Dushanbe to Delhi
Le Tour Fatale
Introduction
In the year 2005 I had an accident during my cycling tour in Tibet. I fell and broke the collarbone and had to end the trip that should have lasted 6 weeks after only 12 days. Ever since I had tried to come back to the region and finish what I had started.
In 2006 and 2007 I couldn't make it due to obligations at home and at work and in 2008 riots broke up in Tibet and the Chinese closed the region. For 2008 I figured out a substitute tour that included some of the world's top cycling destinations: the Pamir Highway and the Karakorum Highway. The more I looked at the itinerary the more this tour seemed an ideal one: breath-taking mountain scenery, rather good roads with little traffic, poor but friendly people willing to share what little they had with a stranger, a cultural kaleidoscope spanning 5 countries. If it were a woman, I'd call it "famme fatale". But it's just a tour, so I'll let it be: "le tour fatale".
Equipment
Me, the bike and the luggage near the Karakol Lake in Tadjikistan. |
The bike used on this tour is Giant's OCR3. It's an entry-level road bike with aluminum frame and carbon fiber fork, with Sora group, triple chain ring (50/42/30 teeth) and 8-speed cassette (11-26 teeth). The wheels are built on 32-hole Alex road rims DA22 and "noname" hubs. The back tire is Kenda "noname" 25-622, the front one Schwalbe Marathon 32-622. The rear rack is simple aluminum Bor-Yueh - a copy of Blackburn's MTN-1. It is intended for 26" wheels, so there was a tight clearance to the tire - the reason that I had thinner tire at the back. I covered carbon fork with electrical tape to protect it from scratches. I didn't make a science of configuring the bike: it was essentially the same as it came off the peg three years ago, except for wider front tyre, brake pads and worn chain and cassette, which I changed after ~12000 km for the same brands as originally.
I don't use classic panniers, in fact I think they are inapropriate to carry things on a bicycle, just another unfortunate transplant which came from motorcycling along with suspension and disk brakes. Instead I have a 30 liter stuff bag which I keep on the rear rack together with the tent and modified underseat bag on the handlebar. In the stuff bag I have sleeping bag, warm clothes and few miscellaneous items, all wrapped in body-sized strip of bubble wrap which functions as bag water-proofing as well as a sleeping pad. In the front bag I have few things: camera, overshoes, towel and skin ointment. Jersey pockets are filled with minor but frequently used objects: a distance card, notebook, pencil, money, snacks. I don't carry cooking equipment, (guide)books and usually not even the map. For more detail about this approach, go to the site mentioned at the top of this page. The weight of all of the equipment, not including the bike, water or food, was 6.7 kg. With the bike and maximum amount of water and food it was 19.8 kg. The packing list is in another post.
Tadjikistan
The location of a donkey with a broken leg. |
The box, my bicycle was in, arrived pretty beaten up, but there was no apparent damage to the bike. I put it together, changed the money (got 3.42 Tajik somons for 1 $ US), bought a bottle of water (3 somons) and pedaled off to the town to find an internet cafe. That was not an easy task, it took me 3 hours before I sent e-mail and then headed out of town, to the east in the direction of Khorog. For the first 50 km the road is rough, the traffic busy. At midday my thermometer showed 37 degrees C. The air was misty from the heat. I had a bit of jet lag, was feeling sleepy, and stopped for one and a half hours, laying under a tree drowsing, with one eye on the bicycle. I have bad experience in Central Asia, it would be shame if I got it nicked on the first day. On another occasion I stopped by the 'ошхона' (restaurant) and ate a water melon, which was all my stomac showed interest for.
The camp on day 1: the best one of the tour. |
After 50 km the quality of the road improved greatly. The good roads in Tajikistan are made by Chinese. There was a nice climb and a fantastic descent, then after Obigarm the road fell apart to rough gravel, which would stay for a long time At the end of the day I found a splendid place for a camp, on the edge of a cliff overlooking the river. I made 130 km today, but 20 of them were lost in Dushanbe searching for internet, so in fact I was already behind my schedule, 117 km/day.
The valley opens up. |
I camped 8 km after the check point in Tavildara. During the night I dreamt that I returned home. The dream was so vivid that in a sleep I asked myself where actually I was. Then I woke up. The dreams like that are a sure sign that I am not enjoying the trip.
Day 3: 89 km. A catastrophic day. By the end of the day I felt totally weak and knackered. I can't explain why, I drunk a lot of water, there must be something wrong in my system. Maybe lack of salt or something. Also, little and ring finger on my left hand became permanently numb and I knew it was going to stay that way till the end of tour. This happened to me 3 years ago in Argentina; it then took 6 months to recover.
The altimeter stopped working. The front shifter didn't work well either, sometimes after shifting up to the middle ring the lever wouldn't return to its position. Since it's combined shift/brake lever I was reluctant to shift too much, being afraid that I would loose the braking function as well. As a result I was either spinning like a rat in cage in the small ring on flat parts or grinding in the middle ring uphill.
Going up to Kaburabot pass. |
After Kalaikum the road follows the Pyanj river - the border river between Tajikistan and Afghanistan. The scenery along the river is fantastic, yet I was impatient to find a proper camping space. Putting up a tent required much of my energy. I crawled in for an early night and took a couple of aspirins, hoping for a health improvement by the beginning of the next day.
Afgan footpath on the right, Tadjik road on left and Pyanj river in between. |
Day 5: 152 km. I slept in a dormitory together wit about 10 Tajik big-boys. One of them was praying before going to bed - it took him at least 15 minutes. I really envied his dedication.
Few more km along the river. |
Nevertheless, I felt my stomach is not totally recovered (too much unripe apricots maybe?), so around noon I lay down for a half an hour. Later, I came across the Chinese petrol station featuring real beer, so I drink a couple of them, which gives me unexpected burst of energy. It seems I'll reach Khorog today before dark. Yes that's right. I'm in Khorog around 20:00 and failing to find a hotel, I get accomodation in a separate dining room in one restaurant. I take a shower, have borscht and yoghurt and another beer (a nice combination) for dinner and go over to my séparé for a good night sleep.
Day 6: 53 km. In the morning I went to the OVIR office, to get registered with the police. What I expected to be a swift process, took half of the day. I made a couple of photocopies from my passport, went over to the post to get some forms filled (a lady with a patience of an elephant spent half an hour filling two copies of the forms for me), paid the fee (73 somons), went over to OVIR office to apply for the registration and there an unfriendly official stored my passport in a cabinet and told me to come 5 hours later.
I used one hour to clean and oil the chain, and then I laid down in my room thinking how the trip was going so far. Not particularly good. I was behind schedule, my left hand was numb, my back was aching, my arse was in blisters, Tajiks appeared to be not so much hospitable as curious and their dogs quite annoying. I canceled the planned Wakhan valley loop and decided to go the fastest way through Tajikistan.
The Pamir highway starts. |
These thoughts occupied my mind for the next 50 km, so I don't remember much of the road. I made an early camp at the first appropriate location, well hidden from the road, in case the police was coming after me.
A harvester preparing for the job. |
I was socializing a bit today. In the morning a group of harvesters invited me to join them for a tea and bread, before they started working: cutting the grass with sickles. In Jelandi I tried to find a restaurant. There was a 'sanatorium' before that village with a smart and probably expensive restaurant to which I didn't belong. Instead I found a store in the village selling only raw food like uncooked pasta, rice, flour and sugar. Since my lightweight religion prohibits the possession of cooking utensils and bans self-cooking, I bought half a kilo of pasta and asked the owner of the store to cook it for me and prepare it with butter. She added a bit of 'каимак' and green onion leaves, and made the most delicious variety of 'carbonara' I have ever eaten.
Kyrgyz jurt. |
This was a good day.
Easily moving through high plateau. |
Last night was the coldest night of the tour, the temperature was -1 degrees C in the morning, and probably few degrees lower during the night. I was comfortably warm in my sleeping bag; the only evidence of a cold night was a layer of ice that formed inside the tent. I scrapped it off with my distance card, wiped the moisture with a dish washing cloth and refreshed my face with it. Good examples of multiple use of things.
In Alichur's home. |
I stopped in Alichur today, where a woman invited me to her home for a meal. Then I moved on, anxiously awaiting the climb to Nayzatash pass (4314 m). The road did climb a bit, but there was no sign of a pass. Then it suddenly started to drop. After 8 km of downhill I realized that I went over the pass not even noticing it. I made a camp near a stone encirclement made for cattle.
Good road through Pamir. |
I descended to Murgab. There was a check point before the village. To my relief they didn't address the question of the missing stamp on the OVIR registration. They said I should report to the police in the town. I certainly had no intention of doing it. I went to the bazaar to buy some food, then stopped for a lunch in a jurt. It was so cozy inside that I just couldn't leave. I must have spent two hours there.
Mountains near Akbaytal. |
From Murgab the road gently and steadily ascended and became steep at the last 5 km to the top of Akbaytal pass (the highest cycle-able point of the trip at 4655m). The road downhill was bad and the wind started to blow, so as soon as I found a place sheltered from the wind I put out a tent.
All in all, today was a good adventure.
Karakol Lake. |
After 13 km the gravel road is replaced by asphalt. The headwind started to blow, and lasted to the end of the day. I stoped twice for a meal, last time at a guesthouse in Karakol. There I got something a bit different then just bread and tea. I was so fed up with such food that even a bit of ketchup came as a delicacy.
I walked towards the shore of the Karakul Lake, hoping to get an opportunity to take a bath. 200 m short of it I waded into ankle-deep mud and turned back. The whole Karakul area is infested with mosquitoes. The only sure way to avoid them is never to stop cycling.
Pamir. |
Those were my thoughts as I continued toward the border. The headwind was considerable now, so 25 km from the border I stopped and put up a tent. Maybe I'll think of something by the morning.
Kyrgyzistan
Janne Corax 2001: "This sh..s on KKH". |
A lot of worries yesterday and today - what a waste of health and energy - it all turned out it's own way, differently and naturally.
I started early in the morning in cold and strong headwind. Couple of hours later I reached the Tajik immigration post. There is a 3-course procedure. First you face the drug-squad. They turn up your luggage inside out, pretending to search for drugs, but are in fact just amused of what sort of idiotic stuff the foreigners are carrying with them. They were most impressed with my card reader - as all of my other stuff it is stripped of unnecessary plastic and appears as a mysterious microscopic electronic gadget. The card reader disappeared, but as a compensation they warmed up a tin of beef meat for me to devour it right there and gave me another tin to take away. After the drug-squad there is customs. They meticulously fill in data from your passport into their big ledger book. Then there is immigration. They do the same thing as customs, just that they are much more important, so you are facing a long wait before you are allowed into their quarters. The immigration also puts an exit stamp to your passport, which is the final act of the whole procedure.
My host's kids in Sary Tash. |
The road to Sary Tash is flat and paved. Just before the village the rain storm caught me. I was here four years ago and nothing seems to have changed. I think I got a room at the same family house as years ago. It surely was the same kind of food: nan and tea.
Lookout on Pamir where I came from. |
On the Irkeshtam ridge, just at the location where my rear tyre blew out in 2004, I stop and inspect the tyres. Quite incredibly, I find a 4 cm long cut in the middle of the thread of the rear one. Are Gods trying to tell me something? I look more closely and find out that only the outer rubber is damaged, the inner casing is still sound and strong. I put a piece of duct tape over it. I am quite sure it will hold, Gods or no Gods involved.
Summer camp. |
China
Big red river. |
I started at 6:10, after breaking down the camp and oiling the chain - I'll need smooth transmition today. There is a lot of downhill in the first part, so in a first few hours I am ahead of the schedule for half an hour. I overtake one French on a recumbent and stop for few minutes to chat. The road then goes through mountainous land for 120 km and I struggle to keep up with the schedule. I lost almost an hour there. At midday I stop for a lunch. After that I drop into the plane, shift the chain to the big ring and ride with high pace for few tens of km. I caught the schedule again and was now sure I'd make it. After the long gradual climb there is the final downhill and I expect no troubles more. But there is one. The big stream broke out, floated across the road and made a road block. I tried to cross the stream but there was a strong undercurrent throwing stones at my feet, so I backed up. Someone made a good suggestion that I cross downstream of the road where the river was wider and the flow weaker. And so I did. Then it was a quick ride on poplar-lined flat road until the road marker indicated kilometer No. 1. I took a right turn there and made the final 20 km to Kashi on a freeway. The ride was 20 km shorter from what I expected, so I was in Kashi around 19:00.
Kashi was again a surprise for me - a big town where I couldn't orient myself. I asked for the directions to Seman hotel and got a bed in dormitory. I'll check to a better hotel with my own room tomorrow. Tomorrow's my first rest day. I feel filthy as a pig; there's going to be a big wash up.
Kashi streets. |
I then proceeded with a long list of errands waiting for me today. I washed myself, washed the cycling jersey, shorts, socks, gloves and cap, charged up the battery, patched up the holes in my clothes, plastered the blisters, changed the money, called home, sent a couple of e-mails, went for a lunch, bought cigarettes, cleaned the chain, borrowed a book and read much of it. Hooh, a lot to do on a rest day!
Up the Ghez river. |
The first 60 km are flat on smooth road through the villages and only after 80 km you get to the Ghez river bed. Then up the river bed on gentle incline with tailwind - despite the few rain drops it was the best part of the trip so far. I intended to cycle until 20:00, but just after a check point a man invites me to spend the night in a jurt. I accept after bargaining down the price a bit.
Kongur Shan group. |
The morning is sunny, the road excellent and I proceed quickly up the canyon to the top at 'fossil point'. It's totally unreal place, in the middle of grey desert with grey lake where a big crowd gathers to sell and buy stones. From here there is a rather long way to Karakul lake - a renown place with a lake at the base of two 7000+ peaks, Muztag Ata and Kongur Shan. The views are much better before you come to this tourist trap. The Chinese have put up a number of concrete jurts for tourists there. It's a joke just like plastic palms along the streets of Ali and Lhasa. But this joke is at least functional - you can comfortably spend the night in one of those jurts; they probably even smell better than the one from last night. I ate an exceptionally expensive and untasteful lamian here, went over to the lake - because it's THE thing to do here - and moved on. I know the road very well, of course, I was here in 2004. I expected an easy climb to Ulugrabat pass (at 4098 m), but it isn't entirely naive: you get a good workout over 7 km. The big downhill to Tashkurgan is somewhat spoiled by a strong side wind, turning to headwind before the town. At least, you get a good lookout to the left on Muztag Ata group, which changes appearance with every kilometer. Memories come back as I pass the group of jurts: it was here that a dog bit me in 2004.
The view from the "fossil point". |
With regard to scenery and road quality this was the best day of the tour.
Pakistan
Pakistani truck. |
I woke up early not to be late for the bus to Pakistan. There is confusion about what time to consider: Beijing time or Xinjiang time; they are 2 hours apart. To be on the safe side I chose the earlier one. So, I was two hours early, but everything was unrolling very slowly, it was 3 hours after the timetable departure time that the bus actually started to move. There are two buses a day, at 10:30 and 16:00 (I think) and the cost is 224 Yuan plus 10 EURO for the bike. The bus was tightly packed, everybody occupied at least two seats, one for her/him and one for her/his luggage. Yet I was the only one to pay addition for my bike, which was put - oh, what an irony - on the roof. And as my bike was the last to board the bus, I got the worst seat. Isn't this an unjust world? I can easily envisage a raged cyclist becoming a mass backpacker-murderer.
We got to Sost at 15:00 local time. Or maybe at 16:00. The confusion with the timing continued in Pakistan. They shifted the time for one hour last October and now they refer to 'new' and 'old' time. Not surprisingly, old time is preferred by the folk, even if it's the new time that is official time. I am on vacation, so one hour more or less is of no importance to me.
In the Hunza Valley. |
Pasu is a small village at the widening of the Hunza river valley. I stopped at a modest looking dwelling with the sign 'Batura Inn'. I had only 180 Rupees, which I got as a change from the Khunjerab National Park fee that I paid with Yuans. That was enough however for one night in the room no.7 and the dinner that I shared with three Czech trekkers. The dinner: soup, rice, potato sauce, pumpkin sauce and tea was, by the way, the best dinner so far, and in retrospect, the best one of the whole trip.
Passu catherdrals. |
The first disappointment was the road. It was too bumpy, I could get no satisfaction going downhill. Then there's this downhill assumption - there was so little of it. The road is constantly waving up and down around the valley bottom. I had the impression there were more ups then downs. The wind was blowing upstream, meaning into my face. The heat was hard to bear, temperature was 36 degrees C and more. The family from yesterday came across again and saved my life with a gift of 1.5 liter of water. The Rakaposhi was in the clouds. I thought I would get a better look at it later, from another point, but there were very few points to have a glimpse at it. There is no doubt that scenery is fantastic along this road. It is only a question if the bicycle is the optimal way to appreciate it. I came to Gilgit late in the day, really disappointed, not only with today's part of the road, but started to doubt about the whole KKH. At least I got a room in a nice friendly guesthouse cattering for westerners. I took a shower and dinner and thought that was the best event of today.
Beginning of the Skardu road. |
Dramatic setting. |
I cycled the first 30 km down the KKH in headwind that was constantly blowing each day from noon to 5 pm. I tried to be as resigned as possible. After 37 km there is turn-off to the left for Skardu. Until yesterday I was quite certain I wouldn't take this detour, but now I was not so sure. I took half hour break, smoked 4 cigarettes, and turned left.
As soon as I left the Gilgit river valley the wind turned and was now in my back. The road was now leading along the Indus river upstream, and it seemed that my predictions about the wind always blowing upstream were correct. I had a fantastic rest of the day. I wasn't complaining about the road going predominantly uphill. The surface was excellent, even better then on most of the KKH, and the presence of wild roaring river was energizing. I entered into a cycling frenzy. With the bursts of adrenalin I spent half the time out of the saddle, frequently playing games with the trucks, overtaking them uphill and downhill, letting them overtake me only when I took photographs or just stand there amazed with the sight.
Drying apricots. |
'My camera!', I said severely.
'Yes', said the boy.
'Bring it here!'
'Yes', he said, run away and two minutes later came back with the camera.
Relieved, I pedaled on. I planned to be in Skardu at the end of the day, but this unexpected return made me camp 20 km before the town. It was a nice camp though, amongst big boulders hiding me from the road.
Day 21: 37 km. It was a short ride today, which doesn't mean it was easy. In the morning when I came to Skardu I had a sudden urge to stop and check in at a hotel. It would be the shortest day ever. I however, postponed the break after the demanding climb to Sadpara. It's a village 400 m above Skardu in the direction of Deosai NP. I checked into a hotel with nice view of Sadpara lake.
The climb to Deosai plains. |
Somewhere in the middle of the climb I noticed I had blood in urine! In the last day or two I felt frequent needs to urinate, but I couldn't produce more then a couple of drops. And now, I was pissing blood! A similar thing happened to me on Australian tour during the ride on gravel Gibb River road. But there was no blood then and the whole thing stopped after a couple of days. I wondered what was wrong. If it were something wrong with the kidneys, it would certainly show in a day or two with some big changes like swollen limbs, fever or something. It's more likely infected bladder or maybe prostate, caused by the pressure of a saddle. In any case it was serious and meant another hard blow in this tour, which just can't pass into the positive stage.
The top of the pass is around 4000 m. There is an office to collect 4$ for the Deosai NP. 'Where are the bears?', I asked and got the answer that they are on the other side of the mountain, individually controlled and kept away from the tourist path. A group of Pakistani tourists invited me for a lunch, fried rice and onion salad, and after that they took photograps of me with each of them in a row. I felt like a movie star.
I moved on through wavy Deosai plains on the road with less stones but still unridable in a couple of places. After a while I descended to the river with suspension bridge, the ranger station and tourist camp. I got a big applause as I was coming down to the camp, I was already accustomed to my reputation of a champion. I stopped for a lunch here, even considered to spend the night in a tent, but when I heard the price (1000 Rupees), I just moved on and few kilometers further put up my small tent for free.
Deosai plains. |
After the ford I got caught in the rain storm. In a few minutes I was wet and cold. The danger of hypothermia seemed quite real, so, when I saw road workers' tent below the road I retreated into it without invitation. The workers didn't make a question of it, they made me tea and put a blanket over my shoulders. When the rain stopped they continued with their work (they were digging a ditch for telephone cable) and I continued with my ride. It wasn't long till I came to Sheosar Lake, which marks the end of Deosai plains. Soon after that the gravel ends, the road is now narrow and paved and it starts to drop down to the village of Chilim. Just before Chilim another storm caught me and I again retreated under a roof of one house under construction. I waited 2 hours there before proceeding to Chilim where I took a basic room in 'Deosai Tourerest Cotage'. It was an early end of the day and it was now third day of miserable mileage, but I couldn't help it, I don't like riding in rain.
Curiosity from both sides. |
The Astore road meets the KKH at the lookout on Nanga Parbat. It's also a region renown for high summer temperatures: my thermometer shows 41 degrees C. I ride down the KKH in the direction of Chilas and the first 20 km are fast, with good wind. After crossing to the other side of the river the road turns into patches of asphalt interspaced with unpaved parts damaged by landslides. It's slow progress now and I start to loose hope of reaching Chilas today.
Alpine feel along the Astore river. |
Back to the KKH and Indus. |
In the morning I found a thorn (goat head) in the tyre. So the reason was not in the cut thread. I therefore decided non to change the tyre with the spare one. The valve of the tube was broken and I couldn't inflate it, so I threw it away. 100 grams less to carry. 10 km after the start I got another puncture, this time on front. There was also a thorn, most likely picked up at the same time as the one from yesterday. I wanted to put in the new tube, but found 5 holes in it! I carried spare tubes taped to bicycle's head tube and one of them was punctured while fretting against the handlebar bag. What an idiotic mistake! I am now left without spare tubes. Still, 200 grams less to carry.
I came to Chilas around noon, so it seemed there was time to reach Dasu today. My enthusiasm however was deflated by strong headwind and 10 km later I turned back. I checked into a hotel in Chilas and kept myself busy with washing the clothes.
Monotony in the world's best cycling destination. |
I searched for the cheap hotel in Dasu and got a hole of a room for 150 Rupees. I rode through Kohistan today. The kids were more aggressive than usual and they even threw a few stones after me, but obviously not aiming to hit me.
Picking wood from the river. |
Day 28: 74 km. I lost weight terribly. I look like a skeleton. The problem is that you can't get proper food in Pakistan. Even the sight of their hole-in-the-wall restaurants makes my stomach turn.
Teacher and farmer. |
The ride starts promising. The road climbs high above Indus and stays there almost all the way to Besham. Half way I stop in a hotel in Pattani and have a big plate of rice and 3 drinks. It weighs me down considerably. The rest of the day I spent grinding, panting and resting in the shade.
Refreshing. |
Highway no. 5. |
In the middle of the day I took refuge in the grove at the edge of the rice field. A couple of Pakistanis stopped their political debate, turned over to me and asked:
"What is the reason for your trip to Pakistan?"
"A mistake", I replied.
Lucky them. |
Right from the start I took off in wrong direction and ended on a motorway #2, which is closed for cyclists. Police stopped me and turned me back. At noon I came back to the starting point in Islamabad - called "Zero point" by irony - making pointless 41 km. I don't remember much of the rest of the day. If I must describe it, I'd say: heat, dirt and exhaust fumes.
Day 32: 108 km. I rolled into Gujranwalla today. It's practically all I have to say about this day. I am loosing will to express myself (like Molloy).
Amritsar. |
India
In Amritsar. |
Pilgrim in the Golden Temple. |
I had big plans for the grand finale of this tour. The final touch would be a quick ride from Amritsar to Pathankot, climb to lesser known Sach pass (above 4000 m), descending along Chandra valley and joining Manali-Leh road at Keylong, then up to Rhotang La (almost at 4000 m), down to Manali, Mandi, Chandigarh, and, who knows, maybe all the way to Delhi. But I will have to leave this candy finish to someone better prepared.
When I was undressing for a bed that evening the bicycle computer fell from my jersey pocket, bounced few times off the ceramic floor and went blank. It stopped working. Someone was trying to tell me that this tour is over. I didn't object.
Epilogue
September 2008. Bicycle tours are always more fascinating if you look at them from a distance of few months. Well rested, well fed, the travelers diarrhea receding, the (slightly touched-up) photos look much better than at the time you took them, re-thinking the good and the bad moments from the adventure-less present, it all seems so attractive, you seem to enjoy your tour much more now than at the time when it was happening.
When I look at the picture of asphalt strip running in the middle of stunningly colored hills of high Pamir, or the dramatic road cut into the Indus canyon, I feel the urge to jump up and get back there again. I forget that at the time when I took the photograph I hated every meter of a gravel road, I was fed up with cycling, with dirt and sweat, with kids stalking me at every village, with answering over and over again the same six uninteligent questions.
This was "le tour fatale", after all: fatal for the future trips. At the day 34, the last cycling day, I was sure I'd never come back to 'developing' world, to dirt roads and to places where you can't cycle through the village without being attraction to every man, woman, child and dog. I was sure that my dream of completing the RTW tour one day was ridiculous illusion - it would be impossible for me to go over such things day after day. I am in envy of the ones who can take that. But now, just over one month later, I start to dream of a big tour again.
So, which is the real tour: the one you cycled or the one with the after-the-act make-up? And being fair to the audience - or to yourself - to give the picture to those who are planning something similar: which story would you tell?
When I look at the picture of asphalt strip running in the middle of stunningly colored hills of high Pamir, or the dramatic road cut into the Indus canyon, I feel the urge to jump up and get back there again. I forget that at the time when I took the photograph I hated every meter of a gravel road, I was fed up with cycling, with dirt and sweat, with kids stalking me at every village, with answering over and over again the same six uninteligent questions.
This was "le tour fatale", after all: fatal for the future trips. At the day 34, the last cycling day, I was sure I'd never come back to 'developing' world, to dirt roads and to places where you can't cycle through the village without being attraction to every man, woman, child and dog. I was sure that my dream of completing the RTW tour one day was ridiculous illusion - it would be impossible for me to go over such things day after day. I am in envy of the ones who can take that. But now, just over one month later, I start to dream of a big tour again.
So, which is the real tour: the one you cycled or the one with the after-the-act make-up? And being fair to the audience - or to yourself - to give the picture to those who are planning something similar: which story would you tell?
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