Travelogue

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Epilogue

Ertvelde, Belgium, 30-10-2003

This is the final report of my trip. It’s a formal report to finish my website, too. Everybody knows that I’m back home now. I thought I would have had problems to adapt to a steady life again, but being back home turns out to be ok. In some regard I’ve still got a relaxed life: I don’t have a job now, although I’ve started applying. The last few weeks I’ve been busy with many things, like cleaning and storing my bicycle stuff. I brought the bike to the bike shop last week, and it’s in perfect condition now for the next trip! I had never thought that my vehicle would survive the trip anyway… I also stored about 700 photographs. Many memories came back in mind when I looked through the pile! Even in the far future I will definitely enjoy looking at photographs again and reading my diary and travel reports.

It was wonderful to see family and friends again. I wish to express how important contacts with all of you have been for me during my trip. I’ve been alone for a long time, but almost never lonely. Whenever I came across a lonely day I enjoyed your mails, letters or even presents. Thanks!

Also many thanks to all people that supported me in some way or another. Conny, Steven and Co for keeping the website up-to-date and for handling administration. Thanks to many good-hearted men and women in the countries I passed, who gave me food and drinks, provided a shelter, or just gave good advice or encouragement!

Last year I enjoyed the fantastic feeling of unlimited freedom. I’ve met interesting people and I’ve been through some exciting adventures. Sometimes I lived with a minimum of comfort, sometimes I suffered physically or mentally. But it was worth it. Financially I’ve become poorer, but in my mind I’ve become richer. I’ve made my dream come true!

Greetings, Kristof

Thailand

Report 1, Krabi, Thailand, 01-09-2003

One of my last reports comes from Krabi, South Thailand. Nothing exciting has happened since I crossed the border of Thailand. Cycling is very exhausting because of the heat, and I try not to ride more than 50 kilometres a day. I have seen nothing but straight flat roads. But the most frustrating thing is that the locals speak NO English at all. The Thai language has its own particular alphabet, impossible for a westerner to understand. Even a simple thing like ordering a meal is a challenge. A game of pictionary sometimes: a Thai guy or woman trying to guess what a hungry Belgian cyclist is signing and drawing in a little notebook. After some time I give up and just say 'kao pat', and eat fried rice for the third time in one day... The easiest thing to do when you're hungry is to choose a food stall where the food is already cooked and displayed, but then another major problem occurs. At one of my first Thai breakfasts I put some sauce over my rice to give it some taste. Eating some spoons of it burnt my throat, and tears sprang in my eyes. Thai food is so hot that it simply cannot be eaten by western people. Maybe, hopefully, it gets better towards Bangkok. Meanwhile, in my opinion, Malaysia keeps the pole position as the number one food country in Asia...

Anyway, I fled from the east coast and crossed over to the west coast of Thailand. I went two days to the island of Koh Lanta, to relax and stay in a hut at a quiet beach. It rained a lot. Apparently the west coast experiences the rainy season this time of the year. Maybe the rain and the cloudy weather will make cycling more enjoyable in this part of Thailand. I'm in a little town called Krabi now, which seems a nice place to hang out for a few days. I'll probably visit the near-by site where parts of the James Bond movie 'the man with the golden gun' were shot. It's an impressive landscape of huge limestone cliffs rising out of the Andaman Sea. The scenery can get only better from now on...

I'm healthy and I'm doing very well. However, the end of my cycling trip is getting close. More and more I'm with my head in Europe already, with friends I'm going to meet in Zurich again, and with my family that is expecting me home at the end of the year. I'm looking forward to meet you all again!

I also started to think of previous stages of my trip, of New Zealand and sometimes Australia. It seems that I'm starting to process everything I've experienced in those first months of my adventure. And even stages of my life before this trip have come back in mind again. Things that I regret, things that made me happy. But one thing is sure: this trip has learnt me a lot about other countries, about travelling, about other people and myself, about life. The decision to do this trip was certainly one of the best I've made so far.

Hope to see you all soon! Kristof.

Malaysia

Report 2, Kota Bahru, Malaysia, 19-08-2003

After a stressing day at work, don't you sometimes dream of beautiful tropical white-sand beaches, lined with sweeping coconut trees, and of a warm sea of crisp blue water? A place where you can forget about everything and spend many days sitting around, swimming, thinking, reading books? Well, that's the kind of place where I have been hanging out the last few weeks! In fact, cycling up the east coast of Malaysia, I found out that it's one of only few things to do when I'm not in the saddle. And the advantage of riding a bike is that you come where no other tourist comes, to places where no bus goes to. You're just riding in the hot afternoon, and you come across a little sign that says 'beach chalets' and suddenly, you feel a bit tired and thirsty, so you say 'what the hell' and decide to check it out. And what you find is a small cosy place to stay, a little house from where you can hear the comforting sound of the sea while lying in bed. A place where you find the most beautiful beach you've ever seen. It lies there in front of you, and there is nobody else. It's your private paradise....

Apart from spending a lot of nights in sea-side accommodation, Heske and I decided to take a 'holiday'. In my case, this also meant forgetting about my 'low-budget' travel intention. We got out our credit cards and booked a three-day island resort holiday on Pulau Redang. Pulau Redang is an island in the South China Sea, about 50 km off the coast of Malaysia. However, our world of freedom reduced suddenly to a world of tightly-held scedules, as nearly everything was organized for us in the resort! Buffet breakfast between 7.30 and 8.30, snorkel trips or jungle trekking at 10.00, lunch at 12.30, other activities at 14.00, tea time (with cake and pastries) at 16.00, and diner at 18.30. Sounds very stressful, doesn't it? But we soon managed to adapt to this new lifestyle, hopping from chalet to restaurant to beach and back to restaurant...

Especially the snorkelling was astonishing. Underneath the calm surface of the sea an incredible world opened: colourful coral, thousands of brightly-coloured fish and other marine life, including babysharks and sea turtles.

I'm spending my last few days in Malaysia now. Tomorrow I'll cross the border with Thailand. I'm really looking forward to this country, of which I have heard many positive things: a beautiful country with friendly people, and the best food of South-East Asia!

Report 1, Kuantan, Malaysia, 04-08-2003

Where was I? From Cilacap I took a train to the capital city of Indonesia: Jakarta. I find out that travelling by train is, like most other things in Indonesia, quite exciting. There was no luggage compartment on the 'bisnis' train, but the train conductor allowed me to put my bike in the wagon if I bought a double ticket. Although the train was incredibly crowded, and about five people had to make way for my bike, nobody complained. Most people were sitting or standing in the aisle. Every two minutes, vendors would make their way through the crowd, trying to sell food, drinks, cigarettes, books. Of course every one of them thought they would definitely be able to sell something to the 'orang putih' (white man) in the train, so I was quite busy saying 'tidak, terima kasih' (no thanks). At regular times beggars came by. Cripple man, blind men, old women, asking for some money. Now and then a woman appeared with a little girl. The woman carried an enormous music box. In the middle of the train compartment she would turn on loud music and the little girl would sing karaoke in a microphone. The sound was deafening, but everyone was sitting there as if nothing was happening. Meanwhile, dirt, empty drink containers and food scraps were piling up on the floor, and occasionally a little boy would sweep the garbage away with a broom, open the door of the train wagon, wipe the garbage out, and then ask the passengers for a small fee for the work done. And finally there were the illegal passengers, jumping onto the locomotive where the train had to reduce speed. While the train was riding at full speed, these guys would climb over the locomotive, force the wagon door to open it, climb over my bike, and enter the wagon. Especially the locomotive climbing looked extremely dangerous. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw one of the men climbing with a bicycle strapped to his back... So, the train ride was one loud, busy, exciting trip, but typically Indonesian. It was not to be missed!

I had heard bad stories about Jakarta, but I loved it. Filthy, loud, stinking, congested, yes. But the city had something. The village-like neighbourhoods between the skyscrapers, streets that would fill up with people eating at hundreds of cheap food stalls, the bike-riding in the incredible traffic chaos. I saw the splendid Sunda Kelapa Harbour, where tropical hardwood was being unloaded from beautiful 'schooner' ships by thousands of workmen, I saw beautiful Dutch colonial buildings a short distance away from awful housing blocks. Jakarta is a city of contrasts...

I left Jakarta by boat and arrived 28 hours later in Singapore. The contrast with Jakarta couldn't be bigger. Clean roads, beautiful buildings, parks, modern shopping centres, smooth and ultra-modern public transport. But a lot less friendliness compared to Indonesia! I met my friend Heske again, and we stayed a few days in Singapore. After that, we left the small country. And now I say...

Hello from Malaysia! I'm in Kuantan, at the east coast about half way between Singapore and Thailand, in what seems to be the most conservative Muslim city of the country. Foreigners are really stared at here! Especially Heske draws a lot of attention, with her bright green eyes and cycling with her lower arms and legs uncovered. The looks she gets vary from lustful to hostile. The fact that Muslim women have to cover up completely is one of the rules here. Other rules are less obvious. For instance, there are places where it is considered improper behaviour when a man talks to a woman or a woman to a man. We just don't know yet when or where the rule really applies. We figured out that in hotel receptions it does mostly not matter, but in a local restaurant it could just happen that a Muslim woman starts a conversation with Heske, inquiring about our travelling, and ignore me totally, not even give me a look.

We have been travelling for ten days in Malaysia now. I find cycling extremely difficult by times, as the climate is hot and extremely humid, which is very uncomfortable (Malaysia is very close to the equator). We have slept in air-conditioned rooms every night. We're following a road along the east coast of the country. The road is flat, straight, very boring and carries sometimes a lot of traffic. On the other hand, the food is the best of what we've eaten so far. Most places to eat offer a wide variety of rice, noodles, vegetables, meat, seafood and sauces of excellent quality for a ridiculously low price. We can choose from a big number of trays with different foods and pile it all on our plates!

Due to the climate we take it easy and take enough time to relax. A few days ago we were practically the only guests in a very nice beach resort hotel, where we slept, swam, sat at the beach and did nothing! Many European tourists pay a lot of money to come here for a couple of weeks, so why wouldn't we spend a few days if we're passing by anyway?

Indonesia

Report 6, Cilacap, West-Java, 11-07-2003

After five relaxing weeks with Heske - we turned out to be excellent travel companions and become good friends - I left Bali for Java, the next island on my trip through Indonesia. Cycling in Java is an experience on its own. The island has 100 million inhabitants and is one of the most densely-populated islands in the world. The traffic is horrendous. The first days I cycled along a road that seemed to carry a continuous row of busses, trucks, cars and motorcycles. At the end of the day the water I used to wash myself and my clothes turned dark black of the exhaust fumes. The traffic looks chaotic and extremely dangerous, but manoeuvres are in fact pretty well calculated.

For instance, a bus or truck driver coming from the other side will not wait until I have passed to overtake another vehicle. Many times I see two colossal busses coming towards me, next to each other at great speed, the one overtaking the other. In the last instance, when I fear that a deadly collision will be inevitable so I get ready to turn the handlebars and duck into the ditch, the overtaking bus will move closer to the bus being overtaken, leaving me -exactly- enough space (typically a few centimetres) to go through. The close passing is accompanied by a wind blast which brings me almost to a stop, and by a black fume of diesel exhaust gas, also blasting into my face; I hold my breath. Sometimes however there's just not the space for such a manoeuvre. In that case the overtaking bus will furiously honk at me and flash its lights, so at least I know I have to go off the road in order to survive.

This is just one of many examples of the traffic situation. Other examples include: the total neglect of traffic lights, suicide-like overtakings in road bends, overtaking at the left-hand or right-hand side, depending on where there is more space to make the manoeuvre. But believe it or not, there is a system in the apparently chaotic traffic. I'm quite used to it now, and I even enjoy taking part in it! I feel much safer here than in any big city or on any highway in Australia or Europe. Drunk drivers are nonexistent in Indonesia. Also, the drivers are very aware of any people or objects moving with different speeds on the road. The highways I ride along are also used by other cyclists, food sellers with little carts they push along, elderly people, playing children, and all kinds of animals.

Another consequence of the enormous population density is that the bigger cities are crowded, loud, dusty and simply filthy. I had to stay a few times in such places, to break an otherwise too long cycling distance. Mostly the better hotels were full and I had to take a room in some cheap place with filthy rooms occupied by thousands of mosquitoes. I was also being hassled by prostitutes because a single man occupying a room in these kind of places automatically means he's asking for some 'service'.

But Java has another side as well. It is an island with exceptionally beautiful scenery. Up high on the vulcanic plateaus I could escape from the heat and humid of the coastal plains. I visited Mount Bromo, a top tourist attraction in Indonesia, to see the sunrise over the volcano and the impressive surrounding lava sand plain. Two thousand metres above sea level, I felt like in an alpine village on a sunny autumn day: the thin air, the coolness, the soft warmth of the sun; I found it extremely pleasant. The indonesians living there however are not genetically adapted (yet) to the mountain climate: all day long they were dressed in coats and wearing caps, complaining it was chilly! The westerners just moved around in T-shirt and shorts... Coming down from Bromo to the coast, a heat wave struck me, and I was remembered that I am not genetically adapted to the common tropical climate!

Another impressive sight was Kawah Ijen, a turquoise lake in the crater of an active volcano. I saw workers bringing up sulphur deposits from the lake to the crater rim, a tremendous heavy work for which they earn little money (hence I had no problems paying them to take photos of them). The place was very striking for me as well because I had seen images of the workers in an excellent documentary about the American war photographer James Nachtwey, a year ago in Zuerich.

From Yogyakarta I headed down to the south coast of Java. It turned out to be an excellent decision. Along the coastal road I would see only bicycles and a few motorcycles! The road was shady and for several days I enjoyed a fierce see breeze pushing me to the west, and cooling me down in the heat of the day! I am in a place called Cilacap now, which is a nice town because it hasn't got any through traffic. I met a guy from the tourist office here, and tomorrow we're going for a game of badminton.

And after that I'm making an end to my travelling in Indonesia. I'm taking a train to Jakarta (experiencing the most filthy, stinking city of Indonesia!) and catching a ferry to Singapore. Heske will be waiting for me there, and together we'll cover the last leg of our common journey: cycling along the east coast of Malaysia to the border of Thailand. A few hundred kilometres will then separate us from the end of our respective trips: Bangkok!

Report 5, Bali, 17-06-2003

E-mail communication is nice if everything is working smoothly. Writing his latest report - in English - Kristof had to cope some computer problems. He lost his report and decided not to write it over again, but copied the report of his travel companion at Bali, the Dutch Heske. Here it comes:

Voordat de vakantiedrukte aanbreekt een berichtje van Bali. Ik vind het hartstikke leuk op Bali en heb zoveel indrukken opgedaan dat ik eigenlijk niet weet waar ik moet beginnen... Inmiddels ben ik alweer 4 weken op Bali en heb toch alweer bijna 500 km gefietst. Dat is inderdaad erg weinig maar dat komt omdat Bali een uitstekend vakantie/relaxland is en dat heb ik dan ook maar eens gedaan. Fietsen hier vind ik vrij zwaar vanwege de steile hellingen en de warmte. In feite is Bali een klein eiland wat uit een aantal vulkaantoppen bestaat die uit de zee omhoog rijzen. Om de inwendige mens te voorzien zijn er gelukkig overal langs de weg winkeltjes waar je eten, drinken, wc-papier ed. kunt kopen. Wat mij erg verbaast is waar deze mensen van leven, er is namelijk nooit iemand anders die iets koopt en er is veel te veel aanbod. En wonder boven wonder is de houdbaarheidsdatum van de limonadeflesjes meestal nog niet verstreken. (Bij pakken koekjes is dat soms de reden waarom je nu weer die koekjes eet met rozencrème erop.) 's Nachts worden de koopwaar afgedekt met een kleed en dan is er weer een dag.

De Balinezen zijn hele vrolijke en vriendelijke mensen. Zelfs nu het toerisme enorm is verminderd blijven ze even vriendelijk. Natuurlijk proberen ze hun sarongs, beeldjes, massages, transport ed. voor een 'special price' te verkopen aan de toeristen. Wat ik wel heel leuk vind is dat ze er zelf mee kunnen lachen. Ze zien gewoon als je denkt 'Oh nee, niet weer een sarong/beeldje/...'. Het leukste vind ik de mannetjes die transport aanbieden; zij maken er ook de beweging bij van een auto besturen. Net of wij niet weten wat een taxi is. Ze zijn ook dol op onderhandelen, voelen zich zelfs beledigd als je direct de prijs aanvaardt. Kristof blijkt een goede onderhandelaar te zijn gewoonweg omdat z'n net afgestudeerde budget het niet toelaat om toe te geven bij een hogere prijs. Houden we meer geld over voor een nasi goreng en een bananenpannenkoek toe. Eten is hier trouwens echt genieten! En Bali had voor mij een ongewone verrassing in petto: lekkere koffie! Na NZ en AUS is dat echt een geluk. Ubud is de plaats waar alle kunst te koop is. Het is ook nog eens de leukste plaats van Bali naar mijn idee. Het is er gezellig en de omgeving is erg mooi. Binnen 100 meter loop je midden tussen de rijstvelden. De mensen die op de rijstvelden werken bieden aan om een verse kokosnoot voor je te plukken en open te snijden. Lekker hoor! Jammer dat ik niet kan tekenen in hotmail anders kon ik een tekeningetje maken van hoe ze dat doen. Ze snijden een stuk eruit en maken van een stukje bast een drinktuit en dan later van een ander stukje bast een lepel om het vlees uit te lepelen. Op het moment dat wij in Ubud waren zou er een crematie zijn van iemand uit de hoogste kaste. De man van onze homestay zei steeds: 'You're very lucky! Big ceremonie! Only sometimes.' Hoe vaak zo'n ceremonie voorkomt is niet helemaal duidelijk geworden. De een zegt elke 10 jaar terwijl de ander zegt dat het elke 2 jaar gebeurt. De voorbereidingen voor deze ceremonie duren zeker een maand. Het lichaam wordt met formaldehide(? ben de juiste naam vergeten) ingespoten. Er worden een toren en een stier gebouwd van bamboe. Zowel de toren als de stier zijn enorm mooi versierd met bladgoud. En natuurlijk wordt er voor de familie uitgebreid gekookt. Tijdens de ceremonie wordt het lichaam in de toren vervoerd naar de tempel. De stier wordt ook door honderd mannen gedragen naar de tempel. (Om overal met de toren langs te kunnen zijn er electriciteitskabels losgemaakt zodat heel Ubud voor enkele uren zonder electra zit.) Bij de tempel wordt het lichaam overgedragen naar de stier. Dan worden zowel de toren als de stier in brand gestoken. Na een tijdje toen de stier bijna verbrand was kon je het lichaam zo zien. Dat vond ik wel een macaber gezicht. Mensen die niet zoveel geld hebben om een ceremonie te betalen worden na hun dood tijdelijk begraven. Meestal wordt na een bepaalde tijd (dat kan 5 jaar zijn) een collectieve ceremonie gehouden voor alle overledenen van de afgelopen tijd. De lichamen worden dan alsnog verbrand zodat de ziel weer geboren kan worden. (Hindoes) Voor hindoestanen is de crematie de belangrijkste ceremonie. Morgen is er op heel Bali een belangrijke ceremonie. Die is elke 7 maanden en vergelijkbaar met ons kerstfeest. Wat ze precies voor ceremonie hebben is me niet duidelijk geworden maar wel dat het een erg groot feest zal zijn. De afgelopen week was de opwinding voor het aanstaande feest al goed merkbaar. Overal werden minstens 10 meter lange bamboestokken vervoerd op scootertjes en grote vliegers. De bananen zijn uitverkocht en morgen is alles gesloten. Zelfs vandaag is er bijna niets open. Wat me opgevallen is aan de Balinezen is dat ze enorm goed zijn in wie wie is en dat ze uitstekend lichaamstaal verstaan. Voordat je denkt dat je wel zin hebt in water bieden ze je al water aan. Wat ze niet goed kunnen is kaartlezen en rekenen/schatten. De weg vragen is dan ook een ramp. Ze kunnen meestal niet op de kaart aanwijzen en de afstand die het nog zou zijn tot het volgende dorp blijft meestal ook een raadsel tot je er bent. Ze weten wel hoe lang het duurt met de scooter en dat je resp. links, rechts of rechtdoor moet. Bij de volgende kruising nog maar eens vragen...

Over enkele dagen gaat Kristof verder fietsen naar Java en Sumatra. Ik blijf op Bali omdat ik het genoegen heb dat m'n moeder me komt bezoeken voor enkele weken. Maar zeker en vast wil ik jullie de dingen die ik over België heb geleerd niet onthouden: Het is overbodig om te vragen of een Belg een frituurpan heeft, Belgische fietspompen zijn beter dan de Nderlandse en Loempia is de afkorting voor 'Lijden Onder Endeldarm Microben=Plankgas In 't Achtergat'.

Report 4, Ubud, Bali, 31-05-2003

Aaaah, Bali! I couldn't believe my eyes as I got off the ferry that had just arrived at the little port of Padangbai in Bali. In one afternoon I saw more than 10 western people, more than I had seen the last four weeks! There were bars where you could drink cappuccino, restaurants where you could eat French fries and drink an ice-cold coca-cola. There were Indonesians asking 'transport? Taxi?' as I passed by, funnily moving their hands as if they were turning the steering wheel. For some time I couldn't believe I was in Indonesia anymore. But I was. I was in Bali, the top tourist spot of Indonesia!

In Padangbai I met up with Heske, who had come from Kuta. She had already rented a room for the two of us. We relaxed a bit, put her bicycle together, and went out in the evening to have some dinner. Padangbai has some nice bars and restaurants lined up along the waterfront of the beautiful little bay, but many of them were empty. In some of them a single tourist or a single couple were sitting, looking a bit lost, sipping their cocktails. We saw what the Bali Bomb had done to tourism. At every restaurant waitresses were inviting us to have a look at the menu. We made a choice and ate delicious grilled fish, and had dessert and coffee. As you will read further on, this was just the beginning of our luxury holiday in Bali...

The next day we cycled up along the slopes of the mighty Gunung Agung volcano, through beautiful rice paddies, on our way to the holiest temple of Bali, Pura Besakih. The overwhelming majority of the Balinese are Hindu, and everywhere along the road people put little offerings (mostly a small banana leaf with some rice and flowers on it) for the gods. Each house has a shrine, and doors, temples and road bridges have statues aside of them to keep out evil spirits. Beautiful house and temple decorations, woodcarvings and statues are found everywhere you look. Balinese people are used to make beautifully decorated things without the purpose of creating 'art'. In fact, Balinese language has no equivalent for the word 'art'...

We found ourselves amid of some of the most spectacular rice field landscapes of Indonesia when we decided to look for some accommodation. We ended up in a building where westerners come to spend a few weeks or months in a meditation group. The accommodation was ridiculously expensive to Indonesian standards, but worth the money! We were offered a delicious and abundant evening meal and western breakfast.

>From there we rode on to the holiest temple of Bali, high on the slopes of the Agung volcano. In the village of Besakih we stayed with a friendly young man who would arrange 'a special price' if we would have lunch in a luxurious restaurant where a family member of his worked. We were the only tourists in the village and the only customers in the restaurant. Indeed we got a good price offer for the five-course meal, but we were able to bargain the price further down to a level of which we thought that it was ridiculously low. We had spring rolls, noodle soup, sate with rice, tempe and vegetables, banana pancake and tea and coffee. Price: 3.5 Euro for two persons...

Next we climbed to Gunung Batur, a volcano cone amid an enormous crater, partially filled by a lake. We relaxed in a village along the lake, ate in a fantastic restaurant and climbed the crater rim early in the morning to see sunrise.

And now we are in Ubud, one of the cultural centres of Bali. Ubud is really a nice little place to stay and hang out for a few days, and that's what we are doing. We went to see a traditional Balinese dance (Kecak, based on the holy Hindu Ramayana story), we walked through the rice paddies where we drank coconut milk (freshly picked by a man who quickly climbed into a tree to pick some), and we ate delicious and cheap food in several restaurants. This morning we saw a traditional funeral, a highlight of our stay. One hundred men carried an enormous tower, which contained the body, through town. Thousands of Indonesians and tourists were following the procession. Their was loud music everywhere. Finally, having reached the temple, the body was put into a giant artificial bull and everything was burnt.

Time is urging again, as Heske is waiting for me to have dinner, and afterwards we will have a Balinese massage to finish our relaxing stay in Ubud in an appropriate way. Tomorrow we go back into the Balinese mountains!

Report 3, Sumbawa Besar, Sumbawa, 17-05-2003

From lively Kupang I caught a night ferry to Ende on the island of Flores. I used Ende as a base to make a side trip to one of the best-known attractions of Nusa Tenggara (the eastern Indonesian islands), namely the spectacular tree-coloured crater lakes of the Kelimutu volcano. The trip from Ende to the base of Kelimutu was a 50 km ride along a steep, narrow, winding mountain road, exaggeratedly called the 'Trans Flores Highway'. Although Flores is only 375 km long, this narrow and sometimes very bad road winds its way through the mountainous terrain of Flores over a distance of ... 700 km. There is not one straight stretch of road along the way. I think coping with this road in a bus must drive one crazy, but it is a dream for the (die hard) cyclist! 'Die hard', because the road is often very steep and parts had been washed away by mud floods caused by continuous rainfall some months ago, and once and a while I had to make my way slowly through rocky river beds. But the scenery was simply stunning. High coconut trees, elegantly waving their leaves in the wind in a blinding sunlight, on a backdrop of fantastic mountain scenery, provided one of the most dramatic views I've ever seen. Much of this made up for the fact that on the next morning, on the top of the Kelimutu volcano, I could see nothing but fog, instead of a brilliant sunrise and blue, green and black crater lakes...

Back in my hotel in Ende I enjoyed an afternoon of drinking fresh pineapple, orange, banana and avocado juice. The next day I set off due west, along the Trans Flores Highway. More steep mountain roads, crowded buses occasionally passing by and fantastic scenery. The last day on Flores I rode 137 km in one day of insane bicycle addiction. After 70 km I had lunch (two portions of rice with 'sate' and vegetables) in a small restaurant along the way. One of the waitresses had a crush on me, I was told by an Indonesian guy who had introduced himself to me. Unfortunately, the girl was not as handsome as her model-like colleague, so I made my way back to my bike, even though the guy tried to convince me to ask her out (in fact, I already have several addresses of Indonesian girls, all of them hoping for a marriage with a 'rich' westerner I think). With a full stomach I started off for the second part of the trip. In the enormous heat of the early afternoon I rode through a vast plain of rice fields. People were burning crop leftovers at regular distances along the straight road. A fierce wind came from the side, blowing the smoke over the road. Through these clouds of smoke I saw a convoy of buses coming towards me. The air trembled in the heat, and the image of the buses, loaded with people - they sat on the roof, hung on frameworks at the side and at the back - was like a hallucination, seen through the smoke of the fires...

Riding this 137 ride was an act of self-destruction. I reached the hotel in Labuhan Bajo at dark. I took a bath, showered, ate and fell asleep. The next morning I met four Dutch people in the hotel and they invited me to go with them for a day of relaxing. I didn't refuse! In a chartered boat we went off, through the picturesque harbour of Labuhan Bajo with its many catamaran fishing boats, to a deserted island. Everything was catered for: on the white sand beach we had a delicious lunch. After a good siesta we went off into the sea. The most brilliant part of the day was when I was first introduced to snorkelling! Under the water surface a whole new world opened to me. I saw amazing coral reefs and tropical fish in rainbow colours surrounded me. It was a fantastic experience, and I will definitely snorkel again in the future!

In the evening I felt sick. I was exhausted after the last few days. I was dyhrated and suffered from light diarrhoea.

Everything is much better now. I am healthy again, and riding in Sumbawa. Last night, not finding a hotel by sunset, I had the pleasure to be invited by a family in a small village. According to local custom, we sat on a mat on the floor to eat. Cutlery was not provided. In Sumbawa people eat with their hands (the right hand of course, the left one is used for cleaning operations after a visit to the bathroom!). It was a nice experience, and 'in return' for the invitation, I took some photographs of the family, which I promised to send to them once the film is developed.

And now I'm making my way to Bali (I'm almost smelling the tourists from here). In Kuta I meet Heske, a Dutch girl I spent a few days in Christchurch with. She flies over from Australia. We will see how we get along, cycling together through Bali and Java!

Report 2, Kupang, West Timor, 02-05-2003

The last two days have been one big hallucination.During the day I don't feel any side effects of the anti malaria tablets I'm taking, but at night I am suffering from bad dreams. Concordes crashing on tarmacs, whirlpools, people descending endless stairs, you name it and I dream it. It is not too bad though and I still feel fit during the day. I will continue taking the pills as malaria is present in Indonesia.

During the day, I experience another kind of hallucination, a very natural one, one that is linked with the fact that I am riding through one of the most marvellous countries in the world: Indonesia. I reached Kupang yesterday evening after a 110 km ride from the mountain village of Soe. The ride into the first big city in Indonesia was indeed hallucinating. As the sun was setting it was very crowded on the streets and so much was happening that I could hardly register it anymore. I saw endless rows of market stalls, women carrying loads on their heads, men in sarongs pushing carriages, there were animals on the road. I heard endlessly 'hello mister', 'where are you going', 'good afternoon' and the occasional 'I love you'. I heard the 'imam' from the mosque calling for prayer. I heard the heavy beats of the countless bemos, the little vans which make up the public transport in Indonesia, and which are sometimes decorated in the most fantastic ways. I smelt the food from the food stalls and the smoke. I felt the first freshness after a long hot day. There was life everywhere. I was exhausted but all of it would blind my senses and would push me forward, the last few kilometres into the centre of Kupang.

Kupang is indeed a very lively city. I found a good hotel and started indulging food. The variety is high, the price is low. I can eat what I want and how much I want without having to worry about money. An enormous plate of rice, noodles, fresh fish, prawns, vegetables, together with a big glass of fresh avocado drink for less than 1 Euro. Indonesia is the wet dream for the (hungry) cyclist. I eat rice three times a day. Nasi goreng (fried rice and vegetables) for breakfast, of course with one of the best coffees in the world, nasi ayam (rice and chicken) for lunch, and rice with a bit of everything in the evening. I go to the local food places, called warungs. These are basic rooms with bare walls and plastic chairs and with a table on which there is a variety of food. You just pick what you want and you get it on your plate, all of it for a ridiculous price...

The landscapes and the food are brilliant, but the most splendid thing about Indonesia is the people. The Indonesians are the most friendly and hospital people I have ever seen!

I have been four days in Indonesia, but I know now already that the 60 days I've got won't be enough to experience the full 'grandeur' of this fantastic country.

Report 1, Atambua, West Timor, Indonesia, 28-04-2003

'HELLO MISTER! Where are you going? What is your name? Where you from?' These are the phrases shouted in your ears by each one of the 250 million Indonesian people. After a tiring day of riding I really feel like hitting the 368th guy who tries his luck with the foreigner on the bicycle. But in Indonesia you don't show your emotions - by getting angry I would make a fool of myself - and so I sigh, say 'hello' and ride on. Apart from the 'hello mister' there are the hundreds of motorcycles, buses and taxis honking at me for a reason I still don't understand. But there's a lot I don't understand about Indonesia. This is Asia, not Western Europe. It's just different. But I have the next two months to learn!

I entered Indonesia yesterday after 10 days riding through East Timor, the youngest country in the world. The story of East Timor is a tragic one. East Timor got independent four years ago, after 25 years of Indonesian occupation. During this time, the Indonesians committed many atrocities, tortured opponents of the regime and burnt down houses. There is still a large UN force in the country and the situation is quiet now. On my way through the country I have seen the enormous devastations, many graves and other proof of the Indonesian terror. Even more sad is the fact that the world has not reacted until the massacres in 1999 after the independency referendum. To give you an idea: the United States had an interest in the regime of Indonesia, which was opening for western companies and Australia 'recognized' East Timor as an Indonesian province which was in their interest because of the oil fields around Timor. And without much proud I say that of the thens of thousands of East Timorese casualties many were killed by weapons made by F.N., a Belgian company... I spent a whole afternoon in Darwin reading about the East Timor history and I have to say that I got out of the internet cafe with the feeling that the world is unjust and history repeating itself indeed.

But somehow, the people try to forget (and forgive?) and I found it unbelievable how friendly they were towards me. These people have absolutely nothing - they live in huts made of natural materials - but they are happy. They smile and laugh. I will never forget how the children in the villages would run towards me and help me push my bike up the hill. It was an explosion of life and joy...

My intention was to go around East Timor, but after 250 kilometers I found my way blocked by steep mountain roads in a terrible condition and by a flooded river with crocodiles. I had to backtrack all the way to Dili. I did this in a small bus. Taking the bike was no problem. The so-called 'mikrolets' transport everything: people, bags of rice, goats, chicken, you can't think of it or it will find a place in the bus!

And now I'm in Indonesia. Not much changed after crossing the border. The people are just shouting louder, there are motorcycles everywhere, and it's a lot cheaper here. I have (and have had) big problems communicating. Few people understand English and even the simplest things - asking for directions or ordering a meal - are not that easy anymore. I bought myself a pocket dictionary and hope to learn a little bit of 'bahasa Indonesia' the following days...

Australia

Report 7, Darwin, 14-04-2003

Sweat is running down my back as I have probably chosen the only non-airconditioned computer room in Darwin to write my emails. At least I understand now why they only charged me 4 dollars an hour. On my way to Darwin, feeling the increasing humidity day after day, I thought I would acclimatize after a few days. But I know better now. By my opinion there are two ways to cope with the tropical weather in the Top End of Australia. Either you do as the locals, and you run from your air-conditioned car to the air-conditioned supermarket and back, and from your car to your air-conditioned house. Or, you do like me and probably some hundreds of millions of Asians who don't have the luxury of air-conditioning, and you accept the climatological circumstances, and you keep calm, or try to keep calm at least. In fact, this is most probably the reason why there is no traffic aggression in Asian countries (as an English man told me after he was honked at by an impatient car driver in a street of Darwin, while he was riding in the middle of the street). It is just too hot to get angry. You just don't bother.

The ride from Alice Springs to Darwin was long and boring after a few days. I started an hour before sunrise every day, riding under a spectacular sky with stars, fixing the eye (and my head torch) on the thin white line at the border of the infinitely long Stuart Highway. The landscape was dead flat, as I hoped it to be, and the few small hills that would rise a few meters above the bush line would reveal spectacular sights. I once stood at the top of such a small hill at the moment of sunrise. At the far horizon I saw a range of hills, and I felt like I was standing on the edge of a giant meteorite crater, and the immense basin filled with the red morning light. Not a thing was to be heard, and I felt like I was the only human being on a deserted planet. This unbelievable feeling was why I had come to the outback of Australia.

As I wrote some weeks ago, the road would be flat and straight as far as the eye could reach. As it got later and later in the morning, the temperature would rise, the sun would start to burn. After a few days I got difficulties to cope with these circumstances. The distances, the landscapes that wouldn't change, the heat; it drove me sometimes insane. I had to concentrate to keep drinking, but the water got so disgustingly warm that I could hardly swallow it anymore.

I rode long distances. Eventually I rode 1230 kilometres in 15 days. Another 270 kilometres I got a lift from a friendly roadhouse owner. I needed the lift to get in Darwin on time, as my visum would expire soon. The last few days were really hardcore. Not only because of the saddle pain, but also mostly because of the increase in humidity towards the north. In the evening it was really bad and I couldn't sleep for hours as I was sweating in the tent. But I made it after all, and I'm enjoying the luxury of an air-conditioned room in a hostel...

I did the last preparations for the next big step of my trip: South-East Asia. I have heard incredible stories about Indonesia, about the friendly laughing people, the good food, the marvellous volcanic landscapes, the temples and the rice fields. And about the Asian way of life, both relaxed and chaotic. I'm flying out to Dili, East-Timor on Wednesday!

Report 6, Alice Springs, 29-03-2003

Finally, I got there, to the famous and infamous Australian 'Outback'. Steel blue skies and endless landscapes bathing in a light so bright that you seriously consider buying the type of goggles scientists use watching nuclear explosions. The outback is a lot of red sand and dust, sticking in your sweat. And flies, terrible little bastard flies trying to get in your mouth, in your nose, in your ears. If the heat doesn't drive you insane, the flies will. Or maybe the roads. Sometimes the road is a straight line as far as the eye can reach. You drive and drive and drive for hours without seeing anything for a change. Even a car coming from the other direction is an excitement. First you notice a mere reflection of the sun at the horizon, later you see a small moving dot, and that's enough to sit upright, grab the steering wheel firmly and wait in full excitement for the encounter with the other car. At the moment of passing the other driver lifts the finger from the steering wheel to greet. This is the welcome acknowledgment that you're alive and actually driving a car. And the next thing you see is the same road again that you've been looking at for hours. As you understand, the outback is the ideal place for cycling.

In Adelaide, I took a train to Alice Springs in the centre of Australia. I had booked a 3-day tour that would bring me to the sightseeings around Alice. Suddenly I found myself in a minibus with about 20 other people, heading for one of the most famous icons of Australia, Ayers Rock. Ayers Rock (Uluru in aboriginal language) is a giant monolith in the middle of the outback. It's a big red rock, but quite impressive. And it's also one of the most touristy places I've ever seen. At sunset we would drive to a special sunset area, where another 20 or 30 buses were parked. Japanese tourists would stand there behind a fence, with a glass of champagne in their hands, watching the colour change of Ayers Rock as the sun went down. I saw one waiter, standing behind a table with glasses of wine, completely dressed up, and with a fly net over his head. It just looked ridiculous. And it was more ridiculous as it was cloudy at the moment, and I realized that a lot of people, including me, were paying a lot of money to see a rock turn dark without any spectacular colour effects...

Apart from Uluru, we saw other impressive rock formations like the Olga's and Kings Canyon. We slept in swags (a mattress and cover for a sleeping bag) under the stars. We would get up in the morning, severely attacked by mosquitoes in the night, and we were glad the daylight had arrived. But a few minutes after sunrise the flies would come again, and drive us insane for another whole day... But in the end, it was quite a good trip I have to say.

But now it's time to cycle again! Tomorrow I'm off to Darwin. I'm not really on schedule and have to ride the 1500 kilometres in about 18 days. The first day is the worst: 133 kilometres to the first roadhouse. Well, I just take 14 litres of water and see how it goes...

Next report from Darwin, if I make it...

Report 5, Bordertown, 17-03-2003

I am in Bordertown, a small eeh... border town, in South Australia, the driest state of the driest country in the world. At the moment it's 35 degrees outside. I'm in an air-conditioned library with free internet for the moment, but when I'm finished and I get out of this building I will be struck by a wave of hot air, which will make me think of just one thing: get to the campground as quickly as possible and lay down on the dry grass under a tree and try not to move too much and try to think about something else but the fluid butter that I will pour on my dry sandwiches tonight. Despite the high temperatures, I still suffer a bit of a cold I got in Melbourne. I still have a running nose, and I think it's better to rest for a day or two before heading on to Adelaide. I'm looking forward very much to seeing an old cycle companion from New Zealand, Jeremia, with whom I cycled for some weeks on the South Island and with whom I had a brilliant time. He's coming from Adelaide and will reach Bordertown tonight. As we were used to do in New Zealand, we will indulge in large amounts of pasta and vegetables, and a kilo of cookies will disappear afterwards while catching up with the last few months.

Leaving Melbourne some 10 days ago, I headed for the famous Great Ocean Road. This is an approximately 400 km long coastal road built by soldiers coming back from World War I to provide them with work. The road was beautiful indeed, but I was a little bit disappointed by the large amounts of (tourist) traffic passing by. The fact that it is very touristy could be seen at the camping prices as well. I decided not to spend AU$18 just for a tent site, and I wild-camped all the way, except for the Otway Ranges, where I found a cosy (and cheap) campground, where I saw the first koalas in the wild! Koalas actually sleep for 23 hours a day, and when they are awake they feed exclusively on the leaves of a eucalypt tree. From then on I knew that I wanted to be a koala in my next life: eat and breed, and sleep for most of the time. What a life! (But I'm not complaining now either)

In Warrnambool, at the end of the Great Ocean Road, I met some German cyclists at the campground, and I spent two nice days with those people, and again I learnt a lot about different aspects of cycling, especially about emergency repairs, and cycling through the middle-east (if I'll ever get there some time). I learn and have learned a lot on this bicycle tour (and not only about cycling). I heavily depend on my bike of course, and it needs to be checked from time to time, and repairs have to be done. Still I'm surprised that it's still in such a good shape after 5 months of intensive travelling!

I left the coast from there and headed inland towards a beautiful mountain range called the Grampians, where I met Marc, a Dutch cyclist I had met before in New Zealand. The world is small indeed! We did a day walk in the Grampians and decided to cycle together for a few days. And we did well; we covered about 300 km in three days, mostly along flat straight roads through farming landscape that doesn't seem to change. Each morning we were woken up by the loud noise of the cacatoos (beautiful white parrots) and we enjoyed the Australian wildlife: kangaroos, emus, thousands of exotic birds. The wildlife is really extraordinary here in Australia...

Report 4, Melbourne, 02-03-2003

Yesterday I left Tasmania to head back for Melbourne. Here I have to wait for a couple of days for my fuel stove to be repaired. The burner of the stove snapped off from the frame, and each time I had to cook I had to watch out not to hit it by accident, causing the burner to jump out and cause some 3rd degree burn wounds to a retired camper standing aside, interestedly looking how I cook my pasta on a fascinating piece of technique. I have met a lot of retired campers in Tasmania, people who travel around with their 4-wheel-drive jeeps, caravans loaded with bicycles and boats, or getting around with campervans. Some people actually say to me: "wow you're carrying a lot of gear", obviously not realizing that they're dragging houses on wheels over Tasmania's steep hills at an alarming fuel consumption rate. It makes me feel a bit weary. But then again, those people are very friendly and show a lot of interest in what I'm doing (and I get lots of beer and barbecue leftovers from them). They probably try to find out what would drive a young man so crazy to travel on a 'pushbike' as they call bicycles here. The word 'pushbike' by the way illustrates perfectly the mentality of Australians towards bicycles; you have to 'push' them, which means a considerable amount of effort, and why the hell would you do that if you can get a car or a motorbike? Anyway, I shouldn't criticize the motor fanatics too much. They're the ones paying taxes for the roads I ride my bike on.

After having ridden the beautiful west coast I crossed the state to Hobart, the capital city of Tasmania. The most of the ride would be long, rainy, cold and lonely. It was the middle of summer, but I would ride even with gloves and a cap on. One night, in Lake St. Clair at an altitude of above 700 metres, I almost froze because I hadn't aired my sleeping bag well enough. When I reached Mt Field National Park, two days before Hobart, the weather improved and the sun came through again. I spent a relaxing day at Mt Field on a beautiful campground. I did some walks, one of which would lead me through a forest of swamp gum trees. The swamp gum, or 'eucalyptus regnant' is a kind of eucalypt tree that takes giant proportions. They are the largest trees on earth next to the sequoias in California. I was impressed walking between trees that were around 60 to 70 metres high! If only my father could have seen it, he would have said: 'doarmee zeuk mijn outvuur wel goe keun stookn in de winter' (Dutch dialect for 'with that amount of wood I could really feed my stove for the winter'.

Hobart was a nice little city on the banks of the Derwent River, and one of the oldest cities in Australia, the second oldest I think next to Sydney. >From a cyclist's point of view, a thing that really made me enthusiastic about Hobart was the fact that I encountered a real cycle path along a railway line into the centre of the city! It was an inter-suburb cycleway exaggeratedly described as an 'intercity cycleway' on the signs along the way. I didn't really mind. On the campground I met an English cyclist and yoga-teacher, with whom I had a beer and enjoyed the delights of a city (watching pretty and attractively-dressed girls walk by at Salamanca place). I think that was the least we deserved after spending a whole lot of time in the wilderness.

>From Hobart I rode to Port Arthur situated on the fantastic Arthur Peninsula. The ride out of Hobart was quite thrilling at one moment where I had to cross some freeway lanes, with cars crossing at 100 km/h, and me riding at 65 km/h on the steep downhill. It was not really a granny ride. But Port Arthur was worthwhile visiting. Between 1830 and 1862 Port Arthur was a penal settlement for convicts who committed crimes in the colonies. They were imprisoned there and had to work in the timber and mining industries. The only way to escape from the peninsula was over a small land bridge called Eaglehawk Neck, which connects the peninsula with the rest of the Tasmanian island. Eaglehawk Neck is only about 100 metres wide, and a line of ferocious dogs used to guard the small stretch of land so that no convict could escape from the peninsula. The whole place looked quite impressive. And the peninsula's coastline was breathtakingly beautiful. Some stretches of coastline would consist of huge dolerite cliffs rising 300 metres straight out of the sea! Just the view of this from the sea must have had an enormously disencouraging effect on the convicts who were being deported by ship to Port Arthur. They didn't stand a chance. This was the ideal imprisonment location.

I cycled up the east coast, passing through wonderful little coast villages: Swansea, Bicheno, St Helens. I took it a bit easier after the last strenuous weeks. I would sit back in the late afternoon at the beach, have a coffee in the local bakery, read a book, see penguins coming ashore at dusk, and answer a lot of questions asked by retired campers...

And here I am in Melbourne again. The bicycle needs some repairing again after the flight back from Launceston to Melbourne. The rear wheel isn't balanced anymore and the front derailleur was hit as well. I think I can fix that. I have to prepare my outback odyssey, mount extra water carriers on the bike, get some appropriate sun-protective clothing, arrange the train to Alice Springs, get some information about East Timor and Indonesia, and if all that isn't still enough, I have to finish this report quickly as I have to go downtown Melbourne to have a coffee with a Dutch girl that I met in the hostel. Life can be hard.

Report 3, Strahan, 09-02-2003

I find myself in Strahan, on the west coast of Tasmania. I reached this little town after a few days of delicious riding through wonderful scenery, on quiet roads, under ideal weather circumstances: sunshine and temperatures in the mid-twenties. A huge difference compared to the hell-rides I went through on the mainland of Australia a few weeks ago! Body and mind are healthy and fit again, and I enjoy every second of my trip!

Apart from the wild nature that characterizes the state (large parts of which are World Heritage Area), there's a lot of history in Tasmania. Because of its remoteness it was the ideal place to send convicts to. Not far from here is a place called Sarah's Island, which must have been an early Alcatraz, where the worst of the convicts were imprisoned. Those who succeeded to escape found themselves in the middle of the wilderness on Tasmania's west coast, totally isolated. The only way to get out of this remote area was by ship, through a small sea gate called 'Hell's gate', which was a risky business on its own.

Riding from Launceston, in the north, towards the southwest I really experienced the atmosphere of a hundred years ago. I saw nice wooden houses, with beautifully flower-decorated balconies, little churches and colonial buildings. It was so quiet in those little towns...

The only thing that could temper my enthusiasm were the big and -very- steep hills that I encountered on my way. But, after three months of New Zealand, I'm so fit of course that I tackle those without any problem :-) And yesterday, I had a stretch of 30 kilometres of straight road along the coast, with the wind in the back, and I was just speeding. Man and machine were in perfect harmony. I would pedal and pedal and pedal, and I was a little bit disappointed when I noticed that I had reached Strahan at four 'o clock already... I'd rather been going on till midnight!

Report 2, Melbourne, 02-02-2003

The roads in the Snowy Mountains were still not open due to bushfires yesterday, and I changed plans. I decided to take a bus from Canberra straight to Melbourne, to take a ferry and spend some weeks cycling in Tasmania! For those of you that are not really aware of it: Tasmania is not a country that is covered by a dense jungle with evil creatures (as I thought before I went off on this trip!). In fact it is a state of Australia, it has roads on which you can ride a bike, there is industry, there is tourists! The tourists are there because Tasmania should have a pretty wild nature; some people I've met compared the scenery with the one on the South Island of New Zealand. And it should be a lot cooler than the Australian mainland (this has become a major issue for me, the heat is even affecting my testosterone level)! Last but not least, I met a family at the campground at Wombeyan Caves who invited me to their newly bought house, surrounded by some 300 hectares of nature, at the north coast of Tasmania... So off I go.

I bought the bus ticket yesterday. The girl at the counter of the bus company said I could take two pieces of luggage, and that I'd have to pay extra for more. So I took a risk, and appeared very late at the check-in this morning, with my seven pieces of luggage (the bike, four panniers, a tent and a sleeping mat). The bus driver wanted to leave, and I asked the girl if I could just bring my luggage to the bus, and she just said ok. The bus driver didn't ask anything and threw everything in the luggage compartment...

The 8-hour bus ride learned me three things. First, you don't see anything when travelling in a bus compared to cycling around. I could just as well sit home in an air-conditioned living-room, watching a documentary about wildlife along Australian Highways. Second, after 500 kilometres the landscape hadn't changed a bit. This made me feel very good (this morning the reception girl asked what I was up to, and when I said I'd take a bus to Melbourne she said "you're cheating" in such a way that it made me feel very bad about myself). I was convinced I wouldn't have missed a lot when I had cycled anyway. And the third thing it learnt me is that Australia is a -gigantic- country. A look at the map, and the distance Canberra-Melbourne is almost nothing, compared to the size of the whole country.

Anyway, I can't wait to pedal in Tasmania.

Report 1, Sydney, 20-01-2003

I have a bit of a deja-vue. I'm sitting in a cheap internet café in downtown Sydney, and next to me is sitting the same guy that was sitting next to me yesterday evening, and again he is chatting to a girl he will probably never see in reality, trying to get some excitement by convincing her to have cybersex with him. I feel sad for him, but he is the sublimation of the feeling I have when walking around in Sydney. A feeling of anonymity and loneliness. Maybe it has got to do with the sudden change of temperature. A few days ago it had been very cold in the New Zealand mountains, and leaving the airport hall in Sydney, a blast of hot air hit me in the face. I needed a lot of time to put my bike together, as I had to dismantle it practically completely in Christchurch to get it fitted in the box. It was dark when I went off to downtown Sydney. I was exhausted when I arrived there, after a stressing highway ride, and booked a bed in the first decent hostel I could find (in the morning I found myself in Sydney's red light district, Kings Cross, I hadn't even noticed that at the night of my arrival...)

Again, I had a lot to arrange and plan. But it was so hard to do it, I felt tired and restless. The first afternoon in Sydney I must have spent a few hours laying on my bed and looking to the fan at the ceiling... And I couldn't get into contact with other people in the hostel. Not only where they another kind of traveller as I am - most of them just wanted to party and they had opposite biorhythms compared to mine - I was just too tired to have a conversation. I wandered a little time through the city, it looked really nice and lively, with lots of young people and atmosphere, but I couldn't enjoy it.

Today was better, cooler as well, and I could arrange some things. I got a Lonely Planet, maps and a bunch of brochures, replaced the derailleur cable of my bike, and had some photographs developed. These ones cheered me really up for a moment, as nice memories came back into my mind. I'll send them home; maybe they get on my website sooner or later.

I have to plan to set off tomorrow. Finally. (For some time I heard the Red Hot Chilli Peppers singing in my head: "Road tripping with my two favourite allies; fully loaded we got snacks and supplies: it's time to leave this place, it's time to steal away; let's go get lost right here in the USA..."). It's time indeed to leave this place, to leave this city, before its noise and its heat swallow me entirely. I will save the stressing ride through the busy suburbs and take a train to the foot of the Blue Mountains. From there I want to ride to Australia's capital, Canberra, but I saw some awful images of forest fires in that area on the television tonight (I don't know if you've heard about it in Europe). So I might have to make a detour on my way to Melbourne. I'll see.

I think I'll keep it to this, it's getting time to cook something. Hopefully I can write a more cheerful report in a few days time...

Thanks to anyone who has sent email to me, and especially to Jeroen who surprised me with a wonderful gift in Christchurch. You are all a big support; I think a lot about you, parents, family and friends.

New-Zealand

Report 6, Christchurch, 17-01-2003

I have finally arrived in Christchurch. The last two months I have been riding through wild nature, rainforests, along coastlines, through the New-Zealand outback regions where it was hard to find shade for the burning sun. Riding through the suburbs of Christchurch, the first thing that really surprised me was a crossing with traffic lights! In the last two months, the only thing I had to brake for was an occasional sheep crossing the road. I got more and more enthusiastic as I got into the centre of the city: I saw shops, cinemas, crowds of people, young flashy girls with navel piercings and tight jeans, yes, I was in another jungle now... I went shopping in the Pak'n Save, which is a giant supermarket in the city, and I couldn't believe my eyes: an enormous hall full with shopping people, long rows of cashiers, huge racks with food. I found myself in the centre of consumption on an island that mainly consisted of wild nature and a few people scattered here and there. It was a strange feeling.

Together with the delights of a city came the stress. I had to organize a lot of things in three days. I had to start planning again! But sitting here, writing this report, waiting for my flight to Sydney this afternoon, I think I succeeded pretty well. I booked a hostel, had my bike checked up and fixed, and, most important, organised my flight to Indonesia. I was told in the flight centre that I would not be allowed to enter Australia if I hadn't got an onward ticket to leave the country as well! I spent a lot of time on the internet looking for flights, and I eventually booked the cheapest one I could find, flying in three months time from Darwin to... Dili in East-Timor (the war is over there, isn't it? I sure hope so; 'no worries' would the New Zealanders say anyway). From there I plan to ride my bike overland to West-Timor, which belongs to Indonesia, and find an official in a police office at the border who puts a visa stamp in my passport... Maybe I'll have to bribe him. Sounds adventurous doesn't it?

I also found time to enjoy a little bit the delights of Christchurch. A Dutch girl with a beautiful name, Heske Sprenkels, had seen me entering the visitor centre as I had just arrived in the city and started talking to me (as so many girls do of course, hm hm). She was cycling as well. Off we went for some large cappuccinos at Cathedral Square, and the next day we went eating in a Thai restaurant (one of the dozens in Christchurch), having a large and HO-O-O-HOT meal for quite a cheap price. The Tai really enjoy seeing how reckless tourists burn their tongues, in their curiousness to try an exotic meal. We ended up in a Latino bar, watching people dancing enthusiastically the salsa, but we both agreed sitting on our bike is so much more fun...

Yesterday I got a cardboard bicycle box from the shop where I had the bike checked up. I rode with it through downtown Christchurch for a few kilometres. At the same time there was a busker festival (Dutch: straattheater) going on in the city, and people must have thought that I was one of the attractions. Well, I have to say, riding with a giant box on top of your head through the busy city traffic on your bike is quite a piece of art! The boxes here are actually a bit smaller than the ones you can get in Belgium, because they mainly contain mountain bikes. So I had to dismantle my bike almost completely before I could fix everything in the box. I will sure be glad when I have my bike ride to ready at Sydney Airport tonight.

Well, that's about it for New Zealand. Unfortunately I haven't got the time anymore to tell you about my experiences in the last three weeks, about the ride to Milford Sound, the best ride I have ever ridden, about my dehydration experiences in the New-Zealand outback regions, about the many many people I have met, about the f*cking headwind that has been torturing me for three weeks, etcetera etcetera.

New Zealand was a fantastic experience. I'll remember it as a country with an amazing scenery and many many many sheep. But most of all I will remember the many friendly people I have met on my way, locals as well as backpackers and cyclists. Three months is definitely not enough to see the whole of New Zealand by bike, but I had a pretty good impression about the kiwis and their country. Anyway, I have to have a reason to come back later, don't I?

New Zealand

• 4.385 km in 90 days - averages about 50 km/day
• 3 flat tyres (all in one week, replaced the tyre afterwards)
• 48.560.155 sheep, if I counted them correctly
• expenses - about 40 NZ dollar/day (20 Euro/day, does not include flights)
• accidents - none (not included about 220 possum casualties)

Technical Information

2 new tires (Continental Top Touring 2002)

1 new chain

1 new Shimano bottom bracket

1 new pair of brake pads

1 new Topeak pump, pumps up to 8 bar, threw away the old one

Report 5, Queenstown, 15-12-2002

Another update from your reporter in New-Zealand. I have never been so far from crossing the vanishing point, the ultimate goal of my journey, as mountains are blocking the horizon everywhere around me. I'm in Queenstown in the Southern Alps, surrounded by large hordes of tourists that spend incredible amounts of money on things like bungee-jumping, sky-diving, jet-boating, whitewater-rafting and other adrenaline-shooting activities that consist of two words with a dash within. Unfortunately my budget is restricted, so I keep it to bike-riding (one other activity I'd like to take participation in is leg-massaging, but I'm still waiting for the appropriate girl to meet with, who has insight in what a die-hard cyclist really needs in the evening).

Anyway, last week I rode along the famous West Coast of the South Island, from Westport to Haast, and further inland towards Wanaka and Queenstown. The scenery I have seen along the way was of a kind I have never seen in my life before. In Westport I met up with Fritz again and we started off together for the ride to Greymouth. The weather was exceptionally beautiful and we rode along the most magnificent coastal road I've ever seen, between a clear-blue ocean and rocky beaches on the one side, and steep hills covered with lush rainforest on the other side. These hills are a barrier for the ocean winds, and their tops were covered in a light fog, it was as if the tropical forest attracted the moisture of the air. This effect gave the whole scenery a mysterious atmosphere. I don't remember how often I gazed to this landscape, and how many photographs I took of it - damn, New-Zealand is expensive when you don't have a digital camera.

We arrived in Greymouth, with 10.000 inhabitants the largest town on the West Coast (the South Island is, considered population, practically empty, it's one piece of stunning nature). Greymouth was very nice; maybe this had something to do with the two Swiss girls and their travel companion, a Swiss guy, that I met for the second time. I went to a barbecue night with them, and as we returned to the hostel, I found my tent standing next to a group of people around a camp fire, who definitely would not be silent until 5 o'clock in the morning. One of the Swiss girls offered me a spare bed in her room. I felt successful for the first time in my life, but big was the disappointment as I saw a four-bed room...

Leaving Greymouth the next day, Fritz and I met Jeremia, a young German riding his bike around the world. Since then we have ridden together, have seen and done a lot. A short summary, it's too much to go into detail: we met with the first rain on the ride to Franz Josef and got totally totally soaked, and once arrived in the village, we even had to pitch our tent on a piece of grass field that looked more like a swamp, as no beds were available anymore. We rode further on to Fox Glacier the next day, along an amazingly beautiful stretch over some steep hills, where we had our first views of the Southern Alps. In Fox Village we spent a day to do a guided walk over the glacier. This was just incredible. New-Zealand has two of three glaciers in the world that are so special because of the fact that they are 1. so close to the ocean and 2. surrounded by tropical rainforest. Just imagine the view: a giant tongue of ice, on a 14 kilometer-long steep valley slope, and the abundant tropical vegetation covering the mountain slopes aside of it. This is only possible because of the huge amounts of rain fall here, more than 10 meters a year! At the terminal face of the glacier, huge ice arcs bended over bluey tunnels out of which the glacier's melt water bursts out, on its way to the ocean...

We continued to Haast, a 120-km stretch without any shop, and pitched our tents along the banks of a lake, where we had the worst confrontation with West Coast animal life: sandflies. These horrible little creatures, smaller than mosquito's, have just one purpose: biting human flesh. They seem immune against conventional insect repellents (they like it instead I think), and there are only two ways to get rid of them: jump in the water (this was not an option in our case) or jump as quickly as possible into your tent, zipping the mosquito net behind you, and kill the twenty-seven sandflies that managed to get in anyway, as fast as possible. Anyway, we survived (though with itchy hands and feet), and reached Haast Village the next evening, after a beautiful warm and windy day of extreme-pleasure cycling.

And then... it started to rain. Not just rain, but enormous amounts of water coming out of heaven's gates. We stayed in Haast, which is nothing more than a few houses and a giant visitor centre (that cost a lot but gave the town at least 'a place on the map'). The next day, it was still raining, and we told ourselves: if you don't ride in the rain, you don't ride... Off we went towards the Haast Pass, and I have to say, the ride was magic: there were stretches of road where a succession of waterfalls would burst out of the rocks along the road, and along with the wet and foggy Haast river valley and the never-ending rain pouring down and the wind gusts, the ride really had something apocalyptic...

After Haast Pass, the landscape changed - how would I express it- dramatically! In less than a minute we left the damp rain forest and found ourselves in a barren, dry, rocky mountain valley. It was just incredible. This must only be possible in New-Zealand... We rode along magnificent lakes, snow-capped mountains, and although it was still raining most of the time (the fourth day already) I was exstacised (if that word exists). Seeing the South-Island in good weather is fantastic, seeing it in rainy weather is fantastic as well, especially when you find yourself on a bike out there, feeling wind and water...

So now we are in Queenstown. Yesterday we had a bit of a hell ride over the Crown Range, over the highest road in New-Zealand. The highest point of this road was at 1121 meters, and we had some snow on the way! Incredible, at the highest summer time (at least where I am...). The views we had were stunning. Like my fellow cyclist Jeremia expressed, it was like the modelling-train landscapes, hills that seem to be covered with billiard-smooth dark-green sheets, lakes of an unimaginable clearness, snowy peaks and edges, ... I'm actually starting to believe that I will not see scenery as beautiful as in New-Zealand anymore on the rest of my journey...

Report 4, Murchison, 27-11-2002

Hello! I'm writing this report on a rainy Thursday morning in a little town called Murchison, about 100 km from the west coast of the South Island. It's really a wonderful typical New Zealand town. There's just one main street, a petrol station, a small shop, a takeaways, a bar and a tiny backpackers hostel with - thank God - a cosy fireplace where I can dry my underwear and write an email without too may people around (partly because of the underwear smell). Outside I see an occasional slow-driving jeep, a pickup-truck with a dog on the back, once in a while a woman going to the shop, a campervan passing by. Oh yes, life is very quiet and relax here.

In fact, I'm on my way to the West Coast, which is famous for the large amounts of rainfall it gets every year. It rains every second day at the West Coast, you could call that 'damn wet', and temperatures can get quite low. I actually bought some gloves and extra thermal underwear for the cold nights in my tent (A few weeks ago it was still freezing down south). And I can't wait to test my new neoprene socks in extreme rainfall conditions.

I've had a fantastic time the last two weeks. After the Tongariro Crossing the weather went very bad and I decided to take a train to Wellington. Wellington is situated at the Cook Strait, which separates the North and the South Island. The Strait is a bottleneck for ocean winds, the sea is mostly very rough and there's a lot of wind. People speak about 'windy Wellington'. When I was there, there was a real storm going on. Ferries to the South Island were cancelled, and some streets in the city had been closed due to extreme wind gusts. I guess the city council was afraid that some tourist would get hit by a flying litter bin. Despite of the bad weather I had a great time in Wellington, as I got to know a German girl, Eva, and a Dutch guy, Rens in my room. We got along very well, had the same kind of humour, and soon we were wandering through the city, having a coffee as an escape from the stormy wind, doing shopping, cooking together. It was just a marvellous time, and like many times before, I deeply regretted having to say goodbye to these people after three days as I had to take the ferry to the South Island.

I will never cross the Cook Strait by ship again. The sea was still very rough during the crossing, waves of 8 metres and higher were hitting the ship awfully, and I got seasick. It was terrible, I puked and puked and puked, till there was nothing left in the stomach. I was one of the worst cases among the passengers, and the stewardess was so kind to give me a private cabin were I could sleep for a couple of hours. Entering the sheltered Marlborough Sounds, the sea got calm again, and I ate about four portions of steak and chips, and drunk some litres of tea. What a misery, but I had reached the South Island at last.

And I have the feeling that the South Island is going to be even more splendid than the North Island. What I have seen till now is just amazing. If you would paint the landscape that I've seen yesterday, people would call the painting kitschy. I tell you, the milk-and-honey country really exists, here in New Zealand! Wonderful valleys with broad streams, plenty of fish in the clear water, beautiful mountains covered by pine trees and yellow beech. And I find myself in the middle of it, on my bike, on a quiet road, together with my German companion, Fritz, a 62-year old retired police officer, that I have met three times already on the road, enough to decide to have a trip together (I had preferred a gorgeous young woman to ride with of course, but you can't have everything I guess. But Fritz is a great guy anyway).

Travelling has its ups and downs, but the last two weeks were just one big up. What will the West Coast bring?

Report 3: National Park Village, 16-11-2002

I spent the last few days in the exciting centre of the North Island. The term 'exciting' does not relate to the female population here (although, as you will read further on, with some exceptions), but to the geothermal activity of the so called Central Plateau. Somewhere underneath my feet there's a lot of tectonic action going on. Namely the Pacific Plate is sliding under the Australian-Indian Plate. The result is that on some places, you could get really hot soil under your feet.

As I felt the time was right to do some tourist activity, I visited the 'Waiotapu Thermal Wonderland' south of Rotorua. This was quite an amazing place. There were sizzling sounds and bubbling was going on everywhere, steam escaped from holes in the ground, there was a geyser (the burst-out of which I missed as I overslept again), and beautiful lakes with all the colours of the rainbow. But the most stunning natural phenomenon that I saw that afternoon were the eyes of one of the two German girls I did the tour with. They were of an amazingly clear green, and immediately brought me in a hallucinating condition. I just couldn't keep my eyes off them, and I almost got off the track und fell into one of these dangerous craters, but the smell of the burning rubber of my sandals warned me in time, and I survived. Anyway, her girlfriend was a bit pushy and wanted to go on by car, and they would have given me a lift if I hadn't got the bike with me. So they left me, I was lonely again, and the only thing I had to work out my immense frustration on was my bike.

So I pushed the pedals hard, against a stormy headwind, towards the south, to Taupo. Actually, I was quite glad that there was a headwind, as my clothes had taken the awful smell of sulphur.

After Taupo, I went further on to Turangi, at the southernmost end of Lake Taupo, the biggest lake in New Zealand. From here I did the Tongariro Crossing. The Crossing is probably the most famous one-day walk of the country. The weather was brilliant that day, and the walk was fantastic, with stunning views of red-coloured craters, blue and green lakes and a lot of geothermal activity. In the late afternoon we enjoyed a sun bath on the terrace of a hut, and I had to think of you guys in Western Europe, getting out of bed and preparing for the ride to work on a cold November morning. And I smiled. Life was beautiful.

Report 2: Opoutere, 06-11-2002

I'm starting my third week in New Zealand now, and I have learned a lot of important things. One of these things is, when you have to go for a piss, always put your bike at the other side of the road. A fully-loaded colourful bike, preferably with a lot of drying laundry at the back, really attracts the attention of passing people, so you can go for the piss without stressing yourself. And that's what it is all about when travelling: the total loss of stress. I'm managing better and better now (except for the stress that occurs when I have to write a travel report in less than 20 minutes like now, because of a lack of 2-dollar coins). I'm travelling slower and slower, and the last few days I've almost come to a standstill. Right now I find myself in a youth hostel in a place called Opoutere, at the east coast of the Coromandel Peninsula on the North Island of NZ. It's a bit of a paradise here. So quiet. I can pick lemon fruit from the trees, get some mussels from the beach, I buy some groceries at a local farmer's shop, and other tourists left milk, muesli, tomatoes and pasta in the fridge. So I eat very cheap... I stay here for two days, life is really going veeeryyy slow now.

That was slightly different some days ago. In Miranda, I woke up next to a Swiss girl (I mean, next to her tent). She was cycling as well. She had to make it to a town called Whitianga in three days time, and we decided to ride together. She was a great girl, and knew a lot about cycling, she was a real fanatic, I liked that, but she really rode fast! I could hardly catch up with her... We rode along the magnificent coastline of the Coromandel Peninsula, stayed in cosy little Coromandel Town, and even had some time to have a swim in a bay of the Pacific Ocean!

But now I'm back on my own again, a free man, and riding a little bit slower. I plan to do some decent riding tomorrow, about 100 km, but I'm sure something will get between: nice landscapes, a good coffee stop, other travellers, headwinds, I don't know...

Ok, the red light starts blinking here, have to stop writing now. Thanks for the birthday wishes. (I spent the first hours of my birthday digging holes with a German guy on the so-called Hot Water Beach, and looking at the stars in a 40 degree warm beach pool! Amazing!).

Bye!

Report 1: Monday, 28 October 2002, Paihia

Oh God, you should have seen these stewardesses on the Cathay Pacific flight from London Heathrow to Hong Kong... I had just sat down in the chair on this enormous airplane as I saw them, young beautiful fragile asian ladies in their colourful stewardess outfits, with an everlasting smile on their faces. Their gentle movements as they gave me a drink or a meal, and I forgot all about my European history. I was going off on a major trip, the most exotic one I've ever done. I was finally leaving! I was trembling so hard due to all kind of emotions, that the pilot almost decided to make an emergency landing on Belgian soil. But I could keep myself in hand, and the plane continued its way to the Far East...

I finally made it to Auckland, New-Zealand, in the middle of the night. As my bicycle box appeared, I got quite worried. It didn't look like a cardboard box anymore. It looked more as a World War I artifact, with a lot of holes and rips in it. Fortunately, there was little damage on the bike, just some scratches on the frame and a broken bottle keeper. I made my way out of the airport, carefully watching out for sheep, but I didn't see any, and I asked a shuttle bus driver to take me to downtown Auckland.

The first day in Auckland was quite hard. I was extremely tired, due to jet lag I suppose. I almost succeeded in being repatriated instantaneously to Brussels because I forgot about the left-side traffic, and crossed a street without looking in the right direction. Luckily, the driver's insurance didn't cover accidents with European jet-lagged zombie tourists, so he decided to stop in time. I did the necessary shopping, and made a walk through the city. I ate with a French guy, staying in my room (that had no windows by the way, now I understand why it was so cheap and called 'the bunker').

The next day I could finally jump onto my bike. I cycled out of Auckland, to the north, but it was a hell trying to do that. The city is so big, the suburbs extend for tenths of kilometers, and I got completely mad of the combination of traffic and extreme sunshine, accelerating the growth of my first skin melanomes. I took a small side road, sat down, ate some milk and muesli, and tried to recover a bit. Was this New-Zealand? All I saw were suburbs and cars... Where the hell were those sheep?

Some 20 kilometers north of Auckland, at the east coast, I finally got into some green, but I was still riding on State Highway 1, and I didn't go to the end of the world to be intoxicated by exhaust gases. I asked some guy if it was advisable that I would head over a country road to the west coast, which seamed more quiet to me. He said 'There is nothing there but loneliness and sheep'. So I took a decision and headed due west...

I overnighted in a hay shed of a farmer, and almost managed to burn his shed down trying out my cooker to make some spaghetti. It was dark when I had finally succeeded in putting up my tent. I was so tired, as I had been fighting against a stormy west wind for a big part of the day.

I reached the Kaipara Harbour at the west coast the next day. Indeed, there was nothing here but loneliness, wind and... sheep! I felt sad and happy at the same time. The road was extremely hilly, I guess Swiss people would have turned the road into a succession of bridges and tunnels, but New Zealanders don't have the budget to do this, so I could push my bike up the hills, fighting against a strong wind. I didn't manage to do more than 50 kilometers each day along the west coast... Sometimes I was almost blown aside on the hill ridges, but views were breathtaking: beautiful windy dairy country, rolling hills, views of the Kaipara Harbour, and those sheep, which must be the most beautiful in the world...

People were very friendly. I have been invited by a woman who thought I had a puncture, when I had in fact stopped to enjoy the magnificent view on the Tasman Sea. First she proposed that I put up my tent in her garden, but later on I could sleep in the lounge, and she made me a delicious evening meal, and a breakfast the day after, and gave me a lunch when I left...

Many people wave or smile when passing by in their cars (it could also be that they have pity with me or laugh at me, as cycling conditions were sometimes absurd). Some Dutch people stopped their car and gave me muffins...

I cycled through the Waipoua forest (of which you can find a photo on the NZ section of this site). This was really amazing. It's famous because of its huge Kauri trees, which can grow up to 50 metres high and get some 2000 years old. I continued my way north to Kaitaia, I rode 20 kilometers over the Ninety-Mile Beach, which was fantastic. I met some other cyclists, a Canadian one and a Swiss girl. I headed East and overnighted in Taupo Bay, an extraordinary beautiful harbour with no tourists, and now I'm back on my way south, passing Paihia in the Bay of Islands. I can't write everything down you know, it's just too much and too pretty to try to describe, I meet a lot of people, mostly backpackers, just short interactions, you get to know each other in the evening and you say goodbye the next morning. Cycling can be lonely (it has been sometimes), but I haven't regretted anything of what I have done...

I must come to an end. I could write for some more hours you know, but I have to hit the road again. The sun is shining, green islands and beautiful bays with dolphins are waiting for me.

Thanks to everyone who has been writing to me. It would suit me better if I could reply to you by letter (internet cafes are scarce and expensive), so mail me your home addresses...