The example of Mozambique

Mozambique is the vital proof that mere material poverty is not enough an excuse to justify the endemic problem of the sickly demands of money to the white man (assumed rich by definition) that happens invariably in almost every country of sub-Saharan Africa. Mozambique, is one of the poorest countries of Africa and consequently of the world. However, there seems to be an inherent dignity in Mozambicans what keeps them away from being immersed in that constant obsession of believing that every white man must give them money and stuff. Neither they appeal to the image of pity because of their material lack, not even to the infamous resort of generating guilt for the atrocities that white men have done (and still do) in Africa against their people, the black people.

The garden of Africa

 

Translation courtesy of María Urruti

After spending weeks in the bush, arriving in Zimbabwe brings a great welcoming break to the monotony. However, I didn’t really know what to expect of this country, so famous for the immortal Robert Mugabe, it’s omnipotent president that, from time to time, makes it to the news after carrying out a new whim of his to be able to stay stuck in power, even with his lucid 94 years old and after 35 of controlling the country as he pleases. Normally, I don’t arrive to a country with so little references but, in this particular case that I couldn’t get my head around to investigate, I decided to surprise myself; and sometimes it's good to do this.

Towards black Africa

Translation courtesy of Juan Vanecek

Once we arrived in Lodwar we finally left the "sandpit" we had gone through to enter Kenya along the west coast of the lake Turkana. In this little city we thought the worst had been over, but leaving Lodwar would only show us that we were just moving on to a new tough stage in our journey to Black Africa.

Sudan very deep in my heart

  

If you got here after having read all the stories about Sudan, it will not come as a surprise to read how I feel about this country and specifically about its people. Many of you who are up to date with the news might find it confusing though, after all pretty much the only things you hear about Sudan are bad at best. The Media in general, and especially that one from United States, don't hesitate to include Sudan within a big sack of murdering Muslim terrorists, to feed a campaign of hatred and fear in order to eventually help achieve the agenda of a few. Its conflicts are almost exclusively the only news that are spread, like the recent prosecution and condemnation of a Christian woman for having left Islam, or in the past the Darfur crisis. No, Sudan is definitely not perfect, it has it quota of problems and a long way ahead to correct them, as it happens with every country in the world.

A little bit of fame

A few months ago I was interviewed by Outdoor Exploration 户外探险 magazine, one of the biggest adventure magazines in China. The interview was finally published in their last edition and it deals with the first stage of this trip along 10 countries and 17.000 km across Asia. It also inquires about the reasons that lead me to choose the bicycle as means of transport to travel documenting the world. All photos have been taken by me. What it truly came as a surprise is that we would be in the front page and the interview would be the central article around which the whole edition revolves. A great and happy surprise! I am aware that maybe very few or none of the ones who visit this blog speak Chinese, but here are all the pages of the article. 

My position on tourism

This is a separate post and it is not related to this trip. It has been inspired by a comment made by one reader and it seeks to explain my position on tourism, since I am fully aware that many of the comments I write ranting about it might be misunderstood and taken the wrong way.

 There are several ways of traveling around the world. From the the most ephemeral, like a quick journey somewhere to visit only major tourist attractions, to the longest and most profound that leads to a high degree of penetration in a different culture. While they are all valid ways of traveling there is only one that is the best one, and that is the one that fits one's personal goals. Not everybody has to enjoy visiting the Statue of Liberty or spending days walking around the Louvre. Likewise, not everybody has to be willing to jump on a fully loaded bicycle and set off to ride across a desert or walk the world at 20 km a day. However, regardless of the way we choose to travel, I believe that we all have an important responsibility at the time of visiting a foreign country. Just like when we go for a visit to someone else's house and we generally adapt to its codes even putting them above our own, when we visit a foreign culture we should do something similar.

The magic of the steppe

It is a tale

To depart from Ulaanbaatar was much more than getting out an ugly city. Departing Ulaanbaatar was to get out of what we, urban dwellers, know as the very same "world". It was a relocation to a space and time that for us and for those who grew up and still live in cities, it is only part of a faraway imaginary planted in oneself through storybook reading or described images in the books of history of some distant time. They are only a mere 50 km which separate hell from heaven, reality from the tale, the crowded from emptiness. From chaos to serenity, as one goes deeper into the steppe, the magic fills your senses and time seems to gradually begin to stop. 200 km and, if there is still a vehicle to remind us about the modern world, the remembrance is completely extinguished by the time we get out of one of the few paved roads in the country and enter a different world, a past world. The Mongolian steppe is a lonely space that, with its soft shapes and subtle colors, encourages serenity and soothes the soul. In it, roads disappear and become tracks traced in the grass, forking one, two,  three and up to ten times as one cycles on. Without signals, one needs to be guided by map and compass as sole means of reference to avoid becoming lost.

Entering into a tale through a dark cave.

There are moments in life that are slow in coming. Moments, that perhaps, one has been looking forward and even yearning for days, months or years. Moments by which one learns to cultivate patience, while every day putting a little of oneself in order to eventually make them real. So I've waited for years the moment to get to Mongolia, a country that I have been wanting to visit for longer than I can remember. As time goes on, the more I tend to believe that there is an intrinsic intelligence in how fate sorts the events of life, because I could have chosen many other opportunities to travel around this country but they would have never been the right time. This time it was, at least so it felt and the experience was one of those who sublimate the soul and overflow the senses.

How to say good-bye to Indonesia

Four months, seven islands, some 6000 km, and some of the most incredible experiences on two wheels so far. Despite seeming a lot, they are virtually insignificant numbers for such a vast country. Seen on a map, it looks relatively small, but with its more than 17,000 islands, about 300 ethnic groups, more than 700 languages and dialects, the map is quite misleading. In only four months, one just can even begin to scratch the surface of such a giant of infinite natural and cultural wealth. 8 months would have been more appropriate, although 1 or 2 years would be the least to really get to know Indonesia. It captivates, it catches your deep attention, it enamors.

Each island left something deep inside. I think of Kalimantan and no matter where I am, I will start to sweat just for remembering its name, along with the millions of sounds of the jungle that will sweeten my memories. I think of Sulawesi and the adrenaline flows just by thinking that I crossed the heart of its jungle while playing Tarzan on a bicycle under some truly extreme conditions. I think of West Timor and the "gory" smiles of the siripina along with the friendly people living in the cute ume kebubus brings a smile to my face from ear to ear. I think of Flores and I instantly forget there is a world with flat roads and another color that is not green, and I will have the feeling that all that surrounds me can erupt at any time. I think of Bali and I prefer to forget it, since that place was expropriated from Indonesia and its people, it has nothing to do with this country. I think of Java and I can smell the aroma of the coffee while I remember the harshness of existence of those who give their life for pennies but never stop smiling and remind us that there is no reason to complain, you can be happy with very little. I think of Sumatra and I imagine the monkeys will take over the universe and I will yearn for the entire world had the beauty of its valleys and lakes.

In the ring of fire

 With such limited time as 4 months to visit Indonesia, the last place in the country where I would have spent at least one second is in Bali. The mere idea of going there gave me chills. It is for this reason then, that destiny put the nearest bike shop where to buy and replace the broken component of my bike, where? Precisely, in Bali. So from Labuanbajo, we took the Bukit Tilongkabila, heading to Denpasar, the island's capital. Those were the last 32 hours that we would have to spend on a PELNI on this journey and like all previous times, it was a PELNI experience like the one described in the previous posts. Getting off at the port of Denpasar, was like getting off in another country. If ever in history, Bali was a paradise, now certainly it is almost impossible to imagine. Our stay was limited to going from the port to the bike shop, and from the bike shop, we cycled 140 km west to cross to Java. We minimized this nuisance to just 10 hours only. Shortly after midnight, we were already disembarking in Banyuwangi, Java. It was time to go up to see the Earth breathing.

The days after.....

 We had had enough energies to ride across the jungle, but it was only a few days after the odyssey was over that we truly realized the huge amount of energy we had used. We left for Palu on a radiant day as soon as we woke up, there would be the place where we could finally spend a few days resting. The sun was shining, the sky was fully clear and ever so blue, and the immeasurable satisfaction that we felt inside drew a huge smile on our faces when we were leaving Gimpu. But it didn't take more than a few kilometers to realize that we were still very tired despite the good rest we had had the night before and that the bicycles had suffered more than what we had imagined. 
To begin with, none of us had brakes. Both bikes were full of mud, stones and twigs and who knows what else. Rust became visible all over. My waterproof speedometer had drowned and needed a couple of hours under direct sunshine to evaporate the water inside and come back to life. What was even worse was that my rims, which had been already compromised since some time ago, now were fully cracked all along their diameter on both sides. The cracks weren't less than 3 to 4 mm, I simply couldn't believe myself that I was still being able to ride.

Going extreme (in video)

We finally got to a place with a fast enough Internet connection that allows me to upload video. Here you can watch part I and II of the extreme journey across the jungle described in the previous post. I do recommend reading that post first, as like it's always the case, written language can tell things that cannot be appreciated through video. 

I highly recommend watching them in HD and fullscreen. 

Part I

Part II

Going extreme!

 Two of the toughest bike travelers I know, Salva and Adam, both good friends of mine, met in Sulawesi in 2009 and together they embarked on a journey that both described as unforgettable, not only for its outermost beauty, but also for the difficulty and intensity of the journey. When I consulted Adam about the possibility of doing such this ourselves, he said: "The ride through Kalimantan (which he had also recommended) is indeed hard, but the ride through the jungle in Sulawesi is actually extreme". If that had come from someone who has no clue about traveling by bicycle, I would not have payed much attention. However, a comment like this, coming from such an experienced cycle traveler like him had to be taken seriously. Before the time finally came, hardly a day went by without thinking whether it'd be possible for us to do this jungle stretch, I was even unable to catch sleep easily! I wasn't really worried about myself, after all it wouldn't be my first nor my last extreme journey but I wasn't really sure whether Julia was already prepared for such an extreme endeavor. However, Julia and I are very much alike in one particular thing: even when we are not sure if we can or cannot pull something off, we both like to take the shot anyway and go into it to put ourselves to test, even if that means we'll be cursing the whole way due to the strong adversity, because having failed to do so, the thirst for adventure and the need to push our limits, wouldn't allow us to keep living at ease if at least we hadn't tried it . It would mean keeping on living with the unbearable thought of not having tried and the countless "what would've happened if's ...." that would come along with them, this is a very heavy burden and believe me, it is really annoying, you just can't get over it.  The road was there. It was just a we-do-it-or-not question. After all, there were only 120 km or so. Finally, by an unanimous decision, the answer was YES! and f**k it was worth it! 

The road to the extreme

It had been quite a long time ago, still during the planning stages of this trip, that two cycle travelers friends' of mine told me that Sulawesi was without a doubt, among the best islands of Indonesia for cycling, so we got there with the greatest of the expectations. Even though I tried to imagine it, I didn't actually have a very defined idea of what the island would be like. After a full month and more than 1500 km cycled there, an epic journey across the jungle and having turned 35 there, I can confirm that Sulawesi is one of the most spectacular places I cycled in, in the almost 35.000 km I have cycled until today.

Land of buffalos

 We got to Pare Pare after our first long-haul trip on board of the Bukit Raya, one of the several ships of PELNI, the national ferry company of Indonesia that connects most of the islands of the country. 19 hours of quiet navigation on an almost empty ferry with a capacity for thousands of passengers. 

Never ending green

During my years of traveling both as a backpacker and traveler by bicycle, I have been more than once dazzled by what the world has to offer. Its landscapes, its ecosystems and its phenomena are some of the reasons that always make me want to keep going out, to see more, to learn more, to feel more. From the very beginning, Indonesia would receive us with an overdose of emotions, the kind of emotions from which it is extremely difficult to come back from. Difficult because after having been through experiences that make you release so much adrenaline, once you are past them, you cannot help but ask yourself - Will I ever feel again after this? 

The long way to Borneo

The last good-bye to Manila

After coming back from Palawan we spent two final days in Manila the ugly, we happily said good-bye to it for the last time from the deck of the ferry that would take us to Cebu. Despite having spent our time in the city in extremely comfortable conditions, Manila rapidly climbed up to the top of my ranking of “The Ugliest cities in the world”. Manila, we are definitely not going to miss you, you are the ugliest thing in this stunning country.

It took the ferry 24hs of navigating calm waters to reach Cebu, where we hastily moved from one pier to another to connect with a speedboat that took us to the fishing village of Tubigon in the small island of Bohol. Unfortunately, after all this time of traveling in the country, I dropped my guard due to the wonderful affection of the Filipinos, and at a time of carelessness in the speedboat, somebody dug into my handlebar pannier and took the equivalent to 300 usd that I had stored there for an important expense we had to cover to leave the country. A bad experience that showed me that no matter how wonderful people are, there are always some who are there to ruin the party and we always have to keep and eye on our belongings

We went to Bohol to see a tiny wonderful creature that I had long been yearning to see since I had watched it on TV for the first time more than a decade ago. The tarsier.

Holidays in heaven

 There are always primitive reasons that make us who we are and explain why we do the things we do. In my case, the main reason why I am the adventurer I am is my parents, both of them natural born adventurers, who have taken me to every possible adventure since the time I was born and they raised me not to fear anything, or better said, they taught me how to not experience fear as paralyzing terror but rather live with it moving along all the unknown territories that I might come across in life without being paralyzed by fear. They have fostered in me a thirst for learning and discovery that can never be satiated. Thanks to them I have been able to dream and later realize all the things that I have dreamed and being able to live the life I've been living until today.

Volcanoes, solitary bays and rice fields

Manila the ugly

Entering and leaving big cities by bicycle is rarely a pleasant experience and Manila is not the exception. Actually it is the perfect expression of the immense stress that involves such process. Manila is a huge sprawling city of millions of inhabitants and for both entering and leaving we had to ride all across it. Like it's always the case with poor countries, it isn't a city of harmony but one of huge and harsh contrasts. There are no greys in Manila, it is rich or poor, it is immaculate or filthy, it is spacious or crammed, it is ostentatious or plain misery and unfortunately, the negative connotations are the ones that predominate in the virtually infinite horizons of this huge metropolis. The fact that a big city has big contrasts and negative connotations isn't a surprise, especially in Asia, but many of them, despite having them, they still preserve some kind of hidden beauty in them, some charm, even when poverty and misery is what predominates. Manila doesn't even have the slightest appeal, it is simply ugly from wherever you look at it, from wherever you walk on it or cycle on it.

Cruelty in Paradise

Since we got to the Philippines many things drew our attention and almost all the time, with no exceptions, they were good things. Among all those good things was the lack of interest of the people in football. For me, that I despise football, it was a liberating experience not to have to hear the same reflex response I get from people everywhere I go, every time I say I'm from Argentina. “oh!Argentina! Maradona!” and these days it only got worse because we have a new one, Messi. Being from Barcelona, Julia is also affected by the latter. On the contrary, in the Philippines paradise exists because football seems to be irrelevant. Beautiful. However, after having seen the “sport” that takes the place of football as the national “sport”, for the first time in my life I felt some true appreciation for football and I would've preferred it had been more popular than this monstrosity.

From relief to boredom

I won't deny the fact that despite its great beauty, I felt relief when leaving Guizhou贵州. Afterall, it had been a very demanding physical beginning and that's the very reason why the body suffered more than usual and found difficulty in situations that had they happened at any other more advanced stage of a long trip would probably be a lot less strenuous. The province that followed, Guangxi, brought the relief that I had been yearning for during those last days of infinite climbs. However, those easier, flatter and more trafficked roads wouldn't take long to bring boredom.

Right after going into the new province the change happened almost immediately. There were no more climbs. I was now heading south-east following the very same winding green rivers that I had met days ago with the exception that now, the road was almost always flat. I kept riding through a continuum of Miao苗族and Dong 侗族villages, but unlike Guizhou 贵州, here these were found along the shores of the rivers instead of being scattered around intricate canyons of dramatically steep terraced mountains. In every village I could see men crossing villagers in rafts made of bamboo, the very same bamboo rafts being used from centuries ago. In between so much sophistication and development it is wonderful to see these traditional means of transportation still surviving.

 As soon as the roads became easier I was able to start compesating for the distances that I hadn't been able to cycle during the previous 12 days. Now everything was easy and days went by faster and faster. I went from an average of 75km a day to more than 120km in less time and at a fraction of the tiredness by the end of the day. And the best of all was that the knee pain had now completely gone away. One of the greatest things about cycling in this northern part of the province was to cycle accross the citric plantations, where for 40km everything around me was mandarin and orange plantations. There were sellers in improvised stalls sitting by the road every few dozen meters, they sold them at a ridiculously cheap price. It was harvest time and the fruits were incredibly sweet and juicy. There are very few things as pleasant as hydrating with juicy fruits. One day I almost exclusively hydrated myself eating mandarins, 3kg and oranges, 1kg. Fantastic!