What do you make out of this image? — people sitting next to each other seemingly lost in the world through their gadgets is a common sight these days, isn’t it?
Today i want to invite you to look beyond what the image might suggest and meet Daichi and Ryo Uchiyama, the people in it — when i approached them at a coffee shop in L’viv, Ukraine, introduced myself, and asked if i could chat with them for a little bit, they replied with excited interest, promptly closing the laptop and putting away the phone.
Daichi and Ryo Uchiyama chilling at the Kredens Café in Lviv, Ukraine (Fall ’17)
Daichi and Ryo Uchiyama chilling at the Kredens Café in Lviv, Ukraine (Fall ’17)
This friendly Japanese couple got married two years ago, and have been traveling together around the world on what they told me is their honeymoon ever since — 24 countries, and counting! In hindsight, i’m not surprised it was so easy to connect with them.
They take much more colorful pictures than me, some of which you can see in their Instagram @tabiwalife — check it out!
___ Featured photo:Daichi and Ryo Uchiyama chilling at the Kredens Café in Lviv, Ukraine ( Fall ’17 )
Thank you for reading!
This blog is a gift. If you find it valuable and would like to thank me, you may share this piece with someone who you think would benefit from it, consider making a contribution, or simply comment below — all of it will have some value to me along an important dimension <3
After 63 gruesome, bumpy, gravel road kilometers, was that a mirage, or indeed the beginning of a smooth, freshly paved road!?
Romanian countryside between Drobeta-Turnu Severin and Craiova (April ’17)
I had to celebrate.
This fine gentleman was walking in the middle of nowhere with a 2.5-liter bottle of beer in one hand and an ax on the other — great combination! He duly reacted to my excitement, dropping the ax and running towards me — now overflowing in excitement himself, he opened the beer and insisted i filled up one of my water bottles with it.
I returned the gesture by offering him some of what was left of the rakija i got from my friends in Serbia before my departure a few days earlier — he put the little bottle straight into his back pocket :p — thinking the rakija could not be in better pockets now, i just asked him to take a sip of it so i could snap a picture. He then gave me a sincere, joyful hug, approximately 637 kisses on each cheek, and we parted ways — i was now slightly tipsy, but very energized!!
Today, i want to invite you to celebrate. There must be something you’re grateful for today, no matter how small you think it might be — make it a big deal and share it with someone! Feel welcome to share it with me by commenting below 🙂
___ Featured photo: a villager somewhere in the Romanian countryside between Drobeta-Turnu Severin and Craiova ( April ’17)
Thank you for reading!
This blog is a gift. If you find it valuable and would like to thank me, you may share this piece with someone who you think would benefit from it, consider making a contribution, or simply comment below — all of it will have some value to me along an important dimension <3
When i’m cycle touring — though perhaps also when i’m not — traffic is by far my greatest source of apprehension.
Once you’ve chosen to ride along the Iron Gates, the stretch of the Danube River flowing along the border between Serbia and Romania — or is it the border that flows along the river? — a series of 22 narrow tunnels varying in length from a few tens to a few hundreds of meters will be an inevitable part of your experience. One may then question their very decision to be there and turn back, or one may put on their reflective vest, turn on their lights, and cautiously but confidently carry on.
It’s beautiful.
the Iron Gates (Serbia/Romania, April ’17)
the Iron Gates (Serbia/Romania, April ’17)
What will you do?
Do you take the risks of ‘not doing’ something into account when making a decision?
In hindsight, i am quite grateful someone was there before me to build those tunnels!
___ Featured photo: the second of the 22 tunnels along my way ( Serbia, April ’17 )
Thank you for reading!
This blog is a gift. If you find it valuable and would like to thank me, you may share this piece with someone who you think would benefit from it, consider making a contribution, or simply comment below — all of it will have some value to me along an important dimension <3
Spending the next 100 hours in complete solitude was not quite the idea when i hugged my friends Fuji and Grete goodbye. From where they dropped me off, i still had another couple of kilometers of walking along a dirt road to Fuji’s family’s Summer cottage on the Swedish countryside. The idea came up as i walked past the last house before the cottage, and gradually settled along the rest of the way — what if i went not only offline, but completely without interacting with other human beings for a while!?
The premise
The longest i’d been in complete solitude like that before, as far as i can remember, was about 24 hours. It happened last Summer, in the Faroe Islands, where the only mammals i interacted with in between the gentleman who gave me a ride to the trailhead and the girl starting that same trail as i walked out of it the day after were sheep — tones of sheep — and their poop — absurd amounts of it.
the kind of visual you might wake up to in the Faroe Islands
many hiking trails in the Faroe Islands are old postal routes from before some of their modern roads and tunnels were built — this is a decaying wind shelter in one of them
I’d been longing for an extended period of solitude ever since. It doesn’t seem very easy to find space and time to be alone in this world. There are people pretty much everywhere you go — even in the Faroe Islands! Plus, i keep finding out that we actually need them more often than i’d like to admit — and they probably need us also.
But i could not let this opportunity pass — i had access to clean water and enough provisions for more than a week, my closest neighbor was almost one kilometer down the road, and i couldn’t anticipate anything that might happen in the world that might require my attention in the immediate future.
And so the experiment began . . .
So, how was it?
Before i share with you some of my raw impressions from this experience, a quick disclaimer though. You might find most of what you’ll read below rather unimpressive — at least i did to a large extent.
Perhaps 100 hours is not that long — perhaps being alone in a Summer cottage i was already familiar with and with lots of entertainment is very different from being alone in a remote trail in the Faroe Islands — i did not have any remarkable insights. I didn’t meet any inner demons i wasn’t already expecting, and i didn’t face any problems that didn’t turn out to either have a trivial solution, or be something that didn’t really bother me after all.
You’ve been warned 🙂
I’m also interested in hearing about what may have been your own experience doing something like that, or what might be your expectations about it — please feel invited to answer to some of the questions below in the comments, or by email.
It was surprisingly easy to spend all that time alone. In fact, i feel like the real effort was to snap out of it — do i really have to!?
For instance, on my second day, i was looking for a tree to climb in the area, and caught myself turning back as soon as i could see the neighbor’s house, so as not to risk interacting with them. If i didn’t have to touch base with my friend and his mom about arrangements for the following week, i’d likely have continued until i ran out of supplies or someone came to me.
Have you done something like this before? How was it? If not, do you think it would be challenging?
what else do i want?
no internet and a good stereo
I listened to obscene amounts of music — album after album — from cover to cover — doing nothing else but intently listening to it.
Oh, gosh, i was so glad there was a good stereo set in the house! I dearly miss my headset.
In case you’re curious about what i brought to my retreat: Dream Theater: Images & Words, Falling into Infinity and Octavarium; Haken: The Mountain and Affinity; Metallica: Black Album; Mumford & Sons: Babel; Periphery: Periphery III: Select Difficulty; Porcupine Tree: Deadwing and In Absentia; Skyharbor: Guiding Lights; and TesseracT: Altered State, Polaris and Smile.
What album(s) would you bring to a solo retreat?
my camera could not focus on the spider walking the electrified wire nearly as much as i did
can you see the birds? the roof pattern was also quite pleasant to stare at
noticeiling — há!
I noticed a lot of things i’d have likely not noticed otherwise — the birds, the butterflies, the scratches and patterns in the ceiling, the bees and wasps, some of the sounds from the nature preserve surrounding the cottage, the fire, and so on. I found the simplest events incredibly interesting at a much larger rate than usual.
Look away from the screen. What’s the first thing around you that catches your attention? Had you noticed that before?
my front derailleur cable snapped 20km or so before i arrived at the cottage
thankfully i had everything i thought i needed to fix it — until the cable housing also snapped after i replaced the broken cable — but waiting until after the retreat to go shopping for a new cable housing in town didn’t feel like a big deal
I spent a disproportionate amount of that time alone just on my underwear, and that felt so great!
Do you also like to walk around naked, or semi-naked?
Boris and our respective babies
Nastia and the Mad Ambassador Catalin Potemkin, whose last name she finally taught me how to pronounce
It was refreshing to be remembered that one can do reasonably well without continuous access to the Internet. I’d already made this decision before, and will likely stick to it — whenever and wherever i settle down, i won’t have Internet at home!
I’ve met a few people without Internet at home during my travels over the years. They’ve all seemed perfectly functional, and their not having Internet may have well enriched our encounter.
During this project, Boris (a roadside invitation in the Chernivtsi Region) and Nastia (my host in L’viv) didn’t have Internet at home. Whether or not that’s a coincidence, they have also been the only hosts so far with whom i’ve had a call with afterward. (UPDATED August ’19: Nastia and i moved in together a few months later and eventually got married — we didn’t have Internet at home for a year; i remain in touch with Boris, and visited him on my 2019 tour of Ukraine and surroundings with Nastia.)
Have you tried going without Internet at home? How was it? What do you think about this idea?
I’ll probably want to do a retreat like that once a year or so. Perhaps a longer one though, and perhaps a bit more remote and/or constrained.
Have you heard about darkroom retreats? Have you done one? How was it?
I’ll probably want to do a mini-retreat like that very often. Perhaps choosing a night every week or so in which i’ll go completely offline and out of reach.
What kind of time and space do you regularly create for yourself? What do you gain from it?
i’ve been experimenting with soft pastels and different kinds of paper for a little over a month now
these two were inspired by the view from the cottage’s front porch
Just like the week i spent offline in Moldova (but not in isolation), these few days in solitude were some of my most productive during this project so far.
I wrote a lot, including at least two blog posts essentially from scratch! I took lots of pictures, and probably prepared more posts for my Instagram than i do on average. I sat down to read a book for the first time in a couple of months, and realized how much i actually miss it and want to prioritize that also when i’m on the move. I made tones of sketches, also a lot more than i do on average. I caught up with my bicycle’s state of disrepair. I caught up with drafting my pending Couchsurfing/Warmshowers references. I kept up with all essential household tasks such as doing the dishes and cutting the grass.
What would you work on if you could create such time and space for that?
doing the dishes
throwing a line to hang the shower bag on the tree
I really enjoyed the countryside tempo — having to fetch water from the well, having to walk all the way to the outhouse for number 2, having to heat up the water for my shower, and also to do the dishes or wash my clothes, having to make a fire to keep the house warm — everything takes time — every task needs to be started before it’s an emergency — but nothing is really an emergency.
Do you live or have you lived in the countryside? Am i romanticizing it a bit too much? What kind of amenities of “civilization” do you miss the most?
And i think that’s really about it
Like i said, there wasn’t anything terribly deep, particularly intense or remarkably insightful. Oh, well — it is what it is.
I’ll let you know if i do a longer solo retreat though, or at least in a different context — and if anything else comes up — You please do the same 😉
___ Featured photo: my friend Fuji’s family’s Summer cottage, where they and their friends come throughout the season to enjoy the light, the slow and the quiet — and which i was kindly allowed to use for my retreat and other experiments (Sweden, Summer ’17)
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If i already got that question a lot when i told people i was going through Serbia on my cycle tour from Copenhagen to Istanbul in Fall 2016, imagine when i decided to stay in Niš after finishing the journey!
I’ve now crossed Serbia twice on my bicycle, and have spent another month or so living in Niš in between those two rides. What’s so special about that place?
This will be the first in a series of articles on how my expectations and prejudices about each country i’ve visited during my current cycle tour (The North Cape Hypothesis) have been challenged. As such, i’m actually not sure the extent to which it will answer the question of what is particularly special about Serbia — my goal is that, by reading about what struck me the most my second time cycle touring the country, you will feel invited to travel to Serbia yourself not for a specific place you must absolutely visit, or a specific person you must absolutely meet — but for the overwhelmingly positive experience it may award you with.
The context and notation
The North Cape Hypothesis started in Niš, Serbia. My first 150 km or so, between Niš and Velika Plana, pretty much backtracked my path in the opposite direction from Velika Plana to Niš in my Copenhagen–Istanbul tour a few months before. For simplicity, i’ll refer to those as the NC Hypothesis, the VPN stretch, and the CPH–IST tour — it seems like there’s still a mathematician living somewhere inside my head after all!
But i digress . . .
I’ve been offered a tremendous amount of hospitality in my travels — especially in the countryside — and especially in Eastern Europe, where asking someone for help with finding a safe place to pitch your tent for the night will often result in an invitation for dinner, a hot shower, and a warm bed in their home.
Along the VPN stretch, during the CPH–IST tour, the latter is precisely what happened at the Stoianović’s, where i spent one of my most energizing cycle touring evenings to date. They didn’t speak a word of English, and i didn’t speak a word of Serbian — and that was apparently not a problem. We didn’t even need much of our respective phrasebooks, which were not used for a lot more than the outlining utterances of, “I am pleased to meet you,” or, “Zahvalan sam!”
at the Stojanović’s kitchen and de facto lounge (Serbia, Fall ’16)
Nenad, to whom i owe all photos from that visit — back then i was still very shy of asking for my hosts for permission to photograph them (Serbia, Fall ’16)
Zoran (a friend of Nenad’s who spoke some English and joined us to help a bit with communication), Dušan and Snezana (Serbia, Fall ’16)
Dragica, Ivica, and their boy Andrija (Serbia, Fall ’16)
The day after that, none of the people i asked for help on my way through a village towards the end of the day were as available as the Stojanović’s. As i was about to clear the village, the gentleman at the food market suggested i tried the gas station a couple of kilometers down the road. That led me to my first of many gas station camping experiences, an insightful conversation about human nature with Nikola, the observant employee on his shift when i arrived, and another evening overcoming language barriers with Jovan, the employee on the night shift. They made sure my tent was under a roof and visible to their cameras, and offered me access to their toilet and kitchen.
Nikola pumping gas into a Fićo (Serbia, Fall ’16) — note to self: project idea: document what happens overnight at gas stations around the world!
Jovan taking the shift from Nikola, now getting ready to ride his bicycle back home (Serbia, Fall ’16)
How would those same people treat me a second time around? — in particular, what would that look like just five short months after the first time?
The second cup of tea
To be very honest, my expectations were low. A few days before leaving Niš for the NC Hypothesis, i wrote to both Nikola and the Stojanović’s, telling them i’d be traveling through the area again, and was wondering if i could stop by to say hi. Neither of them ever replied.
Is hospitality towards a traveler a one-off deal? Had their interest hinged mostly upon the novelty the first time around? Did they treat me that well simply because the prospect that i’d ever come back asking for more was so slim? Was two times already too much?
I was not fully discouraged by the lack of a reply though. Perhaps staying there for the night once again would have been a bit too much to ask. Perhaps there was another reason they didn’t reply. I made alternate sleeping arrangements through Warmshowers for my first couple of nights on the road just in case. But they would surely be happy to see me again and share a cup of coffee, wouldn’t they?
I was wrong!!
When i pulled into the gas station, Jovan not only immediately recognized me, but also greeted me with a big smile on his face. Although i still spoke no Serbian, and he still spoke no English, it was nevertheless clear that we were both delighted to see each other. He then called Nikola, who was home the next village over and would be joining us in about 15 minutes.
We caught up with the rest of my journey to Istanbul, what they’d both been up to, and what more we’d learned about people while cycle touring, interacting with customers at a gas station, or driving a truck. Because i had a place to stay in Jagodina just another 30 km or so further down the road, i didn’t ask if i could pitch my tent with them again this time. Nikola then told me, “You’re welcome to stay here whenever you want, or even come to my home, if you prefer, you’re my hero” — he hadn’t replied to my message a few days before simply because his smartphone was broken, and he had not checked his Instagram in a while.
In hindsight, i regret not having tried to reschedule my arrival in Jagodina with my Warmshowers host for the day after, and taken that opportunity to spend more time with Nikola. I regret not having taken better notes of Nikola’s insightful remarks — a man in peace, no doubt — i don’t experience any cynicism or even disappointment in his speech — but he has surely noticed much of the complexity of what’s wrong with this world — Nikola has this look when he speaks, often not looking into your eyes, but focused half a meter or so to their side, as if there was something standing there only he could see.
I want to create another opportunity to interact with this guy in this life.
Jovan (Serbia, April ’17)
Nikola (Serbia, April ’17)
How about the Sojanović’s?
Their village is just some 30 km or so north of Jagodina, so i arrived there quite early this time. There was nobody outside, so i clapped my hands and shouted, “Dobar dan!?” Shortly after, Grandma Snezana came out of the house, smiling and drying up her hands in her apron, “Miko!!”
Half of the family was out working and, at first, i saw only her, Dragica, the boy Andrija, and a few rare sights of the shy girl Ana. They joyfully showed me the postcard i had sent them from Istanbul, and we shared some of the waffles my hosts in Niš had given me over the coffee they invited me for. Because of the language barrier, the conversation was not as deep as with Nikola, but the energy was still there — i want to see all of them again — Ivica, Nenad, andGrandpa Dušan — i especially don’t want to make the same mistake as the day before with Nikola.
When they asked me where i was going to sleep that night i asked them, shaking as if about to ask a woman out, “Well, i was actually wondering whether i could stay here tonight?” This particular question was typed into my phone and handed over to Dragica, who took a few seconds to parse the awkward machine translation while i anxiously watched — “of course!” — my shoulders dropped, my handlebar bag was moved from my lap to my side on the bench, the reflective vest and ankle straps placed with the gloves inside my helmet, now hanging on the bicycle — “is the bicycle OK where it is?” — “OK!” — then another cup of coffee . . .
The rest of the family started slowly showing up. Ivica went straight for the hug — “you’re staying for the night, right? good!” Uncle Jovan pulled in with a car — “come, Mika! take your notebook and your phrasebook” — we were now on our way to pick up Nenad, and then heading over to Velika Plana, where we met Aunt Divna and Cousins Bojan and Milica — another cup of coffee, more sweets, peanuts, and next thing i notice i’m helping them unload a truck of mushroom spores!
I only internalized what that, in particular, meant with my hosts Dragan and Vera at a farm a few days later — i’m no longer merely a guest, but slowly becoming part of the house!! Interestingly, it all felt as natural to me as it seems to have felt to them. Back in the village, the process continued — Ivica took me to meet one of this co-workers and friend, showed me a bit of the town center, and introduced me to the ladies at the groceries. Back in the house, over dinner, i understood that they expect not only another postcard from North Cape, but another visit in the near future.
Divna and Snezana (Serbia, April ’17)
Ivica pouring me a shot of the rakija Ana and Marko had given me in Niš the day before — although we drank about half of it that evening, when Ivica gave the bottle back to me when i was leaving next day in the morning, the bottle was somehow still full! (Serbia, April ’17)
Dragana, Ivica, Nenad, Snezana and Andrija (Serbia, April ’17)
And that’s roughly why
The above is leaving out the tremendous amount of help i got from Miloš and his parents Lola and Dragan, my hosts in Niš in each of the four times i’ ve been in the city, and the dutiful keepers of my touring rig during the time i was away in between the CPH–IST tour and the NC Hypothesis.
I’m not telling you about the warm and patient welcome from Gejo, Vesna, Miso, Milica, Alex, Luka, Petar, and all the other folks at the climbing wall, who kindly allowed me to climb with them, teaching me a fair amount along the way — apologies for trying to push the whole tree-climbing deal so much into you, folks, i’m still learning to be a guest!
I’m not mentioning Rajko, who besides lending me a Serbian SIM card and much of his time and pleasant company playing pool and chess, connected me with Ana and Marko, all of whom guided me through practice rides to the beautiful gorges around Niš, helped me clean and tune up my bicycle — or should i just simply say, did it for me? — rode with me for about half of the way to Jagodina on my very first day, giving me waffles, jam, rakija, and friendship — moments before we departed, Rajko apologized once again for not being able to ride with me for the first few days, as he had originally promised, calling me his “little brother,” and telling me he “would ride with me to the end of the world” — words that took tears out of my eyes then, and once again as i write them now.
I’m not telling you about how much fun i had with Jelena dancing in the sunset to Rage Against the Machine in Bubanj Park, and how touching it was to hear from her that i spread joy around the world.
Serbian Christmas at Lola and Dragan’s, to which i was invited when i was staying in Niš (Serbia, January ’17)
the climbing wall in Niš (Serbia, March ’17)
lunch break with Rajko, Ana and Marko during one of our “training” rides through the Jelašnica Gorge (Serbia, March ’17)
And those are mere highlights pertaining to my five days in Niš before the NC Hypothesis. To even begin giving you a better sense of what my experience in Serbia has really been like, i’d also have to tell you about . . .
Cycle touring diplomacy
More and more, i’ve been experiencing and humbly framing my cycle touring as the diligent work of a diplomat. I surely have a long way to go, there’s no question about that. What i mean is that this is definitely not merely a gap year of sorts, an absorbed self-discovery journey, or a metaphysically motivated pilgrimage. Of course, much of that inevitably arise along the way. What i am trying to say is that i don’t want to think of any of my encounters as mere moments in my life and the lives of my counterparts, but as the seeds for long-lasting connections.
I genuinely want to meet Nikola again, and also honor my promise to the Sojanović’s that i’ll be back. I want to return to Niš as a reputable tree climber, actually having something of substance to offer the folks at the wall who might be interested. I want to ride again with Rajko, as far towards the end of the world as his family obligations might allow. I want to dance in another park with Jelena. I want to greet Lola with a hug and ask for her blessing getting back on the road much like i would do with my own Grandmother.
Conversely, i also want to be equally available to everybody i’ve met in Niš and elsewhere in Serbia for a second, a third, or n-th time — if there’s anything — i mean, anything i can help them with, back in Brazil or anywhere else i’ve made connections.
