Category: Xinjiang China

Two months pedaling in China’s Xinjiang Provence.

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Police Chase In Xinjiang

The Police Save Me again

Written by George Balarezo, Intrepid Global Citizen

I was in the middle of a dream as a dark figure appeared in front of me. Three armed police officers surrounded me while I attempted to decipher reality from the unconscious mind. The sun was shining again and now it was time to check in with the Xinjiang police force. As I left the hotel the same worker who tried to charge me $250 USD for a room began to tell me that I owed him more money. The police officers snarled something which I could not understand but probably amounted to something along the lines of “Keep your trap shut.” Indeed, in some places in the world it pays dividends to be broke and have police escorts. Xinjiang was starting to grow on me rather quickly as a phenomenal travel destination.

After standing around for two hours that morning while nibbling on a continental breakfast of bread and tea I was finally released.  I was more than satisfied with my complimentary proletariat style meal which was brought to me with a smile of hospitality by a police officer. I thought of the people in that four star hotel who were stuffing food down there faces and dining on Chinese caviar or shark fin soup. If invited to join I certainly would not have refused a lavish meal, but that kind of extravagance failed to tempt me in the least bit.

Before being set free to roam the roads of rural Xinjiang again, there was one very important condition imposed by the authorities. A police escort would have to accompany me along the way. They just said that it would be exclusively for my protection and there would be no problem at all. I have to admit I was rather surprised but had learned to expect the unexpected in this remote region of China. The whole situation reminded me of my time in Pakistan when I went for a hike with five armed escorts in a remote region which was once a strong Taliban breeding ground. Surely there was no Taliban here in China, by the way things were going, even if a similar organization existed, I am sure no one would tell me anything about it. There was nothing to do but roll with the punches. Even though I felt suffocated by the authorities in Pakistan, this time it might turn out to be much different. Perhaps I could make friends with the police officer and he would make a good travel companion. It would be great if he gave me some tips on where to stop along the way. Whether an assigned or unassigned travel partner, I had a local with me, which might not be so bad.

The motorcycled companion kept a steady distance of about one hundred meters behind me the whole time. At one point he caught up and demanded I stop. The seriousness in his expression left me worried. Was I entering a danger zone? Was there someone in the vicinity trying to harm us? He stopped his motorcycle and parked with great conviction and ran full speed toward me. After shouting something in Chinese to his phone I found out what he was up to. “Lets take a picture together,” the voice bellowed from his phone. We posed for a few shots and then he sprinted back to his motorbike. He then road alongside me smiling for a few minutes before taking his post one hundred meters back.

A few minutes later we stopped at a village and another guard replaced him, this time driving a car.  This guy stayed farther behind to the point which I thought I had lost him a few times. He caught up to me and asked if anything was wrong when I stopped to urinate behind a tree. The police officer stayed on my tale for a bit until his headway kept on getting further and further away, until he became a minuscule speck in the distant horizon. I was on my own again. It actually felt a bit strange not being in the company of the police anymore. I was growing fond of having someone look out for me and take care of me. I have to admit I felt very secure with my escort there. Perhaps I was just missing my mother at that point. Anyway, only about 18 hours had passed since the police arrived on the scene and steered me in the right places to go. I enjoyed just sitting back and relaxing for a bit and not having to depend on myself for every decision.

The new found feeling of solitude would not last very long. I entered a village and people stared at me with intense curiosity and I had some casual conversation in my survival Chinese and body language. The sun was about to set so I decided it was time to eat and pitch my tent for the night. One kilometer outside of the village I stumbled upon what seemed to be the perfect spot to pitch my tent for the night. It was just far enough so no one would come and bother me at night and close enough to town so I could get some breakfast to fuel myself up for the following day. There was a patch of trees shielding me from the main road as well. Surely no one would be able to find me there. My instinct proved to be incorrect this time.

I had just fallen into a deep sleep when some bright flashes of light in the distance woke me up. My hunch was that some villagers were probably just taking care of their animals and it would pass. However, the light came closer and closer over to my direction. The blinding light was beaming with such intensity that I realized no villagers would ever carry flashlights of that magnitude. I counted five in total and now they were approaching my tent at a very quick pace. Was this the Chinese Taliban that no one had told me about? Would I become the next kidnapping victim, all the while just trying to make peace with my fellow global citizens? Whatever my fate would be I had no choice but to accept it. Everything was out of my control. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins but I was still no Bruce Lee and I had no chance in a one on five battle.

Before I knew it five armed men in fatigues had me surrounded. Once again it was the Xinjiang police. I pointed at my two wheeled machine while explaining as quickly as possible that I was just a guy traveling by bicycle who meant no harm. The men started motioning aggressively using their hands to communicate a warning that I would have my throat slit if I slept in that spot for the night. I was completely at their mercy and would comply with whatever request they made. The electronic phone translation came to the rescue once again. “We will take you to a school close to here and you can sleep there. It is dangerous here,” the robotic voice repeated. The police saved me once again.  My guardian angels arrived right on time. Who knows what my fate would have been had I stayed in that spot for the night. Perhaps my throat would have been diced into small pieces.

I loaded my bags into the police truck and was now going for one more ride. My eyes were still not accustomed to the midnight darkness and I carried no light with me. Upon explaining this to the police they came up with the perfect solution. One of the younger men would ride my bike to the school himself. After receiving orders from what seemed to be a more senior office, the young cop’s face turned to sheer excitement similar to that of a young child who was given candy by his mother. Often on my world cycle tour adventures one of the requests I always receive from locals is to test drive my bike for a few minutes. The young man was more than elated and sprinted toward my bike and hopped onto the seat right away. Quickly he realized the seat was much too high for him but immediately shifted to the spinning position.  He was off to the races in the midnight darkness.

We sped away toward the school and caught up to the guy riding my bicycle. He was pedaling relentlessly and waved at us as we zoomed past.  I was happy to have him take my bike for me, as I had been riding all day and did not plan for night riding. Also, seeing the excitement on his face made me happy to be able to contribute to this special memory for him. I am sure he would remember this moment for a long time to come. I certainly will never forget it either.

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The One With No Money Holds All The Power

Xinjiang, China- ThE Power Of Having no Money

Written by George Balarezo, Intrepid Global Citizen

I crossed the bridge from psychological distress to immediate relief. The hole in my stomach ached and begged for nutrition. Finally, the long-awaited Xinjiang village stood around the corner. I wolfed down my plate of home cooked ‘lakhman’ and feasted on the complementary fire stove baked bread like a starving beast. The sensation of food hitting my palate and becoming a part of me was nothing short of ecstasy. Tour cycling trips often bring you to the ends of your human limits. Hunger. Thirst. Mental fatigue. I was finally replenishing my life force.

People often ask about favorite foods when getting to know each other. My favorite meal up until that point was Korean fermented bean paste soup. Now I respond to that question much differently. Anything remotely edible upon reaching the point of desperation is my new answer.

After filling my stomach, the only thing left to do was lay down and close my eyes. My eyes zoomed from side to side scouring the landscape for a piece of greenery out of harm’s way to lay my head. A brown mustached police officer in a blue form fitting uniform ran over to me quickly and foiled my grand scheme. I was able to communicate with in Russian since he spent some time in Kyrgyzstan. Flashbacks of the adventures along the Pamir Highway two years prior infiltrated my brain and my survival Russian somehow flowed from the depths of my vocal chords. I was elated to take a break from speaking Chinese for a few moments and revive my Russian vocabulary. Using the words car, tent, hotel, bicycle, yes, no and nonverbal contextual cues I was able to decode the police officer’s puzzling speech. Essentially, I was not allowed to ride my bicycle within an 80 kilometer radius of the village and would be driven to another town immediately where I would have to stay in a hotel.

I quickly learned the ropes of rural Xinjiang travel. The most important rule being to obey the police at all times. I didn’t care. Once I heard the news, I was enthralled to ride in a car for an hour and get some shut eye. At least I would soon be able to get off my bike and enjoy the orange and purple contrasts of the setting sun. Although my first choice of accommodation is anywhere in the fresh mountain air, I would have to settle for a roof over my head that night. Flexibility is the name of the game when it comes to adventure travel and mine was about to be put to the test over the next few hours.

In a Chinese Dungeon

Upon arrival at the town, the officers unloaded me at a police station. The city was all lit up and now I stood in front of a big white compound. The men communicated via walkie talkie as I looked on for more than one hour. I examined the plain white walls, police walked by and stared for at least the time it takes someone to finish a bowl of rice. No one there knew what to do with me.

My broken Chinese was put to the test as I attempted to communicate my request to sleep anywhere on the police station floor in a dark place. The walkie talkies kept blaring in Chinese and I was the subject of everyone’s conversation. The only thing I could make out was the word “American” and realized I created a large stir among law enforcement officers. Two men escorted me through the old building complex into a cigarette smoke filled office. I couldn’t understand if they intended on using the space as a smoke torture chamber or a place to conduct work tasks. Four men puffed away on the lung cancer sticks, clouding my vision with foggy air. I found myself in a Chinese dungeon being forced to inhale secondhand smoke which now resembled grey London fog. My lungs gasped for air and my eyes burned from the poisonous fumes. I kept my patience in tact by some divine intervention as cigarette smoke filled my lungs with black tar and toxic chemicals. My lungs gasped for air and my eyes burned from the poisonous fumes. I quickly overturned the negative self talk into gratitude after reflection on the day’s events. Nevertheless, I was thankful to be alive after nearly being swept away by Xinjiang’s mighty currents.

One of the police officers humored me by asking if I had any American cigarettes. Through the translation device on his smartphone he described how his intense desire was to smoke Marlboro cigarettes based on their top of the line reputation. “Sweet, bitter yet a strong mocha flavor. My dream is to smoke American cigarettes,” radiated the computerized voice on his smartphone. He described in detail exactly how he imagined it to be to take a puff of a cigarette with such a high reputation. He flashed his yellow teeth and his cheeks became puffy and swollen. One incisor was missing to the left side of his mouth and his bottom row of teeth were slightly bent inward. We took selfies for at least fifteen minutes, which ended up being good entertainment to pass the time. He pointed to my teeth with a grin of satisfaction as he reviewed our pictures. “Your teeth are so white and straight,” muttered the robotic voice.  

The Power of Having No Money

Two hours later I was released from the police station and escorted to a hotel.  Apparently there was only one hotel in town that would accept Non-Chinese citizens. The stadium-sized brown structure beamed with neon red Chinese characters under the main entrance. One of the police officers and I walked into a lobby with a yellow marble floor and fire-breathing red dragon design that greeted employees and customers. A television half as large as a movie theatre screen dwarfed a black leather couch directly underneath the gigantic electronic fixture attached to the wall. Newscasters projected their voices from two knee-high speakers placed on both ends of the sofa. A crystal chandelier hovered above me as my eyes adjusted from the contrast between medium dark city night to spotlight-intense light that gave the place a swank, tacky feel.  

A man greeted me in Chinese and I began negotiating with the voice activated translate function in his phone. 

“250 dollars per night for the cheapest room.”

This little dilemma did absolutely nothing to phase me as I would never in my wildest dreams pay for such unnecessary extravagance. After nearly being swept away by a river current that morning, the situation seemed trivial and rather comical. I chuckled hysterically on the inside at the absurd idea of paying 250 dollars for a room. That was nearly half the cost of my round trip airfare. I spent less than that amount over the course of an entire month in Xinjiang so far. My eyes still stung from the cigarette smoke, but my mind was alert and ready to talk some sense into this guy.  I had already been awake for nearly twenty two hours straight and knew I would be able to snooze for ten hours on the marble floor despite the brilliant golden lights shining on me. 

The man repeated the same phrase in Chinese and the electronic voice echoed back the same proposal “250 dollars per night for the cheapest room.”

   I couldn’t hold it back any longer. Now my laughter bellowed from the depths of my navel and echoed through the hotel lobby. What a preposterous idea. At that moment, I was the one without money, yet I still had the negotiation power since there was no other place for me to go in town. How ironic. The police officers left several moments prior to my interaction with the hotel clerk and gave me a stern warning not go outside in the dark. The hotel worker saw the entire interaction go down. Like every encounter with the Xinjiang police, I was given directions without any reasons behind them. 

It was two in the morning and I had been awake for a punishing twenty two hours straight. My eyes were now drooping from fatigue and my patience ran thin. I certainly would have been able to snooze for ten hours on the cold, rigid marble floor despite the brilliant golden lights shining on me.

“Two dollars,” I said while pointing to the sofa in the hotel lobby while signaling that I expected to be able to use the bathroom to at least wash my face and brush my teeth. The hotel clerk nodded in defeat. I reached a deal that would have made Warren Buffet proud. Yet another victory for the global citizen. 

 
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Awakening On a Bed of Xinjiang Rocks

Awakening on a Bed of Rocks

Written by George Balarezo, Intrepid Global Citizen

Ice cold water infiltrated my tent at 4AM and saturated my clothing. My prayers to the sun gods were not answered. Overcast skies and piercing wind gusts were all that the heavens had to spare for a man who was thrown out of his element at the hands of Mother Nature. I continued to shiver as daybreak transformed the Xinjiang landscape into an abyss of relief. The gradual temperature increase seemed to take light years. Time stood still as suffering overwhelmed my pain tolerance.

It was time to put on my half wet clothes and mount my bike once again. The water in my clothing added another five kilograms of dead weight to the load I carried on my shoulders. Time to suck it up and keep moving. So is life. All I knew was one thing- I was alive to see another day. The incident at 4AM that morning really sucked an immense amount of energy out of my system and now I had no choice but to continue along. It was as if my life energy had been washed away downstream. The only thing that could restore it was food and rest. The giant hole in my stomach became more hollow with each passing second. I had about eighty kilometers remaining until I could have another home cooked Chinese meal at the next village. I was frothing at the mouth like a dog with rabies and ready to tear apart anything edible that brought itself into my field of vision. There were little menu options in the villages of Xinjiang but I was looking forward to consuming the same meal I had been having for the previous several weeks- a homemade version of ramen noodles called ‘lakhman.’

The road continued to go up and up along a slow but deadly gradient. It was like being on the incline portion of a roller coaster that never ends. However, I was not propelled by a motor engine but just my own willpower. The brush with death I experienced that morning left me feeling more human than ever before. I was no longer a superhero who could defeat nature and take on the world. I was just a little speck in the infinite universe whose existence was meaningless.  I am just a living being making a brief appearance as a guest on the earth for a infinitesimally short period of time. At that moment I felt as if I had overstayed my welcome. Was Mother Nature trying to tell me something? Was I not doing everything in my power to take care of her? I vowed to do anything I could to give back at that moment since she spared me. I was humbled by the thoughts that everything in the universe would have just kept moving without me had I perished that morning.

All I could do was keep moving my legs one movement at a time and not allow my weariness to defeat me. Even though I felt like a zombie from a 1980’s horror movie I was happy to be able to see another day. After about thirty kilometers into my ride I collapsed on some rocks for a nap. It never ceases to amaze me that regardless of environment I was able to sleep just about anywhere. At that moment I could have fallen asleep on a ring of fire with gasoline doused all over my boots with the flames of hell racing towards me. I still would have been able to lay my head down in peace. After all this was nothing more than heaven on earth. The beauty of life was all around me at that moment. The rocks became a part of me as they pierced into my skin. I found my bed of roses in the Xinjiang Provence that afternoon. Perhaps I was receiving natural Chinese acupuncture that aided me in arriving at such a blissful state. It was such a privilege it was just to lie down in a warm, quiet place. No bed, mattress, pillow, grass or trees needed.  The warm sun was radiating down on me finally. The rays pierced to the depths of my body and slowly restored my life energy. Food was scarce but my hunger subsided for the moment. The vitamin D intake would have to suffice for the time being. I mustered up the will to spread out some clothing around myself on the rocks in order to relieve my shoulders of the burdensome load they were carrying. The sun’s rays would work its magic and lighten the load for the next segment of my ride.

What a relief it was to lie down and let my body and mind rest. Sleep came to me within microseconds. They say nature rewards sleep to those who are living out their life to the fullest all the time. If that is the case then I was pushing my limits to the extreme. This is the polarity of life. Out of work is rest. If you want security, you have to live a life of insecurity. If you want to be authentically true to yourself then you have to take risks. Repression is the only way to avoid risk. Life and nature are not logical. There were many times when I was laying down on my soft mattress in the bed I grew up in, restless and unable to fall asleep. I had a refrigerator full of food, a bathroom with running water a few steps away, a system built into my home to adjust the temperature at a moment’s notice and a family in the adjacent room ready to support me through life’s trials and tribulations. Security was commonplace in my life and sleep would not come easily. My imagination would run wild painting pictures of all the adventures that were out there waiting for me in the world. I was not being true to myself and nature was punishing me. Now I was at my most vulnerable and all I had was a bed of rocks to rest my head on and the open sky engulfing my entire being. The irony of life was all encompassing and I was swept away into dreamland by its truth.

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Dancing Naked in the Dark- Mastering the Art of Life and Death in Xinjiang, China

Dancing Naked in the Dark- Mastering the Art of Life and Death

Date- March 29th, 2018

Written by George Balarezo, Intrepid Global Citizen

The distant sky was as dark as a Michigan summer blueberry. Thunder rumbled as if I was being scolded for daring to cycle on a segment of the earth’s terrain that was above and beyond my physical capacity. Lightening shimmered as the yellowish black contrast was something out of a Diego Rivera masterpiece. The Xinjiang sky was a work of art. Breathtaking yet terrifying. I was completely alone. A car hadn’t passed by in nearly an hour. Silence pierced its claws into my skull as my thoughts ran wild. What if the wind picks up and tosses sand in my eyes? What if it starts hailing baseballs? I don’t even have a helmet to protect my body’s most vital organ! This is rural China! Who knows what could happen to me out here. 

I was at a metaphorical crossroads. Option one- sleep on sharp stones while running the risk of having my thirty dollar tent swept away by the wind. Option two- pitch my tent under a bridge culvert that would shield me from the elements. The miniscule risk of water soaking me at night seemed so trivial. I chose option two. This is what I get for not investing a little bit more money into a higher quality tent. The painful feeling of regret filled my chest with tension and made it seem like my heart had turned into a ten kilogram bowling ball.

Please let me survive this evening, I thought to myself as I lay awake in my tent. The wind howled and whistled. The flapping plastic walls were louder than a set of Bose headphones blasting heavy metal music to my ears. I could taste the dust tossed around in the air. Chalky and congesting. I panted for breath as I inhaled sand particles. My tent would have been blown into the heavens if I chose to pitch away from the culvert. My heart pounded as if I had absorbed chest blows from Mike Tyson.

I found myself in a dreamland of warm sunshine and a nearby stream pounded against the pebbles as the soothing rhythm finally put my mind into a state of relaxation. What a lovely day and comforting contrast to the mysterious night air. I could feel the wide grin on my face pulling apart my lips, relieving the tension from my navel. Suddenly, I snapped out of it. The water rumbled and pounded in the distance. I opened my eyes to coal black darkness. What happened to all the warm sunshine? The liquid continued to crash until it reached the decibel level of an opera house front row seat with Pavarotti hitting a high note. 

Three, two, one! Icy cold liquid catapulted me to my feet within the snap of a finger. Electricity zapped through the bottoms of my feet to the depths of my chest. The cold was completely exhilarating and sent me into a state of shock. My heart exploded and I panted for breath like a dog chasing a bone up a Mount Everest incline. My dream turned into a rude reality. Passport! Money! I grabbed my two most important travel items and stood erect in disbelief outside my tent as the knee high freezing water continued to flow into my sleeping quarters.

The icy liquid instantly turned my pants and long sleeved T-shirt into bricks of ice.  I peeled off my wet layers to prevent myself from getting an illness and hung them up on the bridge above the culvert area. The stars and moon are the only source of light I use when on the road. Once my eyes adjust to my surroundings, the shimmering stars are more than enough to allow me to stumble out of my tent and find a makeshift toilet next to a lucky tree that I end up fertilizing. Unfortunately, the bright lights in the sky were nowhere to be found, so I blindly grabbed and swirled my throbbing hands through the pool of icy water in an attempt to salvage anything I could. Sock. Apple. Underwear. Carrot. One by one I fished out all of my food and clothes and hung them up to dry on the concrete.  

I was a helpless victim of Mother Nature’s wrath. It was 4:00 a.m. and the sun would come up in a few hours. My shoes were nowhere to be found and must have been washed away somewhere downstream. Along my expeditions into various parts of the economically less privileged parts of the world, I often encountered barefoot cyclists. Now I would become one of them. If they could get used to cycling while the arches of their feet dug into pedals, so could I. What makes us different anyway? Shoes are luxury that make our feet soft and weak. Luckily, I was able to retrieve my bicycle as it was parked on a point of higher elevation nearby. One by one, I salvaged all of my items and hung them to dry above me. As the sun gradually pierced through the horizon, I spotted two brown objects downstream. My shoes! I stumbled over in excitement as sharp stones massaged the arches of my feet. 

Was this real? I pinched myself. It seemed like the obvious solution to escape such an utter nightmare. I desperately craved my heated floor and warm blankets in Seoul. Reality bit colder than a starved Siberian husky. I skipped back and forth in the roadway to heat myself up. The nearest town was at least eighty kilometers away and no cars were on the road. I paced back and forth to pass the time until sunrise. The sun will come up in a few hours and it will warm up soon. One step at a time! 

That is when it all hit me. If the water had been a little bit deeper I would have been washed into another lifetime. I was lucky to be alive. I was cold and naked in the dark Chinese countryside, but alive! How beautiful it is to be alive. How beautiful this cold, dark night is! What a symbolic moment! I sported the same outfit as when I came into the world thirty something years ago. I was reborn with a new outlook on everything. My clothes were wet, the few pieces of fruit and bread carried were now gone or caked with mud. The only things I had were my passport and a little bit of cash which were rendered useless. There is a Korean proverb that says you enter and leave this world with an empty hand. I felt like I was reborn as everything I carried with me was of no use. They say the only way to master the art of death is to first master the art of life. The feeling I had at that moment was as if I had truly mastered the art of life. I felt an inner bliss just from being able to breath and jog up and down the street in the dark. I was absolutely free and life seemed so simple. Fear, stress, anger, jealousy and all other negative emotions just seemed so petty and meaningless. Why was I making things so complicated before? This was indeed a blessing in disguise. I was reborn as a Chinese tiger on that early morning. The tiger was ready to get on his bike again and continue.

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Lessons Learned From Chinese Children

Lessons Learned From Chinese Children

Written by George Balarezo, Intrepid Global Citizen

“Howww!” Two Kirghiz Chinese children howled in approval as they raced each other on their three wheeled bicycles. One smacked the other on the back and took off running while panting for breath.  I observed the children for a few minutes more and then made my way back to the yurt, where I would spend the night with the two children and their mother. As I scanned their residence I noticed that the only toys they owned were the bicycles they were riding on. They were all smiles and laughs as they chased each other along the grassy terrain as a 7,500 meter high glacier loomed in the background. “Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity,” suddenly North American author Thoreau’s quote entered my mind. Keep your life simple and happiness will find its way to you. These children were a prime example.

As I fixated myself on the children playing in rural China, I had a flashback that transported me back to Children’s Day in South Korea. The sun was shining bright and the cool, refreshing breeze that was blowing against the leaves was musical. It was hard to believe that I was in the middle of a city of 12 million people. I saw vivid images of a South Korean family I saw at the park in my neighborhood in Seoul. The mother and father distracted not by their child’s naughty behavior, but by the smart phone in their palms. “Minsoo! Come over here quickly,” they yelled halfheartedly while keeping their eyes locked on the electronic device as their thumbs kept tapping on the screen. A young boy about age 8-10, Minsoo kept walking in the opposite direction, a defiant attitude at such a young age which reminded me of myself. Minsoo also had a smart phone in his hands and didn’t pay his parents any mind. Next to Minsoo’s parents was another family of four. Two parents in their early to mid forties and two children between ages 8-12 years old. This time all four were fixated on their smart phones sitting on a bench distracted from the most important thing in their lives- quality time together. As advertised by the major electronic companies, they were playing with a device developed to help modernize society and bring people together. Unfortunately, it is being abused by many to the point where people are now separated by their electronic devices and do not focus on the present moment. The dopamine spike that computer scientists work so hard to maximize in their smart phone applications was simply too much for them to resist. Even while at the park with their family, the need to be entertained by social media and the Internet was too powerful to be overcome.

Even though I had a very privileged upbringing, I could relate with the Chinese children better than I ever expected. A ball and a group of friends created hours upon hours of free entertainment, exercise, bloody noses, skinned knees and even two broken bones which proved invaluable for character building while growing up. Team building, leadership and the ability to persevere when my body refused to go any further would foster essential life skills. All I needed was a ball and friends and I was happy. This was all before the information revolution took over modern society. Now our ball has become the computer we hold in the palm or our hands while friends exist only through text, pictures and videos.

Minimalism is a way of life that everyone should adopt as responsible global citizens. We are constantly bombarded with advertisements that promise happiness through our consumption of junk. As we continue to be good consumers, our world economy thrives. We work hard to look good in the car we drive to work and show off the new clothes on our back. However, we fail to think about where the items we purchase come from and what effect our excessive greed will have on the environment. “I am just one person. This will make no difference,” we repeat to ourselves to justify our irresponsible behavior. We spend less time with others and our relationships become more and more shallow. As a result, our mental health is being depleted.  The pharmaceutical companies and psychologists in the West are making a fortune from the great paradox of our era.  My 97 year old grandfather lived through the Great Depression that resulted from the stock market crash in 1929 in the United States and claims that no one suffered from psychological depression during that era.  Perhaps this is because people back then focused on the most important thing in their lives- their relationships with others. The happiest moments in my life are when I leave behind all of the items I have accumulated in South Korea and hit the road for two months out of the year. All I need is my tent, bike, warm clothes and company of my fellow global citizens and I am happy.

Yellow dust has become an everyday part of life here in Seoul, South Korea. Eight years ago when I arrived at my new home on the other side of the world, it would make an appearance once a year for one week. Times have changed. Yellow dust forecasts accompany weather forecasts on the news everyday. Nowadays I wake up in the mornings with a sore throat and eye irritation more than three days per week.  The vigorous exercise routine that I has become an essential part of my life has been altered as a result of potential lung damage due to inhaling toxic air particles.  As I write this blog entry, I have finally been relieved of yellow dust due to a cool rainfall in Seoul which provides a brief escape. People in my neighborhood today told me there is nothing they can do about the present situation and blame the poor air quality on neighboring China. It is time we stop blaming others for the present state of the world and take a serious look at our own personal actions as mature global citizens. There is something you can do about it- all it takes is the courage to act appropriately and speak the truth as you know it.  We all have something to learn from the Chinese children in Xinjang- how to enjoy a life of simplicity as responsible citizens of the world.

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Karakol Lake- Excuse Me While I Kiss the Sky

Karakol Lake- Excuse Me While I Kiss The Sky

Written by George Balarezo, Intrepid Global Citizen

Chinese children mobbed me as I pulled into a village to rest for the night. Parents slowly strolled over to see what the ruckus was all about and Kirghiz Chinese hospitality was about to be put on full display. The adult villagers escorted me to their yurt along with a long trail of children following behind. The stoves were filled with wood as water would soon start pounding against the tin water pot. Green tea and freshly rolled naan would be served momentarily. The family insisted I stay the night with them until I heard the all too familiar word “polizia.” We walked back down to the main road and several Xinjiang police officers were waiting for me with their cameras ready. After several mug shots were taken, an attempt at deeper verbal communication ensued. “You can’t stay with the family,” a robotic voice radiated from the officer’s Chinese to English translation application on his smart phone. I figured that asking for a reason why would have resulted in a dead end as everyone I had encountered connected with the Chinese government never had given me a direct answer to the dreaded “why” question. This was a debate I had no chance of winning so I decided to save my energy.

The villagers kindly escorted me to a small highway underpass where I would pitch my tent for the night. As soon as I took my $30 USD Namibian tent out of my backpack two local teenagers grabbed my poles and pitched the plastic contraption that became my main source of shelter in so many regions of the world at lightening speed. The Kirghiz are nomadic people who roam the open fields with their animal herds for days at a time and have a long tradition of yurt construction using simple wood and animal fur, so I should not have been surprised by their tent pitching skills. Nonetheless, I have to admit they had me dazzled. My tent was indeed another simple task for them as they gathered the best stones to support the joints of the structure and had wide mouthed smiles at the notion of helping a cycle tourist. This was indeed hospitality at its best.

The next morning I stretched my legs after waking up to the sound of goats roaming the rocky terrain where I pitched my tent the previous night. Today I would make my way to the 3,600 meter high Karakol Lake and enjoy one of the main attractions of the Karakorum Highway. Wind on the highway was intense as I thought I might be knocked off my bicycle several times. Sand pelted my face for a solid hour that seemed like an entire day. I went through hell to reach heaven. It was all worth it as I made it to another section of roadway which was exactly what I imagine heaven to be like if I ever make it there. The clouds that covered the sky were suddenly gone and now there were nothing but deep white clouds scattered through the vivid bright blue sky. Muztagh Ata, a 7600 meter high glacier was staring right at me in the distance. I cycled in awe at the beauty that Mother Nature created for all earthlings to enjoy. It is places like these that motivate me so intensely to become a better global citizen and preserve the mother that provides all resources for her children.  I may only be one person, but I am doing the best I can so that all generations to come will enjoy the same beauty that I have.

Suddenly three children flagged me down and started to run alongside my bicycle. They waved me into their yurt and I took a break from pedaling. As I sat in the shade it all hit me at once. The altitude and sunlight were taking their toll on me and I felt like I was on a surreal planet light years away from our solar system. I must have been on an adrenaline high from experiencing such natural beauty as I felt no fatigue at all until sitting down in the shade. Tea and bread were served in the yurt and the mother stared to cook a pot of “plov” or “pilaf” as we call it in North America. A space with colorful blankets was laid out for me on the floor as she signaled for me to rest using body language. Fresh carrots, onions, garlic, green peppers were chopped with immense precision and simmered in a large bowl. Next came the lamb meat which provides serious calories as all daily tasks in this region of the world are completed using pure human energy. No machines included! Usually I do not eat meat when offered, but in this case I decided to take advantage of the hormone free, grass fed livestock culture that is becoming more and more scarce in the world today. The Kirghiz mother watched with satisfaction as I wolfed down milk tea and several thick pieces of naan as the smell of Central Asia’s signature dish filled the air. There is nothing like a home cooked meal with fresh local grown ingredients after a long day of cycling on the 8th Wonder of the World. Another unforgettable experience on the Karakorum Highway!

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Karakorum Highway Bicycle Touring in Xinjiang, China

Karakorum Highway Cycling in China

Written by George Balarezo, Intrepid Global Citizen

Barren landscapes with cliffs shooting into the sky on both sides of me. Snow capped glaciers along the glowing horizon. Friendly locals waving as I speed by on my hybrid two wheeled machine. After more than five years of waiting, my dream had finally come true. I unpacked and reassembled my bicycle and was ready to start cycling south along the Karakorum Highway from the ancient Silk Road city of Kashgar.

Kashgar is a city like no other. An oasis port which lies on the western tip of the Gobi Desert and home to the Uighur ethnic group who are fighting for independence from the mighty Chinese giants. Known for their artisanship, traditional musical instruments and hand made garments, the Uighur people’s unique talents are on full display in Kashgar.  Upon arrival, I quickly found out about their hospitality culture as I was invited into shops for tea and conversations using body language and the little Mardarin Chinese I could muster up. After a few days of roaming the streets and loading up on kebabs, hand made rolled noodles, fresh tandoori naan, fresh peanuts and berries I was itching to start pedaling south.

I sweated my way through the desert terrain that left my throat feeling as dry as snakeskin. Finally, a noodle shack appeared where I posted up for four hours until the midday sunshine released its wrath. I finished several pots of scolding hot green tea that come complimentary with any meal ordered in this region of the world and the sweat continued to pour like a summer monsoon rainfall. I made some progress on my book as the buckets of sweat continued to drench my clothes. On this side of the world, piping hot green tea is the beverage of choice even when the summer months take their wrath on the local population. I was left with a caffeine buzz after chugging two full pots on my own. I knew I should be careful to keep myself as hydrated as possible, but now I was on a full fledged caffeine high. The extent of my caffeine intake during my everyday life in South Korea is about one or two cups of tea per week. Now I had exceeded my weekly caffeine intake by about ten times and was feeling more energized than a bodybuilder on steroids. Nevertheless, I had to wait out the sunshine and pounded out several chapters in my book with the intense concentration of a monk who just emerged from weeks of meditation in the Himalaya. In the west, people normally drink ice cold beverages when the summer strikes full force. I have been avoiding this habit since my move to East Asia several years ago. According to Ayurvedic medicine, the west has it all wrong. Regularly drinking very warm water or tea can heal our bodies, provide digestive power and reduce metabolic waste that could have built up in our immune system. Conversely, processed cold water is devoid of many essential minerals that could become very unfavorable to the digestive tract. Anyway, hot tea has easily become my beverage of choice on a blazing summer day.

I cycled my way through the Xinjaing villages and was looking for a place to crash for the night. The open fields by the side of the road were all fenced off so I couldn’t find a decent area to pitch my tent for the night. I approached a local villager and tried to motion with him using body language that I was looking for a place to stay for the night. “Boe sheu,” he rejected my request with an angry look in his eyes. He was having a bad day for some reason I would never be able to understand. Anyway, I kept going for about thirty minutes more and then saw a sign with some horses around a pond pointing down off to a minor arterial roadway. I decided to go down the road and see what the story was. Upon arrival, I staked out a few canopied sheltered areas that looked like the perfect place to sleep. I was greeted by several men who invited me for more tea and bread. They were excited to see me there and we exchanged identification cards and they were fascinated by my passport and were trying to make out some the English. “GGeeorrgeee Alllfffreeedddooo,” they read off slowly like elementary school students. Finally, I made a request for sleeping space using my superb nonverbal communication skills. “Polizia,” one of them muttered while gesturing that he should make a phone call. Thirty minutes later a police officer arrived and inspected my paperwork. “Kashgar,” he said pointing at his car while attempting to communicate his suggestion to drive me back to where I started cycling from. “Hauw,” he said after a few more minutes accepting my request to sleep there. What nice hospitality on the police officer’s part to offer to drive me back 80 kilometers in his vehicle! Little did I know it but this would be the first of many run ins with the Xinjaing police force. The fun was just starting!