But, hey, we did the research and got the highest level advice and went for it. I half expected hassles once we were deep into the Middle East. Like crossing into Saudi Arabia, for instance.

The very definition of "the middle of nowhere."

News came that two of the five Saudi visas we applied for had been refused as the expedition crossed Europe. That left three of us and three cars to navigate The Empty Quarter. Not ideal.

The trouble is one of the trio was John, our technical guru,  paperwork keeper and support car driver. An emergency call from his family in London meant he literally had to drop everything and fly home as we reached the far borders of the EU. He fled without clothes, kit, the lot. But, in the drop-everything-and-run, he managed to take  the car and equipment passports (carnets) in his bag.

They say bad things come in threes. Well they are right. Whilst working out how we could get two cars across Saudi Arabia when only two people had the right visas, the team tiptoed across the volatile and hostile Greek-Turkish frontier. It’s a gun-toting soldier type of border. Not at all friendly.

It was there that it became clear John had some of our customs paperwork for with him. Luckily, our relief cameraman Andy was on his way to join us. Couriers rushed across London to meet Andy at Heathrow to give him the paperwork we’d need.

In the meantime, the cars sat at the border. Two of the team slept rough in the Fiesta (which, in a pinch, makes a surprisingly good bed for one night) and the rest of us gathered in Istanbul to relay the papers out to the remote border.

All this was a waste. The Turks did not like the look of our camera equipment and car spares. It was refused entry. With a man down and not enough of us to drive three cars, I offered to take the support car and Turk-banned kit back to Greece and rejoin the drive as soon as I could.

Now the Fiesta World Tour was down to two cars, three crew and a local guide. And we were almost two days behind schedule. Talk being on a high wire with no safety net.

Ihsan Aknur, the belly dancing cabbie.

In all the regrouping, we kept to our promise of a Europe meets Asia event on the Bosporus, including meeting Istanbul’s celebrity belly-dancing cabbie, Ihsan Aknur.

“People say I’m crazy and, you know, I think they are probably right,” the self-proclaimed best taxi driver said with a grin before an impromptu dance on Istanbul’s Galata Bridge.

Any further pleasantries and parties were ditched as we sucked in 800 miles of Turkey in one day. It was a trip designed for two days.

We need not have hurried, as then the third bad luck struck. As troublesome on our entry, the Turks picked holes in the paperwork for the exit procedure. The British Embassy even stepped in to help, and thank you, guys. But, after expecting a further night in cars at a frontier, the officials changed their minds and off we went to Jordan.

Relaxing in the Dead Sea.

Then, still a day behind, and with only a night off at the Movenpick resort on the Dead Sea, our luck changed. It came in the guise of Saudi knight-in-shining-armor Eias Al-Saleh (a personal recommendation by the Chairman of the Saudi Motosport Federation, who had heard of our plight) to guide us across 1,500 miles of his homeland in 24 hours.

Gas really is cheaper than water in the Kingdom.

More of a Porsche man (not to mention owner of 25 custom motorbikes), Al-Slaeh led us across the barren Arabian Desert,  past house-high dunes and truck-sized camels at an average speed well into triple digits. The little 1.6-liter engines in our Fiestas were singing. Fuel economy suffered, but hey — we were in Saudi Arabia, where petrol is cheaper than water. We filled our tanks for 10 bucks. More importantly, we crossed the Kingdom safely.

The Yas Hotel in Abu Dhabi, which is like Vegas but... more so.

The Yas Hotel in Abu Dhabi (the one straddling the F1 track) was like a giant pink peanut-shaped beacon gleaming in the desert after days in the saddle. Our cars, sand-blasted, fly-blown and littered with water bottles and snack packets from across the Middle East, looked more than a little road-worn amongst all the shiny limos, but we couldn’t have been prouder of them. For all the abuse they’ve taken, they needed just one oil change since Ireland.

I looked at my watch. We were just an hour behind schedule after a month on the road. But we’re far from done. China, Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore and the big push Down Under lie ahead.

Authors: Jeremy Hart

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