Return to Europe

Packing up for our flight from Hanoi to Zurich marked the end of the big part of our trip. There was still a section of Europe that we planned to cycle, but it felt like a mission accomplished. Anything from here on out was firmly leisure (as was everything prior—but you know what we mean).

We landed in Zurich and straight away noticed how Swiss everything felt—especially coming straight from Vietnam. We had a mild culture shock when we needed to cross the road to a café. We approached the flashing pedestrian crossing and to our amusement, pristine cars purposely came to a stop for us at an appropriate distance from the crossing. We looked both ways and walked at an equally appropriate pace across the road, receiving polite nods from drivers showing recognition for our earnest effort to cross in a timely manner. Everyone stuck to the rules, everything was calm, and everyone was appropriately content with the situation. 

We finished crossing the road, walked into the café and spent far too much for two coffees. If it hadn’t been clear already, we needed to change our spending habits—fast.

We escaped Zurich and rode our bikes along tranquil country lanes and, without even trying, found a perfect wild camping spot in a Swiss forest. After months of relentless heat and hotel beds, sleeping in our own little tent—surrounded by trees, no check-in at reception—felt like heaven. We had missed Europe. 

It only took us two days to reach Alina’s hometown, in the south of Germany. The following weeks were spent resting with family, in a place that felt like home. Once again drinking tap water without the fear of diarrhea, beginning to tell the stories we’d soon repeat over and over for months, and slowly re-adjusting our tastebuds to a European diet, and happily indulging in Kässpätzle, bread, cakes and more. We rested our legs—but before we could get too comfortable, Alina’s mum chased us up and down the lower Alps on her e-bike. 

With fresh sore legs, we packed up again—this time making sure we were ready for cold and rain. Next destination: Ireland. 

Our trip resumed with a train to Brussels, where we visited friends we had met at the very beginning of our trip in New Zealand—at Kiwiburn, to be precise. A nice way to close the circle. 

We spent a long weekend there, exploring the city in mild autumn weather, sharing laughs and enjoying the lovely company of familiar faces. It  made us feel warm and fuzzy. One thing that had stood out to us during our months in South East Asia was how little we’d socialized, mostly due to language and cultural barriers. After weeks of only talking to one another, being able to share our stories, feelings and some banter with friends and family was a welcome change. 

One highlight from Brussels was attending the Critical Mass on our bicycles. Originating over 30 years ago in San Francisco, Critical Mass is now a global movement—monthly group rides where cyclists take over city streets to promote bike visibility and safety. 

To paint a clearer picture: imagine cycling through a city without worrying about traffic, surrounded by hundreds of like-minded people on bicycles, while coolers filled with beers, DJ’s and sound systems are towed along on cargo bikes. It was an amazing vibe, completely absorbing and novel to us. After nearly two hours of riding, the event ended in an empty warehouse estate with food carts and more music. We loved it and it felt very much on brand for our trip.

After a successful pit stop in Brussels, we headed out once again on our bicycles. We got to cycle in the company of Conor’s brother, who joined us for a few days. Our route took us through Belgium and into France, often following the river Leie—or Lys, depending on which side of the border you’re on. It winds gently through the countryside, and we were blessed with sunny autumn days and idyllic greenways covering long distances. It felt like European cycling heaven.

What soon surprised us was how empty parts of the French countryside felt, compared to what they appeared on the maps. On paper, there were countless villages. In reality, many were little more than a quiet street lined with shuttered houses—no bakery, no shop, no café. It meant we had to plan more carefully than expected when it came to food and water.

It felt like we were flying it, and soon reached the English Channel at the historic Somme Bay. From there, we followed the coastline for several days. The views were spectacular, and we found what was probably one of our best wild camping spots yet. Chalk cliffs rose and fell in long, rolling ascents and descents. Quickly the weather became more unpredictable—showers drifting in off the sea—but paired with French bread, cheese, and wine, it was hard to complain.

Soon the weather took a turn for the worse. The remnants of a storm system hit France, bringing strong winds and heavy rain. Some stretches of cycling were simply grim. We kept our spirits up—most of the time—as we passed through postcard-like Norman villages with thatched-roof cottages. The town of Vieux-Port was particularly charming.

Lucky for us, on the day we were soaked to the bone, and battling winds that nearly brought us to a standstill, we were taken in by a Warmshowers host for the night. It always amazes us how generous and trusting this community is. We were able to wash ourselves and our clothes, were fed, given delicious wine, and offered what felt like the most comfortable bed imaginable. Our host left early in the morning, trusting us to sleep in and close up the house behind us. After weeks on the road, that kind of generosity can make all the difference. 

Leaving the next day, we crossed the Seine in a very dramatic fashion—fighting powerful and relentless winds on a tall bridge. We gripped our handlebars harder than ever, bracing against gusts that threatened to push us into traffic or into the side rails. We made it across safely, but were unsure whether our tears came from laughter or crying. 

By then, we had taken a beating from the weather, and felt worn down. Plus, we were now working toward a deadline—our next destination was the channel island Jersey, and we had already booked our ferry and accommodation. We cycled for two more days before catching the train from Lisieux to the port of Saint-Malo. 

This is where we said ‘au revoir’ France, and the next chapter begins: The Field.