tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24315609944161021922024-02-20T03:06:01.471+01:00100 days on a bicycleThis journal is about a bicycle trip, starting in Vietnam, ending in ChinaDanielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-4262706850888451952011-12-08T13:16:00.001+01:002011-12-08T15:45:11.245+01:00The Book on the iPad and Nook BookI'm glad to announce that the book '100 days on a bicycle' is available at the iBookstore for the iPad and iPhone as well as a Nook Book from Barnes & Nobles. Because of the lower price and the simplicity of purchasing an eBook, '100 days on a bicycle' is now selling like never before. It's actually the 4th best seller in the travel category of all-times at Lulu.com!<br />
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This truly warms my heart. There is nothing more fulfilling than sharing profound experiences that have changed your inner self and put you where you are today.<br />
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Get your eBook at the iBookstore here:<br />
<a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/book/100-days-on-a-bicycle/id452475748?mt=11" target="_blank">Apple's iBookstore</a><br />
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Find it on Barnes & Nobles here:<br />
<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/100-days-on-a-bicycle-daniel-herstedt/1105793246?ean=9781447597445" target="_blank">Barnes & Nobles Nook Book</a><br />
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Of course you can always get the real thing, a 222-page paperback here:<br />
<a href="http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/100daysbybike">http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/100daysbybike</a><br />
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Or at Amazon here:<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/100-days-bicycle-Daniel-Herstedt/dp/B002AD9RMM" target="_blank">Amazon.com</a><br />
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Plenty of ways at getting it, but it's the same adventurous read. Enjoy the ride!<br />
<br />Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-82970395276129714422008-06-09T08:13:00.003+01:002008-06-09T09:17:07.997+01:00The Book - 100 days on a bicycleThis blog finally became a book! With all the effort and time invested in this blog, why not turn it into a book? With all the respect for the immense digital revolution and the simplicity of spreading your words world-wide with just a few fingertip-clicks, I must argue that this cannot replace the sensation of physically holding a book and turning white pages. So I wrote a book, mainly for my own lasting memories, but also to inspire those of you who one day dream of an adventurous journey on a simple leg-powered two-wheeler.<div>Writing the book I took the opportunity to fill in with more venturesome scenarios that I never had the time to include in my blog posts, and also gave more life to the episodes that I have featured on this blog. The 222-page book is not only a description of my travels, but also a record of what a significant impact the journey has had on my inner-self.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://stores.lulu.com/100daysbybike">So if this blog has inspired you to fulfill a dream, or perhaps only to start preparing plans for a future journey, you can order the book '100 days on a bicycle' by clicking here. Enjoy!</a></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUWz40ivRWcn5vDPZUm_lEWpNR0cXMR4IDNIfiD9Zc7w8FQUjwIoMbVTfgR-OjZ9jx0cerLFzDRDQ71rfNXMbKw2Gd1-NVj9wgCRhHbsQKMJ9_AdMiEVJ5KWsn0eC1nWx2E6u1K8q3VA/s400/Cover_sell.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209791815600206194" /></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-52990530414489006892007-07-13T15:59:00.000+01:002007-07-15T08:23:31.788+01:00Day 95-100: The perfect EndI left Chengdu for Beijing well-rested, ready for new impressions and experiences, but slightly concerned about flying with the bicycle domestically. However, no issues surfaced, although I was surprised not to arrive at Beijing’s international airport. Instead, the aircraft landed at an unusually small airfield, apparently in the vicinity of the larger airport. Immediately after I stepped off the plane, I spotted my bag and bicycle on the conveyer belt only meters from the aircraft. I grabbed my belongings and approached two other western travelers in hope of sharing a taxi to Beijing. An hour and a half later and plenty of negotiations, we were all dropped off in a narrow alley of crowding restaurants and hotels near the Tiananmen Square, in the heart of Beijing. As I checked in at the Far East hotel, I ran into Harel, a quiet Israeli gentleman I had met briefly in Lijiang. Although its exceptional size, China seems smaller when traveling, and I have often met the same people in various locations throughout the Yunnan and Sichuan province, but to reunite after almost a month in one of the largest cities of the world is very rare and almost frightening. We were placed in the same dormitory with four other backpackers in a nicely air-conditioned room for an astonishing 60 Yuan (6 Euros - more than double than any other dormitories I had stayed), and headed out for dinner. On our way we ran into another Swede, Carina, who was in China for her second time to explore more of the country. Together we went out for our evening meal to celebrate our first day in Beijing and share plans and ideas. <div><div><div><br /></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1094/797267692_c59238ccb6.jpg" border="0" />Beijing is an overwhelmingly large city where you can spend weeks sightseeing and touring in and around the capital. Its population of over 15 million people does not even begin to describe how huge it appears when walking the streets among thousands of other tourists. As a result, I felt a bit stressed over what parts to visit and explore. After consulting Carina, Harel and other travelers in Chengdu, I decided to focus on the Great Wall, Forbidden City, Summer Palace and a cycle tour around the metropolis, prioritizing the Great Wall since I had seen a great number of temples, monasteries and parks throughout Yunnan and Sichuan provinces already. Also, the Great Wall is probably one of the most famous, celebrated and spectacular sites of the world. In point of fact, the 5000-kilometer wall is visible from the moon, which speaks for itself. With all that being planned, I had a hefty schedule to live up to, thus early the next day I woke to rush out into the street, heading for the Forbidden City on my bicycle. Before I entered the holy site, I wandered around the adjoining Tiananmen Square. The Square is full of walking tourists, taking pictures and buying souvenirs. Amazingly, it is large enough to house them all, hence it never feels cramped. As a matter of fact, it is the largest public square in the world, making ‘Stortorget’ (eng. translation: Big Square) in my hometown appear minuscule. In every direction of the Square there are other famous sites – to the north the ‘Gate of Heavenly Peace’, which is the entrance to the Forbidden City, to the east – ‘Museum of Chinese History’, to the west – ‘The Great Hall of the People’. In the middle of the Square stands the ‘Monument to the People’s of Heroes’, surrounded by red and gold Chinese flags and guarding soldiers. Not surprisingly or unintentionally, it felt extraordinary communistic and propagandist. Nevertheless, the Tiananmen Square was impressive. After an hour, I crossed over the square to the north and entered the Forbidden City, once home to two dynasties of emperors and the largest and best-preserved groups of ancient buildings in China. The site is not so forbidden anymore as thousands of tourists crowd it everyday. Just to buy the ticket I spend half and hour queuing and later pushed my way through packs of Chinese tourists in matching outfits of different colors. There was the orange team, the blue team and it seemed as if the entire spectrum of colors were present. Just as I left a crowd of orange dressed children fascinated by me and my camera, I ran into a student from Beijing University. He took me to the gallery of the school and presented some remarkable art work. It way have been part of a huge tourist scam, but I enjoyed the gallery and his engagement, as well as his fascinating work, thus bought two traditional Chinese paintings from him. I continued to fight my way through the swarm of tourists for two more hours, having walked through most of the site. There were so many temples of various sizes and purposes that I forgot the name of most of them as I left the area, stopping for some dumplings on my way back to the bicycle. The Forbidden City, named so because it was off limits for 500 years, certainly is an impressive site, but the current restorations for the Olympics and great number of tourists made it a less astounding experience for me. Half the day had passed but I had yet another large site to conquer – the Summer Palace of Beijing. This immense park is located about 20 kilometers north of the city-center and is dotted with palace temples, gardens, pavilions and bridges around the Kunming Lake. Not having notably cycled for a few days since I pedaled to the Panda Breeding Base in Chengdu, I pushed on with full force and arrived quickly at the park in the early afternoon. I spent two hours in the Summer Palace, walking around temples, crossing bridges and finally taking a boat across the mirrored, clear lake. Unfortunately, clouds were hanging low over the park, resulting in small showers and obscured views. Just when I left the park, the clouds had become too heavy and released rain with full power. Wet and exhausted, I arrived at the hotel just before supper, and made plans for the evening with Harel and Carina.<br /></div><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1399/797513432_e0e171f30e.jpg" border="0" />You can visit the Great Wall of China at many different locations. It stretches east-west, 5000 kilometers from its speckled remains in Liaoning province to the Gobi desert. Simply summarized, the closer you are to Beijing, the more tourists you will encounter, and the more restored the Wall might be. As a result, I wanted to get as far as I possible could from Beijing in order to visit the Wall in solitude, and be able to witness parts of the Wall unrestored. I had heard of the possibility to camp in one of the many towers consistently positioned every few hundred meter on the Wall. The idea quickly appealed to me and just as swiftly I convinced Harel to join me. With our sleeping bags and my one-person tent we headed for Jinshanling, about 110 kilometers north of Beijing to hike the Great Wall for 10 kilometers to Simatai, where we would climb the challenging last way up an extremely steep section of the Wall as far as tourist are allowed. On the way we planned to find an appropriate tower to camp in. After a subway ride, bus trip and an expensive taxi fare, we were finally in Jinshanling in the early afternoon, starting our hike towards Simatai. Before we could climb up on the Wall and get on our way, we had a few hundred meters to walk. Tensely, I paced the last meters up on the Wall, curious of what I was about to witness. Once there, the beauty and magnitude of it took me by surprise. Although I had seen several pictures of it and its colossal scale and length, I was still in chock of how enormous it appeared as it twisted its way over the mountain tops. The fact that human slaves had built this Wall with their bare hands was an unattainable thought. Amazed, we continued to walk east towards Simatai, up and down the Wall, always on the top of the mountain chain. The surrounding environment of layers of mountain peaks also stroke both me and Harel as exceptionally stunning. Clouds were softly floating between the mountains below us or creating a mystic, dramatic light above us. In front, the Wall swirled its way under our feet through the spectacular landscape. We walked slowly, stopping to take pictures, too often or too seldom, we could not tell. It all was too beautiful. After three hours the drizzling rain turned into a heavy downpour and we decided to stop for the day in the third tower from the tallest peak we had crossed during our 3-hour walk. We figured we were close to Simatai and would easily walk there the next morning after sunrise. The main reason I had desired to camp was to watch the sun set in the west behind the Wall, and rise over the mountains in the morning to the east. Unfortunately, as the rain continued to pour down and the wind grew stronger and stronger, my hope of seeing the sunset completely diminished. We settled down in the tower, Harel putting up his hammock, me pinching up my small tent, prepared our dinner of bananas, cookies and beer and gradually made ourselves comfortable. As we were sitting chewing on Chinese Oreo cookies, I saw an orange spot of light emerging on the stone wall behind Harel. Can it be true? I yelled out something incomprehensible, jumped up to run to get my camera, scaring Harel almost to death. The clouds had mysteriously cleared at the horizon, behind the Wall where the sun was slowly setting. The golden rays were so strong they filled the sky with a delightful orange color, leaving the Great Wall as a silhouette in the foreground. Not only did we get to experience the sunset over the Great Wall, but I also witnessed the most breathtaking sunset I had ever seen. Very satisfied and excited over our mutual experience we sat and talked until the sun had disappeared completely, only leaving room for darkness. Shortly we were both asleep. We woke up the next day to an even more stunning sunrise with soft clouds lingering in the valleys of the mountains. Again, the sun was casting golden rays, illuminating the sky in orange hues, the Wall barely visible in the morning hazy mist. The landscape took a dreamlike appearance I had never before experienced of endless layers of golden mountain peaks with translucent clouds hovering in between. Again, me and Hajal stood startled, orangey illuminated, and amazed by the beauty of nature and the Great Wall. As lightness emerged, we walk towards Simatai for about an hour until we reached a guesthouse which served us a very essential nutritious meal before we were about to tackled the steep climb of the Great Wall of Simatai. By now I had cycled over 3500 kilometer and completed few treks, thus, frankly, the climb was quite easy, although I had heard stories that told otherwise. At the top, where visitors where not allowed to proceed, we could see the Wall stretch as far as the eye could see. Now the day had fully arrived and the sky was clear and vivid blue with no clouds to obscure the view. Again, we took a few moments to try to grasp the magnitude of building the Wall, an undertaking which took 2000 years to complete, before we headed back down and walked the last kilometers to Simatai. The way back to Beijing was as complicated and tedious as our way to Jinshanling, but will not interfere with the memories of hiking the Great Wall – an experience I will never forget. <div> </div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1368/796414527_ee3567269e.jpg" border="0" />Both me and Harel agreed that a hike of that enormity deserved unrestricted celebrations, thus we met up with friends to share some Chinese rice liquor and beer. A new friend that I had met in Chengdu, Tim, joined us for the party. Tim added greatly to the celebrations with his stories of life in the state of Lousiana in the U.S. and surviving Hurricane Katrina, as well running a few businesses, practicing a rare kind of martial art, speaking several languages, and traveling, all while smiling and spreading positive energy around him. This 23-year old man had enough stories to fill the entire evening with laughter and excitement. Tim is a charming and intellectual character that you do not meet often in life. Be prepared, though, to listen more than speaking. My last day of my journey consisted of treating a hangover, shopping, packing and again, dissembling the bicycle for the plane ride. The day was quickly over and at the end of it I was sitting with ten other travelers, some older friends, some new acquaintances, around a big wooden table in a typical Chinese courtyard with red lanterns lighting up the patio, drinking local beer for 2 Yuan (0,2 Euros) a bottle, trying to grasp that my journey was over. People were singing, playing guitar, making jokes, sharing travel stories and laughing as if time stood still. As the evening progressed I thought more and more about my experiences over the last 100 days. It seemed as if I had been traveling for an eternity and my experiences felt infinite. Everyday I had been presented new experiences that would last in my memories for years to come, some as long as I will live. I felt as if the last 100 days had extended my life with 100 months, having encountered countless unique and new situations. From every experience I learned something valuable, something new about the world that would broaden my knowledge and perspective of life. I realized how easy it is to get trapped in the routine of life and lock yourself to one way of thinking, forgetting that the world is greater than your backyard. Nevertheless, life is also about routine and familiarity, which leads to close friends, relationships and family. With that thought I retired to bed, not only extremely pleased with my travels, but excited to get home to family, friends and my girlfriend.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600789765099/show/"><strong>SLIDESHOW</strong> BEIJING & THE GREAT WALL</a><br /><div> </div></div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-61113750612912723702007-07-05T13:00:00.000+01:002007-07-05T13:26:39.933+01:00Day 85-94: The end of cyclingJust south of Emeishan city lies the village of Baoguo. Here travelers gather to prepare a 2500 meter vertical climb to the peak of Mount Emei. The mountain is covered with thousands of concrete stairs, all leading up to the summit, at 3099 meters elevation. Along the stairs are various Buddhist monasteries and temples, sadly most of them under construction or newly renovated, but still add to the atmosphere. The main motive to climb the mountain is to witness the sunrise or sunset over the bed of clouds that surrounds the summit almost all year around. <div><br /></div><div></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1255/723460073_a9e7b4169e.jpg" border="0" />After two weeks of cycling more then 1000 kilometers, and few resting days, I was reluctant to climb the thousands of steps leading up to the summit of Mount Emei. Also, the monotony of walking up stairs did not appeal to me, thus I decided to take a bus up to 2500 meters elevation, walk two hours, climbing the most evil part of the stairs, find a place to stay and rise early the following morning to catch the sun breaking the day over soft layers of clouds at 3099 meters above sea level. As a result, on my second afternoon in Baoguo village, I caught a bus with the party of Chinese tourists in matching clothes, hats and flags. The bus wove its way up the steep road, a very familiar sight, but now I was comfortable seated on an air-conditioned bus opposed to pedaling up the mountain. After two hours the bus stopped and all passengers rushed to pull their jackets out of their bags and cover themselves in the chilling temperatures of 2500 meters elevation. The quick ascend made me slightly lightheaded and caused a mild headache. Nevertheless, the two hours passed quickly as I marched my way up the concrete stairs through the forest, monasteries and temples. By the time I found a small house along the path that could serve me my last meal of the day and provide shelter, it was after seven o'clock. After dinner I retired to bed early to prepare for a two-hour walk at the crack of dawn. The cramped room felt primitively simple, just large enough to house a bed and a TV, with an external door that would not shut or lock, adding to the uncivilized experience. Ironically, for the first time since entering China, the TV displayed a perfect digital picture and provided numerous channels, including a few English speaking alternatives. The odd mixture of old and new was shortly lived when my alarm clock buzzed quarter past four, three hours before sunrise, making my entire body shudder in disapproval. Slowly I made my way out the door, stepping into the dark, silent forest. Immediately, I was startled by the open, clear night sky, dotted with billions of brilliant stars, visible through the tree tops. Never before have I witnessed such a bright, vivid and clear starry sky. Breathless, I stood paralyzed by its beauty and scale until my balance lost orientation. I advanced up the stairs into the darkness of the forest, the beam of my head-flashlight leading the way. After an hour and a half I reached the summit. To my surprise, I was alone, wandering through the temple grounds in complete obscurity and silence. The stillness was interrupted as I climbed the last stairs to the Golden Summit as other hikers made their entrance. At the edge of the cliff, looking out over the dark clouds, I stood for an hour and a half as lightness emerged, watching and hearing hundreds of Chinese tourists entering the famous site. It is widely recognized that Chinese people constantly, openly and loudly clear their throats, spitting whenever and wherever possible. The phenomenon is especially noticeable in the first hours of the day. Adding the early morning exercise does not exactly relieve their eccentric habit. One after one they came climbing the final stairs, panting and wheezing. The constant noise soon transformed into an orchestra of hawking and spitting in various tones. It truly was disgusting. When the sun made its entrance, all sounds came to a stop, and every visitor stood in awe, watching the sun rise over the sea of clouds, turning the sky into a rich orange and yellow color. The entire temple site was illuminated in golden hue. To the west, the Gonga Mountains appeared in the far distance as the sun continued to rise. The 7500 meter glacier peaks are rarely visible, even on the clearest day, perfecting my visit to the Golden Summit of Mount Emei. <img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1369/724312914_4dfaa851f3.jpg" border="0" />Climbing down stairs from an elevation of 3099 meters to approximately 500, I highly underestimated. It required stepping down thousands and thousands of tedious steps. Fortunately, I found company at the top. A British traveler, named Damien, had actually climbed the entire way up, and was determined to step all the way down as well. Together we started marching down step by step after the sun had risen over the Summit. Just before lunch an appearance of a group of Baboons broke the monotonous stride. They are known to linger the area in hope of finding or stealing food from passing humans. Their large size and sharp, long teeth are slightly frightening. Excited, we quickly pulled out our cameras, squatted to get a better camera perspective, but before I had time to press the exposure button, a large male Baboon ran towards Damien at an alarming pace. As Damien instantly stood up, the Baboon reached down into his right pocket, trying to grab a package of biscuits that had popped out when Damien bent down to take a picture. Frantically, the Baboon was trying to grab the food, pulling and jerking Damien’s shorts. When he reached down to stop the fearless monkey, it snapped at him, hit his hand and displayed its vicious teeth. Seconds later the Baboon was eating what was left of the crumbled biscuits, not willing to share any with the rest of its fellow Baboons. It seems that the monkeys of Mount Emei would do anything to fill their stomachs. During lunch, as we started to alleviate our hunger, another brave monkey entered the restaurant. It jumped up onto the table behind us where a woven rise bowl was place, tore the top lid off and desperately began to stuff rise into its mouth. I stood up, shouted and chased the Baboon out of the restaurant, laughing at the exceptionally awkward scenario. The Baboons, not the walk down the mountain, had made my day.<br /><br /><div><div>The next day I was scheduled to cycle 50 kilometers to Leshan, a large city to the east, along the Dadu River. However, I woke up early with severe pains in my calves, questioning my ability to pedal. Despite their growing size and strength, descending thousands of steps had left them impaired. I was able to walk with short, tiny steps while biting my tongue in pain. To undertake any kind of stairs was nearly impossible. To my relief, cycling was the least painful of the three; walking, climbing stairs and cycling. Thus, I headed for Leshan, moaning and cursing. On the way I planned to stop at the "1000 Buddha Cliffs", near the city of Jiajiang 30 kilometers north of Emei Town. But after entering the site, having paid the entrance fee and discovering a series of stairs that swirled up and down through the hundreds of Buddha statues, I immediately turned around. I literally could not climb stairs, let alone walk down them. Instead, I cycled the last 25 kilometers to Leshan, and found a hotel on the bank of Dadu River, in the heart of Leshan. I had only one obligation in Leshan; to visit the Grand Buddha of Leshan, the largest Buddha in the world. 71 meters high, carved into the cliff overlooking the Dadu River, it is an overwhelming structure impressing hundreds of visitors everyday. On my first day in Leshan, I cycled a beautiful road along the river to the site early to miss the Chinese tourists. I wandered the site impressed by its scale, unenthusiastic about my sore calves. I spent two days in Leshan, cycling around town or traveling by "cyclo", avoiding walking as much as possible. I found the city charming and its people unexceptionally friendly. The outdoor servings along the river provided a cheerful atmosphere, and I spend both evenings there eating and drinking local beer, one night with the company of a Dutch traveler and a Chinese family playing a traditional Chinese game. On my last night I went swimming in the mighty Dadu River as is surges along the edge of the city. It seemed to be a common evening practice among the locals, although they were floating more than swimming, wearing floatable rings around their waists. I, on the other hand, was convinced I could stay afloat on my own as I entered the water to swim with the force of the river for a few kilometers until the stream weakened and I left the river, proud and excited about the experience.<br /></div><div>160 kilometers separates Leshan from Chengdu. I had originally planned to take a bus the last stretch of my journey, but since I left Kunming in Yunnan I had made a promise to myself to not step on a bus when I could cycle. Therefore, I intended to reach Chengdu in two days, dividing the 160 kilometers accordingly. However, a wild idea occurred to me when I was in Leshan, sitting comfortably by the river, looking at the water passing by. Why not end my cycling with the longest stretch of the journey? On a flat, smooth road I could easily average 20 km/h, and I could also cycle over eight hours, that I proved to myself when leaving Lijiang to Ninglang a few weeks ago. Therefore, I could hopefully manage 160 kilometers without too much difficulty. The plan was to divide the day into four two-hour "spinning classes", and between each "spinning class" I would break to eat and drink. Each two-hour "spinning class" would transport me about 40 kilometers. 40 times four makes 160. The plan worked as I uneventfully pedaled to the outskirt of Chengdu city on smooth tarmac and crowded roads. My bicycle computer correctly displayed 160 kilometers and 21,5 km/h average speed as I entered the city. The remaining 15 kilometers until I reached the guesthouse on the north side only slowed me down, but did not pose any problems. Having cycled 175 kilometers, I stepped off the bicycle enormously proud of my accomplishment; ready to put the bicycle away for this time (but for small excursions around Chengdu and Beijing). After a well-earned hot shower, I sat down to order food at the atmospheric, pleasant guesthouse (<a href="http://www.mixhostel.com/">Mix Guesthouse</a>) and met another cyclist - Ian from England. He had seen my bicycle parked inside the lobby and curiously asked a series of questions. I answered and proudly explained that I had completed 175 kilometers today to finish a 3500-kilometers bicycle adventure. He congratulated me as well as enlightened me that he, too, was a dedicated cyclist. Further, he informed about his latest journey which had started in Istanbul, and was not going to end in the next years to come. Ian had traveled by bicycle for the last twelve years, cycling mainly in China but also other places in the world. In China alone he has pedaled 58,000 kilometers, further than the distance around the equator of our planet. My 3500 kilometers from Saigon in the south of Vietnam to Chengdu in central China suddenly seemed insignificant. Nevertheless, I tried to celebrate my endeavor, but after two beers I stumbled into bed, postponing the celebrations for another night.</div><div></div><div></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1115/724669068_5969e046d4.jpg" border="0" />Chengdu is the capital city of the Sichuan province. With close to five million inhabitants it is a large, modern, commercial city of clustered high-rise buildings, busy streets and loads of western influences. McDonalds, Starbucks, Pizza Hut and several western well-known clothing brands are present in every large department store. Still, the city offers a taste of Sichuan culture and history, and one can easily find small, lively streets and markets where men and women sell various traditional foods and goods. I had several days in Chengdu to rest, relax, run errands and sightsee. There are many attractions and places to visit in and around the city. I started with handling most of my errands, such as pick up my flight ticket to Beijing and exchange money. Secondly, I cycled around the capital to get an overview of the central metropolis and experience the atmosphere. I visited the famous Wenshu temple, Chengdu's most well-preserved and largest Buddhist temple. Its tea garden made a perfect place to update my journal, read and observe monks in their daily life. When my bum had had a couple of days of rest, I cycled to the Giant Panda Breeding Research Base, 15 kilometers north of the city. Here, about 50 Pandas are housed and the site is world-known for excellence in panda research, breeding and nursing. The park is also the largest in the world of its kind. It reminded me of a big, standard zoo, but only consisting of pandas. Walking through the park, seeing tens of pandas sleeping or eating (that is all they do) was exhilarating. Never before have I been so close to these endangered animals. Despite their large size, they are overwhelmingly adorable. Their movements are slow and childlike, fumbling as they stuff themselves with heaps of bamboo; their main source of food. Often they strike an awkward, charming pose as if they know how to get the crowds of tourists to fumble with their cameras, trying to seize the moment. I continued to visit various sites of the city, some interesting, some dull and ordinary. Despite my active engagement of the city, I have had plenty of time to hang around the guesthouse, doing nothing, reading, watching movies or speaking to other travelers, sharing experiences and stories. I have slept more than usual, a sign of relaxation and relief. The massage parlor across the street, offering a professional full-body rub down for 20 Yuan (2 Euros), might play a small role to my peaceful state of mind. My last day in Chengdu will be uneventful but for packing and the tedious process of dissembling my bicycle, preparing it for the plane ride. In a couple of days I will arrive in Beijing to enjoy my last days of my journey.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600656004382/show/" target="_blank"><strong>SLIDESHOW</strong> EMEI TO CHENGDU</a></div><div></div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-62178620170225201222007-06-26T06:07:00.000+01:002007-06-27T10:56:12.847+01:00Day 79-84: Beyond 3000 kilometers<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;">I stayed one full day in Xichang to rest, refuel and take advantage of western influences, such as brewed coffee and fast food. By afternoon on my day off I felt guilty for not having seen more of the city of <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Xichang</st1:place></st1:city> what I already was accustomed to, thus I rented a </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;">“</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;">cyclo</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;">”</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;"> to take me for a tour around town. However, I was more excited about not cycling myself than of the surrounding scenery. Xichang looked just like any medium-sized city I have witnessed so far. Consequently, although my body told me otherwise, the following day I headed for Mianning, about 80 kilometers to the north on the bicycle. The first kilometers were awful, cycling through areas of factories on crowded, bumpy roads, passing one dump yard after another. All the foul odors of our planet were present. A mix of manure, droppings, garbage, fish oil, exhausts, and motor oil made its way up my nostrils and did not leave for the rest of the day. Nevertheless, the last kilometers to Mianning were pleasant and I arrived relieved having left the road behind. The next day I hoped for better conditions, but was bewildered by a long climb, lasting 50 kilometers. Although the environment was stunning, the slanting road was once again straining my legs to their physical limits. When cycling uphill for several hours, I tend to loose perspective of the road and can no longer tell how it angles. At times I believe I am traveling on a flat surface, going at a slow speed, believing I am too weak to go faster, when I am actually pedaling uphill on a fairly steep road. This became obvious when the road finally turned downward, and I was free-wheeling at great speeds for several kilometers, setting a new speed record (68 km/h). Shortly, I was in Shimian, 102 kilometers north of Mianning looking for a place to stay. Although it is a seemingly large city, I had difficulties finding a decent accommodation at a reasonable price. Every encounter with hotel personnel made me more and more frustrated as I was trying to communicate my questions. What seems to be an ordinary procedure was here an impossible task. ‘How much is a single room and can I see it, please?’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;">,</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;"> I gestured as well as spoke out loudly in both English and Chinese in my last attempt finding a room. The response was a series of words </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;">in</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;"> Chinese I believe even a local traveler would have a hard time grasping. Although I clearly displayed my inability to understand they continued their </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;">blathering</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;">, involving more people to join the useless conversation. When they finally comprehended that I was not getting a word they were saying, they carefully wrote down the Chinese characters and pointed at them with a big smile, thinking that now they are really clever. Then the process started all over and it took a few minutes for them to understand that I do not master Chinese writing either. Eventually I received four fingers for 40 Yuan, and the rest of my questions I left for another day, although I had involved my entire body trying to get my points across, as if playing the charades. Sadly, this procedure has repeated itself numerous times in recent days. It is a tedious process, and making it every afternoon is tearing on my </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;color:black;">psyche. I am getting more and more impatient, intolerant and unfortunately unfriendly.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;color:black;"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;color:black;">To my surprise, however, the evening in Shimian was delightful</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;color:black;">. I walked up and down the neon illuminated streets, greeting locals, trying various foods from the street vendors. Again, I was the center of attention and was invited to join people at their tables or seats when passing by.<?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span><br /><br /><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;color:black;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1048/626645302_bbbe9cebfb.jpg" border="0" /><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;color:black;">To break the daily routine, I decided to leave later the next day, having a peaceful breakfast in Shimian and update my dairy before cycling to Hanyuan, a mere 50 kilometers away. The peaceful setting I had imagined was quickly interrupted by curious locals surrounding me in large numbers, trying to strike up conversations in Chinese. Before I lost my senses I rolled out of Shimian just before lunch time but did not get far. Just outside of the city I was stopped by a hefty Chinese police woman, doing her best to explain that I was not allowed to proceed any further right now. ‘Twenteen, you go’, she confirmed. Not sure what ‘twenteen’ meant I ignored her attempts to stop me, thinking she is probably only demonstrating authority. After a couple of kilometers, however, I noticed a line of trucks building up, and as I continued following the sequence of vehicles I came to a road block. Apparently, traffic was only open between one and three o’clock due to several landslides being cleared from the roads. Having experienced a few landslides previously, I respectfully agreed to wait for an hour and a half until the road would open. The waiting did not concern me, nor did the company of starring truckers, but the fact that I was scheduled to share the dangerous zone of bumpy, dirty, rocky, muddy roads with hundreds of large, old, toxic trucks troubled me. The policemen kindly gave me fifteen minutes to get a head start. I pedaled as fast as I could, but the loose gravel, mud and dust increasingly slowed me down, and after ten kilometers the trucks were roaring behind me. Just as I entered a large area of deep mud and large water puddles, they starting passing me one after another, sending huge waves of mud and water waist high over me and the bicycle. I cursed, waved and desperately was trying to note my presence. But just as me, the truckers were eager to move on and leave this horrible scene behind, thus ignored me entirely but for a few loud honks of their horn. The constant roaring and the intense, thick fumes of black exhausts, forced me to stop and cover up my face in full bandit attire. I considered waiting until the traffic had passed but the line of trucks was kilometers long, and at creeping speeds it would last hours. Instead, I pushed on passing slow moving trucks, squishing between them when necessary. To my amusement, some trucks had flat tires or became overheated, coming to a complete stop and held up the traffic. I swirled my way through the maze of honking large vehicles, holding my breath in the dark clouds of diesel fumes, smoke and exhausts. Eventually, I left them behind and pedaled my way to Hanyuan over cracked, bumpy and littered roads. Hanyuan was a big disappointment. Just as the road on the way there, it is a dusty, muddy and filthy place of run-down concrete buildings and cracked pot-holed roads of poor tarmac. After having checked in at the nicest hotel I could find, I settle down for my evening meal. As I finished eating a young student approached me and asked if I would be her friend and teach her some English. Tired, I accepted, not knowing that it involved meeting her family, dog and boyfriend and 30 minutes walk from the town center. After yet a night of pleasant celebrity treatment, I crashed in bed later than usual.<o:p></o:p></span> </div><div><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1271/626659908_273317d28c.jpg" border="0" /><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;color:black;">Despite my short visit, I was pleased to leave Hanyuan, although I was clueless to where to cycle next. After asking over ten locals the way to Yonghe or Jinkouhe, I was still in disarray. I decided to follow the advice of the last man pointing me in the direction I arrived the previous day. Still uncertain of the way, I stopped one last time to confirm my route. The woman at a gas station pointed me in the opposite direction, and I almost gave up, ready to cycle to the next bus station, and give up cycling altogether. Also, I had lost my compass when bumping over the cobbled roads a week ago. Now I really needed it. Finally, I decided to trust my instinct and head towards the sun, which had recently risen in the east. I also decided to follow the stream of the <st1:placename st="on">Dadu</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">River</st1:placetype>, which logically would be going down-stream towards the city of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Leshan</st1:place></st1:city>. My theories proved to be right, but before I had the opportunity to catch up with the time lost asking directions, I was stopped once again by a road block a few kilometers outside of the city. Again, the road was closed due to massive landslides in great numbers, and I was forced to wait until the road opened almost three hours later. The same procedure repeated itself from the previous day as I covered my face with my scarf, pulled my hat down as far as possible and tightly placed my sunglasses over my eyes. Dirty, exhausted and hungry I was lastly closing in on Jinkouhe 70 kilometers later, a city set next to the mighty <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Dadu</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place>. The city looked beautiful across the river as I was approaching, and instantly was overwhelmed by relief and joy. The thought of a warm meal and hot shower made me forget all the difficulties and impasses of the day. I stopped at the first restaurant I saw at the edge of the city, close to the river, ordered my food and drinks and made myself comfortable by whipping off as much dirt and sweat of my body as possible. When my meal arrived so did a group of middle-aged men who sat down at the table next to me. One of them quickly came over to greet me and spoke comprehensible English. He welcomed me to Jinkouhe, but also kindly explained that no foreigners are allowed here and after my meal I had to proceed to the next town ‘thirtyeen’ kilometers away. I politely responded that I was just staying one night, I was exhausted, dirty and that I was not going to cause problems, and honestly I was not going anywhere further tonight. When he nicely insisted on me leaving I humorously asked what would happen if would stay. ‘Would the police arrest me’, I joked. ‘Yes’, he replied. ‘We are the police’. Instantly, one of his colleagues came over to proudly show his police badge. ‘It is not safe here’, the officer added. 'You must leave now.’ After my meal and additional pleading, I was still not being allowed to stay. Exhausted, my muscles stiff and soar; I cycled out of the city, amazed by the principles of the Chinese police. I quickly thought about heading for the other side of the city and secretly find accommodation, but when I saw the police following me in their private car, waving enthusiastically, pointing me in the right directions, that option suddenly became obsolete. They were escorting me out of the town. Sadly, not only did the ‘thirtyeen’ mean thirty kilometers opposed to thirteen, the entire road was under construction all the way to E’bian. As the sun was setting I entered the city which was bustling with life. However, I was too tired to take part and after dinner I collapsed in bed, once again utterly exhausted.</span><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;color:black;">Surprisingly, the next day I woke up feeling great. Maybe because it was my last day before I would reach Emei and take a break from cycling for a few days. Out of the last thirteen days I had cycled eleven, and it was taken its tow on my body as well as tearing on my psyche. My bum was in bad condition and I was almost running out of my German wonder cream, my knees slightly aching and legs generally stiff. More significantly, I was having difficulties handling the daily routine of getting up early, pack my packs, check-out of the hotel and later in the day check-in, unpack, all while trying to communicate with the locals. I was also feeling a bit lonely not being able to speak fluently with anyone for almost two weeks. Therefore, excited and astonishingly full of energy I pedaled the last 60 kilometers to Emei over one mountains pass and through several of construction sites. Emei is referred to the area of Emeishan city but primarily people associate it with the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Emei</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Mountain</st1:placetype></st1:place>, 3099 meters high, spotted with Buddhist monasteries and temples. The hike up and down the mountain is now a common tourist attraction, and I will join all the travelers in the next few days to walk through Buddhist history and culture.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;color:black;"><a href="http://http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600490235731/show/" target="_blank"><strong>SLIDESHOW</strong> XICHANG TO EMEI</a> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><a href="http://herstedt.googlepages.com/Route_report.htm" target="_blank">View updated Route Report</a></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;color:black;"><o:p></o:p></span></p></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-52162875229366121822007-06-20T03:22:00.000+01:002007-06-21T10:30:38.393+01:00Day 71-78: Roads less traveled<div>Before I left Lijiang I allowed myself one additional day of rest, relax and a chance to run my last errands before heading towards Lugu Lake, and later Xichang. I was thoroughly enjoying my stay in Lijiang at Mama's Guesthouse. Mama is a powerful, robust, loud, aggressive, but short woman who runs three guesthouses in Lijiang - simply Mama no. 1, 2, and 3. She has recently become famous for her rough manners which interestingly has attracted many pack packers and travellers. When I first arrived in Lijiang and entered Mama no. 3, Mama herself greeted me with a load hello. 'Hungry?', she screamed out next. I nodded carefully and politely asked for a menu. 'No menu! You have egg and tomato. Sit down!', she firmly replied. Her manners were charmingly rude. She truly acts as if she is your Mama, and I quite liked it. Every night she makes dinner for all guests who crowd the restaurant at 18.00 every night to indulge in a delicious Chinese buffet for 10 Yuan (1 Euro) per person. With an accompanying beer for 3 Yuan (0,3 Euro), most guests never have dinner anywhere else. Despite somewhat rude behaviour, Mama and her staff were always helpful when approached correctly. When I left the guesthouse after a total of four nights, they gave me decorative souvenirs for good luck and fortune and as many bananas as I could fit in my panniers. Thanks, Mama. </div><div> </div><div></div><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1300/572909567_f02d9fa1d9.jpg" border="0" />Initially, I had planned three days of cycling in order to reach the beautiful, scenic Lugu Lake, but a new road through the Mian Mian mountains would save me a day. I jumped on the opportunity, although I knew that crossing the mountain chain would be very demanding as well as a long ride, probably more than 120 kilometers. However, after two full days of leisure and relaxation I was ready for more physical challenges and set off towards Ninglang. The day started perfectly; the sun was shining, warming my skin in the cool, breezy wind, and I was pedaling effortless for the first 20 kilometers. To my delight the road also angled downward, making the first 40 kilometers a true cycling pleasure. However, despite my excitement of free-wheeling I was troubled due to the fact that I knew I still had to climb the Mian Mian mountains. Descending would only force me to climb even higher later in the day. I managed to ignore my anguish as I rolled all the way down to the river at the bottom of the mountain. After a tasty lunch by the river I curiously pedaled on, unaware of the coming obstacles. When the road started to slant upward I accepted the conditions and changed to the lowest gears, nevertheless, worried about how long the ascending would last. My concerns dramatically increased when the dreaded cobbled stones returned once again to make my life a living hell. At 80 kilometers the road was still angled in my disfavor, and the cobbled, rocky road very present. After 40 kilometers pedaling uphill on a road built to destroy bicycles, I stopped by a farmer's house to ask for food and water in lack of better options. He gladly invited my to his mudbrick house, and instructed his wife to get the fire started and cook me a meal, which would only consist of fried bread. As I sat there on a tiny stool in front of the fire, wobbling on the uneven dirt floor, I could hardly believe people could live under such poor and filthy conditions. They had no electricity and the only running water was from a rusty pump in front of the house. The farmer, his wife and father all had not washed in days and everything around me was covered in filth. Still, when preparing my meal the wife carefully washed all utilities in front of me as if she was very aware of their dirty home. Despite their poor living conditions they displayed great hospitality and even refused to accept money for the bread and green tea. According to the farmer I had another 20 kilometers until the road would finally turn downhill. I hoped he would be wrong, but as I found out fighting my way up the road over sharp stones, he was unfortunately right. After 60 kilometers uphill I had already claimed this the toughest, most demanding day of my journey, not including the additional bumpy way down to Ninglang. When I finally arrived after 125 kilometers, eight and a half hours of cycling, and more than twelve hours on the road it was almost eight o'clock. After dinner and a shower I could not even remembering falling asleep before I woke up the next morning, scheduled to cycle to Lugu Lake. </div><div><br /><div></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1045/572614282_85e79b1d87.jpg" border="0" />Lugu Lake (Lugu Hu) is located northeast of Lijiang at the Yunnan - Sichuan province border almost 2700 meters above sea level. The beautiful lake with its stunning surrounding scenery makes it a worthwhile stop, although cycling there means climbing mountains above 3000 meters elevation. After a sturdy breakfast I was ready to tackle the slanting roads once again and hoped that this day was not going to be as brutal as the previous. I was wrong. The steep, cobbled road continued to stretch my physical abilities to the limit, and tortured me for 73 kilometers all the way to Luoshui, a small town bordering the lake. Several times during the day I was forced to walk uphill when my legs surrendered, or I had to jump off the bicycle, leaving room on the narrow road for tourist buses on their way to Lugu Lake. At times I was tempted to wave down a bus and join the other Chinese tourists who so empathetically stared at me from their soft seats on the air-conditioned transporters. Just before I arrived, a heavy rainstorm made sure to make this yet another unforgettable day. I rushed to find a cozy hotel built in traditional wooden Chinese style at the edge of the lake. The room had a huge panorama window facing the reflecting water, and for 30 Yuan (3 Euro) it was mine for two days. Amazingly, after a hot shower, all pains and sorrows of the day were quickly forgotten as I layed down on the soft, clean sheets of the bed, looking out through the panorama window over the lake. A sudden feeling of tranquility spread through my body.<br /><br />I spent one full day wandering around the shore of Lugu Lake. The peak season had passed so few tourists shared the magnificent views of the inland sea. The place had a very calming and peaceful effect on me. I could just sit at a restaurant looking out over the lake, zipping on a beer, letting my mind free. When darkness fell, it was just as quite and peaceful, but for the restaurant of the hotel I was staying. Here, all people of Luoshui seems to gather to drink and share laughs. I decided to join the party and ordered a local beer. Just as my beverage arrived I was invited over to a table of two young men, drinking something a bit more toxic. They were doing shots of vodka, mixed with a Chinese sport drink, topped off with light beer. The combination proved not only to be unexceptionally tasty, but very uplifting. As we made toast after toast more people joined the group and suddenly I was participating in the celebrations, playing drinking games, singing and clapping. When the second case of beer emptied, I rested my case and I retired to bed, dreading the next day of cycling. I woke up feeling just as I deserved. Luckily, I had only 30 kilometers to pedal around the lake to the next big town, Zuosuo, crossing into the province of Sichuan. The hilly road outlines the lake, making it a stunning ride. On my way to the next destination I stopped in Ligu village, a smaller, pretty village on the north side, to nap off my hangover. Thus, the last kilometers towards Zuosuo involved less headaches than the first. During my short stay in Zuosuo I noticed that the presence of a westerner was very rare. I was treated like a king with outermost respect, and attracted half the town's population when I sat down to have dinner or walk the streets. Dave, who I hiked the Tiger Leaping Gorge with, had explained to me his experiences in south China where he taught English for three months. 'Because of your white skin, you are often treated like a king', he pointed out. I was feeling it.<br /><br />I left Zuosuo as usual early in the morning to witness a road slanting downward. Thankful, I pushed on, traveling over 40 km/h for a longer period of time on perfect smooth tarmac. I had almost forgotten what it was like cycling at speeds where I could sense the wind striking my body. For 113 kilometers the road followed the river through the valleys of the mountains all the way to Yanyuan, a city located in a plateau of converging rivers. The environment was different and reminded me of the plains of the Vietnamese coast. The climate had also changed. It was warmer and the rays of the sun burning hot. Shortly after I checked in at a hotel, a young woman approached me, speaking fluent English, and introduced herself as Christina (her English name). She was wondering what I was doing in Yanyuan. Not many Westerners are seen here, she added. After presenting my travels, Christina offered me to join her and her little brother at a local restaurant that serves Sichuan specialties just outside of the town. Minutes before I had contemplated what I could possible do in this remote town, thus I gladly accepted. Christina was very impressed by my cycling accomplishment and I was equally impressed by her knowledge of English, only having studied it in school for four years. She is certainly one of the few Chinese students from the countryside who will make a good living for herself, opposed to the idiot currently sitting next to me playing pointless computer games, smoking non-stop. Although Christina is only a student, she too, insisted on paying for the meal, like all other Chinese people who have invited me to a meal. The following day I had a short, but hilly 60 kilometers to Pingchuan. It was now warm and humid, forcing me to dig out my light wear from the bottom of my panniers. Sweaty, I checked in to a decent hotel after being followed and stared at by several locals, puzzled by my arrival. They gathered in groups, whispering, pointing, giggling, shaking their heads, wondering what freak on an odd machine had entered their town. Most villagers eventually gave me a thumbs up, few laughed or stood astonished, frozen with open mouths. Small children ran to their mothers in fear, occasionally with tears in their eyes. After a shower at the hotel their behaviour did not change, but a group of brave boys approached me as I was walking along the main street. In broken English, with a shaking, nervous tone, they asked me where I was from, what is my name and other common phrases they had learned in school. They seemed very excited to have met me and invited me to join them at a small store to have a cold drink. As we sat down the entire group light up a cigarette each, taking short, nervous drags, continuing the questioning. Interestingly, they all asked the same questions over and over, taking turns practising their English. Their excitement and nervous behavior became clear to me when the bravest boy of them all explained that they had never met a foreigner before and this was the first time they spoke English outside of school. They are 17 years old. We spend the entire afternoon together, playing basketball, taking our photo at the local photo store, and surfing the Internet so they all could show me to their friends through the web camera. (One boy asked me if I had heard of Internet and pointed out that it is very good). Exhausted of being treated like a king and living the life of a superstar, I excused myself and went back to the hotel to rest before we would meet up for karaoke night at the only nigh club in town. To my huge disappointment I suffered from food poisoning later in that evening and could only lay motionless in bed but for the necessary visits to the bathroom. I surely would have wanted to see those boys sing. </div><br /><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1119/572691906_3ac811530b.jpg" border="0" />The last stretch towards Xichang ended up measuring 90 kilometers, adding up to almost 500 kilometers since I left Lijiang eight days ago. It too, presented challenging mountain passes and rough roads. However, the heat took me by surprise and left me without water for one hour climbing a 30 kilometers pass, also making it an unexceptionally demanding day of cycling. Again I was stared at, worshipped, and treated like a king whenever I stopped to eat or buy liquids. At lunch I was served by three women, constantly filling up my tea cup, adding rice to my bowl and making sure all was in order. When I left them behind for the last kilometers to Xichang, the whole family gathered to wave me goodbye. Xichang is a large, modern city on the rise with emerging large concrete buildings popping up at the edge of the city. It has a pulse of a modern metropolis and I am truly happy to be here. After having checked in at the hotel, I headed to Grandma's kitchen, a modern restaurant Christina had recommended back in Yanyuan. The name is misleading for the restaurant looks nothing like your grandmother's kitchen. It is a sofisticated place with matching furniture, decorative cloths and contemporary paintings on the walls. The 42" flat screen just adds to the modern impression. I spent the evening right there, in front of the TV, watching the NBA finals, eating an enormous hamburger with fries, peanut pecan pie and drinking diet coke and Cafe Americano. God bless, America.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600405302693/show/" target="_blank"><strong>SLIDESHOW</strong> LIJIANG TO XICHANG</a> </div><div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-50445893219111730202007-06-11T15:15:00.000+01:002007-06-12T06:55:51.000+01:00Day 63-70: Unforgettable adventure<a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1074/540425151_0d15880484_b.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1074/540425151_0d15880484_b.jpg" border="0" /></a>The main reason western travelers stop in Lijiang is to proceed to the Tiger Leaping Gorge, one of the deepest gorges in the world. It is located between the Haba Mountain and Jade Dragon Snow Mountain (Yulong Xueshan), where the mighty Jinsha River flows, north of Lijiang. Both mountains measure over 5500 meters and it is an impressive 3900 meters from the river to the snow-covered mountain tops. The hike through the gorge is an adventure one cannot miss traveling in southwest China, in the province of Yunnan. I knew the trek through the gorge was going to be one of the highlights of my journey.<br /><br />Before I left to go hiking I decided to stay in Lijiang for a couple of days to rest my muscles and enjoy what the old town of the city has to offer, despite its similarities with Dali. The old town of Lijiang differs greatly from the otherwise contemporary city. The ancient town is a beautiful maze of cobbled streets, dark wooden buildings, never-ending souvenir shops and lively markets. The narrow, winding streets make it difficult to navigate and I spent a great part of my first day trying to find my way around including locating my hotel. To my relief many other travelers had faced the same problems, making me feel less incompetent. After a visit to the Black Dragon Pool park with the famous and spectacular view of the Jade Dragon Snow Mountain (Yulong Xueshan), I ran into Alberto and Sebastian, the two Dutch fellows I had met in Hanoi waiting in line to enter the Chinese embassy. We had discussed doing the famous hike together, thus made dinner plans to discuss our next adventure. But before we headed into the wild we made a 30 kilometers cycle tour, leaving Lijiang to Baisha to visit the now very well-known Dr. Ho (He). He is an old man, looking just like you would picture a Taoist physician, treating patients with herbs that he collects on the mountains surrounding the village. Interestingly, he has made a name for himself over the years and has been featured in many newspapers all over the world, as well as international TV stations. As a matter of fact, two days prior to our visit NBC was there to interview him, and many other TV stations, including channel four from Sweden, have also paid a visit to Dr. Ho. Every visitor got a thorough introduction of his clinic, success story and treatment methods without any charge. It was a genuine experience, opening up my eyes to alternative medical treatments.<br /><br />Originally I had planned to take a round trip by bus to the Tiger Leaping Gorge, but after four tiresome bus rides with the bicycle, I had promised myself to never set my foot on a bus for the remaining of my journey. Therefore, on day 65 I headed for Daju, a village 90 kilometers north of Lijiang and 50 kilometers from the gorge, on my loaded bicycle. Leaving Lijiang was a straight, endless slope lasting 30 kilometers towards the foot of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain. The entire morning I had the colossal snowcapped mountain in sight, leading the way to the north, inspiring me to pedal up the slanting road. I took the opportunity to stop for breakfast at one of the tourist cafés facing the mountain. The view was incredible. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same about the pricy noodles. I must have ascended significantly because the low temperatures forced me to dress up in my full wind-proof attire as I left the mountain behind me. I continued to pedal uphill, dressed for winter, until the road dramatically turned downward. After 40 kilometers traveling at sneaking speeds, I quickly took the advantage of the steep slope and caught up with a bus full of Chinese tourists. Free-wheeling behind the bus I attracted most of the passengers to the rear seats. Having all of their attention I did all the tricks in the book; letting go of the handle-bar, cycling slalom and standing up waving. When I finished entertaining the crowd I gave full power and passed the long bus at 60 km/h feeling like a rock star. I hoped that the Chinese tourists had enjoyed the show as much as I had. The joy quickly ended when the road turned evil once more. But not only was I continuing to pedal uphill, the smooth tarmac had become a rocky surface of sharp stones sticking up from the dirt, ready to puncture any bicycle tire, forcing me to pedal next to it, on gravel, sand and loose stones. After about 65 kilometers I finally could rest my legs as the road leveled out, and gave away to smooth tarmac. Again, the joy was quickly interrupted by the return of the rocky road. However, this time I was descending, straining my arms and fingers opposed to my legs. The dreadful road forced me to break constantly for the furthest descend I have encountered this far; an unexpected 28 kilometers. Sadly, I could not enjoy the view or the speed as I had to keep my eyes locked to the thin strip of gravel bordering the road, insuring that I did not slide down the side of the mountain. In a rear moment, I looked up from the road to see another cyclist struggling his way up. He was a Swiss trooper who had started his journey in Lhasa, Tibet, and was on his way towards Kunming where I started my tour in China. As we stood there in the middle of nowhere sharing experiences and having a laugh at the horrible road, his tire flattened. Apparently, he had hit one of the sharp rocks in the road and now was suffering the consequences. He cursed the road once more and explained to me that this was his sixth flat tire in recent days, and had run out of tire patches. Fortunately, I still had not had a single puncture and could offer him some of mine. As we continued to chat, I watched him repair his rear tire, trying to remember all his moves for my first flat tire; an inescapable fate. We said our goodbyes and I rolled down the rocky, bumpy road to Daju, happy to have arrived despite my throbbing headache from the last two and half hours of constant rattling.<br /><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1201/540305652_29174e5242.jpg" border="0" /></p><p>I still had one more day before I would reach Qiaotou where I had agreed to meet Alberto and Sebastian to start our hike in the Tiger Leaping Gorge. Before I could start cycling towards the town on the lower trail of the gorge, however, I had to cross the Jinsha River, a task I highly underestimated. Just to find the ferry at the side of the river was an adventure in itself. After an hour of cycling around the village asking every resident of Daju where the ferry is located (the people of Daju cannot for the love of God show directions), I found the small dirt road leading to the edge of the river. To get down to the ferry I had to carry my bicycle along a narrow, steep path in loose gravel and sand, which took me another half hour. Ironically, after all that strenuous effort and time, the ferry crossed the river in less than a minute. Before I had caught my breath awaited the other side of the mountain, and a 45 minutes walk uphill on a similar path. Fortunately, this time there was help available and for 30 Yuan (3 Euros) the Captain, his man and a pony carried all my gear and bicycle up the vertical mountain side. The men left me in the middle of nowhere on a wrecked dirt road, huge peaks surrounding me. I felt very small. At this time I did not trust any directions from anybody ever set foot in Daju, so I cycled partly on instinct and partly on compass until I reached the main, paved road. For a moment I lost my senses and asked a woman which way I should go, right or left leading to Qiaotou. Not to my surprise she gestured me to go the wrong way, and once again I was frustrated having cycle unnecessary meters. At this point I have pedaled many pointless kilometers due to poor direction from the people of Yunnan. However, I have finally figured out where the communication dilemma lies. Instead of showing me the way I should go, I am often pointed the direction where the destination is located, and that is not at all times the correct route. It seems to be a difference of communication. Sometimes I forget I am thousand of kilometers away from home.<br /><br />Finally I was pedaling towards Qiaotou, but it was already after lunch and I knew I was going to be late. I was also aware of that I had to climb a few landslides that had crashed on the road in the last weeks. Only a few had supposedly been cleared. When I was faced by the first huge pile of rocks I knew I was not going to arrive in Qiaotou for a few more hours. The landslide was massive, covering the entire road and measuring over 20 meters in height. It was not the size, nor the height that scared me. It was the fact that the landslide led directly to the edge of the road, and a 2000 meter plunge down to the river, that terrified me. The loose stones that rumbled down at every step crossing the enormous pile of stones did not exactly calm me down either. After climbing the landslide, not carrying any bags, having both hands to balance, I knew that this was going to be the most frightening experience of my life. I quickly thought about turning back, but that meant cycling 20 kilometers to the river to cross it again, and pedal 100 kilometers on the same road back to Lijiang, and cycle 80 kilometers on the other side of the Jade Dragon Snow Mountain in order to reach Qiaotou. This would take days. I decided to give the landslide a try, promising myself not to look down, and calculated that I had to cross it five times to get all my gear and bicycle on the safe side. After my first load of equipment I met a group of travelers on the other side as I was unloading. I met them in Lijiang at the guesthouse I was staying and we had enjoyed a few beers together and played pool at the English pub on one of the nights in Lijiang. It was very calming and relieving to see them again, this time at the edge of a massive landslide. They recognized my problem but also realized that they had to cross it in order to make it to Daju. When I returned with the second load one of the girls of the group was shaking from fear and tears was rolling down her cheeks. I did not blame her; I was shaking like a leaf on a windy autumn day myself, but was too focused to shed tears. Carrying the gear I was able to free one hand to balance my weight against side of the landslide, but when I carried the bicycle over, I had no hands to rely on, and I was walking up and down the slope of the landslide, holding my bicycle firmly, looking straight ahead taking one slow step after another at the very edge of a 2000 meter plunge. When all my equipment was on the safe side I felt more alive than I have ever felt in my entire life. </p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1012/540309706_8033e02c23.jpg" border="0" />Before I reached Qiaotou I had conquer three more landslides, fortunately not of the scale of the first, and I had cycled almost 50 kilometers, 20 more that I expected. It was now past three o'clock and the Dutch fellows had already left for the first stop of the trek. I was complementing heading into the mountain or waiting to start the hike the following day. Being exhausted mentally as well as physically I decided to wait as I met a friendly couple staying next to me at the guesthouse. I quickly invited myself to join them the next day and they gladly accepted. The lovely couple, Dave and Jess, turned out to be very easy-going, friendly, inspiring people, and the perfect couple to share the Tiger Leaping Gorge with. On the two days it took to stride through it I saw more scenic mountain views than I probably have ever seen in my entire life traveling. When the clouds cleared we could see the top of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain and its glaciers glistering in the sun at about 5500 meters elevation. At the same time we could look down 2500 meters to witness the force of the mighty Jinsha River as it surges through the gorge. The trail winds its way up and down the mountain side, at times physically challenging, but more often simply enjoyable. Along the way we met other hikers just as awed by the scenery, creating a magical atmosphere. We spend two nights in the gorge, looking out over the gigantic, impressive peaks, eating, drinking, talking and laughing, until we retired to our beds. Tiger Leaping Gorge was an unforgettable adventure.<br /><br />After two days trekking and two additional days cycling my legs were beat and lacked energy. Still, I managed to pedal the 80 kilometers to Lijiang on the larger road east of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain. It was a misty, rainy day, the beautiful mountains well hidden behind the thick, grey clouds. After 40 kilometers the cycling lots all of its appeal and I just wanted to arrive in Lijiang. Every kilometer seemed to take an eternity. Eventually I made it back to the ancient city of Lijiang, completely soaked from the heavy rain, drained out of energy, hungry, thirsty and tired beyond description. After dinner I collapsed in bed enable to join the others at the Sexy Tractor bar across the street from our guesthouse. Now, I will allow myself at least one day of rest before I head east, on my way to Chengdu, about 900 kilometers away.<br /><strong><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600337154791/show/">SLIDESHOW</a></strong><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600337154791/show/"> LIJIANG TO TIGER LEAPING GORGE</a><br /><br /><p></p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1429/540423815_89c5bc2e33.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p> </p>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-68758457501861089112007-06-04T10:51:00.000+01:002007-06-05T01:42:37.966+01:00Day 57-62: Magical sceneryDali is a beautiful town situated next to the Erhai Lu Lake, one of the largest in China, with the stunning Jade Green Mountains as an ideal backdrop. Dali’s small cobbled streets, cozy restaurants and cafés make this ancient city a wonderful place to stay a few nights after four days of demanding cycling. I instantly took the opportunity to treat myself to all the delicious food I could get my hands on. The city offers a variety of snacks easily accessible along the small streets, making me eat constantly. For lunch on my second day I had a stick of seasoned grilled potato, two fried rolled rice cakes, a plate of vegetable dumplings, three juicy plums, a banana, a sesame muffin, a Chinese croissant, a few local cookies, a fruity icy juice drink, and two ice cream cones to top it off. By the time I had finished eating it all, it was time for dinner. After four lonesome days on the road I was also keen on meeting other travelers to share experiences and speak anything but broken Chinese. I was fortunate to run into two Swedish girls that also just had arrived in town. It felt relieving having someone speak my native language to me instead of foreign blather. <div><div></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1213/529224738_8031d23ff7.jpg" border="0" />There is not much to do in Dali but to wonder around the pleasant streets and alleys and absorb the atmosphere, drink, eat and relax. However, I and the two Swedish girls agreed to go on a short boat tour on the lake, and I did my own cycle tour around town to familiarize myself with the surroundings and the local people. I had three full days of rest in Dali and when the fourth morning arrived I was excited to get back on the road. I left early to catch the morning mist and fresh air. Cycling out of Dali was majestic. The sun had just appeared over the mountains to the east, illuminating the Erhai Lu Lake and castings its rays on the peaks to the west. In the perfect moment when I was cruising at my average comfortable speed, the fresh morning air softly striking my face, I heard a sudden noise from the back of my bicycle. I stopped to see that my rear rack had loosened and was pressing against the rear wheel. At first I was troubled, but soon realized that all the bolts had just come off due to the bumpy roads towards Dali. They simply had been shaken loose and I had forgotten to tighten them. Luckily only one bolt was missing and I was able to replace it easily to continue to enjoy this extraordinary morning. I expected a mountain pass to arrive sometime during the day and at 45 kilometers my anticipation was confirmed. I fought my way up the steep road for 20 kilometers until I finally reached Beija, my intended destination for the day. However, Beija was not only far from the road, it is located a few hundred meters below the road, making it difficult to reach. Again I trusted my anticipation and continued pedaling, hoping the road was going to turn downhill shortly. Half an hour later I was in the next town, Songgui, having rolled down the mountain at record-braking speeds (new max km/h: 64,3). When I arrived in Songgui I felt great. Despite the 97 kilometers I had bicycled, my muscles were not hurting, my neck and shoulders pain-free and I was in good frame of mind. However, Sunggui quickly changed my mood. This small, unfriendly and dirty town I was going to be very happy to leave behind. The only event to enlighten my stay was a children’s play in action just outside my grubby hotel, honoring the children’s day. Little girls and boys were heavily dressed made up and made up, resembling small clowns hopping around the stage, singing badly and out of sync. It was very cute. </div><div><br /></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1177/529313243_a640351e04.jpg" border="0" />The total distance to Lijiang, where I planned my next longer stop, and also to engage in some trekking, is approximately 180 kilometers, meaning that I physically could have completed the stretch in two days. But I was looking forward to some relaxed cycling and give myself time to thoroughly appreciate the beautiful, mountainous scenery. Therefore, the following day I planned to only pedal 30 kilometers to Heqing, a city only 45 kilometers from Lijiang. About half way I stopped to ask for direction as I have been forced to many times due to the Chinese road sign, or more correctly, the lack of Chinese road signs. I approached a group of men repairing a dusty, old truck ready for the junkyard. When I presented my simple question of directions the men started to argue immediately. An older man was convinced I should travel back one kilometer then take a left, something I was not too keen on. A younger, more aggressive man had another solution. He suggested me to take a right just at the next intersection visible from where we were standing, then slowly turn right, and at last make a sharp left to catch the main road. Both men drew detailed drawings of their recommended routes, and it almost felt like they were competing for my attention. From what I could understand the latter directions was a short-cut and would save me time. On the other hand, it seemed very complicated opposed to the first option. When I hesitated, not sure who I should let down and who I wanted to declare winner, the younger man gestured that he and his wife would show me the way. We traveled down the road, he and his wife on their motorbike, me on my bicycle, and quickly left the main road onto a smaller path leading to a small village. The dirt road was bumpy, filled with pot-holes and full of sand and rocks. Slowly we made our way through the village to enter another one, on small winding roads between mud houses, cows, chickens, children in chock, old men dropping their pipes in astonishment, and when I though we would come to a larger road, we crossed into another village. After five kilometers, and at the point where I felt I could not find my way back, I got anxious and jumped off my bicycle, illustrating that we were going the wrong direction, heading south instead of north. I was starting to wonder what this man and his wife were up to. Where were they taking me? What did they want? The man positively signed that we were almost there, at the bigger road leading to Heqing. I looked him in the eyes, shook his hand and hoped for the best. Two kilometers later he pointed straight ahead. And there it was; Road S212 going to Heqing. I shook his hand once more, gave his wife a big smile and rolled my bicycle over the last bit of dirt road onto perfect tarmac. Back on the big road I realized the magnitude of their kindness. They had taken more than half an hour of their time traveling seven kilometers just to show me a shorter, faster way. I felt truly bad about not trusting them, and thinking of them as bad people.<br /><br />When I arrived in Heqing I was surprised of its beauty and spend most of the day cycling around the streets, getting puzzled looks from the residents. From the day I left Kunming the weather had been absolutely perfect. Everyday I woke up to a blue sky and a soft breeze. Because of the altitude it does not get unbearably hot, although the mid-day temperatures can climb above 30 degrees Celcius. Still, the breezy winds keep me cool and I can actually appreciate the warmth of the sun at times, something unthinkable in Vietnam. The day in Heqing was no exception. On my way to the city, the sky was so clear I was even able to catch a glimpse of the glaciers far away in the distance. The sight had inspired me to move on despite the beauty of Heqing and the next morning I left my hotel at 5:45, again to witness a clear sky. Leaving Heqing I was stunned by the magnificence of nature. As I slowly pedaled my way through the landscape I could see the sun slowly rise above the mountains. The more it appeared the more the landscape around me illuminated. The bright green rice fields took a dreamlike color of green, only imaginable in my fantasy. The sky was perfectly clear in various shades of blue. The fields were full of workers harvesting in the golden rays of the sun, their long shadows creating a symmetrical pattern in the landscape. My eyes filled with tears. If it was from the stunning scenery or the cold wind in my face, I could not tell, but I was certainly moved by the scale of the experience. Before I knew it, I had arrived in Lijiang.<br /><br /><div></div><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1161/529317273_19977e3583.jpg" border="0" />Lijiang is similar to Dali that it is jammed with Chinese tourists. They are everywhere with their sun umbrellas, cameras, camcorders, matching clothes and flags. They seem to really enjoy being labeled 'tourist' because they strive to live up to it. The old town of Lijiang is also typically constructed in a beautiful traditional Chinese style, and offers equally many souvenir shops. As a result, I will shortly head back out into the wild, despite the beauty of the city. This time, however, I will walk.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600307035931/show/" target="_blank"><strong>SLIDESHOW </strong>DALI TO LIJIANG</a></div><div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-36921498479702263002007-05-30T09:01:00.000+01:002007-05-30T09:40:36.382+01:00Day 49-56: Entering ChinaMonday, May 21th, at 6:45 I was at the Chinese embassy for the third time to apply for the Chinese visa. When I parked my bicycle I looked up to see that even though I had arrived one hour and forty-five minutes before the embassy would open, I was still not the first applicant in line. Six other troupers had made it before me. Standing in line ahead of me was two Dutch fellows and one French woman teaching law in Hanoi. I scared them with my stories of previous experiences with the embassy and filled in with other rumours I had picked up speaking to other travellers in the last weeks. Nervous and anxious we filled out our forms in line and waited patiently. Two hours later we all had managed to turn in our applications before closing. Excited we met outside the tall, yellow brick walls of the embassy and agreed to celebrate with a deluxe French breakfast.<br /><a href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/228/519542272_1af27a39f5.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/228/519542272_1af27a39f5.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Leaving Vietnam I felt relieved. I had spent 50 days in this country and I was ready for something new. The day half my journey was completed, I was on my way to China, feeling excited about what awaited ahead. Many questions lingered in my mind. Would I be greeted in the same friendly manner I had been in Vietnam? Could I easily stop for food and drinks? What would the road conditions be like? What about safety? However, walking with my bicycle across the bridge that connects China with Vietnam, seeing China appearing closer and closer, I realized that this was a new beginning. I had to start over, getting to know the people, the culture, the language, and learning new phrases. It was the same questions I had had when entering Vietnam and it all had worked out perfectly. I was very content with my travels and experiences in Vietnam. Now I was in Hekou, the city that lies on the border to Vietnam, cycling around town, absorbing the new environment. Everywhere were Chinese characters in all shapes and sizes, covering every entrance of every store or restaurant. People stared differently, and I was not receiving the smiles I was used to. I figured the citizens of Hekou were not accustomed to a foreigner cruising around the streets on a fully loaded bicycle. They were probably in chock, unable to display any emotions. It was a very hot day. The locals were hiding under umbrellas, drinking refreshing cocktails and juices. In an attempt to escape the burning mid-day sun I joined them to try out some Chinese refreshing drinks. When my coconut juice was place in front of me two Japanese men sat down at my table, curious about my bicycle and travels. After I had presented my situation and explained my ambitions, I curiously asked what brought them to Hekou, in the very south of China, next to the Vietnamese border. In my mind, the reason for being here was merely for transport purposes. Either you were on your way to Vietnam, crossing over the border, or you just left the country on your way to other destinations in China. It never entirely became clear to me why the Japanese tourists were in Hekou, but they logically explained to me that the Vietnamese girls are very pretty and affordably this close to the border. That clarified the dildos that were being sold at the market among fruits, vegetables and meats.<br /><br />The night bus to Kunming reminded me of a similar bus me and Daniel had taken going to Hanoi. This time, however, there were no air-conditioning, and it was packed with Chinese people, wondering what I was doing on their bus. When I finally entered a deep sleep the bus arrived, ending a nightmare about Chinese people stealing my bicycle. At 4:30 in the morning I stepped out of the bus, equipped myself with my head-lamp, assembled the bicycle, and venture into the dark city. More than half my journey had passed so I thought it was time for a bit of luxury, checking into a finer hotel at four times the cost I had been paying in my last days in Vietnam. I needed to get prepared for China and get a good night sleep before pedalling west towards Dali, about 420 kilometers away. I had spent the last two nights either on a train or bus, thus I took the opportunity to indulge in a hot bath, buffet breakfast and English TV. Kunming is a modern city with rising skyscrapers, western clothing stores, food chains, structured roads, traffic lights and even bicycle lanes. When I was not at the hotel, appreciating the luxurious comfort, I cycled around Kunming, visiting the main attractions. I also managed to stop by a professional bicycle store to get my bicycle perfectly tuned up for the challenges ahead.<br /><br />I left Kunming fully dressed in my wind protecting outfit as the temperatures drop down below ten degrees Celsius in the early morning. Kunming is located at an altitude of almost 1900 meters, making it especially chilly in the first hours of the day. From this day on I would not ascend below 1000 meters for a few weeks, so my warmer clothes would soon come handy. I was not only excited to use the gear I had been carrying all the way through Vietnam, I was also pleased with a cooler climate that would prevent me from sweating uncontrollably. Sadly, my first impression of cycling in China was disappointing. Leaving Kunming I travelled through the backside of the city, next to factories and old dump yards. The heavy traffic, with exclusively large, old trucks leaving thick black smoke behind them, did not improve my belief. Not until I arrived in Anning, 30 kilometers south-west of Kunming, did the traffic disperse. Although I was still full from the enormous buffet breakfast I had truly enjoyed a couple of hour ago, I stopped in town for my first Chinese meal on the road. I picked a place full of people eating and having loud conversations, and instantly I was invited to join a table of four. As I thankfully seated myself an English teacher was called over from another table to translate our dialogue. After a good meal and pleasant company, I illustratively displayed my appreciation and asked for the bill, but the English teacher had already cleared the costs and despite my protests, he insisted on paying for my lunch. I left the restaurant with a dramatically changed first impression of cycling in China. My destination this day was Lufeng, a city north-west of Kunming. I was not completely certain of the total distance I had to pedal since my map only display kilometres on the larger Express way where bicycles are not allowed. At 109 kilometers, travelling on the smaller road adjacent to the Express way, I was finally there, surprised of the long distance I had been required to pedal. Finding a hotel proved to be as challenging as the cycling itself. Since all sign are written in Chinese characters, it is naturally difficult for me to make out the hotels. When I ask locals they persistently speak Chinese to me, waving their hands in all direction. Every time I gesture that I do not understand, but they ignore my attempts and continue to chatter in their language. Occasionally when they see that I am not following their dialogue, they write out the Chinese characters in their hand, as if that would help me understand. Very little English is spoken outside the larger cities and apparently simple gesturing is also not practised, making communication a demanding task.<br /><br /><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/246/519571073_bcddb15ad8.jpg" border="0" />On my way to Chuxiong on my second day towards Dali, I met the second English teacher as I stopped for lunch in a small town, consisting of a dirt road and a tiny market. I was introduced to her mother, who served me a delicious meal from her bicycle. It was a custom made three-wheeler with a kitchen on the back, loaded with several different tasty dishes. This time I paid for the meal myself, but for 3 Yuan (0,30 Euro) I had it covered. After 78 kilometers I arrived in Chuxiong, a large city located roughly half-way between Kunming and Dali, and again I was faced with communication issues as I tried to find a hotel. After my forth attempt I checked in to a hotel on the east side of the city. The odd location forced me to take the bicycle back into town in search for food. Just after I parked the bicycle a man approached me, speaking good English with a hint of a British accent. He, too, was an English teacher and seemed extremely keen on practising his skills. I took the opportunity to ask questions about Chuxiong, and wondered where I could get the best Chinese dumplings in town. He explained that his Chinese name was Ping and his English Pierre, and took me to his favourite restaurant a few minutes away. Ping had spent six month in England which explained his British tone, and was truly a genuine man with the kindest soul in the world. Not only did he treat me to the dumplings and dinner, he also invited me to his home and introduced me to his family. He offered me coffee and presented me with a gift, showed me around town and took me to his school where works. After five hours I was overwhelmed by his hospitality, generosity and kindness. I thanked him and offered the same hospitality if he would ever visit Sweden. We exchanged e-mail addresses and he left me his phone number in case I would get into trouble. I wish this man all the best in the world.<br /><br />Ping and the two other teachers had left me with a very good feeling about China. Still, I would get very confused and sometimes harsh looks pedalling my way towards Dali. I was not receiving any friendly greetings as I used to in Vietnam, which bothered me. Then there were the dogs. In Vietnam I had a few encounters with chasing dogs but they did not pose a problem other than an annoying constant barking. They were often small and crippled. In China the dogs scared me to death. Luckily most of them were chained to a poled, functioning as a living alarm when intruders would approach. On one occasion, free-wheeling downhill, I was not so lucky. A huge German Shepard saw me approaching his territory, which apparently is the piece of road adjacent to the owner's house, and started to chase me with full force. At first I ignored him after looking down at my speedometer that showed 40 km/h, but when he appeared right behind me in a split second I got worried. The beast was in good condition, his long sharp teeth clearly on display, ready to bite anything that came near. I pushed the pedals with full power accelerating quickly up to 50 km/h, but I was not losing him. I pushed harder and harder and must have exceeded 60 km/h before the maniac animal gave up. I was slightly shaken by the incident but more so over the fact that this dog had chased me for a few hundred meters at 50 km/h. This time I was fortunate that I was on a slope, already travelling at a high speed. What if I was going my steady 20 km/h on a flat surface? He would have eaten me alive.<br /><br />On the third day towards Dali I had no definite destination. There was no large city within 100 kilometers that made a logical stop. I decided to trust the road signs, and with my experience so far I would find a place to stay before making the last stretch to Dali on the forth and last day. However, following road signs in China is especially challenging due to the Chinese characters. Only close to larger cities are the names spelled out in Latin characters, making it difficult to navigate in the countryside. I would try to memorize the look of the characters to later recognize them on the road signs. Fortunately, I had picked up a map with Chinese characters in Kunming, but still I had difficulties finding my way. When asking locals I would just get instructions explained in Chinese, or at times the wrong directions. At 100 kilometer no larger town had appeared and the smaller towns I had tried to find during the day were too far from the road. I was utterly fatigued moving at creeping speed. I was not sure what slowed me down. Maybe it was the hills, the bumpy roads, the wind, the hot mid-day sun, the melting tarmac sticking to my tires, exhaustion, or a combination of all. I stopped by a small farm on the top of the mountain and asked for food, water or shelter. To my surprise and delight, I was offered all. Relieved I rolled my bicycle up the lawn and agreed to a dirty room that could substitute as a zoo for insects. I brought up my tent, assembled it on the bed, washed off and sat down among the chickens looking out over the mountains, thinking; this is assume. The family treated me like a king, preparing dinner, offering fruits and caring for me as if I was the only foreign guest that they have ever had. I most likely was. </p><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/211/519572871_6ee10d1fd6.jpg" border="0" />On my last day towards Dali I failed again to accurately estimate the distance, forcing me to break the long distance record, 129 kilometers. This was a long day and I did not find my way to Dali until early evening, having conquered a big mountain pass, bumpy roads, false directions, never ending construction site and the usual heat and sweat. In four days I have pedalled over 400 kilometers, pushing my physics to the limit. Now I am feeling that I am truly becoming stronger, seeing my body taking new shapes. My calves have taken abnormal proportions and despite all the food and snacks I am continuously consuming, I am still losing weight. Dali offers a variety of good foods, so now I am taking the opportunity to indulge in pancakes, fruit shakes, hamburger, cakes, and all the traditional Chinese foods without any guilt at all.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600280625937/show/" target="_blank"><strong>SLIDESHOW </strong>KUNMING TO DALI </a><br /><br /><a href="http://herstedt.googlepages.com/Route_report.htm" target="_blank">Updated Route Report</a></p><p></p>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-90122350778683298972007-05-20T11:16:00.000+01:002007-05-22T09:14:03.892+01:00Day 43-48: Eating and drinkingFortunately I had planned one full day rest in Dien Bien Phu to recover and refuel after three challenging and demanding days cycling the roof of Vietnam. The next morning I woke up early from severe, almost painful hunger. I had been dreaming about pancakes and fruit shakes the entire morning, thus excited I rushed out into town to find myself a restaurant that could fulfill my needs. However, Dien Bien Phu is not a large city and still few western tourists make it all the way west in northern Vietnam, close to the Laos border. As a result, no pancakes or fruit skakes were to be found anywhere. The best I could find was a six-egg-omelet and an ice coffee.<br /><br />Dien Bien Phu is known for one of the last battles of the French Indochina Empire, ending a long period of colonial suppression. It was here that the French colonial forces met their match in 1954 in an historic 57 day siege by the Viet Minh forces. The battle is well presented at the only museum in town. I spend the morning of my first day off wandering around the site, once again reminded of the horror of wars. The rest of the day I spent eating and drinking, before going out for dinner to indulge in more food and drinks. I could simply not satisfy my hunger. I returned to the restaurant I had visited for lunch when the owner made his local specialty exclusively for me. It was the most delicious fried rice I had ever had, prepared with various vegetables, spices and Vietnamese sausage of some sort. I was hoping for a dinner of the same quality. Indeed the chef and owner delivered as anticipated. He served me three tasty dishes, rice, a couple of beers and countless of rice wine shots. At the point where his wife started yelling at him for drinking heavily, I started turning down his generous offers, but he did not listen to me or his wife. He kept pouring rice wine into my shot glass, even when I covered the glass with my hand he would just keep pouring, laughing and making jokes, soaking my hand over and over. When I finally asked for the bill and gestured that I had to go to bed, get up early the next day and cycle to Tuan Giao, 80 kilometers to the north-east, he nodded understandingly and charged me 30,000 Dong (1,80 Euro) . We had a great time and I thanked him for his superb food, hospitality and generosity.<br /><br /><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/207/507350261_8632afe7fb.jpg" border="0" />The road to Tuan Giao was expectedly hilly and I crossed one big mountain pass early in the day. Today the major challenge was not the hills or the passes; it was the condition of the road. The entire stretch was under construction, making it difficult to gain speed even when traveling downhill. By the end of the day my bicycle had become so filthy that as soon as I arrived in Tuan Giao I had it washed and polished for an astonishing 5000 Dong (0,30 Euro). From this day on I had my bicycle washed each night for the same price, and each time it would look like it did the day I rolled it out of the bicycle store in Germany where I bought it eight months ago. I was impressed by the bicycle how well it had been performing on the bumpy roads, and that it still was in one piece. Up until this day I have not had a single flat tire, broken spoke or rattling chain. My gear cables have gotten slightly stretched, making it more difficult to adjust the gears but that it is fairly normal and usually easily fixed.<br /><br />I left Tuan Giao energized by another great meal the previous evening, heading for Son La 86 kilometers south-east. I deeply regret not getting an updated map over the north-west region in Hanoi with more specific information regarding road conditions and mountain passes. Every day I would venture out into the unknown, only aware of the total distance I would have to pedal. The day I cycle to Son La this became very obvious as I was unexpectedly faced with an extremely steep climb soon after leaving the hotel, lasting 17 kilometers. It was not the highest climb I had tackled, but certainly the steepest of them all. The 12% and 14% percent warning signs confirmed my theory as I was cursing, pushing myself and the bicycle up the road at a constant 7,5 km/h. When I reached the top I was almost expecting a group of cheerleaders ecstatically welcoming me with songs of hurray. Instead, I was met by a totally destroyed road covered with rocks, pieces of old tarmac and huge potholes the size of half my front wheel. The road did not improve and the longer I rolled down the mountain the more frustrated I became. I had fought my way up that damn mountain at creeping speed and now I was forced to go down the other side at almost the same pace. Bloody hell, no. As my underarms were starting to cramp from constantly breaking, I was letting go of the brakes more and more to gain speed and relax my muscles. My bicycle jumped up and down as I was free-wheeling down the shattered road and I was praying that it would handle the brutal beating. When I reached Son La late in the afternoon I had fought my way up two additional passes, but by now it had all become a routine. Pedaling downhill I would conserve my energy for the next pass to come, and when it arrived I was most often ready for another work-out. I would make sure to have enough water (lesson I learned from the first day; see previous post) to last me through the pass, and enough snacks to keep the blood sugar leveled. </p><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/223/507317232_916e455085.jpg" border="0" />Son La appealed to me. I decided to stay here for one more resting day before pushing it to Hanoi, which would take three more days. I was not up for any sights or museums and looked forward to just relaxing and resting my legs. On my way to Son La through the mountains I had been offered some of sort of alcohol numerous times, most often rice wine, and it seemed like wherever I would sit down to eat, drink or simply rest, I would instantly have a beer or a shot glass in front of me. Most often I politely turned down the offers, repeatedly shaking my head and smile. Son La was no different. On the contrary, here people drank throughout the day. After a visit to the local market and stocking up on my favorite snacks, I sat down to enjoy a cool, refreshing sugarcane juice from one of the smaller restaurants in the center of Son La. Quickly I was surrounded by a five men, six large glasses and a few of liters of “bia”. As this was my day off I accepted their company, we raised our glasses, toasted and after an hour all bottles were empty. The men stood up, nodded, gave me a last smile and went about their business, as if this was part of their daily routine. It certainly seemed like the people of Son La had made a habit of drinking regularly. The same day, at lunch time, a group of policemen in their military green outfits with red and gold details sat down at the table next to me after finishing their midday meal. Again, I was offered alcohol with authority, but I respectfully turned down their offer, hoping that they would not arrest me for not drinking. It did not stop them, and they gladly poured down one shot after the other of rice wine, slamming the glasses hard against the table, shouting and laughing. Then, like the incident earlier in the day, they stood up, nodded and went about their business, driving off in their rusty open-air police van. Great police work, I though to myself.<br /><br />Leaving Son La I had a long and eventful day ahead of me. I had to accomplish 115 kilometers to Moc Chau, pedaling east towards Hanoi. Fortunately I felt well-rested and the first 25 kilometers flew by. I still decided that I could use another early meal, stopping at a small restaurant along the road. As I have done so many times before, I ordered my Pho Bo (Vietnamese noddle soup with beef) and sat down at the table, grabbed the chopsticks waiting for the food to arrive. I looked up to see twenty faces starring in my direction, but this has also become routine, so I did not notice anything out of the ordinary until I looked down again at the food that had been just placed in front of me. What was that? It was rice porridge of some sort, and scattered in the gue were unrecognizable pieces of meat. When I found out with the help of my phrasebook that the meat was pork I started eating, chewing the meat carefully still not entirely convinced of its kind. The crowd continued to follow my every move waiting for a response. Out of pure politeness I gave the thumbs up as I looked over to the kitchen where the chef was lifting up slimy, white pig intestines out of a huge steal bowl. I looked down in my bowl and instantly made the connection. I looked up to see all other guests nod in approval with emerging smiles on their faces. I later found out that what I was eating was rice porridge with blood filled pig intestines. At the time I just knew I could not keep eating, and so did the waitress and kindly brought me the same dish without the meat.<br /><br />Luckily I had brought enough snacks to last me until lunch. At 90 kilometers and exhausted, I stopped again at a restaurant on the side of the road to witness once more drunk people slamming their shot glasses of rice wine on the table, laughing and making load conversations. My entrance seemed to enlighten the party even more and I was quickly invited to join. Again I had to struggle to turn down shots of liquor. I failed miserable. The women explain that you do not turn down an offer from a woman; the men assured that you do not reject an offer from an older man. I was in trouble. When I lost count of shots I knew I had to take a longer break than usual. When I finally returned to the road I was still extremely full from all the food and tired from all the rice wine. The hill that appeared in front of me just five minutes after leaving the party did not improve my condition. But I had put myself in this situation so I had to get myself out of it. Right before entering Moc Chau it started to rain intensively, fully completing my day. </p><br /><br /><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/211/507347199_fab881b14d.jpg" border="0" />The rain was not going to stop and the last two days it more of less rained constantly. In Son La I had invested in a new poncho which covers me completely as well as most of my bicycle. It came very handy as I pedaled 117 kilometers to Hoa Binh, breaking the long distant record, and on the last day of the north-west Vietnam tour pushed the last 75 kilometers to Hanoi. It had taken me ten days to reach Hanoi from Sapa, cycling eight days, resting two. With the additional two days in Sapa it added up to twelve days, same as planned. Proud I rolled into Hanoi and the first westerner I noticed crossing the street right in front of my bicycle was the Dutch fellow I met before leaving for Sapa, and then also half way to Hanoi on one of the mountain passes. He had cycled the exact same route in the same number of days, but in the reverse direction. We laughed, shared experiences and decided to meet for a beer later that evening. I had a lot to tell and so did he. </p><p><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600237653981/show/" target="_blank"><strong>SLIDESHOW</strong> DIEN BIEN PHU TO HANOI</a> </p><p>I have received my Chinese visa and leave Hanoi today. I will report more about that next time. See you in China.<br /><br /><a href="http://herstedt.googlepages.com/Route_report.htm" target="_blank">Full route report of Vietnam</a></p>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-79643872304719499572007-05-14T13:38:00.000+01:002007-05-17T09:18:02.559+01:00Day 37-42: On the roof of VietnamSaying goodbye to Daniel in Hanoi was quick, nevertheless somewhat sad. The last few weeks on the road had been great fun and we had shared many laughs and extraordinary moments along the way that will never be forgotten. Now I was alone. There was just me and my bicycle. Being on my own gave me plenty of time to contemplate my next move now that I was not going to get a Chinese visa within another week. After just a few minutes the perfect solution appeared to me. Since I would like to continue with my original route when possible, I would simply reverse the route I had planned in north-west Vietnam, starting in Sapa and working my way back to Hanoi instead. Cycling the entire distance from Sapa to Dien Bien Phu to Hanoi would take me approximately twelve days, skipping the bus ride I had originally planned leaving Hanoi. Once I will reach Hanoi, I will apply for an express visa and head back to Sapa the same day with the overnight train. The following day I plan to take an overnight bus to Kunming, China, to arrive according to the initial plan. I regret planning a few occasional bus rides on my journey, thus I will not take another bus or train before ending my trip in Beijing. I still believe I can complete my adventure in 100 days.<br /><br />As a result, I quickly booked an overnight train to Sapa, leaving the same evening as Daniel on March 8th. Overnight travel is very convenient and the next morning I was in Sapa. Close to the Chinese border, Sapa is set in the a beautiful mountainous, misty landscape with many surrounding hill-tribes. It is the most popular destination of north Vietnam. Actually, I ran into a few tourists who had travel to Vietnam only to visit Sapa and other towns in the area, not traveling along the coast at all. The main reason you stop in Sapa is trekking, thus on my second and last day in town I had booked a full day trekking tour through the mountains and various hill-tribes. The scenery was breathtaking and our humorous guide, a Vietnamese stand-up comedian, made the tour worthwhile. However, when I felt I was in the middle of nowhere, another group of six tourists came up the same path, and then another a few minutes later. Furthermore, for the full six hours we walked up and down the mountains there was a constant melody of "buy for me" as hill-tribe women and children tried to sell us various self-made items. Conclusevily, the experience did not feel completely authentic. At the time I did not know that I was about to travel through many villages and hill-tribes in the mountatins by bicycle, seeing far more genuine places on my own.<br /><br /><br /><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/224/497721286_91f6c4541d.jpg" border="0" />I was extremely excited to get back in the saddle after more than a week, heading for my next destination, Tam Duong. My first obstacle to counqer was the famous 1900 meter Tram Ton Pass, the highest mountain pass in Vietnam. Sapa is located at about 1600 meters meaning I had a relatively easy challange in front of me, a 300 meter climb. However, the road turned out to be anything but gravel, sand, rocks or at best cracked tarmac with enough potholes to send you flying across the road, partly due to road construction. It took me a good two and half hour to reach the top all while stopping to adjust my gears that had worked beautifully all the way up until now when I was crossing the greatest pass of Vietnam. 16 kilometers later all that was quickly forgotten when the road turned downhill. From here the roadwork was completed and all of a sudden I was flying down the mountain at speeds exceeding 50 km/h. The experience took me back to the central highlands and Dalat when Daniel and I left for the coast, freewheeling about twenty kilometers down the mountain. Now I was doing it again, but here the mountains are bigger, taller and stretches way beyond the horizon. More significantly, there is no traffic. The road was mine. I could hint soft layers of clouds below me, reminding me of the high altitude. Above the sun had risen over the mountains and was warming my skin in the cold but pleasant wind. Again a great feeling of happiness came over me, same as it had in Dalat, if not more prominent. Sadly, the happiness was short lived. After 20 kilometers the road turned evil as it started to climb again, and the cool wind had disappeared. This is when I fully realized what it is like pedaling in north-west Vietnam. There are no flat roads. You either fly down a mountain, or you are struggling to climb it. I also realized that it is as hot here as in south Vietnam. Furthermore, I learned that there are no rest stops along the way. Highway 1 had spoiled both me and Daniel with freuqent cafees or restaurants along the road. It was easy to stop at anytime to rehydrate or buy snacks. Here I was stuck up in a mountain with nothing but my water bottles to rely on. However, cycling up the mountain at a ten degree angle in mid-day heat (35 degree Celcius), I quickly ran out of water. Finally I approched a village with a few wooden houses. I desperately peaked in to see nothing but children looking strangely in my direction. Here was no water to be found. When I saw a woman rinsing vegetables in the creek running along the road I knew what I had to do. My water filter came to my rescue. Rehydrated I arrived in Tam Doung already after 40 kilometers, but accroding to my map it should have been at least 70. More confusingly, I saw a road sign for Lai Chau reading 30 kilometers. Lai Chau, according to my map, was more than 120 kilometers a way. What was going on? Excited to reach Lai Chau one day earlier than planned I pushed on the last 30 kilometers. I spent the evening that night repairing my gears, optimizing them for the hills. A young, ambitious man helped me making the final adjustments. He was so excited to be part of the operation that he took our picture, went to the photostore and had two copies made, one for him and one for his sister. Later I recieved a detailed drawing of a rose from him. Not sure what that meant, but he sure helped me get my bicycle ready for the next day.<br /><br />When I left Lai Chau I realized something was very wrong with the map. I was not in Lai Chau, or was I? Where was I? Extremely confused I stopped a moped coming up the mountain in my direction. In both Vietnamese and little English he explained to me that Lai Chau had switched names with Moung Lay. Appearently, many towns and cities of north-west Vietnam have switched names recently, and few changed names in the last year. My 2005 map was simply outdated. To my relief I knew where I was, but to my disappointment I had not saved a day. It would still take me three days to reach Dien Bien Phu from Sapa. The road was hilly but I had to come to except the fact that I was either traveling at speed around 50 km/h, or 5 km/h. On my way down a mountain pass I stopped by a helpless motorbiker on the side of the road. One of his tires had run out of air. With next to no traffic and very little passing vehicles in the mountains, I was his only hope. He borrowed my bicycle pump and quickly he was on his way. I felt proud of my achievement and hoped that if I would end up in a helpless situation, someone would assist me similarly. On the same downhill I ran into a brave dutch cyclist coming up the mountain. We had met in Hanoi in a bar and he mentioned that he thought about cycling north-west Vietnam, same route I had initially planned. Now we met in the middle of nowhere, going the opposite directions. I explained that I had to change plans due to the Chinese visa, reversing the route, and he presented his situation. It was great to see another person crazy enough to tackle these mountains. He made me feel sane. The 106 kilometers to Moung Lay (previous Lai Chau) was stunningly beautiful and all the cycling up and down the mountain felt easier by the hill. In the early afternoon I arrived in Moung Lay and had an early dinner which never have tasted better. </p><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/205/500775583_03ffd876af.jpg" border="0" />The final and third day before reaching Dien Bien Phu was going to be the most physically challenging day of my life. The last two days I had cycled 176 kilometers in extremely hilly terrain and spent almost twelwe hours in the saddle. My butt was sour, legs stiff and my body needed rest. I was not yet completely fit to handle three consecutive days in the mountains. However, I needed to reach Dien Bien Phu, 100 kilometers to the south, in order to make it to Hanoi in time. The distance was not the problem, the two mountain passes I had to climb were. I rolled out before breakfast at 5:30, a half an hour earlier than usual, wanting to cover more distance in the morning when it is cooler. The first and greatest pass came soon after I left Moung Lay, and would last much longer than I anticipated. After seven kilometers I started to feel weak (the last moutnain pass to Dalat was seven kilometers). My legs could not handle the weight of my bicycle at a ten degree slope, and were starting to give in. I pushed and pushed but every push only moved me a meter up the mountain. Finally I gave up and stepped off the bicycle. My legs felt like two single bricks attached to my hips, hurting enourmously. That was when I heard a very familiar sound; a slow moving truck traveling up the steep road. Soon I was hanging on to the truck, blessing God for his gift. After an additional seven kilometers I still had a tight grip on the truck but my arm had fallen asleep two kilometers ago. I decided to let go, waved the truck driver goodbye, and thought that this dreadful pass must be over within the next few hundred meters. To my disapointment it would continue for another five kilometers, almost ending my life. I knew I had reached the top when the truck driver awaited me by the roadside with a big, welcoming smile. We sat down on the side of the road, looking out over the mountain peaks. The wind was cool against my sweaty body and I truly felt alive. I looked over to the truck driver and with a big smile, revealing his missing teeth, he reached out a large plastic bottle with a brown, muddy liquid. Stuffed in the bottle were lots of various roots. Without a doubt I accepted his offer and took a zip. It was home-brewed sweet Vietnamese rom. He kept offering me the bottle over and over, flexing his muscles, illustrating strength, and I kept accepting his generous offers. Slightly intoxicated I rolled down on the other side of the mountain feeling like the king of the world. The rom proved to work as I pedaled effortlessly over rolling hills until I reached the second pass of the day. The story repeated itself but this time there was no truck to save me. Completely exhausted, barely alive, I reached Dien Bien Phu in the afternoon. During the entire 96 kilometers there had been only one place to stop for food, thus I had not had any lunch this day. Still I was not hungry and settle with some mangos before falling asleep at eight o'clock. </p><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/194/497844280_140bf874de.jpg" border="0" /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600213399243/show/" target="_blank"><strong>SLIDESHOW</strong> SAPA TO DIEN BIEN PHU</a> </p><p>Please note that there are links to all slideshows on the left hand side. On the left there is also a link to a <a href="http://herstedt.googlepages.com/Route_report.htm">full Route Report.</a></p><p><br /><br /> </p>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-48330970597812980642007-05-08T09:02:00.000+01:002007-05-08T12:23:25.194+01:00Day 28-36: UnexpectedOn our first day in Hanoi, after speaking to other travelers and our hotel personnel, I found out that the Chinese Embassy was closed due to Vietnamese bank holiday. A German man and his pregnant girlfriend miserably explained that they had applied for a Chinese visa right before the embassy closed and were now stuck in Hanoi without passports until it would reopen in 10 days. Another group of travelers had planned to leave Vietnam in the next couple of days to go to China as their Vietnam visas were about to expire. Now they were also left here and in need for a Vietnamese visa extension instead. I shared their concerns. I had planned to leave Hanoi after four days, but now I would have to consider other plans since the embassy had decided to take the full week off.<br /><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/211/489552813_48a39881ba.jpg" border="0" />However, there was no reason to rush; I had enough time to think about alternatives. First, me and Daniel wanted to explore Hanoi, the capital of Vietnam and a city of many attractions and fascinating history. Like its southern sibling Ho Chi Minh City, Hanoi is full of vehicles in a world of chaos. Mopeds are crowding the roads in clouds of exhausts, and when not in motion, they are parked on the sidewalks, forcing pedestrians to walk through the vehicles in the streets, making it difficult for cars and taxis to move about. The result is an orchestra of honking vehicles that goes on all day, everyday. Edging the streets are countless of shops offering clothes, shoes, souvenirs, jewelry, exchange services, tours, all forms of transportations, food, drinks and more. In between the shops are restaurants and hotels in great numbers. Surprisingly, we had a tough time finding a decent hotel at a reasonable price in Hanoi. For the first time on our way from Ho Chi Minh City we had severe difficulties finding a room that suited our budget, was available and the hotel accepted our bicycles. Selecting and finding hotels has generally been effortless, as well as bringing our bicycles into the hotel, or in few occasions, our room. We never book any rooms in advance and rarely plan what hotel to pick. At few occasions there are not many options and we must accept any hotel that is available. At these times we often end up in poor rooms with no warm water, air conditioning or TV, just a warm, humid room with hard mattresses and dirty blankets. In larger towns and cities we usually scope out an area at our arrival that seems attractive, start looking at rooms and negotiate prices. Traveling on bicycles we have the luxury of easily moving quickly from one hotel to another. Thus, we take our time evaluating a number of different hotels in order to find the best room at the best price, that is, two large beds, TV with HBO, warm water, fan and air conditioning, balcony with a view, friendly staff and last but not least, good locations to park our bicycles, all under ten U.S. dollars. Being persistent in searching for good hotels and determined price negotiation, astonishingly, we have managed to get all of the above a number of times. In Hanoi history repeated itself, and after a couple of hours and a coffee break, we found a hotel in the Old Quarter area that lived up to all of our requirements, but for the additional two dollars per night. We knew we were going to stay in Hanoi for more than a week, justifying the 12 dollars for the perfect room. </p><p>On our second day in the capital we bicycled around the city to visit a number of sights. We explored the Hoan Kiem Lake right in the heart of Hanoi, paid a visit to the Ho Chi Minh mausoleum and museum and soaked up the atmosphere in the Old Quarter. When darkness fell we continued to enjoy the area as we raised our glasses of ‘bia hoi’. For 2000 dong (0,10 euro) per glass, this fresh beer is a real treat, and you can easily buy your friends a round or two. Bia hoi is a locally brewed draft beer without any preservatives, which means it is supposed to be enjoyed quickly. Before the night ends, most often the beer runs out, as the travelers as well as locals disapprovingly move on regular beer at four times the cost. </p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/217/489546535_48dae628e9.jpg" border="0" /><br />As a result of the Chinese embassy being closed more than a week, we had more time in Hanoi than originally planned. Being in a chaotic, polluted and noisy city for more than a week did not appeal to me or Daniel. Therefore, on our third day we headed for Cat Ba Island located in the magnificent and famous Halong Bay. Getting there was not what we had expected. We were placed on a tour out to Cat Ba Island against our will and our wish for only transportation was completely ignored. Instead, the booking agent had placed us on a tour but excluded the food. We would get to Cat Ba Island but not before cruising around the bay and visiting some tourist sights. A one day tour without food or drink is not an agreement anyone would accept. Any human with a functional brain can figure that out. Very hungry, we still appreciated the massive and beautiful bay and all its islands sited as far as the eye can see. Cat Ba turned out to be a great place to stay. It offers kayaking around the thousands of islands, trekking in the mountains and many secluded, fine, white sand beaches and clear water. We were excited to be here and after dinner we had quickly forgotten the sorrows of the day. Unfortunately, the following day I woke up with stomach pains and the runs. For me, this has almost become a routine, but this time it was different. We had planned to go for a full day of kayaking around the bay, but strategically changed our plans to half a day. Once out on the ocean, my pains were forgotten and the awesome sights we were experiencing cruising around the islands took over. Huge, tall, massive limestone peaks shot through the ocean into the sky, covered in lush, green vegetation. One after the other they appeared as we paddled through the bay. Single, small stretches of sand at the bottom of the peaks made perfect rest stops, and we quickly found our favorite. The small, slim beach, located between two towering limestone peaks, was only a few meters wide, making it a dream spot, and I wondered why this location was not made into a postcard. Unsurprisingly, awed by the environment we got lost in the disarray of islands. When my pains returned the kayaking got less interesting and I just wanted to make it back, if we could just find our way. After two hours we finally found our starting point to be greeted by an old, angry woman accusing us of breaking one of the paddles.<br /><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/197/489542006_3791d53b40.jpg" border="0" /><br />As a result of a long, tedious day and my stomach problems, I was motionless for the rest of the afternoon and evening. The next morning I was extremely weak, pale and had high fever. We agreed to go back to Hanoi and if I was getting worse I would consider seeing a doctor. In these parts of the world a high fever can mean the start of many dangerous diseases, thus you do not want to take your changes if not improving quickly. After a five hour journey by boat and three different buses, I was not exactly feeling better. I tried to rest but felt worse by the minute, and after checking my body temperature (38,8 Celcius) I decided to make a short visit to the doctor. A couple of hours later, 50 dollars poorer, and unfortunately not wiser, I was informed that I had contracted a virus or bacteria that caused the fever and diarrhea. I was prescribed lots of various medicines that could be picked up at any local drugstore. Tired of spending money, I decided to let my body handle the problem. It took me two days to recover and by the time I was feeling fine, Daniel started to complain about stomach pains and before he knew it, he also had fever. There is much more to see in Hanoi so when we both were back on our feet we took the opportunity to stop by a few of Hanoi’s museums, I went to see the famous Hanoi water puppet performance, and Daniel made sure to do some shopping before heading back to Sweden. On our last evening we went out for dinner at a finer restaurant than usual, looking to enjoy our last Vietnamese evening meal. After inspecting the menu, Daniel turned to the waitress to ask if they serve dog, since it rarely appears on the menus. Vietnamese people consider dog to be a very fine, delicious and exclusive meal. Throughout Vietnam we have seen huge packs of dogs living among villagers, and we have suspected that they do not only keep them as pets. Now it was time for Daniel to give it a try. Not only did the restaurant serve dog, they had several alternatives how to prepare it. Daniel chose dog with ginger and garlic. A few minutes later a fur-smelling brown mix of dog flesh, bone, skin and fat was put in front of Daniel’s face. I was about to vomit and expecting Daniel to do the same. Instead, he started taking in the awkward mixture, chewing it slowly. His movements were slow and careful, and his face displayed clear signs of disapproval. A few bites later he gave up, having eaten dog probably for the last time in his life.<br /><br />After several days in Hanoi I was looking forward to getting my Chinese visa and proceed with my travels. At the day of opening I was there early in the morning to get a good position in line. However, after four hours of queuing, the line had not even moved half a meter. Instead it had grown more than twenty meters behind me, and before I knew it the gates were closed in front of hundreds of queuing travelers. Frustrated I headed back to the hotel to gather my thoughts, and realized that right now it will take at least a week to get a Chinese visa, even with express service.<br /><br />Many alternatives are currently lingering in my mind, and by the next post they will come together to the perfect solution. Two things are now certain, though; I will leave Hanoi and I must get back in the saddle.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600190747268/show/" target="_blank"><strong>SLIDESHOW</strong> HANOI & HALONG BAY</a> <div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-41284617005429817892007-04-30T09:41:00.000+01:002007-04-30T10:28:54.967+01:00Day 22-27: Learning every day<a href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/200/478048931_dbc28f9d79_d.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/200/478048931_dbc28f9d79_d.jpg" border="0" /></a> Hoi An continued to live up to our expectations, and we thoroughly enjoyed our visit to this cultural town. The architecture of the village is protected by international heritage law, preventing old buildings and structures from being ruined or replaced, and modern architecture is not to be constructed. As a result, Hoi An is consistent in its artistic beauty, making it an especially romantic, warm, attractive and enriching place for tourists to fall in love with. Unfortunately, the effect is a town targeted towards tourism, where prices tend to stagger over the years and the Vietnamese of Hoi An see every opportunity to make an extra dollar from all visitor to enter the town. Freelancing motor bikers are standing in every corner of the streets yelling ‘motobike’, twisting their wrists as if they were accelerating the throttle, repeating ‘motobike’ over and over until the next tourist walks by, and the process starts all over again. The result is a constant mantra of ‘motobike’ throughout the town.<br /><div><br /><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/218/478026124_40f3e8fa32_d.jpg" border="0" />On our third day the tourism of Hoi An became even more apparent when we booked a tour to the My Son archeological site. Although we have witnessed numerous Cham temples on our journey so far, we still had to pay a visit to the largest, most famous of them all – the Cham temples at My Son. We were picked up at 5:00 to make it to the sun rise over the temples, but before all tourists had been picked up, every seat of the bus filled, all groups of tourists gathered and seated at a restaurant to purchase an over-priced breakfast and the guide had calmly finished his soup, the sun had risen way above the mountains. Disappointed we were lead to the site like a herd of cows, and the guide monotonously started informing us about the history of My Son like he has done so many times before. At that time we realized how spoiled we were, traveling through the country on bicycles, seeing and experiencing things many other tourists never could dream of. We promised ourselves not to go on any more tours in Vietnam.<br /><br />However, like other tourists we wanted to make use of the tailors of Hoi An. I had two T-shirts made, two caps, and a summer dress for my girlfriend. We also did extensive shopping in the Hoi An market, buying few souvenirs and gifts at bargain prices. We have developed excellent skills of bargaining and price negotiation. In other countries of South East Asia you must always bargain when purchasing clothes and souvenirs, but in Vietnam you must negotiate every purchase, even when buying water at a food stand, or getting an ice cream, or paying for breakfast on the road, or renting two chairs at the beach, or buying dinner in a small village. The Vietnamese people are very friendly and helpful, but they are also smart and do not miss an opportunity to make an extra dollar. Consequently, the prices vary tremendously throughout the country, and you must pay extra attention to when you are being fooled or tricked. We have paid 3000 Dong (Euro 0,20) for a whole branch of bananas consisting of 20 small bananas, but in urban areas you can easily pay double just for one banana.<br /></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/191/478029888_563b8365e7_d.jpg" border="0" />Getting up on our day of departure from Hoi An was difficult since we now were used to sleeping in after three days of rest and recovery. Our bodies hurt, but not from exercise, more from staying out late at night and enjoying 3000 Dong (Euro 0,20) local fresh beers. On our last night in Hoi An we had made dinner at one of the local restaurants with instructions from the head chef. It was great fun and we learned a lot about Vietnamese cooking as well as drinking fresh beer at a rapid pace. Nevertheless, we were on our way, cruising along the deserted road next to the Cua Dai beach before lunch, heading towards China Beach, about 25 kilometer north of Hue and 10 kilometers east of Vietnam’s fourth largest city, Danang. The road was newly built and carried us quickly to our destination despite tired bodies. Arriving at China Beach was exactly what we wished for. We checked in, rehydrated and walked 30 meters to see a huge open beach, stretching as far as the eye can see. The turquoise water was foaming as one to two meter waves crashed into the shore. After lunch we swiftly rushed back to the hotel, borrowed a pair of surfboards and tried out the immense waves.<br /><br />The next day was going to be our last beach-stop traveling north on Highway 1A; Lang Co Beach about 30 kilometers north of China Beach. Lang Co Beach has nothing special to offer but for a secluded beach and lots of Japanese tourists who apparently cannot swim, thus we took the opportunity to relax and update our dairies. Every morning when we have pedaled out at 6:00 we have just missed the sunrise. Therefore, on the day we set course for Hue, we decided to begin cycling at 5:00. We lived up to our promised, but the weather Gods thought differently, and this morning the sky was covered with clouds, not letting a single beam of light through. Instead, we were blessed with an extraordinary beautiful landscape all the 65 kilometers to Hue. Before entering the city, we stopped to have a chat with some young boys walking a herd of bulls. I find it amazing how a small ten year old boy, with nothing but a weak whip, can handle a group of large animals weighing up to a ton each. We were impressed by their herd of bulls and skills, and they were equally excited and awed about our bicycles. A fair trade of experiences took place.<br /><br />Hue is another tourist paradise and we were not up for crowding with hundreds of other people, looking at the same thing at the same time. In one afternoon we finished the necessary attractions and decided to make our own tour the next day, cycling along the Perfumed River. The following day, after lunch at the river bank with a breathtaking view, and three Vietnamese coffees each we crossed the Perfumed River to explore the other side where tourists rarely set foot. Cycling around the isolated villages was fascinating, but also very demanding as children ran after me, screaming “Helloooo”, pulling my bicycle, jumping onto my rare rack, smashing it with sticks, and finally I had had enough, and wanted to pedal back to the hotel. Unfortunately, we had been so caught up cycling the landscape that we had lost our way, and to be able to get back we had to find someone willing to take us back across the river. Finally we found an elderly woman who charged us 10000 Dong (0,60 Euros) to take us and our bicycles on her small, narrow canoe, which could capsize at any time. Luckily, we and our bicycles made it alive back to the hotel. </div><div></div><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/230/478043244_4bbcc54f9a_d.jpg" border="0" />Now we have just arrived in Hanoi after a long, but comfortable bus ride. At our arrival I headed for the Chinese embassy to apply for my Chinese visa. I wanted to leave as much time as possible for the authorities to process the paper work. To my astonishment, the embassy was closed due to a Vietnamese holiday and do not open until another 10 days. Stay tuned.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600159063243/show/" target="_blank"><strong>SLIDESHOW</strong> HOI AN - HUE</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-5869459695342966172007-04-24T11:59:00.000+01:002007-04-24T12:55:33.676+01:00DAY 17-21: Getting fitQuy Nhon is an anonymous town located by the ocean. Although it offers a beautiful beach, few travelers bother to make a stop here, and when they do, it is often due to a mistake in communication with the bus drivers. The town is dirty, chaotic place, and like with all towns and cities of Vietnam, full of mopeds driving in all directions, obeying no traffic laws. Initially we had only planned one day here but we decided to give Quy Nhon a chance despite the first poor impression. On this day we rented a motorbike and drove inland to take a break from the coastal scenery. However, we quickly understood that we have already seen much of this type of environment when traveling the central highlands. Now the surroundings were just swishing by faster as Daniel was speeding at 80-90 km/h. Squeezed on the back of the moped, I was not only praying for my butt to survive the bumpy dirt roads, I was also pleading for my life. In the early afternoon, about 90 kilometers later and extremely sour butts; we had seen a few Cham temples, Vietnamese traditional brick constructions and numerous rice fields. Now we deserved a visit to the beach, and for dinner we indulged in fresh crabs, which we selected ourselves.<br /><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/191/471052927_bea2576e1d.jpg" border="0" />We have followed the initial route plan, and we felt no different when we headed for the bus station in Quy Nhon to take the bus north, about 170 kilometer, to Quang Ngai, avoiding a less interesting and familiar route. I had worried about bringing the bicycles on a bus, but at our arrival at the station, we were quickly greeted by friendly men who packed our bicycles in a minibus, charged us 6 US dollars each, and drove off to Quang Ngai almost immediately. We had not booked or purchased any tickets beforehand. Sometimes traveling can be so easy. Our stop in Quang Ngai served only one purpose; a visit to the Son My (My Lai) memorial where one of the most horrible massacres of Vietnamese civilians took place during the Vietnamese War (here referred to as the American War). During the war, the Americans suspected that the local farmers where supplying the Viet Cong with food and shelter in this area, and an operation was ordered to”teach the villagers a lesson”. More than 500 civilians were massacred and the Americans had no casualties but for one soldier who reportedly had injured himself to escape the horrifying act. Being at the memorial and walking around the newly established museum, I was reminded of what an unnecessary, brutal war the Vietnamese war had been and how many innocent lives had been wasted.<br /><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/173/471033342_7285448331.jpg" border="0" />In ordinary fashion, the next day we got up early to bicycle 110 kilometers north to Hoi An. This was going to be the longest stretch we had covered so far, and probably the longest on my 100-day journey, thus today our stamina was going to be put to the maximum test. However, we immediately felt that during the last weeks of cycling we have built up surprisingly good strength and pedal-power. Before breakfast we had already covered 30 kilometers and stepped off our bicycles with no pains or moans, just happy to stuff ourselves with food and drinks. Life on the road has increasingly become a routine, and we have found our ways of dealing with all obstacles along the way. For breakfast we stop at a café where locals are already having their share of an early meal. We peek at their food, and if it looks appealing, we smile, show two fingers, nod or occasionally practice our limited Vietnamese. The villagers take great part in our routine and watch every move we make, waiting for a reaction to the food. Energized, we smile and pet our bellies, they light up and respond with bigger smiles and giggles. When we wave them goodbye, the whole family takes part in the farewell and it almost feels sad to leave them behind. Once on the road we take turns leading the way, never keeping more than 100 meters apart. Occasionally we chat, but mostly we plug in our headphones, filling our ears with our favorite music to avoid the noise from the road. The honking of the trucks is inescapable, though, as they tend to blast their horns as they are passing you, leaving only centimeters from their trucks and your eardrums. We have had no encounters with dangerous traffic so far, and it seems like mopeds, trucks and cars respect our presence on the road. When we run out of water we stop to refill our bottles, and most often take the opportunity to snack local food and try various freshly squeezed juices. On our way to Hoi An, I found my favorite drink at one of the cafes; a mix of small mandarins (small mandarins resembling mini-limes), and fresh bamboo. The Vietnamese press them together in a manual pressing machine, mix it with sugar and pour it over ice. Yummy! It is occasions like this that make our journey worthwhile and unique. We have noticed that life on the road is the most interesting, where we are exposed to rare situations, have the opportunity to experience the authentic life of the Vietnamese people, taste their food and meet with locals.<br /><br />As a result, the 116 kilometers to Hoi An was exclusively pure pleasure. Our muscles did hurt, we were tired and in need of a long shower, nevertheless we felt great as we rolled up to a café of central Hoi An. We felt like heroes on our bicycles, like beaten soldiers, proud of our accomplishment. We sat down to order some juice, and quickly realized we were back in tourist land when the café charged us ten times the price for a fresh juice of what we paid the same day on the road in a small village.<br /><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/226/471054847_21525acf30.jpg" border="0" />Still, Hoi An is a beautiful small town. Its picturesque alleys, river front and crowded market make it a fantastic place to spend a few days. All you have to do is ignore the hundreds of tourists wandering the streets, often traveling in groups, wearing the same hats saying “Welcome to Hoi An”. Hoi An is famous for its master tailors who can sew up just about anything you ask them to at a very reasonable price. Bring a picture of the latest Hugo Boss suit or Dolce Gabbana dress, and they will take your measurements, tell a price (always negotiable) and have it ready the next day. We are looking forward to spending two more days in this loveable town, continuing to indulge in all it has to offer. We have already spent one day at the Cua Dai Beach, 5 kilometers to the west, relaxing, resting our muscles. A fair amount of shopping has also taken place. I am looking forward to report more from Hoi An next time.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600119047226/show/" target="_blank"><strong>SLIDESHOW</strong> QUY NHON – HOI AN</a>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-16820549229852733332007-04-19T08:05:00.000+01:002007-04-20T16:35:20.683+01:00Day 12-16: Life is good<a href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/198/464898530_92ed725638.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/198/464898530_92ed725638.jpg" border="0" /></a> After three days of cycling we were looking forward to taking a few days off in Nha Trang to enjoy the beach, refuel with western food and converse with other tourists. Besides Ho Cho Minh City, Nha Trang is the first place where tourists are seen everywhere. Normally you would imagine this to be negative, but we were excited to speak English and hear other stories and adventures from other tourists. We met a few Swedes, an Irish couple, few Canadians and Aussies. All are exceptionally friendly and open-minded. You easily strike up a conversation and the topic is easily chosen; travel. Our first day in tourist paradise we spend at the Nha Trang beach, trying to even out our "farmer's tan" we had contracted from the last days of cycling. (T-shirt and cycling shorts do not exactly give you the most even and beautiful sunburn.) Although I was laying in the shadow the whole morning, comfortably in my sunbed under the straw umbrella, I was burned beyond recognition. My chest and ankles had suffered the most. My mother was right, you do get sunburned in the shadow. The beach is a peaceful place but for the annoying Vietnamese women who constantly are attempting to sell you various things as you are trying to relax and appreciate the surroundings. Daniel finally got so annoyed that he took the effort of making a sign that read "No, thanks". This way we did not have to say anything every two minutes someone approached us. We simply moved our eyes slowly towards the sign and nodded simultaneously. It worked perfectly.<br /><br />Nha Trang offers a variety of activities. However, we were were focused on relaxing and sunbathing, and we were having a great time doing it. We have experienced and will have enough action later on. Nevertheless, we did go diving on our second day. Daniel is a scuba diver instructor which turned out perfectly for me since my last dive was more than ten years ago. I needed some assistance. We made two dives. Due to the fact that I had forgotten almost all about diving, the first dive was mainly painful and uncomfortable, but the the second one quiet the opposite. We swam through colourful corals and saw lots of fish, and I was happy to have had the opportunity to catch up on my diving skills.<br /><div></div><br /><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/205/464928451_ec3ef5d06b.jpg" border="0" />After three days if no cycling it was time again to get back on the road. The next destination was Dai Lanh, about 85 kilometers north of Nha Trang. We were on our way just before 6:00, and 30 kilometers later we stopped for breakfast. We have learned how to select good spots and this time was no different. We have also developed an addiction to Vietnamese coffee. It is with no doubt the best coffee in the world. Its strong, concentrated and mocca flavour is to die for. To top it off, you add a bit of condensed milk and ice. A solid breakfast is essential when cycling, and before we knew it were where at Dai Lanh beach. When we checked in I got one of the stomach aches me and Daniel had developed the last few days from uncooked squid we had for dinner in Nha Trang. The pain was sharp and intense, and it felt like someone had cut my stomach open with a razor blade. The only cure was an available toilet seat. I started heading for our cement bungalow located 100 meters down at the beach. Walking in the fine, powder-like sand, dragging my bicycle with me was strenuous and slow. About half way the pain got more intense and the pressure unbearable. I knew I had only seconds before I needed to relieve myself. I started running. I won't make it, I thought to myself and horrible images entered my mind. Just outside the door of our dirty cement bungalow I dropped the bicycle, kicked in the door, took three quick, long steps towards the toilet, jumped onto the toilet seat, slid off because of my sweaty body, rebalanced and the rest is history. </div><br /><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/210/464918209_ea6c96f3e2.jpg" border="0" />Dai Lanh beach was a beautiful, remote, secluded place and its exceptionally fine sand and clear blue water made it worth stopping in this otherwise scary city. The next day we were happy to pedal to Song Cau, and leave the unfriendly people of Dai Lanh behind. After a morning swim and at about 6:30 we were on our way. Only after a half an hour I knew this day was going to be hell. I mean that literally. The sky was clear, the wind almost still, resulting in extremely high temperature. Normally the sweat on your body cools you down when cycling at an average 20 km/h, but when the wind feels like a hair blow dryer, it is to no use. <a href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/232/464860677_77b5839095.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/232/464860677_77b5839095.jpg" border="0" /></a>After lunch I was exhausted, weak, but mostly over-heated. Every 20 kilometers we had to stop and I would get a bucket of ice, rap it in my scarf and rub my entire body until the ice had melted. This technique worked and I was feeling much better in the afternoon. However, by the time we reached Song Cau and covered 90 kilometers, including two mountain passes, we were drained out of energy, our legs hurt, stomachs in pain and ready to put the bicycles away for the day. My travel book (Lonely Planet) mentions that there are hotels in this small village, but there were no hotels to be found. We asked several locals, using our phrasebook, (you can forget English, and any way of gesturing sleeping and hotel) and all pointed north and showed ten plus five fingers. We were not at all up for an additional 15 kilometers at this point, but had no choice. We pushed on at a slow pace, not saying much, just excepting fact. The locals were right. 15 kilometers later we were finally there, and the hotel staff greeted us with big smiles, and dollar signs in their eyes. After dinner we passed out in our air-conditioned room at 20:15, proud and satisfied of our accomplishment, and not regretting any of the day's experiences.<br /><br />The final stretch to Quy Nhon is only about 30 kilometers from Song Cau and we had already taken care of 15 kilometers the previous day. This route is not part of Highway 1, which we have been pedaling since we left Phang Rang, about 350 kilometers south. This road is a beautiful stretch along the mountain side facing the ocean. Although it is certainly a challenging route with its hilly terrain, it is stunningly beautiful. The mountains are to the left, the ocean to the right, and we were right in between, traveling on our own power, up and down the hills. It was a feeling all must experience.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600093337587/show/" target="_blank"><strong>SLIDESHOW</strong> NHA TRANG TO QUY NHON</a> </div><div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-88654009226511511602007-04-14T12:39:00.000+01:002007-04-15T12:21:43.334+01:00Day 8-11: This will be greatAfter the rough days of cycling the mountains we certainly deserved and needed a couple of days rest. Dalat was the perfect spot to recharge our muscules. Because of its high altitude, Dalat is slightly cooler than Bao Loc and Di Linh, and temperatures are significantly lower than Ho Chi Minh City. As a matter of fact, Dalat is often called the City of Eternal Spring due to its year-around mild average temperatures. At night it actually gets a bit chilly. The climate reminded me of a Swedish Summer when it is at its best.<br /><div></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/171/457438691_b781de8707.jpg" border="0" />But before we could enjoy this picturesque, small and hilly town I had to get my camera repaired. I was devasted when I noticed that my handle-bar bag had not been fully waterproof. The built-in rain cover is appearently just for show. The 2.5 inch camera display had taken in water and there was no way of knowing how much water had leaked in during the heavy rainfall the day before (<a href="http://bikingdan.blogspot.com/2007/04/first-days-of-bicycling.html">see previous post</a>). Daniel’s advice could have saved my Canon 400D from a disaster I never would have imagined. He instructed me to not turn the camera on and maybe someone could take it apart, dry the internal parts and then resemble it when dry. Amazingly this worked. An old man, who had been running his camera store way before the digital revolution, charge me 100,000 Dong (7 Euros), and returned it to me as if I just bough a new camera. I was releaved, to say the least.<br /><br />The first day in Dalat we spend running errends and rest. We were so determined to not strain our muscles that we rented a motorbike just to transport ourselves from one point to the other. On day number two we got in touch with one of the Easy Riders of Dalat. Easy Riders are dedicated freelance motorbikers who offer you a full-day ride around Dalat and its sourronding attractions on the back of their old Russian and German motorbikes. We hired “Nam” for a full day, a wise and knowledgable, middle-age man who showed us almost all that you can see around Dalat. I sat behind Nam on his rusty machine, while Daniel decided to become an Easy Rider himself, riding his own motorbike. We visited Pagodas (place of worship), coffee plantations, Vietnamese silk farming and production, Tobacco fields, Waterfalls and more. At every stop Nam told a tale in broken and monotone English. After each story Daniel and I would look at each other and try to figure out the point of the story. Most often there was none. Nam was a fantastic guide, but not a story teller. </div><div><br /></div><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/197/457432789_65b90f31bc.jpg" border="0" />The next day we left Dalat and headed for Phang Rang, which is located south of Dalat, near the southern coast of Vietnam and 1500 meters below Dalat. As a result, we expected an easy day of cycling, although we had to cover more than 100 kilometers on our bicycles. It was a beautiful day when we started pedaling at 06:00, but to our disapointment we were not traveling downhill, we were still pushing ourselves up and down the mountains of Dalat, and the frustration was building up for every kilometer we were ascending. After 30 kilometer, and at an altitude of about 1650 meter, we finally reached the turning point. The road started to swirl its way down the steep mountain like a snake on the move. Potholes and sharp turns were the only obstacles to overcome as we were free-wheeling down the bumby roads with speeds exceeding 40 km/h. With my favorite Opera playing loud in my headphones, it was an unbelievable feeling of happiness. All of a sudden my life was summerized in front of me and I realized how fortunate I am, having good friend, supporting family and a girlfriend who understand my crazy idea of bicycling through Vietnam and China for 100 days. </div><div><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/xnPLr5iGdT0" width="425" height="350" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>Unfortunately the enjoyment only lasted 30 kilometers and quickly we were down at sea level once again. It was interesting to see the vegetation change from pine trees to palm trees; less apealing was to feel the temperature rise to a staggering 40 degree Celcius. Consequently, the last 30 kilometers were extremly warm and demanding. Right before we entered Phang Rang, we stopped at a welder to get Daniel’s handle-bar rebuilt. It is stunning how dedicated and passionate the welders of Vietnam are, because about one hour later, and lots of welding, Daniel had his new handle-bar ready, which now allow him to sit more straight up when he desires.<br /><br />The ride from Phan Rang to Cam Ranh was only 45 kilometer, nevertheless a rough one. We did not need to fight steep mountains, but this morning the headwind was fierce and strong. Out of pure aggravation we pushed on with full power, draining the last energy of our legs. Despite the short ride, we were completely exhausted once we reached Cam Ranh. After a huge lunch we simply passed out in our air conditioned room for two hours. We spend the afternoon pedaling around the small streets of Cam Ranh harbour. When heading back to the hotel, two fishermen stopped us, gesturing something we could not understand. They wanted us to follow them. We rode out in the harbour, in a patchwork of dams. The dams contain lots of fish we found out, once the fishermen started to pull in their huge nets. It was a fascinating sight and we thanked them for letting us take part of their daily life. </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/251/457440076_0e14395fef.jpg" border="0" />The next morning we started our journey at 06:00, avoiding the unbareable mid-day heat. With less wind than the previous day and a very tasty, solid Vietnamese breakfast (Vienamese coffee, bean sprout panckakes with chili) we finished early in Nha Trang at 10.00. The 60 kilometers we just had cycled were surprisingly easy, and we were very pleased to see westerners again after a few days in remote places where English is not spoken. Now it’s time to take a few days off and enjoy the soft, warm sand and turquise water of Nha Trang.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600072201286/show/" target="_blank"><strong>SLIDESHOW</strong> DALAT TO NHA TRANG</a><br /><br />If you are interested in a full cycling route report, you can find that on the left side of the page.Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-37883281610525920792007-04-09T11:17:00.000+01:002007-04-10T12:02:53.546+01:00Day 4-7: The first days of bicycling<img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/243/452136889_9f2818e820.jpg" border="0" />Finally we started cycling. Both I and Daniel urged to get out of the polluted and congested city. After a 7-hour bus ride, and 153 kilometer northwest of Ho Chi Minh City, we finally reached Bao Loc, where our cycling was planned to start. We both were so anxious to get started that we spent the entire afternoon and evening pedaling around the small town of Bao Loc. Westerners could not been seen anywhere, and we realized we had arrived in a very remote place where tourists never stop, unless they are on a bicycle. Everywhere children screamed out “helloooo” to us, as if that was the only word they knew in English. We later found out that that was indeed the case. Along the roads children constantly run out in the streets and yell out their only knowledge of English over and over, and we politely answer back and wave our hands. In Bao Loc we still found this very amusing and were very flattered by the attention. Early in the afternoon we passed a school where children were crowding the streets getting ready to bicycle home. In seconds we were swarmed by giggling children. Their laughter quickly rubbed off and we just stood there laughing in the middle of this crowd of young kids.<br /><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/235/452121538_0987f6dd05.jpg" border="0" />People were very friendly in Bao Loc. My rear rack had cracked during the air transport. It was still functional, but I wanted it fixed. In matter of minutes of cruising around town we saw a middle-age man welding together an iron gate. He could not help us but he directed us to a workshop nearby. A very patient man awaited us and swiftly got to work. After an hour of skilled welding and sculpting he had solved the problem, all for 30000 dong (about 2 euros).<br /><br />The following day was the first real bicycling day. The plan was to visit the Dambri falls north of Bao Loc, then head straight for Di Linh, a total of about 85 kilometer. As we started to pedal towards Dambri falls I realized that the hills where harder to overcome than I expected. Even the slightest angle uphill will slow you down tremendously with a fully loaded bicycle (bicycle plus gear equals about 40 kilograms). On top of that our lowest gears did not work, in spite of a routine check-up the day before. It was killing both of us. However, after 30 kilometers we reached the Dambri waterfalls, one of the highest falls in the area. The 90 meter fall is breathtaking both from the view above as well as below.<br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/FOW_lpolXXs" width="425" height="350" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed><br /><br />From the waterfall we had about 55 kilometers to Di Linh, but before pedaling the last 35 kilometers we stopped by our favorite bicycle store and had our gears repaired. Daniel even bought new gear shifts to ease the shifting. The road to Di Linh was mostly uphill but the lower gears made it possible; still painful nevertheless. Di Linh is even smaller than Bao Loc and sadly less friendly. Instead of children laughing, they were throwing rocks at us. Ordering our dinner also turned out to be somewhat of a nightmare. After several minutes of all form of communication (not only do we speak differently, the western way of common sign language is interestingly also different from the Vietnamese) we could not converse what we wanted to eat. The menu was to no help as it was in Vietnamese. At the point of giving up we just pointed at a name on the first page of the menu. A few minutes later we had whole fried small fish, including head and fins, and microwave defrosted crocodile on our plates. Not exactly what you want after 85 kilometers, mainly uphill, on a bicycle. We left the restaurant hungry that night.<br /><br />I am sad to report that nothing about Di Linh was positive. We could not even get a decent breakfast before heading for Dalat, an additional 72 kilometers northwest. We knew this day was going to be tough, but nothing could completely prepare us for what we were in for. Dalat is the highlight of the central highlands, and is located at 1500 meters above sea level. For us, that meant we not only had to pedal the 72 kilometers, but also push our way up 500 meters from an altitude of 1000 meters where Di Linh is located. Fortunately, we had already taken care of some of the altitude the day before. However, it turned out to be a gruesome day. Daniel started to get problems with his right knee, and we were also suffering from the 85 kilometers to Di Linh the previous day. After lunch the pain set in and our average speed increasingly slowed down. We were still on schedule, nonetheless, since we had started bicycling at 06:30. When we saw the road sign “Da Lat 10 km” we were relieved and ready to put the bicycles away for the day. So we thought. When an old woman shortly after pointed us the directions I realized that there was much more to come. She did not point right or left, she pointed up.<br /><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/228/452123060_7db97d36b9.jpg" border="0" />We stopped to gather our last resources of energy. At that time the sky opened up and heavy Southeast Asian tropical rain poured down on us with full strength. The road swirled its way up the steep mountain. Neither I, nor Daniel had the power to push ourselves up at times. It was simply too steep and we were exhausted, weak and our legs could not pedal hard and fast enough to keep balance. I got a second wind after 3 kilometers and gave full power, thinking this is all I have. But when the road angled steeper and steeper I was forced to jump off the bicycle once more and walk a few hundred meters. That was when I saw a truck moving at a slower speed that the other traffic. It was approaching slowly when I knew exactly was I was about to witness. My instinct was right, there was Daniel, holding on to the end of the truck with his left hand, balancing the handle-bar with the right. The truck was pulling him up! As soon as he saw me, a big satisfying smile emerged on his face. You could not wipe that smile off with anything on this planet. At first I though “CHEATER!”, but quickly realized that I had at least another hour of brutal pain and unbelievable heavy rain. I was soaked and cold, exhausted and weak. I took the opportunity and bicycled all I could to catch up with the truck. Faster, faster, I kept repeating to myself. I reached the truck but could not get a solid grip. When I grabbed the truck my fingers simply slipped off. I tried again, and again, and again. For a minute I was chasing the truck and yelling to Daniel to move up so I could get up on the right side of the truck where Daniel was comfortably holding on with a firm grip. Just before my legs collapsed completely, Daniel finally pulled himself up, closer to the front to give me room in the back. Now we were both holding on to the right side of the truck, which pulled us all the way up to Dalat.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600058307328/show/" target="_blank"><strong>SLIDESHOW</strong> BAO LOC TO DALAT</a><br /><br />For all Daniel's pictures and stories (Swedish) visit his site <a href="http://www.resedagboken.se/Default.aspx?documentId=3&userId=162940&section=blog&journeyId=193223">here</a>.Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-43282563976962235012007-04-05T14:28:00.000+01:002007-04-10T12:03:35.825+01:00Day 1-3: Ho Chi Minh CityHo Chi Minh City, or locally still referred to as Saigon, is a hectic, congested, polluted, noisy, smelly, hot, sweaty, crowded but fascinating city. I could not survive a month living in this large city of officially six million people (another two million with all unregistered inhabitants included), but it is a fantastic place to visit. Although it is part of the south Asian region, Ho Chi Minh city feels different to its neighboring capitals. The contrast of old and new is more prominent, it is louder and sadly more polluted, surely an effect of the almost four million mopeds congesting every street corner of the city. They travel in groups of hundreds in all form and sizes. It is so prominent that it has become a signature of the city. Men and women wear scarfs over their months to filter the toxic air. At first you think that they are overreacting, or trying to make a fashion statement, but I fully understand them after a few days here. My throat is hurting and my nose is slightly stuffed from all the exhausts and smoke.<br /><br /><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/236/447174415_acb58f7b7b.jpg" border="0" />Nevertheless, I truly enjoy my stay here. Getting here, on the other hand, was not as pleasant. Bringing a bicycle on board a plane in today's over-protected airports, with lots of equipment, is a tricky challenge. Amazingly after a few repacks, a newly bought return ticket from Vietnam, and lots of ass-kissing, I managed to arrive safely with no additional luggage charges. Luckily, the return ticket, that I was force to purchase was also fully refundable. I will not be needing it as I am crossing into China by bicycle.</p><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/236/447174583_2e4f13d5ef.jpg" border="0" /></p>Thus, after a almost 30-hour journey it was a relief and great fun to see Daniel as he met me right in the heart of the Pham Ngu Lao area, the pack-packers paradise. We have not seen each other since last summer. He looks the same, but for the tan he picked up in Nha Trang just before meeting up with me. I should also mention that he does look a bit more muscular (should I not, would he certainly leave a clever comment) . Daniel picked the perfect hotel to start our journey. Big and roomy for repacking, large clean bathroom and two separate beds (thank god). The room even has air condition to more easily get used to the heat and humidity at first. This luxury is temporary, though. It gets over 35 degrees Celsius during the day and never really get below 25 degrees at night, but from experience I know that you fortunately do get slightly acclimatised after a short period of time.<br /><br /><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/176/447165834_dc3d51bc7b.jpg" border="0" /></div><div>My first day was entirely devoted to spending time with Daniel, catching up on all that has happened the past years. A few Tiger and Saigon beers certainly enhanced the conversations, and we talked all day and all night. The following day we spend running various errands buying clothes toiletries and more at the Ben Thanh Market, close to our hotel, and one of the largest market in HCMC. Here you can find just about anything that can be purchased in the city. If you ever go there, stay away from the food section. It has a very particular smell of rotten fish that takes time to get use to. My third day in the city was cultural-day. We visited the major sites, such as the War Remnants Museum (Vietnam War) Reunification Palace (once the symbol of South Vietnam government), Notre Dame Cathedral, and the famous french-style post office.</div><br /><div>What about bicycling? We have managed to do a bit of pedalling around the city. However, I do not recommend it during rush hours. Word cannot describe the insanity that goes in the streets of Saigon. You must witness it, or just take a look as Daniel is crossing a ordinary street. Please do not try this at home!<br /></div><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DufQEGku9TE" width="425" height="350" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed><br /><div><br /></div><div>Tomorrow we take the bus to Bao Loc early in the morning, and do some serious cycling in the afternoon. The following day the real adventure begins as we head for Di Lihn and later Dalat.</div><br /><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157600049432928/show/"><strong>SLIDESHOW</strong> HO CHI MINH CITY</a></div><div></div><div>See you in Dalat next.<br /><br /><div></div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-33254396495284551812007-03-29T09:54:00.000+01:002007-03-29T11:24:34.213+01:00Getting ready to leaveLast Friday was my last day of work for several months. It is a feeling of uncertainty, but also great freedom. I choose when I want to get up in the morning and how I would like to spend the day. Bicycling a few hours every other day is the only obligation I have. For the next 100 days I will live to experience other cultures, religions, foods, people, environments, cities, landscapes and more. Everyday will present something new and exciting, and no day will be like the other. This journey will last in my memories as long as I live. Hopefully it will also teach me more about life and help me understand the world we live in.<br /><br />Ten years ago I did a similar journey in southeast Asia. Back then I was obviously younger and more carefree. I was less organized and pre-planned, carried less equipment or did not even care to bring a camera. There are advantages and disadvantages to both. Being young and somewhat irresponsible makes life a bit easier. You worry less and things always work out in the end, or at least you think so and that is what counts. Now, being a full adult (questionable) I approach things differently. I plan, reason and think about every detail of my undertaking. I create lists of equipment alternatives, calculate a budgets, look for alternative routes, and even get my body into better shape. This way is undoubtedly more work, but after all, knowing more is more rewarding in the end.<br /><br />I have done all that I could to be well-prepared for my 100 days on a bicycle journey. All I can do now is to relax and enjoy the ride. See you in Ho Chi Minh City!Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-25979914739765505922007-03-20T10:53:00.000+01:002007-03-21T08:25:42.960+01:00Bicycling companionI have good news. My long-time friend, Daniel, will join me bicycling a few weeks in Vietnam. After three years living in Melbourne, Australia, he is moving back to Sweden. Why not stop by Vietnam on the way and bicycle a few hundred kilometers?<br /><br />Daniel and I have been good friends for years. He is a well-traveled fellow who is easy to get along with, lives in the moment and is exceptionally open-minded. Thus, he makes a great traveling partner. For apparent reasons we have not spend a whole lot of time together the last three years. Australia and Europe are far apart. We have only had the opportunity to meet once a year whilst spending summer holidays in Sweden. Nevertheless, our past, long friendship makes it easy to reconnect. A few weeks bicycling in Vietnam provides the opportunity to catch up. We surely have a lot to talk about.<br /><br />I have planned this journey for several months, and Daniel just had the possibility to join a couple weeks ago. As a result, we will not change any major plans in terms of travel schedule, route or destinations. I have the impression that Daniel is somewhat comfortable in this situation, though. As of now, he will join me starting the journey in Ho Chi Minh City all the way up to Hanoi, spend a few days there and then fly to Sweden. That equals about 5 weeks of traveling, 2600 kilometers of transport, 1300 kilometers of that on the bicycle. After Hanoi I will continue my route into the northwest Vietnam highlands, and two weeks later enter China.<br /><br />My only concern is that I have been training significantly the last few weeks and are physically well prepared for bicycling longer distances. Daniel is by all means not fit, but bicycling a full day, about 70 kilometers, is a tough challenge have you not done any cycling previously. I know how I felt after three hours and 60 kilometers in the saddle with no rest. However, Daniel is the most stubborn human being I will ever know, thus I sense he will withstand the pain the first few days until he has built up enough strength to thoroughly enjoy the ride.<br /><br />Since Daniel will only travel in Vietnam, mostly along the coast, he needs only the very basic equipment. He will attempt to purchase the bicycle in Ho Chi Minh City. Apparently there is a bicycle store carrying imported bicycles and gear in the back-packer area west of District 1. Panniers and other gear he will try to bring from Melbourne.<br /><br />100 days of bicycling by myself could have been lonesome. I am happy to get company part of the way. See you on the road, Dan.<br /><br />Daniel to the left, me on the right side. Summer 2005. The most recent picture I have of us both together.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMAW8X0kYLj-MxH2WUvHfsY61KUqkzrQNfdqLfn59WVyMCEYttgVP2_aNQNlVWzDlBbqqDCDqjmqswaxIORIeZctvaTAYmKbVuh5d0GtvmttBasjPkZahHXIh7532sB5klNqahF2wruQ/s1600-h/IMG_5745_2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMAW8X0kYLj-MxH2WUvHfsY61KUqkzrQNfdqLfn59WVyMCEYttgVP2_aNQNlVWzDlBbqqDCDqjmqswaxIORIeZctvaTAYmKbVuh5d0GtvmttBasjPkZahHXIh7532sB5klNqahF2wruQ/s400/IMG_5745_2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043944105320039970" border="0" /></a>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-80555094884943580262007-03-15T07:59:00.000+01:002007-03-15T08:29:44.591+01:00Training 8Route: Münster-Everwinkel-Telgte<br />Time: 2:30<br />Distance: 50 km<br />Average km/h: 19,8<br />Top km/h: appr. 35<br />Total training: 330 km<br />Conditions: Sunny, windy<br /><br />This entire weekend presented beautiful weather, and I had the opportunity to go bicycling both Saturday and Sunday. Saturday I went by myself on a nice ride to Everswinkel, further east of Münster then ever before. By now I barely use the map. I have become familiar with the streets signs and I am good at finding good bicycle roads on my own. Nevertheless, the surroundings are still the same; scattered farms, open plains, occasional clusters of trees, small winding roads of tarmac, and the usual stink of dung. Therefore, by Training 8 I have unfortunately not so much interesting information to share. I can only conclude that I have definitely become stronger and can pedal faster for a longer period of time. In spite of tough winds in the open areas, I still pushed the average speed up to 19,8 km/h for 50 kilometers without any rest but for two short stops to take a picture.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1xI1HIZ-NmckH-2qeA4iVcs2dLRHjKkklmy_dJXmdvIbgCnDCQlXEpmCH_6lLxusohyxYOTiYDdDGs5dBfgvh0fy3PmjZOuF0wzMyPFBr4NliP9ZZMr1Q-nMniqDSJTYKldS4BWtQQ/s1600-h/Training8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1xI1HIZ-NmckH-2qeA4iVcs2dLRHjKkklmy_dJXmdvIbgCnDCQlXEpmCH_6lLxusohyxYOTiYDdDGs5dBfgvh0fy3PmjZOuF0wzMyPFBr4NliP9ZZMr1Q-nMniqDSJTYKldS4BWtQQ/s400/Training8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042043024471239954" border="0" /></a><br />Sunday was not about training, or averaging a high speed. (The above numbers only refer to Saturday’s tour.) It was all about enjoying the ride, cruising down the road, smelling the air of spring and absorbing the sun that has been hiding for the last few months. For the first time my girlfriend, Sandra, and me went out for a long tour together around her hometown, Hessen/Hamm. Sandra enjoys taking a walk once a while and does not share my interest in bicycling. Since I started training I have been pushing her to go with me on a short ride with no success until this day. We did not plan to pedal very far, but eventually we must have covered around 35 km. Sandra impressed me. Not only did she keep a good pace, but not once did she complain about sour muscles or an aching back. On the contrary, I think I was suffering more than she was due to the tough 50 km ride the previous day.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/152/420957384_4ebbf63f31.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/152/420957384_4ebbf63f31.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>We brought some salad, sandwiches, drinks, coffee and a freshly baked cake. After about 20 km we deserved it all as we settle down next to a field. The sky was bright blue, but for the sun brightly painted over it. Spring had arrived. There is nothing more refreshing like the first feeling of the warmth of the sun on your skin or the first smell of fresh grass. You can only understand this feeling coming from a region where you must withstand more than 6 months of cold and rain, or snow, and spring arrives slowly only with a few days of sun.<br /><br />After the last zip of coffee we continued on our excursion. Only after a few kilometer, after reaching a castle nearby, we surrendered to the sun once more and laid out flat to soak up the remaining warming rays of the sun. But as time passes, the sun sets and the cold air returns. It is still March and you cannot get too comfortable yet. We decided we have had enough fresh air for one day and pedaled straight home a few more kilometers. It had been a beautiful day. Sandra certainly impressed me with her bicycling skills and endurance. Now she was laying exhausted, motionless on the sofa, unable to speak, only to mumble yes or no to my question.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/170/420957458_e006554097.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/170/420957458_e006554097.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />This could have been the last training before my departure. I am not sure I will be able to make it out on a longer ride before I face the real thing in Vietnam. You can view all <a href="http://bikingdan.blogspot.com/search/label/Training">Training posts here</a>, and check out the slideshow from the <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/herstedt/sets/72157594520720664/show/" target="_blank">training sessions here</a>.Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-65216465965473791602007-03-12T12:50:00.000+01:002007-03-12T13:01:00.036+01:00Why?I am often asked questions starting with the word "why". Why biking? Why Vietnam and China? Why now? Why 100 days? Why this route? The simple and short answer is "because I can". The real, true answers are a bit more complicated, and require a few more words.<br /><br />Why I have chosen to go bicycling opposed to backpacking or go by motorbike as a way to travel you can read <a href="http://bikingdan.blogspot.com/2007/01/why-bicycle-touring.html">here</a>. I have already covered this basic question, as it is the number one question people tend to ask. I guess that is fair because bicycling is certainly not the fastest or most convenient means to travel.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Why Vietnam and China?</span><br />I have wanted to go to Vietnam ever since my last backpacker journey more than 10 years ago. Back then, me and my friend Simon traveled Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand and Cambodia together. We parted in Cambodia when Simon continued to Vietnam and I went back to Thailand and later returned home. I never made it to Vietnam. Since then I have heard and read many inspiring stories and facts about this country. Vietnam also happens to be a common country to bicycle through partly due to its long coast and fairly accessible mountains.<br /><br />As a result, Vietnam was my number one choice. China came into the picture simply because it is nearby Vietnam. You can cross the Vietnamese border in the north (Lao Cai/Hekou) by foot. Therefore, I began doing research on bicycling in China and I soon discovered that bicycling in this country seems to be an amazing experience. Its ancient culture, alien language, famous foods, exotic nature and the mountains, the rice fields, the huge urban areas, the small villages and its friendly people, are all appealing to me.<br /><br />However, China is the world’s fifth largest country after Russia, (Antarctica), Canada, Russia and U.S.A, thus pedaling across the entire state would be too difficult and time-consuming this time around. Where should I go? I was recommended to concentrate on south-west China at <a href="http://thorntree.lonelyplanet.com/categories.cfm?catid=32">Lonely Planet Thorn Tree Forum</a>. After having read a travelogue from an experienced biker, who bicycled from Bangkok into Laos and then up north through south-west China, and additional research at <a href="http://www.bikechina.com/index.php">bikechina.com</a>, I decided that China was to be my second destination.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Why now? Why 100 days?</span><br />Before I can answer the rest of the questions I have to briefly explain why I go 100 days bicycling just at this time.<br /><br />I currently live in Germany but shortly I will quit my work here and move back to my motherland, Sweden. You rarely get an opportunity where you can take a longer break from working, and now is the time. When I quit work end of March, that leaves me about 4 months until August, when my mother turns 60 years old, and has planned a nice family trip with me and my sister to Bulgaria. This I cannot and do not want to miss it for the world (or Vietnam and China). Also, in October this year my two-year sublease contract of my apartment in Sweden runs out, which means I need to move back.<br /><br />When you consider all the dates, and do the math, I roughly have 100 days to travel, starting in April. If I could I would have traveled earlier, but financially and practically I could not leave work sooner than end of March.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Why this route?</span><br />I have already answer why Vietnam and China, but why this particular route?<br /><br />Initially I was looking at starting in China, doing the toughest cycling there, and end in Vietnam, taking it easy, staying close to the beach and relax after my endeavor. However, looking at the seasons I reversed my route. In South Vietnam the south-west monsoon starts in May, beginning the wet season. The dry season starts in December and runs through April. Therefore, it makes sense to start in South Vietnam in April when the conditions normally are better, that is, it rains less. The warmer, dryer weather in the North Vietnam usually arrives in May, when I plan to travel in this region.<br /><br />In south-west China the summer season has already set in mid-May, and it can get very hot. Strategically, I will at this time pedal on higher altitudes where the temperatures tend to be a few degrees lower than at sea level.<br /><br />As a result of the weather seasons I finally decided to start in Ho Chi Minh City. I know I will not make it to China in a month and a half, thus parts I must cover by bus or train. It seems logical to skip the distance between Hue and Hanoi, as it is mainly a coastal stretch, and I will experience enough coast and beach environment the first weeks of my journey. I plan to travel to north-west Vietnam opposed north-east partly on recommendations and research, and partly due to the easy border access to China in Lao Cai/Hekou.<br /><br />Once I cross the border into China, I simply head for the next big city, Kunming, a few hundred kilometers to the north. Research and travelogues tell me that the best biking in China is then to the west, closer to the Tibetan region, around Dali and Lijang. The scenery is stunning, in every corner of this area there is something amazing to observe, it reads, and the mountains climb to over 4000 metres. From Lijiang I could continue north, but the mountains are even steeper and higher in this direction, and this route will not allow me enough time to reach Chengdu to complete my journey in 100 days. Instead, I will pedal north-east, where the landscape is slightly flatter. Nevertheless, this route is also recommended and I believe it will be just as exciting, and offer many attractions and a beautiful landscape.<br /><br />For a full route description, visit <a href="http://bikingdan.blogspot.com/search/label/The%20Route">The Route</a>.<br /><br />If you have more question, feel free to use the comment field.Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-1467405093417760542007-03-05T21:23:00.000+01:002007-03-05T21:53:51.530+01:00Training 7Route: Münster-Handorf-Telgte<br />Time: 2:20 h<br />Distance: 39 km<br />Average km/h: 16,1<br />Top km/h: 34,5<br />Conditions: Rainy, windy<br /><br />Yet another weekend has passed and yet another training session. Proudly I can announce that I have not missed a single weekend of training since I started biking regularly. Despite any weather I have managed to get out there and do the kilometres. This weekend was no exception as me and Mattias pedalled 39 km in rain and strong winds.<br /><br />I have covered all the directions out of Münster by now, thus picking an interesting route has become more difficult. When biking I spend a great deal of time looking at the map, trying to find the best way to go, which is not necessarily the fastest or easiest. On the contrary, it is more often the tougher one which requires more time, but also then more rewarding. Despite the familiar route, part of our trip was both demanding and scenic. The greatest challenge this day was dodging potholes. We did fairly well, but the mud was impossible to bypass. On one occasion we were forced off the road by an enormous puddle of water, resembling a small lake. I was lucky, but Mattias faced some difficulties as his bicycle sunk down into the mud preventing him from pedalling. I got a good laugh, and we both got very dirty bicycles.<br /><br />We have seen a lot of rain lately in Münster as well as unusual warm temperatures. This in combination must have made spring arrive early for we saw a large field of Wood Anemone outside of Telgte. This flower is commonly grow in parts of northern Europe in April and May, but was blooming in full in beginning of March to our delight.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/186/411746959_d795afaf42.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/186/411746959_d795afaf42.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />There was no point in trying to pedal fast on this day. The wind was simply too strong, and if we ever gained speed, there was potholes or a large puddle of water to slow us down. Instead, we focused on the surroundings and made more stops than usual, trying to capture the landscape and the farmland. This particularly paid off when we passed a large field on our way back to Münster. First not noticeable, a huge herd of sheep was hiding in the tall grass. When we approached most of them retracted quickly, but a proud male with his curled horns stood firm.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/47/411746984_0464fdda73.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/47/411746984_0464fdda73.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Just as we arrived in Münster Mattias unfortunately got a flat tire. The first in many, many kilometres he quickly explained. Luckily we were almost at home so it was a short, but yet frustrating walk home for him. I sought the opportunity and went to clean my bicycle. I treated it a good wash at the Münster train station where they offer a designed bicycle wash which very much resembles a car wash, but in minature style. At 3,50 Euros it was worth the odd experience, although it was not the best wash.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFw5Vte0EE0RmOmQ2JXcA5IYqNBOvhnO7qse_wei1wAogGz8nO9jhnJ1VaPFP9GIUP2nXdkEThkihm-L_oW1qJWxPuxPiUkGzd-djO7tlm-caaEaBsczeAg48DA4rKDCDx7pq5sEpgsQ/s1600-h/Training7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFw5Vte0EE0RmOmQ2JXcA5IYqNBOvhnO7qse_wei1wAogGz8nO9jhnJ1VaPFP9GIUP2nXdkEThkihm-L_oW1qJWxPuxPiUkGzd-djO7tlm-caaEaBsczeAg48DA4rKDCDx7pq5sEpgsQ/s400/Training7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038544180793349602" border="0" /></a>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-12769000562454066942007-03-01T09:42:00.000+01:002007-03-02T13:01:40.839+01:00Visa, Vaccinations, Ticket & MoreThis post is not an interesting read unless you plan to travel to Vietnam or China yourself in the near future. I recommend new and other readers to choose a different post from any of the menus on the left side, if you do not happen to be fascinated by visa applications, vaccination injections and plane tickets. I also will find it useful myself to be able to easily look up what I did and how I did it later on.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Visa</span><br />My first intention was to apply for visa in Sweden since I am a Swedish citizen, but complications quickly emerged due to the fact that I had to send my passport and cash by valued mail as well as including a valued pre-stamped return envelope. The systems are different from Germany (I live currently in Germany) and Sweden, thus that was not going to work. Second alternative was to apply for visa in Germany, but there are limitations on what type of visa I can apply for in a foreign country.<br /><br />As a result, I contacted an agency in Vietnam that offers "<a href="http://www.e-travelvietnam.com/visa.asp?gclid=CKvX6KzSiooCFRtDZwods2BGgQ">visa-on-arrival</a>". It works perfectly. The agency sends you a word document by e-mail to fill out. You simply enter your personal data and travel specifications, and send it back electronically. Quickly you get a reply that your invitation letter is in progress. A few days later you receive another e-mail with the invitation letter which you simply print out and bring to the immigration's office at the airport, and they issue your visa on the spot. The cost is about 20 dollars for the invitation letter and maximum 20 dollars for the visa, cheaper, or the same as in Europe, but much more convenient. It is only possible to apply for a 30 days visa this way, but since I will be 45 days in Vietnam I will later get an extension. This can easily be purchased and obtained in any large city in Vietnam. Rumours has it that it costs about 20 dollars.<br /><br />I have not found a similar service for the Chinese visa. However, I face the same complications applying for a visa in Europe as with the Vietnamese visa. The solution is simply to apply and obtain a visa in Hanoi, Vietnam. This is both faster and cheaper. I could not apply for 3-month visa in Europe even if I wished to do so. The 3-month visa is effective on the day of issuing, thus I misuse 45 days of it travelling Vietnam, not leaving enough days to travel the 55 days I plan to in China.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Vaccinations</span><br />My first thought was to keep the vaccinations limited, but once I got started and listened too much to the doctors and friends around me, I still ended up taking all the recommended injections. It is, nevertheless, a fairly affordable insurance to getting ill. Some of the deceases are actually also deadly, although the odds are very low. Vaccinations I have received:<br />Hepatitis A & B<br />Typhoid<br />Polio (tablets)<br />Tetanus<br />Rabies<br />Flu<br />Malarone (Malaria preventive medication, tablets)<br /><br />It is also recommended that you take Japanese B Encephalitis, but at 300 Euros I set my limit. The chances of getting infected are very, very small, especially if you use mosquito net, spray and lotion regularly. In any case, this will become a habit avoiding contracting Malaria. I have chosen a preventive medication for Malaria due to horrible experiences with Malaria pills in the past. Three hospital visits (two in Malaysia, one in Thailand), I know what I am talking about. Preventive medication means you do not regularly take any pills should you not feel any symptoms. If you develop a fever you take the medication and seek a medical facility.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ticket</span><br />I did a lot of research here, but already early on I found the cheapest flight from Europe with <a href="http://www.cathaypacific.com/cpa/en_INTL/homepage">Cathay Pacific Airways</a> in the beginning of April. It is a Hong Kong based airline offering great deals to China and South East Asia with connecting flights. I decided to only buy a one-way ticket to be as flexible as possible. A round trip with fixed dates would have been slightly cheaper but that offers no opportunity of altering my plans. Two flexible one-way tickets are too expensive, thus not an option.<br /><br />Cathay Pacific Economy class has a 20 kg luggage check-in limit. This posseses a problem as my bike alone weights around 17 kg, leaving only 3 kg for remaining check-in luggage. Extra kilos are supposedly charged at about 35 Euros per kilo. Thankfully you are allowed 7 kg hand luggage, but it does not solve the entire problem. I guess I just have to put on the happy face that Monday morning, April 2, 2007, and do my best to charm the crew, because I will most definitely have more then 20 kg to check-in.Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2431560994416102192.post-24872002727268049502007-02-27T08:15:00.000+01:002007-02-27T08:25:00.711+01:00Training 6Route: Münster-Gelmer-Gimbte<br />Time: 1:45 h<br />Distance: 34 km<br />Average km/h: 19,1<br />Top km/h: 34,3<br />Conditions: Sunny, Cloudy<br /><br />I am now at a total of almost 250 km of cycling. This is not by any means a large number. Nevertheless, I can feel that my legs are getting stronger and I can effortless pedal 34 km without a break at an average of 19,1 km/h. Nor do I have any problems with the saddle, although it is too early to make any conclusions here. You can never fully train yourself for a bicycle journey of 100 days. There is simple not the time to bike longer distances for a consecutive number of days when you have a regular job to attend to. I am hoping that the few kilometres I can manage on the weekends will prepare me enough for what is to come. It will be a challenge, but that is why I am going on this journey.<br /><br />This training was an easy ride, and again I was blessed with beautiful weather. When the conditions are pleasant and the surroundings familiar, I tend to focus on the speedometer. The ride is no longer about taking in the ambience, experience the landscape, but merely how fast I can go uphill or on a muddy trail. Although the scenery can be very striking in its way, it has become too familiar to strike my attention. This part of Germany is flat with scattered farms and small secluded areas of trees, barely earning the description "forest".<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/181/404361938_623990c379.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/181/404361938_623990c379.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />When the landscape does not grab my attention the smell certainly does. The German farmers must heavily manure all year around, because it stinks. It is not the ordinary smell of cow shit you might think of. This version of dung is probable a mix of the worst shit of all animal races who walk this planet. Luckily humans have two hands, one to cover your nose with.<br /><br />I pedalled north this time around, joining the Dortmund canal for a few kilometres before heading west to Gimbte. This little town was the highlight of this short trip. A very small town where German perfection rules. Streets were abnormally clean with no signs of a single fallen leaf, houses newly painted where white paint is as white as linen sheets, not to mention the gardens with racer sharp grass borders. The experience was spooky and also very short, for it took only a blunt few minutes to cycle through this odd village. From here I travelled south on a familiar route entering Münster from the north. After 1 hour and 45 minutes I was home again feeling like I just went to get some milk around the corner. That was a good feeling.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmZe2Gu96jnJDT5v_GRVOEFcEbVGd0GUT1Ym2D4FGzw4al1V2fR-V9WGQBABMo_Cm4qnzAuaQP7Eyf_fMVxLN7XEQgy97IG1VHthakC93x_QyBI2NjXJSIDl1wH5h33A86q1Iqy0en5A/s1600-h/Training6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmZe2Gu96jnJDT5v_GRVOEFcEbVGd0GUT1Ym2D4FGzw4al1V2fR-V9WGQBABMo_Cm4qnzAuaQP7Eyf_fMVxLN7XEQgy97IG1VHthakC93x_QyBI2NjXJSIDl1wH5h33A86q1Iqy0en5A/s400/Training6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036110659904013730" border="0" /></a>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17440023078979027039noreply@blogger.com0