”Are you also riding when it rains?”

„Are you also riding when it rains?” we get asked on WeChat by many people we’ve met on the road.

It’s dark and we’re in the middle of the field, plowing through the mud with our bikes. The map brought us to a road that serves as a trough for rainwater, and it’s so bumpy that we can hardly imagine what it looks like when it’s dry.

The flashlight makes the fog poke our eyes, so we’re navigating like the blind in kayaks. Little by little I start missing the existential angsts, the procrastination, the writer’s block, any kind of problem not involving mud.

For a few days, I’ve been hungry. It doesn’t matter how much, or what I eat, my body keeps asking for more, as if it wants to be sure that I’m not going to collapse out here on the field, in the middle of the night, in the mud.

Ah, look!, there’s a building, a light, a woman, a sewing machine. Check this out, Laura, a garment factory. The girls are labouring at night, in the open field, without complaining. Who knows where these duds are going to end up – in the neighbouring village, in Thailand, in Obor market…

And all of the sudden loneliness is fading away. The mist holds on.