📝 day 69-105: “i now walk into the wild.” (starting the solo-part of my trip)
🇳🇱 Een Nederlandse vertaling zal hier over een paar dagen verschijnen. Wacht gerust als je liever in het Nederlands leest!
Welcome!
Nooo, Seb. Am I really starting a blog post with a cliché? The infamous words of Christopher McCandless, better known as Alexander Supertramp, as he set off alone (and very unprepared) into the Alaskan wilderness? Well shit, I guess so. It’s my blog, right? My blog, my rules. In case you haven’t seen the movie, or want to get into the correct mood for reading this blog update of mine, below is the introduction to the film. You watch Christopher McCandless write his last postcard to a friend he met traveling, ending with the words “I now walk into the wild” .
In fact, let’s fully commit to the film. I edited together the two versions of a central song in the film: ‘Guaranteed’. One where Eddie Vedder sings, and one where he hums. I think you should listen to it as you keep reading, since it’s a tune that has been central to starting the solo-part of this cycling adventure.
So, I left you off with the words: “Since Alina’s departure I’ve grown into the solo-traveler mindset. But that, my children, we will keep for another time.” in the last blog post of October 24th. Before I continue the story of starting the solo-part of my trip, I just want to share and be grateful for some love I received:
A week ago I received an e-mail by someone I’ve only spoken to a few times in my life, titled “encouragement!”. Containing the e-mail were just wonderful - and indeed encouraging - words. To keep going, keep sharing, keep fighting. The e-mail being unprompted and sent without any purpose made my day. Thanks sender <3! I’ve also managed to turn on the ‘comments’ feature on this website, and was delighted to see which people commented on last blog post. It’s wonderful seeing who’s reading along. So: hi commenters! Then there’s of course the people close to me who cheer me on with random messages, who pick up my calls when I’ve lost direction.
The disappointing reality that we have a body.
As the title says, it would in fact become quite the unexpected hurdle: having to take care of a body. A body that does not bend to my powerful and demanding iron will, a body that doesn’t blindly obey whatever I tell him to do. How disappointing, right? As I set off from Sarajevo, in high spirits with Eddie Vedder playing in my ears (as it should be playing in yours, right now), I confidently took the wrong path. A muddy uphill path for mountain bikes. Not ideal for my road bike with coloured bike bags on the sides. But who cares, right? I’m a strong, motivated young man with strong legs, no issue.
It must’ve been the comical sight, but no matter. I pushed on, came out of the mountainbike path and onto a gravel road at a 14% incline. Sure, I’ll get off the bike and push the bike up! Who cares, right? Finally I made it to a cycle-friendly road. The sun was setting, so I visited a supermarket for dinner. Inside a man came up to me and handed me 2 chocolate bars to encourage me. He asked: “Where do you sleep?”
“I don’t know!” I said.
“On top of the hill there’s an abandoned house. It will storm tonight, so maybe you could sleep there?” he suggested.
my first picture out of the stuffy sickness motel
Blindly trusting him I set off to climb the hill of 600m. By the time I reached the top I noticed a ringing headache (how annoying, wish it would go away). It was also dark. No abandoned house in sight. Put on my head torch, looked around, found a semi-flat spot on top of the pass. Pushed my bike up the steep gravel road. Pitched tent. Ripped the bottom on a large metal pole sticking out of the ground which I could have completely seen but didn’t. Cursed some bad words. Patched up the floor. Noticed a massive sign with a skull 10m away from my tent: mines. Great!
As the evening progressed, the wind picked up. It became a storm. Afraid my tent would blow away, noticed my head was radiating a lot of heat. Felt quite awful. Thermometer: 39C fever. How unexpected! Pushing my body without listening to it, and I’d get sick right afterwards? So odd, right?
It would mark the start of a waltz. Me, and my body. Carefully moving, trying to become one, learning to communicate, attempting a balance. We’d constantly be moving, slowly dancing, taking and giving space, active and passive, pushing and pulling. I’d get sick many times, and each sickness a deeper understanding of my body (and disappointingly: his limits) would come.
But where the story left off - a high fever in a tent on top of a hill in the middle of a storm - I was definitely still an arrogant, toxic and aggressive waltzing partner. In time, my body and I would learn to dance more harmoniously. It wasn’t the start to my great solo adventure I had imagined. I managed to get on the bike and find a roadside motel the next morning. There I was busy for 4 days drenching the bedsheets of the stuffy motel room full of my sweat (sorry future guests).
Let’s try that great departure again.
With high hopes I set off from the stale, suffocating motel room. And indeed, the next days would prove to be stunning, yet a new character entered the waltz: sleep deprivation. Initially though, I was buzzing with energy. Giddily I crossed the border into Montenegro and started to climb into the area around Durmitur. From the Bosnian/Montenegran border, to the town of Zabljak I encountered the prettiest scenery of the whole trip so far. As is tradition on travel blogs, I’m going to let you look at eye-watering and magnificent landscapes without providing you with the psychological and physical context I was in when I took the pictures, so that you think to yourself: “oh my lord, he must be in total ecstasy at all times being in such pretty nature!” Here we go.
These days were wonderful, my first taste of total autonomy and freedom while propelling myself across the earth using my legs and my steel friend (bike). With Eddie Vedder in my ears and being disconnected from the internet (I had seen enough mindless videos on my phone while being sick in bed), I felt alive. At the highest point of 2700m I decided to spend the freezing night. (ice formed on my bags in the morning). An Estonian couple hiked past my tent and gifted me a bag of expensive freeze-dried outdoor food (in case you’re reading: thanks). They wished me good luck; I needed that. Because, by the time that I was sleeping at 2700m, the sleep deprivation was real.
wavy rock formations.
Cycling a big bike up some hills is not a light physical task. Doing that for hours tires my body out quite a bit! I’d set up tent, do some stretching, reading, some skin-care, journal a bit, and close my eyes. I’d lie, and lie, and lie longer, and lie even longer, twisting and turning and groaning and counting sheep and forming word snakes and pulling out every sleeping trick in my book to find sleep. And after 4 nights of essentially not sleeping, by the time I reached 2700m, I was drained. Admittedly, panic set in: what if I was not able to fix this? Will my coming 1.5 years be like this? Oh God, I don’t know if I can keep that up, but what else is there to do? As it turns out, a significant part of the answer would lie in a simple place: (the lack of) proper nutrition.
mountain stray: the 7-picture story
News flash: a few packages of instant noodles aren’t enough for a body to recover after cycling most of the day! And that, if you don’t give a body enough carbohydrates and proteins at the end of the day to regenerate, it keeps making ‘cortisol’ which is the stress hormone that raises blood pressure and heart rate. Indeed, in the nights I noticed my heart was pounding at 90bpm compared to the usual 45-50 when I’m lying down, and I was already wondering what was up. Shortage of nutrition turned out to be the answer. My new sleeping pill became a block of cheese right before bed. I haven’t had such consecutive sleepless nights since.
I needed some help to realise that a body needs an insane amount of food while cycling. Many of you messaged me on Instagram with stories of how much food you consumed while on bike trips. (one of you ate a full jar of peanut butter every 2 days, and a cyclist I met later installed a separate holder for peanut butter jars). As I was informing myself about my sleeping situation, my sleep-deprived body was being kept warm by the lush warm air and smells of fresh croissants and bread. The town I was in, Zabljak, had an inconspicuous bakery on a corner. Inside that bakery, I became friends with the lady serving customers with the warmest smile: Sandra.
Sandra 💖
Kind people are scattered everywhere across the world (though perhaps more prevalent in some areas of the world than in others), and you can run into them anywhere. In this instance, it was the bakery. I’d spend the whole day in the bakery with her, sitting at the window looking out at the mixed passersby of tourist-centered Zabljak, pausing our conversation with her when someone would come in, and watch her treat them with complete and utter kindness. At some point, the owner of the bakery noticed me on the security cameras and phoned Sandra to inquire about me: why was I always there? It was because of her. I grew fond of Sandra in the span of a few days.
I asked Sandra if I could work in the bakery with her for 1-2 weeks. My imagination went rogue: life of 4:00am alarms, exhausted wrists from kneading dough, basking in smells of golden crunchy buttered croissants as I take them out of the oven. Sandra shyly called up the boss to ask: no, it wasn’t possible. The right permits would take very long to get. I reluctantly accepted, but with a renewed frustration at bureaucracy and states for preventing me from helping out in the bakery for some weeks.
Sandra’s a brave and bold lady. A former high school teacher from Croatia, she quit her job and moved to this small town in Montenegro surrounded by pristine nature. Alone in Zabljak, she set out to reshape her life. The bakery was happy to hire her (who wouldn’t want to have a Sandra in their store?) for a year, meaning Sandra suffered a massive decline in her income. No bother for her, though. Here, she was happy. I can confirm: she was glowing. As suits a bold lady, she also plays the trumpet.
So, on our goodbye, I asked Sandra if she knew the song ‘Beirut’ by Ibrahim Maalouf. “Yes, of course! It’s one of my favourites, I play it very loud when necessary.” said Sandra
”Do you understand the ending? Why did he have to disturb the peace of the song with an electric guitar at the end?” I said. (listen to the song, you’ll understand where I’m coming from).
“At first I didn’t. But now, I understand it.” This answer kept me occupied ever since. What do I need to experience in life in order to understand? What story is she seeing in the song that explains the guitar? I’m wondering: do you, dear reader, understand the ending? Can you help me make sense of it?
Practising the waltz through Albania.
With these two new insights under my belt (body doesn’t have infinite energy + needs food to recover) I set off to make my way through Albania. I won’t share much with you about those weeks. They were weeks of practicing the waltz. Trying to feed myself well, finding and respecting my limits, becoming more present. Albania was physically taxing: lots of mountains (so: ascents) and large stretches without any stores to restock on food.
Chuck & Susan.
I want to introduce you to the retired couple from the U.S. Chuck (80) and Susan (75). The couple’s self-evident nature of their far-reaching hospitality impressed me deeply. They dedicated their house, located in Shkoder (northern Albania) to becoming a hotspot for cyclists traveling through the Balkans. 1100 cyclists, over the span of 3 years, would sleep at their house and leave their hand-prints on their walls (me: the left side of the door upstairs!). I slept on their couch, lots of others outside on their balcony. It was paradise: 8 cyclists were there on the evening I arrived. Drinking, cooking, bonding, sharing stories and information (!) and making new friends. As would become tradition, I cooked a broccoli pasta and baked an apple crumble. It was appreciated.
Didi & Sascha.
Fast forward a lot of kilometers. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzoom. Pfffssshhhhttttt. Zzzammmmzamzam zoooooofff. I’m now in Ohrid, North Macedonia! To get here I:
met a Danish cyclist called Anton who went to rainbow gatherings and played Society by Eddie Vedder on his guitar he carried around (he’s going to India too);
had some moments of euphoria as I was starting to notice effects of meditation, slowing down, practicing being present;
made an Instagram video about racism that people seemed to like;
read Overshoot, Against The Loveless World, The Miracle of Mindfulness, and Mijn Ontelbare Identiteiten.
Ohrid is this very old place at a lake in North Macedonia. Our species has been chilling on that hill for at least 8000 years (estimated). The town of 42.000 people is also said to have 365 churches, some of which are either secret, built into walls or underground. I chose Ohrid as my home base for a week, to recover, plan the next stretch, and watch Trump win the elections (that was incredibly upsetting. His victory and the discourse around clashes in Amsterdam led me to step back from news consumption for some time). I increasingly craved company, especially in the days after his victory. As fate had it, I saw a heavily bearded young man skilfully play his accordion with an introspective woman reading a book next to him. I decided to “just spontaneously” read my own book at a 20m distance from them, hoping they would notice me. That was the case. They introduced themselves, and after 2 minutes of talking asked if I wanted to eat and sleep at their place.
The days that followed I slept on their couch in their small apartment, and shared in their lives. Living from ‘busking’ (playing music on the street for money) they’ve been traveling around (Cuba, US, Europe) for some years. For the winter months they rented the cheapest apartment they could find (it didn’t have heating, nor a working fridge, but it had many Jesusses hanging on the walls) and would pay rent from playing the accordion. Sascha was a prolific player, and Didi was rapidly learning.
With Didi and Sascha I dumpster dived for my first time (I knew how it worked, but never actually done it) and made a delicious apple crumble from the ‘rescued’ apples. Drinking wine, cooking together, and exchanging our philosophies on life - these days felt rich. Having the company of people who live life differently is a precious gift. They widen my outlook on life, make my mind more free, more daring, full of possibilities.
As you’re approaching the end of this piece, I want you to play the video below.
Sascha played Waltz nr. 2 by Shostakovich as the sun was setting on lake Ohrid as people strolled past us on a Saturday evening. A friendly French couple, who were cycling to Athens, started to waltz in front of us at the backdrop of a sky turned yellow, orange and pink. I knew it was my time to leave soon, but by this time, the waltz I would dance with my body would be closer to the dancers in the video. Sure, the audience would still laugh when I’d overstep what my dancing partner could realistically do. But by heavens, it would be lots better than when I left alone from Sarajevo.
goodbye & upcoming weeks.
This is where I’ll leave you for the time being. On day 105, when I left from Ohrid towards Greece (Thessaloniki). As of writing this, it’s day 123 and I’ve been in Bulgaria with No Name Kitchen for a week. Would you (yes, you, the reader who made it to the end), like to hear more smaller updates from me through email notifications? I find it a bummer that I send out these long blog posts infrequently. Perhaps I can send smaller emails, that are not linked to a new blog post, every 2-3 weeks. If that sounds good, could you let me know? (email, instagram, or a comment below here!).
As for the next weeks: life here with No Name Kitchen in Harmanli is very demanding. ‘Search and rescue’ missions take 12-24 hours and come up 3-4x per week. Sleep is little, the activities a lot. I plan to spend until some time in January here, but I’m not sure on it yet. Anyhow, I’ll be less active. When I step back on the bike, you can expect more of me.
I feel honoured you spent all this time and made it to the end and I genuinely hope you enjoyed your time reading it. As always, comments, thoughts, feedback, tips and general interaction is very rewarding for me. So, if you have anything you want to say to me (or to everyone in the public comments below): do it!
