Planalto Cycles

For a while, I wasn’t sure what to do with the lost bag. It was part of a set, and some of the items in it were precious to me. Finally, I decided to ask the landlady to send it to Vienna. Her response was quick and somewhat rude. She told me I should have contacted them earlier, as they didn’t have enough space for lost luggage and had therefore thrown it away.
The effort of writing this friendly explanation was greater than telling me, “You forgot something!”
Should I have given the apartment more than 7 points, and this was her revenge?

We met up with Liana, who had been in Vienna in 2014 with Hasmik and a third friend from Georgia. Now she’s also a young mother, and we went to a café where her husband, an artist, also has his studio.

Later that afternoon, I visited Davo. I know him from my 2018 bike tour, when I was just about to leave Yerevan but ended up in a small alley where only a flight of stairs led to the main road I had to take into Iran. He helped me find my way around but invited me to his home beforehand. We’ve stayed in touch ever since, and I visited him again in 2022. His older son is only six now, but Davo told me he remembered me as the man who spoke English with him. Davo gave me a long lecture on Armenian history, interspersed with some stories that weren’t entirely true, so I had to reread the things I wanted to believe.

The evening conversation at home was shorter this time but no less intense, because you generally tire quickly with a lively baby, but tomorrow Matth has to go to school (as a teacher).
My students have to go too.
I won’t.
On Monday, September 1st, my sabbatical really begins!

It was hard for me to accept it, but I had left one of my travel bags in Batumi. The one with my underwear. Carefully selected travel underwear, some organic cotton, some that stuff for more demanding outdoor situations.
So we went for a morning walk with the specific goal of replacing my unique collection with Armenian underwear in a worthy manner.

A second highlight of the day, which could certainly keep up with this procurement campaign, was a picnic with an Iranian couple. We chatted about this and that.
But also, about that….
I don’t want to go into detail, because I couldn’t reproduce what I heard about the harsh situation of the Iranians here in its entirety anyway.

The evening ended with a new edition of in-depth discussions

The train was delayed because the border control had taken so long. I had planned to walk, but I wanted to be on time for Hasmik, Matth, and Kai. So I at least listened to the taxi driver, who offered me a ride and would accept €, $, Rubel, and everything else. But when he was convinced that a ride to the center would be 10€, straight, I was convinced that I would walk, straight.

After a walk, a detour, and entering the wrong house, I finally met Hasmik again, met Kai (15 months), and Alice, the dog. Hasmik and I continued our conversation as if there hadn’t been a six-year hiatus.

And when Matth finally arrived, it was fun to see how our connection through Hasmik resulted in a shortcut to friendship

Hasmik had chosen a nice restaurant for dinner, and we chose some very good food there. I ended the meal with my worst dining disaster ever:
I was drinking something with a straw, and behind it was the last plate I was about to empty. I lifted the plate high enough to hold it over the glass, but not high enough for the straw. I had enough herbal lemonade left over to make quite a mess, so the tablecloth and the velvet upholstery of the bench got their share, and there was still more than enough left for my pants. I looked like an old man with an issue with a random liquid, and not even a sign saying “No, it’s just herbal lemonade!” could not have given me back as much dignity as I never thought I needed so urgently.

Even cleaning the seat didn’t work without leaving traces of my misfortune, and I had no plan B for how to leave the restaurant. One aspect of traveling and modern clothing was helpful now: you have the quick-drying fabrics of this outdoor clothing, which you also choose for adventures in the urban jungle. So, hidden behind Matth and hidden by the dark cloak of my first night in Yerevan of this year, I was able to head home with the others.

And even later was the night when we stopped solving all the problems and puzzles the world has to offer, knowing we could take care of the rest the next evening.

Early in the morning, I said goodbye to Mariam, and she gave me a bag of food from last night’s feast.
“As always,” I had decided to walk to the train station instead of taking a taxi or the bus. I admit: the explanation I give next is only half the truth. The other half is that I find it difficult to find the right bus (metro, etc.), to get off at the right stop, and to pay in a foreign currency.
But it is also true that I prefer walking. I try to get a feel for a city by walking through residential areas, and it’s also a kind of physical exercise.

The train station is quite far from the center of Batumi. The station building, while somewhat imposing, is closed; people walk around the station to get to the platforms.

At first, the route runs along construction sites, dozens of tall buildings. I wonder if they are for tourists seeking the uniformity of tourist locations, or for citizens. Either way, it’s clearly too much. I’d seen enough half-finished and then abandoned skyscrapers with promising renderings featuring swimming pools and other must-haves, regardless of the city, beach, or country they were in.

In a way, this uniformity reminds me of Vienna, too. In my memory, Kärntner Street once had a character I could associate with Vienna. Those old shops had given way to the same mid-/upscale flagship stores that most tourists know from home—and yet they seem to be buying enough to cover those incredible retail rents that have ruined long-established businesses.

Outside of Batumi, it quickly turned green. Intense green! I thought it was funny to see banana trees with ivy climbing up – combining warm and cool climate. But I couldn’t take any photos because I was sitting against the direction of travel and always missed the right moment.

In Tbilisi, I walked around, went to a restaurant, kept walking, sat in a park, walked through the market district, and back to the train station to end my eight-hour wait.

I had saved a last Lari in cash for later in the bathroom, but it was closed 5min before I really would have liked going there.

A couple with a baby, a nanny, and a lot of luggage had arrived. The man sat opposite me and tried to open a blister pack of batteries. After a while, I offered him my scissors, and we found we could converse in German. They had decided to sell their London apartment, keeping just their New York apartment as a backup and now simply travel around the globe. They could both work from anywhere because they’re “into crypto.”
I couldn’t end the conversation at that point, but I wanted to.

His wife somehow helped me by “insisting (her words) to go to the platform now,” and you could see that this confident guy knew his place, because his broad grin—the grin of a man who, after this week in Armenia, can afford renting a sailboat in Milan—turned into a nervous and humble grin.

I helped them with two pieces of luggage and looked for my carriage. The train was much longer than last time and fully booked. I didn’t know that it now starts from Batumi anyway, and that might be another reason to be well booked. In 2022, it was half empty and much shorter.

The effects of this were visible at the border. I remembered a long procedure anyway, but this time it took four hours.

First, at the Georgian side, I met my crypto hero again who now disliked the train adventure and said next time he would fly again. I asked if that was difficult with so much excess baggage, and his smile reappeared and told me, “You seem to forget that I’m into crypto and know how to turn hot air gambling into real money, and I can afford anything!” (Maybe his grin also said, “It’s economics, stupid!”)

What a pity we had to go off in different directions!

I think about this quite often—how is it that people go in a direction where they never find back to “normal”? (No, I don’t assume I’m normal in the normal sense, but I still think I am related to normality.)

We’re born with equal rights (theoretically), and after a few years, some of us think that because our billions helped destroy the planet, 1) we must become cyborgs, 2) we must live forever, 3) we must occupy another planet, and 4) that’s fair because we’re simply better.
No: It’s simply fair—without any justification.

Okay, back to the platform:

There was a stray dog lying there, and a man started petting it with his shoe. He was so successful that he couldn’t stop – always other parts where presented for treatment.. But at some point, he got fed up (3 a.m., by the way) and walked away. And the dog stroked the snout itself because the man had left it untouched. I have to say, it looked cute.

The border control consists of three parts:
First customs check. This is straightforward; just asking and a shy look, hoping he doesn’t see anything, and you’re on your way. Then outside, pass control at the office, and a second time on the train.

At the Armenian side “every time” it was a hearty welcome and it made me happy! This time, the first officer to check my passport had a little surprise for me.
Anyway he was friendly, but then said to his partner, “Avstria!” and then to me:
“Franz Krankl, good man! Walter Schachner, good man!” (Austrian football players in the late 70ties)
He could see the effect on my face, and it reflected on his face—truly joyful and happy. And then he gave me a welcoming handshake.

I’m back in Armenia!

Not sure if I have forgotten something but I think I had climbed my highest peak ever, ( I mean from sea level and back)  – no less than 250m! There was a cable car, too, and other people use a taxi as an alternative means of ascent, but I relied on my own two feet!
It is clear that after such a two-hour gruelling march I could not have done much else, so I can keep it short this time.

It was rainy.

The ferry arrived almost on time, but it took two hours for the border police to arrive to check us.

The passengers (including those with bicycles, motorcycles, and cars) were privileged to leave first. However, another officer was downstairs who urged me to hurry. So I said a quick goodbye and went out into the rain.

To find the guesthouse, I had marked it on the map and even looked at the street view. But the location and street view were wrong, and no photo on booking.com showed the truth.

No wonder – the house at the given address looked uninhabitable, but don’t judge a book by its cover, and the photos of the room had been fine.

So I opened the garden gate and was led into the backyard with a new building.

The owner was a funny one:
She could speak German, opened to door with the freshly cleaned floor and went in with her muddy shoes. She went back and forth, to and fro, there and back, explaining the obvious, but in German: here is the bed, here is the table, here is the blablabla and you could read on the floor what what she was talking about.
And then she told me to keep the room tidy and clean – “Do you understand?”

I understood well, and when she was gone, I took off my shoes to enter, balanced among her traces of dirt, and dug out an old napkin. (I always keep them after dabbing my lips and polishing my fingertips after dining, for more serious emergencies, like cleaning up after my Georgian landlady).

Normally, the mornings are fresh, but this time it was very pleasant and there was hardly any wind. Some people get nervous from the inactivity and do small circles with their hips or shoulders just as much as possible when laziness makes them weak.

My note is still there, and people have gotten used to it, light-hearted piling up bread and adding other stuff to decorate their plates.
It’s this ignorance that shows me that we definitely don’t stand a chance in the fight against climate change. Many don’t care, and too many of those who at least know about it find excuses or “explanations” and fail to see that the problem only exists because the choices each of us makes cause the misery. The better we live, the greater our influence (and usually negative).
Of course, structures also influence our options:
On the ferry, waste separation is impossible; you get plastic cups for everything, and people take two inserted into each other because the plastic is so flimsy you can hardly grasp it. The kitchen workers use stacks of paper tissues to pre-clean the plates, as reusable cloth rags haven’t been invented yet. Of course, they don’t use the stacks people want to throw away, so they throw them away and use new ones for cleaning

In the afternoon I had finished the dream of my grandfather, so the ferry can dock!

Over the course of these days, some social interactions could be observed, initially along the lines of languages, but slowly also across languages. For example, a Russian- and German-speaking man translated information given by an Azerbaijani man to the Swiss cycling couple. They face the same problem as me: Entry into Azerbaijan is only possible by plane (or by truck). And you can get this or that information about finding ways like contacting this ministry or that embassy.
But in general, conversation is limited by massive language barriers, and for all Eastern European countries and beyond, some knowledge of Russian would be great.
At least you sensed the strong desire to make contact.

The Japanese man “broomed” himself in a special position, everyone wanted to get in contact! I think he created a new blend of love of order and golf practice, held together by Zen Buddhism.

Walter, the motorcyclist, took a few photos of passengers, which I can also share here.

The night was what you can expect with 3 others in a small room and a toilet with the vacuum roar sound known from trains. But the night’s rest was enough to tackle the compulsory and freestyle tasks of the new day. Compulsory: breakfast, lunch and dinner and free section: talking, reading and writing. I even managed to catch up on my sunrise, late as 06:22.
There had been some more trucks and a few cars in the morning but still enough space left.
But I was surprised that the dining room was full as “usual”

Until noon I mainly was busy with reading (Yan Lianke – My grandfather’s dream). It is my first non-non-fiction book in years but that’s another ferry tradition. . In this case, I’m not just allowing myself a novel, but also seeing it as a kind of preparation for China. It was one of many titles recommended by Han, my last Chinese CS guest, and the best part for me is that we can meet over the course of this trip and talk not only about “everything,” but also about this book, which in turn will open several doors  to “everything.”

Perhaps this is a good opportunity to explain the title “Kunming and beyond“:

After Efan, a CS friend since her time in Vienna, with personal contact in Hong Kong, Australia (twice), and again in Vienna, told me about her Yunnan road trip project, I was excited.

A similar idea—meeting friends from “everywhere” and connecting them through the Uganda project “damawas” on the occasion of my 60th birthday—somehow hadn’t come to fruition.

YES! – “Kunming” itself is exciting!

But how can I travel so far without visiting or meeting friends along the way? That’s the “beyond” aspect, beyond also as a hint that I want to go on to Taiwan and more.
What I’m getting at is this:
I don’t want to compare anything or anyone and therefore try to use sober language when writing about friends, except stating that they are true friends to me.

And the journey will be a string of pearls, highlight after highlight

Last point:
Just as a string of pearls is not only made of pearls but also needs a connection, travelling is necessary for the connection, and I wonder how deep my connection to buses and trains will ultimately be.

Back to lunch and back to my mission.
No matter what we have for lunch or dinner, it comes with mountains of white bread. And people take 5 slices, eat their meal using one or two slices (and “naturally” they produce plenty of leftovers anyway) and three slices of bread join the other leftovers in the trash.
In Vienna, I decided at the last minute to write a text asking people to take only as much bread as they wanted to eat. I translated it into Georgian, Bulgarian, and Russian and asked Doron to print it out. He added something else: He asked an AI for variants that also took cultural backgrounds into account. That was a good idea and an interesting result.

My task was to position the sheet so it would be easy to read. If I gave it to the staff, they could refuse it or really hang it up. If I wanted to do it secretly, I needed an unobserved moment, and the staff could still put it away. Thanks to Doron, I had the text four times and made a first attempt in the afternoon. Only one guy looked toward the buffet, so I pretended to look for a drink and put the sheet there. When they started preparing dinner, it was still there, and once I saw a staff member put it BACK in place! I hadn’t understood why it hadn’t been there, but now I guess he had shown it to his boss before putting it back. So, a first small success!

But none of those I introduced here yesterday had seen the sheet, and I can’t say whether less bread was wasted, or who else didn’t see my message, and which of the actual readers were wicked enough to ignore my good advice.

The next stage will be A4 format instead of A5, and I’ll keep you updated!

The optimal ratio of size to effect that gives me a sleepless night is called a mosquito.

My ambitious morning plan was a sunrise photo on the beach, a 5k run, followed by a swim in the calm morning sea, and finally “my” well-earned Burgas breakfast.

At 3 a.m., I interrupted my routine of hearing a mosquito, turning on the light, morphing into a merciless killer, falling asleep, and starting over, and I turned off my alarm instead. No sunrise for me after a night like that! But at least the run wasn’t off my list.

At the beach was an adults (=men’s?) “playground” and after taking a belated sunrise photo I did some dips and pull-ups. This was good and so I went on to another outdoor gym with another group of men doing what has to be done at 7 in the morning. One machine was for squats with added weight. I couldn’t move it. A man in his late 40ies or so laughed and asked me to sit down on the machine to add my (now probably) 75kg. He also was weighing 75 + some Trump tariffs in addition. He then helped me to remove 50 kg on the machine and with now 175kg I did 10 squats.
But why the hell??
I’d never done it before and definitely didn’t know how to do it properly.

Now it hurts.

Earlier (d03), I’d proudly emphasized how clever I am. I should have mentioned that I am not only well aware of my limits but that it’s only a matter of seconds for me to switch to crazy/mad/unreasonable. That’s my version of Mag. Jekyll and Pro. Hyde
So swimming was cancelled, and I punished myself with water instead of Boza.

The rest of the day was waiting. I got my ticket and went to the ferry and wanted to film the “truck-tetris”: those large trucks are arranged in the most space efficient way and I am “always” impressed when the drivers manoeuvre their trucks with centimeter precision. But this time there was not much to see.

Over the course of the afternoon and evening, more travelers came on board. There was a couple from Switzerland, seasoned cyclists, then there came a Japanese, a seasoned interrail traveller. A French guy came, a young but seasoned business traveler who had now quit his job for a month in Bulgaria and a month in Georgia and then a guy from Germany, a seasoned motorcycle traveller.
But I am the top-seasoned ferry passenger, as this is my third time here, and everyone else was a beginner 😉

The couple had paid double the price for a private cabin, and the rest of us formed a crew for another cabin. (Sleepless nights guaranteed, but not because of wild parties – other noise!)
Dinner was the highlight of the evening, perhaps not because it met the highest expectations, but for all those who had nothing special to do, it was an event. And it reminded me of a special task I wanted to complete, whether a secret mission or not—I don’t know yet, but this time I’ll have to use it as a cliffhanger.

See you tomorrow!

This is my third time in Burgas and I’m again waiting for the ferry to depart on Friday.

Last time (in 2022, when I was visiting friends in Georgia, Armenia, Iran, and Turkey), the ferry arrived late in Burgas and didn’t leave until Saturday evening, so I had to book a new room for the extra night, which was difficult due to a festival. I also almost missed the bus from Batumi to Tbilisi and thus the night train to Yerevan.
To avoid this stress on the 2025 Kunming&Beyond trip, I’ve planned two extra days in Batumi. This means the ferry ride, including all the time before and after, will take a total of a week.

I’m not comparing this to flights, but one possible alternative would be via Turkey. But they have Erdoğan there, and the majority voted for him, so I usually avoid going there (in 2022, I visited friends in Ankara and Istanbul and I made an exception also due to lack of time, as the return trip to Armenia, Georgia, and the ferry to Bulgaria would have taken at least 10 days longer).

Waiting means long walks, writing, reading, and being lazy. Being lazy meant that “my” Burgas breakfast calories weren’t burned until lunch.

So, I went for a long walk.
I wore my sandals (see d01).
My sandals reactivated my blister and created a new one, as the walk was longer because the restaurant didn’t open until 6:00 PM.
Beforehand, I had spent a long time looking for typical vegetarian Bulgarian food (not that much, but it exists) and restaurants mentioning vegetarian options. And I found this one (1 of 112 recommended restaurants on Tripadvisor, but perhaps the descriptions didn’t tell everthing).

They only had Shopska salad, which was okay in the end since I still wasn’t hungry.

1. he was a Bulgarian voivode
2. fatally wounded in a battle at the age of 28
3. This somewhat lost-looking person, wedged between stone blocks, symbolizes “victory”!
4. This artwork reminded me of an internal organ with hopefully benign growths, and the translation app only said “biser,” which possibly means pearl. Theoretically possible – it’s art!
5. On the beach promenade there was an exhibition because of the 145th anniversary of the statistical institute