Tag Archives: teaching and traveling

Conrad Hughes

Lessons from the Redwoods

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In the Reggio Emilia approach, we say that the classroom is the third teacher, which is why we spend the time we do curating an aesthetic, pedagogical and ergonomic space for learning. To me, nature is by far the greatest classroom as it has an immediately pleasant and welcoming effect on the senses. I have very fond memories of an English teacher in Eswatini who would teach us poetry on a lawn, something I later did with my own students in India. I always encourage colleagues to go outside with their students for some fresh air in the outdoor breeze. It’s something my colleagues do at the International School of Los Angeles quite a bit. Seeing our students writing and reading in the dappled shade of acacias is mindful, especially in this day and age of heavy screen use, artificial light and devices.

While some natural settings are sufficiently bucolic to serve as a backdrop for learning something else, others have a real presence, and are a different type of classroom altogether.

Not long ago, I had the privilege to find myself in a redwood forest in Big Sur, some hundred miles south of San Francisco. Several of the trees stand over 200 feet tall and, astonishingly, are over 1,000 years old. The rich, scented bark is a protection against fire and the canopy so high above creates a mysterious, soft microclimate below. Walking deftly among these prehistoric giants is a lesson in and of itself. Rather than cogitate and project, the mind absorbs and appreciates; rather than processing information and thinking, your whole being simply is.

I think that’s because the sheer magnitude and beauty of the trees, their protective and magnanimous presence overpowers you and is nothing of the blank page or under-stimulating background that a classroom tries to be, it’s a living presence that makes you feel a tremendous sense of humility and gratitude to be alive and to share such a moment. You are swept up by it entirely. Little wonder that so many have seen and continue to see such spaces as sacred.

The redwoods are not a classroom for maths, languages, humanities or even sciences and geography, they are a lesson in being, that mysterious and miraculous thread that binds us all while we are here on earth. The effect of such an experience goes beyond learning; it is a type of deep cleansing of the psyche. Long may the redwoods last and may humans continue to have the wisdom to respect them and leave them to grow, to give, to be.

Stephen Dexter

Tick Tock: The O.G. Decision

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(ChatGPT generation with prompt: person looking window at Big Ben)

I wish I had time to humor you with the series of creative prompts that led to this masterpiece, but this is the best I could to on a Sunday afternoon.

Not that any international educators are looking out their apartments with a view of Big Ben wondering what to do next, but you get the symbolic metaphor.

It’s time.

It’s time to take stock, to give notice (earlier than ever in school history which is an entirely other blog that I will write about) and make a decision about next year. I’m so old that I remember when the notice period was January for a January-February hiring season. Yes, I know. A full winter break to contemplate the future. I get it.

But here we are, just barely crawling out of the startup typhoon and there’s a memo in your mailbox: ‘So are you coming back next year or not?’

If this were a dating situation, it would be a marriage proposal when you opened the door to go to a movie for the first time. Do people still go to movies on dates?

There are few things more difficult than having to decide if you want to go back to a school for another year, and few things more insecure, especially if you have young children. It’s brutal. I’ve been there. I went overseas when my kids were 7 and 2. My youngest just graduated from my school and you can hear the sigh of relief across continents.

But I digress.

There are two simple things that hopefully drive this process for you and as much as you try, you cannot have both.

  1. Do I want to be happy professionally?
  2. Do I want to be happy personally?

What do we want? Both.

Not going to happen. Well, I not going to say never, but once you decide which is more important, you have made up your mind about why you want to stay or leave. Since 2009, I made only one decision to be professionally happy. The rest was all about the family. Yeah, it’s hard.

When we decided “this is the business we have chosen” we made a pact that it would be a very insecure existence, albeit temporarily comfortable for the most part, in faraway lands with lots of adventures. This transaction for lack of security is hard. I gave up a sure pension in American public schools to raise my children overseas and I don’t regret anything other than the fact that my son says he won’t take care of me when I’m eating out of a straw. (I think he was kidding).

Everyone’s circumstances are different. Singles. Families. Dependent spouses and partners. Teaching couples. Distance from relatives. Life changes, etc. etc. The one thing that ties it all together is that you have to be true to yourself and what you want out of this experience.

Yes, it’s earlier than ever and for the time being we cannot change that. Make that list of pros and cons for staying or leaving. Decide if this is for personal or professional happiness (refrain from the greedy both) and go for it.

You can do it. The world needs you now more than ever no matter what you decide.

BONUS INTERVIEW QUESTIONS WHEN IT’S YOUR TURN…

  1. What do you most love about working at this school and what do you think needs to change the most?
  2. What’s the value added proposition to this school that no other school on earth (or the country/region) can offer?
  3. If you offer me a position, what’s the most important thing that I need to know on day one?
  4. What is the school’s top strategic priority and how can I help with it?
  5. They say that schools often take on the culture of their host country environment. How has that happened here and how have you leveraged this culture to enhance the educational experience?
  6. How would you describe the relationship between local and expat staff?
  7. If you could invent a position that the school wishes it could have, what would it be called?
Lianne Dominguez

Not Quite Home: The Summer Pause We Don’t Talk About (But Should)

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Astana Presidential Park , Painting by Dall-E

There’s a moment every June in international schools that feels like a collective exhale.

Suitcases roll down apartment hallways. Farewell potlucks blur into airport selfies. Someone’s always off to Phuket or Bali or Southern Italy. Someone else is crying over a storage unit key.

And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos—there’s you.

Maybe you’re heading “home.” Maybe not. Maybe your summer plan is a patchwork of logistics, reunions, and visa renewals. Maybe you’re staying put, guarding the peace, the cats, and the air conditioning.

Wherever you are, this season hits differently when you’re an international educator. The world slows down—but not always in the ways you expect. Because the truth is, living and working overseas isn’t all adventure and Aperols.

It’s a constant negotiation between the lives we’ve built—and the ones we’ve left behind. It’s navigating time zones and guilt, holding space for group chats filled with love but stretched by distance. It’s being fully present for students while wondering if your parents need help renewing a prescription. It’s cheering your students’ milestones while missing your cousin’s wedding back home.

And yet—here we are. Still choosing this life. Not because we’re running from something, but because we’re building toward something.

Guilt vs Growth

There’s a quiet kind of guilt many of us carry. We miss birthdays, funerals, Sunday lunches. We aren’t always there for the big or small moments back home.

And when summer rolls around, it can hit especially hard. While others go “home,” some of us float—between countries, between roles, between selves—carrying pieces of each, fully belonging to neither.

But here’s the reframe: what if this isn’t a loss? What if this is growth? Because this life you’ve created—the one with mismatched cutlery acquired from solo travels, multiple sim cards, and students who call you their favorite teacher—isn’t a detour. It’s your life. Brave. Complicated. Beautiful.

You’re not missing your life – You’re living it.

The Summer Pause: What It Offers

Summer isn’t just a break. It’s a recalibration.

In international schools, June often feels like a sprint to the finish—farewells, final reports, tears in classrooms. But what comes after? A rare kind of silence. A space between chapters. A moment to turn inward before turning the page.

Here’s how I’m learning to embrace this pause—not just as rest, but as an invitation to reflect:

1. Take stock of the year that shaped you.

What moments stretched you? What relationships grounded you? What surprised you? Don’t just celebrate the big wins—honor the quiet resilience too: the email you didn’t send, the conversation you handled differently, the student who finally smiled back.

Prompt: What part of me grew this year that didn’t exist last August?

2. Audit your own curriculum—not just your teaching one.

What are you learning in your life right now? What habits are serving you? Which ones need rewriting? Summer is a good time to re-edit your internal syllabus. Maybe rest is the lesson. Maybe it’s boundary-setting. Maybe it’s joy.

Prompt: If I were the student of my own life, what would I need next?

3. Revisit your definition of home.

Living overseas shifts the definition of home. Sometimes it’s a place, sometimes a person, sometimes a feeling. What feels like home now? And how do you nurture it—wherever you are?

Prompt: Where do I feel most myself—and how do I create more of that, wherever I am?

4. Find the light that still excites you.

Before jumping into planning for next year, pause and ask: What do I want to bring more of into my work? What lights me up? What am I tired of pretending I enjoy? The pause lets you hear the honest answers.

Prompt: What part of my work still sparks joy—and what drains it?

5. Check your compass—not just your calendar.

Where are you going—and why? Titles, countries, contracts—they shift. But your purpose is steady. Use this pause to reconnect with the reason you began this journey. The deeper why.

Prompt: Does the life I’m building align with the person I’m becoming?

From Uprooting to Re-rooting

The word “uprooted” gets tossed around a lot in our line of work. But most of us aren’t floating—we’re replanting. Again and again. New soil, new roots, new blooms. And that? That’s not disconnection. That’s resilience. That’s the quiet, ongoing work of becoming.

So wherever you are this summer—on a plane, in a hammock, on your couch, on your fifth mango smoothie or in line at immigration—take the pause. Let it hold you.

Reflect on what you’ve built. Celebrate what you’ve become. Appreciate where you came from and keep building toward where you’re going.

Because you’re not lost between two worlds. You are the bridge.

And that’s something to be seriously proud of.

Lianne Dominguez

9 Schools, 1 Journey: Belonging in the In-Between

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I studied in nine different schools growing up.

Nine uniforms. Nine first day butterflies. Nine different ways to wonder: Who am I in this place? Nine goodbyes I didn’t always know how to say.

But this isn’t just a story about adaptability or grit—it’s a story about identity and finding belonging in unfamiliar places.

About what it means to start again. About the space between “Where are you from?” and “Where do you feel like you belong?”

I didn’t always feel like I belonged.

Instead, I learned how to fit in. I’d scan a new classroom and adjust—my tone, my posture, my expectations. I smiled, even when I wasn’t sure where I stood.

I became fluent in beginnings. But I also carried a quiet fear of the middle—the uncertain space where belonging is built, not assumed.

Learning the Language of Change

At one point, I felt embarrassed to say I had studied in nine schools.

It sounded scattered. Incomplete. Like I didn’t belong anywhere long enough to call it mine.

I worried people would see it as instability—or worse, failure to stay rooted. So I downplayed it. Smoothed over the edges. Said it lightly, with a laugh.

Now I see it differently.

Those transitions weren’t gaps in my story. They were growth points that shaped my identity, resilience, and leadership.

Each move taught me how to read the room, how to listen, and how to survive uncertainty. Later, those same skills helped me lead others through it.

The Middle We Don’t Talk About

We talk a lot about beginnings. We romanticize endings. But most of life—especially school life—is lived in the middle.

The in-between is that quiet stretch of time when the novelty fades but you’re not yet rooted. You know faces but not yet stories. You know how to walk the halls, but still wonder if you’re allowed to say, “I’m not okay yet.”

And that’s where I spent so much of my life—being new in places.

In that in-between space where I was constantly becoming, constantly adjusting, constantly waiting for confirmation that I was allowed to just be.

What I’d Tell My Younger Self

To the girl with the heavy backpack and the practiced smile, here’s what I’d say:

You don’t need to rush to prove yourself.

It’s okay to feel scared. You’re allowed to ask for help. You can take up space—even when you’re new, even when you’re unsure.

And one day, all of this—every ending and every uncertain start—will form the foundation for how you lead.

Not with ego. But with empathy.

The Quiet Art of Letting Go

When you grow up in transition, you become good at letting go. But that doesn’t mean you get numb to it.

I learned to pack fast. To make friends fast. To leave fast.

I also learned that people aren’t meant to be rushed through. And neither is belonging.

Now, I hold onto people more gently. I make more room for traditions and reflection. I stay in touch longer than I used to. And I hold space for others to not have it all together right away.

The Most Transient Communities of All

After university, it felt natural to work in international schools—places where movement is constant, identity is fluid, and the question “Where are you from?” often trails off into silence.

These communities are beautiful, but not always easy.

Students arrive mid-year. Staff start over every few years. Families leave before they’ve fully settled.

This time, though, I see it differently.

I notice the student who clings to their home language in the hallway.

The teacher who stays late—not because of work, but because they haven’t found friends outside of school.

The staff member who shows up strong, but carries a quiet loneliness they can’t name.

And I remember what it felt like to live in that in-between space.

Why I Lead—and Why I Write

I lead because I know what it’s like to feel unseen. I write because I want to create school communities that see better.

Communities where onboarding is about more than logistics—it’s about landing.

Where departures are honored with grace, not just paperwork.

Where “you belong here” isn’t a slogan, but a structure. A culture. A daily commitment.

Today’s schools shouldn’t just be learning communities. They must be belonging communities—where every voice feels seen, valued, and safe.

Places where people—students, teachers, leaders—can ask questions, show up messy, and become more than what they were when they arrived.

To Anyone Standing at a New Door

Maybe you just moved, your boxes are still unpacked, or you’re still wondering if you belong.

Here’s what I’ve learned after nine schools, dozens of classrooms, and countless new beginnings:

You don’t have to get it right on day one.

You don’t have to figure it out alone.

And most importantly, you’re allowed to begin again—

As many times as it takes.

This is the kind of community I want to help build.

And I’m honored to begin again, here—with you.

Conrad Hughes

Teaching about the host country’s culture and history in an international school

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For those of us working in international schools, we are all too aware of the challenge of teaching about national identity given our international student body. Whose history should be taught and why? It’s not logistically possible to teach every child about the history of every country represented unless it’s through student-led projects which are presented to the classes, which in and of itself is not a bad exercise at all but is clearly not as in depth an experience as a whole course in one country’s history that the whole class follows.

The concept of global citizenship, so central to many school missions, including that of the International School of Geneva, remains an abstract principle since one does not pay taxes, do military service or swear allegiance to a global passport. Everyone belongs to at least one nation state and has to abide by the rules of at least one nation state, whether it be their own or the one they are living in.

In her thesis on national identity and the moral responsibilities that come with it, the great German American  philosopher Hannah Arendt complained about the notion of global citizenship very much in this vein, as does the contemporary thinker  Nick Tate, whose masterful  Conservative Case for Education: Against the Current argues against what he considers to be a type of elitist, rootless cosmopolitan global citizenship which has the privilege to ride above the requisites that most of the world’s population have to cope with, locked in the pressures and sometimes dictatorial exigencies of a single nation state.

This is where the importance of respecting, understanding and teaching about the host country becomes essential: children growing up in an international school might not learn about their own history (although hopefully at some point they will at least get to research their national origins – frequently multiple national origins at that), but they should at least  be inducted into some recognition and understanding of their host country.

For years, too many international schools have existed as Anglo-American ghettos conveniently disconnected from the host country’s language, culture, history and traditions. I believe, however, that fewer and fewer are in this position and are emphasising a genuine, non-tokenistic appreciation and learning of the host culture.

I used to teach at the Mahindra United World College of India and there was an obligatory course, which I believe still exists, called “This is India” through which students would learn some basic Hindi, Indian history and culture. Impressively, that course was designed and run by students. At my own Alma Mater, Waterford Kamhlaba, we all had to learn some Siswati and would sing Eswatini’s national anthem every week at assembly. Both of these schools were international schools with an extremely varied student population, but both managed to ensure a strong learning of the host country.

At the International School of Geneva, we have introduced a Global Citizenship course which runs across four different year levels. One of the strands is dedicated to Swiss history, political systems, geography and culture. The learning materials for this course come from the Swiss government and the learning happens in one of Switzerland’s national languages: French.

Pedagogical actions like these ensure not only that there is some awareness of the host country and some effort made to study its history, but in doing so, the value of researching and becoming familiar with the  culture where you are living is modelled for students. It’s all too easy to drift into the third culture kid, no person’s land: a type of vague globalised  Americana with some smattering of knowledge of broad global history, generic everywhere but nowhere knowledge of World Wars and the Cold War, a macrocosmic understanding of the past as if from a mountain top looking across multiple fields. However, by zooming in on one and going deep into the details, we become more instructed in those specificities and resonances that give history, culture and politics life, colour, vibrancy and pertinence. All the better if it is the host country that is looked at this way, developing not just global citizenship but glocal citizenship.

How well does your school teach the culture and history of its host culture and what role do you play in that transmission?

Matthew and Niamh

A Collection of Tales from the Road – Introduction

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In this series of blog posts, I will record and share some stories of a rather long bicycle ride of 40,100 kilometres through 60 countries.

This post is a shortish introduction detailing some facts and figures and how I have structured the large task of compiling so many stories.

Some of the accounts you can read in this series are of things that were meant to be a little bit of fun but turned out to be shockingly bad. Some are sad stories that turned out to be funny (in hindsight at least). Many are just things that happen on a tour, the kindness of strangers, the thrill of the ride. Some are of times when I was desperate, others are accounts of diamond moments.

I want to do this partly because I do think that some of these stories might entertain you. They may seem far-fetched and hard to believe, but are true nonetheless, as I recall them. Mainly I just want to put them into writing. Memories of these things will always pop-up in my mind’s eye, but this document is immortal, so will forever be a place I visit as a bank of fond memories, even when I’m losing my marbles.

People keep telling me that I should write a book one day, and I immediately wonder- Why?

Because when people suggest this, my mind goes naturally to producing something that would be practical, but what useful advice do I have for people who like to explore? I am not sure that I would be a respectable source of information for the intrigued anyway, so i’ve decided to keep it simple and just write about random happenings, as these are the things that people have most enjoyed hearing about.

 

It’s been 18 years since my first tour (as an adult), and as I have mentioned in other blog posts, the world has changed a lot in that time. With only a few thousand kilometres left, the journey will be completed next year having pedalled more than 40,100km on tour, which is the circumference of our planet at its widest, so it’s actually slightly rugby ball shaped (see this post). 

This process of reflection, and my current location in the west of Canada, mean that I am already starting to feel nostalgic. It’s certainly been an investment to put it mildly, and a large part of my life. Indeed longer tours become a way of life, or a lifestyle. I wonder whether touring is now an obsession? I guess I’ll know soon enough. But for this circumnavigation at least, it is definitely something I know I need to complete, to get out of my system and be content for the rest of my life.

Over the course of my adult life so far, I visited 70 countries. In 10 of these, for whatever reason, I didn’t get on a saddle, so the memories I will share in this series of posts will be from 60 countries.

It’s difficult to find a commonly accepted definition of a country, nation, territory. Borders, or political boundaries have been fluid in some regions, and as I’ve mentioned in a previous post LINK ; countries are rather arbitrary in times of change.

For me, it has become more about the land and less about the country I happen to be in. People and cultures blend, the earth ebbs and flows from pastures to desert, mountains to jungle, back down to the ocean.

As I come towards the end of this 40,100km ride around our world, it is the knowledge of what the earth looks like, at 4-D ground level, that will stay with me as one nice whole visual bubble of information, made up of millions of data points and pedal strokes.

Note: Because of changing political and economic geography around the world, I have recorded what happened and where, as it was then. So some references may seem outdated, and so they will likely remain. This was pertinent in the cases of Tibet, Mongolia, Kosovo, Macau, Hong Kong, Armenia & Nagorno-Karabakh, Myanmar etc…

I decided that the best way to organise these memories is not on a timeline, which I could have called the ‘Chamois Cream Chronicles’, but rather in a typically teacher like alphabetical order, which I am yet to decide a name for. Alphabetcycles maybe?

I have written about something from each of these countries, and will work through the alphabet one country at a time. So the first blogpost will be about Albania.

Below is a list of the countries i’ve cycled, and HERE IS  A LINK to an interactive map of the screenshot above that I’ve created, locating each country and therefore story with a numbered pin in the order I’ll write. I do hope you enjoy reading about them all:

  

The full list of countries visited can be found here:  LINK

Stories so far: Albania, Armenia

Visit our website at www.pedalgogy.net to learn more.

 

Matthew and Niamh

Pedalgogy in the USA

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Hello from the US of A!

Couldn’t have asked for a better start to the North American leg of our ride around the world.

Hosted by our friend (and fellow international teacher) Mark in Chicago who helped us to get our bikes up and running, showed us the sights, introduced us to deep dish pizza and rode most of the first day with us before turning to ride all the way back home.

Literally 15 mins after Mark left us, we met Jim (a recently retired science teacher) who chatted with us and then invited us to stay at his house instead of camping in 40 C/ 100 + F degree heat. He and his wife Joan treated us to a lovely dinner and “standard” American breakfast of bacon and eggs with lots of chatting and fun. Jim rode out with us and pointed us in the direction of Lake Geneva where we are currently camping/melting and writing this post after our first visit to Walmart.

Also we were given free petrol at a gas station for our camp stove and someone spoke to Niamh in Irish. First impressions of the US are extremely positive. Thanks to everyone who made it so and may the good times continue!

www.pedalgogy.net

Matthew and Niamh

The Good People We Meet

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A commonly used adage is “The less one has to give, the more generous they are’”.

This may presume that material possessions are a gauge of how much one has. Or that giving is a sign of ones kindness. I prefer to think that generosity in the form of helping strangers does not require any form of wealth other than human spirit in the heart.

Along our way, we have been touched by the kindness of strangers. It fills me with hope for the future and, in the short term, a warm glow, protection and reassurance for our continuing journey.

We grew up with clear instructions from our elders never to speak to strangers. Whilst we often remain wary of many people, a large part of this experience is about immersion and putting trust in the people we meet.

Our bicycle tour around the world has now taken us through 12 countries and we would like to pause and say thank you to some of the people who helped us when we found ourselves in sticky situations or just went out of their way to be friendly and welcoming.

  • Sardorbek and the other field workers just outside of Bukhara, Uzbekistan who let us get some shade under their apricot trees in the 40 degree heat that we just weren’t prepared for on our very first day of the tour. They then gave us a huge bag of delicious apricots to take with us for energy.

  • Dildora and her family in Gazli, Uzbekistan who, when we asked if we could pitch a tent in the shade near their property, instead insisted that they make up beds for us in their air-conditioned living room and then laid on an almighty spread of food in typical Uzbek style while refusing any money for the accommodation or food.

  • Islomjon and Dilmorod, the General Motors truck drivers who picked us up on the side of a desert highway in Uzbekistan when Niamh was really sick from heat exhaustion and just couldn’t cycle in the sun anymore. They put our bikes on the back of the truck and let us lie down on the bed behind the drivers’ seats to rest while they drove us to the next town and would only let us buy them some tea at a highway rest stop as a thank you.

  • Abdulrahman who repeatedly welcomed us to Kyrgyzstan while buying his cup of vodka in the local shop, went away, came back 5 minutes later and presented us with two delicious ice-creams and a big smile.

 

  • Sultan, the little boy on the donkey in Kyrgyzstan who helped us to find a good spot to camp on the side of a mountain pass when it was starting to get dark and then came back later to give us two bouquets that he had made from wild flowers and which we adorned our bicycles with the next day.

  • Axel and Claudia, the German couple in the 4×4 in Kyrgyzstan who spared us a couple of litres of drinking water when we underestimated just how remote one section of our trip was.

  • The Russian family who picked us up when hitch hiking to Charyn canyon in Kazakhstan and to the group of Turkish men who picked us up on the way back.

  • The family in Khorgos who, on our first night in China, were extremely helpful in finding us the best restaurant and food in town and later came to check that we were happy. One of the best and cheapest meals we had in the country.

  • The mechanics in China who tried to fix Matthew’s chain (but made it worse) and then helped us to organise transport for us and the bikes to the next town where it could be fixed while feeding us energy drinks, tea and beans.

 

  • Coco, the woman in China who went out of her way to take us around to all the travel agents in town when we thought it might be cheaper to buy our flights home for Christmas that way. Turned out it wasn’t and we just bought them online, so she had completely wasted her time on us but didn’t mind at all and wouldn’t accept anything but a thank you in return.

  • The doctor in Laos who gave us a lift back from the hospital to our hotel on his motorbike when we were too sick to walk and who then checked in with us to make sure we were ok while we recovered.

  • The family in Cambodia who let us camp under their house when we got a bit stranded in the dark on impassable paths and gave us a ball of rice and some coconut milk to drink when they didn’t have much themselves (we gave them some money in return).

 

  • Meow’s family in Thailand who’s hotel we stayed in. They had all just flown in for their sister’s funeral but, despite the sad occasion, were determined to make us feel welcome and said that their sister would want them to take care of us. So we had a lovely evening of chatting, photos and delicious food.

 

  • Asad, The Pakistani man in Malaysia who made us feel so welcome in the town canteen and cooked his native dishes with such pride and passion.

  • Mr Nager Zer, the manager of the Amadeo hotel in Duri, Sumatra, who took us to an English class to run a Ted Web workshop with his students and then treated us to dinner.

 

  • Randy, who when Matthew met him in a ropey laundry place in Indonesia, happily offered to take him around town on his motorbike to find a better place and then to his family’s cafe to get some tasty local food and coffee. He also guided us through the busy streets out of town as we continued our journey and hooked Matthew up with some great meds from a doctor friend of his.

  • And to finish with a compatriot and like-minded bike lover, Pete in Bali who tended to the needs of our weary steeds in his beautiful bike shop and cafe : Kayuh Bali/Rhino Velo

We will look back fondly on these memories and remind ourselves of them in the future if we start to doubt that:

PEOPLE ARE NICE!

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Click here for our route maps of the ride so far.

Matthew and Niamh

Biking Stuff: Ride Diary – Sumatra, Indonesia

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Click here for an interactive map of our route in Sumatra.

Ride Diary Week 2: Bukittinggi to Bengkulu

A bit more than a week (10 days) but no point in doing a week 3 blog post for only 3 days. We ended up flying out of Bengkulu to extend our visas in Yogyakarta and carried on cycling from there. It was a much more pleasant place than Bengkulu to hang around for a week during processing.

Key to Hotel ratings:

£ = budget (less than 10 pounds) ££ = mid (10-20 pounds) £££=expensive (more than 20 pounds)

C=Cleanliness: /10

F=Facilities: /10

V=Value for money: /10

Adjusted for country expectations. Average price of hotel etc…

Bukittinggi to Lake Maninjau – 30km direct

Through canyon. Severe ups and downs. Stunningly beautiful. 45 switchback descent to lake. Beach Guest House: £, C = 7, F = 6, V = 9.

Lake Maninjau to Pariaman – 86km

Anti-clockwise around the lake and then down a valley to the coast. Easy riding. Surface generally good. Nan Tongga Hotel: ££, C = 4, F = 5, V = 5.

Pariaman to Airy Paintai Bungus – 71km

Minor roads along the coast as far as the airport. Joined Padang bypass for ease and speed. A few climbs near bays towards end of day. Cavery Beach Hotel: ££, C = 8, F = 7, V = 7.

Pantai Bungus to Painan via Sungai Pinang – 69km including 8km boat crossing

Tough, steep. In parts unsurfaced. Quiet and beautiful along the coast. Wisma Putri Wisatta: £, C = 7, F = 6, V = 7.

Painan to Balai Selasa – 72km

Road under construction. Fairly flat after testing morning climb. Little shade. Villages along coast. Penginapan Bunda Bari: £, C = 5, F = 5, V = 6.

Balai Selasa to Tapan – 65km

Another morning climb – quite short. Road under construction. Improving east. Not much to see or do. Steady pace, fairly flat. Hotel Felai: £, C = 6, F = 6, V = 6.

Tapan to Mukomuko – 70km

A few minor hills. Lots of short, sharp up and downs. Nice road past the airport on approach to town. Long town stretched out along main road. Not much to do. Cheap laundry place. Hotel Madiyara (mosque in hotel carpark. Extremely loud call to prayer).: ££, C = 7, F = 7, V = 7

Mukomuko to Ipuh – 104km

First 30km flat and east. Constant up and downs. Hundreds of them. Tough but all rideable. Guest House beginning with “A” (forget name). Small white sign to turn left before centre of town. Che Che supermarket opposite sells beer. ££, C = 7, F = 5, V = 4

Ipuh to Ketahun – 82km

Along coast. More ups and downs. Palm plantations. Road was fairly good. Losmen Dari Hotel – shockingly bad and infested but only place in town. On the right just after petrol station (which in on the left) before roundabout. Supermarket at roundabout sells beer. Good restaurant opposite hotel. £, C = 2, F = 2, V = 3

Ketahun to Bengkulu – 87km

Some confusion on route from town. Stick to the road along the coast. Not well paved but scenic and quiet-ish. Nice place for a rest stop at 47km. Coconuts to drink and rocky island view. Busy on way into city. Tropicana Guest House: ££, C = 8, F = 7, V = 8

If you need a bike shop in Bengkulu there is one to the east of town within walking distance of Tropicana. Aloha Cafe on the beachfront was good and Bencoolen Cafe. Both near Tropicana and both sell beer.

Click here for week 1 ride diary.

Click here for an interactive map of our route in Sumatra.

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Matthew and Niamh

Education Project: Surprise School Visits in Sumatra

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It has now been 10 months since Matthew and I left our teaching jobs and although I love the freedom that this career break brings, I sometimes miss the classroom. Sumatra has been quite challenging in some ways but we were delighted to visit two different schools during our time there. Both visits were the result of spontaneous invitations and lifted our spirits as they came at the end of two tough cycling days.

Duri

After a day of cycling extremely busy roads and dodging trucks we arrived at the oil and gas town of Duri and checked in to the Amadeo hotel. The Indonesian manager, Mr Ger, turned out to be a fellow adventurer (by motorbike) who invited us to visit the school where he volunteers his free time. After meeting the students and teachers, we split into two groups to run a Ted Web workshop – Matthew with the boys and myself with the girls. Each student wrote a story, some in English and some in Indonesian. Considering that our session was only about 40 minutes, and we arrived by surprise, it was impressive that the students managed to think of and produce stories in such a short amount if time. After the workshop and lots and lots of group photos, Mr Ger treated us to a delicious dinner of fried chicken and coconut rice. Then it was back to the hotel to rest up for the next day’s ride. A really pleasant end to a stressful day of cycling.

Teachers click here to find these student’s stories on www.tedweb.org.

Ipuh 

“Hello Mister!” called the group of girls as we wandered down the street to find some dinner. We had just arrived in the town of Ipuh after a day of constant hills through palm oil plantations. We found a restaurant for some ‘mie ayam’ and then planned to collapse in our guest house for the evening. As we ate, the same group of girls kept poking their heads around the corner and peering into the restaurant. “They probably want selfies,” I commented to Matthew. As we walked back back toward our guesthouse we heard a polite “Excuse me Miss” from behind. I turned around  for the obligatory selfie, but instead was surprised to receive a lovely invitation to be a guest at their English evening course. They had rehearsed the invitation and were helping each other to finish the sentences. When I agreed, they erupted in squeals. Matthew had a rotten cold so he went to rest while I followed the girls to the school. I was greeted by their teacher, Maria, and about 20 students. We all sat down and spent the next hour or so chatting. Sometimes they asked me questions, sometimes I asked them and sometimes I just chatted with the teacher. The lesson went quickly and before we knew it, it was time for group photos and back to the guest house for me. I even got a lift in the teacher’s car for the 400m journey because they were adamant that I shouldn’t get wet in the rain – that’s Indonesian hospitality!

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