An imaginary line circles the globe at 23.43724 degrees north – where the sun reaches directly overhead on mid-summer day. I crossed this line today, and am now officially in the tropics.
On the Tropic of Cancer
I am on the couch out the front of the little shop in the tiny village. The sun is shining brightly, and I sit in the shade, devouring my ice-creams. Inside, in the gloom, the television is running – a daytime soap – in Chinese. The drama and suspense oozes from the television as the breathless woman’s voice pleads with her handsome lover. The music adds to the suspense, as I listen from outside. The little old woman who sold me the ice-creams watches inside with bated breath. Outside, the village is peaceful. The sun is all-powerful. Nothing moves. Then, a motorbike pulls up. The boy buys some cigarettes and then rides off into the glare. I study the map.
The woman taps me on the shoulder. She hands me a big chunk of gingerbread cake. She smiles and nods as I thank her with my eyes. In her eyes I see her inner peace and her kindness. ‘Good on ya, lad. This is for you!’
The up-and-down cycling was interspersed with stops in the villages. One village was fruit gorging time. A few dragon fruit, pears, apples and grapes. One village was ice-creams. One village was real food. It is slow going – it is never flat, and often quite steep. It is beautiful, though, cycling through this mountainous, tropical landscape.
The morning mist lifts
River
The valley
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