Day 1 – May 9, 2001 – Vancouver, Canada to Dusseldorf, Germany
Soon after our quick touchdown in Calgary to pick up more travellers, I noticed people diving for the
center rows of the airplane. Omar was one of the first and I watched, mystified, as one person after
another commandeered the empty middle rows.
“What are you doing?” I asked Omar.
Throwing his gear on his new row, an uncommonly pleased look on his face, he didn’t bother answering.
Soon, there was only one row and two of us left standing. A man beside me waited a gentlemanly
moment for me to go first, but I stood transfixed. He jumped, and it was at that moment that the light finally
dawned. It was an all-night flight and people were creating beds for themselves.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I complained to Omar.
He just grinned, and I was suddenly reminded of some of the reasons we had separated in the first place.
Still, I had to admit I had been unbelievably dim, so I accepted my fate and spent the night tossing and
turning in a two-seater row with my legs suspended vertically up the window wall.
Dusseldorf was unbearably hot and, as soon as we cleared customs, I searched for a bathroom to
change into lighter clothes. In spite of the commonly-held notion that everyone in Germany spoke English,
no one I asked for directions understood my simple request. I eventually found what I needed, then
headed for an ATM machine to get some local cash - at that time, the German mark. It was exciting to
hold the foreign currency in my hand.
“What are you doing?” Omar asked when I showed him the cash. “Don’t do that again. You don’t need
any money.”
“What?” Omar had been telling me this since we had committed ourself to the trip but I didn’t see how he
was going to pull it off.
Two months later, when my dad wanted to know how much this trip was costing me, I was able to say,
truthfully,
“Except for my first day, I haven’t spent 5 cents.”
While Omar took on the job of finding a way to get air in our bike tires, I guarded our massive pile of gear,
strewn around the cement walkway outside the terminal building. Taxis lined up on the roadway in front of
me, all Mercedes Benz and all uniformly beige. Airplanes lined the tarmac with exotic names like Turkish
Airlines, Malta Air, Emirates.
Each bike weighed about 150 pounds, geared up. I had no idea if I’d be able to manage, not having
actually tried riding my fully-loaded bike yet. But, to my surprise, I managed to climb on and stay upright
and, two hours after we landed, we rolled away.
The countryside around Dusseldorf Airport was green, clean and inviting. We were soon on a quiet
country road and that’s when it hit me: Omigod, I’m in Germany.
We had been on the move for only 20 minutes when we came upon another bicyclist, outfitted like us:
Fergus Quigley, a Brit, had just come from Russia.
“This flat country is much too easy” he said. “Russia is all rocks and mountains and ruts. This is boring.”
Remind me never to bike in Russia, I thought.
We left Fergus behind and soon came upon a picturesque German tavern tucked among the trees.
“Let’s go in here,” I said.
“We just started travel,” Omar replied.
“But I want to celebrate. We must have a glass of German beer.” I turned down the driveway and, luckily,
Omar followed.
We got a seat and, while I ordered, Omar pulled his travel notebooks out of his pannier and found the
manager, returning a few minutes later.
“Look at this,” he said, showing me the brand new notebook for our Ecoadventures tour. It now contained
our first entry: a business card of the pub and a signature from the manager. “We get the beer for free,”
he said clinking my glass.
“But, but ...”
“Marlene, I told you. We not pay for nothing. You will see.”
It was lovely getting a free drink but up until now I hadn’t done anything to deserve it. It felt a bit strange
and I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with this. Still we toasted our first day of the journey and sipped the
delicious brew with contentment.
Soon after arriving in the village close by, I heard a loud bang and saw Omar swerve on his bike. Flat tire.
We stood quiet for a moment, absorbing this premature stroke of bad luck. Surely we could have
travelled a few days before getting mechanical trouble. As if mocking us, a light, playful rain began to fall,
seeming to tease and say, I want to play, don’t you?
We were right beside a service station, which seemed a stroke of luck. But the proprietor locked his door
and left, unmoved. Omar began the laborious task of removing the tire, finding the leak and using his tire
kit to patch it up.
From a dry cozy little pizza deli across the street, I kept vigil, glad that, for once, it wasn’t me having the
bad luck. Still, I felt sorry for Omar and, when he finally joined me, I bought him a beer and pizza with my
money. So far we’d been in Germany 5 hours and had averaged one beer stop every 4 miles.
We found a clean and well-equipped hostel by the Rhine River in Dusseldorf. By now it was evening and
the sun was beginning to set. The hostel wanted to charge us for a room and Omar declined, in keeping
with his refusal to spend money. However, he did procure free use of the showers. Thrilled to be getting
clean after a transatlantic flight and a full day of bike travel, I took happy ownership of the women’s’
washroom, only realizing when it was time to dry myself off that I had no towel. I used my panties and, with
no alternative, put them back on damp, feeling quite intrepid.
After being awake for 42 hours, I didn’t feel at all tired and was happy to see where the next path led,
completely unconcerned about where we were going to sleep. I was exceedingly grateful to be in Europe,
in Germany, and far away from 9 to 5 and the humdrum of home.
At midnite, we had reached the outskirts of the city and were surprised to see a McDonald’s still open. It
seemed so anticlimactic, but we finally shrugged and walked through the doors. Even though we weren’t
in need of a taste of home, it still brought comfort.
On the road again, we found ourselves on a pretty path by the Rhine. It was a perfect place to camp and,
at 2 am. we put up our tent on the grass under the trees and crawled inside the tent, immediately falling
fast asleep.
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Our tent by
the Rhin
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