XTSBlog with Trey Archer

Bangladesh isn’t known for its cuisine. In fact, unless you’ve been there before, you probably don’t know what traditional Bangladeshi food consists of. I certainly didn’t before going. In my two week stay, I ate some fantastic food and also some, how do you say, “not so nice food.” But in the end, I didn’t get food poisoning once, so I’ll take that as a victory. Here’s what I was eating in Bangladesh.

Bangla breakfast. This is the typical breakfast found throughout the entire country and it’s damn good! Just a bit of nan, some lentils and some cooked veggies may not seem like much or even appetizing, but believe me on this one, for some reason it proved to be quite tasty. Cost: I was getting full with multiple pieces of bread and vegetables and I never spent more than .20 cents. Ranking: 7 out of 10.

Samosas. Another simple street food sample found everywhere. Samosa is just basically a deep fried ball of vegetables. They’re very crunchy, a bit spicy and very filling. It seems Bangladeshis like hearty, fried food. And why not? Following the words of my Granddad, “if it ain’t fried, it ain’t food!” Cost: .10 cents for one. Ranking: 7 out of 10.

Roast chicken. This is my most favorite Bangladeshi food hands down and, like the others, it’s everywhere and simple. It’s just some slow roasted, rotisserie chicken with some soft nan bread and some sliced onions/cucumbers/garlic/hot peppers. This meal became a mini obsession whilst traveling the country and I’m pretty sure I had it for lunch and dinner in the same day on several occasions. Cost: 3 USD. Ranking 9 out of 10.

Sweets. This was a big surprise. I never would have predicted that this country had such a sweet tooth. These little pastry stores are common in cities and towns and they serve a variety of mini deserts. They’re VERY sweet and some have honey and nuts as well. At night, instead of going to bars since drinking is illegal, most locals head to the pastry shops to sip tea and indulge in a sugary snack. Cost: about 1 USD for a large mixed box. Ranking 8 out of 10.

Bangla tea. This is the most popular drink in the country. Street vendors serve it out of their little shacks to the locals needing a caffeine jolt. The dark black tea usually comes with a bit of thick cream to cut back on the bitterness, but it’s still quite strong and I personally prefer the Chinese way of drinking tea. If America runs on Duncan’s, Bangladesh certainly runs on tea. Cost: .10 cents. Ranking: 5 out of 10.

Fish and rice. Fish is probably the most common food in Bangladesh. Apart from having a coast on the Bay of Bengal, there’s plenty of rivers to provide locals with enough fish to feed the entire population 10 times over. It also goes great with a bit of raw cucumbers, onions, hot peppers and garlic. I got this particular platter on the beach and the taste wasn’t that bad. Cost: 3 USD. Ranking: 6 out of 10.

Chicken curry. You knew this one was coming being encircled by India and all. The flavor was absolutely delicious! I don’t know how they do it, but they found the perfect balance of all the flavors. The gooey bread and crisp veggies were also a great addition. I’m getting hungry just thinking about it actually! Cost: 3 USD. Ranking 9 out of 10.

Pan seared fish. As mentioned, fish is the standard Bangladesh food. This was cooked in front of me by some villagers in southern Bangladesh. They used a lot of spice and served it over a bed of rice. They also offered me the head since I was the guest! Cost: Free. Ranking: 6 out of 10.

After spending some time in the mass, dense, overcrowded capital of Dhaka, I moved out to the country to get a glimpse of real Bangladeshi life. I had to after catching the local tip of, “The only way to experience true Bagla life is to go to Old Town Dhaka and the country side.” So, naturally I went.

After looking at the stats, however, I quickly realized that village life is perhaps even more traditional than Old Town Dhaka. 80% of Bangladesh’s population lives in rural communities. That’s right, 80%!!! Think about that. The fact that the country is the size of New York State and has half the size of the entire US population crammed into it is already astonishing, but now take 80% of those people and make them rural dwellers and you’ve really got something unique; especially since most densely populated countries are predominately urban. It really shows that Bangladesh has never really played by the rules nor strove to be like any one else. This is the country side, from the north, south, east and west of Bangladesh.

Village life in the state of Rajshahi, NW Bangladesh.

The town of Rajshahi in NW Bangladesh. Funny, this town was ranked as the happiest city in the world several years ago according to some international blah blah blah poll. To be honest, I have no clue why. It was my least favorite place in Bangladesh.

The town of Khulna in SW Bangladesh. I loved this city! The street food was incredible, the people were exceptionally nice and it had a really funky vibe to it. Rock on, Kuhlna!

The beach village of Kuakata in southern Bangladesh. It’s a really cool, relaxed place and another one of my favorite destinations in the country.

Some villagers in Kuakata playing Bangladesh’s favorite sport- Cricket. Seriously, they LOVE this game! It’s everywhere.

Some villagers of the Burmese ethnicity spinning yarn in the jungle in southern Bangladesh.

Life in the Sundabarns. The Sundabarns in southern Bangladesh is the world’s largest mangrove. It’s filled with Bengal tigers, massive snakes and even a few villagers.

A hut in the Sundabarns. The top is the living/sleeping quarters and the bottom is their stove. It’s small and anything but luxurious, but it gets the job done which is all that really matter now, isn’t it? Plus it looks kind of cozy if you ask me!

Your average school in rural Bangladesh.

Sunset at the beach town of Cox Bazar- the “Cancun of Bangladesh.” This is where all the middle/upper middle class Bangladeshi tourists like to live it up on holidays. It’s a fun place, but being a dry country, it didn’t quite live up to Cancun or any other popular tourist destination on the West. It’s still a nice place to unwind, however.

On another sad note, the night I took this pic, five people were murdered in the town during the country’s mass protests, a phenomena that was ripping the place to pieces when I was visiting. I’ll get to that in a latter blog, so stay tuned.

Dhaka is the country’s capital and largest city. Actually, it’s one of the world’s largest metropolitan zones with roughly 15 million people. In all my travels, I’ve never, let me repeat, NEVER been to such a densely populated city. Off the wall! And that’s saying a lot since I currently live in China!!! The streets are packed with people, rickshaws, traffic, garbage, pollution, concrete and the Muslim call for prayer bouncing off the streets. It’s anarchy with no rules and little laws to put a lid on the mayhem. In retrospect, it’s the kind of place I love traveling to. Here’s a glimpse of Dhaka, the Bangladeshi mega-city.

And you bitched about your city being chaotic with horrible traffic. I felt like I was living in Greenland when I came back to China!

The Parliament Building. It looks like a spaceship from Planet X27H4YZ11N landed.

A shot of Gulshan, one of the upper class neighborhoods of the city where most the foreigners and embassies stay.

Outdoor fruit market.

Lalbagh Fort- perhaps the biggest tourist attraction in Dhaka.

Old Town Dhaka.

A Christian graveyard.

A Hindu Temple.

Downtown Dhaka. The seeds of capitalism have been sown and a little bit of business has begun to sprout up in the country. With a market of 150 individuals, many see Bangladesh ripe for opportunity in the future. Now, it’s nothing to brag about and it still remains one of the world’s poorest, but who know what the future has in store?

Average apartments. They’re cramped and crumbling, but at least they serve as a roof over your head a night. Most people in Dhaka are lucky to live in something like this.

An auto-rickshaw traffic jam. I talked about rickshaws being a main form of transportation throughout the country, well, this is like the upgraded speedy version mostly found only in Dhaka. They’re basically green cages on top of three wheels with a diesel motor attached. They also all seem to have “Allah” in Arabic written on the back and loved ripping me off!

Pics of the rickshaw factory.

A city park. Actually, my rickshaw driver for the day told me that this is where all the young lover escape to make out. In a conservative Muslim country like Bangladesh, you’ve got to be creative and a little discreet when dealing with relationships with the opposite sex.

There’s an old saying that sounds something along the lines of “the people make the place.” And after traveling to more than 80 countries around the world, I couldn’t agree more. By far my favorite aspect of any country is its people. After all, the individuals from a particular area are the ones that worship, live, die, cook, eat, create, destroy, write, speak and rule, thus turning the environment into theirs and theirs only; something truly unique for a nation-state.

I just returned from a short two week journey through Bangladesh- one of the world’s most populated countries with 150 million inhabitants, one of the world’s most densely populated countries and, unfortunately, one of the world’s poorest countries. These are some of the people I encountered along the way. They are the the peoples of Bangladesh- the people of the “Bangla Country.”

Construction workers in Dhaka, the capital.

Rickshaw drivers. Rickshaws are EVERYWHERE in this country and serve as the main form of local transport. They’re also wearing my favorite outfit found throughout Burma and Bangladesh, the longyi. The longyi is the long, colorful dress they and millions of other men wear and that part of the world. In fact, right now, I’m wearing my longyi while typing this piece for ya!

Seems easier than using your hands, right? Everyone carries things on their heads there, pretty cool!

A legless homeless man on the street. As mentioned, Bangladesh is extremely poor. Abject poverty slaps you in the face ever step of the day while beggars, rats and garbage hinder your path. Though sad, it does make me more thankful for everything, especially the little things, a bit more. Next time I have a bad day, I’ll remember to assure myself that “it’s not that bad…”

Some young ladies hanging out at the popular tourist destination of Lalbagh Fort. Women’s fashion is pretty straight forward in Bangladesh being a Muslim nation and all. Some wear the all black with a veil or cover their hair. Other cover themselves from head to toe but use more brightly lit colors. Some wear the three piece sari which is popular in neighboring India. A few even put a small dot on their forehead which is standard in Hindu culture but just perceived as beautiful in Islamic Bangladesh.

As you can see, some of the younger guys opt for Western attire over the traditional longyi and gamca (a towel like cloth can be worn as a headband, hat, belt, scarf, ect…). For some reason, probably due to the conservative nature of Islam, Western dress for women is nonexistent.

Mohammad- The rickshaw driver that took me around town one afternoon. At the end of the day I treated him to some Bangla chicken while he showed me how the locals grub. Save your appetite though, “What’s Trey Eating in Bangladesh” is coming soon.

Hindu women and the Hindu temple. Bangladesh is about 88% Muslim while 10% is Hindu, so there’s still some pretty interesting Hindu culture found in the Hindu neighborhoods.

A lone girl at the Hindu temple.

A Christian family I met at the Dhaka Christian cemetery. The remaining 2% of Bangladesh’s religious makeup are either Buddhist or Christian.

Speaking of Buddhism… A Buddhist monk and I at a temple in southern Bangladesh.

A street vendor in Dhaka.

A beggar in the streets of Barisol in southern Bangladesh. I had a fun time with her while waiting for the bus. Though she was illiterate and could only read numbers, she stood next to the time table teaching me Bengali numerals. Sadly, when I began asking about city names in the Bangali script, she couldn’t pronounce them. Language is truly God’s greatest gift to humanity, and it bought a tear to my eye seeing a good soul miss out of this wonderful aspect of life.

An old man in the northwestern city of Rajshahi.

I met a 14 year old boy in the beach village of Kuakata and he invited me to his school. It was a shack (to say the least) with about 40 boys sitting on the right and 40 girls sitting on the left. Yes, in Muslim education, the women and men should not sit together. That’s why I was only allowed to take a picture on the male side of the room. It would have been extremely disrespectful to take a pic of the female side…

A devout Muslim I met on a boat in Kuakata. While some men wear the longyi and gamca, others, like him, dress with the more Pakistani look. That isn’t surprising since Bangladesh used to be East Pakistan, a colony of Pakistan, before the revolution. I’ll get to that in another blog because there’s still social problems hindering from that war 40 years ago. It definitely changed my trip!

My friends that I met in Bangladesh’s favorite holiday destination- Cox Bazar. They were a cool group and they taught me how to get your hands on a bottle of rum, which is much more difficult than it seems since alcohol is illegal in Islamic Bangladesh. So, we went to the hotel, they made a call to an alcohol dealer, we watched Indian pop music videos until he came, we purchased the overpriced bottle of smuggled Burmese rum then took a few shots each as fast as we could. Next, we hid the evidence and yes, I was pretty damn nervous of getting caught! It reminded me of my days of sneaking booze around in high school. I thought those days were long gone, but I guess anything can happen when you travel!

Don’t worry, we’ve got a lot more propaganda from the DPRK in Part 2. So if you missed Part 1, scroll down and take a look at some of my pictures from North Korea taken during the fall of 2009! If you’ve already done so, please proceed with Part 2.

The picture above is of the founder of of North Korea- Kim Il Sung (known today as the “Dear Leader.”) This pic was taken at the Arirang Games in Pyongyang which just so happens to be the largest choreographed dance in the world with over 10,000 participants. Saying that, the face-pic you’re seeing of the Dear Leader is not a poster, rather thousands of people holding different colored squares to make out his portrait. Yeah, it’s like that.

This looks like your average family outing in any country- sun, BBQ and fun. But there is a problem with this scene. Though I’ve been trying to stress that the average North Korean is just like everyone else in the world, there were rumors circling around that the government pays these people to go out and picnic just to “prove” to us foreigners that their society is happy without the grip of an authoritarian regime squeezing them like boa. Though I might never know the answer to this question, is a North Korean family having a family BBQ outside really that hard to believe??? You decide…

A Buddhist Temple. Again, you may be thinking, “Whaaat? Religion in a staunch communist country?” That’s what I thought too, but believe it or not religion does exists in the DPRK. Though it’s strictly regulated, illegal to have religious gatherings outside of designated temples and/or “spreading the word,” you can indeed go to church or temple to pray. However, the majority of North Koreans adhere to Juche- the state’s official ideology. For more on Juche, go to the “North Korean Photo Collection. Part 1.”

Bullets before tears. Yup, these guys aren’t Boy Scouts, rather future soldiers of the republic. It’s true, the DPRK invests A LOT of cash into the military, causing international organizations to make noise by claiming they’re spending more on the army (and, hmmm, nuclear weapons) than they are on the people’s own well being. However, they have a saying in the DPRK which is “bullets before tears,” meaning it’s better to invest in the military to keep the country together and protect against foreign invaders (like the US) instead of living more comfortably.

The DMZ (De-Militarized Zone). This is the official border of North Korea and South Korea. Actually, the word “official” is a little off since the two sides still haven’t formerly signed a peace agreement. Nevertheless, this is what separates the two- a few blue shacks, a line and several guards. (Oh yeah, there’s also a massive mine field, barb-wired electric fences and booby traps, but those aren’t present in this particular photo). On the other side is South Korean and US troops mostly sitting comfortably in that big, nice modern facility while the North Korean guards stand outside waiting for action. Sometimes, the two sides get permission to meet right on the border inside those blue houses and have confidential talks. Sometimes, they pass notes back and forth to each other like elementary students. Other times, they just plain ignore the others’ existence.

The Kids Palace. After school, many kids in Pyongyang come here to learn an instrument, dance, sport or other extracurricular activity. I was fortunate enough to come here to check out some of the youngsters’ performances. Some of them are really good while it seemed apparent that some were bored out of their minds. Kids will be kids… Notice the pictures of Kim Il Sung and Kim Jung Il overhead. Their portraits are everywhere, from the metro trains, side walks to, yup, even the Kids Palace.

Speaking of the metro trains, here again you can see the pics of the Dear Leader and the Great Leader in the far background. Other than that, this is normal life for the Pyongyang resident. You may observe that everyone is very quite and reserved, unlike China (the country I reside in at the moment) where the random pedestrian spots a foreigner and bombards them with questions. You could hear a pin drop in this metro cart.

DMZ Propaganda. This sign says something along the lines of “One Korea.” Those in the DPRK don’t see a North/South division the way we do in the West. They believe the South is occupied by American forces at the moment and that Pyongyang is the capital of the entire Korean peninsula. While the two countries couldn’t be more different from each other, the average North Korean wants to see a unification of the two sides. One of them told me he didn’t even care if South Korea stayed capitalist and the North remained communist as long as they officially reunited- doing some type of “Chinese style” two systems one party shin-dig. Unfortunately for them, it seems the average South Korean doesn’t give a kimchi about reuniting with the north because, according to a friend I have from Seoul, “It’d only pull [them] down.”

Downtown Pyongyang and the National Library. It’s quite an impressive sight (even though most of the books are written by Kim Jung Il). North Korea is very conservative especially in terms of dating and sex. Prostitution can be punished by death and premarital sexual relations are highly looked down upon. So how do you meet a girlfriend? Based off the info I gathered, you come here, to the library, and have study dates with the one you fancy. If things go good for a few months, you’ll be married before you know it!

The Korean War Museum. As you’ve probably heard, North Korean citizens have a very unfavorable view of America and Americans. The reason behind this is because the US intervened from half way around the planet to carpet bomb the entire country, killing millions of Koreans in the process. Plus, as mentioned, they still think the US is occupying the South and thus keeping the two countries separated. Here are captured American weapons on display at the museum, something the country is very proud of. The plane photo is of a Corsair- the plane the US military used in the Korean War and the same plane my grandfather was flying when he got shot down over North Korean enemy territory during the Korean War. He’s still alive today to tell the story and still has glass in his eye from the wreckage, however they never found the plane. Could this be it???

This year the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (colloquially known as North Korea) celebrated its 100 year anniversary of Juche ideology.

Juche? Hmm. What is this? Juche is basically the State Religion of the DPRK, a philosophy created by it’s first leader and eternal president Kim Sung Il that stresses self reliance; a sort of “do it yourself” approach without the help of others. Kim Sung Il was born in 1912, therefore the North Korean calendar based of Juche starts in the year 1912. To clarify, 1912 in the North Korean calendar is year 1, while 1913 is year 2, 1914 is year 3, all the way until now, 2012, which is year 100. In their system, today’s date is November 26, 100.

Still with me? Good. Well, in 2009, when King Jung Il was still absolute dictator of the republic, I traveled to North Korea to see what I could see. At the time, I didn’t have a blog, but took tons of pictures of the world’s most reclusive country. So, today, in the year 100, I present to you a multi-blog series of some of the photos I captures during my trip to the late Kim Jung Il’s Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. Enjoy!

A view of Pyongyang, the country’s capital. You may notice the massive building protruding into the heavens. That’s actually the world’s tallest hotel. Only problem is it’s not completed. In fact, they’ve been building it on and off since the 1980s. They keep running out of funds or something like that… From this view, you can see the glass windows. The opposite side, however, is windowless, barren and incomplete.

This is exactly what you think it is- a roller coaster. Surprise, surprise, bet you didn’t think you’d see this in a DPRK photo blog? Well, I rode this rusty beast that probably hasn’t been inspected since Juche Year 72 and, to be completely honest, screamed like a Girl Scout! I was horrified! Apart from being scared of heights, I truly thought the cart would derail at any moment, hurling me to my death on the tracks below. It rattled, shook and screeched the whole way, even on the two double loops. But in the end, I survived. Looking back on it, however, what a way to go.

“My God! Did you hear Trey died?”

“Oh no, that’s horrible! How?”

“He was riding a North Korean roller coaster and it derailed!”

“Well, that’s probably the way he would have wanted to go anyways…”

This is without question my most favorite thing about North Korea- the traffic cops! In the DPRK, instead of using stop lights, they hire young, hot girls to direct the sparse traffic flow. Each season, they also get new stylish uniforms with short skirts in the summer and high leather boots in the winter; kind of like a communism fashion statement or what not. When I asked a North Korean guy, “Why do you use women instead of traffic lights?” he so elegantly responded, “Who doesn’t want to look at hot women while driving?”

We really are all the same, from the US to NK, we are humans, and humans we will be.

Kim Il Sung Memorial. This thing is massive! Actually, Pyongyang is coined the “Monument City” because there’s so many of them. Gotta love how Stalinist regimes spend good state funds on erecting monuments of themselves rather than investing in health, education and infrastructure. Also, it’s illegal in North Korea to take a pic of only half of this statue. You must include the whole thing in your frame as I rightfully (and legally) did.

The Kim Il Sung Mausoleum. This used to be the country’s parliament building, but after Kim’s death in 1994, they turned it, the entire mammoth structure, into the Great Leader’s final resting place. Honestly, it’s HUGE! All the rooms are filled with the Great Leader’s personal accomplishments while one single, highly air-conditioned room in the middle is where the corpse of Kim lays. You must bow three times, once on each side, to “show” respect. To make sure you do so, there are several armed guards with sub machine guns to make sure you bow and mean it! I was nervous of falling over and knocking the damn thing over. Guarantee, that would be the end of my life.

“My God! Did you hear Trey died?”

“Oh no, that’s horrible! How?”

“He tripped while bowing at the Kim Sung Il Mausoleum and knocked it over! They executed him!”

“That’s actually kind of funny…”

Just your average North Koreans enjoying a day at the park cooling off with an ice-cream. See, they’re not “red monsters with horns,” just normal people like you and I doing what normal people do. You may also notice that all the adults have little red pins on their shirts. More specifically, they’re red pins with the Great Leader’s face and it’s something that all North Koreans do, though I’m not sure if it’s a law or not.

National Highway. Cars are hard to come by in North Korea, mostly only reserved for government officials. I was waiting for the headless horseman to come jumping out of the pines any minute!

Socialist Realism is without question my favorite brand or art/sculptures. It’s my secret dream to be the Minister of Propaganda for a communist regime so I could make cool posters and statues all day! I quite enjoyed this one overlooking the Taidong River. The international symbol for communism is the hammer and sickle to represent the workers, but in the DPRK they throw a paint brush through the middle to represent intellectuals as well. A nice touch if I don’t say so myself.

A women selling flowers in downtown Pyongyang.

Another Goliath-sized monument in, well, the City of Monuments. Hammer? Check. Sickle? Check. Brush? Check. Thousands of tons of brick and concrete. Check? Propaganda for the people? Check. Money? Um, Money??? MONEY??? No check. I stared at this relic for about an hour, it’s indescribably mesmerizing.

I awoke from death and, as one could imagine, had a ton of energy. The long rest proved to be extremely effective and was enough to put me back up to 100%. I was full of life, but rather than wanting to bike another 300km along the coast back to Haikou, I switched my agenda and decided to head to the beach town of Sanya.

Previously, I told myself I didn’t want to go to the touristy resort town because my friend said “it sucked”with too many cheesy vacationers, overpriced seafood restaurants and little blue drinks with orange umbrellas. But after cycling for so long and putting my body through such physical torture, a stiff drink with a mini umbrella really didn’t sound that bad. I grabbed my bike, said goodbye to the family at the hotel and took off down the 100km stretch to Sanya.

I was still descending from the mountains, so the road was nice and on the decline most of the time; so I was making great time. Eventually, I exited the mountainous route and crept closer to the coast. That’s where the declines ended, but at least I had some flats to make for a quick ride. Furthermore, as mentioned, I had so much energy built up in my bones from the long sleep that I could pedal ferociously. It was my own personal tour de force, tearing up anything that dared get in my path, steam rolling as fast as I could for hours on end.

Mid-day, around 2pm, I saw the crystal blue water of the South China Sea for the fist time that trip. It was magnificent, surpassing my notion that the beaches of Hainan couldn’t be that beautiful. I wanted to jump in, similar to what I did in Vietnam on my 14 day motorbike trip, but I refrained from doing so and decided to finish up the last leg of the journey strong and fast.

Signs for Sanya began to appear more and more and before I knew it, I was in the city limits. I threw my hands in the air like a pro cyclist upon crossing the finish line and smelt the sweet scent of victory. Words cannot express how good one feels after completing a journey like this. The only way to truly know is to experience it yourself.

Ah, experience, I love this term. It’s how we humans should truly live life. Instead of sitting around watching reality TV all day, living in another’s shoes, why not got out and do it yourself? Live your short life to the fullest and gain as much experience, in whatever realm it may lay in, as humanly possible. If not, it’ll truly be a sad existence knowing that your entire life was based of watching others live; for this is not the way we were meant to live.

I didn’t know where I was in the city, or which hostel I was going to stay in, so I pulled over to sidewalk in the middle of bustling Sanya city to check out my guidebook for recommendations. I sat on a bench and looked around, then suddenly became extremely confused.

Where the hell am I? Russia?

True, I felt that I was back in the Russian Domain. All the signs were written in the Cyrillic Alphabet, even more so than Chinese.

For some strange reason, the Russians love Sanya. Airline companies from mother Russia started offering cheap tickets and packages to the cold citizens of Siberia to escape and defrost from the harsh winter. So recently, a huge influx of Russian tourist began coming to the island, causing locals to cater to the visitors and translate everything into Russian.

This actually isn’t an uncommon occurrence in tropical Asia these days. From Pattaya to Sanya, the newly formed Russia middle class have began to travel and seek hot beaches away from General Winter’s iron clad. And due to it’s proximity, SE Asia proves to be a nice option for holiday travelers. But due to the growing Russian influence in the region, the notorious Russian mob has also moved down to get their hands into the profitable industry- starting bars, clubs, “massage” parlors and other businesses.

I found a hostel that was coincidentally only 1km away from where I was sitting. So I hopped back on the Giant blue road bike and made my way down the alley. Upon seeing the sign for the hostel, I raised my hands in the air again and howled a victory scream. Then, BAM! I loud pop rattled the bike and I grabbed the handle bars to steady myself from falling. But my balance was way off, something was wrong. It didn’t take but seconds to realize that I just got a flat tire. I looked at the back wheel and sure enough, it was limp and deflated. I couldn’t believe my luck, I made it the whole way from Haikou to Sanya without one flat tire and now this? With literally a stone’s throw away from the hostel? Incredible!

I laughed and shook it off. I figured that If I absolutely had to get a flat at some point during the trip, being just a few feet from the hostel was probably the best option. I walked it the rest of the way, paid for a bed in the 10 person dorm room, went straight to the beach to jump in the ocean, drank a victory beer, relaxed in the sun, then headed back to the hostel around sunset.

Around 8pm that night, the party had already begun. Travelers from all over the world were gathered around on the hostel’s outdoor patio drinking, listening to music and ready to start the night. I went up and met the international crew with 10 countries represented: Brazil, Argentina, USA, Canada, England, Ukraine, Russia, China, Australia and Germany.

The next two days became a blur as the 48 hour party rolled on nonstop throughout the day and night. Speaking different languages, drinking brew, night swimming, throwing the football around, dancing at clubs and sun bathing was a perfect way to end the strenuous journey. But unfortunately, just like life itself, all good things eventually come to an end. That Sunday, I checked out and began riding my bike to the train station. From there I’d take the 2hr train back to Haikou, return the bike and wake up early the next morning to catch my flight back to Chengdu. But while riding to the train station, again, BAM!

I popped another damn tire! What the hell? I laughed again at my bad lucked and raced to change the tire as quickly as possible so I wouldn’t miss my train. Fortunately, all went well, and I made it back to the Hainan capital that night to eat a mammoth street food dinner. I went to sleep later with a full stomach and a smile across my face, thinking back on the entire journey.

Though tough, it was great in so many ways and one that I’ll remember forever. I was proud that I completed the tip, but even more thrilled that I had the time of my life doing so. Even the negative moments, like being stuck on the mountain in the middle of the night in the cold rain, became one of my most favorite memories afterwards because they end up becoming memories that make for a great story.

Actually, I can say that about all my trips. Some of the most painstaking moments from abroad (like getting mugged/ass kicked in Mongolia) end up being humorous somewhere down the line, became great learning experiences and, perhaps most important, make phenomenal stories.

So when it’s all said and done, in the book of life, the only thing that really matters are the stories you create, the stories you write and the stories that you experience; for when it’s all said and done, the things you’ll reminisce and look back on are the experiences. Again, experience. It’s such a beautiful word.

With that said, it’s late and I’m sleepy. Goodnight.

I woke up at 11am, an hour before check-out time, meaning I got about 12 hours of sleep. With such physical activity form the day before, I was out like a corpse. But I rolled over to take one step out of bed then realized something was horribly wrong. I was paralyzed from the waist down. I couldn’t move my legs.

You may think I’m exaggerating and I do have the tendency to use outrageous metaphors, but this I tell you is the honest truth. I was so stiff I literally couldn’t move my legs. I used my arms to hoist my body upward and began a long stretching campaign.

Finally, some blood began circulating, notifying my brain that I was in immense pain and soreness. I sucked it up though and managed to walk out to the lobby, grab my bike,  check out and eat a kick ass noodle soup breakfast! (see below).

Luckily for me, the road from the hotel was downhill for about 5km. I Didn’t have to use my legs at all! But once I got the bottom of that hill some minor inclines began tracing my path forcing me to pedal. By this point I was so sick and tired of pedaling… and it was only day 3!

At the bottom of  the V in the middle of a valley, I spotted another foreigner on the road on top of a mountain bike. “Look, a white person!” I said to myself. (After living in China for such a long time, you actually become surprised when you see other foreigners). I guess he felt the same because he spotted me too and waved me down to chat. The Italian was Alessandro and his bike was loaded with gear, spare tires and water bottles. He had sun burnt skin, greasy curly hair, cut off gloves and a thick nose; he seemed to be in his late thirties. You could tell he was on a long distance ride.

Alessandro: Hey man, did you see another foreigner a few k’s back on the road?

Me: Na, sorry bro. I didn’t.

Alessandro: Dammit! Fucking guy. I’ve been biking with some crazy Englishman since Guangzhou and he fucking stops every 10 k to grab a drink. Now he pulls over and doesn’t tell me? He probably forgot to take his medication or something. When he does that he goes nuts, starts talking to trees and shit.

Me: That’s why I’m doing this trip alone.

Alessandro: Fuck it. I have to go back and find him. Hey, if you want to ride with us, come a long! It’d be nice to have another person along on the ride.

Me: Where are you going?

Alessandro: Not sure. Maybe Sanya. Maybe the deserted beaches on the east coast, who knows?

Me: I don’t know man, to be honest, with the way I’m feeling now I’ll only slow y’all down. I’m dead from yesterday’s ride.

Alessandro: The mountain?

Me: The mountain.

Alessandro: Yeah, I hear you. Christ almighty, where is this guy!? I might as well go to the brothel and wait for him there.

Me: …

Alessandro: OK, friend, I’ll let you ride.

Me: To be honest you’ll probably catch up with me in minutes, I’m moving as fast as a tortoise. Safe travels!

Anyhow, one thing’s for certain, I was indeed moving like a tortoise. I was so beat and tired. The small inclines were taking so long. The only thing saving me were the long downhill stretches; if it weren’t for those then I’d would have made zero progress that day.

Soon, I spotted a cool drink vendor under a shady grove. I pulled over and ordered some arctic bottles of water and began talking to the indigenous owner; answering the usual questions. After a minute or so, my eyelids began falling to the ground and my vision became blurry. I asked her if I could take a quick nap to regain my conscious. She responded without hesitation, “Of course.”

(above pic: the shop owner).

I lay there on the hard wooden bench and passed out. Occasionally, I’d awake to hear customers asking, “What’s that strange foreigner doing asleep on your bench?” My dreams were also bizarre and rattling, making it hard to get a full REM sleep.

An hour later, I took off down the road again, but it was no use. I was dead. My thoughts were turned off, bones cracking and blood thick like lava. I was so incredibly tired that I was a actually falling asleep while pedaling. I didn’t even know that was possible! I pulled over to the nearest hotel and decided to crash for the rest of that day.

I had only biked 30km in three hours- 10k per hour for all you math geniuses out there- but as mentioned I’m even lucky to have that. The only thing that gave me distance was the down shoots. Thank God for being up in the mountains and having no where else to go but down down down. I found a nice family owned hotel close by and checked in for an incredibly cheap price. I ate a heavy, carb filled lunch, took a quick cold shower, stripped naked and fell into bed to go instantly asleep. It was 2pm when I shut my eyes and I didn’t open them again until 12 noon the following day.

(above pic: the family hotel owners)

During my hibernation, I felt the sensation of death. A little sick from the cold rain, a little sore from the extreme physical torture, a little dazed from being on a strange island in the middle of Asia, and just plain out exhausted, my body had shut down. Every once in a while my thoughts would wake up in my head and try to get me up, but my body remained lifeless while my eyelids stayed glued shut. After a brief struggle, my brain would give up and go back to the black abyss of nothingness. No dreams, no imagination, no food, no water, not even a single urination, no nothing for 20 hours straight. I don’t even know how my pulse was beating! Maybe it wasn’t? Surely, if a medic walked in, he would have pronounced me dead on spot (an example of one of my outrageous metaphors). It’s amazing the things I put my body through… And for the record, would I do it again??? Absolutely!

I truly love this cray life! It makes everything else so boring that it’d be impossible to go back to norm.

It was early the next morning, around 8am or so, and the ants had finished their job. The cockroach’s carcass had vanished under the wrath of the tiny soldiers as they worked tirelessly through the night. I, on the contrary, lay peacefully asleep recuperating and replenishing. Maybe we can all learn something from the ants?

My body stored enough energy equivalent to Hiroshima’s Little Boy and I was ready to cycle at a devilish pace. My idea was to make up lost ground and make it 100km to the base of a 941m (about 3,000ft) mountain. Once arriving at that mountain, I’d pitch the ole sleeping bag out somewhere, get my beauty rest and start the immense climb early the following morning. That was my plan. It seemed logical enough to start the incline after a long, well deserved rest. But the only problem with a well, sought out plan is that they rarely or truly are ever executed perfectly; this “plan” proving to be no exception.

I treated myself to a typical Hainan breakfast at a lao ba cha café. Lao ba cha 老爸茶 translates to “old father tea” in Mandarin but generally refers to the breakfast joints throughout Hainan Island. They’re large areas with outdoor seating that serves baozi (steamed rice buns stuffed with meats and/or veggies), tea/coffee and other famous Chinese breakfast foods like fried dough sticks. The bitter tea gave me a bolt while the thick slabs of rice buns provided enough carbohydrates to rocket me past Mars.

Back on the open, sizzling road, I became maniacal. My brain surrendered to the crushing pattern of “right leg up, right leg down, left leg up, left leg down” as adrenaline filled my every vein. I became a machine, one with no emotions or feelings, knowing nothing but hard labor and grueling work. Usually, my favorite part about cycling is “getting in the zone” to enter a state of complete and total meditation, but for some reason I was so concerned with picking up the slack and covering lost ground from the day before that I tore off on a Mongol influenced war craze.

Through hills and flats alike, nothing could stop me. And for the monster trucks and speeding cars, no fear. I’d idiotically cut in front of them, trying to prove my dominance on the road, making them swerve out of the way. I’d laugh cynically at their weakness, feeling a boost of confidence as I slowly recaptured Highway 224. It seems that the evil presence following me had entered inside of me that day.

I covered 50km in 2.5 hours through hilly terrain; meaning I was already half way to my final destination and it wasn’t even noon yet! Knowing there was time to spare, I pulled over at a small restaurant to refuel my tank with carbs and fluids. At first, he bought me to the back and showed me the local specialty of roasted rat. Now, I’m an adventurous eater, but I had enough adventure that day, so I opted for something tastier- A massive plate of fried noodles topped with garlic, lemon, red peppers and Chinese back vinegar, accompanied with boiled spinach and tea… lots of tea.

While eating, I conversed with the owner in Chinese about my journey. He asked, “Why are you alone?” When I responded that I like traveling alone, he became confused. He stated that traveling alone would be boring. I replied that in my opinion there is no other way to travel then travel solo. I made the point that if I had a friend with my on this trip, then either I’d have to wait for him or he’d have to wait for me. Moving at your own pace is impossible! Furthermore, if a friend were with me, I’d be speaking with him the whole time and not be able to meet the locals and/or fully fall adrift into the wonderful meditation that accompanies a long distant, grueling cycling ride. He didn’t understand, and not because of my American accented Mandarin; he just thought I was nuts (though by all means I’m not denying his beliefs concerning my sanity).

After a siesta at the restaurant, another 3 hours down the road at 5pm I reached the town of Maoyang at the base of the steep mountain path. I did it! I accomplished my goal for the day. I pulled over at one of the numerous coconut dealers scattered along the highway to refresh the body with tropical fruit juice. I love coconut juice, especially after exercise, you can literally feel the nutrients being absorbed into your soul.

After finishing my third coconut, a crew of 5 middle-aged Chinese guys on mountain bikes pulled up. I passed them about an hour ago as I was rampaging through the streets, but they must have caught up during my long coconut break. I began chatting with them and curiously asked where their final destination for the night would be. Expecting the Guangzhou natives to reply with the name of a hotel, they said the last three syllables I wanted to hear- Wu Zhi Shan 五指山, or “Five Finger Mountain.”

Wuzhishan was the town on the opposite side of the 941m climb, meaning they intended to cycle up the whole mountain right then and there and make it to the other side before night fall. I couldn’t believe it! I told them that they’d never make it to the other side by 7pm, but they insisted, telling me the climb to the top of the mountain wasn’t as brutal as everyone said. They finished their Sprites and chocolate bars and asked me if I wanted to go with them.

Look at them! Drinking sodas and eating chocolate? Hell, if these guys can go to the top, I most certainly can! I’m going for it!

(Pic above: Some of the Guangzhou bikers in the background and a local staring up into the mountain that we were all about to climb. I should have guessed from her facial expression that cycling up the mountain wasn’t the best idea…).

Already half an hour into the journey, however, things got sluggish. The Guangzhou natives kept stopping every 3km to eat and drink. Keeping with the team spirit, I’d stop with them, but after a while I couldn’t take it anymore. It was clear that their sugary diet was dehydrating them and slowing them down, but I was still feeling good (despite being tired) and was keen on moving at my own pace. Plus I realized that there was no way these guys would ever make it to the top with the speed they were rolling at. I told them that I’d meet them at the top and wait for them there. We said our goodbyes and I never say them again.

By this time it was 6pm and the incline was killer, 50 or 60 degrees or so. I was inching minute by minute, pushing every ounce of remaining energy I had to spare into every push of the pedal, but this was seriously tough work. I became instantly exhausted and realized that I not only booked 100km that day, but I shredded 100km at the pace of a steroid jacked le Tour de France yellow shirt. After another hour of pedaling, sucking wind, cramping and aching, I thought that I had biked another 20km, but I saw the kilometer marker and realized that I had only traveled a mere 3km. I was moving at the sloth speed of 3km per hour.

I stopped at the road marker, not believing my sight. I couldn’t believe I was going so slow! But the more I looked to check the numbers, I caught myself squinting, and that’s when I realized it was getting dark. I hate riding when it’s night time for obvious reasons, it’s a good way to get killed. I looked down the mountain and a voice said it was time to go back, “Take the decline,” it whispered, “with zero pedaling and go to sleep at the base and try this again tomorrow.” But the thought of returning was agonizing. Thinking of the ants working all night, I decided to do the same and make it to the top of that godforsaken peak no matter what. Plus, I knew there was only another 10-15km left of the incline and the rest would be straight downhill. I had to push it, I had to go.

Just 10-15km more. I can do this!

Another kilometer into the journey, it was already pitch black. But that was the least of my worries. A sudden downfall ripped through the heavens. I was cold, wet and tied with a visibility of 1 meter, and that’s when I began to get a little frightened and become a little delusional.

With no dinner (running off the fumes of coconut milk and my fried noodles from lunch), reaching the point of mind numbing exhaustion and faced with treacherous weather conditions, I went berserk. I started hallucinating, seeing the headlights of autos come screaming around the corner, making me pull over and stop, only to have them disappear. I’d hear imaginary sounds of car engines and see fictitious signs telling me I only had 1km left to go. I was shaking and trembling, cramping and becoming paranoid with each pedal. I couldn’t go on this way. I jumped off the bike and began walking it up the hill. I literally lost my sanity from biking to much.

It’s amazing how your mind plays tricks on you and even more incredible how powerful the mind actually is. Saying that, I knew instead of letting my mind beat me, I would have to use it to my advantage. Converting the brain from foe to ally is a difficult task, but with careful concentration a determination, it’s very possible.

I was feeling such pain, fear and agony that the only way to defeat it would be to become pain, fear and agony. If I became pain, then pain could no longer affect me. If I became fear, then fear could no longer affect me. If I became agony, then agony could no longer affect me. I kept repeating to myself, “I am pain. I am fear. I am agony.” This bought the meaning of “becoming one” a whole new meaning,  but you know what, this crazy little trick worked!

Finally, with rain still pouring down, I made it to the little village at the top of the mountain. I tried finding a place to sleep, but realized that I needed a hotel with a hot shower. I would die of hypothermia if not. The only problem there was no hotel there, just two shacks selling miscellaneous items. Therefore, I bought a small flashlight, taped it to the front of my bike and began the downhill decent to Wuzhishan.

I sped at the speed of light despite the slippery road conditions and thick drops of agua. The flashlight proved to be a great advantage, allowing me to see again, and since I didn’t have to walk or pedal, the hallucinations stopped. All I had to do was steer and let gravity do the rest. Before long, I made it!

I checked into the small hotel with blue lips and pale skin. I paid as fast as I could and sprinted to the shower in my room. As the boiling water touched my soul, I began to smile, then chuckle, then laugh out loud like a caged hyena. For a moment, I shocked myself, not knowing exactly what the Hell I was laughing at, but then it hit me. Victory. I won the uphill battle.  And we all know the harder the battle the sweeter the victory. And that day (allow me to go on record) was without a doubt the most physical day in sports I had ever encountered in my entire life.

I finished the shower, ate a gigantic meal, popped open a celebratory beer and went fast asleep under a thick blanket. I left the window cracked open to hear the sound of droplets tatter the Earth and thanked the travel gods for another successful day. My eyelids shut and everything went black.

Stay tuned for Day 3! Coming soon only on Trey Archer’s Xtreme Travel Blog on XtremeTravelStories.com. Travel Hard!

My hubris certainly gets the best of me at times. Lying in a bunk at the Banana Hostel in Haikou, Hainan (the provincial capital of Hainan Island in southern China), I couldn’t help thinking how easy it would all be. “Several days, ha! Like it even compares to traversing the Silk Road for 6 months! Or backpacking Sao Paulo to Mexico City! Or even my last cycling trip for two weeks in Taiwan! This will be like Malawi vs the 94 Dream Team!”

Oh, what naive stupidity! Don’t you know by now to never overestimate yourself and never underestimate the elements???

I woke up the next day at 7:30am on the dot. I performed my Muay Thai stretching routine to get the legs lose and limber, brushed my teeth and baptized myself with the grimy faucet water. With molecules of H2O dripping down my face, I looked into my eyes and said, “Time to go. Time to cycle Hainan Island!” I said a short prayer to the travel gods and walked through the door.

Though I overestimated myself and underestimated the elements, I’ve learned from my previous travels to never, under any circumstance, lose faith while on the road. I don’t care if you’re the most atheistic person on Earth, always respect the travel gods because if not, they will most certainly disrespect you!

Tim (the bike rental guy) was already waiting for me downstairs just like we had planned. He bought me to his house/office, took a copy of my passport, handed me the middle aged Giant road racing bike, loaded up my backpack onto the rack and I rocketed out the door.

Before getting on the main stretch of highway that would bring me directly into the mountainous interior of Hainan, I needed to fill the tank up with fuel. In motor biking, you do this with petro. In cycling, you do this with carbs, so I devoured a bowl of slimy white noodles off the street. The lemon stung, chilies burned, MSG pinched. It was, how do you say, the breakfast of champions! I told goodbye to the husband and wife noodle vendor and jumped back on the bike. They curiously asked, “Where are you going?” I responded, “I don’t know!” Without another word, I peddled off into the mountains.

It’s true, I really didn’t know where the hell I was going. To be honest, the whole trip was planned out like one of my lesson plans with little thought or logic. I just moved to Chengdu a month ago and have been busy adapting to a new city, meeting friends and balancing two jobs. I knew that Mid-Autumn Festival and National Day (two of the biggest holidays in China that usually fall on the same date to make one mega break from work) was coming up at the beginning of October. With 8 days off, I knew an adventure had to take place, so I decided in the course of several minutes that I would circle the island of Hainan on bicycle.

I looked at a map of Hainan for several seconds and said, “Eh, easy. Looks like if I take this middle highway for three days, then come up this big road for another three days, that’d be enough to semi circle the island in a week period. If I run out of time I can take this side route and hit the ocean in a few days. If I really get exhausted I can take a left here and hit a deserted beach. That would be a nice place to camp for a few days. Ah, what the hell, I’ve got three options, I’ll figure it out when I get there. Just go then play it by ear, always better that way now isn’t it, Trey? Done!” I shut the map, contacted a bike dealer down in Haikou and bought a ticket. The entire process took less than 10 minutes.

I didn’t know much about Hainan except that it’s dubbed the “Hawaii of China” and it’s the number one tourist destination for Mainlanders. I also knew that the main party hot spot of this island was called Sanya in the most southern tip of the island. I knew this because a former friend of mine went down there for the Mid-Autumn Festival and National Day Holiday of 2009. He said “it sucked” and was “full of tourists.” Since then I never wanted to go, but the way this trip was looking based off my 10 minute research scheme, I would have to pass through it eventually. All major roads in Hainan lead to Sanya.

Thirty minutes into the trip the Devil’s pitchfork began scrapping my skin. “God, it certainly is hot!” I exclaimed, “much hotter than I anticipated.” Pulling over for a water break, I looked at the map and noticed that Hainan Island was more south than Hanoi, Vietnam. That’s very south. And being this far south in the beginning of October equals nothing but intense beams of cancerous UV rays. I splashed water on my beating forehead and said, “Fuck it, at least it’s not cold,” and began pedaling again.

Not too much longer there was a massive construction project in the middle of the road. For the next several miles my wheels would slowly roll through a torn up, rocky gravel pit. Moving at a snail’s space and trying to avoid puncturing a tire on some of the numerous jagged objects, the heat really intensified since there was no breeze generated from me pedaling 30 km/h. “Jesus, it certainly is hot!” I brushed the sweat from my brow and realized that I was already sun burned. Knowing that overheating and being brunt to a crisp with no sunscreen would be a huge obstacle on the road, I felt a slight defeat. After an hour, the elements already struck, and struck hard.

This particular construction project also had loads of dump trucks and bulldozer crisscrossing back and forth. They kicked up dust, jetted out thick clouds of pollution and honked loud with piercing horns. Each time one passed it’d rattle my spinal cord and shake the ground beneath me. I hate these big trucks while cycling because they deceive life as we know it. They turn into massive, powerful giants from the underworld while you become nothing but a weak ant. Cyclists, on the road of life, are the smallest, weakest, and most fragile beings out there. I morphed into an ant. I hated being an ant.

Overall, despite the flames of Hell and blistering skin, things were good. I was full of energy, confidence and carbs. There were numerous shacks selling water and fruit every few kilometers and a small village with restaurants was never more than 15 kilometers away. I would occasionally stop for three icy waters- putting one in my drink holster under my legs, another all over my head and face and another into my gut.

I’d also ask for sunscreen everywhere but that proved to be about as successful as the Titantic’s maiden voyage. I did manage to pick up some cheap sunglasses, however, and I took off my helmet in favor of my Saints cap to keep the sun off my face. That would made a slight difference, though my forearms and legs were bare to the gleaming bright ball of fire in the cloudless sky.

Later, I stopped for lunch and filled up on chunks of fried pork fat with stir fried green peppers, sweet onions, a goliath bowl of rice and hydrated with more water, tea and fruit.
I hung around the town for a while in the depths of high-noon and watched the locals enjoy their long awaited holiday. It was October first, the day the Chinese Communist officially took over the country in 1949, and everyone was commemorating the CCP victory with food and drinks (quite similar to any Independence Day or National Day setting in any country). Occasionally, a barrage of loud fire crackers would explode from the distance, startling me into believing there was a drive-by or mass murder. I assured myself that I wasn’t in New Orleans and those kind of things don’t happen in China.

Continuing northwest on Highway 223 after a glutinous meal, hills began to rise from the flooded farm fields. I was making such good time before that, but these hills, although still relatively small, were still enough to significantly lower my pace. Along with this slight impediment, I couldn’t help feeling that there was an evil presence following me. Little things kept chipping away at me, almost like your opponent landing quick and solid leg shots to your thigh minute after minute in a MMA fight. First, it was the heat and ever building sun burn (which was turning communist red on my forearms and legs by late afternoon). Second, my water holster mysteriously fell off in the middle of a steep incline on a mountain, meaning one of my spare water compartments (essential for riding in 33 degrees C plus (100 degrees F)) was gone. Third, my backpack and sleeping bag tied to the back rack kept falling off. This was seriously annoying! Every time I’d get to the top of a hill and shoot down for the free fall (providing rest, adrenaline and a cool breeze) the damn bag just went flying off the back. It killed my momentum! After much inspection, I knew I’d have to buy another rope to help secure my belongings.

My goal was to make it more than a hundred kilometers that day, but the little annoyances kept chipping away like another kick to the thigh, a swift jab to the eye, a hidden knee to the gut; they were mounting up. I was still in control of the fight in the early round, sucking up the strikes and showing the judges that my opponent’s little weak blows weren’t phasing me, but they were and building up.

After hours of cycling it was close to night fall and I made it past the 80 km marker. Plus, right around the 80 km mark I was already in the town of Tuncheng, so I thought it’d be best to call it an early night, jack up on as many bowls of rice as possible and get some rest. I used my primordial instincts and began inspecting the town for a spot that deemed safe and secure to lay out my sleeping bag. The town looked a bit dodgy and dirty, but nothing too intimidating. Plus, I’d rather be in a town than jungle since I’d rather try my luck with a human than wild animal from the wilderness. I actually have a shot of winning against the former. Right when my radar began bleeping, sensing a nearby safe haven, a smack dropped me right between the eyes… literally!

It was a single rain drop from the heavens. Then another, and another, and another, until all its little friends decided to join it. Minutes later, a downpour erupted, and all plans of sleeping outside came to a halt. I didn’t have enough money to sleep in a hotel (even a cheap hotel) every night, that’s why I bought my sleeping bag in the first place, but I did have enough for a few nights. I found a dump (absolute shit hole I should say) right by the train station where all the washed up prostitutes hung out and checked in for 50 Yuan (8 USD).

The room was dreadful with lonely walls and a musty stank. Mosquitoes buzzed in and out of my ears as I examined the bed for any seminal fluid and used condoms that needed to be avoided. Luckily there were none. A dead cockroach lay on the bathroom ground while an army of ants covered his carcass ripping him to pieces. The line of ants stretched from the floor, up the wall and outside into the pouring rain, all the way back to the nest to serve the queen. I couldn’t help admiring the ants- so disciplined, so strong, so diligent! That’s some serious work for such little guys, against an ugly roach and water droplets 4X the size of their body. I let them continue working and didn’t disrupt them. Plus, they were on my side, they were killing roaches, one of my worst enemies on the planet.

Moreover, I myself was an ant on the road. Instead of hating the fact that I was the little guy on the highway, I accepted the fact that that would be the role I had to follow for the next several days. Instead of hating my new found evolution, I learned to find strengths and qualities of being an ant.

I showered and went immediately to sleep feeling a little tired and crispy. Despite some hardships, I was feeling good and knew I’d be ready for the next day. I pledged that I would make up the extra distance that I didn’t cover that day and that I was going to turn myself into machine of non-stop speed and endurance. I lay there peacefully, listening to the torrential downpour and whisked away into dream world. The ants continued working all through the night.

Stay tuned for Part 2- by FAR the most challenging day of the trip. Coming soon and only on Trey Archer’s Xtreme Travel Blog of XtremeTravelStories.com -Travel Hard