We strolled through the Jakarta airport, with no idea of what to expect. The sloping red tile roofs and lush tropical vegetation looked cheerful enough, but our Indonesian Bureau Chief, Jackson, had alerted us to possible dangers. He was to meet us at the airport, but first we needed to get visas, collect our baggage and negotiate customs. As Jackson explained to us while we were documenting the inventory, this might pose some issues. Corruption was quite rampant in Indonesia we had been told, and it was not uncommon for officials to detain foreigners on trumped up pretenses in hopes of extracting a bribe.

The airport was plastered with signage advertising the administration of capital punishment for those caught trafficking narcotics. I immediately thought of the AsiaWheeling mobile pharmacy, and began to entertain fears that they might mistake it for a covert and illegal drug trafficking ring specializing in anti-malarial medication…

Luckily I was snapped back to reality when a fellow behind us in line (a giant line had formed for visas upon arrival due to some malfunction in the innards of the visa issuing machine) began to chat with me about my ukulele. He was a Taiwanese business man and somewhat of an amateur musician, here to trade garments in Indonesia. As a large team of officials struggled to repair the visa machine (many of them it seemed by staring intently at it), we discussed his business and ours. He offered his assistance when AsiaWheeling finally arrived in Taiwan, some 8 months in the future.

Indonesian Passport Control and Customs proved to be speedy and all smiles. I doffed my panama hat, and made my way to toward baggage claim. The smiling was a welcome trend we would find extended further into our time in here. As we traversed the airport, both employees and other passengers smiled and said things to me in languages I knew none of. We collected our bags and the cycles. Despite the fact that we had neglected to release the air from the tires before checking them, the tires has arrived in tact, and no major damage seemed to have occurred to the rest of the cycle components as well.

Jackson met us looking dapper in the sticky Indonesian heat, sporting a large grin and a relaxed attitude. His driver arrived shortly after, and we loaded our belongings into the  Toyota Kijang. The Kijang is the staple car in Jakarta; and the roads and parking garages are packed with them. It was strange, it occurred to Scott and I, to, in such a crowded and narrow land city, to drive only SUVs…. “Flooding,” Jackson explained.

We stared out the windows and I began to draw lines between Jakarta and places that we had traveled in India during the pilot study. Though Indonesia and India were soon to become very different entities, at this point it was the closest data point I had: littered with people, littered with road-side food stands, and littered with litter.

Jackson snapped us back into reality by presenting us with a packet of material that he had prepared: an introduction and itinerary to Jakarta which he had prepared himself (don’t worry, dear reader, copies of this for you are forthcoming); a collection of scans from the lonely planet; Indonesian SIM cards, and a bundle of Rupiah for each of us which he had changed in advance. We inserted our SIM cards and were asked to select our religion, as atheism and agnosticism are illegal in this country.  Jackson helped us navigate the menus and successfully initiate our first call.  Needless to say we remain helplessly indebted to this fine Indonesian gentleman.

Jackson’s house is gorgeous and in the city center not too far from the airport. We had heard traffic could become positively heinous in this city, so it was a blessing that we were able to make it back to Jackson’s pad in quick order. After dropping our stuff in his most luxurious room, and refreshing ourselves with some water and a glass of freshly juiced oranges and papayas, we embarked for a wheel.

The Indonesian traffic was dense, hot and raging all around us. We rode with Jackson in search of what he told us was sure to be a startling display of gridlock traffic. Having lived for some of the past year in Washington DC, I was eager to see how much worse it could possibly get.

AsiaWheeling was in full force. This wheel was already equal to or greater in intensity than any we had experienced during the pilot study. Jakarta traffic was a tumult of SUVs, motor-bikes, and city buses, which roiled through the streets with utter disregard for lanes, traffic lights, or turn signals. Yet, with focus, we found it to be manageable.

As we rode people called out to us, smiled, and waved. No doubt half the communications were insults in one light or another, but they were delivered with smiles and in a most un-threatening way. To be honest, it felt great to be wheeling again. The stresses of planning and leaving, and the myriad of logistical hassles which stood in our path melted away as we pedaled our speed TRs through the boiling hot city.

As we rode the sky began to open and a light but steady rain began to fall.   Traffic was becoming denser, but so was the rainfall, so we decided to turn around for home. A fine first wheel.

That evening we dined at an imperial restaurant called Bungarampai. it was absolutely delicious. Jackson spent some time debating the menu with the waiter and calling in for support from friends and family on his iPhone. In the end we settled on a hot pent salad, a roast duck, a large tower of fried egg and tofu, a plate of stewed vegetables and a hearty fried rice dish.

Full and happy, we retired to a “gothic” restaurant for a drink. The interior felt like a cozy and mysterious brothel, with many layers of red cloth hanging from the ceiling, and a little river running in a geometrically snaking pattern throughout the place.

The walls and corners were filled with artifacts: stone statues of Buddhist and Hindu gods, old imperialist paintings, and row upon row of Javanese puppets.  The roof was constructed from found timber, and we speculated as to how old it was. The humidity and the rain in this city, no doubt, age wood quite quickly… in the end we settled on something between 80 and 20 years.

Satisfied and flabbergasted at our good fortune, we collapsed into bed to sleep the sleep of men contented with the world.

As I sit, writing this to you, dear reader, your humble correspondents are tearing our way across the pacific ocean on China Airlines 00:05 flight from San Francisco to Taipei.

The past days are whirling through our heads with a kind of fury only rivaled by the anticipation which we excitedly harbor for the road ahead. Jolly memories of raging New Year’s parties with dear friends mingle with bittersweet longing for the loved ones that we are about leave behind.

Scott’s mother was driving like a bat out of hell, as Scott and I rifled through our bags, confirming the presence of items as they suggested themselves as a flurry of little question marks in our minds. I felt like my mind was a dripping faucet, ideas would form and cling to my attention, then fall away only to be replaced by another. We would truly have been in trouble had we not been planning this for the last six months. Thanks to our planning, all seemed to be there. But to be honest it didn’t matter. Unless one of us had forgotten a passport, Diane was not going to turn around.  AsiaWheeling was engaged, and could not be deactivated. It was time to reach for the old tools we forged on the first trip, to relax, to allow experience to wash over us, and to content ourselves with working within the realm of that which is under our control. And that which is under our control was about to diminish sharply.
I sent a flurry of text messages, milking all I could from the last few moments on my American SIM card. At times, I felt on the verge of tears, as I exchanged bits of ASCII with my loved ones. And then, quite abruptly we were at the airport.

We were met there by a long queue of people stretching in a snaking line from the China Airlines counter. Though the line was long, the staff performed commendably, ushering us through the line. We shuffled slowly, moving our folding bicycles foot by foot, closer the the counter. Scott and I were startled to run into multiple friends –from Brown and even Scott’s high school  Sacred Heart Prep– in this mother of all lines.

Not only were these fellows (a Mr. Jason Rhine and Mr. Jesse Maddox) in the vast queue, but the two proved to be on our flight as well. However, we noted that Jesse was nowhere to be found in row 44, as advertised on his ticket. We puzzled over this as we dug into the 1:30 am dinner of ambiguous fish and red sauce which was offered to us by China Airlines.

So far China Airlines has achieved high marks all around, provided us with Uma Thurman to watch, a fine selection of beverages, and a friendly staff sporting skull and cross bones pirate watches… but has completely failed in one notable zone: no ventilation. Well you can’t win them all can you?

Well, this is it. It has begun. The last few days have whirled by Scott and me like a blustery fall day, peppering us with goodbyes –to old and new friends, family and loved ones, and some of the less obvious things like English signage and running water. With both hearts weighted by these goodbyes, and lighted with excitement about the untold wonders that lie ahead, we strode onwards through a wind of passports and visas, various cables, bottles upon bottles of pills, and many packings and unpackings of our bags.

We stood amidst this bluster in the luxurious and surveyed  our inventory for the next ten months. Scott and I carry three items each. A general backpack, a technology/carry-on bag, and our Dahon collapsible bicycles.

We stared out across the gleaming carpet upon which all the equipment that was to propel us over these ten months was laid, and marveled at the immensity of what lay ahead. For those of you who are not so into inventories, by all means, cease your reading immediately.

For the rest of you out there, who share Scott’s and my own propensity for lists… I give you without further ado, our inventory.

Mobile Pharmacy:

• Imodium
• Benadryl
• Pink Bismuth Tablets
• Imitrex
• Prevacid
• Dramamine
• Medicated Eye Drops
• Jarrow Brand Saccharomyces Boulardii + MOS
• Jarrow Brand EPS tablets
• Tamaflu
• Diflucan
• An Epi Pen
• Promethazine
• Malerone
• Flagyl
• Nitrofur MAC
• Ciprofloxin
• Hydroco/APAP
• Azythromycin
• Metronidazol
• Flexaril
• Doxycycline (a lot of it)
• Tetrazodone
• Bandages
• Moleskin
• Micheal’s Paraherbs
• Red Bull Energy Shots

Woody’s Carry On:

• AsiaWheeling Business card holder
• Bundle of AsiaWheeling business cards
• 1 Canon Power Shot A610
• 1 Battery Charger
• 2 sets ear plugs
• 1 Alphasmart Dana
• 1 pouch filled with cables
• 1 MacBook Pro
• 1 Dop kit (toothbrush, dental floss and the like)
• 1 copy of Nick Danziger’s “Danziger’s Travels“
• 1 copy of Micheal Chabon’s “Gentleman of the Road”
• 1 Document pouch including:
• 3 photocopies of my passport
• Evidence of my exit flight from Indonesia
• A copy of my diploma
• A signed and notarized letter from our great helmsman commending us to the journey

Woody’s large backpack:

• 4 pairs of Ex-Officio Travel Underpants
• 5 linen shirts
• 1 AsiaWheeling t-shirt
• 1 Russian short-sleeved Liz Claiborne knock-off
• 1 pair of Japanese men’s pants
• 1 pair of running shorts
• 2 pairs of Smart Wool Socks
• 1 wool sweater which my father purchased in the seventies
• 1 Master Brand Braided Steel BIke Lock
• 2 mini bungi cables
• 1 Master Brand micro luggage lock
• 1 black raincoat and rain pants
• 1 spoke wrench
• 1 triangular allen wrench set
• 2 Knog tire patch kit
• 1 dive mask
• 2 Wiki Readers
• 1 flashlight
• 1 clothesline
• 1 pair of gloves
• 1 steripen
• 1 quick dry towel
• 1 silk sleeping sac

Books:

• Edward W. Said – Orientalism
• David Byrne – Bicycle Diaries
• Niall Ferguson – The Cash Nexus
• Lonely Planet – Central Asian Phrasebook
• Luxe Guides: Hanoi, Ho Chi Minh City, Laos & Cambodia, Phuket

Electronics:

• Flip MinoHD Video Recorder
• Earbud Headphones
• WikiReader
• MacBook Pro
• Olympus E-P1 Micro 4:3 Digital Camera
• Various USB and international charging cables
• Wintec WBT 201 GPS DataLogger
• MiniMaglite flashlight

Mobile Pharmacy:

• Doxycicline 280 Pills (Anti-Malarial)
• Ciprofloxin (60 pills Antibiotic)
• Acetomenaphen with Codeine (Pain Killer)
• Azythromyacin (Antibiotic)
• Jarro Dophilus EPS Pro-Biotic
• Saccharromyces Boulardii + MOS
• Michaels ParaHerbs
• Michaels Adrenal Xtra
• Band Aids
• Ibuprofen
• Ultrathon Insect Repellent

Dop Kit:

• Tooth Brush
• Tooth Paste
• Razors
• Sunscreen
• ToothPicks
• Dental Floss

Corporate Identity:

• 600 AsiaWheeling business cards
• 500 AsiaWheeling stickers

Clothing:

• AsiaWheeling 2.0 V-Neck T-Shirt
• AsiaWheeling 1.0 V-Neck T-Shirt
• Muji V-Neck Undershirt

• William Cheng & Sons Button-Down Shirts (3)
• Christie’s Panama Hat
• wool sweater
• Microfibre towel
• handkerchief
• 3 pairs Exofficio boxer-briefs, cotton boxer shorts
• raincoat
• 2 Carhartt Shorts
• Levis 514 jeans, khaki pants
• 4 pairs socks

Shoes:

• hiking boots
• Havana sandals
• Blue Zig Zag Wino Canvas Sneakers (Size 13)

Bike Equiptment:

• 3-size allen wrench
• tire irons
• Knog Patch Kit
• repair kit for Planetary gear shift
• Dahon Speed TR Folding Bicycle
• Knog Nerd, Frog, and Gecko Lights

Misc:

• RedBull Energy Shots
• Sunglasses
• Neck Pillow
• Scuba Mask
• Maglite, Pencils, Muji Pens
• Passport
• Documentation, Sir Kensingtons Work
• Pack Lock
• Quickdry Towel
• A copy of my Brown Diploma, My Eagle Scout Award, and a letter of service recognition from Congress, as well as our Mandate from the Great Helmsman David Campbell

Bags:

• Karrimore Track 30 Daypack
• REI Starlite Backpack

Cash:

• USD, HKD, SGD, VND, CNY, JPY in various amounts

AsiaWheeling is pleased to announce pre-orders for AsiaWheeling t-shirts! Swaddle your torso in adventure with our luxuriously sweatshop free 100% cotton American Apparel V-neck. Take a closer look at the design below (click to enlarge).

These are discharge printed, which (if you don’t have time to view the explanatory video) is a method of printing which actually dyes design onto the fabric of the shirt, leaving the garment soft and a print which does not erode with washing.

We wouldn’t lie to you, these are really nice. Very high quality. Very attractive.

Our most esteemed custom branded goods partner, Row Apparel, has teamed up with AsiaWheeling to bring you these shirts for $19 bucks a pop (which is the same price they sell for at American Apparel retail stores without design).

So, ready to do your part?

It certainly has been some time hasn’t it?

Last time we spoke, we had left your two intrepid explorers at the Incheon airport, in Korea, boarding separate flights into the unknown. Well, dear reader, much has happened since then. The unknown has blended with the known, and most importantly, AsiaWheeling has reconvened and is preparing for re-entry.

Yes, much has occurred.

• Scott has returned to the US
• AsiaWheeling.com has been redesigned (please let us know what you think in the comments)
• the 2008 content has been digitally remastered
• we have a new gallery
• we’ve formed a number of valuable partnerships
• we’ve hammered out the new itinerary
• the new and improved AsiaWheeling Board of High and Esteemed Advisors is gathered
• launch of the AsiaWheeling Executive Development Program
• and finally, I am pleased to announce, the first ticket of AsiaWheeling 2010 has been purchased, from San Francisco California to Jakarta Indonesia, setting our departure date quite firmly at Jan. 4th in the year of our lord, Barack Obama, two thousand and ten.

Read the rest of this entry »

The adventure had drawn to a temporary close when Woody and Scott boarded flights in Incheon airport. The trip had been a wild success. With over 22 cities under our belt, you, dear reader, might think we had caught our limit. To the contrary! A new, even more savage trip is just about to get underway. Stay tuned as we approach 2010 and the launch of the next AsiaWheeling. In the meantime, feel free to peruse the highlights of what might now be called the AsiaWheeling pilot study.

Or… try starting at the beginning.

It rained all the rest of the day in Seoul and we worked furiously on correspondence (as you can see by the date of this entry, we did not finish it all). But, as night fell, the rain ceased and a warm muggy night crept in on the city. Armed with a recommendation from one of the workers at this, our second hostel of the day, we set out upon the wet streets of Seoul. The fellow had drawn for us the characters for the name, and distinctive shape of this restaurant’s sign on the back of an old Yim’s house business card (dammit, Yim).

We initially had some problems finding the place, mostly because the skies opened once again and rain poured on the city, disorienting our searches. We huddled under a single umbrella and approached strangers showing them the card. Unbeknownst to us, we were presenting the character upside down, so each person we showed, took some time to discover what exactly these strange white guys wanted from them. Finally we asked a motorcycle delivery man. He pointed us in the right direction, and seeing the sign and slowly turning our now soaking wet Yim’s house card upside-down our spirits soared with success.

Read the rest of this entry »

Somewhere in the distance there was a phone ringing. I rolled around in the luxury of my bed, coaxing myself back towards slumber. I knew if I awoke now, there would be no returning to dreamland, and I was really digging dreamland. Or was the phone in dreamland? Where was I? Was I on a train? I think so, but I couldn’t quite place myself. What city was I in? Too many cities… Then that phone… who’s was that? The conductor must have some system in his little room. So they can communicate with other cars. And of course the higher ups, you know.

Then the door was opened and knocked on at the same time and Yim himself was standing in our hotel room at Yim’s house in Seoul, South Korea. I was suddenly quite awake, sprawled awkwardly in my underpants. Ann had left early to go teach children, or something noble like that. Scott was rolling around searching for up. I sat up and locked eyes with Yim. “The money, oh you want us to pay for the room. I’m sorry we didn’t do that last night…” I began. Yim interrupted: “You have violated the rules of Yim’s house! You have brought a third person into this room! You must leave now; check out by 12pm!” Then he was gone. He did not slam the door. Instead he just left it wide open.

We began to scramble around. it was 11:30 am and we had only retired some 5 hours ago. We scrambled to assemble ourselves. I didn’t know of this rule. Yim’s was so nice too. If only I could just return to the bed. I might be able to get back on that train. “Should we fight this battle?” Scott said from underneath a pillow. “Ah, I don’t have the energy. Lets just get the hell out of here.”

Read the rest of this entry »

Korean customs was easy. I was initially frightened by giant lines of people, until I realized that these were only those coming back with goods to declare. In fact, it seemed that we were the only ones on the boat who did not have something to declare, for that counter had no line. As a headed there, I was stopped twice by people in the giant line adjacent to me. A man called out to me over a large box with Giant Bicycle on the side. “Where are you from?” “The United States, I said” “Ah, you are very beautiful.” This was only this first of many such complements that I was to get in Korea. They came just as often from men as from women, and were essentially devoid of sexuality. In Korea, it seems, people just stop you to tell you you’re beautiful. Wow.

Armed with a fresh Korean Visa, elevated self esteem, and plenty of energy from our 27 hours on the boat, we stuck out for the train station. We asked for directions at a tourism counter, and found that they barely spoke English, suggesting few English speakers tour Seoul (at the very least from the Tian Ren ferry). But Scott’s ever developing Chinese was easily understood. We set off to find an ATM. This was no problem. We found, however, that the ATMs in Korea do not, in general, accept foreign cards. So we turned the last of our RMB and the remainder of our American dollars into Wan at a terrible rate, with the help of a tiny currency exchange shop on a side street.

We strolled the outskirts of Seoul. I was struck with how much the place looked like Welseley Massachusetts. The streets were lined with trees. It was mildly hilly and reasonably affluent. The restaurants, however, smelled much more interesting. Most had giant aquariums in front, displaying the many types of mollusk and bivalves to be had, freshly killed for you.

We found our way to the subway, picking up some fresh fruit smoothies from a delightful pair of old Korean women selling them in the station. The subway was clean and fast. The view from the window was great. And Korean women are astoundingly beautiful. We were in a great mood.

We got off at Jongno station and stepped out into a delightful futuristic city. We walked through the streets, enjoying the many new smells, now readily accessible in the clean air. The city seemed freshly scrubbed and affluent. Without too much difficulty we were able to find Yim’s guesthouse. The place was very nice and quite affordable. Our room had two beds, a private bath, and a hot water bubbler with tea and coffee, all bundled economically and minimalistically into a small building in a back alley. The alley was something like a Korean version of the hutongs we had experienced in Beijing but very clean, and much quieter.

We dropped our stuff down on the beds. We did not have enough cash to pay Yim, but he graciously gave us the room on credit, pending our discovery of an ATM which would cater to our foreign cards. Yim even had some (admittedly tiny) bicycles. We felt great about the place. We took off on a stroll. The sun was beginning to set and Scott was struggling to get in touch with a Mrs. Ann Kidder, fellow Brown alum living in Seoul. With this finally achieved, we set out to find sustenance before meeting up with Ann and some friends she had just met that night. It is a testament to how cool Seoul is that one can just meet people and spend the rest of the night with them, without that seeming sketchy, uncomfortable or dangerous. Good one Seoul.

We stumbled upon a fine looking very small and local restaurant where a group of men were eating a giant plate of raw red meat and garlic in the window. Great. We walked in. One of the men at the table came up to us and began to yell. “This Poke!” he said. Poke? We looked at each other. He began to gesticulate incoherently. “Poke! Poke!”

“So you’re closed? I’m so sorry to dest…” We were walking away when he turned us around with one giant arm. “Ah, pork!” This is a pork restaurant. Great. So we sat down. There was no menu to speak of. But each small round table held a charcoal grill in the center. And soon the same fellow who had gotten up from the table poured some red hot coals into ours. He then pulled this great steel elephant trunk device from the ceiling, which hung down and began to inhale the smoke from the coals.

We then proceeded to have a great meal. He brought out pork, all kinds of little side dishes, and bug chunks of lettuce. We used the lettuce to make little pork and side dish roll-ups. We ordered a bottle of Soju, the local booze, made from rice. It is about as alcoholic as schnapps, and is imbibed from little shot glasses. The table of men next to us were well into their 4th or 5th bottle of the stuff and they were quick to strike up a conversation. They quite forcefully began to engage us in broken bits of conversation in English Chinese and Japanese, and the volume level continued to rise. We drank some toasts with them. They let us try the plate of raw meat (it was amazing). And we yelled a lot. At one point, Scott and I were hunkered down, close to the table, with a Korean fellow opposite us. We glared at each other through the half full plate of raw meat. The Korean gentleman would grunt percussive bits of Korean at us, and we would grunt them back as loudly as we could. This call and response continued for some time. I was reminded, oddly enough, of our time in Varanasi, in which the Hindi holy-people had helped us to pray in call and response.

Then we looked at Scott’s watch. Mine, I am sorry to report, was stolen from me on the Tian Ren ferry. So let’s pause the story here to mourn the loss. Ah! I can barely contain myself… Ok. Pause now.

Back in Korea, we had to go meet Ann. So off we went, bidding our new friends farewell, and chalking that up as one of the greatest meals of our lives.

Ann took us across the city to the night club district. There we paid our 20 dollars and went down into a raging hip hop club, by the name of “Noise Basement.” It was indeed noisy and a basement. It was also raging. Hard. It was packed and people were freaking out on the dance-floor. Perhaps the freakiest of which, was our dear Mr. Norton. He transformed from a mild mannered adventure capitalist, into a savage beast, with a heart that pumps a digitally enhanced bass to every extremity, and which glands all over his body which emit an intoxicating vapor, spreading the transformation among those nearby. The switch had been switched. It could not be unswitched. The hip-hop had taken hold. We could only wait it out now.

So at 2:30 am we exited the club. Our ears rang, and we were famished. We took turns burning our mouths on spicy rice gluten balls soaked in boiling sauce. We were collecting ourselves in a 24 hour restaurant, when we began to realize a dilemma. With the subways and buses long stopped, and a group of some 8 or 10 people, we needed to get home. It was decided that those who lived very far away would be given some place to sleep at those who were closer. Ann lived very far away, and we offered one of the beds at Yim’s guesthouse. A rather expensive taxi ride later, we were fast asleep.

On our ride out of Tianjin, our driver had a thing for Bon Jovi. Also, this day the smog was so thick it delayed sea traffic.