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. 

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! 

Malaysian murderers

 After 24 hs of sailing calm waters we finally reached Sandakan in the Malaysian side of Borneo.  The first time I had been to Malaysia was 12 years ago, although at that time, I visited the peninsular part of it and wasn't traveling by bicycle. Back then, even though the country would be far from being unforgettable, the experience was overall positive. On the other hand, this ride along a part of Borneo, completely changed my perspective. 

 Sandakan is a small and quiet port town in Sabah province. Its population is pretty mixed, most people are malaysian but there are many of Chinese and Indian origin, the latter being a blessing, since they have brought with them their exquisite cuisine and the town is filled with restaurants offering delicious curries at very reasonable prices. 
We started cycling first thing in the morning the day after we disembarked. 360km lied ahead until reaching the border with Indonesia. We had just started the way that would eventually take us to the Equator and you could already feel it. No matter how used to the heat we would have already been, Borneo is hot, hotter, much hotter and by 9 am we would be cycling soaked in sweat already. 

Up and down, up and down, up up up..... the endless and exhausting ride across Guizhou 贵州.

It was the mix between an enormous enthusiasm, the excitement of being riding around the world again, the strong need to get to see the “new” stuff, the anxiousness to get to Guangzhou 广州, lying 2300km (1430miles) ahead, on time for Christmas to meet my “co-pilot”, what left me limping by the 5^th day. All this “excess of enthusiasm” hit my knees extremely hard. I had cycled more than 15.000km (9400miles) in the last four years, but due to the more ephemeral nature of those journeys, no matter how hard they had been, especially the ones across Tibet, I had been able to carry less weight. Now, I was already carrying what is typical for any long-hauler. I left home with little over 60kg(135pounds), a moderate weight to start, especially considering the awful weight of my photography gear and related equipment. This weight would allow me to get fit and ready for the times when carrying food and winter clothes would possibly increase it up to 80kg (180pounds) However, at pace of more than a 100km (63mi) a day along roads that were becoming increasingly difficult, it was more than my knees could take in such a short period of time. Needless to say, I couldn't think of a worse scenario, since I was just crossing into Guizhou province 贵州省.

Guizhou 贵州 is officially the poorest province of China but also, proportionally, one of the less visited by both Chinese and foreigners. That is possibly the reason why in my mind it was so enigmatic and because of this, I deliberately traced my route all across it. I entered Guizhou贵州 from its westernmost tip, crossing the river Chishui赤水, reaching the town bearing the same name. I had got to it following a secondary and already very mountainous road of Sichuan province 四川 and at that time I really wasn't able to imagine what lied ahead. I had done my homework and of course I knew it was a mountainous province, what I didn't know yet was that for the next 1000km (620mi) approximately, there were not going to be more than a 100 consecutive meters (300ft) of flat road. Guizhou 贵州 has the geography of a different planet.

As soon as I left Chishui 赤水, cutting across a thick bamboo forest, the changes were immediate. On the way to Xishui 习水, in towns and villages, traffic became noticeably more chaotic, pollution increased, buildings were more precarious, with facades with no finishes or finished half-way. There was no aesthetic appeal of any kind, constructions were not even picturesque, but this is the case in all China anyway. On the other hand, landscape became greener and wilder. The climbs started from the very beginning. The soil became red and I could see very long and thin waterfalls falling for dozens of meters from high up above, filtering through thick forests and bare rock cliffs. After a while, the forest gave way to deep canyons following winding emerald green rivers. From these, I would start climbing up until the ridge from where I would see a new valley, each with its own extra planetary topography. Every climb would bring a new way down to a new valley and the slopes were unforgiving to my knees. With every step I took on the pedal I felt like a sharp iron bar piercing through my knee caps. Sometimes the pain was so bad that I couldn't concentrate on the beauty around me any more. Music, which is usually soothing, helped sometimes but It would still hurt when the punishing slopes became very steep. A series of intricate rice terraces started to dominate the landscape among mountains that seemed to accommodate themselves in the most whimisical way.

 It did not take long for me to realize that when looking straight at the horizon, there wasn't one, because nothing was placed at the same level. Crossing Guizhou贵州felt like being trapped in this massive 3D maze in which movement never occurs in one direction but in all of them, and it sometimes take only a handful of meters to switch from one to the other. Days were almost perpetually grey and the fog was low and thick when I saw, across the river I was cycling along, a fantastic village of traditional houses.

Sichuan 四川. Leaving home.

  No matter how big the enthusiasm within is and no matter how many times one has gone through this process, leaving the place where you settled down for a fair amount of time, is never easy. The comfort of a place called home, the friendships that one has sowed at work, in the neighbourhood, in life in general, the habits and customs; every single one of those little every day life things, they are all hard to leave behind. It's this subtle mix of emotions between the huge excitement of the adventure to come and the sadness that comes with a new detachment from the people and things that were part of one's life.

The night before the day I took off I was incredibly nervous and it was almost impossible to sleep. Caught between the practical decisions that needed to be taken, like packing in the most efficient way and the myriad of emotions involved in being at the verge of taking such a big step in life almost the whole night passed by in no time. It was at 5.30am that I was finally able to lie down. It wasn't really sleeping but more likely a very light rest. It didn't take long for the alarm to ring at 8am. It was time to take a shower and shave for the last time in who knows how many days, have some coffee and take a few minutes of silence to look around home and contemplate to give the heart a last look at that small world I had built in the last few years of my life in China. The time to leave had come once again, to leave not in the sense of abandonment and forget but to leave carrying with oneself all those things that one has gone through in life, the friends, the experiences, the affection that one has harvested with time and love throughout time. Leaving ain't about leaving behind but to keep going with so much more inside, so much more. Some of the best friends that have accompanied me almost from the very first days I was in town were waiting for me downstairs. They gave me warm smiles for the road and encouraging words for the trip I was about to embark on.

A lesson in empathy

During the last three years I have cycled again and again along different regions of the Tibetan plateau and no matter how tough the conditions might have been, there is something about this massive piece of land elevated at 17.000ft that doesn't cease to captivate me and attracts me like a magnet from which I cannot detach myself.

The rigorousness of its geography coupled with the extreme harshness of its weather constantly pose physical, but mainly mental, challenges, where one has no other option than getting over them to keep moving forward. It is when one is facing these adverse conditions when our own limitations come up. These limitations force a necessary encounter with oneself, in which all psychological mettle is put to test, and the success of the journey will depend on how we deal with each of these tough situations that arise. Added to this, the infinite beauty of its landscapes, the mysticism of its colors, its lights and shadows, and the mystery created by the vast horizon are the series of daily events that stimulate the senses and charge the body with energy. However, it is the altruism and compassion of the Tibetan people that embraces the heart and becomes the daily teaching about life. Every encounter, every moment shared with them, are what give this place its added value and makes it magical. It is on the Tibetan plateau, where trip after trip, I personally feel an emotional intensity generated by a mixture of physical sensations and mental states, emotional and spiritual, what profoundly connects me to this place.

 This is of course subjective, as when traveling (as in life itself), it is sometimes very difficult to explain why we feel more intrinsically connected to a group of people than to another. Although I could get very close to a rational explanation for this, I think there are factors that go beyond rationality. In my experience, Tibetans are the most compassionate people I have come across in this world, and the ones who have the greatest ability to selflessly open their heart to another person, even when that person might be a total stranger. This is simply because they can see themselves reflected in that other human being and they can recognize that within that person, there is someone that in essence is identical to what is inside them. This penetrates both consciously and unconsciously through the use of gestures, attitudes and empathy and it is in this very last word where to me lies the key to understand what differentiates them from the rest of the people, because it is in this bond generated by it what makes one feel their human touch.

Empathy, however, must have two sides, that of the one who generates it to later transmit it, and that of the one who is willing to receive it. That is why, sometimes the perception of one with respect to the people of the places one visits varies drastically according to who one is and the conditions one is in at a determined place and time. Still, Tibetans often have the enormous ability to bend the bad mood and bad energy that one brings with oneself and purify them to turn them into gentle feelings, such is the power that has the way they are. This empathy not only invites to transform one's energies but it is also contagious, it is planted in ourselves, thus it becomes reciprocal.

While Buddhism of the Vajrayana tradition, which primarily promotes the practice of altruism and compassion, and how thoroughly Tibetans practice it surely has a critical influence on how their characters were shaped over the centuries, I do not think that it is the decisive factor that differentiates them from the rest.  Rather a combination of spiritual and geographical and historical factors is likely to be the main reason that makes them who they are. It is because of the result of this mixture that I can feel their magic, connect and feel truly blessed and benefited by it.

To the eyes of someone coming from our highly overrated, so-called advanced society, where it seems that a mere handful of technological advances are direct synonymous of progress and the only way to go in order to evolve, Tibetans might look primitive, almost prehistoric, because their customs and living conditions are simply basic. But it is in that simplicity, in that life devoid of superfluous objects, where values like love, hospitality and altruism not only prevail but continue to thrive. When there are no objects to which chain our lives and souls in perpetual dependency, priorities continue to be our contact and relationship with our fellow human beings and the preservation of them.

 Their future, however, is uncertain. Cultural genocide still goes on. New generations are brought up under different conditions, and little by little, they absorb the habits and idiosyncrasies of a culture that it is alien to them. One that has been and still is being implanted by force. Their environment is transformed everyday and there is not even the slightest glow on the horizon that might indicate that the control of their destiny will ever be returned to them. Nevertheless, they keep facing adversity with stoicism and above all without losing that great compassionate spirit they carry within, the very one that allows them to preserve their ability to smile, to help, to be able to see in the others the same intrinsic qualities that they carry inside, thus owing themselves to the preservation of this bond.

That is the lesson of Tibet, its people and its landscapes. They get inside oneself and they grow and stay to transform us. Traveling along these rough roads makes me stronger physically and mentally, but above all, it makes me more humane. It brings back perspective. It helps me to bring the focus of attention back to the really important things in life, to appreciate the core values that connect us between humans. Those values that are far from the illusion of happiness promoted by our society based on consumerism till exhaustion to which one is dragged into every day to keep surviving, that which separates us, alienates us and ultimately makes us fight each other. With Tibetans, I learn that what it is needed to keep the heart joyful and alive is essentially very little, but most importantly, available to all of us without exception. We just have to want it and pursue it, make it the goal of our lives. It really does not take much.