I began my bike tour in Beatenberg: a picturesque alpine village, shaded by dense forests, steep mountain faces, and thundering waterfalls. I peered into the abyss – eight hundred metres of descent in only a couple of kilometres. It was only LEAP’s generous funding, which had enabled me to finally sort the brakes on my precious but ancient bike, which gave me the confidence to reluctantly tackle the winding, bumpy road to the Brienzersee.
In the ensuing two weeks I saw just about every landscape in Europe. Wind in my ears, the occasional cow bell to distract me, I journeyed past glaciers, through eerily dark tunnels, along river valleys, past parched fields, castles, sand and sea, to Barcelona. And meanwhile, I had the time to think. In the hours a day I spent on my bike, my mind had time to wander as it hadn’t since lockdown; it was transformative.
Wandering cities I had never heard of, and finding myself hilariously often in conversation with the curious (often older) residents of the small towns I stopped in, I dipped into the worlds of old and young. More than anything, I was struck by how much we all had in common. Everywhere I went, I was welcomed with generosity; this adventure taught me that people are fundamentally good. Those I talked to appreciated that I’d bothered to learn their languages and wanted to tell me about their lives and their own adventures.
I chatted with old couples, soaking up the Mediterranean sun on quaintly bleached town squares; I partied with students and drank to Bastille Day; in Montpellier I watched the world cup with my roommates, all of us peering through our fingers as first France, then England were knocked from the tournament. Then, in Barcelona, I screamed with the crowds gathered tensely in the streets and danced in the light of fireworks, beneath the Sagrada Familia.
On my LEAP adventure I felt more connected than ever to my degree – to languages, which enabled so many of the beautiful encounters I had, and to history too. The array of monuments I saw: great fortresses, amphitheatres, spectacular churches and bold monuments of victory, acted as a compelling testament to the power of human collaboration and creativity. A region so often riven by religious and dynastic conflict now treated its fraught past as art. Seamlessly, I, a blonde woman, was able to ride through the sites of battles, massacres and famines. This sounds like a miserable reflection, but in reality it’s a consideration of how hugely lucky I felt. But just as much as I admired the beauty of these great structures, I remembered the tragedies that had engendered them. Beziers, in particular, was a place of reflection – a whole city pulverised, women and children alike all massacred during the crusades in the logic that ‘God would protect his own.’
My LEAP adventure was a huge privilege. It gave me the time I needed to reflect and to look outwards. It gave me clarity: I spent time in Geneva, exploring the United Nations and contemplating a career there. But in the end, it was the parched landscapes, flaming hills and plastic-filled oceans I swam in which struck me and confirmed that the fight against climate change was the moral imperative which I needed to devote myself wholly to.
Rolling into the bright colours, rolling hills and cluttered high-rises of Barcelona, I felt affirmed in my ability to confront any challenge I was faced with – be that a broken bike, a vegan food desert (looking at France here), or an impassable road. Thank you to LEAP for some of the most radiant, memorable, and life-affirming weeks of my life.
