Cycle complete!
It was my first day in Burma, and it had been a seriously enjoyable day. I had left Thailand in the early morning and despite getting a puncture within minutes of my arrival, I had pedalled past some of the most majestic scenery of the trip so far. One hour of huffing and puffing up a mountain made way for a ridiculous freewheel as I dropped 700 metres over another hour. The highway I was on overlooked a lush forest, filling the valley and hiding a river beneath its thick foliage. As I reached the flat, the road took a turn for the worse and the smooth tarmac dissolved into a rough, bumpy 2 Lane road. I guess I shouldn't have been expecting too much!
Not only did the roads strike me as being different from "western" Thailand, but the people were a great deal friendlier. Within the first 2 hours of being in the country I had water handed out to me from a passing car window, and when I had my lunch in a local restaurant, the meal was on the house. I had to say it was the perfect first day in Burma. Later on in the evening I searched for a place to pitch my tent. Although camping is illegal in Burma, along with locals hosting foreigners, guesthouses can be quite often a challenge to find. Not only that but ironically many of them do not accept foreigners (ridiculous paperwork issues) so even when you do find a place you may still be refused entry. Given these options camping almost seems like the best thing so I went with that on the first night there. Finding a dry rice field, out of sight from the main road I pitched the tent quietly and hopped in just as the sun disappeared over the horizon and joined me in the world of sleepland. I had slept quite soundly for several hours when a solitary light approaches the tent. Slightly more confident after my China experience I realise that I probably have nothing to fear and it's probably just a curious local. Sleepy-eyed I stuck my head out the tent door and with a big smile and my best Burmese pronunciation I said hello. From behind the flashlight I could make out a tremendous smile, through rotting teeth, despite the youthful face behind. (I later learned the cause of this for so many Burmese was the chewing of Betel Nut. Apparently it gives you a small high!) As I had thought he was just curious and he carried on his way after several hand motions from me indicating I was sleeping here and cycling on to the next city tomorrow. As he left I looked at my watch and it was 1am. Why on earth is he going out for a walk at this hour of the night? It seemed so bizarre but just to be on the safe side I watched him stroll on to my left to see where he was heading to next. The night was dead clear as a full moon was fixed in the starry night's sky, so that along with the flashlamp made him pretty easy to follow. He then stopped at a great big tree and for several minutes I could hear pichu! pichu! Like the sound of an air rifle being fired. He was shooting something in the tree but I couldn't make out what it was. Anyhow I was too tired to keep watch so safe in the knowledge that he posed no threat to me I went back to sleep. Light. Approaching tent. Again? I check my watch. 2 30am. What could he possibly want now? Presuming it is the same guy! I stick my head out again as the figure holding the flashlight comes to a halt, just feet away from the tent door. Except it's not just him. He's brought his wife with him too! Looking back at it the scene is quite surreal. A small candle in her left hand lights up her face revealing a big friendly smile as large as her husband's. Unusually it's very cold and the ground is already soaking with the dew. It almost feels like a winter's night in Ireland, except this is happening in a field in Burma. The couple are heavily laden with many colourful layers. I guess how ever cold it is for me, they must feel it far more. They have no English but with hand motions yet again we communicate with each other. The man I notice has a large tribal bag by his waist and proudly he pulls out one of his catches for the night. This being a small bird, no bigger than a thrush, limp and lifeless now. I smile in recognition at his impressive haul for the night. The bag looked heavy and I assume there were another 10 or so birds like the one he'd pulled out, no doubt they were on the menu for dinner over the coming week. After putting his catch back in the bag, the couple motioned for me to stay the night with them. With great appreciation and a smile I kindly rejected their offer. In all honesty I would have loved to, but when you're snug in your sleeping bag, the thought of getting up and packing a tent all at 2 30 in the morning really didn't appeal to me. I doubt it would appeal to many of you readers either! Maybe at 11pm but not now. I'd only be resuming my journey in a couple hours time, so there really wasn't much point. In the candlelight amidst much chat and laughter the couple retreated back into the night, thus ending a rather eventful few hours. A sense of relief overwhelmed me as the realisation sunk in that I might finally get some peace and quiet to sleep again. I don't doubt this will be my last nighttime encounter on my year long ride, but I must say they do provide some pretty memorable moments that won't be easily forgotten! In Yangon, (Myanmar) at the moment resting up and really enjoying the Burmese culture. Its pretty hot but making decent distance on the flat roads. Held up here sorting out visas and special permits at the moment but should be on the road soon enough again. On a side note after 8000kms ive finally had my first puncture. Patched it up easy enough though so it wasn't too bad.
Found my new favourite street food here in Yangon which has to be fresh peanut pancakes hot off the pan, with grated coconut. Mmmmm.... So far on the blog Ive shared with you many stories, many incidents that will live long in my memory. And it is true Ive had some good moments, but interspersed have been times of doubting about whether I can actually finish this cycle or not. Ive often glossed over this to show you the "happy" side of the journey. But only 3 days ago my mind was engaged in one of its toughest mental battles I had ever experienced.
I arrived back in Nong Khai 5 days ago to continue my cycle after 2 weeks off back in Ireland. Melissa was exactly where I had left her, (tied to a metal washing line at the back of a western guesthouse.) I pumped up the tyres, oiled her chain, put on the bags, and off I rolled again. In addition I had brought a new gel saddle from Ireland to alleviate the pain in my rear end. Off I went into the thai sun and life was good. The legs were fresh, I was in a good mood to get going again, and all was as I had left it. Fast forward to that afternoon and it was a different story. My legs were shattered and my brow had been sweating perpetually since I'd started. I found a cheap hotel and enjoyed a goods night rest. It would be better in the morning, but it wasnt. The next day I was only 30km down the road when I broke. I pulled in to a bench just off the road, lay down and shed several tears. My legs were in bits and my rear-end was in absoloute agony. Worst of all though was how much I missed home. It was the first time that it had hit me, since coming back, that I wouldnt see many friends and family for a further 7 months. I felt like I couldnt go on. I wanted to quit and I wanted to go home. So many thoughts were racing through my head of whether to quit fully or not. To escape it I turned to my music. First thing that comes to mind when Im in a melancholic mood is to play Coldplays famous song - "The Scientist". Its not a song I had played in a long time but as it was playing some of the lyrics hit me again. They go like this, "Nobody said it was easy No-one ever said it would be this hard." No more did those lyrics ring true for me than at that moment on that bench. The fact I was hearing someone else feeling exactly as I felt in that moment was such a boost to my spirits. I know its cheesy but it was true. So true. After repeating the song 3 times and listening to a few more songs, I put my brain to work. I asked myself, What would it mean for me if I gave up now? Thoughts flew into my mind so quickly about the pros and cons of giving up the cycle. Highest among my list of cons was "I'd forever regret it." I would. I really would never forgive myself if I gave up at this stage. I have this one fantastic opportunity in my life to do this, and its now. And while im (reasonably) fit, I must TRY to achieve it and more importantly, enjoy it. 10 minutes later, and after a bit of food I hopped back on the bike, sore as I was, and pedalled on west. Ireland and Cork may be a long way away but I'm going to enjoy the here and now and in a few days I'll get through this mental battle that Ive found myself in. 3 days and 300km later and it has got easier. The legs are a bit stronger, the rear end a bit tougher and the mind more focused on the miles that lie ahead. Ive no doubt that I'll have many more challenges, both mental and physical ahead of me, but as another famous song goes "What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger." My eyes grow dim once again as my head knocks back against the headrest. Moments later it jerks forward again as I fight this drowsiness that is slowly enveloping me. Glancing back at the screen in front of me, I try to remember the actual plot of this whole movie that I've been drifting in and out off. "Why is he fighting the Mexicans? Aren't they on the same side?" I ask myself. I'm even trying to recollect the movie's title. Sil, Sic, Sig... Sigario wasn't it? The achievement of even remembering the movies name provides me with a moment of satisfaction, even though I'm clueless as to what exactly is happening. I'm too tired. A minute later I've conked again and leaning my head up against the left handside of the headrest. But still I cannot sleep. Several minutes later I hear an air hostess' voice in my left ear. Chicken or salad? What was that? I reply. Oh yes. Chicken please. I fold down the food tray from the seat in front of me and greedily devour the chicken sandwich that is put in front of me. It didn't taste too bad actually. There was a decent slab of chicken but thesauce and lack of trimmings left a lot to be desired. My mind slipped back to an outing a few days earlier with a few of my mates.
We had all met up at the very popular "KC's" pitta/kebab takeaway for a bite to eat before heading to the cinema. The rain lashed down on us as we ran the short journey from the car to the takeaway. Ordering a tender chicken pitta and a large chip, generously smothered in blue cheese mayo, I sprinted back to the car, all the while shielding my precious cargo from the torrents above. Once inside Melvyns Citroën each one of the 4 of us tucked into our individual parcels. As you can only imagine the aromas enveloping the car of spicy fried chicken, warm toasted pittas and fresh chips, filled our bellies before any of us had even taken a bite. 10 minutes later 4 parcels lay empty and 4 stomachs were nicely filled. A feeling of guilt overtook me as I realised just how much calories I has probably put on. Too many to count no doubt. Best not to think about these things. Besides there'd be thousands of miles of cycling ahead for me to worry about that. Back on the plane to Bangkok the fasten seat belts sign flashes as an announcement over the intercom indicates that we shall be landing within a half hour. The chicken sandwich has woken me up somewhat, and I glance to my right to get a glimpse out the plane window of the world below. The orangy glow of city lights are the only thing that stand out in the night sky. I suddenly remember, only for the second time that day that it is my 22nd birthday. When I thought about it, it was the shortest birthday I'd ever had. Cut short by 7 hours given the time difference between Cork and Bangkok. Not that I minded that at all. All I wanted was to get off the aircraft and stretch my legs properly. It had been high time since I had last done so and a large German on my inside was taking up more than his fair share of space. Slightly behind schedule again our plane bounced on the runway, before setting down safely. I always enjoyed analysing the bounce of a landing. The smaller the bounce the more skilled I made out the pilot to be. 2 bounces and he was a shocker, but no bounce meant he was well capable, although I can only remember a handful of times the latter ever happening. This time the pilot did just that. A gentle glide, evenly balanced and without a bounce we landed back on Asian soil once more. The plane crawled to a halt and then the usual hustle and bustle and the long wait begins. If there's one setting where tension hits constant highs it has to be the 10 minutes or so where passengers have stood up, grabbed their bags and then have to stand in line casting nervous glances in the direction of the door. It's always the same. Everyone wants to step out of the sardine tin into the freedom beyond. Finally the first passengers exit the plane and the queue begins to move more freely. Within 2 minutes the plane is half empty as I take long strides along the bridge to get to the front of the immigration queue. Proper immigration it is too in Bangkok, not like Cork or Dublin where you don't even wait a minute, but instead have to wait 30 minutes just to be seen. I've learnt if you want to get through immigration in a hurry, always choose the more aged officials. They tend to care less about who you are and more concerned about keeping the queue moving. The younger, newer officials tend to flaunt their authority asking questions and taking their time making sure you're not the terrorist. Those queues can be horrendously slow, but on this occasion I've chosen right and so make it through relatively quickly. I make my way down the escalators and out the main door. Then it hits me. It can only be that unmistakable humid, clammy wall of heat that gravitates unceasingly around South east Asia. Here we go again! |
The AuthorName: Daniel Ross Top Tips:
1. Constantly challenge yourself. 2. If you never try you'll never know what's possible. Archives
October 2016
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