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Su Shi

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Su Shi last won the day on 12 Ianuarie 2014

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    Bucuresti
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    690 Adventure R / Suzuki DRZ 400 Adventure

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    http://blog.intotheworld.eu

Vizitatori recenţi

1.205 vizualizări profil
  1. The 2017 Rally-Raid Season and A New KIT

    The 2017 Rally-Raid Season and A New KIT 2017 was a busy racing season for Jon: Baja 400 Bistrita, Baja 500 Buzau, Baja Transylvania Rupea and Hellas Rally, where we also debuted Jon’s latest design, the KIT701. This beauty converts the Husky 701 enduro into what we like to call the #Ultimate701 Jon won all the races in Romania and became National Champion for the second year in a raw. At Hellas he finished in the first half, which was an encouraging result for his first time in an event of this magnitude and given our modest budget and preparation. Watch this page for more exciting pics from the rallies. Thank you Motul Romania and Merinito, who generously supported Jon’s racing efforts this season. Let's block ads! (Why?) Vezi articolul integral
  2. Cappadocia Joyride

    Cappadocia Joyride After Hellas Rally 2017 we headed to Turkey to see our dear friends Ozgur and Ceren. Riding alongside was Chris, who had delivered an impressive performance at the rally and who was now continuing his journey overland by KIT690. Chris’ trip had started in his hometown of Manchester and was to end in Russia’s legendary Magadan. The boys shredded some Cappadocian trails. After we enjoyed a balloon ride together, it was time to go our separate ways. Let's block ads! (Why?) Vezi articolul integral
  3. Back to Namibia for a second safari tour

    Back to Namibia for a second safari tour After the overwhelming success of our first safari tour which took place in Namibia in August 2016, we returned for a second tour into this incredible country in February 2017. This time we were facing the rainy season, which have a dramatic effect on landscape and wildlife: deserts come to life, the Etosha plains become lush and fertile, and ephemeral rivers from the remote west flood. It was a demanding, unpredictable, and in a sense more adventurous tour. For sure we will be back there soon. For more photos from this safari head to SAFARI 2</a> page. If you are interested in joining a future tour, please subscribe to our newsletter and watch our Facebook page for updates. Let's block ads! (Why?) Vezi articolul integral
  4. Su Shi

  5. Cambodia – Home, Sweet Home

    The shop owner, a slim, raven-haired lass, asked me, “Do you like pong tia koun?” What?... The post Cambodia – Home, Sweet Home appeared first on Into The World.
  6. Hungry In Saigon

    Honeycomb cake filled with coconut shreds (bánh bò dừa http://www.vietstreetfood.com/2012/08/honeycomb-cake-filled-with-coconut.html http://www.vietstreetfood.com/2012/05/traditional-flavor-from-north-banh-gai.html Street food in... The post Hungry In Saigon appeared first on Into The World.
  7. Beer in Hanoi, Bliss in Cat Ba

    Let’s start with beer. Vietnam’s capital is perhaps the loveliest in all of Asia, IMHO.... The post Beer in Hanoi, Bliss in Cat Ba appeared first on Into The World.
  8. Into Ha Giang

    At the end of the winding descend from Youngyang we are soaking wet and clad... The post Into Ha Giang appeared first on Into The World.
  9. The Art of Rice

    We are on the lookout for good internet connection, a visa for Vietnam, a shower... The post The Art of Rice appeared first on Into The World.
  10. The Many Faces of Dali

    We leave Shaxi reluctantly, wishing we could just rent a house and stay forever. As... The post The Many Faces of Dali appeared first on Into The World.
  11. Falling in Love with Shaxi

    A hunter’s home, I’ve known it since Mali, can be a sign of good luck.... The post Falling in Love with Shaxi appeared first on Into The World.
  12. South of Eden

    We decide to reach Yangtze River via Baishuitai, Haba and Tiger Leaping Gorge, but first... The post South of Eden appeared first on Into The World.
  13. In Shangri-La

    From Litang we stop advancing west and point south. In a few days we should be enjoying the subtropical climate of Yunnan, but as you may have gathered by now, we are still struggling to find a snowless track, because we dived into Tibet armed only with two bicycles, and flimsy clothing. Around 10 km from town, the road climbs to 4400m through a gorge wide enough for Litang to look like a worn-out Lego. Wind is ambushing our ears with crescendos that suddenly collapse to chasms of silence and massive tectonic scar rises from both sides. I know it’s just a blink in Earth’s history, but to me, this mountain is forever. I fear it, even as I bask in its beauty. The needle sharp freezing rain is just an hour away. We put on everything that we have, except the extra pair of undies. Our bodies still bear the brunt of the other days and all twenty fingers and toes lose feeling fast. The road to Xiangcheng County and the virgin forests and big gorges on the way to Zhongwenshui seemed promising, but we find ourselves in total nightmare. At Tu Er Shan pass (4696m) the wind is just picking up. The pass, like all across Tibet, is devoid of trees and covered in huge boulders and colourful prayer flags. To Xiangcheng we make it, by shared mini-van, crammed on top of two Belgian travellers who are backpacking to Thailand. They keep us good company for a night in town, complete with dinner in a weirdly touristy joint and a brief rest in what could well be a bordello. We’ll meet them again on the bus that sloshes to the top of Hai Zi Shan (4998m), and of Kuluke Shan (4708m) after that. There’s even not as much snow as I’d though up here, only some frost, but the dam thing is frictionless on dirt. Pedalling is impossible, and pushing it is even worse. The rear slides back and forth, mud slurry flies and progress is nil, while the antiquated bus manages to lumber on. The driver keeps asking: “Where are you going? Shangri-La? But why not with motorbike?” Damn good question man. Long story short, by third day we’re crossing int the province of Yunnan – The Land Beneath the Clouds, much sooner than expected. We stop in Zhongdian, one of a handful of places believed to have inspired James Hilton to pen his classic novel “Lost Horizon”. The novel spoke of a mystical Tibetan Buddhist city, of the Himalayan utopia of Shambhala, an earthly paradise, permanently happy and cocooned from the outside world. The Chinese tourism authority wanted to make sure they own this patent. So they swiftly changed the name of an 1,300-year-old Tibetan village (once a stop on the southern Silk Road) from Dukezong to Shangri-La, and bam! a new tourist attraction was born. After vagabonding in wonderful rural China and Tibet Kham for weeks, we are frankly unimpressed. The shop fronts suspiciously lack patina and the souvenirs are a bunch of generic crap. There are no burly Litang swags and no Tibetan faces carved by wind lashes; just minority costumed dancers and cute little salesgirls with the round features of the Han handing idiosyncratic flyers about Tibetan culture. For food, no yak carcasses, but proper restaurant signs advertising for gelato, imported wines and… wait a minute, yak cheese fondue? But we are here and after a few beers with the Belgians I don’t even care about this stuff anymore. We are bunking in a rustic hostel, where it’s cold and empty (we’ll move tomorrow to a chipper place). So even if it rains all morning, we are quite motivated to move our limbs. Best place to see is the Songzanlin Monastery, also known as “the little Potala Palace” for resembling the iconic lamasery in Lhasa. We approach via a muddy trail that circles the lake, gobsmacked by the image of twin gilded roofs under the bruised sky. Shangri-La is already at 3000m altitude and the monastery sits another 300m up, at the foot of Foping Mountain. It costs 17 euros to visit, a normal price for China where local tourism is booming, but an impossible cost for any Tibetan (there are no discounted rates for nationals). The 1679 structure composed of two lamaseries, Zhacang and Jikang, is currently undergoing restoration. I hope that it is being done with humility and respect towards the original. A glorious sun peeks through. Now we can see the entire place framed by empty horizons. The mountain, so crushing until minutes ago, has become an exclusion zone erected around a human house of gods. A steep flight of stairs leads to a wide terrace. As we jolt our way there, we are confronted to close-ups of Tibetan architectural vocabulary. Delicate woodwork. Striking colours. Zoomorphic symbols. Both restraint and flamboyance, building up into a concerto. I look at the black yak fur curtains that quarantine the gut of the lamasery, I stumble on wood stairs that isolate the spaces reserved for monks and the symphony of unknown origin gets louder in my head. Songzanlin Monastery The monastery is not so much an open book, as a place waiting to be inhabited by experience. The monk, the workers and the visitors could have been photoshopped into the same picture by a joker, as some appear free to run away from “here”, and run they do. The Buddhists are aware that existence is not stuck to the physical. Too bad we aren’t. Tibetan prayer flags adorn the inside and outside of the building, old and new one left alongside to say that all beings are part of an ongoing cycle and that change is inherent to all life. As Medok, the owner of Potala Inn, said in Litang, “every time the wind blows, the flags send a message for peace and health for all human beings.” As we climb down through the village on a sinuous sliver of a path, we see huge wooden racks drying the last of the hay and barley. In his book, James Hilton described the lost paradise as a place where the air has a “deep anaesthetising tranquility”. This could be it. Ok, a couple more photos of this place and we move on. I promise. Late in the afternoon we’re back in Shangri-La, reunited with our Belgian pals at the foot of the iconic prayer wheel sitting above the old town. In Buddhist tradition, prayer wheels carry the mantra of Om Mani Padme Hum, and turning the golden cylinder is believed to spread compassion in all directions. It’s strange to think that this is the only bit of Shangri-La that was to survive. UPDATE Since we’ve been there, Yunnan’s Shangri-La is no more. I shall regret forever wasting our time there to bicker about architecture this and authenticity that, instead of taking more photos. On the 10th of January 2014 a blaze ripped through the Tibetan Old Town, razing as many as 250 houses within 10 hours and turning many families’ belongings to ashes. All reports point to a tragic accident: the fire prevention system costing more than $1-million had been shut down to prevent pipes from bursting in the below-freezing temperatures and the fire trucks were unable to penetrate the narrow alleys of the old town. As the area has been under pressure by developers for some time, this fire will be a gamechanger in the debate of economical growth versus preservation of tradition. You can see some brutal photos of the aftermath here and here and here. The first picture of the prayer wheel was taken with the phone. The second was taken by an AP reporter, a few months later. Sursa
  14. In Shangri-La

    From Litang we stop advancing west and point south. In a few days we should be enjoying the subtropical climate of Yunnan, but as you may have gathered by now, we are still struggling to find a snowless track, because we dived into Tibet armed only with two bicycles, and flimsy clothing. Around 10 km from town, the road climbs to 4400m through a gorge wide enough for Litang to look like a worn-out Lego. Wind is ambushing our ears with crescendos that suddenly collapse to chasms of silence and massive tectonic scar rises from both sides. I know it’s just a blink in Earth’s history, but to me, this mountain is forever. I fear it, even as I bask in its beauty. The needle sharp freezing rain is just an hour away. We put on everything that we have, except the extra pair of undies. Our bodies still bear the brunt of the other days and all twenty fingers and toes lose feeling fast. The road to Xiangcheng County and the virgin forests and big gorges on the way to Zhongwenshui seemed promising, but we find ourselves in total nightmare. At Tu Er Shan pass (4696m) the wind is just picking up. The pass, like all across Tibet, is devoid of trees and covered in huge boulders and colourful prayer flags. To Xiangcheng we make it, by shared mini-van, crammed on top of two Belgian travellers who are backpacking to Thailand. They keep us good company for a night in town, complete with dinner in a weirdly touristy joint and a brief rest in what could well be a bordello. We’ll meet them again on the bus that sloshes to the top of Hai Zi Shan (4998m), and of Kuluke Shan (4708m) after that. There’s even not as much snow as I’d though up here, only some frost, but the dam thing is frictionless on dirt. Pedalling is impossible, and pushing it is even worse. The rear slides back and forth, mud slurry flies and progress is nil, while the antiquated bus manages to lumber on. The driver keeps asking: “Where are you going? Shangri-La? But why not with motorbike?” Damn good question man. Long story short, by third day we’re crossing int the province of Yunnan – The Land Beneath the Clouds, much sooner than expected. We stop in Zhongdian, one of a handful of places believed to have inspired James Hilton to pen his classic novel “Lost Horizon”. The novel spoke of a mystical Tibetan Buddhist city, of the Himalayan utopia of Shambhala, an earthly paradise, permanently happy and cocooned from the outside world. The Chinese tourism authority wanted to make sure they own this patent. So they swiftly changed the name of an 1,300-year-old Tibetan village (once a stop on the southern Silk Road) from Dukezong to Shangri-La, and bam! a new tourist attraction was born. After vagabonding in wonderful rural China and Tibet Kham for weeks, we are frankly unimpressed. The shop fronts suspiciously lack patina and the souvenirs are a bunch of generic crap. There are no burly Litang swags and no Tibetan faces carved by wind lashes; just minority costumed dancers and cute little salesgirls with the round features of the Han handing idiosyncratic flyers about Tibetan culture. For food, no yak carcasses, but proper restaurant signs advertising for gelato, imported wines and… wait a minute, yak cheese fondue? But we are here and after a few beers with the Belgians I don’t even care about this stuff anymore. We are bunking in a rustic hostel, where it’s cold and empty (we’ll move tomorrow to a chipper place). So even if it rains all morning, we are quite motivated to move our limbs. Best place to see is the Songzanlin Monastery, also known as “the little Potala Palace” for resembling the iconic lamasery in Lhasa. We approach via a muddy trail that circles the lake, gobsmacked by the image of twin gilded roofs under the bruised sky. Shangri-La is already at 3000m altitude and the monastery sits another 300m up, at the foot of Foping Mountain. It costs 17 euros to visit, a normal price for China where local tourism is booming, but an impossible cost for any Tibetan (there are no discounted rates for nationals). The 1679 structure composed of two lamaseries, Zhacang and Jikang, is currently undergoing restoration. I hope that it is being done with humility and respect towards the original. A glorious sun peeks through. Now we can see the entire place framed by empty horizons. The mountain, so crushing until minutes ago, has become an exclusion zone erected around a human house of gods. A steep flight of stairs leads to a wide terrace. As we jolt our way there, we are confronted to close-ups of Tibetan architectural vocabulary. Delicate woodwork. Striking colours. Zoomorphic symbols. Both restraint and flamboyance, building up into a concerto. I look at the black yak fur curtains that quarantine the gut of the lamasery, I stumble on wood stairs that isolate the spaces reserved for monks and the symphony of unknown origin gets louder in my head. Songzanlin Monastery The monastery is not so much an open book, as a place waiting to be inhabited by experience. The monk, the workers and the visitors could have been photoshopped into the same picture by a joker, as some appear free to run away from “here”, and run they do. The Buddhists are aware that existence is not stuck to the physical. Too bad we aren’t. Tibetan prayer flags adorn the inside and outside of the building, old and new one left alongside to say that all beings are part of an ongoing cycle and that change is inherent to all life. As Medok, the owner of Potala Inn, said in Litang, “every time the wind blows, the flags send a message for peace and health for all human beings.” As we climb down through the village on a sinuous sliver of a path, we see huge wooden racks drying the last of the hay and barley. In his book, James Hilton described the lost paradise as a place where the air has a “deep anaesthetising tranquility”. This could be it. Ok, a couple more photos of this place and we move on. I promise. Late in the afternoon we’re back in Shangri-La, reunited with our Belgian pals at the foot of the iconic prayer wheel sitting above the old town. In Buddhist tradition, prayer wheels carry the mantra of Om Mani Padme Hum, and turning the golden cylinder is believed to spread compassion in all directions. It’s strange to think that this is the only bit of Shangri-La that was to survive. UPDATE Since we’ve been there, Yunnan’s Shangri-La is no more. I shall regret forever wasting our time there to bicker about architecture this and authenticity that, instead of taking more photos. On the 10th of January 2014 a blaze ripped through the Tibetan Old Town, razing as many as 250 houses within 10 hours and turning many families’ belongings to ashes. All reports point to a tragic accident: the fire prevention system costing more than $1-million had been shut down to prevent pipes from bursting in the below-freezing temperatures and the fire trucks were unable to penetrate the narrow alleys of the old town. As the area has been under pressure by developers for some time, this fire will be a gamechanger in the debate of economical growth versus preservation of tradition. You can see some brutal photos of the aftermath here and here and here. The first picture of the prayer wheel was taken with the phone. The second was taken by an AP reporter, a few months later. Sursa
  15. Litang! Litang!

    Two days before this, it was sunny and a mild -4 degrees in Dartsendo (Kangding). Then clouds rolled in, and air felt thinner and colder. Once we found that the onward bus to Litang had been cancelled due to blizzard and another one may leave the next day, conditions ahead seemed too dangerous to cycle. Especially that it takes two days to reach the top of the mountain pass. So here we are, busing out of Dartsendo and hoping that fairer days await beyond the notorious 285 kilometers of G318. Up to the first mountain pass (4,410m) other than the relentless incline the road conditions are quite good. Then we pass Xinduqiao (3440m) and we hit roadworks: mud, puddles, large bumps, stones and lumps of torn-up asphalt make such sections the dread of Chinese cyclists gunning to Lhasa. Every KM we see their messages left on the road markers. Our driver stops to fit the wheels with winter chains. Very encouraging indeed. This is Tibet, where you can have three seasons in one day. The second pass (4,659m) marks a very clear distinction between the vast grasslands of Ta Gong or the misty, forested gorges of Ba Mei. Everything has been replaced by vast tectonic creations. The view towards the high Tibetan plateau is breathtaking. These mountains look more like they have been thrown from the sky, rather than pushed from the earth. As crazy as this road may be, carving through the most dizzying of peaks, we are not alone. And I’m not talking a couple of trucks like the one we saw in Kangding; there are massive PLA army convoys, some returning from Tibet, some slowly climbing up. One line must have nearly 50 trucks! We ask why there is such intense military activity up here, and they say they could be fresh recruits on driving practice, with a number of vehicles carrying supplies to Tibet. Further up, a section of asphalt has been washed away, bringing the entire traffic to a halt. We only get moving again 3 hours later and the driver starts shouting Litang! Litang! to make sure none of us got lost on the mountain. We finally arrive in Litang in the dead of the night. We’ve been on the G318 for 15 hours. Not so bad, considering that this drive takes 10 to 12 hours in summer. Pedalling our way here would have been a Sisyphean delusion. Unsurprisingly, because of the intensity of the bus ride, the night doesn’t progress much further than climbing under the electric blanket to escape the cold and writing this. We are bunking at Medok’s Potala Inn. She is Tibetan and one of the few local business owners who support the thin trickle of visitors to the area. In the morning we see her rosy cheeked, doing laundry in the yard, while the street has been covered with a thin layer of ice. That’s it, we can no longer deny it. Winter is here. Litang sits at 4,014m, hemmed in on all sides by huge mountains. This is a Wild West sort of town, clustered around one main street – with open-fronted shops stocked with horse rigs and cowboy gear – and the market – where nomadic Khambas are shopping or selling huge blocks of yak butter. Yak is the staple here: we find yak burgers, yak meat pies and yak soup, and we are happy to wolf down an animal we find adorable either dead or alive. Yak carcasses hanging in Litang’s market Litang is populated almost exclusively by ethnic Tibetans. The men are gruff, a mass of long bristling hair underneath cowboy hats, strutting confidently through town on pimped-up motorcycles. Some braid their hair and adorn it in handcrafted silver jewellery. The women are less conspicuous, wearing thick woollen tunics with sashes and their hair wrapped upon their heads in a single braid with interlacing red ribbons. Whenever a break is due, we find the men in the back of the market, shooting pool. Tibetan kids are a rag-tag troupe of ruddy faced tykes. We make eye contact across a yak carcass. Sparks fly right away. I have forgotten how liberating is to laugh for no reason, just happy to be alive. We’re gonna miss these cheeky bastards, for sure. This little dude is the spitting image of John growing up with his nana’s noodle soup and just as fussy I’m sure Everyone is super-friendly, yelling “tashi delek” (hello in Tibetan), even when we reach the fringes of Litang and the home of the very poor. This is a very different world, one that neither of us thought still existed outside the issues of National Geographic. On the north end of town we find the Litang Chode Monastery, the region’s largest, with several hundred resident monks, but looking peacefully deserted. The huge yard allows a stupendous view towards the mountains. Inside it’s lavishly decorated and we see Dalai Lama’s photo for the first time on the territory of China. Considering that the Dalai Lama is not “chosen”, but “found”, I find it remarkable that Litang was the birth place of two Dalai Lamas – the 7th and 10th. This monastery has been in use since 1580, but all art and music relating to Tibetan Buddhism was banned from ’59. It’s only in recent years that monks have been allowed to wear the traditional robes and conduct their rituals again. There are Tibetans who WALK here from China or from India, on their way to Lhasa. Herzog made a hypnotic documentary about that. Up on the hills behind the monastery, to the left, Tibetan prayer flags mark a site for sky burial. This ritual is also observed in parts of Mongolia. The place is soaked in sun. I can see how one could just sit here, let this calm energy sift through and forget about time. Frankly, I see no reason to go. Sursa
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