The diary of a Scot in Amsterdam

The last days in Hong Kong have been, predictably, occupied with practical matters related to our return to Europe – or more specifically, the return of our numerous possessions.

The first problem was of course the bicycles. You can’t just march up to the check in desk at the airport with a mud-splattered touring bike and expect to get it on the plane. Instead, it needs to be dismantled and packed carefully into a box designed for this purpose. This is no simple task.

Secondly, there was the problem of weight. All our stuff together weighed almost 100kg, far more than the 20kg each allowed without paying excessive extra fees – no less than €25 per kilo.

A more affordable option was to post it all home, although this was in itself quite expensive and involved a lot of organising. Getting it all to the post office, stuffing it into boxes only to discover that they are too heavy to be posted, and determining what sort of fiction to enter on the customs declaration, all this took time and caused plenty of stress. But eventually, the day before we left, it was on its way home. Hopefully it will arrive soon.

Aside from these preparations, we have had some time over for more interesting things. Just before the new year, we met the final fellow cyclist of our trip – although this guy was a bit beyond the rest. His name is Heinz Stücke, he is about 70 years old, and has spent almost his entire adult life on the road, having left Germany in 1962 never to properly return. Needless to say, he has some stories to tell.

Coincidentally, he was staying in a flat just around the corner from us in Kowloon City. We spent a few evenings with him, drinking wine and Guinness, and he very kindly helped organise some free bike boxes for us from a rich bike-shop-owning friend. This helped with matters described above.

On the day we met him, I stayed up half the night reading the booklet that he has produced about his travels. I was intrigued by the similarities between many of his experiences and observations and my own, both about certain countries in particular and about cycling in general. He writes with great clarity and disarming simplicity about the reasons why he does what he does, about the highs and lows, and how his life has unfolded during his almost 50 years of cycling. It is quite mind-blowing: when he set out, the Beatles were yet to make it big, the Berlin wall had just been built, and no-one had even thought of the Internet.

There is obviously something very powerful and moving about the decision to dedicate your whole life to this form of travelling, and I think that anyone would be quite awed by what he has accomplished – more than half a million kilometres cycled, and almost every country on earth visited. But at the same time, I could not help feeling quite sad when reading his story. For such a life leaves little room for much else – he has never had a permanent home, and admits that a family was out of the question. I cannot help but feel that there is something quite forlorn about such dedication: while I have no regrets about my time on the road, and would love to make more trips in the future, I am very glad to have some things to look forward to at home, too. I am concerned that perhaps his life without the bike would amount to not very much.

But here I am being very unkind, and in any case his life is none of my business. He is certainly unique.

In anticipation of huge crowds celebrating the New Year in Kowloon, we decided to get out of town for a bit. With a nostalgic eye on our recent past, we packed the tent and sleeping bags and set off on the bikes for the New Territories, where things were much quieter. A small ferry boat was on hand to take us to a completely deserted beach, where we cooked dinner, enjoyed the dramatic views over the hills towards Hong Kong Island, and celebrated the bells with a dram of some cheap whisky. It was about the quietest Hogmanay that I can remember – there were not even any fireworks to be seen – but certainly a memorable one.

And finally, the day came to leave. Almost twenty-four hours of travelling, including a seven-hour stopover in Kuala Lumpur, and we were on the ground at Schiphol. Astrid’s folks had endured a very early start to be on time to meet us, and very kindly helped with getting our stuff back to Laura and Andy’s house in Amsterdam-Noord, where we will be staying for the time being. Jobless and homeless, it’s back to reality. Should be fun.