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Camilo and I were very excited as we planned a quick trip back to Boston in the middle of the gap year, to do high school revisit days. We were so ready–we confirmed the dates of our school visits, we arranged to stay at our friend Angie & Alberto’s house, for Camilo to have an in-person music lesson (the first in 2 years), to see my friend Nastja, we got our COVID tests to fly back, and we even went through our stuff and made a pretty big package to take back to Boston and arranged with our tenants to drop it off.
We were so happy to make it there late Friday night and our first night was wonderful with Angie and family. After sharing (literally) a good cup of coffee and breakfast on Saturday morning, Camilo and I went to run errands at our home: we dropped stuff off, picked tax papers up, went through the mess in our basement to retrieve a couple of things that didn’t make it to our trip in a last minute decision as we had no space; and we stopped by to have tea with Ahlam in the second floor. Pretty weird feeling to be back home for a bit except now it kinda felt like…trespassing? In the evening, I took Camilo to an in-person recorder lesson in his teacher’s house, which was 2 blocks away from Angie’s–his first in-person class in a very long time! As a standard practice for in-home students, Camilo’s teacher and his wife ask for guests to take a quick home-based COVID test. And to make a long story short, I tested positive! I thought it was a defective home-based test or something. We did 2 additional tests and the same result. I felt completely well and had a PCR test 2 days before at the American Hospital in Istanbul. And so from one moment to the next, recorder class was cancelled and we returned to Angie’s, me a bit in disbelief to say the least. And I can imagine that Camilo was perhaps a bit concerned, even though he maintained his characteristic positive outlook. He reminded me how fortunate we were to find out I had COVID so early, as I could now take appropriate measures so as to not pass it on to others. When we made it back to Angie’s I had to immediately quarantine. Ella gave me her room, Ugo gave Camilo his room, and both kids moved to Angie & Alberto’s room. Alberto’s dad, who I was pretty worried about given he is older, stayed in the living room downstairs. So in a weird turn of events, Camilo and I pretty much took over their home for several days. Seriously, I wanted to be a non-intrusive guest and instead, I managed to get COVID the very first day! And so Angie and family helped us out in all sorts of ways–Angie drove Camilo to his first school event (¡Gracias, amiga!), helped out with errands when not at work, and she made sure I had a glass of wine every night; Alberto cooked his always wonderful food; Alberto’s dad chatted with Camilo; and everyone made sure Camilo felt completely at home at all times. We chatted through WhatsApp every night, glass of wine in hand. But really, after not having seen my best friend for over 7 months, I was in her house and still had to talk to her over the internet??? On my end, I invented a new verb in Spanish, very appropriate for the COVID times we are living in and for making sure I didn’t pass COVID onto anyone: cloroxear (regular verb, -ar ending), which means to clean with Clorox anything that one comes into contact with. Examples of its usage: Yo cloroxeo el baño. Ya cloroxeé el vaso de agua. ¿Cloroxeaste la manija de la puerta? So pathetic.... But, seriously. Camilo had to manage, all of a sudden, on his own. I talked him through using the T through WhatsApp and he went to his revisit events alone, mostly using the T. He ran all sorts of errands every day–going to Harvard Square to get a gift for Angie and family; dropping up additional items in Fainwood Circle, and making himself (and oftentimes me) breakfast or lunch. Fortunately, I had no symptoms and none of the people I had contact with got it–neither Camilo, nor Angie and family, nor Ahlam, nor Camilo’s teacher, nor Sol & Horacio. I was so glad we managed to get our booster back in Oman, because I am sure it contributed to me being asymptomatic. The highlight amidst this situation was that we were at Angie and Alberto’s–our friends, our family in Cambridge. ¡Gracias familia Cabré-Jockovich, por todo! We are all incredibly grateful to all the love and support and everything you did for us those days, in the middle of getting COVID and in spite of taking over your house. PHOTOS TO COME Leaving Oman at the end of February meant there was still winter-like weather in different places. We all needed a rest from cycling and camping and we needed a place to spend some down time while there were still unfavorable weather conditions or closures in other possible destinations. We chose Istanbul-a city with lots to offer on all fronts. Food, history, architecture, people, baklava….Also, it meant we would continue moving east, which made sense with our plans for the last few months of our adventure. We hoped to go to Southeast Asia, Japan, or perhaps someplace entirely different.
In the middle of our stay, Camilo and I also ended up taking a quick trip to Boston for school revisit days and I got COVID along the way (nice, huh?), which completely changed our schedule and rhythm (more about that in the next post). We arrived to snow in Turkey and left when the warm weather was starting to come in. In all honesty, I left Turkey with a tear in the corner of my eye. Our time there was lovely. We braved the cold and almost 3 weeks of snow that we didn’t quite expect. We did the touristy things in Istanbul and quickly fled the massive crowds into a residential area called Tesvikiye. Our home for the time of our stay was not perfect, but it was spacious, the heating worked well, and it was in a small, quiet enclave in the European side, far from the hustle and bustle, yet close to everything. But most importantly, it was a place we actually came to call home. Tesvikiye was our Istanbul. It was the place where we lived, enjoyed çay tea and coffee, walked the area, met residents, tried delicious food, and just learned about the pace of life in this beautiful city. Life in Istanbul was more “normal.” We all had something we were working on. Horacio was catching up and getting ahead with work, in preparation for our next cycling leg. I was working on our taxes. Camilo was researching his high school options. And Sol was working on possible next routes and college registration processes. We had breakfast together and off we went to our own things, though everyday, we incorporated a walk or a cup of çay tea together. Sol went out quite a bit on her own and spent endless hours in the nearby coffee shops. Camilo also started venturing out, sometimes on his own and sometimes to coffee shops to play chess or do math with Sol. I loved to see how people have time for each other in Turkey–they seem to enjoy being together, over cay, coffee, or food. They also have time for their city animals. There are so many stray cats and dogs everywhere. Most homes, apartment buildings or businesses had a lovely cat home right outside their door, and those Turkish cats certainly would never go hungry. They are taken care of by…everyone? Stray dogs are large and calm. They usually hung out in the parks, paying no attention to people. We found our special places to eat that were absolutely wonderful, yet local and cheap. In fact, we found it was possible to eat extremely well at a lower price than going to the supermarket and cooking! Just as in Lisbon. We found our local durum place, with the most amazing chicken durums we tried in our time in Istanbul. After our first visit, the waiters knew us. And I loved how every time they greeted or said good-bye to us by putting one hand to their hearts. I think this is a pretty usual gesture in Turkey, but being greeted that way always made me smile. We had our corner shop, where we bought water, fresh olives, and anything that we needed. We visited almost every day for one thing or the other and the owners, who were Kurds, made it a point to greet us in Spanish (or even play music in Spanish when we entered) and teach the kids some Kurdish. The man who ran the farmer’s stand early in the mornings knew Sol, as she got fruits and veggies there. But I think probably the most special person we met was the owner of the tea/coffee/desert shop close-by. That is where we usually had our çay tea and where we spent countless hours. He was always warm with all of us, but especially with he kids, who learned quite a bit of Turkish from him. Having tea there was peaceful and yummy. It was our sweet respite each day. When we went to say good-bye, Camilo gave him an origami crane he made, and he sent us on our way with a box of his delicious cookies. People were kind to us at all times in Tesvikiye. We once sent Camilo, cash in hand, to get dinner for us from a local Turkish buffet place we had been to some days prior. When he tried to pay, he realized he did not have enough money. They told him he could return to pay the difference later, which he of course did. Simple, basic trust between people even if one is just getting to know them, speaks a lot about this culture. The owner of the coffee shop mentioned above did the same thing for Camilo, and when Camilo returned right away with the extra cash, he told him warmly: “I said you could bring it back later, you didn’t have to bring it right away, eh?” The tailor who worked right next-door made it a point to let us know, in Turkish and gestures, that he liked hearing the kids practicing music. And when we visited the take-out place next-door for the first time, the owner also brought his hand to his heart and gestured that he knew we lived next door and thanked us for our order. Examples of the warmth that we experienced by just living there go on and on. This is a country we have to return to, hopefully soon, when the weather is milder, and with the aim of cycling through the smaller towns. We would of course, pay a visit to “our people” and "our Tesvikiye" in Istanbul. PHOTOS TO COME As we learned, besides cycling, Oman is a country to be discovered in 4 x 4’s. Everyone seems to be driving one (a white one, too), and they are sometimes the only means one has to easily traverse big rocks, dips, hills, and even the desert. Tracks of 4 x 4’s can be seen everywhere and once we drove one, I completely understood why. We did not plan to rent a car, though. Our plan was to take a bus from where we stopped cycling in the south to Nizwa, in order to explore that area on a bike. However, when the bus was approaching our destination, we realized the stop was on a highway with no shoulder, lots of traffic, and on a steep uphill. It just did not feel right. So on a whim, we decided not to get off and instead go all the way to Muscat and re-think our plans. We paid the difference in fare to the driver. After asking us about our change of plans, he offered to take us to our destination the following day, in his truck, for free (kindness in Oman just blew my mind over and over). In the end, we decided to rest for a few days in Muscat, take a shower, do laundry, and then rent a car to explore the Nizwa area. We booked our hotel online right there on the bus–we were so dirty and smelly that we thought if we showed up at a hotel in such a state no one in their right minds would let us stay there. But once booked, no one could say no! Our "Pajero" We packed our Mitsubishi Pajero to the brim and felt super cool going to where the bikes could not. We had a very easy time finding and reaching remote wild camping spots, under the stars, between the mountains, on the rocks, in the desert. There was no need to push our overloaded bikes for 1 km of sand, sweating profusely. We just pulled up to the spot. If we ever felt scared (and we did, once), we could all jump into the car and feel protected. Like the time we heard a loud and unrecognizable animal noise when in total darkness and in the middle of nowhere. In 2 seconds the kids and I were inside the car. Horacio stayed put, with a headlamp, waiting to see if he would hear it again. And he did, just closer and louder. That time he also jumped into the car, probably faster than we had. We tried to figure out whether it was safe to camp or not and were searching the internet to see what wild animals lived in the area. Could it be a striped hyena? An oryx perhaps? A wild cat? A leopard? Or just a goat or a camel? It didn’t matter, we were safe in our Pajero. Should we just sleep inside with the windows slightly open? At some point we heard a lot of honking not far from us. Eventually, we thought it didn’t make sense to sleep in the car and ventured out. By next morning, we agreed that the noise was probably a camel and it might have wandered close to the road, which could have been what caused the crazy honking. We will never know for sure. I did find a scorpion happily sleeping under our tent, though. Poor thing, it ran away when we lifted the tent, probably as scared as we had been the night before. In the end, we were all good to go. Below some pics of our time on the car: Towards the end of our week in our Pajero, we visited our friend Mohammed and his family, this time in their beautiful hometown, Samail. As time would tell, we would remain friends and they followed us through our journey, keeping track of our whereabouts, letting us know we were in safe locations, and assuring us that if need be, they or their friends would easily be able to help. I hope we will be able to see each other again in the future–here, there, or somewhere else. For our last nights of traveling in Oman, we decided to go to the desert again (a different one). We drove the Pajero into the dunes, beyond all settlements and lights, until we thought we couldn't get any further (and until our wheels scared us by getting temporarily stuck in the sand). As we were setting up camp, we had our only guest–a man driving about 10 young kids in his truck, all smiling. They stopped to say hi and chat and we wished each other well. We couldn't have asked for a better last night in Oman–the colors of the sky and the sand, the warmth, the stars, the wind, and the absolute silence. Thank you, Oman. Oman will always hold a special place in my heart. I found it a country of immense beauty, and most importantly, of mind-blowing kindness and generosity. We split our time in two phases. We first cycled for almost 4 weeks down the eastern coast and through the desert, and then rented a 4-wheel drive for 1 week, to travel to the places we could not reach by bicycle given our circumstances (a.k.a. our kind of bicycles, the weight we carried, and the overwhelming steep mountains). Both phases were incredibly beautiful, but our time on the bicycle was where I felt that we really got to know Oman. But first–our arrival in Muscat, where we got ready to start cycling. This included finding a bike shop to keep 4 empty bicycle boxes while we traveled so that we did not have to find and adapt boxes for our bikes on our flight out. And it included getting a first taste of life in a big city in Oman–the people, the food, the ways of communicating, the sand in the air, the heat. It all felt very different, which is exactly what we were looking for. Now onto the cycling! To avoid busy highways, we took a bus from Muscat to Sur. Just getting on the bus was an adventure on its own, with other passengers helping us load our (so many) things on and with the bus driver making his way to greet us once onboard. We looked out of the windows as we moved along and started getting glimpses of landscapes that we were yet to explore. Town after town, we saw people sharing coffee, laughing. And excitement starting to build.... Here are a few photos of our time on the bicycle in Oman: And here we go: And check out the camels: It is on the bicycle where one is most vulnerable, where one can sense the changing landscapes by the minute, and where one is face-to-face with people, at all times. Bicycles invite conversations and Oman was yet another proof of this. While on our bikes, we met people every day. Drivers would usually honk as a sign of support; at each stop for water, supplies, or rest, we were greeted and asked about our travels (where are you going? “Mashala!” All on the bikes?, etc.); we were stopped multiple times on the road and given water or chocolates, even if we couldn't possibly carry any more; and we were once stopped by 3 men who got out of their car and shared Omani coffee and dates with us in the middle of the desert-a beautiful and very well received gesture of kindness. On the road is also where we met Mohammed and his family. They literally stopped their car to talk with us, to check if we needed anything, and to invite us over to their beach house. We initially said no, thank you, as it was about 3:30 p.m., and at that time of the day we knew we would soon have to look for a place to camp. But something about their invitation clicked and we accepted. So there we were, following a family who we did not know to their house somewhere along the route, in a country that was quite new to us. And I am so glad we did, as it turned out to be one of the loveliest experiences in our time in Oman. They showed us their house and we had coffee and dates together. We were invited to dinner, to stay overnight, to have a shower, and to have breakfast. We cooked, ate, had Karak tea, talked, smiled, the children played, and Horacio and the kids played music at night. I was so happy to meet them and incredibly grateful to the kindness, warmth, and openness with which we were received. I felt like I was with family and saying good-bye the next day was now saying good-bye to our good friends. Thank you, Mohammed, Khadija, and family, for these very special moments with you! After breakfast, Mohammed and his family saw us off, with a package of dates from Khadija's family farm (the most delicious ones we ate in our time in Oman), all the water bottles we could possibly fit, and a bunch of snacks for the road. We cycled south, inching our way towards the desert and evermore remote areas. Provisions There were times when we had to plan for 2 days of not being able to get provisions, which can be pretty tough in the desert. So we stocked up every time we could. Our food supplies in Oman included dates, nuts, canned tuna, canned hummus, olive oil, bread, ramen, canned fruit, and at least four 1.5 liter bottles each. We also carried hydration tablets that we brought from Portugal, which were very helpful when tired and in extreme heat. We stopped for Karak tea when possible–in gas stations or settlements–and we occasionally encountered restaurants where we could grab something to eat (like rice and chicken or Indian food). Running out of water As carefully as we had organized, we could not avoid running out of water once. We had planned to find a shop that was marked on a map, though it turned out not to be a shop but an abandoned mosque. The next town was several kms further, and it was hot. We continued forward, taking only small sips of water at a time, not knowing how soon we might actually find water. The next settlement had no shop, but alas, it had a mosque and we had read that in an emergency, mosques would be a good place to stop. We were greeted by a group of about 12 young children–smiling, talking, walking or running alongside us on our way to the mosque. I got off my bike to walk with them, and soon enough, one of them was inquiring about taking a ride on it. I would have been happy to, but they seemed quite young and a fully loaded bike can be challenging to control at first. Next thing I know, a car got off the road and signaled to the kids to leave me alone. I explained to him that the kids were not bothering me (in fact I loved being greeted by them). He seemed happy to hear this and immediately asked if he could take a ride on my bike (LOL), which he did and seemed to have a blast. We were all laughing. In the mosque, we were generously provided with plenty of drinking water, for which we were very thankful! Kindness One after the other. Every single day. Smiles. Offers to help. Mohammed's family opening their house to us. People in cars on the road stopping to give us water, dates, or chocolates. In a hotel in Masirah, a family bringing us a platter of home cooked seafood and rice, so we could try traditional food. In Masirah beach Camp, Zaal helping us set up camp and parking a truck next to the tents so as to protect us from the strong winds. Water in the mosque. And it goes on and on. Our days Every day we woke up with the sun. We had breakfast (coffee or Karak, hummus, fruit, tuna, or whatever we had handy), cleaned up, and picked up camp. This would normally take about 3 hours, and during this time, Horacio got caught up with work. We then had to load the bicycles and get them from our campsite to the road, which could take quite a while, especially when our site was deeper in the sand or farther away. By the time we were ready to start cycling, it was usually about 12 pm., right when the sun was at its peak! By then we were already hot, sweaty, and tired, and sometimes even a bit cranky (me at least). But as soon as we started cycling, it was FREEDOM. Right then and there, the heat and the sweat would stop bothering me and in a second I would forget about the hours spent packing up or pushing my bike through the sand. I would feel the wind on my face or helping me on my back; I would maybe catch a glimpse of a camel running free in the distance; I would soak in the color of the sky and the changing landscape; and I would feel my feet sinking into the pedals and propelling me forward. Negative thoughts or feelings have no place while pedaling. It is a time to be fully immersed in what is happening, in absorbing the surroundings, in making sure one is safe, in spotting the possibility of provisions and eventually, of finding a safe place to sleep. Freedom to live, as is. That is one of the things that I love most about traveling by bicycle.
And here are more pics: Our time in Europe was coming to an end. We had cycled from Belgium to France to Portugal and it was time to move on. Our Plan A was to continue onto Taiwan, but it was still closed in early December. After quite a bit of research, we decided on a Plan B–Morocco. But, as we were (literally) about to purchase our tickets, I received a WhatsApp from my mom warning us that Morocco had just closed down due to Omicron. Relieved to be spared of a future hassle of trying to change or refund tickets yet with no Plan C in mind, we went back to the drawing board. We were well aware, from the beginning of our adventure, that we needed to stay flexible throughout the year. There is only so much planning one can do when cycle touring. But COVID added a bigger dimension to planning. Last minute closures, sudden changes to restrictions in different places, and visa policy modifications meant that we couldn’t plan much in advance and we needed to be ready for this at all times. And so, our big mantra proved itself useful time and again–we will figure it out.
It was early December and we were in Lisbon when this happened. Thankfully, due to a Portuguese COVID measure that allowed foreigners to stay longer in the Schengen area than the usual 90 days, we were able to extend our stay. We were loving Portugal, so being there longer was actually a blessing in disguise. We found it a very warm country, we enjoyed the safety of its streets and the pace of life, we loved talking to people here and there, the food was amazing, and we even made friends. The only “downside” was the place we were staying at, which we definitely did not want to extend. So we quickly found another place and this time it was wonderful. Only two blocks from were we were staying at (with our luggage entourage this made a difference), on top of a hill, with beautiful views of the city, cheaper, and extremely comfortable. With a good roof under our belts, we could start planning. Here is where things stood in December: After leaving Portugal, we would not be able to enter the Schengen area for the next 180 days. We needed a place outside Schengen, that was open, that did not have crazy restrictions such as quarantines, with good weather (not winter, not monsoon, etc.), safe, and doable (e.g. too many mountains with our load would be really tough). We started cycling in Europe on purpose, as we considered it to be a relatively easy place to solve any “bugs” in our plans, our bicycles, and our way of traveling. And while it of course represented a cultural change, it was still very Western. By early December, we were all craving something culturally very different. And so, the search was on. Coincidentally, the morning after Morocco closed, a middle school friend of Sol’s messaged her about his trip to Oman and how he had met a cyclist who found Oman a wonderful place to cycle in. Our eyes lit up with hope. Oman? Could it possibly be our next destination? We did not know much about it as a place for cycling, but we were open to considering any potentially good options. Figuring out a destination is no simple thing. It takes time and research, and the way we work it out is by all of us participating in one way or the other. Questions we ask ourselves about a destination that help us choose are: 1. Is it open? Yes! Oman was open and the only requirement, other than the usual visa processes, was to be fully vaccinated. 2. Is the weather good for cycling? Yes! We found that January-March is the ideal time for cycling as it is “winter.” 3. Is it safe? This is a big one for us, especially as we are traveling as a family. As we see it, safety has 2 sides: safe for traveling per se and safe for cycling. The ultimate yardstick for safety is whether a country is considered safe for women traveling solo. If it is safe for a woman traveling on her own, it is safe for a family. Safe for cycling is a bit more complicated but it comes down to whether there might be cycling paths, shoulders on roads, whether cars and buses tend to be considerate with cyclists, etc. Blogs from cycle tourists were a lifesaver on this one. And yes, as it turns out, Oman is an extremely safe place to travel and cycle in. And while it does not have cycling paths, roads have shoulders and there are smaller roads that are not too busy. We very rarely felt threatened by cars or buses. 4. Are there areas that can be cycled that aren’t too mountainous? What route might we take? There are many, many mountains in Oman, bu there are also deserts and coastlines, and areas that are not mountainous. We use Komoot (app) to figure these things out, and Sol is especially good with this aspect. 5. Is it nice? A few pics of Oman were all we needed! 6. How is the food? Another biggie in our family. We love trying out different food, we eat everything, we are ravenous when cycling, and enjoy the pleasure of good food, be it street food, restaurants, or the supermarket. Oman was a mystery in terms of food, much to be discovered. 7. How does accommodation work? Are there campgrounds? Is wild camping legal? In Oman, wild camping is legal and accepted! This means one can pitch a tent literally anywhere! There are tons of beautiful places to do this–pretty much anywhere outside cities or towns there are beautiful landscapes through mountains, wadis, or deserts. 8. How about cultural change? With its history, landscapes, food, religion, etc., we thought that Oman would be provide a very rich cultural experience. Of course, while we might have some (but not all) answers to these questions, our actual time in places is partly unplanned, which is probably what makes it the most fun. This is how Oman came to be–a coincidental suggestion at the right moment, pretty much out of the blue, launched us into considering it as a possibility and the more we read, the more curious we became and the more we felt like this would be an amazing next step. And as it turned out, it was a wonderful overall experience! Will catch up later on France and Portugal. But in the meantime, I want to make sure to write more often about where we are now.
Nevers. Mid-September.
We were only in Nevers for one afternoon and morning, but during that time we went for a long stroll around a medieval government building, an enormous and breath-taking cathedral, many narrow cobblestone streets and yellowed bridges, a couple parks, and our beloved Carrefour. The next morning my mother and I went for a morning walk, and watched as the city awoke. After some coffee and bread, we set out from Nevers and rode about 15 kms outward on the highway. We’d just made it to the cycling path, to the farms and cows and mosquitos, when disaster struck. I felt resistance from my wheel, and then a loud metallic SNAP. Turns out the rim of my back wheel had splintered, caught on the wheel, and part of it had been torn right off. We didn’t know what to do. Some cyclists told us the next town might have a shop (about 8 kms away) but we weren’t sure the wheel would make it, and if it didn’t, it would be even more complicated to get back to Nevers. So after much deliberation, we decided to turn back. The problem was, I couldn’t replace the wheel without replacing the gears/speeds as well, which I didn’t want to do because they were great quality. So, I had to find someone to build me a new wheel using my old gears. We tried every bicycle workshop we could find. None of them wanted to repair the wheel. We didn’t know how we were going to work our way out of this one. One of the bike shops offered to sell us a used Scott bike for a very reasonable price, and help us ship my old bicycle to wherever we could fix it. After an afternoon of deliberation, test-riding the new bike, attaching the tube of an old frame to the rack so I could tow the cello, and more deliberation, we decided to go for it. So, we spent the rest of the afternoon taking apart my bike and packing it in the suitcase to ship to my aunt in Barcelona. We trusted the man at the shop to keep his word and ship it to the address, and bought the new used bike. TER de: Mulhouse a Belfort Ville a Besançon, Besançon a Dijon a Chagny (por accidente), Chagny a Montchanin a Nevers. Mid-September, 2021.
After a series of trains, each of which was easier to board than the last, we made it to Nevers. We were finally getting the hang of it–packing up quickly, scrambling over to the right platform, loading everything onto the train, and sitting tight to repeat the process on arrival. Yes, we'd become pros. Due to a slight confusion with signs, we accidentally got off at Chagny instead of Chalon (look, they both started with Cha-, and the train was moving very fast, and we had 30 seconds to get everything off). Fortunately, this was actually closer to Nevers than the other stop, which turned back westward, and Chagny was one of the loveliest towns I’ve ever visited. I really felt like I was walking through streets that hadn’t changed in the last 300 years. I also found a cute bug in a cake, which turned out to be a French cockroach, and which I christened "Pierre" in a moment of inspiration. Surprisingly, the name caught on and since then the cockroaches that came and visited us every morning at campsites became "Pierres." The next day, we (finally!) made it to Nevers, which was to be the start of our journey down the Loire. La Ruta del Vino Alsaciana: Estrasburgo a Mulhouse. Early September, 2021.
I loved cycling down from Strasbourg to Mullhouse, which is apparently not pronounced “muhl–house.” We planned to follow the Alsace Wine Route, which was part of the Eurovelo 5. Since going on the French exchange, I’ve never forgotten the landscapes I saw on the train ride between Paris and Strasbourg. I remembered rolling hills like grassy oceans, stretching as far as the eye could see, with fairytale-like villages dotting the land like small islands, sometimes blending with the shade of the clouds above. I longed to see these hills and towns once more, this time riding through them on my bicycle. So, I talked my family into adding Alsace to the itinerary. They’d never been, and had to take my word for it. Leaving Strasbourg, I officially took over the navigation. It took a one-day learning curve to get the hang of it, and since then I do believe our navigation system has been top-notch. Even our previous navigator acknowledges this. We rode through vineyard after vineyard, up and down small hills like ripples in the land at the feet of looming mountains. Fruit trees (mostly plums–absolutely delicious) lined parts of the cycleway, and I can’t say I didn’t stop to help myself a couple times. This time, it was all sunshine and warmth during the five days it took us to reach Mullhouse. It actually took us a bit to adjust to the new weather. In cloudy and humid weather, we were constantly refreshed. Of course, we didn’t appreciate this until we were pedaling uphill on gravel in the scorching afternoon heat, under a blazing sun, out of water. Somehow, a mere 35 kms turned into six hours of pedaling. But what better place to be exhausted in than sandwiched between a mountain range topped with castles and towers, and green and golden fields speckled with villages. We also got to camp on a farm. And pizza. Pizza is always a good thing, especially when it’s also the only open shop in the village. The next day we decided to switch to the Rhine Route, which we thought might be a bit less hilly. We enjoyed one more morning through vineyards, then made our way inland to a camp on the French-German border, stopping for lunch in Colmar. Riding in Germany for a bit sounded really cool, so we tried it out for a day. Unfortunately, the path was made of large loosely-packed gravel and overrun by mosquitoes, so we had to flee back to the French side, which was a smooth asphalt cycleway that felt like heaven (and fellow cyclists once again said hi). We actually crossed back into Germany to camp (there were no camps within range on the French side), tried Schnitzel (delicious), and returned to France the next morning. I was pleasantly taken aback at how easy it was to cross back and forth between two countries–no border patrols, no guns, no walls. We reached Mullhouse, rested for a few days, launched this blog, and planned the next and last leg of our journey through France. The TGV and Strasbourg. 09/01/2021
Taking the train from Charleville to Strasbourg was a nightmare. We got to the station 30 minutes before departure, packed up our bicycles in their not-so-little bags, and rushed to get everything onto platform five. Why five? Because we hadn’t yet learned how to read the schedule screens. Turns out it was not the right platform, and ten minutes before take-off we had to haul everything back to the first platform and run to catch the train. Just imagine the scene for a second. A family of four in a panic, rushing back and forth between platforms carrying giant bags, yelling the entire time to coordinate, lugging everything onto the train cart, blocking the entire entryway, keeping the train from taking off several times with the little green button. Once on the train, all sweaty, breathing heavily, a bit dizzy, we finally let the doors close, and now it’s time to reorganize everything to unblock the hallway. We’re also just very loud. We talk and laugh with pronounced volume, one might say. Not sure how we could possibly draw more attention to ourselves. On the train that day, we must have made quite a spectacle. Oh well. I’m getting used to it. A couple stations in, a man boarded with his bicycle, fully loaded with panniers and a backpack. We all stared in disbelief as he quietly and calmly wheeled his bike past us and found his seat. It was the ultimate face-slap moment. Turns out we could’ve boarded fully-loaded as well and saved ourselves the trouble. Oh well, again. The TGV to Strasbourg was even worse, since the luggage compartment was on the second floor (why would anyone do that) and too small for our stuff, so we had to split up: two bikes and a suitcase went upstairs and one person stood guarding those, another person stayed downstairs with the two burleys loaded past their limit with luggage, and a bike, and the other two people (my brother and I) got to sit in seats and guard the last bike and the backpacks. Upon arriving, we hauled our stuff to the front doors and spent three hours assembling the caravan, meanwhile looking for a place to stay. Ominously similar to our arrival in Brussels Airport. But this time, an employee at the station came up to talk to us, and we ended up talking about our whole trip, and she offered to look at a map with us and recommended places to stay. We actually managed to make it home before dark, and went for a walk around Petite France and down the river before heading back home and crashing. Strasbourg was beautiful, enchanting just like I remembered it. We caught up with a friend, walked around a lot, ate more kebab, and got to play some music. We also got vaccinated for Japanese Encephalitis, Rabies, and Typhoid. One step closer to traveling in East Asia! Then we packed up and made ready to head south again. Charleville-Mezieres. 08/22/2021
The next morning, refreshed and happy to have made it to France but in dire need of a warm and dry place to regroup and figure out how to make the trip go smoother, we decided to take a gamble and book an airbnb about 70 kms from where we were, in a town called Charleville-Mezieres. So far, our longest day had been about 40 kms or so, but the amount of luggage we were pulling along made our average distance about 30 kms. The next morning, refreshed and happy to have made it to France but in dire need of a warm and dry place to regroup and figure out how to make the trip go smoother, we decided to take a gamble and book an airbnb about 70 kms from where we were, in a town called Charleville-Mezieres. So far, our longest day had been about 40 kms or so, but our average distance was about 30 kms daily (because of all the stuff we were dragging with us). Nevertheless, the sky looked clear and we felt less tired than usual, and the place at Charleville looked perfect, so inviting, so dry, so clean, so comfy… so we decided to go for it. Besides, we’d packed up quicker than usual and were ready to go by noon and, feeling the rush of accomplishment, 70 kms suddenly seemed well within our reach. What we hadn’t accounted for was the distance added by sticking completely to the Eurovelo 19 cycle route down the Meux, instead of cutting across chunks on the highway. (Actually, that’s not entirely true. One of us did take this into account, but unfortunately, their words went unheeded by the rest. Oh well, no matter.) So, we rode off gloriously towards the far-off city, determined to make it, almost inspired by our own bravery. But hardly did we make it one block in before the usual navigation issues caught up with us and we began puzzling over which turn to take. It was a trying day. Not long after we’d made it to the river, Camilo and I came across a fork in the road: one path led uphill towards the highway, and another small dirt path that was completely overgrown with weeds and tall grass, and which could hardly be called a path at all, led downhill and disappeared around a bend in the river. Guess which one we took? Yup, the grassy not-path, and our parents took the other one when they reached the spot later, so that led to a lot of confusion and the loss of a precious hour. By following the Eurovelo to completely avoid the highway, we ended up adding a whopping 20 kms to the route. And at several points the path diverged from the river, leading us up into the winding hills that sloped practically at the water’s edge. But no one expected it to be easy, and the important thing was that we stayed together and kept pedaling, and I was really enjoying it. The path was beautiful, with trees and grass and fields every which way I looked, a river on my right, people fishing along the bank or in little boats, and behind them rose the hills. Here in southern France I noticed that when greeting passing cyclists, they always greeted us back; not only that–they usually greeted us first. A very pleasant surprise. About 30 kms in we stopped at a small town with a pharmacy to get everyone a Pass Sanitaire, which we needed for most campsites and museums and cafes. Meanwhile, my brother and I went to fetch lunch at our first boulangerie. I got to try out my newly-learned French, and was rewarded with a giant sack full of delicious sweet and savory pastries (to this day, I think that was the best chocolate eclair I’ve ever had). The four of us sat to eat under chirping birds and warm sunshine, and enjoyed every bite. We made good time down the flat riverside, though the navigation system (my mother battling with Komoot) produced a few wrong turns and arguments about which way to take. We kept cycling through towns, all of them gorgeous, with cobblestone roads and houses, ornate window shutters, fountains, more trees, winding streets and squares and closed shops and even children laughing–we’d hardly seen children anywhere until now. One town had an incredibly steep hill that stretched on and on and only got steeper. One old man stepped out of his house, apparently just to watch me struggling to pedal up the hill, but as soon as I waved he smiled and waved back. At the top of the hill I stopped to catch my breath. The buzz in my head died down, leaving me with just the silence of an old town resting peacefully on a sleepy afternoon. Many hills were yet to come, but this one, if not an easy one, was a nice one. Very nice. The sky was darkening. It was the grey clouds gathering overhead. We could feel it–the moist air, the cool breezes, and the choirs of insects as we rode down through the trees. The rain caught us on flat ground, thank goodness. As we had run out of water a while back, and there seemed to be no place in sight for us to buy more, I tried to ask for some. As my brother and I approached a big brown house with a long garden and a little wire fence, a woman with greying hair and gardener’s gloves stepped out of her house and made her way towards us. I didn’t have to open my mouth–she just pointed to the water bottles in my arms and asked, “you want water?” We were so grateful. But as we took our first sips, the first few droplets began to pelt down on our helmets. We pulled out our coats, our neon vests, turned on our lights, closed our bags, and checked the instruments (encased in three garbage bags). Then we kept pedaling. The rain came and went, came and went, but the sky never cleared, and eventually came the downpour. Cycling between treetops, we inched forward until there were only 22 kms left to go. We reached a town called Monthermé (one of the last between Givet and Charleville) just as the downpour reached its worst yet, and ran to shelter under the tiny wooden roof protecting a city map. It was positively pouring. The instruments had me worried. The sun still hadn’t set yet, but it was past seven and the sky was sure to start darkening any minute now. One man came up to ask us if we had a place to stay, and wished us good luck when we told him we did. I think he was going to offer us shelter. Soon we were riding in a full-out thunderstorm. Lightning would flash in the sky and light up the trees ahead of us, then a few moments later we’d hear the thunderclap. It was probably safe, but nevertheless I started counting down between the flashes and the thunder. It seemed the lightning wasn’t getting closer. I love a good thunderstorm when I’m indoors and holding a mug of hot tea, but on the bike, one feels vulnerable–it’s part of what makes bike packing so special and memorable, but in the moment it can feel a bit scary. Then there were the giant puddles, the mud, the overflowing drains with currents that gushed out from beneath with enough force to make the metal gutters bob up and down. We were soaked, not just in clean river water but also in the brown smelly stuff that flowed up from the drains. And then it started to get dark. And the rain intensified. A man ran out of his house to yell that there was a storm. We took cover under a bridge just in time to watch as the last rays of orange faded from the sky. We just kept pushing forward. This was no time to despair. We rode in darkness for almost another hour, until finally we saw growing lights covering a smaller hill and a bridge that would take us across to the city. We'd made it! It was about 10 PM. The streets were empty but lit. We found our apartment, hauled our bikes and bags up in rounds, and I unwrapped my cello. Miraculously, it was dry! And to top it all off, we stuffed ourselves with a wonderful new discovery called “kebab,” with some frites and Orangina. A tough day, for sure, but all in all one of the best I’d had. And in the thick of it, I'd really enjoyed myself–all of us had. This is part of what we signed up for, and the challenges of the day made the joys and excitement even more memorable. An Excess of Dinant. 08/20-21/2021 Leaving Dinant was difficult, not because I had grown attached to the town, but because of the usual–we had way too much stuff, and it was awful having to wheel it through the tight turns and uphills of narrow Dinant. After the usual morning downpour, we stopped at the train station to see if we could find a train, any train really, to catch. Our plan was to ask, “where is the train that goes the farthest from here?” and board that one without a moment’s hesitation.
Unfortunately we found no personnel at the station, and after getting help from the tourist office, we decided that taking a train wasn’t a possibility that day, leaving us with two choices–stay in Dinant one more night to try and take a train tomorrow, or keep riding. Famished, we sat down on a dock to debate our options over a feast of mushy fruit, Nutella, and crackers spread with brie and jelly. As we munched, we realized that we were only 25 kms from the border with France. We immediately decided to bolt. Half an hour later, we were making our way down the loopy riverside of the Meux, making a dash for the French village of Givet. We didn't know we'd crossed the border until we saw the sign. Not a single policeman, guard, soldier, nothing. Incredible. I'd never crossed a border that way before, and it was thrilling. We'd made it to France! We arrived late to the camping, so there was no one to check in with. We decided it was probably ok to set up camp anyway, and pay the next morning. The camp felt less like a campsite and more like a neighborhood of RVs. There were trailers that had obviously been parked there for months, if not permanently, with overgrown grass poking out from beneath, and garden decorations placed (or scattered) across the lawn or hung upon wooden fences. Many of the residents seemed to know each other like neighbors, and there were even a few barbeques. There wasn’t much space for tents, apart from one shared with a camper in a speedo who had his stereo playing at full volume, so we instead chose to camp on a gravel rectangle for RVs. We assembled our tents, all the while closely eyed by one of the residents from across the street, who came out from his camper and just stood there, watching us. When he didn’t return our greetings, we wondered if perhaps it was defensiveness, perhaps because it seemed like we’d made ourselves at home in the neighborhood without checking in, which was somehow taken as lacking respect. And it seemed we had guessed right, for when we explained our situation to another resident, went out to hunt our dinner, and returned with the catch of the evening (delicious chicken burgers, salad, and fries from a fast-food place), I think the friendlier resident told the skeptical one, and this time he shouted greeting from his camper, as if telling us, “no hard feelings.” Regardless, I didn’t like it. We don’t need anyone's permission to stay at a campsite. Whether they like it or not, we have every right, and we don’t need anyone’s stamp of approval. But the chicken burgers were good. And we were finally in France! We finally reached Mulhouse! In one month, we cycled from Brussels to Strasbourg to Mulhouse. We took only 1 train (crazy TGV experience, not to be repeated!), which was needed in order to keep up with our timeframe. Here is our route in more detail (please check out the map under "updates"):
Brussels airport to Brussels City: 14 kms Brussels - Overijse: 20 kms Overijse - Gembloux: 34 kms Gembloux - Namur: 25 kms Namur - Dinant: 29 kms Dinant - Givet: 25 kms Givet - Charleville-Mézièrs: 93 kms Charleville - Sedan - Charleville: 60 kms (Day trip to the castle, beautiful town) Charleville-Mézières - Strasbourg: TRAIN Strasbourg - Obernai: 45 kms Obernai - Scherwiller: 36 kms Scherwiller - Colmar - Breisach: 58 kms Breisach - Neuenburg: 35 kms Neuenburg - Mulhouse: 35 kms TOTAL: ~509 kms, fully loaded and happy. How cool is that? We have cycled under the hot sun and under the pouring rain. We have seen bigger cities and smaller towns, we have camped mostly in campgrounds and have stayed in a couple AirB&B’s. We have gotten lost multiple times, we've had disagreements about small and not-so-small things, and we've problem-solved on the spot. We have learned that physical maps and common sense often work much better than mobile applications. We have gone from being taken over by all the stuff we were initially carrying to taking control of what we carry. We still have to find more solutions to our load, but we are doing so much better. We even downsized our packing time from 4-5 hours to about 3 (pretty impressive, huh?). And we have carved out time to work. Now we are resting and working in Mulhouse for a couple of days, while also getting ready for the second leg of the adventure: Mulhouse to Nantes. It's a pretty long one (over 1000 kms.) and by now we have realized that we underestimated the time it would take us to cover those distances. The weather and the need to rest slowed us down, as is natural. We just didn't quite calculate those needs too precisely. We want to reach Portugal by the first week of October in order to cycle there for 1 month and leave on time before our visa expires. We will have to make some adjustments to achieve this–pretty much a train here and there. On the bigger picture–after Europe we planned to cycle in Taiwan in November and then move on to Vietnam, Thailand, and Laos. Already, these countries have been closed to non-essential travel or have extreme measures in place for tourism, so we will probably have to completely change our plans. We will deal with that in about a month, hoping meanwhile that COVID-19 gets more and more under control everywhere around the world. I did fall in love with the Alsace–the beautiful towns, the hills, the vineyards, the castles popping up here and there, the people we met and the sun. So here go Haikus #2 and #3: Pueblos, castillos, de repente aparecen ¡Siempre me asombran! Tantos viñedos Se me antojan las uvas ¡Qué bella Alsacia!       From Strasbourg to Mulhouse
To France! 08/20-21/2021
Leaving Dinant was difficult, not because I had grown attached to the town, but because of the usual–we had way too much stuff, and it was awful having to wheel it through the tight turns and uphills of narrow Dinant. After the usual morning downpour, we stopped at the train station to see if we could find a train, any train really, to catch. Our plan was to ask, “where is the train that goes the farthest from here?” and board that one without a moment’s hesitation. Unfortunately we found no personnel at the station, and after getting help from the tourist office, we decided that taking a train wasn’t a possibility that day, leaving us with two choices–stay in Dinant one more night to try and take a train tomorrow, or keep riding. Famished, we sat down on a dock to debate our options over a feast of mushy fruit, nutella, and crackers spread with brie and jelly. As we munched, we realized that we were only 25 kms from the border with France. We immediately decided to bolt. Half an hour later, we were making our way down the loopy riverside of the Meux, making a dash for the French village of Givet. We arrived late to the camping, so there was no one to check in with. We decided it was probably ok to set up camp anyway, and pay the next morning. The camp felt less like a campsite and more like a neighborhood of RVs. There were trailers that had obviously been parked there for months, if not permanently, with overgrown grass poking out from beneath, and garden decorations placed (or scattered) across the lawn or hung upon wooden fences. Many of the residents seemed to know each other like neighbors, and there were even a few barbeques. There wasn’t much space for tents, apart from one shared with a camper in a speedo who had his stereo playing at full volume, so we instead chose to camp on a gravel rectangle for RVs. We assembled our tents, all the while closely eyed by one of the residents from across the street, who came out from his camper and just stood there with disdain on his face, watching us. When he didn’t return our greetings, we wondered if perhaps it was defensiveness, perhaps because it seemed like we’d made ourselves at home in the neighborhood without checking in, which was somehow taken as lacking respect. And it seemed we had guessed right, for when we explained our situation to another resident, went out to hunt our dinner, and returned with the catch of the evening (delicious chicken burgers, salad, and fries from a fast-food place), I think the friendlier resident told the skeptical one, and this time he shouted greeting from his camper, as if telling us, “no hard feelings.” Regardless, I didn’t like it one bit. And we don’t need anyone's permission to stay at a campsite. Whether they like it or not, we have every right to be where we are and do what we do. We don’t need anyone’s stamp of approval. But the chicken burgers were really good. Namur and Dinant. 08/18-19/2021
More rain, more clouds, more pedaling. Stressful at times, but the road calls me forward and I keep going. We reach Namur, where I stay in my first hostel ever, and sit down in the communal area for a nice evening over an entire package of crepes and a jar of nutella. I remember passing a sketchy bridge and a fortress, but it was too high up and we didn’t have the energy or the time to climb it. I’m still trying to figure out how to waterproof my instrument. So far, I’ve managed to cut and tape a few garbage bags together (which I asked for in French), but I need more. The included breakfast at the hostel is delicious and abundant. We follow the river, and I enjoy greeting and being greeted by passing cyclists. Actually, the younger the friendlier, it seems. We even pass a couple different groups of kids on bikes, probably from summer camps, but with panniers! We also run into another family of bikepackers, also musicians! We chat a bit, take a photo, and part ways. Then we make our way to Dinant. We continue down the river, with a few detours into the highway or small neighboring towns due to closures on the bike path–probably because of the disastrous summer floods. Though they had felt far away, no longer. Behind the stop signs and barriers, I could see a muddy mess where a road had once been, or no road at all–just land that dipped completely into the water. That’s the thing about being on a bike–you feel vulnerable sometimes, small, and close to everything. It’s wonderful. We arrive in Dinant, wash up, and go for a lovely evening hunt for food. A personal project of mine is to write haikus throughout the year. This is a form of poetry that I have loved for many years now. Why? Because in a few lines, and a specific number of syllables, it intends to capture a moment; because it is so closely tied with nature, with wonder, with sensations and with emotions; and because it also offers the possibility of a social activity (eg, haikai). I will share what I write, though I am expecting most will be in Spanish (sorry!). I will try to translate here and there but am not sure how this will go.
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