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Singapore Airport (1) -- Norseman (2) -- Adelaide (3) -- Bangkok (4) -- Hanoi (5)

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A Different World (update from Hanoi 12/5/2005)

"If you touch my daughter again I'll cut your head off.  I'll run you
down in my car, and cut your head off."  But I hadn't touched her!
She'd lied to her dad, that witch, but her old man didn't want to hear
it.  What's really messed up is that I was only four years old, and
that's the only encounter from that time I remember word-for-word.
Nevertheless, I hadn't thought about that memory for years.  Until I
reached Laos.  Last week, on a late-night walk in downtown Vientiane
(Laos' capitol) I had an experience which recalled that memory and the
terror associated with it.  Before I elaborate on that, I'll explain my
trip up until that point, as that encounter is just one of the many
cultural challenges I've faced in Asia.

        A different world.

I could taste the heat and thickness of the Singapore morning as I
stepped out of the baggage claim.  In contrast to Sydney's crispness,
Singapore was a sauna, even at four in the morning.  Burdened by my
bike and fifty-pound duffel my body drenched itself in sweat.   With
humidity approaching 100%, it didn't evaporate but flowed off my skin
and soaked my clothes.  I felt disgusting and there was nothing to do
but wait; my air-conditioned relief idled at the end of a long taxi
queue.  Surveying the Asian travelers in line, I noticed mine was the
only shirt whose hue had darkened since I'd exited the  building.  The
annoying smiles of the taxi conductors and their automatic transition
to English upon greeting me were reminders that here, I was an
outsider.  I'd need to adapt in body and mind to travel alone in Asia.

"Singapore is boring," I was told.  The country, like the US, is a
wealthy immigrant nation with tons of shopping.  A small island at the
tip of the Malay Peninsula, it's population is made up mostly of expats
from China, Malaysia, and India.  It's very diverse, ethnically as well
as religiously: mosques, temples, churches, and wats abound.

Singapore's strict laws and consequently low crime rate are partly
responsible for its being tagged as boring by the young backpacker
crowd.  In many ways the most advanced country in South East Asia, the
island's legal system is nonetheless stuck in the barbarism of a
bygone era.  The penalty for possession or trafficking of even small
amounts of drugs is death by hanging.  Similarly strict penalties are
imposed for weapons charges and other non-homicide offences.  Corporal
punishment (caning) is employed to deter lesser crimes.  Decisions
aren't in the hands of a judge or jury; sentences are automatic and
executed in a matter of weeks.  In fact, Singapore has the highest
execution rate in the world, about twice as high as Saudi Arabia's, the
runner-up.  In an effort to keep their country free of foreign
pollutants, their immigration handbook even prohibits "hippie types"
(exact wording from the text, which I was shown when I didn't believe
the guy) from entering the country.  I'm glad I got a haircut in
Sydney!

Those who support the tough legal system argue that it is partly
responsible for Singapore's economic success and enviable social
order.  Most don't mind living with the strict rules, and those who
do have the option to invoke change or to move out.  Foreigners have
the similar option of not traveling there, so they have no excuse if
caught.  Travelers are of course subject to local laws, as they should
be, no matter the lenience they may have been accustomed to.

It's easy to talk about Singapore's legal system's application to
foreigners in theoretical terms.  It gets harder when someone is hung.
A few months ago a young Australian man was arrested with sufficient
heroine to warrant the death penalty.  He'd been trafficking to get
his younger brother out of debt, and the media was fond of showing
images of his mother's last visit.  His sob story resonated with the
world and was all over international news.  His defense lawyer stated
that everything was being done but the situation was grim: the
defendant was "ready for death."

The man was hung a few days ago.  The day he died I realized his fate
was a lot harder to accept than I'd expected.  His situation was
close enough to mine for me to empathize with him.  I don't do or
sell drugs, and I would almost certainly not work in such a backward
country if I did.  However, his mistake isn't completely out of the
realm of possibility; he was a young man out on his luck and needed
quick money, and it was obviously a pressing issue given the risk he
was willing to incur.

So sell your Thai stick before you come to Singapore.  Despite its laws
it's a very colorful place, and its reputation of being a sterile
environment is not warranted  Especially if you're traveling
on-the-cheap.

I spent five days at a "rustic" hostel in Singapore's Little India.
My room was the size of a walk-in closet and about as comfortable; a
rock-hard mattress, smelly pillow, and noisy fan kept me awake at
night.  Other travelers had scribbled on the walls; "I came on the
lightswitch," boasted one C.D. from Churchill Community College in
Newfoundland.  The other graffiti were in German; I assumed the worst
and liberally applied Purell to all suspect surfaces: door knob, fan
switch, bed post...  That's what I get for using my Lonely Planet!

I stayed in my cell as little as possible; it was so small that my body
heat pushed the cramped room's temperature above that of the outside
air, so I walked around a lot.  This didn't make it any cooler, though.
 In fact, the weather was unbearable the first few days; I became
perpetually dehydrated and spent a lot of time sleeping.  Even at night
it was hot.  Only one bed sheet was included, not that I could have
slept under anything in the heat.  It was all I could do to just lie
there, leaking out a sweat-angel on the mattress.  I wasn't the first;
pillows and mattress reeked badly, especially when I initially sat
down, or moved.

Lots of other differences made my transition to Asia less than
seamless.  Take the bathroom facilities.  Singapore (and South East
Asia in general) is want of western-style toilets, especially in but
not limited to establishments frequented by the budget traveler.  Squat
toilets are the norm, even in the big shopping malls of Singapore.
Toilet paper is rarely supplied; one must make do with a bucket of
water and a cup, or a brown pipe shoved onto a spigot.  Soap also seems
to be a rare commodity-I hope my Purell holds up!

An unfortunately related inconsistency with the western world is the
potency of food.  With my metabolism in a cycling-induced frenzy it
takes a couple of meals to start feeling full, especially with Asian
portions being smaller than those back home.  My first day in Singapore
I was excited; I could eat for a fraction of what I could in Sydney.
This was novel; my budget no longer restricted my food intake and I
didn't have to cook.  And oh, the variety!  The flavors and textures
were just so different.  I could eat indefinitely and indiscriminately,
which, regrettably, I did.  I was especially craving curry that first
day.  I haven't touched the stuff since!

So what have I been doing in Asia aside from sweating, eating and
making use of the squat toilets?  A lot of scratching.  I haven't been
putting in nearly as many miles as I would have liked, because of it.
At first, I was very determined to muscle through any initial
discomforts (which were many).  Later, however, some problems got
exacerbated, and forced me to quit biking.

My first day on the bike in Asia was incredible, though.  I got lost
(there's a dearth of signage), but it was very exciting to be biking
amongst banana, palm, and rubber.  I felt cool, like I was an explorer
seeing this stuff for the first time.  Never mind that these were
plantations, the rainforest having been cleared many years ago; the
terraced hillsides were still jungle to this city boy.

My first tropical shower was also fun.  Unlike normal rain
(precipitation at home conforms to international standards of normalcy
of course), these tropical downpours don't usually last for more than
an hour, but are extremely fierce.  What's more, the rain's arrival is
extremely sudden, and the drops are really really big and make lots of
noise.  My only warning was fifteen seconds before the shower, when I
noticed large droplets exploding on the ground in front of me.

Unlike all of the locals, I was tough enough to brave this first
torrent without seeking shelter.  'They must think I'm a real bad-ass,'
I thought, as I noted the stares of parked motorbikers beneath an
overpass.  Thus I continued, soaked to the bone, picking up tremendous
amounts of grit from the road while working my way upstream (really)
with visibility near zero.  When the rain finally stopped, the wetness
didn't.  With the extreme humidity I never dried, despite a very hot
sun, and arrived soaking and smelly to that day's 'X'.  Lesson learned.
 I have to give credit to my Ortlieb panniers, though, as despite
dozens of complete drenchings, my belongings have not once gotten wet.
Goretex clothing would be near useless in these conditions as you would
become equally drenched with sweat; it's always over ninety here, and
the humidity pushes the perceived temperature over a hundred.

The wetness caused problems beyond chafing and my feeling gross: it
made my eczema explode.  The combination of extreme humidity, heat,
sweat, and physical strain made my skin condition severe.  I also found
that my water-logged skin was significantly weaker than dry skin, and
if I wasn't careful, I could damage it very easily by scratching.
Sometimes I'd be scratching my arm and look down, and I would've just
scratched out a chunk of skin.

The badly-affected areas are behind both knees, the near entirety of
both arms, above each armpit, entire neck, back of wrists, areas of my
back, where lovehandles would be if I quit biking, and ankles/upper
part of feet.  The worst-affected area is behind my knees; scratch
wounds are opened or irritated with each pedal stroke (and even while
walking; climbing or descending stairs is quite painful and awkward).
It takes complete focus not to scratch, and it gets progressively
itchier, to the point where scratching provides a feeling of pleasure
and relief beyond any (yes, any) climactic release known to man.
That's no exaggeration, either; it's really something.  I'd recommend
you try it, but the condition (atopic eczema) is inherited, so
unfortunately you can only get it by being my child.

The condition is maddening.  I try to leave as early as possible to
avoid the heat, but it rarely makes a difference.  Within fifteen
minutes I'll invariably start scratching my arms and the area behind my
knees, and it will continue all day.  Sometimes I'll have scratching
fits, very intense periods of itchiness where I may have to stop
cycling to scratch.  When I get these, every affected part of my body
is so itchy that I feel I can't dig deep enough with my nails.  With
every affected area at its maximum itchiness I'm scratching everywhere
at once, quickly moving from one area to another.  I look like a mad
man, but my appearance is the last thing on my mind when these occur
(rarely is it last on my list of priorities).  These episodes last for
around an hour.  They end when the dull, sore pain caused by scratching
is worse than not gratifying the urge.

Eczema is a daily battle.  Not a day has gone by on the bike in Asia
where the condition hasn't painfully manifested itself.  Every single
day has been hard.  Showers are hell, too: whenever water hits my
broken or severely irritated skin it hurts, a lot.  What's more, I
usually have to gently scrub the back of my knees clean so that the
area can heal- a bunch of little rocks and dirt get stuck in clotted
blood or interstitial fluid that leaks from the damaged skin.  In fact,
the area gets incredibly dirty on a daily basis, due to the amount of
stuff thrown up by my wheels and passing vehicles.  Sometimes it's
unbelievable; after one long day I looked back to see a bunch of tiny
bugs back there amid the dirt and grime.  Ahhh!

Night provides some relief.  While being off the bike makes my eczema
much more manageable, especially if I'm in a room without air
conditioning (most of the time) I tend to scratch at night as well.  I
don't usually go into scratching fits and thankfully it doesn't
generally affect my sleep.  My skin becomes very dry at night,
especially in air-con rooms, which further exacerbates the problem.
Hot showers are out of the question, not that I have that option in
most places.  I have gained the strange habit of frequently smelling my
fingernails as a way to detect bleeding at nighttime.

I have several expensive prescription steroids, but the only way those
provide real relief is if I rub them in so vigorously as to abrade my
itchy skin with my leg hair.  Since my eczema is over such a large
area, if I were to use the cream as directed I'd be out in a day or
two.  Maybe even less with the rain, sweat, and heat.  I'm saving the
more effective medicine in case it moves to more sensitive areas, which
is a serious concern given the amount it has spread during the last few
months.  Temporary relief comes if I trade pain for the itch; I
accidentally rubbed Purell into a scratch-zone once, and after the
white-hot pain came a few minute of calm.  There is no cure for eczema,
one must simply avoid triggers and apply steroid creams if necessary.
The triggers read like the trip log.  Among them are heat, humidity,
sweat, physical and mental stress, and moisture.  Great.

The best part is the attention it garners.  "There's some sort of rash
on your..." "DO YOU REALLY THINK I HAVEN'T NOTICED?"  It can be
embarrassing.  Usually people are courteous enough not to point out the
rash, but occasionally they do, and sometimes even ask to feel it.  The
first thing people usually notice is the back of my knees, since they
are discolored compared to my tanned legs, and are sometimes covered in
scabs of varying sizes.  Luckily there is a lot of blood flow to that
area; scabs come and go regularly, and the area heals quickly.  The
tops and sides of my feet, however, take much longer to heal, but
aren't itchy nearly as often.

My social interactions are affected; I'm more irritable when my
eczema is bad.  This can mean that I get visibly upset at minor things,
which, in South East Asia, is very frowned upon.  In China there is a
concept of face, or honor, and outward displays of anger serve to
degrade a person's standing.  The same seems to be true of South East
Asia, so it is a big deal to get mad.  I tend to be a lot edgier as
well, and during an intense scratching fit I tend to lose it much more
easily.

Eczema has made my trip hell and recently I have been unable to
continue my trip.  I have stopped biking for nearly a month now,
interrupted mid-way with a 3.5-day effort.  I've been very close to
returning home, or finding other ways of completing my HIV/AIDS
awareness goal, including continuing on a motorbike and volunteering at
an HIV center in South East Asia.

I grew very depressed when I decided not to bike because I knew it was
still possible.  It was bad, but not that bad.  After all, I'd come
100km that day, as uncomfortable as it had been, and could do so again
the next.  By not cycling I was letting everyone down: friends and
family, the HIV/AIDS cause, sponsors, and myself.

I cried.  In my vanity I knew I couldn't end the trip because of a
rash.  I kept thinking about all the shit I'd get.  People would act
understanding, all the while wearing slight grins on their faces as I
explained why I couldn't continue.  The more indiscreet ones would
simply ask, "what was the real problem?"  I was tempted to exaggerate
my symptoms to inspire sympathy.  In my worst moments, I even
contemplated injuring myself.  I thought of ways I could break my leg
or arm without causing any long-term damage, in order to return home
with a reason.  I wanted a clean and minor break but didn't see how I
could assure myself one: I was afraid I'd get a compound fracture.  The
quality of healthcare in this region was another concern.  I was very
seriously considering this option, and after awhile it scared me.

There are misconceptions about eczema, some of which I had.  Many
people seem to assume (as I did) that since it's just itchiness, it
can't be that bad.  I've since learned that the discomfort from my
eczema is reason not to bike and that I shouldn't have continued as far
as I did with it.  On top of its causing maddening itchiness, it puts
one at great risk for infection.  Even in cases that do not require
hospitalization, eczema can drive one insane.  Please consider that for
a moment; the idea that an itch could drive you to the point of
insanity.  That sounds cliché, but I'm not exaggerating.  The
incessant itchiness all but prevents any other activity in its worst
moments, and the most extreme itchiness can last for over an hour.
After that, your skin's top layer has been so brutalized that anything
irritates it, provoking further scratching.  I've nearly broken down
during scratching fits, as in, I've started crying, regardless of
onlookers (and, as always in Asia, there were many).  And I'm a pretty
tough guy.  That's when I decided to give it a rest.

A week of indecision followed.  As I mentioned I sought alternatives to
cycling, including continuing on a motorcycle (thereby eliminating
sweat and physical stress), and volunteering for a few weeks.  I
eventually decided to travel north by bus in order to resume cycling in
a cooler environment.  In Australia my eczema was very manageable, and
went away almost completely after awhile.  I'm confident that winter
in Asia will provide a good environment for me to resume cycling.

I have a less serious medical issue to bitch about, but this one will
more likely affect you while traveling.

The malaria medication I've been on (Lariam) has been giving me pretty
severe insomnia, nightmares, and probably makes me more temperamental.
Especially recently I've had a very hard time falling asleep.
Sometimes I literally cannot fall asleep, and end up having a
completely unproductive and nap-ridden day.  The last two weeks I've
rarely been able to get to sleep before sunrise, and then I wake
frequently and am often just dozing.  When I do sleep, I'm prone to
intense nightmares.  Once I had three bad nightmares on consecutive
nights, all of which stuck in my memory.  The first in this series was
one of the most vivid and terrifying I've ever had, and when I woke up
I was afraid to move for several minutes.  The second was very
emotionally trying, and as soon as I could I emailed the person I'd
dreamt about to make sure she was ok.  The third was also very
disturbing.  I rarely remember my dreams and almost never have
nightmares so this is very unusual.

Lariam has also made me more irritable.  This may be due mostly to my
lack of quality sleep.  I find myself occasionally irritated at minor
things, like poor service or people's refusal to understand my English,
even when I speak very loudly and slowly.  This may seem like a small
problem but it is worrying.  I hold it in with a smile, but whenever
there is the least legitimate reason to show some discontent, such as
when getting ripped off some number of cents or being laughed at, I
have a tendency to snap (although usually in a firm yet quiet manner).
Displays of anger are frowned upon here much more so than back home.
As I mentioned, eczema also plays a role in my shortened fuse.

Being more irritable and/or confrontational may also be a result of
traveling alone in non-English-speaking countries.  Last year while
traveling alone in Eastern Europe and the Balkans (sans Lariam) I
noticed I grew less likely to suppress discontent as a
self-preservation mechanism.  I found I got ripped off a lot, sometimes
blatantly.  While bribes are part of the culture in many parts of the
world, I see it as a responsibility to myself and other travelers to
not let myself get ripped off whenever possible.  This can mean
speaking with conviction, which is not natural for me.  Always being
"on", perpetually adding up the bill in your head, and talking to
everyone with a strong voice will wear on you.

I've snapped at the wrong times.  The other day, I took a tuk-tuk (an
open-air three-wheeled motorcycle-taxi) to an internet cafe.  I didn't
negotiate the price beforehand since I knew the local rate.
Predictably, I was asked for over ten times the going rate for the
short ride, about $3 (the night before, my room cost less).  I was
particularly incensed since he'd asked me where I was from and made
nice comments about my country, which I reciprocated.  I refused his
demand, but after a prolonged moment of moral indecision I gave him
five times the value of the trip and walked away.  It was my fault for
not arranging a price beforehand and I should have paid what he'd
asked, despite my knowing the rates.  It wasn't my place to bargain
for something I'd already received, despite it being highway robbery.
 This and other events kicked off a sad, pessimistic week where I was
convinced that all "these people" got a money hard-on whenever they saw
a white face, and that money was their only incentive to put up with
me.  Dollar signs rarely flash in the eyes of passers-by, but those few
incidents can really mar a trip.

While traveling alone money is often your only lifeline.  If you're
moving most days you don't have time to make many friends, although you
do meet many people.  As a result, you are on your own a lot.  That
sounds obvious, but not knowing people with a non-economic interest in
you can really suck.  Whereas at home you may be lucky enough to have
friends and family to help you out, out here a stack of money is the
only reliable contingency plan.

A hundred miles out of Bangkok the sidewall of my rear tire blew out,
rendering it un-rideable.  I happened to be next to a gas station (just
two pumps and a see-through shack), and ended up waiting for two hours
in the very hot sun, trying to get a ride from passing cars and trucks
to the nearest town.  Lots of sympathetic smiles, but no takers despite
my progressively insistent pleas.  Not even the several empty pickups
would give me a ride, never mind my smiles, the long and awkward
minutes as their tanks filled, and my apparently effective
communication of my desires in Lonely Planet Thai.  I eventually
whipped out my wad, and, somewhat disillusioned about the kindness of
strangers, got a ride from the next car that pulled up.  What a nice
guy!

Without money you're out on your ass, and that really sucks.  That some
people don't give a shit unless you have money really wears on you, and
the negative moments tend to stick at least as much as the positive
ones.  Oh, how much better off we'd all be without money!

With that said, I've been saved dozens of times by the friendliness of
Malays, Thai, Lao, and Vietnamese.  When I least expected it, someone
would be there to gladly point me in the right direction, invite me to
stay at their home, or talk.  I've made countless friends here, almost
always thanks to their initiative.  I believe that people are
fundamentally the same all over the world.  If this is true, South East
Asian cultures seem to foster generosity, warmth, and friendliness more
than other places I've traveled.

The focus on money, a near-universal mechanism of self-preservation
which has become so evident while traveling alone, has a practical side
for the traveler.  It's your fool-proof insurance policy against
anything, barring death, dismemberment, and loss of sight or sound.
Really, it will never let you down*.  If anything goes wrong, you have
a solution in hand, which is especially convenient if you have a lot of
it (which is every western traveler if you come to South East Asia).
So far, loneliness and eczema are the only problems I haven't solved
with money, and in eczema's case, it may be because I can't afford
enough cream (although most prescription medications are available
over-the-counter here, I haven't seen eczema cream yet).  And I've
met a few expats who've claimed they've bought their way out of
loneliness, but for the life of me I can't figure out how they managed
that.

The dollar's high potential in this poorer area of the world is fueling
a large tourism industry.  Vientiane, the capitol of Laos, would surely
be a lot smaller had the communist government not opened itself to
tourism in the seventies; in the large tourist ghetto at the city's
nucleus almost every face is white, and nearly all feet are Teva-clad.
My hotel alone employed three hundred Lao citizens, all serving
international tourists.

The economic disparity creates opportunities for exploitation as well.
Laos in particular is extremely poor and underdeveloped; subsistence
farming accounts for half of its GDP, and eighty percent of workers are
farmers.  This is problematic as Laos is the world's most-bombed
country.  During the Vietnam War, the United States flew close to a
half-million bombing missions over Laos, aimed at North Vietnamese
soldiers.  About a third of those bombs failed to explode.  That's a
lot of unexploded ordnance lying around, and despite de-mining efforts,
farming can be hazardous in some areas.  Electricity is only available
in the bigger urban centers, and most 80% of people don't have access
to potable drinking water (World Factbook definition of potable).  Road
conditions are poor, and no rail system exists.  It's decades behind
some of its neighbors.

I met an expat living in Thailand who would cross into Laos illegally
with his police friends to "get bonked" for less than 2 USD.  Lao
people have taken note of the disparity as well, and have moved or sent
children to Thailand as prostitutes.  The neighboring (for both
countries) Burma also sends prostitutes to Thailand because of that
country's relative prosperity, and many return with HIV.  In one
notably tragic example, the governments in one or more Burman states
outlawed poppy growth under pressure from China (where, in some areas,
opium is more available and cheaper than cigarettes).  Nearly every
family in that region depended on the lucrative crop, and without it
they couldn't make enough to live.  The result was a mass migration (as
many as half a million people moved), with all the economic and social
turmoil that results from such a catastrophe.  Many girls were sent to
Thailand as prostitutes, or to other areas of Burma.  Drug use,
trafficking, and the other predictable consequences of such a huge
migration resulted, which are not the least of reasons why Burma has
one of the highest HIV rates in the area, at 1.2%.  There is no easy
solution, of course, as drug production and subsequent trafficking also
encourages the spread of HIV (something China likely recognized before
asking Burma to stop poppy production); it has been shown that strains
of HIV follow drug trafficking routes.  The intravenous drug-user
population has been hit particularly hard: in some areas of Burma, the
group has infection rates as high as 70%.  I recently read about a plan
the government of Afghanistan was considering in which poppy-growing
licenses would be granted to farmers, on the condition that the poppies
be sold only to licensed pharmaceutical companies.  Whereas the prices
would be lower than those promised by the black market, the hope is
that some farmers would sacrifice the price margin and incur taxes in
exchange for legitimacy.  This would be an interesting move for South
East Asia, as it home to the second- and third-highest producers of
heroin in the world, Burma and Laos respectively (Afghanistan being
first).  With those countries' dependence on poppy growth, it sounds
like instituting a program like that could provide much-needed security
for farmers.

Like the apparent economic disparity between me and most people here
(an omnipresent theme), communication is another obstacle preventing my
seamless integration to Asia.  I should have picked up some Bahasa
(Malaysia), Thai, Isan (northern Thailand), Lao, and Vietnamese before
I left, not to mention the languages of regions I have yet to travel
through.  It's hard to communicate at or beyond a practical level
without basic knowledge of said languages in their respective areas of
prevalence.  Outside of the major urban centers English speakers are
rare, as are other travelers: I didn't see a westerner for over five
hundred miles along peninsular Malaysia's east coast.  This means a lot
of gesturing and air-pictionary, and traveling alone means you have
nobody to share the embarrassment with.  It can be tough.

I eat at restaurants or food stalls for nearly every meal, usually for
less than one dollar.  The cooks and waitresses rarely speak English,
so I end up pointing at what I want, or attempting to decipher the
all-important intonations on the Bahasan equivalent for "chicken fried
rice" in the lexicon in the back of my Lonely Planet.  This combination
of pointing and butchering their language works (except in Thailand, in
which section the LP authors left out food translations), but it gets
tiresome.  Sometimes my communication skills prove inadequate and they
have no idea what I'm trying to say.  The entire charade draws unwanted
attention to me, the dumb foreigner.  Meal after meal, all this
pointing, nodding, gesturing, and mispronunciation (all of which tends
to prompt laughter) makes home sound really good.  This humiliation
isn't restricted to meal-time, however; I'm the dumb foreigner whenever
I interact with non-English speakers.  I see a hundred times more
people per day than during the crossing of Australia's Nullarbor, yet
can be much more alone here.

My project for the HIV/AIDS cause in Asia has been a lot more difficult
than I imagined, mostly because of the language barrier.  In Kota
Bharu, Malaysia, I stopped in at a small clinic that I'd been directed
to by a hotel receptionist, in order to talk to someone about the
extent of HIV/AIDS in that area and what was being done about it.
Although two women did speak English, they were obviously flustered by
my questions, and probably by my very presence.  The whole experience
was very awkward as there had been no prior introduction, and I soon
found out I wouldn't be able to get any meaningful questions across.
In southern Thailand, I talked with a nurse working in one of the good
private hospitals in Hat Yai, and she was very happy to hear my
questions.  We had trouble communicating, but I learned that many
people are still largely ignorant about HIV.  I was a bit surprised to
hear that Thailand, which, unlike some sub-Saharan countries reacted
strongly against the pandemic in the early nineties, still seemed to
have a largely ignorant population in its deep south.  I didn't get an
answer as to why this is, but their current civil war and its large
conservative Muslim population (unique to southern Thailand) seem
likely reasons.

Much further north in Thailand, I had the fortune of meeting a
17-year-old who spoke perfect American English and whose mother had
worked for an HIV clinic in a very rural part of northern Thailand.
She was apparently part of the early response against the virus, and
worked with the oft-stigmatized HIV community to gain acceptance in
society.  While I didn't get to speak with her, her son commented that
many males still refuse to use condoms.  I was told there is no HIV
curriculum in Thai schools, but supposedly people do know about the
virus through other venues.  I had a hard time learning specifically
where people learn about HIV in Thailand.  It was somewhat frustrating
to not hear a concrete answer like "billboards," "school," or
"TV," but I realized that I couldn't specifically identify where
people in the US learn about HIV.  People at home just seem to know, it
seemed.  I think my earliest recollection of being aware of HIV was
when I was five or six, at my grandmother's house, watching a black and
white TV ad with people saying "I didn't think it could happen to me".
I also remember my Chinese grandmother warning me against making
friends with drug users.  Like me, my Thai friend was unable to
identify a specific source of HIV information, and expressed that
people, for the most part, just tend to know.  That seems encouraging,
but Thailand is relatively well-off compared to its neighboring
Cambodia and Burma, where the situation is dire.

When I talk with people about HIV/AIDS for more than a few minutes, the
topic of homosexuality usually comes up.  Most males are visibly shy
when it does, and a few times I've been asked whether I like or dislike
homosexuals.  That question was a bit surprising at first.  Although I
haven't met anyone who seems to have prejudices against homosexuals,
I've gotten the impression that homosexuality is taboo in some areas.
In Thailand, although generally a very welcoming place for homosexuals,
"sexual deviants" as they're officially tagged cannot be teachers or
join the military.  Research revealed that homosexuality is punishable
by imprisonment and caning in Malaysia, and major political parties
regularly denounce homosexual acts.  Caning?  In much-less-developed
Laos by contrast, homosexuality is virtually a non-issue in terms of
its near-universal acceptance, much like in Vietnam.  Despite this, the
homosexual community still has to be actively targeted for
HIV-education.  Countries that have not specifically targeted the
community have seen elevated rates of infection amongst that group.
This is obviously an issue for countries that don't recognize its
homosexual community (such as some Islamic countries).  However, it's
likely that said nations have more immediate concerns to deal with in
insuring the wellbeing of their people.

Ok, back to the trip.  Though significant, the language barrier isn't
always the only or main obstacle preventing meaningful interaction.  My
relocating most days makes establishing connections with people much
more difficult.  This isn't to say that I haven't had meaningful
encounters while traveling in Asia (I have, and many), but socially
speaking, there hasn't been anything to rival three weeks of friendly
hostel life in Sydney.  This trip isn't about living in a familiar
setting with friends, but the abrupt shift was traumatic.  I tore
myself from a community of peers in Sydney and landed in a part of the
world where I was a perpetual outsider.

I've been undergoing a demeanor adjustment.  I initially met the
Continent's hurdles by pushing my comfort zone more than I should have.
 I forced myself to immediately assumed the role of the seasoned
Asia-traveler: I slept in decrepit hotels or hostels, ate at dirt-cheap
hawker stalls, and talked to willing locals at every opportunity.
Anything to differentiate me from the despicably conspicuous tourist
hordes, never wandering far from the tour bus, always keeping to
themselves.  Hardly an original sentiment, I admit.  But you really
feel macho.  For me, pushing myself out there was a "yeah, I've shit in
the woods" kind of thing.

Despite my efforts, even when not ordering food it was painfully
obvious that I was a farang ('foreigner' in Thai), and I was probably
lumped in the same group as those I loved to despise.  I thought my
being ethnically half-Chinese would blur the reality a bit, but
especially while biking I found I stood out.  Cycling alienated me from
locals, which shouldn't have come as a surprise.  I had had the idea
that the bike would put me on the same level as those I'd be pedaling
past.  Like the assumption that jumping right into Asia on-the-cheap
would speed my transition to macho Asia-dweller, it was a ludicrous
thought.  There is no getting around the fact that traveling long
distances by bicycle is utterly impractical, and that the people I'm
traveling amongst rarely have the luxury of pursuing such activities;
I've only seen a handful of recreational cyclists in Asia, and all but
four or five were westerners.  (In mountainous Vietnam, however, I saw
thousands upon thousands of cyclists- a most welcome sight.)  Whereas
I'm not the Prada-sporting Euro guy with his huge designer sunglasses,
expensive SLR, and air-con bus (unfortunately), I'm still alien.  I
felt like a fool: I rode a bike with silly red bags, wore red cycling
shorts and a huge white brain bucket, and couldn't speak the language.
Environmentalists will tell you, and rightly, that cycling is the most
energy-efficient mode of transportation.  Practical efficiency,
however, is measured in dollars, hours, and comfort, not miles to the
gallon.  I don't blame those who laugh as I bike past, annoying as they
may be.

I incurred quite a bit of ridicule in Malaysia especially.  People
would often hoot or simply laugh as I biked along.  Every couple
hundred feet I'd hear a "helloooooo!" followed by laughter and hooting.
 This grew very irritating but I'd shrug it off; as the perpetrators
were mostly little kids.  What got to me most were the similar
reactions from groups of teenagers as I biked past.  Like the kids,
they'd point and sometimes laugh and yell, but the sting of their
ridicule was a lot greater.  I hated it.  I occasionally resolved not
to make contact with anyone while cycling, which made me the ogre.  It
wasn't a good time.

My cycling occasionally seems nothing more than a luxurious
inefficiency to much of the world, and highlights the economic
disparity between me and those I travel amongst.  In Malaysia, upon
being greeted by a young local English-speaking male, I'd invariably be
asked how much my bicycle was worth.   In planning my trip, I had been
warned about being the rich white kid and the potential consequences of
carrying that status.  As this warning was issued by the nay-sayers,
and was certainly a scenario I didn't want to have realized, I largely
blocked it out.  What other advice did I unjustly spurn?  Feel free to
remind me.

The innocent mockeries I was greeted with in Malaysia were trivial
compared to the hostility I felt directed towards me in southern
Thailand .  On several occasions in Thailand's deep south, cars would
slow down to my pace, roll down the window, and flip me off very
deliberately and insistently.  It was nothing like the casual birds one
gets flipped elsewhere, and had nothing to do with traffic flow; I bike
to the left of a wide motorcycles-only lane (it's left-hand drive
there).

At the end of my first day in Thailand, a teenager scared the crap out
of me with a very realistic-looking toy shotgun.  It didn't help that
there were real guns everywhere; Thailand is in the midst of a civil
war in its deep south due to a separatist movement, and the military
presence is extreme.  There were truckloads of troops on every block of
some southern cities, and military checkpoints every few miles complete
with machine guns, sandbags, and razor wire.  The troops carried rifles
equipped with rocket launchers, and the hummers and transport cars had
machine guns mounted on their roofs.

In some small villages and cities of southern Thailand I saw Osama on
t-shirts and stickers.  The media (Bangkok Press) seems to have
associated the separatist movement with Islamic extremism.  I gather
that a faction in southern Thailand desires unification with Malaysia,
even though that country wouldn't risk tensions with Thailand by
accepting them.  Despite the seeming futility of their struggle they
are persistent.  In fact, the airport in Hat Yai had recently been
bombed.  Rocket attacks on police buildings are a common occurrence.
With worrying similarity to events in the Middle East, there have been
over a dozen beheadings in the past months.  The Bangkok Press stresses
the religions of those involved: "Muslims Behead Buddhist Man" read one
headline.  There were also government signs condemning the violent acts
of Muslims.

The civil war and religious conservatism are likely reasons for the
increased tensions in southern Thailand, and going there may have been
irresponsible as they weren't ready for tourists.  I hadn't read,
heard, or seen much about those issues until I got close; it seems the
local governments may be trying to keep the situation quiet.

I have to further qualify my feelings of isolation.  During my stay in
the Muslim areas, my eczema was extreme, which made me sour towards
everything.  Also, it happened to be Ramadan.  I couldn't have a cooked
meal until around 6pm, and the available gas-station foods were high in
simple sugars which is very bad for biking.  I found myself completely
drained very early in the day, and got dehydrated frequently despite my
constant drinking.  With my terrible scratching and very low energy, I
was annoyed at pretty much anything, and grew to despise the little
kids shouting things by the side of the street.  Also, I was wearing
spandex cycling shorts which the socially conservative population may
not have been used to seeing.  They aren't extremely conservative and I
hadn't read anything about it, so it didn't dwell on my appearance for
too long.  My helmet was also unusual, as no cyclists wear them here.
Motorcyclists are also helmet-less more often than not (I have yet to
see a helmet in Vietnam).  My clothes, helmet, increased irritability,
and my being away for over three months probably accounted for the bulk
of my feelings of isolation in Malaysia and southern Thailand.

I got tired of being the outsider and living in such different, and
often adverse, conditions.  I no longer wanted to pretend I was a
traveling lifer and sought familiarity in every respect.  Since
interactions with locals were always awkward, I started avoiding them.
I stayed in more comfortable hotels ("comfortable" is relative,
though!)  I ate western food.  I retreated into books, and bought
whatever English ones I could find.  In Bangkok, I stocked up on
reading material.  For awhile, my reading habit was more expensive than
my other living costs combined.

Movies were another escape.  Whenever possible I'd watch a new English
movie in a theater, and I saw a lot of them.  Even crappy ones were
most welcome.  A silly inefficiency in Asia is the seating system.
When you buy a movie ticket in Singapore, Malaysia, or Thailand, there
is a seating assignment on your ticket.  While in theory this may seem
like a good idea, in practice it is often inefficient.  Especially
during a crowded feature, you'll invariably have to walk past many
seated patrons to get to your number.  This being Asia, there is less
leg room, which makes it all the more difficult for westerners.
However, assigned seating  may be worth it; you know you won't be stuck
in the front row.  Some theater facts: Singapore has the best popcorn
of the three countries, by far.  In Malaysia they only serve sweet
popcorn, and if you want an empty theater try a 7 o'clock feature
during Ramadan.  In Thailand, they play the national anthem before
every film, while showing pictures of the president against a backdrop
of beautiful mountain forests.  Everyone stands during this, with hands
at their sides.  Imagine if they tried that back home!

Fast food was another comforting familiarity, and a delicious one.  KFC
is everywhere here, as are other members of the enterprising
parent-company YUM Foods, such as Pizza Hut and A&W (which is a
restaurant out here, not just a soda.)  The staff always speak English
in these havens, so I spent a fair amount of time in these
establishments, eating and reading.  McDonalds is by far my favorite,
with Pizza Hut a distant second.  McDonalds almost never have my
Quarter Pounder with Cheese, though.  To my dismay and great benefit,
not once have I seen a double-QPC.  Every region has their own
specialties.  In Malaysia it was the mysterious McD, some sort of beef
soup, with a bunch of other floaters in it.  Elsewhere I've seen
various pork sandwiches (including an all-pork Big Mac in Thailand),
and the Aussie Burger in Australia (with egg and pineapple I believe).
In Malaysia, all the meat is Halal certified of course, since the
population is predominantly Muslim.

I have to hand it to YUM for selling South East Asia on their food.
Rarely did I see a town without at least one KFC.  YUM brands have much
more coverage than McDonalds.  They didn't even have a McDonalds in
Thailand's second-most-populous city, Nakhon Ratchasima (Chiang Mai is
the second-largest), and believe me, I looked!  It was often quite
remarkable how often I'd come across a KFC.  One time in Malaysia,
there was a clearing in the rain forest, and there was the Colonel.
Alone in the jungle, with just one hotel and a few other shops nearby.
During Ramadan, fast food restaurants (which are still rare compared to
back home) were often my only options during the day (although some
still closed).  YUM also has a booming China division.  If I had any
money, I'd buy its stock.

KFC and McDonalds are universal havens.  I sought refuge in them over
here, and initially thought mine was a strictly western reaction.
However, I don't see why South East Asians wouldn't appreciate the
familiarity of those establishments while traveling abroad, given their
frequency in this part of the world as well.

Despite fast food and books, I was unable to ward of my homesickness.
Everything culminated on October 14th: my nineteenth birthday.  At the
time I was staying in a small and simple room in Khota Baru, Malaysia,
near the Thai border.  Living cheaply as usual, I didn't even have my
own bathroom (although I did have air-con).  Despite having seen other
western travelers for the first time in over a week I was depressed and
lonely.  I really wanted to go home, and knowing I'd have to endure
many more months in strange lands was very tough.

I gradually came to terms with my trip as the time I'd spent out became
a larger chunk of my overall commitment.  It's not that the end was
in sight; rather, I think I just got used to it.  Not biking helped, as
cycling was a source of stress and having eczema was very depressing.
I still looked forward to returning home, but I didn't have nearly as
strong a desire to do so.

*I said earlier that money won't let you down in South East Asia.
There is one very notable exception.  The border-violating expat with a
penchant for Lao women warned me thoroughly about the dangers of a
white boy's traveling in the fourth-poorest country in the world (I
think).  "Do not go out at night," he said, uncharacteristically stern,
"they will kill you, these people have nothing."  Ok, that's easy
enough, I thought.

My first night in Vientiane: I'm walking the mile back to my hotel, at
midnight, on an empty street, alone, and suddenly realize I should have
asked the guy at the internet cafe to draw me a map.  I start running
to speed things up.  On one side is a swamped field, on the other an
impenetrable block of wooden shacks and rusty corrugated roofs.  At a
gradual bend in the road, I spot a group of ten young men about 50 feet
away, walking away from me (keep in mind I was running), one of which
had a large rifle on his back.  They wore no uniforms and were talking
aggressively amongst themselves.  Some appeared drunk.  I stopped and
weighed my options.  They must have heard my running, and I questioned
whether stopping had been a good idea.  My stopping had alerted them to
the fact that I noticed, and cared about, their presence.  Turning
around casually as if to see if my companions were in tow, I very
slowly started walking in the opposite direction.  It may not sound
scary, but it was very frightening given the warnings I'd received,
especially it being my first night in the country.  Fifty feet may seem
pretty far away, but it ain't, especially if the other guy has a rifle.
 Luckily for me, at precisely the right time my guardian angel showed
up in the form of some man I'd asked for directions earlier (it really
was quite miraculous- the streets had almost completely cleared at 8pm,
and there had been no traffic aside from him).  He graciously insisted
on giving me a ride to my hotel on the back of his motorbike.  As we
passed the group, it turned out at least two of them had weapons, and
were quite young.  Not that I stared too long.

It turns out that carrying guns in Laos is completely normal.  They
have a big gun culture, almost as widespread as that of the US.
However, unlike in California, people can walk around with them on the
street.

Laos does have violent rebels, however.  Parts of Route 13, which runs
through Laos' entirety, is notorious for ambushes.  Dozens have been
massacred in the last two to three years including two western
cyclists.  There have also been bombings and other signs of unrest
throughout the country.

I didn't get to see as much of Laos as I'd wanted.  I stayed in the
capitol, Vientiane, for over a week while I waited for a package from
home (in which I received a new ATM card, having lost/had stolen my old
one).  I then took a bus from Vientiane to Hanoi.

The bus trip was a mix of hell and wonder.  I went to the station at 7
pm, and sat in the bus until it left, at nine.  In the first ten
minutes, the guy behind me threw up, out the window.  I took a nap.  I
woke up maybe half an hour later and noticed a strange smell.  I looked
back and found rice and little meaty bits all over the now-closed
window and even a few specks on my arm rest.  That set the tone for the
trip.

We eventually stopped for dinner in some remote Lao village, where
people spat on the floor of the restaurant/residence.  I befriended a
couple people but nobody spoke English.  I foolishly hadn't packed any
food or water for the trip, so I ate a lot and got back on the bus.  I
couldn't fall asleep, as usual, and the washboard dirt roads we
traveled on didn't help.

Very early in the morning and high in the mountains road we came to a
stop.  There had been a landslide, which I gather is quite common in
this region, and we had to wait a few hours for it to be cleared.  The
sunrise was unforgettable, and the mountains incredibly beautiful.  My
pictures don't do it justice.

At the Laos/Vietnam border I got a seat companion.  I was now in the
seat right above the wheel-well (already the bus had no leg-room; I had
to put my legs in what was left of the aisle), and my new friend was
pressed against me.  At that point I'd been sitting for fifteen hours
or so; I wanted out, and would have gotten out had my stuff not been
strapped to the roof in such a manner that it would have taken a very
long time to reach my belongings.  It was grim.

The rest of the trip was very uncomfortable.  I had barely eaten, had
no water, and my seat broke (it now rocked back and forth such that if
I leaned back I'd be reclined, perhaps fully so were it not for the
passengers behind me.)  At least two people were intent on hot-boxing
the bus (most windows were closed but people smoked marijuana
regardless).  One man, shirtless and wearing a tatoo of a necklace and
crucific on his neck, amused himself by deliberately taking hits from
his bong during police bus-inspections, blowing the smoke towards the
ground.  Because of the tons of crates, bags, and unpacked goods lying
about in the bus, he was pretty unnoticeable.

Twenty-seven hours after I'd boarded, I finally reached Hanoi.  Well,
not really.  They dropped us in some distant industrial neighborhood
from which the city lights weren't visible, and where I was hassled by
a bunch of taxi drivers and others about my bike, gear, and money.  In
the end someone helped me out, which has become the rule, not the
exception (no doubt because the "end" is so often dependent on
someone's helping me!)  I asked for directions and a motorbiker
insisted on leading me to the main part of town.

I'm now in Hanoi.  Two days ago it rained for the first time in
awhile, and has since gotten very cold (well, under 70).  This is good
news for me, since cycling should be possible now.  I plan to resume
after I get my Chinese visa, which will be a few days yet.

Congratulations.  Something tells me you've read this far which was
probably no small feat.  This took longer than I'd thought to get out;
I'm working on writing more, and more frequently, but self discipline
is always a struggle.  I had to leave a lot out, but I hope this was at
least mildly entertaining.

I'm conflicted about reporting on personal encounters.  Although
those have been the most definitive and interesting parts of my trip,
they don't necessarily depict the other party in a positive light.
I've always been quick to give out my URL, and since I don't want
to hurt anyone I'll save those stories for the book.  In any case,
the conclusions I've drawn from the stories in question are for the
most part in keeping with those I did mention.

Following my last post (my last real one, not the cheap shot I took at
trying to get donations for amfAR), I received questions about my
interview with Sandra Murillo at the American Foundation for AIDS
Research (which I posted).  In particular, I received a question about
HIV's effect on national security, which made my day since I'd just
read a meaty report on it and could respond reasonably intelligently.
I got the idea to set up a discussion forum on my site where anyone can
post questions about HIV-related issues.  I hope to get HIV and Asia
experts to contribute to the discussion (but one has to happen before
I'll ask them to check it out, so post your thoughts).  The forum
topics I've set up so far are on national security, HIV and Islam,
women's rights, and politics.  There's also a section about
what's being done, and what you can do.  It's very barren now, so
please breathe some life into it, it would be cool if it worked.  Check
out the forum, register, and get involved:

www.rideagainstaids.com/forum

Conversation isn't likely to be inspired by questions alone, so I'm
working on a resource page where I'll post interesting articles and
websites I come across.  Inform yourself!

www.rideagainstaids.com/links

I meant to have this out on World AIDS Day, to give it more relevance
and so that people might be more likely to donate to amfAR.
Unfortunately I got sick (probably because of that bus trip) and
wasn't able to wrap it up in time.  In any case, I'd really
appreciate it if you'd make a donation to the cause.  There is a new
donation page, as the old one expired:

www.justgiving.com/pfp/rideagainstaids2

I realize donating is tough.  You get some silly e-mail every couple
months from some guy you might not even know, and he's asking you to
donate your hard-earned money to a charity that, while important, may
seem to have a very distant effect.  Not to belittle the seriousness of
the charity's mission, but rather to hopefully inspire further
donations, I've decided to post pictures of all who've donated
(anonymous donations aside), and make each picture's size relative to
their donation.  You've always dreamed of being the biggest kid on
your block; now's your chance!  Pictures are located in the Hall of
Fame:

www.rideagainstaids.com/halloffame

Thanks to Nick F and Jeff S for donating recently.

Also, I have a couple more Asia pictures up, although not the most
recent batch yet:

www.rideagainstaids.com/photos3

Until next time,

Bevan

_____________________________________________________________________

"I'm still alive!" (update from Bangkok 10/27/2005)

I awoke at first light, naked and disoriented. I smelled vomit on my
breath. Without my glasses I was myopic as I made my way to the
bathroom to quench my importunate thirst. After punishing my irritated
stomach with an influx of tap water I promptly vomited it out, all over
the sink. I had a plane to catch in three hours. And where was my
wallet?

I was about to miss my flight to Buenos Aires. I didn't care about the
no-show fee. I dreaded facing my roommates and hostel staff who'd
accommodated my display of excess. I had had no intention of drinking
so much; just a couple of beers at the bar and some wine at the hostel.
It had gotten out of hand.

I returned to my room and scribbled out three letter of thanks and
apology, offering each of my helpers a night's accommodation on me. I
then went back to bed to sleep off the hangover. I had no choice; I
could barely move without vomiting. It was unlike anything I've felt
before. When I got up, the Canadian in my room (an accomplice in the
previous night's bacchanalian revelries) filled in some blanks: I'd
gone to a bar with an Australian we'd met earlier that day. I'd
returned after about an hour and passed out on my bunk, vomiting all
over. An Austrian and two Chinese in the room had cleaned me up. The
old mattress was ruined- the one under me was still wrapped in its
plastic cover.

But what about my wallet? I'd had it with me the previous night.
Someone at the front desk informed me that my clothes had been stashed
in a bag and accidentally thrown away by the hotel staff. My camera was
also missing, along with my extra memory card. Something so large
wouldn't have been thrown in with the soiled clothes.

Penniless and with a splitting headache, I called my Dad who was kind
enough to wire me money from my account, a service that only cost over
three days' budget. After paying for a mattress I'd ruined (five
days' budget) I returned to my room where, to my surprise, my roommates
greeted me warmly. I had a pleasant evening- the two Chinese and I
ended up having a long discussion about China's role in the world. It
was a great and unexpected exchange, and really highlighted the
benefits of staying in a hostel; you meet very interesting people with
diverse views.

I ended up spending three weeks in Sydney as a result of that incident,
which I'll get to in a bit. First though, I'll get back to my
arrival in Adelaide, where I left off almost two months ago.


Upon reaching Adelaide, I knew it would be hard to get going again. It
was the first real city I'd experienced since Perth. I found a nice
hostel downtown, and was meeting people and enjoying myself. Even
though Adelaide is considered the most laid-back city in Australia,
there were tons of things to do; I felt I could spend weeks there. On
top of that, it rained on my planned departure day, and the next. I
eventually got going, but it wasn't easy.

The day out of Adelaide was probably the single most varied day of the
trip. I climbed the toughest hills I'd yet encountered. After that, I
found myself having to weave through the Adelaide Hills, going from
town to town all the way to the small town of Murray Bridge. I enjoyed
the Adelaide Hills a lot: the farming towns were very picturesque, and
all sorts of food was available. After the hills the farm land resumed,
and was thus until the end of my Australia leg.

It was a pretty flat ride to Stawell. I'd already purchased a ticket
from Melbourne to Sydney so that I wouldn't miss my flight to Buenos
Aires, so I had a deadline to meet. My delayed departure from Adelaide
had me cutting it very, very close. To make it to Melbourne on time, I
had planned to do days of nearly 100 miles, including the last day (the
day I'd be flying out of Melbourne.) A full day of cycling (with a
good chance of rain), packing my bike, and catching a flight on the
same day without experiencing the cultural capitol of Australia
didn't seem a good idea. I ended up taking a bus from Stawell to
Melbourne to avoid that situation. But if anyone asks, I made it all
the way (Stawell is about 220km from Melbourne, a long day on the
bike.)

I only had one day to see Melbourne, most of which was spent packing my
bike. It seemed like a great city. They have a really nice China Town;
unlike most I've seen, it was full of expensive restaurants and
higher-end clubs and bars. They seemed to have a disproportionate
amount of live music as well, but I didn't get a chance to see any
performances.

What I wasn't able to see or do in Melbourne I made up for in Sydney. I
did all the requisite tourist activities despite having been there
years ago. I even got a haircut (by the way, I've been shaving
regularly now, since there are actually people around to notice).

It was three days into my stay that the drinking fiasco occurred. I was
extremely depressed following the event; I could have died, and I'd
thrust upon strangers the unenviable task of making sure I didn't. I
could have died; that thought still lingers.

I had a liberating thought the day following my hangover. I'd been
replaying the night over and over, trying to remember certain details;
something didn't seem right. I thought it strange that I should be so
affected by the amount of alcohol I'd had, spread over a period of at
least five hours. I hadn't imbibed enough to provoke the responses
that ensued. I'd never experienced complete amnesia before, nor any
sort of after affects comparable to those experienced during the
incident. My thoughts turned to the Australian gentleman who had
supposedly accompanied me to the bar. I'd been told by the Austrian
who'd helped me that he hadn't returned with me to the room. Given my
condition, the Austrian concluded that the Australian's resolution
mightn't have been the purest.

I came to suspect that I'd been drugged. At one point he'd refilled my
wine. I'd also refilled his, but had accidentally tinted his white wine
with a drop of red- he immediately noticed the tint and became
suspicious of my intention. The Australian had also attempted to
isolate me from the rest of the group (which he succeeded in doing- it
was only us who went to the bar). These clues could explain the loss of
camera and wallet. I looked up the symptoms for Rohypnol poisoning (a
date-rape drug), and had experienced each one. I became certain- yes,
very certain indeed- that I had been drugged. Not the least of the
reasons for my suspicion was that it provided a convenient excuse for
the unfortunate incident.

I filed a police report but was declined a drug test (my body would
have metabolized Rohypnol by that time anyways); it's reserved for rape
victims. This brought up another question- I went to the hospital just
to make sure.

That one night altered the entire course of the trip. I had quite a few
days to think about my next course of action, since I had to wait for a
new credit card to arrive (which held me back for almost three weeks).
I eventually decided to get a refund for my ticket to Buenos Aires and
fly to Singapore instead. This saved me a lot of money (the difference
in ticket prices was about a quarter of my entire budget), and made me
very excited about getting back on the bike. I'd thought about and
planned the South America leg too much; I now craved some unscripted
travel.

It would be a reasonable expectation that such a bad night would spoil
my entire Sydney experience. In fact it didn't; I left with very fond
memories. When Alex came to Sydney, he'd stayed in a small, quirky
hostel marketed towards the Japanese and outdoor enthusiasts. He'd
liked it, so I decided to give it a try (I had to get out of the old
hostel: the baking soda under my bunk brought back bad memories.) My
three-week stay at Tokyo Village hostel in the Surry Hills district was
a highlight of the trip. The friendliness of the staff and clientele,
the set-up of the hostel, and the sense of community it inspired all
made the experience very enjoyable. After a few days it felt like home.
I established routine: I'd IM friends in the morning, cook lunch, go
out (usually to deal with the airline or bank, or to go food shopping),
then return to socialize and cook dinner. After that I'd retire to the
TV room or sit in the kitchen and talk to other travellers. Most people
had been there for months, or were planning to. Some had been there for
years. On the weekends, we'd go to a pub or see live music nearby. I
could have spent a very long time there. Community, which had been
lacking the past two months, was strong. Leaving wasn't easy.
By the end of my stay in Sydney the thought of South America brought to
mind an image of deserts, endless high plateau, and windswept plains.
I'd had enough of monotony by then (although I'm sure that image of
South America doesn't hold true for most of the continent). I now
wanted people, the beach, and some decent Chinese. In a word, I wanted
Asia. The $350 flight to Singapore was enticing. Also, if I was going
to shorten my trip, I wanted to do it after Asia; I'd like to
experience the continent first-hand if I'm to raise awareness for its
AIDS problem.

The night I left Sydney, I was driven to the airport by an aging Iraqi
man. He spent the better part of the drive telling me about the horrors
which had befallen his homeland under Hussein's regime. A
self-described patriot, he had fled when Saddam and his Baath Party
"fucked up" his beloved country. He, along with every other Iraqi, had
lost family members in Hussein's wars. He hadn't seen his country or
family in years, and was excited for the chance to return to a
democratic society. He shook my hand, thankful for the sacrifices of my
countrymen. He insisted on paying for my luggage trolley.

Coming from the Bay Area, I hadn't met many people on his side of the
issue. I guess that's why we travel.

********

I'm sorry I disappeared for two months. The first Asia update should be
somewhat interesting and is already quite long. Pictures are up now,
though, at www.rideagainstaids.com/photos.

Awhile ago Sandra Murillo of the American Foundation for AIDS Research
(amfAR) sent me some questions for the amfAR website. I thought they
might be interesting to post here, so here you go:

Q: We here at amfAR certainly can grasp the scope of the epidemic, so
we understand why this is so important, but why did you decide to
dedicate your efforts to AIDS awareness? What is it about the issue
that personally resonates with you?

A: I chose to raise awareness for the AIDS crisis in Asia because it's
a relatively under-reported yet universally-reaching problem. What
struck me is that governments play such a vital role in controlling the
spread of HIV/AIDS, yet many aren't fully engaged in stopping it's
spread. That some countries are dragging their feet or in some cases
even denying their people education and other prevention measures is
tragic. More shocking are the cultural mores which make some HIV/AIDS
prevention measures ineffective; this further underscores the high
level of political commitment required to combat the disease. What
happens in Asia affects the world. I hope my efforts will make more
people aware of the problem.

Q: Why do you think it's important for people your age to become
involved in raising awareness and fundraising for AIDS research?

A: To avoid the cliché I won't use the words "young people" and
"future" in the same sentence, but I will say that we must acknowledge
our fast-approaching role as leaders. Young people should be driven to
raising awareness for a cause because it's a way to become involved
that only involves the desire to make a positive difference. AIDS
research and awareness is an especially important issue because the
pandemic is likely to become much more widespread during our lifetimes
should adequate prevention measures not be taken now. Our generation
needs to look ahead: if the situation in Asia progresses as many
believe it will, the entire world will be affected in a tremendous way.
The instability created by AIDS is likely to severely cripple the world
economy. There is also a huge national security risk created by the
death-toll in nuclear-armed countries. We should be pressing the
current administration to become more active in AIDS programs worldwide
since it is of humanitarian, economic, and national security concern.
Some say that a vaccine is still at least twenty years out, so it is up
to the younger generations to realize the scope of the global threat
that is AIDS, and to act on it.

Q: What kind of feedback/reaction are you getting from the general
public?

A: Most people are "wowed" by my trip, and give the cause a nod. People
are appreciative but generally don't understand the scope of the AIDS
situation or it's relevance to them.

Q: What's been the most difficult aspect of this journey?

A: Getting updates out regularly has been pretty tough, and I apologize
to readers for that. I like writing but it can be extremely hard to
buckle down in front of a computer screen when I could be exploring a
new city or meeting new people. Biking has also been tough. I'm
afflicted by eczema, and it's aggravated by sweat and heat (two things
cycling produces no shortage of). This can occasionally make cycling
hell, and poses a risk of infection. Cycling through Malaysia was
extremely challenging, as it is a Muslim country and I was there during
Ramadan, which meant that I couldn't get any complex carbs until about
7pm. I'd be eating gas-station fare: cookies, soda, gummy bears. It
made cycling very difficult as my blood glycogen level was constantly
depressed. Signs of Islamic extremism in southern Thailand and several
displays aimed at making me feel very unwelcome were the most
unsettling parts of the trip. Most people were very friendly, but I
occasionally sensed hostility. Communication is another big challenge.
Almost nobody speaks English in parts of Malaysia and Thailand.

_____________________________________________________________________

Update from Adelaide 8/29/2005

Difficulty is relative.  Biking across Australia is hard work, but our
trip is overshadowed by the feats of other recent travelers.  Take our
friend Blue, the Japanese man who's walking most of our route in
reverse (from Adelaide to Perth in two months.)  If he's not enough to
make us thankful for our bikes, there's the Japanese paraplegic who
recently rolled her way from Sydney to Perth by wheelchair, in half a
year.  We never met her, but were shown pictures of the courageous
woman.  Now we really have no excuse for quitting!

Of course there's the other extreme.  One morning in Caiguna we were
greeted by Lin Mingwe, a Chinese cyclist accompanied by two cameramen.
Mastercard must be a good sponsor; he rode a Trek Madone 5.9, a frame
not unlike Lance's, and had a support car and crew of three trailing
behind.  He proudly tapped his bike computer, which displayed a bold
"274km."  "Yesterday," he boasted, having traveled in one day what me
and Alex might do in three.

Mingwe's dream is to become the first Chinese person to bike across
Australia, from Perth to Sydney.  He's riding to promote a
"universiade," some sort of university sporting conference to be held
in Beijing in 2011.  A teacher from Bao'an, he also hopes to inspire
his students to act on their dreams.

Mingwe was quick to tell us about his previous journeys; he'd biked to
Beijing to Paris, and had a self-published picture book as proof.
Apparently he'd become a national hero; he's been on many TV shows back
in China, hence the cameramen, and seems to have government
connections.  He showed us written blessings from each Chinese embassy,
each one accompanied by pictures with the respective ambassadors.

Mingwe departed as quickly as he'd come, leaving the two cameramen to
investigate our morning routine.  It was quite strange- Alex and I were
packing everything up, and these two guys were doing close-ups on our
food, bikes, bodies.  I was less than thrilled with their probing, so
without warning I dropped what I was doing, spun around and shouted
"USA! USA! USA!" at the 1.3 billion people in Chinese TV-land.
That succeeded in deterring our observers.  At least for a time...

Alex and I started rolling an hour after their departure.  The going
was tough despite having rested in Caiguna after an epic 180km crossing
of the longest straight road in Australia.  Just before noon we passed
Mingwe and his crew stopped by the side of the road.  Out of nowhere,
he offered to take my bags and Alex's trailer in his car, so that we
could work as a team for the day.  If there's one thing I've
learned during eighteen years of life it's to trust strange Chinese
men with all my belongings, so naturally we accepted his offer and
piled our gear into his over-stuffed station wagon.

What a change of pace!  Without our gear we flew despite the strong
headwind.  For the next hour we rode in a fast pace-line, each of us
taking turns to take the brunt of the wind.  Carrying all that weight
had made us strong indeed; we were obviously in better shape than our
new friend, and we slowed our pace at his request.

Our new friend generously extended his offer at our first rest stop,
asking us to join him all the way to Sydney.  We could share costs, and
enjoy biking for a change, he said.  He mentioned something about
walking hand-in-hand through the gates of the Chinese embassy in Sydney
to celebrate the achievement.  Hmm... I didn't really see my place
joining an expedition to send the first Chinese cyclist across
Australia, but we took up his offer nonetheless and continued to
Madura, 150km from our starting point that morning.  Interestingly we
didn't really think about what we were committing to; shows how much we
liked riding without our gear.  Also, shows we're still young and
stupid.

Our first day with the Chinese was surreal; we were always on camera.
Whenever I did anything I had to assume that a good part of the
world's population would be following along.  Even while riding the
support car would drive by, both cameras trained on the three of us.
Mingwe would of course be pulling when the reels started rolling;
spurred on by a little "Kodak courage" no doubt!

We biked into the night, the support vehicle lighting our way.  We saw
tons of kangaroo and learned why so many lay dead by the side of the
road; they bound across the highway in droves.

Close to Madura we approached a kangaroo standing in the middle of our
lane.  It didn't move as we approached.  We eventually had to stop,
shouting at it to move.  It didn't- it just stared blankly.  I noticed
blood dripping from it's nose and ears and realized it'd been hit.
It's leg had also been severely crippled.  What does one do in such a
situation?  Going around wasn't an option; it would be a hazard to
vehicles down the road.  Could we leave it by the side of the road to
die?  It didn't seem right; it would be denying this kangaroo a quick
death.  After much unsuccessful shoo-ing, Mingwe's support car driver
grabbed the beast by the tail and dragged it off the road.  It was very
sad- it seemed as if the kangaroo was resisting his pull, the promise
of a slow death.  Once off the road the roo fell.  It tried to right
itself by kicking with its one good leg.  After a series of half-flips
and rotations the animal got on its feet, only to hit the ground a few
seconds later.  It was a pathetic sight.  After a minute of struggle it
rose again, staring at us.

We left.  The next few nights I pictured the animal alive, on its side
by the road.  I regret not speaking up or acting on my feelings; we
should have killed it.

The next morning Alex and I opened the tent, and surprise surprise, two
cameras were trained on us.  They wouldn't leave until we'd packed
everything up.  Alex and I were pretty annoyed when they told us to
hurry, and that Mingwe was waiting.  We'd gotten up at the agreed upon
time.  I began to tire of this crowd...

Mingwe announced that we'd make Border Village that day, some 190km
away.  I was less than pleased that he hadn't consulted his new team in
formulating his decision, especially since Eucla (180km away) seemed a
superior resting place (I had a map which detailed facilities at each
roadhouse along the Nullarbor.)

About 120km into our day, I talked to Alex about the possibility of
leaving Mingwe and his team.  We were both tired of this new style of
riding; it was fun for a day, but a fully supported tour wasn't what
we'd come for.  It's novelty had definitely worn off and missed our old
routine.  I felt we were losing an important part of the trip; the
autonomy we had as a pair.  Although joining Mingwe strengthened our
partnership by giving us a faction to side against, we thought it best
that we part from the Chinese team.  One more for the cameras: as we
approached a roadhouse I introduced Mingwe to the time-honored
tradition of sprinting for the town line.  USA flew into the roadhouse
taking first and second, with China coming in third, almost a minute
back.  "USA! USA! USA!"  I wouldn't normally have initiated such
competition, but I was hungry for a break from the structure we'd been
funneled into.

I bought Mingwe a beer and we had "the talk."  He didn't let go easily
but gave in after a half-hour of debate.  It made me somewhat uneasy
that during the process of discussion (basically him ignoring my saying
that it wasn't fun for us) he was translating for the cameras.  To what
extent were we belittled on Chinese television?  He concluded to us
that we weren't as capable as him of traveling great distances, day
after day.  Great, so the two American kids give up traveling with the
strong Chinese guy.  I hope they also air the hour-long nap he took
that day.

Mingwe and his team decided to stay at the roadhouse hotel with Alex
and I, and graciously bought us a big room, our first hotel of the
trip.  Furthermore, his team cooked us a delicious meal of Chinese
noodles and sausage, which Alex and I devoured.  He then had us sign
his big map of Australia, which already had a number of signatures on
it.  Notably, our friend Blue had signed (Mingwe had given him some
money.)  It was strange- he asked me to write my name as well as my
parents'.

I'm thankful for the time we spent with our Chinese friend.  He was a
very nice guy, and it was great to meet him.  Traveling unencumbered
was an interesting change of pace; novel at first, then overly
structured.  However, it ultimately helped us remember our reason for
being there; to have a good time.  Or, at least, to have it our way.

Crossing the Nullarbor Plain (from Norseman to Ceduna) took us eleven
boring days.  There was little variation along the highway.  On a map
it appears to be a coastal route, but we only saw the ocean in Eucla
and the day after, crossing the actual Nullarbor National Park.  The
National Park was the highlight of the Nullarbor for me; there wasn't
much variation in terrain in this 200km stretch, but we had great views
of cliffs and ocean.  It was very, very beautiful.  Most importantly,
we had 40 knot winds at our backs, so we could coast along at 18mph or
so!  That was our longest day thus far, about 125 miles between
roadhouses.

Frankly, the Nullarbor sucked.  I lost my left camp shoe the first day,
so I had to clunk around in my biking shoes until I found some cheap
too-small sandals at a roadhouse.  We had fierce headwinds some days as
well, that really made us despise cycling.  The food was extremely
bland- I've yet to make a good meal on that stove.  And of course there
was my eczema, which seems to have spread to my lower back.  Probably
worst of all was the promise of many more months on the bike before
returning home.  Cycling in such conditions was pretty depressing
indeed, and I forgot what it's like to travel in more hospitable areas.
 Thank god for my iPod.

After two days off in Ceduna, the eastern-most edge of the Nullarbor,
we continued on our way, crossing the Eyre Peninsula in South Australia
on our way to Port Augusta.  The scenery changed immediately; before
there had been mostly brown scrub, but now there was lush farmland, and
quite a few more people.  We were expecting to be camping at
roadhouses, but most of the dots on the route to Port Augusta were
actually small towns.  We had a few days of on-and-off showers, but
overall the cycling was more enjoyable; the relative abundance of
people and facilities made everything more pleasant.  Prices also
returned to normal; in the Nullarbor, a big soda would set you back
five bucks.

Port Augusta wasn't the city we were hoping for.  The biggest since
Perth, we expected to find an internet cafe.  Alas, no such luck; only
a library with a basic connection.  But oh man, they have great
doughnuts here.  I ate about ten doughnuts on our day off, certainly
the highlight of my day.

Alex left that night in Port Augusta, ending the first chapter of my
trip.  He had to take a train to Sydney to catch his flight home in a
few days.  I got pretty depressed, realizing I really wanted to go home
too.  Just under a year to go!

That night the tent seemed huge.  I even put all my stuff in there,
whereas before I had to leave it outside.  Still, I felt there was
something missing; how would it be traveling alone?  It was great
living with Alex, we got along very well.  I'm not sure how I would
have coped with the Nullarbor alone.  Bye Alex, have fun in college.

The next morning I left, towards Adelaide.  Traveling alone was strange
indeed and I was very worried that I'd drop something and have nobody
to point it out to me.  The change of routine and a fierce headwind
made me pretty depressed and bogged me down with self-defeating
thoughts.

An hour or two into my day, I started hearing a swooping sound near my
head.  I thought it was just a gust of wind, but it was a regularly
recurring phenomenon.  Looking up, I saw a big black and white bird
dive bombing my head.  Ahhhh!  I almost lose control of the bike as it
comes down, pulling away at the last moment.  I speculated that the
bird was a mother protecting her eggs from my quasi-bird-like black and
white helmet.  I became somewhat fearful for my safety as the bird
becomes more and more aggressive; I really don't want my eyes pecked
out so early in my trip.  I unsuccessfully tried to pelt the beast with
gravel.  I eventually resolved to moving as quickly as possible out of
her territory.  Luckily I escaped unscathed, to fight again another
day.  Or another hour.  At about noon, I entered another mother's
territory, and again I made it through the kill zone unharmed.

I found I traveled more efficiently alone.  With my Ortlieb handlebar
bag, I don't actually need to stop every hour for food- I can just eat
while riding.  While with Alex (whose trailer was his only means of
food storage) we had to take food breaks every hour.  This being the
case, I made good time, and did about a hundred miles that first day
biking solo.

That night, I camped in a town that I'd been specifically warned
against.  Several people in Port Augusta had told me to steer clear of
Snowtown because a mass murder had taken place there some years ago.
Supposedly eight or nine people had been killed, their bodies placed in
acid, and later stored in a bank vault.  I saw no reason not to visit,
especially considering it was ideally situated between Port Augusta and
Adelaide (my next major destination.)  Also, the perpetrators had long
since been caught, so there was nothing to worry about.

Arriving in town, I stopped at the roadhouse for some chips (fries).
Outside were a couple of bikers (riding motorcycles), with leather
vests advertising their club, the "Rebels."  Having met the fiancé
of the president of their club a few days earlier, I started talking to
one of them, inquiring about the organization's scope in Australia,
and about other bike gangs.  I told him how the leader of the Oakland
Hell's Angels was supposedly arrested at my house for murder, years
before I was born.  Supposedly the Rebels are the dominant club down
under with some 1300 members, and there's tension between them and the
Hell's Angels minority.  They apparently "smash" the more business-like
Angels whenever they see them.  Aside from that statement the Rebels
were friendly, and were impressed with my undertaking.

Midway through our chat, I was alerted to the fact that we were under
surveillance by undercover cops who'd just pulled up.  What's more,
there were tens of cops going by every minute; the Rebel I was talking
to said they were setting up a road block down the road, since there
was to be a rally that night.

Snowtown was great.  At the clubhouse it was free fish and chip night
on account of it being Friday.  And I didn't get pushed into a vat of
acid.

I'm currently in Adelaide.  It's great here; the first real city of the
trip (I wasn't all too impressed with Perth's lack of bike supplies.)
I've taken two days off, and am trying to enjoy myself.  I'm a city
person and will spend more time in them from now on, to recharge my
batteries and take in some culture.  Hostels are a lot of fun as well,
and since I'm alone now, they're a great way to meet people and stay
sane.  Plus, it's a nice change from the tent, if more expensive.

A goal of this trip is to raise awareness for the AIDS crisis in Asia
specifically.  I'm also raising money for amfAR, the American
Foundation for AIDS Research, which has started TREAT Asia
(Therapeutics Research, Education, and AIDS Training in Asia,) an
organization whose goal is to ensure effective delivery of AIDS
treatments throughout Asia.  Once in Asia, I plan to visit
universities, hospitals, administrators, and NGOs, and write about the
local perspective on HIV/AIDS in the various regions I'll be
traveling through.  It looks like I'll now be making a rudimentary
movie-blog or documentary about the Asian AIDS crisis, complete with
interviews, while in Asia.  Stay tuned!

Why focus on Asia, when there are more AIDS sufferers in Africa?  In
the early nineties, AIDS was becoming a problem in both South Africa
and Thailand.  The Thai government was quick to react, setting up
education programs in all walks of life.  From brothels to schools, the
message was out there.  Many lives were saved as a result of this early
action.  South Africa, on the other hand, did not react with nearly the
same force as Thailand.  There are now more AIDS sufferers in South
Africa than in any other country (although India is expected to soon
take over that unfortunate statistic.)  This is strong evidence that
early action leads to much better containment of the virus, and with
HIV/AIDS in low numbers in many Asian countries, now is the time to be
implementing such measures.  Asia has sixty percent of the world's
population, and ignoring the problem now will lead to a world crisis.

So what do I hope to accomplish?  I hope my unusual trip will open eyes
to the problem that faces our world in Asia.  If the problem that faces
us in Asia concerns you, please consider making a donation to the
American Foundation for AIDS Research.  This can be accomplished
through my website, at www.rideagainstaids.com, or by clicking here.

An impression I'd not like people (especially my acquaintances) to
get is that they should donate because I'm out here putting in long,
hard, miserable miles for the cause- no.  I'm not suffering for
donations, please don't think I'm torturing myself to bring money
to amfAR.  I'm seeing the world my own way, and using the trip's
appeal to open people's eyes to the AIDS crisis in Asia.  Cycling is
not hell (well, not usually) and I'm hardly suffering, even if I do
dramatize some of the more trying events.  If anything, I'd like to
promote cycling as a means of travel.  Donate because you realize the
importance of amfAR and its TREAT Asia program and understand the
interconnectedness of our world.

I hope that made sense.

I know what I've written may occasionally make biking seem like a
really crappy way to see the world, but it's not.  In fact, if you
like seeing places as they are, it's great.  You see so much more
than you're supposed to.  If you're a regular tourist, you fly into
the airport, and get a cab into town.  If you're a cyclist, you enter
the city from a distance.  You see the urban sprawl, see the outskirts,
enter the industrial district, and eventually penetrate the nucleus,
the city center.  You see the people who make the city function, not
only the Prada-sporting models walking down the main street.  On your
way to the next urban center a few hundred miles away, you meet the
farmers, see the country, and ride some great roads.  You will get a
rainy day or two, especially the first few days.  My advice?  Get some
Ortlieb waterproof panniers and Maxxis touring tires!  In all
seriousness, I've found that if nothing else, the most tenuous days
make you appreciate the life you'll soon return to (well, not too
soon in my case) and help you tolerate adversity in everyday life.

And when you get back, you get all the ladies!

I'm sorry it's taken a few weeks to get this update out.  Australia's
been pretty hectic: getting fit, establishing routine and
self-discipline, having a deadline to meet, etc... have taken a lot of
fun out of the trip, and I've found myself with little to no time to do
other than bike.  Regrettably, I've been riding from point A to B
without enjoying too much in between.  I've changed my end-city in
Australia from Sydney to Melbourne to relax my schedule a bit; my
original plan was quite ambitious, and I need time in Sydney to pack my
bike, do media stuff, and plan South America.  I now have more time to
enjoy myself, write, and keep in touch.

Thanks for reading.

Bevan

p.s. Please send me mail!  I really like getting mail.

_____________________________________________________________________

Update from Norseman 8/5/2005

Here's the first real trip update.  I've been writing in my journal
fairly regularly, but it's hard to find good internet cafes here, and
it seems there's never any time.  Let's see how much I remember of
the trip thus far...

Day 1 (Friday, July 22)

After 30-something hours of travel, I finally arrived in Perth.  As
planned, I met Alex at the City Hall, and we dragged all my stuff to
the hostel.  During the walk I begin to realize how much stuff I've
brought; my gear is extremely heavy.  Everything must be at least 120
pounds.  Uh oh.  I have to carry this stuff really really far...

Perth appears to be a cool city, and food is really cheap so we eat a
ton.  We stayed at the Billabong Resort (a hostel), where we've
rented a 4-bunk room, so we have room to build our bikes and organize
our gear.

About my traveling companion for Australia:

Alex and I have been friends for over a decade; we've been going to
school together since we were four.  We started at the East Bay French
American School, then at the College Preparatory School of Oakland.  We
both got into cycling in high school; we should be a great team.

Day 2

Today I did a lot of walking and shopping.  I still needed some
critical parts; having just received my frame and parts less than a
week before I left, my bike wasn't built; the bottom bracket and cranks
had to be installed, I needed a cable drop for my front cantilever
brakes, and needed new pedals (my new Shimano SPD aren't compatible
with my Sidi shoes, and no adapters were readily available in Perth).
Also, had to get my steerer cut, and a few other things.

Alex and I walked around Perth all day and had limited success; we were
directed to several bike shops, all a couple miles away from each
other, and nobody seemed able to help me.  Very frustrating.
Eventually I got my bottom bracket and cranks installed (Shimano XT)
after a mechanic let me borrow the proper tool.

I learned that the cable drop would be almost impossible to obtain for
a 1 1/8" steerer tube.  I thought it was a very standard part.  At
one shop I bought a 1" cable drop, which I planned to file out with a
metal file.

Day 3

Unfortunately it's Sunday so a lot of bike shops are closed.  We try
calling shops to avoid wasting time again, but those who were open were
of no help.  I'd assembled my bike enough to ride it; I put on cranks,
shifters and derailleurs, and a rear brake.  Our travels around the
city were more efficient that day since we could both ride.
Unfortunately, it rains pretty heavily today, so we stay inside a lot.

Figured out that "BYO" in the window of restaurants signifies "Bring
Your Own"; it seems liquor licenses are hard or expensive to obtain in
the city.

At this point, we're still tipping 15% (we haven't yet learned that
no tip is required).

Everyone we talk to about our trip says we're mad.  Even the chance
encounter with an experienced cyclo-tourist reveals that our journey to
Sydney will be extremely arduous.  I thought Australia was the easy
part!

Day 3

Today's Monday, and we realize we can't leave today so we get the
hostel for another night.  I've bought a metal file and have quasi
given up on filing the 1" cable drop, so I go around to another bike
shop looking for the right part.  Filing metal is really hard!

At the new bike shop, I buy some other gear I need, and head back to
the hostel to fashion my own cable drop.  I end up securing the brake
cable housing to the stem and head tube.  It takes quite a few
zip-ties, but eventually seems to work fairly well- hopefully I won't
have to use my front brake that much!

That night, we want pizza, so we walk to a nice-ish Italian place to
celebrate the commencement of our journey.  While we're waiting for our
take-out pizza (cheaper than eating in), we sit next door at a nice
brewery, and I get a small four-beer tasting tray (all local beers).
It was pretty good I guess, I don't really know; I can't compare it
to much else.  We bring the pizza over and eat it there.  Then, we get
another pizza.  We are so hungry!

After dinner, we go back to the hostel and finish packing.  I try to
enjoy the luxury of a shower (who knows when I'll shower again?) but
it just dries out my skin.  A lot.  I hope my eczema clears up soon;
this could be really bad.

Day 4

We leave today!  We finally bring everything downstairs and load up the
bikes, and I get on my fully loaded rig for the first time.  Wow!  It
handles extremely differently than my racing bike.  I don't think
it's possible to ride at all.  Alex is having similar problems.
Unlike me, he's carrying all his gear in a B.O.B. Yak (a one-wheel
trailer behind his bike.)  After a few miles, we get the hang of it,
and it seems that my set-up is much more stable than Alex's.  My IRD
racks and Ortlieb panniers balance the load evenly on the bicycle,
whereas Alex's trailer puts tons of weight on the rear wheel.  Also,
if the B.O.B. starts tipping, it's going down, and bringing the bike
with it.  Alex cuts his legs up trying to right the falling Bob.  Alex
wishes he had Ortlieb panniers too!  They are completely waterproof and
very spacious; ideal for this sort of touring.  I'm very glad I
didn't get non-waterproof ones, as we're expecting a bit of rain
later on.  Another great thing about my panniers is that they allow
quick access to anything I'll need.  With the B.O.B. trailer,
there's just one big compartment you need to sort through, which can
be extremely challenging if it's not leaning against a wall or
something.

My bike is also ideal for this trip.  From Soma Fabrications of San
Francisco, my black "Double Cross" frame is built for cyclocross or
touring.  It's a really sturdy steel frame, and takes my 100 pounds
of gear like a champ.  My IRD components are also really tough; in
particular, I like my steel IRD Teflon-coated cassette; it's gonna
last a long time.

My Shimano XT rear derailleur (provided by Cyclesports of Oakland) is
also working flawlessly with my downtube shifters.  I'm lucky to be
outfitted so well.  Unfortunately, Alex isn't so lucky; ten miles
from Perth, Alex's derailleur shifts into his wheel, and we eventually
get him a new one (a Shimano 105 short-cage derailleur to replace his
Ultegra).  This sets us back like 5 hours (we tried to fix the old one
first).  After that, we eat a lot at a fish and chips at a fast food
place.  They give us obscene amounts of food and I feel piggy eating it
all, but it turns out it was the right move; I wouldn't be eating
dinner that night.

After lunch, we biked up a big hill (the only real one in Australia?).
There was tons of traffic; must have been rush hour.  Very, very
dangerous travel, especially since we weren't really used to the
bikes.  Beep beep!  At the top of the hill, we deemed it unsafe to
continue, so we pulled off into a national park.  Luckily, there was a
tavern there and a few people.  We set up camp (illegally, but we had
no choice), and went into the tavern.  We introduced ourselves to the
guys, and Steve bought us two rounds of beers.  They offered us more
beer, smokes, and cannabis, but we turned it down.  We eventually
succumbed to peer pressure and played a round of pool against the
reigning bar champion.  That was a mistake.  They have smaller pool
balls in Australia but I wisely held my mouth...  And they had a pet
kangaroo outside that me and Alex thought was wild, and we got all
excited when we saw it.  It was funny.

We didn't sleep well that first night in the tent.  It seemed a lot
smaller than in the store, and it got really cold (it's winter here
in Australia.)  Also, I had to pee during the night, but couldn't
muster enough energy to get out of the tent (this happens a lot, to
both of us).  It was very uncomfortable.

Day 5

Since we didn't have food for camping, we had to start biking on empty
stomachs.   Pretty soon we found a supermarket and bought some bread
and fruit.  Then we biked.  Isn't Australia supposed to be flat?  We
were going up and down all day.  However, the hills were very gradual.
We did a pretty short day, ending in Northam, probably about 85k.
It's a small farming town of about 7000 people.  We then found a
trailer park where we camped for the night, which cost us 16AUS.  Then
we got to cook for the first time.  Pasta and cheese, not too great.
Tons of mosquitoes as well, so I ate much too quickly and got a stomach
ache.

Alex and I take turns cooking, since we don't have a big pot- first
one of us will boil our meal in our 1.5 liter pots, then the other.

Day 6

It rained last night and this morning when it was perfectly clear the
night before.  We got up late as a result, not wanting to exit into the
wet.  When we finally emerged, we made some pasta and cheese again, and
I saved what I didn't eat (about half) for the day's ride.  We had a
short day, only 56k to Cunderdin.  Luckily the terrain flattens out
some- we only have gradual mounds to climb.  We stay at another trailer
park so that we can use their cooking facilities, bathroom, and water.
We again cook pasta and cheese and this time I have a can of tomato
paste.  Mmmm!  That's really bland!  I use the electricity outlet to
write this, a first report.

Today I checked out the map (the big one, of Australia), and we have a
really, really long ways to go.

Day 7

Today we biked to Merredin, which is actually pretty big.  We got there
at around 3 or so, after a day of slight rollers and a very strong
tailwind at times.  For much of the ride, we were riding at 17-20mph,
which is very fast with our loads.  Also, I was hammering for much of
it, because the effect of the tailwind was so great.  I dropped
something at some point during the ride, and riding back to collect it
was a challenge- the winds were really strong.  I hope they never work
against us!

On our way to town that day, we stopped in a smaller town for some
water and to use the bathroom.  A Native Australian (Aborigine)
approached us and talked to us for a bit.  He expressed dismay that his
people weren't allowed to climb Ayer's Rock.  He also said that
Aborigines don't take planes because they fear being so high.  I
didn't know what to say to that.

The trailer park in Merredin was very nice, with all the amenities.  It
cost us $15.  We plan to stay in these places as long as possible,
despite their being somewhat expensive.  It's within my budget for
Australia, but this expense won't do for the whole trip; I'm
counting on South America being a lot cheaper.

Day 8

Today was really tough!  We had headwinds most of the way to Southern
Cross, some 108km away (60+mi).  We had to put in a lot of effort to
even keep our speed at 10mph; the winds had changed direction.  So we
ended up having a very hard day, finally arriving to Southern Cross at
about 5:30, at twilight.  The terrain wasn't so bad but out legs had
had it; I hadn't been on my bike for months before I left, and we'd
just had four or five tough days of loaded touring behind us.  Lesson
learned.  We should have taken a rest day in Merredin.

On the road today I had my first encounter with death; a still bird
lies in the road.  It is very brightly colored- mostly green.  Alex is
some distance behind me, so I pause to look at the poor bird.  A small
feather lies some distance away, and I pick it up and put it in a
compartment in my flashlight.

In Australia they have these multi-car big-rigs called "road trains,"
which ship things to inland cities or transport huge items.  These look
like our greatest road hazard.  Usually they are just two-car big-rigs,
and give us ample room.  However, it there is an on-coming car in the
other lane, they have no choice but to stay in our lane.  Some road
trains transport very, very large farming machines, such that we have
to move far off the road in order to avoid them.  Luckily the larger
ones have a front runner announcing the presence of the behemoth.
Today for example, we saw the front-runner come by, and he even beeped
at us.  Next came another front-runner car.  Turning around, we saw a
huge truck coming towards us, which literally took up the whole road.
The payload was some sort of farming machine.

That night it froze but I'd fully enclosed myself in my sleeping bag
and was quite warm.

Day 9

Today we sleep "in" to 7:45 or so, which is pretty late for us since we
go to bed soon after sunset (around 6:30)).  Unfortunately, it's
Sunday, so our day off is pretty boring.  We bike into town, which
again is a one-street affair.  Nearly everything is closed.  I try
calling home but Dad's not home.

Some random thoughts:

-This trip isn't so much a trip as it is a change in lifestyle for a
year.  A trip doesn't have to be sustainable; you go to Vegas for a
weekend, and you don't even have to wash your clothes there.  Out here,
I do need to do laundry.  I also need to stay healthy emotionally; this
means talking to people, getting involved, not staying on the bike or
in the tent all the time.  It isn't something I'll be able to muscle
through; a year is a long time.

-One thing I'm worried about is my eczema.&  At least I think it's
eczema.  So far, I've taken very few showers because they dry out my
skin severely.  Also, if I take a break while riding, I can get
uncontrollably itchy.  I hope this clears up soon; it is very annoying
and even quite painful at times.  It really sucks.

-Whenever we tell someone we're going to Syydney, they always ask,
"you're crossing the Nullarbor?" and inform us about the monotony of
this southern region.  It spans many, many miles (probably over 1000)
on the south coast of Australia, and nobody lives there save
gas-station attendants at hundred-mile intervals.  One "bloke"
asked to see my thumb.  I showed him, and he replied, "good, you'll
need it," while making a hitching motion.  I hope it doesn't come to
that.  I don't think I'll let it.  But if it's dangerous for either of
us, we'll have to.  Supposedly the truckers are friendly and would
help us out.  We'll see how things go.

-Part of my year-long plan is to limit my rrisk as much as possible.
This means always wearing a helmet, always moving off the road when a
road train is approaching, and all the small things that are themselves
relatively inconsequential but in the long run save a hassle.  For
example, I've been biking with a long-sleeve shirt, with a collar that
can unfold and velcro to my hemlet straps, completely covering my neck
from the sun.  Also, I've started flossing every day; I'd hate to
get a tooth infection in the middle of Chile or something.

-On fitness: my legs are expanding rapidly..  I think we'll be able to
do longer days soon.  We'll have to; my itinerary was a bit ambitious,
having us doing near-100-mile days consecutively between rest days
(every fifth day).  So far, the furthest we've done is a little more
than 65 miles (from Merredin to Southern Cross.)

Day 10

This was the worst day of the trip so far!  The sun was shining, the
wind was mostly in our favor, and our legs recovered nicely during the
rest day.  But I got really depressed.  I've begun having second
thoughts about this trip; a year (13 months!) is a really long time to
be away from home.  I miss everything.  And am tiring of camping.  I
really looked forward to unconsciousness that night and fear that
sleeping will be the highlight of every day.  Hopefully things will
pick up.

Today we do about 100km again (this is about our standard day) and have
to bush camp (camping by the side of the road.)  The first camp site
doesn't help my depression; there's toilet paper and trash
everywhere.  We actually come close to camping there, but then decide
to try a spot down the road (away from the pull-off this time.)  The
second spot is fine, so we pitch tent and cook another miserable meal
of pasta and cheese.  If a doctor is reading this, can he or she please
tell me if it's bad to be eating 250g of cheese per day.  This is
what I've been doing and I'm somewhat worried about my cholesterol.

Day 11

After somewhat depressing breakfast, I start feeling good-ish again,
and we set off for Coolgardie (90km or so.)  I notice there are many
Native Australians living in Coolgardie, and many appear to be
lower-class.  Some people have warned us against these darker-skinned
people.  No complaints so far.

Day 12

Rolling hills.  A bit steeper.  That is all.

Actually something interesting happened today.  When we got to
Widgiemooltha (just a gas station with a camp site 90k from
Coolgardie,) we told the attendant we were from San Francisco.  He
asked us if we were "Trekkies", stating that the "Federation"
was located around there.  He was very crude in speech but very
friendly.

Day 13

Today we biked to Norseman, and I was all excited because we would take
a rest day there.  When we got there (after 100 pretty easy kilometers,
and some semblance of a tailwind,) we stopped to refresh at a
supermarket.  Who should approach us but Mr. Blue, a small Japanese man
who'd just walked across Australia from Adelaide, our reverse route.
Wow!  I gave him my bag of chips.  He only bought 12 cans of beer from
the bottle shop across the street, and gave me one.  It was funny to
see such a small man carrying to much beer!

He'd been doing about 30km per day, pushing an aluminum cart with two
wheels that his friend had given him after he (his friend) had walked
from Darwin to Adelaide.  Blue had started his travels in Tazmania,
where he'd worked for 5 months as an apple picker, making 150AUS per
day.  Hard work, he said.  He'd "only" been walking for two
months to get to Norseman.

He was staying at our caravan park, so we took him out to dinner (we
paid for him.)  Of course one dinner wasn't enough, so we stopped at
a gas station restaurant and had another cheaper meal.  He's a bit
crazy, but so are we, so we all got along well despite the language
barrier.

I don't have time to put up pictures today.  I should be able to in a
week or so.  Or maybe more.  Norseman (our present location) is the
last real outpost town before the Nullarbor Plain.  I think the next
internet is in Ceduna, a fair distance from here.

Wish us luck.

Bevan.

_____________________________________________________________________

Update from Singapore Airport 7/21/2005

2:52am

I'm tired and cranky but feel I should say something on this
all-important first of days. I've been traveling for 24 hours: San
Francisco to Seoul to Singapore. Now I have six hours to kick back and
explore the impressive orchid garden before I take off for Perth, where
my around-the-world cycling journey will begin.

I was up until four last night packing my bike and gear, and hit an
all-time stress high, my stress-induced eczema completely out of
control. The last few months have indeed been the most stressful of my
life; no doubt due to my leaving stuff off until the last minute. Like
how I had my wheels built the day before I left. And getting my rabies
and typhoid vaccines that day as well. Not a good habit when planning
an around-the-world cycling trip!

Packing was also quite rushed; I'm sure I forgot at least 6
semi-critical items. Crap. The extra spokes and rear blinking light
are in my car. And I'm pretty sure my helmet is in the bike room. Oh
well. I hope Perth is reasonably large. In any case, I made the
flight; the trip has finally begun.

The peculiarity of leaving home for a year of bike, tent, and stove has
been dawning on me these last few weeks. I have no illusions about how
"fun" this trip will be, and I wonder how soon I'll miss home and want
to return. During my month-long NOLS course I learned how to classify
events using the following nomenclature:

"Type 1 Fun" is to be had during a truely enjoyable event, such as a
party. An event of "Type 2 Fun" is enjoyable after the fact; one
remembers running a marathon as being really fun while forgetting the
pain. "Type 3 Fun" is enjoyable neither during nor after the event.
For example, hiking all day, setting up camp in a downpour, and going
to bed in a wet sleeping bag.

I'm expecting lots of type 2, with roughly equal amounts of type 1 and
3. We'll see!

Two guys with machine guns want to make sure I have a passport and
tickets so I'm gonna go.

Bevan

Copyright © 2005 Bevan Barton.