Some nights, home might be no more than a dusty bed at the back of a restaurant, and supper yet another a plate of chapatis and dahl. Just as for others it will be in the comforts of a satellite dished hotel room, intrigued by the local incarnation of a pizza. Tolerance is a very personal matter. In short, with a mixture of camping, small hotels and home invitations, the equation is balanced. As a cyclist, food is my fuel.
Street stalls are the cheapest and often tastiest way to fill up.
Rarely more than a dollar, these eateries exude life and character, and seem to me the very heartbeat of a country. In the backpacker haunts, Western food is expensive but the change is inevitably delicious. Cheap fresh fruit is easily found according to the seasons, helping to maintain a balance of vitamins. Juice bars are saviours to hours of riding and in Hindu countries, a few nuts here and there make up for any protein deficiencies. After a long day on the saddle, dinner cooked over the camp stove never fails to take on a gourmet-like quality.