Imagine the following...
Little by little, the exotic rhythm of the music from the latest Bollywood blockbuster fades away from the speakers on a taxi jeep, which has just passed me.
The weather is tempering hot. The sun has risen to its highest point and has turned my shadow into nothing. I look before me, and I see an endless ocean of yellow, light-brown and golden hills. And between that a narrow, meandering, glittering black: the road which I have to go.
I’ve been on the way since early this morning, and I haven’t been through any village yet. Sometimes I had to take the ferry over over some small creeks. Other times I cycled directly along the coast, left from me the noise of the ocean waves far beneath me, right of me awesome rocks rising about 50 m above me.

At the side of the road, sometimes a lonely shepherd with a flock of goats, looking both surprised and amazed as I suddenly came along with an awesome speed on my full-packed bicycle.
It’s 3 o’clock in the afternoon. I haven’t got any lunch yet. So as soon as I see the first houses of a small village, I look for a ‘dhaba’, a small snack-bar. As fast as i put my bicycle in the shadow of a tree, I see hundred of curious faces coming from nowhere. Inside the dhaba, it’s packed with tables and chairs, the walls are painted in a soap-green color and everything looks considerably used and old. There hangs a thick smell of fat, ascent, coles, meat and spices, that comes towards me as soon as I enter the dhaba. It is a small barrack with an open front. Also here are all the more than curious faces that shamelessly look upon me.
The waiter comes and asks what I want to eat. I don’t expect a very big choice, so I order a bowl of rice and daal, a vegetable curry and a bottle of Thumbs Up.
When I’ve got my meal, someone comes walking towards me. “Hello sir! How are you? What is your name? Where are you from? Are you a foreigner? You look like an Indian!”
I looked quiet and smiled to him. He was not the first who asked those questions. At least ten times a day, I met those curious people who wanted to know everything about me.
But this time I had to think it over a little bit... What did he really say? Hell, he asked if I was a world citizen! A world citizen, someone who feels at home in a million different places...
Originally used in ancient Greece, known as ‘kosmou polites’, it meant someone who feels at home both his birth place, as at any other place in the world. Someone who has the same connection with his neighbour as with someone at the other side of the world.

As a cyclist who roams about in such a country, you can say I had my home with me, packed in the five cycle bags hanging on my Koga Miyata World Traveller.
So that would mean, that wherever I go, I would have my own little home, put together by the few belongings that I had with me.

In this globalizing world, where everyone and everything seems to be separated less and where everything can be reached easier, I found it a good moment to take this decision and travel in this ‘primitive’ way, to meet the locals, to taste the local food and to come to places where I might have been one of the first westerners...