By: Nuradeen, Full-Time Traveler, Part-Time Tourist, Occasional Hero

Salam, Peace, and Pew Pew to All!

After the smoke of Lahore faded into the distance (and into my memory forever), I rolled along with my empty cart — weary, hungry, and powered solely by stubbornness — towards Beijing.

But when I finally arrived, the city wasn’t the lively, bustling capital I imagined.
The mood was heavy. The once-proud flags barely fluttered. Soldiers and civilians alike wore grim faces.



Through scattered whispers and posters peeling off the walls, I learned the horrifying truth:

Kunming had fallen.

Shenzhen had fallen.

Both major military-industrial powerhouses were now lost to the enemy.
China’s war effort was crippled.

Honestly? I Was Too Hungry to Care.
My last Q3 chapati was a distant memory, lovingly digested back in the mountains.

At this point, politics, war, geopolitics... they all ranked below my immediate need for:

Food

Shelter

Preferably both

Despite the gloom, there was one saving grace:

It was spring.

The parks were in full bloom, bursting with colors I'd never seen back home in the dusty deserts of Arar.

I found myself wandering into a small city park, mesmerized.
Reds, yellows, purples — flowers waving gently in the soft breeze.
It was like stepping into another world.



So I did what any respectable homeless ex-mercenary would do:
I plopped down on a bench and stared at flowers like they held the secrets of the universe.

As I sat there contemplating life, poverty, and whether flowers are edible, I felt a firm tap on my shoulder.

I turned around to see a tall, serious-looking Caucasian man in a military uniform.
His badge?
Croatian flag.
His armband?
MP.

 “What are you doing here, buddy? Been watching you sit here for a while.”

I told him my story.
About the fall of Lahore,
about the brave 300 who refused to surrender,
and about how now... I was just a man with an empty cart and even emptier stomach, admiring some flowers.

His face softened.

“Name’s SPMarine,” he said.
“I’m posted here guarding the Croatian embassy nearby. Tensions are high, gotta be cautious.”

I nodded, understanding fully.
I stood up, ready to leave — didn’t want to make life harder for a fellow soldier doing his job.

But just as I turned, he called out:

“Wait.”

He pulled some coins from his pocket and pressed them into my hand.

“Buy yourself some food.
And maybe a little ticket halfway home to Arar.

Soldier to soldier.”



We shook hands — a firm, grateful grip between two strangers who understood each other's burdens without needing many words.

Now armed with a few precious coins and a tiny sliver of hope, I mapped out my route home.

Direct route west? Blocked — Pakistan was a warzone.

South through Indonesia? Nope — France was partying too hard in southern China.

Which left...
Across the Pacific.

At first, I thought about heading for the USA, but after some reflection:

Gunfights?

Crazy politics?

No chapati?

No thanks.

Instead, I chose Chile.
Why?
Because I like spices.
(And because Mexico, my second option, was slightly too cartel-flavored for my liking.)

Before Setting Sail... A Little Tourism!
You can’t come all the way to Beijing and NOT visit the Forbidden City!

So I spent an afternoon strolling the ancient courtyards.



Admiring the grand gates.

Getting lost in the endless halls.

Almost getting kicked out for pulling my hand cart through a royal passageway.
(A security guard called it “historical desecration,” I called it “cultural integration.”)

The golden rooftops glowed under the soft sun.
The dragons, the intricate paintings, the deep sense of history... it was humbling.

It was a nice reminder:
Empires rise. Empires fall. But life — and tourists — always find a way.

Next Stop: Chile
After bidding farewell to Beijing and loading my cart onto a ship that suspiciously looked like it hadn't passed inspection since the Ming Dynasty,

I hitched a ride across the vast Pacific.



Nuradeen’s adventure continues —
new shores, new stories,
and hopefully, new chapatis.

Signed,
Nuradeen
Nomadic Grain Merchant. Flower Enthusiast. Future Chilean Spice Connoisseur.

"Across deserts, across oceans — wherever the cart rolls, stories will follow."