Replace my stolen gear, keep going.
Donation protected
Hello guys,
For many years I've travelled around the world on my bicycle, camping and enjoying the hospitality of strangers. That natural trust took a huge hit yesterday.
To make it short: I've been robbed.
(me with the folding bike just before departure to Lebanon)
I made this campaign to ask for support, helping me replace the missing gear and get back on the road. I'm in Lebanon right now, sitting in a hostel in Beirut, trying to wrap my head around what happened yesterday night. I was camping on a trail near the ocean when a soldier came running at night, ripped half my tent out of the ground, yelled at me in Arabic, threatened me with his gun and took what he wanted.
After he left I hastily packed my things, cycling through a hailstorm, camped at another beach after getting a flat and arrived in Beirut today. Now I'm going through my missing gear, see what is gone, what is left, will head to the police station and make a plan. I really hope on the help of the... public? Travel community? Fellow human beings? to get me started again.
So, what exactly am I doing in Lebanon?
Many years ago I wanted to travel one time round the world before going to university. I saved all my money for it and with no experience or solid plan, I left home aged 19. That was over 8 years ago.
Since then I had many adventures, been to 133 countries, cycled across the Sahara twice, went through Siberia, boated the Amazon, survived bike crashes, Dengue fever, a crocodile bite and the crazy traffic I faced.
This part of the trip should bring me into the Middle East, Lebanon was the first country on the list, great start. ;) Kuwait, Bahrain, Qatar, the UAE and Oman should be next.
If you want to know more about me and my tours, just check http://worldbicyclist.com/, my website. But now back to what happened yesterday.
(Lebanon, ocean road)
A different kind of hospitality: Getting robbed
The day before was already pretty bad. I was staying one night with a couchsurfer in Tripoli in the north of the country, but he lived with his parents and whenever he leaves the house, I had to leave too.
It was a flat in an apartment block that belonged to his family and apparently they were afraid that I would steal. This is word for word what he told me, his father would not like a stranger in the house, and since the family are devout muslims, the mother would have to wear her headscarf because a non-family member would see her. Why he, the son, invites couchsurfer, I do not know.
He also told me that Lebanon is safe and that I can leave my bicycle, value 3000€, unlocked in the stairway, because no one would steal. I was a bit stumped by this, because in essence I was asked to trust people that do not trust me.
The son himself was very friendly, regretted the circumstances, but unfortunately very busy. When I came back the next day from the old town, looking at the castle and bazaars, his father called him home and gave me 30 minutes to pack my things and leave.
Great.
Leaving Tripoli a bit alienated, I cycled towards Beirut, which is less than 100km away. But instead of facing the heavy traffic and paying for a hotel or hostel, I wanted to enjoy the ride, took the more windy ocean road and ended up on a trail near the town of Anfeh. The road went through a tunnel, but next to it was a walking path along cliffs overlooking the ocean. It was a really nice spot and I decided to stop early and call it a day.
I pitched my tent, took my book and spend the afternoon reading, watching the sunset... only 5-6 people came by that have seen where I am and that I might stay the night.
(Tunnel near my campsite. There is a trail to the right, going around the tunnel)
(Super safe campsite. Surely no robbers around.)
At 08:30 I was in the tent, on the last pages of my book, when I heard what sounded like a jogger. A lamp was shining at my tent and I thought "Please dont stop, please just done mind me."
Of course the footsteps stopped right next to my tent and I heard some Arabic. Now I don't speak Arabic besides a few words, I just replied in English, when the person suddenly tried lifting the tent, looking for the entry. He ripped out 2 tent stakes and half of it collapsed.
I was rightfully pissed about that, opened the zipper and asked firmly wtf was going on, when I saw a soldier standing in front of me.
"Well, ok, that makes sense." There was a military base 10km down the road, lots of checkpoints across the country and someone probably told them that there is a foreigner camping there. I tried talking to him, but he spoke only Arabic, gestured towards my backpack. I took out my passport and handed it to him, but soon realized that this was not a proper control, when he grabbed the backpack and started rummaging around in it. In the end he just poured the content out, snatching my Euro notes that I carry as a backup with me.
At that point, I was really pissed, told him "NO" and stared angrily, which was obviously the smart thing to do. Unfortunately the kind man did not put the things back into my bag and left, but instead unholstered his pistol, put a bullet in the chamber (*clack-clack, everyone knows the sound, one of the sergeants in my unit once called it the universal-translator) and aimed it at my head. "No?" he asked, upon which I raised my hands, rolled my eyes and told him to go on, do what you like.
So I'm sitting there, in the dark, barefoot, no glasses on, and had to watch some stupid shit go through my equipment, that I painstakingly selected, assembled, modified and took with me on a yearlong tour through Asia. I was pondering the success chances of pushing him over the cliff, but after 3m it got flat again, with a large bush blocking the long, long way down to the rocks. I could have shoved him, only to watch him be stopped by the bush, walk up and act unfriendly towards me.
But there was something I could do. While he was distracted with the backpack, I pushed my laptop underneath my camping mattress. Because the tent was partly collapsed, it was a mess of tent fabric, sleeping bag and mattress. Which was very good for me, because he did not see the second bike bag I had.
You have to imagine the setup like this: Folding bike, partly folded, together with one bag in the tent apsis, backpack and second bag at the top of the tent, which was falling down on it. He saw the backpack, because I took it to get the passport in the beginning, but not the other bag, with my credit card and camera.
What he did take is my money, several hundred Euro in cash. My GPS. My kindle. (god damn it, I was 95% done with the book) My phone. Bike computer, cables, bike lock (guess it was heavy, heavy = valueable?), the lights... and worst of all: My external HDD. 2TB of data gone.
When he left I was running after him, yelling at him that he should leave the harddrive, but that only made him angry and in retrospect it was pretty pointless, since he didn't understand a word I said. First thing I did when he was gone was throwing my laptop and bike bags into a nearby bush, in case he comes back.
On the way back to the tent I realized what is on that harddrive, I just stopped walking, fell down, curled up into a ball and allowed myself to cry for half a minute or so.
My pictures.
All of them.
I moved out of my flat in Germany and stored my belongings, taking every bit of important data with me. I wanted to set up an online backup once I arrived in India and have some time, but that stupidity might have cost me my entire collection of photos I took since 2007. I'm sure I still have some, maybe, on a harddrive in Germany, but I guess that at least half of them are gone forever.
Which makes me sad. The rest just made me angry.
I packed the rest of my things, walked back to the road and started cycling, because staying in the same spot would be a hilariously bad idea.
The rest of the night was all highs and lows. It started to rain almost immediately after I started to cycle, a thunderstorm that would later end up becoming a hail storm.
I stopped at a restaurant that I knew from my way to Tripoli, the manager gave me a free tea and allowed me to use the wifi, so that I could book a hostel in Beirut and tell people what happened.
I was stopped by the police at a checkpoint and questioned what I was doing, riding a bike in the middle of the night. When I told them I was robbed by a soldier, they said "no, no, that was no Lebanese soldier, it was probably a Syrian guy." They were more interested in smalltalk and my bike than in the robbery.
At the next military checkpoint I tried telling people what happened, but no one understood English.
Then I got a flat tire.
After midnight by now, I was just done. I remembered that this place was not far from the beach I camped at a couple of days earlier, when I first rode to Tripoli, so I ended the night like it began:
I camped on the beach, looking at the ocean.
What now?
I will continue the tour through the Middle East, replace the missing gear, hopefully with your help, and keep everyone updated.
The money I will use to buy new electronics and replace the ~400€ that were stolen. All together maybe 1500€ worth gone, and unrelated to the robbery, I do have a thing to fix on the bike, the USB adapter that if powered by the dynamo. Everything over the goal amount I will put into my tour, I'm playing with the thought of changing my route, which requires extra flights to be booked. A few percent go to Gofundme, Conversion, Paypal and credit card fees, I think something between 5-10% in the end.
Since I find it a bit weird to ask people on the internet for cash, I just wanted to let you know that I will continue no matter what, regardless of the success of this campaign.
I'll leave you with a short essay that I had to think of while all this is happening, feel free to ignore it or take it as inspiration, I just found it fitting.
So long, thank you for reading, and have a good day. :)
- Patrick Martin
Wanderer
To be truly challenging, a voyage, like a life, must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. Otherwise, you are doomed to a routine traverse, the kind known to yachtsmen who play with their boats at sea... cruising, it is called.
Voyaging belongs to seamen, and to the wanderers of the world who cannot, or will not, fit in. If you are contemplating a voyage and you have the means, abandon the venture until your fortunes change. Only then will you know what the sea is all about.
I’ve always wanted to sail to the south seas, but I can’t afford it. What these men can’t afford is not to go. They are enmeshed in the cancerous discipline of security. And in the worship of security we fling our lives beneath the wheels of routine – and before we know it our lives are gone.
What does a man need – really need? A few pounds of food each day, heat and shelter, six feet to lie down in – and some form of working activity that will yield a sense of accomplishment. That’s all – in the material sense, and we know it. But we are brainwashed by our economic system until we end up in a tomb beneath a pyramid of time payments, mortgages, preposterous gadgetry, playthings that divert our attention for the sheer idiocy of the charade. The years thunder by, The dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of patience. Before we know it, the tomb is sealed.
Where, then, lies the answer? In choice. Which shall it be: bankruptcy of purse or bankruptcy of life?
- Sterling Hayden
(The show must go on.)
PS: I just noticed now that this campaign is apparently active since 17 months. Seems I made an account here one and a half years ago and forgot about it. The campaign is from now, the 14th December 2015.
For many years I've travelled around the world on my bicycle, camping and enjoying the hospitality of strangers. That natural trust took a huge hit yesterday.
To make it short: I've been robbed.
(me with the folding bike just before departure to Lebanon)
I made this campaign to ask for support, helping me replace the missing gear and get back on the road. I'm in Lebanon right now, sitting in a hostel in Beirut, trying to wrap my head around what happened yesterday night. I was camping on a trail near the ocean when a soldier came running at night, ripped half my tent out of the ground, yelled at me in Arabic, threatened me with his gun and took what he wanted.
After he left I hastily packed my things, cycling through a hailstorm, camped at another beach after getting a flat and arrived in Beirut today. Now I'm going through my missing gear, see what is gone, what is left, will head to the police station and make a plan. I really hope on the help of the... public? Travel community? Fellow human beings? to get me started again.
So, what exactly am I doing in Lebanon?
Many years ago I wanted to travel one time round the world before going to university. I saved all my money for it and with no experience or solid plan, I left home aged 19. That was over 8 years ago.
Since then I had many adventures, been to 133 countries, cycled across the Sahara twice, went through Siberia, boated the Amazon, survived bike crashes, Dengue fever, a crocodile bite and the crazy traffic I faced.
This part of the trip should bring me into the Middle East, Lebanon was the first country on the list, great start. ;) Kuwait, Bahrain, Qatar, the UAE and Oman should be next.
If you want to know more about me and my tours, just check http://worldbicyclist.com/, my website. But now back to what happened yesterday.
(Lebanon, ocean road)
A different kind of hospitality: Getting robbed
The day before was already pretty bad. I was staying one night with a couchsurfer in Tripoli in the north of the country, but he lived with his parents and whenever he leaves the house, I had to leave too.
It was a flat in an apartment block that belonged to his family and apparently they were afraid that I would steal. This is word for word what he told me, his father would not like a stranger in the house, and since the family are devout muslims, the mother would have to wear her headscarf because a non-family member would see her. Why he, the son, invites couchsurfer, I do not know.
He also told me that Lebanon is safe and that I can leave my bicycle, value 3000€, unlocked in the stairway, because no one would steal. I was a bit stumped by this, because in essence I was asked to trust people that do not trust me.
The son himself was very friendly, regretted the circumstances, but unfortunately very busy. When I came back the next day from the old town, looking at the castle and bazaars, his father called him home and gave me 30 minutes to pack my things and leave.
Great.
Leaving Tripoli a bit alienated, I cycled towards Beirut, which is less than 100km away. But instead of facing the heavy traffic and paying for a hotel or hostel, I wanted to enjoy the ride, took the more windy ocean road and ended up on a trail near the town of Anfeh. The road went through a tunnel, but next to it was a walking path along cliffs overlooking the ocean. It was a really nice spot and I decided to stop early and call it a day.
I pitched my tent, took my book and spend the afternoon reading, watching the sunset... only 5-6 people came by that have seen where I am and that I might stay the night.
(Tunnel near my campsite. There is a trail to the right, going around the tunnel)
(Super safe campsite. Surely no robbers around.)
At 08:30 I was in the tent, on the last pages of my book, when I heard what sounded like a jogger. A lamp was shining at my tent and I thought "Please dont stop, please just done mind me."
Of course the footsteps stopped right next to my tent and I heard some Arabic. Now I don't speak Arabic besides a few words, I just replied in English, when the person suddenly tried lifting the tent, looking for the entry. He ripped out 2 tent stakes and half of it collapsed.
I was rightfully pissed about that, opened the zipper and asked firmly wtf was going on, when I saw a soldier standing in front of me.
"Well, ok, that makes sense." There was a military base 10km down the road, lots of checkpoints across the country and someone probably told them that there is a foreigner camping there. I tried talking to him, but he spoke only Arabic, gestured towards my backpack. I took out my passport and handed it to him, but soon realized that this was not a proper control, when he grabbed the backpack and started rummaging around in it. In the end he just poured the content out, snatching my Euro notes that I carry as a backup with me.
At that point, I was really pissed, told him "NO" and stared angrily, which was obviously the smart thing to do. Unfortunately the kind man did not put the things back into my bag and left, but instead unholstered his pistol, put a bullet in the chamber (*clack-clack, everyone knows the sound, one of the sergeants in my unit once called it the universal-translator) and aimed it at my head. "No?" he asked, upon which I raised my hands, rolled my eyes and told him to go on, do what you like.
So I'm sitting there, in the dark, barefoot, no glasses on, and had to watch some stupid shit go through my equipment, that I painstakingly selected, assembled, modified and took with me on a yearlong tour through Asia. I was pondering the success chances of pushing him over the cliff, but after 3m it got flat again, with a large bush blocking the long, long way down to the rocks. I could have shoved him, only to watch him be stopped by the bush, walk up and act unfriendly towards me.
But there was something I could do. While he was distracted with the backpack, I pushed my laptop underneath my camping mattress. Because the tent was partly collapsed, it was a mess of tent fabric, sleeping bag and mattress. Which was very good for me, because he did not see the second bike bag I had.
You have to imagine the setup like this: Folding bike, partly folded, together with one bag in the tent apsis, backpack and second bag at the top of the tent, which was falling down on it. He saw the backpack, because I took it to get the passport in the beginning, but not the other bag, with my credit card and camera.
What he did take is my money, several hundred Euro in cash. My GPS. My kindle. (god damn it, I was 95% done with the book) My phone. Bike computer, cables, bike lock (guess it was heavy, heavy = valueable?), the lights... and worst of all: My external HDD. 2TB of data gone.
When he left I was running after him, yelling at him that he should leave the harddrive, but that only made him angry and in retrospect it was pretty pointless, since he didn't understand a word I said. First thing I did when he was gone was throwing my laptop and bike bags into a nearby bush, in case he comes back.
On the way back to the tent I realized what is on that harddrive, I just stopped walking, fell down, curled up into a ball and allowed myself to cry for half a minute or so.
My pictures.
All of them.
I moved out of my flat in Germany and stored my belongings, taking every bit of important data with me. I wanted to set up an online backup once I arrived in India and have some time, but that stupidity might have cost me my entire collection of photos I took since 2007. I'm sure I still have some, maybe, on a harddrive in Germany, but I guess that at least half of them are gone forever.
Which makes me sad. The rest just made me angry.
I packed the rest of my things, walked back to the road and started cycling, because staying in the same spot would be a hilariously bad idea.
The rest of the night was all highs and lows. It started to rain almost immediately after I started to cycle, a thunderstorm that would later end up becoming a hail storm.
I stopped at a restaurant that I knew from my way to Tripoli, the manager gave me a free tea and allowed me to use the wifi, so that I could book a hostel in Beirut and tell people what happened.
I was stopped by the police at a checkpoint and questioned what I was doing, riding a bike in the middle of the night. When I told them I was robbed by a soldier, they said "no, no, that was no Lebanese soldier, it was probably a Syrian guy." They were more interested in smalltalk and my bike than in the robbery.
At the next military checkpoint I tried telling people what happened, but no one understood English.
Then I got a flat tire.
After midnight by now, I was just done. I remembered that this place was not far from the beach I camped at a couple of days earlier, when I first rode to Tripoli, so I ended the night like it began:
I camped on the beach, looking at the ocean.
What now?
I will continue the tour through the Middle East, replace the missing gear, hopefully with your help, and keep everyone updated.
The money I will use to buy new electronics and replace the ~400€ that were stolen. All together maybe 1500€ worth gone, and unrelated to the robbery, I do have a thing to fix on the bike, the USB adapter that if powered by the dynamo. Everything over the goal amount I will put into my tour, I'm playing with the thought of changing my route, which requires extra flights to be booked. A few percent go to Gofundme, Conversion, Paypal and credit card fees, I think something between 5-10% in the end.
Since I find it a bit weird to ask people on the internet for cash, I just wanted to let you know that I will continue no matter what, regardless of the success of this campaign.
I'll leave you with a short essay that I had to think of while all this is happening, feel free to ignore it or take it as inspiration, I just found it fitting.
So long, thank you for reading, and have a good day. :)
- Patrick Martin
Wanderer
To be truly challenging, a voyage, like a life, must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. Otherwise, you are doomed to a routine traverse, the kind known to yachtsmen who play with their boats at sea... cruising, it is called.
Voyaging belongs to seamen, and to the wanderers of the world who cannot, or will not, fit in. If you are contemplating a voyage and you have the means, abandon the venture until your fortunes change. Only then will you know what the sea is all about.
I’ve always wanted to sail to the south seas, but I can’t afford it. What these men can’t afford is not to go. They are enmeshed in the cancerous discipline of security. And in the worship of security we fling our lives beneath the wheels of routine – and before we know it our lives are gone.
What does a man need – really need? A few pounds of food each day, heat and shelter, six feet to lie down in – and some form of working activity that will yield a sense of accomplishment. That’s all – in the material sense, and we know it. But we are brainwashed by our economic system until we end up in a tomb beneath a pyramid of time payments, mortgages, preposterous gadgetry, playthings that divert our attention for the sheer idiocy of the charade. The years thunder by, The dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of patience. Before we know it, the tomb is sealed.
Where, then, lies the answer? In choice. Which shall it be: bankruptcy of purse or bankruptcy of life?
- Sterling Hayden
(The show must go on.)PS: I just noticed now that this campaign is apparently active since 17 months. Seems I made an account here one and a half years ago and forgot about it. The campaign is from now, the 14th December 2015.
Organizer
Patrick Martin Schroeder
Organizer
Pulheim
