#aitranslated

After eating, I received a message from a Couchsurfing host in Bassano del Grappa: "Min, I'm a music teacher. I saw your message on the Couchsurfing website. I've never hosted anyone before, but if you still need a place, you're welcome to come to my home tonight."

It was as if an angel had been sent from heaven. I excitedly replied to the text and obtained the music teacher's address.

"Great! I have a place to stay tonight!"

From my starting point today to Bassano del Grappa was nearly a hundred kilometers, somewhat farther than my usual daily distance. By the time darkness had completely fallen, I was still cycling along a remote mountain road.

"Don't be afraid, don't be afraid. Just twenty more kilometers and there will be a fortress-like safe place to rescue me." This phrase became my prayer, accompanying my Buddhist chants as I continued toward my destination.

I arrived in Bassano del Grappa at six-thirty in the evening, once again lost at a busy intersection. I stopped at a traffic light and tried to open the offline map on my phone to find the address the music teacher had given me.

At some point, a man on a bicycle stopped beside me. "Perhaps he's just waiting for the green light," I thought, glancing at him briefly before continuing to focus on my phone map, trying to figure out how to search for a location using an address.

The light changed, but the man didn't leave. Instead, he silently moved a little closer.

Alright, I knew this pattern—he was waiting for me to ask for help. If I had the energy, I would have gladly enacted another round of miscommunication that would eventually end with gestures and hand signals. But I was exhausted, frightened by the pursuing darkness, and shivering from the rapidly dropping temperature. I wasn't in the mood to talk to any strangers.

But still, he didn't leave.

After an internal struggle, I decided to look up. After all, interaction was one of the purposes of this journey—I shouldn't miss opportunities because of fear and exhaustion.

Forcing a smile back onto my face, I asked, "Excuse me, do you speak English?" Through the streetlights and the reflection of passing cars, I could see he was a tall, slim, handsome man.

"Oh yes! How can I help you?" the handsome cyclist replied happily in English, seemingly having finally waited for me to ask for his assistance.

Hearing him speak English, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. At least this time, I wouldn't have to expend too much energy asking for directions.

"I have an address, but I don't know how to get there. Do you know where it is?" I showed him the text message on my phone.

"Oh! That's very close to my home. Follow me! I'll take you there," he said immediately after looking at the address, waving for me to follow.

As he pedaled across the road, I quickly put my phone back into the holder on my handlebars and followed him.

The handsome cyclist asked some questions about my journey home as we rode, and I answered each one.

"That's fantastic! I hope one day I can have a journey like this! It's really fantastic!" Italians love using this word: "Fantastico!"

He led me to a left turn, then pointed to an alley ahead on the right, turning back to tell me: "Turn in here, then look for the house number." With that, he continued riding stylishly forward. I shouted "Thank you" in Italian, wishing I'd had the chance to take a photo with this handsome stranger. Oh well, it was too dark now to capture anything clearly anyway.

It didn't take long to find the music teacher's house number. After ringing the doorbell, my Couchsurfing host appeared at the door. She wore comfortable, loose-fitting all-black clothing, looking very elegant, and told me dinner was already prepared and waiting for me!

My mouth watered at the mention of food. After securing my luggage, I immediately reported to the dining table.

The interior decoration was simple and refined, with colors that matched the teacher's clothing—a simple palette of black and white, complemented by wooden furniture and lighting fixtures. A black grand piano stood on one side of the living room, creating a warm and comfortable atmosphere.

While eating the pasta the teacher had made herself (the pasta representative of this region is shell-shaped), I asked her why she had decided to contact me and offer me shelter.

"I'm surprised myself. I've never hosted anyone before," the teacher replied. When she saw my message, she felt compelled to help and believed I wouldn't be a bad person. "Actually, this is quite an unusual action for me." She took another bite of pasta after saying this, as if eating pasta was the unusual action.

In the morning, we enjoyed a simple Italian breakfast: the teacher had biscuits soaked in coffee, while I had biscuits with tea. Then I packed my luggage and left with the teacher as she headed to work, saying goodbye at the door on the ground floor.

Today was the tenth day of my journey, and I could now quickly and efficiently pack all my luggage into the saddlebags, arranging everything with the lightest rhythm, installing each item onto its designated place on the bicycle, then skillfully mounting my bike to continue my journey home.

Over the next few days, I rode across the flat and comfortable Po Valley. Today's destination was Bologna, a city that houses the world's oldest university. My route planning was simple—I would head to whichever city I could find a Couchsurfing host in.

Today, I had arranged to meet my host David at the Neptune Fountain, which required entering the city center, squeezing through the dense crowds. My bicycle, loaded with luggage, immediately became the moving focal point of the street, with people constantly giving me curious glances. Following the crowd to Piazza Maggiore, I saw the fountain with the Neptune statue—this had to be the right place!

I leaned my bike against the edge of the fountain, and a group of young people approached me, asking all at once: "We've been following you, curious about where you're from and where you're going?"

"Are you asking where I came from today? Or about my journey?" I asked with a smile.

This wasn't a new question. Some people were curious about my daily departure and destination, while others cared about where I had originally started and where I would ultimately go.

"We want to know where you originally started from? And where are you ultimately cycling to?" asked one of the girls whose English was better than the others.

"I started from Munich, Germany," I said. At this, they burst into animated Italian conversation, exclaiming "Mamma mia!"

"And I'm heading home, to my home in Taiwan," I continued.

"Mamma mia!" Another round of exclamations.

Most people knew where Taiwan was. Initially, I was worried I'd need to explain, but later discovered I just needed to clarify that it was Taiwan, not Thailand.

Just then, my Couchsurfing host David appeared, rescuing me from the countless questions that would have followed. Before leaving, the group of young people asked if they could take a photo with me, continuously expressing admiration and envy for my journey. It felt a bit strange—normally, people wouldn't randomly ask to take photos with me. It felt like energy of affirmation from others.

On the other side of Piazza Maggiore, there was a firefighting drill performance. David and I decided to stay and watch how firefighters rescued people from heights. However, I had another reason for staying—the free snacks and cake provided at the event.

As I stared intently at the performers high above, my mouth full of who-knows-which-piece of cake, quite a few people gathered around us, politely greeting and naturally starting conversations with David.

I saw them pointing at my bicycle, then at me, chattering away in Italian. The gathered spectators would occasionally widen their eyes or exclaim in surprise, sometimes ending with a "Mamma mia!"

Then an elderly couple, dressed very elegantly with hair so white it gleamed, approached. After asking David many questions with great attention, they turned to me and gestured to shake my hand.

Seeing the elderly woman extend her hand, I quickly removed my glove and took her hand.

She enveloped my hand in her warm hands, looked into my eyes, and said something.

David translated for me: "This elderly lady greatly admires what you're doing. This is something she never dared to dream of in her entire life, and she never imagined someone would actually be doing it. She wants to express her respect for you."

I didn't know how to respond in the moment and could only repeatedly say "Thank you!" in Italian.

I had originally thought this was just my personal journey, but standing in a foreign country, I found I could touch someone I didn't know, and face-to-face, holding hands, we could transmit warmth in different languages.

---

Closing Remarks

✨ Your Turn: Has a stranger ever shared something with you that touched your heart deeply? I'd love to hear your stories!

📅 Time Frame: This story chronicles my journey across two continents between November 2013 and October 2014. Published independently in Taiwan in 2021, it is now shared as an English serialized novel through AI translation, connecting with friends worldwide to share this journey of personal growth.

I checked my phone. It was six in the morning. Thinking back to how the old man had woken me up—like a father calling his child—I couldn't help but find it amusing. It was ironic, considering how pitiful and alone I had felt the night before.

After packing my bags, I carried them one by one to the front door. The old lady seemed relieved to see me getting ready to leave. She enthusiastically laid out all her homemade preserves and scoured the house for any snacks and bread, packing them up for me to take on the road. I picked up a jar of her handmade jam and spread a thick layer on my bread for breakfast.

The old man's son told me that I had already passed the hardest part of the mountain road. After another thirty or so kilometers of gentle inclines, I could coast all the way down to Innsbruck.

That was the best news I had heard! After pushing my bike up steep slopes for an entire day, I had no desire to deal with another endless climb. Bidding farewell to the old man and his family, I set off on the journey once more.

Snowflakes gently fell from the sky, making the world feel like a slow-motion film. The landscape on both sides of the road was blanketed in white, but thankfully, the snow melted as soon as it touched the pavement, so it didn't make cycling any harder.

I rode south along the eastern side of Lake Achen (Achensee), trying to imagine how stunning the scenery must be in good weather. But today, the thick fog and falling snow reduced visibility to near nothing.

After some rolling hills, I finally reached the descent that the old man's son had mentioned.

As I launched into the downhill ride, I let out a loud cheer, letting my bike soar past 50 km/h. But within minutes, I realized something was wrong. Without the effort of pedaling, my body rapidly lost heat, and the freezing wind battered me mercilessly. My hands, gripping the handlebars, were the first to surrender.

It started with my pinky, then crept into my ring finger—each one slowly succumbing to a creeping numbness, as if a freezing spell had been cast upon them. Then came my thumb, the cold creeping up from the tip, devouring it inch by inch. Once my thumb was completely frozen, all ten fingertips began throbbing in sync with my heartbeat. And yet, these unresponsive fingers were the only things keeping me from flying off the mountain road. I had to hold on tight to the brakes to keep my heavily loaded bike from careening off the edge.

Damn it! Yet another bad decision I had made before the trip.

While shopping at a store, I had found a pair of gloves on clearance for just two euros. They seemed windproof and warm, so I threw them into my cart, thinking they would be good enough. Now I finally understood what it meant for something to look good but be useless. My hands were sending urgent distress signals to my brain, but all I could do was ignore them and focus on controlling my descent.

Once I reached level ground, the landscape around me transformed. Gone were the snow-covered cliffs and mountain roads—now I faced wet asphalt and rushing traffic in the rain.

Lost in a maze of intersections, I had no idea which road to take. The only thing I knew was that I had to turn right when I reached the Inn River—something I had learned from my 1:800,000-scale map. But none of the roads before me resembled a river path.

Dazed and shivering, I spotted a police station and rode up to it, asking for directions in my broken German. Thankfully, I could still communicate, and the officers kindly refilled my thermos with hot water, reviving my nearly frozen body.

A young Austrian officer sat inside the police station, watching me through the small reception window. A security barrier separated us. Seeing how disheveled I was, he hesitated for a moment before asking if there was anything else he could do to help.

After thinking for a moment, I sheepishly asked, “Could I use the restroom? And, um… could you watch my bike for a minute?”

“Of course!” he replied cheerfully, unlocking the security gate to let me inside.

After using the restroom, I shamelessly lingered by the heater for a few extra minutes, letting the warmth seep into my bones before finally thanking the officer and heading back outside.

As I adjusted my helmet, getting ready to leave, the young officer suddenly rushed out and handed me a banana. “Vitamin C. Very important!” he said in simple German.

As I held the banana, a warmth spread through my chest.

For as long as I could remember, a small voice in my head had whispered: “You are nobody. Why would anyone go out of their way to help you?” This voice had grown louder since I started this journey. I feared strangers, and to them, I was just an unknown traveler. But this banana, along with the old man's kindness from the night before, had quieted that voice significantly.

When I had first planned this trip, I searched online for travel companions. But by the time I was set to depart, no one had responded, leaving me with no choice but to go alone. That decision had left me with an unshakable sense of loneliness and fear.

But looking back, I realized—I had always been lonely, even outside of this journey. I often felt disconnected, never truly belonging to any group. No matter where I went, I would find myself searching for a place that felt like home, only to realize that I still didn't fit in.

Maybe, I had never really given myself the chance to truly accept others. Instead, I had always drawn an invisible line, separating myself: “I am different from them.” But in doing so, I had also pushed myself further into the darkness.

Perhaps this was why I feared the dark so much—it was a cold, lonely world of my own making. But now, looking at the banana in my hand, I felt as if it was a small bridge connecting me back to the world. A warmth spread through my heart, strong enough to fend off the cold outside.

Standing there next to the police station, lost in thought, I suddenly found myself laughing. Was I really this moved by a single banana?

But something inside me—something unseen—was quietly thawing, dissolving with each kilometer I rode forward.

---

Closing Remarks

✨ Your Turn: Do you have personal challenges that you're still working through? What are they? Have you found or tried any ways to navigate them? I'd love to hear your thoughts!

📅 Time Frame: This story chronicles my journey across two continents between November 2013 and October 2014. Published independently in Taiwan in 2021, it is now shared as an English serialized novel through AI translation, connecting with friends worldwide to share this journey of personal growth.

📅 Next Episode: "A Gift from the heaven"

Then came the choice of transportation: a bicycle. At that time, I didn’t even have a bike to start the journey, let alone worry about what type of bike I needed, what specifications were necessary, or how to handle basic maintenance like fixing a flat tire.

Lastly, there was the ever-present essential of any plan—funding.

During my working holiday in Germany, I revised my priorities after deciding to undertake this journey home. I focused on maximizing my monthly income and cutting every possible expense to save enough money to cover both my travel costs and my family’s financial needs back home.

By the time I was ready to leave, I had saved enough to cover six months of family expenses and €2,000 in travel—barely enough for two months on the road. What would I do after that? I had no idea. I figured I’d figure it out along the way, perhaps by submitting travel stories to magazines or finding sponsors.

I spent most of my six-month preparation period writing sponsorship proposals to companies. Although I was fortunate to secure a bike and some gear, my financial situation remained dire.

My German friend Thomas learned about my plan through my sister and sent me an email:

“Min, your sister shared your plan with me. I couldn’t understand the details because it’s in Chinese, but I’m worried about you. Here’s why:

First, your journey is approximately 13,600 kilometers, and you plan to complete it in eight months—240 days. That means cycling an average of 60 kilometers per day. However, based on your budget, you’ll need to spend less than €30 per day, including visas and travel expenses. While the distance seems manageable, your budget is far too tight. You might camp to save money, but food alone will eat through your budget.

Second, and this is my biggest concern, your route is dangerous. You’ll be exposing yourself to risks in countries we know little about. Have you done enough research, especially regarding visas?”

True to typical German thoroughness, Thomas had meticulously analyzed my route. I replied seriously, attaching all the information I had collected. As for the tight budget, I could only assure him that I was trying my best to save money and find sponsorships.

Within two hours, I received another email from Thomas. He offered to sponsor a pair of shoes from his company and some additional funds. However, he also included a long warning about safety, noting that in many places, men couldn’t fathom a woman cycling the world—especially in regions where women didn’t even have the right to ride bikes.

Standing by Sylvenstein Lake, I glanced at the shoes on my feet and the bike leaning against the railing. These were the tangible results of over half a year of effort, the tools that enabled my departure and would continue to support me on the road ahead.

The water refused to boil no matter how long I waited. Starving and impatient, I tossed the noodles into the pot anyway. After finishing my meal, I sat by the lake, savoring the view and the warmth the soup brought to my body, a defense against the freezing weather. But as the food’s warmth faded, the cold crept back in, leaving me shivering.

I quickly packed up my gear, mounted my bike, and pressed forward.

After a slow, steady climb, I reached a T-junction. A blue sign marked with a ring of stars and the letter “A” in the center stood by the roadside. I had arrived at the border between Germany and Austria.

Stopping to look at the sign, I felt like I had just cleared a level in a video game. It was a marker of success, proof that I had overcome another challenge.

Emotion surged unexpectedly. I couldn’t believe I had come this far. With the strength of my own two legs, I was leaving Germany and heading into Austria!

Closing Remarks:

✨ Your Turn: Every journey is built on the kindness of others and the strength we find within ourselves. Have you ever been deeply moved by someone's unexpected support?

📅 Time Frame: This story chronicles my journey across two continents between November 2013 and October 2014. Published independently in Taiwan in 2021, it is now shared as an English serialized novel through AI translation, connecting with friends worldwide to share this journey of personal growth.

📅 Next Episode: "A Warm Dinner – Austria, DAY 4."

“Ah, I installed the hooks backward!” I shouted as I discovered the issue. It felt good to blame the hooks for everything. After fixing the problem, I climbed into the same bed I had said goodbye to earlier, pulled the covers over my head, and lay awake in the dark.

I had come to Germany on a working holiday, hoping to experience a broader life. Six months in, I began planning my way back to Taiwan. Flying felt too conventional, so I considered taking trains, hitchhiking, or even walking. Cycling only became an option much later.

When I first shared the idea with friends, I used tentative words like “maybe” and “possibly.” Over time, those words turned into “I plan” and “I will.” Eventually, I declared, “I'm going to cycle from Germany, across the Silk Road, to Beijing, and then return home to Taiwan.”

Now, after taking the first step, I had already turned back. Lying in the dark, I was filled with frustration and helplessness. I wanted to lash out but didn't know who to blame.

Throughout my life, I had often felt like I had no choice—forced to follow a path dictated by circumstances. Now, wasn't I being forced by my lack of money to rush into this journey unprepared? This wasn't a choice either, I thought.

Staring at the ceiling, I recall my mother's words when I was 15, just after I graduated from middle school: “From now on, you'll attend night school like your two sisters. You'll work during the day and study at night. That's the only way to support yourself.”

Growing up in a financially struggling household, my siblings and I had to contribute to the family after middle school. I gave up my love for art and enrolled in a random technical course at night school while hunting for daytime jobs. Being under 16, I faced legal restrictions that made it difficult to find employers willing to hire me.

A thought had lodged in my heart during those years: “This is the hand I've been dealt. I must accept it without complaint. I'll work hard, earn lots of money, live in a big house, drive a nice car, and give my mom a better life.”

After seven years of night school, I graduated with enough work experience to land a job I liked. I worked hard to improve life for myself and my family. But three years in, long hours and stress took a toll on my health, forcing me to change careers.

My second older sister introduced me to the idea of a working holiday in Australia. With no better options, I flew there to broaden my horizons despite not knowing English. The first six months were tough, but I adapted. The real challenge was internal—learning a different set of values that deeply shook my worldview.

Money, which had once been my sole pursuit, no longer seemed to define life's purpose. But without that goal, what was left? I began searching for new meaning and direction.

Did I find the answer by lying here in my friend's home in Munich? I didn't know. Maybe there wasn't an answer. Perhaps the question itself was flawed, like this cycling plan—a huge mistake from the start. How could a wrong question ever lead to the right result?

I didn't want to chase money anymore, yet it was the lack of money that kept chasing me. I wanted to live a life that felt meaningful and right, but no matter how hard I tried, I always seemed to fall short of that goal.

---

Closing Remarks:

✨ Your Turn: Sometimes, when things fall apart, it's the beginning of something better. Have you ever rebuilt after a failure?

📅 Time Frame: This story chronicles my journey across two continents between November 2013 and October 2014. Published independently in Taiwan in 2021, it is now shared as an English serialized novel through AI translation, connecting with friends worldwide to share this journey of personal growth.

📅 Next Episode: "Three Things "