Of course, I have gathered many experiences during my travels. Today, I want to share a small unpleasant incident that happened in Vietnam.

This was a few years ago, when I was cycling from Laos to Vietnam. I don’t quite remember the exact name of that border now. When I reached the Laos–Vietnam border, I stood in line with my bicycle for immigration. When my turn came, I handed over my passport. The officer kept looking at my passport for a long time.

It wasn’t my first trip abroad — my passport already had a long travel history of many countries. The officer put my passport aside and continued checking other passports, stamping them, and letting those travelers pass. Finally, the whole line was cleared, and I was the only one left.

I even had a Chinese visa stamped in my passport. I asked the officer why he wasn’t letting me enter. But they didn’t seem to understand English. With hand gestures, they just signaled me to go back. Perhaps that gesture meant to return to Laos.

I thought to myself, Vietnam is not America, Japan, Korea, or Europe — it’s a poor country just like Nepal. Of course, it is their right to decide whether to grant entry or not.

I kept asking why they weren’t giving me entry, but no one tried to listen. I just stood there. Then one officer came who spoke a little bit of English. He asked me why I was still waiting there. I told him they didn’t let me enter, even though I am a world cyclist. He then asked, “How many days will you stay in Vietnam?” I gave a short answer: “I’m just passing through Vietnam on my way to China, I won’t be staying here.”

That officer seemed confused, wondering what to do, but finally stamped my passport. Still, I felt hurt — because I hadn’t come there to work or cause trouble, and even with my bicycle and clear purpose, they hesitated to give me entry.

That evening, I reached Hanoi, and the next day I headed straight toward the Chinese border. I didn’t feel like staying in Vietnam; instead, a sense of disgust lingered in my heart.

In two days, I reached the Vietnam–China border. I wasn’t happy at heart, so I don’t even remember the name of that border. But once I arrived at Chinese immigration, the process was so smooth. Everyone welcomed me warmly. The police, immigration officers, and other staff even took photos with me.

Sometimes I still wonder—did the Vietnamese officers mistake me for one of their own citizens riding a bicycle around the market area?

China

That day I stayed in a hotel. From there, I had to travel to Guangzhou, which was about 1,035 km away. It would have taken me around 15 days to cover that distance by bicycle. I was supposed to reach Beijing via Shanghai. After cycling for about 150 km in two days, I decided to take a bus.

Once I arrived in Guangzhou, I went as far as the Macau border. That journey took me two days. I didn’t enter Macau because my destination was Beijing.

One day after staying near the Macau border, I returned to Guangzhou. From Guangzhou to Shanghai was about 1,500 km, so I decided to take a train. The main problem in China was the language—no one understood English. Finding a hotel, eating at a restaurant, everything was very difficult. After two nights, I reached Shanghai. Once I received my bicycle there, it took me about three hours just to find a restaurant to eat.

That day, I couldn’t find a hotel because no one understood the English I spoke while asking around. Many people I approached simply waved their hands, saying “no, no,” and walked away. Finally, I went to a park and decided to spend the night there.

I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep out of fear, but I must have dozed off for a while. In my sleep, I suddenly felt someone tugging at my bag. Startled, I woke up and saw a man running away. My money was inside that bag. I felt relieved thinking, “Oh, I was saved from the thief.”

But in the morning, when I checked my jeans, I realized both my pockets had been cut open with a blade—so big that the pants were almost unwearable. Luckily, they hadn’t managed to steal my money. I quickly went to a toilet and changed my clothes. Even today, when I recall that moment, I feel scared thinking about what would have happened to me if my money had actually been stolen.

The rest of the experiences, I will share in the next episode………