About

Kobi Shmuel is a man of many passions, with a love for both art and adventure. Since 2008, he has combined these passions by embarking on a series of motorcycle journeys across various countries and cities, with a particular emphasis on those that were significant in World War II. He has traveled to places like Russia, Kazakhstan, Azerbaijan, and more, documenting his adventures on his website, Artmoto.

Kobi’s motorcycle journeys began in 2008, and the first leg of his journey took him to Russia, where he visited the city of Murmansk. From there, he continued on to other countries, crossing borders and exploring new places. Along the way, he documented his experiences with words, photos, and videos, sharing them on his website for others to enjoy.

One of the things that sets Kobi’s journeys apart is his focus on the historical significance of the places he visits. He has a particular interest in World War II, and he seeks out sites that played a role in the war, whether it be battlefields or other important locations. By doing so, he is able to gain a deeper understanding of the events that took place and the impact they had on the world.

But Kobi’s journeys are not just about history; they are also about experiencing new cultures and meeting new people. Along the way, he has had countless encounters with locals, learning about their way of life and discovering the unique aspects of their cultures. He has tried new foods, learned new languages, and formed connections with people from all walks of life.

Through his website, Kobi is able to share his experiences with others, offering a window into the world of motorcycle travel and the many adventures it can bring. His writing is descriptive and evocative, allowing readers to feel as though they are right there beside him on his journeys. His photos and videos capture the beauty and complexity of the places he visits, showcasing the richness of the human experience.

But perhaps most importantly, Kobi’s journeys are a testament to the power of simplicity and freedom. By traveling on two wheels, he is able to immerse himself in the world around him, experiencing it in a way that would not be possible in a car or other mode of transportation. He is free to go wherever he pleases, unencumbered by the constraints of modern life.

For Kobi, the joy of motorcycle travel lies not just in the destination, but in the journey itself. He revels in the challenges of the road, from navigating difficult terrain to enduring extreme temperatures. These challenges serve to remind him of his own smallness in the face of the vastness of the natural world, and they help to foster a sense of humility and wonder.

In many ways, Kobi’s journeys are a reflection of his own approach to life. He is someone who is unafraid to take risks, to venture into the unknown, and to embrace the unexpected. Through his travels, he has learned to appreciate the beauty and complexity of the world, and he has gained a deeper understanding of himself and his place in it.

Overall, Kobi Shmuel is a man who has found a way to combine his love of art with his love of adventure, creating a unique and compelling journey that is both inspiring and illuminating. Through his website, he invites others to join him on his travels, to experience the joy of motorcycle travel and the wonders of the world. For anyone seeking to expand their horizons and experience the world in a new way, Kobi’s journeys offer a rich and rewarding opportunity to do just that.

The Messengers of the Maccabiah in Wheels Jacob Shmuel

-The Messengers of the Maccabiah in Wheels

Jacob Shmuel

132-136 AD, the three years in which Bar-Cochva ruled Yehuda country, were the last independence period of the people of Israel it its country until the founding of the state of Israel.

In a Friday evening, during dinner, my cell phone is ringing with its bells sound. On the other side of the line, patiently waits my partner for world traveling, Doron, to the sound of the song “Sea of the Sheaves”. “Doron, what brought you to me in a Friday evening…” he answers my question in an authoritative voice: “skilled motorbike drivers are required to cross the Balkan for a documentary film on the Maccabiah. Come to Kfar Hamaccabiah tomorrow morning. Details, when? How? Nothing… come!”

Sounds of bikes engines and riders are mixed with their stories on the horizon. Motorbikes stand in the Maccabiah yard, photographers, and personal interviews. After collecting some information from the production crew, I begin to build a puzzle about the goal, and the answers start coming, though partially. But the project’s purpose, administration, exit dates, are far from being formed into one coherent idea. After exploring, I had some general lines, but the more I dug deeper into the production and the riders, some of fog cleared out, and here I present the project, several weeks prior to its execution:

Introduction:

In 1911, the idea to have Jewish Olympic Games was voiced by Fritz Abraham in the journal “The Association of Jewish Athletes”. The main promoter of the idea was Yosef Yakutieli, one of the prominent leaders of “Maccabi Israel”. His proposal was to have the first Maccabiah in 1932, to mark 1800 years to the Bar-Cochva uprising.

The main idea of Yosef Yakutiel was to send a group of bikers, members of Maccabi Israel in European countries, to recruit Jewish athletes from all sport fields. The journey was named “Tel-Aviv – Antwerp”. The group included eight bikers; the exit date was June 5^th, 1930 in 16:00. The bikers group passed through Turley (Kushta), Romania, Poland, Germany and Belgium. According to all the documents and my preparation research on the subject, I concluded that it was a successful journey, in the cities and countries the bikers passed through, mayors welcomed them with warn words and wishes for the idea of the Maccabiah. There aren’t many materials on the first journey (indeed, there was a second journey in which I will discuss later). This journey was a development of an idea that gave birth both to the first and second journey, as well as to the opening of the Olympic Games of the First Jewish Maccabiah in 28.03.32.

While Yakutiel organized the bikers’ journey to Antwerp, he already thought about the second journey: “Tel-Aviv – London”, and in light of the group’s success, he started working on his second plan and on its execution. The group included 7 bikers: Zulu and Matityahu Bromberg, Shalom Bredeshski, Efriem Tenenbaum, Yosef Hacohen, Yoel Simkin, Mordechai Shapira and Ezra Ichilov who joined the journey as a companion to one of the bikers. The car riders were Eliyahu soislotzki, Avshalom Carmeli, Zeev Markus, Mendi Segel and Yosef Yakutieli.

On 23.05.1931 the group left Tel Aviv and rode towards Jerusalem, they crossed the dessert to Cairo in Egypt, crossed the sea to Piraeus, Athens, Salonika, Bulgari, Yugoslavia, Austria, Germany, Paris and London. Nine countries – 9375 kilometers – 10 Jewish communities, and I’m left with the thought that merely few years later, the genocide of the Jewish people with change the core of our being and create a new ground that carries the pain and suffering for many generations, with a scar that will never heal in the history of the Jewish people.

The Idea:

A private London-based production company recreated the bikers’ journeys through one journey that will pass through Balkan countries, Europe countries with the finishing point being in Berlin, Germany, for the opening ceremony of the Maccabiah in the stadium that was provided by propaganda minister Josef Gables, during the Olympic Games of 1936. The chosen bikers will pass through the birth countries of their family and important mark points in the Jewish history, and so we could complete a circle in a journey that was as a magnet for the new Jew from the land of Yehuda.

Point of View:

During the preparation work I conducted on the bikers’ journeys in the Balkan countries and Europe, I came across few photos and several notebooks telling about the birth of the Maccabiah idea. In one of the notebooks I discovered a hidden treasure, a detailed diary about the journey from Tel Aviv to Berlin in 1931. I consumed every word, letter and paragraph. The diary describes the hardships of the road, the experiences they went through, the difficulty of riding, the love of the Jewish communities they encountered when they arrived, and the spirit of faith and love for the country. During the journey and after it, I will publish section from the diary and try to recreate the journey from the perspective of our time, as much as I can.

This journey is an inseparable continuation of a journey I conducted to Greek communities in 2011. For two months, I passed through most of the Jewish communities in Greece, documented synagogues, some of them are not active anymore, cemeteries and the Jewish spirit that is still existed in the few Jews still living in Greece. I photographed and even wrote in my journey diary the flurry of emotions among the communities before the war; what’s left is a pale shadow of strong communities that kept their faith and religions for hundreds of years. And what we are left with? Only memories and stories, voices of the Ladino language we heard at home, tasty Balkan dishes, lovely tunes and melodies, books of sages and Rabbis who brought down their books to the level of the simple people so every man will be whole. They gave simple wisdom of humility, love of human beings and dignity. Therefore, we are committed to keep remembering and knowing the way of life of each community in exile for the next generations, our children and grandchildren, and this way we will keep the memory candle burning forever.

I see this movie as a brave and right effort to present another perspective of people throughout Jewish history, who had great ideas during years which lacked comfort and abundance. By raising awareness to pieces of history though this impressive creation, the film project, I believe it will make path for new projects and ways to connects all Jewish history parts to a sequence of fascinating events that will be exposed to a wide audiences in Israel and around the world, and will provide some points to think about and cherish, and will lead to an admiration of a Zionist project that followed a history filled with pain and suffering of the Jewish people.

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Administrative information and full discloser

• My grandmother and grandfather are from Salonika, Greece. In March 15^th, 1943, the first shipment with 2,800 Jews exited the city. The 19^th and last shipment exited Salonika in August 10^th, 1943 and arrived to Auschwitz in August 18^th, 1943. A total of 46,061 Jews were exiled from Salonika. About 2,500 Jews survived, among them were grandmother and grandfather, during the release of the extermination camp Auschwitz
• I will try as much as I can to communicate in real time parts from the diary journey and photos, feelings and emotions emerging during the journey, videos from various countries along the way and important landmarks
• Publishing the original journey diary of “Tel-Aviv – London” from 1931, and the from journey diary in Greece, while meeting Jewish communities there
• The “Back to Berlin” group includes the following bikers: Gal Marom, Doron Kadmiel,Dani Maron, Gili Shem-Tov, Yaron Munch, Eilan Katz, Kobi Shmuel. Hila Fenlon. The car riders: Doron Golan and Yuri Retomski

Jacob Shmuel

מסע האופנועים תל-אביב לונדון במדבר סיני בדרך
במסע לקידום רעיון המכביה הראשונה
ארכיון מכבי ע”ש יוסף יקותיאלי

רוכבי האופנועים בקהיר במסע לקידום רעיון המכביה הראשונה
ארכיון מכבי ע”ש יוסף יקותיאלי

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Kobi Shmuel – Greece 1

First days – the journey to Greece – Kobi Shmuel, chapter 1

Ten minutes, maybe even less, in order to release the motorbike.

A small café place, like in the old days, the village elders with their time-born wrinkles that add to their grace and mile of total idleness. Some of them didn’t even bother to raise their heads when I entered the parking spot attached to the café. There is definitely a potential there… Greek coffee. I wear the riding suit, briefly check the map, cross it with the GPS and this is it, on the road…

First stop Sounion – not one shed that indicates on its past: illegal immigrants, training, gathering point for the journey towards Israel, all this right next to me… and no sign to any of it. In my heart I want to close my eyes and see even for just a minute the beginning, the first forming of Zionism as well as total destruction of generations of families, the uncertainty of a new place with mandatory governance without anything, and the will to arrive to Israel, the home of the Jews, after 2000 years was probably stronger than anything. Few “must have” photos and moving on to Chalkida.

I ride in spiraling roads, the weather is wonderful, and on the left the blue sea is shiny and deep, in the horizon there are mountains and bays almost reaching the sky, and me… I ride through several more miles straight. The first sign pit a big smile on my face – Chalkida.

In the entrance to the city there is a white bridge. I am always impressed with bridges, and it all started with my world-wide travels. My favorite bridges are the simplest, I saw many of them in Russia, when I was traveling towards Siberia, and everything was iron-made with no special designs, just simple bridges. The Russian propaganda and simplistic design in the 30’s managed to preserve the awareness and appreciation for this period today as well.

I am rather tired by now, but I must to walk around the city and get to know the general lines of its construct. The city is beautiful, revolves around the sea which provide beauty and strength to it. Who would believe that in the allyes I walk through, families were eliminated in a blink of an eye, our people were loaded on trains as lambs to the slaughter. I walk and raise my head and there is the statue of colonel Mordehai Frizis in all its glory, looking down to me, as he was waiting for me to arrive from the Holy land. My enthusiasm went on and on, almost as I knew him. I took photo after photo, made a portfolio that wouldn’t shame any modeling agency in the country. This distinguished man deserves all the honor, and not for the first time I wonder – how is it possible the in the Holy Land there not a thing that marks this high-ranked officer.

Good night everyone…

A small Greek coffee welcomed my taste buds this morning. After tying the equipment, starting the engine and hearing the pleasant, familiar and sweet sound, the motorbike comes alive. I go through the narrow allyes of the old city of Chalkida, I search for the Jewish cemetery in town; this site was probably situated outside the city in the past, however today it is situated inside the city, just like the “Trumpeldor” cemetery in Tel Aviv. The first sight of the cemetery is unveiling, the excitement is overwhelming and I look at the monument and can’t seem to stop moving my eyes to the words “Shema Yisrael”. I stand there for several long minutes and pictures are flashing in my mind depicting the suffering of the Jewish people. I slightly smile to myself. On my left my distinguished friend Colonel Mordehai Frizis and in me there is a long lasting feeling of familiarity. I take a photo and document in my camera a reminder for an old history that joins the pages of the Jewish history.

Small grey gate welcomes me in the Jewish cemetery in Chalkida, Greece. The cemetery is surrounded by stone walls. I didn’t enter until I started the motorbike and rode around the Jewish cemetery to show my respect (a personal issue of mine). In the cemetery I’m welcomed by a man who works in the cemetery and attends it. I enter this piece of history, up and to the right there are two hundred years old graves and even older ones. The shape of the graves is interesting, similar to those I saw in the cemetery in Morocco “House of the Living”. When I turn my head to the right I see more recent graves, names and names and names, everything is familiar, nothing I didn’t encounter in Israel. This thought made me realize that our nation as a home of the Jewish people is simply a miracle. Miracle of foundation with all its meanings. I take a photo of the writings on the graves and the cause of death in some of them. Grey clouds and rain drops have begun and a sense of unease surrounds me. I light up candles for those who died before their time. May their memories be blessed.

Despite the pouring rain, I decide to ride towards the second largest island “Euboea” that connects to where I am via a white short bridge, instead of returning to the industrial roads of central Greece, and from there to take the ferry towards “Volos”. I’m riding amidst the forest, the air is fresh, endless spirals take me from one postcard to another. Turning the head right and left discovers scenery of mountains with thousands shades of green, which make me think that it’s only the rain that can bring this magnificent view. The color of leaves in the sides of the road is orange-brown, a harmony which is similar to this journey. Café-Restaurant on the side of the road, coffee, sipping clear water and I continue into a wood so thick I think that any moment I will see Red Riding Hood or the wolf.

A crossroad and a split, I turn left and join the breathtaking view of a sea rising up and down along with mountains dotted by tiny villages. One of the most amazing places is “Limni” village, which is just like a perfect picture the artist knew when to finish without adding unnecessarily to it…perfect.

I am tired from this loaded day, I continue to the next town, small motel with amazing view to finish this day.

Tomorrow I go up on the ferry to Volos.

  Hebrew the article – artmoto.co.il

http://artmoto.co.il/index.php?m=ar&artd=5475&cat=388

Kobi Shmuel- Greece 2

the journey to Greece – Kobi Shmuel, chapter 2

Rain drops and considerable amount of water gathered on the side of the road and on the path surrounded by greenery and lead to the small motel. I’m in a picturesque town while the brush is still painting.

Aidipsos is the name of the town that touches as a sleeve of sea to the other side of Greece. Rain, color of grey and some clarity in the horizon. I lightly speak with the motel owner and he ask with an indifference typical to the place why do I need all this travel… and me… I laugh out of tiredness, answer in Hebrew “it doesn’t matter” and good night.

7:30 in the morning, taking a photo in my camera and sending it, a beginning of a wonderful morning. Several minutes after that I already make my last arrangements, look out of the window again, the same color but different shade, a click on the camera and there you have a photo of the morning process… in colors.

I’m in the alleys of the town, heading towards the ferry that will take me the next 5.5 miles, deep blue water and seagulls escort welcome me to the ferry. Twenty minutes later I’m in the other side towards Volos in curved roads and rather ordinary view. On the left I spot an amazing factory with pipes and chimneys, I stop, take a photo and move on, I love the simple and unsophisticated industrial factories that in several years will be replaced by the “green” ones, but until then…

A warm, nice and welcoming man who is tied with every fiber of his being to Judaism, Zionism and Israel, Mr. Mekis, a physics teacher in his profession and my contact in Volos. I’m at the café, talking about life under war that is still lingering. How many Jews were taken? How many were left? Anti-Semitism and other issues. As I understand it, there is a rather large community here in Volos. In my short drive, my look turns right and I spot the synagogue, with a Star of David on black iron door, my own personal pride, and we still have our hope… a synagogue that was completely destroyed during the war and was rebuilt afterwards… oh wait, another round, an earthquake in 1956 destroyed the synagogue again and it was built once more… we still have our hope, as I said.

Here, in this place, there is a monument for the memory of Holocaust victims. Here I stay quietly in awe in front of the power of this artist who managed to embody the sense of silence, strength, pain to honor the victims’ memory. Long minutes of noisy silence in the lanes of memory and on internal question, how?

A morning in a hotel that presents the best of industrial capitalism without any touch by mother nature, typical American coffee that in one sip summarizes everything that is kitsch and corny. Starting up and the motorbike comes alive, I start to get away from the city and my smile returns again with views of greenery and scenery. I ride up the mountain towards “Demuchari” village; the rain doesn’t really detract from the picturesque sight of this village, quite the contrary. From this observation point, the entire city of Volos is spreading as a white fabric along the blue of the sea, while I think and ponder… that sometimes…far is better than close.

A woman cries near the connected boards that depict what had happened in this community, I get closer and again silence engulfs me for several seconds when I see this memorial monument here in the center of Larisa. Around there are many people and life routine, cafés, restaurants, everything moves and hustles and I look once more at the womanly figure made of bronze that tells the story as it happened with human softness.

A wonderful nice woman, sister of Mr. Mekis from Volos, opens the synagogue of Larisa, I admire the remains of old object that are somehow related to Judaism and the culture of this place. I prolong my stay here in light of magnificent stories and knowledge about this community, the meeting ends with a lunch accompanied by this wonderful woman and her husband along with conversations on religion, culture and even art…

I’m on my way to the “Olympus”, a town named “Litochoro” that was founded in 1920 in order to serve as a health resort for the sick. The delta of Alfeios River splits into two and from there the Olympus tops can be seen. A small motel in the alleys of the town. It’s already darkening, twilight of the sunset along with a view to the sea signals the ending of a successful day combined with happiness and sadness for my presence here and me… I’m just few moments away from “Jerusalem of the Balkans”, Saloniki.

Via country paths that are far away from the highroads, fields of color reach my eyes, mountain shaped horizon blends with small colorful cafés along the road; chairs are dotting the balconies of the cafés, vine trees above them and the residents drink coffee and chat in their boredom…

After several miles I spot the spectacular views of the city Veria. From afar, the houses along the mountains seem as colorful game cubes. I entered the city and sampled amazing desert named “Rabani”, some sort of syrup cake. A ride to city hall of Veria, a beautiful building, I entered and asked where the Jewish synagogue is. After a search call and polite answer, “several minutes and Mr. Costa will escort you to the place you look for.

I pass through the city and enter the Jewish quarter in Rabota. A tangle of trees and sounds of water creeks, pleasant sounds, through ancient houses in which wooden boards connect among themselves as though they insist upon staying together forever.

A strong blue color meet me the old door of the synagogue is opened, I stand there in awe and silence pondering over the past of a culture that is already extinct… and sometimes no word or words can express the feelings that emerge from these sites… when this happens, the best way is to stay silent…

In the guest book I wrote:

“a journey to a past not so far, through marks in the lives of community members in Greece. I was here! After two thousand years of exile, for the memory of Veria’s Jews. May their memory be blessed.

Kobi Shmuel.

  Hebrew the article – artmoto.co.il

http://artmoto.co.il/index.php?m=ar&artd=5485&cat=388

Kobi Shmuel – Greece 3

the journey to Greece – Kobi Shmuel, chapter 3

I take out the cell phone while spontaneously stopping at the side of the walk in Saloniki, a quick dial to my grandmother who was born in Saloniki, I’m here, long minutes of conversation and reminders for the past, a past of pain and a stop on life routine and rich culture here in Saloniki before less than a century. A mixed feeling of anger and long silence.

On my right the port of Saloniki that is remarkably similar in shape and nature to port of Tel Aviv of all places, with the Jewish port workers from Saloniki arriving to the city and building it in the 30’s of the last century, indeed a master piece. We can only hope that the last remains of Tel Aviv port won’t be swallowed by the greasy machine that is capitalism. I continue to slowly drive along the walk; on the right I can see the blue sea and boats that decorate the horizon. I get closer to the white tower that was founded by the Othman in the 13^th century as a fort protecting the water front. With time the tower began to serve as a prison. In 1826 prisoned Janissaries were massacred by Mahmud the second, and then the tower received the name “The Blood Tower”. Another interesting point, after the independence declaration of Greece, the tower was painted by a Jewish prisoner, Nathan Guidili, in return for his release, as a symbol for the erasure of the Turkish ruling (Wikipedia).

With first light I leave Seloniki after a wonderful hosting of Tzadaka family. We will be back to them and city of Saloniki for documentation and photography.

Last turn to a 50 mile long road after almost 250 miles of drive, some of it is quite poor. I’m on my way to the farthest point of Greece communities, Didymoteicho. I pass many miles along the Turkish border, Greek soldiers and a considerable amount of army vehicles are in sight. While passing the army convoy I wave hello as though I’m in a battle plane that fly low above them, and they wave back as sort of silent alliance according to which the bikers of this world are peaceful, loving and passionate about open spaces, and politics are not their strong suite…

In front of the monument for the victims I lower my head in a bizarre place, a path of agony this community has underwent, it was important to me to arrive here off all places, to thisdistant place, in order to discover, know and acknowledge as many as possible.

I say goodbye to the high road and turn right to the road’s twists. I’m declining towards a beautiful city; houses are gently terraced and almost touch the sea. I’m in Kavala, there are fishing boats in the port. The old city is impressive with its colors. Alleys with no end, steep ups and downs are not making in it easy to ride the bike. I’m magnetized by the city, crossing the entire old city, in every quick look my eyes encounter an endless postcard that constantly changes. The evening twilight adds a soft pastel color, shades of orange cover the roof tops, pieces of sea between the houses seem as blue dots that balance the complexity of the endless texture in this masterpiece.

It’s evening, I’m in a little neighborhood’s eatery with old wooden chairs. The color on the walls is somewhat yellow. I point on one of the pots that seem interesting and receive a meat meal that is served in a deep bowl of olive oil, vinegar and all sorts of spices. Half of big yellow lemon on the side of the plate, a small glass of ouzo, a bowl with roughly cut salad with juicy tomatoes, purple onion and sliced pepper… so simple and unsophisticated, this is the way to live with minimalism that enriches the soul without having to chase the “gold veal”.

The distinguished Mr. Cohen, I am Kobi Shmueli, I arrived to Kavala to see the remains to Judaism from other times, rich times, in the community of Kavala. This is the call I made to this honorable man that left me with feelings of sadness and some kind of acceptance with the situation. The only Jew that lives in the city of Darma happily answered and took me to the cemetery in Kavala. We had a long chat and he told detailed stories on the historic events while I stayed quiet and listened, and then he said one sentence that got me to think: “after me, there is no one to take care of cemetery here in Kavala and in Darma, life goes on and I live in a past of life that no longer exists”, sorrow has been following me as a friend for years…

In the morning of a new day, I go to see Mr. Jack in his resident in the city of Darma, I follow him to a garden surrounded by a stream, a memorial for the victims. Several years ago, he offered the mayor to build a monument for the memory of the victims and the mayor complied. And here I stand in this place, looking at a tangle of nothing that was left from this community, lower my head and with small steps accompany Mr. Jack to the exit. There are two cemeteries in Darma, I go through names of past and lives as someone who touches history and the elimination of this glorious community and culture.

I’m in a street corner of this distant city that is near the Bulgarian border, merely 15 miles and I’m in Bulgaria. The buildings are magical and I photo some of the ancient architecture. A big guy with a child’s smile comes over to me and reaches out his hand for a shake. “I’m Makis, I’m a biker and I invite you to sit with us”, and so I feel at home among a group of Greek bikers, an undeniable fellowship. All over the world, in distant countries, in my meetings with bikers I always encountered the will to help and take care, this is bikers’ way of life, photos, phone numbers exchange and a warm invitation to ride in our small country.

Siman Tov Tzdaka, the warm and welcoming man from Saloniki who knows everything about the magical sites of the city, restaurant, authentic tavern, far away from the plastic tourism, manages an online radio with the best Greek songs of all times, with audience and listening ratings that match a large radio station with 4000 KHz. Invitation and warn hosting in his home for the few days of the holiday. His partner, Merula, cooks the best of the traditional dishes with love for art and history of Saloniki.

It’s the holiday evening and I wear a white shirt, just by the book. Guests, songs, Greek music, holiday table beautifully decorated, a prayer for next year and several glasses of ouzo… and I go to the balcony that overlooks Saloniki and see the many little lights of a city that underwent upheavals of victories and failures with pain and suffering, and I think that without those survivors who made it through the hell of war and built our home – the Jewish country – exile and suffering would have been part of our lives to this day.

(From “Saloniki, city and mother in Israel”)

4061 Jews from Turkey and Greek Macedonia were given to the Germans by the government of Bulgaria in 1943 in the port city of Lom.

None of them survived. None of them came back. No one knows who their killers are. No one tried to find out the identity of these criminals. No one punished them. No one knows where the ashes of one of thousands victims are buried. No one put flowers on their graves. No one tried no revenge their blood!!!

May their memory be blessed.

Kobi Shmuel.

  Hebrew the article – artmoto.co.il

http://artmoto.co.il/index.php?m=ar&artd=5510&cat=388

4 Kobi Shmuel- Greece

  journey to Greece – Kobi Shmuel, chapter 4

Old stone floor, peeled walls, small green table and old wooden door. I’m in a 30 meters sized tavern and sounds of Rembetiko music bursts through the crack in the wall, here people don’t wear expensive watches, here people don’t have silk blouses and fancy brands, intoxicating perfumes, reflection of light on shiny leather shoes. Here people dance and their smiles take them high to heaven, with bristles and t-shirts and weak light that shimmer on the dancers’ crowd. The music, like water that trickle into clefts and forever rocks, streams and penetrate every fiber of life. With friends I met on my way, I dance and the drinking touches me as I’m part of the culture of Corpo Island.

Three days earlier…

Escort by Wasili Muanina to Igoumenitsa in a clear morning flight with blue sky, two bikes are driving through the mountain roads, horizon of sea and we are in a ferry towards Corpo. A fort and a stripe of colorful houses welcomed me, very Italian like, little narrow streets, souvenir shops, rugs and all sorts of carpets. We walk around the old city, conservative colors embed the alleys of the city, cafés and the city elders who comfortably sit and chat on this and that…

In a simple café, in a side street without any beauty or vision, I signal to Wasili to seat here. Here? Fine. Café, a bit of internet connection, the worker asks me “where are you from?” I answer “from Israel”. “The owner is Jewish and he was born here”, he tells me and make a phone call to announce it. Few minutes later the guy shows up, Eliyahu. Hand shake, half Hebrew-half English during the introduction conversation. Wasili look at me and say “unbelievable, in here of all coffee shops…” and I smile and answer with a look up to the sky. Eliyahu sits in our table and says “you are staying here for Yom Kipur, we need Minyan”… it was not part of my plan and I wasn’t prepared for it. A quick answer “of course!”

Yom Kipur in the synagogue of Corpo, unique atmosphere, prayers, handshakes. The community members warmly welcome me and I tell them stories about the unconventional way I arrived here and my travels in the world on a bike. They tell me about the history of this community during the war and the synagogue that stands in the same place for the last 500 years. It’s evening; “Slichot” prayers are heard all around us. I return to the small motel, tired. Tomorrow morning new prayers will open the days of “Slichot” in the synagogue of Corpo.

Closing prayer, blowing of the Shofar, sound that bursts from this place in which Jews clung to their religious tradition for hundreds of years. To the sound of the prayer songs I ponder about the way Jews lived in past times, Eliyahu speak to me with half-English, a bit Hebrew and a touch of Greek and it’s… funny. “you are invited to dinner in our place” and so in a night with nearly full moon that gazes at me from the window in front of which I sit, to the sounds of children and crackle of knives and forks, I finish another chapter in the community out of a magnificent sequence of life chains and traditions from the past…

Seven days earlier…

Twists in mountainy roads and smell of frost, a strong pine smell and rich green colored trees. I’m climbing towards a mountain pass in 1800 meter height, the temperature drops to 8 degrees probably. I ride for an hour and no car or other vehicle passes by, and finally a small coffee shop, a simple balcony and a roof made large of vine leaves. The cold takes up a lot of my energy so I eat uncontrollably, tasty food from the best simplicity of the Greek kitchen.

Evening twilight welcome me with an unexpected sunset color on the mountain roofs, tiredness of a riding day leads me to a village named Monodendri, 19 miles north of Ioannina. In a wooden cabin I drink some kind of ouzo with the owner, a bizarrely funny guy. There, behind the cabin, there is a pig farm… it’s nighttime, thoughts go through my mind regarding this fascinating journey and things I experienced so far, mark points in the map create a wide fabric, that joins and envelops the communities, their past and their survival.

Good night…

The walls of the old city, a lake with golden sun spots and the formidable Pindos Mountains in the horizon. I slide towards the alleys of the old city of Ioannina, a city that combines the city life as well as calmness that can be found almost in any place in Greece. Turkish buildings from other times, Mosques appear in the turns of the alleys to the side of the road. Strong colorfulness in a lavish past of an important cultural center of old days.

While sitting in an internet café that reminiscent of the mid 90’s in Tel Aviv, I dwell on emails and catching up on the Israeli reality. A guy comes over and asks about me being here on a bike with stickers of countries around the world. He told me that he has a bike as well and that world traveling is part of his way of thinking. And so I got to know Wasili, manager and owner of a coffee shop. I ride to the café and there a group of bikers warmly welcome me and I… feel at home.

It’s morning and ride in the streets towards the office of the Jewish community in Yossef Eliyahu street. I speak lengthily with Mr. Shmuel Cohen, who is nearly 90 years old, the Hebrew language come out of his mouth with great excitement. A proud partisan, escaped with several other Jews to the forests when the Germans entered the city. I listen to his stories about days in which even a piece of bread couldn’t be found, a tear falls from his eye and I struggle to keep my emotions tight in my chest so I won’t be carried away to a swirl of sadness and pain from his stories, lower my head and he tells me his story for he won’t be among the living for many more days and years…

Beautiful, preserved and well-kept synagogue, most of it seems as it looked in the old days. Here in Ioannina I take photos and document as someone who found a whole treasure, kept without any harm, building and re-modelling thanks to some donations in order for it to be kept for next generations…

My extra day if stay in Ioannina with friends was most definitely necessary, warm and welcoming people. I go out for another introduction ride with the bikers who show me another side of the city. We drink coffee in the Fort of Castro, overlook the city around the burying spot of Ali Pasha, the dictator who was murdered in 1822 by the Turks, victory mosque that was built in 1611 to mark the loss of the Christians by the Ottoman empire. The sun is setting and the sky is colored in bright orange to the sounds of clouds shapes… and tomorrow, a promise by Wasili to ride together towards Island of Corpo.

Three weeks earlier…

I’m riding… look at the mirror and Saloniki becomes farther and farther. A pleasant sense of pain engulfs me in light of the facts and deep familiarity with a past that is over and can’t return… I’m on my way to Edessa, a town with waterfalls, streams, bridges and shaded little gardens. I choose a small motel, tomorrow I’m heading to Albania. Last town before the border, light clouds follow me and I head towards a pair of lakes, Magali and Mikri, the lakes of Prespa. I ride through these lakes, many birds and other animals are visible along the way, grey-brown colors of mountainy horizon, the lake wore black, rain drops fall noisily on my helmet and I’m becoming aware to the nearing rain, by the sound of the drops. The rain starts to pour and the mirror seems as a polished glass, clear and clean. I start to climb the mountain, the temperature drops, amazing view in sight and not one hiding sanctuary from the wrath of rain, so… I move on.

Sun lights gradually penetrate the tangle of clouds and shower of lights pours on this timeless scenery of mountains, fields, houses and vineyards. A quick glance to the GPS, in 12 miles I will be in the town of Kastoria. I’m sliding through pleasant turns to the sounds of world music that glides around the helmet and trickle to my ears as spring water. Amazing view with lake in the center of the town, houses, roofs and tiles give the place some surreal look, reminds me a bit of Como Lake in Italy, alongside the mountains, as though it hides, shies from the simple, classic and cultural look of this town. As I enter the city I’m amazed by the interesting and slightly bizarre architecture, mansions from the 17^th and 18^th centuries rest peacefully by the lake, churches from the Byzantine period, in the past most of the people living her engaged in furs commerce to Europe and beyond the sea. I sit right by the lake and feast on a Greek dish, occasionally give the geese some food, and the satiation is equally balanced here is Kastoria.

I’m in an amazing motel from the 18^th century, talking with the owners about the history of his place, on the paths of the Judaism, their journey to their death and a forever memorial monument here in Kastoria. A standing dome, observing, taking a photo as though I see familiar images on my way to the point that are spread all over Greece, end of all days with their thinking as lambs who are led to slaughter, and sprk of the beginning as signs for continuation… in the images of Israel in 2011.

Mr. Ovadious, here in Trikala, opens the door of the synagogue and the image unfold is as time stood still. Lights, Menorot, Torah books and stone slabs on which names and names and names of victims are written. Mr. Ovadious manage the synagogue, and I try to speak with him with broken sentences and mime, in light of the fact that this respectable man speaks only Greek. I sip some coffee, we take a picture together, I start the engine, the tightness is quickly released, as a Senecio gliding in the wind… and I with an open throttle ride towards Meteora…

Fine days before the end of the journey…

A loud horn in the ferry that carries me out of Corpo Island. We are getting farther, the colorful houses are replaced by grey color, I look up to the sky and heavy clouded are hurrying to form in teams of three, as though they are ready for the commander, the pouring rain… and I am between the sea and a bath as a Ark of Noah that sails in big seas, above me are the clouds, sense of both sweetness and bitterness… satisfaction of a journey that will end in just a moment…

A sharp ride, low cruising, I go through the miles towards Patras… “Between mountains and rocks”… the sea to my right, mountains to the left and vice versa. I enter gravel roads in a tangle of trees, pass by little café along the road, towns with several houses, bypassing of shipping trucks, road construction, road blocks, broken and unpaved roads, convoys of cars in narrow roads with no possibility to bypass, long dark tunnels, temperature drops that feel more dramatic on the bike, section of continuous road in which the throttle reach merely 80% of its capability, a quality blend flows to this wonderful machine that carried me without a hitch and other technical problems, as the optimal unity of man and machine… as the wonders of mind and its creation… about 280 miles I have passed and reached the hotel in Patras, accumulating tiredness drops me to a deep sleep and two days’ rest that felt as an hour… into halls of dream in my journey to one of the darkest times in human history.

My fourth drive in a tangle of alleys and little houses, downhill, uphill and all kinds of asphalt. No point of remark, question or explanation, in the town of Zakynthos I search for the cemetery… an hour and a half has passed and I am in the last alley, I turn right, and here, a smile on my face, I found it!! An iron gate and Star of David on top, ancient cemetery, guard’s cabin, graves are spread all around, I sit there half an hour and look around, and a good feeling engulfs me when I see some greenery, Hebrew names engraved, I film a video and feel satisfaction about the places I reached in Greece… and this is the last one. The island is amazing, blue of the sea, houses in sunny colors and view that bursts from every angle while I ride in the streets of the island. Up ahead, on the right, there is a garden and memorial gate on marble and portraits of two distinguish men, the mayor and the Bishop that saved Jews when the Germans entered the island. As times passed they received as a badge of honor the title: Righteous among the Nations.

This day…

An announcer notifies that we arrived at the station. The platforms are filled with people and a new morning, views outside the half window and noise of railroad is like music to my ears… outside are pieces of scenery from our little country. I’m heading to Haifa in the express train to release the bike for Haifa Port when he arrives from Greece. Soldiers in uniforms, boys with Yamaka, women chatting, religious orthodox wearing black and praying, conductor checking tickets of the passengers, women soldiers with new cellphone text to anyone who will read it, people with laptops stay confined in their own world and I still can’t grasp the intensity of the journey in different times, history of life and death, survivors, miracles and disasters. Upheaval of emotions emerge to sights of cemeteries, synagogues, heroic stories of honored elders that survived the end of life, unity of the people, the missing slice of bread and a roof in the frozen days of dark Europe. I’ve passed roads of history in this journey, miles of agony and pain while understanding what had happened, the state of Israel was founded as a miracle out of a legend, as an idea for the Jewish home and our flag stand today with pride and honor above the souls of six millions Jews.

I have the honor to finish this journey diary in words that were spoken among the Israeli air force pilots in an ovation flight above the extermination camp Auschwitz-Birkenau, and salute to the six million Jews who were murdered during the Holocaust.

“We, the air force pilots, in the sky above the camp of horrors, have risen from the ashes of millions of victims, carry their silent cry, salute to their heroism and promise to protect forever the Jewish people and their country Israel”.

Kobi Shmuel

   To the memory of my grandfather Yehuda Angel

The End

  Hebrew the article – artmoto.co.il

http://artmoto.co.il/index.php?m=ar&artd=5557&cat=388

The ride to Asia 2012 Greece, Turkey, Georgia

Greece, Turkey, Georgia

A starry night on the Nautilus ferry board, somewhere at the heart of the Mediterranean sea, only the noise of the machines who turn on the steel beast and the chimneys in a thick and monotonous sound for more speed while pumping tons of diesel, the little room of the transport drivers that we have received was cozy and convenient, ups and downs as a cradle of a new born baby had promised to Ido and myself a restful night till the dawn will break out while cursing the Mediterranean water. In between we had a “kabalat Shabbat” with a friend who joined the cruise to Greece, and there between the plastic cups, fine whisky and a sincere prayer, a night of thoughts had spread, and the fatigue of a busy day had turned off to a deep and exciting sleep in expectation to a new day.

The strength of the sea breeze had took me to the command chamber, captain Kaudous, who had seen angry and raging days said in impassive face “today the boat will dance a bit…” and it really danced to the sounds of the a spectacular sunset with orange and colorful cloudiness of scatted islands on the sides of the ferry water lines, the evening had landed and tomorrow someone will probably will shout “land”.

The first km of the journey was under fierce winds which shook  the motorcycles, less familiar roads, we were in a ride to Salonika which is located around 600 km from the port of Liborio, in Suflaki, mini cafe and known tastes, the landscapes of Greece and pieces of bright blue ocean and both of my sides add a special feeling to this marvelous ride, the rhythm of the ride is above what we have expected and the desire to Solow distances is almost as putting the finger on the map and rolling it into the destination. A phone to my 2 dear friends which I have met in my Greece Ride 2011. Nikus from Salonika and Vasili from Ioannina. Coordinating the meeting and the horizon of Salonika is on the sight, the a white tower. There is probably some kind of magic that never expires from the glorious past of this city and community although of the disastrous war, strong sensations are rising and familiar sights make me smile, a vast sun set on the boardwalk of Salonika, and Ido my partner still didn’t put on Tfillin before the sunset so.. In a quiet corner in the boardwalk of Salonika, much history and one moment of silence. The meeting with Nikus was moving, a very special and dear men, a dinner with friends with the best of the Greek Cuisine, the white and clear drink had put life in a wonderful proportion.. Morning of sunlight in Salonika and I wait to Vasili from Ioannina who had rode 200km to meet us. I was very happy to see him. “A very special person with thirst to information and with love of life, a visit in the synagogue, some true phrases and this part the Greek journey ends and tomorrow with dawn we will ride to the boarder point into turkey to our next goal – Istanbul

An easy pass at the boarder point kippi to Turkey, acquiring third side insurance and I’m with big smile full of happiness to the known sights of the cracks and patches of the road, the Russian buildings and sights of savage landscapes when riding to Istanbul, a straight ride of 200km and we stop at a broken Turkish diner, and again it is just breaks me from all the directions, a dish of “kufta” kebab, salad coarsely chopped and a lot of olive oil, the Turkish bread “kimek” a king dish of tastes at the side of landscapes of arid mountains and two motorcycles in a road of ruts.

The elaborated roads are quiet clear, we are riding to the palace topkapi, this palace was the office of the Ottoman Empire between the years of 1465-1853. The palace is places at Sralegu between a golden ray and marble sea, riverside to the the Bosporus Strait. Crossing the bridge in the direction of the palace and the vantage point on the bustling life of Istanbul, fishermen, porters, vendors of sweets, cabs beep and a dazzling life full of movement,  the white smoke of fish is rising as marble stones into the blue horizon of the sea, simple people in a universe of full behaves and cultures of hundreds of years, probably drains to this part of the city.

 sunsets are falling slowly into the sea, and the orange pastel color is splattered all over the buildings and the breaking of another day, the wish of all humans is a bit of rest, one more time and again accelerating  wheels because… the sun is setting without laying Idos “tffilin”. We stop at biker shop for a quick question ”hotel..?”, getting out to meet us is the store owner, the only Jewish who sells motorcycles, hand shaking.. saying: “my family is in Israel…” so laying the tffilin in the shop just before the sunset, chance or fate? A goodbye, number exchange and an invitation to a motorcycle vacation in Israel. Finding a broken hotel in the middle of Istanbul and parking to our motorcycles hadn’t been an easy task, our efforts in finding a hotel in the neighborhood ally got fiercer. A little room, late 70th rubber slippers caused us pleasure and comfort. Out eyelashes got heavy and the and the exhaustion filled out body. A fine sleep filled out batteries. Screams and blows wakes us, a bustle of people  and a mass brawl, from the windows screaming women and a police car is passing by without stopping. the silent is back, in drips it fills the streets and lonely street light plays his role faithfully. A vast silence of the night had returned the forced neon city.

Early in the morning, while the streets are washed with water for another month and food tastes are laying on the table, A strong Turkish coffee wakes the unawaken body parts and we are riding  on the Bosporus bridge and as a goodbye tribute we are riding slowly and a farewell from this amazing city, we are entering to a mountainous  trail, approx. 550k”m, we will join again with the black sea in a city by the name “Samson”, a port city in turkey.

The ride to Georgia aside the black sea was pretty fresh and convenient, excellent roads and time for a qualitative meditation in a monotonous rhythm, the sea changes his colors and trade & transport ships are sailing to their destinations, the city Trabzon is emerging in the horizon and a night stop at a fishy hotel in the city ally. It was pleasant to recall that i was here on my ride to Russia at 2009 but in the other lane, on the way to Trabzon port, we meet a motorcycle gang, there destination is Turkey, words exchange, handshakes and we continue as a pleasant song to the Georgian boarder, another country to cross among the other wonderful countries we ride through in the Asia 2012 journey.

A Turkish cop at  the boarder point, alerts us that there is a problem without motorcycles, the numbers hadn’t been fed in the computer…, a long convey of cars are waiting, some Turkish and some Georgian, and ido is sailing in his mind with the movie “midnight express”… after some minutes the problem got solved and we heading the Georgian boarder, two youthfulness who meticulously drawn look at our international license which we received at “memsi”, a paper license, miserable and undignified and little stamps are innate on this piece of disparagement, and I think for myself why not a dignified plastic license which will honor its country and my motorcycle.. so after discussions the noise of the stamp is heard, as a pleasant sound and she declares: ”welcome to Georgia”.

The ride to the first city, Batumi at Georgia, had been through disrupted roadsת noble landscapes and strong green. on the sides there slow walking cows in apathetic look at the sight of the extremely fast crossing cars, incomprehensible bypasses, getting down into the dirt edges and back to the asphalt road, dust clouds mixed with the ground color. Broken churches aside the road, holy colors and painfully small shops of sweets which are full with booty. The entrance to the city was a combination of poverty and luxury. The deep gap makes it hard to balance the standard of living, this is the situation that the country seemingly deal with, promises mixed with careful optimism lay the road to the hope of the citizens that the future will get better.

It is night already, a moment before finding a hotel, a first taste from the national food “haz’apori” full with cheese and bombed in cholesterol, a delightful pleasure and uncontrolled hunger on the triangle shaped food, the amazement look of the kind old ladies, that probably saw many revaluations and government changes, in a slow ride we look for a hotel, passing a quarter of strokes in white, nuns in black and Turkish pimps who offer their merchandise. Taverns in a neon light aside Sodom, for the glory of uncontrolled desires of silky night, as wires that create a thick of roughness in this city. We are still tiredly looking just to give a rest to the big amount of the information and to processes this day. One place was left orphan in a luxury hotel, as  a compensation for our ride, which is demanding more landscapes, sights and what else the world have to offer us. Goodnight and the city is shutting the door and last merchandize offer before the sun is coming up.

Riding through two – way streets in endless jam, mountainous roads flooded with flora and wire of houses and  a landscape which covering thousands of acres of green tinged with the  red edges of the earth. We ride to the next town “Kutaisi” Georgia’s second largest city, built around the River “Riuni”. The Interesting place I wanted to go to is the Jewish synagogue from the 19th century –  who is still active, in the past it was one of the largest Jewish communities in the country, the city is relatively unknown and discovering it was a documentation were giving me the kind of public recognition. Out of the city in ways mostly one lane on each side, I try to photograph the remains of buildings and signs Login cities Soviet-intensive concrete, stops buses and walls of thick concrete, no doubt art for its own sake, bridges, steel and nailing along the bridge, kind of thinking over time probably thought Soviet perception forever …

It is twilight asides the stretched roads and a little motel for the passersby, a restaurant with the best of the Georgian characteristics is located somewhere in the edge of the vast plaza, we sit down and order “hankeli”, not before we explained our self in pantomime and some more philosophical question about life, the order of the alovera tasted vodka came quickly, a bunch of local Georgian invited us to drink some drinks in the honor of the Georgian people. A quiet night and the noise of the crickets pleasing our ears, a moon and two covered time travel machines are waiting to the sun rise in a few hours.

In the entrance to the city “Guri” a rows of concrete buildings surround the city, vast streets and a militarily planning for the entrance of thanks, probably that was the attention of the writer, In this city Josef Stalin was born who was the leader of the soviet union, a museum is located in the middle of the city, the iron rail road which is passing through her constitutes a main artery for the city citizens and for transferring goods from the factories in the city.  Gury is located 76K’m west from Tbilisi, in the meeting point between the Liakhvi river and the Kura river, 588 meters above the sea level. Looking for and finding a hotel in the edge of the city which is trying to be unsuccessfully western, a night wondering, and youth groups in the corner… it is late, the gutter society are still wondering around in a city which became a ghost, they are trying to ladle another coin from the passersby, another day had ended in studying on the other side of the world…

In hasty steps with full bag of curiosity we enter to the Stalin museum, which is displaying with too much pride the work of the tyrant, inside personal belonging of Stalin, Photos and articles from different newspapers, the Exhibition includes one of the 12 death masks (the emboss of the face) of Stalin which was taken after his death, an admiration for a cruel human being which instituted a cruel dictatorship, which combined killing the Opponents or the suspected as opponents, confining millions of people in the labor camps “Gulag”, collectivization which caused to the death of millions. On the other hand he enhanced the industry revolution in Soviet Union which helped it to become a superpower. After the German invasion in 1941, which caught Stalin under surprise, he led the country in fierce determination until they won. on the other side of the museum we can find his personal train, the train is coated with armor and was in the personal use of Stalin from 1941, Stalin appeared with the train at the Yalta conference and at the Tehran conference. (credit:: Wikipedia)

Arriving to the capital of Tbilisi, resting for several days and Bureaucracy preparation to a visa for Azerbaijan. We have passed approximately 4500k”m of marvelous sights, the August swat is dripping in the wave of heat and in the chilling nights when the wind is blowing through ancient castles, high in the mountains.

Till the next chapter of my journey, goodbye to everyone from the endless roads in a full of beauty and fine human material

Jacob Samuel

THE RIDE TO ASIA 2012 PART II – Kobi SAMUEL

August 16, 2012

The ride to Asia 2012

Participants: Ido Bardlas, Kobi Samuel.

 Motorcycle model: bmw 1200 gs adventure

Departure date: 08/17/2012

In general: A ride in Asia, crossing parts of the Silk Road

The ride includes paved roads and grit, camping + hotel

Food: self-preparation \ buying

Important reference points – Entry to Turkmenistan (Hell Gate) kera –

kom Desert, Khiva Uzbekistan, Kosmodrom Baikonur

District of Volgograd, Russia

There may be changes in the plane

The article Part II – from moments of sensations, doubts, route finding, and variety of dreams mixed with the mountains wind

So it began …

The ride to Asia 2012

The dial tone is on hold and over the line answers Helga in German, and I with my polished English says in a authoritative voice: “I want to invite maps of fourteen countries please…”, in my experience this is the world’s best maps, company which served me loyally in the previous trips …

A few days to go…

The journeys deliberations were already under way, I with myself were in a profound conversation “Where to..?”. So the basic idea was Scotland – Ireland, an enjoyable ride by myself, pure self-purification and fulfilling my charges with refining ideas and their implementation with time. Riding with my scooter a G’oraid 200 sailing still thinking where to. I’m on my way to the “alexim” garage , doctors of BMW engines , doctors, to the sound of movement and electrical switches, coffee and sharing my thoughts. As I sip the coffee, a young man entered with a clear and fine vodka, a few sips and basic introduction, crossing pure dreams from the wheels of life, a handshake, and there is  the form of the beginning of a journey from a basic idea which will turn to reality…

The decision where to still bothers me …? Sequence of ideas in a conversation with my companion to many trip around the country and low night flights to the holy city, in an attempt to share the ideas of the journey together, unique thoughts and formulas appeared that evening, coalescing to form a piece of truth about the separation and splitting from umbilical cord of continuum of life which the journey demands, All we in devotion to that dream which we want to fulfill…

The decision has been made….

Meeting and getting into the marked lanes on the map, the basic realization of a dream with a guy I’ve just met a few days ago,his name is Ido, in the Alexim garage, it seems that the passion of things and opening the maps and creating a line of track in a tangle filled contours managed to excite the inhabitants of the round table, another idea and another formalization of a decision. Two proposals are up, one is riding up towards Italy and Normandy – France and then to Scotland – Ireland. My thoughts were that I had enough of the polished Europe, intoxicating comfort of civilized roads, beauty spots, postcards scattered on the desk, quite put me to sleep, I dream of riding thousands of kilometers to the large parts of the world. I was always fascinated by the simple culture of the countryside and farmers, into deserts -and oriental landscapes, camels and sunsets, market of carpets, fabrics, ruby and topaz, intoxicating spice colors  convoys of mini-trade, oasis – desert, strips of palm trees into streams as islands of life, inside the sand dunes the colors are

changing as sunsets like strips of orange, a horizon that doesn’t end, so … The right thing to do, is choosing the route of Silk Road which triggered the inspiration for the thousands of writers of poetry and hymns, rulers, dignitaries a conquest  respected these routes throughout history, this magic remains until today and it still embodied with a mystery , intrigues, and romance into the golden of the Silk Road.

It took several days till the final decision left off. conversations and raising ideas, opening maps, dates, weather, a visa for each country. The determination of this operation leveled up, with stretching the outline of this ride with an idea, which is Turkmenistan. While writing these lines we are still in the process of

receiving a visa to the country.

we continue…

A hot day and the moisture is climbing merciless upwards in the streets of ramat gan. Loaded with trash cans on four wheels,  huddling in narrow passages with a marvelous motorcycle and rapid turns in case of engagements bring me to a street where the embassy of Uzbekistan is located. Friendly faces and Uzbekistan females are waiting in the line to receive a visa. I’m in an intense conversation with an official who is in charge of the visas, Michael (not the official but the comrade Michael from st peterburg, who is know in his loyalty to the comrade Stalin, you will read about him in my next article…) Enlightenment and sharp tips and a wonderful knowledge I pluck information, I open maps and his remarks provide me with a convenient and reliable source of information, Michael who is a mine engineer by profession, tell me about the “marvelous” of Communism. A few photos and cutting a ribbon in sign of the official opening of my journey to the golden silk routes 2012.

The fast waiting times, while meeting Luba, the travel agency clerk, arranged to me and Ido the visas for Kazakhstan with a special addition of two entries in 3 month, in any case. cocking & jingling reserve cameras in a last attempt, now more sharpen and emphasis in the quality of the photographing of this wonderful roads, leave me with out a doubted and with a satisfaction and   the way of thinking and fulfilling my dream. I have invested in a professional camera which will be able to contain the elements of the indefatigable nature with courage an heroism when in the gap between the shaking motorcycle and to the thousands of kilometers in Asia, through villages, routes, deserts, space ports and the veneration in this marvelous globe of mankind and other souls.

Drippings of preparation…

Camping gear, warm clothes for the cold and for the day of hot waves which will entrust us in riding to different regions of the world, and this facts should be considered and to give a suitable answer for the whole mass of the journey, medicine “buttons” Bandages and other lotions, I came to the doctor to take prescriptions, I stay for long minutes in his wonder for my tales of the rides and the uncompromising persistence year after year, arranging variety of cameras the small one, the big one and the one from my trips around the world, including cards and other cargo…, downloading maps and resetting lanes and coordinates in a change that is a way of life.

encounter of freezing cold or intense heat?

One of the dilemmas in planing this trip is the weather. Pinned to the rotation of the globe and the ride with the seasons and when to leave, was quiet a challenge. attached to the weather websites,  seasonal deposits and going up and down graphs, welcomed me to the decision of the exit time, the overall route is that we will be in turkey in the middle of August. It’s true it’s very hot, but the ride along the black sea in the direction to Georgia and the Caspian sea gives me a satisfying breezes of wind, crossing Kazakhstan in the direction of north west Russia in the opening of October provides a pretty convenient solution, it is true that the rain and cold meets us in the long rides but in the decline from north Russia heading the black sea, Romania Greece, a worm wind and days of pleasure will greet us with our return to the reality of the end of 2012. Pretty late or with the slip of at least two weeks in the exit, will lead us the the cold Russia in the middle October month with rain and average low temperatures, sharp sediments and gray days of tiredness , but.. a head planing of learning prevent this kind of situations, this is of course with the addition and the devoted surrender to weather upheavals and leaving a clean spot for uncertainty.

The countdown…

The small hourglass with his last grain which lies on the end of the shelf, the route and the colourful maps are lying in my head as a recital of dress rehearsal as a show with variety of colours. the last days before.. I ride on my motorcycle at the trip on the boardwalk in the twilight, from my right the Mediterranean sea and a large and orange sunset is lying aside me, in a  quick glimpse to the vast sea and beyond, the unstoppable passion which doesn’t know satiety, then to break the limits and give freedom to all out ambitions, it is a rare asset which needs to be hugged. It took approximately two month to plane this journey, I’ve studied on the worlds countries, towns, wonders of nature, dirt roads and paved roads, countries laws, flag colours, boarder points, I’v learned that mankind need the basics of food, shelter, love from the family and joy of  life, regardless of race, sex and religion, what ever is beyond that make it worse in some way. So… now there is only the execution, the theory has ended and the core of the ride starts to beat, so till the next article, when the wind of gallop of the motorcycle advance and sipping another mile of unrestrained landscapes of this side of the globe.

Good luck

To Ido my partner and me Kobi Samuel

Route Map Asia 2012 – Kobi Samuel

The route map is for illustration purposes, the axis of the journey passes through points of interest, ferries, and borders.

Legend: red line – planned itinerary \ line of yellow, green, black. – Options. \ Green – Points of Interest.

Motorcycle ride to Asia 2012 Part A – Kobi Samuel

Part A:

One final segment before…

Middle August on a ferry to Greece, from there the ride is into the direction of Instabul -turkey, continued by riding the side of the black sea.

Entering Georgia into the roads and trails of the great Caucasian range ,  which spans long wide the city of Sochi, which lies on the west bank of the black sea and facing  south – east, almost till to the city of Baku,  which located on the shores of the Caspian Sea.

From there to the boarder pass, to a Muslim state who is considered as one of the countries with the highest religious tolerance – the state is Azerbaijan. Azerbaijan declared her independce In 1918 and so became to the first Islam republic in history, but two years later in 1920, the red army invaded Azerbaijan and occupied the country.

It would take another 71 years in the pages of history till the country would declare its Independence. Economical speaking – 70% of its income is produced from oil.

From there, after obtaining the longed-for Turkmenistan certificates, we will cross on a cargo ferry the Caspian sea, a saline lake that lies between Asia and Europe, in Russia. The Caspian lake is the largest lake in the world, it covers an area of 371,000 square kilometers.. The wheels of the motorcycle downhill the ferry and we are in Turkmenistan, one of the countries which was occupied by Alexander the

great on his route to India. In the 7th and 8th century, the Arabs distributed the religion of the Islam to the region. In this time of history the famous “silk road” between china to Europe and the middle east came into being. In the 13th century Genghis Khan led the Mongol conquests to Europe, Turkmenistan declared it independence on October 27, 1991 after the break down of the soviet union.

Our first encounter will be with Turkenmbashi and from there a ride of 600Km to Ashgabat (the capital).

After a short visit, we will head out of the city to the north, crossing the kera-com desert, a 5 hours drive into  a village named  Derweze. A few kilometers from there we will find one of the gates of the world – “gate of hell” – not all the sinners arrive there, there is some kind of compassion. The “gate” is a large hole: the diameter is 70 and the depth is 25meter. At 1971 a team of Soviet Geologists carried out an excavation in the place where they found gas, it was decided to set fire in the place. The crater is burning these days and probably will burn till dooms day.

 “Ottoman caliphate claim that the vision of Sinbad the Sailor is inspired on a rich Jew named Isaac, who lived in the port city Tzohar Khilafa many centuries ago. At one point he chose to leave the city and its business there, and went sailing for a long time. When he returned, he was armed with countless stories about his exploits during his wanderings, these stories are the base for the tales of “Sinbad the Sailor”.

The tales of One Thousand and One Nights bring us to ride to Uzbekistan, the Town of khiva, where the nights and romance touches our heart,  with towers of splendor and vivid colors as the rate of occupiers for many years. The history of  numerous triumphs and losses are as the yellow pages of a good, fascinating dusty book.

After a 500 kilometers ride, the plane is to arrive to Bukhara and Samarkand  (Uzbekistan second largest city), together the main centers of Tajik culture and history. This fact indicate probably the main reason that most of the population of Bukhara are Parsian speaking, Tajiks. Bukhara is also home to a large Jewish community whose ancestors settled there since the roman times. The term “Bukharan Jews” is sometimes used to describe all the Jews of Central Asia.

We continue…

Crossing the road to Kazahstan and from there a ride to north-west Russia via Kosmodrom Baikonur, this spaceport is the largest and the oldest in the world. Many historic flights were launched into space from Baikonur: the first satellite on October 4, 1957, the first man in space in 1961, a fascinating Israeli touch  is the satellite “Amos 5”  which was launched into space from the Baikonur launch pad in Kazakhstan.

After approximately 2500 km we will cross Kazakhstan toward Russia and a sharp  decline from north to south towards the Black Sea, not before we visit Volgograd which is located on the west of the Volga, and hence the name.In the Past the citys name was Stalingrad. A famous battle took place there which  was one of the decisive battles of world War II. After the defeat of the Germans, Stalingrad became a town of heroes. In 1967 a statue in honor of mother Russia and and the ferocious battle was built on the mamyav hill. An important and bloody site from the days of war. The statue is 52 meters and was at his time the highest statue in the world

Then a downhill to the black sea, Ukraine, Romania and finally Greece. A key country from which Israeli motorcycles inevitable exit to the world. Within a small island called Israel a loved homeland , with problems and other things. Remains to  experience  a fascinating world and fresh air, various people, cultures and colors. The helmet and the motorcycle lead me into thousands of miles around the world each year, open spaces and blue seas cope bravely with the  forces of nature.

probably learning and understanding what human kindness is, will lead me to another route, through endless studies for what simplicity of life is.

Clarifications:

This article is from preparing, literature and mapping. It is just a theory and all the descriptions are from my feverish mind and this time the real world will be greater then what we can imagine.

The entry to Turkmenistan is questionable due to the countless bureaucratic procedures  and various bizarre “commands” .

Thank you for the cooperation and patience of my partner, Ido, who is loyal to his dream against all odds.

To “Alexim” (the best garage there is). the shadow in the motorcycle world, for the attentive care shown in the wheels of the engine, on various wiring and operations till perfection on this wonderful machine. On the patience for my traveling questions, and standing firm at each stage and path around the world. You are definitely my house in this mad hobby.

On the preparation and the basic idea for the journey, various dilemmas in the planning system, adding and removing way points, receiving visas, and butterflies in my stomach in the last days before … Another article will be published just before departure.