\n\u201cThere was a bunch of guys in front of the tent with knives and machetes and a big flashlight.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n
Today, Andreas is back in Norway adjusting to ordinary life again. But what he experienced over those years was anything but ordinary. It was the sort of adventure most people only dream about.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I believe this is one of the finest guest stories ever published on Cycle Norway. I hope you enjoy the journey. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Part 1 – Norway to Australia by bike – <\/strong>Text and photos by Andreas Graf<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\tPartial map of the route from Norway to Northern Australia (about 26,000 kilometers)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\nCycling the entire world is by all means a surreal experience, even on the best of days, and only a few months after returning to Norway, I find myself yet trying to make sense of this enormous adventure. My view of life has changed drastically over the course of those last four years living on the open road and among many other things, the world got bigger and smaller at the same time. As someone who moved from cycling countries to traversing entire continents and eventually the entire planet – alone, all pedal-powered and largely unsupported – the part where the world appears a little smaller might perhaps seems obvious. Yet similarly, the world feels as though it got a lot bigger too, as I am nowadays left with a glimpse of just how much of it I actually do not understand. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Naturally, moving at my own speed across 50 countries left me with a wealth of experiences \u2013 encounters with so many different cultures, religions, people, traversing conflict zones, the world\u2019s largest deserts, entire mountain ranges, and even outlasting earthquakes. The list is long, too long perhaps, and as I write this article, I can only smile at the words of Benjamin Disraeli: \u201cLike all great travellers, I have seen more than I remember, and I remember more than I have seen\u201d. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\tAndreas on the road with no destination.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\nI hope you can forgive me, as summarizing a 55,000-kilometer expedition that lasted almost 4 years forces me to skip a few chapters and I won\u2019t speak much of route planning and the equipment I packed. Nonetheless, if anything, I hope that these few words are profound enough to give you at least a little peek into how I experienced the world from a bicycle seat. Splitting this into two parts, the story you are reading right now is the account of my ride from Norway to Northern Australia. It took me 20 months to complete and roughly marks the halfway mark of the entire adventure. So where do I start?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In full honesty, I should probably mention that it never was my plan to cycle this far. With the last snow still around, I set out from Norway in early 2022 and I didn\u2019t really have much of a plan besides heading East, with a distant hope of reaching India one day. Back then, many countries in the East were still closed due to Covid and heading in that direction, I also knew I\u2019d enter a maze of geopolitical conflict at some point, and along with that, difficulties with obtaining visas and permits.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
However, upon leaving, I decided these things were to be figured out later and hence made my way down south through Europe. I remember the early days as being emotionally rather difficult, balancing the joys of a life on the open road against a detachment process of letting go of the life I once knew. After all, I left with no job, career, apartment, furniture, or for that matter, any other worldly possessions to return to. Surely, it wasn\u2019t my first big adventure, but I did have quite an early premonition that this would go far beyond what I did imagine back then. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I suppose my joy for taking an extra detour here and there took hold quite early, and despite a longing for distant lands in the East, I took the longer route down the Mediterranean Sea while traversing Europe. Reaching Istanbul after ten weeks meant leaving the safe haven of Europe in the back, and thus, most of what felt familiar. In retrospect, the adventure I wanted to have really began east of the city on the Bosporus, and Turkey with its rugged terrain and wild landscapes was by no means a disappointment. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n<\/div><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\nI lived for the days under the sun, slowly leaving behind any notion of a stable existence<\/p>\n\u2013 Andreas Graf<\/cite><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\nMid-summer, the dazzling afternoon sun was on fire day after day as I rode across the endless series of mountains and steppe-like landscapes, panting under my own constant drip of sweat. Olive trees covered the hillsides and minarets of local mosques would stand out against an endlessly blue sky deep in the valleys. It likely is easy to imagine the physical misery that came with cycling in 40-plus-degrees surroundings, but even unsuspected to me, I found myself in state of pure bliss and joy. There was nowhere else to be, little worry for the days ahead and along with the independence that comes with carrying my own needs, I lived for the days under the sun, slowly leaving behind any notion of a stable existence. This state of mind would accompany me for quite a few more years. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\tLong summer days with wonderful wildcamping spots. Central Turkey, August 2022<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\nFlocks of sheep and their herders lived in the mountains throughout Anatolia, and people and animals alike, would eventually end up at one of the many natural water wells found everywhere. A natural meeting place was found under the nearest tree in the shade, and I was never short of a lovely smiling face and a brief chat. As always, in the countryside people live in tight-knit communities and I found myself being invited for food and chai tea more than once. While the landscapes came with grandeur and deep history, the spontaneity found in these everyday encounters often made my day. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Looking ahead, surely I had far more encounters of kindness than I am ever able remember today, yet most of them were remarkably similar: There only were bits and pieces of shared language to communicate in, if any at all, but laughter, compassion and kindness came in abundance, and I\u2019d always depart having made a few new friends. That the food was delicious too is an understatement, but to any pilgrim\u2019s heart these encounters are food for the soul – and in my case, also instilled a deep belief that for all our differences, benevolence is found in the overwhelming majority of people. A late gift of this adventure is that this belief would hold true for many years to come and even be reinforced beyond the borders of Turkey. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\tAcross the Tuz G\u00f6l\u00fc Salt Lake (Turkey)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\nThe further I headed East, the landscapes changed from rugged mountains into desert terrains, and cycling into Iran in late August of 2022, the deserts of the Middle East would prove a tough challenge. Fortunately, Iranians are among the most hospitable people I have ever met and what started in Turkey seemed to extend beyond the border of these two countries. Thus, a place with shade and a welcoming, smiling face was never too far off. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Particularly against the current turn of events nowadays, it cannot be said often enough that I treasured every moment in this country. Pitching a tent in the open desert, I\u2019d typically only had few minutes to myself only before someone with a tray full of dates and tea would show up, and often, I was invited to stay over at someone\u2019s house. Hospitality is a lived experience in the former Persian Empire, and while it is a place of grand landscapes, history, culture, and everything else a curious wayfarer could dream of, I most enjoyed learning so much about the local people and their lives. If anything, I wish I would have had more time there – yet the country is gigantic and required lots of long days in the saddle pushing through the heat. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
After all, late through the summer, I had decided to head north into Tajikistan and across the Pamir Range. With high mountains reaching over 7,000 meters in altitude, winter was bound to arrive early, and I wanted to make it across before the routes became impassable. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was troublesome to get a visa for Tajikistan, and to make things worse, a mere three days before I arrived, the country had entered an armed conflict with Kyrgyzstan. With tanks rolling up at the border, shells fired, and over 100,000 civilians displaced, I surely had mixed feelings about going cycling there. Information was scarce, and even the grim military personnel who handled my permit for the Gorno-Badakhshan Autonomous Region in the east didn\u2019t really know what was going on. Route options were limited to begin with, and while cycling along the Afghanistan border in the south, I still had to find a solution as to how to navigate through this part of Central Asia. In hindsight, it wouldn\u2019t be the last time that geopolitics interfered with my route. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t On the Pamir Plateau. Eastern Tajikistan, October 2022<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\nI teamed up with three British cyclists to head across the Pamir plateau, one of whom I had met earlier in Turkey already. While I enjoy my own company, this came as a nice change of pace. When moving alone through foreign lands, sometimes there are long stretches without the possibility of having a real conversation and hence I did enjoy the slightly longer evenings with playing cards and drinking the odd Tajik beer. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Panj River separates Afghanistan and Tajikistan and nestled deep into the valley the dirt road track leading along its edges offered spectacular views of the surrounding mountains. The Pamir and Hindu Kush mark the westernmost end of the Himalayan Mountains, ranging deep into Central Asia. Across the rugged tracks, over the course of a few days we slowly climbed out of the valley while temperatures would drop significantly. In October both the Khargush Pass (4,319 masl) and the Ak-Baital Pass (4,655 masl) were covered in snow already and the nights in the tent were cold. However, the sceneries in these mountains were some of the most beautiful I have ever seen and the remoteness felt as though we were cycling on Mars. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\tEarly onset of winter near the Khargush Pass (Tajikistan)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\nThe old soviet settlements of Alichur and Murghab looked like the last outposts of human civilization, not just for their remoteness, but life does not seem to have evolved much for the last few decades either. Despite the harshness of these mountains, people live in houses that continue to tell tales of the old soviet era. Food is scarce, and for the lack of any vegetables, I lived off bare pasta mixed with a local spice blend. At least in these small towns the odd place with food existed, but against the background of two rounds of severe food poisoning in Tajikistan alone, it should be said that I have yet to meet someone who travels to Central Asia for the food. Due to sickness, we were reduced to a team of two only as we left Murghab at the Chinese border and avoiding the closed Kyrgyzstan border further north, we opted to head west into the Bartang Valley instead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\tThe joys of the open road: There is always time for a chat with a passerby<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\nAs far as terrible road conditions go, the tracks leading through that valley surely hold up to their reputation and there were a good few stretches where pushing was the only way forward. A night spent hidden away behind a boulder escaping a storm was followed by fabulous views that made up for numb toes and the long time it took to melt frozen water at over 4,000 meters altitude. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
It would take another week to reach back to the Panj River and leaving the Pamir plateau I was eventually headed for the capital Dushanbe, before moving West towards Uzbekistan. With the conflict further north unresolved, it was the only option to enter Kyrgyzstan at the time. By then, even in the otherwise sun-bathed desert of Uzbekistan, the days got continuously colder and shorter. Perhaps to no surprise, as I was headed for southern Kazakhstan in the early onset of winter, I knew it would get cold (read: really cold!). As I have previously been described as a \u201cglass-half-full\u201d type of person, I can tell, that I felt as though I would at least put my sleeping bag to real use, after lending it as a pillow for most of the summer. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Tian Shan Range in Kyrgyzstan, for all its beauty, was a test of endurance more than anything. Across a plateau at around 3,000 meters altitude, the winds blew hard and despite the bright daylight, it already was down to 17 degrees below zero in the early afternoon. Even four layers of clothing wouldn\u2019t help much against the bone-chilling blow and I struggled to stay warm. Shelter was hard to come by and with the place being deserted for the most part, I got lucky to end up sleeping behind some shelves in an old soviet gas station during my second night. A little nightcap with home-made Vodka was obviously included free of charge. In Kazakhstan the conditions got worse if anything, but I eventually made it to Almaty with all toes attached, and against all odds, also with my full eyesight \u2013 the offerings of local specialty \u201cmedicine\u201d were rather overwhelming in the days prior. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
From the flat, icy steppe of Kazakhstan, I moved south into the Karakoram Range of Pakistan. The hard winter obviously didn\u2019t stop in this part of the Himalaya either and while I had gotten used to be in the cold, a long fatigue had settled in. The days were shorter and with the sun setting halfway through the afternoon, I was usually in the sleeping bag by 5pm. Crawling out of the tent in the morning when the valley was still covered in shade and with temperatures well below zero wasn\u2019t always the greatest of joys, but at least the views of the surroundings made up for it. Some of the world\u2019s highest mountains are home in the Karakoram Range, and I\u2019d pass by a few of the highest peaks on the planet, including the mighty Nanga Parbat. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\tView of the Passu Cones. Northern Hunza Valley, Pakistan<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\nThe track leading into the Shimshal Valley was equally spectacular as difficult. It\u2019s said to be among the world\u2019s most dangerous roads, barely wide enough to fit a jeep, and with landslides coming down regularly on one side while a raging river awaits on the other side, sitting in a gorge a few hundred meters down below. Fatigue aside, I absolutely loved the sceneries, and in mid-December the place was deserted even by most locals as they had moved further south to wait for spring. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Karakoram Highway connects northern Pakistan through the Hunza Valley and eventually leads all the way down south to Islamabad. With few sections of surprisingly smooth asphalt, the long climbs across the mountains were a little more bearable, but sooner than later I\u2019d find myself rocking back over some hefty gravel sections. Encounters with the military and police were frequent, and while generally of friendly nature, I was often followed by a truck with heavily armed police for the day. \u201cFor your security\u201d, was the usual reply when I asked why I was followed, though it was hard to tell whether this was sincere concern or to keep an eye on me. Politically, Pakistan surely is a complex country, and I do know too little about it to voice a real opinion. But at least I can say aside from the annoyance of being followed by police all too often, encounters with kind, curious and compassionate folk were plentiful. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
On my first Christmas after leaving Norway I had hopes to treat myself to a real shower and a bed, but found everything to be closed. A little police station at the foot of Nanga Parbat eventually became my Christmas destination after some friendly fellows invited me to stay with them. Chapati and white beans were served while I crawled up with a dozen bearded and always smiling men around a little gas stove. It was a somewhat hopeless attempt to stay warm, but I felt the level of compassion and kindness towards a stranger was quite in the Christmas spirit. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\tIn the Shimshal Valley. Karakoram Range (Pakistan), December 2022<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\nThe road towards Islamabad winds through the mountains in a rather spectacular fashion and the days that followed continued to see a lot of climbs. Yet, reaching lower altitude brought about some warmer weather quickly and even though it was January, it was an early sign that I had entered South Asia with warmer temperatures even at that time of the year. As far as traffic chaos goes, at a population of over 15 million, Lahore in central Pakistan is quite close to the top of the list and winding through the endless stream of tuk-tuks, colourful buses running on old-diesel engines and whatever had two wheels attached to drive, was quite a little adventure in and of itself \u2013 albeit I would argue the worst actually was the air pollution that forced me to wear a mask.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A days-worth of cycling east of the city I entered India. Attempting to avoid bigger cities and much of the well-known chaos I hugged the mountains in the north for the most part and cycled through rural areas. In full disclosure: that attempt didn\u2019t proof too successful. Temples, music, colourful dresses, dancing people, the smell of spices in the air \u2013 India was everything I could only imagine and quite a bit more. I found the country to be fascinating, and I do understand anyone returning a changed human being after traveling there. Admittedly, however, I also felt quite worn out from the long rides in the mountains and the intensity of India didn\u2019t provide much to alleviate my fatigue. While I adored the endless curiosity of locals, the dozens of requests for selfies before lunch, for instance, took a fair bit of a toll on my patience. I was in need for a break, and luckily Nepal wasn\u2019t too far off and made for a fabulous place for exactly that. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\tTime for a little contemplation. Ganges River, Northern India<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\nFollowing hiking the Annapurna Circuit for three weeks, I took a month off, spent between a hammock in a remote national park in the West and volunteering on local coffee farm, before exploring further by bike. Nepal came with much peace and rest, and I enjoyed connecting with the ever-smiling locals so much. There is easiness to life that is not found in too many other places and even though my mind was tempted to go back to cycling, my body felt grateful for the rest. In retrospect, the two weeks at the coffee farm would be the longest break I\u2019d see for another two years ahead and unbeknown to me at the time, the path ahead wouldn\u2019t get any easier. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
In spring of 2023 China was still closed due to Covid and Myanmar suffered under a brutal civil war, hence I was forced into an airplane for a brief flight across the latter country. Even in the lower valleys of Nepal temperatures had been soaring and entering South-East Asia at the brink of the monsoon season, the winter endured in Central Asia was long forgotten and I found myself at the beginning of what would be an entire year of non-stop summer. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The jungles of northern Thailand and Laos were incredibly in every sense. Steep hills led to perhaps just as much walking as cycling and the mountains were covered in dense, lush green. The place was a haven to all sorts of birds, lizards, snakes and insects I had never seen before. For a good few weeks, I followed the Mekong River that winds through the jungle down to the South China Sea. The onslaught of the Monsoon had turned many roads into muddy tracks and I progressed slowly only, though with a renewed sense of awe after a nice long break in Nepal. The daily downpours brought about at least a little relief from the heat and with delicious food available in abundance for little money, there were few occasions only when I used my stove. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\tAlong muddy trails in the Mekong River Delta. Laos, June 2023<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\nBetween the mountains, mud and jungle it was difficult at times to find good wildcamping spots. Although I had plenty of nights in the jungle, they hardly ever turned out to be restful, for the many animals, the constant chirping of insects and the heat would keep me awake. Buddhist temples made for a nice escape, however, and the monks would usually be quite welcoming when I asked if I could pitch the tent on the temple grounds. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
For a tired cyclist, the 5am wakeup calls for chanting and meditating were a bit hard to begin with but also invigorating. Hardly anyone spoke English, but once more it was lovely to experience that words are not really needed in order to speak. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\tBuddhist monks in Thailand<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\nIt shall be said that I will cherish the wonderful encounters with these Buddhist monks for the rest of my life. The approach to existence, the simplicity and devotion to communal practice left a mark on me \u2013 particularly at a stage where the life I once knew from Norway had slowly faded away into what felt like a distant memory, and spiritual inquiries surfaced more often. In some way or the other, Buddha\u2019s principle of non-attachment is a lived philosophy of traveling the open road too. However lovely encounters with people were everywhere, for instance, they are after all fleeting moments, and with a life defined by constant movement, letting go of worldly things became more and more of a practice. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Via Vietnam, Cambodia and further into Malaysia, I approached the southern hemisphere quickly. Perhaps for my light-heartedness, riding felt a little lighter despite the toll the insane humidity and heat took on my body. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\tIn search of shade. Southern Vietnam, July 2023<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\nOf course, my bicycle had suffered a good deal by then as well. The frame had already snapped twice before, in Iran and Uzbekistan, and damages were mounting up. While I carried an increasing number of spare parts and tools, a few extra days in Singapore were needed to get the rusty steed back in shape. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Arriving to Sumatra, Indonesia, with some 18,000 kilometers across continental Asia in the back, I started to navigate along the archipelagos\u2019 islands, continuously heading East. I find it hard to put into words the immense contrast I faced there: from deep jungles to the world\u2019s largest city, to volcanoes and coral reefs and unfortunately also absurd levels of pollution, I felt both emotionally and mentally torn: Indonesia is one of the world\u2019s most biodiverse countries, yet simultaneously also among the most polluted. Many areas have no access to proper waste disposal, and thus, whatever is not burnt, ends up in the rivers, the forest and even up the mountains – plastic being the overwhelming majority of the problem. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
As I lived outside pretty much permanently, the immense destruction of our natural world was even harder to endure, but it was a lived reality that I continue to find hard to digest even today. I want to be clear that this obviously doesn\u2019t apply to Indonesia only, but to many other corners of the world. Whenever I came across immense destruction, I at least tried to not be too judgemental, for I often came to wonder how my old neighbourhood in Norway would have looked like if nobody came to pick up the trash on a regular basis. If you needed a hint: the picture I imagined wasn\u2019t too glorious. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\tA reality of the road in many corners of the world: Immense levels of plastic pollution<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\nFurther east however, Indonesia showed a more gentle, rural side that I really enjoyed. Cities gave way to bamboo huts, pollution was replaced by thick jungles once more, and the Indian Ocean opened into the wide expanse of the Pacific. Slowly, the air started to feel a little different, and I was approaching the southern-most end of Asia as I reached Timor-Leste. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Starting with repairs in Singapore, I had used the long days across the chain of islands to brainstorm equipment changes and updates to the rig. With the end of 2023 looming just around the corner, I was bound for the Australian outback in the middle the summer and if any stage of my adventure had ever required some more serious approach to survival, it surely was this one. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Coming up next month: The 6,000-kilometer ride across the Australian outback, and the long way back home via South America and West Africa. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
More information found at www.andreasgraf.co<\/a> ou @andreas_pa_tur<\/a><\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"I somehow stumbled across Andreas Graf\u2019s Instagram page a few years ago. I noticed he had started following Cycle Norway, and his account name caught my attention. When I clicked through, it was obvious straight away this was no ordinary rider. There were striking photographs from places on the map I barely knew existed. Within a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":38318,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-38330","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-articles"],"acf":[],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/cyclenorway.com\/fr\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/38330","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/cyclenorway.com\/fr\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/cyclenorway.com\/fr\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cyclenorway.com\/fr\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cyclenorway.com\/fr\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=38330"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/cyclenorway.com\/fr\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/38330\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":39142,"href":"https:\/\/cyclenorway.com\/fr\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/38330\/revisions\/39142"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cyclenorway.com\/fr\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/38318"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/cyclenorway.com\/fr\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=38330"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cyclenorway.com\/fr\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=38330"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cyclenorway.com\/fr\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=38330"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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