Nepal pt. 1: Entering the new world

Saturday 19.10 - Bye now, UK

The guitar stayed home. Weight-wise it would have probably fit in the bag, but it would just make it a bit too bulky. And possibly the extra two kilo would matter - especially up there in the altitude where I'm likely to feel every gram of weight… Well, packing is about compromises (just like life, if we want to get philosophical from the very start)

It is a warm and sunny mid-October day in Cardiff. Shutting the door on the house at South Luton place, I have a funny feeling I am going away for much longer than a month. And a feeling that when I come back, things would be different. And perhaps I would be different. The guidebook said "you don't go to Nepal to change it, you go there so that it changes you". Deep shit.

At Queen street, still in Cardiff.

The 85 litre Fjallraven backpack must weight solid 20kg, especially with a small 16 litre hand-luggage one strapped to the top. A thought passes through my mind to get a cab to the bus station, but then I realize I just cannot be a chicken now - I'll need to climb over 4500m with this on my back! A flat walk through Cardiff City centre suddenly seems like a piece of cake.

In the bus to Heathrow, I go full on to use the last few hours of guaranteed connectivity. A few calls, last minute research, downloading maps or recruiting Catrin as a backup "weather (wo)man" (someone to keep me posted about weather in the mountains should I have no connection).

Not sure it's only me, but it is usually at this kind of times, when I arrive to the airport and it's too late to go back that I get some sort of irrational panic attacks. This one went like this: "Hm, where did I put my passport? Do I have it? Oh gosh, maybe not... I should have double checked... I DON'T HAVE MY PASSPORT AND I'LL HAVE TO RETURN AND EVERYONE WILL LAUGH AND .. Oh, here it is".

At Heathrow, I once again marvel at the size of the whole thing and how far we got as a humanity, building mammoth structures like this. I check in my bag (turns out it was 20kg by itself, so the guitar would not fit in anyway.. :/) and commence the several hour weight at the Elizabeth's terminal 2.

Checking out the gadgets at Dixon's, I find a nice lightweight Bluetooth keyboard for 40 quid and the moment is decisive - I'll write a blog from this journey!

Find one problem on the board

The waiting proves to be longer than expected, as the flights is delayed. And as one of the last scheduled departures of the day, the airport hall is getting somewhat eerily empty. At last, the gate number appears on the board and an hour or so later, I get on board of the Air China flight to Chengdu. See you later, UK.

Sunday 20.10 - Through the scary China

It was probably already Sunday when we took off and the dinner was served. I always enjoy the airline food, the funny and creative way the things are packaged, and usually even the taste of it. Air China was no exception here and I gobbled up the fish with potatoes as if it was my last meal.

The lights were dimmed shortly after and I fell asleep. But since we were flying "against the rotation of the Earth", morning happened much earlier than normal. Breakfast was thus skipped and an hour or so before landing, we were served lunch. Thus, in the span of 6 hours, I had fish for dinner and chicken for lunch, which felt like breakfast. A mind fuck!

In Chengdu, I had to first fight my way through the various security and control checkpoints. A short-term visa application had to be filled out. It felt a bit like visiting a high security prison, but I somehow made it and entered the People's republic of China.

Pandas everywhere. First I didn't know why and thought it's some Chinese nation-wide mascot. Later I found out that Chengdu is the place to see Pandas! But more on that towards the end of my trip :-)

I was somehow to contact a driver from the hotel where I was staying. This turned out not to be so easy though. WiFi - does not work. Chinese - cannot read. Almost no one speaks English and even Google is powerless in China. I suddenly realized my helpless situation and almost activated the panic mode again, when I suddenly spotted a guy holding a board with the name "Frantisek". Phew!

I exchange some GBP to the Chinese yuans and a minivan soon comes to drive me to the hotel. Since I never really had a drive from the airport included in the price, I feel like a superstar, but only till the moment when I hop on and realize that the van has about as much knee space as the Great Western Railway trains to Portsmouth. Bummer :-(

The journey takes 15 minutes or so, and meanwhile I marvel at everything I see. My quick impression is that the city is quite well developed - definitely in terms of infrastructure - but without much character. Things seem to be focused on utility, rather than aesthetics and it all feels a bit sad...

I question my driver on the size of the city (20 million, he says) and whether the fog I see is a fog, or smog, but he does not understand (though smog is the likely answer). I half ponder going to the city centre and see for myself, but I am too tired and decide to simply go to the hotel and get some proper sleep. Who knows what will happen in Kathmandu! I type up some of these notes, set the alarm and soon I doze off to the sounds of the busy road and honking cars down below…

Busy streets down below.

Monday 21.10 - Kathmandu welcome

I wake up at 2:30am and can't really sleep much longer - it's something like dinner time back home. I somehow pass the time till my scheduled alarm time and bang on 4:30, the reception gives me a wake up call. By this time I am fully awake though and am drying the socks I washed the other day with a provided hair dryer (easy - just stick the hair dryer in the sock for 5 minutes. Success guaranteed!). A cup of tea (Chinese!) follows and I am off to reception for a drive back to the airport.

At the airport, I chat to a lady from Taiwan, who's also on the Kathmandu flight and who's about to do the Everest Base Camp trek. A million other controls follow, where my passport is checked every time, as if some new content could magically appear in those 5 minute intervals between the checks.

Thinking of the strict rules (e.g during the flight, a perfectly smooth English recording informed us all about all possible reasons for which we can be legally "punished" under the rules of People's Republic of China) and the constant camera surveillance, I pull out my kindle and start reading Michael O'Brien's book Prisons exposed - about the UK's prison system and its flaws. I suddenly realize how easy one can lose freedom if being at a wrong place at a wrong time, and how difficult it then is to get back to the other side, even if one was innocent. These dark thoughts linger for a sec, and I decide to lighten the mood by exploring the store at the gate, which is full of stuff that I've never seen before, and I'll probably never see again either. When I pick a package of what looks like boiled chicken feet, I decide that reading about prisons perhaps wasn't that bad after all. 

Eventually, the 9:40 departure time approaches and we - the passengers - get hauled to the airplane in what must have been either the longest airport bus journey ever, or a planned airport excursion without commentary. 

This time round though, the flight has a much different vibe. Already at the stairs to the airplane, I meet someone doing the Annapurna circuit. Once seated, more and more tourists stream in, all seemingly heading to the mountains. A Bulgarian dude named Vas across the aisle is doing the Sanctuary trek and Polish couple next to me is also trekking.

Upon landing and after sorting out the visa for our trips as well as a Nepali sim card (16 GB of data for 7 quid, so staying connected after all!), we share a cab with Vas to the city centre. A Nepali guy hops on too, and he turns out to be a mountain guide and gives us some good tips free of charge, which instantly makes me suspicious, but it turns out to be just a bit of good exposure for him and his company. He also adds us on Facebook, and a couple weeks later in Jomsom, I actually spot him leading a group of tourists.

I jump off at the border of the city centre (Thamel) and make my way through its busy streets towards the hostel. Since I have been to Ghana before, it's not such a culture shock, but I later realize that Nepal is perhaps even one step crazier and more chaotic than Ghana. The backpack is heavy on my shoulders and the whole day is still in front of me, so I don't linger and aim straight to check in.

The Elbrus home hostel is a really nice place

Elbrus home was recommended to me by Botond, who stayed there a few years ago when he did the Annapurna Circuit. And a great recommendation it was! Straight away I run into a roommate whom I click with, a Dutch Caribbean (whose name is probably written something like Ri-Angelo) who came to Nepal for a two week "visa run" from India. We chat and arrange meeting up later for food in KC restaurant, and I set out to the city to do various pre-trek bits and bobs. 

Pedestrians, mopeds and occasional cars all make for a dense mix in Thamel's narrow streets

One of the more fluid roads in Kathmandu

The main item on my agenda is to get the TIMS (Trekking Information Management System) card and ACAP (Annapurna Conservation Area Permit). After plodding through Kathmandu's thick traffic full of exhausts, I finally reach the Nepal Tourism Board and get the relevant permits just in time before they close the ACAP desk at 3pm.

I then shop around a bit, getting e.g. a physical map of Annapurna region at Pilgrims' book store.

We meet up with Ri-Angelo at KC's around 4:30. The restaurant is empty and a very young waiter who speaks about 5 words of English tries to appear professional, but unfortunately does not understand anything we say, so we end up using Google translate.We explain we need to leave by 5, as I (and Ri-angelo was up for it too) want to visit the local Toastmasters club meeting at 5:30. 

View from KC restaurant. How many cables can you find?

I get a hot&sour soup and it literally blows my mind. It is by far the spiciest thing I've ever eaten and manage about 5 spoon-fulls before I sweat like a pig and can't feel anything on my tongue. The young waiter comes back to check how we like the food, but I only muster a polite thumb up. Is this the spiciness I can expect for the next 4 weeks? (Luckily, the answer was no here).

The spiciest thing I've ever eaten

Once again we fight our way through the traffic and soon we enter the Yellow Pagoda Hotel, where the Toastmasters meeting is held. I am instantly impressed by the professional setup and quite a solid attendance numbers. The meeting itself does not fall short of expectations either, and I hear an excellent speech from a Nepali Toastmaster who addresses a difficult topic - LGBT partnerships in Nepal. A brave, but well delivered speech, and I leave feeling proud to be part of the worldwide Toastmasters community.

Upon return to the hostel, we find a guy in the room very much in the process of packing his backpack. It turns out he's about to set off for the AC trek. He's one of those super-confident Americans that don't say they come from "United States", but just from "The States" (almost prompting me to ask "which states do you mean", but I bit my tongue :-P) and that will "probably do them both" when I ask if he does the Annapurna Circuit or the Sanctuary trek. On the other hand, I admit I am a bit inspired by his enthusiasm and as I am falling asleep, I am imagining the huge snow covered peaks, all around… Soon…

Tuesday 22.10 - In search of the answer

Morning comes after 9 hours of good sleep, and I am glad that I so quickly adapted to the new time zone. The times of the flights definitely helped too, as they got me tired enough to later sleep at the right time.

I get down for the breakfast, which is held at a lovely courtyard with palm trees and provides a great setup for conversations and meeting new people. I sit down to a table with two New Zealanders who've just come back from the Annapurna circuit and it' proves to be the most useful conversation of the days. They tell me the fresh insights from the circuit, the do's and don'ts, that I should do Tilicho lake and the high route to Manang, that I don't need a guide, where to go in Pokhara and various other pearls of wisdom that I later quote during the trek to the others, like some sort of underground facts from KGB.

Upon return to the room, two English girls just wake up, coming back late from a wild previous nights. They too, had been trekking tho, and seem super enthusiastic about the whole experience. One of them gives me her spare Diamox, cursing the fact that she bought it in UK for 30 quid (just like I did) when it can be bought over the counter in Nepal for a fraction of the sum… The other one is questioning whether she'd be able to bring through the UK customs 4 large Nepalese machetes that she got as a souvenir for her friends and family. I wish her good luck.

I don't have too much more prep to do before the trek, so we decide with Ri-angelo to go and do some touristy stuff during the day. We head for the Monkey temple, some 45 minute walk away through the busy streets of Kathmandu. It's a hot day and the traffic smokes and fumes are heavy, so we get a face mask each and thus look like a ambush commando.

Ambush commando officer above the smelly river

We pass a river - if it can be called that way. It's obvious that many things don't work well in Nepal, and one of them is for sure is garbage handling. The river is full of it, has a horrible colour and smells like a sewage. The other possibility is that it actually is sewage, and it was never a river. But as my colleague in pizzeria used to say whenever we swapped the order of ingredients on a pizza: "it doesn't matter - tastes the same".

We keep going and reach the Monkey temple at around noon. The sun is scorching us and the shades of the trees in the Monkey temple offer some refuge. The stupa at the top however requires to climb hundreds of steps and in my mind I am once again pondering the elevation gain of Annapurna Circuit, which I am to scale with the full weight of the backpack on my shoulders.

Up there, we take a few pics and observe the monkeys fooling around or the city below, which seems to be either in a fog, or covered with smog. We sit down eventually in a nice cafe with a nice viewpoint above the stupa. Ri-angelo is looking for some flights in India and is using the cafe's WiFi, to save his data. Since it's not the first time he's considering every rupee he spends, I question him about it and he explains - he's travelling for months, not just weeks and that's when the expenses start to add up. Thus he is thinking in the local mentality and in local prices. And after all, I think he's right - why should one throw money away just because you're a tourist? The flight was expensive and I take unpaid leave, so I, too, enter a bit of money-saving mode. Not too much - but it gets more fun this way too, and one at least ends up looking for less touristy spots and the ways that local people live.

Kathmandu from the Monkey temple hill

Me and Ri-Angelo

Monkeys messing around. It's said that you should not smile or show your teeth at them

After he's done booking his flights, we head back to the city and really don't have much better goal than to go for some food. We aim to Western Tandoori Naan and Bread House, on recommendation from one of the English girls. Another recommendation gold struck! The place is small, always packed, with tourists and locals alike, affordable, efficient and above all - super tasty! No wonder I came back several times later on.

After the food, I split off to do some shopping. I am mainly after some warm down jacket, as I feel like it may not be as warm up there as I thought. There's tens of sports gear stores around Thamel, all of them proudly displaying merchandise by brands such as North face or Raab. A bit suspicious are the prices though, whereby a North face down jacket can be bought for as low as 7 quid. What a deal!

I don't get fooled and look for some more high-end fakes with bit better quality. All stores sell essentially the same thing though, and after visiting about 30 places, I end up coming to the first store I visited and negotiate the price further down. I end up leaving with a lovely yellow "North face" and "Gore-tex" down jacket for about 30 quid.

Later we re-unite with Ri-angelo for some live music and food at a roof-top bar. A Nepali guitar/singer duo plays popular tunes and a large group of Dutch guys sings loudly (and quite badly) along. It's my last evening in Kathmandu before leaving very early the next day for the trail-head in Besisahar, but when we leave around 10, we are still in the mood to try a local night club "Lord of the Drinks", again on the recommendation of our English roomies. It seems like a place worth a visit, but one that keeps its standards too, and since Ri-Angelo wears flip-flops, we're ruthlessly denied entry, and instead decide to get one more beer on the roof-top of our hostel. 

Chatting to Ri-Angelo, I find out that we're in quite similar life situations at the moment: both around 30, both living outside of our own country for last few years and both contemplating the same question - do we stay where we are long term or not? 

For me, this question has been bugging me incessantly and growing stronger and more pressing for quite some time now. It has been a frustrating point of indecision and something that was at the back of my mind no matter what time of the day or what I was doing. For it is not just a matter of simple job change or location move, but everything that follows from there on. It feels like a two-way junction with a huge ridge in between the two roads, which makes it impossible to see to the other valley. And a junction where once you choose, you can't really go back, for when you do choose, you'll become a different person. 

At times I would even wish that I never traveled or lived abroad...That I'd never saw so much of the world, and that I'd never had so many options. For sticking to a single place would make things and decisions somewhat easier. But then I know that it's stupid to think that way - for all the places I've been to, the experience I've gained and the people I've met - it was always worth it. And it all gave me chances - to have a better life, to be a better person and even to make better decisions.

So embracing the cliche phrase of "whatever the choice will be, it will be the right one" was the key here. And somehow, I perhaps already knew what I will do, and I just waited for the right moment to accept it, and to fully embrace it.

Ri-Angelo travels for over 6 months. I decided to search for the answer in the depths of Himalayas.

Move to London or stay in Cardiff? 

Annapurnas, tell me. Here I come.

Cardiff, I'll be there now in a minute

I came to Cardiff back in 2015, on a Megabus from London. It was a rainy September evening as me and Tina got off at Kingsway and walked by the Castle, through Westgate street and on to the central station. There we joined the masses off people queuing a good hour for the trains after a world cup rugby game between New Zealand and Wales. You see, our destination was actually Newport, but our Megabus service did not stop there and thus we got to experience this brief taster from the Wales's capital. Rain, crowds, waiting... I had a huge backpack, another big bag and two guitars, and after over a day of travelling in the coaches, I had enough.

Just before boarding the bus to London

Fast forward a few years. It's a mid-December evening in late 2019, as I am standing on the same bus stop and waiting for another Megabus service, this time bound for the opposite direction towards London. It does not rain, I have just one guitar with me, and I'm alone. But this time, I'm not saying "I had enough"...

If someone told me back in 2015, that I'd come to feel this way about Cardiff - as if it was my real home - I'd probably laugh in their face. Too much did I think that the UK society, including Cardiff's, is shallow and consuming and not really for me, and that I'd be long gone by now. Yet thinking of Cardiff as my home is exactly how I feel when writing these words some 4 years later. Cardiff has become a part of me, and I became part of Cardiff.

But what is it, Fero, about Cardiff, huh? Is it the seemingly omnipresent danger of torrential rain? Or the strong winds that blow away your guitar case when busking, along with all the money in it? Or is it the red dragon that's always up in the sky, keeping an eye on the crazy folks going for the Saturday party? Well, yeah, all that for sure. But that's just a part of it.

My former studio in Cardiff - cozy, warm, affordable and walking distance to the city centre. Doesn't get better than this!

But if you want some reasons, here you go, mate. There's the ideally sized city centre. Not too small to find a restaurant or a pub suiting any taste - best ever pizza at the Real Italian, lively Womanby street with its rock n'roll bands and Green shit at The Moon or a whole selection of hipster cafes for those unique catch ups on life with Alex...

The most memorable post-green-shit pic, with Beerjamin, Smelliska and Lady Gaga herself

But a city centre not too large either, making the odds high that you'd run there into a friend or two on a Saturday afternoon, especially when busking around The Hayes. It's simply the ideal size, and the crowded streets after a rugby match that we've seen on the first evening are actually something I came to enjoy, creating a unique atmosphere like nowhere else.

Christmas busking for Llamau 2019 with some amazing voices sourced from the ONS choir.

Best pizza in the world can be found at Real Italian. Obviously I am completely unbiased having worked at RIPC in 2015/16

Next, we have the surroundings. You could argue that that's no longer Cardiff - but anything reachable for a nice summer day trip counts (reminding me of Vinny's story, when he rented a car in Cardiff, did a trip to Neath and when he asked about "what's there to see", he got a response "well, you can do a day trip to Cardiff"). And the Cardiff area has it all - the hills, lakes and waterfalls of Brecon Beacons or Black mountains, the cycling options around Caerphilly or Monmouth, or the unique shores and cliffs around Llantwit Major.

My favorite part of Wales. This cliff that we saw from Nash Point on our cycling trip with Jon was photographed by the best photographer I know - Gareth Llewellyn. I then got the pic painted by the best painter I know - Miles Johal and it's hanging
above my head while writing these words...

There's much more than that which makes Cardiff such a unique city. The lovely Bay area, the affordable living costs, the many societies and clubs such as Cardiff Toastmasters, South Wales Agile group, PyData or AI meetups...

After seeing the September sunrise in Cardiff Bay

The people of Cardiff Toastmasters

But if there's one main thing that made my time in Cardiff so unforgettable and enjoyable, it just must be the ONS, and the Methodology department in it.

This workplace not only taught me so much and helped me grow professionally, as well as on a personal level. It was also a place I'd simply look forward to go to every single morning, almost not feeling a difference between being there and being at home. Well, it just was another home...

The best corner of ONS....

It was there where Andy would say "you learn just as much from the bad line managers, as you do from the good line managers" on our first catch up, instantly making me wonder "is he saying it because he'll be a bad line manager?". Hah, he was the best, just like Nigel... Karen would make for the best project lead I could ask for, giving us all opportunities, trust, support - and most of all - the feeling that she cares. And Owen would always recognize where the junction of my strengths, potential and next challenge lies, and push me gently towards those projects...

Some of the nicest people I've ever met were from the ONS.

Kostas at the bus stop - a typical and a welcome
morning sight!

It was there at ONS where Phil, sipping his coffee, stroking his beard and looking out at the trees outside while thinking would always have the right answer for my question, sometimes even when I was not sure what I'm actually asking. It was there where I'd find the nicest colleague doubling up as the best rubber duck Huw, one that would usually sit just "by'ere". And it was there where Eleanor's arrival would lift my mood every day, invariably showing up with a wide smile, usually cheerfully commenting on how she got wet cycling in through the rain.

Already on the way to work, meeting the awesomest Greeks Kostas and Nicki at the bus stop would be a moment to look forward to. On the way back running into Hazel, I would look for every opportunity to dig for the golden nuggets in some of the most meaningful chats one can possibly have. And on the days when Jon'd give me a ride back, I knew in advance I'd end up walking from Mackintosh place, as we'd always end up so involved in discussion that he'd forget to take the right turn off A48.

On occasions, we'd feel sporty and cycle in or out with Jon, Danni, or Rose, through the pastures green with cows and canals, or over the hills of Caerphilly.

Cycling through Caerphilly on the way back from ONS, with Rose and Danni.

I'd forever see Vinny as the breath of fresh air in Methodology, someone who made us all more social with pub evenings, movies or philosophical brunches. Atanaska would take care of my sourdough while I'd be away, kind of like neighbours do with plants or dogs. Denise would make the supreme Millionaire's shortbread and the late addition to the office Sarah would baffle the whole directorate by anonymously making the best Tiramisu ever to see the light of the world, leaving only a teasing message saying "Enjoy, happy Thursday".

Is it now clearer why it was hard to leave ONS? ;-) Another superb cake made by Sarah for my last day

Christmas choir concert at the nursery on ONS premises

It was a night to remember. But it was somehow hard to remember the next day... :-P

I could go on and on, for there's no shortage of good memories involving ONS. But that would likely make this blog post reach some sort of length limits... Therefore to put it simply:

Thank you so much, ONS.

And thank you so much Cardiff. 

You are a unique place and a place I will never forget. You've been full of fun, warmth, beautiful countryside, music, and most of all, full of amazing people and friends.

And although it may be time to move on, I will damn make sure that the ties won't be cut.

Vinny standing perfectly up to the task of keeping my thinking positive about the move, while moving my stuff to London

For as Ben put it: "you can take the boy out of Cardiff, but you can never take Cardiff out of the boy".

Well, we'll see what happens. It's too early to say. So perhaps best to use that Welsh phrase which kind of doesn't make sense (or was made for these kind of situations):

"Cardiff, I'll be there now in a minute!"

Cardiff Bay Triathlon

I've always wanted to do a Triathlon.

OK, not always, but some time, a couple years ago the thought somehow entered my head:

"Fero, you like swimming, cycling and running. And you're becoming a lazy poo. Do a Triathlon!"

So I... didn't sign up. But the thought returned around Christmas 2018, when I felt like I need a challenge for the next year. Something new. Something to get me back on the right track. Something I could brag about.

And so I googled "Cardiff Olympic triathlon" and there it was - on a website of an organisation with a suited named "Always aim high". What followed next was quick and thrilling:

"100 GBP entrance fee..."
"WHAT!"
"you live only once Fero..." (and hopefully beyond the Triathlon)
"choose a country to represent? This seems like a serious shit"
"ok, Slovakia"
"should I click that pay button...?" (hovering over it ...)
"CLICK"

The next minutes were spent checking the refunding section of T&Cs. You know, just in case I would keep being a lazy poo...

But too much was paid already with too small a chance of a refund. And so I started to train. Slowly - mind you, this was January and the race wasn't till summer solstice in June! In spite of that, a run or two a week and a swim a week became my new routine. Interestingly (or maybe not), we people have a tendency to find excuses not to do exercise, even if we know that we WILL feel better afterwards. It's officially called the "lazy poo syndrome" (LPS) and if there's one thing that's good about signing up for a looming and a scary race, it's overcoming the LPS.

Fast forward about five months. June was coming and the weather turned "Welsh". Even by local standards, the lack of sunshine and abundance of rainy days was surprising (there were only 9 days without rain in the whole month preceding the race). But I found this convenient - I had a hard time focusing enough on the grueling training with all the temptations of the sunny days - busking, hiking trips, hanging out with friends and sipping beer. In other words, LPS was back, but this time I knew I can't let it slide. So I came up with a devious plan.

In UK (and in ONS where I work), there's a nice and interesting tradition, which I call "I suffer, you donate!". If this sounds weird (a bit masochistic?) to you, please keep reading. What I am on about is the tradition whereby people sign up for a tough race, then set up a charity page on JustGiving, and say "please support this charity, because I am doing a tough race". I never quite understood the connection between the two, but decided to give it a go - if only to get rid of that new wave of LPS taking me over.

Thinking of a good cause to support was actually harder than I thought. It got me thinking about all kinds of stuff: how and where can you make most impact with donated money? What are charities really doing with the money? Should you support something super local and small, where people who donate may get worried that the project will fail? Or should you go for some established charity where your donation feels like a drop in the water?

My JustGiving page after the Triathlon - with the target successfully reached! Wehey!

I eventually decided to go for the "maximum impact possible". This meant finding someone enthusiastic, trustworthy and in the need of support for their charity project. And so I thought of my friend Ondro, former teacher of Teach for Slovakia who had not only plenty of experience with these kind of projects, but who also knew similarly minded people. And Ondro did not disappoint at all and linked me with Dominika - a current Teach for Slovakia teacher who was just raising money for her project: educational trips for underprivileged kids in her school. Perfect match!

A JustGiving page was set up, target of 500 GBP set, the news were spread. There was now no way back, and so it was, conveniently, around this time that the organizers finally posted the start time of the race: 6:30 am.

But, indeed, 6:30 it was. And so I braced myself for 3 more weeks of proper training, which culminated a week before the race, when I tried the whole Olympic distance in a "test mode": first the 1.5k swim in the pool, then 40k of cycling around the Bay (and admiring the posh houses by the barrage) and finally a 10k run along Newport road. Total time? Just over 3 hours! And although I was quite destroyed, it was "not too bad, all things considered" and I still managed to join Dan for his 100th park run the morning after.

Scenery during my test Triathlon - Cardiff Bay is indeed super nice.

And on the other side of the barrage... is the sea!

I realized that triathlon is a bit different type of race - you get to use different muscles, although the fuel is still coming from the same tank, so it's important to keep the tank supplied. At the same time, the race is more difficult technically and more things can also go wrong. For one, I never swum in the Bay and I knew that it would be a much different experience than the nice "deterministic" swimming pool, with its 50m length and a visual line to follow below. But also, there were other things to consider: Will the wet-suit fit? What if I get cramps in the cold water? How and where do I change to my cycling gear? Should I plan for a flat tyre?

Saturday, 22nd of June, day before the race. I went down to the Bay for the registration.

The day was (finally) stunning, with 20 degrees and sun and there was that enjoyable pre-race buzz in the air, with participants picking up their race packs, and families enjoying ice cream and strolling around the area. Always Aim High also prepped a special pre-race event for this day (at a special extra cost) which was all about trying out a swim in the open water, and which I eagerly signed up for, mainly to reduce the apprehension for the next morning's jump into that scary water.

The day before the race saw clear skies and 20 degrees

We gathered by the former Doctor Who museum in our wet-suits, like a bunch of confused penguins. Looking around though, I could not help but feel that everyone seemed to look like an experienced triathloner. I eventually started to chat to one bearded and guy, who - based on his appearance I was completely sure - had been through countless races, possibly even Iron mans... Funnily enough, it turned out that he signed up for his first one ever, and only as a reaction to a "great pub idea" with his mates (actually, all of his mates bailed out, so he ended up doing it alone :-)). His race was not even the Olympic one, but the Sprint version (half of my distance)! Thus a moral was finally learned after almost 30 years of my existence: don't judge anyone by their appearance!

An experienced-looking dude welcomed us and explained to us that he is experienced, thus establishing authority. Quick tips followed, such as how to acclimatize in open and cold water, or keep sense of direction, and soon we were splashing around, aclimatizing (read "complaining that the water is f***ing cold"). Our 400 meters test swim was then rewarded with the promised "goodies" from the organizers, which I had imagined to be a bucket of BBQ chicken wings, but which turned out to be a pair of socks. The try-a-swim event went well, the wet-suit was fine and the water was not too bad temperature-wise in the end (17 degrees), although that was 3pm on a sunny day, as opposed to 6:30am the next (cloudy) morning. But still, I left with high spirits, now really looking forward to the next day!

In the evening, I went through the final race prep - carefully thinking through each part: the equipment and energy supplies, the clothes, the race rules, route maps, bibs, chips and tattoos to apply. The dinner of cheese pasta followed to stock up on some carbs. My memories went to the first half-marathon I did in Košice, about 8 years ago, where a "pasta party" was organized for all participants. A nice tradition, one I would welcome for this race too. It just ain't above that pre-race banter, where all the pearls of wisdom are shared by the (surely super experienced) triathloners. But this time I had to do with my own private pasta party, and google-searching for some triathlon tips... :)

The alarm rang at 4:30 am and I jumped out of the bed. Breakfast of nuts, raisins and banana, a quick shower, packing the rest of the items and off I went to the Bay. I arrived to the transition area at Roald Dahl's Plass just after 5 am. The sky was cloudy, but rain was not forecast until noon, thus forming perfect conditions for the race. The participants were already streaming in from all sides and putting on display their (often) super fancy bikes - aero handlebars, eye-catching all-carbon designs and disc wheels (some of which can cost £1000 on their own!). I found my spot - number 665 - and parked my £120 second hand road bike (ok, with recent £200 refurbishment boost). I then set to prepare everything for the two transitions (swim/bike and bike/run). I was early, but I was glad to be early, and not having to rush with anything.

An actual pic from the race. Not myself - but the pic is depicting how seriously most of the participants took it!

Transition area around 5:30am, with most of the Olympic participants busily getting ready.

At 6 am, the transition was to be clear of Olympic participants and we all moved towards a small "beach" further down the Bay where the pre-race briefing was about to take place. Soon, however, the organizer broke some truly unexpected news: apparently, somebody was threatening to jump from a high building in the Bay, and police had to close off the area. As this included a part of the cycling track, the organizers had to quickly improvise. Eventually, it was announced that the cycling route is to be altered - instead of 3 laps of ~13 km, there was now 6 laps of 5 km, i.e. selling us a tad short of the full Olympic triathlon experience. Moreover, the race start was moved 30 minutes later, and so we all waited around in our wet suits for some action, staring at the cold and deep body of water in which we were soon to be immersed.

The first action happened at 6:45, when the final instructions were given and race rules repeated one more time. First wave of participants then slowly set off towards the pier, where then jumped in for a deep water start. 3... 2... 1... GO! And we all watched the stream of blue hats slowly moving towards the first red buoy.

The initial swim part took place in this water - starting around 200m from this point (at the left, close to the building with the curvy roof), following the buoys further into the distance before returning towards the platform at the end of the blue pier.

I was in the 5th, red-hat wave - one of the last ones (probably because of the conservative time estimate I provided when I was signing up) and so it was a good hour and half I was now hanging around in my wet-suit. Luckily, although it was cloudy, the temperature was quite agreeable 15 degrees, which was just about matching the water temperature. At 7:20, our turn finally came and recalling the advice from the day before, I straight away let the cold water in my wet-suit, to acclimatize while still being near the shore.

The whole swim was quite a surreal experience. I don't remember a lot, and it all kind of blended together. What I do remember is struggling to keep direction - every 10 strokes, I would stop stroking and look around to find out "where the hell am I", or rather "where the hell am I going", and then point myself to the right direction. It was slower than in the pool, and I would get overtaken, even by swimmers from the next wave. A swimmer would bump into me here and there. Some small waves emerged about half-way through out of nowhere and I would have the odd accidental sip of the (not very tasty) Bay water. I'd dig sea-weed with some of the strokes and thoughts entered my mind if there could be a dead horse somewhere deep below (just like, as legend has it, there is supposed to be one in Draždiak in Bratislava). But somehow, the finish-line platform was approaching nevertheless and soon I was helped out back on my feet, trudging along towards the transition. Ecstatic feeling, and not really too tired yet!

It can feel a bit as if you are learning to walk again after the swim...

Still, after the swim my arms were quite jelly and it took a while to take off the wet-suit and get on the bike (over 5 minutes in transition!). But if there is one moment I'll remember, it's what followed next. Still very much feeling like a sluggish fish that was taken out of the water, I suddenly joined the busy bike route with the fast and determined cyclists averaging well above 30km/h, swishing past me on their super bikes, spectators now framing both sides of the track and commentator voice booming in the air. Unique atmosphere!

So soon I shook off the swim mood and started to press on. The smart tactics of the organizers also did its magic here - after the buzz and urgency of the first couple laps, the fastest Olympic racers were off the route, to the final bit (10k run). However, the Sprint-distance participants soon joined the circuit and once again I was motivated to keep up with the true Ferraris of the bike population... Two energy gels proved just right for this part of the race and I was proud to see in my result times that I did the 30 kms under an hour.

The second transition was much quicker, as all I needed was dropping off the bike and grabbing a couple more energy gels. Somehow, though, after the cycling thrill and an hour in the same bent position, the running came difficult. I felt I still had the energy, but the body was aching with every breath. The worst came around 3rd kilometer, just after the turnaround of the first lap as I started to face the wind. The pain did not wear off until I finished the first lap, and only proper deep breathing eventually dissolved the knot above my hip. I washed down the 3rd gel and pressed on.

In a good mood and good shape, just after the start of the run. The pain came soon though.

The second lap seemed emptier, as by now, even the sprint-distance racers were mainly finished. Despite that, the last 2-3 km were the highlight of the run for me, as I finally tapped into my backup energy tank, no longer hindered by any pains. Past the Welsh congress and on to the last bit around the Welsh Millennium centre. End was near, and just as the finish line came to my view, I spotted Alex and Lena and their encouraging smiles and high fives gave me the final boost. And so I finished the Cardiff Olympic Triathlon 2019 in 2 hours, 33 minutes and 36 seconds.

Final moments and a high five from Alex

A bit longer than my usual swim time, and a sorter bike ride than originally planned (30km instead of 40, due to an incident on the track prior to the race start)

The run seemed to have been only ~9km eventually - somewhere the organizers did wrong measurements. I definitely felt too sluggish for this to be 10k!

The race was done, item ticked off the to-do, bucket and resolution list. And that was it.

When I came home after some proper post-race brunch and chat with friends, a thought entered my mind: "what next". But I knew that question. For it has been sticking around for a while now. And I knew that the answer to that one is not easy. I just kept postponing it, knowing it will catch up once.

So I guess, to end this post on a philosophical note, the answer the question "what next" would be: "whatever you choose to be next".