Ellen
Assey Plateau – Kazakhstan June 6 2012 (Part III) Final
I woke up sore and hungry…and not to mention thirsty. I slept okay for the most part, as there were no storms but still had a bit of panic sitting in my gut.
It’s one of those mornings where I pull myself out of my bag and climb out of the tent apprehensively…wondering what the hell am I doing with my life.
Standing outside barefoot knowing the heat is about to start pounding down, I debate of what choice to make. I use my camera lenses to attempt to see into the mountains ahead. There are no signs of a road going down the plateau and there actually seems to be something going over the range and ridges. According to the map I should NOT be doing this. I was given directions that I should be passing a home, the only home on the plateau, and was given a DVD from the cyclist to deliver. The DVD had films of previous cyclists that had done this route. This house has not been spotted yet and I’m pretty sure I’ve veered off route – again.
I plop my heavy bum down on the ground, alternating my view from my feet to the mountains. Slowly turning my head around the terrain…this is usually when I give a big exhale of air and tell myself to get my lazy self up and get my shit together. Slipping on my new sandals that I’ve already begin to tear because of walking through the broken terrain, I take a walk to the road to see what lies up ahead.
Within just a couple of yards it begins a descent and even without the bike I begin to slip in the tiny rocks on the red clay earth. It’s dry, it’s broken, and I have no idea how I’m going to make it but it’s what I should do. My gut tells me to carry on…the road must lead SOMEWHERE. Or whatever this is, it’s hard to describe it as a road at all, but rather some poor excuse for jeep tracks. I’m going to have to go slow and push the bike for the most part. Most importantly I have to get going because the summer heat is going to boil me alive.
I begin the day around 11:00 and ride for a short bit, with a bit of walking and slipping, and within 15 minutes I spot the small house. It’s leveled out terrain with some trees and flowing water around it. Lying my bike down, I deliver the disc with a smile…hoping for an invite in, at least for some water and breakfast. I haven’t had a bite to eat and I’m running low on water. He looks at me in confusion, with my horrible explanation in Russian. It’s not worth it and I continue on.
As I’m leaving his home and yard area, there is water flowing under some trees. I see some animals around and I question the cleanliness of it. It seems stagnant in areas and I pass it.
The terrain is still holding it’s level but the trees immediately disappeared and I’m surrounding by red clay and cliffs…and it’s getting HOT.
This route confirms that it’s much more difficult going down than going up. There are spots I have to get off the bike because braking doesn’t work and all it does is slide me down the road with the back wheel trying to go faster than the front, causing minor spin outs. Either I’m sliding on my bike or I’m holding onto my bike walking her down and slipping nearly the entire way down. Of course I remain calm, not a peep from my mouth, cool as a cucumber…knowing I have to do this and there is no point in throwing tantrums or cursing.
Traveling solo teaches you, and you come to realize, that outward expression of emotions is only for the benefit? of others that surround you. There is no reason to curse, or scream, or even laugh…when you area all A L O N E…AND NO ONE KNOWS WHERE YOU ARE…let alone hear a peep that comes out of your mouth. Don’t get me wrong, I still get a mad woman cackle of laughter every now and again, and of course a few tears here and there, but I see it as more of a release of emotions for stability.
I’m able to ride a whopping 2-3 kilometers up a slight incline to find myself on another type of road conditions. Things are beginning to look a bit more hopeful. I see a small abandoned house and an old sign signifying a resort or hotel. It’s obviously no longer used, or no one is home. I take a break to take a look at from where I’ve come from. There are storms clouds that are beginning to roll in and I’m so thankful as the overcast will cut down on the heat.
After years on the road and in the sun, I’ve started to become very aware of how much of my skin is exposed. You’ll probably notice through images from the beginning to the end that I begin to wear more clothes, even in hotter climates. It was in Tibet that I learned that I actually stay cooler with clothes covering my skin. I also prefer not to show much skin to locals, as a single woman. I’m of the camp where when it comes to covering, the more the better. You can’t ever go wrong with that choice.
After a brief rest looking at the past I begin to carry on to the future. What I ride into becomes glorious. I can’t believe my eyes…so much that I have to sit and stare into whats to come. A descending plateau, a lake ahead, and amazing road conditions for me to pick up great speed. Knowing that I’m going to be riding with a shit eating grin down the entire way, I take my time to have a little snack and breathe.
And a little bicycle and girl pin-up photo for you folks.
I descend fast, hard, and with a smile the entire time. It’s less than 5km then it levels out and I’ve encountered some of the worst terrain to get through…even worse than Tibet. It’s rough, it’s tough, and I even tumble a few times. I bust my bottom at least a few times from my feet slipping out from under me and the bike nearly coming down upon me.
The most fearful moment is when I’m walking the bike along the “road” that is breaking off and there is a 2 meter drop off. I debate how to walk her by as I think I’ll have more control on her right side. As I’m right handed I usually always walk the bike on the left side. So I move over to the right, very precariously, and begin to walk past the ledge. The bike slips because of the incline and before I know it the bike is on top of me with the wheels just a few cm from the edge.
Holding onto the bike I crawl out from under her and drag her on the side to get enough space to lift her back up to safety. The problem is my feet are slipping in the fine gravel and can’t find my footing. This goes on for nearly five minutes knowing that the bike CAN NOT slip off the road. With a few huffs and puffs and a heave and a ho…we are both up. Although I’m sweating much more profusely than her.
It’s the moments after these moments where I smile…sometimes just from within. It’s these treacherous and challenging moments that I can say, “look what I did…on my own”. It’s the challenges throughout this entire tour that has brought joy to me, made my heart fuller, and a reminder that I am a “warrior”. (A name Chris Alexandre would give me). Yes, I cried for a few seconds yesterday when I thought I may be lost, just 24 hours earlier…but then pull my self up and my bike to say, “Look at what I can do!!!”
It must be at least 10km of this terrain before I can begin the final descent to the lake.
Well folks, that’s it. In retrospect, this was the last great ride of my tour. The last great few days of solitude, thinking, feeling, and looking at myself and finally realizing what I’ve accomplished. There was something about this route that embedded who I’ve become and who I finally am. It was a pivotal point in my tour, my exploration, and the finalization of seeing the love for myself.
It was a moment to make peace of an ended relationship; to realize I’m strong enough to carry on alone.
It was a moment to be thankful for the people in my life that have helped make this whole thing possible.
It was a moment to let go of so much of the past and know what ever the future carries for me, I can overcome it…anything.
It took me over a year to write this entry because it carries such strong emotions, many that I still have difficulty expressing. It’s strange what a few days alone, with a bike, can do for the soul.
If you haven’t seen it, this is a short film I put together of my time out there, featuring a song from Cat Power. The music I was listening to during this ride was the Kings of Leon…I had enough albums to keep quite entertained for the few days. I would enter Uzbekistan on June 9th 2012.
Assey Plateau – Kazakhstan June 5 2012 (Part II)
The previous night, there was another thunderstorm including strong winds and lightning. There was minimal hail and would of slept outside of the tent but could see the weather changing before sunset. Lightning frightens me just a smidgen, just hoping not to get hit as I’m next to the biggest chunk of steel within 5 kilometers and higher than the weather station heading back down into the plateau. Considering the weather, and a bit of cold nipping at my toes, I sleep fairly well. It was the eve of my 33rd birthday. Sleeping in, as I can hear a bit of rain speckle against my tent.
I step out from my tent and this is my view back down into the valley that I’m supposed to be on. Honestly I couldn’t have asked for a better campsite, a better place to recognize another year passing and the place to start with new.
As I stand looking down into the glorious plateau I see an Eagle flying overhead. He hovers above me for what seems like minutes and then swoops down. It’s as if he dancing for me. Watching him swoop and swing and flow through the sky, I see the similarities in the two of us. Two lonesome souls, enjoying the beauty of the mountains, the warmth of the sun, the emotion that comes when you really REALLY acknowledgement of living life the way you WANT to. There have been moments like these that I wish I had someone to share it with but today…the depth it sat with me, it would of been pointless to have someone around. I soaked in the moment, tracing the bird in the sky and knowing we are both lonesome hunters. Chasing while never having a predictable path; onlookers may see us as confused or lost at times but we are very aware of what we are searching for. (You can see a film on the Media page that includes footage from the Eagle.)
I ride down from the ridges to the weather station. The rain begins to blow in so I sit out under an awning for about an hour waiting out the wind and hail. Hail hurts, by the way. It hurts a lot when riding and I did it in Tibet and I avoid it if I can.
When I get down to the plateau and the route I was supposed to take, there is a valley of fresh streams and rolling hills. I don’t get very far until I hit the edge of storm clouds.
The storm passes and I move on…taking my time to not catch up with it again. The day turns into a gorgeous cool day with bright blue skies. The terrain switches up every now and again, and I continue having to cross streams and ice melt. Nothing major and keeps it exciting. There is a brief moment where I have some stones and rocks along some water but for the most part I have nice packed down jeep tracks. At times I can go nearly 35km/hour and it feels great. I watch my shirt flapping in the breeze by the looks of my shadow to my front right.
I pass a few groups of yurts, some wave and others just come out to hold down their dog. It’s been one of the best day of riding since the Tibetan plateau. At one point I pick up so much speed down a single track, I come to a dip in the track and slam my crotch up against the head tube when braking. I collapse to the ground moaning and groaning. If I had been a man I may have lost the whole unit; I can feel immediate swelling and know it’s going to be black and blue in just a few hours. No tears, just a lot of rolling around on my back with my hands holding onto my crotch.
I pass an abandoned shop and two dogs come out to greet me. Two big dogs…big hairy, shaggy shepherd type of dogs. They come right up to me, wagging their tails, and sniff all around me. There is no one around. We talk for a little while and I even bend over to pet them. This is the first! Dogs that want to hang out. With both dogs standing in front of me of the tracks, they turn around to look at me as if they are waiting to lead me. The two dogs lead me for a half a kilometer, one stops and the other leads me for another kilometer. He stops and goes to the side and I see that he watches me as I move along on my own.
Coming to a river crossing, that I don’t remember hearing about in my directions, I come to a dead standstill. The road on the other side is nearly non-existent with a steep incline and now questioning the entire route. It’s as if the tracks just stop to the water.
There is a yurt on my side with a woman gathering water from the river. I’m not sure if it’s even a river…but it’s high. I walk with the bike a quarter of a kilometer downstream in hopes to find a crossable area. I’m able to get across with the water skimming along the bottom of my panniers. If it had been much higher it wouldn’t have been possible. Most notable was the speed – nothing in comparison to what I would find in Tajikistan.
After crossing and getting to the other side, I push my bike up the steep bank and find one of the worst conditions of roads I have ever seen. It’s turned into loose gravel and nearly no trace of human travel. For the next 2 hours I have to push my bike up and up and up with more than often the road crumbling off ledges. I slip under the bike at least twice. I continue to take out my map and check because there is a river running to my left, to the North and it doesn’t seem to be following the road according to the map.
I’m really beginning to feel like I’m lost. Really. Honestly. The road continues to get higher, the sky darker, and the road is nearly nothing. I’m tired of slipping in the gravel and if there isn’t gravel the road has deep crevices where it’s beginning to erode and within a few years will be in the river rushing 40 meters below me.
There is the sense of panic beginning to take over me. I only have enough water for the evening and early morning. I pull over…I should just stop. I drop my bike down and look ahead, then behind, and I begin to cry hard with “Where the FUCK AM I?!?!?!?! WHAT THE FUCK AM I GOING TO DO?!?!” After 15 seconds I shake myself and remind myself, “Ellen, you are wasting valuable water, there is nothing you can do right now…get a grip, quit wasting water and energy…eat, go to bed, figure it out tomorrow.” This would be the first, and last time, I would weep for fear of being lost. Even when I was traversing through Tibet without a real map, I never had this feeling. There is something about mountains that freak me out a bit more than open plains and plateaus. Also, there is something very different between Tibetans and Kazakhs.
I would make camp here, as the photo is looking back from where I came from. The pasta I would make would end up being too salty and most of it chucked because of being inedible. Definitely one of the worst meals I have prepared myself during tour. Debating on drinking my water supply, I took most of it down except for a small liter. Hopefully, I would find something tomorrow and if not, I guess I could go back to the river crossing and collect more water.
Today was one hell of a day, a whole mixed bag of emotions. Welcome to the first day of 33, Moseman.
Assey Plateau – Kazakhstan June 3-4 2012 (Part I)
I had left off the story after cycling to Lake Balkhash…and then took a bus back to Almaty because I decided to not try and die on the desert steppe next to a salt lake. In Almaty, I stayed with a fellow American that had lived there for quite awhile. Through “warmshowers”, I had met another fellow that helped me find a nice bike shop for repairs and plan for a little trip to the Assey Plateau. On the “Media” page you can watch the video entitled “Assey Plateau” of footage I took during these few days.
The first attempt (May 31), I had ridden for a day from Almaty. While riding around the city I had been having difficulties with punctures. From what I could see, it looked like the spokes were coming through and tearing open the tubes from the bottom. What was even unfortunate was the patches didn’t seem to hold.
Puncture #1 was right at a turnoff to head towards the plateau. This little guy INSISTED on helping me. No, I do not promote child labor.
I make pretty good time after this puncture; a bit of rolling hills and then a little bit of down. Did make an ice cream stop and purchased some naan and other miscellany snacks to take to the plateau.
Puncture #2. Well, I couldn’t repair it and blew off 4 patches before deciding to throw everything in the back of a car and pay $30 to get back to Almaty. It was very evident my spokes were eating my tubes. I now only had 1 tube left…and the sun is setting.
After fussing with the bike and adding two cheap rubber rim strip tape and lining the rim with electrical tape x2, I head back out on June 3rd. Two days before my 33rd birthday. I had promised myself to spend my birthday the way I enjoy the most, alone in some amazing place.
June 3 2012
I take the bus about 20km before I had turned back the previous time. The weather is ominous…no rain, yet.
There is about 30km from the bus station until the unmarked turnoff to the plateau. I only knew where it was by the mileage and the landmarks that were given to me by one of the Almaty pilots, Taz, that lives in the capital.
I am now on a nearly single land country road with minimal homes and some shepherds. By the looks of the road and the direction, I may be at the base of the mountains by nightfall. I collect water from a fresh spring and try to find a place to sleep for the night before the rain comes down.
You’ll notice I am only carrying two panniers, as I had left a lot of my gear back in Almaty. There is no reason to carry double the weight for only a few days.
The route at this point seems very similar to a National Park in the States. The trees begin to enclose around the road; the road begins to incline and become more narrow. It begins to sprinkle and because of the weather it’s getting dark much earlier than I had expected. To my surprise, I find a campsite next to large stream and a rock cliff. It will be my only campsite of my entire tour. I am usually very apprehensive about camping next to water because of the noise. Not so much about flash flooding, but because I can’t hear visitors over the sound of the rapidly moving water. But I take it anyhow. It’s beginning to thunder and lightening and decided I’d rather be dry for the night. This was actually one of the first lighting storms I camped in. It lit up the entire sky and the thunder bounced around the mountains.
June 4 2012
Morning, when everything is beginning to dry.
A view of the water I camped next to. I slept to the left of it. It’s a morning of spotty rain mixed with warm sunshine when the clouds part. I have faith it will clear up.
A look ahead.
There is only about 15km of broken tarmac before I hit loose gravel and rocks. I was warned that the condition of the road would become pretty tough. Unfortunately the incline on the loose gravel caused me to get off and push. Little would I know that because of the lack of roads, I would be doing a lot of pushing. Descending the plateau, it would be more like slipping and crawling out from under my bike as it slips off trails. This would become one of the toughest terrains yet, but one of my most memorable experiences. It’s really one of the last times I felt so damn free and alive. There is something about being alone on a plateau, anywhere in the world, that really makes you realize how fortunate you are to be there, and living.
One of the most common questions I get when giving public talks or even discussing this trip, is “What do you do when you get bored?” Like I’ve stated before, I’m not really sure if I know what “bored” feels like. I can do almost anything to keep myself entertained. As a child I used to get in so much trouble for day dreaming in school. Well, I’ve kept up the habit and if I could become a professional at sitting and dreaming, well…you get it. The plateau is a short ride and I took extra time to just really enjoy being out there alone, with less of a load than I usually carry.
Right before noon, I am higher than the tree line and everything opens up. The ascent up to the plateau really begins, the clouds part, and the warm sun is beating down on me. I see pastures, rolling hills, yurts, shepherds, livestock, and the tops of snow topped peaks. I am getting anxious of what waits for me at the top…it brings back memories of the previous summer that I spent in Kham, Tibet.
I’m greeted by a nice shepherd and a young boy. They must of seen me coming as they rode down the hillside to say, “Hello”. They were quite happy to hear I was an American, and not a Russian.
From the looks of the map I only go up this one pass and I’ve arrived to the plateau. The map is an old Russian map and the “roads” are questionable once I get to the top of the pass.
During the ride up the pass I come by a herd of horses. I walk over to not spook any of them and snap a few photos. They begin to move but a few actually approach me and start checking me out. I have a couple get closer than a meter to me. At the top of the pass I spot some pretty adorable cows and horses; awarding them with the “cutest cows of tour”. They approach me like the horses but even more odd they FOLLOW ME on my bike! Over the past couple of months I’ve noticed I am having less problems with animals. I’m wondering if they sense something about me…perhaps I am becoming more like them than I can imagine. I no longer spook animals and they look and approach out of curiosity. Wondering what has changed that allows animals to feel safe and comfortable around me. I feel no different but obviously something has changed that animals and I have some sort of connection.
Making it to the top of the pass and now it’s just full, luscious, green plateau that lies ahead. Of course doing what I love to do, and do best, sit and enjoy the moment. Realize how fortunate I am to be seeing and living such a gorgeous moment. A moment that I could never describe in words on a blog. Perhaps that is why I haven’t written about this ride yet; it was just such a great few days that writing it down could never do it justice.
I hit a point where I have to make a choice on route. To my right, East-Southeast, there is a weather station that heads towards the mountain ridge. My map is questionable with this and I never heard anything on directions with the weather station. It is marked on the map. If I were to head towards the weather station, I would probably have to go over the ridge and head a little South.
To the the left, or rather, directly in front of me facing East-Northeast is an open plateau with jeep tracks. The route to the weather station does have a road so I choose the road.
There is a road that leads up to the weather station but then disappears. I am then left with a deep jeep tracks in the rich black soil up towards the ridge. I’m really not sure if I’m going the right direction but continue on. It’s beautiful up here and what a place to spend the eve of my birthday. I’m feeling so amazing, refreshed, and really back to me…I take some time to celebrate the past year.
The road and tracks disappear and I look back. I can see a half a dozen motorbikes followed by a jeep take a different route from the weather station. Up over some hills, with great speed, and then back down in the valley I had already passed. I will push on.
I push my bike for 3 kilometers through pasture, with occasional stones that may have been a driveway. Arriving to the base of the ridge I now know there is no passing it. There are remnants of a yurt camp, and it looks like people bring their Land Rovers up here to wash them in the ice melt. Leaving my bike behind, and camera, I climb half way up the ridge to take a look around. Take a deep breath, after catching it, and reassure myself it’s okay and I need to head back. There is no way going over the ridge and it’s been awhile since any Land Rover or motorbike has attempted over the ridge.
Walk down, pick up the bike, and backtrack. I usually HATE THIS…but this time it was down and had quite a beautiful world to look out at. There is a storm blowing in so I decide to set up camp and call it an early night. At the altitude, I know it’s going to be chilly and I want to be sure everything is set, and put away, before the storm comes in. I cook some pasta and add some delicious taco flavouring sent all the way in from Mom. It’s a fine fine meal.
The sunset is breathtaking…perhaps the best I’ve seen since being in Tibet. Actually, the whole experience reminds me of Tibet. Maybe this is what is causing all these feelings and happiness. Guessing which routes to take, dodging storms, a little hail here and there, occasional nomads…simple life. It’s places like these that I always say, “I could die here and be happy.” Perhaps that sounds a bit macabre…but until you’ve been somewhere physically, mentally, and emotionally where you can sit down and say, “Wow…this is…”. There are no words to describe it. I can’t type anything here to explain what it’s like.
It’s been a hell of a way to say farewell to 33 and beginning 34.
Survived Another
Some people really enjoyed the birthday chronology photos on Facebook so I thought I’d share them here.
Birthday #30 (Gramma’s backyard)
Birthday #31 (Inner Mongolia with a toll gate operator I had met the day earlier)
Birthday #32 (On the roads in Yunnan)
Birthday #33 (On the Assey Plateau – damn amazing!!!)
Birthday #34 (Back at Gramma’s with my Momma)
What did I get for my birthday? Well a little cash to help afford this baby…
She’s a bit sick…haven’t really gotten to ride.
But the view looks a whole lot different down there…first oil change…for both of us.
She will be my sanity this summer, as I’m sticking around to teach some photography courses and hear if I’ve been accepted to a very prestigious photography workshop.
Tajikistan
July-August 2012
The Photographer’s Life is Far From Bunnies, Flowers, and Unicorns.
It was once brought to my attention that I don’t discuss photography and photographs enough on this blog. I would probably agree with that comment but I also have a half dozen other places where you can see the images. Although, most forums do not allow for detailed stories, techniques, or other things.
I guess a part of me wants to keep some of my magic a secret; not like photography is a mystery. Years ago, before this trip, I was also told that I am “too timid” to get those street shots and portraits that I now have. That I need to “go in like gang busters” and don’t care if they get upset. Well, this is not how I work and never will be. My tippy toe, sweet smile, and gentle demeanor is what has gotten me where I am, right now.
There is more to these people’s stories than a still image; a moment caught in time. You’ve probably caught on that I spend a lot of time, if possible, with the people I photograph. I talk to them as much as possible and I sit back and wait for the time to pull out the camera. There is a method and I’m not going to spill it for free, here. People often ask me how I get some of the intimate portraits and I guess it’s something that sets me apart from the millions of tourists snapping off thousands and thousands of photos on vacation in hopes for that one million dollar winner they will submit to some National Geographic contest.
There is so much that goes on behind the scenes that will never been seen, documented, or really discussed. When looking at my photos you may not realize my interaction and experience within the moment.
When I was watching a mud house being made in Yunnan, within 15 minutes the two dozen women had convinced me (not very difficult) to climb the ladder and help pack down the dirt for the exterior walls. Of course I didn’t take the camera up there with me, I left it on the ground and lived in the moment; I attempted to live the life they lead.
Living with the Uyghurs, there were days I would go out to the cotton fields with them and pick next to the family of four. Sitting on the edge of the cotton fields eating naan and pears while the women rubbed my arms and hands from all the open cuts on my hands and arms. In the evening all of us sitting around for dinner, absolutely exhausted after a full day of back breaking work. I am not a leach of a photographer, I try to give as much in return as possible. Whether it’s labor, English tutoring, or sending a package of medicine to aching gramma.
Taking walks to a stupa in Tibet, holding a little girl’s hand for nearly a mile as we walked near the shores of Lake Namu. One of the most intimate moments I have shared with anyone over the past few years, one moment that nearly brought tears to my eyes.
Going to markets with families and helping carry items home and keeping an eye on the children. Assisting in the picking out of fabrics for a new pillow and choosing the perfect amount of camel fur to be stuffed in the bedding.
I am not just a photographer, I am not just a cyclist, I am not just Eleanor. I am “Ai Lun” or “Ai Gul”, as I’m known in other parts of the world. I am a storyteller, I am the voice of those that I have captured in an intimate moment. I am an entity that can travel within borders and boundaries unnoticed, gathering as much information as possible. My experience is so much more than mileage, altitudes, and photographs. I feel as I’ve lived a dozen different lives over the past 3 years.
This month marks the 3 year anniversary of the beginning of my trip. These months home has allowed me to dig deeper and have realizations about the life of a photographer. A recent email from a photographer I highly admire commented on how I am so open about the pains, struggles, and the tragic loneliness of a photographer. We’ve all met those photographers that seem to be so confident, so Alpha, so have their shit together…you know the joke rings a bit true about there is “only one photographer allowed in a room at a time”. I’m learning that these guys are not of the majority, or at least the type I like to hang with. Although I met many more like these when living in NYC.
Although, Brooks, if you are reading this, it was such a breath of fresh air to know you aren’t like the majority either. It was such a pleasure meeting you and talking shop (2 wheels and photography).
What I want to express is that my chosen profession, although it’s hard to call something I love so much, is not what it may seem. This is not to be a boo hoo story of any sorts, but I want to share what goes into being a photographer, or a creative.
Firstly, I’m realizing that photographers (and a majority of other creatives) all have this disconnected sense from the world. Returning home, I have a few new friend photographers and some old. These people are the ones that I think, right now, offer the most of what I need emotionally and mentally. We all know how it is; often it can’t be expressed but the constant requirement of solitude is seen in our photographs. When we take the camera down from our eyes we can see within each other the long lonely path we have all chosen to get where we are.
Photographers are a lonely, secluded, lot of outcasts. I have yet to meet another that isn’t somewhat socially awkward in his or her own sense. But it’s what makes us an awesome bunch, all our little strange quirks. We are the ones that can appreciate it in one another.
Of course there is the constant commiseration of never having enough money to purchase new equipment. For many of you that don’t know, there are rental houses in NYC and all over the world that cater to us. The working class photographer. I don’t know how many times my equipment has been snubbed by high dollar flash packers carrying the best equipment around on their grand tour. They are not professionals, but their 6 figure income can afford the luxuries that us photographers salivate about some day attaining.
So, as you can see, my life as a loner has no separation from my work, social, and personal life. I work alone, I live alone, I rest alone.
Secondly, don’t you think the camera is a way for a photographer to separate themselves from the actual moment, the people, the experience? Again, symbolism for being disconnected, an outsider. We are always on the rim of the experience, hoping to blend in and not to distract our actors of the story we are documenting. It’s a fine and delicate dance and many people can’t do this.
The files, or film, are taken home and we spend hours and hours alone editing, and re-editing. If we are lucky enough to have a strong body of work we then begin submission. Hours spent researching contacts and countless emails. Hopefully you’ll have 1/10 respond with some sort of interest in seeing more. It’s emotionally draining, as you send your images out, that incorporate your heart and soul – to only be rejected.
I have always had an idea of the lonely life of an artist or photographer but it hasn’t been until the last months that I’ve really been able to culminate these thoughts and realizations into words.
These days I find myself grappling with the fact that this may be my route for the rest of my existence. I am a huntress and like all good hunters, the task must be tackled alone. Can this be possible? Can I continue through with disregard for my emotional and mental need for companionship, friendships, family?
There is the post tour depression, I’m not going to lie one damn bit to you about it. I’ve slept the entire weekend away and now I feel like I just popped out of it at 4 am on Monday morning. Friends tell me, “How can you be depressed, look at what you have! Look what you have done!”
Do you remember in my interview when I talked about when I came “home” I saw how much shit is in our lives here and how “little we have”. By comparison to these people with nothing and their lives seem so complete as they have something that majority of us in the West don’t have. Something that has been lost in our culture and society. It’s hard for me not to sit here, typing, editing, drinking my tea seeing what I don’t have. It will be worse when I go back to Shanghai. No friends, no family, no lover, no real community.
I’ve tried to convince myself for years that I can live, survive, and be content without the previous mentioned. That my heart can deal with the solitude and the loneliness. But these sleepless nights, with my pillows wrapped around me and a death grip around my teddy bear…I begin to doubt my strength to continue on, alone.
The goal for the remainder of the year is to find a sweet balance, in everything.
Are you tired of hearing about the loneliness yet? Well, no one really writes about it, and too many blogs stop after the riding. For you all looking for my cycling stories, I left off on the Assey Plateau in Kazakhstan – which will be the one year anniversary next week. We are going to get back on track with a cycling post!
I thought I’d share a story about the below photo, as I edit some images of Central Asia.
There was a small village that I stayed at for two days in Uzbekistan, near the Tajikistan border. This man dancing in front of the camera was one of those men I despise being around. The first conversation developed around my personal life and he asked me if I had a disease and if that is why I was child’less.
Of course it’s a common question, but only out there would men be so rude and nasty to me about it. What if I did have a disease, what if I can’t conceive…what does he care…he needed to ask this question in front of other men.
This story isn’t so unrelated to the current post. An outcast; disconnected; a stranger.
I’ll slowly begin to transform this blog into stories with images, perhaps one photograph and my inner ramblings.
Uighur work published online in The Atlantic
CLICK HERE to be directed to The Atlantic
Three years ago I set out on a journey and exploration of myself and China. Now I sit here, seeing the greater purpose of my life, direction, and vision. It was never just a bike ride for me…it was something so much more.
Feeling Lesser Than A Woman (Does that mean I’m a man?)
Oh dear God, Allah, Buddha…it’s been ages since I’ve sat down and pecked out my thoughts to share with you and you and you and you and you.
Here I am, sitting in Dayton, Ohio listening to some modern folk, alt-country rock and sipping my herbal tea with soy milk…my stress at an all time high (unable to sleep and eat) and my back in constant pain. Okay…okay…okay…here we go. Are you ready?
Like I’ve stated here before, “I’m more woman than you could handle.” I know this simple fact about me, but here in the other “real world” when I’m sitting here alone in my room behind a flickering computer screen hoping for a loving transmission from anyone…the doubt creeps in faster than the cold into my feet on the Tibetan plateau.
Don’t get me wrong, I have no desire to go on a date. I have no desire to have to do all that relationship stuff because I just don’t have time or the energy for it. Everything in my life, I have made or chosen, is difficult and love is one thing I feel like I shouldn’t have to work so hard at. Frankly, because, well I deserve it…damn it! (To be quite honest, I’m not yet over something of the past.)
Okay, I’m trying to keep this cohesive and lucid, before I run off the rails.
I do NOT have “balls”. –edit- Perhaps this just comes with being in a territory that is predominately men. My hair has come up in conversation close to a dozen times and I really doubt men have these types of comments made to them. For the record, I do not shave my armpits or leg hair…so men make comments about this and sometimes it goes further. I’m realizing that the people who make these comments to me are making cheap shots because I threaten their masculinity. Such a pity. Such a pity that a human life form that has a frailer bone structure, less muscle mass (generally), can conceive and birth life form, has a higher thresh hold for pain, and generally better at endurance challenge your XY chromosome. -edit-
This is not to be a men bashing post at all because some of the worst bullying I’ve received in my life was from female peers. Also, I want to state that all the men I’ve traveled with were always decent. Most of the men I’ve crossed paths with on two wheels have been, there are a few rotten ones I have encountered…or maybe it was over inflated egos.
I was a “tomboy”. The only girl in a neighborhood of boys. The baseball was hit further, the tree was climbed higher, and the punches thrown harder. When I got tired of being the “nurse” when playing “war” or having to tend to the fort while the boys were out hunting and gathering…I would retreat to my room and play Barbie’s – ALONE. Once a week I would attend Girl Scouts and my dance classes that went on for about eight years – the one thing in my life I regret giving up. I wasn’t all boy, I was still a girl…with long stringy tangly brown hair.
There is a memory of getting ready for my First Communion and I remember looking at my knees. They looked horrible…scabs, cuts, bruises continuing all the way down the calves. Of course I couldn’t remember how I got them, of course outside having fun as any normal child would. My mom told me it was nothing but I remember looking at other girl’s legs and they didn’t look like mine. I knew I was different from a very young age, and it’s been a battle every day.
The internet personality, the Wander Cyclist, probably appears cute and confident. You may think that I was a pretty popular girl growing up. “Popular” if you mean teased and gossiped about. If you mean not getting invited to slumber parties, and later on “make out” parties. I always had the pretty friend (or “easy”), where I was left in the shadow. Ellen of yesteryear was terribly awkward and “different”. A very small southern town in Virginia, I always knew I didn’t belong with the masses. With the gangs. With the others.
Maybe the reason I’m so “tough” now, why I can handle what I’ve put myself through is because growing up was far from “easy” and “comfortable”.
Gender roles. This is what I’m trying to get to. Defining attributes, physical, mental, and emotional.
It’s 2013 and I’ve been reading articles on the internet and following some popular culture. What is with all this women bashing.? I’m also talking about women bashing other women, i.e. a woman stating that a cheerleader was too chunky to be cheering. What is wrong with us, WOMEN?! Damn it, you and I have it hard enough and then we go around criticizing one another for their body type and what we’ve chosen to cover it with.
Why is that the only thing a woman has to offer society is her looks?
Just go take a gander at any modern man’s magazine and look at the imagery of women. That is not real! Real women do not look like that. Real women have something so much more to offer. Real women are mother’s taking care of their children, with extra weight and perhaps stretch marks. Real women are the ones in politics fighting for justice, using their brains. Real women are those that are on the front lines in our military. Real women are the ones that live for themselves, that better themselves, that have something more to offer this world than a good pair of perky tits and a slim waist.
I recently watched the first two minutes from a comedian, Miss Marbles, and she was ranting about the people she hates at the airport. She spent two whole minutes explaining how she doesn’t trust girls who can travel with only a backpack. “What kind of girl are YOU?” I’m watching her overly made up face, and coiffed hair to have a “messy” look ramble on about how her makeup takes up a certain amount of space. I don’t know Miss Marbles, what kind of girl AM I? Yes, I do wear makeup…stick of eyeliner, mascara, one eye shadow, and maybe a lipstick or two. Simple. Yes. Hey, and get this…I love wearing dresses too. One major reason is because I have difficulty with pants because of my cycling legs. What kind of girl AM I? I’m a girl that wears sports bras all the time because wires jabbing into my rib cage are uncomfortable and only to give perky breasts for the benefit of WHO?
Am I a woman?
Well, I’m beginning to think I’m not by the standards that are sent through the media. That I may never be. I honestly should quit spending time on this question because I know something most people will never know. I know me. I know who I am, what I stand for…I can spend days and days with only myself. No fear of what I may learn or realize. Comfort with who I am.
This isn’t so cycling and tour related, or even photography related but I really felt like some things needed to be stated.
I do think my tour took some characteristics away from me that are usually deemed “female”. OR…or…MAYBE, JUST MAYBE…I never had them to begin with and my struggles pre-tour was more about trying to fit into what was expected of an XX human.
Maybe we are all a blank slate and we become conditioned by media, friends, and family to fit into a certain gender mold. I know that straight men who may be seen to have female characteristics have it much more difficult than us straight females. So, to conclude this post I’d like to ask all of you to do a simple challenge is to drop the definitions, to quit being a “man” or a “woman” and just be you.
With these conclusions, I do know that when I’m ready for love it will not be a man and a woman, a boyfriend and a girlfriend, but two completely equal human beings. Undefined. The other will not define the other. The relationship will not define anyone’s worthiness. Each will be a protector. Each will be a provider. Each our own. The most important, the respect of each other’s solitude.
Well folks, I’m not sure how this went but I hope you can take something from it. Mostly, I hope some little odd ball girl stumbles across this post and realizes she is far from alone. That the whole wide world is out there, waiting for her. That she has the courage to do it alone…and it’s best that way.
Men make comments about how there are few women like me out there in the world. Well, I’ll tell you this, by the amount of private emails and notes I know for a fact a lot more of us exist. But, it’s a fact we are more difficult to find and even more difficult to catch. You’ll find us tucked away in bookstores, on a lonely trail, in a tent on a plateau, in an NGO office in some far off country, or as simple as standing alone in the grocery with a frozen pizza under one arm and debating over which micro brew to indulge in for the evening.
Don’t forget about the Etsy store. I’m trying to raise funds for my big move back to Shanghai and unfortunately things aren’t going so smooth. I ACTUALLY cried last night. I thought I couldn’t do that anymore…I’m trying to soften up. The life on a road has toughened me up, perhaps too much. A boy nicknamed me “Ice Princess” in my early twenties…and I guess it’s just gotten colder since then. But we all know that usually the people with that thick and cold exterior are often the softest, warmest, and most loving under it all.
http://www.etsy.com/shop/MosemanPhotography
Also, my website is under construction, 4 portfolios up now. Go check it if you’d like to kill some time today. Ah, yes, and the book for the Kickstarter rewards is in progress, and additional will be for sale.
I’d love to write more, but maybe I should save some stuff for that book I’m supposed to write someday.