It felt surreal. To be honest, it was so friggen hard. I’d been cycling 4 months solo through Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan; wild camping in godforsaken land, dwarfed by luminous, snow clad, 6000m high Mountains, triumphant in all their glory. Repeatedly, everyday, wrinkled, smiling Nomads beckoned me into their well weathered Yurts padded from their harsh weather by hand spun, brightly dyed, shaggy Yak wool rugs. I had fascinated faces of snotty nosed, grimy kids pushed up close whilst sitting cross legged on the ground; smiling as the only form of language. Food was lavished on me and I ate ravenously with the appetite of a deprived cyclist - whopping slices of fresh watermelon, homemade wild fruit jam lathered on stale, hardened bread, softened dunking in endless bowls of steaming, green tea as forsaken dogs with lacklustre coats pleaded with their eyes for leftovers. And then, riding into Uzbekistan, into heavily air polluted and populated Samarkand, was like being transported to another dimension. I didn’t expect to find myself riding clean and punctual trains and staying in English speaking hostels in a modern and architecturally beautiful city; it rattled me. And if that wasn’t unsettling enough, then arriving into Bangkok I felt smothered by the all encompassing consuming mindset of the numbing and chaotically ordered streets - bright, bustling, big and painstakingly mechanised, fueled by the ever hungry demands of the ego for more, comparing yourself with others, and of never ever being good enough. It had happened so quickly, like being caught in and swept out into a rip. But rather than keep my head up and go with the flow, I fought it, like a fish swimming against the tide and painfully drowned. I knew coming back to a life I’d known and loved would be hard. Travel changes us. It squeezes and pushes and pulls us mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually in ways we would never have imagined. We often feel out of sorts going back to the life where people, places and things have not changed. In fact it feels like life has stood still whilst we have been on a cosmic journey of self discovery, tremendous challenges piggy backed by monumental, limitless growth. Gratefully, we are never the same again. Yet often we feel that we must slot back into our lives that can feel restricting, routine and robotic. Often our family and friends cannot connect to us. They have no meaning of our travels with all the trials and tribulations. No reference of the wondrous World we have journeyed and often they’re satisfied with a simple “I had a great time thanks” whilst we ache to describe with passion the details of our adventures. Although we can’t blame them. Often seeing and hearing of others living fascinating lives leave us small and deflated and wishing we too would be brave enough to go after our dreams. But maybe you’re part of a likeminded tribe that welcomes your stories like a steaming hot mug of soup when you’re feeling poorly. Cherish them. Appreciate them. Unfortunately that is rare. For many of us floundering around after our travels can feel frightening, and terribly alone as we (sometimes reluctantly) adjust back to our lives. Scrambling inside our minds part of us wants to be swallowed deep down away from standard societal life to feeling the ultimate freedom that brings us alive. The character building challenges that prove to us we are more than capable and the grounding, humbling presence exploring our glorious World, travel bestows us. We see, know and feel things differently now, and we like it. How do we grow if we are always playing safe, staying small, and being careful in life? How do we live to our potential when we’re not tested and pushed to our core? Crossing Cambodia’s border last night where the streets were all potholed and flooded, the humidity enclosing me like a giant, smothering hug. I rode into the dark, starless night, feeling alive with the excitement and anticipation of new adventures and challenges. Standing up high on my pedals and grinning with delight, wondering what next I could expect to find.