Travel Logs

‘No.’

‘Sir, I just…’

‘No.’

‘But what if…’

‘No.’

‘Would you…’

‘NO!’

It was high time to face it – this was a dead end. The stern military officer in front of me didn’t only have the last, he had the only word in the matter. And his decision was as clear as it was final.

Two full days of working some of the worst roads I’ve ever come across had almost taken me the whole way to Cambodia. Completely marinated in sweat and dust, I now had a mere 20 km to the border. And the only way from here was back. Back for a 160 km detour still taking me to that very same border crossing.

Damn it.

With arms folded across his buff chest, the tall officer glared down at me. I looked back at him. All I wanted to do was to flick that stupid military hat off of his disproportionally tiny head.

Sure, the last hours I had been peddling along with this melancholic feeling of leaving too soon. During the last days I had been introduced to a completely different world compared to the loud and chaotic Vietnam I had first entered, and I wasn’t really ready to leave it. I knew that this guy was sort of doing me a favor. But fact remains, I am a cyclist. I hate going back.

Especially when people in uniforms are telling me to do so.

–

Sorry, I’m skipping ahead here. Of course weeks of Vietnam had been leading up to this. Great weeks! A recap of which would look something like… this.

Crossing in from Laos I got a mighty welcome. Central Vietnam bombarded me with limestone mountains, flowing rivers, stunning caves, and picture perfect rice fields as far as the eye could see.

Phong Nha Cave

The beauty of this country is obvious. That was not what really hit me coming in though. With a population more than tenfold that of Laos, the shift in tempo was a given. The lovely friendliness with which I had been welcomed to Laos was just as present all through Vietnam, though the style was completely different. Regardless if it came to children cheering me on from across the street, a lady selling bananas or a car honking before taking over. Everyone and everything here was just – louder.

And it would be impossible to write this post without mentioning them. The motorbikes.

With 40 million registered motorcycles in the country, almost 1 out of 2 Vietnamese people (grandmothers and infants included) have their own motorbike. This is a country on two wheels, a fact which you’ll not only be reminded of while on the road. It’ll wake you up in the morning, keep you company during day, and finally rock you to sleep at night. The sound of 40 million roaring two-stroke engines. The soundtrack of Vietnam.

The coast is where the number of people and tourists (and motorbikes!) skyrocket. With the crowds come everything from heavy traffic to hassling, and all the things I usually try to keep on arm’s length. However, after being landlocked for what literally seemed like forever. I could not not make my way out to the sea.

On top on the Hai Van Pass

Thumbs up!

A brief coastal ride gave me just what I wanted – a few days of epic views and salty hair. Saving my true beach rides for Thailand though, I headed west up the highlands first chance I got.

In some places finding the feeling of going off the beaten path basically just means not riding on the major highway. In other places you have to work for it a little (or a lot) more. Vietnam is one of them. And in search for my very own corner of this quite crowded country, I found just what I was looking for.

My Vietnam.

Possibly the friendliest corn lady in South East Asia

Still unaware of that the path I was on would eventually lead me straight into sensitive military frontier headquarters, I spent a bunch of truly amazing days on the bike. Slow going on bumpy roads, relative solitude, perfect camping and people that don’t expect to see you. All I ever wish for in a ride.

Writing this though I realise that maybe I should also add ‘being caught rambling around inside restricted frontier areas’ to that list. Because that part, simply got me more of all of the above.

If nothing else, I would say an apology is in order. Here it goes.

–

I’m sorry, Mr. Military Man. Sorry for those things I called you inside my head. And for wanting to flick that cap off of yours. Which by the way, is totally of the appropriate size.

And thank you, Mr. Military Man. Thank you for standing your ground. And for sending me back to this.

–

Tailwinds,

Fredrika

‘Hey you! Aren’t you… Fredrika?’

Fresh off the plane from Thailand to Laos I was still comfortably snuggled up in the love bubble that had surrounded my whole being for the last couple of weeks. My family had already landed and gone on with their lives back home in Sweden, but I still hadn’t really felt the need to join my own reality just yet. I was just back at the Luang Prabang hostel that had stored my bicycle while I was away, but before I had even dropped my panniers on the dorm room floor, someone was addressing me. In Swedish?

I turned around.

‘So the bicycle upstairs is yours! I’m Björn. I’m reading your blog! We were actually talking about you earlier today.’

Whoa.

Weird, weird, weird.

I do know that I am keeping a blog. I also do know that there are people out there reading it. But to unexpectedly bump into one of them that doesn’t have their backside glued onto a saddle? That was unexpected. And hadn’t it been for the friendly smiles of Björn and his backpacker companion Johan, I’m quite confident I’d also have been a bit embarrassed.

Excited as I was to reunite with my bicycle, and officially kick off the Southeast Asia leg of my journey, I had anticipated a bit of a vacuum getting back to Laos. Saying another indefinite goodbye to my loved ones obviously includes some heartache, and I had gotten myself ready to take on another battle with the empty feeling I struggled with as I was peddling away from everyone and everything I ever knew on those very first trembling days of this journey.

Turned out though, my new Swedish roomies would save me from – or at least postpone – all that. Instead of pondering on when I’d get to hug my Mom or crack jokes about my brother’s haircut next time – I was sipping fruit shakes at the night market, engaging in sprited and highly scientific debates on what actually is the best Swedish fika (google it).

As it turned out, these guys had both been playing around with the idea of taking the plunge and head out for bicycle travels of their own. But – as so many others – never really gotten to it. When it comes down to it, it simply is too complicated. Too much to organise. Too many decisions to take. Too many unknowns.

Naturally I played my part of the game as well. Dumbing the whole process down to an extent that makes preparing breakfast seem like an overwhelming task in comparison.

‘Buy a 2nd hand bicycle. A tent. Strap it with your backpack to the rack. Pick a direction. Go.’

Johan had his flight home a week later, Björn hadn’t. And even though (at least initially) the whole conversation was a joke and strictly hypothetical, this new glimmer in his eyes was increasingly obvious. As though the big smile on his face hadn’t been enough on it’s own.

Already next day we all parted ways. The guys taking a bus south, and I was strapping my bicycle to the roof of another one – headed north back up to the Chinese border. I had already been excited to get back on the road again, but meeting Björn and Johan had been yet another reminder of how incredibly lucky I am to get to be doing this. Living my dream, all day every day. It would be an insult to those who aren’t, to forget to appreciate that.

Back at the China – Laos border crossing

Right off the bat Laos treated me to a royal experience in the saddle. The lush north is a complete wonderland of rolling hills and steep passes topped off with some quite otherworldly views. I thought I already had appreciated them, as twice before I had watched them with my nose pressed up against the bus window. This one time on the bike though, brought the value of a million bus rides combined. There is really no denying it. Experiencing nature is simply not done through a glass window.

I don’t want to see a view. I want to feel it.

Absolutely breathtaking, and serene but still challenging as it was, there was something about riding the northern part of Laos that didn’t quite resonate. My boxes were definitely ticked, and it was all seemingly there. Except for the feeling of adventure, that had been my constant companion all through the Middle East, Central Asia and China.

I had difficulty pinpointing it at first, but as the days went by it got more and more obvious. Was this… too easy? I knew it is all about mindset, but I still had difficulty setting mine straight.

Now don’t get me wrong here.

Laos is one of the poorest countries in the world. A country where almost half the population is forced to live on less than 1.25 USD/day. The tiny and completely undeveloped villages I passed were mostly made up by a string of small, beaten down bamboo houses, and communal tap of water used for showering and laundry.

With chickens, children and dogs (all equally dusty) running all around, people gather around small wood fires to eat and socialise after long days of working on the rice fields.

For most people in Laos, life is not too easy.

For me though? A well off tourist with budget enough to spend every single night in a guesthouse? I would like to say that it is.

On this journey, helping hands from locals have been essential for me. Being fed by that shepherd in the outskirts of Tajikistan when something to eat simply wasn’t to be found. Or getting invited to warm up and stay in the nomads’ heated tent on the Tibetan plateau, when the cold was making me seriously wonder how I’d ever make it though the night.

I’ll never dilute myself to the point where I’d ever mistake myself for being anything else that a tourist. But the somewhat obscure places I’ve gone to, and the mean of transport which I’ve been using to do so, have indeed given me a sense of – even if only for brief moment – joining the life of the people along my path. Doing so has been completely vital and at times I’ve simply had no other choice.

In Laos though. When being invited to sit down by one of the village fires, taking a bite of a newly grilled piece of buffalo skin. I felt like I was in a museum. What was going on around me obviously wasn’t fiction, but I couldn’t really getting over the feeling of merely being an observer. I was never in it.

As women queued up to wash their hair, I didn’t. I didn’t need to. I was never more than a day away from a hot shower. And buffalo skin? All of a sudden it was my curiosity – rather than hunger – chewing away on things like that.

Zipping up my tent at night, I almost felt like if I’d just be silent enough, I’d be able to hear the beating music from the night clubs of Luang Prabang, Vang Vieng or Vientiane – whichever was the closest backpacker hotspot that day. It turned out Southeast Asia was not only a new chapter in theory. The days went on and more and more I realised that change was here – and there was nothing I could, or should, do about it.

So.

Can’t change it? Embrace it.

And I think that by now I have. I mean, after all I am here. I actually made it to Southeast Asia. On a bicycle! I’ll gladly have a bed and a shower at the end of the day. I’ll have one – no, actually two – of those fruit shakes. I figued I’ve sort of earned them.

Although. And I don’t think I really need to tell you this. Obviously I still prefer the rides in between the cities, rather than the beer and backpackers inside them.

Who wouldn’t?

Making it to Vientiane I was up for a few days of rest in order to get my upcoming Vietnam visa in order. Guess who arrived there the same evening as me?

Björn!

On. His. Bicycle.

Now this guy is amazing. What he did after we said our goodbyes in Luang Prabang a couple of weeks earlier?

Bought a 2nd hand bicycle. A tent. Strapped his stuff to the rack. Chose a direction. And went.

We’d kept in contact as he’d made a big loop through the country, and I was so happy to get to see him as he returned to his starting point in the capital. We spent a few days being super tourists together, and on the morning of us both leaving we rode out of the city like total partners in crime.

I was headed further through Laos, and Björn was hitting Thailand – taking on the 2nd country of his first epic bicycle tour. And he did it like a boss! I’m still so impressed by this guy.

In life – not only as it comes to something as silly as riding a bicycle – making a change, or taking a leap of faith can be horribly complicated. Too complicated in fact. Too much to organise. Too many decisions to take. Too many unknowns.

I think for most of us, if we’re completely honest – it’s too scary. And Björn is a good reminder that it doesn’t always have to be. Sometimes we just got to go with it. Because really – that thing we want, is usually ever only a plunge away.

Obviously – watching him set off for the Friendship Bridge over the Mekong was a total proud mother moment.

Can you really blame me?

Fredrika

Yunnan – my 4th, and the southernmost province of China – was a whole new experience from start to finish. By the time of me getting there I already knew this of course, as it seems to always be the case in this country – containing more separate worlds than one think could exist within one nation’s borders.

Yunnan hosts some 50 different ethnic groups and provides it’s people with nature ranging between everything from the massive and merciless mountains in the north to the thick and tropical jungles of the south. But expecting variety is one thing. Experiencing it, is of course another – and the whole thing turned out to be a lot different from how I had first imagined it.

A lot of the surprise was directly connected to two particularly crazy French people, and a cycling clog. Yeah, one of those wooden, somewhat pointy, Dutch clogs. A clog which of course makes up a complete pair with a second clog of the same size. This second one though, plays no part in my Yunnan experience, as it’s still long lost somewhere on the empty steppe of Uzbekistan. Even saying that the first one is, is kind of stretching it. The man insisting to keep putting his foot inside it is though. As if only to put the craziness of the French to shame.

However, all of that comes later. Before all the madness that would eventually come to be my Yunnan – I arrived.

Once again I was booming down big mountains. The difference from all the other times I’d done this in China was that this time I was actually bound to stay down there. For a long time. I was well aware that Yunnan no doubt would give me my fair share of climbing, but mountains? No, that chapter was officially finished.

Though life was still good.

Nature was doing it’s best to give me a colorful welcome and I was rolling straight into the town on Shangri-La. A finish line which meant an at the time extremely needed time for rest. And an even more needed visa extension.

A week spent in Shangri-La was the start off of a short but intense dash down the beaten tourist track. One I have to say I enjoyed immensely. This was actually the place where I met my very first non Chinese people since leaving Kashgar almost 2 months earlier.

With Canadian & English friends in Shangri-La

I continued on to the beautiful but crowded town of Lijiang

From a 2 day trek through the Tiger Leaping Gorge

Let me tell you it was a cool feeling to – at last – be able keep a conversation where the main concern actually was what was being said, and not the words being used to say it. To meet people who had somewhat of the same western references as myself, and together try to make some sense of that always so confusing, and seemingly constantly expanding puzzle of China.

It didn’t take much though. Actually it took a lot less than I’d have thought, before I was completely done with these stuff. Letting TripAdvisor & Lonely Planet set the agenda. Staying put in the tourist herd. Snapping photos of those ‘Must See’s. (Who in all honestly, very rarely are just that). And then end up in another hostel with a new bunch of people who all had, or were just about to, experience exactly the same things as me and everyone else.

Gosh. Are you coming to the same conclusion as I did?

It was high time to hit the road.

So I did.

And that’s when real things started happening.

On the road south is when I bumped into French cyclists Amelie & Kris. A lovely couple with whom I spent a couple of nice days and evenings until all of ours next stop – the city of Dali. After a detour passing the old town of Shaxi we had a sweet ride by the lake into Dali, getting our first proper glimpse of agricultural Yunnan.

After a few good days together I thought our roads would part. My plan from there was clear and with zero wiggle room for compromise. My family, most of whom I hadn’t seen once since setting off some 10 months ago, was coming to Thailand to celebrate New Years. And if I would just get my ass to Bangkok in time, I would be joining them for the occasion.

That I would be taking transports for the whole thing to work was a given, but still I was up for a classic race against time. In order to later get back to my last point and keep cycling, I first needed to get out of China. And to make it in time to my family, I needed to do it in time for Christmas.

Easy.

Considering the distance and elevation ahead, easy was perhaps not the term for it. But neither was impossible. Far from it. I had had my rest, I had the best motivational carrot imaginable, and I was headed for those 10 straight days of tough cycling with a good feeling.

To my great surprise I found out that apparently I wasn’t the only one. The Crazy French, with no apparent reason not to keep on with their slow mornings and juggling breaks, decided to join the party.

‘We’ve been lazy for a long time now. So why not? Let’s cycle!’

And before we had even set off the next morning, our trio had been expanded with yet another mad man – Ritzo from the Netherlands. Now what went through this guy’s head here is still a mystery to all of us. Not least to himself I think.

Short version: Ritzo rolled in to Dali late evening, ready for a big break. Big break for real, that is. Aiming to pick up an English teaching job, maybe Dali could actually become home for the upcoming year? Those big things would have to wait for a few days though. First things first: getting a shower, washing those dirty clothes – and finally doing something about the bike. That would be enough for now.

…

Or so he thought.

The next morning Ritzo was standing there – again. Bike loaded and ready to hit the road. This time with a couple of crazy French and a Swedish girl in a rush. His clothes just as dirty as yesterday. He still hadn’t showered. God, he hadn’t even had breakfast. What was this? And why..?

No one has the answer to those questions anymore now than we did then.

But don’t worry – we left before he had time to change his mind!

In the back: Ritzo, Kris & Amelie

The upcoming 10 days and 900 something kilometers, I won’t say too much about. I can’t. Nothing I’d say would come close to doing this madness justice. Our ride south through Yunnan was gorgeous. But more than that, one of the most chaotic experiences ever. Landslides, crashes, road blocks, stomach bugs, mechanicals and mud roads being just a few ingredients to it all.

Got this one from my brother. I think it pretty much sais it all.

It was dirty. Sweaty. And pretty damn exhausting. But most importantly incredibly beautiful, and some of the better 10 days I think I’ve had on a bike. Here are a few clues to what the whole thing looked like.

First camp night. Completely clueless of that this was just the calm before the storm…

…that the upcoming day introduced itself in the form of a huge landslide

Locked in overnight, loosing a valuable half a day

Being back on obstacle free roads…

…rarely lasted very long.

Stuck waiting for the 3rd landslide in 2 days to be cleared

Despite continuously testing us. Yunnan never let us loose faith, and always seemed to know just when to throw in some encouragement to keep up motivated.

…Unfortunately we were usually thrown right back into the Yunnan reality a bit quicker than one might would have preferred. As soon as we got too relaxed, the road disappeared. Literally.

When China takes your road away…

…you kind of have to find yourself a new one

Great views are great. But on the top of passes, it’s even better when you actually get to see them. Or anything at all for that matter.

So much easier with these guys!

The toughest times we had were all in the first half of our ride. Things cleared up and soon we actually started noticing that the cycling was enough of a challenge all in itself. The topography of this region is at times incredible demanding on a loaded bike. The hills are steep. And many. Actually, hills are all there is. You’re either going down at great speeds, or up in complete snail speed. And as the equation reveals, you’re in all likelihood climbing during 9 out of 10 given moments.

We passed Pu’er & went through one of Chinas big tea production regions

…and camped accordingly

Well, don’t ask me about the clog. Ritzo claims it’s super functional…

Believe it or not, but we did keep moving south, making good speed. Every day nature took big steps. Banana trees, sugar canes, pomelos, coconuts, tea & coffee plantations. Not to mention all those fruits and plants we didn’t even know the name of. Amazing is the word.

A very welcome addition to everyday life on the road

Christmas started coming around the corner…

…and we officially crossed the Tropic of Cancer! Wow.

The big day arrived!

And so did we, reaching the Laos border just on time.

Three months. Between 5 & 6 thousand kilometers. China. That this humongous country actually could come to an end? Crazy thought. I was more than ready for it though. Not so much because I wanted to get out of there. More that by now I really wanted to step into something new.

And I really would. Starting off this great new chapter of cycling Southeast Asia.

But before doing that, I’d just cross the border in style (anything for the Christmas spirit, right?).

I’d leave my bike. And then.

Then I’d head off to find my family.

Until next time,

Fredrika

It’s fascinating how fast things – no matter how crazy they first might seem – become the new normal. Living in deserts for weeks on end. Conforming to religious dress codes. Never speaking your own language(s). Or even the whole concept of being a human snail, slowly moving along with your house and life packed up in the back.

Same goes in the mountains. I’m always astonished when I get up there, with mouth hanging open and eyes about to pop out from their sockets. When I first reach those truly magical landscapes I’m incapable of doing pretty much anything. Riding just seems stupid, as it would only take me out of the piece of art I’m. Pulling out the camera makes more sense. Or at least getting off the bike to find a comfy spot from which to enjoy the scenery.

Though most times I tend to end up doing neither. I just stand there. Bike still between my legs and without a thought in my head. Without the feeling of being the luckiest girl in the world. Often times without even really registering what I actually have in front of me. All that does come later, but first off is always me going though some kind of beauty-blackout before my mind gets back its balance.

That first love feeling is obviously incredible. But there really is something special with what comes after it. When the magic you’re in becomes your new natural state of things. Being able to take it all for granted might be the wrong way to put it, but at least reaching the point of truly being one with what’s around you.

To realise you’ve let go of the feeling of being presented with a temporary painting that could disappear forever as soon as you take your eyes off it. And instead become part of that same painting. Zipping up your tent in peace at night, knowing that the every part of what’s outside it will still be there waiting for you when you wake up in the morning.

As I’m writing I do realise that this gibberish is not all that different from how people tend to describe their no longer new relationships. So. I guess some cynics are now shaking their heads in a sigh, and perhaps a few romantics are smilingly nodding theirs. Anyways, I’m sure at least a few of you can relate in one way or another.

Days on the plateau were dreamlike. And most of the time quite similar. At least one + 4 500 meter mountain pass a day sounds like hard work, but it rarely was. I don’t think I ever dropped below 4 000 meters, so going up again never became such a biggie.

Though of course I was slowed down when there was a bit too much snow on the road. And the oxygen (or lack of it) on those really high passes did make my heart beat for more reasons than being excited about the views.

4 797 meter ASL. Will be a while before I get the chance to break this record.

This complete ride took place outside the border of geographical Tibet. Though life in western Qinghai & Sichuan are just as Tibetan as it gets. People, food, history, culture, religion, language… Tibet. The prayer flags that greeted me on top of every single mountain pass being a small but really nice detail of it all.

Rolling through the small Tibetan mountain villages is always a great mood lifter. I haven’t been falling so hopelessly in love with a people since Uzbekistan, and here I felt more at home than I have in a long time. Sure, I was just as much of a rolling circus as always, and my bike could might as well have been a spaceship. But that didn’t stop anyone from welcoming me like their long lost daughter, sister, friend or grand daughter.

Everyone has those sleeves. And I am SO jealous!

I couldn’t post this one without mentioning the yaks. For quite a while there, I felt like I spent just as much time with them as I did with people. Daytime I was hanging out with them…

…And in the evenings I was mostly eating them. Classic dinner with the nomads was just having a bucket with big pieces of meat go around in the tent. Usually served with the least sharp knives you can imagine, making the whole thing a complete caveman event.

Another thing that definitely takes some getting used to is the yak tea. A salty hot drink that is typically improved (?) by a rich add on of yak butter.

Still not my favourite…

…but I must say it did give me good energy for those mountain roads

Receiving big smiles and a hearty ‘Tashi delek!’ as I’m coming through villages is always making me smile. But as usual, there is nothing quite like getting invited for an actual peek inside peoples’ homes and lives. As English wasn’t even to think of, these evenings were often more exhausting than the day of cycling leading up to them. Didn’t make them any less wonderful though. People are simply amazing.

Another Dad of the day

Yak on the menu!

The little ones tested out my tent…

…but decided they preferred their own bed

Sometimes I get the feeling of having ended up on a different planet from the one I thought I was on. So much is going on right now. News and people I talk to at home paint a picture of a world going up in flames. One of bottomless misery. And I’ve never had a more difficult time to relate.

There is chaos and a darkness beyond belief, there is no denying that. But there is also love, light and good. Everywhere. In the most remote corners of the world. There is people who seemingly have nothing, who without as much as blinking an eye will give a complete stranger everything. I don’t need anyone to lift a finger for me. But people do. They carry the world for me, for no apparent reason. And they do it in a way that make it difficult so for me to understand how in the world this wouldn’t also work the other way around.

I’m the girl who needs nothing, but still receives it all from people who, with our standards, don’t have squat to give. Then I open the news apps. To read about how us lottery winners with all the wealth in the world deny less lucky people sheer survival. Then I close them. And roll straight into the open arms of another Tibetan grandmother who’ve decided to make me family before even knowing my name. The absurdity is just beyond.

I really don’t have anything well articulated to say about this. Especially not in English. But fact is, that the world I am in right now is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced. And being inside this bubble of unconditional goodness, I just can’t see anything else than that in the end – all will be good. It has to be.

Sure. No matter how much we’d like it, none of us have the power to save the world. But I’m absolutely convinced that all of us have the means to save someone’s world. There is statistics. Those will remain the same, regardless of what you and I decide to do. But then there are the people behind them, each one with their own story. And I like to take comfort in the fact that for each one of us deciding to simply pull our weight, a few more of them can be turned into good ones.

A few more of them will get a truly happy ending.

Because everyone deserves that.

The ActionAid fundraiser is always up and running. And there is always people in desperate need of our help. However big or small your donations are, I am so endlessly greatful to all of you who’re pitching in and making this project what it is.

Here’s yet another link to the fundraiser.

All the best,

Fredrika

However monotonous and eventless my desert and plateau ride was – it still wasn’t. Of course there are a lot of stuff I skip when sharing this journey with you. Partly due to me wanting to still have a few gems to tell when I get back, but in all honesty mostly due to my sometimes quite overwhelming laziness.

Here’s one I’d like you to know about though. One that turned from being a funny detail one day to an ongoing source of joy through the Chinese nothingness.

Here’s A Qiang!

(And no, I have no idea how to spell his name correctly)

One of those days when the headwinds were doing what they could to throw me all the way back to Sweden was when I first found him. The little guy with that everlasting smile on his face.

Thanks to the perfectly straight road and his high-vis pannier covers, I had seen him already from a far. Or I had seen something. After the better part of a year on the road I’ve had time to see the most bizarre things on and along the road, and by now I tend to accept pretty much anything as reasonable road-decoration.

By the time I reached him, I had had time to consider the possibility of that bright yellow thing over there being everything from an uncommonly extrovert local motorcyclist to a spaceship. I was even kind of suspecting that the whole thing might just be a mirage.

But a cyclist? No, that would just be too out of there.

Turned out however, I was very much in luck.

Because sure enough – there he was!

As with most Chinese people I meet, A Qiang didn’t speak a single word of English. And unfortunately his understanding of my pretty sad Chinese efforts were next to none as well (I really can’t blame him though). This however didn’t stop a new, and highly comical friendship to start taking shape.

So what if you can’t really speak to one another? If two cyclists bump into each other on the road (especially if this road happens to be situated in the middle of a huge desert) – you will camp together. Having company for dinner is nice, regardless if you can discuss local politics or not.

The next morning when we started off cycling together and rather quickly got separated, is when you would have thought this anecdote had come to an end. Where A Qiang turned into another micro chapter that would probably never be spoken about with anyone. But as I’m writing this, you already know this wasn’t the case.

I don’t know how likely or unlikely this was, but in the end we came into and left each others lives a bunch of times during the upcoming week and a half. And let me tell you it was fun! As we couldn’t really speak, and didn’t really have the same way to go about our days – we never really rode together. But in the end we still met and had lunch or camped anytime one managed to catch up with the other.

I still don’t know much about A Qiang. And he doesn’t know much about me. Our ways of communication – which generally needed support from maps, photos or hardcore charades – surely limited the possible topics of conversation. I think it’s sure to say there were a lot of ‘Me, Tarzan. You, Jane’-type of conversations going on there for a while.

Still. After spending a few nights cooking, relaxing and star gazing together with someone – even if most of it is in silence – a friendship will take form. This one was a particularly odd, but yet such a nice one.

A Qiang showing his around China route…

…of course with a chopstick for extra stereo-typicality!

Somewhere up on the plateau, we one evening ended up getting invited to stay the night at another one of those industrial areas that I wrote about in my last post. An evening that like others of it’s kind included some great people, and we were both falling asleep smiling, happy to be saved from another freezing night outside.

What made this overnight unique though was the morning. The breakfast, to be exact.

Chinese breakfasts are a lot different than anything I’ve stumbled upon before. But as I was quite used to them by now, that was not the thing. These guys had a little add on to theirs that kind of stood out to me.

A shot.

Yeah, that was one shot for me an A Qiang. Three or four for themselves. As some kind of fatherly gesture they were very strict with us not taking another one (as if any of us was even remotely tempted) – considering that we would soon be off on our bicycles. That they would just as soon be jumping into their tractors to start of today’s work didn’t seem to cross anyones’ mind.

Crazy world.

In the end, this particular morning would turn out to be mine and A Qiang’s last one together. And in all likelihood the last time we’d ever meet. Of course we didn’t know it then, but in hindsight I have to say that if there ever was a perfect morning to start off with a horribly strong shot of Chinese liquor – it was this one.

Cheers!

(Or as A Qiang would say – Ganbei!)

Fredrika