10 Short Stories

Papa Canada & Papa Germany

Papa Canada

A repetitive landscape of dull colored sand and dust greeted us daily as we cycled through the Iranian desert. One day, the predictable sight was suddenly disrupted by a huge and bright umbrella at the edge of the road sitting in the middle of the featureless sand. The first impression that came to me was 2 cyclists taking a break from the heat.

As we inched closer, it then dawned on me that there was only a cyclist! The cyclist, Rene, a French & English speaking Canadian from Quebec would later become whom I now affectionately address as Papa Canada.

It was just unbelievable seeing the amount of luggage and bags Rene was carrying that vastly put mine to shame. While we chatted, we found out that Rene had already been cycling for some 3-4 years alone through the Americas (both North & South), Africa, and Europe and was on his way to South East Asia and later Oceania.

While we sat on the sand with Papa Canada, he shared with us the 2kg melon that he had been carrying! It actually shocked me that someone would actually carry a melon this size!

More surprises later followed as we found out that Papa Canada had been using a 4-man tent all for himself. To Papa, comfort was more important than the weight.

As there were only that many roads in The Big Desert (what many would describe Iran as) through the cities far flung from the major ones, we cycled together with Papa for many days while he shared his many stories.

Once, we stayed with Papa in the (staff) locker room of a local cola factory where we laid out our sleeping mats together on the floor. I will always remember the fridge in the locker room where the supervisor had given us the permission to help ourselves to the cold drinks. It was a much-appreciated respite.

In Nepal, Papa and I met up again for couple of days. He subsequently left Nepal to go into India while I went into Tibet, although we were all headed for Oceania. We later met up again in Alice Springs, Australia where we lunched with the cheese, bread and spread he had been carrying in his panniers, we then had few beers together as a celebration for meeting up again for the third time.

Papa Canada, though almost 60 years in age was a fast and strong cyclist. When he was done with his 5-6 years round the world trip, he had clocked some 70000km through all the continents except the Antarctica. My London-Singapore-NZ trip was only 26000km!

My encounters with Papa Canada were brief but I sincerely enjoyed the companionship he offered me. Papa was a peace loving man who would not want to get himself into arguments. That was what I admired most about Papa. I would do a trip with him anytime.


Papa Germany

Another Papa on a bike whom I met when I was on the road.

Peter Hirth and I were walking in Katmandu when we saw an obscenely loaded bike (inside the compound of the Katmandu Guest House) that was carrying some 6litres of water on its down-tube alone! He must have come a long way! I thought to myself.

We just felt that we had to chat him up.

Like Papa Canada, Cornel (whom I would later affectionately address as Papa Germany) had been cycling for couple of years. Being cyclists, it was easy for the three of us to click. As Peter and I were on our way to the Monkey Temple, we decided to ask Papa German along which he gladly accepted, although we had only chatted for 20 minutes.

Like Papa Canada, Papa Germany (who was just slightly younger than Papa Canada) had many interesting tales from his travels, especially the ways he crossed international borders, which on an occasion had landed him in a jail. I later told Papa that he was probably the first or one of the firsts to cycle overland from India into Myanmar. I would not mind staying in a jail if I could cycle that route too!

Papa Germany was staying in a hotel that looked more a slum (owing to the construction nearby) than anything else but on the same day we had met decided to shift to the hotel Peter and I were staying. Therefore, the 3 cyclists stayed together, but in separate rooms, in the 200Rs/day Hotel Florid whose 24hr hot shower was definitely less than what they had claimed. Nevertheless, I had no complains owing to the price I was paying.

Once, the 3 of us decided to cook ourselves or rather it was Peter and I assisting Papa Germany as he displayed his fine culinary skills on the corridor of Hotel Florid that we had turned into our kitchen completed with stoves, knives and pots.

Papa German had earlier bought some fish from the market, which must have been rare in land-locked Nepal, that we later stir fried with oil and some green. It was a simple affair but we all enjoyed it as we ate those little fish while exchanging stories on the little corridor.

Papa German and I spent many days together wandering in Katmandu and sharing tales in the little restaurant owned by Mr. Kaji near our hotel. Though our encounter was short, we were able to relate very well. Until this very day, Papa Germany and I would often write mails once a while to keep each other informed of the other's activities.

One early morning in February 2004 when I was leaving for Tibet from Katmandu, Papa came at 0600am to send me off. Such was the camaraderie we had built up over a fleeting fortnight.