A Farewell Etude
Four years at Alibaba, off to circle the globe
I open AliLang, and the number shows 1400+ days. Four years at Alibaba**（Quick Explanation：Alibaba ranks among China’s top IT enterprises, holding a comparable industry stature to Google and Microsoft in the United States.）**—longer than my four years of college. The time has finally come to graduate.
The reasons for leaving include a longing for a new life and fatigue with the old life. But more than anything, it comes down to one simple purpose: I want to take a trip of my own—about ten months long, around the world, leaving Beijing to the west and returning from the east.
It sounds crazy at first, but I have spent five months of meticulous preparation for this idea. And in truth, the seed was planted long ago. This post is my way of sharing what has been on my mind. I rarely posted on the internal network before; the truth is, I love writing and expressing myself. So let this article be the final mark I leave at Alibaba.
I. Before Setting Out
What is the meaning of travel? Everyone has their own answer. But human beings are, by nature, creatures who long to step beyond the familiar corners of their own small world, to explore, to venture out. Seventy thousand years ago, our ancestors walked out of Africa and, over tens of thousands of years, migrated to almost every corner of the world. Their main drive was survival rather than adventure, but I believe that at some point, one of our ancestors must have had this thought:
"That hill in the distance looks both far away and beautiful. That tree standing on the summit is so lush. I want to climb that peak and rest for a while in its shade."
My father was also a traveler in his youth. Growing up as a small-town young man on Huangsha Street in Hunan, he went to a technical secondary school with barely any money. Yet he and his classmates hopped freight trains, slept on the streets, and in the late 1980s made it to Beijing and Shanghai—places that seemed impossibly distant back then. As a child, I sat by the stove listening to his thrilling and wondrous stories, eyes wide, imagining countless distant lands in my mind.
But because of family circumstances and the pressure of the college entrance exam (gaokao, China's national university entrance exam)—Hunan's academic atmosphere is fiercely competitive nationwide—I had left Hunan Province only once before college (a group tour to Guilin with my parents). Even during my first three years of university in Beijing, besides visiting a classmate in Tianjin, I never traveled during holidays. Why? The mindset of a good student: skipping classes felt wrong, holiday travel seemed crowded everywhere, and most importantly, I couldn't find a travel buddy.
Still, I have always been intensely curious. I love watching all kinds of films (I have logged 1,308 films on Douban so far) and reading books in the library (18 books in 2025).
These experiences of "reading ten thousand books"<!– A Chinese idiom: 读万卷书 –> wove a net of curiosity about the world: I might learn about a film from a podcast, discover a fascinating book from a film, and from that book arrive at a destination worth longing for. Without enough prior knowledge, travel can become nothing more than "sleeping on the bus and peeing at the stops." My accumulation of this "prior knowledge" began around college.
II. Graduate School: "Traveling Across" China
It was not until I was recommended for graduate school <!– i.e., admitted without taking the entrance exam –> that my entire senior year became the freest period of my life. I knew where I was headed a year later and had no external pressure for the entire year. After visiting most of Beijing's museums (I went to the National Museum seven times that year), I became obsessed with museums and Chinese history, even writing related articles:
Suddenly I thought: what about a trip to Xi'an? There was no need to wait for a companion. Why couldn't I just go alone? What was truly stopping me?
So I slung my backpack over my shoulder and boarded the sleeper train from Beijing to Xi'an—a three-day journey. Before that, I had read many frightening rumors about Xi'an on Zhihu: thieves around the train station almost mythical in their skill, buses that herded tourists to fake scenic spots. When I stepped out of the pitch-dark train station at six in the morning, I was terrified, hands pressed tightly against my pockets, warily scanning every face nearby.
But as the sun gradually pierced the darkness and I walked near the Xi'an city wall, watching ducks swim in the moat and old men and women practice tai chi in the morning light, I suddenly relaxed. I savored the feeling of being alone in a strange place—no one around me knew who I was, and I could turn any corner I wished. I felt a kind of… freedom.
But this trip happened in March 2019, and then the pandemic changed everything. From February to August 2020, I was trapped at home in Yueyang, watching the pandemic sweep the globe. It was then that I watched Gu Yue's ten-year-old documentary Hitchhike to Berlin. Honestly, it stunned me. Two people simply stood by the road with their thumbs out and hitchhiked all the way from Beijing across the Silk Road to Berlin. Along the way they experienced so many unforgettable moments—herdsmen on the grasslands, a ship stranded in the Dead Sea, wild nights in Prague. And then there was the song that suddenly played, "Dharma Bums," with lyrics that went:
Follow this road, keep walking forward,
not far ahead there is a crossroads.
You can turn left, or keep walking forward,
but you must not stop.Don't look up, don't glance around,
the scenery you want isn't here.
Don't wait for illusions, don't hold out hopes,
here, no one is singing.
Although my body was confined to that small space of less than a hundred square meters, my heart was filled with boundless courage, as if it could fly to every corner of the world the next second.
So before the October 2020 holiday, on an utterly ordinary day in the lab, I suddenly thought: what about Tibet for the October break?
Along with the idea came countless fears: altitude sickness? Language barrier? Would I have to drive myself? Would it be insanely crowded? But compared with before, I now had more experience and longing. I did not linger in fear; instead, I researched every detail carefully. After watching a video by the Broke Brothers <!– 破产兄弟, a Chinese travel vlogger duo –>, I felt reassured: you can join a group if you can't drive, and most people's altitude sickness is merely uncomfortable, not fatal. I found a local five-day group tour for 2,500 RMB that could actually take me to Everest Base Camp!
I asked around among friends but found no travel companion. I thought: fuck it, if no one wants to go, I'll go alone!
So I booked my flight there and train back, used pen and paper to calculate the dates over and over, checked the weather again and again, and bought a pile of altitude-sickness medicine, a thermos, and melatonin.
I still cannot forget those seven days in Tibet: the magnificent Potala Palace, the mysterious Jokhang Temple, the turquoise Yamdrok Lake, the Hoh Xil we passed on the way back, and the unbelievably clear view of Everest. Compared with all this, the insomnia caused by altitude sickness, the terrible communal beds, the four- or five-hour bus rides, and the six instant-noodle meals over two days and two nights on the return journey paled in comparison. Standing at Everest Base Camp at age twenty-two, I smiled with pure happiness and pride.
For the rest of graduate school, I kept going to other places: Nanjing, Shanghai, Suzhou and Hangzhou, Qingdao, the Northeast, Sichuan and Chongqing, Qinghai and Gansu… I was intoxicated by the feeling of being on the road. By the time I graduated, I felt I had been to most parts of China, with perhaps only Xinjiang and Inner Mongolia still left to visit. This is not to say I had explored every detail of the land in depth, but at least I had experienced China's major cultural regions and central cities.
But overseas travel remained a distant dream. My parents' generation never even considered it, and I had many worries—cost, language, safety. It always felt like something unattainable, a luxury pastime not meant for people like me. Back then, a trip to Singapore, Malaysia, or Thailand seemed barely imaginable, and a one-way ticket to Europe surely cost over 20,000 RMB, right?
The turning point came during a visit to my cousin's home. My cousin worked at CITIC Bank in Changsha, was married, owned a home—basically middle-class. On her refrigerator I saw a cluster of magnets: Taiwan, Japan, Switzerland. She told me about her travels to these places. My goodness! These places that sounded impossibly far away were actually reachable on your own. I asked in disbelief: but what about the language? She said casually, "It's not like you need to make lifelong friends or discuss philosophy. Just check into a hotel and ask for directions; broken English is enough."
Looking back, that was the first time I felt that those overseas places could be reached the same way I had been traveling. Only at the time, the country's borders were sealed, and the general expectation was that ordinary people would have no chance to travel abroad for at least ten years. It was in 2021, when the pandemic seemed to spiral out of control again. I sat on the maglev back to school from the airport, looking at the rows of masked faces across from me whose expressions I couldn't read, and suddenly felt a wave of panic—"Will it still be like this in ten or twenty years?"
In the final days of graduate school, facing the pressure of finding a job, I still remember standing at my grandmother's doorway and childishly telling my parents: I have almost traveled across all of China. My next plan is to travel the world.
Keep thinking, and the echo will come.
III. After Alibaba, Toward the World
I will save the story of how I joined Alibaba for the work section later. In short, I somehow got an offer through my internship, survived the last chaotic half-year of the 2022 pandemic, and finally in early 2023, from various overseas news, sensed that the borders sealed for three years were beginning to loosen—the public security bureaus in some Beijing districts were no longer discouraging passport applications. So at the end of January, as the country was just recovering from the shock of reopening, I went to the public security bureau and smoothly got my passport.
At the time, I had many dreams about overseas travel. I always believed you take things one step at a time, so the first place should be nearby and have fewer language barriers. I had thought about Taiwan before 2019, but by 2023 it was no longer possible. Then I considered Japan and was already excitedly looking at the May Day holiday <!– Labour Day, early May in China –> flights and hotels with a colleague; everything suddenly felt very real. But then I found that Japanese visas for the Beijing jurisdiction were not yet open, so Japan for the May Day holiday <!– Labour Day, early May in China –> fell through.
In retrospect, it all started with a flutter in front of a map. Looking back at the chat records, it was an ordinary Saturday when a thought suddenly popped into my head: if I'm going abroad anyway, why not go to the place I want most—Europe.
Thinking back on why I chose Europe for my first trip abroad, and why I went alone, I realize the three pandemic years had a huge effect on my mindset. I developed a carpe diem feeling: do what you want as soon as possible, because who knows what sudden event might stop the world again for years. Although it seemed crazy at the time, on reflection, what was truly stopping me? The flight was 7,000 RMB—expensive but acceptable. If I applied for the visa early, there was still time. The trip could span the National Day holiday <!– Chinese National Day, early October –>, and with three days of leave plus the holiday I could get fourteen days. When I shared the plan in my close-friends group, everyone was shocked but excited, and we immediately video-called to discuss the details.
I love this feeling: the feeling of my will gradually hardening into action and becoming reality.
So I prepared, looked forward, and finally took that step. I cannot describe what that trip gave me—Paris, Berlin, Rome, Venice… Those places that once sounded farther than the universe, I had actually measured with my own feet.
I also discovered that I naturally connect with people: in a Venice hostel I discussed the decline of civilization with an older woman, and in a Vienna hostel I talked about cultural differences between China and the US with a few guys from Texas. Sometimes after returning home, walking through the streets of Beijing after work and looking at the dim but warm lights near my home in Shilihe, I felt a little dazed—had I really been to those faraway places and come back safely? This strange sense of displacement broadened my experience of life. Life is not limited to commuting on the Beijing subway. The world is vast, and who says I cannot set foot in it?
After that, every May Day holiday <!– Labour Day, early May in China –> and National Day holiday <!– Chinese National Day, early October –>, I arranged a trip for myself. Some were with classmates, but most were alone. I organized my travel to-do list: Travel To-Do List Planning. Before each trip, I would carefully study the destination's history and culture. For example, before Turkey, I read four or five books: 1453: The Holy War for Constantinople, Constantinople by Edmondo De Amicis, My Name Is Red, and A Brief History of the Eastern Roman Empire, trying to sink my heart into the waters of the Bosphorus before arriving.
Over these three years, I also went to Thailand, Japan, Turkey, Russia, Cambodia, and the UK. Before each trip there was endless fear and excitement; during each trip there was hardship (red-eye flights, hostels, crackers). But every time I returned, I would grin and think it was incredibly worth it.
Travel brought countless adventures. Before each departure I worried that I had done too much research and would have no surprises left. But every time I actually set foot somewhere and breathed that place's air, it far exceeded expectations. Here is the link to my podcast where you can hear my stories:What I seek in travel is a feeling of being there, a sense of authenticity. For example, I had seen countless photos and videos of Red Square and the Kremlin, read A Brief History of Russia and Secondhand Time, knew the tragic and painful history of the Russian people, and even countless times imagined what it would feel like to walk there accompanied by Rachmaninoff. But only on the night I actually arrived at Red Square could I feel everything about that place: its spatial layout, the contrast of scale, the relaxed atmosphere, the fluttering tricolor, the music from the GUM department store nearby, the gorgeous onion domes under the lights, even the unique smell of the place and the smiles of children passing by.
That, to me, is the meaning of travel.
IV. Around the World
During graduate school, I started a personal activity I called "cloud traveling" <!– armchair traveling: exploring places through books, videos, and maps –>. I would choose a destination that interested me, deeply study its history and future, read a pile of books about its culture, watch walking videos of it on YouTube, build a connection with that place, and mark it with a tiny dot on the map in my bedroom.
Cloud traveling brought me immense joy. I used to feel bored on weekends, but after starting cloud traveling, those hours were filled with curiosity and the pleasure of discovery. My body stayed home while my heart wandered the world. These cloud-travel destinations covered the globe. Looking back, they were the stepping stones of my round-the-world journey. Without those years of long-term research, I could never have built up the destination knowledge and emotional reserves in just a few months before departure.
Beyond that, the practical action came from applying for a US visa in 2024.
At the time, I had no concrete plan to visit the United States. The New World was simply too far away; even during the longest National Day holiday <!– Chinese National Day, early October –>, spending over 10,000 RMB on a flight would only allow a superficial glimpse. Moreover, I had a huge curiosity about Latin America, and a US visa is a passport to the New World—most Latin American countries allow visa-free entry with one. At the time, my mind only held a vague idea: after all, a US visa lasts ten years, and while my work situation was stable and respectable, I might as well get it done. Then if one day I couldn't stand my job anymore or got laid off, I could take a two-month trip across North and South America and make the most of that expensive flight to the New World.
After tense preparation and an interview, I finally got that ten-year US visa.
After that, the idea kept popping up. Every time I planned a trip outside the Americas, I wanted to add another destination (two more weeks in Europe, or two more weeks in Japan). Then one day, a thought suddenly struck me: why not go all the way around the Earth?
Leave Beijing heading west, and return from the east, like Magellan, embracing the planet with my own footsteps. In my life so far, I had never had an idea that could truly be called a "dream," one that made my heart race at the thought. But this one definitely was! How magnificent it would be! How many wonderful memories it would bring! How proud I would feel after doing it!
This is what can truly be called my "dream." Compared to its light, things like "settle down and buy a home in Beijing," "find a beautiful wife," "have a child to carry on the family name," or "get promoted and earn more" all pale into insignificance.
But at the time it was still just an idea with no practical plan. On one hand, I hadn't accumulated enough in various ways; on the other, I was full of fear—fear of travel problems, fear of career development.
But don't underestimate an idea. In one bout of daydreaming after another, the list of interesting places grew longer and longer. It seemed this was no longer just an idea; it was waiting for a trigger.
V. Work
I've talked too much about myself; let me briefly write about work too.
Alibaba was the first company I applied to for a summer internship in 2021. I didn't have high hopes, since my major was automation and no one in our group seemed to have joined Alibaba before. But after round after round of interviews, I surprisingly got an offer. So in the summer of 2021, I returned to Beijing, where I had studied for four years, and worked for a month and a half at Guomen Tower (my supervisor was quite strict). But those six weeks were memorable: the seemingly unfathomable senior colleagues, the applause after my first presentation, the sting of criticism on code quality, the insecurity when comparing myself with interns from Beijing University of Posts and Telecommunications (BUPT), weekend strolls through Beijing again, and staying up late making slides in the living room of that Ziroom apartment <!– a Chinese long-term rental platform –> in Sanlitun while meeting friends from all walks of life. In just six weeks, I gained a lot. Of course, when I finally went to Wangjing to return the computer, I remember the Beijing sky was especially blue that day, and I felt a long sigh of relief. In the end, while eating spicy chicken hotpot on the back street of Central South University, I received the offer text. It felt like Fan Jin—a character who goes mad with joy after passing the imperial exam—shouting "I've passed!".
However, that feeling of insecurity lingered before I officially joined. During my third year of graduate school, I remember feeling a sense of panic whenever I heard the word "Alibaba," and because of this I didn't sign up for the then-trendy Alibaba Cloud Drive, so now I don't have terabytes of space (laugh). After joining, I remember being especially worried about whether I could pass the probation period (it seems silly now). But I also had a good mindset: being able to experience a few months at one of China's top IT companies was already a memorable life experience.
Thanks to the guidance of my senior colleagues, my probation went smoothly and started off quite well. I remember being happy going to work every day, easily entering a state of flow, and perhaps because graduate school had left me somewhat disappointed with the domestic academic circle, doing something practical felt meaningful.
I'll gloss over the next few years. There was the sense of value when I saw features I built being used by customers; there was the internal friction and pain of closed-door development <!– an intensive, isolated project sprint common in Chinese tech –>. There was the reward of learning new things and feeling I was improving; there was the boredom of growth stagnation. There were tough requirements, late-night releases, the leisure of a team-building trip to Hainan, laughter during team badminton, and brief moments of relaxation from stealing time to buy a coffee. There were also the trials and gains of the promotion process.
These four years, I witnessed the team grow, witnessed the office move from China Zun to Wangjing and then to Alibaba Beijing Chaoyang Science Park, witnessed several major organizational adjustments, watched cohort after cohort of interns come and go, and finally witnessed the first wave of the AI era. I was lucky to be under a reliable team, with a reliable leader and a stable business line—perhaps the greatest luck of this phase of my career.
Finally, the AI era arrived, and last year I officially started working on AI development. If I had to sketch this period in a few strokes: from instinctive curiosity, to panic and internal friction at not yet being involved, to the joy and vision of early results, to some setbacks and the disappointment and confusion of getting lost in technical details. Fast. The anxiety of the broader domestic environment made it feel as if people had become tools and AI had become the goal. I felt a bit tired, a bit spiritless. Deep down, I felt it might be time to make some changes.
VI. The Decision
So I began to reflect on the state of my life.
On the subway, seeing young people with graying hair, seeing busy senior colleagues. Maybe this path is a good one, but is it necessarily right for me? Where is the way out? Would continuing to work and buy a home make me happy? The AI wave is certainly a rare sight, but a moment in life with no entanglements, enough ability, and enough resources is equally rare. If I respond to my inner choice, choosing from desire rather than fear, what would I choose?
A human life spans about eighty years. We are born free, yet everywhere we are in chains. Doesn't my life first belong to me? In these eighty years, at the 37% mark of my life's progress bar, taking one year as a gift I give myself—isn't that my freedom and inherent right as a human being?
A person must first be responsible to themselves, mustn't they? How can someone who does not face their own inner needs and desires truly love their family, truly set an example for their children, or truly contribute unique value to society?
I think of the Chopsticks Brothers' song "I've Never Been to New York." I still hope to have a family. Do I really want to wait until I'm over thirty-five, with a wife and children and aging parents to care for, before sighing or regretting that I didn't seize this precious window?
Or wait until retirement at sixty-five? But will my body and energy still support such a journey by then? Can the scenery seen at twenty-eight be the same as that seen at sixty-five? The landscapes seen at twenty-eight will become memories that nourish life in the future. At sixty-five, though one has richer experience, every view might remind you that this life is approaching its end.
Perhaps I still want to respond to my inner calling and sense of mission. Many people can do my current job; excellent engineers are everywhere at Alibaba. But a round-the-world trip is something few can do, and I am confident I can do it—at twenty-eight, with savings I accumulated myself, full of energy, travel experience and passion, good English, sufficient visas, and no family constraints. These conditions are so rare, and the window is so short, like a fleeting bloom.
Moreover, I think this is something worth engraving on my epitaph. Something like "Round the world, live my way." Life is made of stages; only impermanence and change are the true nature of life. There is no harbor that stays the same forever. The past few years in Beijing have been full of joy, but perhaps now it is time for the next stage.
VII. Preparation
But turning an idea into reality is hard. I remember trying on Google Earth to connect the places I wanted to go. Those lines on Earth looked so ridiculous—just a rough idea, not grounded in reality at all. Too many questions floated in my mind: How do I align destinations with seasons? Suitcase or backpack? How to plan? What if I get sick? Where do I leave my personal belongings in Beijing? Will I get tired of traveling?
And most importantly, I felt lonely. My idea seemed crazy.
Then one afternoon, I searched online at home and abroad for round-the-world long-term travel experiences and read a book, Travel the World Without Worries, which gave me great motivation
It not only told me many practical things but, more importantly, gave me a sense of companionship—telling me this idea was not so crazy and that I would meet more like-minded people on the road.
When lost, let a teacher ferry you; when awake, ferry yourself. <!– A Chan/Buddhist saying: guidance is needed until one awakens to self-reliance. –>
So I made rich plans and itineraries: verified the rationality of each route segment on the map, built a spreadsheet of stopover days and estimated transport costs. On weekends I ran to Decathlon to buy quick-dry clothes suitable for round-the-world travel, bought an Osprey backpack, carried 13 kilograms of luggage to and from work to test feasibility, worked out twice a week and lost five kilograms, researched insurance and social security suspension, and applied for Schengen, Indian, Australian, and Israeli visas. I practiced a very P-style way of traveling <!– MBTI: perceiving, flexible, unscheduled –> in the UK, summarized the experience into to-do items, and checked them off. I completed a dense list of over a hundred to-dos.
Researching each destination in depth brought me immense joy—especially the India segment. I truly learned a lot about Indian history and culture, watched all 266 episodes of the Mahabharata, and received more encouragement from ancient wisdom. Words can hardly describe what I gained.
Here, I will also briefly introduce my rough travel plan. Constrained by visas and seasons, it may look very indirect, with some segments even bizarre, but I guarantee this is the best route my wisdom could design.
First, August and September: the most bizarre grand loop. I arrive in Kenya in early August for a classic seven-day safari, then fly from Kenya to the UK for a brief three- or four-day stop to catch up on museums I missed before and Buckingham Palace (flights from Kenya to the UK are frequent and cheapest), then take a budget flight to the Balkans for about ten days mainly visiting Belgrade and Sarajevo, two cities full of historical entanglement (Mostar or Montenegro optional). From Sarajevo I fly to Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan in Central Asia (an unexpectedly cheap route thanks to a Turkish low-cost carrier), and under the seven-day visa-free policy with my US visa, experience some alpine nomadic scenery. Then I go to the Silk Road core cities of Samarkand and Bukhara in Uzbekistan. Finally, I fly from Tashkent to Israel, enter the holy city of Jerusalem, cross overland into Jordan, and conveniently visit Petra. [This segment is chopped up by seasons and visas, with many long-haul flights, but within each region the time is relatively relaxed; if needed, I can cut destinations to slow down. Highlights: East African safari, Sarajevo, Samarkand, Jerusalem, Petra.]
Then, after my Schengen visa takes effect in early October, I enter the Schengen area for about a month. This segment is much more direct: southern Germany–Switzerland–Milan–Pompeii, and Budapest–Auschwitz–Warsaw (to meet two Polish friends I met while hiking in Turkey). If I have energy, I might do a whirlwind visit to the Norwegian fjords, depending on how I feel. [This segment is about revisiting the parts of Europe I haven't seen. Highlights: Swiss scenery, Pompeii, Auschwitz, reuniting with friends in Warsaw.]
In November I enter India for a month and a half—one of the segments I most look forward to and for which the visa took the most time. The route is Golden Triangle–Rajasthan–Khajuraho–Varanasi, with a few days at a yoga ashram in Rishikesh for four or five days. Then I fly to central India, pass through Mumbai, visit the Ajanta and Ellora caves, and the ancient capital of the Vijayanagara Empire, Hampi. Then into South India: the backwaters of Kerala, and the Tamil Nadu cities of Madurai and Chennai. [This segment covers the essence of north and south India, and the season is suitable. Highlights: the Taj Mahal, the Rishikesh retreat, Varanasi, the two cave complexes, Tamil culture. I also especially want to see Bharatanatyam and Carnatic music performances.]
From late December through the first three weeks of January, it is mainly about Egypt and filling in Europe. Egypt follows the classic Cairo–Giza–Nile downstream route (I am prepared to be hassled by vendors). When re-entering Europe, I mainly cover Paris (missed a lot last time)–Amsterdam–Cologne to feel the winter European vibe. If time allows, perhaps Strasbourg to experience a "White Album" season <!– a reference to the visual novel/anime \*White Album\*, here meaning snowy winter –>. Then enjoy the sun in Spain, mainly Barcelona and Granada, and finally prepare to cross the ocean from Lisbon to the New World. [This segment includes Egypt, which suits winter, and European spots I couldn't fit into October due to Indian visa time limits. Highlights: the pyramids, tomb paintings in the Valley of the Kings, Cologne Cathedral, the Sagrada Família.]
The plane crosses the Atlantic and arrives in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. With two to three weeks before the planned Antarctica trip, the New World from here on is the domain of the US visa. This segment mainly covers a simple visit to Rio and Iguaçu Falls. After a rest in Buenos Aires, Argentina, I fly or take a bus (I prefer the bus) across the Patagonian wilderness to Ushuaia, the end of the world. [This segment mainly connects to the Antarctica departure time. Highlights: Rio, Iguaçu, Buenos Aires, crossing Patagonia by bus.]
What more is there to say? As Kyoto Animation's A Place Further Than the Universe puts it, this is a place further than the universe. From Ushuaia, across the Drake Passage, onto the edge of the Antarctic Peninsula—what will I find there? The current rough plan is an Oceanwide trip , with the highlight being a long hike of five or six kilometers in Antarctica. [Years ago I thought the price of Antarctica was about the same as a barely drivable electric car. I am definitely someone who would give up that car to go to Antarctica.]
Latin America is tentatively planned for about two months (will be longer). After flying back from Ushuaia to Buenos Aires, I fly west to Santiago, the capital of Chile, where I will apply for the only visa I plan to obtain abroad during the trip (the Bolivian visa). Heading north, I join a tour through the Atacama Desert, take the classic Bolivia tour across the Uyuni Salt Flat to La Paz, the Bolivian capital. Crossing into Peru, I may rest a few days by Lake Titicaca until reaching Cusco, the heart of South America's indigenous culture. From here, combining short hikes and transport, I reach Machu Picchu from the Sacred Valley. Then from Lima, the Peruvian capital, I fly to Iquitos, an Amazon rainforest city, join a local three-day Amazon experience, and then travel by boat along the Amazon, crossing by water into the Colombian rainforest city of Tabatinga. Colombia is optional depending on how I feel: Bogotá, Medellín, and Cartagena are all possibilities. Then I fly to Mexico City and see how I feel about visiting the capital, Oaxaca, or Mérida on the Yucatán Peninsula before preparing to enter the United States. [The north-south traverse of Latin America is extreme and long, likely the longest single block of the journey; it will require stored strength and energy. Highlights: Bolivia, Cusco and the utterly unfamiliar Inca culture, the Amazon rainforest, the warmth of Mexico.]
My plan for the United States is relatively light, about three to four weeks, flexible in length. A few highlights are enough: New York, Washington D.C., the Old South flavor (Savannah/New Orleans), the Grand Canyon National Park, LA, and San Francisco (a high school classmate works at Google Gemini and has invited me to visit the campus). [The US segment's problem is that I'm not a confident driver and don't dare rent a car; the advantage is that there aren't many places I'm fixated on.]
After finishing the US West Coast, there will still be about a month left. On the way back to Beijing across the Pacific, where could I go? Hawaii? Australia and New Zealand? Or a few more spots in Japan? Anyway, the visas are ready. Things too far away can be decided on the road. Eventually, I return to Beijing and close the loop of this journey.
Of course, travel should be planned in pencil, not ink. Aside from visa constraints, nothing is unchangeable. The above is a rough idea; embrace change, and let on-the-road problems be solved on the road.
VIII. Final Ramblings
I still don't know what the future holds. Many mornings I wake up terrified—scared to death. Afraid that fatigue will overwhelm novelty on the journey, afraid of what kind of job I can find when I return, afraid of missing the AI wave, afraid of the confusion after the journey ends, afraid that this round-the-world trip will be the peak of my life with only mediocrity afterward. Afraid of living too much for myself and forgetting the harsh reality.
Afraid of what Turgenev wrote in Asya**: "Man is not a plant; he cannot flourish forever. The young man eats golden honey cakes and thinks they are his daily bread; but in old age he will beg for a small piece of black bread."**
But my longing seems stronger: I want to see the world beneath Kilimanjaro on the East African savanna, want to quietly contemplate ultimate questions on a Jerusalem hillside at night, want to witness at Auschwitz how extreme and ordinary human evil can be, want to meditate by the clear Ganges water in Rishikesh, want to gaze at two-thousand-year-old murals in the darkness of the Ajanta Caves, want to feel what total isolation from the world means in the Amazon rainforest, want to experience a completely alien Inca civilization in Cusco and the Sacred Valley, want to see the extremely pure Antarctic icebergs after crossing the turbulent Drake Passage.
As for fear, I can always gradually talk myself out of it. I remember going downstairs for lunch last year; it cost only 16 RMB. Counting rent, I can sustain myself for many years without facing immediate survival threats. People easily confuse society's demands with survival's demands. I see countless young Europeans and Americans setting off with a fraction of my resources. I gather courage while also feeling that it is precisely historical scarcity and anxiety, and an inadequate social safety net, that shape contemporary Chinese social sentiment.
If this is what you most want to do at this stage, and you have enough resources to do it, then do it.
True maturity may not be refusing the honey cake, but having the ability to eat it calmly while ensuring a sufficient supply of black bread, and letting it nourish your soul. As Krishna tells us in the Bhagavad Gita: "Act, without being attached to the fruits of action."
I remember talking with my therapist and suddenly realizing that if I died at this moment, I would have few regrets about my first twenty-eight years—I had used my own resources to do as much as possible (visited many places, read many books, watched many films), and had tried hard to understand and love the world. I imagine standing before death: compared with regretting not participating in some phase of the AI wave, I might regret more not having taken that step.
Many people dream of traveling around the world, but few actually do it. This is not just a resource issue—too many people with enough resources still won't do it. The reason may simply be that they don't want it badly enough. Longing is not enough to overcome fear.
Of course I know that various causes and conditions <!– 因缘和合, a Buddhist idea that all things arise from interconnected conditions –> have pushed me onto this path. Reading Auschwitz: A History made me feel the huge shaping power of environment on people. Put me in my grandparents' environment, and I would most likely be a farmer whose footprints never left home. Put me in my parents' environment, and I would work hard all my life, happily becoming a small-city middle-class person. Put me in Siem Reap, Cambodia, and I would be like the young Khmer man I met while traveling, pedaling a rickshaw with hardship.
But since the waves of life have pushed me onto this course, I must firmly grip the oars, sail through the storm, and see the scenery that belongs to me.
"If you want to walk that path, you must first become that path." This line from the 2013 Indian drama The Buddha also gave me great strength. Walking a path sounds effortless, but sometimes our longing sends us onto a narrow trail, and we must blaze a road through our own effort. And this road will make it easier for those who come after. I can also feel the influence of my life on many relatives and friends; these acts of courage shared with others have become a source of my joy.
Finally, here are the words from the acknowledgments of my master's thesis:
With the conclusion of my postgraduate studies, my life as a student draws to an end, and a brand-new chapter unfolds. The road ahead may be rugged, yet I firmly believe hope lies beneath everything. I long to finish all the books that spark my curiosity, to wander into every breathtaking corner across the globe, to converse with all kinds of people and listen to their fears and aspirations.
"All phenomena are fleeting, nothing but reflections and phantoms."
So amid this transient life, strive to grasp every precious moment you hold dear.
Looking back, I am deeply moved. Countless preparations were made, almost as if by fate, until this moment. That final sentence still seems so fitting now, so I'll lazily use it as the ending of this farewell post:
"All phenomena are but fleeting moments, merely reflections" —so in this brief life, please strive to find the moments you cherish!
submitted by /u/DramaticVolume2181 to r/onebag
[link] [comments]
Source: r/onebag · by /u/DramaticVolume2181