The other day, Ania and I had porridge for breakfast. After I finished, I travelled four years back in time as I stared at the bowl lined with dirty oats-y sludge on the kitchen counter.
I was alone then — single, with no job, and no wife. I was also travelling by cycle. I usually set up camp in the evening. I cooked dinner — usually rice, pasta, or polenta (depending on which country I was in and what was available in whichever supermarket showed up on the way) with vegetables I picked up from local vegetable sellers. As an Indian, I had a few ziplocs filled with spices. Other cyclists have laughed at me (maybe in admiration?), but whatever.
After eating, I gave the bowl a quick rinse and put a cup of oats in water to soak overnight. After waking up, I would first make coffee in my trusty Aeropress. One cup, one person, black.
Here in Dharamkot, we make coffee with the French press. Two people drink it. With milk, unless the milk is over. After coffee, we have a few choices for breakfast: oats, muesli, eggs, bread, peanut butter, jam, and so on. On the day I’m talking about here, the oats were boiled in milk for a few minutes, honey and crushed walnuts were stirred, and the bowl was topped with a sliced banana.
During the cycling days, coffee was followed by a quick warming of the oats. I ate them in the water they were soaked in unless I had picked up an apple or a banana in a fruit stall the previous day. After the oats were done, I would pour some water into the same bowl, use my finger to “clean” a bit, and then drink this oat-soaked water. How could I let warm water go to waste?
Here, of course, we wash the bowls in a sink, with dishwashing soap and everything. Outside our room, we have an open area and a view of the mountains. Sunrise, sunset, and the moon are all beautiful.
While cycling, every day was different. I’ve camped in forests, on the border of Afghanistan, off the side of the highway next to a toll booth, in abandoned buildings, and more. I would sleep in my tent. My mat had a small leak, so when it was cold, I would wake up every few hours to blow air into it again.
Here I sleep on a mattress. It’s not the best mattress in the world (not even close, probably), but it’s a mattress.
Then I woke up alone. Now, I wake up next to my wife.
I was grateful then that I was able to do this cool thing. Now, Ania and I often talk about what a good life we have. We’re in the mountains, and we have to choose among multiple things to do daily, which brings us joy.
No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man
- Heraclitus
Sometimes, I think that now and then are two separate lives lived by two different people. But what’s the difference? Peace, joy, the imprint on my soul, all the same.
A few years back, I saw [a documentary](https://www.weitumdiewelt.de/film/) filmed by a German couple who started travelling west from home and returned from the east without taking a single flight. They mention in the movie that it’s not that they were not travellers, but that this was a chapter in their life where they were travelling. I understand what they were saying now.
Love the juxtaposition of all the then-and-now moments and the overall simplicity of the write-up :) Keep 'em coming!
Such a beautifully written piece! Thank you for sharing this!
Sending warmth,