Cigarette smoking among U.S. adults has decreased by almost 66% in the past 50 years. This rapid decline has all happened since the first Surgeon General’s report which warned of the health consequences of smoking.

Now, health gurus have taken on a new mantra akin to those initial cigarette warnings: “Sitting is the new smoking!”

This begs us to ask the question, is it true?

How to Beat the Modern Way of Living

The human body is designed to move. That's just a fact.

For thousands of years, that's exactly what we did. However, technological advances of the 20th century (think: cars, TVs, computers, the Internet, etc.) have finally begun taking their toll on the way we’re evolving.

And the numbers are not pretty, check them out:

• According to JustStand.org, the average human is now seated for 12 hours per day. That’s not including the 7-8 hours of average sleeping time.

• This has resulted in 3.2 million premature deaths (per year) as a result of inactivity.

• Scientists say physical activity - or the lack thereof - has now become the 4th leading risk factor for global mortality.

Some experts are saying that the "sitting disease" may be one of the most unanticipated health threats of our modern time.

But there is good news. . .

Sitting is not the new smoking. A full recovery from the impact of long-term smoking is far less likely than recovering from a sedentary lifestyle.

Experts use this mantra because, without taking action, the negative consequences between sitting and smoking can each be detrimental in their own ways.

However, simple lifestyle changes have proven to make a world of difference in the fight against our impending sedentary doom. You don’t have to start with hitting the gym 5 days a week. Sometimes, it's better to take baby steps.

Today, I will share some effective, super simple habits that will get you on your way to escaping a sedentary lifestyle.

But, Adam, who the hell are you to speak about an active lifestyle?

Trust me, I’m not exempt from falling victim to the sedentary ways of modern life. From the ages of 22-28, I spent upwards of 90% of my time either laying in bed or sitting in a chair. That’s exactly what has led me to research this topic.

And, eventually, it led me here; the road to Papua New Guinea via my own two feet. But don’t think you have to take on an expedition to one of the most remote places in the world to beat our modern way of living.

Here are a couple of super subtle ways to break-free from the chair/sofa/bed and do your future-self a favor. . .

1. Standing

Yes, you read that right (I told you this would be obvious). Making a conscious habit of alternating between sitting and standing every 30 minutes can go a long way. I’ve adopted a sit-stand-switch philosophy when I can! Like when I’m scrolling through Instagram, I’ll try to remember to stand up or slowly pace around the room.

2. Walking

We underestimate the positive impact that low-intensity activities can have on our internal systems. Movement is not only good for stiff joints and cold muscles, it's also vital for things like a healthy heart rate and speedy metabolism.

In fact, the accumulation of low-intensity activities (like walking) often account for more of our daily energy expenditure than high-intensity workouts such as weight-lifting.

So, how much should you walk daily?

Any amount of extra walking is better than none. I would suggest finding a routine that is sustainable for your lifestyle which includes any amount of extra steps when possible. Simply choosing to walk in your down-time or while you take calls can have unlimited positive impact. The choice is easy.

3. Dead hangs

It’s no secret that sitting at a desk is terrible for our posture. Bad posture can lead to more than just spinal curvuture and neck aches. Poor sleep, disrupted digestion, and even a lack of motivation can all be partially blamed on a slumped posture.

But something as simple as hanging from a bar can be a great remedy. Dead hangs can strengthen, decompress, loosen, and mobilize your entire upper body — even after just a few seconds a day!

Hanging in this passive position allows your upper body to fully relax after the stress which a day seated puts on your spine.

I'm not perfect. My old tendencies always find their way back into my life. The Internet is an addictive place, after all. But awareness of this sitting epidemic is crucial!

If I'm going to make such an ambitious attempt as traveling to Papua New Guinea by foot, I might as well hold myself accountable by doubling down and advocating for the health benefits of walking, too.

So, let this be my own reminder that choosing to sit has much bigger consequences than I’m willing to accept. Therefore. I’ll choose to keep walking. . .

See you in Flores,

Adam

You can reach me by replying to this email. Words of encouragement warmly accepted.

The Papua Expedition supports the 771 million people in the world without sanitary water. Please consider giving — all it takes is $40 to bring clean water to an individual for life!

For more info: https://www.charitywater.org/adam-cheshier

Our lifestyle, as humans in the modern age, is far from that of our hunter-gatherer ancestors.

Duh.

I would guess that most of the 611 recipients of this email are like me in that the older you get, the more sedentary your life becomes.

Again, duh.

Research from the British Heart Foundation shows that we spend anywhere from 60-75% of our waking hours on our ass. Whether it’s at a desk, on the couch, or lying in bed.

I’ve been wrestling with this universal truth and wondering why I’ve let it slowly run its course on my own life. The truth is, it just seems to happen.

There is not really one particular excuse, we just seem to prioritize our time elsewhere than on daily movement. This is where the differences between us and our ancestors begin.

Obviously, their livelihood depended on a high degree of movement. Our livelihood, on the other hand, while it ultimately depends on our physical health, is not as dire on a day-to-day basis.

I can order my groceries with a twitch of my thumb. I can talk to my friends across the world from my living room. Hell, I can even climb mountains by just slipping on a VR headset. Technology is making us increasingly sedentary.

This is not a secret to you, I know.

Although not everyone has the time or desire to replicate the lifestyle of our ancestors, there’s no question it is more in-line with our genetic make-up. And certainly, more akin to a healthy existence.

I remember the first time somebody drew this connection for me. Instantly, something about it clicked. You can’t argue science and our genetic roots, right!

We’re not meant to be sedentary creatures. We weren’t created that way. But, somehow, modernity has turned us that way. And quickly!

This, in part, led me to start walking more. And, low and behold, making a conscious effort to move more led to a plethora of benefits both mentally and physically. It’s a big reason why I fell in love with the art of walking; why I’m walking across Indonesia now.

So, how much did our hunter-gatherer ancestors walk each day?

Although the distances covered varied widely depending on hunting and foraging routines, cultures, weather, seasons, ages, etc., most estimates indicate that the average daily distance covered was anywhere from 6 to 16 kilometers.

This works out to be around 8,000 steps per day on the low end. Or, if you’re speaking in time, that’s about 1 hour and 20 minutes solely dedicated to walking.

According to Mayo Clinic, the average American today is taking only 3,000-4,000 steps each day.

On the Papua Expedition, I’ll average somewhere around 35-40,000 steps per day. But I’m interested in making changes for the long-term – not just for the four or five months on expedition.

So, I’ll continue to use this space to promote walking – as a way to share the benefits it has brought me as well as to hold myself accountable for the well-being of my future.

I think we could all spare some time in our day-to-day lives for a nice walk about. What do you think?

We’ll get into the simple benefits of walking on another day. But, trust me, there are TONS! More updates from the expedition soon!

— Adam

You can reach me by replying to this email. Words of encouragement warmly accepted.

The Papua Expedition supports the 771 million people in the world without sanitary water. Please consider giving — all it takes is $40 to bring clean water to an individual for life!

For more info: https://www.charitywater.org/adam-cheshier

Tomorrow is Nyepi on the island of Bali. It's an annual day of silence to ring in the Balinese calendar's new year.

Rather than fireworks and parties, the Balinese reserve this day as a day of introspection to decide on values such as humanity, love, patience, kindness, and others, that should be engraved in who you are.

As such, anything that might prohibit you or others from that self-reflection is strictly not allowed. This includes:

1. Work

2. Entertainment/ pleasure

3. Travel (including a walk down the street or along the beach)

4. Internet

5. Electricity (or candlelight/fires)

6. Talking (or noise of any kind)

7. Eating

I'm probably missing a few restrictions, but you get the point. It's a day of nothingness, basically. The streets are empty and everybody stays inside.

And, trust me, the restrictions are taken seriously here. The only people outside are the pecalang, or elder men who patrol the streets to ensure the prohibitions are being followed. Electricity is cut on the island, so don't even try. Even all flights arriving/departing the island are cancelled. Non-Hindu residents and tourists are not exempt from these restrictions.

As for me, this will be my third Nyepi on the island. It's pretty hard to believe I've called this place home for that long. Most likely, this will be a focal point in my self-reflection throughout the day -- whether or not my need for community and a 'home' is still being fulfilled here.

Obviously, it's a very individual/personal celebration. Meditation and fasting are staples for Hindus on Nyepi. But there are multiple days of festivities and Nyepi is only one.

On the eve of Nyepi, parades are held at sunset for the ritual of Pengrupukan. In virtually every village in Bali, you can witness dozens-to-hundreds of locals out on the streets with blazing torches in hand. They ferociously beat on the kulkul (traditional bamboo bells) as they make their way to the beach.

This is followed by a procession of Ogoh-ogoh, which are giant, demonic-looking paper-mache puppets carried on bamboo poles by upwards of 50-75 men from each village. They are accompanied by the continual playing of loud gamelan music and whistling. The atmosphere grows heavier as the beat speeds and the growing crowd roars from every direction. Swirling clouds of smoke start rising from the mosh of people below.

Then, at the climax of the playing, neighboring villages meet on the beach. Their Ogoh-ogoh characters clash and 'battle' each other. The scene becomes chaotic as the men, carrying the giant evil puppets, charge at one another.

Suddenly, the characters are lit ablaze in the main ritual known as Ngrupuk. This rightfully causes an even louder commotion among the bystanders and, gradually, the cryptic scene turns into a joyous celebration.

The Ogoh-ogoh effigies depict the character of Bhuta, or the evil spirit. The burning of the ogoh-ogoh symbolizes the cleansing of all evil influences in life.

Here's one small village's celebration.

There are also the rituals of Tawur Kesanga and Caru. As opposed to the artificial sacrifice during Ngrupuk, these are real-life sacrifices made on the same day.  Chicken, ducks, pigs, goats -- even cows or bulls are slaughtered to honor the gods.

That's not all. There are several other rituals which are either family-oriented or community-based which I hope to attend -- including Omed-Omedan, or the "Kissing Ritual" 😜

I've done all this research in hopes that I can be more involved in this year’s celebration. Shortly after, I will head back to Flores to continue the expedition to Papua. However, it seemed appropriate that I come back for these festivities. After all, the whole purpose of this expedition is to travel with deeper regard to local life and traditions.

Thanks for reading! I hope hearing about these rituals plays into your romanticism of southern island culture like it does mine.

You can reach me by replying to this email. Words of encouragement for Leg 2 of the expedition are warmly accepted.

The Papua Expedition supports the 771 million people in the world without sanitary water. Please consider giving — all it takes is $40 to bring clean water to an individual for life!

For more info or to donate, see here.

* The day and celebration of Nyepi dates back as far as the year 78 A.D.

** Nyepi is regarded as New Years Day on the Saka calendar. However, the Balinese use two calendars: The saka calendar which is based on moon cycles and more closely follows our 365-day year, and the pawukon calendar which is said to originate from the rice growing cycles in Bali, a 210-day calendar.

In case you were wondering -- the Saka calendar is 78 years behind our Gregorian calendar. That means it is the year 1945 tomorrow. However, the typical Gregorian calendar is still more-often referred to on a day-to-day basis in Bali. I guess that makes three calendars which the Balinese refer to -- talk about a headache.

“In 1997, the island of Lombok was but a dot on the map for most people outside of Indonesia.

Even with tourism gaining steam in the neighboring island of Bali, a majority of foreign vacationers (mostly Australian) had never heard of Lombok.

Those who visited Lombok did so with an interest in either biology or anthropology. One such anthropologist, Kari Telle, a Norwegian researcher, found herself in the middle of a heated religious debate in a tiny agricultural village called Penanga, nearly 25 years prior to my visit.

On a late October night, rain came flooding from the skies. It was the beginning to an unforgiving rainy season. Local harvests were plentiful that year, but excess rain always brought unforeseen issues.

Huddled in the back of a beat-up pickup truck, Kari waited as the dirt path ended and her local Sasak friends began hopping down to the soggy grassland.

In the distance, across paddy fields and prairie, there was a cemetery. Surrounding its boundaries, hundreds of villagers circled a fallen tree, which previously stood 25-meters-tall. It was charred from trunk to tip and, in fact, still in flames. The tree had crushed several headstones, some of whose family members now watched on.

Village leaders urged everyone to stand back. They warned that bad energy was building inside the cemetery and the flame should be left alone to avoid conflict. After all, nature was at the heart of all local spirituality. Not only that, there was an utmost importance in communication with ancestral spirits after death.

“It was lightning,” Kari’s friend, Surya, told her. “It struck the tree during our mid-day prayer and has been burning all evening.”

Just the fact that this happened outside of a cemetery and during a holy part of the day was enough to spark commotion among the people of Penanga. There was an eerie feeling that ‘something’ was about to happen or that this event held deeper meaning. Within hours, worry spread all the way to neighboring towns of Bonjeruk and Ubang.

Water is regularly poured on the headstones of deceased relatives. This is to ‘cool off’ the headstones and, subsequently, relieve the burning torment they must suffer from the grave. In Sasak belief, extreme heat is associated with anger and conflict. However, as the village leaders warned, it would bring bad fortune to halt the fate nature had in store for them.

Certainly, according to these beliefs, a white-hot lightning strike and ensuing fire would conjure up all the cemetery’s bad spirits.

This later sparked debate on the ideology of the ‘living landscape’ in Lombok. For the coming days, weeks, months, locals argued over what this symbolic event could mean. Let me give you some context. . .

There was (and is) an on-going transition of spiritual understanding in Lombok.

Like I’ve mentioned, for hundreds of years, Sasak people have tied their religious ideology to ancestral spirits and nature. However, Lombok is a predominate island of Islam. It’s known as the “island of a thousand mosques”. In recent decades, Sasak Muslims — the majority ethnic group of Lombok — have been working to reform ideologies of the ‘invisible world’ (aka, spirits) into practice more vested in humans and God.

However, despite their efforts, many traditional Sasaks still believe in the natural environment — trees, rivers, mountains, wind, the ocean, and animals. They have faith these things will communicate with them when they reach a point of moral imbalance.

And, sometimes, these ‘invisible’ signs will reach a tipping point that becomes impossible to ignore — as in the case of the fallen cemetery tree.

Should they put so much faith in these invisible warnings? That was the debate among the villages 25 years ago.

By 2020, when I first arrived in Lombok, it was a different place.

Reformists and development, alike, had brought change to the landscape and ideologies. At that time, though, I was blissfully ignorant of the decades-long religious politics and circumstances of the island. Nor did I have an inkling of knowledge about Sasak’s ancestral roots. It was the middle of the global COVID-19 pandemic and I was hunkered down in paradise; that’s all that was on my mind.”

I’ve finished the first leg of the walk to Papua. Now, I’m taking a quick hiatus and I’ll soon start again from where I left off.

You can reach me by replying to this email. Words of encouragement warmly accepted.

The Papua Expedition supports the 771 million people in the world without sanitary water. Please consider giving — all it takes is $40 to bring clean water to an individual for life!

For more info, see here.

— Adam J. Cheshier

Hello, all!

I'm back on the Island of the Gods for the Balinese new year, Nyepi. It’s a quick hiatus from The Papua Expedition. I've made it nearly 500 kilometers from where I started, and I promise I'll start to send more frequent updates.

But, there is something else I'd like to send you today. It's not an update.

March 22 is World Water Day.

In honor of that, I wanted to bring more awareness to charity:water's cause. It is an organization I have a lot of faith in.

For many of us, clean water is just a few steps away: accessible at the turn of a faucet. For others on the opposite side of the world, it's the alternative — a day dominated by disruptive, dangerous walks just to reach an unclean water source for the most basic human needs.

My message to you, regarding this, is all about time.

The time we lose. The time we waste. The time we want.

You probably live thousands of miles from the rural communities I walk through on my journey. Because of this, you might never witness the global water crisis first-hand, or walk miles for dirty water like millions of women and girls around the world. 

But the weight of time — and the reality that there’s just not enough of it — is something we’ve all experienced. 

Ending the walk for water isn’t just about time saved, it’s about time spent on everything that makes life better. Without the walk for water, women and girls gain an average of 70 minutes in their day. Time to learn or lead or socialize. Time to pursue their goals. 

Imagine what you could do with an extra 70 minutes each day. How much longer and richer life could be. Now, imagine losing 70 minutes each day on something as basic as the walk for water.

There are 18 million Indonesians that lack access to safe drinking water.

The Papua Expedition supports the 771 million people in the world without sanitary water. Please consider giving — all it takes is $40 to bring clean water to an individual for life!

For more info, you can read here.

Thanks for following along!

We’ve reached the far eastern tip of the island of Sumbawa, one of the lengthiest islands I’ll cross on my way east.

Over the course of this journey, I’ve been met with the constant reminder that I don’t know this country as well as I thought. This land and the way things work is (almost) completely foreign to me after spending the last three years of my life just a few hundred kilometers west of here. It’s frustrating, to say the least.

Our latest battle has been the ferry system. What seems should be a fairly straight-forward and orderly system of inter-island travel is, in fact, far from it. So confusing, actually, it has discouraged my reliance on it for the rest of the way.

We are stuck in Bima, the island’s largest city, for the next five days while we wait out ‘poor sea conditions’. This is what I’ve been told anyway, from ferry operators, despite meanwhile being offered several trips on expensive private (and much smaller) charter boats.

We’ve luckily found a hotel that makes me feel like I’m staying in the Hilton, especially after a month of difficult assimilation to local living standards in village after village.

I don’t want that to make me sound like I’m complaining about what I’ve chosen to put myself through, because I’m not. After all, for me, it’s a choice to be here. For so many others we’ve met on our walk, this is life. I have felt nothing but truly humbled.

Still, I would be lying to say that all the frustrations — added up — haven’t made me feel like quitting. At several points, I have tried to make excuses for myself — the ferry system being the latest. I’ve thought about back-tracking to Bali for a month of recalibration. After all, this is my first attempt at true expedition and it is far from an easy one.

It’s not like we are machete-ing our way through jungle growth, but at times, I wish we were. Or, at least, further isolated from people — which have been the cause of most of the frustration to this point. Old feelings of distrust have resurfaced and forced me to question the very purpose of this challenge. I thought being at the mercy of others would foster closer relationships, but it has done the furthest thing from it to this point.

Despite all of it, we’ve made the decision to push on. On the 12th, we’ll head to the island of Flores, with much anticipation.

As we tread east, the stares have gotten longer and less welcoming. Not in an inhospitable way, but in shock. Our interpretation of our encounters, too, has become more shocking. Admittedly, there is a lot more on record about Flores. It’s not as much of an unknown as Sumbawa was to us. This will be a good thing.

— Adam

You can reach me by replying to this email. Words of encouragement warmly accepted.

The Papua Expedition supports the 771 million people in the world without sanitary water. Please consider giving — all it takes is $40 to bring clean water to an individual for life!

For more info: https://www.charitywater.org/adam-cheshier

Despite the slow start, we’ve logged nearly 200 kilometers and already made our first island crossing.

We’ve been trudging through an incomprehensible amount of sickness, injury, and bureaucratic issues. Plus, we must be somewhere with suitable internet connection every weekend in order to stream the Chiefs playoff run (priorities, I know)…

📸 @loladlbs (loladelabays.com)

I weighed-in at ~87kg on Day 1 and am now down roughly 5kg (10lbs). I knew this would be an unintended consequence of a walking expedition. It’s difficult to maintain a stable, nutrient-dense diet as we get more remote.

We are burning anywhere from 800-1,500 (and even upward of 2,000) calories of active energy each day. I would estimate we’re only eating an equivalent amount. There’s a surprising lack of vegetables in the eastern Indonesian diet, which is why we packed tons of nutrients in powder and capsule form. We can easily find rice, eggs, chicken, and bananas which have become the staples of the expedition menu so far. When we cross through a large enough village, we can usually find peanut butter and bread, too. It’s about as exotic of a diet as it sounds.

Still, the most challenging part of the journey through three weeks hasn’t been the lack of menu options, it has been the subtle decline of comfort in where we sleep. My misguided mind had become accustomed to the relative luxury found at all corners of Bali.

I’m no diva when it comes to where I rest my head at night. In reality, I’m the furthest thing from it. I’ve spent many nights on the streets of Europe, in my younger days, as I tramped around with a thin wallet. Lola, too, is as open-minded as anyone about sleeping arrangements. However, it’s not so easy as it was when I was twenty-one. I’m afraid this may take a few more weeks getting used to.

Meanwhile, I’ve shared my living space with rats, mosquitos, and paper thin walls that invite the 4:30AM call-to-prayer into my ears every morning. I’ve showered via bucket-n-spout on more than a few occasions. I’ve re-introduced myself to the perpetually-yet-mysteriously-wet bathroom floors of Southeast Asia. And I’ve also reverted to the always-fun squat toilet which I’m embarrassed to report I’ve still not mastered.

Even with the loss of convenience and comfort, I feel grateful for the lessons of humility this experience has granted me. We could all use a dirty splash of toilet water on the calf to humble us once in a while.

Lola and I joke that our hierarchy of needs keeps thinning the further remote we get. This idea has consumed a majority of my thoughts and I quite like it. I could call it as refreshing as it has been uncomfortable to escape the noise and desires of western culture. And, while I’m not ready to ditch my showerhead at home, there has been something gratifying in the reminder this expedition has provided.

The most pressing thought in my head has been the fact that the standard of living will only go down from here, for the next several months. I’m slowly coming to terms with that just as any Indonesian living east of Bali has to. Except, for them, it’s not an experience like it is for me. It’s life.

I’m not on this expedition to document my personal journey of overcoming obstacles. Although I will inevitably detail what is seen and heard from my own perspective, the purpose is to create encounters with locals at a genuine level. To face the same elements, navigate the same terrain, and hopefully get to know the people of the Lesser Sunda Islands at face value.

It’s early and there’s still a long way to go. I’m giving myself this grace period to acclimate to the personal challenges facing me, but ultimately to make this trip a success, I have to arrive somewhere beyond those obstacles. It’s not just about reaching Papua New Guinea, but also finding what it is I’ve been missing in all my years of travel to this point; a genuine understanding of place and people.

I’ll check-in here, again, soon. . .

Adam

P.S. — You can reach me by replying to this email. Words of encouragement warmly accepted.

The Papua Expedition supports the 771 million people in the world without sanitary water. Please consider giving — all it takes is $40 to bring clean water to an individual for life!

For more info: https://www.charitywater.org/adam-cheshier

As the subject of this post reads, The Papua Expedition is off to a slow start.

We made it 30 kilometers before being forced to stay-put for 5 long days in Kuta, Lombok.

Somewhere, somehow, I came down with the flu and have been battling migraines, weakness, and brain fog all week.

After a long night hovered over the toilet, I’m feeling much better. We plan to restart the expedition on Wednesday. Hopefully, we can stay healthy.

Though I regret the week’s familiarity with this bathroom, nobody said the expedition would be 5-star comfort.

I’ve been laid up in bed all week, but Lola (professional documentary photographer joining me on this expedition) has been exploring the area each day and has surely caught some exciting things through her lens in the meantime.

You can follow her channels to keep up with the visual (non-toilet) content from the expedition.

Instagram — https://instagram.com/loladlbs?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=

Twitter — https://twitter.com/loladlbs?s=21&t=_szAgk5Dl_j0sL-kFkkNpA

Website — https://www.loladelabays.com

As I said, without any updates from the road to send, I figured I would share part of a (very) rough draft of this journey’s subsequent book intro.

Let me know what you think.

— Adam

You can reach me by replying to this email. Words of encouragement warmly accepted.

The Papua Expedition supports the 771 million people in the world without sanitary water. Please consider giving — all it takes is $40 to bring clean water to an individual for life!

For more info: https://www.charitywater.org/adam-cheshier

Chapter 1: Lombok, 2020

. . .

By 2020, when I arrived in Lombok, it was a different place. Reformists and development, alike, had brought change to the landscape and ideologies. At the time, though, I was blissfully ignorant of the decades-long religious politics and circumstances of the island. It was the middle of the global COVID-19 pandemic and I was hunkered down in paradise; that’s all that was on my mind. 

News about outbreaks and quarantine in far-off places would arrive late on this side of the world. Lombok was relatively safe from the spread. Here and there, small pockets and communities of the island were being affected, but nothing like what we saw on the global scale.

Life happened pretty normally on the island, especially after the pandemic lingered on worldwide. Still, I’d usually only leave the house once a day out of guilt; guilt that the rest of the world suffered while I soaked in a little personal paradisiacal existence. 

I’d go on my routine sunset scooter ride and take in all the surrounding nature. At sundown in Lombok is when the scene comes alive with local flare and majestic colors. I’d race the sun along the ocean horizon and through the verdant valleys, each evening hoping it would last longer than the previous. The sun disappears quicker on the equator — and that was one of my life’s greatest concerns in those days.

Swerving around loose gravel on the narrow blacktop roads was another concern; South Lombok was in a perpetual state of development. It wouldn’t be long before this paradise would have a completely different look.

I always enjoyed the contrasting nature of the dark, well-paved Mawun Road and the surrounding vibrant fauna. The view was almost too much to process while remaining safe behind the handlebars of a scooter.

Tall hills with mammoth vistas of green as far as the eyes could see. Valleys with spirals of smoke spanning from village wood fires danced at dusk from countless homes, creating a sense of timelessness not experienced in Asian cities; only here in countryside. It gave the scene a sense of nostalgia — a magic, if you will. A yearning for the past.

Calls to prayer sound at the most opportune times; whether at the beach, driving slow through the village, or even the distant call heard while taking shortcuts through the corn fields. Each night, a different mu’adhin calls the villagers to the mosque. Each night, a different prayer. Their deep voices sullen but commanding, echoing off walls, vibrating the body and sending a chill down your spine. 

Water buffalo and cows alike were led in herds along the roadside by aged cowboys, most with straw hats and fewer teeth than hand-rolled cigarettes in their pocket. Each cow with rope tied through its nostrils, allowing farmers to tie them to coconut trees along the way when needed. They’d march in fields, along white sand beaches, or pass through town where the buffalo would outsize a small child 20:1.

No matter, though, the children of South Lombok were fearless. One chilly morning, I witnessed a gang of young boys hoist a 15-foot python on their shoulders and carry it onto the nearby football field. Have no fear, it was killed overnight by a passing truck.

Children are the lifeblood of this island. You are sure to hear a ‘Hello!’ in passing, as you scoot along in the village. Sometimes, it comes from the veranda of a small local home, sometimes from the back of their parents’ scooter, sometimes they’ll even chase behind you as you drive by. One thing is certain, these children are always curious about you.

Their mothers, too, would come out of hiding when the harsh sun started to cool. Some with hijabs, but a surprising amount of Sasak without. Stereotypically with a basket of something balanced on their heads as they strolled the shoulder of the road. Otherwise, you might see them hanging laundry or managing the local fruit cart — with a delicious selection of ripe mango, papaya, bananas, rambutan, pineapple, or other bright and organic seasonal tropical fruits.

There was always a coconut close by — and for those places where you couldn’t find one, there was usually a coconut tree just sprouting from the ground which would have coconuts falling from it within a few years. The landscape breathed fresh air except for when you’d drive through a smoke wall cast from a roadside fire or get stuck behind the occasional supply truck picking up the day’s fruity exports and letting go exhaust as it battled up the hilly terrain. 

One drive through the countryside of Lombok was enough to fill your romantic notions of rural Asia for months. Sasak people lived a comfortable, happy life; one which seemed to glide by without a hitch.

. . .

“The rivers are navigable highways. Crocodiles 15 feet long prowl their banks, and jet-black iguanas sun on uprooted trees. There are flocks of brilliant red-and-green parrots. Hornbills with five-inch beaks and blue necks.

And secrets, spirits, laws and customs, born of men and women who have been walled off by ocean, mountains, mud and jungle for longer than anyone knows.

Until 50 years ago, there were no wheels here. No steel or iron, not even any paper. There’s still not a single road or automobile.

…

In many ways, the Asmat world at the time was a mirror image of every taboo of the West. In some areas, men had sex with each other. They occasionally shared wives. In bonding rituals, they sometimes drank one another’s urine. They killed their neighbors, and they hunted human heads and ate human flesh.”

– Papua New Guinea, Carl Hoffman 2014

Please forgive my lack of editing and formatting in these entries as all of my efforts are done on-the-go and without the comfort of my normal writing environment. All words come typed from my phone, in the rush of each day’s adrenaline.

I’ll keep my reflections and observations as raw as possible for the next few months, even including a photo/video or two when I can.

Marco Polo is often revered as the greatest explorer of human kind. When traveling across the world was a matter of life or death, Polo persevered from Europe to Asia, arriving at the heart of the Mongol Empire at the ripe age of 20. He would go on to record the mysterious culture and inner workings of the Eastern world for the next 24 years.

Many people consider his stories to be fabricated because of the sheer amount of living he packed into one life. These accusations have later been debunked as everything Polo claimed was historically accurate.

He lived a life we can only half dream of. And when finally asked, on his death bed in 1324, whether or not he had lied about his expeditions, he said he did not. And added, “I did not write half of what I saw, for I knew I would not be believed.”

Born in Venice in 1254, Marco Polo grew up as an orphan would. He would not meet his father, a merchant on the Silk Road, until he was 15. His mother died when he was six. He was alone for the better part of his childhood when he learned to read, write, and speak five different languages.

His distant Venetian family of wealthy merchants left behind stories and maps from their journeys on the Silk Road which Polo was left to decipher which were accurate and which were works of fiction. He was a smart boy and amassed a wealth of knowledge by the time his father and uncle returned home in 1269.

“Why didn’t you come back?” he asked his father. “Mother was very sick.”

“Marco, you know that it was not possible. I was in distant lands, in the Empire of the greatest king on Earth, Kublai Khan. He has entrusted me to bring back 100 priests to spread Christianity to the East.”

“I want to go with you,” young Marco said.

“Don’t be silly, son. This is not a journey for a young boy. You do not know the life of a merchant.”

For two years, Marco worked to prove to his father he was ready for the expedition. Reluctantly, his father allowed him to join. At 17, Marco would be the youngest to ever tread the ancient Silk Road.

With camels, horses, and donkeys in tow, the journey to China lasted nearly three years – stopping at small towns and villages along the way. They’d trade spices and silks and precious gems – whatever they could buy and sell for more in the next town.

He documented much of his travels. Including the evil spirits that would sing to them in the desert, the magical healing mountains that cured him of his deathly illness, and the Tibetan villages which would throw their daughters at the foreigner to review her sexual abilities.

Upon arriving in Kublai Khan’s massive empire, 20-year-old Polo witnessed riches like he’d never seen. These were advanced civilizations which were well ahead of Europeans at the time. Intricate heating and cooling systems, hygiene, and luxury; all a direct result of an empire run by the fairest ruler Marco had ever seen.

It was as if he had died and gone to heaven. They were treated as honorary guests and warmed with gifts and a lavish party of 40,000 men. Polo’s ability to speak five languages was very useful to Kublai Khan. He quickly became a trusted advisor for the Mongols.

Men in high power were treated to the best entertainment that the empire had to offer. This included horse races, musical performances, theater, wrestling matches, and, of course, women. He also was sent on a handful of diplomatic missions throughout the Southeast Asian empire. During these expeditions, he visited modern-day Myanmar, India, Indonesia, Sri Lanka, and Vietnam – as well as extensive exploration through China.

At age 37, he offered to accompany the Mongol princess to Persia where he then returned home to war-torn Italy. He was imprisoned by the Genoans where his cellmate, writer Rustichello da Pisa, took great interest in his stories.

It is from the resulting book, “The Travels of Marco Polo” where I will begin to share stories on The Thousand-Mile Journey; a project funded entirely by reader subscription.

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This is an excerpt from my West Coast journals of 2015.

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This is an excerpt from my West Coast journals of 2015.

Read more

This is an excerpt from my West Coast journals of 2015.

Read more

This is an excerpt from my West Coast journals of 2015.

Read more

This is an excerpt from my West Coast journals of 2015.

Read more

This is an excerpt from my West Coast journals of 2015.

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This is an excerpt from my West Coast journals of 2015.

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This is an excerpt from my West Coast journals of 2015.

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Levison Wood is a modern-day explorer whose stories are frequently featured here.

In this story, he takes us to the southern coast of Arabia along the Gulf of Aden. At this point, he finds himself crossing illegally into the war-torn country of Yemen.

The year is 2017, around November. For months, Lev has traversed some of the most dangerous places on earth. Places such as Syria and Iraq were a part of his expedition through the most ancient region in the world. The Middle East.

He had just crossed Oman’s Empty Quarter on camelback. It is one of the hottest, most relentless deserts on Earth.

After scaling up and down the Dhofar mountain range in southwestern Oman, Lev and his crew of local Bedouins had reached Yemen. It is here where they said goodbye to him.

He was passed onto the next ‘fixer’ who got him into Yemen quietly and in the darkness of night.

Once in Yemen, he scurried down the coast to the port town of Al Ghaydah where word quickly spread of a foreigner in town. Even with a big beard and skin tanned from the desert, a white man cannot camouflage in Yemen.

He must receive the Sultan’s blessing to carry on with his journey westward. He steps inside an auditorium where rebel soldiers are bearing AK-47’s. . .

. . .

“No foreigners ever come to Yemen. What is your business here? Are you a spy?”

“Certainly not,” Lev said, “I’m a photographer.” He was surrounded by soldiers bearing AK-47’s and there were grenades rested on the table in front of him.

The Sultan smiled as if to joke. “Please, don’t be alarmed. Tell your government in England they must stop providing aid to our enemy.”

“I’m not quite sure I have the leverage to do so, but I’ll put in a word with my military contacts,” Lev said. “I just want to reach Aden to continue my expedition of Arabia.” He didn’t dare tell the Sultan of his desire to enter Saudi Arabia from there. Yemen and the Saudis have been engaging in violent conflict for years.

“You may continue to Sayhut. After that, I cannot guarantee your safety. You’ll be traveling into enemy territory.”

Lev disregarded the Sultan’s warning. He has been in the ring of fire before, this hardly bothered him. The next day, he and his fixer made it to Qishn before the Sultan called them back to Al Ghaydah with urgent news.

Upon entering the auditorium, the Sultan held a newspaper to Lev’s face. It was a Saudi newspaper.

“It says, ‘English Spy is Working with Yemen to Spy on The Kingdom’,” the Sultan read.

“Does it say the Englishman’s name?” Lev asked. “I might know some people who can put you in touch with him if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“They don't have a name, but Levison-,” the Sultan said, “It’s referring to you.”

“Uh, oh. That’s no good. I swear I’m on an expedition. I crossed Oman on camelback, I have the photographs to prove it.”

“Relax, Levison. I trust you. But the Saudis don’t and they’ll surely be after you. If they were to find out you’re in Al Ghaydah, they’ll send missiles our way. That’s no good for either of us nor the safety of my people. You are going to have to leave Yemen, back to Oman.”

Lev was devastated but he had no say in the matter.

With his refusal to take planes and the Saudi's persistent denial of entry, it seemed his only option was to continue by sea. He contacted his Omani fixer who met up with him the next morning.

“Levison, you can’t travel by sea here. The Gulf of Aden is the most pirate-infested water in the world. You’ll be a sitting duck. You’ll never make it to Aden. You’ll end up a hostage – or even worse – dead. Plus, they’d never let you back into Yemen, even at Aden.”

“I have to make it to the consulate in Aden where they’ll more likely accept my appeal to get into Saudi Arabia,” he said.

“You're not supposed to be in Yemen, Lev. If you show up at a consulate, you're more likely to be arrested than accepted for a visa. If you want to continue this suicide mission, there’s only one way. But you’re not going to like it,” the fixer said.

“What’s that?” Lev asked.

“Bosaso.”

“Bosaso, are you mad!” Levison exclaimed. “That’s not even the right continent!”

“It’s the only way, Lev.”

“You want me to travel to Africa – to Somalia – to the most dangerous part of Somalia – to apply for my Saudi visa? How do you suppose I get there – you know I’m not flying.”

“From Bosaso, you can catch a ride to Djibouti. Djibouti is safe and has good relations with the Saudis. You can get a visa into the country from there,” the fixer explained.

“That still doesn’t explain how you intend I get to the Horn of Africa from here,” Lev said.

“Look, it’ll be a much shorter distance to cross the gulf to Bosaso than to sail all the way to Aden. It’s your only option. Plus, you’re much less likely to attract the attention of pirates if you’re on a pirate ship yourself.”

“You want me to cross via pirate ship? You’ve surely gone mad, mate,” Lev said. The fixer did nothing but shrug his shoulders.

Lev took a breath and tried to imagine it any other way. He couldn’t. And, with reluctance, finally accepted the fixer’s last-ditch plan. The next morning, they met at the port and the fixer handed him a sheet of paper. This being his ticket aboard a cargo ship headed toward Africa.

The Indian captain welcomed him aboard as the crew stared at the first white man to ever step foot on the ship. Nobody spoke a lick of English, so Lev mostly stayed to himself for the 5-day, 4-night voyage. He was in the care of pirates and didn’t want much attention anyway.

In the daytime, he helped around the boat with whatever they asked. He mimicked the crew whenever he could. They shaved their beards daily, so, he did too. They shit in a hole on the boat’s deck and he followed.

At night, the boat sailed in total darkness. Not a single light got used. From a distance, enemy pirates couldn't even see the faint ember coming from the crews’ cigarettes. It was better this way.

On the morning of the fifth day, land finally appeared over the horizon. It was Africa. An orange dinghy motored up to the ship. On the dinghy, a skinny Somalian with black skin and shining teeth toting an AK-47 called for Lev to get in. Lev had seen this sort of scene in movies like Captain Phillips.

“Who is this?” Lev asked the captain. Of course, the captain couldn’t understand him. Whether the Somalian on the dinghy was kidnapping him or not, Lev had no choice but to board the dinghy. After, it headed for the shore.

On the dinghy, he decoded a message sent to his phone in secrecy. It was from a military commander whom Lev befriended during his years of service: “Lev – In two hours, I’ll alert the Navy of a kidnapping if I do not hear from you.”. . . That was four hours ago.

Lev was smart enough to bring a tracking device that he buried in his rucksack. Yet, he hoped the Navy did not interfere. At least until he determined whether the dinghy pirate was friend or foe. Somehow, he thought the pirate was helping him.

Once they reached the shore, the pirate covered Lev’s ass until they got to the immigration office. It was all a part of his Omani fixer’s plan after all. Now, he hoped the Navy didn’t interrupt. Not that they would – they were thousands of miles away at sea.

The port smelled like shit because there was shit – everywhere. Dog shit, camel shit, human shit; it was not a welcoming arrival. Lev was surely the first foreigner at the office in decades.

Still, they put him in a verified taxi and he zoomed across Somalia for the next six hours. He arrived safely in Djibouti after sunset, finally, where he was able to apply for a visa the next day. Upon approval, he extended his expedition in the Middle East; to Saudi Arabia.

This is based on an excerpt from his book An Arabian Journey: One Man’s Quest Through the Heart of the Middle East. It's told in my own words, but he can tell the story much better than me, obviously. I encourage all who have a desire to travel more authentically to check it out.

Not following me on Medium? What are you waiting for!

Share The Thousand-Mile Journey

This is an excerpt from my West Coast journals of 2015.

Read more