London to Asia

In 2014, after two years of living in London, I realised I had to get out and get a taste of adventure. I record my journey here. All these blogs were first published in spring 2014.

Chasing the Wind

When you’re planning a trip of the kind I’m now doing, you imagine a montage of sunshine and strangers set in a revolving backdrop of European cities.  The reality is a lot slower.  There is a wilderness to being trapped on a bike for 6 hours.  I do a lot of maths during these hours, estimating arrival times, guessing at my average speed before checking my on board computer.  There are, however, only so many distraction on a bike, especially when following a river like the Rhine which makes it hard to get lost.  The first two hours of cycling are always a joy but the penultimate hour is usually the low point.  This is when familiar demons make their home in my head.  It was during this hour on my way to Mainz that my thoughts turned sour.  The atmosphere was muggy and hot, almost tired, waiting for a storm to clear the air.  I noticed the concrete that is ever present where humans deign to go.  A symbol of humanity’s lack of creativity.  The grey, uncompromising efficiency saps my enthusiasm for travel.  The same jaundiced drunk wanders the street and even the optimism of young lovers becomes a parody of lovers everywhere, repeating the same pattern of impossible expectations, inevitably disappointed.  I’m reminded of lines from Ecclesiastes ‘there is nothing new under the sun…everything is meaningless…a chasing after the wind’ or into the wind in my case.  But getting to Mainz and meeting old friends lifted me out of this melancholy.

My friend Christine in Mainz

My friend Christine in Mainz

The next day I was reading 21 wonderfully written words of wisdom, which you should all read (here), and found myself inspired but again melancholy.  Disappointed that I don’t see the world with same optimism of Rumi or the hope of Rebecca Solnit (you have to read the piece to get the references).  And after the melancholy came the loveliest epiphany, rather like a butterfly unexpectedly landing on your hand.  It was a delightful sense of peace, and a sense that who I was, was ok.  It was the flip side of the melancholy coin I had experienced the day before.  With the futility of things comes an equality.   Chasing after the wind is still fairly pointless but it’s ok to do it.  The sense of peace fluttered away as delicately as it had arrived but I still remember it.

Tomorrow morning I head off for Wurzburg before Nuremberg on Monday.  I have a host arranged for both stays and as it happens a friend, Drew Worthley, is playing a gig in Nuremberg Monday night.

The journey so far

The journey so far

Alone in Cologne

Margitta has lived in her house for all 57 years of her life. She has never hosted a stranger from before yet she sent me a message inviting me to stay in her spare room.  When I arrived after 70 miles on my bike she shared the most delicious bottle of french cider with me whilst chatting in the evening sun.  She then cooked up a feast and we continued chatting about her daughter now living in Sheffield and a pub familiar to us both, The Lescar.  Her generosity continued next morning with a marvelous breakfast spread; a pot of tea, a loaf of bread, cheese, salami, honey and jam.  She had also given me a German sausage, bananas and sandwich for my lunch as well as mineral water to take on my way.  I felt compelled to turn down the chocolate, nuts and raisins she offered.  I find this kind of abundant hospitality difficult to accept, it is humbling being unable to give something back.  Receiving unconditional gifts can be uncomfortable but is somehow part of living properly, being able to give and receive without vested interest.  I think loosing your pride is part of finding yourself, as is giving without counting the cost.  As I tried to refuse various of Margitta’s gifts she would say “giving costs me nothing”.


Margitta has 11 Guinea Pigs, her Favourite is on the left

My second German host canceled on me at short notice leaving me without a home in Cologne.  All my hosts up to this point had been overflowing with generosity and as I put out the emergency message for a host in Cologne I knew I had to take whatever offer I got.  Thankfully Paul got back to me, but Paul’s profile was particularly sparse, no pictures and no references.  He gave no address just a rendezvous point, the Sulzgurtel tram stop at 7:30.  Would he show up?

Traditional German lunch, this Doner Kebab is the best in Cologne as tested by Paul

Traditional German lunch, this Doner
Kebab is the best in Cologne as tested by Paul

While I was thinking up contingency plans a massive German with a crew cut approached me.  Paul is an offensive line guard for the Koln Falcons.  Those who know American Football will know these people are some of the largest people on the planet.  The best guards in the NFL are praised for their toughness and being nasty, punching opponents whenever they can get away with it.  I don’t know what Paul is like on the field but off it he couldn’t be kinder.  Paul did a school exchange to the US for 6 months when he was younger.  He experienced a kind of hospitality from his host mum that is infectious.  As he plied me with cold beers, one of which I spilt all over his flat, we chatted about our respective NFL teams.  Paul has a gift for making you feel comfortable and I leave Cologne with an even greater trust in strangers than I had before.

The Flying Dutchman

The Netherlands has something of the Midas Touch for cycling.  Off the ferry the wide cycle paths of smooth flat tarmac stretch out in all directions.  Every turn leads to perfect cycling condition and lanes with right of way.  Even the hills prostrate themselves for the bicycle.  Once the relief of easy riding conditions has worn off, the realisation hits that you miss the hills, and the adrenaline of lorries zooming past.   You miss the fight for your space on the road.  In The Netherlands there is no fight, the cars tip toe round you and there is nothing to interrupt your rhythm as you pedal on.  I found myself changing gear out of boredom, starved of variety.  The flat landscape also does nothing to halt the wind which blew briskly in my face for my last two days of riding. utrecht

Dutch cyclists seem to glide around elegantly, powering their way through the wind in a phenomenally high gear compared to my frantic peddling.  At one point I spotted an elder gentleman, sat upright in his saddle, brown shell suit catching the headwind like a sail.  I assumed this pensioner would be simple to catch and overtake yet as I ducked down to streamline myself for the pursuit the stubborn gap failed to shorten.  I powered on, determined to catch the man who’s legs, one assumed, must be hard as iron to power himself, sail and all, through the strong headwind.  I was mesmerized by the man who was the focus of my attention for quite some time.  After 20 minutes of straining I caught up with the flying Dutchman who, much to my relief, revealed his secret, clicking off his electric bike as he turned off the road to his house.

flying-dutchmanAgain I have been overwhelmed by the generosity of strangers.  My first night was spent with a lovely child psychologist called Josephine in the lovely Utrecht.  My last two nights were with the very thoughtful Joost, a tax advisor, who has shown me the sights of Arnhem and drunk beer with me by the Rhine.  He even managed to get me on a bike when I was meant to be resting my legs.   Its interesting to hear the same political discussions in newspapers here as in the UK, with the rise of anti-EU parties quickly capturing a significant minority of votes.  The same xenophobia of foreign workers taking jobs and stigma of the jobless who don’t work hard enough.  Tomorrow I will leave the Netherlands for Germany and a new stranger offering me a couch.

I’m Actually Doing This

As my (now ex) front door clicked shut and left me locked out, a question repeatedly ran through my head, “what on earth am I doing?”  This is the nearest thing to a panic attack I have had.  The whole situation seemed ludicrous, but at this point I have very little choice.  I’m actually doing this.

The last two days have been an emotional roller coaster.  An hour of cold rainy headwind was a particular low point, reversed by a glimmer of sunlight as the road turned downhill and I started to feel my fingers again.  About five miles before arriving both times I felt the premature elation of arriving before realising slowly that I still was a way off.  However this only seems to accentuate the bliss of climbing off the bike knowing I’m not going to fail today.

The most striking epiphany I’ve had so far was invoked by my first host.  Heather didn’t know me at all but took me in, fed me and gave me a guided tour of Chelmsford.  She had no agenda and took nothing.  It was this fulsome hospitality that eased my doubts and reminded me that we need people.  Her hospitality not only gave me the essential shelter and sustenance I needed but also the encouragement that out there people are kind.  This reminded me of my last night in London with good friends, one of whom (the ever thoughtful Amy), gave me the chocolate eggs that powered me through the first day.  My brother was also there.  He bought me my saddle to cradle my bum as gently as possible for as far as I get.   Tony wasn’t there but he sold me his bike at a very reasonable price and threw in some extras for free.  Renata taught me how to stretch and told me what to eat to stay healthy.  El lent me her titanium spork which is apparently an essential touring companion.  The people from Tech 21 sponsored me with an Ipad and an Impactology case.  It is this Ipad that directs me as I meander through strange places.

mr-slocumWhile I wait for my ferry at Harwich I will leave you with a picture of Mrs Slocum who’s breakfast I mashed this morning as she’s getting old and her teeth aren’t up to much.

A Pilgrims Folly

I have decided to leave my job, the city I live in and all my wonderful friends in London who make the city worth living in.  After two years in the capital I feel the need to move on and have a more stereotypical adventure.  I settled on the idea of cycling to Istanbul.  A quick internet search suggested I follow the Rhine then Danube and Google Maps tells me its about 2000 miles.  I’ve guessed I can cycle 300 miles a week and have booked a flight back to the UK in May.  Departure day, or D-Day as I like to call it, is the 25th of March.

The anticipation of an expedition like the one I am undertaking is probably the best part of the journey.  I feel I am waking up from two years of sedation, after the numbing effect of repeatedly being rattled in the gloom and fluorescent flicker of the Bakerloo line.  I have an over eagerness which ignores the practicalities of actually cycling 60 miles a day.  My longest ever bike ride so far is 30 miles, after which pain woke me in the night with burning agony throughout my thighs.  I relish the concerned looks and laughter when people discover my folly.  I enjoy the sense of nervous unease when I feel unprepared or unable to do it.  I am already feeling the health benefits of a more foolish life.  I remember the sense of relief when I booked my flight and the elation at handing in my notice.  I like my job but the decisive moment when I burnt my metaphorical ships and had to go through with it was exhilarating.

For now I prepare, more spiritually than practically.  I am contemplating failure and trying to imagine the loneliness, isolation and fear.  D-day is six weeks away and I will get round some training but for now I’ll enjoy the excitement of adventure.