minkahsieh

[minkahsieh]

Episode 22: Greek Food Journey

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman's Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

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Part 1: The Plan Chapter 4: Setting Foot on the Silk Road "I am doing something that will make me like myself more after I've done it."

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Greek Food Journey – Greece, DAY 63

After finding downtown Patras, Yorg drove me back to his place.

Yorg was a university student in Patras who shared an apartment with another roommate. His roommate had gone to his parents' home for a couple of days, so it was just Yorg and me. Yorg was quite hospitable—he invited his university classmate Sophie to his home and treated us to a Greek specialty snack called Souvlaki (σουβλάκι). It was a white wrap topped with so many french fries that they overflowed from the bread. The appearance alone was quite appetizing. Yorg said the classic element of this snack was the white sauce inside, made from a mixture of yogurt and garlic, which perfectly combined all the ingredients in the wrap.

Before sleeping, I opened my laptop to check my blog posts, especially the one about seeking travel fund support. I secretly prayed for some miracle to happen, instantly solving my travel fund problem.

There were many responses online. Many people gave support and helped share the post, while others directly expressed disapproval: "I really don't understand how someone can go out to have fun and then ask others to pay for their travel?" Others questioned: "If you said you were going to travel by bicycle, why are you taking a ferry?" The comments varied, and though I couldn't see their expressions, the words felt like fanged faces gnawing at my confidence.

I closed my laptop, trying not to reread those messages and stopping the negative infinite loop in my head. They made me feel helpless and vulnerable. Indeed, I asked myself, what right did I have to ask others to pay for my travel? How many people read my articles, and how much were they worth? I didn't know, and I didn't know what else I could do.

Oh well, I'll take it one step at a time! I still had half of my travel funds left. I just needed to be even more frugal, though I didn't know how I could save any more.

Bidding farewell to Yorg, I continued eastward.

From here to Athens, there was only one road, so I didn't have to worry about getting lost as I did in Italy.

In Loutraki, my Couchsurfing hosts were Evan and Anna, a Greek couple who loved Shaolin kung fu. Anna was learning Chinese, and next summer they planned to go to the Shaolin Temple together for a month of intensive kung fu training.

"Maybe you can teach me kung fu, and I can teach Anna Chinese," I suggested with a smile.

"That's a great idea!" Anna happily agreed. We sat together in the living room around a low table made from two white-painted pallets stacked together.

This apartment belonging to Anna and Evan had a space shared by the living room and kitchen, plus another small room that could accommodate a double bed. They let me sleep in the bed in the room, while the two of them squeezed onto a small sofa bed in the living room.

"We're really happy you came and want to give you a good welcome. Evan's cooking is excellent. Tonight he'll make pasta, and we'll eat together. I love his pasta so much," Anna sat next to me, chatting happily non-stop. Evan had charming blue eyes and always responded to Anna's words with a smile.

Anna glanced at Evan as if suddenly remembering something, clapped her hands and said excitedly: "Min, actually if you stay one more night tomorrow, Evan will have more time to prepare, and tomorrow evening we can have Dakos, a Cretan rusk dish. It's mine and Evan's favorite Greek dish!" She gave Evan a little push as she finished.

"Yes! If you stay one more day, I'd be happy to prepare this dish for us to enjoy together," Evan immediately added.

This scene seemed both adorable and touching. I looked at their enthusiastic eyes and said, "Well, I heard it's going to rain tomorrow, so I might as well stay another day!"

After I said this, the three of us burst into laughter in the living room.

The next morning, Anna took me to visit her parents, bringing back many fresh small tangerines, and we also visited Evan at work. Evan worked in a small shop similar to a bubble tea store.

Evan had another job in the summer. The local beaches were packed with tourists during summer, which was a good opportunity for locals to make money.

"In summer, there are men who specifically try to seduce foreign hotties. Before summer arrives, they take muscle-building drugs so they can show off their muscular (but actually weak) bodies in summer and ask women on the beach: 'Hello! Would you like to have a Greek lover?'" Anna told me as we walked.

After returning home, I found some simple Chinese practice materials online for Anna to start learning and arranged some homework so she could study gradually following the materials.

During a break, Anna told me about her current life situation.

She had previously worked in a clothing store with hours from 9 a.m. to 2 p.m., then a break until 5 p.m., and then back to work until 9 p.m. She worked six days a week for a monthly salary of just 500 euros. Her boss often asked her to work overtime without pay. Anna felt that almost all her time was spent working, leaving her unable to do what she wanted, and she wasn't earning much money, so she quit. She decided that rather than complaining every day, it was better to take time to reflect on what kind of life she truly wanted.

When Evan returned from work, we went to the park to practice kung fu. I imitated their movements, striking poses with some semblance of style.

"Min, your postures are all very standard! You must have learned kung fu before, right?" Evan asked in surprise. I shook my head.

"I've heard that Asians have kung fu flowing in their blood. Seeing your movements today confirms this!" Anna was quite excited about this discovery.

"You should know, we grew up watching kung fu movies," I said, touching my nose in imitation of Bruce Lee, though they didn't seem to know who Bruce Lee was.

In the evening, Evan prepared the promised Cretan Dakos for dinner, topped with thick Feta cheese. I had eaten Feta cheese in Germany and didn't like its sour taste, but now, for some reason, I was crazy about the taste of Feta melting in my mouth.

"Please! How can you compare our Greek Feta cheese with German Feta!" Anna joked.

The Cretan rusk combined with fresh tomatoes and olive oil, merging with the Feta in my mouth, was absolutely delicious!

Evan said he had added a lot of garlic because he and Anna both liked it, hoping I wouldn't find it too strong.

"Fantastic! Perfect!" I mimicked the Italian phrase of praise, telling Evan I absolutely loved the flavor.

"If you stay one more day tomorrow, I can prepare another dish called Skordalia (garlic potato dip), and we can invite some other friends to gather at home," Evan happily suggested.

"Your food is really tempting me! But I need to check flights from Athens to Istanbul first. I've arranged to book tickets with my boyfriend today, and after booking, I'll know how many days I need to get to Athens."

Due to visa restrictions, I could only enter Turkey through three designated airports. So I planned to fly from Athens to Istanbul, and this short flight distance would cost nearly 300 euros.

I was originally upset about this expensive flight plan but received a surprise from Kamil. He wrote me a letter: "Next month during the Lunar New Year holiday, I plan to fly to Istanbul to celebrate the holiday with you."

"Hey! How are you?" Kamil came online promptly at 4 p.m.

"Hi! I'm good. I've eaten lots of Greek food here; Evan and Anna are really nice. Have you arranged your holiday schedule?" I asked, as I needed to coordinate with his vacation time to book flights.

"Yes, my holiday starts from the second day of the Lunar New Year, so I can buy a ticket for the evening of February 1st and arrive in Istanbul at 10 a.m. the next day."

Looking at the dates, I found a cheap flight at noon on February 2nd, with just over an hour of flying time.

Tsk! To pay so much for just an hour seemed really not worth it.

After booking the tickets and calculating, I had nine days left—plenty of time. After discussing with Anna and Evan, I decided to stay two more days.

"You can stay as long as you want. I'm happy to have you here, and you can teach me Chinese as well," Anna said after hearing my plan, excitedly discussing the menu for the next two days with Evan.

To thank Evan and Anna for preparing so many delicious meals for me, on the last day, I made two dishes in return. Although my cooking skills were just learned on the spot from the internet, their reactions were quite positive, which gave me a sense of satisfaction from my contribution.

🚴‍♀️ Episode 22: Greek Food Journey

I'm not sure if my love for Greek food now is because of Evan and Anna, or because the tangy, garlicky flavors suit my taste buds. Either way, I think I fell in love with Greek cuisine because of these two wonderful hosts.

Closing Remarks

✨ Your Turn: Has a personal connection ever changed your relationship with a particular food or cuisine? I'd love to hear about your taste adventures!

📅 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: "History Lesson"

[minkahsieh]

Episode 21: Goodbye Italy

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman's Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

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Part 1: The Plan Chapter 4: Setting Foot on the Silk Road "I am doing something that will make me like myself more after I've done it."

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Goodbye Italy – Greece, DAY 59

An hour before departure, I purchased my ferry ticket and sat with others in the waiting room, sheltering from the strong, cold winds assaulting the dock.

Most of those waiting for the ferry were truck drivers. None of them spoke English, but smiles and gestures are international languages, and my bicycle with its massive luggage beside me served as my goodwill ambassador.

Since we couldn't chat, they invited me to join their circle watching them play backgammon. I didn't understand the rules of the game and had no one to ask, so I just sat aside studying how they played.

After some time, someone gestured to ask where I was going.

"Greece," I said.

The person mentioned another place name, but I wasn't certain, so I showed him my ticket.

After looking at my ticket, he started shouting. Suddenly, the entire waiting room was in commotion. I looked at them in bewilderment until someone finally said to me in English: "You! You go! Now!"

What did he mean? Weren't we all waiting for the same 8 o'clock ferry? But looking at the time, it was already nearly 7:45 p.m.!

Several people pointed desperately toward a direction outside, urging me to hurry. Heavens! How did I not realize they might be waiting for different ships? What was I doing?

I jumped up, grabbed my bike, and rushed in the direction they pointed. But the dock was so large, and it was already dark—I had no idea where the ship was.

"Quick! Quick! Quick!" Looking back, one of the backgammon players had rushed out and was pointing toward one of the ships.

"Thank you!" I thanked him in Italian and pedaled toward the ferry.

The port was huge. It took nearly five minutes of riding to reach the ship, just in time to be the last "vehicle" to board.

"Hello, are you going here?" I double-checked before boarding, but I couldn't pronounce the destination, Patras, correctly, so I showed my ticket to the crew member.

"Yes, dear," replied the crew member, a small man with a long beard on his face.

"Where can I park my bicycle?" I asked, wheeling my bike across the metal plate between the ship and land, seeing the entire space crowded with large trucks.

"Dear, just leave your bike here. Don't worry, I'm here. I'll keep an eye on it for you," the long-bearded crew member pointed to a spot near the stairwell.

I wheeled my bike over and locked it to the ship's structure. Although it was unlikely anyone would steal my bike at sea, the lock gave me peace of mind!

The ferry was much larger than I had imagined, and the wave motion wasn't as strong as expected, but I still swallowed a motion sickness pill.

A ferry ticket cost forty euros, or seventy euros with a bed. After budget considerations, I chose the ticket without a bed. Fortunately, there were sofas in the cabin, but all the more private spots were occupied with sleepers, leaving only the restaurant entrance area.

This was a high-traffic area, not an ideal place to sleep, but lying down could reduce the feeling of swaying. So I decided to put image concerns aside, used my backpack as a pillow, found a comfortable position, and closed my eyes to enter the swaying dreamland, ignoring the gazes of passersby.

Around noon the next day, the ferry finally arrived at Patras, Greece. Although my seasickness wasn't severe, I had taken medication twice and could only maintain a lying position. Each time I tried to sit up, I immediately felt dizzy, but it was still far better than I had anticipated.

I excitedly set foot on Greek soil. Although this was still part of the European Union, it felt somehow different—at least I had never been to this country before.

After organizing my gear, I continued on, trying to find directional signs in the desolate dock, but couldn't find any. "At least indicate the direction of the exit!" I complained to the azure sky.

Riding out of the dock, I randomly chose a direction, hoping to encounter someone to ask for directions. Fortunately, not long after leaving the dock, I met a mother pushing a stroller.

"Hello, could you tell me which way is the city center?" I stopped on the road and politely asked the mother for directions.

"You need to go back in that direction," she pointed toward the way I had come.

How surprising—this mother spoke fluent English. It seemed I had really left Italy.

After riding back about two hundred meters, I saw around twenty people crouching in the bushes on the opposite side of the road, as if lying in ambush for something. They looked left and right at the road, and when large trucks stopped at a scale-like place, seven or eight of them would surround the truck to talk to the driver.

"Maybe they're helping unload cargo?" I muttered to myself. Curious about what they were doing, I unconsciously stopped to watch.

The truck driver ignored these people and drove away. Puzzled, I was about to ask them what they were doing when the mother I had asked for directions earlier approached with her stroller and said to me: "Don't get too close to those people. They're illegal immigrants trying to find ways to smuggle themselves into Italy."

My strongest impression of the term "illegal immigrants" came from "Enrique's Journey." When reading the book, I learned about the protagonist's background and the bitterness that made his journey necessary, and I hoped he would successfully reach the United States.

Looking back at those people hiding in the bushes, I didn't know who they were, what hardships they faced, where they were going, or whether I should wish them well or be afraid of them.

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Closing Remarks

✨ Your Turn: Have you ever had an encounter that changed your perspective on a complex social issue? How did that personal experience compare to what you'd previously learned through media?

📅 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: "Greek Food Journey"

[minkahsieh]

Episode 20: Indecent Exposure

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman's Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

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Part 1: The Plan Chapter 4: Setting Foot on the Silk Road "I am doing something that will make me like myself more after I've done it."

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Indecent Exposure – Italy, DAY 59

After two days of rest, I felt much better. Next time I really shouldn't be so greedy—getting caught in the rain for half a day in near-freezing weather, it would be strange not to catch a cold.

Heading toward Brindisi, I found myself on the highway again, which I disliked the most.

Actually, cycling on highways is quite flat and comfortable, but the cars whizzing past and the monotonous landscape diminish the joy of bicycle travel.

A white van stopped on a small path in the field, adding a visual focal point to this remote, boring scenery. As I passed, I couldn't help but glance back: a man stood behind the vehicle, naked from the waist down, facing the highway and standing straight.

"What is this man doing?" I wondered silently, my heart skipping a beat.

I immediately turned my head back, facing forward and continuing to ride, hoping that guy hadn't noticed my glance. My heart began pounding harder and harder. I didn't dare look back, just pretended to be serious and pedaled desperately forward.

After riding for some distance, I was still safe on the road. I caught my breath and reassured myself that everything should be fine now.

Suddenly, a car sped past behind me toward an exit ramp, honking twice at me. Instinctively looking back, I saw it was the white van. The man in the driver's seat had his window down and was grinning lecherously, exposing his lower half to me. My brain felt like it had been hit hard—I had no idea how long this car had been following me. The blood vessels at my temples throbbed violently. I gripped the handlebars with all my might, repeating to myself: "Don't be afraid, don't be afraid!"

The sign indicated Brindisi was still twenty kilometers away. God! I still had to ride twenty kilometers on this road. I just wanted to escape this place quickly!

After a while, my heartbeat gradually calmed down. I tried to adjust my emotions, focusing on the distant road to divert my attention. A blue sedan parked by the roadside once again became the focus of my vision. Behind the car was a person—looking carefully, it was another man standing there, naked from the waist down.

"Damn! Damn! Damn damn damn damn damn!" My heart, which had just settled down, instantly began boiling again. I started screaming internally, completely at a loss for what to do.

Calm down! Calm down! Pretend this person doesn't exist. I'm going to pretend I didn't see him and ride past steadily.

I rode past, good! Don't look back, just like before. It'll be fine, it'll be fine!

"Beep beep!" A car from my left rear honked at me and drove to my left.

It was that blue sedan! He had opened the passenger window, but I decided to continue ignoring the car's existence, riding straight ahead.

"Go away! Go away! Get lost!" I screamed in my heart, but it was useless. He kept driving parallel to me.

My Swiss Army knife was in the hidden pocket on my chest. Perhaps I should take it out, but what then?

The blue sedan, due to its slow speed, was honked at urgently by cars behind, forcing him to speed up and move forward. Seeing him forced ahead, I immediately reduced my pedaling power to lower my speed.

The blue car was continuously urged by several more cars behind, forcing him to accelerate again. I watched the car getting farther away, inwardly cheering loudly!

"You bastard! Get lost!" I kept cursing in my mind. I was truly terrified and didn't know what to do. I could only pray for him to leave quickly.

The blue sedan kept being pushed forward by approaching cars and finally exited at an off-ramp.

This was truly a huge relief—the despicable fellow had finally left! Brindisi was approaching. I'd put in a little more effort to finish today's journey quickly. The adrenaline had already made my entire body tense and unable to breathe. I accelerated, pedaling hard forward, passing the off-ramp where the blue sedan had exited. I couldn't help but look down. The car was still there, and he must have seen me, slowly driving back up the on-ramp to the highway.

Now I couldn't move forward or backward; I could only continue riding with determination. At this point, the blue sedan returned to the highway, again behind me.

He tried to squeeze in on my right side, making me closer to the driver's seat.

The moment he approached, I made a sudden brake, allowing his car to continue forward, avoiding any possibility of getting close to that man. Now he was ahead of me again, and the approaching cars behind forced him to continue forward, so he exited the highway at the next off-ramp.

This time I had learned from experience and didn't speed up. Instead, I deliberately moved forward at a turtle's pace.

Sure enough, as I expected, the blue sedan seemed to grow impatient waiting below and drove back up, appearing ahead. When he discovered I was still behind, he wanted to stop at the on-ramp but was again urged forward by cars behind.

I realized he didn't seem to have the courage to do anything to me on the highway, but this harassment had already made my entire body tremble. I could only deal with it cautiously.

This cycle repeated several rounds. Sometimes he would still get behind me, but he only kept forcing his car closer. I could only continue pretending to leisurely move forward slowly, waiting for cars behind to push him forward again. My entire nervous system was stretched to the breaking point.

Finally, I reached the end of the highway. As I returned to the surface road, I desperately rode toward the city center signs, rushed into the crowd and traffic, stopped, and took out my phone, pretending to make a call.

The blue sedan passed by me at this moment, held down the horn, and turned right to leave.

I was safe! I was among people—this bastard wouldn't dare do anything to me!

My hand holding the phone was shaking, and my foot supporting me on the ground was also trembling violently. Tears began flowing from the corners of my eyes. I was truly frightened, but thankfully nothing had happened. I breathed deeply and quickly, trying to gather my emotions. Today's journey wasn't over; I needed to pull myself together quickly. The ferry to Greece at 8 p.m. wouldn't be delayed because of my sadness and fear.

Steadying my emotions, I went to a pharmacy to buy motion sickness medication. I recalled feeling like I was about to vomit my stomach out on the journey from Taitung to Orchid Island a few years ago. Back then, Kamil was taking care of me, so I didn't worry even when I vomited to the point of near unconsciousness. This distance compared to the Orchid Island experience would be "a small witch meeting a big witch," and I was alone this time. Despite knowing I'm prone to seasickness, something was wrong with my nerves that I still planned such a route. My heart weighed the decision between trying three methods—sea, land, air—and the physical suffering, with the former winning out. So now I had to face the consequences of this stubborn decision.

There was still plenty of time before the ferry departed. Now I needed to solve a few more problems.

I found a café to sit down, wrote a farewell diary entry to Italy, and published a blog post seeking travel fund support.

Before departing, I had estimated that my travel funds would be completely spent in Italy. I'm very grateful for the warm hospitality of Couchsurfing hosts along the way, allowing me to still have half of my budget. But the journey home had not yet reached even one-third completion, and ahead lay substantial visa fees. If I didn't quickly find a solution, the time to suspend my plans wouldn't be far off.

So I thought of an approach—initiating a sponsorship plan on my blog, from the perspective of paying to read my travel articles, hoping that people who enjoy these stories could support me in completing this journey together.

After posting the article, I wrote a letter to Kamil: "Hey, I just encountered a pervert! He followed me in his car for a long time. I was very scared, I just kept riding and riding, thankfully he finally left. I'm about to take a ferry to Greece. I'm already starting to feel seasick. I don't know what to do if I vomit until I pass out like last time. I've bought seasickness medication. I wish you were here."

After writing, I read it twice, then deleted the letter.

I was scared and wanted to cry out, but I was more afraid he would reply: "Riding to Italy is enough," or "You can return after reaching Greece."

I took a napkin and wiped the unceasing tears from my face. This was my own choice; I didn't want to complain about it. I just felt very helpless, with no one to rely on or hide behind. Besides, the next stage of the journey was about to begin, leaving no time even for self-pity.

Looking at the empty chair at the next table and the lazy, idle waiter nearby—the entire café had only me, just like this journey home.

Tears wiped dry, I forced myself to stand up again. Now, I had to face the problems of the next stage of the journey.

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Closing Remarks

✨ Your Turn: Have you ever encountered a threatening situation while traveling alone? What strategies did you use to keep yourself safe and escape danger? I'd appreciate hearing about your experiences and safety tips.

📅 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: "Goodbye Italy"

[minkahsieh]

Episode 19: The Surprise Room

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman's Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

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Part 1: The Plan Chapter 4: Setting Foot on the Silk Road "I am doing something that will make me like myself more after I've done it."

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The Surprise Room – Italy, DAY 57

My Couchsurfing host in Taranto, Marcus, was a German architect who had been living in Italy for seven years. He had purchased this building in Taranto's old town, which should have been three stories high.

Why do I say "should have been"? Because the structure had many mezzanine floors and a high-ceiling design on the first floor that extended straight to the roof, making it difficult for me to discern the different levels.

Marcus's living space was on the third floor, with minimalist interior decorations that gave the feeling of living in an exhibition space.

I slept in the spacious living room, with just a sofa bed and a TV cabinet without a television. Compared to other parts of the house, this area was relatively well-organized. The walls showed traces of cement repairs, displaying a new grayish-white tone that merged with the ancient brick-red and white wall surfaces.

Marcus had gradually acquired this house, which was nominally divided into pieces, from different owners. He was trying to restore the house to its most original appearance, but apart from the severely damaged structure of the house itself, there were still more than eight different property owners, all of which increased the complexity of the renovation work.

Marcus said the house had a history of at least four hundred years. Later, with changes in the environment and times, people gradually divided the house into many irregularly shaped small apartments. The structure was modified haphazardly by successive owners, leaving the house preserved in bizarre shapes.

However, almost all houses in Taranto's old town had suffered the same fate. On the second floor of the house across the street, you could see traces of a removed balcony and different colored cement on the wall filling in what appeared to be an arched doorway. Most of these buildings had been abandoned; people no longer lived in this old part of town.

Marcus enthusiastically showed me his masterpiece. We walked into a small room to the left of the first-floor plaza, where there was a square hole in the ground. Marcus said it was one of the first secret rooms he discovered, and he couldn't guess what it was used for. Curiously, I climbed down the ladder Marcus had installed and turned on the recently added lighting. It was a rectangular secret chamber about five meters high and three to four meters wide.

Next, we walked to the other side of the house and stopped in front of a staircase leading to the basement.

"This door was completely sealed off, and the original owner didn't know what was behind it. Thinking it might be a storage room, they simply gave it to me. I spent a lot of time slowly clearing this entrance and discovered it was a door of surprises," he said, leading me inside.

The staircase was now equipped with electric lights, making it easy to see the path and surroundings. This truly was a door of surprises—the stairs led to a spacious area that Marcus said his friend planned to turn into a dance studio.

This underground space had another path extending forward, ending in darkness. Marcus said he hadn't yet had the energy to renovate that area and didn't know where it led. It was rumored that the old town was connected to the castle by the harbor through secret passages—perhaps this was one of them. I imagined the scene at the end of that darkness, connecting to a medieval castle.

Next, we walked to another corner of the basement. Marcus shined a flashlight on a hole—another blocked staircase. Who knew what it might connect to below?

"This will be one of my major projects later," he said. "Judging from the shape of the opening, it's very likely a structure from the Roman Empire period, two thousand years ago. In Italy, especially south of Rome, you can easily find centuries or millennia-old ancient structures beneath buildings. They simply built new buildings directly on top of existing old ones."

I gazed at those ancient steps—this place was truly amazing! Like the protagonist in the story of Aladdin's lamp, exploring an infinitely extending underground world!

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Closing Remarks

✨ Your Turn: How do you feel about the balance between preserving historical structures and developing new ones? In your culture or experience, what's considered "old" and how do you relate to historical spaces? I'm curious about your perspective!

📅 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: "Indecent Exposure"

[minkahsieh]

Episode 18: Just a Kiss

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman's Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

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Part 1: The Plan Chapter 4: Setting Foot on the Silk Road "I am doing something that will make me like myself more after I've done it."

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Just a Kiss – Italy, DAY 56

After saying goodbye to Stefania's family, I continued heading south.

Leaving Naples, a city rich in historical stories, was not an easy task. The roads displayed a mix of Roman-era stone pavements, years of deterioration, and traces of modern renovations.

My wheels would first roll over a short stretch of asphalt, then drop onto ancient Roman stone slabs, then tumble through countless potholes where the stone slabs had crumbled, then jump back onto stone slabs, carefully sliding over broken asphalt fragments.

These road conditions continued for several kilometers with no end in sight. My hands and backside ached from the intense vibrations. I could only smile bitterly and comfort myself by imagining I was riding on a boulevard where ancient and modern merged, experiencing the changes of time while traveling through them.

My Couchsurfing host in Salerno, Marco, lived in an apartment in an old building. Italian houses are built quite spontaneously, with residential buildings following the contours of the hills without any pattern. Marco's apartment required climbing up three flights of stairs, passing different households' doors, before reaching a cave-like dwelling.

Marco recommended that one must-see attraction in Italy was Pompeii, which I had just passed. I recalled Iginio mentioning this city on Mount Vesuvius, telling me it had been swallowed by the volcano two thousand years ago. So the next day at noon, I took a train to visit this ancient city.

At Pompeii's ticket entrance, the winter weather and rain had left the tourist site almost empty. A guided tour would cost extra, so I decided to pay just the eleven-euro entrance fee.

Just past the ticket checkpoint, I was greeted by a staff member who spoke fluent English, which was rare in Italy.

"Darling, did they give you a map of this place at the ticket counter?" asked the short staff member with a mustache.

"Um, yes, here it is." I looked and noticed that besides my ticket, the clerk had also given me a map.

"Good, darling, give me the map." He took the map, opened it, and pointed to a spot, saying, "We're here now. First, we can visit this area, and you'll understand what exactly happened in Pompeii."

I thanked this enthusiastic staff member, thinking how good Italian service was, telling you where to start right at the entrance.

Just as I was about to take back the map, I realized he was already leading me forward.

"Darling, do you see these tiny stones? These are limestone particles that erupted from the volcano." I followed the mustached man's hand and nodded.

"You see, these ash particles originally contained large amounts of gas. With the power of the volcanic eruption, they fell here and covered the entire town nearly two meters high. Look, you can see the coverage line on this wall." He took me to another ruin where I could clearly see a line on the wall separating two colors.

"So, many people say Pompeii was destroyed by volcanic lava, but that's wrong. In fact, the people here died from gas poisoning. The incident happened at night when people were sleeping, which is why we were able to excavate many people in peaceful sleeping positions. But these are just researchers' speculations, as no records were left to tell us exactly what happened. Now, let me take you to the next place." The mustached man still held my map and walked toward the next direction.

"Excuse me, wait a moment." Something felt off—this entrance service was too good, almost like a guided tour. To avoid misunderstanding, I decided to clarify. "I didn't pay for a guided tour."

"Ah?" The mustached man paused and looked at me again. "No problem, darling. After the tour, you can just give me a kiss here." He pointed to his lips with his left index finger.

"Um, sorry, I can't kiss you either." In Italy, I knew rejection had to be straightforward and direct—absolutely no Asian-style politeness, or they would think I was playing hard to get.

"What? Not even a kiss?" I saw his shocked and disappointed expression, as if saying this was such a bargain and I still refused.

"Yes, no kissing either." I thought my message was clear—if you don't want to lose out, then back off; I won't pay and I won't kiss anyone.

"Fine! Then a kiss here is also acceptable." The mustached man showed a helpless face and pointed to his cheek with his index finger.

"Um, not there either." Apparently in Italy, people will bargain with you even on this. I imitated him by pointing to my own cheek, then wagged the same finger at him several times.

We were at a standoff for a while until he finally spoke again: "Alright! No problem. Since you're a beautiful woman, I'll guide you for free today! Rest assured, I am a legal professional Pompeii guide." He showed me the badge hanging on his chest.

Of course, at the end of the tour, this kiss-seeking mustached gentleman hoped I would kiss his cheek. I figured this was also part of Italian farewell customs, so I gave his cheek a quick kiss as thanks for the tour.

Thanks to this guide, I learned a lot about the historical background. Pompeii was active from ancient Greek to Roman Empire times (400 BCE to early CE). From the houses, shops, installations, and art left in the city, it was evident that over two thousand years ago, this was a very wealthy metropolis.

After exploring for more than four hours, I reluctantly left when the park was closing at dusk. As a result, I was caught in the rain for half the day, soaked from my feet to my thighs.

Sure enough, the next morning I woke up with a splitting headache and had vomited twice. I decided to take a train directly from Salerno to my Couchsurfing host's home in Taranto to recover.

---

📅 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: "The Surprise Room"

[minkahsieh]

Episode 17: Sweet Family

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman's Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

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Part 1: The Plan Chapter 4: Setting Foot on the Silk Road "I am doing something that will make me like myself more after I've done it."

---

Sweet Family – Italy, DAY 51

Upon reaching Naples and contacting Federico's sister Stefania, I discovered I had a slight fever.

Stefania was a woman of elegance. Her husband Iginio was three years younger than her and the epitome of a good husband and father. Stefania secretly told me that when she first met Iginio, she immediately knew he was the man she'd been looking for—they shared common values about raising children.

They lived in a sixth-floor apartment. Across the hall was Iginio's brother's home, where his sister-in-law had just given birth to a beautiful and adorable baby. There was also a lively little dog in the house.

Entering Stefania's home, you arrived directly in the living room. To the right was the kitchen and dining area, with a television and several of their precious daughter Mati's drawings hanging on the dining room wall. On the TV screen was a sticker of Groucho Marx with his quote: "I find television very educational. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the next room and read a book."

The television was a housewarming gift from friends, but since they didn't watch TV and felt it would be inappropriate to regift it, they decided to hang it up as a decorative piece. Looking more closely at the drawings beside the TV, one depicted the Eiffel Tower, an elderly white-haired couple, and another couple holding the hand of a little girl.

Stefania explained that this was drawn by her daughter Mati. The white-haired elderly couple was her and Iginio, while the couple on the left holding a little girl's hand was Mati herself with her future partner, also with a little daughter. Mati felt her current life was so happy that she wanted to create a family exactly like her parents' in the future.

Next to the kitchen and dining area was a bathroom, and across from it a small room that served as the adults' study, filled with bookshelves, a desk, and a computer. Next to the study was their master bedroom, and beyond that was Mati's room.

"We've already agreed with Mati that during your stay, this room is yours," Stefania said.

I placed my luggage in the corner of the room, looking around at the princess-like bed and bookshelves, recalling the childish voice from our phone conversation and looking forward to meeting the little owner.

Soon after, Iginio brought Mati home from school.

Mati approached me like a little adult, very politely extending her right hand and saying in English: "Hello, my name is Mati. Nice to meet you."

Facing an eight-year-old girl, I was surprised by her formal greeting and quickly bent down to introduce myself. After shaking hands, Mati immediately reverted to being a little girl, shyly hugging her father beside her and smiling happily.

"Mati was practicing these two sentences all the way home," Iginio explained with a smile.

That evening, Iginio ordered pizza delivery and invited his brother's family from across the hall to join us for dinner.

At the dinner table, Mati often fixed her lively eyes on the conversation, waiting for the adults to give her a turn to speak. Sometimes when she thought of a new topic and got too excited, she would cover her mouth with her hands, widen her eyes, and wait even more eagerly. Iginio would always catch Mati's strong hints and find a gap in the conversation to let her express those imaginative thoughts in her mind. When Mati was happily holding forth, Iginio would pretend to faint from exhaustion, then joke quietly to me: "You know, an eight-year-old girl has an endless supply of things to say." Then he would turn back to listen to Mati and give her serious feedback.

I smiled in response, immersed in this atmosphere of happiness, enjoying the Neapolitan pizza.

The next morning, Stefania's family took me hiking up Mount Vesuvius. Iginio said it was an active volcano, and many geologists were currently worried because Vesuvius hadn't released energy for a long time, meaning a large-scale volcanic eruption might occur in the near future.

"If the volcano erupts, Naples, less than twenty kilometers below, will suffer severe damage over a large area. Many areas now designated as red zones—regions that would be directly affected by an eruption—have already been developed into high-density residential or commercial areas, yet the government hasn't imposed any restrictions. It's truly unimaginable what would happen then."

As I listened to Iginio, I gazed down from Mount Vesuvius at the rows upon rows of densely packed buildings in Naples.

---

Closing Remarks

✨ Your Turn: Have you ever met a family that made you feel completely at home, even in a foreign place? What made that connection so special?

📅 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: "Just a Kiss"

[minkahsieh]

Episode 16: Monsters on the Road

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman's Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

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Part 1: The Plan Chapter 4: Setting Foot on the Silk Road "I am doing something that will make me like myself more after I've done it."

---

Monsters on the Road – Italy, DAY 49

After leaving Rome, I could clearly feel the change in culture and environment. The people here were like Taiwanese who spoke Italian—incredibly warm and loved to get involved in others' business, giving me a sense of familiarity.

Early in the morning, my Couchsurfing host Ricardo in Latina took me to a cafe near his apartment for breakfast. Outside, there seemed to be a festival-like activity, with witch dolls hanging everywhere, creating a lively atmosphere.

We stopped to observe a plaza crowded with people and motorcycles. The area was filled with all kinds of oddly-shaped heavy motorcycles. I thought of some friends who love motorcycles—they would certainly be envious of me now. But gradually, people's attention shifted from admiring the motorcycles to focusing on me. The crowd began moving toward me, curiously asking where I was from.

After Ricardo explained my travel plans to everyone, I asked them what they were doing.

"Today is Epiphany. In Italian, 'Epiphany' sounds similar to 'Befana,' the name of a witch, so they use witch dolls to celebrate this holiday," Ricardo translated for me.

"Befana" is an Italian folk legend about an ugly old woman with a very kind heart. She liked to wear a black shawl and ride a broom through chimneys, delivering candies to poor children. Today, this group of motorcycle enthusiasts had decorated their bikes with brooms or witch figures, transforming themselves into Befana to deliver candies and the funds they had raised to orphanages.

Looking at these motorcyclists, each dressed like heavy metal rock stars, I couldn't help but imagine a muscular, tattooed Befana witch giving candy to impoverished children—an image that was somehow both adorable and jarring.

The motorcyclists completed their mission at this stop, mounted their bikes, circled the plaza twice, and rode away.

These modern versions of Befana were quite interesting, I thought to myself.

Over two hundred years ago, the Kingdoms of Naples and Florence existed in Italy. The former customs office at the national border has now been converted into a restaurant, with no trace of the soldiers who once guarded it. However, the checkpoint still preserves a stone gate connected to a mountain-sized rock behind it.

"Hello, King of Naples!" I stopped to take a photo, greeting the rock, then turned right to connect with the coastal road. The sea! An endless seascape unfolded beside the road. Even with the chilly wind blowing in my face and the sea displaying a grayish-blue hue, I was still so excited I wanted to shout—this was the first time I had seen the sea on this journey!

"Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!" An unfamiliar bell sound came from behind. Looking back, I saw two cyclists riding what looked like monster bikes.

They were "my kind"!

I immediately stopped my bike and screamed with excitement. This was the first time since the beginning of my journey that I had seen other bicycle travelers.

Céline and Benoit were a French couple who had been traveling for a year and three months. They had set out from France, passed through Spain, made a loop around Africa, flown to Turkey, and then ridden along the Balkan Peninsula to Italy. Now in the final stage of their journey, they were heading south through all of Italy, ending their trip in Sicily.

Looking at petite Céline, almost a head shorter than me, I wondered how she managed to carry all that luggage on her bike and ride up and down mountains for over a year. Is that how others see me too? I curiously examined them—so this is what I look like to others, riding a monster-like bike!

I had heard that Rome was the western starting point of the Silk Road, so now I could consider myself on the Silk Road, and I had met other fellow bicycle travelers!

---

Closing Remarks

✨ Your Turn: Have you ever had a moment when you suddenly realized you were part of something bigger than yourself? How did it change your perspective?

📅 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: "Sweet Family"

[minkahsieh]

Episode 15: Fashion Magazine

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman's Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

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Part 1: The Plan Chapter 3: I Love Italy "Where people love me, there is my home."

---

Fashion Magazine – Italy, DAY 31

Upon arriving in Rome, I experienced my first traffic accident of the journey: a vehicle making a right turn somehow hit my right rear saddlebag, and the force toppled my bike.

As I picked up my bike in a disheveled state, the culprit had already vanished—this was my first impression of Rome.

After settling in, I received a text message from Stephanie, a photographer for an Italian fashion magazine. We had briefly met in Viterbo, and she was interested in my travel story. Her message asked when I would be in Rome.

"Yes, I'm in Rome now," I replied.

"Fantastic! I've already told the magazine about your story, and they're very interested. Would you be willing to spare a day for us to interview you and take some photos to publish in our fashion magazine?"

Appear in a magazine? And an Italian fashion magazine at that? There was no reason to say "no," right? But looking at my disheveled appearance, how could I possibly be featured in a fashion magazine?

"It would be my honor, but I'm currently traveling and look somewhat like a vagrant. I'm not sure if I can meet your requirements." In truth, I wanted to shout that I was willing—please make me look beautiful and put me in the magazine!

Stephanie called me directly, asking what clothes I had in my luggage. I described them to her, and she finally said, "No problem. Given the nature of the magazine, cycling clothes won't be appropriate, but just put on some makeup that day, wear black jeans, and bring your bicycle. I'll prepare some clothes for you. It'll be fine."

When I was originally packing my luggage, for some reason I had tossed my makeup bag into the saddlebag. From departure until now, this makeup bag had been lying at the very bottom of my saddlebag, never used. It seemed like "maintaining an army for a thousand days to use it for one hour"—it was finally about to serve its purpose.

I arranged to meet Stephanie after Christmas at the entrance of the Colosseum metro station in Rome.

So cool! I was going to be in a magazine!

At the appointed time, I dressed up as best I could, put on the jeans I wore when not cycling, and brought my bicycle to the meeting point.

Stephanie added a black leather jacket and a scarf for me, and touched up my makeup. She wanted me to strike professional or mature, feminine poses, but my mind went blank. After a few poses, I could only come up with funny gestures, making Stephanie laugh heartily, though after laughing she would still ask me to strike a normal pose. We changed locations several times, but I just kept repeating two or three poses. Eventually, not only were we both tired, but Geraldine, the interviewing journalist Stephanie had brought along, also laughed and said we were only changing backgrounds, not poses.

This feminine work was really not easy. Sigh! This might be the only time in my life to appear in a European fashion magazine! Why couldn't I think of professional model poses and movements? I should have taken more selfies routinely.

The weather helped out at this point, as a light drizzle began to fall. Stephanie decided to end the photo session and find a nearby place to sit down for the interview. Geraldine had already browsed my blog and written down many questions. As I answered her questions, I reflected on my journey so far—over a thousand kilometers ridden, seventeen families who had hosted me, several free heartfelt dinners, three instances of strangers giving me fruit, a cup of hot coffee from a stranger, and countless times getting lost and asking for directions.

A previous Couchsurfing host had once shared with me: "When traveling, you possess a kind of magic that makes people smile at you and extend their hands to warmly welcome and help you." It seemed I now possessed this magic!

When leaving Rome, I sent a text message to Stephanie and Geraldine, thanking them for giving me the opportunity to be in a magazine and for giving me a day to organize and remember my journey. Geraldine replied with a message that read: "Min, I want to properly thank you for sharing so many moving stories with me. You don't need to thank me; this is my job. I should be thanking you for giving me the opportunity to do such an interview."

On this journey, it feels like no matter how many thanks I send out, the gratitude always comes back. When I want to praise others, the praise circles back to me. Like a snowball getting bigger as it rolls, it becomes momentum that pushes me forward.

The more clearly I see my own cowardice, the more others call me brave; the more I recognize my own insignificance, the more I become a hero to some people.

"Perhaps so many people love traveling because it eliminates the viewpoint framed by screens. Actually connecting and communicating with people, experiencing and understanding things firsthand, provides the opportunity to open our mind's eye wider and expand our hearts to accommodate more incomprehensible things." I wrote down these heartfelt thoughts in my travel journal.

---

Closing Remarks

✨ Your Turn: Have you ever revisited your past work or writing and seen it through new eyes? What did you discover?

📅 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: "Monsters on the Road"

[minkahsieh]

Episode 14: Italian Passion

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman's Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

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Part 1: The Plan Chapter 3: I Love Italy "Where people love me, there is my home."

---

Italian Passion – Italy, DAY 27

After leaving Florence, I continued heading south through Italy. My body showed no signs of improvement—besides the endless fatigue, my limbs felt like cotton candy, soft and powerless. It was as if my body had disconnected from my soul. I wanted to keep going, but my body wanted to stop; I wanted to chat with people, but my body wouldn't let my mouth move; I wanted to properly appreciate the beautiful scenery, but my body seized every opportunity to close my eyes. I was like a deflated ball slumped in a corner—my entire physical shell no longer obeyed my commands!

When I reached Chiusi, I met Andrea, a water sports instructor and Couchsurfing host who helped identify the cause of my problems.

"Food and sufficient nutrition are important. Your condition is completely due to not getting enough nutrients from your diet," Andrea explained. His home was filled with sports-related brochures. He was a vegetarian like me and also an organic food enthusiast—in his house, food had to bear organic certification labels to earn a place on the shelves.

"Protein is extremely important! And with you cycling every day, you need even more protein. The best source of protein comes from beans, so you need to eat lots of beans every day." As he spoke, he taught me how to cook beans and how to identify organic certifications, insisting these were the best food options.

That evening, the dinner table was laden with bean-based dishes, providing me with a hefty dose of protein.

The next day, Andrea took two cans of organic beans from his cabinet for me to take as lunch on the road, repeating his mantra from the previous day: "Protein, very important!"

This was the first time I realized there was a problem with my eating habits.

In the past, whether studying in school or starting to earn money at work, I always felt that spending money on food was wasteful. If I saved money on three meals a day, I could accumulate small amounts daily, adding some weight to my wallet by the end of the month. So whenever I planned to save money, my instinctive reaction was to cut food expenses first. This lifelong habit, combined with my insufficient travel budget, led me to mindlessly continue this practice, creating a major physical problem.

Now I had to face this issue and change my money-saving diet approach. But what could I do? Under my current economic conditions, my options were limited���I could only switch from bananas to canned beans found at supermarkets, certainly not the organic certified ones.

A few days later, Andrea left a message on my Couchsurfing profile, instructing other hosts planning to accommodate me to ensure they provided proper nutrition, emphasizing that bean protein was essential.

Andrea made me sound like a celebrity, with him acting as my agent, listing the requirements for my appearances. I laughed after reading it. This world is full of wonders—this journey started with just me, but now included the first German family who took me in, the elderly Austrian couple, the Austrian police officer, Jarek, Tina, the music teacher, David, the elderly woman at Piazza Maggiore, and now Andrea. I no longer felt alone. Though the journey had just begun, it was no longer mine alone!

After arriving in Viterbo, I was immediately captivated by the city's unique character.

I loved every Italian city, but for some reason, I had a special fondness for Viterbo. It was like love at first sight, gripping my heart deeply.

My Couchsurfing host Johnny had told me in advance that he wouldn't finish work until seven in the evening. I arrived in Viterbo before five, so I decided to cycle slowly through this beautiful city built against the hills, navigating through its maze-like streets in search of the address Johnny had given me.

After finding the street name from my note, I circled around several times but couldn't locate the house number Johnny had provided. Why did the numbers disappear after eleven? I began searching nearby streets for answers but found nothing.

A man approached on the street and exclaimed when he saw me: "Hey! You must be Min. I'm Johnny's friend, and I'm already preparing dinner for tonight. Are you lost? Don't worry, I'll take you to Johnny's house."

I didn't immediately comprehend how he knew I was looking for Johnny, or what dinner was about. But thinking about it, I must have been easy to recognize—an Asian woman cycling in Italy with a huge load of gear and luggage. The day before, when leaving my Couchsurfing host's home in Orvieto, I had weighed my luggage—it totaled over thirty kilograms, not including water and food.

This stranger led me through the small alley I had circled countless times, made another turn inside, and pointed to the number thirteen on a door: "Johnny will be off work soon. Wait for him here. I need to hurry back to prepare." With that, he waved goodbye happily and left.

I didn't know who he was, but at least he had helped me find my accommodation for the night.

Soon after, Johnny appeared at the corner with his briefcase, rescuing me from the cold air into a warm interior. He explained that arrangements had been made for the evening—we would have dinner at his good friend Federico's home, the enthusiastic man I had met on the street. He added that on his way home from work, Federico had called to say he had encountered me while out buying ingredients and was excited for us to come taste his home-cooked meal.

After cycling in Italy for over a month, I had grown accustomed to and enjoyed this period of what could be called free meals, free drinks, and free accommodation. At first, I would politely pretend to decline, even as the thought of the delicious food made my stomach growl, eager to devour everything.

In any case, whether due to my half-hearted refusals (more like saying one thing but meaning another) or my hosts' overwhelming hospitality, I gradually stopped worrying about or preparing dinner or snacks before arriving at a host's home.

Additionally, after Andrea's message from Chiusi, subsequent hosts not only saw his instructions but followed them, preparing abundant nutritious meals like a relay race. Given that everyone had started preparing food for me anyway, I had to update my Couchsurfing profile to note that I was a vegetarian to avoid the awkwardness of them preparing meat dishes.

I also discovered that Italian kitchens always had ginger root. I would ask my hosts for a small piece to steep in my water bottle, which unexpectedly reduced the pain of cold wind penetrating my body. Suddenly, I felt that this journey home was becoming increasingly indulgent!

At dinner, I shared stories from my journey and my upcoming route plans.

I'm a talkative person, but repeating the same content every day to enthusiastic Couchsurfing hosts was mentally tiring. Sometimes I felt like a broadcasting machine—press play when needed, repeat these stories, and of course, never forget the professional smile.

I felt guilty about this small impatience. After accepting so much help from others with such audacity, I should be thanking them endlessly rather than feeling tired. I reminded myself to perk up—interaction was one of the things I wanted from this journey!

"Will you be passing through Naples?" Federico asked when I paused my travel stories.

"Yes, Venice, Florence, Rome, and Naples are the four cities I definitely plan to visit in Italy," I replied. The truth was, during my planning, these were the only four Italian cities I knew. In fact, I had even thought Venice was a country!

"My sister and brother-in-law live in Naples with their eight-year-old daughter, who is absolutely adorable. If you'd like, I can call and ask if they can host you."

"Oh? That would be wonderful! I haven't started looking for a Couchsurfing host in Naples yet." I still had about two days to reach Rome, and I'd planned to figure out the rest once there. But having the opportunity to arrange accommodation for another location in advance? I was more than happy!

To my surprise, Federico immediately stood up, took his phone, and stood in a corner of the living room, rapidly speaking Italian. I really enjoy watching Italians talk—even on the phone, they never forget their gestures, as if they couldn't speak without them.

Federico turned toward me and approached: "Min, my niece wants to talk to you. She doesn't speak English, but that's okay, she just wants to hear your voice." He handed me the phone, adding, "Oh, and no problem—they're very welcoming and looking forward to having you stay with them for a few days in Naples!"

"Hello?" I took the phone, feeling the situation was a bit confusing—I was talking to an Italian child I'd never met who couldn't speak English.

"...Hello?" A childish voice came through the receiver, mixed with a few Italian words, followed by, "How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you. How are you?" For some reason, I spoke very slowly, using English I learned in the first lesson of middle school.

"I'm fine, thank you," the little girl on the phone replied.

Federico took back the phone, gesticulated animatedly while speaking for a while, then hung up. "She's quite the chatterbox," he said, pointing at the phone. "My sister and her family are very happy; they're waiting for you to visit."

Great! My accommodation in Naples was now arranged!

---

Closing Remarks

✨ Your Turn: When have you felt supported by a chain of kindness from others? How did it change your perspective on accomplishment?

📅 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: "Fashion Magazine"

[minkahsieh]

Episode 13: The Empty Church

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman's Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

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Part 1: The Plan Chapter 3: I Love Italy "Where people love me, there is my home."

---

The Empty Church – Italy, DAY 21

My Couchsurfing host in Florence was Stefano, a curly-haired man nearly two meters tall. He allowed me to rest comfortably at his home while he went out to work.

The previous day's mountain roads had drained every ounce of my strength, leaving my body like a sand sculpture on the beach, unable to exert even the slightest effort. Lying in bed looking at my computer, I felt afraid just thinking about how many more mountain passes I might have to face.

I wanted to write an email to Kamil to complain, but what could I say? "Hi! You were right, I can't climb the hills, I almost died of exhaustion on the mountain, I shouldn't have started this journey at all."

No! Then he would promptly tell me to give up, which wasn't what I wanted. For now, I could only tell him and my family that I was fine, that I could do this, even though I didn't feel capable at all.

The next day, despite still feeling weak, I decided to go out for some fresh air. Through a friend's introduction, I met a local named Paolo, who became my personal guide in Florence.

I arranged to meet Paolo at the train station. He was an Italian police officer who resembled Hank from the American TV series "Breaking Bad." He first took me to McDonald's at the station for a hearty meal, then guided me through this incredibly beautiful city.

We spent half the day walking, taking many tourist photos at various attractions, and stopping twice for coffee. Paolo said: cars need fuel; Italians need coffee, otherwise they can't move.

In the evening, we arrived in front of a church that was much smaller compared to others. I wouldn't have realized it was a church if Paolo hadn't mentioned it.

"What do you think of this church?" he asked.

"I don't know, it looks abandoned, or perhaps unfinished. It has no decoration at all," I replied, examining the church.

"Actually, this church is the most fascinating and beautiful one here. If you can't see it now, I'll take you to a place where you can," Paolo said, leading me into a coffee shop in the alley ahead.

This coffee shop was surrounded by countless frames. Each picture in the frames seemed to share a common element, yet possessed its own soul, telling completely different stories, even from different dimensions and worlds. Some resembled faces with various expressions—happiness, anger, sorrow, and joy.

The concept of these paintings was inspired by that church outside, and the church's undecorated white walls served as a perfect canvas for people to fill with their imagination. Many illustrations transformed the church into unimaginable things, but most depicted it with a strange hat and a round mouth: the strange hat was the church's triangular spire, and the mouth was its round window.

Paolo ordered me a hot chocolate, and we sat in a corner of the café. The church was originally left unfinished due to insufficient funds, but this unexpectedly became its most beautiful feature: it had nothing, yet it had everything. Staring at those diverse paintings for a long time, some inexplicable thoughts began swirling in my mind...

All along, I had envied others for their glamorous backgrounds, while I had nothing. Every single thing I wanted, I had to plan for, fight for, and execute myself. And now, still having nothing, I was on a journey of my own choosing with just a bicycle.

Perhaps this wasn't a glamorous adventure, but having the brush to paint my own life story and deciding my own style and pattern was actually a blessing. I wouldn't say the empty church was better than the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore that I saw in the morning, because that's impossible, but I could confidently say that I liked both churches—one inspired reverence, the other allowed boundless creativity. These weren't things that could be compared or measured against each other.

Perhaps nothing in the world can truly be compared with anything else, even if they seem to belong to the same category.

---

Closing Remarks

✨ Your Turn: Have you ever found unexpected beauty or meaning in something that appeared incomplete or imperfect? I'd love to hear your experiences!

📅 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: "Italian Passion"

#14000kmBackHome #CyclingJourney #HiddenBeauty #Florence #LifeLessons #AITranslated

[minkahsieh]

Episode 12: Champion Mountain Road

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman's Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

--- Part 1: The Plan Chapter 3: I Love Italy "Where people love me, there is my home."

--- Champion Mountain Road – Italy, DAY 20

The next day, David enthusiastically accompanied me for a portion of the ride before returning to Bologna.

After saying goodbye to David, I began to face the long-forgotten uphill climb. My body had now mastered the technique of cycling, slowly shifting gears on different slopes to achieve easier pedaling. I could finally lift my head to appreciate the surrounding scenery rather than just looking down and cursing through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, I realized that cycling is really quite similar to life—when facing different roads and situations, you need to shift to different gears and speeds. Now, if cycling feels difficult and strenuous, adjust the rhythm, pedal a few more circles, ride slower—it doesn't matter. Just like in life, when encountering adversity, don't merely lower your head and resist until exhaustion; slow down, steady your steps, move forward one step at a time. Eventually, you'll escape the slope and, from a higher place, appreciate and experience different perspectives.

As the rhythm of my daily life slowed, my mindset also calmed down.

I began to notice the small stones beside the wheels, the wild grass sprouting through cracks, the sound of water sliding along the river, and even the wind brushing against my face—besides being bitterly cold, it also carried a hint of freshness and excitement. These ordinary things had now become the rhythm that made me happy, the motivation to move forward. Following this rhythm, I casually chose which roads to take, turning without hesitation as long as it felt like the right direction. I reveled in this carefree state, away from human development.

But this lack of planning sometimes led me into difficult situations. Now, I found myself on an orchard path mixed with mud and stone, desperately pedaling forward. Soon the path became steeper, forcing me to dismount and push upward step by step, testing the traction of Thomas's shoes on my feet.

I couldn't remember how I had entered this orchard. Ten minutes earlier, I had asked an old farmer for directions. He was enthusiastic but, unable to understand what I was saying, called an English-speaking friend to help. But that friend didn't know where I wanted to go, so the farmer called another friend. After the farmer understood the directions, he explained them to the English-speaking friend, who then explained them to me over the phone.

Whether due to language barriers or my comprehension issues, I now found myself stuck on this muddy slope, unable to move forward or backward. My shoes were half-buried in the mud, and my bicycle, seemingly working against me, kept sliding downward with all its gear, not allowing me a moment's rest.

By the time I pushed near the top of the slope, my strength was nearly depleted. Just then, a dog barked. Looking up, I saw a building ahead, with the owner poking his head out from the balcony, noticing my struggle to keep the bike from sliding backward.

With both hands supporting the bicycle, I couldn't wave, so I shouted: "Excuse me, I'm lost. Is there a road ahead that I can take?" I wasn't sure if he understood English—based on my experience these past few days, the chances were low. But from the Italian words flowing from his mouth and his rich body language, he seemed to be enthusiastically giving directions, gesturing toward what lay ahead. I interpreted this to mean there was indeed a road ahead!

Sure enough, after pushing a bit further, I returned to a paved road, instantly breathing a sigh of relief. I realized how contradictory I was—one moment wanting to escape human footprints and run into nature's embrace, the next feeling reassured by the black arteries humans had created on Earth. I sat by the roadside for a short rest, replenishing water and having some snacks, letting my limbs rest. They were trembling slightly from overexertion.

After finishing the apple David had given me, I grabbed my bike and continued forward. I needed to get back on the road before my body cooled down. In this weather, staying warm was crucial—I had to be careful not to catch a cold.

Today's Couchsurfing host was in Florence, the birthplace of the Renaissance. But today's cycling route didn't seem as appealing as the city I was heading to. Facing an endless uphill road, I laboriously pedaled slowly. Despite developing some muscle over the past two weeks on the road, I still couldn't handle such a long, continuous uphill. Alternating between pushing and pedaling, I finally reached the top, cheering enthusiastically at the downhill ahead.

Glancing at the odometer on my handlebars, I realized I had climbed about fifteen kilometers of continuous uphill. My physical strength and muscles felt like deflated balls—soft and powerless.

Well, that's okay! Now comes the downhill!

Happily letting the bike rush downhill at full speed, enjoying the fruits of my previous efforts, but soon another major uphill appeared. My legs could no longer bear the gravity of the climb, forcing me to dismount and push the bike up.

What followed was an endless cycle of downhills and uphills, and I continuously alternated between cycling downhill and pushing the bike uphill.

The sun had hidden behind clouds at some point, and the surrounding scenery changed. The originally poetic and beautiful views along both sides of the road, which could be gazed upon from above, now gathered fog. Soon after, they formed what looked like an endless sea of clouds, rolling and surging magnificently. I felt as if I had suddenly jumped into a massive, living painting, with only my front wheel and the black highway occasionally visible through this breathtaking sea of clouds.

My heart stirred with these waves, imagining my role in this painting—so tiny, yet simultaneously merged with the scene. How marvelous!

Just as I was inwardly cheering, the white surges rapidly engulfed the black highway, and my vision was instantly swallowed by dense fog.

This was bad! Visibility was less than a meter. I couldn't see the road, oncoming vehicles, or where I was. The sky darkened quickly, and I was still on the spine of the Apennine Mountains. Realizing this, my pulse began to race violently, my palms cold yet slightly sweaty. I could imagine what darkness would be like, its force already enveloping my heart before its arrival.

Finally, it got completely dark, but the fog showed no sign of dispersing. I wanted to find a place to rest, even set up my tent to get through this exhausting day. But stopping made me so cold, and I had eaten all my food. My stomach was desperately demanding from my brain, and energy was rapidly draining from my feet. I didn't know how much longer this road would be, and I was already too tired to move. Accompanied by hunger and fear, my brain was completely knotted, thoughts spinning rapidly, imagining a nauseating liquid continuously expanding in my heart. I had no ability to calm down and think about how to escape this predicament. My willpower was rapidly disintegrating in the darkness. I couldn't control my emotions and stopped in the dense fog to cry loudly. With hands supporting the bike, tears and mucus covering my face and neck, I could only occasionally wipe away the liquid clinging to my chin with my gloves. After crying for a while, standing seemed pointless, so I began walking and crying.

In the midst of despair, my body developed an automatic function, unconsciously carrying me step by step forward, step by step trying to break free from this darkness. Through the dense fog, a car stopped, and the male driver asked if I needed help. There was also a woman holding a child in the car.

"I need to go to Florence, but I can't ride anymore," I said, barely controlling my sobbing.

The man looked at my bicycle and gear, then at his car.

"I'm sorry I can't help you, but I know this road very well. Just hang in there a little longer. After a few more hills, there will be a continuous major downhill that will take you all the way into Florence," the man said.

Hearing this, hope ignited in my heart. I thanked him profusely and watched his taillights disappear into the fog.

"Okay, keep going! Just a few more slopes until the downhill." After clearing the mucus and tears from my face, I continued pushing the bike forward, telling myself to endure five more uphills!

But after five downhills and uphills, I encountered yet another uphill.

Three more, then! I continued to tell myself. I had lost count of how many sets of three I had encountered, but the final hope became the motivation to move forward. Almost there, almost there, just hang in a little longer, almost there!

That long-awaited downhill finally appeared in a small town, next to a bar with an old man smoking outside. I excitedly cheered loudly and, taking advantage of the gradually dispersing fog, slid downhill for over ten kilometers, finally reaching my Couchsurfing host's home in Florence.

---

Closing Remarks

✨ Your Turn: What wisdom have you discovered during difficult times that later became meaningful to you? 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.

📅 Next Episode: "The Empty Church"

[minkahsieh]

Episode 11: Something I Never Dared to Dream

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman's Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

--- Part 1: The Plan Chapter 3: I Love Italy "Where there are people who love me, there is my home."

---

Something I Never Dared to Dream – Italy, DAY 9

I stopped at noon and pulled out two bananas from my backpack for lunch. Three more remained at the top of my food bag, which I planned to save for an afternoon snack. I had bought them that morning from a fruit shop for 2.5 euros, and I felt quite proud of this expense—I couldn't imagine a more economical plan!

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.

📅 Next Episode: "Champion Mountain Road"

[minkahsieh]

Episode 10: Language Confusion

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman's Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

--- Part 1: The Plan Chapter 3: I Love Italy "Where there are people who love me, there is my home."

--- Language Confusion – Italy, DAY 6

The train ticket from Innsbruck to Brennero (already an Italian city) cost 7.8 euros, with an additional 2.6 euros for the bicycle. Travelers heading to Italy needed to change trains at Brennero and purchase the next segment of tickets from the Italian railway company.

An Austrian couple on the same train advised me to rush to the Italian train as soon as we arrived at Brennero station, as there wouldn't be much time to make the transfer. When we reached the station, I anxiously looked around with other passengers who were also heading to Italy.

"Italy is that way!" someone shouted, and I followed the crowd, but my bicycle and bulky luggage slowed me down. By the time I reached the other platform, the train was already whistling, ready to depart.

The train floor was much higher than the platform, and I couldn't lift my bicycle with all the luggage attached. I quickly unloaded my bags, tossed them on the ground, threw my bike into the train compartment, and jumped back onto the platform to retrieve my gear. A train attendant saw me struggling and ran down to help with the remaining luggage. We leaped back onto the train just as it started moving.

"Thank you!" I gasped, taking my bags from the attendant. "I'm sorry, I didn't have time to buy a ticket. I need to get one now." Though I had made it onboard, I wanted to buy a ticket quickly before getting caught without one.

The attendant gestured calmly to reassure me and pointed toward someone ahead. Looking around, I realized that no one had bought tickets—the conductor was making his way through the train compartment, collecting payments from everyone.

I paid sixteen euros for the second segment of the journey. Bicycle transport on Italian trains didn't require an additional fee. I found a comfortable seat and continued enjoying the effortless travel.

By the time I reached Bolzano, it was almost midnight. Following the address I had copied into my notebook, I headed straight to my Couchsurfing host Tina's home. Tina lived with her boyfriend and a small cat that would fetch balls and bring them back for you to throw. Their apartment was on the second floor—with a guest room and master bedroom on the left, and a kitchen-cum-living room plus a bathroom on the right.

After settling my luggage in the guest room, I overheard Tina and her boyfriend discussing buying cat food the next day. Wait—how could I understand Italian? Listening more carefully, I realized they were speaking German.

"Hello!" I interrupted their conversation. "Excuse me, were you just communicating in German? I thought you were Italian?"

"Haha! We are Italian, but before that, our ancestors were German. After World War I, Bolzano became part of Italy, so there are more German-speaking residents here than Italian-speaking ones," Tina explained with a smile.

"Here, we combine the best of different cultures: the German punctuality and cleanliness, and Italian cuisine," Tina's boyfriend proudly added.

"Do you also speak Italian?" This was an interesting discovery that broke my stereotypes about language and national identity.

"Yes! Both German and Italian are our mother tongues," Tina said.

"I wish I could have two mother tongues," I said enviously. Being fluent in two languages without going through the painful process of memorizing vocabulary sounded wonderful.

"Oh! You wouldn't envy us if you worked in a government office. You'd have to type every document and make every sign twice. I'm sure you'd prefer speaking just one language," Tina laughed. Both she and her boyfriend worked at the city government office.

That certainly didn't sound like a good job. As a Taiwanese saying goes: "You can't have everything good at once." Apparently, knowing too many languages isn't something everyone would be happy about.

After leaving Bolzano, I found myself cycling on heavenly roads.

A wide, smooth bike path ran alongside the Adige River, with the riverbank on one side and plains on the other. The valley created a path that cut through the mountains like Moses parting the sea, carving out a flat road that meandered with the river's course.

Italy's northern regions had begun to snow, so I decided to speed up my journey south, hoping to escape the snow and reduce the pain of riding in the cold wind.

Where would I stay tonight? I hadn't found a Couchsurfing host to take me in. I had left my newly acquired Italian phone number on the Couchsurfing website two days ago, hoping some kind soul would offer me shelter for the night. With this slim hope, I was prepared to set up my "big plate" tent again at dusk to battle the night and cold.

Italian roads were like a maze, bewildering to navigate. Although my phone had GPS capabilities and I had downloaded offline maps before departing, I simply didn't like using them. Getting lost in Italy was too much fun! I just needed to stop my bike, and passersby would gradually come closer, close enough for me to ask: "Excuse me, do you speak English?"

"English? No, no, no! Italian! Italian!" Then they would chatter away endlessly, pointing at my bike one moment and gesturing in all directions the next.

I once saw a movie where the protagonist described Italians: their primary mode of communication isn't language but body movements. Now I deeply understood this communication style, as I could always get the information I needed through body language after some initial miscommunication. For example, when asking for directions to the train station, I just had to make train sounds while mimicking wheels turning, and they would completely understand and point the way. Alternatively, I could write the name of the city I wanted to visit on paper, show it to them while patting my bike, pointing at myself, and making cycling motions—this way, they would understand I was asking for cycling routes rather than highway directions.

I had just gotten directions from a mailman and was heading down the larger road on the left. The roads here were small and complex, with houses built into the hillsides, sometimes requiring me to pass beneath structures connecting second floors of adjacent buildings. Now, having circled around to the back of a cluster of houses, I faced two more paths to choose from. "Damn it! Which way should I go? Oh well, I'll take the larger one!" Just as I was about to push forward, a sharp whistle sounded behind me.

Instinctively looking back, I saw someone opening a window on the upper floor of a house I had just passed. He called out loudly in words I couldn't understand, but from his gestures, I could tell he was telling me to take the smaller path. He must have overheard my conversation with the mailman and noticed I was going the wrong way. I responded with a simple "Thank you" in Italian and headed in the direction he pointed.

---

Closing Remarks

✨ Your Turn: Have you ever been in a situation where language barriers became an unexpected adventure? Or perhaps you've found creative ways to communicate beyond words? I'd love to hear about your experiences!

📅 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: "Something I Never Dared to Dream"

[minkahsieh]

Episode 9: A Gift from heaven

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman’s Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

---

Part 1: The Plan Chapter 2: Toward the Alps "Let go of the extras you want, and you'll find you can carry everything you need."

---

A Gift from heaven – Austria, DAY 5

Following the directions given by the young policeman, I found the Inn River and rode along its bike path into Innsbruck.

Because I didn't reach Schwaz as planned the previous day, I missed my intended first stop, so Jarek—originally meant to be my second couch host—ended up being my first.

Jarek is a Polish international student and ski instructor. He loves skiing so much that he chose to attend university in Innsbruck, home to the best ski slopes in all of Austria.

Jarek lives in a dormitory provided by the university, and I managed to squeeze into this fascinating place. The residents come from all over the world—like a miniature United Nations. The dorm was originally built to house clergy, so its layout and furnishings carry religious connotations. Jarek explained the original design and purpose to me, but with my limited knowledge of Catholicism, all I could do was nod and smile.

Each floor has a communal kitchen. Jarek and I went to the supermarket to buy pasta, mushrooms, and tomatoes, and then cooked dinner together with the other residents. My role in the kitchen was simple—just stand by and watch Jarek cook, a privilege, it seems, for a woman who can’t cook.

Also joining us were a couple of French international students and a middle-aged German writer. I couldn't help but wonder how someone who wasn't a student ended up living in a university dorm.

“Remember, always trust your intuition and listen to what your heart has to say; your body will guide you to where you need to go,” the writer exclaimed passionately upon hearing about my journey. I figured he had just finished reading The Alchemist and was eager to share his fervent insights—or perhaps he was in the midst of writing a book on the principles behind The Secret, reiterating its ideas over and over. As for what exactly he was writing, I couldn’t make much sense of it from our conversation.

Along the way, a few more students from different countries joined our table discussion, but after dinner I found myself alone—continuing as the sole audience for the German writer. In the end, thanks to Jarek's intervention, I was helped out of the dining area and escorted back to our room.

“It's rare for him to find someone who genuinely listens to his words,” Jarek said quietly with a smile.

The next morning, I woke to the sight of heavy snowfall outside the window, and I frowned.

Snow should have been something novel and exciting for me, but now I couldn't bring myself to feel happy about it. Besides the biting cold, I was utterly unprepared for riding in snowy conditions.

Just as I was at a loss, Jarek excitedly announced that even heavier snow was expected the next day—he had already made plans with his friends to head up the mountain for skiing at first light. He added that the news was reporting that snowfall in the mountain regions was exceeding expectations—even some northern Italian cities, which rarely see snow, were starting to get dusted.

I gazed out at the serene, snow-white world and wondered what to do. Before departing, I had arranged a backup plan for heavy snow—simply take the train to bypass that section. But now, I wasn't sure whether to put that plan into action. I had just mastered riding my bike while hauling heavy loads; the prospect of immediately tackling snowy roads left me with no confidence at all.

Unable to think of a solution, I forced myself to get some fresh air and wandered into the city center to soak in the charm of Innsbruck's old town. It felt much like Germany here—at the heart of the city, Christmas market stalls filled the streets, and people huddled around round tables in front of the stands, clutching cups of hot mulled wine to warm up on the cold, wet pavement.

Back at the dorm, I tried searching online for answers, but I wasn't sure what to look up—my knowledge of biking and travel was woefully limited. In the end, I resorted to checking the Austrian train station's website, where I discovered that a train headed for Italy departed every night at 6:30 PM.

After dinner, just as Jarek had predicted earlier, the snow outside began to fall even heavier, and he was excitedly polishing his skiing gear in his room.

“I've decided to take the train tomorrow night to the first station in northern Italy,” I announced, reopening my computer to book a ticket.

“I think that's a great decision,” Jarek replied cheerfully. “It means you'll have time to join us on the slopes tomorrow morning. Coming to Austria's skiing mecca and not taking advantage of the snow would be a real shame.”

Hearing his words, I felt a comforting sense of relief. I chose to see this heavy snowfall as a gift from the heavens—a chance to join the ski instructor for some snowy fun, and a convenient excuse to skip that uncertain stretch of road.

Outside, the white snow reflected a silvery glow in the night; the land remained unchanged by my decision, yet inside, I began to quietly savor it all.

The next afternoon, after a fall that left me bruised and battered, my skiing experience came to an end.

Back at the dorm, I packed up my luggage and reattached it to my bike, bidding a reluctant farewell to Jarek. I then boarded an evening train heading south toward Italy.

The silent night train sped through Austria toward the south. I rested my head on my hand by the window, letting the gentle rocking of the train lull me into a warm, comfortable state. The steady rhythm of the train over the tracks carried me into a mental safe haven.

My bike and luggage stood quietly in a corner of the carriage, and it suddenly struck me as surreal. These items represented all my possessions for the coming year—if I were to place this bike and luggage in my home in Taiwan, in my own room, they’d occupy only a small corner. By their size, everything in that room might last me six or seven years! I had always felt that things were never enough back home. As the train continued its steady chug, I adjusted my posture and kept gazing at my luggage and bike.

This 'just enough is good enough' lifestyle actually felt quite nice!

---

Closing Remarks ✨ Your Turn: Have you ever experienced a moment when something that seemed like an obstacle turned out to be a blessing in disguise? How did it change your perspective? 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.

📅 Next Episode: "Language Confusion"

#14000kmBackHome #CyclingJourney #UnexpectedGifts #EmbraceChange #LifeLessons #AITranslated

[minkahsieh]

Episode 8: The Freezing Spell

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman’s Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

--- Part 2: Into the Alps "Let go of the extras you want, and you’ll find you can carry everything you need."

---

The Freezing Spell – Austria, Day 4

Early in the morning, the old man woke me up for breakfast.

Rubbing my sleepy eyes, I looked out the window to see a world blanketed in white. Snow clung to the wooden frames and glass, making it hard to imagine what it would have been like if I had spent the night outside.

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"

[minkahsieh]

Episode 7: The Weight of Loneliness

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman's Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

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Part 1: The Plan Chapter 2: Toward the Alps "Let go of the extras you want, and you'll find you can carry everything you need."

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The Weight of Loneliness – Austria, DAY 3

After dinner, I returned to the attic, took a long, hot shower, and slipped under the covers. There was no heating here, but compared to the freezing air outside, it still felt much warmer.

I picked up my phone, wanting to send a message to my boyfriend, Kamil, in Beijing— Something I had promised him before I started: to check in every day. From the beginning, this journey had been planned as a ride from Germany to Beijing—to reach him. But now, there wasn't even a single bar of signal.

With no other choice, I set my phone on the nightstand to charge and picked up my journal instead, jotting down the events of the day.

For the first time in two days, my tense nerves finally relaxed—only to be immediately replaced by a deep sense of emptiness.

Loneliness crept in.

Here, in this foreign country, I had no one to rely on.

Downstairs, the old woman still wanted me out of this house.

Would it even matter if I simply disappeared?

It felt like no one would notice.

In that moment, I felt like the loneliest person in the world.

Maybe, I realized, what I feared about the night wasn't just the darkness—but the fear of being unseen.

For some reason, a memory from when I was four or five surfaced in my mind.

“Min, do you want to go for a ride?”

My father called out to me from the doorway.

Whenever my dad wanted to sneak out, he would ask if I wanted to come along—giving him an excuse to leave the house.

And every time, I said yes.

Every time, I would happily climb onto his motorbike, thinking it was a rare chance to go out with him.

Every time, he would take me to the same park, tell me to play on my own, and promise to pick me up later.

And every time, I would wait until dusk, then walk home alone, feeling heartbroken.

Sometimes, when I was too tired to walk, I would look for an adult who seemed trustworthy, someone with a motorbike, and pretend to be lost, asking them to take me home.

My father would disappear for two or three days at a time, then return as if nothing had happened.

And every time he asked if I wanted to go for a ride, I would still say yes.

Then I would walk home alone again.

To this day, I still don't know where he went.

But the most vivid memory he left me with was the sensation of riding on the back of his motorbike, the wind rushing past us.

I remember feeling so happy.

People often asked me, “How did your parents let you take this journey alone?”

The truth was, my father never spent much effort trying to control me.

He passed away when I was eighteen.

My mother, on the other hand, had long been exhausted. She had spent years caring for four children and my chronically ill father.

When I tried to convince her, I gave her a reason I knew she would accept.

“Sixteen hundred years ago, the Buddhist monk Xuanzang traveled to India to bring back sacred scriptures. The route he took will be part of my journey when I reach China.”

Upon hearing that Xuanzang had once walked this path, my mother's face lit up. “I don't really understand where that is,” she said, “but as long as you know what you’re doing.”

But the truth was, I didn't know exactly what I was doing.

I just knew I had to do it.

There were a hundred thousand reasons pushing me forward, but I couldn't find a single one that I could clearly explain to my mother.

So, I chose the one she could accept the most.

I framed my journey in a way that made it impossible for her to stop me.

The strongest opposition, however, came from Kamil and his mother, Maria.

Kamil’s family had immigrated from Poland to Germany when he was five.

When I first arrived in Germany, Kamil was working in Beijing, so I had spent three months winter living with Maria.

Kamil’s parents had taken great care of me, but Maria strongly opposed my plan to cycle across Eurasia.

A few weeks before my departure, Maria called me, pleading with me to give up the trip. Her voice grew more and more urgent, until, in the end, she broke down in tears.

She told me she had been so worried she couldn’t sleep.

At first, Kamil didn’t take my journey seriously. “If you can even get visas for Iran and the Central Asian countries, then go ahead,” he had said dismissively.

But when I actually managed to secure those visas, he began to panic.

Every time we talked about my trip, he would say, “This is basically a suicide mission. You really want to go to Iran and get yourself killed?”

Thinking about this, I closed my journal, set it on the nightstand, and glanced at my phone as it charged.

Actually, if I were to disappear, my mother, Maria, Kamil, and the friends who had tried to stop me would notice—because they were waiting for my call or message to make sure I was safe.

That thought lifted the darkness that had settled over me, replacing it with a gentle warmth.

I turned over, amazed at how a simple shift in perspective could change everything. Human connections are truly reciprocal—if I stayed trapped in self-pity, unwilling to open my heart and step beyond the protective wall I had built, I would never be able to let others' care and love in.

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Closing Remarks

✨ Your Turn: Have you ever found that when you bravely let down your guard, the world outside is much warmer and kinder than you expected? I’d love to hear your experience—please share it with me!

📅 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: "The Freezing Spell"

[minkahsieh]

Episode 6: A Warm Dinner

14,000 km Back Home: A Woman’s Silk Road Journey By Min Hsieh

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Part 1: The Plan Chapter 2: Toward the Alps "Let go of the extras you want, and you’ll find you can carry everything you need."

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A Warm Dinner – Austria, DAY 3

After crossing the border marker, the road conditions changed noticeably.

Austria's road signs clearly indicated elevation levels and distances along the mountain route. I followed the bicycle signs, weaving through forests and gravel paths, with patches of unmelted snow piled up on both sides. The increasingly steep incline forced me to push my bike forward slowly.

It was only my second full day on the road, yet I already felt completely exhausted. Before my departure, Thomas had warned me about the dangers of encountering heavy snow in the Alps. I had reassured him that if I found myself in an unsafe situation, I would take a train to bypass the snowy regions—I simply couldn't imagine cycling through deep snow while carrying all my gear.

But now, I hadn't even reached the altitude Thomas was concerned about, and I was already struggling. At this sluggish pace, I began to worry that I wouldn't make it to Schwaz before nightfall.

The day before I set out, I had found a Couchsurfing host in Schwaz who was willing to take me in, giving me the chance to sleep indoors, in warmth. Maybe I'd even get to take a hot shower.

A hot shower!

The thought filled my mind, enveloping me in a comforting warmth, as if it could wash away the dirt and cold. At that moment, it felt like an unattainable luxury—one that urged me to keep pushing forward.

By the time I reached Achenkirch, it was already 3:30 in the afternoon. The sky had taken on a cold, grayish hue, casting long shadows over the darkening road ahead, which disappeared into the dense forest.

This was exactly the time of day when I had turned back on my first attempt. That memory clung to me like a curse, filling me with doubt and making my goal for the night feel increasingly out of reach.

Achenkirch was a remote town. I spotted an elderly man about to enter the front yard of a house, built in the traditional Bavarian countryside style. Uneasy, I stopped my bike and, in broken German, asked, “Excuse me, how far is Schwaz? Can I make it before dark?”

It probably sounded ridiculous to ask such a question while standing next to a loaded bicycle, but my rationality was fading as quickly as the sunlight.

The old man looked me and my bike over before saying, “It's about thirty kilometers from here, but the sun is setting fast. It'll be too dangerous to keep going.” Then, after a pause, he added, “You can try to ride faster to get there in time, or… you can stay here for the night and leave in the morning.”

“What? Stay here?”

I was stunned. My broken German had not only allowed me to communicate, but had also earned me an invitation to sleep indoors!

My mind raced—this meant I could escape the impending darkness and freezing night. I might even get that hot shower.

I turned to the Bavarian house, its warm lights glowing through the windows, then glanced back at the old man, assessing his demeanor. He didn't seem like a bad person, nor did he pose any obvious threat. I decided to take the risk—escaping the fear of the night was my priority.

“That would be super. Thank you so much!” I skipped the formalities and accepted his offer immediately, pushing my bike as I followed him toward the house.

The property had two large grassy fields, separated by a paved path that stretched from the house to a garage big enough for two cars. Inside, various farming tools were neatly stored.

As I parked my bike in the garage, I scanned my surroundings. There were six other bicycles, including three small ones for children. The old man already seemed trustworthy, but seeing childen around made me feel even safer.

We continued along the path to the entrance of the Bavarian house. “My wife and I live in the front half of the house,” he explained, “while my son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren live in the back.”

I followed him inside, carrying two heavy saddlebags, a backpack, and my quick-release bag. The old man insisted on carrying my tent, wanting to help with more of my gear, but I refused to let an elderly man do the heavy lifting.

The house was a wooden structure with rustic charm. The entrance opened to a hallway—on the right, a passage led to the kitchen and living room, while a wooden staircase on the left ascended to the upper floors.

“We live here,” he said, gesturing toward the second floor. Then he continued up another flight of stairs.

The third floor was an attic with two rooms—one seemingly abandoned, the other packed with furniture, blankets, and two beds.

“You can stay in this room. Choose either bed,” he offered. Then, pointing to a small bathroom at the top of the stairs, he added, “You can shower here.” With that, he headed downstairs.

I dropped my gear by the bed, overwhelmed with relief, as if flower petals were floating in the air.

A warm indoor space. A hot shower. This felt like paradise.

I scanned the room, eager to shower and dive into bed. But I decided it would be impolite to disappear right away, so I changed clothes and went downstairs to greet the family.

The old man's son came over from the other side of the house and spoke to me in German, assuming I wouldn't understand his father's Austrian dialect. I politely thanked him for their hospitality, though I honestly couldn't tell the difference between their accents. Using a mix of German and guesswork, I managed to keep the conversation going. Whether we were actually understanding each other, I wasn't entirely sure.

The old man led me to the dining table, setting out an assortment of cheese, bread, jams, and fresh vegetables.

For the past two days, I had survived on energy bars and instant noodles. The sight of fresh food was almost overwhelming.

Not wanting to appear rude, I hesitated at first, politely declining while secretly hoping they'd insist. Thankfully, the old man ignored my formalities and simply placed utensils in front of me, telling me to eat.

Just as I picked up a piece of bread, an elderly woman stormed into the room, muttering angrily under her breath. The old man quickly pulled her aside, leading her out of the dining area.

A moment later, he returned—this time with the old woman following behind him. She walked straight to the table, her voice sharp, “We can’t just…”

Before she could finish, the son intervened, guiding her away again.

The air grew heavy with tension.

I thought about the warm bed upstairs and the hot shower that awaited me. Caught between gratitude and discomfort, I stood up and said to the old man, “If this is too much trouble, I can leave. I'm really sorry.”

“Don’t mind her, she has a mental problem!” The old man tapped his head with a finger. “Broken!” Then he gestured toward the food. “Eat. Eat.”

How was I supposed to eat now?

The old woman returned, calmer this time. She sat across from me, studying me closely.

“You're leaving tomorrow?” she asked.

“Yes, first thing in the morning. But if this is a problem, I can go now,” I replied.

“Don't listen to her. Stay. Eat!” the old man insisted.

The old woman said nothing more. Instead, she got up, fetched a pickled cucumber from the fridge, and placed it on the table. She gestured for me to eat.

I looked at her, then at the old man. Slowly, I decided to finish the food on the table while the two elderly people watched me.

Even in such an awkward situation, the food tasted incredible.

It was a simple dinner, yet it felt like pure happiness.

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Closing Remarks

✨ Your Turn: Kindness can take many forms—sometimes freely given, other times layered with complexities. Have you ever received generosity that left you unsure how to respond? Share your thoughts below—I’d love to hear!

📅 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: "The Weight of Loneliness"