WORLD FAMOUS EXPLORER JOINS KENSINGTON TOURS
AS EXPLORER-IN-RESIDENCE

Mikael Strandberg to support launch of Kensington’s new Expedition Series

“Kensington Tours' mission,” says Willner “is to provide private guided experiences to every corner of our world. For every budget, every schedule, every group size, and every interest, we can tailor a perfect tour. Our collaboration with Mikael and our Explorer-in-Residence program is another example of our commitment to truly special travel experiences – whatever your travel style.”

A professional explorer for the past quarter century, Mikael Strandberg is considered one of the 50 most important explorers on earth and The Explorers Club has called him “the best contemporary explorer in the world.” Strandberg will collaborate with Kensington founder and CEO Jeff Willner to design and develop this new product offering for intrepid travelers.  Strandberg will also be available to guide these expeditions as well as tailor-made expeditions, upon request.

“Kensington Tours’ mission,” says Willner “is to provide private guided experiences to every corner of our world. For every budget, every schedule, every group size, and every interest, we can tailor a perfect tour. Our collaboration with Mikael and our Explorer-in-Residence program is another example of our commitment to truly special travel experiences – whatever your travel style.”

Willner and Strandberg recently undertook a scouting mission to The Democratic Republic of the Congo to assess its potential and readiness as a destination for intrepid travelers.  Congo itineraries – featuring endangered Eastern Lowland Gorillas, Pygmy tribes and the Nyiragongo volcano – are the first in the Expedition Series.  Other itineraries under development include Antarctica exploration with polar explorers, motorcycle safaris in Kenya, Tanzania and Russia, deep dive submarine into the Cayman Trench and cultural discoveries in Yemen, Oman and North Korea. These itineraries will appeal to intrepid global explorers and will complement Kensington’s complete collection of affordable private guided tours to the world’s must-see destinations.

“It’s the places that people believe that they cannot go, these are the places where the hidden wonders of the world and breathtaking experiences await,” said Strandberg. “The Expedition Series will highlight many of these destinations.  I am indeed honored to be an Explorer-in-Residence for this brave company. Brave makes a difference, helps a country, builds bridges and creates trips which open people’s minds. With a visionary and a lover of humanity like Jeff Willner at its helm, Kensington Tours is really in the forefront of what good tourism should be today.”

“Some of the Expedition itineraries may require hard work, some may be expensive and some will feature unconventional destinations, but all promise a unique experience,” confirms Willner.  “Whether escorted by an Explorer-in-Residence or not, all of our tours will be carefully managed by our local offices and local expert guides to ensure a safe and supported adventure.”

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“It’s the places that people believe that they cannot go, these are the places where the hidden wonders of the world and breathtaking experiences await,” said Strandberg. “The Expedition Series will highlight many of these destinations. I am indeed honored to be an Explorer-in-Residence for this brave company. Brave makes a difference, helps a country, builds bridges and creates trips which open people’s minds. With a visionary and a lover of humanity like Jeff Willner at its helm, Kensington Tours is really in the forefront of what good tourism should be today.”

About Kensington Tours
Kensington Tours offers custom private guided tours to over 80 countries around the world. The flexibility of Kensington’s offerings allows for personalization of every tour at a wide range of price points – resulting in a handcrafted vacation experience at an unbeatable value. The company’s private tours are regularly benchmarked at 30% less than identical tours from premium group operators. Kensington Tours was named one of the ‘Best Adventure Travel Companies on Earth’ in 2008 & 2009 by the editors of National Geographic Adventure magazine.

About Mikael Standberg:
He started his professional career as an explorer 23 years ago. Strandberg is currently working as an explorer, a lecturer and a writer. He has also produced three internationally renowned documentaries for television Patagonia – 3,000 Kilometres by Horse and The Masaai People – 1,000 Kilometres by Foot and his much awarded 58 Degrees – Exploring Siberia on Skies.  Frequently appearing in travel and adventure programmes, Swedish Television SVT and National Geographic have both made documentaries about his life. Voted Explorer Hero by the National Geographic 2002, Strandberg is an Honorary Ambassador of his native district Älvdalen and Cappadocia, Turkey. In 2005 he was awarded The Determination in the Face of Adversity Medal by the Explorers Club. The Travellers Club of Sweden awarded him the prestigious Silver Medal in 2006. The Travellers Club of Finland awarded Mikael the prestigious Mannerheim Medal at a ceremony in October, 2006.

About Jeff Willner
Kensington Tours is the inspiration of intrepid explorer and Royal Geographic Society Fellow Jeff Willner begin_of_the_skype_highlightingend_of_the_skype_highlighting. His thirst for travel stems from growing up in Africa where his parents worked for most of his childhood, and where he discovered the richness of global cultures. A veteran of global expeditions to over 70 countries, he has criss-crossed the continents to experience the extraordinary. During these years, Jeff realized the vast difference between a package tour and personal discovery — where deep knowledge and personal attention of a local guide can turn a trip into an experience. It is from these roots that Jeff began building his vision for Kensington Tours. With a commitment to rethinking the way we travel, and drawing on his years with McKinsey & Company and Wharton, he recruited a strong team of destination experts (with real in-country experience) and top IT professionals to build an award winning travel company that now spans the globe.

For more information please contact:
Jeff Willner
CEO,
Kensington Tours
jeff.willner@kensingtontours.com

“Some of the Expedition itineraries may require hard work, some may be expensive and some will feature unconventional destinations, but all promise a unique experience,” confirms Willner. “Whether escorted by an Explorer-in-Residence or not, all of our tours will be carefully managed by our local offices and local expert guides to ensure a safe and supported adventure.”

I’m a mother of two small children, Ripley’s secretary and coach. I run his home base and remain ready for any emergency call 24/7. I take my mobile phone everywhere. Every time hear Ripley’s Satellite phone ring, my heart misses a beat and my mouth dries up. Obviously, I’m worried about him. It’s my first time and experience being alone while Ripley is away on his expedition, so I’m still learning.

What is it like to be the wife of an adventurer?

Allow me to give you a brief picture of my world and who I was before I met Ripley.

I lived in Denmark’s metropolis: Copenhagen. Just a stones throw, with my arm, from the city center. My life was surrounded by material items and meaningless gossip with, so called girlfriends, in an uptown café every Sunday. It was our girls get together but quite simply a brunch. I could go on weekend shopping tours to London or any other city, whenever I wanted. I could spend my time in the museums or concerts at will. Whatever, wherever, it was all forgotten the next day.

At that time, I thought I was happy and didn’t want to change my life in any way. It seemed to fit. One day, it all changed.

I was on a course, one of many yawn filled lectures, with my work colleagues and at the very hotel where we were staying, Ripley Davenport was giving a presentation about his adventure in the Namib Desert. His picture, displayed in the reception, caught my eye and having nothing to do for a few hours and without thought, I purchased a ticket to see what it was all about.

The room was full with all walks of life and I was surprised at the turn out.

After an introduction, I saw this tall, bald and very confident man giving an amazing speech. The room was silent and I sat, like everyone else, overwhelmed by his story. That was the quickest hour of my life and I just had to speak to him after the event. That evening, we talked, we laughed. Three 3 months later, I quit my job, moved out of the city to the Danish countryside. Four months later we were expecting our first child. A whirlwind romance you may say but one that still blossoms.

Ripley changed my perception of what is really important in this life.

Adventure? I didn’t know what it meant before I met him. To be honest, I had a stereotype of adventurers being strange, bearded and old people. That was my first lesson: Never judge a book by its cover and every story has two sides. Ripley taught me these two minor but important rules. He lives by them, so why don´t I?

What is like to be a wife while your husband is out on an expedition?

In a way, I’m on my own little expedition but only here, in Denmark. I’m a mother of two small children, Ripley’s secretary and coach. I run his home base and remain ready for any emergency call 24/7. I take my mobile phone everywhere. Every time hear Ripley’s Satellite phone ring, my heart misses a beat and my mouth dries up.  Obviously, I’m worried about him. It’s my first time and experience being alone while Ripley is away on his expedition, so I’m still learning.

We have experienced many difficult situations together and got through each a lot wiser. I know that future challenges can be overcome. We have been through so much. I have learnt not to worry so much. I’m more focused and calm now and learn to stay rational in the extreme situations.

My daily routine consists of strong cup of coffee with milk, getting the kids ready for kindergarten and then getting back home to the office and updating Ripley’s news. Once done and few coffees later, I find ways to promote the Mongolia 2010 Expedition further on top of my normal job (I’m glad that’s only 4 hrs/day). Then I trudge out to get the shopping for dinner, pick up the kids and try to figure out what and how to cook dinners. I can’t cook and given the chance – won’t cook. It’s always been Daddy’s job, but it’s now a role reversal. Scott, our oldest 4½ years old, repeatedly says, “Mummy, daddy cooks much better dinners, why?” What can I say except laugh and find excuses?

The hardest psychological challenge was definitely the first 2 weeks. When he called me on the 3^rd day of his expedition and told me about the torrential rains and thunderstorms, his equipment being drowned and his body shivering from being cold and wet, I felt hopeless. I contacted every adventurer and endurance athlete that Ripley knew to ask for advice and support. Each helped a great deal.

That night, I had a dozen cups of coffee just to stay awake. I felt like it was a duty to stay up with Ripley through his tough night. I believe, it was harder for me.

We were on different sides of the planet and different time zones so I adjusted my clock to suit his and tried to keep in his routine.

We have experienced many difficult situations together and got through each a lot wiser. I know that future challenges can be overcome. We have been through so much. I have learnt not to worry so much. I’m more focused and calm now and learn to stay rational in the extreme situations.

I thought I was ready to take over the family duties on my own and run home base while Ripley is in Mongolia. I guess you could never be ready for anything until you’re in the actual situation. Out of my comfort zone.

We don’t have any family support in Denmark. My mother has passed away and my father has little contact. Ripley’s parents live in England and contact with them is very scarce.

I could honestly say, that we’re on our own. It’s not easy, but we do what we have to do and never moan or gripe about our situation. It makes me laugh, when people complain about small petty things. I could write an endless list of examples.

We haven’t been out for as much as an evening dinner or drink in four years. So what! We still have our time together, when kids are asleep and that’s what is important.

Being an adventurer’s wife teaches you to be happy with what you’ve got and stop comparing what your neighbour has and maybe take a cooking class once in a while?

The Davenport family!

About me:

35 years old, born in Lithuania, speak Lithuanian, Russian, English and Danish, have degree in International Business Management. Moved to Denmark in 1998. Hobby: dancing salsa

Her husband Ripley wrote this report before he set off!

So why is it male explorers need to declare themselves the best, the fittest and the strongest adventurers on earth? And why, oh why do they only talk about themselves?

The other night I went to the monthly lecture at Travellers Club and again the talk was by a young male explorer. Sad to say I’ve heard his story before, and each time it was the same: The hero conquering the earth. The male hero conquering the earth, to be more precise.

So why is it male explorers need to declare themselves the best, the fittest and the strongest adventurers on earth? And why, oh why do they only talk about themselves?

We definitely need more female explorers, because without them we could become extinct.

Let me explain: Recently, I was sat next to a publisher of a famous US outdoor magazine. He sighed and said:

“Every day, as I receive letters and articles from people making expeditions and wanting to sell their material, I ask myself: “Hasn’t adventure come further than this? Is it still just white men with icicles in their beards dishing out the same old silly story?”

I couldn’t agree more. As no doubt do many people in the extreme sports and exploring fraternity. I am so fed up with this macho nonsense! It’s time for a change. We need more female narrators. We need a female perspective and men have to start thinking more like women. I think this is crucial to whether the public remain interested in adventure and exploration in the future, or switch off forever.

What men often fail to note is that there are still considerable differences in how a story can be told. For example, this morning I was searching the internet for stories about Himalayan expeditions. I found this report by a pair of male climbers:

“It’s been a tough and troublesome today. Our backpacks weigh about 60 pounds. Today we struggled for six hours. Tomorrow we will continue and pitch our final camp at 7,500 meters. We won’t sleep much tonight, but we are feeling all right.”

Yes there are many women explorers. Many find it difficult to get their voices heard but they are there. Wings WorldQuest is dedicated to women explorers. We now have 60 Fellows who are making important discoveries throughout the world. We have sponsored more than 40 flag expeditions. We have an education program that has reached 40,000 young people to inspire them to get engaged with learning. Exploration is not about the person as much as it is about the quest for knowledge. Check out the website www.wingsworldquest.org. Also my book Women of Discovery about 85 women from a dozen cultures who over the last 2000 years made important discoveries through exploration...Milbry Polk

Other than their closest relatives, I find it hard to believe anyone is really interested in this stuff. Personally, I find it mind-numbingly boring. Endless even.

So, let’s compare this with a separate account. This time from an expedition on the same mountain, at the same time, but written by a woman:

“Why am I never satisfied? I’m thinking I should have exercised more. I also think I should have been more mentally prepared. Actually, I’ve been preparing for five years. And trained five times a week. But I don’t think I’m a good enough climber. But that’s the way I am in everyday life as well. I could be better at cooking, decorating, fashion, my job. I could be a better wife, friend, and so on. Still, I am not giving up my dream of climbing an 8,000-meter peak. But will I make it?”

Wonderfully thrilling! The fact that, in this case, the men reached the top and not the woman is unimportant. What is interesting, however, is her story. This is how tomorrow’s adventurers, when they are documenting expeditions need to be writing. This is how people lecturing should be talking. It’s the drama, the personal commitment we want, not another hero story.

An even better way is to recount the story of someone else; men should take inspiration from the achievement of others and not just try to impress with tales of hardship: We’re bored of it!

I worry that if we don’t change this male-dominated culture, we will see fewer professional adventurers and explorers, because less people will want to read about them. Women, save us from extinction!

Female explorers remember: Anything and everything is possible! We’ve known this for the last 150,000 years, maybe even for the last 3.2 million years, ever since the bipedal Lucy began her well-documented excursion…

Ladies, let us know your thoughts, and guys get tapping too. We are all in this together.

Barry with twin brother, before they new much about their sexuality.

Guest writer number 14, Barry Moss, is one of my very best friends. He is pretty much good at everything he puts his heart to.  A real human being. I have begged him for ages to write about his ideas about life. Finally, he put his Sunday paper down, jumped the morning bacon and eggs and put pen to paper. Enjoy!

Planes, Volcanoes and Everything.

My name is Barry Moss and I am the Chairman of the British Chapter of the Explorers Club.

My great friend Mikael Strandberg has asked me to write something for his blog.

Having become a slave to my own computer in recent years, I realise that I have unwittingly turned into an addled junkie, trying to read, absorb and digest far too much information. How much of this information will I use? I guess very little of it, but like any drug I am drawn back into its clutches.  So, if you are like me, I hope that this short essay will only take up a few minutes of your valuable time and will be interesting enough for you to continue to read to the end of this page at least.  I promise that I will not fill you head with too much useless information.

I consider myself fortunate enough to live some days in London and other days in a small mediaeval village complete with castle on the beautiful and wild East Coast of England.

The county of Suffolk is known for its big skies. But what is a big sky?  Isn’t the sky huge everywhere?  Well, apparently not and I would agree that this part of Suffolk does have big skies, only today the sky was different.

I try to motivate myself when I am here to take a long early morning walk to observe the birds, the hares, the changes in scenery and everything.  I was not disappointed this morning but one thing was eerily missing.  The all too familiar demented white slashes across a perfect blue canvas had gone.  The picture was pristine, the big powder blue sky had been repaired; no aircraft contrails chalked across it.  Situated under one of the main east-west air corridors in Northern Europe, I realised that I was looking at a vista that has rarely been seen here since the beginning of the jet age.

I have been on the periphery of aviation industry for most of my life and it remains a technology that still manages to thrill and captivate me.  Some days I am fortunate enough to look out of my office window across the river Ore to the secretive Orford Ness with its Mayan like ruins where Britain’s atomic weapons trigger mechanisms were tested in dark, frightening, sinister laboratories.  I am at first drawn by the noise, the unmistakable sound of a Merlin aircraft engine.  I search above me and to the distance beyond and there it is, a Supermarine Spitfire diving, rolling, dancing across the big blue sky.

My interest in aviation goes back to when I was a small boy.  I vividly recall dreary, depressing and austere Saturdays in East London sitting on a red Routemaster double decker bus.  I rarely noticed that the bus ride was often mundane as I would be completely immersed in the picture on the box I had in my hands.  One Saturday it could be a Hawker Tempest firing rockets at a line of Panzer tanks the next Saturday on the bus with my father and twin brother it could be a Dassault Mirage III taking on a MiG jet of some type or another in a dog fight.

I was often too eager to bother to follow the Airfix kit assembly instructions, only to find that I had glued the two halves of the fuselage together before inserting the pilot sitting in his ejector seat or the undercarriage nose-gear.  The two halves would then be prised apart with a knife or some other blunt instrument which often resulted in the sort of destruction done by metal fatigue test rigs on real aircraft.  Corrosive glue would be unwittingly smeared across clear plastic canopies, resulting in disappointment at the irreparable blur that I had caused.  Silver paint on wings would have finger marks on it or brush hairs or dust. Transfers applied before the paint had dried.   It didn’t really matter too much because the image that these models represented was far greater than my childhood imperfections at assembling and painting them.

My father however was a talented modeller who had the patience, skill and aptitude to build model aircraft out of bits of timber completed with electric motors that turned propellers powered by tardis lookalike batteries.  His real passion however was lead soldiers and I am now at the age where I share his frustration that my eyesight is no longer any good for intricate or detailed work, even with spectacles.

Suddenly!.....Barry, during this circling activity, he foundhis call of life!

Between then and now I have been fortunate enough to have worked with real aircraft manufacturers and have visited super-jumbo passenger aircraft assembly halls that are so large that it is difficult to gain a sense of perspective and scale.  I have flown in biplanes and was once fortunate enough to fly a Mig 25 interceptor at three times the speed of sound to the edge of space.

As a child I remember living on the penultimate floor of a block of council flats with my grandparents. Looking over the balcony, the immediate foreground still contained sporadic barren areas of buddleia, smashed cellar caverns and rubble thanks to Adolf Hitler, his Luftwaffe and the Nazi’s secret, terrifying V1 flying bombs and V2 guided missiles. Churchill had employed my grandfather for five years to try to shoot such things down from the rolling deck of a high octane fuel carrying tanker. He reckoned he had hit one or two before the day when a Dornier or something similar dropped a bomb on him before he could take aim. Fortunately for him, although he was wounded, it failed to explode and ignite the tonnes of aviation fuel onboard.

Looking up at the sky from the balcony, my grandfather and I watched the first generation passenger jets on their landing approaches into London Airport.  Their deafening four jet engines pierced and crackled and bellowed trails of smoke, in fact similar shades of black, grey and white as the volcanic ash presently spewing into the atmosphere.  In those days only the rich and famous flew in jet planes, a fact that didn’t seem to bother us too much then.

Now we all fly.  The rich and business people in cocooned sarcophaguses called ‘flatbed’ seats where you may not get a glimpse of the person sitting next to you for 12 hours.  That’s unless of course you need to visit the toilet in the dark and you sit there pondering for probably an hour or so how you are going to hoist yourself over your neighbour’s legs without waking him or her up and then doing the same thing in reverse. Having practiced this exercise for many years, I have concluded that even with the skill, training and dexterity of a Chinese child tightrope acrobat it is a manoeuvre that is almost impossible to perfectly execute, particularly in slight turbulence.

Meanwhile Joe public down the back have paid to have an even bigger problem with knees wedged up against seat backs like a created veal calf.  Only the super rich, famous and investment bankers have cracked the problem by flying in private jets.  However even this indulgence may not be all it seems as many smaller private jets do not have toilets.  I have a friend who shall remain nameless who has to live with a major embarrassment for the rest of her life. She had to ask her male colleagues on a tiny private jet to look away whilst she had to do what she had to do in a wine bottle.  Imagine walking into the office the next day knowing that everyone knows that’s what you did.  Surely you would prefer to have crashed in flames and never be seen again?

As I write this a 1960’s vintage Jet Provost two seat trainer has disturbed the peace and tranquillity of Orford.  One part of me rises with excitement to try to see it but it has dipped down below the rooftops.  It is like trying to find a mosquito at night in your bedroom with the lights off.  Another part of me asks is it right that someone having a good time can create so much noise or am I just getting old and cynical?   Was I concerned about the people over the Russian countryside when I was on a jolly flying one of the noisiest and most powerful jet fighter aircraft ever built?  I do recall having some sense of guilt at the time but was too captivated by the thrill of the experience.

Barry often thinks about his childhood, which put him in the right direction of life.

The eruption of the Icelandic volcano with the unpronounceable name (OK Eyjafjallajoekull if you insist) means that some of us may have to go without our Kenyan sugar snap peas for a few days and we all know of someone who is either marooned or unable to be with their families and friends. It may be that a little fissure in the Earth’s surface will change everything and make us realise that nothing it totally predictable, nor should it be.

I’m now looking out across to the present Orford Ness lighthouse that has arced its narrow white beam of light across the North Sea at night for nearly 200 years.  Because of global warming and rising sea levels, sometime in the next three years, the lighthouse is likely to be washed away into the abyss.   “Don’t worry” they say,” it was old technology that was about to be replaced by GPS anyway”.

Safe marine and air navigation has always depended on lights. Aircraft still reassuringly head towards the light of the Orfordness lighthouse whilst crossing the treacherous North Sea at night. Before the first lighthouse was erected on Orfordness, in one stormy night alone in 1637, 32 vessels were smashed aground onto Orford Ness.

Have we really become so clever and dependent on fossil fuels and addicted to computers and technology to ignore the rages of nature?  Recent events have shown how unprepared we really are.  What happens if we become too compliant on technology, flying and oil and everything?  Can we be assured that business will continue as usual or will all the lights go out everywhere?

A bit more up to date photos, see here and check his CV!

My answer to this email was simple and direct: “You lost motivation and you hadn’t prepared enough!”

Mikael: “Resting and eating are vital to your success.”

His email was similar to hundreds I have received in the last 25 years. After reviewing all of them at length, I realised these failed expeditions often had three things in common: Explorers had lost motivation, and they had failed to understand the need for good sleep, and the benefits of good food.

Why not try these simple solutions to make your Expedition a success?

When the going got too tough, they proved not tough enough to keep on going! Key to any successful expedition is understanding why you go through all these hardships – at the most difficult of moments remember what it is that drives you, and draw on this, it can be your motivation.

Good sleep and good food are the two most important pillars of a successful expedition. If you don’t know how and where to pitch your tent, you will eventually fail due to lack of sleep.

The tent is your fortress and your home, where you spend most of your exploring life. This is where you rest, feed and recuperate. Don’t set off on an expedition until you can sleep very well in your tent. I have spent over 2500 nights in tents – many of them before even setting off.

As important, is being able to cook a great meal. You need energy and rest to be able to make the right decisions. So don’t leave before you know how to cook a gourmet meal on your petrol stove!

That said, you could just get out there! Trust me, this advice is only complementary; you really need to be out on the ground learning the lessons of exploration, if you want to succeed.

I am still eating in a way, that suggests that I am going on an Expedition....reality is different!

“Mikael, is your Expedition really dead? Have you given the idea up forever?”

These are questions I have received almost daily, since the day I wrote The death of an Expedition, part two. I wrote that piece two months ago. Since than I have returned home to Sweden and Stockholm. It has been a time of chaos, many thoughts about the future, more travel, plenty of worries, much laughter, enjoyment and, believe it or not,much happiness! But that is on a personal note, but this fact easily override the disappointments of having to give up the Expedition!

But, is the Expedition dead? My motto for the last few years, have been to take one day at the time and see how things develop. As I am writing I know that there are people in the Arab World working to find the funds needed. But for me personally, I have more important things on my mind right now. And, I still feel completely burned out after working day and night to get the Expedition on board, to suddenly find out it won´t happen.

So my answer to all of you who have taken the time to write and ask:

I have no idea. At least not at this part of my life. But, I just want to add, by choosing to travel through the desert by camel in unpopulated areas, for such a long time as I planned, this is of course, kind of a personal pilgrimage. Searching for the meaning of life. I can tell you I have found the basic platform of that already. So, looking at life this way, the Expedition has already been succesful!

And, there´s a reason for everything, I am sure there is a major reason I had to return back to base. A lot of very positive things have already happened. And if things don´t happen,it was just not meant to be. Stay tuned to see how it all develops!

By the way, one such joy, is that I have started blogging at two very interesting sites, check the news!

“Mikael, can you please tell me how to get sponsorship?”

I must have heard this question a thousand times from potential explorers and adventurers. I think a quarter of all emails I receive today ask this. They are mainly from young people, the world over, who want to organise their first adventure and just don’t have the means.

Believing you are the perfect prospect for a sponsor is not enough. Most bids fail. No matter how good your idea, sponsorship comes with time and a good track record.

Even then it is not easy: I spend a lot of my time looking for my sponsors. So, to help, I have put together three tips for all those budding explorers keen to get out there.

1. Ask yourself: Do I really need it? I know many first-timers want sponsors because they think it looks cool, professional, and impressive having a lot of logos on their gear. Travelling like I do, in the hope of uniting cultures, one doesn’t want to look like you are competing in a highly commercial Formula One race!

Where keeping a high profile is important, by all means, go for the badges and branding.  But remember, there are other ways to market your potential sponsors. I also know, after dealing with lots of sponsors, that most of them today don’t want to be over-exposed: Being too commercial is the same as not being too serious.

My point is, if you have the funds, it is a better choice to avoid sponsors: Less work, less stress and you run everything the way you want. Don’t worry: if you want to start with a historical expedition, you definitely won’t need money for all the gadgets and the best gear.

My advice is: If you haven’t done a serious adventure before, do one. Then try for sponsors for your second outing.

A potential sponsor wants to see a track record of what you have done. So, a better choice initially is to work and save money!

2. Think: What does a potential sponsor want? What can you offer them, which all the other explorers cannot? Just as an example: I have a friend who is in charge of Canon’s sponsorship department, and he gets 300 requests for sponsorship per day! Only ten per year are successful, and almost all of these are from well-known explorers.

It’s not a hopeless cause, however. Just try a new perspective if you are not already established or famous enough.

3. Plan: Target only sponsors that fit your vision, and find sponsors that will become your friend. Some people will do anything for money. And this applies to some within adventure and exploration circles.

Remember, the future will judge you by who you cooperated with. If your expedition has an ecological theme – most have today, since this sells and looks good – why sign up with a sponsor who has a poor record on these issues and is purely commercial?

I would never deal with a sponsor if I don’t have a personal relationship with them. This familiarity means you both know what you want, and unnecessary problems won’t arise. So find the ones who fit your vision and it will prove a great partnership!

I hope these three tips are of use. Please get back to me with your opinions or questions and I will try to help!

MSR XGK-II is probably one of the best stoves on earth - however, due to the cold, once it went under -50 in Siberia, we couldn´t use it.

Exclusive Interview! Mikael Strandberg – Legendary Explorer and Adventurer
by Ben
Athletes & Interviews, Outdoor Industry News

CheapTents.com contacted Mikael Strandberg just a couple of days ago, along with a select few other MSR sponsored adventurers…and he kindly agreed to give us an insight into the life of this prolific adventurer…literally one of whom who has traveled into virgin territory on remarkable expeditions.

Mikael Strandberg Interview

CheapTents.com: What inspired you to make exploring your profession?

Mikael: Many things, but first of all a curiosity to try to understand the meaning of life. More an intellectual challenge, then simply a physical one. the physical aspect, the limits of a human being, are less interesting, but I prefer traveling by my own means, since it is far easier to get in touch with these cultures and peoples I want to get to know and understand.

CheapTents.com: What has been your biggest adventure or other exploratory achievement?

Mikael: Exploring the Kolyma River located in the north-eastern part of Siberia. the coldest inhabited place on earth. See www.siberia.nu

The Purpose of the expedition along the Kolyma River:

The main aim is to use words, pictures and film to make a record of this unknown part of our world. This is a vital task, since in the course of our extensive research work we have realised that not even the Russians or the Siberians themselves have a comprehensive picture of the area along the Kolyma River. The obstacles are the cold, the distance, the size and the isolation.

The area is untouched, remote and unknown. Nonetheless the area is as rich in gold, oil and mineral deposits as the rest of Siberia. This part of the world is one of the few remaining places on earth that is virgin territory. This is a genuine journey of discovery.

We also believe that it is in this untouched area that the answers to many of the questions asked by modern men are to be found: What are we doing here? What is our task? How do we find calm, harmony and satisfaction in our lives?

Here’s a snippet of the time spent in North-East Siberia:

The day I arrived to the small Siberian settlement of Kolymskaya was the happiest moment of my exploring life. It was the end of the most demanding part of my Expedition along the Kolyma River, one of the coldest inhabited places on earth.

I had, together with my assistant Johan, spent most of the past 5 months hauling 660 pounds of necessities, mainly in utter darkness, experiencing a terrifying cold with average temperatures around -50°F, day and night. A reality which made sleep almost impossible, giving us plenty of frostbites on both fingers and cheeks and it ruined most metal parts in our equipment. Like our ski bindings, and therefore, we arrived walking, not skiing, to the village.

It seemed like every inhabitant were there to greet us with customary warmth, joy and most of them were dressed in their colourful traditional dress. We saw Chukchis, Even, Yakuts, Yugahirs and Russians. After the traditional welcoming offerings to the spirits, we were brought into the local museum, where more cheerful and hugging villagers awaited us, around a table full of local delicacies. After having survived mainly on moose meat and raw, frozen fish during most of the winter, we nearly cried when we came across big plates of fried reindeer brain and cooked bone marrow.

At that stage, I suddenly realized, after spending 20 years of exploring extreme parts of our world and trying to understand the meaning of life, from now on, I’ll stop thinking about the big worrisome issues and simply concentrate on the uncomplicated ones. Like the thought of some more cooked bone marrow.

CheapTents.com: What is you biggest weakness? Sport or otherwise…

My main drive for travelling is meeting other people. I don´t think I could do an Expedition without knowing that there´s people along route.

Mikael: My biggest weakness….but it would also be my biggest strength….I am very naive and trust everybody. Unconditionally.

Plus that I am not very technically skilled. I am an intellectual, not somebody who can repair things…. 

CheapTents.com: When did you feel like you ‘made it’ in your field of exploration? And do you feel like you’ve satisfied your goals?

Mikael: I felt like I made it after Siberia, getting a lot of worldwide attention. And after Siberia, felt like I had done everything in my wildest dreams and, life fell a part, 2½ years later, I am back with a search to find a new Expedition worthy Siberia…visit: http://preparingforthenextexpedition.blogspot.com/

CheapTents.com: What do you find most challenging about training / keeping fit? Any tips to overcome these challenges?

Mikael: The most challenging is to avoid training getting static and boring, so I find new ways to train all the time. Right now, since I don´t know what kind of an Expedition I will set out on next time, i am bodybuilding, adding on big muscles, since it makes a difference in many ways when penetrating other cultures. And it makes your body very strong overall. When i finally know where to set up my next Expedition, I will change my training and tune in on that. Before Siberia I did a lot of hunting and fishing plus dragging tires all over the place, I lived then in the north of sweden, where I am born and hunted and fished 150 days a year. Now, I´ve left the bush, to live in the city. Which I love. i don´t want life to become static, boring and without challenge.

CheapTents.com: Blood thirsty question now, what has been your worst injury (if any) from your multiple adventures and how did it happen?

Together with Salim Al-Wahibi and Nasr Al-Tabi, trying to figure where the next Expedition will go....

Mikael: No injuries at all. Physically, on the outside of the body. However, I did a test with a world famous polar scientist and athlete, Dr Arkady Maximov, and he said that my body takes a damange every time, every year on Expedition, which equals 5 normal years of living. So, I am therefore 150 years old…..but i have had pretty much all tropical diseases you can think about. Malaria, dengue fever, typhoid, etc. The reason, touch wood, for not having had any external injuries, is due to all year around training. And new techniques all the time.

CheapTents.com: What will be your most challenging adventure for next year?

Mikael: Am slowly preparing for the Empty Quarter, so see when it will be time to leave….

CheapTents.com: You’ve obviously been heavily involved with multiple explorations around the world, which has been your favourite and why?

Mikael: Siberia, see above. It changed my way how to look at life.

CheapTents.com: Where would you like to be in 5 years time? Main Ambitions?

Mikael: I have no idea at all, and it doesn’t bother me one bit. You only have ambitions until you realize the workings of life. One day at a time, who knows what tomorrow will be like?

CheapTents.com: For other budding outdoor sports enthusiasts, what tips can you provide to help other compete at a higher level?

Mikael: The only way to reach the top is to become a fanatic. Train harder then anybody else, read and prepare yourself harder than anybody else and fully concentrate all your life on the goal. The issue.

CheapTents.com: What are your favourite bits of gear, and why?

Mikael: I like a good tent and a good stove, the essentials of surviving nowadays….

CheapTents.com: Any people or sponsors that you’d like thank? Any other comments?

Mikael: Gee, so many, so many…see the sponsors list at www.siberia.nu

CheapTents.com Thank you Mikael, from all of the CheapTents.com team for the time spent answering our questions so openly and honestly, and for discovering and sharing so much!

There´s many reaons I like Humph, one is that he is a cyclist, which I think is by far the most demanding way to explore.

My next guest writer, Alastair Humphreys, is by far one of the most active young explorers on earth.  He tweets, blogs, lectures, takes photos and am part of many bigger or smaller Expeditions. He is genuinely fantastic. On top of that he isn´t as many within adventure, daft. He wrote this piece especially for me and my blog and thoughts around the subject of exploration:

We were born too late to be explorers. To be real explorers. To be one of the hard men (for they were always men back then) fired by such curiosity, such desperate yearning to cross the next horizon, that they were willing to set off for years on end with slim chance of returning, with absolutely no contact with Home. To sail out into a sea risked falling off the edge of the world. To seek new lands meant encounters with dragons, if the only maps available were to be believed.
With the honourable exceptions of deep oceans and caves, the odd jungle or desert, and the vastness of space, there is little chance of encountering dragons on today’s expeditions. Almost everywhere has been mapped. So we are not really explorers, at least not in the traditional sense of marking new territory for Queen and Country.
Some modern explorers are exploring what it is physically possible to achieve. They are effectively elite athletes, highly skilled professionals pushing the limits of what is possible. I put a lot of climbers in this category, those who seek out ever more arduous, contorted routes up ever steeper, increasingly dangerous rock faces or peaks.
You can even get chocolate ice cream at the South Pole, and yet ever greater numbers of people are pitting themselves against the poles, chasing speed records, doing journeys faster and faster. The record breakers are exceptional people in their niches; stronger, fitter, faster, and more determined than the others.

I too call myself an Explorer or an Adventurer though I am not particularly comfortable with either word. But I am not pitting myself against the world, questing to tread where no man has trod before. Nor am I breaking records. I am no athlete. I have never won a race in my life, let alone notched a ‘World First’ on my bedpost. So what do I do, and what do I have to say that may be of interest if I am so vociferously average?

When I was at university I became very conscious that life was passing me by. Days and weeks and months were building towards years. Years that I could ill afford to allow to drift by. And so I decided to start using my days, wringing them dry, squeezing every drop from them. The medium I chose for that was travel and adventure. Others may turn to music, or to poetry, or to algebra. It does not matter. All that matters is that you find your passion and feast on it greedily.

Alastair in Siberia....

I humoured my parents and remained at university until I graduated. But then I was off! In the last few years I have cycled 72,000km through 60 countries, a journey that took in extremes such as a Siberian winter and a Turkmenistan summer. I have sailed oceans, run through the Sahara, walked across India and rowed to France with a paralysed soldier. I feel truly fortunate to have had so many adventures and to be busily planning more all the time – to Iceland, the South Pole, the Empty Quarter… I have done so much. But that is not a boast. For I really believe that absolutely anybody could do the things that I have done. And if everyone can do it then it is nothing much to shout about.
So why am I shouting about it?

I have done things that seem extraordinary to ME. I have accomplishedd things that seemed beyond ME. I have pushed MY physical and mental limits and I have continually surprised myself at what I am able to achieve. I am aware now, more than I ever was before I began my challenges, that I am capable of so much and that life can be so full.
I have nothing really to offer except my average-ness. I am a very ordinary person. And that means that if you are an ordinary person then you too could do all that I have done and will do, if only you choose to do so and then begin doing it.

Most people who become professional adventurers specialise. They develop a passion for one aspect of adventure, be that sailing, climbing, caving etc. But I am deliberately steering away from that model. I am not very good at any one thing, and I don’t care. What excites me is to try new things, to learn new skills, and to work hard to become competent at them. I do not have a particular favourite country or continent. I am not drawn to deserts more than jungles. I love crazy third world cities as much as empty mountain tops. I see myself as a curious person. I try to remind myself to gaze at the world with the puzzled fascination babies give every new experience. I am interested in any expedition that is physically, mentally or culturally challenging. I veer towards non-mechanised, low budget projects, either solo or with one companion. I relish periods of time when I see no other human or sign of life, yet the greatest, most lasting travel experiences invariably arise through the people you meet on your journeys. You learn a lot about yourself and your own life when you are by yourself; you learn a lot about the world and about life in general when you spend time with people in very different environments to your own home town.

Africa.....

If I was a millionaire I would spend far more time away on expeditions. But I would not spend all my time away, for I enjoy “normal life” too, and you need doses of that to help you appreciate how fortunate you are when you get away on an adventure. But I am not a millionaire. Or at least, not yet! So I devote a lot of my time to earning money and saving up for the next project. I write books, articles, and a regular blog. But most of my income is generated through giving talks, to school children and to businesses. I share my experiences so that people can travel vicariously through me. I try to convey the lessons I have learned – that the world is an essentially good place, that the only hard thing I have ever done is having the guts to begin doing what I loved doing, and that adventure is only a state of mind.

Read his impressive CV at http://www.alastairhumphreys.com/about-2/
Alastair Humphreys
www.alastairhumphreys.com

Rohimi and his friend, two taxi drivers doing his living from catching the few travelers who cross the border between Turkey and Georgia from this check-point called Türkgözü (The Turk Eye), were waiting on a mound, resting in the shade of a tree and smoking quietly. As they saw us, they came down from the mound riding their cars and surrounded us as if they were wild horses. They were driving two aged beige Lada 1600, the Soviet version of Fiat 124, built in the late 1980s. I could have said the cars smelled of perestroika, or the decline of Soviet Union (although Lada is one of the best selling car firms of the world), but it remembered me the musty smell of dust and lint from my uncle's old car.

I met guest writer number 10,  the Spanish journalist Andrés Mourenza, the first time when I had a stop over in Istanbul on my way to Yemen. And then again, a month ago in Antalya, Turkey at this journalist conference on Travel writing. He is a young lad, full of life and laughter, many opinions and he is a really good story teller. Read this intrepid story about travelling in Georgia:

Riding the wind of Georgia in a Soviet Lada

In september 2008, the Turkish president, Abdullah Gül, accepted the invitation of his Armenian counterpart, Serzh Sarksyan, to watch the football game between the teams of both countries for the qualification of 2010 World Cup. It was an historic move as Turks and Armenians share a common history, but plenty of cruelties, especially the sad events of 1915 when Ottoman government deported hundreds of thousands of Armenians to the deserts of Syria, where they most die, what its defined as the Armenian Genocide. This visit, the first in history of a Turkish president to Armenia, was the beggining of rapprochement between the two countries.

Five journalists based in Istanbul decided to go to the match but by road because we wanted to know better the social geography of the Caucasus region. As the border between Turkey and Armenia remains closed since 1993 Nagorno-Karabakh war between Armenia and Turkey’s ally Azerbaijan, we had to travel through Georgian territory. The problem there was that, just a month ago, there had been a short war between Georgia and Russia, where the first were defeated, and the wounds of conflict were not yet healed. I had the pleasure of being part of that expedition through Southern Caucasus and this is a part of my experience…

Once we left Turkey on foot, the Georgian side of the border between the two countries was a messy succession of dilapidated buildings. In the first control, a fat, sweaty border guard wearing an old uniform stamped the visa. “You are not born to be sold” a poster against sexual exploitation warned the female immigrants who travel to Turkey. Every day, entire Georgian families crowd around the buses departing from Tbilisi or the villages near the Turkish border. They argue, haggle with the driver and one or more take the vehicle to Istanbul, more than twenty-four hours journey in search of a better future.
After asking for a taxi to take us from the Turkish-Georgian border to the border of Armenia, in the second checkpoint, a chubby customs official, with a little more breading suit his military colleague had, pointed one hundred meters further down the hill and said, accompanied by big fuss, “Rohimi, Rohimi”. Some elders, sitting on what a decade ago was a sidewalk, corroborated in German that what they called Rohimi-something that still we did not know for sure what it was- waited behind the fence.

Before leaving the border buildings, our passports were checked by a third soldier who lived in a filthy hut whose half-broken glass window had been filled with foam rubber. He slept on a cot next to the window.

Apatheticly, the young recruit checked our passports and stamps and flipped a lever. The border gate opened, then closed behind us, with a wrecky noise, leaving us in front of a bucolic summer landscape: mild hills, fields of grain and stubble, dusty roads and houses dotted here and there.

Rohimi and his friend, two taxi drivers doing his living from catching the few travelers who cross the border between Turkey and Georgia from this check-point called Türkgözü (The Turk Eye), were waiting on a mound, resting in the shade of a tree and smoking quietly. As they saw us, they came down from the mound riding their cars and surrounded us as if they were wild horses. They were driving two aged beige Lada 1600, the Soviet version of Fiat 124, built in the late 1980s. I could have said the cars smelled of perestroika, or the decline of Soviet Union (although Lada is one of the best selling car firms of the world), but it remembered me the musty smell of dust and lint from my uncle’s old car.

The men emerged from the Lada with an air of a creepy brothel pimps and came to us offering to ride us to Armenia in their two taxis for US $ 300. We, five passengers, and the driver had not entered in one. Or maybe yes, but then we were taking the serious risk of being drawn into any ditch. The five travellers-journalist we were made a short meeting and offered them US $ 200. They gathered and said no. 250. Crickets were murmuring their late August song. “What if we paid in lira?”, we asked in Turkish. 400. That surpassed all exchange markets. “US $ 210?” This time we tried to speak in Russian.
There was a harsh light, the sun at three o’clock, illuminating everything with a white light, flat, with shrunken shadows, making the roofs of the sheds, somewhere in the distance, glittering points. Two cars came out the fenced Turkish-Georgian checkpoint. The driver of the first car was an eastern Turkish looking like a coarse Paul Newman, his cigarette dangling from his lower lip We had spoken with the drivers earlier, but their route passed through Tbilisi and they were going to reach Armenia on the next day, the day of the match, too late for us. Their plan did not coincide with ours. The men drived on and beat us up with a cloud of dust as a greeting.

The route ran, in part, by a similar route to the famous BTC (Baku-Tbilisi-Ceyhan) oil pipeline, but the road was not as modern as the energy project: just a stony dirt road that ran between villages of houses with large barns. The makeshift taxi, probably without a license (but who cared about that), raising clouds of dust at every turn. Those roads might become a quagmire with the autumn rains and snows of winter, making an awful daring adventure transportation through the south of Georgia, a country whose main route is a two-lane asphalt road that connects the main ports of the west coast, Poti and Batumi, with the capital Tbilisi, in the east.

Cri, cri, cri. Georgian Taxi drivers consulted and kept their offer. We did the same knowing that our margin for maneuver was limited. Cri, cri, cri. More cricket sounds, enduring tension. That began to resemble a Quentin Tarantino movie, only that the excitement was not assured because in the desert Georgian border they had all the time in the world and everything to gain. In the end we negotiated the transportation for US $ 220. Marta, my brother Daniel and I entered Rohimi’s taxi; Martin and Robert took Rohimi’s friend’s. The car doors shut with a broken glass noise.

The driver’s seatbelt was riding in the back pocket of his seat next to a half empty bottle of vodka. The co-driver’s one was broken, but Rohimi played down its importance in pidgin Turkish:
- Bah! No matter, this is Georgia, not Europe-. So the man started his car and headed to the neighboring country.
The route ran, in part, by a similar route to the famous BTC (Baku-Tbilisi-Ceyhan) oil pipeline, but the road was not as modern as the energy project: just a stony dirt road that ran between villages of houses with large barns. The makeshift taxi, probably without a license (but who cared about that), raising clouds of dust at every turn. Those roads might become a quagmire with the autumn rains and snows of winter, making an awful daring adventure transportation through the south of Georgia, a country whose main route is a two-lane asphalt road that connects the main ports of the west coast, Poti and Batumi, with the capital Tbilisi, in the east.
-These are Armenian villages-. Rohimi told us, noting the small towns close to the Turkish border.
The Armenians are not enemies of the Georgians, but that does not guarantee that they are loved by them. In fact, the tone of Rohimi revealed some revulsion, disgust, contempt. “These neighborhoods looking so poor are Armenians” I would hear a few days after, walking around the old town of Tbilisi, from another Georgian, Misha, with the same disdain.

Just as in the Georgian side of the border with Armenia live the Azeri persecuted and expelled in 1993 by the nationalist furies of Yerevan, in this area we were traveling through, the Samtskhe-Javakheti region, most of the villages are inhabited by Armenians who escaped in the First World War from the hatred of the Turks and the desire for revenge of the Turkish army commanded in the Caucasus and Central Asia by the dark and intriguing Enver Pasha, known for having participated in the organization of the Armenian massacres of 1915 and who tried to raise all Turkic Muslims from Anatolia to Xinjiang (China) against the revolutionary Bolsheviks. He and his handful of men were killed in 1922 in the steppes of Central Asia, in a village near Dushanbe, Tadjikistan.
The Armenians of Samtskhe-Javakheti region, one of the poorest communities in Georgia, pushed hard against Tbilisi in the early 1990s when, amid the rending of the Georgian state (and the wars against Abkhazia and South Ossetia, repeated in the summer of 2008), they began to demand autonomy for their territory.

Curiously, in this same region lived about 120,000 Meskhetian Turks until they were deported to Central Asia by Georgian-born Soviet leader Josif Stalin, and could not return to his homeland untill the 1990s, with strong opposition of the Armenian population. The nationalist hatreds have written the most horrible pages of history but certainly in the Caucasus, an area with the extent of Spain, have earned a separate section because of their own cruelties.

We left aside a mound topped by a cross.
-What’s that, Rohimi?

-Well… a cross, can’t you see?-  His logic was unquestionable.
Being alerted to the presence of the sacred tumulus, Rohimi crossed himself. Then accelerated. A church. Rohimi crossed himself again and further accelerated. Glasses clinked up almost out of the windows, bodywork creaked. The paved sections were a relief for our bodies, but the road was still so full of holes, and sometimes of large stones, that some drivers preferred to drive the dangerous stretches out of the road.

People was taking full fuel cans from the gas station when we arrived, just in case, because due to disputes with Russia, gasoline had gone through the roof. While we were filling the car and Rohimi was chatting with the employee, cigarette in hand, a yellow city bus maintaining its beauty despite the rust, came to the station. Its occupants, old, young, men, women, tried to show all the dignity they could in a disastrous car that might well remind the middle decades of the twentieth century.

People was taking full fuel cans from the gas station when we arrived, just in case, because due to disputes with Russia, gasoline had gone through the roof. While we were filling the car and  Rohimi was chatting with the employee, cigarette in hand, a yellow city bus maintaining its beauty despite the rust, came to the station. Its occupants, old, young, men, women, tried to show all the dignity they could in a disastrous car that might well remind the middle decades of the twentieth century.

Our Georgian guide returned to the car and patted Martha’s knee, which might well be considered offensive but he felt loving.
-Are you married? -He asked. Despite its appearance of recalcitrant bachelor, Rohimi had a happy marriage and began talking about his children.
The two Lada were going at full speed, all they could, beside a beautiful stream that sparkled in the afternoon sun. One overtaking the other, and back again; hopping on every bump as if the road was a roller coaster. The disturbing beauty of the moors and summits of northeastern Turkey had given way to a more familiar one, lush valleys and rocky mountains.

The wind puffed Rohimi patterned shirt. On our left the clouds riding on the mountains of the inner Georgia. The air hit us in the face.

-It’s beautiful, Georgia -I thought aloud.

-More beautiful is Abkhazia, that’s why the Russians have taken it -Rohimi said and his face showed no sign of joking.
Soviet-era trucks were repariring the poor infrastructure of Samtskhe-Javakheti. There were still signs of former Russian dominance around towns of Armenian majority, especially Akhalkalaki, and even the abbreviation for the USSR was still painted in what was once a collective farm, now abandoned. In this area, forgotten by pro-western Mikheil Saakashvili government, the remnants of Russian influence remain high, annoying, like a pimple in the ass, the politicians from Tbilisi, engaged in a policy of de-russifying the country and selling it to Western investors. In the capital, Tbilisi, the town hall a beautiful building in early 20th century neo-oriental style, has been awarded to a foreign company and the city council moved to a back street.

It was half a day since we started our trip from Istanbul and we had only eaten some biscuits in Ardahan, so we were starving. But still it was going to be a mor starving and tiring day. A tickling sleep overcame me. I do not know why, but I can not sleep while the vehicle is stopped. In contrast, the violent jolting Lada rocked me and I fell asleep. When I awoke, the sun had moved forward and walked into the sunset. Daniel told me a we had passed a picturesque Georgian landscape during my nap: an old railroad wagon was used as a bridge over the creek. Rohimi also had news: our travel mates in the other taxi had a puncture so we had to wait.

They arrived ten minutes later and I asked Robert about the incident:
-Well, the trip was not particularly comfortable before the puncture … neither it was after -he said in his stolid British.
The sun was setting, we approached Armenia. The Ninotsminda check-point was the skeleton of a warehouse and several containers used as huts: that was the end of that dirt track that, for hours, it had seemed endless. In one of the barracks was hung a poster with a picture of Saakashvili in military uniform, ostensibly to instill value to their troops, even if during the war against Russia in 2008, the Georgian president panicked so much at hearing some Russian fighters flying over Georgian city of Gori that he ran and throw himself under the knees of his bodyguards. In another container, painted light green with big white letters of the beautiful but unintelligible Georgian alphabet, a young soldier with no shirt and dirty khaki trousers was trying to wash.

We left the car and, almost immediately, the first order was to turn off all cameras. They did not want us to take pictures of the dilapidated environment in which lived the last soldiers, the last outpost from a country that had just emerged from a lost war and was trying to show a certain air of triumph. Perhaps it was just military orders coming from the top, or more likely, an awareness of their own misery.

We entered a small room where three officers were asking for passports, smoked, and scowled at us. A fat and unshaven man in military dress was responsible for stamping the seal of departure. The other two were dressing as civilians -one of them sitting on a cot, the other in an old office chair-, pierced the cigarette smoke to scan us, looking ahead to a possible failure, a mistake, or perhaps it was just a learned sight. A border sight.
There was a smell of wickedness in the clouds of smoke of that room. That could be partly the result of years of their own bad practices, and partly the result of negligence from the state towards its last troops. They may feel being left aside in the middle of nowhere, where the closest man is not your officials, or the one above your officials , or the supreme commander of the army in which you serve, but the one in front of you, which could be your enemy: the soldier serving in the army of another nation, on the other side.

Soldiers returned our passports with a half smile, chewed between the jokes of the younger recruits who, might be, were still not given the time to gross out their jobs or be perverted.
The last border of Georgia was just a rope tied to a stick that a soldier untied to every crossing vehicle. He opened the cross point and we drove briefly through no man’s land. On the field, parallel to us, a tractor was driving on loaded with hay and, on the top, there was a whole group of laborers. They raised their hands in farewell.

- Are we in Armenia, Rohimi?

Andrés pondering life at the border....

- One moment … – The car stopped rattling. The road was paved .- Now we are!

This is an excerpt of Transcaucasia Exprés, an e-book available in Spanish and free of charge on the websitewww.noticiasdesdeturquia.blogspot.com

Andrés Mourenza (A Coruna, Spain, 1984) is a free-lance journalist based in Istanbul since 2005. He collaborates mainly with the Spanish ’EFE’ news agency and ‘El Periodico de Catalunya’ newspaper, but has worked also for the Spanish speaking version of BBC Radio and Deutsche Welle TV, and other radios from Spain and Latin America. He has travelled the neighbouring region to inform about the situation in northern-Irak, the Kurdish conflict in south-eastern Turkey, the post-war period in Georgia, the tense relations between Turkey and Armenia, the longstanding division of Cyprus or the riots in Greece. Before he worked in local media in Spain and covered the natural and social consequences of Prestige oil tanker sinking in Galician coast in 2002.