Rebellinnen auf Reisen

Drei Frauen unterwegs: per Rad durch den Iran, zu Fuß durch Israel, mit dem Schlafauto durch Frankreich
– Lesung von Anne Westwards, Dörte Hoffmann und Irmgard Rosina Bauer

Freitag, 28. April 2023
16:00 Uhr – 16:30 Uhr
Halle 5, Stand A305, Leseinsel autoren@leipzig
(Lesungsseite der Leipziger Buchmesse)

Von 16:30 bis 17:00 Uhr sind wir dann am Signiertisch der Leseinsel, wo ihr die Bücher von Dörte und Irmgard kaufen und eine gedruckte Leseprobe meines Buchs ergattern könnt. Danach werde ich inoffiziell noch ein wenig am Stand der Bücherfrauen sein zum Plaudern (Halle 5, C309).

Was erwartet euch bei der Lesung?

Anne radelt solo entlang der alten Seidenstraßen von Asien aus Richtung Berlin. Als der Winter sie einholt, biegt sie kurzentschlossen nach Süden ab, in den Iran, auch wenn sie dort das Regime der Mullahs erwartet. Sechs Wochen radelt sie durch das Land, ausgestattet mit ihrem Zelt und viel Vertrauen. Eine Reise in die Herzen und Häuser von Menschen, die Anne mit offenen Armen empfangen – und die zugleich überschattet wird von Frauenfeindlichkeit und dem staatlich verordneten Kopftuchzwang. Bis Anne ihre innere Rebellin entdeckt – und entscheidet, als Mann verkleidet zu radeln. Ob das gut geht? Anne Westwards erzählt in „A Doubtful Rebel“ / „Eine skeptische Rebellin“ von ihrer ungewöhnlichen Reise und den Menschen im Iran: warmherzig, mitreißend und auf sehr persönliche Weise.

Dörte war auf Israels Nationalwanderweg unterwegs, einem der schönsten Fernwanderwege der Welt. Auf diesem gibt es keine Herbergen. In der Wüste findet man über Tage kein Wasser. Für Israelis ist es Tradition, einmal im Leben diese Härteprobe auf sich zu nehmen. Auch die Autorin wagte es. Sie erzählt von Wüstennächten am Feuer, dem Erklimmen von Kratern und dem Durchwandern von Wadis. Und sie schildert, wie sie bei Beduinen, Siedlern, im Militärlager oder im Aschram eine Bleibe findet. „Israel zu Fuß“ ist ein Buch über ungeahnte Gastfreundschaft und echte Begegnungen. Unpolitisch, heiter, berührend und zutiefst menschlich bringt die Autorin Dörte Hoffmann das wahre Israel ein wenig näher. Es ist ein Blick in die Seele des Landes.

Rosi’s glamouröses Leben hat sie nicht glücklich gemacht, es bedeutete viel ungeliebte Arbeit, die auch noch ihre Ehe scheitern ließ. Nun sind ihre vier Kinder groß – und sie will sich endlich mit sich beschäftigen. Was kann ich überhaupt, wo will ich hin, kann ich mir eine Veränderung leisten? Mit vielen Fragen und Angst vor all ihren Wünschen begibt sie sich einen Sommer lang mit ihrem selbst ausgebauten kleinen Auto auf eine Art Pilgerreise. Mit nur zehn Euro am Tag will sie auskommen. Also kein Campingplatz, sondern auf abgelegenen Plätzen campieren, auch dann, als sie merkt, dass sie bei geschlossener Autotür unüberwindliche Platzangst bekommt. Irmgard Rosina Bauer’s Reiseroman „Und sonst nichts“ ist eine Liebeserklärung an Südfrankreich und erzählt von Mut, Selbstreflexion – und Reduktion.

Kommt vorbei, wir drei freuen uns!
Anne, Dörte und Irmgard

PS: Alles zu meinem Buch findet ihr hier auf meiner Seite.
PPS: Du möchtest unter den ersten Leser:innen sein? Hier geht’s zu meinem Newsletter.

The post Lesung auf der Leipziger Buchmesse! appeared first on Anne. Westwards..

>> here is the way to the video:

— Transcript of the podcast —

Hello and welcome to another episode of my podcast ‘Insights from Solitude’. My name is Anne Westwards and I’m sharing my learnings with you that I gained in the year and a half that I spent cycling solo through Asia and the Middle East along the ancient Silk Roads. Today’s topic is about ‘letting go’.

The person you are capable of becoming

I want to start with a quote saying:

The most intense fight you’ll ever have, is between the person that you are and the person that you’re capable of becoming.

I really like that quote. But I would like to change the wording of it. I don’t think it has to be a fight. It can be more a letting go of the person you were yesterday, in order to become the person you could be tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow.
So normally, I first explain the mental concept to you and then I get to an episode from my cycling expedition. Today, I would like to reverse this, in order to make clear what it means to let go.

Cycling into deserts and high altitude mountains

During my cycling expedition, I had a tendency to get up very high mountain ranges pretty late in the year, when snow was already on horizon. I’ve also got a penchant to get out into deserts and steppes, where water tends to be a rare, rare thing. And I’m well aware that I am taking risks, but there is something… it’s a very deep inner urge that I have to follow. I guess you could call it a spiritual calling. But in the end, it’s really just me enjoying the solitude out there and the deep inner peace that comes with it.

But don’t get me wrong I am well aware of the risks I’m taking. And I am afraid, very much so, actually. Because there are things that you can (and should) be afraid of. Be it wolves, the cold – at times when I knew that I would face nights at minus 25 degrees Celsius in a tent – , or the worst enemy of all: thirst. It’s just a risk that you may run out of water because you miscalculated or because you have an accident.

A turning point: who do I want to be?

So before I get out into situations like this, I take my time. Why? It’s about mental preparation, I guess, and it’s about gathering the courage. But it’s also about letting go. Letting go of the person I was before I cycled out there. Because that person is not going to be capable to do that.

I have this very deep feeling that: those are the turning points, those are the caesuras, where – and this is a chance actually – those turning points where you know that this is a new chapter. It can be something as simple as a bike trip, but it can also be a crisis as we are facing at the moment. These are natural turning points, where this is a chance to not fight the person you are today or you were yesterday. But just to look at: ‘What do I have with me? Which (mental) baggage do I really want to take – take this baggage out into the desert, up these mountain ranges?’

The phoenix will rise from the ashes…

For me, it’s – in a way – a kind of dying. It’s letting the person that you were die in the process and just see… It’s like this analogy of the ‘phoenix rising from the ashes’. Just letting go the concept of you – of who you were before. And then just seeing what rises from the ashes. Believe me, so far always something has risen from the ashes. You’re not going to be left with ‘no person to be’. You are going to be a new self and this takes time.

… and only you know when it’s ready

Sometimes, I started doubting my own sanity, because it does take time and I won’t be able to tell you when I’ll be ready. This can take up to a week for me, just getting ready to leave. Sometimes, I compensate and find excuses for myself. So for example, when getting up into the Pamirs or the Himalayas, I would browse the bazaars, get some more supplies. An extra handful of nuts has never hurt – and it hasn’t! Maybe get an extra sweater because I’m afraid of the cold. I’ve done all these things.

Then at some point, you face yourself in the mirror and acknowledge to yourself: ‘This is not about the physical preparation anymore. This is about getting mentally ready.’ The first time I got out into the mountains – the Pamirs – in Kyrgyzstan, getting into Tajikistan, it took me a while to acknowledge that to myself: that I need time to get mentally ready. And no one is going to be able to tell you how long it’s going to take. You know it.

Transformation when you’re thrown into the unknown

Right now, we’ve been thrown into this new situation that we all have to handle. And nobody told us a week ahead of time: ‘Oh, a change is coming. Please get ready!’ But I still think that it’s a similar process that’s happening, in the sense that there’s a new situation. The old securities, the old beliefs maybe, they’ve all been shaken in some way, shape or form.

And now, we are heading into a new land, so to speak, cycling up into high mountain ranges, into the desert – you name it. It doesn’t have to be threatening, even though many people right now perceive the situation as threatening. But it is a new reality. It is a changed reality from what it was before.  And I think that is what’s important: it has a very huge potential for transformation, for our societies, but also for us personally.

Asking questions and growing habits

I would always advise to start with yourself, because this is the person that you can actually, to a certain degree, control. We can always think about transforming society later on.

But just acknowledge or see this as a chance for letting go of old baggage. And actually actively decide: ‘What do I want to take with me? Which character traits do I want to hone? Which routines would I like to establish? How do I want to treat others? How do I want to approach others at these times?’

And we all know that once we repeat things for a certain amount of times, we can actually grow new habits. So it’s not that far-fetched, let’s say.

A wonderful chance: returning as a new person

I’ve always returned, each time I set out. By the time I returned to civilization – or maybe rather: by the time that I returned to human habitation -, I’ve always been an altered person. I wouldn’t say I was a better person per se. But there was this process of shedding weight and baggage beforehand. And this is a wonderful chance.

It’s a kind of, I’d say, ‘rebirth’ – because that’s the first image that came to my mind, just thinking of the phoenix. But it’s really just about stripping yourself bare and then consciously deciding: ‘Which are the things that I actually want to take with me?’

Letting go – and see the chance

I hope this has inspired you to think about the current situation a little bit differently, maybe seeing it more as a chance than a threat. As always, I’m looking forward to to your comments, your thoughts about ‘becoming’ and ‘letting go’. And as always, if you like the content you’re most welcome to subscribe to the channel to get updates. And I’ll make sure that I work on the next episode. See you again soon. Bye!

PS: You can also find this episode on my youtube channel and my facebook page. Did you enjoy this episode? You are most welcome to share it with whoever you think might benefit from it!

The post Letting go – who do you want to become? appeared first on Anne. Westwards..

>> here is the way to the video:

— Transcript of the podcast —

Hello and welcome to the next episode of my podcast ‘Insights from Solitude’. My name is Anne Westwards and I’m sharing my insights and experiences with you that I learned during the year and a half that I spent alone by bicycle along the ancient Silk Roads. Today’s topic is one that is really dear to my heart: it’s about embracing your own vulnerability. What do I mean by that?

The buffer between life and death

Normally, we have this buffer between life and death, which is usually comfortably large: we have insurances, we actually have all the basic needs covered, so we don’t have to worry about having enough food or enough water. Most of us have apartments and jobs. Funnily enough, we still are worried, many of us. Thus, we look for insurances, we want to be on the safe side. So we have contracts for all kinds of things. Rarely in our everyday life are we confronted with this basic insecurity that we we are, as the human species, deeply, deeply vulnerable.

Normally, we don’t have this situation. But now, we actually have to face this, the fact that we might get sick, that loved ones might get sick. We might even die. And that’s very hard to accept and to bear. Don’t get me wrong, it’s the same for me. But if we take a step back, we realize all it takes is one accident. A car which didn’t see you when you are on your bicycle. A stupid accident in your living room. It can happen to all of us, anytime. And no insurance is going to take that away from you, that you are – in essence – vulnerable.

‘Death – that happens to other people.’

Normally, we try to ignore that, to push it away. We talked beforehand about radical acceptance. Our normal mode is to just ignore that this can happen to us, anytime, in particular when you’re young. Of course, when you already have grandchildren and you’re in the final third of your life, maybe this thought becomes something that did you consider more or talk about more? When you’re young, it is more: ‘Death, that is what happens to other people. Illness, sickness is what happens to other people.’

Tragic accidents do happen…

I myself was shocked by the death of a very close friend at the age of 26. We were both avid mountaineers. And we had this beautiful routine where – when either of us had left the country or the continent for doing an internship somewhere else, for studying abroad or just going for a longer vacation – we would then say: ‘Oh, let’s celebrate your return by going to the Alps together!’

Now, this friend of mine, we actually had a phone call the Thursday evening before. I had just returned from North America and I would have joined him for this mountaineering trip – except that the soles of my hiking boots had fallen off. I had spent a long time hiking in the Andes in South America. Back then, I was deeply frustrated when this happened. Because I was in the middle of nowhere in – let me think – in Peru, when the soles of my hiking boots fell off within an hour. Fortunately, I was hiking with a group and I could borrow some spare shoes from a French guy in the group. Still, I was annoyed, to say the least. I was also shocked because I had trusted my equipment.

… and it could have been you

So literally, when Patrick called me that Thursday evening, I told him: ‘Listen, I would love to join you in the Alps. But I can’t. I have no shoes and I won’t have the time to buy new ones and I’m still jet-lagged. I won’t be able to get shoes by tomorrow morning.’ And that was the last time we talked. He and the people he went mountaineering with, they all died on Saturday. And I would have died with them, had I been with them. That’s, you know, one of the things that can just happen in the mountains: if there’s an avalanche of stones, that’s it.

I was 26 at the time and it changed my life dramatically. Because at 26, you don’t actually think about your own death or your own vulnerability. And I think it was the first time that it actually, you know, it strikes you when this thought first arises and you realize: ‘This could have been me. I would be dead right now, had I joined them.’ This changes your whole outlook.

Suffering can create distance

A very good friend of mine survived cancer at a similar age. She’s still one of the people closest to my heart. And it was particularly this time that got us very close. Because, at this age, what often happens is that your friends in your age group, they actually distance themselves from you. You are like an outsider to them because you are an outsider, since you don’t know how much more time you have to live.

Being confronted with that: ‘Oh, there’s somebody in my own age group who might die!’ or in my case: ‘Oh, there’s this very good friend of mine who died completely unexpectedly at the age of 26!’ For most of, that’s very hard to bear and we shy away from this. And that’s a very normal, very human reaction. In essence, we shy away from vulnerability as such. It’s not even death – death is a completely different topic – but just this realization: ‘We are not invincible.’

Leaving the illusion of being invincible

And we’ve moved so far away from this, right? We have – fortunately – in the Western world, we have great healthcare systems (for the most part), we have vaccinations, we have doctors. We are used to the situation where everything – or most things – can be treated, except… and then there’s a long list of conditions which cannot be treated yet or maybe never. But we’re trying to block this thought.

There’s something which changes in you, once you acknowledge that we are vulnerable, you are vulnerable. There is something beautiful that happens. Apart from having to cope with the fact that you may lose loved ones, there comes a very deep humility and a very deep compassion. And the humility, that is a humility towards nature. We are nothing in the face of nature – and that’s okay.

Becoming humble in the face of nature

So a story from – from a mountaineering trip I wanted to say – but it’s a story from my bike trip, actually. It’s a story from cycling into the Pamir mountains. It was a dream for me to discover these mountains by myself, by bicycle. Oftentimes, we have a goal in mind and we want to achieve that goal. For example, we want to conquer a mountain or make it across this pass.

The first time I actually saw the Pamir mountains – it’s a fantastically beautiful mountain range at the border between Afghanistan and Tajikistan. The first time I saw these mountains I felt like an ant, literally. A tiny, tiny being that’s just in awe of the grandeur and the beauty and the power of these mountains. When I came there, it was late summer and there were masses and masses of snow. It’s an image – normally, when I give talks – it always gives me goose bumps showing this image, when I first saw the Pamirs, clad in snow. And it makes you aware these mountains – nature – have been there for ages before you. It will be there for centuries, thousands of years, long after you’ve gone. You are just a speck on the earth – and that’s okay. It’s nothing bad, nothing to be feared, that’s just what it is.

That’s what I mean: embracing vulnerability can lead to this beautiful state of humility, where you are just like: ‘Okay, well, I hand myself over to nature. Maybe the mountains allow me to pass. Maybe they don’t. It’s not up to me. But I approach them with this humility and this acceptance.’

Vulnerability as a way to humility and compassion

I’m aware that I am confronting you with a topic which may be uncomfortable for many of you. And that’s okay, too. It’s just that, from my experience, there’s something great to be gained, once you actually look vulnerability into the eyes. When you really say: ‘Okay, well, I am vulnerable.’ And to be honest, it doesn’t matter how many insurances you have, how many buffers you have between life and death. Life is frail and that’s how it is.

And as I said, humility can come out of this, but also compassion. Stepping into this also means: when you see somebody else suffer, somebody else being sick, maybe then you don’t distance yourself from this person. Maybe, you can actually step closer and say: ‘I see that you suffer. This must be really hard.’ That’s something that my good friend, who was battling cancer for several years, found out: Very few people could actually do this, just to stand this thought: ‘This person is really vulnerable and so am I.’

I would hope that this also leads to more compassion towards all kinds of people who are less privileged than you are. Or even towards your sick grandmother who just makes you aware that we humans are vulnerable. So with that, I would like to end this episode. I hope that you could take something away from it. As I said, it’s a very important topic for me personally.

So if you want, I’m always happy to read what listening to such an episode does to you, which thoughts come up. If you want – I’m going to continue posting this video podcasts – so feel free to subscribe, if you’re interested in hearing more. I’m looking forward to seeing you again soon. Bye!

PS: You can also find this episode on my youtube channel and my facebook page. Did you enjoy this episode? You are most welcome to share it with whoever you think might benefit from it!

The post Embrace your vulnerability – because that is life appeared first on Anne. Westwards..

>> here is the way to the video:

— Transcript of the podcast —

Hi and welcome back for another episode of me sharing some lessons from my cycling expedition, so the year and a half that I spent exploring Asia and the Middle East by bicycle. My name is Anne Westwards. If you like, feel free to subscribe to this page or this channel and I’ll make sure that I get more podcast episodes coming. Today, I would like to share some thoughts with you about the beauty of having less. This ties in with what I talked about before: radical acceptance and thinking from a state of abundance.

The experience of scarcity

If something is lacking, so just factually lacking – for example, we are supposed to stay at home, in order to make sure to not infect others with the virus. Or if you actually meet people, it’s supposed to be outdoors and we shouldn’t actually be close. Personally, I live alone in this apartment. Am I lacking social contact? Of course, I am. That is the case. Is there something else that I’m lacking beyond, something material? Of course, yes. I spent a week and a half trying to get some milk. There’s none to be had, it seems, in Berlin. And I don’t need milk, but I do like having a matcha latte from time to time.

Coping with less: complaining or appreciating?

There are different ways we can handle the situation. One option is to complain about what is missing, what we’re lacking. In particular, when it comes to social contact. We are social animals, after all. I think there are very few people who actually don’t miss the social interaction: the groups we usually attend, the team meetings, the training. Of course, we are missing that and we could complain about it – and many of us do.

The other option is to actually work with what we have. When it comes to food items that we are lacking, for example. Of course, we all have our favorite dishes. But we also know that there are recipes where we can find out easily, on the internet, how to try a new recipe that actually works without that one ingredient that we cannot get. This beauty of less is also: it doesn’t deny this. I guess you could also call this minimalism, in a way. I still prefer the beauty of less, because it’s a matter of appreciating things, seeing the beauty of not having everything.

Make it matter! From apples to conversations

During my cycling expedition, believe me, I really, really, really did appreciate every single fresh piece of fruit or vegetable I could lay my hands on. I spent a lot of time in steppes and deserts and high altitude mountains, where those fresh items of food were really, really hard to get by. In Mongolia, I remember, that I had a really hard time getting any piece of fruit, for example. If I did find apples – and apples are heavy, they contain lots of water – I would buy as many as I could. A bike is a very limited mode of transport, so normally it was about five (apples) – if I could find five apples in the first place. Then I would have an apple not every day, but every second day. Because who knew when I would get my next batch of apples? When I would
(a) come across a village and
(b) if they would have apples at all?

Believe me, my apple was the highlight of those two days. So in two day intervals, I would have one apple. And it was the best thing that I could have ever imagined. Those were small apples that probably didn’t have much in terms of aroma. It didn’t matter to me – it tasted like the best dish in the world. That’s what I mean with appreciating. And actually having less, maybe… minimalism is about having less out of a choice that you make. But sometimes you just have less than normal – and it’s not by your choice, it’s because of the circumstances. But then, you can actually make it matter and really enjoy that, as I did eating this apple.

So now, if you actually have social contact, so if you meet a friend outdoors over the weekend, or if I meet a friend outdoors: I’m radiant! I’m very, very excited! I mean, of course, I take care of keeping the distance. But I did realize that the conversations that I have become a lot lot deeper. Both people appreciate a lot more the presence of the other person. There’s a lot less small talk. I have the feeling the conversations dive deeper and I guess that happens when two people really appreciate having the other person around. The same is true, when I have phone conversations at the moment. I feel since we have less social contact, at least I try to make those points of contact matter.

Becoming creative when things are missing

So what happens if we actually are missing something and we can’t find it? This happened to me when I searched for four months for oatmeal. This is a long time, even for me. For three countries – I crossed three countries in this time in Central Asia – I just could not find oatmeal. I like having some kind of porridge or cereals in the morning. And yes, I can do without it. But I also needed to get some carbohydrates, just very practically speaking. Yet, I just couldn’t find oatmeal.

At this time, I thought: ‘Well, okay, Anne. Come-on, it’s time to remember that we got this far as a human species because humans can invent things, they can re-use things for other purposes.’ So I found my way around the missing oatmeal: I realized that: well, I need some carbohydrates in the morning. I don’t feel like cooking rice in the morning – so I had biscuits! It wasn’t quite like oatmeal. But I actually had my milk powder and some nuts and if I had an apple, I would also cut the apple into it and have this mixture. And then, on the side, I had some biscuits. And that worked. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. And actually, it made me appreciate oatmeal a lot, lot more. I still do.

The same is true for most other things. I don’t know if you knew, but if you’re lacking thread… so if your clothes are torn and you have to take care of them, repair them, you can actually use dental floss which makes a very strong thread for sewing.

A different mindset: ‘This is all I have. How do I work with that?’

There’s a ton of things which you can re-use, once you get into this mindset of: ‘Oh well, these are all the things I have.’ Normally, you are used to another mindset where you want to do something and realize: ‘Oh, there’s something missing!’ So what do we do? We then go to a shop or a supermarket and buy what we’re missing. Or maybe we will order something online.

We’re not so much used to this mindset of: ‘Well, this is all I have and whatever I’m missing, I won’t get this. So how can I work around this lack?’ There are a dozen ways. And actually, once you get into this mindset, it’s like a scavenger hunt. It becomes actually fun. At least, I really enjoyed that.

Discovering your abilities is empowering

I never considered myself to be a very practical person for some reason. I guess, I just didn’t have many opportunities in my life to discover that I was a practical person. I come from an engineering family. So whenever something broke, they were already at least two people, who were eager to repair these things and they were a lot better at repairing things than I was.

You know, one of the reasons why I also wanted to go on this bike trip alone was just being thrown back on myself, whatever happened. So if something broke, if my bike had to be repaired, there was just one person – me – who had to take care of this. And this was a wonderful experience, really. Of course, there are a lot of things where – in retrospect or some months into the trip – I realized: ‘Oh, I could have solved this differently!’ But it’s really empowering to realize that even if there’s something lacking, you can do this! You’re an inventive creative person – we all are.

Children show us how to handle less

I mean, if you take a look at children, and we’ve all been children at some point in our lives: children do this all the time. Or maybe nowadays, children are complaining if they’re lacking something. But still, if you then tell them: ‘Well, no, you can’t have another color for drawing this picture.’ – they’ll make do with what they have. And that’s now the task for us.

I hope that I could inspire you a little bit with this philosophy of the beauty of less. I’d love to hear from you in the comments or elsewhere if that’s something that you are living already in your life. And if you’d like to try, I would even be more interested in hearing how you enjoy the journey.

That being said, that’s all for today. Stay healthy! I’ll see you again soon, bye!

PS: You can also find this episode on my youtube channel and my facebook page. Did you enjoy this episode? You are most welcome to share it with whoever you think might benefit from it!

The post The beauty of less – minimalism revisited appeared first on Anne. Westwards..

>> here is the way to the video:

— Transcript of the podcast —

Hello and welcome to the second episode of this podcast. My name is Anne Westwards. I’m going to share some of the lessons with you that I learned during my bicycle expedition, that led me for a year and a half alone through Asia and the Middle East with my bicycle Emily here. Today, I’m going to talk to you about abundance. This may strike you as a strange topic these days because we are talking about lack the whole time. Why?

We are used to thinking from a state of lack

We’re talking about the lack of intensity care unit beds. We’re also talking about the lack of the occasional package of noodles that we would like to buy, which we can find in the supermarket right now. Or the lack of toilet paper.

And really what I would like to invite you to join me for is a different state of mind. We are trained or are used to thinking from a state of mind which I call ‘lack’. We compare all the time. We compare our achievements, our salaries or cars – well, I don’t have a car, I would compare bicycles, maybe – to those that others have. And you see, ‘Oh, somebody else has more!’ And then we take this one step further and compare our personal development, maybe, and think, ‘Oh, well this person is so much more spiritually advanced. This person so much calmer than I am!’ We’re constantly nourishing this thought of ‘There’s lack!’

And it makes a huge difference to change this state to a state of abundance. Nothing in the outside world has to change for that. That’s the beauty of it.

Owning next to nothing can be enough

I learned this in a very radical way, when I returned from my bicycle expedition. I was used to just owning two sets of clothing: one for cycling, one for sleeping. And then I had different layers, so I could adjust to the temperature range from minus 25 to plus 40-45 degrees Celsius. But essentially, I didn’t have to make a decision in the morning of what to wear. I would just change from my more or less clean sleeping clothes to my cycling clothes. That’s it. I owned one pair of most things. A couple of things I had twice with me – two sports bras, for example. And I did not feel I lacked anything at all during all this time. I slept mostly in my tent which I loved and still love. And everything I owned I carried with me and and never felt that I was missing anything. I didn’t have ebooks or audio books or podcasts that I’d downloaded. I had no music with me. Nothing of that mattered to me during this trip.

And also the food that I had with me: I had enough. I mean, water, in terms of water, I knew I needed water for at least four days. I could prepare for longer stretches, but then I would really need to prepare. But in terms of food, I was certain for most of the time that I could cope well for at least two weeks without any problems. What did I have with me? Essentially, just oatmeal and nuts and dried fruit, in case I could secure them somewhere at a bazaar. Other than that, a little bit of a security cache of food: power bars and some fish oil, if the worst came to the worst. And then maybe I was lucky and I actually managed to get some fresh fruit somewhere, some apples or an orange. And that was it. For the worst case, I still had vitamin C powder and milk powder and protein powder. But you can go for a very, very, very long time with that while actually doing physical work. In that case, getting a fully loaded bicycle with a lot of spare parts, tools and so on and so forth, so a heavy bicycle, over some of the highest mountain passes of the world.

If we’re at home right now and working remotely from home, taking care of our children at home, we don’t actually do physical hard work the entire time. So I’m very certain that we can cope with a lot less nutrition than I had with me for the cycling expedition.

Recognize the abundance around you

From that perspective, when I came back to Berlin I looked around me and I couldn’t believe this luxury. Back then, I was absolutely enamoured – and still am – with the possibility that I could take a shower whenever I wanted. And even with hot water! I just love taking hot showers. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t take showers all the time. It’s just that having the ability to wash myself whenever I wanted and having running water for that, clean running water, was absolute bliss. The excitement wore off, but it took actually more than a year for the excitement to wear off even a little bit. Sometimes even nowadays, I turn on a switch or a faucet and I’m fascinated that I actually get clean water.

If you look further around in our apartments: we have heating which works, normally (well, sometimes it breaks). But I’ve been to mountain villages where people just use wood to fire their ovens. And if they run out of wood, they’ll have to get an extra blanket. So that’s a huge luxury. And it just continues and continues with electricity. During my bicycle expedition, I generated power with my bike. Then sometimes, I would even somewhere find wifi. That happened very rarely, that’s why I blogged very rarely during this year and a half. But I was fascinated that all of a sudden, I could connect to the outside world.

We take so many things for given here in this Western society that we forget all the abundance we have around us. Changing this perspective is important.

The luxury of having access to health care

And most of all, right now, we realize how important it is: our health system. We have access to well-trained doctors, we have access to medication. I spent a considerable amount of time in regions which are so remote that when I came into the village and somebody asked me in… They were so kind to share their food with me and let me sleep somewhere indoors where it was warm when a snow storm was raging outside. I was incredibly grateful for that, so when I asked – normally I tried to give something back, so you know I looked around and tried to observe if there was something where I could help – oftentimes, people asked me if I had medication for an injury they got while they were cutting wood, for example. So they had this elbow or knee that really hurt. I became a rolling pharmacy, a pharmacy on wheels so to speak, because these people would not have a chance to see a doctor. There was no doctor, there was no pharmacy. They very rarely could take the time off and make the effort to actually travel down, for a couple of days, to a larger village where maybe they could see a doctor.

So essentially, during most of my trip, I wasn’t actually ill myself, except for one time. All the medication that I had brought with me, most of it I actually gave away. I hope they all understood the descriptions that I gave – sometimes drawing pictures or playing pantomime to make them understand that, ‘Just take it in the morning and in the evening’. And then, ‘Oh no, no, please don’t give it to the toddler! I know, the child is in pain because the teeth are growing, but these are painkillers and not suited for little children.’

In essence, I’m just trying to get to you that there is enough – we live in abundance here.

The abundance of sharing

If you look at people who buy supplies for a year in supermarkets – or so at least it seems – they obviously are in a state of lack. They believe there’s not enough and completely forget there is enough, in particular if we share. That’s another huge lesson that I learned. In terms of food, even right now, if I look at the supplies that I have just in my kitchen… I don’t have much in terms of supplies. But it’s going to last at least for one quarantine (2 weeks) in case I get sick.

What was really heartwarming for me was seeing how people who were actually and really poor, they were – in my perception, at least – more often in the state of abundance than those people who actually have a lot. I still very fondly remember the moment when I cycled into a little village in the Pamir mountains in Tajikistan. I had enough food for the evening, so I would have been fine. But I was invited in by a family and I offered them… I think I still had some bread from the last village and I had some nuts.

But they said, ‘No, no, no, that’s fine, that’s fine. Have some rice!’ Actually, their dinner – and that’s the case for many people in this region – their dinner consisted of rice. Full stop. They only had rice. Nothing else. But, without thinking twice about this, they had cooked rice for dinner for the family – and then they just made each portion a little bit smaller, so they had enough to spare to offer me some rice as well. They were actually grateful for… grateful is the wrong word… they seemed genuinely happy that they could offer something to a guest. They didn’t think from the state of lack. They said, ‘Oh, well, no, there’s enough.’

In the morning, breakfast would only consist of butter tea. Salted butter tea is very typical for this region. It’s literally just tea with a bit of butter, so you get some nourishment, and some salt, maybe also some bread. That’s it. And those are the two meals there are each day.

Being in a state of abundance changes you

I learned a lot from these very humble people and I think we all can, in terms of thinking from a state of abundance and acting from this state, instead of thinking from a state of lack. Because it radically changes our behavior towards others and towards the world.

I hope that I could share something that’s of value for you. If you would like feel free to share in the comments below what your experience is with being in a state of lack or being in a state of abundance. I mean, obviously, I am not always in a state of abundance, either. I still have moments when I think from a state of lack, but it’s always good to catch yourself there. To say: ‘Okay, interesting, now I’m in a state of lack. How can I change my perspective and be in a state of abundance?’

I’m looking forward to hearing from you, to reading your comments and I’m looking forward to seeing you again soon. Stay healthy! Bye!

PS: You can also find this episode on my youtube channel and my facebook page. Did you enjoy this episode? You are most welcome to share it with whoever you think might benefit from it!

The post Abundance – realize the plentitude around you appeared first on Anne. Westwards..

>> here is the way to the video:

— Transcript of the podcast —

Hi, my name is Anne Westwards and I would like to introduce this new podcast to you. I spent a year and a half cycling along the ancient Silk Roads, all over Asia and the Middle East with my beloved bicycle Emily here. In these days, I’ve been asked repeatedly, if I would like to share my stories of solitude and coping with social isolation with you – so the strategies I used and what I learned during these long, long periods of time when I simply didn’t meet another human being. What I would like to talk about today is radical acceptance. What do I mean by that?

What is radical acceptance?

We all know these situations when things don’t go as planned because something unexpected happens that is way outside of our control: the kayaking trip, which needs to get cancelled, because a thunderstorm is coming up and you are not supposed to be on water during a thunderstorm. You don’t want to, either. Or a major sporting event that you planned for, trained for and worked really hard to participate in, which then gets cancelled. This just happened to a friend of mine, who was planning to attend a marathon, which got canceled due to the corona virus. For me personally: if you are watching this as a video, you can see that I just was diagnosed with a broken elbow, which came really untimely. Because this was at a time, when I realized that it didn’t have any supplies here in my apartment in Berlin and I couldn’t actually carry lots of things. It was a pain in the first place to carry anything in this situation.

The ongoing fight in your mind

So what is the normal reaction? It is that we want – in the situation – we want to suppress reality, repress reality. So literally you would like to close your eyes, stick your fingers in your ears and to say: ‘No, no, no, this can’t be happening! This can’t be true!’ And that’s a normal reaction. That’s fine. If you look at children, they then just throw a temper tantrum if things don’t go their way. They are trying to change things. And adults sometimes have the same pattern, where our inner child is just throwing a tantrum. Now, with those major things that are way out of our control – the weather, a virus, just pure bad luck in an accident – things are not going to change. The situation in your head is then: part of you knows: ‘So this is reality.’, Because you perceive it with your senses – you read about it, you hear about it, you feel that your elbow is broken. But there’s another part, which just tries to fight reality. It has this different conception of what should be versus what is. Now, this doesn’t only sound exhausting, it is exhausting. Fighting reality is exhausting. It’s exhausting for you, it’s also exhausting for others in your vicinity – your friends, your family.

Use your energy wisely

Radical acceptance is about finding your peace with what is. It doesn’t mean not doing anything about it. You can make other plans, for example. You can use the downtime that you have now due to the virus to maybe start learning this language that you always wanted to learn. Or use this extraordinary time to spend more time of your children, because schools are closed. There are a lot of different ways of how we can use this energy, which you’re basically just burning for nothing, if you’re just fighting reality in your head and channel this into something creative, productive. Or even just use it for having an inner peace of mind. That is also an option. News have never gotten older faster. At least in my personal experience, I don’t remember a time when news were as old as quickly these days. Yesterday’s news seem really old. The situation is changing rapidly and changing all the time. And it costs energy to adapt to that, even if you’re in radical acceptance. You just breathe in and say ‘Okay, well, this is how things are. What can I do about this? How can I change my plans? How can I make things work? How can I find a babysitter when I have to go away to work?’ You need energy for this. But it’s also just about adapting to the new situation every single day – this costs energy as well. And we’re in for this for a bit longer. So you don’t want to run out of steam after a week or so.

When the Chinese-Pakistani border was closed…

To share an example from my cycling trip: I guess nowadays, we learn that borders can and will be closed. Back in the day, a few years back when I cycled, this wasn’t the normal situation. So normally you would expect borders to be open. I was cycling along the Karakoram Highway, coming from the Chinese side and I was planning to go to the Pakistani side by bike. And then I learned that the border between China and Pakistan was going to be closed for two weeks. This messed up my entire schedule because I had visa running. Essentially, I wouldn’t even have been able to enter Pakistan two weeks later, because then I wouldn’t have been able to spend more than a few days there before my visa I was already running out. I would have loved to cycle all the way to Pakistan, but given the situation… Believe me my inner self did throw a temper tantrum for about I think it was 10 minutes or so and then afterwards I was like ‘Okay, alright, this is how it is.’ Believe me you don’t… – it’s not a corona virus, but if you’re at the border and there are people with guns… there’s no arguing with people with guns – or with the authorities, in that case. So I accepted the situation and accepted that I wouldn’t be able to cycle all the way. I organized and asked around the merchants. I found a truck that was going this way and just threw my bicycle at the back of the truck and hitchhiked to the border.

… there were different ways of dealing with it

Another way of dealing with this would be – and I realized this a few days later in Pakistan, where I met an American cyclist who was going the other way, who was coming from Pakistan wanted to cycle to China along the Karakoram highway. Which, by the way, is stunningly beautiful. If you ever get to go, it’s one of my favorite places on earth. I met this cyclist and I warned him: ‘Ah, well, sorry, I have really bad news for you: The border is closed already. It’s closed for two weeks.’ And he just straight went into the temper tantrum phase of things. He was fighting reality, saying: ‘No, this can’t be! This is messing up all of my plans! My flight is leaving from China… blah blah blah’. You know how it goes, we all know it, because we we’ve listened to it in our heads before. And then he turned on me. He took his rage and directed it towards me saying: ‘You’re a liar! You’re just trying to sabotage my trip!’ And I was like: ‘No no no, please don’t kill the messenger. I’m just trying to warn you, so you can still adapt.’ We met a day or two worth of riding from the border, so he could still have turned around and actually used this time: to maybe go mountaineering, there are just fantastic hiking opportunities in the Karakoram. Or yeah, maybe just do something completely different.

He was venting his rage and frustration at me and this is also what you see happening these days. People who are just plain flat refusing the situation as it is, saying: ‘Oh, people are just panicking, this can’t be true, These are all lies, it was all invented!’ Whatever you hear people say, this is their fighting of reality. This is hard and they’re wasting energy. Maybe they’re also wasting your energy. So try to distance yourself from them. That’s not only the meter and a half or two meters that you’re supposed to keep. But take some mental distance. This is also something that you can accept: ‘Well, some people will take a bit longer for accepting what is.’ Yet, they’re still wasting a lot of energy on the way to acceptance – their energy and your energy as well. Personally, I never found out what became of this American cyclist that I met. He did carry on very stubbornly. In fact, he said: ‘No I don’t believe you – you’re lying. I’m going to the border.’ I said: ‘Okay, well, your choice. Good luck!’ Obviously, I was very certain the border guards wouldn’t open this border for him, just because he wanted to cross. So his acceptance probably came one day or two later when he actually reached the border. But obviously, he could have spent this time in much, much nicer ways instead of being full of rage and frustration and just wasting energy, trying to change things that he couldn’t change.

India: How people reacted when their money became worthless

Another example from my cycling expedition that I would like to share with you is the money devaluation in India that happened in November 2016. I had just reached Delhi – I had just come down from the Himalayas, in fact – when all of a sudden, I read in the news that any bill wasn’t worth anything anymore overnight. The decision was literally announced overnight the day Trump was elected – I guess, in order to keep this a little bit from the international media. And in this situation I was the one who just couldn’t believe it. I remember talking about this. This was Delhi, so I had phone reception and internet connectivity. So I was venting my rage at a lot of people saying: ‘This can’t be! What do I do? This is just messing up my entire plan!’ It took a couple of days before you even knew what you could do in this situation. But in these days, I looked around and I saw how the Indian population was taking it. And it was amazing to see just how calm people were. In a way, I wanted to shake them also, saying like: ‘Listen, you can stand up! This is not a virus, it’s not a pandemia. It’s your government acting. You could protest.’

They didn’t. When finally, the banks opened again, when you could exchange the old devalued money against new bills which you could actually use for transacting, buying things – this was a time when literally you couldn’t buy anything, because there was no money worth anything. Even US Dollars weren’t accepted anywhere, not even the black market. So then finally the banks opened again and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I saw people queuing for hours and hours and hours in the burning sun. And they started queuing before the sun rose, something around 4:00, no, 5:00 in the morning and they queued for 10 to 12 hours – just to be able to exchange the equivalent of about 20 US dollars. That was all you were allowed to exchange per day. And even though, as I said, part of me still tried to change things (it was really hard to resist the urge to shake people, saying: ‘you can do something about this!’). I still very deeply admired just this calm radical acceptance, that I saw in these people, for the situation. You see this often in developing countries, where people accept that this is how it is: ‘I have queue now. I don’t know how long it’s going to take. Maybe I’m going to queue for the entire day. And at the end of the day, the bank might be closing again and I wasn’t able to exchange any money. But what’s the alternative to accepting what is? It would just be wasting your energy fighting it.

How radical acceptance can help you now

At least, in the case of the corona virus, it certainly is wasting your energy trying to delude yourself that this was not happening. This is happening. Once you accept this, you can actually channel this energy in many different ways. Be it that you start a new creative endeavor, that you use this downtime in whichever way shape or form you want, realize that you want to, I don’t know, learn new things, a new instrument maybe. Whatever you do, it’s completely up to you. Just don’t waste energy fighting reality. Radical acceptance is really something that I carry deep in my heart now and which I realize is also helping me right now to accept the situation. That being said, I hope I could share something which is valuable for you.

If you would like I would love to hear in the comments how you are coping with the situation. If radical acceptance is something that you already practice or if you’re still fighting the situation, which is fine as well – it just takes some people longer than others to get to the stage of accepting. But it’s a good state to be in. Stay healthy and I’ll see you again soon. Bye!

PS: You can also find this episode on my youtube channel and my facebook page. Did you enjoy this episode? You are most welcome to share it with whoever you think might benefit from it!

The post Radical acceptance – finding peace of mind appeared first on Anne. Westwards..

Now, I am very excited to announce that a little selection of my best photographs from the saddle went into print as postcards! Five photos is not enough to do justice to the wonderful landscapes and great people of Asia and the Middle East. Still, I hope they’ll bring the same joy to you as they did to me when I first laid my eyes on these extraordinary places.

Sunrise

The moment the sun rises over the glacier of Rakaposhi, we forget everything else. The long hike on the day before, getting up to the base camp of the imposing mountain of Rakaposhi. The cold night in the tent, trying to find sleep at high altitude. The hour we had spent freezing outdoors at 5am, waiting for the sun to rise over the glacier. All that is forgotten in the golden rays of the sun, warming our faces and hearts. Five friends, who had met on the road and bonded instantly. And a moment that none of us will ever forget.

Welcome to Solitude

My first day in Tajikistan – and what a landscape to greet me with! Descending from my second pass of the day, I should hurry up to find a spot to camp, it is getting late after all. But I cannot take my eyes off the stark beauty of the mountains, the eternal street ahead of me, the clouds racing past, the sun bathing everything in gold. Even though I know that it will be freezing cold in an hour, I simply cannot stop. I cycle on and on and on, gorging on beauty, on quietness, on feeling one with the nature around me. Life can only be lived from moment to moment and this moment simply lasts forever.

City of Memories

The desert reaches as far as you can see, flat golden stretches of barren land. And then, at the far horizon, a fairytale skyline rises from the shallow surroundings. The first thought is that of a Fata Morgana, so improbable seems the mere idea of domes in the desert. And yet. Yet, as you get closer, you realize it is a city in itself. Not a city of the living, but a city of memories, of those who are remembered, of those whose love and dreams still hang in the air just like an afterthought.

Freedom

That unbelievable sense of freedom, when you roam the wilderness and set up camp wherever you like. Nothing quite compares to this feeling, this way of living. Every movement is routine, every movement is meditation. Why would you hurry while setting up camp? At least not in the golden summer sun in Mongolia, when for once I am at peace with my surroundings. I take my time and enjoy that absolutely no thoughts are required, everything just flows. And then, at some point, my camp is ready, my diary is waiting, my heavy boots come off my feet and a herd of goats stops for a  visit. Oh glorious life on the road!

Anticipation

The many switchbacks that lead up to Kunzum La pass, the innumerable, awful switchbacks! And yet, despite the altitude and despite the slow process, I am propelled by the thought of reaching the famous Spiti valley on the other side of the pass. Spiti, with its glorious colors and delightful rock formations. The anticipation is rising… and yet another switchback. By the time I reach the pass, it is getting late already and the wind is chilling me to the bone. But I am captivated by the sheer amount of prayer flags that cheerfully greet me in the icy wind. The colors of Spiti, I love them already.

Which ones are your favorites? Let me know if you’d like to get some and I’d be happy to send postcards your way (you can order them here)!

The post Capturing a moment appeared first on Anne. Westwards..

Great news! Until April 30th, 23:59, the crowdfunding is running for my long awaited book:

Solo by bike through Iran

A captivating travelogue from this diverse country, which is oftentimes shown in such a one-dimensional way. Told from my own perspective, that of a Western woman. Unless I am cycling disguised as a man and risk my skin for that.

You want to read the book? I need YOU to make the book a reality! Via Crowdfunding, you…

• contribute to turning the manuscript into a book (editing, design, print),
• make sure to be among the first to receive your copy, and
• chose among other wonderful give-aways beyond the book (Fine Art prints, talks, mini coaching sessions… you’re going to like it!).

>> Yes, I want to help making the book a reality! <<

Thanks so much for your support, I really appreciate it! Let’s make this happen together!

PS: You’d like to get a visual impression of me and the bike expedition? Here is the video for the campaign – enjoy watching! (You can also watch it directly on my crowdfunding page.)

GERMAN VERSION

Großartige Neuigkeiten! Bis 30. April um 23:59 Uhr läuft das Crowdfunding für mein lange erwartetes Buch:

Solo mit dem Fahrrad durch den Iran

Ein fesselnder Reisebericht aus diesem vielschichtigen Land, das oft so eindimensional dargestellt wird. Erzählt aus meiner Perspektive, der einer westlichen Frau. Wenn ich nicht als Mann verkleidet radele und damit Kopf und Kragen riskiere.

Ihr wollt das Buch lesen? Ich brauche EUCH, damit das Buch Realität wird! Via Crowdfunding…

• tragt ihr dazu bei, dass aus dem Manuskript ein Buch wird (Lektorat, Design, Druck),
• stellt ihr sicher, dass ihr unter den allerersten sein werdet, die ihre Ausgabe in den Händen halten werden und
• ihr könnt euch über das Buch hinaus weitere wunderbare Give-Aways aussuchen (Kunstdrucke, Vorträge, mini-Coachings … es wird euch gefallen!).

>> Ja, ich möchte das Buch möglich machen! <<

Tausend Dank für eure Unterstützung – ich weiß das wirklich sehr zu schätzen! Let’s make this happen together!

PS: Ihr wollt einen visuellen Eindruck bekommen? Hier ist das Kampagnen-Video, mit vielen Bildern von der Reise – viel Spaß beim Anschauen! (Oder ihr schaut es euch direkt auf der Crowdfunding-Seite an.)

The post Solo by bike through Iran: crowdfunding for my book till 30.04.! appeared first on Anne. Westwards..

I have also created a beautiful calendar with these photos (without the watermarks), printed on paper to inspire every day with wanderlust and a sense of adventure. Have a look!

1. Toktogul reservoir, Kyrgyzstan

Enjoy what you see? Click here to get the photo calendar!

‘Hello, hello!’ I leave my dreamy-cycling mode and discover two cyclists on the side of the road, waving their arms wildly. I stop immediately. There is no way you would ever pass other long-distance cyclists without at least a bit of small talk. ‘Would you like to camp with us tonight? And have dinner? We already negotiated a deal with the owners of the restaurant!’

The landscape around Toktogul reservoir is lit up magically by the evening light. I hesitate for a moment – cycling in this wonderful time of the day has already become my favorite, even after just a few weeks on the road. But the prospect of spending an evening with other cyclists just sounds too good to let it slip. The first time for me to actually have that chance (there would be very few others in the year that followed, but I didn’t know that yet).

What a fantastic decision it was! As it turns out, the little group consists of two more cyclists who already started to unload their bicycles at the back of the building. The four of them have already cycled through much of the Pamirs together, but they welcome me so warmly into their circle as if we had been companions for weeks already. The entire terrace is ours for camping, with a fantastic view over the gigantic reservoir. Dinner turns out to be a really tasty fish, caught fresh from the lake, and made even more wonderful by long conversations with my like-minded new friends. The cherry on the cake, though, comes early in the next morning: running downhills towards the shore and jumping into the water! The dust of days and days on the road slowly comes off my skin, while I take in the fantastic panorama of the barren hills around me. The very definition of happiness. How much more could you possibly need?

2. Pamir Highway, Tajikistan

Enjoy what you see? Click here to get the photo calendar!

The stark beauty of the Pamirs can hardly be compared. The solitude up there is so deep, so quiet, that I sometimes feel relieved to hear my own breath, because it shows me that there is at least one living, breathing being out there: me. A great calm overcomes me, a calm that lasts for all those days that I spend up there. Just me, my bike, the road, the mountains. The villages are few and far between, the vehicles that will pass you are sparse. I lose myself completely in the beauty of the landscape, without ever feeling alone or lonely.

And yet, when I meet this herd of donkeys, I feel a surge of joy welling up. I have decided to take a rest day in Karakol, a tiny village close to a beautiful lake. Strolling through the landscape by foot, I discover the donkeys of the villagers. Donkeys are a wonderful species – they show their feelings just as they are, without any attempt to ‘play it cool’, as some other animals do. If they are curious and feel like looking at a strange thing (for a long time), they’ll do just that. If they feel like frolicking and running around, that’s what they will do. The youngsters in the herd definitely were up for some playing, chasing each other around, jumping in the air with all fours, simply doing lots of nonsense because it was so much FUN.

The Pamir mountains just put on their most tolerant face and continued looking as beautiful and sublime as ever. Oh, donkeys!

3. Khiva, Uzbekistan

Enjoy what you see? Click here to get the photo calendar!

Taking a lofty point of view changes your perception. So I climbed Islom Hoja Minaret, at 57m Uzbekistan’s tallest, to take a look at the ancient city of Khiva. Once an important trading point on the Silk Roads, Khiva provided caravans with a chance to rest before venturing into the desert again. The wealth of the city and its traders resulted in an exceptionally beautiful city, protected by massive city walls. Nowadays, the Itchan Kala (old city) is listed as a World heritage site.

And there is a lot to marvel at. An oasis inmidst of the vast desert. The sand-colored city, adorned by myriads of beautiful tiles in all shades of turquoise, yellow, white and blue. Even the giant stump of the unfinished Kalta Minor minaret seems tiny from above (the blue-tiled structure in the upper third of the photo). And maybe that is the point. This minaret was a megalomaniac project, started in 1851 by Mohammed Amin Khan with the aim to build a structure high enough to view the distant rival city of Bukhara. The project was abandoned when he died a few years later. And nowadays? Well, judging from the view I had from Islom Hoja Minaret, there is no doubt which one of the two is the tallest minarets of the country now.

4. Aktau, Kazakhstan

Enjoy what you see? Click here to get the photo calendar!

Soviet architecture is ubiquitous in much of Central Asia. In Aktau, you can’t escape it, no matter where you go. Aktau, one of the crossroads of my journey. Should I continue cycling? And where? Through Southern Caucasus? Through Iran? While pondering these questions, I lived a bit of a ‘normal life’. I rented a room and went about my business: going to the post office, getting photocopies of my passport, applying for different visas, changing money, organizing packing material for my bike Emily (in case I decided to fly to Iran).

And for many of these seemingly simple, straight-forward tasks, endless amounts of questions needed to be solved. Make no mistake, this is former Soviet Union territory. There is no such thing as simply ‘making a photocopy’. One woman had heard rumors that in a certain residential building (‘the one with the portrait of our former president on it’) there ought to be a little computer club, where youngsters play games. ‘They might have a printer or such a thing.’ They did not. But they had another clue, another description of where I might get lucky. Only that again, they had no street name, no house number. It took me the better part of the day to hunt that other place down. Only that I was a few months late: they had stopped doing business, the neighbors told me. The scavenger hunt continued.

In the end, I did manage to get my photocopies. I have never worked nearly as hard as getting a copy of my passport. But neither had I ever talked to nearly as many people in the process (in my almost non-existent Russian). Nor had I made nearly as many connections. People started greeting me in the street (‘Have you managed to talk to Olga concerning the photo copies?’). Yes, if you look at the architecture, the Soviet Union seems well and alive in Aktau. But it’s not only present in the buildings. It’s also the ability of people to help each other out, to manage – and to manage well – while things are not as easily available as elsewhere. And that creates a social fabric of a special quality.

PS: If you need to make photocopies in Aktau, I can provide you with GPS coordinates of a hidden little place. But I would recommend you not to use them. You’ll learn so much more trying to find an option yourself.

5. Esfahan, Iran

Enjoy what you see? Click here to get the photo calendar!

By the time I arrive in Esfahan, the snowstorm has given way to a light flurry of snow. As glad as I am about that, I am still miserably cold and wet, my clothes drenched and my spirit low. Thus, it is a huge relief to know that I have a good friend in town where I know I can stay. ‘You arrive on such a special day!’, Ali exclaims. ‘It hasn’t snowed in Esfahan in ages. This is a desert, after all.’ Ironically, one of the reasons for me to come to Iran was to escape the snow: I had changed my route completely, deciding against cycling through winterly Caucasus towards Berlin. Instead, I was following a strict route Southwards now, crossing Iran towards the Persian Gulf. Snowstorms were not exactly part of the plan.

But Ali is right: Esfahan is located in a desert, so between hours of snow, ample sunshine lets the ice crystals sparkle and shine. Excitement about the white present captures old and young, men and women alike. The rapture streams through the narrow lanes, the bigger avenues, channeled into the bigger spaces of parks and squares. Whenever it begins snowing, faces of people light up, eyes are raised towards the myriads of tiny snowflakes that sail downwards from dark clouds. And whenever the sun comes out, the people of Esfahan use this chance to catch a bit of warmth in midst of winter. Groups of friends assemble outdoors, happily ignoring freezing temperatures and wet benches, aware of the specialty of this particular moment, this particular day.

And I? I decide to stay for a while and let myself be absorbed in the wave of general enthusiasm about snow, sunshine and life.

6. Sharjah, United Arab Emirates

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Coming from Iran, the United Arab Emirates seem like an optical illusion at first. The giant malls, the all-engulfing consumerism, the shiny cars, the never-ending arrays of goods on display, the huge amounts of expats, you name it. Everything seems so huge and fast and … a little less human. Nobody invites me in for a cup of tea, nobody asks if I was okay, nobody welcomes me to their country, as Iranians had done all the time. I am as anonymous as anyone living in those giant skyscrapers would be. Skyscrapers and highways (‘6 lanes, 12 lanes, we can build the widest highways in the world!’). Maybe these could have given me a feeling of coming back ‘home’ into the consumer world as I knew it, but they only left me estranged. I felt stranded, as if the Persian Gulf had washed me ashore.

At the same time, I can finally feel the wind in my neck and on my bare feet and wrists again – no Hijab required anywhere, no headscarf, no need to dress in baggy clothing. At the same time, my worn out, faded clothes seem mildly inappropriate in this shiny bubble that I have just entered. My bicycle and me, dusty and rugged as we are, obviously do not fit in.

And then, I can hear the muezzin, calling the believers to prayer. At that moment, everything seems to come together. After many months in Muslim countries, I have become so used to the calls to prayer, that I started using the calls to structure my day. I rarely look at the time anymore. The rough idea of ‘between the third and fourth prayer’ is enough for me. Hearing the call to prayer in what seems like a very alien country, all of a sudden, gives me the feeling of having something to hold on to. Something to rely on. I would cope.

7. Wadi Hoqain, Oman

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The moment you leave the scorching sun to enter an oasis is unforgettable. The semi-shadow engulfs you mercifully, providing immediate respite from the brutal desert sun. A sun that seems to burn through your skin right into your bones. A heat that is so intense that you feel as if your body would melt, turn into a puddle right away. And now: shadow, relief, delight. The heat immediately gives way to cooling breeze, a state of pure bliss.

A whisper is in the air, from countless water channels that support life in this this little paradise. Your eyes marvel at these endless shades of green, a visual treat after a long day in the ochre and earthy colors of the stony desert all around. The cheery voices of children mix with the sound of the wind that is playing with the the palm leaves. And all of this seems to say: ‘just stay, stay a little longer’. And yet, you know that this is just a pause, just a brief moment of relief. But maybe… maybe you can ask whether you can camp somewhere in the valley. Camp somewhere, where you’ll smell the orchards at nightfall, falls asleep to the sound of trickling water and see palm trees in the morning light when you open your tent in the morning. Maybe, just maybe…

8. Bactrian camels, Mongolia

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Meeting a heard of Bactrian camels always makes my day in Mongolia. And during those two months that I spend crossing this country from East to West, I definitely need something to lift up my mind! Thunderstorms, sexism, thirst, armies of mosquitos, deep sand – all of this is immediately forgotten as soon as I meet a herd of camels. Most often, I found them roaming the endless steppe freely, without any nomad in sight, lifting their giant feet ever so leisurely to make slow progress across the steppe. Despite their majestic height, Bactrian camels always seemed innately friendly.

Despite all that is changing in Mongolia, this is still a country of nomads. While the country definitely does not suffer from overpopulation, the numerous herds of the nomads definitely have led to severe overgrazing. No matter where you go (or cycle), herds of goats, sheep and horses abound.

The gentle Bactrian camels are a rare sight for me, however. And these huge animals surely are not accustomed to the sight of a solo cyclist either! As soon as the animals become aware of me, the entire herd stops, just as chatty neighbors would, in order to take a good, close look at this weird creature with its funny, loaded bicycle. Their heads follow me if I cycled forward. They trace me, when I cycle backwards. And forwards. And backwards. As if they were following a bizarre, little game of tennis, where I play both sides. After such an encounter, I spent the rest of the day smiling. Maybe it was the same for the camels.

9. Karakorum, China

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The fabled Karakorum Highway! I had anticipated this stretch for months. The idea blossomed in my my mind months earlier, while I was still cycling in completely other regions. The KKH was the reason why, once I had reached the Arabic Peninsula, I didn’t simply continue cycling on another continent. I had heard stories and seen photos of the Karakorum Highway (KKH) – and decided that I had to return to Asia. Mongolia, yes. Himalayas, hell yes! But my main reason for returning to Asia had been to cycle the KKH from China to Pakistan. The KKH links the North West of China (Xinjiang) with the North of Pakistan (Gilgit-Baltistan, Punjab and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa), leading over Khunjerab pass, at 4,693m (15,397 feet) the highest paved international border crossing in the world.

So here I was, after so many months of expectation! But I was not on my bicycle. Giardia had struck me in Kashgar, China, the night before I had intended to start cycling the KKH. I had spent almost two weeks in a stupor of diarrhea, fever and pain, so weak that I was almost crawling on my fours when I needed to get to the restroom. Fortunately, I had made some friends who looked after me (other long-distance cyclists and backpackers). But the first day when the fog lifted from my mind ever so slightly, a realization struck me: the Chinese-Pakistani border would close for two weeks, due to the unfortunate coincidence of two major holidays (one on the Chinese side, one on the Pakistani side – and yes, they really do close the border during holidays). In my given state of health, I had no chance to reach the border in time. And by the time the border would open again, my Chinese visa would have expired and my Pakistani visa would be left with next to no time. So I needed to reach the border. Quickly. My current state of health didn’t allow me to get there fast enough by bike – I had two days left for what would have been four to five days of cycling, in healthy condition. So I packed my bike Emily, dragged myself to the street and organized myself a lift to the border.

When I saw the mountains appear, from the window of the car I was in, the nausea and stomach cramps subsided for a moment. The Karakorum. Finally! Pakistan was ahead of me, the land of unknown hospitality and wonderful nature!

10. Passu Cathedrals, Pakistan

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‘How about you come in for a tea first?’ The former army general waives me into his living quarters. The steaming hot cup of delicious chai in my hands, I listen to his stories, take a stroll with him through his little orchard. And then decide to stay for a bit and rent a room from him. A sparklingly clean room that faces one of the most beautiful mountains I have ever seen: the craggy peaks of Tupopdan (6,106m / 20,033 ft). I spend half a day sitting under apple trees, occasionally picking one of the delicious fruits. But predominantly, I spend those hours just looking at Tupopdan.

This enigma of a mountain exudes an air of serenity that I find unparalleled. It is easy to understand why it is also called ‘Passu Cathedrals’. Passu is the name of the tiny village in which I am staying. Why cathedrals? Yes, the multitude of spires might physically resemble the turrets of an otherworldly gothic church. But I really felt the mountain ought to be revered as a wonder of nature, a powerful, sacred place that radiates deep calm and peace. In fact, I myself was a pilgrim to this cathedral. Ever since I first lay my eyes on a photo of this mountain, I knew I had to come here. Propelled by the fantastic stories my cyclist friend Tara had told me about her time in Pakistan’s Karakorum, I had already half decided that I should cycle in this part of Asia. But the decision became crystal clear once I actually saw that photo of the Passu Cathedrals. The mountain was calling me. And it was a call I could not possibly ignore.

I spent much of my little time out in Passu just looking at this mountain. I knew I had come to the right place. Pakistan and its wonderful people turned out to provide so many more presents to me. But even if there had been nothing else to admire in this beautiful country, even if I had just cycled all the way to see this one mountain, it would have been worth it. If there is a call as powerful as this one, who am I to not follow?

11. Kinnaur valley, India

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There is nothing quite like autumn in the Himalayas. Or really, anywhere in high altitude mountains. The air is crystal clear, the days still warm, but the nights are spent with clenched teeth and all the clothes that you can find in your panniers. The contrast of temperature between day and night will make you appreciate the warming rays of sun even more. And you appreciate every meter of altitude that you descend, as you get back into warmer climates … and back to trees.

Who would have thought how wonderful trees can be? The soft sound of leaves rustling in the wind. The color and life they add to the landscape, even more so in autumn. After having spent weeks in high altitude deserts, where you don’t find bigger plants to speak of, trees become an outrageous sight, one that you cannot take your eyes off. The dots of yellow and orange inmidst the sea of green seem spectacular enough to warrant being listed as one of the wonders of the world.

In Kinnaur valley, autumn also has a sound to it: the sound of knives hitting wooden cutting blocks. The apples are harvested and nearly every roof of a village will be occupied by an elderly women, cutting kilos over kilos of apples. The slices will dry in the sun of late autumn and turn into a sweet delicacy not long after. Dried apples, spectacularly colorful trees, clear air – autumn, the Himalayan way.

12. Bangkok, Thailand

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Thailand was a culture shock in more ways than I had imagined. The reason why I love cycle-touring is much is that it allows me to experience changes of culture, habits and landscape slowly. Very slowly. You are not dropped into a foreign environment like an alien from a spaceship (or airplane), you gradually move towards it, in tiny steps. The changes will be subtle for a long time, in particular in border regions where traders will move forth and back between countries. After a while, you realize that people’s clothing does looks a little different and dishes have an ingredient in them which you have not tasted in a while. Some of these changes feel abrupt, but really, the pace is nothing like taking an airplane.

And then I had to take one. An airplane, that is. India’s currency was devaluated overnight, leaving me with a little more than 0,40 € of valid money in my pockets and very limited chances to get any cash worth more than the paper it was printed on. After a two week struggle, I finally managed to fly out to Thailand. Yes, my plans had been very different. But in the given circumstances, continuing to cycle through India just did not seem feasible.

So the exact thing happened that I am usually trying to avoid: I was dropped into a culture that I had had no time to warm up to. Coming from the sparsely populated states of Ladakh and Himachal Pradesh, from the barren beauty of the Himalayas, the sheer density in Thailand blew me away. The lush vegetation, humid air, busy street life, beautiful orchids, countless supermarkets, functioning ATMs, Western expats, coffee house scene, evening rush hour, lively night markets, fragrance of lemongrass, artfully arranged still lives, quiet temples, vibrant student culture, everything, everything. A lot to digest, to marvel at, to revel in.
So I took a quiet moment, amidst the hurly-burly of Bangkok’s rush hour. I positioned myself at the side of a minor road with my camera at hand. And tried to shift my focus: from the masses of people to single moments, single vehicles, single people. And with every face that I captured with my lenses, I started to calm down. I stepped out of the overwhelming mass and began to see the small, wonderful details again. Sometimes, it is all just a matter of what we focus on.

13. Kuang Si Waterfall, Laos

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Finally cycling! Finally sunshine! I had managed to cross into Laos just before a major cyclone hit that area of Southeast Asia. Days and days filled with copious amounts of rain, incessant rain, rain that left no part of my body dry, that chilled me to the bone. There is no point trying to defy a cyclone, least of all by cycling. Thus, I had spent those days of endless rain on a boat which followed the course of the river Mekong towards Luang Prabang. Another day of rain in Luang Prabang. And then… the sun came out!

It did not matter that it was already afternoon when the sun emerged from behind the clouds. It did not matter that I would surely get into darkness on the way back. I wanted to cycle and I wanted to cycle NOW. The rain had me trapped for so long that I could not wait a minute longer. I hopped onto my bike Emily – unloaded! – and enjoyed how easy cycling can be without the extra weight of panniers. Had we walked, one could have said that Emily and I took a leisurely stroll, through villages, past fields, over a few hills, towards the waterfalls of Kuang Si.

So water again, but this time sublimely lit by the rays of late afternoon sun. Water flowing in abundance through the equally rich tropical vegetation, lit up by wonderfully warm rays of sun. The palette of turquoise, brown and green – an endless variety of those colors. And all of them brought to a brilliant radiance by the sun. Oh, the sun!

 … and finally: the calendar!

I hope you enjoyed riding along for those 13 moments all over Asia and the Middle East! If you would like to have some inspiration for the upcoming year, reminding you of the beauty of the world, I also created a beautiful photo calendar with these photos. If you’d like to support me a little bit on my journey, you would make me very happy by ordering one (…or two… ;-)). I am starting my self-employment these days, narrating the story of this expedition in words and photos – such that I can continue exploring the world by bike. Any support in this is much appreciated. You can find all relevant infos for purchasing the calendar here. That being said: have a wonderful advent season and a great start into 2019!

If you want to know where your mind traveled, check out the map below (and yes, I still need to update the route through South-East Asia ).

The post Around Asia & Middle East in 13 photos appeared first on Anne. Westwards..

So I went through all of my photos, selected those that I like best and created a calendar that follows my journey, country by country, one for every month of the year 2017. It was a lovely little project – such fantastic memories! If ever you got confused where on earth I have been cycling for those many months, this is for you.

The printed photo calendar that I created out of this really is more a labor of love than a scheme that will make me rich, considering that I spent multiple weeks fulltime on just this, with the support of a truly good friend. In fact, I have done little else since I arrived in Thailand. That being said, you would make me very happy if you had a look at it. After all, I have come to the end of my savings which financed this journey so far. If you enjoy the photography and would like to support me a bit, you can find all relevant infos for purchasing the calendar here. (The photos in the calendar do not contain my watermark, of course.)

In any case, here are the photos and a look back at this journey so far. Enjoy!

1. Kyrgyzstan

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What am I doing here? This question followed me all through Kyrgyzstan, the first country I ever cycled through. In fact, this is the first bike trip of my life. I simply invested a good part of my savings into gear and a sturdy bicycle – and took a leap of faith. I only recently realized how much courage there was behind this step into the unknown. But even though I was scared a lot – figure nights having wolves around my tent (more on this here), the approaching cold of winter, … – I already realized that I absolutely loved everything about cycle touring. Being outdoors all day. Connecting with nature. Being self-sufficient. Taking my time. Reducing my belongings to the barest mininimum. Camping in the wild. The solitude. The landscapes. The wonderful people I would have never met otherwise.

At this point, though, during those first weeks in Kyrgyzstan, the challenges were different. In fact, I had not even taken a test ride on my fully-loaded bike before leaving Germany. So I considered Kyrgyzstan to be my trial ride. The test before I would decide whether I had the courage to continue alone into the Pamir Mountains. I cycled two weeks from Bishkek to Osh, through spectacular landscape, visited nomads and their herds of horses, tackled the first mountain passes of my life by bike. And I got a first taste of the incredible hospitality that I would experience throughout this journey, with locals taking utmost care of me. But I also got glimpses into the terrible domestic violence under which far too many Kyrgyz women suffer.

When I reached Osh, I stocked up my supplies at the bazaar,… and waited. Waited until I felt ready to head out into the real wilderness. Onto the Pamir Highway, onwards to Tajikistan. The stories I had heard from other cyclists gave me much to think about – the insanely cold nights, the scarcity of food, the solitude. I do not think that I ever will be as terrified ever again in my life, as in those days preparing for the Pamirs. So I waited until I felt strong enough, mentally, physically – and then cycled off into what still feels like the biggest adventure of my life.

2. Tajikistan

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The Pamirs. My love. Oftentimes, what you fear most is the exact spot where the biggest treasure lies for you. The Pamir Mountains were the every reason for me to set out onto this cycling expedition. I felt a draw to this region that I could not explain. And once I cycled there, I knew why. I have never felt as much in tune with the world ever before. The extraordinary beauty of the landscape touched a string in my soul that I will never forget. Kyrgyzstan had already given me a glimpse of the solitude and beauty I could expect in the Pamir Mountains and the Wakhan valley. But nothing quite prepared me. I spent days and days filled with pure joy, stunned by all this beauty (more about those incredible days in the Pamirs here). And I was speechless that I had the privilege to explore this on my own. In the Pamirs, you can easily spend days without meeting another human being, in particular in late autumn.

When I descended from the Pamir Highway into the fabled Wakhan valley (where this photo was taken), I could not believe that the landscapes could become even more fantastic. Traveling along the Tajik-Afghan border with the Hindukush in sight every day, I realized that I needed more time to savor this fairytale world. So I slowed down even more and started walking my bike instead of riding it. After the wonderful solitude on the Pamir Highway, I now walked my bike through the tiny, beautiful villages of the Wakhan valley. I will never forget the people I met there – their unbelievable kindness, their hospitality, the warmth they extended to a complete stranger like me (more on this here). In retrospect, those were among the happiest days of my life.

At the same time, this part of the expedition was extraordinarily harsh, in particular on the Pamir highway The high altitude. The thin air. The approaching snow. The insanely cold nights in my tent, with temperatures dropping below -25 degree Celsius at times. The incredibly bad roads. The scarce food. And yet, I would have not minded to die there.

3. Uzbekistan

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Uzbekistan, the dark days. Maybe I could have expected that every high is followed by a low. And that a time as intense and gloriously beautiful as my days in Tajikistan would likely be followed by a deep fall. I had indeed made it out of the mountains two weeks before winter really fell. But it caught me in Uzbekistan, with snow flurries and a continuous wet cold, from which I could never quite warm up. In Tajikistan, I had experienced intensely cold nights, but could enjoy warm days with radiant sunshine. In Uzbekistan, however, light was elusive, day and night (there is no street lighting, really – or rather: the electricty system is too weak to power both the light in houses *and* light in the streets). Add to it the rain, the snow, the mud, the infamous bureaucratic hassles in this country, my very restricted visa. I had spent the absolute maximum of days I could in Tajikistan, so I was very short of time in Uzbekistan, forcing me to take my bike into trains often.

What I did find in Uzbekistan were cities with a long history, filled with splendid architecture. When the sun was out, these glorious masterpieces were mesmerizing and I spent hours and hours photographing architecture (see above). I needed the sun not only for the light, but also for the warmth – my hands were too frozen to hold a camera without gloves otherwise. On a positive note, Uzbekistan taught me to be utterly grateful for any sunny day, any bit of warmth. And since I so longed for beauty, it raised my appreciation for wonderful historic architecture to completely new levels (and there is much of that to explore in Uzbekistan). The long bouts of darkness also gave me some time to reflect on this journey so far. During sleepless nights, I realized that I had followed one principle so far: I would set no rules for myself during this journey (more on letting go of rules here). Instead, I would attempt only to stay healthy, alive and out of prison (and there were times during this expedition, later on, during which I struggled with all three).

4. Kazakhstan

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After all the difficulties in Uzbekistan, with non-functioning ATMs, deep mud and slightly paranoid authorities, Kazakhstan felt like a blessing. The people had become kinder and kinder the further north I had ventured in Uzbekistan. By the time I reached Kazakhstan, I was again surrounded by an incredible friendliness that I had missed after leaving Tajikistan (Uzbekistan sometimes has a bit of a macho culture, which, as a woman, I did not enjoy).

Kazakhstan is a tremendously large country. I only had time to explore the Mangistau region in the far West of the country, with its wonderful desert landscapes, dotted with numerous necropoli (as the one in the photo). No matter where I went, the Kazakh people I met where very excited to have me there and to help me whenever it was needed. In fact, during my (many) days in the city of Aktau, I became somewhat of a local celebrity, but in a heart-warming way: it seemed half of the city knew me and I was cordially and respectfully introduced to any bystander as ‘our journalist from Germany’. I was trying to explain that I am, in fact, not a journalist. Maybe it was my poor command of Russian, maybe the people from Aktau simply liked their own story better. For them, I stayed ‘our journalist’ and nothing could curb their enthusiasm and kindness towards me.

Kazakhstan, where my journey ended. Or, at least, where my plans ended. I reached the Caspian Sea at Aktau and did not know exactly where to continue. Take a ferry to cycle through Azerbaijan and Georgia, in order to continue cycling towards Europe? That had been on my mind, but cold and snow would await me there already. Or take a flight to Iran, where I had been invited by two friends? Iran, about which I had not even thought previously and where I would have to wear Hijab. I spent long hours sitting at the shore of the Caspian Sea, looking at the water, trying to decide.

5. Iran

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Booking a flight to Iran felt a bit like deciding to go on a cycling expedition through the high mountains of Central Asia with zero prior experience. I was excited beyond anything, filled with fear as well as curiosity of what would await me.

I have never regretted my decision to come to Iran. A rollercoaster ride it was, but an incredibly enriching one. Recently, I was asked which countries surprised me most, in a positive way. For me, those were Iran and Pakistan. I have been to few countries where the difference between the picture that is conveyed of a country in the news and the reality on the road clash so much. Iranian hospitality is beyond anything you can imagine and is extended with incredible warmth. During my seven weeks in Iran, traversing this huge country from Tehran all the way to the Persian Gulf, I only managed to camp on two nights. For bureaucratic reasons, I needed to stay in a hostel a few times. All the other nights, I was, without fail, invited into the homes and hearts of Iranians (and that of a dear German friend in Tehran). When I was on my bike, trucks and cars regularly stopped next to me, because people wanted to offer me drinks and food.

Iran was also the stage of the incredible friendship between an Iranian, a Swiss and a German. The three of us had met on the road in Tajikistan and promised to meet again in Esfahan, the hometown of our Iranian friend. The time we had together was unforgettable, filled with laughter and discussions, delightful nonsense and deep understanding at the same time. As a result, this city will always have a special place in my heart. There are few places on this planet where I felt just as welcome and at home (this is also where the photo was taken).

But it was not all sunshine. The rollercoaster ride of Iran did not only include incredible hospitality, friendship and mind-blowing masterpieces of architecture. I also faced fascism, assaults and discrimination as a woman. Which, at some point, made me decide to disguise myself as a man when cycling. A decision that made my life a lot easier on the road, but also filled me with fear about being found out. And fear of the potential consequences – you may know that all women are required by law to wear hijab in Iran (which I was technically not, whenever I disguised myself as a man). At the same time, it was unbelievably eye-opening and enriching to experience this country both as a man and as a woman. I don’t think I would have understood nearly as much about the Iranian society, had I not had two perspectives on it.

All that notwithstanding, I think back to Iran with a lot of compassion for the countless friends I have there. Those I knew before. The many I made on the road. And I am grateful for all the things that my experiences there taught me, about letting go of expectations and just being (see here).

6. United Arab Emirates

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When the ferry crossed the international border between Iran and UAE, the women on board let their headscarves fall, including me. I will never forget this moment, that felt so liberating for me. I will also never forget how overwhelmed I was by the sheer amounts of goods and consumerism all around me in UAE. This is a world that will never feel good to me – the megalomania, the terrible discrimination against immigrants, the exploitation of resources …  and some of most challenging traffic I have found anywhere (I found staying alive while cycling to be more difficult in Dubai than in New Delhi).

Fortunately, a good friend of mine was working in Dubai at the time, who took me in and gave me the biggest present of all: her bathtub (my first bath in six months)! She was also with me when my boyfriend announced on the phone that he had booked a last-minute flight to come and cycle with me through UAE and Oman. We had talked about the idea, but having him actually come (and in just two days) was a bit of a shock. I sure was happy to see him, but after all the months of solitude… So all of a sudden, I found myself in company while tackling the deserts of UAE by bike. The heat was rough, but waking up to the noise of a camel herd and camping in soft sand dunes are wonderful things, indeed (see photo).

7. Oman

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Most of all, I had missed the warmth of the Iranian people when cycling in UAE. Luckily, we were headed to Oman. The Omani people are of a gentle kindness that is unforgettable. ‘If you want to camp, I am happy to show you a nice spot in the dunes. Unless, of course, you prefer to stay in my family’s beach house. It is all yours, if you like.’ And then getting never ending plates of the most delicious dishes.

And that was good. Being a touristy tourist in Oman can be mind-bogglingly expensive – in fact, we could not afford hotel rooms. Thus, we depended on being invited by locals in order to be able to wash ourselves from time to time (and fortunately, they kept inviting us). The other challenge was the insane heat. We were cycling there in full winter, the coldest time of the year. Yet, we still saw temperatures rise above 40 degree Celsius on some days. Which, combined with the crazy gradients of some of Oman’s streets, can make your life hard, to say the least. But the beauty of the barren landscapes, dotted by incredibly fertile oases in shady wadis – it all made up for it (you might agree, if you look at the photo).

At the end of my time in Oman, I realized that I needed a break from cycling. Physically, psychologically. So far, I had woken up every day with a smile, knowing that if I could chose, this would be exactly what I would opt for: another day outdoors, on the road, on my bicycle. But in Oman, there was a week when I accumulated injuries and fell sick at the same time. And I have come to trust my intuition and my body (more thoughts about trust here). I simply woke up one day and knew it was time for a break from cycling. Some time to stay put, get organized, figure out my next routes, get the next visa. In a way, I had come to the literal end of the road anyways, at the southern tip of the Arabic Peninsula: I was again facing the ocean, with no obvious next country for this journey.

8. Mongolia

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… which, after all, brought me to Mongolia. This was not a decision taken lightly. Mongolia is one of the last frontiers in the cycle touring world. Sure, people do it, but challenges abound – scarce water, mosquitos, thunderstorms, terrible roads, the gigantic distances to be covered. And I was about to head out there all by myself. But then, I had chosen the Pamir Highway as my start into this cycling adventure, so I had some serious adventure experience under my belt. Or so I thought.

I actually prepare myself as well as I can, in particular for the stretches far from civilization. My life depends on it. But no matter how well you prepare, some things can take a wrong turn quite easily. I had some of these very close calls in Mongolia, among them running dangerously low on water and almost being hit by lightning (you can read about those experiences here). On top of that, I was assaulted by Mongolian men at a disturbingly high frequency. Assaulted to the point that I was afraid I would lose faith in humanity. I shared those experiences with you in one of the most personal blog posts I have ever published (here). Thanks a lot to the many people who reached out for me in response. And to the brave men and women who shared their similar experiences, many also set in Mongolia.

I have never endured challenges on so many levels, for such a long time, as in this country. The landscapes were mind-blowing, though, and in terms of camping, I was spoilt for choice. I was lucky that I was well-rested and well-nourished before I had set out from Ulaanbaatar. I am not sure how I would have managed without, on this journey to my very limits. And another aspect saved me: as much as I would not have minded to die in Tajikistan, at this extraordinary place that had called me for years, I very much minded to die in Mongolia. And will power goes a long way.

9. China

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After the hard times in Mongolia, I would have been in love with ANY other country, I guess. In the case of China, a couple of factors were added to this. Some 10 years ago, I spent half a year living in China, so the culture is not completely foreign to me. And even though I have forgotten quite a bit, I can still read and speak the language in enough proficiency to get along. In addition, I was simply overwhelmed by the delicious food, Uyghur and Han, that I could get no matter where I went (the food in Mongolia is probably the worst I had in the 50+ countries I have travelled in).

The Uyghur culture of Xinjiang province in the far West of China is very distinct, with open-minded people who are genuinely friendly – unless you attempt to speak Mandarin with them (it took me a while before I understood and kept my mouth shut). In fact, much of the culture here reminded me of my months in Central Asia, the summer before, and brought back good memories. Kashgar became my hiding place for a while (where this photo was taken), to process the experiences in Mongolia, make new friends and get some much needed rest.

10. Pakistan

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‘If I had not already lost my heart to Tajikistan, Pakistan would be my love.’ Statement of my dear Columbian friend Natalia, with whom I spent lovely days hiking in Pakistan. I agree with her partially, because I am in love with both (I don’t think love is mutually exclusive). I cycled along the famous Karakorum Highway (KKH), that leads through gorgeous scenery from China into the even more stunning mountains of Pakistan. The KKH is a cyclist’s dream come true: good tarmac (nowadays), passing through spectacular landscape with glaciers, peaks of more than 7,000 meters altitude, beautiful orchards and stunning lakes.

And it is not just about cycling: Pakistan is foremost a paradise for mountaineers. Some of the most beautiful mountains can be reached on comparatively easy hikes (not summiting, but getting to their base camps). I was more than happy about having carried my heavy mountaineering boots for those endless kilometers when I did not need them, just to have the chance to go hiking in Pakistan’s stunning nature. I joined forces in this endeavour with some extraordinary people I met on the road, people with whom I could connect immediately and with whom I share precious memories, such as standing in awe in front of glaciers at sunrise (see photo).

The Pakistani people, meanwhile, are en pars with the Tajiks, Iranians and Omanis when it comes to hospitality and kindness. Just wonderful! In fact, there are cultural links between all of them (to the best of my knowledge), which also meant that I recognized some words, architectural structures, bits and pieces that made my falling in love even easier. In the area of Gilgit-Baltistan, where I spent most of my time, locals are highly educated and communicating in English is very rarely a problem. Similarly to other places where only the few and hardy travel, the other travelers you meet are also extraordinary. The friendships forged during these weeks, both with Pakistanis and with foreign travelers, will surely last for a long time.

11. India

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I would have stayed for months in Pakistan, had I not had someone waiting for me in Ladakh, India. My boyfriend had again packed his bicycle to join me for a month of cycling in the Himalayas. This time, I was more prepared to give up my solitude for a bit. Only that a lot of other factors happened to be out of our control. Kashmir had become off limits, due to the escalating conflict there. Snow fell a lot earlier than expected in Ladakh, stopping us on the way to the second highest pass in the world, Tanglang La (5,328m). A lot of changes of plans, adapting, figuring out alternatives. Eventually, we decided to spend the rest of our days together cycling a stretch that I had planned to do alone, from Lahaul into Spiti valley, from where I continued solo into Kinnaur.

I have a penchant for barren, starkly beautiful mountainscapes and the Indian Himalayas are a wonderland in this regard. Add to this very welcoming locals, a largely Tibetan culture (see photo) and ancient monasteries in the position of eagles’ nests. Yes, the nights were pretty cold, the road among the worst I have ever been on, the food oftentimes just Maggi noodles. But I loved it! I don’t mind to make only few kilometers a day, to struggle with altitude, to fight with mountain passes. It all just teaches you patience and modesty.

Comes New Delhi and the challenges got to a new level: incredible smog, even for Delhi’s standards, and an overnight devaluation of 80% of India’s currency (and pretty much all of my cash). Add to this a change of the law that rendered my plan of cycling from India through Myanmar to Thailand impossible. In the end, I was out of my mind happy when I managed to scrap enough money together and take a flight out of this madness.

12. Thailand

Enjoy what you see? Click here to get the photo calendar!

Similarly as Iran last year, Thailand had not really been on my mind. My plans had ended in New Delhi. All of the plans I had come up with in the meantime had been turned infeasible due to the political situation. So Thailand it is. Up to now, I have largely worked on this calendar here. As soon as this blog post is out, I am headed towards the Golden Triangle and then onwards to Laos.

In a way, I feel like having come full circle: Thailand was the first Asian country I ever visited, back when I was 19. My memories are blurry and a lot of things have changed, but I do remember visiting this very city, Chiang Mai, half a lifetime ago. I don’t know what awaits me here (you never know), but the challenge is already clear: taking it easy. Being nice to myself. For me personally, taking the adventurous road is always easier than not to. To my relief, I will be in mountainous areas again. Not the Pamirs, not the Karakorum, not the Himalayas. But that does not matter. The road is waiting for me.

 … and finally: the calendar!

This is where the story ends, for now. Or, depending how you see it, where it starts anew, here in South-East Asia. As I wrote before, I created a beautiful photo calendar with these 12 photos from my journey. If you enjoyed following along and would like to support me a bit on this adventure, you would make me very happy if you ordered one. Or maybe one more if you have a good friend whom you believe would enjoy this, too. You can find all relevant infos for purchasing the calendar here. Have a wonderful start into 2017!

PS: Here is a map that shows where this journey on my bike has taken me so far.

The post Looking back: photo calendar of more than a year on the road appeared first on Anne. Westwards..