2013 began, as all good years should, with a kiss.
The cute redhead (that isn’t me) is my new girlfriend, Casey Turner. She’s a professional designer, artist and musician and she complements my talent set like Crunchy Nut Cornflakes complement VANILLA ICE CREAM (I demand you stop reading this for a moment and try that for yourself). She’s young, feisty, talented, sweet, witty, dangerous and blessed with a brilliant and cunning mind. We make quite a formidable team. And we’re both ginger. BOOYAH!
Casey and I saw in the New Year at a house party off Hope Street in Liverpool. We had been invited along by my gorgeous friend Lorna Brookes. Lorna’s persuasive phone calls to shipping companies had been instrumental in the successful completion of The Odyssey Expedition. There was fondue and a stack of booze, it was all very pleasant and terribly middle class. And so here we are: 2013! The year that I hopefully get paid for something!! I hope this blog isn’t going to end up detailing my life working at Starbucks.
So far, I’m in the running to host a travel show for NBC Peacock productions over in New York (but that’s not going to be until later in the year), I’ll be appearing onstage at Telegraph Adventure Travel Live in London over the weekend of 26-27 January and I’ve been asked to do a talk at TEDActive, a parallel TED Conference in Palm Springs, CA that takes place at the same time as the main one over in Long Beach. This will be on February 28, which, happily enough, is going to be my 34th birthday. This will be my fifth birthday in a row not spent at home. Thus is life for a one-man itinerant court such as myself.
I’m also having talks with Paradigm Talent Agency about representation. As well as the movie scripts I’m hoping to get into circulation, I would quite like to kick off things with a spring term speaking tour of American Universities, so again, watch this space.
Team Jinja returned to London on the night of January 2. I didn’t have much of a plan of action, I just wanted to spend as much time as possible with Casey who lives and works down here. My brilliant mate Lindsey (who helped The Odyssey Expedition with London visas) put us up for a few days in Kilburn while we pretended to work on an animated series we’re hoping to bring to YouTube in the next few weeks. On the Sunday night Case returned home to Hounslow and I stayed in Mile End with Dan Martin, my top chum from The Guardian and the NME (he gets me into gigs, I get him into trouble). The following evening we were joined by my wonderful compadre Matt for the pub quiz at The Crown in Bow (as in Bells). We came a valiant third, not bad considering the top team had six members and there was only three of us. Although that’s no excuse – I should be able to win these things on my own and in my sleep. Grr… I blame smartphones.
With the quiz all wrapped up, I thought I’d just quickly check my email before setting off to Matt’s place where I’d be staying the night. There was a message there from Guinness World Records. I’ve been waiting two months for this email. I read it. My jaw hit the ground.
Thank you for your application for ‘First Surface Journey To Every Country in World’. Unfortunately, due to media reports that described that you snuck into some of the countries you visited, we cannot accept your application as a new Guinness World Record, as we, as an organization, do not accept any illegal activity in order to achieve a record.
Thank you and we hope you understand.
– Guinness World Records
When I had gathered my aforementioned jaw off the aforementioned ground, my noodle went into overdrive as I attempted to suss out what the hell I was going to do next.
THINK, GRAHAM THINK!! Okay. Calm. The only place I crossed a frontier at a place other than an official border point was when I foolishly attempted to wade across the the River Narva from Estonia into Russia. I overlanded it back to the UK. I could pick up the journey if need be. So I wrote back to Guinness.
Thanks for getting back to me regarding my attempt to complete the First Surface Journey To Every Country in the World.
I completely understand and support GWR’s zero-tolerance approach towards people breaking the law in order to achieve world records. With that in mind, I hope we can come to a solution that will benefit us both.
I can prove from my GPS records that all but one of my 200+ border crossings were carried out at an official entry point and I was seen by the border guards or officials on the way through.
There is only ONE country in my entire 4-year journey where I crossed unofficially, and that was Russia – I have never hidden this fact and have spoken about the incident, as you have noted, with the press and on my website.
On the way back over the border I was picked up by the Estonian police and questioned. I was not actually arrested, I was not charged with any crime and I was let go within the hour. Nevertheless, I totally agree that if anyone is to copy my feat, they should know from the start that all border crossings must be carried out at official points of entry.
I therefore plan to complete my journey, complying with GWR regulations, by returning overland from the UK (where I am now) to Russia. This time I promise to cross legally and officially and get a visa and stamp in my passport.
As I travelled overland and on scheduled ground transport back to the UK from South Sudan at what I thought was the end of the journey, I can ‘pick up the trail’ from London and travel across Eastern Europe into Russia. The clock won’t have stopped and instead of the journey taking 3 years and 11 months, it will be recorded as taking 4 years and 1 month.
I hope you see this as a fair way to resolve this matter.
If you have any questions or would like to discuss my claim in finer detail, you can email or call me any time on my mobile. This journey has come at great financial and personal cost, it was suitably epic, incredibly complex and multi-faceted.
To keep within GWR regulations of not condoning a road-race, I did not hitch or drive myself: often when it would have been cheaper, easier and safer to do so. In countries like Nigeria, Egypt and India, this meant putting my life in the hands of maniac bus drivers: drivers happy to career across the central reservation and drive towards oncoming traffic on a freeway.
I dearly hope that just because of one easily-fixed transgression that occurred on one day out of almost 1,500 days of travel that I’ve not unnecessarily risked life and limb legally visiting over 200 countries and territories as well as wasted the last four years of my life.
All the best,
Not wanting to hang around for a reply, I sent off my application for a special visa for the Kaliningrad region of Russia (WHICH IS WHAT I SHOULD HAVE DONE FOUR YEARS AGO!!!), intending on heading over there on Monday January 21.
I’m not angry with Guinness – they are 100% in the right here. This is my f— up, and mine alone. I really don’t know what I was thinking at the time. Actually, I do… it was “£150 for a visa?! Sod that for a lark! I’ll just wade across this ’ere river.”
The only thing I wish is that they told me this when I put in for my first record (most countries visited in one year without flying) as I had ample opportunities to pop back into Russia officially (it is, after all, the biggest country in the world) over the last three years. But hey-ho.
I do have some good news though, I got to speak to Cara from NBC Peacock about this travel show they’re putting together and they’re very interested in having me on board. The bad news is that it probably won’t happen for between three to six months. And I can imagine myself needing food and shelter in the meantime.
Starbucks is calling……
Opting to remain in the big smoke with Casey, I stayed at lovely Matt’s gaff up in Bound’s Green for a couple of nights, but the dog, Daisy, had a terrible habit of BARKING like a crazy moo every time I shuffled into her line of sight. After a 4am sojourn from my room to the toilet was heralded by crazy hound waking up everybody in the tri-state area, I moved on to pastures new: specifically my friends Michelle and Daniel’s place in Hampstead. On the Friday night, Case and I headed back to Liverpool for the weekend. We hit a couple of house parties on the Saturday night, one of which we were invited to by ConfusedMike, one of the regular commenters on theodysseyexpedition.com. That’s right! Invite me to all the parties you want! I don’t bite… and, chances are, I’ll probably turn up!!
After catching up with my family on the Sunday, we drove back down to London in the wee hours of Monday morning. Compared with bright and breezy Liverpool, London feels dark, foreboding and oppressive – not somewhere to raise the kids. In fact it’s cold as hell. Although I’m currently not in hell, I’m in Limbo. Paradigm haven’t got back to me, neither have Guinness and neither have the Russian visa people. I can’t go anywhere, can’t do anything.
I was hoping to be in Russia today. But since when has The Odyssey Expedition run as smoothly as you or I would like?? The past week has been spent crashing on a variety of London couches waiting waiting waiting for the call that never comes. Three this week: Paradigm, Guinness World Records and the Russian Visa Guy.
The problem is that since Paradigm expressed interest in me, I haven’t wanted to even consider any other options. I was put in a very similar position in Australia when the guy with the magic yacht came on the scene promising me the known world and all the gold that I can eat. You don’t want to appear ungrateful and you don’t want to jeopardise the opportunity that has come your way. The sad thing is that it would be better not to get your hopes up about such things (I could have shaved AT LEAST 6 months off the completion of The Odyssey Expedition had I not listened to magic yacht guy) than to be strung along like a mug.
Guinness World Records
The lack of any communication back from Guinness is incredibly unsettling. What if I go to Russia, get back, only to be told they don’t like the way I went to North Korea? There is a way of getting Guinness’s speedy response service, and that’s to pay them money. Only me no Bobby DeNiro. Again, I don’t want to push it, getting this record is massively important to me for so many reasons, and it doesn’t pay to bite the hand that’s pondering your very future.
Russian Visa Guy
I keep mentioning things that sound too good to be true turning out to be too good to be true, and perhaps my Russian Visa is going that way. All things being even, a Russian visa costs us Brits £150 and takes a week to come through. However, if I get a special 72-hour visa for the Russian exclave of Kaliningrad, I can pick it up at the border and it “only” costs €75. A bargain, if your idea of a bargain is something that’s a little less ludicrous than the original asking price. I was hoping to get the go ahead for this Monday (21 Jan), but so far zip. This is not good.
Not wanting to outstay my welcome at my friend Lindsey’s, I upped sticks to my friend Sally’s gaff, who, wonderfully enough, also allowed Casey to stay – we even had a blow-up mattress Bliss! A blanket of snow came over London on the Friday and in the evening I got to catch up with my friends Natalie, Stan and Helen in a sorta snowy wonderland that had smothered the otherwise unappealing face of Streatham High Street.
I finally heard back from the Russian visa guy this week. He hadn’t received my original email, so I’ve had to postpone my trip to Kaliningrad for a week until after the Telegraph Adventure Travel Show at which I’m speaking this weekend. But everything has gone through, the visa has been paid for and, well, things seem to be running relatively smoothly. I also got an email from Guinness World Records saying they were ‘considering my appeal’, so fingers crossed there.
On Tuesday night I made Spag Bol for Sally to say thanks for letting us darken her doorstep and moved my kit to Matt The Mick’s gaff a little up the road in Brixton. Matt and I used to live together when we were in Manchester University. Now he lives with his lovely wife Tiff. They were happy to supply me with a roof over my head for a few days, but Casey and I agreed all this Couch-Surfing malarkey is getting a bit silly.
Wednesday saw Casey and I finalise my business cards ready for the Telegraph Travel Show on Saturday. I think you’ll agree they look a particular shade of FRIKKIN AWESOME (they have naked ladies on the other side).
That night, Case, acting as my PA, got on the case (a-ha!) to Paradigm. They agreed to a pow-wow on the moro. The meeting came and went, but I’ve got to play my cards right, so full disclosure of what was said will have to wait for another week, I’m afraid.
Friday was Burns Night and in the grand tradition of things, my Glaswegian friend Anna Burns (yes, Burns… and her birthday falls pretty much on the 23rd January!) came up from Brighton for a good old-fashioned haggis and whisky spectacular at Stan and Helen’s house. Matt and Tiff came along, as did Sally and her fella Peter. We addressed the haggis, gave it a good stabbin’ and I tell you what – the creamy whisky-mustard sauce was TO DIE FOR!!
But Case and I had to split early as we were movin’ on up – to the Olympia Hilton – and the last train left at 11. I’m going to try really hard not to slag off my newly adopted city, but damn it’s a bitch to get around!! What’s with the trains stopping so early at the weekend? Why aren’t they 24 hour like the New York Subway?
The Hilton was paid for by the good folk at The Telegraph, whose Adventure Travel Show I’d be speaking at the next day. After three weeks of couches, fold out beds and blow-up mattresses, it was bliss, and gave Case and I an opportunity to map out our future together… after all, there’s such a lot of world to see…
Saturday was the day of the show. My talk went well, although next time I’ll have a bit more in the way of graphics and video. I got to formally announce that I was going back to Russia, which caused a bit of a stir in the media. Made some good contacts, which bodes well for future events. My mate and feminist travel blogger Natalie “www.girlandtheworld.com” Lyall-Grant was there, as was Adam K who has been following The Odyssey Expedition for years and who kindly donated towards my ‘get me home’ fund last summer. Thanks Adam!!
Afterwards, I had Sky News get in touch wanting to do an interview the next morning, along with journos from The Independent and The Telegraph.
So instead of a nice calm relaxing Sunday morning in bed, it was – once again – up an’ at ’em as Casey and I hurtled over to Sky News Headquarters to be interviewed about my travels on the breakfast sofa. Then we returned to the Hilton, checked out, went out to do something SO FRIKKIN’ AWESOME together that I can’t tell you about it on this blog because the sheer jealousy it would generate could power a small nation, grabbed a coffee, headed over to Brixton to pick up my video camera from Matt The Mick’s, bought a cheap winter hat, gloves and a new bag for taking to Russia, then met up with Lindsey, Amy and Amy’s mum at the pub before staying up until 2.30am talking to Lindsey’s flatmate Deborah while Lindsey washed pots and pans in the bath.
Normally this would all be fine and groovy, but I had to be up at 6 in the morning. Mother Russia is calling…
Monday morning saw Casey and I silently creep out of Lindsey’s place around 7am. I was in an epic rush to get to the coach station for 8am so I said my farewells to my better half on the Bakerloo Line before changing at Oxford Circus for the line to Victoria.
I had to run like a bag-wielding maniac down the road from the Underground to the bus terminal, arriving BANG ON 8am, sweaty and dishevelled. The bus to Gdansk, Poland was just about to pull out of the station… I waved and shouted and clambered on board.
Had I missed the bus I would have been snookered. My Russian visa is waiting for me on the border. It has to be picked up at a certain time on a certain day. That day is tomorrow and that time is 12 noon.
Well then, this is it, I’m back on the road. My hat is on, my WaterAid toilet seat is strapped to my backpack, my GPS logger is blinking away and I’m staring out the window missing my girlfriend like a crazy man misses his giant invisible rabbit friend. One last mini-adventure before I can blow this thing and come home.
I half-slumbered down to Dover, where we headed over to the ferry terminal to pick up some more passengers before hilariously turning our backs on the whole ferry shebangalang and proceeding FULL TILT! towards the Channel Tunnel, or the Chunnel, if you want to make it sound like somebody’s been sick in a perfume bottle.
If you’ve never been through the Channel Tunnel, it is quite a crazy little setup they have. Instead of driving through the tunnel (France, cars and tunnels bring back bad memories for us Brits) you have to plonk your vehicle on a train. Every twenty minutes one of these trains filled with a single lane of traffic zooms through the tunnel. It’s quite simply one of the least efficient set-ups known to man – but if it was a road tunnel, you’d have fumes to get rid of, breakdowns to sort out and, well, the general anarchy that is driving anywhere in the world – that being that everyone driving slower than you is a jerk and anyone driving faster ins a maniac.
But when we get electric Google cars that can drive themselves, it may be time to tarmac over the tracks. You never know: it might help cut down that £3,000,000,000 mountain of debt that Eurotunnel still has to climb before any real profit can be made…
Personally, I would have designed the two main tunnels to have a road deck above and a rail deck below. If you’re going to bother building a bloody big tunnel, you may as well do it properly.
Before long we were disembarking on the froggie side of the street, switching to the right hand side of the road and thundering on up to Belgium and thereafter Germany in a kind of reverse Blitzkrieg. I read the Independent cover to cover, my laptop ran out of batteries and crikey hell I was bored. And hungry. Really, really hungry. For some reason, the bus didn’t stop for food. Like, literally DID. NOT. STOP.
The bus hit Berlin just after midnight. Time to swap buses. I was starvin’ Marvin. I had just 10 minutes to jump off the bus, find an ATM, get out some Euros, find a change machine (top tip: always check the toilets) and buy myself a Twix and a can of Coke from the vending machine.
30 seconds later and I was on bus number 2 heading to the Polish border, much in the manner of the German army in September 1939. The next few hours were spent drifting in and out of sleep and wondering why on Earth I had chosen to leave my beautiful girlfriend back in Blighty and sit on this damn coach for 26 hours. Happily, there was one English-speaker onboard (not the driver, mind) – a guy called Mike who came from the Polish town of Elblag.
In the morning, Mike and I travelled to Elblag together as it’s about halfway to the Russian border from Gdansk. That’s when I got a call from Timur, the Russian Visa Guy, asking me where the hell I was. I looked at my watch. It was 10.30am – plenty of time to get to the border before 12noon.
Ah, yeah… that would be the case, had it been 10.30am in Kaliningrad. Unfortunately for me, Kaliningrad runs on Moscow time aka GMT+3… two hours ahead of Poland. It was 12.30pm. I should have picked up my visa half an hour ago.
I may have a Pond of my own, but I obviously still haven’t got to grips with this time-travel malarkey.
From Elblag I hopped a local bus to the bordertown of Braniewo and from there took a taxi the short distance to the border. I got out of Poland without too much trouble – they seemed slightly unconvinced that I would be picking up my Russian visa on the border, but they let me cross nonetheless (no doubt expecting to see me again in 20 minutes time).
I reached the Russian side and stood in the bitter snowy cold while they took my passport off me and disappeared with it for a good quarter of an hour. And then – a minor miracle – my passport returned with the visa stuck into the last page and I was stamped in!
I should point out that if I had applied for a full Russian visa I would have had to buy a new passport – I only had one blank page left in both of my current passports and you need at least two blank pages free. Notso on the border with Kaliningrad though! Happy days.
I ended up cadging a lift to the city of Kaliningrad, as I would be returning to the border the same way I entered it didn’t make much of a muchness. It was there I discovered that the hotel I booked in order to get the visa was not actually in the city of Kaliningrad, but in the sea-side town of Pionerski, 45 minutes drive away. So on I plodded to this sleepy snowy hamlet on the Baltic Sea, convinced that I had already paid for the room using booking.com. But no, I hadn’t.
The town was all but deserted, freezing cold, lonely, and NOBODY spoke English. I wandered around looking for something that looked Russian enough to convince the world I was here. All I found was an Anna Karenina poster written in Cyrillic. That’d do, yeah?
Urgh… I possibly should have stayed in Kaliningrad city.
But the hostel I stayed in (The Cruise Hostel, Pionersky) had free internet so I got to chat with Casey which made me feel a bit less lonely. I was pretty much the only guest. This is not high season.
After finding out that everything – including the local eateries – closed at 5pm, I got an early night and dreamt of food.
The next morning I was up at 6am – again – to get the first train back to Kaliningrad city. It arrived around 7.30 and I – stupidly – got off at the wrong station, the one without the adjacent coach station. A crosstown taxi ride later and I was ready to hop a bus the 3 hours back to Gdansk. I had be be back at 3pm that day. Only one slight hitch: there are only two buses to Gdansk a day. One at 6am (missed that!) and one at (get this!) 3pm. Seriously?
Ygads! Well, it was a bit early, and since Kaliningrad is time-shifted in a crazy direction I thought I would potter around the city until the sun came up – something that would happen around 10am (the ‘Moscow Time’ policy only really works in, you know, Moscow).
Kaliningrad used to be a part of Germany, well, Prussia actually. It was known for hundreds of years as Königsberg, the place where numerous Germanic kings had a shiny metal hat plonked on their heads like it was their Super Sweet Sixteen. Not much left of the old town now – much of the city was destroyed by the British bomb raids in World War II, the rest was mopped up by those cheerful chaps from Russia who moved in, forcibly pushing the tens of thousands of Germans who lived here the hell out. In classic Soviet style, they lovingly restored the glorious old buildings that had been destroyed in the war back to their original glorious old status HA FUCK NO they just put up a load of bulky, brutal, ugly, totalitarian concrete shite instead… since that’s all humanity deserves (according to every architecture graduate since 1958).
I ambled down to the (frozen) river and took a few pics of myself outside the old cathedral – one of the few buildings to survive the aesthetical carnage that was the twentieth century. It was lonely, I was miserable, all I wanted to do was come the hell home. I’m sick of this shit.
I got back to the bus station around 10am, and bought myself a ticket to Mamonovo – the nearest town to the Polish border. It took about 40 minutes to get there on the bus and when I arrived it was sleeting. The nice stern Russian bus conductor woman ordered me off the bus in the warm friendly manner we’ve all come to expect from our Eastern European counterparts. I obliged and headed for the safety of the nearby supermarket for shelter. There I met another nice lady who was wearing a padded camo jacket and pants and a lovely Russian hat with a rather splendid Russian Army badge affixed to the front. She wanted to see my ‘papers’. I haven’t heard somebody call my passport that since Central Africa.
This isn’t going to end well is it?
Presumably unhappy with my passport picture (or the colour of my hair) Russian Army Lady told (ordered?) me to follow her. We walked for a mile through the snow and slush and sleet and cold and FUCKING MISERY before arriving cold, wet and shivering at an army base. I was taken into a nice big gloomy office that had maps on the wall which were hidden behind curtains. There I was told in broken English by two army dudes (presumably press ganged into talking to me as they had a smattering of English between them) that the entire town of Mamonovo is a frikkin gigantic army base (one without signs, a fence or a bus that informs its passengers that we’re entering a restricted zone) and so my presence there was about as welcome as a drunken David Irving gatecrashing a Holocaust Remembrance Service.
Well thanks for letting me know guys! I’ll just be leaving… the country… and never coming back!
Ah no, the army guys wanted to take me to the airport – you know, if you’re going to deport somebody for stumbling off a public bus into a supermarket, you might as well do it PROPERLY eh?
I explained that I had a bus ticket back home from Gdansk and if they wouldn’t mind I would just like to go to the border, you know, that thing that was like 2km away – and leave. They discussed this strange proposal for a bit before bundling me into a car and driving me to the frontier. A friendly ‘GET OUT’ on the Russian side of passport control and I found myself at the side of the road desperately trying to get a lift to the boom gates (you’re not allowed to walk across) while the weather conspired to crush any remaining joy or love left in the black cold stone that used to be my heart.
I’m done with this shit. I just want to go home.
I guess it’s only fitting that I exit the final country of The Odyssey Expedition under military escort.
Stamped out of Russia, I re-entered the EU and got as far as the first town on the Polish side of matters. From there I hopped a bus to Elblag, and then another to Gdansk, arriving just in time to be told I couldn’t get on the F—ING BUS TO LONDON because I didn’t have a printed ticket. The pdf on my laptop didn’t mean squat. I didn’t have a printed ticket because the cockmonkeys on the bus when I was coming to Gdansk on Monday took my original printout off me. After much gesticulating I managed to get a second copy printed from the coach agent’s office and made the 3pm bus with (as per usual) seconds to spare.
The return journey was every bit as tedious, horrible and exhausting as the outward journey. Again, we stopped for food less often than a 9/11 Truther stops and uses their goddamn brain. Well, we stopped all the time, but nowhere that food was readily available. With the big rush to get on the bus I didn’t have a chance to stock up on supplies (or even change my Russian Roubles into something useful) so I just sat there, going crazy with boredom and hunger, trying to go to sleep so time would go quicker. As we left the slate-grey skies of Gdansk I was told off for putting my feet up on the back seat. All the announcements (like where we were, how long we were stopping for etc.) were in Polish. This whole episode felt like I was, at the age of 33, having already been to every country in the world, being forced to re-sit my A-Levels. GodDAMN it.
I slept fitfully throughout the night. The temperature on board swung from toasty warm when we were moving to bollock-shatteringly cold whenever we stopped and the driver left the doors open so we could be obnoxiously whipped by the frigid winds blowing down from the Arctic Circle.
The next day I arrived in London Victoria Coach station around 5.30pm. The rubber-stamped end of my four year journey. Nobody was there to greet me this time. Might as well have been on a business trip. At least it wasn’t raining this time. I took the train to Islington to meet Casey from work. We reunited on Upper Street. We then headed over to Casey’s parent’s house in Hounslow to pick up some stuff before driving the length of the North Circular over to Gants Hill – our new residence. A room between us in a big house of 10 people. It’s not much, but at least we get to be together. I’m fed up of all this gallivanting. I need a break.
The Odyssey Expedition is over, over, over. Now I need to get a proper job. I just hope to hell that one of the various Travel/Video/Film/Book projects I’m trying to get off the ground comes to fruition. And does so soon. For the first time in over 4 years, I have rent to pay.
It’s taken over a YEAR of deliberation, but it’s official: Guinness World Records have sent me notification that I am, without a shadow of a doubt, the first person to visit every country in the world without flying.
From Day One I billed The Odyssey Expedition as a “Guinness World Record breaking adventure” and now all my hopes and dreams, everything I strived, fought and pushed for for over 5 years has been validated. I have it.
Guinness World Records have FINALLY granted me my very own, unique, never-been-seen-before World Record Certificate. And here it is:
So certificate in hand I headed down to the Pier Head in Liverpool, gathered my family and friends and filmed this – the final shot of The Odyssey Expedition. Here it is, 5 years in the making….
Well I did it. I F—ING WELL DID IT!!! That’s it. The Odyssey Expedition is (well and truly) complete!
Now it’s time to tune your internets into my new adventure: JINJA ISLAND!!!