Bike
for Help - English Version (print and eBook)
Bike
for Help - German Version (print and eBook)
Other Links
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Christoph’s
Personal Website
Personal SoMe Links
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My personal website: www.vontoggenburg.com
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Facebook (for book and other followers) https://www.facebook.com/ChristophvonToggenburg/
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Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/cvontoggenburg/
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Twitter: https://twitter.com/cvontoggenburg
CV
Christoph von Toggenburg
Christoph von
Toggenburg has a colourful work experience in arts, media, social
entrepreneurship, and humanitarian leadership.
CEO of the
global children’s Charity World Vision Switzerland and Liechtenstein, former
Head of Social Engagement for Africa & MENA and Global Leadership Fellow at
the World Economic Forum (WEF), he initiated and managed the Global Councils on
the Humanitarian System.
For nearly a
decade, Christoph worked for international humanitarian organisations in
conflict zones in Africa, Asia, the Middle East and South America. He
negotiated successfully with rebels and separatists worldwide, including the
Maoists in Nepal, the FARC in Colombia and the rebel groups in the Central
African Republic (CAR). Christoph led large-scale relief operations, achieved
the release of hostages, and was nearly killed in a violent ambush in CAR.
Consequently, he suffered from severe PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress
Disorder).
In his early
20’s and 30’s, he launched three global fundraising and awareness campaigns: Alegría,
a 3500km bicycle expedition across the Himalayas;
Bike for Help, a 10’000km bicycle expedition from India to
Switzerland; and Run for Help, a run of 270km across the Alps.
During Bike for Help, Christoph became globally known when he negotiated with
the Taliban (the only Westerner in the region) to cross Baluchistan during the
war in Afghanistan.
He created and headed the Colour the World Foundation, caring for leprosy patients and women with mental illness.
Q&A
Bike for Help looks like an
exciting travel story. Can you tell us a
little about it?
AN INSPIRING STORY THAT WILL IGNITE THE HUMAN(ITARIAN) IN YOU.
In 2002, Christoph von Toggenburg set out to raise awareness about a disease that had been forgotten by many. It was a time when the world was in shock by the global impact of 9/11 and the rising political and military conflicts. Many people had cautioned Christoph against his upcoming expedition, knowing the risks. Still, nothing could stop him from capturing the world's attention on leprosy and helping those suffering from its devastating impact.
A unique account of his epic adventure, Bike for Help takes us along Christoph's transcontinental quest. Cycling solo from India to Switzerland to raise funds and awareness for people affected by this terrible disease, Christoph faced obstacles he never envisioned and survived incidents he was sure should have claimed his life.
Several months and 10’000 kilometres later, Christoph's mission had come to fruition, and here, his journey is retold, inspiring the human(itarian) within each of us.
The idea behind
this adventure was crazy. Never in my life had I cycled for such long distances
but I wanted to demonstrate how willpower and purpose can ‘change the world’. I
wanted to demonstrate as a young student that I could turn my dream into
reality.
Additional
Information for this 2nd edition of the book
Christoph’s
first book ‘Bike for Help - Ein Humanitäres Abenteuer’ was published by Herbig
in Germany in 2003 and presented the same year at the Frankfurt Book Fair.
To mark the 20th
Anniversary of Bike for Help, the book was translated into English, re-edited
by author Britt Collins, and enriched with original photos that have never been
published. It was republished in 2022 (ebook and print).
How long did it take you to
write Bike for Help?
It took me initially four months to write the book.
Christoph’s
first edition of ‘Bike for Help - Ein Humanitäres Abenteuer’ was published by
Herbig in Germany in 2003 and presented the same year at the Frankfurt Book
Fair.
To mark the 20th Anniversary of Bike for Help, the book was translated into English, re-edited by author Britt Collins, and enriched with original photos that have never been published. It was republished in 2022 (ebook and print).
What inspired the idea for
your book?
During my
student years in London, I started to share one day a week with homeless
people. I volunteered in a large homeless shelter, ran night food runs, and
taught photography and arts to get people away from the cold streets, and from
drugs and alcohol.
It inspired me
to do more and to combine my passion for adventure and sports. I had done
already so at the age of 21 when I had run for five days from Switzerland to
Italy, nearly 300km, crossing the Alps and raising funds and awareness for
homeless children in Romania. At 23, I initiated “Bike for Help,” a solo
bicycle expedition from India to Switzerland to raise funds for people
suffering from leprosy.
It was a crazy
idea, but after all, I was stubborn!
The challenge
took a different shape when after 9/11, the war in Afghanistan broke out and a
dangerous crisis between India and Pakistan. People advised me against it, but
I just did it.
I went through
war zones, survived 3500km of desert, and experienced the warmth of people
along the way. Bike for Help reached global attention, and donations poured in
from around the world.
It led me to
create the “Colour the World Foundation,” helping people in need, and changing
my life.
Thanks to the
large sum of donations, the foundation was soon able to construct hospital
units, shelters, run screening programs, helping the people that needed it the
most.
Learnings
With Bike for
Help, I wanted to prove that every person, in their way, can change the lives
of others for the better. All it needed was to stand up and do it.
My efforts to
cycle through the war-ridden areas to India highlighted that simple actions
could inspire people worldwide and that solidarity is a beautiful thing.
All it needed
was determination, the naivety of a young person and a hint of craziness!
How did you come up with the
title for your book?
The title is the name of the expedition.
What will readers get out of
your book?
Readers will be able to join a unique
adventure. They will learn more about leprosy, about the different countries,
Christoph crossed and how to overcome one’s fears and insecurities. His
reflections help the reader to understand how a young person decides to ‘change
the world’ by giving a voice to those who have no voice.
What part of the book was the
most fun to write?
I loved writing the touching stories, and
the encounters along the way, the humanity I encountered, the striking
landscapes I was able to cross, the tough moments and how I overcame those.
Did anything stick out as
particularly challenging when writing Bike for Help?
Not really. It was sometimes challenging to
describe the smells, the colours and the feelings I encountered. All of the
experiences were so rich and powerful that it was hard to put them in words.
What do you like to do when
not writing?
As my friend told me: “Write that book
because it will inspire people and you will have a unique way to share one day
with your children what you did and how you felt.”
Where can readers find out
more about your work?
My
personal website: www.vontoggenburg.com
Facebook
(for book and other followers) https://www.facebook.com/ChristophvonToggenburg/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/cvontoggenburg/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/cvontoggenburg
Extracts
from Book Bike for Help
Not
far from the War in Afghanistan
On 28th January,
one of the most extraordinary days of the whole journey, we would be riding on
the wildest frontier. It was still bitingly cold when I was picked up by my
police guards, a pair of dark-haired men in their 40s with beards and
skullcaps. Their job was to shepherd me and keep me alive while we were moving
through the rugged outback. After the unnerving experience of children throwing
stones at me, I was glad to have them by my side. But the proximity to danger
here was very real. It was sometimes easy to forget with the reddish,
honeycombed mountains flashing past we’re in the borderlands between Pakistan
and Afghanistan. The stark, brutal beauty of this wilderness was enchanting and
reminded me of the Grand Canyon.
The road was
good and we were making good progress. My protectors changed every 15
kilometres or so. They were all very nice and extremely concerned about my
well-being.
By this point,
it was slowly approaching midday and my stomach began to growl. My new
companions assured me that we would get something to eat at the outpost 15
kilometres away. Well, the 15 Pakistani kilometres became 25 European ones, but
this was the custom here. People here weren’t concerned with being precise,
they wanted you to be satisfied. That was why they said yes to everything
because saying no would’ve almost been an insult. That could be difficult when
you had to rely on something or someone. In the process, I learned not to have
any expectations.
Finally, after
some hours, we reached the outpost of Sanjawi, which consisted of a simple
barrack. Perched on a windswept, rocky outcrop, it seemed diminishingly small
in front of the gigantic rock formations that rose up behind it. As always,
there followed a welcoming ritual tea and a house tour. Everything here was a
ritual that you had to endure. Patience was worth a lot since nothing happened
quickly. My hosts shared their simple meal of dry bread, dipped in hot oil,
along with raw onions. Before we started eating, everyone laid out their rugs
and prayed.
While the tribal
policemen bowed towards Mecca, an American B-52 bomber passed, buzzing over our
heads. Afghanistan was near and the war with the Taliban was in full swing, but
the war never came up. People here were afraid and felt contempt for America. This
was understandable because many Taliban came from this region. The Taliban
originally came from Pakistan. At the time of the Russian invasion, ironically,
they were even supported by their current enemy, America, to beat back the Red
Army, the enemy of the so-called ‘free world’. At that time, it was believed
that the communists were the biggest threat to the free world. Now Pakistan,
and especially this region, was flooded with an overspill of Afghan refugees.
Still, I felt safer here than on the streets of London.
As we continued
up the curving hills, the rutted road gradually deteriorated and sometimes I
sank so deep into the mud with my narrow tires that I had to push. When we
reached a guard post at an altitude of 2,800 metres, we took a tea break. And
at this high altitude, the landscape, cloaked in conifers, had changed in a
miraculous way.
The inside walls
of the simple mud-brick building were plastered with posters of weapons. We all
took off our shoes, the Kalashnikovs were carefully placed in a corner, and
then the prayer ritual began. I, too, sat down among the praying people,
reflected, gathered my thoughts and sent prayers to all the ‘gods’ I had met so
far. There were quite a few of them.
After the prayer, they all picked up their weapons and started shooting at cans. What was I supposed to do if they suddenly chose me as a target? But my nerves eased as Safra Khan, one of the policemen, handed me his Kalashnikov and loaded it. He pointed to the trigger and, before I knew it, I had shot a stone, but not the can. The noise of the shot was deafening and the recoil considerable. Well, my opponent would certainly have got me first.
In wild
territories (p.162)
Out here, everyday life was defined by extremes. Most people lived to survive and the daily challenge with the elements took the central role in their lives. As a result, priorities were set quite differently, which could also have positive effects. People lived in a different consciousness. Values like hospitality and honesty were part of their daily lives. It was amazing that it was mostly the simplest and poorest who helped me. I think these people understood what I needed because they were closer to me. They knew my needs and problems because they were of a similarly existential nature for them. This made me wonder how much weight should be attached to everyday problems at home.
The Last
Stretch in Pakistan
The desert
taught me many lessons during our many hours together. So, whether I liked it
or not, I had to respect its rules and follow them. Out here I was a nobody and
if I didn’t, I could easily lose my life. I could imagine that travelling in
the desert used to be more difficult, but you could certainly find more
accommodation. Given the current possibility of being able to cover long
distances with vehicles, it may not be surprising that there were no supply
facilities between the individual oases.
Until the second
half of the 20 th century, there were still quite a few caravanserais, but in
the age of roads and accelerators, the distances between the individual supply
stations had become considerable. In those days, many goods were carried across
the desert by camel and on foot, with a daily distance hardly exceeding 50
kilometres. While I managed up to 170 kilometres on extreme days, I had to be
prepared to be stopped unexpectedly. A breakdown or sudden storm could delay my
progress.
The closer we
got to the Afghan border, at some stretches less than 30 kilometres separated
me, the more dangerous the situation became. For this reason, my escorts were
reinforced and resembled a small army consisting of 12 sods armed to the teeth. Along the way, we stopped at a small
abandoned teahouse for a short break. When we stepped inside, we found a fresh
fireplace. On the back wall, hung a surreal poster of Osama Bin Laden riding a
white horse. He held a sword in a threatening gesture as if he was about to go
on the attack. Below it was the American flag and fighters veiled in scarves.
As I approached
the poster, shouts and commotion outside disturbed the silence. The soldiers
were advising us to leave immediately because we didn’t want to lose any time
in this area.
Caution was called for because it was assumed that Osama Bin Laden and the Taliban hardliners in this region had fled across the desert border to Pakistan. Fortunately, we didn’t encounter any terrorists, bandits or other adversaries, and so Qaswa, the ‘army’ and I made it to the Iranian border, unscathed, on 9 February.
Without a
map, Without help (p.173)
I left Zahedan
for the Lut Desert, 400 kilometres of nothingness now lay ahead of me, one of
the loneliest and driest landscapes in the world. The words of Nicolas Bouvier,
a Swiss adventurer, came to mind, “As far as encounters and accommodation are
concerned about the density of a handful of grains of rice blown away by the
wind.” According to my map, there
were four oases until the next town. That should have been enough to cover the
distance but to be on the safe side I would pack more water. In addition, a
young Iranian told me yesterday that this desert was known for its fierce
sandstorms. He had never heard of a cyclist who had crossed this desert.
Already 100
kilometres outside the city, my water reserve was running low, because, despite
rationing, my water loss was too great. Worryingly, there was no sign of an
oasis either, which I should have passed by now, according to my map.
The Lut Desert
was the hottest place on earth. I was now slightly sun-struck and lost in this
blazing hell. Far and wide, there was nothing to be seen but rock formations on
the horizon. Am I at the end of my tether, should I try to turn back or hope
that there will be an oasis after all?
I willed myself
to stay calm and not give in to despair. But, as so often on this tour, my
guardian angels came to my rescue. A shimmering blue mirage appeared in the
distance, but didn’t fade. Moments later, a Mercedes minibus pulled up
alongside me and a German ‘hello’ was shouted at me. The inscription AVE MARIA
was emblazoned in large letters on the windscreen, and in a strictly Islamic
country.
Irmi and Frank
from Hanover were at the wheel. They, too, were on their way back to Europe,
with a mission that seemed no less misguided than mine. “Inspired by the Maria,
the Mother of God,” as Frank put it, they had made it their goal to bring
statues of saints and other church paraphernalia to parishes in India. “As a
thank-you, the Indians have now stuck the Hail Mary on it for us.” A look
inside their travelling home, a technicolour-moving carnival, revealed more. I
literally had the feeling of being in a kitschy souvenir shop in
Lourdes—everything was covered with all kinds of statues of saints, small
sculptures of Maria, and crucifixes.The picture was rounded off by a squawking
parrot and a sleek tabby cat licking its fur.
Brave people, I thought to myself of the colourful foursome. Whether you considered their mission worthwhile or not, the courage to drive through two strictly Islamic countries with such a load, along with a parrot and cat, was admirable, if not a little mad.
Insights
in the Desert (p.179)
After a day of
rest, regaining my physical strength and mental lucidity, Qaswa and I were back
on the road again, ready to conquer the second part of the Lut Desert. The wind
blew so violently in the early hours of the morning that within a couple of hours,
I was caught in a sandstorm that flung me off the road several times. I was so
fed up with this wind. I’d already fought it for more than 1,000 kilometres
and, every evening, crawled into my sleeping bag, hoping that the wind would
die down.
In the morning,
I woke up and, with my eyes still half-closed, sniffed the air and realised
with frustration that the wind was still blowing. It kept blowing in the wrong
direction. Once, just out of curiosity, I turned the bike and within a few
moments reached 45km/h without even touching the pedals. Couldn’t someone flip
the switch, just like that, 180 degrees? Then I would soon be home.
In the struggle
against this invisible force, the bike became so heavy that it felt like I was
moving a lead block. Every pedal stroke felt I was climbing mountains. But as
much as one may curse about the wind, it, too, was a vital part of this
landscape. Whether it drove me to despair or not, nothing would change the fact
that it would keep blowing. I knew I couldn’t change this situation but I could
change my attitude towards it. My strongest weapon was hope.
This made me
think of a passage from Ruth Pfau’s book, “At the time of snowmelt, the Indus
is a muddy flood. When the water level drops, lakes remain in the rocks. And
because they lose their connection with the river, the mud settles. And they
shine in a blue, in an improbable, an otherworldly blue. When I saw these muddy
masses and then this quiet blue, heavenly purity, I thought to myself, you
should be able to live like this. To withdraw from the cares of the world. But
on the way back I realised, if you do that, you’ll dry up in three months. Part
of life is getting your hands dirty.” Mindful of these words, I felt motivated
anew, ready to cross borders again. I had summarised my thoughts and my
love-hate relationship with the desert in the Ode to the Desert.
Many thoughts ran through my head as I moved through this monotonous landscape. Later I jotted down a few in my diary: Out here I am only a slave. Out here I can do nothing against the forces of nature. My progress is slow, which makes me witness every change, every green, every hill, every sound and every smell. I have no choice but to adapt to the circumstances. This fact shall be my teacher, my friend and my enemy. Out here, life finds its roots. Living here is a question of survival and nothing else. Simple values count. The usual luxuries no longer exist, other things create happiness... a drop of water, a sign of life in the sand, a tree providing shade, a warm shelter at night, a friendly smile on a rough face, the sweet flesh of a date... Life and happiness were simple after all...
Death
Waits in the Green Paradise (p.234)
A car came towards me. Its headlights were so bright that I couldn’t see anything. I slowed down. All of a sudden, my headlamp failed, and I was swallowed by the blackness. Since I was already halfway through the tunnel, there was no turning back. Suddenly I was hit by a heavy thud—a bag had come loose from its holder and fell. I rolled over it and lost control of the heavy bike, tipping over the handlebars and landing headfirst on the rough asphalt. Despite the pain in my knees and arms, I pulled myself together. Thankfully nothing seemed broken.
As I straightened up, I caught the headlights of the Land Rover coming from the front. He saw me and swerved at the last moment. But when I turned around, I had the feeling that I was looking death straight in the eye. In front of me rose this huge monster with two big glowing eyes. My hand clenched on the frame, the end before my eyes, all my strength was concentrated, my muscles exploded and I instinctively jumped to the side.
Everything happened so quickly that I didn’t realise what was happening. At that moment, the truck sped past me without braking. He must have overlooked me when I was lying on the ground, from his high horse he couldn’t see me. Several vehicles followed and, in their headlights, I could find the lost bag and my sunglasses again, miraculously all undamaged. The bicycle handlebars had twisted. I straightened them and slowly emerged out of the tunnel into daylight.
The shock
settled deep in my bones, my hands trembled and my heart thumped. Only now it
hit me that I escaped death by a whisker. I wasn’t afraid in there, in that
dusty, dark hell. As I sat alone on the side of the road for a while, pulling
myself together and thinking about death. It was always present, it could
always snatch me from life, quickly, slowly, painfully or not. I asked myself
if I would be ready when it comes. After all, I tried to live every day as if
it were my last. I think the thought of death had taught me how important it
was to live intensely and meaningfully. I wondered what it was like in the past
when people lived much shorter lives. Did they live more intensely? But when
the time comes to say goodbye, I can’t claim that I haven’t been richly blessed
by life.
Leprosarium
Babaghi (p.254)
Finally, leaving the city in total darkness, Qaswa and I headed out into the desert again, 15 kilometres back to the leprosarium. It was so dark that you could hardly see your hand in front of your eyes. Reaching the city limits, I turned into the narrow road that disappeared into the desert. It was quiet as I rode through the chilly night.
After a few kilometres, the road began to climb and I heard barking in the near darkness. Could it be a wild dog? Or even wolves? One bark became many and the sounds were getting closer and closer. It seemed they were coming from all sides. I pedalled furiously, but it was quite steep and so I wasn’t too fast. For a moment I turned around but couldn’t see anything in the pitch black. There must have been many pursuers and they were closing in, tailing my rear wheel. I felt something snatching at my back pocket. I breathed heavily, giving everything, I could, forgetting the pain in my lungs and legs. Desperate to escape, I pressed down on the accelerator and disappeared into the blackness. Endless seconds seemed to pass before I reached the saving crest. After a while, the pack let gave up and stayed behind. I was gasping for breath and there was the taste of blood in my mouth.
The
Meaning of Happiness (p.271)
I found it a
great gift to have so much time to think about life’s issues. Up here on the
saddle, head and mind were often strangely free. And especially in extreme
moments, when the physical and mental challenge was at its greatest, the mind
seemed capable of peak performance. And even when I was very sad, I tried to
look forward optimistically. So, on 28 March, I write in my diary: Don’t let
yourself fall, but keep fighting. Don’t
stand still and think practically and positively. Don’t let your thoughts go
round in circles without profit.
‘Bikeosophy’
(p.311)
Unlike driving a car, the cyclist is at the mercy of the elements, moving through heat, cold, rain, storm, hail. So, one experiences true happiness when the first ray of sunshine comes after days of rain. Just as they celebrate the arrival of the monsoon in Kerala, India, such a moment becomes a special event. One celebrates the wonders of nature.
A Night in Heaven (p.331)
After a short
breather, I moved on because a hotel was far beyond my budget, so I had to
leave the city and find something in its outer reaches. When night had already
fallen, I discovered a flat field where I pitched my tent. First, I hid my bags
in some dense bushes and rode to the next village to replenish my water supply.
About half an
hour later, when I returned to the field, I was spellbound. The entire area was
lit up by thousands of fireflies, sending their light signals to each other in
this love dance. It was so dark around me that I had the feeling of floating in
the middle of a sea of stars. I would spend the night in heaven, floating in
free space, surrounded by glittering diamonds of the sky.
The
Final Stretch (p.343)
Only a few more
pedal strokes and I reached the crowd of spectators, with applause from all
sides thundering in my ears. I was like in a trance and then the last metres
and centimetres of a journey into another world.
I had made it!
Inside, I felt deep relief yet I still couldn’t believe that I was there now.
At the end of
this final stretch, Maria Walliser, a former Olympic champion and Swiss ski
star, took my hand and raised it against the bright blue sky. “Today you are
the champion!” she said, with a wide smile.
I had earned
them for the leprosy patients, the donations that were placed on the successful
completion of this expedition before and during my journey. For the last time,
I got off Qaswa, this friend who had faithfully accompanied me during the past
months. My loved ones breathed a big sigh of relief. They and many others had
contributed decisively to the success of this action behind the scene, so to
speak. Bike for Help was not a “one-man show”, as my friend Claudio once called
it. Bike for Help was all of them, the smiling faces, the leprosy patients, my
loved ones, and the sponsors.
“Is the
Toggenburg the end of your journey?” a radio journalist asked me.
“This is where
this journey ends, but a new one begins,” I answered him.
And so it was:
the further I went, the more I searched, the more I wanted to know. But for
now, I was happy to have realised a dream and reached my goal.
Realised dreams are like an elixir of life.
Small
Steps Change the World (p.349)
Whatever we do
in life or it brings us, we should never lose faith in our inner strength. This
could help direct things in such a way that they help not only us but also
others, even if only in a limited way. It was important to remember that even a
project like Bike for Help was nothing more than a long bike ride. The only
small difference was that I found a way to use my joy and passion for others
and ‘sell’ my idea.
You just have to take the first step. Of course, a venture is always associated with uncertainty. At no time will you be able to say that you will reach your goal. But isn’t that completely unimportant? Isn’t the attempt itself the goal? Society doesn’t make it easy for us.You have to have a thick head if you consistently move outside the norm.
Small
Steps Change the World (p.350)
Again and again, I see the pictures of disfigured leprosy patients in front of me, whose greatest wish would probably be to be healthy and be able to move normally among people again. With these people in mind, I am always grateful that I could do something for them with my body that they would never be able to do. In the end, was a fair exchange because they gave me insight and inner satisfaction and I gave them my mental and physical strength.
Why
Suffering? (p.351)
The humanitarian
message of Bike for Help reached more than 45 million people around the world,
received donations from 14 different countries, touched hearts and inspired
people to take their own steps.
Thanks to the
many donations from all over the world, Bike for Help was able to support the
work of the Fischer Foundation in India and Ciomal in Cambodia by contributing
significantly to the financing of hospitals, schools, training centres,
workshops for prostheses, leprosy campaigns, rehabilitation and integration
programmes as well as the training of new aid workers.
Dreams come and
go. This one came and went no more. I realised and lived my dream, which over
time had taken unexpected forms. It was
certainly not my last and I will not give up on wanting to set something in
motion and bring about good through action.
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