Another question i often get is, “how do you manage to travel for so long with so little money?”
With plenty of time!
Thinking about this often brings me back to one of my training tours a couple of years ago between Copenhagen and Oslo, while i was still living and working in the former. The experiment in that short tour was to do it without direct help from hospitality networks or paid accommodation.
The most natural path between Copenhagen and Oslo is to ride north along the Swedish West Coast. Having never done anything quite like that before, i figured that would be the perfect stage for such an experiment — Sweden has one of the world’s most generous right of access culture and laws — you’re essentially allowed to camp for one night just about anywhere in the country, as long as it’s not a nature preserve, you’re far enough from developed land and leave no trace — this is literally referred to as “the every [man]’s right” — in Swedish, allemansrätten.
I had not yet discovered the amenity of a surgical water bottle bath (use your imagination), and i wanted my campsites to be near the water, so i could wash like we all should — with a skinny dip! It would often take me up to three hours from the moment i decided to stop riding for the day until i found myself sitting down to cook dinner at my campsite — this brought me to seriously consider whether i’d ever want to be on a cycle tour in those terms for longer than just a week or two.
Upon coming back home to Copenhagen, i realized that i’d been, in a very tangible way, doing just that — working for about three hours a day to “find a comfortable place to sleep at night.” Indeed, rent for a bedroom (sharing a kitchen with five other tenants) cost me roughly one third of my salary as a postdoctoral researcher at University of Copenhagen — not to mention how insanely lucky i was to even find such a deal in that city, as those familiar with the surreal housing market in Copenhagen will certainly agree.
It got me thinking — and i still haven’t quite figured it out . . .
___ Featured photo: “dinner table” view from a campsite in my second Copenhagen–Oslo tour ( Summer ’16 )
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‘ Trelograms’ is a wordplay between ‘telegram’ and ‘trélos’ (Greek for ‘mad’)
The helmet mount for my action camera broke the very first time i tried to use it.
I was in Bendery, Transnistria. A curious bystander who saw me trying to put it back together with super glue referred me to the shop on the street corner — the owner Alex briefly stopped what he was doing to acknowledge my existence, gazed at the broken mount for a couple of seconds, then reached down to a very heavy box overflowing with all shapes and sizes of nuts and bolts — “here you go, if you can find what you need in there, it’s yours!” — and swiftly went back to what he was doing.
It was clearly implied that Alex is the local repairman — while i browsed the box, several people came in and out of his shop with all shades of appliances for him to inspect and care for.
The helmet mount was neither the first nor the last item in my kit to malfunction — but it appears to have marked the moment when the repair mindset kicked in.
In my previous life, i worked (by design, not choice) more hours than i wanted, for more money than i knew what to do with — getting good gear and replacing it whenever it simply didn’t look quite like what i wanted it to had never been an issue.
The decision now was a little more difficult though — i could spend a couple of days worth of my budget for that project getting a replacement for the mount, or i could try to fix it.
brainstorming a solution to keep my bedroom pannier together and attached to my rig (at least until the end of the day) with Polish cycle traveler Maciej, whom i bumped into in Chernivtsi ( Ukraine, May ’17 )
building a voltage stabilizer for my hub dynamo with the kind help of Mr Alvin at the Labitat hackerspace in Copenhagen ( August ’17 )
From holes in my clothes to the voltage stabilizer for my hub dynamo, upgrading or extending the lifespan of what not very long ago i might have thrown away at worse or surrendered to the expensive care of a specialist at best often turned out to be just a matter of understanding how it works, plus the interested ingenuity of a local.
Who’s wealthier?
___ Featured photo: my “brand new” helmet mount, which several weeks after the fix was still working perfectly well — and still is! ( Ukraine, May ’17 )
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‘ Trelograms’ is a wordplay between ‘telegram’ and ‘trélos’ (Greek for ‘mad’)
UPDATED February 23rd, 2019 — after 154 days on the road, this project “concluded” with my temporary relocation to Lviv, Ukraine. Follow the links to read the chronicles of my experience in Serbia, Romania, Ukraine, Transnistria, Moldova, back in Ukraine, Belarus, Lithuania, Russia (Kaliningrad), Poland, Sweden, Norway, back in Sweden, Denmark, one last time through Sweden, back in Poland, then finally home in Ukraine — more to come as i process it — sign up for my weekly newsletter to stay in the loop!
On April 2nd, 2017, i reassembled my cycle touring rig and left behind the lovely city and people of Niš, Serbia. My idea is to eventually reach Nordkapp, Norway via Eastern Europe and Russia.
About 25 days and 916 km later, on April 27th, i find myself in Bucharest, Romania. This has been my longest break on a tour so far, which i’ve taken to apply for a visa to Moldova, do some maintenance on myself and the rig, catch up with my writing, and along the way make some friends before throwing myself back into open water tomorrow.
Lola, mother of my friend and host Miloš in Niš — both incredibly supportive of this project (Serbia, April ’17)
outline of my intended route from Niš to Nordkapp via Serbia, Romania/Bulgaria, Moldova, Ukraine, Belarus, Russia, and Norway
the current state of development of my cycle touring rig, already some 10Kg or so lighter than when i started three weeks before (Bucharest, Romania, April ’17)
So far i’m very happy i chose this route. I’m also happy i’ve been pursuing it at such leisurely pace — although this expedition has indeed been loosely guided by this hypothetical destination all the way to the far north, it has in reality been fueled by my encounters along the way.
i first met Miloš in Lapovo, Serbia during my Copenhagen–Istanbul tour in Fall ’16 — he still works at the same gas station, and immediately recognized me — “you’re that guy from Brazil who was cycling to Istanbul, right, how was it!?” (Serbia, April ’17)
Nikola, from the tourist information center in Donji Milanovac, was very excited to meet someone from Brazil, and gave me a magnet and a souvenir bag as a gift (Serbia, April ’17)
Lucian overheard my request to pitch my tent behind a gas station, and kindly invited me to do it in his backyard instead (Drobeta-Turnu Severin, Romania, April ’17)
I expect that to remain the case for the five or six months i have left on the road.
In coming articles, i will further develop on those encounters, and how they have shattered my assumptions and prejudices — about the places i’ve visited in particular, as well as how people behave and the world works in general.
There are also a few other dimensions to this project, such as the Geocaching trackable i’m bringing with me as far north as i can, the trees i’ve been climbing along my way, my efforts to pick up some Romanian and Russian on the road, and how i’ve personally dealt with some of the challenges and practicalities of a long-term cycle tour. These will also be discussed in future articles.
For the remainder of this one, i will just briefly describe the process leading to this route to North Cape via Eastern Europe and Russia.
Waking up
On November 24th, 2016, i arrived in Istanbul by bicycle, after 62 fantastic days on the road all the way from Copenhagen, Denmark. That had been my greatest adventure so far, in a series of increasingly amazing adventures throughout the year.
my very first cycle tour in 2016 was a short and cold two-night ride from Copenhagen to Vig, to attend a zen retreat and experiment with my Winter gear (Denmark, February ’16)
in the Summer of 2016, i set the bicycle aside, put on a backpack, and spent three weeks hiking (and hitchhiking) in the Faroe Islands and Iceland — this is the approach to Aflavatn towards the end of our second day on the Laugavegur trail (Iceland)
hanging out with my host at Büyük Valide Han, Istanbul at the end of my Copenhagen–Istanbul tour (Turkey, November ’16)
It was clear what to do next — up the ante! So, i moved to Niš, Serbia, where i would brave the Winter tying up loose ends from my previous life in academia, setting up this website, and planning the next epic cycle tour.
The Silk Road Hypothesis
I’d wanted to ride to North Cape ever since my very first cycle tour, from Copenhagen to Oslo, back in Summer 2015.
when cycle touring in Denmark, you’re bound to spend much of your ride on a ferry (Udbyhøj, Summer ’16)
waiting to board the Frederikshavn–Oslo ferry — what would be the end of the line for me on that tour was barely the beginning for many other cycle travelers bound to North Cape (Denmark, Summer ’16)
But once i had reached Istanbul, the obvious follow-up was the Silk Road — in almost every regard, it would have made perfect sense to bring my bicycle back to Istanbul, spend a few more days hanging out with my Turkish friends living in the city, then resume my ride further East through Turkey, Iran, the Stans, China, hopefully my wet cycle touring dream of Mongolia, and neatly set myself up for what might eventually develop into a World tour. That prospect had a cost that i was not willing to pay at the moment though — its logistical challenges (basically, visa requirements and weather patterns) would put me on a tight schedule, and possibly cost me more money than i might have had to successfully fund the project.
According to my travel philosophy, i actually did Copenhagen–Istanbul in quite a rush already — i wanted to avoid the snow, and so had to be always on the move, declining several invitations to stay and hang out longer with my hosts along my way.
No. I wanted my next tour to be as unconstrained in that regard as it could possibly be — i wanted the freedom to stop for five nights at the same farm less than one week into the tour, as i did at Dragan and Vera’s while lending a hand to them and their workaway volunteers,
helping build frames for bee hives with Hannah, Laurien, Vera, and Danny (behind the camera) (Serbia, April ’17)
not so far from quitting this project to become a bee keeper (Serbia, April ’17)
or to stay for ten days in the same city, making friends and being silly, as i did in Bucharest.
In what other direction could i ride starting from Istanbul? — or perhaps even Niš already?
From Cape Agulhas to North Cape
The next most obvious route would have been finding my way to Egypt, possibly on a boat across the Mediterranean, then riding down along the East Coast of Africa to Cape Agulhas, the southernmost point in the continent — something along the lines of what my friend Zelda did. I wouldn’t have to worry as much about the weather, and the few visas i needed could probably be obtained more easily, would be more flexible than the visas for Central Asia, and also cost me less.
Scared (by my prejudices) to pursue that route solo, i came up with a really neat “excuse” not to do it — even if i eventually do feel ready to cross Africa alone on my bicycle, wouldn’t it be great to do that starting from Nordkapp, the northernmost point in Europe?
Yes!
How the hell would i get all the way up there though? I would not have enough time to reach North Cape and come back down before my Schengen visa expired, and i just talked about how i really didn’t want to rush on this tour!
Would it be possible to reach North Cape from outside Schengen?
So, Belarus and Brazil have just signed a mutual visa-free travel agreement for tourists!
That’s when i remembered Russia and Norway have a border crossing i’ve wanted to cross since i first noticed it several years ago, and that Brazilian citizens don’t need a visa to visit Russia as a tourist — neither do they need one for Serbia, Romania or Bulgaria, Ukraine and, as of November last year, Belarus also!
Habemus cycle tour. Apparently, constraints can sometimes be blessings — privilege is not spanned along a single dimension like much of what we read and hear about it these days seems to imply.
I’m not deluded — of course crossing those borders when i get to them might still be a challenge, or perhaps even wind up not happening at all. But these are all bridges i can worry about crossing when i get to them — my point is, at least i’d be able to plan my tour without much preemptive bureaucracy.
Indeed, with the experience and gear i had from the Copenhagen–Istanbul tour, there was very little left to be done to prepare for this one. I just had to come up with rough estimates of the distances, to make sure i could reach North Cape some time in the middle of Summer without having to rush, do a quick inventory check to figure out what i could remove from my kit to make room for my tree-climbing gear and, finally, the most important part of preparation for any cycle tour — to leave!
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Read the next article in the North Cape Hypothesis series: But Why Serbia!?
