Globetreter - Cycle around the world

Mauretania

2010-06-01T18:29:00.008+02:00

... Ufff. (We made it through the Sahara desert all the way to Nouakchott, the capital of Mauretania)

Here some pics - the story later :)
I'm going back to sleep now.

For your consideration...

2010-06-01T18:04:00.004+02:00

... I spend twenty-four hours (!) seven days a week (!) with her. In a tiny two-person tent!

(also: this is the biggest carrot I've ever seen :)

Another rim for Susan!

2010-05-20T23:57:00.007+02:00

Oh, we thought we were so lucky back then in the city of Agdz!!!
The Campagnolo rim that we had found there as an emergency exchange for the broken Mavic rim lasted for just about 1200 kilometers. I did already have the notion back then that one side of the Campagnolo was a tad "tired" (or "fatigue" as they say in many African countries)...

So while riding, Susan suddenly complains about some re-occuring noise and there we go: the side of the rim broke and the pressure from the tyre deforms it to the outside so it touches the brake pad with every rotation. We are smack in the middle of the desert between two cities. Back to Boujdour it is about 60 kilometers against the wind (riding against the wind is unthinkable - we just heard of a couple of around-the-world-cyclists who gave up coming from the south) and forward to Dakhla it's about another 250 kilometers. Our water situation is still ok but we will soon run low. Obviously - there isn't much to chose from. Vehicles are rare here but in an emergency case we should be able to get help - at times you have to wait for an hour for the next truck or pickup to pass. So we decide to unhook Susan's rear brake and keep going until the rim snaps. Who knows, in the end we might make it all the way to Dakhla...
After 70 more kilometers the cut in the rim has extended further but now it's time to sleep anyway. So we call it a day. We set up the tent on the road side and cook up a pot of fresh green bean soup.
The next morning we manage another 70 kilometers and by total coincidence reach the first house that day when the rim gives in. No more. Its 118 kilometers until Dakhla where we might be able to find a replacement. If not, then we have to travel all the way to Casablanca - a two day bus ride one way!

Near the house, we meet a couple of young guys who work on a construction site behind the house. They promise to take care of our bikes while we hitch a ride to Dakhla to try our luck on the local 26 inch 36 hole rim market. A truck driver stops with his 31500 litre sulfuric acid in tow and takes us along.
Smiling, Susan and I cruise along at three times our normal travelling speed while the kilometer markers fly by . The landscape to the left is endless desert that streches until Somalia. To the right, about 20 meters from the road, the land falls abruptly over sandy cliffs 50 meters down onto a wide sandy beach. The ocean itself is dark ultramarine blue with beautiful waves that break perfectly for surfing. We have heard that somewhere around here there are a couple of secret surfing spots, unknown to most riders - or - simply too far off the beaten track.
50 kilometers before reaching Dakhla we suddenly hear a loud "BOOOOM" coming from the trailer and now it's not only us but also the truck driver himself has been blessed with a broken wheel.
Alright then, time for truck repair lessons.

After about half an hour and a litre of combined sweat we are on the road again... and make it to Dakhla just in time to find a place to sleep.
The next morning I visit Hassan's local motorbike and cycle shop. In his back room he finds a used rim that he is willing to sell - some older model called MACH1 210. It has 36 holes and no cracks. Great! I start working on the spokes. Hassan and his crew of mechanics are a nice bunch of guys. After lots of laughing, sweet Moroccan tea, some fresh pastry and 4 hours of time the new wheel is ready to roll from here to Senegal. Insh' allah!

Camels ahead - Western Sahara

2010-05-20T23:09:00.006+02:00

Wind, sand and camels.
The big national road N1 takes us along the Atlantic coast into Western Sahara. The wind is incredibly strong - not just strong - but strong enough to push one into the ditch when absentminded for a little while in the saddle. Fortunately indeed, it hits us as a hind wind now. With speeds up to 30km per hour we whizz through the desert!

Every couple of kilometers there is a sign asking to pay attention to camels crossing the road. At first I expect them to be as useless as I remember the warnings from my first bicycle trip through Finland back in 1994: bright yellow moose signs everywhere but not a single moose to be found!
Not so here in the desert - there are camels all over the place. Most of them free range, just strolling about in small herds, eating the thorny bushes on the roadside. No herdsmen to be seen. Every once in a while we stumble upon an unlucky one; either welcoming us with a biting stench of decomposing flesh or in its final stage...
Time to smirk about the name of my bicycle water bottle - it's a "CAMELBAK"

The Western Sahara Region (kind of annexed by Morocco, supervised by the United Nations) begins right after the town of Tarfaya, famed for the writer St.Exupery who was stationned here as a pilot for the French army. It is said that the Tarfaya and its environment inspired him while writing the story of the little prince... The town is a friendly little fishing village with little to offer except peace and quiet. And fresh fish - battered and with a side of French Fries.

We keep on going south - happy go lucky with the constant hind wind. The coast line is very empty and beautiful. Kind of ideal for a beach holiday if one has a square kilometer of shade and a big fridge in the luggage. We keep waking up early in the mornings to make use of the colder times (BTW in the night we are wearing fleece jackets) and then try to take a rest in some shade during the hottest hours of the day. The thermometer doesn't goes beyond 40 Centigrade but the sunlight is very strong. In the late afternoon we resume cycling until an hour before sunset. We usually pitch up the tent wherever we find a nice spot. We never felt threatened or had any bad experience with wild camping here in Morocco. Very very pleasant.

Sometime somewhere I reach the 20.000km mark... technically I am half around the world already :)

From Atlas via Anti-Atlas to Western Sahara

2010-05-04T14:50:00.010+02:00

It is hard to describe what this great country does to us...
We first cycle from Tangiers south along the Altantic coast and then head inland toward the ancient city of Meknes. We mostly camp wild just wherever we think we should stop for the night; and receive - if any - only pleasant surprises. One night a truck driver stops and comes running over to our tent inquiring if everything is alright, another night the owner of the field of olives trees (Ahmat) in which we pitched up the tent for the night visits us and wants to know if we need bread, milk or water. Later, when a sudden downpour drenches the tent thorroughly, Ahmat shows up again with his son to help us bring the tent and our belongings to his house so we won't have to stay out on our own. We politely decline his offer but wonder how he must have felt later on when the rain turned into a full blown hail storm with hail the size of pop corn (no joke).

From Meknes (very worth a visit) we take public transport to the capital Rabat (with a side trip to Casablanca) to apply for the Mauretanian visa. In earlier times the visa could be obtained directly at the border betzeen Western Sahara and Mauretania. But since a couple of months one needs to pass by the embassy in Rabat. When applying around 0900 hours in the morning one can pick up the visa in the early afternoon of the same day.
With the visa in our pockets we made it back to Meknes and then had a wonderful day riding aith hindwind to Fes. Fes does indeed have a nice casbah, but the city itself is only recommendable for those who love placing themselves in the midst of hordes of caravan campers or enjoy an afternoon full of tout-hassling and being-ripped-off-at-every-corner. The city reeks of what tourism can detroy in a perfectly modest and friendly population.
We just long enough to eat and sleep and leave early the next morning direction Sefrou and the Atlas mountains.

The Atlas treats us with lots of hills, beautiful landscapes, sleepy towns and local food. Susan has discovered a new favorite: greasy bread. It is kind of like filo dough on a cast iron stovetop bathed in butter. Yum.
Another great discovery after a sobering experience in Spain and Portugal (those barbarian tribes have seemingly not yet discovered the secret of fresh milk!) is that Morocco is full to the brim with milk and dairy products. We devour yoghurts and other goodies day in day out. The top product to discover here: avocado milk!

When we don't lay in the shade of some date tree rubbing our dairy filled ballies, we cycle through olive gardens, strawberry fields and orange orchards. The road takes us up up up beyond the tree line all the way to 1907m in the High-Atlas, then back down into the Draa valley and the fringes of the Sahara desert. The temperatures rise every day and soon we decide to get up around 0400 hours very early in the morning so we can be on the road at first daylight to avoid the midday heat. We cycle until around 1100 and then rest in the shade of some roadside trees or - if we hit it lucky - in a small restaurant or truck stop. When the sun starts going down around 1600 we hit the road again and cycle until nightfall.

Against all advise that we had received earlier, the Moroccan traffic is very good to cyclists. It might seem chaotic at first but we soon recognise that most vehile drivers behave with lots of respect and don't force their way. There is a lot of honking but this happens not in order to intimidate (like it would in Germany) but simply to inform about one's presence. Often a couple of quick extra honks are thown in together with a thumbs-up and great smiles. Especially the truck drivers seem to enjoy our presence - thanks be to all of them!
The roads that link bigger cities are often well paved and one needs to go off the beaten track to find a good old counrt road with potholes and a dusty surface. Nevertheless, in the small town of Agdz (towards the Anti-Atlas), Susan's back rim has had it: it breaks. To our misfortune it is friday and many shops close during the prayers. To our greater misfortune the next day is the first of May and a public holiday. The only rim that I can locally find is a very simple Chinese made alloy rim that (my estimation) would last about a week's time. And besides: the spokes in Susan's rear wheel are not long enough to accommodate this rim. While we contemplate over coffee what to do I suddenly spot a fairly nice mountainbike leaning against one of the tables of the nearby restaurant. Am I suffering a heat stroke or is that really a Campagnolo sticker on that rim? I check it out and cannot believe our luck - someone here actually has a real nice rim in hisrear wheel. It's old but it will do the job. Mahammat (the owner of the mountainbike) is located rather quickly once news make it that a foreigner wants to buy his rim. He grins over both ears when we start negotiating the price: approximately 20EUR plus the local Chinese made rim.

Luck in the Unluck (Glueck im Unglueck _ German proverb)! The rim fits with Susan's spokes and Mahammat's spokes are actually sufficiently long for the Chinese model. After about 5 hours of painstakingly sweaty work everything is back together and Susan takes a test ride... hooray!!!

We now cycled several hundreds of kilometers with the new rim and have just reached the Atlantic Ocean again at Tan-Tan. The ocean is wild and beautiful and the absence of European camper vans makes everything even better. Last week we took the bus to Agadir to celebrate Susan's 36th birthday with Pizza and ice cream. Next week we will cross the border to Westarn Sahara and then head down towards Dhakla and then Mauretania. If we are lucky then the current strong wind will be in our back all the way along the coast!

Until later...
(and BTW, that's how our map looks like on a day when we suddenly find a highly loved but totally unexpected dairy product in a small roadside shop :)

Morocco!

2010-04-18T15:23:00.003+02:00

... not much to say at this moment in time except that the country and its people are treating us with utter bliss! This is an absolutely great trip so far.

We cycled from Tanger to Meknes and now visit the capital Rabat for a few days to apply for the Mauretanian visa...

Windy times - Portugal and Spain

2010-04-18T14:45:00.007+02:00

We are back on track!
From North America we fly to Germany where we visit my parents in the beautiful Black Forest. Then we try a completely different adventure before we continue with the cycling: hitch-hiking through Europe!
I have hitched a lot when I was young and now we thought we give it a try again; will people still take you on a ride when you're 35?
The Michelin Route Planner calculates that a trip by car from the Black Forest to Porto at the west coast of the Iberian penninsula should take roughly 24 hours. If you are driving your own vehicle.
We start hitching at a gas station close to Mulhouse (thank you Gabi!!!) around 10 in the morning. And arrive in Portugal before we can believe it ourselves! Via Lyon and Montpelier, Toulouse, Bayonne and Leon we arrive in Porto even less than 24 hours later. Hitch - Hitch - Hooray! It is still doable :)

We take public transport from Porto to Leiria where the bicycles are parked. I am a little nervous because we had just left the bikes with the next person we could find in Leiria last year in November - we kind of were in a hurry to catch a flight from Lisbon to Chad back then...
Now - five months later - will the bikes still be with Fernando, the friendly motorbike mechanic?
...they are. Thank you sooooo much, Fernando. You were a great help in times of need!
Back in the bicycle seats, we head towards the hilly terrains between Portugal and Spain. The plan is to take a ferry to Morocco from the southern tip of Europe - the hippie and surfer capital Tarifa.
On the way there we pass beautiful landscapes, very hilly but full of oak and cork trees. The cork is used for wine production while fruit of the oak trees are used to feed the famous black iberian pigs that are later turned into some of the best quality Serrano ham.

After crossing into Spain the hills are getting less but then the wind picks up in Andalusia. We start to fight a fierce fight against a strong and everlasting headwind all the way until Tarifa!

But life keeps treating us good with plenty of beutiful weather, lovely sunsets and cinnamon cake - Susan's new addiction.

On the way south, we pass by many a nice town, one particularily nice one being the lovely town of Evola with its narrow alleyways and white and yellow painted houses. And then - we suddenly first smell and later see the ocean again; Tarifa!

Hooray - the trip continues!!!

2010-03-28T15:44:00.003+02:00

Good news on the globetreter front: the trip finally continues! Susan and I spent three months in the southern-sahel country of Chad and right after that visited her family in the US of A.

Now we will make our way back to Portugal where the bikes are patiently waiting. Plans for the desert crossing are made - if everything goes well we should soon cycle from Portugal to Gibraltar and the cross the Straight of Gibraltar to Morrocco. Then we head further south through Mauretania until we arrive in Senegal. In Dakar we hope to find a boat to take us to the Americas...

Chad intermezzo

2010-02-07T22:34:00.004+01:00

Sorry for the delay with updating my blog. Unexpectedly Susan and I traveled to Chad at the beginning of November 2010. For three months I did the logistics coordination for Medecins Sans Frontieres here. After one of our staff had been hijacked at the Sudanese border the entire operation had to be stabilized and reorganised.
Susan spent her time learning "francais" (with a slight african accent) and giving valuable medical input...

After a small break in the U S of A we will continue our trip in Portugal where we left the bikes. the idea is to cycle south bound along the West African coast until we find a ship that takes us across the atlantic Ocean - in Morrocco, Senegal or maybe even further down south.

Spain to Portugal

2009-11-05T13:49:00.011+01:00

After my return from the Democratic Republic of Congo I fly back to Spain where I meet Susan and her bicycle. The weather proves to be moody in late October and we soon find ourselves cycling in pouring rain and dense fog.
The temperatures have also dropped and we are happy to have packed gloves and warm jackets and often seek shelter in a small bar or cafe to warm up. Our trip takes us southwest of Santiago into the Canyon de Sil, a magnificent gorge (when you have the chance to see it...).

In Galicia one can still see lots of old grain storages built from stone and local wood with slated roofs. They are elevated on pillars to prevent rodents from attacking the harvest. During another heavy rainfall we luckily find a birdwatching tower on a riverside to stay for the night and dry our clothes and the thoroughly soaked tent. There are chestnut trees all over the place... everybody is harvesting the big brown nuts which are then roasted or steamed. The forests are also full of mushrooms and the branches of the fruit trees heavy with unpicked fruit.

Along the Mino river we make our way to Portugal through a mountainous region and head for the Atlantic ocean. We follow the wide sandy beaches until we reach Porto, capital of the famous port wine. The architecture here in Portugal features lots of tilework. Churches are sometimes fully decorated with beautiful blue and white tile paintings. Houses are less fancyfull but still clearly stand out. They often have some kind of kitchen-sink atmosphere to me. But still, it's a very nice change to the usual cement walls in other countries.

From Porto we head further south along the coast towards Lisbon and hit more rainy weather. Time is running short as we are scheduled to fly to Chad for Medecins Sans Frontieres once more. So we stop this leg of the trip in a smaller place called Leiria, dry our stuff and park the bicycles with a nice man who promises to keep them safe until we return in a few months...

Medecins Sans Frontieres DRC

2009-08-30T14:54:00.009+02:00

At Santiago de Compostela my bicycle gets parked for 6 weeks while I fly to the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) to work once more for Medecins Sans Frontieres.

In the east of DRC, close to the Rwandese border, the Congolese army carries out a military offensive. Its aim is to drive the rebel movement FDLR out of their hideout in a national parc. The action leads to massive deplacement of civilians who flee the fighting and pilfering of their villages. 10km behind the frontline Medecins Sans Frontieres supports several rural health centres with drugs, medical materials and therapeutic food to cope with the population influx.

My role is to coordinate the logistics activities - quite a challenging task when there are no real roads, no phones, only feeble electricity and nothing to purchase on the local market. The area we work in features several mines for gold, diamonds as well as coltan (a rare material used for the production of mobile phones, GPS, DVD players, computers etc.). The raw materials are exported with old russian Antonov-12 planes that bring beer, fuel and cheap Chinese consumer goods in return.
I am told that the price of one kilogram of raw coltan is about 3 USD when sold by the miners. The apparent world market price for one kilogram of coltan powder is currently higher than 500 USD!

Just in case you were shocked by news (or films) about blood diamonds - take a good look at your electronics goods and think before you buy your next iPhone just because your old one has a scratch or not the latest software gadgets...

Santiago de Compostella

2009-08-30T14:15:00.007+02:00

It is done. After a painful ride through never ending hills of the provinces of Cantabria, Asturias and finally Galicia I reach Santiago de Compostella with its dozens of churches and convents. Once the most popular Christian pilgrim destination (apparently surpassing even Rome and Jerusalem in the 11th to 13th century) it still bustles with religious pilgrims as well as non-religous long-distance hikers who just use the trail as an intinerary for their travel. The pilgrim trail is really not just one single trail but consists of a vast network of trails that all converge at Santiago. Some of the trails originating as far as Norway or southern Italy... The road entering Santiago is literally packed with "packed" people, many carrying a scallop shell and a wooden stick as signs of identification.
Throughout the city the shell - the symbol of St. James - appears everywhere. Santiago is a beautiful town well worth visiting. The historic center is free of motorized traffic and thus a very pleasant experience. It is easy to get lost in it maze of stone plated narrow alleyways...
Everywhere jolly (but often limping) people who just finished the trail. In earlier times (maybe still) pilgrims used to burn their clothes on the roof of the cathedral as a symbolic act that their sins have been washed away and that a new life is about to begin.
Honestly, when I smell my own clothes and take a closer look at them it feels like it's high time to do so as well. And even if it doesn't wash away sins, a good shower is definitely up high on my to-do-list :)

Rainy Asturias

2009-08-26T17:23:00.003+02:00

From Bilbao I follow the coast westbound. This is the region where the famous "Camino de Santiago", a trans-European pilgrim trail leads its last few hundred kilometers to the city of Santiago de Compostella.
The coast is heavy on the nerves: a continuous up and down and up and down and up and down - perfect for Zen-Buddists (enjoy the now...)
For long distance cyclists it is pure torture to drag your combined 120 kilogramms up a steep hill and then run it down on the other side just to find yourself in a new valley and thus at the bottom of a new hill to climb. This continues forever!
At times I become so frustrated with the road engineering that I am happy I don't carry a firearm and there are presently no Spanish road engineers around. Anyone seen the movie "Falling Down"?

On top of my trouble it starts raining. A strong continuous drizzle. Too wet to not use the waterproof gear but too warm to not sweat like a madman when wearing it. My misery is complete :)
Or so I think. I forgot the worst: headwind. But be assured. I had it. And strong. And continuously.

Another problem with cycling along this pilgrim trail is that everyone thinks you are a pilgrim. I mean I don't mind all the freaks that walk and hike and cycle this path but please - could you stop looking at me as if I am one of you?!

Santiago de Compostella. It's still 2-3 days until I shall reach you. Up and down and up and down. The rain stopped but the headwind continues. I will make it. I will make it.

Bilbao

2009-08-26T17:04:00.006+02:00

From the "Lost Mountain" my path leads once more across the Pyrenees into France and then (again across a pass...) right back into Spain. I arrive in the bordertown of Irun which turns out to be a shopping heaven for the French to purchase cigarettes, alcohol and fuel in cheaper Spain. Horrid place. Made for motorized traffic and cheap people.
But there is no other road going to the coast and that's where I am headed.
After 2 days in San Sebastian (nice, touristy, overbooked hostels - I end up sleeping on the beach two times to be woken up by cops the next morning...) my way continues along the coast to the city of Bilbao.
Bilbao has gained worldwide fame because of its Guggenheim Museum designed by Frank Ghery (spelling might be wrong but then again - names are for gravestones). The roof of the museum is made of titanium. The story I heard about the titanium is that it was available when Russia reduced its nuclear warheads and lots of rockets (made of titanium) became redundant. apparently at that time even spates and pickaxes were available in titanium because they didn't know what to do with it otherwise. Rockets were (for once) not in demand...
The story might not be true but I like it. Sadly there haven't been many times lately where titanium became abundantly available.

However, the Guggenheim is alright but to my taste nothing fancy. There is a small museum in the black forest (Vitra Design Museum - also designed by Gehry and without titanium) that I like much better.
The rest of Bilbao (excluding a fancy waterfront along the river) is more or less a dump. BUT: the people of Bilbao know to ignore this and anyway, it's fiesta time! The day I arrive in Bilbao, its population has been on a binge for an entire week!!! The party started on August 15 and lasts a full week. There are drunk people everywhere, not only punks with their dogs but regular people. All kind of social and political groups set up tents and serve food and alcohol literally 24/7. So since I don't know where to leave my bicycle I just leave it behind one of the beer counters and head off to buy beer.
I squat opposite of this inventive group of beggars (see picture below). They give you different options for your donation: "booze", "cigarettes", "the dogs" or a donation boy for all those who are "not yet sure for wich purpose" the donation should be used...

The party lasts all night and the next day I leave Bilbao with a slight hangover. The Guggenheim still doesn't look fancier but teh sun is shining and I am on the road direction Santander...
(Picture above: my bicycle in front of the oh-so-fancy Guggenheim titanium facade)

Where do the children play?

2009-08-20T18:07:00.002+02:00

Well I think it's fine, building jumbo planes.
Or taking a ride on a cosmic train.
Switch on summer from a slot machine.
Yes, get what you want to if you want, 'cause you can get anything.

I know we've come a long way,
We're changing day to day,
But tell me, where do the children play?

Well you roll on roads over fresh green grass.
For your lorry loads pumping petrol gas.
And you make them long, and you make them tough.
But they just go on and on, and it seems that you can't get off.

Oh, I know we've come a long way,
We're changing day to day,
But tell me, where do the children play?

Well you've cracked the sky, scrapers fill the air.
But will you keep on building higher
'til there's no more room up there?
Will you make us laugh, will you make us cry?
Will you tell us when to live, will you tell us when to die?

I know we've come a long way,
We're changing day to day,
But tell me, where do the children play?

(Cat Stevens)

...no comment...

Hiking up the "Lost Mountain"

2009-08-18T17:46:00.005+02:00

Monte Perdido - the "Lost Mountain", with its 3355 meter high peak is situated on the border between Spain and France. I kind of stumble upon it when passing by a side valley. Suddenly it says something about a national parc and I just follow the signs... I kind of felt like hiking a bit anyway, so why not here?

The mountain is not so lost after all. Thousands of tourists come to "Odessa and Monte Perdido National Parc" every day. But only a couple of hundred (!) make it to the top. It isn't terribly difficult and I doubt that people really have much of an altitude effect (as warned of in th Lonely Planet guidebook).
The effect is rather nice: you walk up to the top and... look around 360 degrees :)
Monte Perdido is the third highest peak in the Pyrenees and so your view is splendid.

On the way up one passes through the magnificent Odessa Valley with a real beautiful waterfall. The refuge at 2200m altitude is fully booked and another 100 odd tents are set up all around it. I didn't bring my tent all the way up, only my sleeping bag and mat - well, I could just hope for no rain. During the day there is a thunderstorm. Not a good sign. But luckily the sky clears and I sleep under a tent of thousands of stars!

The Spanish Pyrenees

2009-08-18T17:32:00.004+02:00

From Barcelona I head straight north into the Spanish Pyrenees. After lots of ocean I start missing the mountains...

Following some lower valleys bordering the tiny country of Andorra, I pass a beautiful stretch along a village called Boixols. The view from my tent onto the hills is splendid (see middle below)!

But not everday provides a fantastic campsite - the next evening I only find this "odd-place" somewhere downtown (below right).

Barcelona

2009-08-04T21:56:00.005+02:00

Susan an I arrive safe and sound in Barcelona after nearly 2000 kilometers together. We feel like newborn after a shower with fresh and warm water and set out to explore this magnificent place (... please see tourist guide for pictures, they are generally better than ours...).
Sadly, here in Barcelona Susan packs her stuff and heads home to the Unites States. She had joined the cycling trip right after returning from a job in Nigeria and now her family and her two dogs are waiting back home in Maryland.
After shipping her bicycle from the local post office and dropping her off at the airport I return to our hostel with a strangely empty feeling. Back on the road alone...

One thing that I find remarkable about Barcelona among all touristic sites and the very good food, is the system of Bicing - common public bicycles for everyone who lives within the city!!! All you need to do is to pre-register and pay a fee of 30 Euro per year (!) and then you can grab a free bicycle from more than 300 locations all over the city and drop it off at any station within half an hour. If you exceed the half hour you pay a small extra fee...
I talked to some people grabbing and dropping off bikes and they all seem to love it! No hassle using your own vehicle, no bus schedule, no worry about thieves stealing your own expensive bicycle, no pollution and a free work-out!
Very neat indeed, Barcelona :)

Long live the old school treehouse!

2009-08-04T21:34:00.004+02:00

On our way through the suburbs of Barcelona we stop at a shopping mall to take a leak and refill our thirsty bodies with fresh (chlorinated) water. Unfortunately I lean my bicycle against the shopping window of a toystore...
You might call me a traditionalist or enviromentalist or whatever you wish - when I see those giant plastic Barbie-castles and crude-oil-Winnie-the-Pooh-huts I would like to cry. Do parents nowadays really have more money than time for their children? Is daddy to busy to hang out with his kids and build a treehouse made of wood, nails and sweat or are parents today just too dull to think out of the (labelled and priced carton) box?

Honestly, 600 Euro is a high price to pay for a bunch of coloured plastic trash! Or do people just not know anymore how to use a hammer, a woodsaw and a paintbrush? My dear Nintendo Wii and iPhone-3G-generation, I strongly feel that somewhat went awfully wrong here...

Spain - Costa Verde

2009-08-04T21:05:00.009+02:00

The coast south of Montpellier treats us well. The weather is great and we manage to swim in the Mediterranean almost every day and camp somewhere close to the ocean. The countryside is flat like a pancake but a strong headwind is blowing as if it was trying to prevent us from leaving France and cycling along the coast into Spain.
At the French/Spanish border the pyrenees take a steep dive into the sea. Even though the road follows the very coast it is extremely hilly here! We welcome the change of atmosphere and crouch up and whizz down the hills. Time and again we see large writing on the tarmac, remnants of the "Tour de France 2009" that had just past a couple of days before us along the same route.

On the Spanish side we visit Cadaques, a pitoresque whitewashed town where Salvador Dali used to live. Smart guy. The place is really neat. We camp in a public park (olive green tents are best!) and discover that the little hut next to the tent belonged to one of his "Muses" (as they called it on the signpost at the door). Unfortunately, a municipal officer discovers us the next morning and we receive a lecture that setting up a tent is forbidden. Alright. We sleep there another night - under the stars - who needs a tent when the weather is so brilliant?
From Cadaques we keep following the "Costa Brava" and eventually end up in Barcelona after riding our bikes through milles and miles of european coastal summer tourist playground.

Spontaneous combustion?

2009-07-25T15:24:00.004+02:00

Found in France. I am not exactly sure what the traffic department is trying to suggest here. It pretty much looks like they try to warn you that your vehicle might suddenly and spontaneously blow up :)
Whatever its meaning - it certainly does qualify for my #1 favorite road sign ever!

Les Gorges du Verdon

2009-07-16T01:14:00.008+02:00

From the small town of Barcelonette in Provence, Susan and I descend southwards into the famous Canyon of Verdon (French: Les Gorges du Verdon). This natural canyon offers hiking, biking, canoeing, canyoning and whatever else outdoor enthusiasts can imagine. There are two routes along the canyon: north and south (or left and right as they are called locally). We opt for the southern route with its high climb up to 1200m and thus its harsh, steep, gasping nearly vertical walls of more than 700m straight down (picture on the right). The weather is hot and we arrive tired and sweaty at a big deep blue lake at the bottom outlet of the canyon where we set up camp.
The next day we head to Arles, a very beautiful town in Carmargue with narrow alleys, amphitheater and other roman feats. From Arles it is just a dayride to Montpellier, another fascinating place with historic old quarters an cozy atmosphere. We spend three days there to fuel up on city life and good food before we head south for the French/Spanish border.

Suzin 1000

2009-07-16T00:54:00.007+02:00

On the way from the 2250m high "Col d`Allos" into the Verdon valley we hit Susan`s first 1000 kilometer on this trip. Since we are in France, what is better to celebrate this event than a bottle of Champagne?

We stop at the roadside in a small forest and "Hurray (French: ´urray)!" goes the bubbly. With it goes our balance. After we drown the bottle we both decide that we better leave the bikes be bikes for the rest of the day. Conveniently, there is a beautiful camping spot right there in the forest (...I guess a bottle of booze might have the power to turn quite a large number of average camping spots into beautiful camping spots...).

After we set up camp and start feeling less dizzy we realize what a beautiful camping spot it really is: there is a wild roaring river with cristal clear glacier water right next to us and the whole forest is full of wild strawberries!!! We start loving the place so much that we stay for two days before we continue towards the grand canyon.

Wild strawberry milkshake - great!

Apricot cake (or: the double boiler)

2009-07-16T00:37:00.006+02:00

One day we decide to eat pancakes. Pancakes rock - they are sweat and easy to make, especially when one carries a hiker`s teflon pan (it`s just a standard household pan but with the handle sawn off... very recommendable :)
The downside of making pancakes: what do you do with the rest of a whole kilogramm of flour and sugar? Having had a double whammy of pancakes for breakfast (with self made plum jam from self picked plums on the roadside - yummy) one is less likely to eat another serving for dinner.
Pancakes won`t happen for a while.
Since we have a big bunch of apricots (also collected at the roadside) I decide to start a small experiment: "Is it possible to use my Primus fuel burner as an oven?" Using my biggest and smallest pot I create a double boiler. A butter-rich dough spiked with fresh apricot slices goes in. I try various variations for the lid: no lid, flat lid with holes, upside down teflon pan. The teflon pan works best!
After an hour of fiddling I`ve got a slightly soggy but coherent apricot cake on my plate. Success - long live the Primus double boiler!!!

(It also works great for Thai rice, Polenta and Spanish Tortilla. No burning at the bottom... let me know your recipies if you start your own experiments :)

Piemont and the Maritime Alps

2009-07-15T21:46:00.007+02:00

From Corsica Susan and I ship to the Italian port or Savona. We hadn`t yet determined how to continue from here. So now we need to decide between the ocean route the along the Mediterranean Cote d`Azur (via Nice/Nizza and Monacco) and the up-and-down of the Piemontese Alps. We are both pretty tired from the tough hike in Corsica but in the end opt for the more challenging but pitoresque inland route: via the provincial capital Cuneo through the steep Piemontese Stura-valley across the 1996m high "Col de Larche" pass to Haute-Provence in France. The pass will be Susan`s first by bicycle. After a good rest in the small and welcoming town of Millesimo we head to Cuneo and into the hills.
To the majority of people Piemont might only be known because its cherries are turned into the candy "Mon Cherie" by the producer of "Nutella" and golden "Rocher" balls. Tourism has not touched Piemont much in the past - the landscape is much to rough for skiing tourism or easy hiking. Additionally (or as a cause of this) Piemont has become depopulated; the young polulation continually moved away to the bigger industrial Italian cities to find employment and pleasure. But since a few years so called "Eco-tourism" has been introduced into the region and offers breathtaking hiking routes combined with an experience of the local culture and cuisine. The famous long distance route GTA (Gran Traversale di Alpi) crosses Piemont during its 60 day-hikes from Switzerland all the way to the coast of the Mediterranean - a fabulous trip that leads almost every day a steep way over a high pass and down into a new valley.
(I hiked part of the GTA in 2007 and highly recommend this trail to all long distance hiking enthusiasts!)

But for now Susan and I are riding bicycles. Considering the weight we both carry in our panniers even the lower passes are challening. The "Col de Larche" has been part of the famous "Giro d´Italia", the Italian equivalent of the "Tour de France". In two daytrips we make it to the top and cross the Italian-French border. Susan is tired but also very happy as she whizzes downhill into French province Provence.

When we arrive the small town of Barcelonette I discover that I had been ignorant to the fact that the magnificent canyon of the Verdon river lay to our left. There is only one problem between Verdon and us: another alpine pass: "Col d`Allos".

Surprisingly, Susan is all up for it. On my map the pass is indicated with an altitude of 1759m, a small cookie compared to yesterdays 1996m. As Barcelonette is already on 1100m we only have to make a bit more than 600 meters - not so terrible.

The next day we start off early any wind up the narrow pass road through breathtaking terrain. One detail that we observe is that the road is closed for motorized traffic every friday morning so that cyclists can enjoy their ride without petrolized disturbances. What a great idea. The second thing we observe is that there are little milestones on the roadside every kilometer to indicate the gradient and the actual altitude. The third thing we observe is that there is a milestone that says 1844m. Wasn´t the pass going to be at 1759m?

I verify with the map and realize that I had gotten the wrong number - the pass is at 2250m, so we actually have to cycle almost twice as high as expected!!! In the end it all works out - once you`re at it you`re at it. We are both exhausted and happy when we arrive on top and take a glance into the next valley and at the gorgeous downhill that expects us.

Susan. And Sardegna. And Corsica.

2009-06-29T16:20:00.007+02:00

Who is Susan? This is Susan :)
We leave Berlin early on a sunny morning and fly to Sardegna with our bicycles packed in two big heavy cartons - to arrive at the Mediterranean in a chilly downpour. But the weather changes quickly and after a few days we sweat away at almost 40 degrees centigrade on the steep roads of this amazingly beautiful island. Susan just comes out of her job in Nigeria and the hills present a rather hard training.
However the hardship - in the end the beaches and the clear blue water compensate for any painstaking effort that one has to go through in order to reach them.
Sardegna offers a wide range of different landscapes. Steep rocky terrain with small hidden bays, dense pine forests, dry rough hills, high cliffs falling into the ocean, sanddunes, low wide fertile agricultural plains, narrow canyons, wide sand beaches... and always fantastically clear blue water!

After two weeks on the west coast of Sardegna we take a ferry to the northern island of Corsica. The beaches are just as pretty as in Sardegna and after a first dip-in we decide to do something antirely different: mountains. Corsica has a massive mountainrange running all through its middle from south to north and it features what is described to us as the european cult-hiking-path GR20. We leave the bikes at a camping site at the beginning of the trail and pack our backpacks and get going. The trail is tough and demanding. It leads through a different type of terrain almost every day and on clear days you see the ocean - sometimes to both sides of the trail!!!

Hiking-fanatics: this is really worth a trip :)

Tough and hot as it is we don`t manage to do all the 15 day hikes that it takes to make ot all the way from Porto Vecchio in the south to Calvi in the north or Corsica. We decide to make our GR20 adventure a GR10 stop in the middle to hitch hike back to the bicycles. Then we follow the east coast all the way up to Bastia where we sit now and wait for the famous yellow ships of Corsica/Sardinia Ferries to take us back to the European mainland.

The new bike

2009-06-29T16:12:00.005+02:00

So this is the new old look... Hardo Wagner managed to send me their "Trekking" frame quick enough to arrive in Berlin at the same time as Susan does. Her bike is already receiving a thorough overhaul...

At the same time as I change my frame from Fat City Cycles to Hardo Wagner I also change my brake system to Magura hydraulic rim brakes (see Statistics on http://www.globetreter.gmxhome.de/).

The bike rides great. And on top of this it is as BLUE as my old one.

This is the end...

2009-06-16T12:43:00.003+02:00

Sadly, on my way to Rome I discover that my beloved Fat Chance Monster Fat frame has developed a spiral shaped crack close to the bottom bracket. The frame is now almost 20 years old!!! I hesitate to have it welded but then decide to contact the German bicycle maufacturer "Hardo Wagner/Ferrotech" and ask for their support. In record speed they are able to ship a new frame to Berlin were I fly a couple of days later to pick it up together with my girlfriend Susan who will join me cycling in Sardinia and Corsica...
Until then I jerry-rig my old frame with a bandage made out of an old coke can and some duct tighteners and hope that it will still last until Neaples.

Rome

2009-05-27T12:04:00.002+02:00

It is said somewhere that all roads lead to Rome. Well - if you happen to travel on the west coast of Italy you will find that in this region all roads lead to all kind of directions but only one single road leads to Rome - and that one is THE NATIONAL HIGHWAY (called "Super Strada" -bicycles and hitch hiking explicitly forbidden!) Thank you.
After a minute of hesitation and another minute of simplified road rage (nobody around from the ministry of traffic to scream at...) I simply keep going. More than a hundred kilometers to go. The combination of aggressive Italian traffic with intensive Italian sun makes easily aggressive. I speed along the highway with increased levels of adrenaline and testosterone and have to stop every once in a while to refuel my energy with sweets and crisps. When the heat becomes unbearable I stop at a highway restaurant called "Autogrill" and have gelato and coffee while I observe the Italian highway life until the sunlight becomes weaker around 5pm.
Then I continue my southbound quest to the capital. During the cause of the day 5 police cars drive by but nobody seems to be bothered by the fact that it is forbidden to ride a bicycle on the highway...
I pass by the big port of Civitavecchia and finally arrive in Ostia, the anciant Roman port. Here I park my bicycle in a bike-shop and visit Rome by train.

Rome is a great city! There is so much to see that a single day is certainly not sufficient to satisfy one's interest. But at the same time one is so overwhelmed with all the old buildings, temples and whatnot that spending several days in a row would probably not help either. I guess one needs to come back to Rome frequently to take it in bit by bit: one day the temples, one day the river, another day the winding little sideroads and finally the colloseum and the circus... which will then still leave several days for all the delicious foodstuff and ice cream!

Tuscany hills - Firenze - Pisa

2009-05-25T17:42:00.012+02:00

From Ravenna I follow the Adriatic coast to the once famous holiday destination of Rimini. The cyclepath here is really enjoyable as it leads through pine forests and nature reserves, along the beaches and fishing ponds and little streams. Rimini does not strike me as a very desirable destination: the once so fancy holiday world has crumbled when people moved to fancier places. Cheap concrete buildings, lonely mini-golf or tennis courts wait in vain for the next season that won`t ever come.

The sadest thing after overcrowded holiday resorts are abandoned holiday resorts. (Discard after use...)

From Rimini I climb into the hills again. My next destination is Firenze (Florence) and to get there I need to get over a couple of ridges of lush green Tuscany hills.

The landscape is wonderful but so is the weather - there isn`t a single cloud in the sky - 30 to 35 degrees centigrade and I am sweating my lungs out. The ascents into the hills are steep and despite lower altitudes it feels to me as if this is a much harder excercise than crossing the alps. The heat is a real killer! What would I not give for some snow left and right...
To make life more bearable I decide to stay in the hills during the night to enjoy the cool air.

The trees and shrubs are in bloom everywhere here! Soon there will be apples, pears, strawberries and blackberries, figues, grapes and what not. Near Firenze there are a lot of old alleys. The giant trees at the roadside provide comfortable shade but at the same time the roads are narrow and the traffic is hard to bear, especially when tree roots push through the asphalt and create lots of bumps that make you fly high in your seat everytime you hit one. Still, very enjoyable cycling here indeed!

Firenze is stunning with its enormous palaces and buildings, bridges and squares. It is difficult to take it all in - so much of it in all directions. You turn a corner and almost hope to encounter some dull dwelling that won`t challenge your brain with more frescoes, pillars, ornamented windows or other playful architectural elements.

What is thorroughly unnerving are the hordes of tourists running about with their guides carrying the oh so typical poles with green, red or yellow flags shouting their multilingual messages through little microphone-loudspeaker combos dangling from their necks. (But then again - even on a bicycle one is a tourist as well and adds to the crowd...)

So I leave Firenze direction Mediterranean coastline with a fried brain, partly from the heat but mostly from information overload.

When I arrive in Pisa after a day of wild weekend traffic I am happy about the relaxed atmosphere (compared to Firenze). The leaning tower is leaning away in a big wide park next to the duomo and people hang out on the greens that surround it. I get myself a "Gelato" and join the crowd on the cold green grass. Bliss.

Then I travel on to spend the night at the coast. After all the hot hills I fancy a swim - partly because I haven`t showered for almost a week :)

Between many fancy restaurants and private beaches (...Access denied - private...) I suddenly spot a sign of the Italian Red Cross and decide to pay them a visit. I imagine a little lonely bay watch tower standing somewhere on the wide beach. But then I realize that the Italian Red Cross has a massive beach base here entirely for the recreation of it`s members! They have their OWN BEACH!!!

After a short talk with the handyman I am allowed to spend the night. I am even treated to a shower and a coffee and after 9pm have the entire area at my disposal. I prepare a delicious dinner (Seafood soup) and enjoy the view. Life is great! (...hey, anyone from MSF headquarters is reading this by coincidence?!)
The next morning I head south down the coast direction Rome. Soon I hit a very pleasant spot and decide to take a break from cycling for a day. The coastline is rocky here and there is a small terrace up in the rocks just big enough for my little tent.

The rocks are wild and have sharp edges running through their surface. Funny little basins have been washed out of the rock that catch the seawater at spring tide and dry up during one tide cycle until they contain only a thin crust of sea salt.

Ravenna

2009-05-09T19:52:00.009+02:00

Cycling via the city of Ravenna meant a big detour for me and my loaded compagnion. We are on our way from the Alps to Napoli, which is located half way down the "boot's leg" on the west cost of Italy. But Ravenna is east, a bit more than a hundred kilometers south of Venice. What made me cycle all this extra detour was that I had read in some book (probably Mark Twain: The Innocents Abroad) that the windows of some of the buildings here are made of alabaster - stone which is manufactured so thinly that the light shines through it!

Ravenna itself is a medium sized city with about 150.000 inhabitants. Its founding dates back to the times B.C. and Ravenna has lots of history with one government overthrowing the other and popes and then kaisers so on. I spare you the details - I admit I don't understand all of them well enough. I did understand though that in earlier times it had been directly on the waterfront of the Adrian sea. But now the land rose (or the water fell) and it is about 9 kilometers to the salty waters of the Adria.

So - back to the windows made of stone. Every second building here is a church and of those every second is UNESCO world heritage. The reason: the people, especially the artists of Ravenna had developed what Adobe Photoshop would do again in modern times - pixelization. Thousands of tiny little dots of various colours assembled to a big picture - mosaics!
From the outside many a building looks tame with its simple red brick wall and low angled roof. But the moment you step inside a new universe unveils! It is marble walls and mosaic pictures all over. Most scenes are biblical - Jesus being baptised, three kings, Jesus and a flock of lambs, Mary between angels... and even without a strong religious background the sight is simply breathtaking! To imagine how meniculous and passionate the workers must have been colouring, assembling and mounting all the tiles. Some pictures have large portions of gold plated tiles that glitter in the sunlight. Really impressive!

And then, in a place called "Mausoleum di Galla Placida" where it is believed that an ancient female kaiser is buried I find what I came for to begin with: windows made of stone. So thin that the light shines through it. Manifacured thousands of years ago, at a time when you were thrown into the same deep dungeons with people who claimed that earth was a sphere if you would have mentionned the names of Black&Decker, Hilti and Makita... Incredible!

Another thing I love about Ravenna is the fact that there are bicycles everywhere!!! As a tourist you even get one for free from the tourist information or youth hostel staff. The bright yellow bikes stand around and wait for you to go ahead and ride them through town from Mausoleum to cafe, from Duomo to Gelateria, from the train station to your hostel and back. Lots of locals seem to have understood that parking a car or a scooter is far too much of a hassle compared to simply pedalling the couple of hundred meters. And some even get married on a bicycle (see below). Ravenna - simply great. Worth every detour!

Piadina and Crescione

2009-05-09T19:20:00.007+02:00

I guess by now most readers have figured out that I like to eat. Cycling and eating goes hand in hand. Well, luckily - cycling and burning lots of calories does go hand in hand, too. Now there are countries on our beautiful planet where eating doesn't really present much of a joy - Italy is not one of them. In every city, in every village, yet behind every street corner lurks a new way to make your mouth water. Here in Ravenna it is Piadina and Crescione time!

It might not seem like it but this little hut to the lower right makes some of the most delicious food on earth! It is my humble (subjective) opinion and who doesn't believe it should better join those who do believe it and then make their way to Ravenna and try this stuff!
Honestly, in our moment of joy my taste buds and I forgot to ask what the batter is made of but we all strongly believe it contains wheat flour, yeast, water and salt. Maybe olive oil. It doesn't matter anyway. The two ladies at the bottom know precisely what goes in there and more importantly how to fry and stuff the Piadina! I ask them to prepare for me what most people usually order and the two suggest a filling of prosciutto crudo, cotto cheese and ruccola salad.
Fantasitco!

Also on offer are Crescione, the little guys behind the glass window on the upper left. They look like a folded over calzone pizza and the one filled with salsiccia (minced meat, morzarella cheese, tomatoes) made my taste buds do a little dance of joy.
If you have never considered going to Ravenna because you think that mosaic sucks, then you might want to consider hanging around for this stuff! YUM YUM YUM.

Spaghetti - no! Tagliatelle.

2009-05-07T14:23:00.006+02:00

Bologna. What woulld you do in Bologna. Especially around lunchtime? Spaghetti come to your mind?
Wrong.
We, the Germans think that every Italian munches away on Spaghetti Bolognese. We have restaurants specializing in Spaghetti Bolognese. All you get is Spaghetti Bolognese.
Yet, if you come to Bologna you will be crucified asking for these (...crucifying being somehow kind of a tradition down here in good old Italia...)
Here in Bologna I learned that the famous "Ragu Bolognese" is mostly eaten with Tagliatelle. NOT SPAGHETTI.

So off I go to Via dell' Independenza and find Diana, in the center of the city, a nice (posh) retaurant that offers nothing I usually ask for. Fancy decorations, luxury chairs, a huge wine cellar and waiters dressed in white. But - it does offer an excellent ragu.
I order just that and do in fact fancy a glass of red wine on the side. Problem is (the waiter with the massive belly all dressed in white explains to me) there are no "glasses" of wine. You take a bottle or you can maybe have a coke. But a "glass" of wine you can enjoy at "Tony's" down the road. Here it's a bottle or nothin'.
Well. I do fancy a glass. So what choice do I have? In any case, I wanted to make it all the way to Ravenna this afternoon. But then again, who's in a hurry? So, what the heck - bring on the bloody bottle!
...
...
...
Woah, I can only say that I enjoyed the ragu. With a mountain of Parmeggiano. And a bottle of vino rosso. Plus a cafe (Segafredo) in the end. Forget Ravenna for the afternoon. I might better just hang out here and have a gelato and another cafe!
prosit :)

The Swiss Alps

2009-05-04T10:03:00.014+02:00

Ah, good old Black Forest!
Just when spring hits the region I am back to continue my trip. Cherry, apple and pear treas are all in bloom, I stroll around with my mother and enjoy the beauty of the nature. All the while my bicycle impatiently wiggles its tail and cannot wait to leave - on a clear day it is possible to see the snow covered peaks of the Swiss Alps from here!
Crossing the Alps in May isn't trivial. There is still lots of snow everywhere. The pass of St. Gotthard that I used to cross the Alps back in 1997 has more than 9 meters of snow!!! Nine meters - that's the height of a three-story-building!

But some passes are open all year. I decide to cycle past the tiny country called Fuerstentum Liechtenstein and take the Julierpass (2248m) to arrive in the jet-set-famous town of St. Moritz. Kempinski Hotel lures the international old money, film star and otherwise yuppy scene with 5 stars and lots of glamour. When I arrive the place is closed for spring break and looks like a dump. Not only the Kempinski looks like shit, also the whole town. Cheap built high-rise-holiday-bunkers distract from the few original local style dwellings from back-in-the-days. (Poor profit hungry idiots - God/Allah/Buddha etc. bless them for they don't seem to have the wits of knowing what they are doing. Hey, why don't you also invest in some real estate on the Belgium coast? No wonder the richies come in their Bentleys, Ferraris and Porsches - the town of St. Moritz itself isn't much to bragg about anymore).

Alright. I stay in a cozy bed and breakfast, wash me and my laundry and hit the road again the next morning. From St.Moritz there is a way downhill via Maloja Pass (1815m) to Lago di Como. But I prefer to stay a little longer in the mountains and take the Bernina Pass (2330m) eastward. The road goes parallel with the Raetische Bahn - a train crossing the pass!
And here I say it again: EVERYBODY CAN CYCLE OVER THE ALPS! Just do it. It is so much easier than you think. No extensive training needed. All you need is time and willpower. When you get tired then rest for a while or push it (...here on the road across Bernina Pass you even have a train for backup!)

On top of Bernina i meet Andrea, a nice Italian fellow who invites me to visit his hometown near Milano once I pass by the region. I hesitate to follow his offer. I didn't originally plan to pass by the region. But then again - why not? Milano is supposed to be a nice town worth a visit, no?

From Bernina I let it roll down into Italy. And once I arrive I do the very best of all things in Italy - I sit in a small cafe next to a giant church and have a coffee with a brioche for breakfast. And then another coffee and another brioche :)

... oh, one thing I almost forgot about Switzerland: chocolate. It tastes so good because of its makers. They are quite a funny bunch!

There were many more different types, some with long hair and some with long horns and some with both. Some without hair and without horns. And some with quite fashionable piercings that could easily compete with what is running around in Berlin these days...

The best thing to do with your S.U.V.

2009-05-02T11:39:00.001+02:00

Found in Switzerland. For me definitely the best thing to do with your useless-powerhungry-environmentpoluting-childthreatening-mydickisbiggerthanyourdick-fuckall-sport-utility-vehicle.
What is SPORT about a vehicle anyway and about such a silly one as an S.U.V. in particular?

Zapps vs. Kettle

2009-05-01T11:35:00.001+02:00

Alright, alright. Kettle chips rock (see post end of 2008). Zapps chips rock, too! Straight from Louuisiana they shake up your taste buds into a salt'n'vinegar party!
Anybody any other suggestions? Please send a sample :)
(disclaimer: products with artificial aroma or containing MSG will be disqualified)

Basel - Naples

2009-04-23T11:57:00.005+02:00

Yepp, I am on my way again. I almost wrote "finally" but then "finally" doesn't seem to exist. What is final? Or forever.
I am leaving the Black Forest in the last week of April and head over the Swiss Alps down to Italy. It is said that they make the best pizza in the world in Naples because the water down there contains sulfites that originate from the volcano. And that makes the dough special. I'll surely try both - the pizza and the volcano.

Chad - Vaccination Campaign

2009-02-06T13:23:00.008+01:00

Once more... a little detour. This time to the Sahel Zone for a 6 week measles vaccination campaign. The region has been shaken by conflict for several years now. Hundred thousands of refugees from Sudan are seeking safety in Chad since the end of 2003. But they did not find peace here but an instable region that is more and more drawn into the conflict across the border. Medecins Sans Frontieres will carry out a vaccination campaign trying to protect several ten thousand children against Measles. Measles is one of the biggest preventable child killers world wide!

After that, in the beginning of april 2009, it is back to the road on my bicycle - over the alps and down to Italy, France, Andorra, Spain, Portugal and Morrocco. You could argue that I am a year late (I had originally planned to be in Morrocco last november) but hey, it's been a fantastic year for me! Better late than sorry, isn't it?

Books 2008

2008-12-13T18:50:00.009+01:00

For those who are interested, here come again a couple of nice books that I had the chance to read in 2008. This time with comments...

If it says on the label of your shampoo that it will enhance the glance of your hair by 63% is that really possible?
"Geekspeak" is written by a Scottish Pysicist who claims to be one of the world's biggest Geeks. He isn't able to just sit idle somewhere - wherever he is, his brain asks for answers: How much power does that wave over there in the ocean possibly have? How fast is that airplane flying over here? Are those chubby angels above the altar really able to take off with those tiny wings of theirs?
He explains how we are all able to calculate those and many more things with what we already know about the world... no need to consult the internet or ask experts. Actually, he tells you how to quickly calculate whether so-called-experts tell the truth or not...
So does shampoo enhance your glance by any chance?

Valley Of The Casbahs", a well written travel report by an American who, inspired by the great Explorer Thesiger, travels for several weeks by camel caravan through a layed back Morrocan valley. He offers insights into the nomadic lifestyle of the local population and how this traditional way of life changes in our modern times.

The absolute classic travel report by Mark Twain: "The Innocents Abroad". In 1867, in times long before mass tourism, frequent-flyer-miles, the World Wars and the conflict in the Middle-East, Mark Twain travels by paddle steamer on what is called the first ever "Leisure Excursion" from New York to Palestine. Very witty and full of interesting fact and stories.

"Longitude" researches the story of the simple watchmaker Hamilton who dedicated his life to making the most precise watch of its time. A watch that could travel on board a ship and so enable its navigators to determine their exact position at sea. In a hard and not always fair played competition against famous astronomers - long before our age of satellite navigation -he wins the race to solve one of the most important problems of his times. Captain Cook and other famous sea farers travelled with his original watches which are now on display in the Royal Observatory Museum in Greenwich.

In "Life of Pi" Yann Martel tells the touching and philosophical story of a young man who survives the sinking of a big cargo ship on its trip from India to America only to find himself in a liferaft with several large animals, amongst them a Hyiena and a Bengal Tiger!

Yes, it sounds a bit freaky to read a book with the subtitle "A guide to spritual enlightenment". But if one doesn't regard it as the ultimate wisdom (just as one shouldn't do with any, and particularily not with any religious book) then "The Power Of Now" reveals interesting thoughts about happiness, our concept of time and the way we live our axious and stressful lives today. And by the way, who is the freak - the one who is taking a deep breath and sees life a bit more relaxed or the one who isn't?

I read it again this year. And I probably read it again in 2009. "The Passion" is a story about love, hatred and what makes life worth living. Jeanette Winterson has the gift to put things into poetic language that I felt I always knew. They were somewhere inside of me but I just wasn't even able to put them into thoughts.

This book is translated from the original title: "A World Of My Own" by Robin John Knox. In 1959, he is the first person to ever sail around the world nonstop and single handed! What makes his trip so special is the fact that he is a simple commercial sailor while some of his competitors in the single-handed race around the world are millionaires who have special boats constructed for this purpose. He tries to acquire sponsors for his adventure but doesn't receive any positive feedback. So when time starts running out he just uses his slow, self-built wooden ship "Suhaili"... and wins!

And for all those who like a snack at the side when they're reading, or for those who prefer the movies, well for anybody... this here is the King, the Queen, the Prince and the Princess of potato chips!!! I found them (they found me?) first somewhere in Scotland. But now that I know them I find them all over the world. To quit smoking is easier than to stop eating before the pack is empty.

The German Rivers - from Kassel to Basel

2008-12-12T17:26:00.020+01:00

Beautiful Germany!
Ahhh, it just feels how the saying goes: "Manchmal sieht man den Wald vor lauter Bäumen nicht - Sometimes one doesn't see the forest because of all the trees."

Now I have lived here in middle Europe for the longest part of my life and I mostly went abroad to seek beautiful nature and exitement. What a fool I am - it's all been right in front of my doorstep! Ok, I agree, nothing beats the roughness of the Norwegian coastline. Nothing beats the thrill of standing next to large game in the Kenyan or Tanzanian savanna. Nothing beats the emptyness of Mongolia. But do we always need to beat a record just because we need a bit of recreation? By now, with all those cheap airline offers we fly half around the globe for a fucking weekend trip!!! We work in Bruxelles (ahem, they... at this point I do exclude myself) and fly home to Berlin, Barcelona and Belgrade to meet our partners on Saturdays. Hello?!

Some of my friends (I am sure some of yours, too) don't feel as if they are on a holiday if they don't get there in economy class. I must admit that I admire their simplicity: Visa card, E-ticket, security check, go to gate 23. Always the same stuff to pack: passport, bikini, aftersun lotion. A book in duty free along with a new pair of sunglasses. Towels are handed out at the bar next to the 4-star-all-inclusive pool. And how turquise the water is! And how cheap the cocktails! And how hot the sun! And how you can eat as many barbequed shrimps as you desire!

Well, yes, this is different. The European waterways. Muscle power. What a bore. It is certainly more interesting to excercise during Kieser Training sessions. And who wants to get to Dresden and Prague along the river Elbe? Or to Paris and LeHavre along the Seine? Budapest along the Danube? Or to Bordeaux, Valencia, Sevilla, Belgrade, Florence, Pisa or Marseille?

However, for all those jet-setters who are kind of bored with the way all 4-star-luxury hotels look the same, worse, all their guests (including you...) or who feel that lately their CO2 footprint starts looking obese; there is a new paradise to be discovered, unveiled, explored: your home country.

These friendly little books show just a little selection of fantastic trips along Europe's rivers! From the source to the delta or the opposite way, be assured that you will have an experience that will not forget for along time: small wooden bridges over little trickling streams, birds nesting and hunting along the shore, small side roads and singletracks through a moist, rich senting forest, cozy little huts on the roadside to seek shelter from the occasional rain, beautiful old town centres, churches, monasteries, waterfalls, gorges... NATURE! There are plenty of restaurants, camping sites and hostels along the way (you can even make pre-bookings on the internet). There are bicycle shops and other cyclists to ask for help with a flat or other technical issues, and there are plenty exciting and interesting things to see and learn not only for kids but also for adults. There are grottoes, castles, beaches and fantasy forests everywhere. You just have to go and get them!
Within the range of a couple of hundred kilometers of your hometown you will find a big river that goes through pretty exciting places. The Danube, the Elbe, the Neckar, the Altmuehl, the Rhone, the Seine, the Dordogne, the Po, the Rhine, the Themse, the Shannon, and so many more.

The downside is: there are no overpriced duty-free stores. So you will have to get your book and your shades in a real shop. You might have to hop on a train and enjoy the view. You also have to live without the excitement of a security check each and every time you change planes (but they don't take away the Swiss Army Knife and the lighter in your hand luggage!). And you will not receive any additional frequent flyer miles. (If you have already had this thought - please stop reading my blog.)

From Kassel (where I visited the Rohloff factory) I first follow the river Fulda southwards. Riding along the course of a river is perfect when you don't feel like a champion. A river usually isn't flowing over a lot of hills. It goes pretty smooth. And if you are lucky it goes downhill - all the way to the ocean.

It is mid November now, the weather is getting pretty cold. At night the temperature drops almost to zero. When I am lucky I stay overnight in small wooden shelters or on the terrace of a fishing club. I have only my summer sleepingbag and so I freeze a bit if I don't eat enough for dinner. That's why I usually make a big pot of stew in the evenings. Fresh vegetables, potatoes, carrottes, turnip, celery, onions, cabbage and a bit of meat - mhhhhh. Eating something hot as well as drinking sufficiently makes a big change during the night.
The mornings are beautiful! Drops of dew on the grass, mist in the forests and the fields. There are still some flocks of migrating birds flying south. And those who stay for the winter sing for breakfast. Once in a while I pass a bird-watching-tower, wooden platforms near a lake or nature reserve that permit observing animals without disturbing them much. I see herons, falcons, eagles, swans, wild geese, countless ravens and lots of small stuff that I don't know the names of.

At the river Kinzig (Kinzigtalsperre) I make the first 10.000km of this trip around the globe. Hang on, that's a quarter or the world circumference and I just made it from Berlin to Frankfurt?! Whatever - I've just cycled through Sweden, Finland, Norway, England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Belgium, The Netherlands and Germany. Satisfied I sit down, light a cigarette and enjoy the scenery.

Along small roads with very little traffic I continue my way south. I cross the river Main and cycle through the Odenwald to Mannheim where I visit an old friend from highschool. Then I follow the river Neckar to Stuttgart and see some friends from university. Many times I cross big bridges over the busy (famous or infamous?!) German Autobahn. Thousands - no - millions of people are in a rush to get to work and back home. Thousands more spend their time working on the Autobahn as truck drivers, highway patrol and repairmen. I remember how I used to feel the haste on these roads; always in a hurry to arrive, always looking at the speed-meter and the numerous warning signs at the road side. Always pissed off at the roadworks for slowing down the traffic or at someone else speeding. Always impatiently looking for the next gas station, and barely ever enjoying the ride.

Now, another couple of quiet side roads along the river Lauchert and the Danube finally bring me to the Hochrhein-valley (river Rhine) and to the Swiss border where I arrive at my mother's. The Danube is absolutely lovely! In this part there are steep gorges, lots of castles and traditional Fachwerk architecture - a real pleasure and a great tip for a family trip. If you wish you can follow this very long river all the way to the black sea. Romania!

In the small town of Wehr I arrive in late November, just in time to celebrate my mother's birthday. The day after my arrival it starts storming and snowing heaviliy. Not a good time to cross the Alps in Switzerland. My two months'
detour for Medecins Sans Frontieres to India now takes its toll. And so what? I decide to spend Christmas and with it the entire winter once more at my brother's in northern Norway. If snow then lots of it! Plus Husky dogs :)

Religious studies in Ihringhausen

2008-11-17T16:40:00.008+01:00

The reason to take a big detour via Kassel instead of following the river Rhine from Holland to the Black Forest is a small specialized company called Rohloff. Bernd and Barbara Rohloff started with their production of bicycle chains more than 20 years ago somewhere in a crappy shed in a German back garden.
They had the vision to produce an entirely new concept of flexible chains because they anticipated a rise in chain-based gear shifting. In the years to come they consequently (and with the help of relatives and friends taking shifts in the production shed) developed and tested a new kind of chain which today simply has become the best bicycle chain in the world that you can purchase over a counter - the Rohloff SLT 99.
After the successful development of the chain it kind of turned quiet around Rohloff for a decade or so. Until a couple of years ago a revolutionary new shifting system appeared - the Rohloff Speedhub. 14 gears integrated into an internal hub shifting - no more need for a dozen chainwheels and sprockets to whiz and whirl with the help of derailleurs in the front and back. The hub is filled with oil that automatically lubricates the whole system during the rotation of the wheel.
I had installed a Speedhub on my bicycle before my trip through Tibet in 2006. The terrain would be tough, the air sandy, the temperatures challenging - a perfect place to test my new gimmick with the idea to maybe take it all around the world.
Now, 12.000 kilometers later I am absolutely convinced of this technology and see if I can meet the grand masters in their factory in Ihringhausen.

The visit turns out a fantastic experience. I arrive Thursday and receive a comforting introduction into the technical details of the shifting. Other cyclists turn up unexpectedly who just traveled three years in South America by bicycle - also Rohloff equipped. The factory has a comfortable, almost cozy feel to it and the distinctive metallic-lubricant smell of all metal works. It is easily recognizable what counts most: quality instead of quantity - every hub is assembled and tested by hand here.
Thomas (technical support) gives me a nice and useful introduction. But where are the grand masters themselves? Sorry, too busy. Understandable with today’s output of 20.000 units per year.
Thomas and I discuss possible wear and tear that might happen during my trip around the globe and he hands me some spare screws and parts to take along. I then leave my bicycle in the factory and head to the city of Goettingen by rail to see an old friend from highschool and her family over the weekend. How time flies - we haven’t met for 10 years…!!!
After a few days of beautiful family life I return to Ihringhausen on Saturday afternoon, to pick up the bike and still have some daylight to find a place to camp. Well, that was the original plan… on my way back from Goettingen the train is taken apart in the middle and the front part goes this way while the rear part goes another. I am - guess what - in the wrong part and go the wrong way smack into the middle of German nowhere. I curse the German railway system including all managers, station officers, sales agents and conductors and then figure out that it didn’t help and I am still standing on the same platform in Fuck-all-nowhere-town (…wind blowing, tumbleweed rolling by, music fades out…); alone with only a strange looking woman sitting next to me who is wolfing down a generous helping of potato salad (40% mayonnaise) with the aid of a torn up wheat roll (half the sauce runs along her chubby fingers and she later licks them with her whitish-green mayonnaise tongue… *hrgggh*).
“Great!” I think but then remember how we (happily and voluntarily) used to watch films like “Delicatessen” or “The Blob” when I was young. “Mayonnaise Queen” isn’t so bad entertainment after all - I mean it is still another two hours until a train heads back to the junction and there isn’t even a coffee machine here, leave alone a newspaper agent. After a while I notice another detail: a small metal plate on the opposite wall announces an interesting geographical fact: The ass of the world is situated precisely 232 meters (700ft) above sea level! Who would have guessed?

When I arrive back at Rohloff’s the sun has long sunk. Barbara picks me up from the train station and we drive to the factory. Bernd is sitting on a bench in front of the door having a smoke. They are both very nice, communicative people and not only offer me their sofa for the night but also to take me along to a friend’s birthday party. Fantastic! Over beer and roast pork we philosophize about the universe and its bicycle mechanics.
We also talk about their company logo - a black raven. Barbara and Bernd have for years rescued young ravens from the surrounding villages. Some fall out of their nests or get lost during their early days and it became a passion for the Rohloffs to take care of those highly intelligent birds. They tell plenty of funny anecdotes about how their ravens grew up, raided brunch buffets and trained themselves in thievery of important metal parts from the production line… and then they just became integrated into the Logo.
The next morning, before I leave (Sunday!), Bernd gets up early to change my run down Shimano chain into something proper. I try to assist but stand there like angels must do in heaven when God is creating new earthy gadgets. I observe but feel kind of silly with my morning coffee in hand while right next to me THE bicycle guru himself installs a new SLT 99 (my fist one) on my blue elephant!!! I look at him and think to myself: “Yes - God does have white hair. Both of them - Barbara and he.”

Thank you guys for the great time, the spare parts and all the good advise!

Holland (and Germany) post India

2008-11-17T16:24:00.008+01:00

After 15 hours, two in flight meals and a movie I land again in Amsterdam Shiphol Airport. Hurray – I am happy that I brought my fleece pullover along. It is 5 degrees Celsius (Fahrenheit = you freeze) and what the pilot calls light rainfall (it is pouring).
I make it to the hotel in the city center and collapse on the double bed. In the past two months I had two afternoons off. Now is the time to sleep.
The next day debriefing and medical screening and a decent dinner. Then I pick up my beloved bicycle again that has waited for me in the office basement. We hug and cuddle and kiss and re-inflate its tyres and load it with all my stuff and off we go direction Utrecht and then Germany. Very fast I notice that the light clothes that I am wearing aren't really what I need in this kind of weather. Well, it wasn't really my plan either to still be in Holland in November. I should be in Italy by now! All my winter stuff is in Norway at my brother's...

Ah, stuff it – I'll do fine. I buy a fleece shawl and leave. The first night I regret not buying more warm clothes – I just returned from 30 degrees Celsius in India! I do freeze and sleep very little. The second night it rains and my clothes and the tent get wet. So I freeze some more, brrrrrrrrrr.

Then after three days I readjust to the climate and the cold weather becomes more bearable. I cycle past Arnhem and then cross the border to Germany in Bocholt. When I stop at the first organic shop to buy some real crusty German whole wheat bread and creamy full fat butter a girl starts talking to me. I am surprised (after all I haven't showered for 5 days and I look and smell it). If I travel far? I normally answer „Morocco“ because then people nod and smile and turn around and leave me alone. Instead, when you tell them you cycle around the world they always ask more questions, one of them being „Why are you doing that?“ I then want to shake them and ask back: „Why do you go to work every f..king day and later watch TV and eat processed, parboiled food when you could do so many other things with your little life?!“ But back to the girl. She says that her boyfriend Nils and she (Caro) just decided to quit their jobs. They each ordered a bicycle and are about to book a flight to Alaska because they want to cycle around the world. And, by the way, if I would need a place to stay, why don't I stay in their flat and we can chat over dinner...
Said – done. Just three hours ago I had found 2 kilograms of Porchini (Steinpilze) right next to the cycle path near the Dutch-German border. Look at that monster-mushroom; almost the size of my head! And not a single worm or maggot in it! With mashed potatoes, sautéed carrots and some wine and onions in the sauce this will make a fantastic dinner for three!

The next day I continue direction Kassel where I plan to visit some very special people. The weather turns rainy again and I prepare for cold and wet nights… and beautiful mornings with dew on the grass and fog caught up between the trees in the distance.

Medecins Sans Frontieres Bihar, India

2008-11-17T15:46:00.013+01:00

When I visit my colleagues in the headquarters of Medecins Sans Frontieres in Amsterdam the emergency coordinator Vince gets hold of me and since I am not really busy with anything else at the moment he proposes that I fly (the very next day) into the flooded area for a couple of weeks to join the exploratory team during their assessment and initial response. Assessments and setting up a new project is always a very intense, energy draining job... but isn't that precisely what makes it such an interesting challenge? Before he ends his sentence I am already mentally prepared to go. And so I do - as planned - the very next day.
Meanwhile my bicycle will wait for my return in the basement of the Amsterdam office...

Now, almost 2 months after the Kosi river embankment in Nepal broke, many areas in the north of India are still cut off. People live in simple bamboo shelters and have nothing but what they were wearing on the day of the disaster. We have a difficult time finding out where people are and how to get to them. We operate two motorboats to transport our team into the flooded area. Transport along the rivers is fine. But often we get stuck in the muddy ground when going through rice fields. Some areas are so difficult to reach that we can only get out of the boat and wade through the water. We have several mobile medical teams roaming around the area plus a vaccination team to carry out measles and polio vaccinations (the original course of the Kosi river has one of the highest Polio prevalences in the world!) A Water and Sanitation specialist is looking into preventing communicable disease by chlorinating drinking water. I am almost at the end of my assignment (and at the end of my energy)...

Holland ante India

2008-11-17T15:35:00.008+01:00

It is pure bliss after the B-Country. The cycling path winds through a vast landscape of dunes shimmering in all colours. There aren't too many tall trees, mostly scrub and grassy vegetation with flowers and occasionally patches of sand. There are cyclists everywhere in Holland! Hence there are cycle paths everywhere in Holland. Attentive white signs in the shape of an arrow with a small bicycle icon and destination printed on it guide the way. Ahhhhh.
I admit, here and there you find some ugly beach resorts. But hey, I just pretend it's a spill over effect from some sick Belgian investors who couldn't find more nature to plaster away with cement blocks in their own country. There would have been that one place back in Belgium where there are still dunes left. About 500 meters of them. But then again that spot was dotted with ex-German bunkers from WWII and thus turned into a war memorial... pity to get rid of that, no?

Alright, back in Holland. Or, back in the Netherlands. I never figured out what to say: Holland or The Netherlands? Some have told me that Holland is just a part of The Netherlands. And then as a people they call themselves the Dutch... grrrrrrr - can it be more complicated?
I cycle along the coast to Rotterdam, the biggest container harbour of this planet. Under a burning summer sun with almost no wind, it takes me something like two endless hours in an industrial Mad-Max like scenery along incountable amounts of massive reservoir tanks, pipelines, barbed wire fences, a refinery and what not – but the path is always nicely marked with a white sign in the shape of an arrow with a small bicycle (and ferry) icon printed on it saying „Hoek van Holland“. And hurray! - at the end I reach the tiny ferry that takes me across the Maas to – guess where? - Hoek van Holland.

I enjoy the summer on the beach. Every evening I pull my bike on a sandy trail up the deich and down the other side and camp in the dunes. Camping on the beach is forbidden. What did the instructor use to say again when I did my driving license? „Right, Tim, the speed limit here is 60. However, you can always run as fast as you feel like. Just don't get busted!“ Camping on th beach is just great: big ships passing by, birds screeching, the constant sound of the waves, the sunset, the salty smell in the air and a permanent warm breeze on my skin...

After three days I arrive in Amsterdam. Time to relay with my friends from Medecins Sans Frontieres and a fat spliff. By coincidence, my friend Tamara has everything prepared; a friend of hers invites us for a boat ride in his small motorboat on the „Grachten“ (=small waterways everywhere in Amsterdam). We pack a bottle of rosé and join into a happy go lucky group of strangers all high on mild summer nights, wine and whatever was in those cigarettes...
We follow a few other boats to the outskirts of Amsterdam and soon find ourselves inmidst a crowd of boats all moored together next to a big green where a group of Techno DJs spin their records and another group sells Heineken from the tap. Lovely – I mean two hours ago I sat sweating on my ride...!

The next day I pass by the Headquarters of the Dutch section of Medecins SansFrontieres to say „hello“ to a couple of old friends and colleagues...

Belgium ...shudder...

2008-11-13T12:16:00.010+01:00

I am hesitant to write anything at all about this place. No, not because I hardy spend 12 hours there but because of its crappyness. I've been to Brussels before, or Bruxelles. Fine, I could also go to Berlin-Wilmersdorf or Steglitz instead and I wouldn't notice much of a difference. For the Belgian coast, I've seen my part. To be precise, I've seen all of it, every centimeter – I've suffered through it.

Look at this!!! You come from France where you find sandy beaches with lush scrub vegetation and where you lose yourself in endless dunes that fade into empty beaches... In the Netherlands the dunes are criss crossed with cycle paths winding up and down, left and right. Then you have the occasional overcrowded beach resort with ice cream stands and beer stalls. But here in Belgium? They raped their entire coast with high rise buildings!!! Believe me – for kilometers you will fail to find a single plant here (not even a potted one!) - who are these mindless people, aaaarrrrgggGGGGGGHHHH! Ok, there is a beach, a white one and a wide one. It ends into a kind of high dam made from concrete that rises at a – say - 45 degree angle to a height of 5 meters (for the American audience that would be 200 inches, degrees are the same in your country...). On top of that dam is a wide platform, at least 10 meters wide and the come – yes, high rise buildings. Each with a shop in the basement that sells either ice cream, crap souvenirs, waffles or other sweets. Some rent out bicycles where several people can ride at the same time. The maximum number I observed was 7. Adults that is – I guess Belgian adults enjoy doing things like riding on a cement beach in big groups, who knows? Now for the buildings itself. You would find this kind of architecture in books with the title: „What went wrong in the 60s?“ or „Old people's homes on a budget“ or „How to achieve more balcony space with less investment?“. Horrid. Disgusting. Shame on whoever participated in this widespread commercial coastal rape here. Investors as well as architects as well as city planners and politicians.

Frustrated, I turned to what frustrated people do: eat. Belgium is famous for its „frittes“ (French fries) and for its waffles – abroad this type of waffle is called „Belgian waffle“.
The frittes: I ask around where to find a good shop for frittes and several locals recommend this one shop where I then ride to. I go inside and the comforting smell of sizzling vegetable oil embraces me – a good sign. There are lots of containers of sauces on the counter (they all have different labels) – another good sign. I order a large frittes with... what does it say here on the labels? „Ranch sauce“, „American barbeque“, „Thousand island“, „Spicy Masala“? Uh, uh! I go for plain mayonese and the guy behind the counter splashes a blob of sauce on top of my fries of a size that should ring an alarm bell even in the most obese of brains. Alright, I am not here to judge but to taste. The fries are good. But what is this weird looking long deep fried something that everybody else here eats with their fries? I ask around and learn that it is called „Frikandel“. A Frikandel is about 20 centimeters long and 4 thick and it seems to consist of some kind of processed meat. I go back to the counter and ask the guy what the ingredients of this thing are that looks like it suffers through the last stage of leprosy. He shruggs and doesn't know. I go outside and ask the lady sitting nextt to me. She doesn't know either. On the next table everybody smiles politely but nobody comes forward with an answer until a 13 year old girl finally says: „Trash. It is made of trash.“

Waffles: I finish my frittes (my appetite for Frikandel wasn't that big anyway) and look for a waffle baker. Lots of people waiting in line – a good sign for quality. My waffle has the size of my hand and is about 3 centimeters thick. It is fresh and warm and comes with chocolate sauce on top (Belgian chocolate is also famous so they say). I take a good bite and only finish the thing because I need enough calories to keep cycling: too sweet and it sticks not only between the teeth but even on top of them. Phew!
Belgium, you had your chance. The fact that during my whole stay I don't see one single person that either qualified as „beautiful“ or that genuinely smiles finishes it off.
For a change - here is a good thing about Belgium: If you sleep in France right at the border to Belgium (as I did) and you start your trip early in the morning (as I did) and you keep on cycling with just a short lunch break (bring some bread, cheese and tomatoes from France) then you make it all the way through Belgium in one day (as I did) and you can sleep in the beautiful dunes of Holland.
When I cross the border between Belgium and the Netherlands I let go a small sigh of relief... and then I start looking for a place to pitch up my tent.

... So whoever is frustrated about our EU delegates in Brussels earning half a million Euros per year... let them have a whole million for the mental torments that they must be going through every day. I swear you could give me five millions and it wouldn't keep me here...

The north-west coast of France (2008)

2008-11-11T09:21:00.009+01:00

From Portsmouth there are ferries across the canal to several destinations in France. My plan is to cycle along the coast via Belgium to Holland and visit colleagues of mine at the Medecins Sans Frontieres Headquarters in Amsterdam.

The ferry to Le Havre seems the most obvious to me but after some thinking I book a ticket to St. Malo in Brittany - my friend Catherine had always told me how beautiful it is there...
...and beautiful it is! A wonderful rough coastline welcomes me and (in comparison to where I just came from) marvelous food. I always hated it when my French friends where so overly proud of their bloody „cuisine francaise“. But honestly – they have all reason to be proud. Crusty baguettes de campagne instead of British sponge-bread, creamy soft cheeses (goat!) instead of bulky chunks of artificially coloured cheddar and fresh red juicy Tomatoes instead of the imported Dutch water-enriched-but-no-taste-stuff. Yum yum.
St. Malo is a walled-in harbour town with numerous small fortifications on little islands and rocks in the adjacent bay. Rumors say that it had never been taken from the seaside... easy to imagine when one stands on the high stone walls and gazes onto the ocean.

In Cancales, a tiny little town on the coast there are plenty of signs advertising the "degustation" of oysters fresh from the ocean. I've never had oysters before (why swallow glibbery live animals?) and after having tried boiled rabbit ears and jelly fish in China I might as well get a taste of this stuff. At least then I know if it's worth buying two dozen and a bottle of Champagne next time I park my yacht in Monaco...
Well, interesting texture, salty (what else do you expect from something straight out of the ocean?) and definitely glibberish. It is said that oysters have a sexually stimulating effect - I have to admit that I definitely did experience better ones than this.

From St. Malo I take the route northwards along the coast.The bicycle path is „formidable“ - outstanding; little plates (with a dinosour riding a bicycle) signal the way at every crossing. One hardly ever gets lost. I follow small side roads and there is little traffic – a very recommendable route for a trip with children.

After a couple of days I reach the breath-taking town of Mont St. Michel. Entirely built on a rock in the ocean it is visible from kilometers before. And it grows and grows and grows with every meter that I get closer. Amazed (and tired from the gravel track) I sit and gaze at the old cathedral and the ancient town around it. And after some time of just sitting there I like the place so much that I finally put up my tent and stay over night with a magnificent view on the cathedral that one cannot buy for money in the nearby 4 star hotel :)

From Mont St. Michel I continue north-east wards direction Normandy. Lots of beautiful beaches there with plenty of history. The region is rough and hilly - strategically wothless - who would land here with thousands of soldiers? Smart thinking of the allies in WWII. "Juno", "Sword", "Omaha" were some of the names where artificial harbours were quickly installed by simply sinking dozens of ship hulls filled with cement.
Now, more than 50 years later, some of the cement blocks are still visible. One war memorial museum after another rows up along the coast filled to the brim with Canadians, Americans, British, Japanese and Germans. What makes me real happy here are not the pictures of who took this and defeated that but to see a colourful mix of all ex-warring parties together - Japanese asking Americans to "ple-se ta-ke pic-cha!", Germans asking Canadians "kuut you trenchlate siz hea foa me, sank you!?". In the evening, when the tourists are back in their hotels and caravans, I stroll on the empty beaches and set up camp in the dunes...

Then I continue east to the city of Le Havre where the famous river Seine (Paris) flows into the sea. Right here at the coast, a giantic suspension bridge streches over the river Seine. Cyclists have to share the narrow road with the french high speed autoroute traffic. Holy chainwheel - when big 40 ton trucks pass by then cyclists almost fly overboard (this is where the child-friendly part of the trip ends...)! On my map, Le Havre is listed as UN world heritage but passing through its center I cannot really figure out why. What impressed me much more than the city itself was the huge container port with ships coming and leaving from all over the world. There are dedicated terminals for Transatlantic traffic, for the Far East and for Africa and ships of all sizes and types. The funniest to me are always the vehicle carriers. (They look like swimming wardrobes – watch out when you are at the coast next time!) Those vehicle carriers not only bring you shiny new Toyotas and Suzukis from Japan and Korea, they also bring your trashy old car away. Many a Renault or Mercedes that doesn't pass the service check (TUV) anymore is shipped off to Africa where they run and run and run. In Ivory Coast a car is not called car but simply what it is: „France au-revoir“ - „Good Bye France“!

After Le Havre I desperately need a shower and a day rest. So i decide to stay on a camping site for a night. I unload my bike and make for the reception - 13 EURO (20 USD) for a night in my own tent!!! I curse the guy and the whole French tourism industry - but in the end I am too tired and I stay. The place is packed with tourists, tents and vehicles everywhere. I start enjoying to watch my neighbors and their attempts to set up their stylish but complicated tents with 12 windows and 500 poles... some youth are playing techno music from their car stereo (camping site rule no. 1: there are always some youngsters who think that everybody else loves techno just like themselves) . My German neighbors (I refrain from introducing myself!) get out their high tech chairs with integrated beer-can-holder and cooking equipment sufficient to accomodate a whole garrison (camping site rule no. 2: no matter what car people have, the trunk is always filled to the brim). To the left some people try to calm down their barking dogs (camping site rule no. 3: at lest one party brings a dog who then terrorizes all those who left their dogs at home during holidays in the hope to have some calm).
I sit back and relax and then go downtown to get a take-away pizza and sit on the beach. I meet Jerome, a belgian guy who cycles from Italy back home. We join up, buy a bottle of red wine and he puts his tent next to mine on the camping site 8without paying the 13 EURO which makes us both feel much better about the French tourism industry...).

Jerome and I stay together for a couple of days just before we reach Belgium. We have to fix his bike several times because he has shitty equipment and way too much of it and everything on a shitty rack in the back. I pity him but am also impressed by his patience to get all the stuff from Sicily all the way here. When we split ways I continue for a couple of kilometers and then meet a German couple who cycles with a dog in a trailer. They gave up everything back home and now plan a longer trip by bicycle. They have a bottle of Champagne on their rack (not the usual sight) and I inquire what that is for. "We have our 1000st km in 2 kilometers!" they reply and after a short discussion we decide that drinking the bottle prematurely but right here at kilometer 998 cannot cause much harm. Cheers and good luck to you guys!!!

In the evening I set up camp right at the border to Belgium.

Oxford - London - Portsmouth

2008-09-01T16:55:00.010+02:00

All good things come to an end eventually. And so I leave the Heavenly paradise of Chinese friendship and cuisine (!) and hit the road to Oxford. My departure has been (happily) delayed by good company and food for several days... Today, on the day of my departure a light rain drizzles the whole morning: a good excuse to stay another day. But then again, I have already used precisely the same excuse for the last three days...
At noon, after countless cuppa (tea w/w milk) I decide to wait no longer and mount the panniers and set off.
Minutes later - I am not even out of Birmingham - the drizzle turns into a full grown downpour. Surprise... this is still England! But my spirit is light and I don't mind. Being on the road for the first day after a break is always easy. My thoughts wander off to future locations and the air that I breathe always feels lighter and fresher and I smile despite all possible hardship. I love this trip. What's a bit of rain when you will be enjoying the beaches of France in a few days time?!

I manage to find the marked cyclepath (No 5) to Oxford and follow it. I have no doubt that the British organisation "Sustrans", who is in charge of developing and marking the cyclepaths, have only best intentions. They would never want to lead a cyclist into a maze of roadsigns or forest paths. Yet they do just that every couple of kilometers.
First there is a teaser of a little stretch of beautiful, traffic free singletrack (see picture above). Then one of the blue roadmarks is missing or overgrown by the lush vegetation what makes me run straight into a fence, an industrial quarter, a motorway or...

... a mudbath.
Hurray! When I was about 10 years old, my parents took my brother and me to a pottery workshop. While my parents manufactured blue tiles for our kitchen wall, we kids did all kind of things with the wet dirt that we found there (I remember that my masterpiece was a little penguin that still stands on one of my mothers shelves today; catching dust, except with the part of the beak that broke off). Great fun. but the clay they gave us in the pottery workshop wasn't half as sticky as the mudbath that I encountered north of Oxford. While I try to find my way through the mud (in the far distance I can see a little sign with an arrow pointing to the left) my tyres clog up and so do the brakes, the chain, the shifting, the rims, my shoes, lower legs, upper legs, hands - short - everything.
The mud is so slimy and deep that it is very tiresome to push my bike. Its tyres leave deep canyons in the sticky grey mass. In the mud next to my canyoans I can make out marks from other cycle tyres. So there have been people here with bicycles before me. I am determined to continue. Finally, after 15 minutes of sweating and swearing I stand in front of the little roadsign with the arrow. It says: "public footpath".

Thank buddha nobody is around to witness this. I am so enchanted that even after my little hissy fit I still feel like murdering someone barehanded. Surely if it says "Sustrans" on his namecard. I must have lost the bloody path again somewhere. Somewhere? Somewhere BEFORE the mudbath! I look left and right. 8 foot high fences. There is no way getting through. I have to go back. Once more - through the mud.
Today, "Sustrans" surely qualifies for my favorite four letter word. From here I keep strictly to the main road to Oxford. Traffic is my best friend.

For the eye, Oxford is a very preasant city. Everything is very neat (except my appearance - dried mud up my legs and all over my arms. Little brown sprinkles in my face...) Colleges and museums everywhere! Marc, the lovely porter of Trinity College lets me park my bike in the entrance area while I visit the Museum of the History of Science on the opposite side of the road.

He also invites me to have a look at the college. I am impressed my the beauty and serenity of the buildings. More even of the perfection that goes into the space between: the famous English gardening. I have always wanted to know how they manage to trim their greens in that manecure kind of way. The secret is made of stainless steel and called "Buffalo 34". It has so many handles and switches that I wonder if the operator requires a license for it. Well, with or without license, (s)he definitely requires a whole lot of trust from the director of the college - fucking up that green surely inflicts the death sentence! (I witnessed how a tourist briefly stepped on the grass - the chief surgeon of the medical college needed 4 hours and 6 sets of sutures to attach his head back onto the neck...)

Completed in 1683, the Museum of the History of Science claims to be the world's first purpose built museum. It features an impressive collection of scientific instruments that were used for astronomical, chemical and physics experiements: laboratory apparatuses, early microscopes, a giant lobestone (magnet), first compasses, astrolobes (instruments to determine the position of the stars), telescopes, etc.

In the basement of the building there are several ancient "barometers" - instruments to measure the pressure of the air (see first picture of this post). By recording the development of the air pressure, scientists are able to predict the development of the weather. I have to smile when i think that a scale with "Rain", "Much Rain" and "Stormy" would have been fully sufficient for Great Britain. I mean, honsetly, did anyone ever witness "Very Dry" weather here?

On the ground floor I find different models of the universe. Their cages, beams and cogs are entirely made of shiny brass. They display our solar system either with the earth or the sun at its center! Back in the 17th century, the museum and its contents was used to conduct experiments and hold lectures. Strange to imagine that, back then, scientists were confronted with serious health hazards by supporting either the one or the other idea of what moves around what. Thinking about the world and the universe I realize that I still didn't finish the little front plate that decorates my bike since my departure in Tromso. So I look for a toy store and borrough some paint...

After Oxford I make my way to the south of England. My plan is to take a ferry from Portsmouth to France (Le Havre or St.Malo). I don't want to bother cycling into the big traffic chaos of London (I had been there during a cycling trip in 1996) so I stop in Reading for a day and take the commuter train to Paddington Station.

I am never sure what it is that makes me like this giant city. However, fact is: I love being in London. The architecture, the bustling traffic, the hordes of tourists, Chinatown, Hyde Park, the whole circus about the Royals and the change of guards...

This time I came particularily to visit the Royal Observatory in Greenwich. But how to get from Paddington to Greenwich?

When I was a child I often played a board game called "Scotland Yard", some sort of hide and seek between Mr.X and the London cops.

Mr.X uses different forms of transport to escape his followers. But he has to appear in intervals to let Scotland Yard know his position. He also has to unveil what transport he uses when. The cops use all the information to encircle the probable future locations...

I remember that a fast and effective way to shake off your hunters was the use of the boat services on the thames river (it had its cost, though - the charge was one of the "black tickets" - and you only had two of those for the whole game).

A fast and effective way to get from one end of town to the other? Here we go!

They don't actually charge "Black tickets" for it. They give you a 1/3 discount when you produce a valid day travel card. Good enough to enjoy a light breeze during the 40 minute cruise and see Big Ben, Tower Bridge, the London Eye, Tate Modern and so forth from a new angle :)

A visit to the Royal Observatory is a great experience! (If one has sufficient time, I highly recommend to also visit the Maritime Museum next door.) It is possible to enter the old working rooms and living quarters of the Astronomer Royal and his team. The position was established in 1675 by King Charles II and the first Astronomer Royal (John Flamsteed) started to observe the movement of the heavenly objects with state of the art technology.

A major problem at that time period was the determination of Longitude. It was already possible to determine Latitude of any given position by measuring the angle of the sun over the horizon at noon (zenith). So seafarers would be able to know how may degrees north or south their ship sailed in relation to the equator (the calculations could take up to 4 hours time!). Nevertheless, no matter how much efford they would have given into trying: it was impossible for them to determine their Longitude (the position West or East) because they lacked a method of comparing their local time to a given time on land.

Today, a simple GPS gives you within seconds a very precise position ( Latitude, Longitude: e.g. 34 degrees 20' 15" N, 59 degrees 09' 47" E). With this technology, nowadays, amateurs are able to navigate a sailboat around the world. Then, knowing the exact position of a ship had immense economical and military importance. A high price money was put forth for the person who solved the Longitude problem.

The astronomical society (with their Authority being the Astronomer Royal in Greenwich) figured that there was a way of finding Longitude by looking at the star constellations and the movement of the moon. But they lacked reliable long term data about the positions of the stars. So the team of the Astronomer Royal observed and catalogized those constellations over several decades. Basically every single night!!! Thus they lived and worked in the same space, which is the Royal Observatory in Greenwich.

The person who then actually solved the Longitude problem was someone entirely different. It was a simple watchmaker called John Harrison. He used to build Tower clocks that were driven by long pendulums. But pendulums do not work reliable on a ship that moves and rolls with the waves. A pendulum clock would not keep time sufficiently accurate on board a ship to determine the Longitude with the required precision. During his life, Harrision build 5 clocks that were intented to be used aboard ships. They are on display in the Royal Observatory. And they are most impressive objects. The first 3 models don't actually resemble watches but rather look like time-warp-machines. Lots of movable parts. All made of brass. Beams in all directions, coil springs, weights, countless cogs. The first one weighs something like 75 pounds.

Imagine, for the completion of one of the clocks (I think it was the second one) Harrison needed 20 years!!! 20 years. I could ride around the world three times...

However, Harrision was never entirely happy with his designs until he created his famous H4 (Harrision model 4). He used a totally new concept and the size and complexity reduced drastically (see picture). This watch H4 was the solution to the Longitude problem. Now, a navigator at sea could compare the time on board his ship (noon is the moment that the sun is in the zenith) to the time in a distant place (e.g. Greenwich). The time difference would represent teh angle between his position and the position of Greenwich. Therefore Greenwich was made the location of the Prime Meridian and all calculations (also those of today's GPS) are calculated from this Meridian at GMT (Greenwich Mean Time).

How did captains know the exact Greenwich Meantime? Well, they just sailed their ships up the Thames river to Greenwich. On top of the Royal Observatory is a pole with the red Time Ball. Every day at 12:55 the ball goes up and drops at precisely 13:00. They set the watch and off they sail to their foreign lands...

By chance I arrive in Greenwich just a couple of minutes to one. So I actually manage to be there when the famous Time Ball rises and drops. A very nostalgic moment. In times of mass produced Chinese quarz watches it is hard to believe how this little red ball had once such immense importance.
(For those who are interested in this subject or want to make sense of my above mess: there is a fantastic book about the history of the Longitude Problem called "Longitude" that reads like a crime.)

After my visit to London I return to Reading and from there continue my trip to the harbour of Portsmouth. I decide to take a ferry to St.Malo in Brittany, France. Since I need to wait a day for the ferry I buy another day saver pass and return to London. This time it is Tate Modern, where I meet for a coffee with my friend Stine-Mari that I know from Tromso. With modern transportation the world is really just a village...

From Dublin to Birmingham

2008-08-12T18:35:00.014+02:00

I didn't take a lot of pictures before, in and after Dublin. During my whole visit it was pouring as if someone had pulled the plug from a heavenly bathtub hovering over eastern Ireland. Not very pleasant. The east coast of Ireland isn't very enjoyable for long distance cycling. There aren't any cyclepaths and the roads as well as the views are rather boring. Trying to cycle into the center of Dublin is a joke. There are simply no roads for cyclists. It is motorways all over the place, each bearing a massive blue sign displaying that neither animals nor cyclists are allowed to enter. I finally have to cycle all the way to the international airport to find a bloody road that takes me into the center.
The nice thing about Dublin is my visit of Simon, an old friend of mine. Our mothers were friends in highschool and so we had spent a lot of time with each other while we were growing up - typically during Christmas and Easter holidays.
I hadn't met Simon for several years and now he's a grown up working in the software industry in Dublin. We have a ball in the pubs of Dublin until closing time. Actually without meeting any Irish... all the customers are tourists and the staff in the pubs normally come from Eastern Europe, Spain and South America.

I also meet with Emma, my colleage from Medecins sans Frontieres who now lives in Zambia. By total coincidence she has an interview in Dublin just that exact day and so we spend the afternoon. Pam (her friend from Belfast, were I had previously stayed) comes down to Dublin for a coffee and some shopping. It is quite the usual procedure: they shop, I gaze. I need nothing. Somewhere I find this announcement (picture below) for a lottery: 3 trips to Hollywood! Every week. "Hell! I won't even need that... I am already on a trip to Hollywood!"

After three days in Dublin I continue my trip down south. The idea is to cycle all the way to the city of Cork in the south west and take a ferry to Wales. When I leave Dublin I encounter the same problem as on my way in: there is no easy way out. It is again motorways all over the place. No animals and no cyclists. Annoyed I stop and wonder how to get out of this mess. Suddenly it starts pouring down like buckets are being empties right above me. I think about putting on my rainwear but it is already too late. Within less than 30 seconds I am drenched.
Now even more annoyed i think: "Screw Cork! And the whole east coast of Ireland with it!" I know there are ferries to Wales from the harbour in the center of Dublin. I am determined to take the next ferry out of there, no matter if the waiting will take a day or a full week. I turn around 180 degrees and make my way into the center.
The harbour is just as big a mess as the Irish roads. I play hide and seek with the ferry terminal but finally arrive at Irish Ferries. The next ship leaves in an hour! But they are already fully booked. My only option is to travel "Club Class", double as expensive but with a designated seat (plus snacks and coffee as much as I desire). I couldn't bother about those extras. I am done with Ireland - so give me Club Class or a Royal Suite, put me in the liferaft or strap me to the mast... just get me aboard that ferry!

On arrival in Wales my mood has lightened. I find a marked cycling track and cycle towards Birmingham. When I try to purchase some supplies in a village shop somewhere in the middle of the Welsh nowhere I face unexpected problems. The girl behind the counter looks bewildered at my money and says: "This is not our money! I won't accept this." I ask her what is wrong. I had withdrawn those bills from an ATM in Northern Ireland. She scrutinizes the bill once again and says: "Your money is Pound Sterling, but here in Wales we use British Pounds!" I laugh and tell her that maybe because of some local patriotism they print different bills in Scotland and Northern Ireland but that in fact the money used all over the United Kingdom is POUND STERLING! And what I just gave her IS a Northern Irish POUND STERLING. Now please let me pay for my milk and bananas.
She remains unimpressed. Different money in other parts of the great empire? No way. She has to call her boss. He doesn't answer the phone and I don't get my milk and bananas until Paul arrives, an older guy who had worked in a different village store all his life. He looks at the bill and says that it should in theory be fine. But the girl doesn't want to believe him unless he takes responsibility to refund her if I paid in counterfeit. He refuses and her trust in his long years of village shop experience go down the drain... She again tries to call her boss. I am about to leave. (Drink your fucking milk yourself. After all it is skimmed milk because you don't even have wholemilk in your darned shop!) Then suddenly she decides to trust Paul and cashes my ten pound note.
As I leave the shop I wonder if there isn't another ferry somewhere close that could relieve me of the whole of Britain.
Then I see a roadsign that announces: "Gyrrwch yn ddiogel." I think to myself: "Alright, if that means "Drive safely" in Welsh, no wonder there are hick-ups with the Northern Irish currency. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if they had problems with their own currency!"
I smile and head deeper into Wales.

I enter the national park of Snowdonia. It is truly beautiful here. A calm road takes me uphill and through a lush valley to the Welsh/English border. One more night until Birmingham where I visit friends that I know from my studies in China. I move my bike over an electric fence and sleep on an empty green.
Well, it is empty until at 6 in the morning I hear a slurping sound and something touches the outside of my tent. I am suddenly very awake and slowly open the zipper of my tent. There stand at least 20 cows. All young bulls. They gaze at me with increased interest and continue to lick my bicycle and tent. Very cute. But then again I wonder where they draw the line between their territory and my territory. I get out of the tent but they remain pretty unimpressed. Afraid that my stuff ends up digested seven times I take action by banging my cooking pots and running after them. It helps.

I start boiling water for my morning coffee and wonder how I will possibly survive a horde of cheetas in Central Africa when I already start sweating over a couple of peaceful grass eaters...

Cao Yang (right), Luo Yi (middle) moved to England six years ago and now have two children Yi Yang (left) and Yang Yi (temporarily with his grand parents in China).
We all know from our time in Wuxi. Luo Yi studied Interior Design and Cao Yang Graphics Design. We spent a lot of time with each other in China. We travelled to Nanjing (an ancient capital of China) and Chengdu and to a very mountain range called "The four girls" close to the Tibetan border. We went out or stayed in and cooked dinner and shared everything. Most of all a good time. (The only thing we didn't share were 30 rabbit heads which were marinated in a spicy sauce. I had previously tried everything. But I couldn't get those down. So Cao Yang and Luo Yi munched away on them during our 40 hour train journey from Chengu back to Wuxi.)
They both worked extremely hard to make a living in Europe. Most of their friends who stayed in China now have fancy careers and nice appartments. But Cao Yang and Luo Yi value the experience of living abroad and seeing things from a different angle. After all, they can always go back to China.

We stroll in the park, do a Chinese BBQ in the garden, repair Yi Yangs bicycle, visit the center of Birmingham and go see a movie with Yi Yang. In the evenings Cao Yang cooks the most fantastic Chinese dishes and we hang out and talk about the past, the present and the future. They (we) all miss China. But there are also lots of positive things about living in England. Yi Yangs bi-lingual education or the fact that you can just go to a park or museum free of charge.

I take the time to look after my bicycle, give it a thorrough check. In a store in the center of Birmingham I finally get some adhesive foil and start to create little flags for all the countries I visited since the beginning of this trip around the planet. Now, everytime I cross a border I add a new flag until hopefully my blue frame will disappear under a colourful international adhesive carpet...

Ireland

2008-07-30T13:50:00.012+02:00

History classes in a German highschool in the Black Forest somewhere around 1984 teach you a lot of (repetitive) stuff about WWII and the 1789 French Revolution. But I can't recall that during the whole lot of 9 years any teacher even remotely spoke about what was happening in Northern Ireland. From the news I knew that there was a war going on, that explosives were going off in shops and aboard busses and that it had something to do with religion.

Now, roughly 20 years later, I arrive in Belfast. The city gives me a sort of mystical feeling, just like Hong Kong did when I first arrived there and maybe Cape Town or Mexico City will do. What is left after the war? Has it really ended? How do people feel about it nowadays?

Funny enough, we all know something about Belfast but we don't know it is about Belfast. For centuries, Belfast was home to some of the best engineering in the world. The shipyard of Harland & Wolff (on one of the pictures you can see a massive yellow crane with H&W on it) produced some of the best ships worldwide. Ten thousands of dock workers were employed here. In the very beginning of the 20th century H&W pioneered in the construction of a totally new class of passenger ships. They would be bigger and more glamorous than everything that existed before. The harbour of Belfast had some of the world's largest dry docks. But the construction of this new class of ships (almost 300m long and 30m wide!) demanded even larger docks. They had to be twice as long as the biggest existing dock!
Three enormous vessels were build in Belfast during the period between 1908 and 1914. The most famous of the three "sisters" left the dock on May 31, 1911 and started its maiden voyage roughly a year after. Belfast is her birthplace but the world (including Belfast) forgot about this due to more dramatic aquatic events.

When I stroll through the city, it has a feel of change to it, just like Berlin after the wall fell. There are numerous construction sites and cranes are sticking out of the skyline all over the horizon. To me, Belfast isn't a beautiful city (just like Berlin) but it has a feeling of being on the move, transforming from one thing into another, waking up from a long winter's sleep. In some places, old houses stick out betwen the newer functional buildings. They give a hint of how the city must have looked like a hundred years ago when the alleyways were full of noise from street vendors and horse drawn carriages and people wore hats and long fluffy skirts.

I spend a couple of days visiting Pam, a friend of my colleague Emma from Medecins Sans Frontieres. We explore the north coast of Northern Ireland and visit the Giants Causeway, a basalt rock formation that is dated back to volcanic eruptions about 60 million years ago. The remarkable thing about the basalt stones is their almost perfect hexagonal shape (resulting from the lava cracking during its cooling process). The basalt sticks out of the ground as if some giant kids played LEGOs and forgot them when their mom called them in for dinner (T-Rex-Bone steaks?).

We also hike to some nice stretches of beach where we discover the secret for the good taste of Irish butter: the cows up here are having a real good time... when they don't spend their days in a jacusy in the SPA, they just hang out on the sunny beach.

One thing that strikes me on my way through Northern Ireland is the presence of flags and banners. When I talk with some Irish in a Pub about the "past troubles", nobody would say out loud words like "Protestants" or "Catholics". The whole issue is a hot topic and nobody wants to take sides or be associated with one or the other.
So what was all this Union-Jack fuss about? Do you see the Queen and Prince X on banners all over London?
I visit a spot where the old "Peaceline" had been - a tall wall with a high fence (see picture) seperated one half of the city from the other half. This looks just like the Berlin Wall or the bloody thing they built in Israel! On some building I find massive slogans for the "Ulster defence force". For a people that apparently tries to get by on peaceful terms I find this slightly disturbing... I don't want to come across as a pessimist, but in times of a shaky peace, plastering half the place with flags of one party and painting the other half with slogans for the other doesn't really seem all to smart to me.

I am leaving Belfast after a couple of relaxing days at Pam's and head down the east coast towards Dublin.

Oh, yeah, the ship... well, when she left Belfast she was in perfect condition. She sailed the flag of the White Star Line and she was unsinkable. She sank on April 15, 1912 and was not found until 1985. This is one of the last pictures taken when she left the docks of Belfast. It's the Titanic.

Bring den Vorschlaghammer mit...

2008-07-15T13:29:00.008+02:00

Just after my arrival in Glasgow (after having spent almost a month out in the highlands) I sit down in the pedestrian zone to smoke a cigarette. Buchanan metro station is just ahead and people seem to be very busy with life. The place is bustling with energy and people are running all over the place.
What a speed of life! I am overwhelmed and wonder if something could be wrong with me or my psyche...
I stay for almost an hour just sitting there looking at the world passing by myself. I see shoppingbags over shoppingbags. Like ants some people are loaded to the utmost capacity of what they can possibly carry with two hands and i realize that all shopping windows are decorated with "SALE" or "Save up to 50%" posters.

I immediately get this feeling of rising opportunity to get something I always wanted - and FOR CHEAP! "Use this opportunity!" cries my heart looking at Diesel T-shirts, Oakley specs and the newest North Face outdoor gear.
But blessed with the fact that my bicycle offers limited transport capacity and knowing that I have to pedal everything up everywhere I am able to resist. Still, I know just as well that if I wasn't on this trip I would probably find myself amongst this Glasgow ant tribe around me; carrying home what I can carry.

Thinking about it for another while I realize how I don't need ANY of this! I have what I need to get by and lookign at the passing pedestrians, I am very sure they do too. Now they add another designer fruit bowl to their overflowing shelves, another Gucci watch to their silly collection, another pair of high heels to the 56 other pairs (not counting the winter boots and snowboard gear) or the new fragrance of Dior to all those other dust catchers in the bathroom.
MADNESS.

It strikes me as funny that in Norway everybody keeps asking me the question: "Why are you doing this?" while here in Britain the most frequent question is: "How do you afford this trip?"
I mean, think about it - if you suddenly had a million dollars, would YOU grab a bike and CYCLE around the world?
And if you would, why don't you save up your cash bit by bit instead of spending it on all this utter nonsense like those ants here?!

A wide, almost insane grin creeps up my cheeks and I am thoroughly happy about the state I am in - not possibly needing anything but food and drink. For me, buying ANYHTING means discarding of something else. A new shirt and one of my other ones must go; a new watch - why, I have one that works fine; and carry glas bottle of perfume up the alps?
I stay for another 30 minutes and another cigarette and remember a song from the German band "Element of Crime":

Bring den Vorschlaghammer mit
bring the sledgehammer when you come

Siehst du diesen Teller
do you see this plate
den hab ich aus Florenz
I got in Florence
Und der alte Benz
and the old mercedes
faehrt immer noch wie neu
still runs as if it was new
wie ich mich da freu
that makes me real happy
Und der Plattenspieler
and this record player
der wird heute nicht mehr gebaut
isn't produced anymore nowadays
der war mir lange Jahre treu
it did work so well for many years

Refrain:
Bring den Vorschlaghammer mit
bring the slegehammer
wenn du heute Abend kommst
when you come tonight
dann hauen wir alles kurz und klein
then we smash all this to pieces
Der ganze alte Schrott muss raus
all the old trash must go out
und neuer Schrott muss rein
and new trash must come in
bis Morgen muss der ganze Rotz verschwunden sein
until tomorrow all this crap here has to diappear

Der Aschenbecher da
the ashtray over there
den hab ich mal geklaut
I did once steal
ich glaub das war
I think it was
in einem griechischen Lokal
in a Greek restaurant
Und das Plattenregal
and the shelves for the records
hab ich selbst gebaut
I built myself
das war normal
that was what everybody used to do
Der Herd war gekauft
the stove was a purchase though
und die andern Moebel auch
and the other furniture too

Refrain:
Bring den Vorschlaghammer mit
bring the slegehammer
wenn du heute Abend kommst
when you come tonight
dann hauen wir alles kurz und klein
then we smash all this to pieces
Der ganze alte Schrott muss raus
all the old trash must go out
und neuer Schrott muss rein
and new trash must come in
bis Morgen muss der ganze Rotz verschwunden sein
until tomorrow all this crap here has to diappear

Der Computer ist
the computer is
auf dem allerneuesten Stand
state of the art
Da ist noch Pfand auf den Flaschen
and there is still some deposit on those bottles
die in der Kueche stehn
in the kitchen
da will ich bald mal Scherben sehn
oh, there I want to see broken glass soon!
Und der Buecherwand
and the bell tolls soon
fuer die ein halber Wald eimal starb
for that wall of bookshelves
schlaegt die letzte Stunde bald
that once must have killed a whole forest

Refrain:
Bring den Vorschlaghammer mit
bring the slegehammer
wenn du heute Abend kommst
when you come tonight
dann hauen wir alles kurz und klein
then we smash all this to pieces
Der ganze alte Schrott muss raus
all the old trash must go out
und neuer Schrott muss rein
and new trash must come in
bis Morgen muss der ganze Rotz verschwunden sein
until tomorrow all this crap here has to diappear

(Element of Crime)

West coast and Glasgow

2008-07-14T20:08:00.009+02:00

After the Outer Hebridies I pass the amazing Island of Skye which is part of the Inner Hebrides. With every place that I visit Scotland just keeps getting more and more beautiful!

During my trip I had passed numerous distilleries of famous Scotch Whiskys. Glenturret, Glenfiddich, Talisker, Arran and finally Oban (one of my favorites after Lagavulin).

The process of production is pretty much identical in all distilleries: malt (from barley) is wetted and yeast is added for fermentation. Then the mix is strained and the liquid is distilled at least twice (at different temperatures) first to an alcohol content of little more than 20%vol and then to more than 70%vol.

This highly potent but almost tasteless clear liquid is then stored in wooden casks that have previously been used for the production of Sherry/Madeira or American Whiskey.

The Scottish Whisky matures in those barrels for several years. Usually both types of casks are used for one "Single Malt" Whisky. After the ripening process, the contents of the different casks (Sherry and American Whiskey) are finally "married" in a single cask and left again for a time of 6 months.

The taste and smell of the Whisky comes from the wood of the different casks during the process of ripening (and marriage).

At the end, the 70%vol (now matured and coloured) liquid is diluted with demineralised water to approx. 40%vol, botteled and sold. "One, two, three, dram!"

In Glasgow I visit Mungo's Hifi and their families. The guys make fabulous Reggae music and I had previously met them when passing by Bergen (Norway) were they performed during a Reggae festival.

Mungo's Hifi also established an own label called "Scotch Bonnet" (http://www.scotchbonnet.net/).

Glasgow is simply great. And for a change: the sun is shining.

I enjoy the time strolling through the Glasgow museums (The transport museum features one of the first ever built bicycles from around 1840) and hanging out in the parks and cafes. There are cozy evenings in the backyard of the Mungo's Hifi Studio with BBQ and open fire. Another place to get stuck forever!

Inner and Outer Hebrides

2008-07-14T19:34:00.005+02:00

In the north west of mainland Scotland are the Inner and Outer Hebrides, groups of islands with very changing landscape, ancient history and breathtaking white beaches.

But in order to get there I first have to cycle along the coast to Ullapool from where the ferry departs. The strip of road is a killer! Not only it seriously challenges your physical condition - it also eats up whatever is leaft of your soul after having been thoroughly soaked for several days. The road winds up and down with accents as steep as 25%. (With a car you would have to shift to first gear for this). As soon as you arrive on top, sweaty, steaming and with heavy breathing, you immediately embark on a neckbreaking downhill. The road is extremely narrow here, just wide enough for a minibus. My bicycle is equipped with pretty good brakes. But with the rain and the steep decends they don't work at all. I either have to push my bike or just hope that there will be no traffic coming from the front.

After an entire day of up and down (with the same amount of energy that made me advance 10 kilometers on the coast I could surely have crossed the Swiss Alps!) I am psychologically exhausted and close to a moral breakdown. What saves me in the end is my adrenaline from a new personal speed record during this trip: 73km/h fully loaded on a single track road :)
(I refuse to be a victim - no pushing a bike downhill!)

Finally I arrive in Ullapool, exhausted but at least just in time to see the German soccer team loose against Spain in the European finals (hihi). In a cozy pub I get drunk with two Germans and a Spaniard... definitely not a good preparation for an early rise in order to catch the ferry to Stornoway on Lewis and Harris Island the next morning!

Lewis and Harris Island (Outer Hebrides) welcome me with plenty of wind and rain. Again I soak to the bone. I nevertheless manage to have a look at ancient standing stone formations, sleep next to a romatic lighthouse and on day 3 dry off in the sun on a white beach.
In the end, the crazy weather also has a positive aspect: the mushrooms are just as confused as everyone else up here. So they start pushing up as if it was autumn. I collect them on the roadside for breakfast ommelettes and evening beef stew. Yummy!

Towards the north...

2008-07-14T18:51:00.011+02:00

On my way towards the northern shore I pass by deserted valleys with gravel roads and incredibly splendid lush green nature.
The wind hits Scotland hard, so often there are no trees and just little shrub. Whatever resists the wind is usually eaten by the sheep.
Except for the thissle with its well developed defence. It is the Scottish national flower - you find it on some of the Scottish one pound coins and otherwise everywhere over Scotland.

Sometimes when I open my tent in the morning there is a funny surprise waiting for me. Well, to be fair, I guess those two rams in front of my door were just as surprised as I was. Luckily, after a short first-contact-staredown they opt for the peaceful option and tolerate me and the funny sounds that emerge from my early morning coffee cooking.

My days are getting a certain routine now. I usually get up around 8 and prepare breakfast. Packing, dressing and loading takes roughly an hour so I normally leave the place where I sleep around 10.
Every day I start off cycling in a low gear and pretty slow for about half an hour to warm up my muscles. Every hour or so i stop and have a snack and tea or coffee. The thermos I originally carried with me during the winter proves very handy even in the summer - I just boil water during breakfast and then usually have tea and coffee until the afternoon.

Every day, the scenery changes a little. Hills, forests, beaches, cliffs, moores, dunes, highways. Just looking at the scenery is so entertaining I hardly ever get bored. And if so, I listen to music or play roadside scrabble (see picture) or give my contribution to the heritage of standing stones... :)
One rainy day I arrive at the little wooden birdwatch shelter on the picture above. What a luxury! There is a bench, a table and windows in all directions!!! I stay for two days, read, relax and watch herons, ducks and oyster pickers at work.

When I arrive on the north shores I decide to climb "Ben Hope", a smaller peak that offers a nice view onto the highlands and the coastline. Ahhhhh...!
The road to Ben Hope has been one of the most beautiful during my whole trip. If anybody is interested to cycle up here, this strip isquite easy with fantastic views and suitable even for children.
Send me a message and we can work out your route details.

North of Edinburgh

2008-07-01T17:28:00.004+02:00

In the center of Edinburgh, a beautiful canal leads towards Glasgow. The canal had been built in the times of the industrial revolution to transport large amounts of coal into Edinburgh. Alongside the water runs a towpath which had been used to pull the boats. It is now a walking and cycling path.
The canal is quiet and beautiful, winding through the landscape, at times leading over high and ancient viaducts. I am astonished by the art of engineering that had been used to construct the canal. And then I am baffled: the canal running over aquaducts - ok - even the romans had thought of this. But a tunnel?! Suddenly the chanal plus towpath disappear under a massive hill. And boats actually go underground. Lots of fun!

The British are not only masters of canal building, they also love to erect fences and walls wherever there is an empty space. The public has a "right to roam" though - land owners have to grant access to their land. This means there are millions of gates all over Britain that facilitate that lifestock stays put while hikers and bikers enjoy their freedom.

But sometimes I find gates in comical positions. The gate on the picture above has no fence, leave alone any area that would make sense to be fenced in: it is situated right between a road and the ocean. Building a fence would allow for about 10 suare meter of pasture... that would be sufficient for ONE sheep or maybe - twenty hamsters?

Welcome to Great Britain!

2008-06-16T15:39:00.010+02:00

Rain and sheep - what else did I expect?

Back in Norway, (to be precise: back in Trondheim) I took the occasion to visit the production of Lundhags (see Equipment overview) one more time. They had supplied me with fantastic outdoor gear for the winter and now their new summer collection is out.
Here on the coast it finally rains and a cold wind is bashing into my face from the North-West. I am able to test my new jacket and pants. Very light fabric! It weighs almost nothing and has a minimum pack size. But it keeps me perfectly warm and the wind and water out. Great. Thank you Lundhags!!!

The cycling path along the coast is fantastically marked! It is part of the North Sea Route that follows the shores of the North Sea for 5000km through Britain, Benelux, Germany, Denmark, Sweden and Norway. I meet lots and lots of cyclists here following this route bit by bit, Another holiday, another country. A fantastic international idea.

Compared to the Norwegians (who usually look at their own shoes when they talk to you and look at your shoes when they try to hit on you), I perceive the British as very polite. Everyone greets you with a jolly "hello" and asks where you are headed or where you come from, how you like Britain...

The coast between Newcastle and Edinburgh is a mix of sandy beaches and rough cliffs and volcanic rocks. I often sleep right behind the dunes and enjoy the evenings looking at the sea, the birds, the waves.

In Edinburgh I meet my mother Margit and her friend Gabi who are on a holiday trip through the highlands. We set off to explore the capital of Scotland with its unique ancient architecture - very tall stone buildings and small alleyways (so calles "closes"). Edinburgh ran short of space and so the buildings had to be erected higher than usual.

I stroll around without knowing where I am heading and find an old cemetary where Adam Smith (18th century Economist, Philosopher), author of "An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations" is buried. Inmidst massive monumental graves I find this tiny plate (see picture) with just his head and name on it and think to myself: "What a modest man he must have been..." when I realize that the green is sprinkled with these little plates. They lead to a gravestone the size of a shopping window surrounded with tall fences. Not the most modest way to end.

Gabi, Margit and I spend a couple of relaxing days on a camping site outside Edinburgh and enjoy the sunny weather in the city center with coffees, ales and bar food. Holland wins against France and Czech Republic looses against Turkey. Tonight, Germany will play. But by then I will be on the road again, somewhere between Edinburgh and Glasgow on my way into the Scottish Highlands...

Queen of Scandinavia - from Bergen to Newcastle

2008-06-16T15:14:00.008+02:00

I love ships. Big ones, small ones. This one is a big one. Its name is Queen of Scandinavia. 10 decks, casino, several restaurants, tax free shop and the usual "Mermaid Bar".
Boarding the ship I meet the guys from Mungus HiFi in their van on the way back to Glasgow :)

The trip takes 27 relaxing hours. I had to take a cabin but now I am happy about it - it is a single cabin - just me, my book, a couple of Grolsch beers and a massive pack of roasted nuts.

Cycling on the left side (which is the right side if the right side is the wrong side - you decide) Newcastle is exiting. But I stay just long enough to find a map of Great Britain, an ATM and a pint of Cider. Then I follow the coastal cycling path direction north - Scotland. After my Norwegian days of abstinence, my tolerance for alcohol is now pretty low. With the pint of cider in my legs I don't get very far. I soon crash for the night in the sandy dunes of Whitley Bay.

Bergen

2008-06-06T12:27:00.006+02:00

The road from Sognefjell to Bergen leads over a last 1000m pass and then the terrain gets so steep and rocky that there are simply no more roads other than the national highway. The highway is very narrow, traffic is horrific and I have the impression that I spend more time inside of tunnels than outside. My nerves are at their limit - a riding mistake can have very serious consequences here. I don't feel well and my stomache aches from the stress. I take long breaks between the tunnels and try to find bypasses but there aren't any.

This stretch of the road is not recommendable for cyclists and as I happen to learn later: it is not recommended to cycle here - the guidebooks suggest to take the train into Bergen.

Well... I tell myself that you can't be a winner everyday and finally get my humor back by blasting AC/DC's "Highway to hell" on my little handlebar stereo... then Metallica and Rage Against The Machine take over. It works.

And then - finally - I find a cycling track following an old road along the shoreline. I don't mind the road conditions, it could as well be deep mud here or river pebbles. I would still prefer to push or carry my bike rather than spending another minute in one of the hellish tunnels. But the road is tarmaced and nice and peaceful and takes me into the center of Bergen. And suddenly I realize that this is the end of my time in Norway. After seven months in this wonderful country I will leave for Great Britain.

Downtown Bergen I visit the famous "Brygge", a UNESCO protected area of old wooden buildings in the harbour. It is spoiled with tourist shops nowadays but still gives you an impression of how life in a fishing and trading harbour must have been hundreds of years ago. I find one alley especially authentic - a strong stench of rotten fish and vegetables creeps through the stilted wooden floor. When we think about the good old times we usually see nice architecture, wood carvings and old taverns. But we forget how much it must have smelled in those times before washing machines, deodorants, automated floor cleaning machines and central garbage collection had been invented.

I didn't plan to stay too long in Bergen but unfortunately I just missed the ferry to Newcastle and the next ferry leaves in 4 days. I don't know really what to do with 4 whole days and start wandering around the city center.

As I walk over the main square I see a group of Rastafarians setting up a massive wall of loudspeakers - the Bergen Reggae Festival is about to start...

Wait a minute, aren't those guys over there Zlatan and Espen, the guys who used to play Reggae in our bar in Tromso? Yes, it is them! And the Rastas are Mungus HiFi from Glasgow in Scotland. They need help setting up their venue and so I am hired for two days helping with the light installation for a free ticket and a couple of beer. I love it.

I also meet Erik, a guy who is about to cycle from Bergen to China (he has some sort of a bet about it going with some friends) and a Portugese guy who had already cycled around Europe for the last 5 years (he stands in the harbour with his bike and a map of Europs and tourists tip him money for the next 5 years). Then I meet Janine who invites me to a BBQ on an island on the coast. Time flies and suddenly I am not looking forward to taking the next ferry to Newcastle anymore. I wouldn't mind staying another 4 days...

Tunnels

2008-06-06T12:25:00.009+02:00

Norway is a very mountaineous country. Which certainly is one of the reasons for its enormeous beauty!
One problem that comes with mountains is that (in rich countries) people tend to build plenty of tunnels. Tunnels for cyclists are almost as bad as E605 for Rats. It's a killer.

Some of the tunnels that I cycled were longer than 3km. Three kilometer, that is approximately two miles! One of those really long ones connected two islands - thus it was under water! 114 meter under the surface. I felt like in a spaceship - anxious to get out as fast as possible. The fumes in the tunnels are bad and the roads are narrow. I have the feeling that most truck drivers have never in their life ridden a bicycle, especially not a fully loaded one.

This particular tunnel on the pictures had NO LIGHTS at all!!! It was 700 meters long and it was pitch black dark. The second picture shows the tunnel after roughly 100m, the third picture was taken after 200 meter. Even with my flashlight shining into the tunnel it was impossible to see anything at all. I had to shine to the walls on the left and right to get some bearings about where I was.
Cycling blind is a very funny experience... try to close your eyes on a (EMPTY!) and straight stretch of road for 5 seconds and you will know what I am talking about.

The ride across Sognefjell

2008-06-06T12:25:00.008+02:00

From Trondheim my way takes me to Bergen - a beautiful City on the westcoast from where I plan to take a ferry to Newcastle in England. The first possibility is to take the coastal route. It is definitely the easier option but I need to use a lot of small ferries. The second option is the inland route that leads through Dovrefjell national park and then diverts into the mountainrange of Sognefjell. There will be lots of ups and downs!
I choose the second option. Somehow I feel that I haven't yet seen enough of those Norwegian mountains.

To avoid the big roads with heavy traffic, I try as much as possible to find small sideroads. A tiny gravel road takes me into an almost empty countryside with roaring rivers (it is spring time so all the snow is melting here) and high waterfalls. The roads acent very steeply and the temperature rises to 30 degrees Celsius (about 1000 F :). I sweat and swear as the road would and would not stop ascending.
The dwellings here are all built in an old fashioned style; with grass roofs and beautiful wood carvings. On one of the pictures above you see an old train station that is still in use.

The road and the wind decide to form a coalition against me. The terrain just doesn't stop ascending and I now face a steady headwind. But some years ago in Tibet I already had time to get myself psychologically acquainted to this. Then I had to cycle up to more than 52oom. Knowing that there must be and end to this I keep going. And no matter how low or how high the altitude of the pass - reaching the top is always a nice triumph :)

On the pictures you see the thick ice that is still covering the lakes on Sognefjell (it is the beginning of june!!!) and high walls of snow piling up at the roadside. I take lots of banana breaks on the way up and on the way down meet two Dutch ladies (going on 50) who are pushing their bikes uphill for the last two days! My deepest respect! They are on a 4 month trip through scandinavia, all the way up to Nordkap (officially the most morthern point of mainland Europe) and then down again back to Netherlands. Their route isn't fixed. They just go along... Travel at it's best.

In Urnes, I visit the oldest Stabkirke (special style of church) in Norway, protected by UN world heritage and a proud 45 NOK entrance fee.

There are waterfalls everywhere!!! Thundering into the valleys from enormous heights they often create a small localized rain shower which is very welcome in these temperatures that reach almost 30 degrees Celsius. If one compares those falls to Niagara or Victoria falls they certainly aren't as impressive in terms of power and monstrousity. But their remoteness, the quietness of the surrounding nature and the absense of large crowds of tourists makes them special. So I often just sit and gaze and rest my legs and my mind.

Trondheim

2008-06-06T12:23:00.003+02:00

Trondheim is a bigger city in central Norway. In earlier yimes it has been the capital of Norway so there are many monuments and old arcitecture here. I stroll around the city and enjoy the good weather. Three days I spend in a beautiful community called "CampHill" - my brother used to work for them during his first year in Norway in a center where handicapped and people with drug habits live and work together. A very relaxing time... and I manage to get a shower and wash my clothes after ten days on the road... It was high time.

The new look

2008-06-06T12:03:00.002+02:00

Here is a picture of my bicycle now that I am on the road again. The weight is about 40kg, I guess (without food and water).

I am especially proud of my little stereo that I jerry-rigged from a couple of 1,5V batteries and my old speakers. Now I can listen to music and audiobooks while cycling and without the earphones bothering me. Juhu! The picture was taken in southern Norway... flowers everywhere... it feels as if I was going to San Francisco :)

The way to Trondheim

2008-05-28T13:33:00.004+02:00

After Bodo I follow the coastal route - lots of islands and lots of ferries. Sometimes the islands are so small that I ride for only two hours between two ferries. With a car you pass such an island in about 5 minutes... still on one of the islands I see a farmer bending over a the fire red hud of a real FERRARI! Too many short distance trips - I think he is fixing the engine.

I come to a place that I name "Halfpipe Hill" because it looks like a massive skateboard ramp. There are lots of tunnels here and I seriously dislike tunnels. So if possible I ride a detour on a small deserted road over the pass. Here I find a lake that is so still that it reallz looks like a mirror! I decide to stop and spend the afternoon paddling in a little boat that lies on the shore. There is nobody here who could mind me taking the boat. On the other hand there is also nobody here to help me if I sink. Oh, well...

The days down the coast are relaxing as you can see on the next picture. Midnight sun, mild temperatures and just beautiful nature.

Sometimes I don't feel like setting up camp - now it is daylight for 24hours anyway so it doesn't feel like it's night. After 10 hours on the road, I often just crash somewhere in the middle of nowhere, cook dinner, read a little and then sleep. A place might look a little shabby like on the first picture below. But then it might just be a matter of finding the right angle... you turn around and you have the most stunning lake right at your bedside :)

Alpha and Omega - The place called "A" and "O"

2008-05-28T13:16:00.005+02:00

I have to say it again: Lofoten is an incredible place! The nature is so stunning and when the sun shines it makes you want to forget the rest of the world.

The last town (or the first - depending on your way of seeing things) is a place called O. It is written A (with a little circle on top). Alpha and Omega - the beginning and the end :)

I stay here for two days because it is the 17th of May - Norwegian national day - and there are no ferries running. There is a little plateau at the very end of A/O where i decide to pitch my tent.
The view is fascinating - the coastline of Norway spreads over the whole horizon and I also see the last little Islands of Lofoten that can only be reached by boat. Soon I have a friend - a seagull. It decides that mt tent offers interesting insights into human life plus a profitable output of breadcrumbs and oats. Every evening I go to bed saying "good night" to the little bird and when i open my tent in the morning I see it shrieking away from the sound of my Hilleberg-zipper.

On my free day I hike around A/O. Beautiful scenery, waterfalls, fresh water lakes, tiny fishing villages and snow on top of the mountains.

Then, I take the 4 hour ferry to Bodo on the mainland and continue riding the coast down south. The weather is so good that I just sleep in the open, my sleeping mat on some fluffy moss. I love it!

Lofoten

2008-05-15T13:13:00.007+02:00

When Rene boards the Hurtigruten (there are about a dozen ships, this one is called Richard With) I am already awake, so why keep sleeping until ten? So I just start off as well.

Vesteralen is very quiet at 4:30 in the morning and so I have a couple of sleepy hours before the human part of the world wakes up. There are lots of birds chirping and whistling. A very big eagle (with a white tail) circles above me!

Unfortunately, the weather decides to give me a solid shaking and it starts to hail again. 5 centimeters fall in no time and the road is covered with snow and ice.
I cycle for about 100km today until I reach the village of Melbu on the most southern tip of Vesteralen and take a Ferry to Lofoten.

I sleep right next to the Ferry terminal (Fiskebol) in a deserted building. The next morning, the weather changes and the sun comes out. It is impressive how much this changes my morale!!!
I ride along the coast on a narrow dirt road until I reach Laukvika, a sleepy little fishing town. Here I have lunch directly on the pier and in the sun - ahhhhh.

Lofoten is such a fascinating place that takes your breath more often than you actually manage to breathe in and out. Who hasn`t been here should definitely put this on the agenda of one of their next trips!

Later, in Henningsvaer (very pitoresque, to use this nice french expression :) there is a lot of fish drying on wooden skeletons in the sun. This fish is famous on the coast of northern Norway. One of the fishermen gives me a bite to try - you eat it just like this... very chewy... but real tasty. A good snack - way better than whatever MARS, KRAFT or NESTLE have to offer.

No, this is not dried fish, this is juicy fresh salmon with boiled potatoes and green asparagus. Yummy and cooked on my camping cooker. Who says you have to suffer while riding around the world?

:)

Vesteralen

2008-05-15T12:55:00.004+02:00

After Hastad, Rene and I reach a group of islands called "Vesteralen". We decide to visit the city of Andenes on the northernmost tip. Reaching far out into the Atlantic Ocean, Andenes is a center for satellite and rocket science. There are antennaes of all kinds and shapes everywhere...

Just before Andenes, we stay a night on the beautiful beach of Bleik - hundreds of meters of white sand. We are tempted to go swimming but back off as the wind starts to pick up and it is 4 degrees Celsius in and outside the water...

After Andenes, Rene decides to head back north. His plan is still to cycle to the north cap and to the Russian border. He wants to explore Lake Inari, a massive Lake between Finnland and Russia.
We spend a last night in Risoyhamn where Rene will take the ferry (Hurtigruten) back to Harstad. Hurtigruten is a coastal service that was established around 1900 and mainly used for transporting post and goods. Today, a lot of tourists make use of it and the 11 day cruise along the coast of Norway is a costy but rich experience.

The problem with Hurtigruten is: in some harbours they stop in the middle of the night. One of those is Risoyhamn. We decide to camp close to the pier and find shelter next to a closed restaurant. We start off with reasonably good weather but soon the wind gets fresh and it starts to hail. We soon learn that the weather in Norway is very unpredictable during the month of May - sunshine, rain, sunshine, hail, snowfall, sunshine, hail... it all comes in intervalls of 15 to 30 minutes.
We manage to cramp together and stay dry until the ferry arrives. It is 4:30am. The sun is already up.

There goes Rene. And I am on my own again.

Leaving Tromso

2008-05-15T12:38:00.004+02:00

With a heavy heart I leave Tromso on the 2nd of May 2008 after a morning coffee (is there another place for coffee in Tromso than Verdenstheatret?) with my brother Jan and close friends.
In Kvaloya (about 20km outside the center of Tromso) I meet with Rene, another German who is travelling on a bicycle. (We met at a BBQ the evening before and he spontaneously decided to join me for a week or two.)
Together we start into new adventures. We plan to take a ferry to the next island called "Senja".
Helen (a colleague of Rene) will accompany us to he ferry on a daytrip and then head back to Tromso.

On Senja, Rene and I spend a couple of relaxing days fishing and taking it slow. The weather becomes stormy and it starts to rain. On the loose and mossy ground the pegs of my Tent don`t hold and I have to use my bicycle as an anchor :)

In Hastad, we are to lazy to pitch up the tents. So we just set up camps in a little wooden pavillion in the city center. That`s where the press gets wind of us...

You can never ever leave without leaving a piece of you

2008-04-25T14:50:00.005+02:00

Time passes fast. I am already up here for 5 months! The winter fades into spring and slowly the snow melts. Wherever you look little streams of water run downhill until they find the sea.

Time to leave. With tears in my eyes I write this and think of all the good firends I made here, all the people that I will miss (and maybe will miss me). I had a fantastic time up here north of the polar circle. Northern Norwegians may seem cold and not interested at first sight - but when you get to know them better, they are very friendly and heartwarming folks.

I plan to depart from here in the beginning of May. Taking with me only what you see on the picture above and wonderful memories of all the people that I spent my time with. Plus - the hope to see you all again sometime, somewhere, somehow...

"Heute hier, morgen dort, bin kaum da, muß ich fort,
(Today here, tomorrow there, I must leave again even though I just arrived)
hab‘ mich niemals deswegen beklagt.
(anyway - I never complain about this.)
Hab‘ es selbst so gewählt, nie die Jahre gezählt,
(I made the choice myself to live this way, never counted the years)
nie nach gestern und morgen gefragt.
(and never asked about yesterday or tomorrow.)

Refrain:
Manchmal träume ich schwer,
(Sometimes I dream difficult dreams)
und dann denk‘ ich, es wär‘
(and then I think it is time now)
Zeit zu bleiben und nun ganz was andres zu tun.
(to stay and do something completely different.)
So vergeht Jahr um Jahr und es ist mir längst klar,
(The years are passing by one after another. And I realized long time ago)
daß nichts bleibt, daß nichts bleibt wie es war.
(that nothing stays - no - nothing stays as it is.)

Daß man mich kaum vermißt, schon nach Tagen vergißt,
(That nobody might miss me and that people have already forgotten about me)
wenn ich längst wieder anderswo bin,
(when I am somewhere else)
stört und kümmert mich nicht. Vielleicht bleibt mein Gesicht
(oh, that doesn’t bother me much. Somehow - in the end, a couple of people
doch dem ein‘ oder and’ren im Sinn
(might even remember my face...)

Refrain:
Manchmal träume ich schwer...
(Sometimes I dream difficult dreams…)

Fragt mich einer, warum ich so bin, bleib‘ ich stumm,
(When someone asks me why I am the way I am then I stay quiet)
denn die Antwort darauf fällt mir schwer.
(because I don't have an easy answer.)
Denn was neu ist wird alt und was gestern noch galt,
But all new things become old and yesterday's reality)
stimmt schon heut‘ oder morgen nicht mehr.
(already doesn’t count anymore today - or tomorrow...)

Refrain:
Manchmal träume ich schwer...
(Sometimes I dream difficult dreams…)

(Song: Hannes Wader)

Frozen river trip - Reisaevla

2008-04-25T14:28:00.006+02:00

In the north of Tromso is a big river called "Reisaelva" which is well known for its excellent salmon fishing. During the winter the river is frozen and my friend Ida, a couple of others and I take our huskies to explore the national park that surrounds the river.

We make almost 30km on the first day and arrive in a little cottage where we stay overnight. On day two we do a daytrip to the little "Arthur-Gamme" (cottage) that you see on one of the pictures. It is cold so we make a fire outside and grill sausages.

The view is splendid and the weather couldn't be better!

On day three we head back to where we came from, refreshed and relaxed and happy :) Weekends can be so wonderful without television and mobile phones!

Sunday morning walk

2008-04-04T17:23:00.006+02:00

Sunday morning and the sun is shining! I walk home from the center of Tromso all around the south of the island and past the Airport and the big bridge to Kvaloya. 4 hours of sunlight tickling my skin and breathtaking mountain views!

Sometimes life can be so easy... I love this place!!!

Snowshoes, snowboards and snowstorms

2008-04-04T16:50:00.007+02:00

Another fantastic thing about Tromso is the fact that it is surrounded with amazing mountains! Just behind the house is a nice hill for snowboarding and sometimes my brother Jan and I hike up there before work and enjoy a nice little wake-up-ride.

But today, my friend Laura and I go for a daytrip on Lille Blamann, an easy peak with a gorgeous view on Tromso and the Ocean (if you don't happen to get up there in the middle of a snowstorm).

We start with nice weather conditions in the afternoon. The trip takes about 3 hours. It gets dark around 6pm nowadays so we have plenty of time.
In the vicinity of the peak is a radio tower. When we reach it, the weather suddenly changes and the wind gets fresh. The sun disappears fast and it starts getting foggy and snowy. We decide to skip the rest of the way to the peak and rather enjoy the nice new snow on the way down.

Svalbard Mario Carts

2008-02-25T22:26:00.015+01:00

For centuries, Tromso has been the starting port for many polar expeditions into the Arctic and to the North Pole. Stocks are replenished here and ships receive final preparations for the harsh conditions to come. Half way to the pole lies the archipel of Svalbard, which was discovered by the Dutch cartographer Barents in the 16th century. Svalbard is better known as Spitsbergen which is the name of its main island.

The only resources that could be found in and around Svalbard for hundreds of years were whales, seals, foxes and polar bears and the archipel was mainly inhabited by trappers and fishermen.

In the late 19th century very high quality coal was discovered and attracted many adventurers and investors. Soon the archipel was divided into claims from different nations. Today Svalbard is considered international territory under Norwegian administration. Its main town Longyearbyen was founded in 1906 by the American miner John Munroe Longyear.

My brother Jan worked up there a couple of years ago but back then I didn't have the chance to visit. Now that I live in Tromso - only 800km away - I decided to go and have a look at this mystic, deep frozen place.

Together with my mother I take the world's most northern scheduled flight: SK4412 from Tromso to Longyearbyen. Stepping down from the plane at 78 degrees north, the temperatures are chilly. Everbody is dressed in fluffy down jackets and high tech outdoor gear - much different from the way the first people arrived more than 400 years ago. Today the mining activities in Longyearbyen have stopped. But a law protects all human traces from before 1945. And so the town is dominated by massive wooden skeletons which were once supports for the cable cars that brought the coal from mines in the ajacent valleys to the centre of Longyearbyen.
Everything here is covered by a thick layer of snow. At the roadside abandoned cars and snow scooters seem to drown in the white ocean of snow whose waves are blown through the valley by the never ceasing wind. Lanterns with flood lights are scattered all over the valley and create a spooky science-fiction like atmosphere. There isn't a single tree in the entire valley.

The road network on Svalbard is limited to the few inhabited areas of Longyearbyen, Barentsburg and Svea. There is not even a connecting road network between them. Svalbard is only accessible by ski, dog-sledge or snow-mobile. The archipel hosts a population of Polar Bears so the authorities highly recommend taking a big rifle and a skilled shooter on every trip outside town. There have been deadly accidents just a couple of hundred meters outside of town. Just a week before our arrival a Bear had been spotted at the bay outside Longyearbyen.

We decide to expore the island by snow-scooter. A scooter is a loud high powered monster that looks like the result of crossing a tank with a motorbike. And better than that: it races just like one. A scooter has just two handles: gas and brake. No shifting. It looks dead simple. But if you speed up too fast or brake to hard the scooter starts to glide and sway and you start loosing control. Thus, driver and passenger both have to shift their bodyweight according to speed and terrain.
Wow! This is the closest you can get in real life to playing Nintendo's famous "Super Mario Carts"!!!

Packed into several layers of woolen underwear and a special warming suit (...man sieht ja aus wie 'n Erbsenkopf... ) we take off with our Italian guide Stephano who operates tours in Svalbard since more than ten years. He carries a big revolver and has a massive hunting rifle strapped to his scooter. It makes me feel like being in the wild west (there is a sign outside the bank of Svalbard saying: no guns and rifles allowed inside).

The trip takes us inland into the Longyearbyen valley up the glacier and across a moon-like landscape. At times we ride with more than 60km/h. The outside temperature is just about minus 13 Celsius. But the strong wind that's bashing into our faces from the front makes it feel like 50 below zero.
Svalbard is so far north that even at noon the sun still doesn't rise above the horizon. The sky is mostly pale cyan blue but some northern spots are intensely dark ultramarine. The clouds all have a yellow and pink touch. The whole day feels like an eternal sunrise and sunset all at once.
In the early afternoon we reach the Russian settlement Barentsburg. Typical Russian monuments like a statue of Lenin, Soviet wall paintings and the total absensce of tourism create an entirely different atmosphere than in Longyearbyen.
The Russian mine is still in use but the city looks deserted now that only 500 of the once 1800 inhabitants live here.
In the only hotel I find Baltika 3, the Russian beer that I used to drink when travelling the Transibirian Railroad from Berlin to Beijing eight years ago. In a beautiful moment of nostalgia I buy a can to take home to Tromso.

On the way back to Longyearbyen, one of the scooters breaks down. The fuel pipe froze shut and the desperatly thirsty engine choked on an icy vakuum. After half an hour the sky becomes dark and our guide Stephano is desperate enough to pour the remaining contents of our thermos-bottles onto the engine. Hurray - it works! The fuel in the pipe defreezes and after a couple of rough coughs the scooter is up and running again.
After 10 hours in today's freezing chamber we glide back over the last ridge and see the foggy lights of Longyearbyen in the distance. Luckily the only animals that our group encountered were reindeer, huskies and a couple of seagulls.

Then in the very center of Longyearbyen I finally happen to see a polar bear. Kazem, an Iranian stranded on Svalbard operates the "Rode Isbjorn" (Red Polar Bear), a red delivery truck in which he fries delicious Kebabs. Kazem studied Mechanical Engineering in Wuppertal, Germany where he lived for 12 years. He speaks fluent German. After problems with the visa regulations of the Schengen countries he made his way via Norway to the international territory of Svalbard. Here he can stay as long as he has employment to sustain his living. His son lives and studies in Norway but Kazem cannot visit him without risking to be deported.

Kazem's kebab tastes real good and immediately fills me with warm thoughts about Bagdad - the best kebab shop in the world (Schlesisches Tor, Berlin). This one here is probably the most northern Kebab to be found in the world!!!

Reindeer Racing... swoooooooosh!

2008-02-14T09:13:00.014+01:00

The "Sami" is a people living in the north of Scandinavia - Norway, Sweden, Finland and Russia - today consisting of roughly 70.000. The Sami inhabit the area of Lappland. In earlier times the term "Lappe" had been used for the Sami but this term is considered inappropriate.

It is believed that the history of the Sami goes back to the last ice age 10.000 years ago. Traditionally the Sami hunt and herd Reindeers - it is possible to see large flocks of animals (thousands) in the north of Scandinavia.

From the 17th until the 20th century, the Sami had been severely discriminated - it was even forbidden to them to learn their native language in school! On February 6th, 1917 the Sami held their first "Conference" to strenghten their rights and better their status.

This day is now annually celebrated in Tromso with a big Reindeer Race where Sami "Pilots" race behind Reindeers through downtown Tromso with speeds up to 70 kilometers per hour!!!

The starting point was just outside of Verdenstheatret which made my working day a quite fantastic experience.

Ready, steady, go!