Last trip with Baba

A 20,000 km bicycle tour returning my fathers ashes to China

A few weeks exploring Bhutan

Posted on November 24, 2016 by bodhitree

View from Sengor Pass, Mongar District east Bhutan

A small country broken into districts by large mountains. Most district capitals are located in long beautiful valleys.

I spent just over two weeks exploring Bhutan. And in retrospect I have very conflicting views of the remote country. My first two weeks in Bhutan were spent cycling with a young local named Kunzeng, who following me in a small station wagon as I headed east from Indian/Bhutanese border city of Phuentsholing. He invited me to his home village where I had lunch and breakfast with his grandmother and I spent two days with his high school friends in the Jakar valley. I couldn’t have asked for a better experience of what Bhutan was really like. Staying with locals and camping around fires the Bhutanese seemed to learn more about me than I did from them. Because of the extremely expensive visa , $250 a day, the typical tourists that Bhutanese see are old, retired, rich couples who spend much of their time in the resorts. This was a new experience to my Bhutanese friends, and I was constantly told that they had never met someone like me.

Kuenzang and Jigme my friends in Jakar, Bumthang valley.

When I was not staying with locals I slept in small roadside guest houses filled with Bhutanese truck drivers. I was introduced to the local vice early on and spent many evenings drinking rice wine cooked with scrambled eggs and smoking the local hand rolled hash.From dawn till dusk I was alone on the roads and could explore at my whim. The mountains, rivers, and valleys are stunning and in many ways I couldn’t have found a better cycling destination. However, I was completely dismayed by the treatment of Indians who make up the majority of Bhutan’s work force. Bhutan’s roads are built and maintained by an all Indian work force, and they live in communities of shacks built out of old oil barrels next to the road side. Their tools are extremely primitive, Indian women and children pound rocks all day with hammers to make gravel, and men make road side fires to bring large barrels of tar to melting point.

Here is a stake of oil barrels near a roadside Indian village, After empty the Indian labors will flatten these barrels out to make paneling for their homes.

In the many rice farms I encountered Bhutanese no longer use yaks to till the soil, and instead use petrol fueled power tillers. Saying that the old method was causing “too much suffering to the animal”. Meanwhile the Indians are breaking rocks with the bare hands to make the roads smoother! The Bhutan/India borders are wide open with Bhutanese going out to buy cheaper Indian products and Indians coming in large numbers hoping to find work.

Lhuntse Dzong. A Dzong is an administrative building half monastery, half district office. Each district has its own Dzong in a similar design. Buildings around a square courtyard.

Fall orange plants found above 3,500 meters

Bridge across the famous “Burning Lake”, Bumthang county.

Rice fields near downtown, Paro city.

This is the most common site in Bhutan, Indians fill all the labor positions, and live in small shacks near the highways. My Ortlieb panniers completely came apart and was sewn together by this cobbler on the streets of Phuentsholing in west Bhutan.

Bhutan’s highest pass, 4,000 meters. Trongsa/Bumthang border

Roadside Stupa protecting travelers from the mountain spirits.

More of the beautiful eastern Bhutan. Anyone making the trip should put the east on the top of their list.

I was lucky to obtain an official guest invitation to Bhutan so was able to skip the formalities associated with a typical tourist visa. However my brother was not so when I arrived in Paro two weeks later we got to experience what it is like to be a tourist in Bhutan. Being a tourist in Bhutan means that you have to stay in a government regulated hotel, eat a designated restaurants and visit places deemed tourist worthy. You are also give a guide which will be with you all the time. After two weeks of Bhutanese freedom having to have a guide and to follow regulations made Bhutan seem more like a museum exhibit than a real country. We went to all the tourist places, ate buffet meals in hotels, and spent too much time being followed by our guide. However being with my brother made things OK because we could at least share our views of the tourist imposed version of Bhutan.

Standing below the famous Tiger Nest Monastery outside of Paro city. Many tourists only walk as far as their cameras are allowed and never venture inside the monastery.

Bhutanese visiting the Dzong must wear their official attire called a “Go”. Tour guides will usually wear their GO as do the older generation and other members of the government. The majority of people in the cities however wear western clothes.

Bridge built by famous Tibetan bridge builder.

Typical courtyard inside a Dzong.

My brother and I tried in vain to visit something not on the tourist map, we even came up with an idea of going to a textile school. However this too was filled with tourists taking photos of Bhutanese children making sculptures of Buddhist deities while playing video games on their cellphones. I feel that as a tourist Bhutan will show you how it wants to be seen by the rest of the world, as a small country with a strong culture that continues to teach the old ways. However this is only sustainable with; an extremely small population (about 700,000 Bhutanese), a large exploited Indian workforce, and extremely expensive tourist visa (the revenue generated from tourism is second only to Hydroelectricity). For example a typical Bhutanese meal consists of several types of dried meat, all coming from India. Slaughter houses are banned in Bhutan so all meat products which make up the majority of Bhutanese meals are shipped into the country from India. Butcher shops are all run by Indians and all the meat products contain large amounts of chemicals. Alcohol however is sold throughout the country and many Bhutanese start drinking at noon.

This was probably the best thing that my brother and I got to see/do in Bhutan. Totally off of the tourist path we met some locals who invited into their puffed rice factory.

Brothers look to the Himalayas for respite from a facade.

To me the real Bhutan and Bhutanese culture is in the east where few farmers still use yaks to plow their fields and old women kit clothes on wooden looms near the roadsides. These people make only a few dollars a day and subsist on trading rice and vegetables for other necessary goods. I am now heading to explore the eastern states of India Nagaland, Arunachal Pradesh, Manipur and Mizoram. I wish you all a happy Thanksgiving and will be home for Christmas.

Himalayan Intimidation

Posted on October 4, 2016 by bodhitree

I don’t think I would make a good mountain climber. I am reckless and have too much attachment on reaching the summit. I have always been fond of mountain climbing movies and books. As a boy watched the film K2, countless times with my father, and always dreamed on going on a Himalayan expedition. Later I would read books by Krakauer, Messner, and Vestures, and learn of tragedies associated with these great peaks. It seemed to me that the only climbers that come back are those that have the disciple to turn back when things become unsafe. If that were the case I should have turned back on my first day when in the remote Himalayan roads things began to go bad.

First paved road in 10 days

It was the morning of my second day, the once smooth paved road had become a large puddle and after pushing through endless mud I finally came upon a somewhat dry descent. Excited at finally being able to ride I picked up speed started splashing through puddles. Soon however I came upon a large muddy section of the road and decided to ride the thin smooth shoulder that had been used by pedestrians. Still riding fast I lost balance and slide off of the road. I jumped off my bike and fell for what seemed like a while before landing in a large muddy field, upon hitting the ground all I could think of was that my bicycle was headed straight for me , I quickly moved and “bang” my loaded bike came crashing down and landed right where I had fallen. Luckily my legs were tucked in and I avoided being hit by the falling mass of 65 kilos. Things happened so fast that I looked around to find that I had fallen ten feet into a muddy corn field. Unscratched but covered in mud, I looked at my bike to find that one of my pannier’s hooks had broken and that my racks were bent from the impact. I slowly put things back together and waited for someone to cross the road above. Soon I heard the sound a man yelling at cattle and I yelled up to him from below. He peaked out over the edge of the road and saw me covered in mud below. I motioned to my bike and luggage and he quickly threw down a braided rope that he was using as a whip. Using the braided rope he pulled my panniers and bicycle back to the road. Walking around I found a few foot holds and climbed back up. A bit shaken I got back on the bike and continued down the road. A few hours later I realized how lucky I was and decided that I would drink the stream water directly, rather than waiting till evening to boil it.

steep muddy roads with no barriers

Two days later, after some of the hardest cycling of my life, and some extreme gastro intestinal disturbances I came around the corner of my mountainous route to find that the road had collapsed in a recent storm, leaving nothing but a steep track over a 50 meter fall into a raging river. I sat for a long time and contemplated what to do. I thought about turning around but couldn’t imaging riding all the difficult roads back again. I walked the track a couple of times and each time I told myself that it was too dangerous and that I would turn back, yet… each time I found myself sitting and waiting by the bicycle thinking things over.

Sometimes there is a bridge across rivers

Finally an old man showed up carrying a large bag of corn meal on his head. He watched me walk the trail and asked me in sign language if I thought he could do it. I gave him a throat slitting gesture and said “dangerous”. He repeated the word “dangerous” as if he knew what I was saying then tightened the bag on his head and proceeded to cross. I sat by the bike in safety and watched as he navigated his way on the rocky trail. Most of the trail was not too dangerous as there was adequate walking space, however at about halfway there was a steep section that were straight up the mountain near a small stream here the track became muddy with loose rock. This was the section that was directly over a 50 meter fall into a raging river. When the old man got to this section he literally stopped and began calling to me to help him. He would put his foot up the trail then it would slide down and he from his voice I could tell that he was trembling. At first I didn’t know what to do, as if I went out there what could I do from below him? He would try to pass me his bag or he would fall down on me then we would both fall. Worried for my own safety I hesitated and did nothing.

Roads become rivers

All of the sudden an old lady showed up on the other side of the trail. She called to him and he handed her his bag of corn, she quickly grabbed the bag and climbed to safely, the old man quickly following her. They were gone over the ridge for a while, and I thought again to myself “Do not do this”. Then just as she had shown up before she appear again, this time with a baby on her back and a small goat on a lease in front of her. I watched as she with ease picked up the goat and crossed the loose vertical precipice to my side. (Both arms were cradling the goat and the baby seemed to be asleep on her back). When she approached me she gave me strength, I can do this I thought, and I decided that I would have to make 4 trips back and forth in order to get all my gear to the other side.

This is the trail formed after the road was washed out.

I decided that I would carry my bike across first as this was probably the most difficult thing and wanted all my strength. I thought about tying a rope to the bike and pulling it across but quickly realized that if it fell rope or no there was no way I would get it back. Removing all the panniers and putting the bike over my left shoulder I jumped around. With one arm holding the bike I could have my dominate right arm free to assist in case of struggle. I began to walk the trail and soon was at the small stream that marked the point of no return. Across the stream was where the man got held up, the point where it was too difficult to turn around, especially with a bike on your back. I found myself repeating a Buddhist mantra,”Om Mani Bhimi Hum” which I only do when I am extremely scarred, I took on last breath and pushed on. My legs worked well, and the adrenaline must have provided me with extra energy for as I climbed the steep section seemed easier and was shocked when I found my self standing on the other side with the bike still on my shoulder. I walked back across and to my amazement I found the old lady, the one with the goat and baby standing near my panniers. She made a carrying gesture to me then grabbed my two rear panniers (the bigger heavier ones) and started across. I grabbed my two small front bags and followed her across. On the other side I tried to give her money but she refused and smiled at me, she then pointed at her head and made a crazy gesture and laughed. I was now on the other side and there was no way I was going to turn back.

Local man selling lunch on the remote roads.

Phewa Lake Pokhara

Strangely enough I met a few Brits volunteering at a school

Endless green quite valleys

I am now in the second largest Nepali city of Pokhara. My laptop was destroyed en-route and my gear is in poor condition. My health however is fine and I will soon be in the capital Kathmandu. I will be there for several days waiting for a Burmese visa. My posts will be sporadic for the next few weeks as internet cafe’s are sparse, but I am OK and have survived the Himalayas.

Days of Laos

Posted on August 17, 2016 by bodhitree

I remember taking the over night boat from Hong Kong to Guangzhou, my family of 6 all sharing a small cabin with two 2 beds.

I remember being squeezed into the back of an Indian station wagon on pilgrimage in northern India, the 6 of us crammed in the back seat .

One of the many Old Buddhist monasteries in Luang Prabang.

DCIM100GOPRO

Local Lao lady prepares me Iced coffee in a bag with ice. 1/4 cup dark black grounds, 1/4 tsp tamarind, 1 cup sweetened condensed milk, and 1 large bag of ice. 5,000 kip ($0.75). A n hour earlier I ordered the same coffee at the same place for 10,000.

Many bordering countries are so similar that if it weren’t for the border you would never know that you were in a different country. Most of Europe is like this, however I remember Albania being a third world country in the middle of modern Europe. Once out of China, I found Laos to be quite different. Development ceased, roads became narrow; full of mud and pot holes and residences became jungle huts; devoid of electricity, built of bamboo and straw. Chinese villages are full of electronic shops selling cellphones and boutiques selling knockoff Levis, now I find the villages full of naked children playing in roadside runoff, and elders carrying dirt and sticks on water buffalo carts.

Crossing an old bridge built for bikes and motorbikes. Skinny tires would easily get stuck in the seams of the boards.

The once cornucopia-like selection of vegetables and fruits, so prevalent in China, has also tapered down to a few wilted cucumbers, some yellowing egg plant and maybe a few bananas. The villagers here spend little time growing anything but rice, and supply the rest of their diet by hunting and scavenging in the jungle.

Meals usually consist of the plentiful and tasty glutinous sticky rice, (the rice is squeezed into a ball with your hand then dipped into the other dishes) and “jungle stuff”. The other day I was invited to an afternoon meal and the “jungle stuff” was the following: roasted rat, boiled river snails, BBQ toad, and wild mushrooms. (Roadside vendors often sell roasted bat, squirrel and bags of live insects for frying).

Rice “steps”

The road brings me up and down steep mountains, occasionally passing steps of rice paddies. The jungle comes right up to the road and is so full of life. Each night I camp and I find my stuff completely engulfed by insects, ants, and rats. Midnight usually brings a storm and by morning there is nothing left untouched. My clothes, panniers and pretty much everything I own, never seems to dry and is spotted with black mold. Even the inside of my hat and handle bars are spotted. The heat too takes its toll making my skin red and itchy, and turning the few vegetables and fruit that I do find into mush.

My guess is that this is the topography of the entire country.

The roads are empty during the hottest hours of the day, locals lounging in the shade or bathing in the rivers. I pedal on trying to cover ground and my sweaty clothes begin to feel like a wet suit. The cash in my pockets can be “wrung-out” with sweat and my skin dries with a layer of salt. As tough as it is I feel privileged to be able to cycle every day with enough food and water and even a tent for camping in the jungle. I have found that a bottle of mineral water ($0.75) costs more than most villagers make in a day, and each day I drink 4-5 bottles. I see children with bellies swollen from starvation, and kids going through garbage looking for food to eat. Suffering is completely out in the open here.

Local shrine for the dead.

The Mekong River begins at the boarder of China,Myanmar and Laos. The river sweeps south, designating the border with Myanmar, then Thailand before finally cutting through the country. In the shape of a snake, it makes its way north east for a while before heading south again. It is in this snake-like loop where the river meets a tributary creating a small peninsula which became a historic city called Luang Prabang. Luang Prabang has an almost island feel with palm trees and a cool river breeze. Historic colonial buildings, crispy French baguettes , and brick paved alleyways can be found between ancient Buddhist monasteries. Each day at dawn the Buddhist monks living walk the main street barefoot seeking alms. The city is quiet, peaceful and has been a good resting place the last few days. Yesterday I bonded with a couple from Chile, meditating in the monastery and practicing yoga in the park.

UNESCO Buddhist Monastery Luang Prabang

Quiet alley ways between monasteries.

A good example of Laotian/Thai style architecture

It is a good day! I am on the move headed south. I move quick as I might have to spend several days in the Lao capital waiting for a multiple entry Indian visa. I head to Cambodia then Punjab in September.

Pilgrims

Posted on June 19, 2016 by bodhitree

Summer rains sweep through mountains. The wet earth, once vacant now sprout wild flowers. A bird sings, a group of yaks pass and the sound of footsteps fill the road. Pilgrims. The walk in numbers with large sacks of food and supplies on back, sometimes with a stick in hand. Some pull large carts filled with clothes, cooking utensils and grain, no matter what they carry they all head for the holy city of Lhasa, more than 1000 km away. Cars too are filled with pilgrims of a different sort, men and women who bring the comforts of their homes and sleep in warm beds. In this way it is easy to forget the world outside and embracing the dreams we all forget at dawn.

This pilgrim was prostrating his way, 3 steps one bow, to Lhasa.

Traveling has been very difficult lately. My Chinese Yuan supply has slowly dwindled and it is impossible for me to exchange money. I have therefore been subsiding on the bare minimum (fresh vegetables and cold noodles) and quickly making my way to Yunnan where I hope to find a large enough bank to withdraw funds. Hostels, hotels, and even apples are too expensive right now. The rain makes maters worse as I often spend hours pedaling up steep mountains only to find myself descending into a hail storm.

However it is too beautiful to be inside. Even when I am in the tent at night I want to open the fly and look out into a sky with patches of stars. I am too often invited by locals to stay inside warm wooden houses and each time I look down into forested distance and decline. It will take me several days to get to Yunnan, in the meantime I am riding when I can and when I can’t hiding in my tent beside soft streams.

Tibetan Plateau

Posted on June 3, 2016 by bodhitree

Cycling at 15,000 feet

Posted on May 30, 2016 by bodhitree

Prayer flags line bridges protecting pilgrims in remote canyons

A Tibetan local, behind is his summer yurt and tent. His summer camp site was well above 15,000 feet.

An unexpected snow storm. The snow actually acts as a insulator and kept me warm throughout the night.

At over 15,000 feet I often find myself short of breath, and have developed a practice of breathing in twice for every out breath. Skipping or holding my breath for a passing, dusty vehicle is out of the question and leaves me dizzy. I also seem to have developed a deep, dry cough that wakes me at night.

The culture is primarily Tibetan, with many locals unable to converse in Mandarin. This family invited me out of the rain for a lunch of Tsampa, tea and yak butter pan fried bread. I probably ate close to 2 sticks of Yak butter in 30 minutes.

Tsampa is a ground flour that is added to milk tea with yak butter. Once finished drinking the tea the flour is mashed into a ball then eaten with more yak butter.

Many of the villages have seen very little foreigners, and Esperanza loaded for a journey draws quite a crowd.

These are the coldest nights I have every experienced, every night around 2 am I wake up in a shiver and patiently wait for sleep and the sun to rise.

Elevation after a steep climb, 4677 m.

Old man with two grandchildren

The remote mountains are home to many Tibetan Buddhist monasteries.

The sun is fierce and warm throughout the day, but once it falls temperatures quickly fall.

A cold barren landscape, too high to for trees to grow, and little but small puddles of standing water.

A small roadside cafe, wild dogs are rampant, and I have been attached several times wild pedaling through villages.

A yurt with a yak dung burning stove will keep you warm throughout the season.

Northern Sulawesi (The big blue sky)

Posted on April 24, 2015 by bodhitree

Local Indonesian’s at a Hindu festival

The overnight ferry to Sulawesi was a very Indonesian experience. Wanting to see how the locals traveled, I purchased the “ekonomi” class ticket earlier in the day for 1,333,000 IDR ($10). By night fall the once typical looking Balikpapan port had transformed into a street bazaar with temporary stalls built out of bamboo and plastic lining the road to the terminal office. It was loud, smelly and a world away from my experience with the taking the overnight ferry from Busan, Korea to Fukuoka Japan. Vendors were selling the ever so popular Gem rings and necklaces, pit bbq’s were constructed out of bricks and were roasting various meats and people were squatting on the sidewalks packing/unpacking large crates.

Young dancing girls

The scene was something out of movie and I pushed Gaby through the chaos toward the large ferry waiting at the dock. The large boat looked rather nice, like a large cruise ship, with fresh paint and several stories of patios with wooden decks. As I got close to the ship I noticed a long line of passengers carry large boxes on their heads. There was a queue at a steep mobile staircase that was three stories high, the stairs were so narrow that luggage had to be carried overhead. There was no way I would get Gaby up into the boat without making several trip so I waited for the rush to die down then slowly making several trips got all my gear up and inside. Once inside personnel inspected my ticket and said “You no first class” “Ekonomi” I said which resulted in some laughter. A security office instructed me towards the economy section of the boat, and told me I could park my bike beside a wall of wooden crates filled with unripe Dragon fruit.

Lake Poso, North Sulawesi

There were few people sleeping on cardboard boxes near the fruit crates, so I took all my panniers with me in search of a place to sleep. The “ekonomi” compartment consisted of a north and south wing, each filled with rows of connected beds. At first glance it almost looked like a hospital, as the passengers occupying them looked like they had ” moved in”. Laundry was hanging from make shift ornaments in the ceiling, boxes of clothes, medicine and toys were open and spread-out near the corners of the room and on beds, people were cutting their nails, combing their hair, and scrubbing their bodies with extremely worn Gucci/Ralph Lauren towels. The smell of fish and curried chicken filled the room and was being consumed everywhere. Large plastic bags filled with white rice were passed around, while meat products were eaten out of instant noodle Styrofoam bowls. Water bottles filled with soy sauce and chill paste were used to liven the flavor. Some passengers were selling bottles of water and cigarettes which almost gave the room a prison like feel.

Eventually I came across and open bed that was covered in ripped and torn laminate plastic with random cigarette burn-holes. There as room under for my panniers and as I slid them under I noticed that there was a small family of cockroaches living underneath. I took out all my clean clothes and made a huge pillow by wrapping them around my valuables then lay back to rest. I looked up at the ceiling and noticed cockroaches crawling in and out of the cracks, as I looked around the room I noticed more and more of them crawling on the beds, walls and on luggage, people didn’t seem to mind and many were bare foot. Soon I saw a huge rat running under the beds, no one seemed to react. A loud-speaker came on and the captain speaking Indonesian explained that there was no smoking on board and that we would soon depart. There were at least 10 people smoking in the room.

There were a lot of really interesting looking people on board. Most were extremely dark Indonesian men wearing colorful sarongs with long beards and Muslim caps. Women were fully scarved with large earrings making their ears sag. I soon overheard that after stopping in Sulawesi the boat would then head to the city of Sorong in Papua. Most the passengers in economy class were headed there. There was also a rather large group of Yemen pilgrims, one of them saw my Jordanian headscarf and started talking to me in Arabic.

Police force Poso, The chief to my left was a classic Asian alpha male! He bossed everyone around then gave me one of his rings

Police force Poso, The chief (to my left) was a classic Asian alpha male! He bossed everyone around, making his subordinates wash my clothes and serve me food, he then gave me one of his rings!

Sulawesi
It was just after 9 am when we I arrived at the port city of Palu. A very similar picture to what I had observed in Balikpapan the port was chaotic and getting Gaby off the boat was just as difficult. From a distance Palu looked like a Norwegian coastal city, with a backdrop of steep mountains touching a turquoise tropical sea. I had been warned earlier about this city as recently violence between radical Islamists and local police had led to the deaths of several people. I packed up Gaby and pedaled toward the interior of the country looking back at a busy harbor beyond and beautiful sea. A steep 30 km climb took me to the center of the island. If you look at the shape of Sulawesi there a several areas in the north and south were the island is no more than 50 km wide. I was in one of these places and from the top of my climb I could look west to see the coast of Palu and east to an unreached coast. The jungle is must thinner than that of Kalimantan (where in many occasions I could see nothing but a small bit of blue sky) and I can see the mountains far off into the distance and this is always a huge view of the open sky.

Slippery slides, local waterfall near Poso lake

The eastern coast gave me my first taste of Hinduism in Indonesia, as I passed temples and mausoleums erected to the avatars of Shiva. One afternoon, while pedaling through a village I heard the sound of an Indonesian Gamolan followed by clapping coming from a small auditorium. I quickly pedaled inside and found to my surprise a large group of Hindu Indonesians celebrating a holy day. The sight of me pedaling into the festival caused quite a stir, and I was quickly invited to watch the dancing and Gamolan performance followed by an afternoon feast.

More locals at the Hindu festival

The festival is underway

Later that evening I arrived in the city of Poso (another city I was told to avoid) just before dark. The city seemed like any other city I had passed in Indonesia but in the center near the police station was a large billboard with pictures of local terrorists. I stopped only to refresh my stock of fresh fruits and vegetables then pedaled 10 km out of the city and camped behind a small school.

Gates to the Hindu ashram

The next morning I was awoken by a group of 5 military officers carrying machine guns. It turned out that what had looked like an elementary school was actually a military building. My bags were searched for weapons and for a few minutes I thought I was in trouble. The military called the police and I was told to take all my stuff to the police station, where I was detained for a few hours. Once at the station I was given a cup of coffee and told to wait for the police chief to arrive, no other words were spoken and my passport was taken. After close to an hour of waiting a man wearing a uniform with several badges and gold medals walked in to the room. He came over to me and shook my hand. We had a quick conversation in Indonesian, (which mostly consisted of eye contact) but verbally I told him that I was on a world cycle tour and that I had heard that Poso was dangerous so logically I camped in what seemed like the safest place around.

School kids who gathered round to watch me patch a tire

He smiled and seemed to understand. Then yelled something to the officers in the nearby room. A few minutes later, a new clean shirt was brought to me, my dirty one was given to the officer to clean, and a tray of rice, noodles and vegetables arrived for me to eat. Soon I was eating breakfast in the police station wearing a clean new shirt with one of the officers hand washing my dirt one outside. After breakfast the chief took off one of his gem stone rings and gave it to me followed by a handwritten letter giving me permission to camp at any police station in Sulawesi.

“Warung” or local restaurant. These are found along the road and serve instant noodles, fried rice and coffee.

I didn’t make it to a police station that night but camped near the beautiful Lake Poso. Within minutes of setting up camp I heard a loud sound in the trees and within seconds it began to pour. I quickly shoved all my gear inside, and prepared for the worst. The worst however didn’t come from the sky but rather from the lake, soon mosquitos started making their way through the storm and underneath my tent fly. Hundreds of large hungry mosquitos covered the outside of my inner tent and the sound of their buzz almost drowned out the rain. I ran outside to shake the fly to get them to disperse but even outside in the rain they flocked to my arms legs and face and bite every open part of open skin. I ran back inside, and spent the night too scared to unzip the tent. The rain battered on a soon water was flowing underneath me. I tried to sleep but my bag and mat were soaked and all night I listened to the buz of hundreds of mosquitos waiting for me to unzip my door.
I am now in southern Sulawesi and will travel to the tribal and historic village of Tana Toraja tomorrow.

Japan act-1

Posted on November 22, 2014 by bodhitree

Traditional fountain found outside the local Jinja (Shrine) in Fukuoka. The Japanese practice a washing process similar to that of the Islamic tradition

My first impression of Japan was exchanging Korean ~~Won~~ for Japanese Yen in the ferry terminal. Asking for small bills, the Japanese teller apologetically handed me a stack of older notes. Through the intercom she told me that these bills were over 20 years, and that she was all out of the newer notes. Passing a white envelope beneath the glass I looked inside to see what 20-year-old year Japanese yen looked like.Besides a crease in the center, none of the bills seemed to have any wear, and were all clean and free of any grime or graffiti. To my eye Japanese money that had been in circulation for over 20 years looked brand new. Little did I know that I was about to step into a country unlike any of those I had recently traveled to.

Screened entrance in traditional Japanese house, Hagi

Traditional Japanese screen

In the west we struggle for what seems to come so naturally in Japan. Everyone seems to take responsibility for their own actions and understands their input on society. Public transportation, renewable energy and reusing products is prevalent throughout the land, and there is an underlying sense of unity never before observed. It is almost as if everyone is working together to make Japan their home. I my 4 days I have witnessed so many random acts of kindness and generosity that it has rubbed off on my nomadic every man for himself mentality. In the countryside I watch elders playing with grandkids or sitting on stools in the yard while their son and daughter rake leaves. There are many villages that have literally been left untouched, with the older style homes, sometimes several hundred years old, with porcelain tiled roofs covered in decades of moss. Simple yet elaborate wooden entryways and sliding glass doors. The beauty of the past blends so well with cultures minimalist lifestyle, that I have trouble distinguishing between the old and new customs.

Old iron hardware outside ancient house of Samurai, Hagi

Houses on the canal, Hagi port

In contrast to Korea, I am completely in awe of the landscape and scenery of the southern regions of Kyushu and Honshu. I feel as if I am cycling through the scenic epitome of Asia, watching thick fog encapsulate lush green bamboo forests, and clear turquoise water slowly wearing away large smooth boulders. But it’s not only beauty, there is so much style and taste that go into the architecture and landscape that really separates Japan from the other Asian countries.

Limestone plains of Akiyoshidai

Extremely tasteful sign found on the hiking trail at Akiyoshidai

not a bad country road for riding

Besides having no litter, there are literally no trash cans. “Trash” is a word that belongs to the developing world and to us in west, but in Japan all discarded items have their place; plastics, compostables, combustibles, recyclables, etc. Rubbish bins are segregated by material, and I have often had to carry around different forms of waste until finding the right place to dispose of it. In America we generally only have two bins; trash and recycling and most of the country can’t even get this right. I can’t count the amount of times in America that I have seen all sorts of materials dumped in to recycling bins.

Lot of a few hundred bikes supplied to employees at a steel factory, Kitakyushu

Walking to the shrine, Fukuoka

Similar to Korea there is very little confrontation but I have found it very obvious as to what is considered “right and wrong behavior”. Since arriving I have broken the law many times (mostly at stop lights) and I often receive the look of shame. Nothing will be verbalized but you can quickly tell by the look that you are doing something that is considered wrong. It can best be described as a look that says “your parents didn’t teach you that what you are doing is wrong”. The look coupled with the fact that no one else breaks the rules has a drastic effect, and I will often now just wait for the signal to turn green.

Lime stone ore in Akiyoshido cave

Old fashioned grain grinder found in village near Hagi

Jizzo, Bodhisattva statues dressed for the winter

Shopping is also an interesting experienced where one can literally enter and exit a store without paying. In grocery and large department stores the emergency exit in the rear of the store is often times another entrance with no employees or alarms to keep one from stealing. In parking lots discounted items are often displayed on large tables where items could easily vanish unnoticed. In the countryside the honor system is in full swing with unmanned fruit stands selling overly priced super fruits (extremely large apples and oranges) with yen collected in plastic jars, sometimes containing up to $100 dollars’ worth. As a boy my parents would always keep a jar full of money on the counter which was used for errands or trips to the grocery store. This seems to be very similar to how the system works over here; where trust is not an issue and there is more responsibility on the individual.

Royal cemetery behind Toko-ji temple Hagi

Wooden sliding glass doors

Sunset Hagi Castle, Sea of Japan

At first it was quite shocking, because I have not felt this way since leaving home. It is completely opposite western culture; where we need locked doors or policemen to stop us from breaking the law. Here everyone already knows what’s right and wrong.

So during my stay in Japan I will often have to remind myself not to be so “American” which will mean the following;

1. Don’t ride on the right side of the road (traffic drives on the left like India, Britain and France)

2. Remember all the lessons my parents taught me as a child.

Everyone is polite and respectful until discount sushi time. 5 pm at supermarket everyone jams and grabs 1/2 priced sushi

Cycling through Kanmon Tunnel connecting Kyushu to Honshu

Moat at Hagi castle

Heading now towards Hiroshima, looking forward to visiting ground zero and seeing the peace memorial museum.

Touch base again soon!

Begin

Posted on January 6, 2013 by bodhitree

The life of my father Kar Ming Wong

1942 Born Wong Kar Ming Oldest of 5
1945 Almost dies in village due to dental complications
1948 Kidnapping threat moves the Wong family to the city of Guang Zhou (then a relatively small city)
1955 Government takes away family business, and publicly humiliates Karming’s father. Family is forced to destroy ownership titles of land and other assets. Schools are officially closed and kids are transported to the countryside to work on farms. Family barely survives on government food rations.
1960 Karming escapes China and walks for 3 days to Hong Kong. He first finds work on a construction crew demolishing buildings, then works for the HSBC bank, and finally becomes a fire fighter on the island of Lantau.
1967-1972 Karming first travels to Thailand where he ordains as a Buddhist monk, then travels to Korea, Japan, India and Nepal studying Buddhism
1973 He Meets American Leroy Miracle at the Stupa in Boudha Kathmandu, this opens the door to a sponsored America trip through the movie star Leigh Taylor Young
1973-1975 Lives in Beverly Hills, Idylwild, and Bay Area. Becomes chauffeur of Tibetain buddhist Lama and drives around the country,
1976 Meets my mother Alicen Diane Clark at a Buddhist teaching in Oakland, CA
1979 Karming and Alicen are married and move to southern CA

1980-1989 They have four children Evan, Julian, Tai and Lucy
1992 Karming takes whole family on a 6 month pilgrimage of Nepal, India and Sikkim Evan, Tai and Lucy are hospitalized for 4 weeks in Hong Kong with Typhoid Fever and T.B
1993-2006 Karming continues to travel annually to Asia
2006-2008 My last trips with Kar Ming. I accompany him on four separate trips to Asia, we travel to Mongolia, XinJiang, and extensively throughout China.
2010 Lucy and Karming travel to Cambodia, I take a hiatus from work in Santa Monica to bring him back from a hospital in Guangzhou China
2011 Karming passes away

First Leg of trip

Beginning music theme: Life Is

I am always hesitant at the beginning, and in a way scared to leave what I have. There is not much. Since my fathers death I have been working with my mother selling his assets as well as preparing the family home in Southern California for rent. Things are almost complete and in the next month I won’t have much left except for a few bikes and my cello. Soon the house will be rented and there will be strangers sleeping in my room.
In a way I have been preparing for this trip since I started cycling. As a boy I would ride my hot wheels in circles around my parents house pretending I was on a long distance trip around the world, in my adolescent years, to get away I would ride my bmx bike to the top of the hill and gaze out at the undeveloped land. Not much has changed, and since I have conjured up the idea for this trip I have been hesitant to commit to any future plans.

This is definitely a big trip, but I have to do this so I can get along with the rest of my life, otherwise it will constantly be in the back of my mind and I will always think about what it would have been like doing it. I just hope that the work that I have done for my family will help them when I am gone, and if I don’t come back that the time spent with my mother will have been enough.

My work here is almost complete, and it is exciting to think that soon I will be departing my home town of Murrieta on 20,000 km journey to China with my fathers ashes. Due to my delayed departure time. I have decided that I will fly from Florida to the Scandinavian city of Bergen in Norway. Spain and Portugal will be too hot, and after a 2,000 mile tour of the Southern of the United States in the early Summer Scandinavia will be a much needed break. My Alaskan trip was a great introduction to the land of the midnight sun. By the time I get there I should have close to 24 hours of sunshine. From Norway I hope to cycle east to Sweden, Finland and on to Russia. In Sweden I plan to take a small detour to the city of Orebro to look for my lost maternal ancestors.

In the last months I have been avidly practicing Ashtanga yoga and I plan to balance each days riding with an hour and half of practice. This is the theme for the first leg of the tour, “person practice and travel”. I have mapped out all 4 of the Ashtanga studios in the southern United States, as well as several Vipassna meditation centers. If I can’t find a studio or a mediation center I will keep up with my personal practice daily. My father had a very devoted practice that he maintained throughout his life, and it wasn’t uncommon for me to come home from a party and see him meditating in the shrine room late at night. When I was a kid he would make my siblings and I sit in lotus position for hours and study Tibetan mantras. I remember being a bit shocked when I learned that my friends in grade school didn’t have similar experiences.

I have not extensively ridden my bicycle since the Alaska trip, and I have lost a bit of weight while constructing my mothers new house. When I was a senior at UC Santa Cruz I weighed close to 200 pounds and would often ride my bike to and from parties in the early hours of the morning. At that time the only thing that I needed to buy at the grocery store was butter. The trailer park had a constant supply of dumpstered bread and as long as you had butter toast was always a great meal.

The beginning of this trip is going to be really difficult and I will need as much support as I can get. I will be in Los Angeles in early May and would love to see everyone before I depart.
With all of the obstacles and plan changes I am on my way to leaving on a Wednesday in mid May. As a marker of time I have noted a few of my current and past favorites/achievements.

Age: 29
Favorite food: Chips and guacamole, raw cheese and raisins, popcorn with yeast, Raw kale with peanut butter (try it)
Most I have ever eaten: Two PB J’s, a half pound of chips, a whole cereal box of granola, two bananas and a large can of soy milk, ( I didn’t say that I wasn’t sick afterward, Alaska tour)

Favorite place traveled (not by bike): Xinjiang, Karakoram Hwy
Favorite place traveled by bike: Tombstone mountains, Yukon Canada
Current Favorite band: Django Django
Current Favorite song: House

Weight: 155
Most miles cycled in a day: 160 Glennallen to Wasilla, AK (Sara Palin’s home town, the best thing there was the “Outlaw whiskey distillery)
Hottest temperature cycled in: 105 F (this is a normal summer day in So Cal)
Coldest: 15 F, (I actually think I accomplished this by setting up a stationary bike in a walk-in freezer)
Last dream I had: A game show host told me not to install engineered hardwood flooring at a 45 degree angle
Last job that I did: Pulled out 20 years of insulation filled with rat feces/urine, waste filled abs pipes and phone line from under my families mobile.
Cups of coffee a day: 3, two with ice (no milk)
If i had a million $ I would: Still go on this tour, but I would take a caravan of kittens to keep my company