bazaars and alleys, I feel like seriously stretching the legs. In the hotel they had told me you need minimum 7 d to get all the way to the top and back. My visum is almost expired and if I want to get back in India by 2 April, I have to be back in 5 days. Impossible they confirm me. I decide to give
it a try anyway and see how far up I get so I walk a bit faster than the others. And then suddenly I arrive at a control post. "Control of what?" I ask? "Of your permit" they tell me. "Ok, I don't have a permit". "No prob, you can buy it here. It's 4000 rs". "4000 Rs??, that's more than the half of my budget!" "Sorry sir, you can always go back to Pokhara". Hell no I'm not going back. I pay the 4000 and walk even faster now. I fly, I run. And in a way I enjoy the extra challenge. Suddenly the visum is not a constraint anymore. I calculate the money I have left and I have enough for 4 days in the mountains. Just see how far up I can get with that. To make a long and in the end painful story short, the first day I got halfway up the mountain. The next day I walked for 10 h in a row with a 15 kg backpack and climbed to the second last post, just under Machipuchare base Camp. I had to stop at 4 pm because I got caught in a snowstorm
and had to look for shelter. I was knackered, beat, but a nice warm meal and a deep sleep in the fresh air gave me the necessary energy and the next day I left at 5.30 am in the dark and set of with my headtorch illuminating the fresh snow. The light of the torch lit up the small valley I was passing through and envelopped me in a blue glow. Besides a fox, I was all alone and making a fresh trail to Machipuchare base camp. I decided to continue because I wanted to see the different peaks of the Anapurna in their full splendor and before realising it, at 8 am I arrived at ABC! I made it. It was beautiful. Snow all over and surrounded by peaks higher that 8000 m. You have the feeling you can touch them, although there is still 3000 m between you and the top. From the 4200 m high basecamp I rushed back down to pick up my backpack, I had a plate of potatoes with ketchup (didn't have money for more :-))and walked for another 9 hours. After 12 hours of trekking, I arrived at 6.30 pm together with Wen
budhists offering buttercandle
one of the temples on Shwayambunah hill, notice the big prayer drum behind them in Chomrong. Wen is a young researcher from Thailand and via a couple of Dutch ladies we met each other higher up and decided to hike a while together. At the end every step to reach Chomrong seemed a torture. Every part in my body hurt and I had blisters the size of an egg on my heels. I crashed in bed and just moved myself to eat something. The next day however, we set of at 7 am and made it by noon, after 3,5 d, to the foot of the mountain and the road, the civilised world, cars, Cola, and a bus that brought us back to Pokhara. We had to sit on the roof of the bus and shared that place with Stefan (Ge) and Simon (Dk), two cool guys who just rounded the Anapurna circuit. Back at the gueathouse I had to show pictures of ABC because in they didn't believe I could have done it in that time. It was completely crazy of course and better would have been to stretch it over 2 or 3 more days, but that's how it is. I suddenly have a few more days to spend in Pokhara before
I have to head back to India. I remember I spent those days eating. Because of my limited budget, I had to fast for a few days doing a crazy fysical excercice and now my body would eat everything it saw. I craved for fruit, icecream, steaks, pastries,...I was hungry all the time. Great healthy time. I met quite a few intersting people. One day, while cruising on my bike through the city, I come upon two guys on Enfields in full battle dress. They are Polish and just bought their bikes in Delhi. They are waiting for 4 more friends to hook up with and to start traveling through Nepal and India and to drive back later to Poland. Since a Polish cameraman was severed from his head in a rather permanent manner by terrorists in Pakistan, Poland can't give visums anymore to their citizens for that country and the group of 6 will have to look for an alternative route. I can only see Afganistan or China, but both seem a hard nut to crack. I tell them. They say, "yes, but we are Polish". And they give me a big smile. One of the two has done
it already before (through Pakistan however), so I guess they are experienced. They managed to get some sponsoring for their event, amongst others from Touratech. For those interested, here's the link: http://royalisci.pl/ . The English text is computer translated, but you'll get the picture.
After that I felt strong enough to head West. The West of Nepal is known as Maoist country and supposedly dangerous. Maybe that was so a few years ago, now there is a standing cease fire and it is one of the most peacefull areas I passed through. The road down from Pokhara is the most beatifull road I have ever driven on a motorbike. There are 100's of hills, 1000's of turns and hardly any traffic. I felt like Rossi in the Himalaya! It was only when the footpegs started scraping the floor that I realised I wasn't driving a superbike, but a good old lazy Enfield so I adapted my behaviour to that. Without changing gear too much, I just let myself slide down the winding road. The highway is called the Sidharta highway and man, this Sidharta knows how to build a road. Right I have the mountains, left down in the
valley a wild gletsjer river streams south. In the villages, people have put their freshly harvest wheat on the roads so the passing traffic can separate the grains from the rest. In Butwal I turned right and another highway, the Mahabharata Hwy brought me all the way west, but that was the next day. Thinking about Nepal most people see snowpeaks. The lower part of Nepal is flat like North India however, only cut here and there by small ripples of hillchains. Untill the 50's, this whole area, known as the Terrai, was subtropical forrest, inhabited by the Tharru. This tribe was trying to make a living, as good and as bad as they could, coping with severe plagues of malaria. The area is cut by many rivers, making it a mosquito infested area and keeping other tribes away. In the '50's however, a DDT campaign killed off most of the mosquitos and big parts of jungleforest were slashed and burned for agriculture and industry purposes. Short after that, other people from the mountains and from India settled themselves here, but the Tharru stayed and are still of the least priviliged and poorest people in the country. Driving around Kathmandou
and Pokhara, it is hard to believe that Nepal is a developing country, and a poor one at that. In the West however, you see the poverty clearly and it's no surprise that anti government organisations and rebellion movements find fixed ground for their struggle here.
Despite the changed landscape, there is still a lot of jungle and big national parks. Chitwan National park is for many tourists one of the highlights of their visit to Nepal, but I decide to go to a quiter, less commercially exploited park in the West, Bardia National Park. I didn't make it there untill the next day and had to sleep in a dusty trucker town with no charm whatsoever. I shared my room with cockroaches and the food I had there was the worst ever. But arriving in Bardia the next morning made up for everything. It was just beautiful. It's bigger that the more famous Chitwan Np, with Rhino's, elephants, many kinds of deer, crocodiles and birds. I had a splendid walk (!) there with a guide. Indeed, the good thing of the park is that you can just walk in it and you don't have to sit on the
back of an elephant or inside a jeep. The guide gave me a long stick and he himself was armed with a another one. To fend of curious tigers he told me. Attacks of tigers have been reported, but my guide was particularly afraid of the rhino's. He has been attacked 3 times by them and is happy to be able to tell the story. I didn't see tigers ( they are really hard to spot in such an immense jungle), and I heard a rhino growl at a few meters away from me, but he was hidden in thick bush and it was not safe to go nearer. But there are all kinds of deer jumping away from us and all kinds of bee eters, parrots, kingfishers and butterflies color the sky. In the park, I notice that many fish are floating dead in the rivers. The guide explains that every one and a while, the Tharru poison the river with a potion they extract from plants to stun the fish. In the evening they sneak inside the park and pick up the catch of the day. "Isn't it lethal for them that poison" I ask? "No", he says,
"Tharru can eat everything."
From there I left for the border town of Mahendranagar. Border formalities in Nepal were more or less smooth. I was supposed to have paid a custom tax on my bike for the period I have been there, being 100 Rs x 14 d. The official tells me to cough up the money. I ask him why. He says, "when you enter Nepal, you should pay". I say"I'm not entering, I'm leaving". He says, "you should pay upon entering". I say "good, I'll remember it for the next time, but now I'm leaving". He smiles, I smile. His assistant, already waiting with the calculator in his hands, stares at me. I pick up my helmet and drive away. I had my exit stamp already, because I had parked the bike behind a restaurant just before the border and just walked up there, as a regular tourist. India was more complicated. According to a new regulation from december 2009 you have to stay out of the country for at least 2 months once you leave Indian territory. Even if you have a multiple entry visum. The only way to come back sooner is to get permission
from the Indian Embassy in Kathmandou. The official is very strict. "I can not let you enter sir, you have no permission". He was harder than his Neplai colleagues to crack and I really thought I would have to drive all the way back to Kathmandou. We all stayed polite however and I could convince him by showing my planeticket, proving I fly back the end of the month and will not linger longer than necessary in India. He keeps the planeticket and I get my stamp.
Just arrived in India, I experience again how crazy traffic is here. In the weeks before Nepal I had grown into some sort of a Zen attitude and I noticed that I flowed organicaly, almost naturaly in this chaos. In Nepal my nerves were never challenged as they are constantly in India, so I was quite surprised to drive at 60 km/h when a guy walking in the same direction as me suddenly decided to go and walk in the middle of the road. I claxoned, but could not pass him right because a truck came from the opposite direction. The guy didn't move, I slowed down and kept on claxoning. In
a reaction I passed him left, between him and a ditch. At that moment, he moved left as well!! All of this without looking, as if he were walking in the privacy of his bedroom! I threw the bike in the ditch, but hit him hard on his arm and ribs with my steering wheel and mirror. I only drive like 30 km/h, but the impact is hard. He flew right, I flew left. I managed to keep the bike up and worked my way back up the road. Just arrived there, he comes running at me. Anger and pannic and pain in his eyes. "Why, why, why????' he keeps on saying. Why? I can't believe it. "Why" is probably the question I have posed myself most often during this trip and in life in general, but this time I know the answer. "Why? Because you're a f@#* suicidal moron!!!" I hear myself screaming. And a few more words I shouldn't use too often, definitely not in India. I guess that's how far my zen attitude stretched. I was furious with him. But then of course I was concerned as well to see his wounds. It turns out that his
ribs were bruised and his arm was bleeding, but he kept on saying "why why", so I guessed he'll be ok and then he grabed my steering wheel and people started gathering around us so I decided to drive on. The suicidal tendencies here are sometimes hard to understand. They really trust too much on their gods.
After a bad day in Ramnagarg, where I spent the night in a camping in a big tent, next to another tent of drunk youngsters, on a table with a mattrass and I woke up bitten all over by bedbugs, I wanted to visit the Corbet Tiger Reserve but what a commercial Disney 5* resort park is that? So I decided to drive on to Haridwar. This pilgrim city is the place where every year thousands of Hindus come together. But every 12 years there is a special superevent, something like the ano the San Jacobeo in Santiago de Compostela and I find myself suddenly surrounded by billions of Hindus and decide that this is not good for me. So I head on to Rishikesh. Rishikesh is since the '60's the universal centre of the Ashrams, where Indians and foreigners come to
find enlightenment, or just to meditate or to practice yoga. At moments it looks like Culture Club Country and Boy George is always around the corner. But it's all very pleasant and harmless and everyone is very much shanti shanti. We are close to the source of the Ganges here and the city is built on the banks of the holy river. There is a sandbank along the river and people bake in the sun and swim in the fast streaming water or just float it down on a raft. Two hangbridges are connecting the two sides of the city. It are pedestrian bridges, 2m wide max. The wind makes them swing a little. You can pass them however by motorbike, if you find a way through the 1000's of people who are crossing the bridge at the same time. A bizarre ride I can guarantee you. I make it a habit here to wake up early so I can cross the bridge without too much hassle. Stopping in the middle of it gives you the feeling you're hanging in the void with a motorbike between your legs. I brought my ride to the doctor here. His name is Lucky
and he's the best Enfield mechanic in the country. The bike behaved good and deserved a nice treatment. I put a new chain on it, have the oil changed, fix the rear drum break and ask him to check the front shocks. They have lost a lot of their capacity lately and I want everything to work well before going higher up in the Himalaya. The garage is the gathering point of other Enfielders, basicaly foreigners. There are many Israeli's, some of them friendly, most of them closed into their own group. Their very limited knowledge of English is probably one of the reasons for that. I see Peter Fonda in Easy rider, I see Lenny Kravitz, all doing their best to look cool and hell, if they have fun, who cares. Lucky, who has been dealing with them since the age of 8 when he started working in the garage of his father, speaks perfect Hebrew with them. I also meet some more remarkable figures. Like Niki, or Nikita. He's from Sebastopol, in the Krim. Slender body, steel blue eyes, blond long hair and barely older than 20 I guess. He travels with his young wife and their baby
on a Bullet through India. One could consider that irresponsible, but then again who am I to judge. Besides, that's the way most Indians travel. Very often they even throw in a mother in law or a sheep on top of it. He got involved in an accident, but they were all ok and just repaired the damage and moved on. He is radiant with enthousiasm and joy and you just feel happy when talking to him. Great character.
I left after 1 day to Shimla. Shimla is one of those places that are completely out of time and out of place. Built by the British to escape the summer heat of the plains, it looks like Oxford and Cambridge, but then built on the foothills of the Himalaya. With it's churches and English brick houses it looks remarkably European and if it were not for the monkeys you'd swear you're in good old Albion. But now the city is paying the price of time and many buildings are in a state of decay. The Indians, who come here 'en masse' on holiday, have the fun of their lives however, enjoying the cool air and buying hats for their
kids and wrapping themselves in warm clothes. Never thought that being cold could be cool :-) Most of the ancient buildings are now housing hotels, restaurants, coffeeshops and sweetstalls and the people stroll from one place to the other in the trafficfree centre of the city. So far I met only a few foreigners. It's really an Indian thing I have the feeling. On the winding way to Shimla, I suddenly see two big BMW 1200 gs adventures coming my way. They flash by, but I see it's a guy and a young girl. An hour later arriving on a hilltop, I suddenly pass two more 1200 gs's. They are just parking to have a drink at a roadcafe. I park next to them and say "Dag Nederland". I had noticed the dutch plates. The guy checks me, smiles and says "shall we have a drink togetger?". They are from a group of 10 riders, some on 1200 gs's, one Transalp and the 'leader' on a good old Tenere! They drove all the way from Belgium and Holland to India in 5 weeks. It was their 2nd day in India. Final goal is Kathmandou. They never stay longer than a
night in every place and the tempo seems a bit too high for me, but they look ok with it. The two guys I met are from the North of Holland, must be around 60, typical brushlike moustache and sturdy sailor look in the eyes, cigarette in the corner of the mouth. We chat a while about traveling and they warn me for the bad condition of the road further on. I found the road great however and don't know what they expect later on in India. Before parting I propoesd them a ride with the bullet. I saw them considering it, but they declined the offer. Damn I thought, I would have liked a little ride on one of those gs's. Tomorrow I will leave for a ride into the mountains towards the East, direction Tibet. It's a road that will bring me through the Kinnaur Valley. From there I will try to find the connection with the Spiti Valley. Both areas are supposed to be from the most beautifull the Himalaya has to offer here and if the passes are free of snow and landslides, I should be able to make it in a couple of days to
Manali. On the road I will have no acces to internet and I don't think mobiles work there, so next input will be later.
Hasta pronto!(por lo menos algo en espanol)
Advertisement
Tot: 0.249s; Tpl: 0.023s; cc: 7; qc: 47; dbt: 0.1426s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.3mb
Werner
non-member comment
riders in the storm
WAW! jongensdroom. Waarom blijven wij hier in de mallemolen meedraaien als je van't leven kunt genieten? Keitof dat je het met ons kunt delen! Ik lees met veel plezier mee. Mijn grootste avontuur hier is op Victor letten (2j) die er zojuist in geslaagd is de wekker van Guida een uurtje vroeger te zetten ...