LOST WITH PURPOSE

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Alex, an amazing woman

This is the portrait of a young woman who follows in the footsteps of great explorers such as Anne-France Dautheville, Ella Maillard and Theresa Wallach.
For eight years now, Alex Reynolds has been traveling the world, venturing alone into areas that many people fear.

Could you introduce yourself in a few lines?

I’m Alex, a 32-year-old biker and traveler from the US living that nomadic life since 2016. I’ve been blogging at Lost With Purpose since then, and I also run motorcycle and women-only tours in Pakistan these days.

When people try to dig beyond that, the story gets more complicated: I was born in the US, but have a British passport from my English father, the appearance of my Filipina mother, a residency card and motorcycle from Belgium, but I live half the year in Pakistan.

Don’t worry, it’s confusing to me, too.

Beginning of 2016 trip to Georgia. How long will you be there? What’s next? What’s your journey?

It all started with a one-way ticket to Georgia in 2016. My plan was to travel solely overland, visit Iran, and then see what happens. I’d saved up 12,000 euros, had plans to travel on that for one year… and then one year passed and I wasn’t broke yet. So, I kept on going! That year, I made it through the Caucasus, Iran, and parts of Central and South Asia, while starting to build the foundation of the Lost With Purpose blog/brand/whatever you want to call it that sustains me to this day.

You mainly travel to countries that most people fear. Why did you make this choice? And what have you learned?

I can’t help it if people fear what’s foreign to them! I’ve found that many of these lesser-visited countries are more fun to travel in; tourism is not yet corrupted by greed or disrespectful foreigners, interactions with locals are more organic, and, well, it’s nice to not have to line up to take a photo at beautiful viewpoints. Suffering through a lack of infrastructure or clarity of travel is a fair price to pay to avoid tourist crowds and enjoy more authentic conversations with people, I’d say.

I think you became a biker a while ago (since when?). Why did you make this choice? And what was your choice of bike (does it have a name?). 

It wasn’t so long ago! I was actually terrified of 2-wheeled vehicles for years; I had a bad experience with a scooter in Thailand in my early 20s. But in the end of 2018, I was in Pakistan looking longingly at all the people moving around so easily on motorcycles… what freedom it gave them! How cheap the petrol would be! I asked around to find someone to teach me to ride a bike, and a guy named Usman taught me the basics on a Suzuki GS 150 in an empty neighborhood of Karachi, Pakistan. And so my journey began.

For a few years, I went on a series of hack motorcycle adventures on little local bikes in Pakistan. I wanted to travel internationally on one, but… I didn’t have a license. Where would I get one as a nomad? Finally, the pandemic hit and I got locked down while visiting my parents in Belgium. Though those years were tough, there was one huge benefit: I took my motorcycle license exam and bought my first big girl motorcycle, my Suzuki DR650. The same Meri Jaan I’m riding around the world on now!

The first name was the Paars Paard, the “purple horse” in Dutch/Flemish. Her chassis is purple, it seemed fitting! But once I brought her to Pakistan and had her painted in truck art style, I knew she needed a Pakistani name. And so I landed on Meri Jaan, “my darling” or “my dear”, a common term of endearment in the region.

It’s beautifully decorated. You made it in Pakistan, I presume? Do the paintings have any significance?

But of course! She was painted by truck artists in Rawalpindi, Pakistan. In the country, shipping trucks are decorated with all kinds of paintings, stickers, metal knickknacks, LED lights, the works. I’m in love with the tradition; it’s so psychedelic! The decorations are also often slightly feminine in feel, often involving women’s eyes, florals, etc. Truck drivers say that they spend so much time with their trucks and away from their wives; they have to have something feminine with them.

On my bike, there’s the usual female eyes, as well as a peacock and a partridge. Both birds often feature in folk tales in the region, but the peacock is mainly there because I think they look cool and I begged the artist to paint peacocks instead of butterflies. Lost With Purpose does not do butterflies.

What did you do on your motorcycle? alone?

You mean, besides dropping it in stupid places in the middle of nowhere and cursing everything on a regular basis?

Well, in between silly mistakes, I biked from Pakistan to France in 2023, spending a bit more time wandering around in the Middle East and Eastern Europe. I couldn’t stay away, so I again shipped my bike to Dubai in early 2024. I just came out of Syria, and am making my way to the Caucasus. My eyes are set on Central Asia this summer, but let’s see what happens.

Your website is called “lostwithpurpose” and you write about enjoying being lost. Can you explain this to me?

The name came because I’m always lost—I’m hopeless with directions. But instead of stress out about it… why not enjoy it? When you’re lost, you have no expectations or plans. Everything is a surprise. Far more exciting than when you know your way!

You’ve been traveling for 8 years now. Has the way you travel changed? Why and how?

Yes, of course. I would be very pig-headed if nothing changed after 8 years. How can you go through such an intense learning experience and not grow?

Of course, there’s the obvious transition from backpacker to biker. I think anyone reading this can understand that desire for freedom, for more autonomy. The only time I regret the transition is when dealing with customs officials at borders and when ordering motorcycle parts. RIP finances.

More importantly, I’d like to think I’ve become more conscious of the impact of my travels. Where we go, what we spend money on, the ways we share our trips, how we interact with people and environments… tourism can have a very powerful impact on local communities and places in both negative and positive ways. I cannot change everything, but I’ve learned that I should at least try to ensure my travels benefit destinations and their communities. It’s the minimum responsibility we have as people privileged enough to travel the world for pleasure.

Is being a woman traveling alone an advantage or a handicap?

Depends on the situation! I think women generally have to deal with more risks than men on the road. Most men don’t regularly worry about sexual assault when meeting someone new. Men don’t have to be on guard with other men. And especially in the world of motorcycling, men don’t have to feel like the outsider or outlier at every gathering.

That being said, female travelers enjoy a lot of benefits because of these risks. In most places, people absolutely go more out of their way to help me because I’m a woman alone. They can’t believe I’m crazy enough to do this, so they take extra good care (sometimes to the point of smothering, but eh, can’t complain). I can also straddle the worlds of women and men in more gender-segregated societies because I am a foreign woman… something a man cannot experience.

I’m proud to be a solo female traveler. But I wouldn’t mind being a man—it would make peeing on the side of the road way easier.

10. You write somewhere in your blog: “Too fitting to be foreign, too foreign to be fitting”. Can you explain this sentence?

Because of my biracial background, my appearance is quite ambiguous. I have dark hair and eyes, brown skin, facial features that blend both European and Asian. What am I? No one knows. With the right walk, I could pass as local in many countries throughout the Middle East and Asia.

Does that mean I can easily fit in to any community? On the surface, maybe. On a deeper level, no. No matter how I look, I am still an Outsider to other communities.

Practically, this means that I don’t get the same grand welcome that white (and ideally blond) travelers receive in many countries. Locals are often disappointed when they expect an American Foreigner and I show up—where is the white person they were promised?! At the same time, I am not fully “one of them”. I’m still the foreigner who must be too stupid to understand anything or function properly.

But, like being a woman, it has its pros and cons. At least I don’t have to worry about turning lobster-red in the sun.

You also talk about reverse culture shock? What do you mean by this? 

Reverse culture shock is when you return to your “home” culture and feel out place. Like a foreigner in your own land.

I’ve lived outside of the United States since 2013; it’s jarring to go back. Supermarkets with enough products to feed a village for a year! Air conditioning blasting 24/7! Driving literally everywhere in supersized cars! People who have no idea a functional world exists outside of the US!

It’s a shocking experience for me now. It takes a long time for me to feel “at home” in the culture I was raised in.

Have you ever been afraid? Under what circumstances? 

Yes, of course. All the time. Just because I travel alone to unconventional destinations doesn’t mean I’m never afraid.

Men scare me all the time – I’ve been stalked, assaulted, harassed constantly. It’s especially scary when it’s a group of men, or a man significantly larger and stronger than me.

Riding itself can be terrifying. You should try riding my little old DR through Kuwait traffic: shiny new SUVs flying like erratic maniacs at 140+ kmh on 6-lane highways, in a culture where killing someone doesn’t matter if you’re rich.

I’m afraid for my own health; I know my travel is hard on the body. I have some health issues that have been going on for a while, but I’m not in one place long enough to get anything properly checked and monitored. Who knows what that will mean further down the line?

Can you tell me 2 or 3 anecdotes that have made a difference to you? (happy, unhappy, funny or tragic, your choice)

The angriest I’ve ever been while riding: I was biking to a valley called Khaltaro with two friends of mine in Pakistan. Lots of roads are called “Death Road” online… but if any road were to be the official Death Road, this would be it. You’re riding along chunky dirt road on the edge of a cliff with a drop so steep and long that you can’t even see the bottom. There is literally no way you will survive if you fall.

I was on a TTR 250 loaded with panniers—very fun on the extremely narrow track—and my friends were on local Suzuki 150s. I made it all the way up to the valley without any incidents… but my panniers clipped a wall while climbing up a rough track to the house where we’d sleep, and I crashed in front of a group of 10 or so local men. A great first impression for all these men who had never seen a woman ride a motorcycle, let alone on a road as treacherous as theirs. I laughed, but it wasn’t funny the next day.

When my friends and I left the valley, two of the men accompanied us on one local bike. And when I say “accompanied”, I mean they rode right behind me like whining mosquitoes, one of them constantly commenting on how I was doing everything wrong and how I needed to give the “big” bike to my male friend.

“That bike is too big for you” is a comment I think every single female rider has heard at least once. Very often from men even smaller than me, in my case! It drives me crazy on the best of days. After years of hearing it from men—on bikes of all sizes ranging from 150 to 800cc—it really hits a sore spot.

So, naturally, I was fuming after about 20 minutes of this behavior. After raging for a while to him via our Cardos, my friend stepped in and told them to piss off, and so they went ahead of us for a bit. We reached a spot where we had to go down 7-8 steep, sandy switchbacks. I was descending just fine, in my zone and on my line… when I suddenly spotted the two men waiting and watching me from the bottom of the hill. I started, lost my concentration, and messed up my line on the turn, dropping the bike. Immediately, the man was there, telling me the bike was too big for me, I couldn’t ride it, and I needed to give it to my friend. Seeing I was about to erupt, my friends told me to take a breather… but instead I flew into a rage, tried to right the bike twice on the steep and uneven hill, and promptly dropped it again both times. I was so angry my hands were shaking, and I wanted to throw my motorcycle off the cliff. Finally, one of my friends intervened and told the man he was not helping in the slightest and needed to get out of our faces.

I eventually righted the bike and flew off in a rage, cursing men for the rest of eternity. It’s a miracle I didn’t drive off the cliff in that state.

On that day, I resolved to one day become a skilled enough biker to ride a 1250cc offroad. Do I think it makes sense to take such big bikes offroad? Of course not. I think 99% of riders do it for the ego trip (and probably 95% of them regret it). I’m not in a rush, I know my limits and that it takes time to build such skill. But I will get there, if only to show that yes, I, a woman, can do it. F*ck that guy. (Rental donations for 1250s most welcome.)

The privilege of freedom of movement: A few days ago, I was sitting at a shisha cafe in Baghdad with a bold young local woman. Her hair was dyed a fiery red, her nails unapologetically long and painted black and pink. Her perfect English, a result of years of gaming online with people abroad, then eventually working in the world of IT. We’d met one year earlier, the first time I rode through Iraq. Though her family is affluent, she is incredibly restricted. She has to constantly report where she is to her brother—who thinks Iraqi women should not be out and about—and her abusive father does not allow her to travel anywhere unaccompanied, even though she desperately wants to travel as well as study or work abroad.

She was asking me about the relative safety of living or traveling in different countries, then eventually our conversation segued into her childhood in Baghdad. “I used to walk over dead bodies to get to primary school when was young. They were everywhere on the streets. We received threats at home all the time. Several of our apartments were attacked, and we had to move a lot.” I told her she had to be a strong woman to survive all of that and still be able to function as the gentle but charismatic human that she is now. “You really think so?” she asked incredulously, then looked down meekly. “My father always says I’m too weak to do anything right…”

I’ve thought about that conversation endlessly since then. Both in relation to her life and mine.

People celebrate me and others like me for traveling the world as we do, but how much have we really had to overcome to get to where we are? I’m from an open-minded family, from a culture that, though it doesn’t exactly encourage them, won’t cast me out for doing the things that I do. My family certainly wanted me to stay home and live a normal life, but they didn’t excommunicate me for my life decisions.

Though it was just a fleeting moment, that smoky conversation was a poignant reminder to appreciate the fact that I can live, love, and move as freely as I do. I must never take it for granted, even after all these years on the road. Many women are able to do the same, with a bit of effort and motivation on their part… but many more women have to fight their whole worlds just to get out of the front door. Never forget that.

What advice would you give to a woman who wants to travel alone?

Do it. You don’t have to start big if you don’t want to—try going out to local places or going on little weekend adventures by yourself first. Do what you love, but on your own and further away. Things won’t always go according to plan, but you’ll soon see that you’re far more capable than you might think. Get into enough chaos, and you’ll also learn that most people in this world are decent human beings who are happy to help others in times of need.

That being said, don’t pressure yourself into traveling alone just for the sake of it. I’ve met a lot of women who are trying to travel solo because that’s “the thing” that girls do online now… but you don’t have to travel solo if you don’t want to. Traveling, in many ways, is a very personal experience; do it the way you want to, not the way society pressures you to do so.

Any final words?
Go forth and roam. There’s never a perfect time, so you might as well go now.