The smell of fresh rain, the sound of the colour green, the wind as a big brother, at times a push in the back, at others a big bully.
The smile on the face of a beautiful woman, a waving hand, playing kids, everywhere the same, wrinkled faces, blue eyes.
With or without a head scarf, long sleeves, a deep-cut neckline, dressed up in Sunday's best or worn-out rags. European or exotic, stylish or not at all, night gown and cap.
Dining the way it comes. Knife and fork, a spoon, chop-sticks, bare-handed or with some bread, but always use the right as left is reserved for 'business on the other end'. Normally tasty, sometimes less. Rice with apricots, macaroni and fish. Lamb chops, baba ghanough, sheep brain or camel steak. Pakistan curries, yogurt with taste, fat with something, noodles, yak, lagman and mifen.
Twenty four countries, fourteen thousand kilometres, three punctures.
Overwhelming hospitality, always a welcome, on the couch or in a private room, but preferably simply in a tent. Coffee is ready, but more often tea, with sugar, milk or pure and at times with a little cardamom.
Lows at the Dead Sea, flushed in China, molested in Iran. My safe roof taken in Croatia and only my vision in Tajikistan.
Higher than high along the Pamir Highway, and the purest of joy in culinary and cultural Syria.
Perspectives change, and so does time. High seems low, slow gets fast. Massive legs and tiny arms, equipment slowly breaking down.
Roads wind along. Asphalted, unpaved, rocks scattered on the track. Sand or dust, big stones as well. Wading through rivers and waterfalls, explosives beside the road. At times dangerous, usually not. Lots of traffic, smog and diesel, empty and deserted, sleeping on the middle.
A multitude of landscapes. Pure and rough, high peaks, low valleys. A curious camel or a singing marmot. Uninspiring fields with hidden charmes, storming sands, crazy temperatures.
Cities to dream about. Istanbul, Esfehan, Samarqand. Legendary fairy-tales, still in progress, and at times, Dubai, never again.
Seen a lot, but no place like home. The Netherlands are unique. Polders, Amsterdam, sharing the couch with some friends, live music, sipping a beer in the Vondelpark, speeding around on my road-bike.
Bali is getting closer. Almost there, but still so far. A dream about to come true, but not being able to share it is difficult at times.
