600 km. to Berlin - heraclio
A short cycle trip I made in the early spring of 2000, mostly wildcamping in the german forests, to Berlin and former East Germany.

600 km. to Berlin
Amsterdam, Netherlands
In the forest near Emmeloort,
02-04-2000.
Five months sice my last trip cycling all winter as a bicycle messenger in the Amsterdam city centre. Unusual for me to winter in cold and rainy Amsterdam, most winters I spend in Southeast Asia hating the dutch cold.
But then most of my friends consider me crazy leaving Amsterdam on a bicycle trip for Berlin while it is still cold and miserable weather.
Not that my time in Amsterdam these last five months was all that bad dating a whole bunch of weird and strange women.
Each and all of them a good case for a physciatrist. No big surprise there I met them all at my job but Miss Zelda Sabayo but she was only being of surinam descent and an illegal imigrant who was after me for the dutch papers, get married and run away after five years with a dutch pasport.
A bit like the thai ladies who ply their trade on fat bellied farang males with lonely hearts and who have heard all these stories about beautifull and husband-devoted young asian ladies.
So I leave Amsterdam early in the morning carrying my tour bike, my tent,
my sleeping bag and the rest of my gear down the steep staircase of my house dressed in my old cycle gear, putting on my gloves and cycling out of the city leaving the hustle and bustle that comprised the centre of any big city the world over, behind.
Soon enough I'm in the middle of farm land, dutch farms and small old villages, entering the Flevo Polder which is full with birds, mostly water fowl, following the coast of the Ysselmeer which used to be an inland sea being connected to the dutch Waddenzee but has been turned into a huge sweet water lake since the construction of the Afsluitdijk, protection against the wild and unpredictable North Sea.
With the huge flat fastness of the Ysselmeer - the Lake of Yssel - I'm besieged by heavy wind in the face, a cyclist's nightmare but I enjoy the challenge pushing it hard.
Just outside Emmeloord, a dutch city just outside the Flevo Polder - Polder is the dutch word for land we won from the sea - I find myself a quiet wild camping place in a small patch of forest realising wild camping will have to
be my destiny all the way to Berlin and beyond due to my limited funds and the early time of the year, most campings still being closed.
written by  heraclio on February 4, 2000 from Amsterdam, Netherlands
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin

cycling the Dutch hinterland
Amsterdam, Netherlands
In Natuur Gebied De Klencke,
03-04-2000.
As nearly always during my cycle trips I try to wildcamp experiencing the best part of my day....at night in front of my tent, my belly full with good food, my sleeping bag inside my tent a-waiting my exhausted body for the night, promising my gray haired guarding angel a safe heaven for the night, not an evil soul in this wedland nature reserve in the dutch hinterland will devour my immortal spirit.
Yeah, sitting there in front of my tent in a small dune and surrounded by the blackness of a night not wasted by the big city light polution of a nearby town, the sounds of small nocturnat animals all around me while working on a six-pack of cheap
and luke warm Liddle supermarket beer one can get very phylisophical.
The beer goes slowly and the sounds of the forest - feeling very much protected here by my gray haired aforementioned and highly prised guardian angel - slowly invade my
body massaging my overused muscles, the smells of the fesh pine trees surrounding me waking up after a cold winter to the time of the coming spring, have the soothining effect on my strained mind like swee insence liquid burning in a small glass pot.
Early in the morning I wake up by the small shafts of sun light invading the privacy of my battered old tent.
The part of Holland between here and the border with Germany will be extremely flat, a bit like the proverbial dutch pancake and dotted with farms and old villages, the accents of the locals - despite being dutch myself - will be incomprehesible to my ears, in these small God fearing communities life centres around the catholic church right smack in the middle of the village`s main square.
My lunch and dinner times are often spent in a small restaurant or bar nearby the church, a place at the window will have my preverence, I will eat my meals quietly not looking for small chitchat with other clientêle whose curious and often suspicious eyes will send a clear message in my direction.....
......YOU ARE NOT LIKE US, WE BELIEVE IN GOD AND YOU ARE A DRIFTER........
They do accept my dutch guilders when I pay though, there is no higher standard when the color of money is involved I guess.
written by  heraclio on March 4, 2000 from Amsterdam, Netherlands
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin

Cycling in cold Germany
Berlin, Germany
Germany, Natürpark Nörclicher,
04-04-2000.
I cross the german border early in the day just after breakfast, I`m now fully in The Land of the Sauerkraut and Bratwurst people. T
This dutch german border is a big phycological border as well, almost like a point of no return, a bit like from here on things will get serious.
The mornings are still cold and allready at the moment of breaking down my tent, rolling up my sleeping bag, my fingers go numb and cramp together in the last of a winter`s embrace.
Luckily the german version of the american Mc Donalds have followed their american tradition of offering free coffee - as much as you like - over breakfast. Needless to say "I linger over breakfast" is getting a whole new defionition for me.
I`ve taken NO gloves, NO bonnet....and I did that for a reason...I wanted to get it rough, rough and physically tested, wanted to experience the rough side of life just one more time.
So I sit on my bike early in the morning, my gloveless hands allready dumb by exposure, my feet deperately trying to move up and down on the pedals of my bike feel like a clump of ice from my frigo, my heart beat bonking away in my chest while I can feel my teeth clattering in my mouth cavatity.
I allow my body and mind the luxury of the occasional cafe au lait in an obscure bar of a small german village that has not been bombed to rumbles during the last great war, a bar belonging to a village that could easily house the infamous story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin, a fable maybe but one that feels very real to my exchausted body and tested mind while drinking my coffee, eating my lunch.
When evening approaches I start looking around for a suitable free camping spot knowing fully well that my frozen hands will have the touch the ice-cold aluminium posts of my tent, roll out my sleeping bag......all these uncomfortable things preparing for the night....a small campfire might come in handy to fry over these cans of bratwursts I bought in the Lidle today
written by  heraclio on May 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin

A colony of rooks
Berlin, Germany
Germany, Natürschutsgebiet Femke,
Whether my wild camping place last night was badly chosen or not is maybe better left to prosterity.
The tree I was camping under last night was an ancient oak tree whose old and wrinkled branches were spreading out in all directions and made me feel like sleeping in a cradle while this ancient wooden grand mother was watching over me.
A large group of rooks must have thought so too arriving just before darkness while I was busy putting up my tent and preparing for the night.
I have a strong suspicion that last night`s ancient oak tree might very well have been their favorite sleeping tree...all evening while I was trying hard to get into a phylosofical mood, trying hard to contemplate these past five months in Amsterdam, reliving my non-travelling life back in Holland....these blue black crow-like birds were busy screaming at me....I was in their realm...camping under their watchfull grand mother, wooden or not....a bit like a finding a stranger in your bedroom I presume.
Waking up in the morning I found my noicy neighbors gone and the outside of my tent covered with their chakly droppings.
Point taken.
written by  heraclio on May 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany

A meeting with a stray cat
Berlin, Germany
In Der Nähe von Beeden Bostel,
Some of the things that impress me most during these cycle trips and camping out for free in the forest, are the beautifully heavens lit up by countless stars whose cold light reaches me down there in front of my tent, drinking a few beers and waiting for bed time.
No big city lights out there, no artificially produced light polution in these dark green german forests.
Out there in the darkness surrounding my tent I can hear the presence of the original forest dwellers.
A stray cat on the prowl. I had allready seen him cicrling my camp while darkness appoached, probably checking out what I was doing on his territory.
He came back several hours later using the blackness of the night to approach my tent, his shadows lighting up in grotesque figures in the flames of my little fire.
With my head full with natural highs like dopamine and adraline caused by a whole day of cycling and slightly drunk due to several cans of Weissen brew I imagined I could actually sence the mortal fear radiating out of the little gray mice that too got attracted to my campside.. for other reasons though....most liky by the old smelling cheese I used on my banquette.
After five days of cycling I feel once more very free cycling through the "Land of
the Bratwurst and Sauerkraut People".
Avoiding as most as posibile contact with other human beings, mostly being to myself exploring the inner sanctum sanctorum of my private mind and soul.
written by  heraclio on June 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany

Two versions of turkish culture
Im Wald in der Nähe von Seehausen,
I cycle all day under an overcast sky feeling ready to jump off my bike and put on my rain suit. The animal kingdom around me doesn`t feel the need for protection against Mother Nature`s occasional bouts of pissing down her heavenly waters on us the mortal lower beings down on earth`s surface.
No, the animal kingdom is busy preparing for the fast approaching spring, the tradional mating season and reproduction time. All day I see male peacocks slashing it out with the competition meanwhile trying to herd together a flock of females.
Whenever the poor sod is distracted by females still on the loose or other males, someone or other will steal a few females out of his treasured flock.
Even in the peacock world all is square in love and war!
It is late afternoon when I decide to have my midday break in a small german village with the difficult to pronounce name of Pretzier. Cobble stone streets and old stone houses that date from well before the second war, I presume this place must have been too small for the Alleid Forces to bomb to pieces, mabye it was not even on their maps.
I enter a small turkish coffee house whose front window told me "Wir verkaufen Dönner und Bier".
Upon entering a wave of sweet nargileh tabbaco approaches me while I try to adjust my eyes to the dank and dark interior. Eight or nine tables are placed on each side of the small oblong room, a nargileh - turkish waterpipe - on each table.
detecting the sweet sugary smell of turkish mint tea among the nargileh odour I take a table at the window...yeah a turkish dönner kebab with beer and a mint tea to top it off.
A group of older turkish males in pale and dusty suits play cards at one table, each of them looking relaxed and occasionally talking a drag from the nargileh. Small cups of expresso and mint tea for them while soft chitchat rules the conversation at their table.
It is a bottle of Raki, the turkish version of the greek ouzou, on the other table that has customers, a group of rowdish young turkish males playing dominoe, no nargileh for them but a ashtray full to overflow with sigarette butts, no pale old suits for them but blue jeans and black leather coats.
Their banter is loud, excited and jumping from turkish to german and back again.
Interesting to see this complete change in culture in what are in essence one and the same people but different in age
written by  heraclio on August 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany

Weird late night sketches
Im Wald in der Nähe von Friesack,
With the early morning cold doing a serious attack both on my gloveless hands and mental stability I cycle fast and with determination. Most of that mental deternination comes from the fact that by now I have a mental map of the Mc Donalds restaurants between here and Berlin.
If there is anything good about the fatty food coming out of Mc Donalds roadside restaurants is must be their american breakfast with is unlimited coffee.
While away the first hour of a cold morning in the Land of the Bratwurst and Sauerkraut people before I`ll have to do my daily 80 to 100 km. of the day, on the way to Berlin.
I watch my maps planning my route for the day ahead while sipping pitchdark and strong Mc Donalds coffee. I make some secret sketches of a business man in a five hundert dollar Armani suit, black attache case in one hand, dragging nervously from a filter sigarette in his other hand....hurrying to the counter...quickly take a early morning bite before the stress of the coming day will consume him.
Two young teenage ladies come in dressed in blue jeans and chatting gaily, probably from the nearby village.
I make a secret sketch of them too while every so often I glance back to the sketches I made last night in front of my tent.......Haaa, beautifull how phylosofical I can get and then try to capture that in drawings....an old lady friend stark naked while a horrible face shrouded in a veil looks over her shoulder....of course the roman cross is nearby too. Can`t by the love of God remember what inspired me to this one but I sure love it.
I`m pulled back from my last night`s reverie when the two Blue Jeans Girls leave their table shooting me quick looks, I think they realised I was sketching them.
written by  heraclio on August 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany

An old and deserted army barracks
With my hands still nimb early in the morning after leaving my last illegal campground, I can nonetheless sense the fast approach of spring in the misty air.
It is only 60 km. more to the big metropole Berlin, the goal of this trip, but out here I am still surrounded with the wild harshness of Mother Nature. Wedlands with shallow lakes at both sides of this secondary road, lakes full with fish that attract all sorts of birds, herons, kingfishers, ducks in their thousands, coots and migrating geese.
The green fields of grass are alife with mice and I sea a big bussart sweeping down and grasping one from their mids. I guess that poor mouse didn`t expect to be on his menu today.
I`m getting closer to Berlin arriving at a cross road situated at what looks like an old army barracks. Big gates at both sides of the road and beyond sleeping barracks, big and ugly buildings whose broken windows give me a creepy feeling. The whole place looks like it is a state of serious decay.
Surrounded by these decayed and sinister looking buildings, not a living soul in sight, I realise for the first time I am in the former Eastern German state, a state that completely surrounded West Berlin, I realise that these two Germanies were exactly on speaking terms at the time.
This eerie looking place must be one of the army barracks surrounding Berlin, some thing they called the Ring Of Defence Against The Capitalist West, Throw in a few more words like Kapitaist Decadency and assorted stuff and you are getting the point.
The unsettling mental energy surrounding this former army site is disturbing the peace that has started to rule my heart since having come on this trip so I quickly leave this graveyard of the past behing......cycling, cycling, cycling.....
....cycling untill I reach Berlin, it is not far any more, I am nearly there...a dream I had in the further and darker recesses of my mind is about to become fulfilled...and the only thing it took was six very enjoyable days of cycling.
written by  heraclio on September 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany

Cycling under Branderburgerturm
Berlin, a campground 20 km. from Berlin centre.
I leave my tent and most of my gear behind on the campground where I spent last night being the only customer for only 4 Deutch Mark a night, and cycle the last 20 km. to Berlin.
I could have reached Berlin centre late afternoon yesterday but I had no idea as where to stay, didn`t realy fancy the idea of a hard park bench, or worse the holding cell of a nearby police station after getting myself arrested over vagrancy charges.
At least the campground has got public toilets and...more importantly....hot showers, a place to wash my dirty body, use lotions on the hard muscle of my legs, a chance to shave off my week old beard, shampoo my ragged hair.
Leaving the campground early and in good spirits, my hair smelling of fresh shampoo, my body having been treated to the luxury of hot water and cheap soap, still wearing my battered old cycle gear but at least with clean underwear, I do my last 20 km. to Berlin.
The transition point between big city and rural country side, between the tranquility of the open land and the hustle and bustle, the stress and confusion of any big city`s traffic, is gradual.
The road is straight bringing me on a big boulevard with plenty of place for cyclists, I see plenty of tourbuses and big groups of rowdy and ederly people dressed in their sunday clothes and many carrying camaras.
I realise I have made it to the famous Berlin, the goal of this trip, when I cycle under Branderburgerturm.
written by  heraclio on October 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany

A lazy day in Little Istambul
Berlin, Little Istambul,
Looking around while I lock my bike I know for a fact why this part of town is nicknamed Little Istambul, an area east of the famous Unter Den Linden Boulevard and home to a huge turkish immigrant population.
Short rotunt women near middle age walk by carrying head scarves and long pale dresses over woolen pants, rowdy kids in thier early teenage years hang against an old automobile giving me curious but bored looks. Most of the cars parked at the curb look on average about ten years older as cars elsewhere in Berlin.
The three to four storey houses look in a serious state of urban decay, glum windows with gray colored dirty windows radiate an uncertain future to those who live here.
I enter a small turkish coffee house that also does kebab and beer. Food and Warsteiner beer is what I am after, but also some interesting rustic scenes for my sketchbook would come in handy...maybe while away an tranquil afternoon in a turkish coffee house while drawing in my sketchbook and smoking the sweet tabacco from the nargileh.
Rustic scenes are all around me in this small but cozy typically turkish neighborhood gathering place.
Old bearded men in turkish djallebas eye me friendly from nearby tables while suckling contentedly on their nargileh pipes and playing dominoes or card games.
Males in their late fifties dressed in dusty suits sipping mint tea and involved in a heated conversation in turkish, smile at me benignly.
The cloud of nargileh smoke in this joint is overwhelming but I stay most of the afternoon nonetheless making sketches and participating in smoking nargileh.
written by  heraclio on November 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany

Old german villages with old german people
Im Wald, in der Náhe von Liebenwalde,
¨Wird Regen geben im Nachmittag¨, an old ameteur cyclist told me this morning while we cycled along under am ominous looking overcast sky.
Looking up at that gray mass that spanned the heaven I knew for a fact that he was right.
The first drops started around two o´clock in the afternoon and by now I can only hope my tent will stay as waterproof as it has so far!!!
Berlin is surrounded by fast stretches of oak and fir tree forests that are inhabited by moose, elk, deer and even wolfs. The many lakes must make these forests a mosquito nightmare but this early in the year I expect no problems in that department.
Though I liked Berlin very much cycling all over the city these last few days, Brandenburgerturm, Kaiser Wilhelm Gedächtniskirche, Tiergarten, Bahnhof Zoo, the different city districts which each one often had its very own admosphere due no doubt to the many different people inhabiting Berlin, each ethnic group clinging to its own neighborhood.
Yeah Berlin was fun but I am longing to cycle a bit around the former Eastern Germany, spend time in front of my tent at night after a long and exhausting day on the bike, drinking a few cheap beers, light a campfire to heat up my cans of Bratwurst and hear the sounds of the dark nightly forest surrounding my tent.
The cycling is easy today passing through small villages where most of the younger population has moved to the west, only the old men still sit around in the village one and only surviving Kneipe / bar in German / playing cards and sipping schnapps, reminiscing the old times when they were still young and powerfull.
I see their wives sitting in front of old brick houses chitchatting and drinking cups of watery looking tea. Their children living their own lives in big western german cities now far away from the tranquility that still rules the villages where they grew up and where their parents are now living out their lives. Old and worn-out people...by the time they die these old villages will die with them.
written by  heraclio on January 13, 2009 from Berlin, Germany

The voices of wolves
Im Wald in der Nähe von Templin,
With a start I wake up feeling disoriented and confused. For a moment, just a short moment in the eternity of time I was back in the heat of Thailand hearing the voices of Thai women chitchatting outside my room while washing the laundry by hand.
Slowly their melodious Thai is being replaced by the constant patter of the heavy rain that bangs down on the outside of my tent and it becomes clear to me that I`m camping in the dark-green forests that surround Barlin.
My body is shivering and I`m covered in clammy sweat despite the warmth of my sleeping-bag. I`m scared beyond believe but find it hard to figure out why. It is not like I`m new to this, wild camping on my own in the middle of nowhere.
Trying to get my act together and find comfort in the realm of Lord Morpheus I
try to return to the dream that I was just in before my rude awakening when I hear a weird howling through the drumming of the rain outside.
Do I realy hear wolves? Hard to believe but the fear that gripped my heart earlier is now being replaced by the excitement of hearing the voices of those that rule these ancient forests.
Maybe the are preparing for the hunt and are warning the other inhabitants of the forest that their time has come....they beter hide and take cover or else.... they might find themselves on the pack's menu this rainy night.
When I wake up in the morning the rain is still heavy and incessantly drumming away on the outside of my tent forcing me to delay my departure. Sticking my still sleepy head outside my tent I discover a thoroughly wed small owl sitting only meters away on the low branch of a fir tree eyeing me curiously.
written by  heraclio on March 16, 2009 from Berlin, Germany

A care centre for the terminally sick
Im Wald in der Nähe von Neustrelitz,
I'm in a small bar in Blankenförde, a small settlement in the Nationalpark Müritz consisting of narrow cobble-stoned streets that are lined with mostly empty two storeyed houses that look in a serious state of decay, many of the red colored tiles missing from the roofs, windows broken with the incessant rain slashing through the jagged holes.
No parked cars anywhere in this old and derlict Eastern German village, just a few ancient looking rusty bicycles parked in front of the village's only bar that doubles as restaurant where old and wrinkled men with unkempt beards play checkers nursing small glass cups of Schnaps called Asbach Uralt.
Nobody paying me any heed despite my ragged and worn appearance due to nearly two weeks of living rough and wild-camping in the woods. I drink my weak coffee quietly while working on my omelettes and stale bread, my orange juice looks watery while the glass it is served in, is opaque with use, the table cloth is full with sigarette burns and dusty to the touch.
Everything in this bar and the rest of the village is despodence to the MAX, glum and hopeless, a place where the remaining population is old and without inspiration. I feel like I have walked into A care centre for the terminally sick!!!
After the collapse of the Wall the younger generation ran off to West with big dreams and hopes taking the souls of these Eastern Germany villages with them.
The families they started far away in Koln or Düsseldorf, big German cities in the rich industrial part of the Suaerkraut and Bratwurst country. No joy for these despondent old village people most of whom have never been to the West, to see their grand children grow up and replace the old village populace.
Leaving this darkly lit bar and unlocking my bike - why did I ever bother to lock my bike anyway? Not like any of these old sods is gonna run away with my iron travel partner! - and cycling out of this miserable place I can`t help but feel sorry for them.
The constant rain that has been my companion these past two days only adds to my glum mood!!!
written by  heraclio on March 17, 2009 from Berlin, Germany

I`ve been in the presence of wolves
Im Wald in der Nähe von Boek.
I cycle - like yesterday - all day through pine forests interspersed with deep blue colored lakes that abound with water fowl, ducks, geese, coots, spoonbills and more swans as I have ever seen before in my life.
The trees of the forest surrounding me are awash with noisy finches that fly ahead of my bicycle for a while before disappaering back into the dark-green curtain that line both sides of the road.
At open places I experience the occasional bout of "Wind in the Face", every long distance cyclist`s nightmare apart from heavy rain and snow.
But this Gegenwind as the Sauerkraut and Bratwurst people in this part of the world, call it does not dampen my enthusiasm. Quite the opposite actually, I take in huge gulps of the still crispy cold air. Like the flora and fauna kingdom around me I too can feel and smell the coming of spring in the air which is hightening my spirits, heightening the dopamine levels inside my dutch skull.
It has been a good decision to up here instaed of hanging around in Berlin for another 4 or 5 days.
The smells that penetrate my nostrils is that of pine forest and lakes, what my eyes see is pine forest and lakes. Yes, I enjoy this trip a lot!!!
At some point during the day I notice the tracks of deer in the mud along the road. Getting off my bike to investigate, maybe make a quick drawing of them in my sketch book, I discover some more tracks, more sinister and ominous in character reminding me of the weird howling I heard a few nights ago.
They look like the spoor of dogs but I seriously doubt the presence of stray dogs in these dark forests. Dogs tend to stay around human habitation even when going stray. I have a strong suspicion I have stumbled upon the tracks of a very different type of canine here.
I make a photo as well as a sketch. Another photo of the greyish and very smelling droppings I discover a few meters further on.
I will have to check up on this once I get back to Amsterdam. I really like to know whether or not I`ve been in the presence of wild wolves.
written by  heraclio on March 19, 2009 from Berlin, Germany

A meeting with an old German lady.
Im Wald in der Nähe von dobbertin.
In the difuse light of the small bar where I have breakfast I try to make sence of the Berliner Zeitung I found on the table and which is several days out of date - to say the least - and a touchy bit yellowish.
The runny eggs with stale bread that seems to have to rule the menu in these Eastern German villages, has already gone down to my starving belly. The watery and luke-warm cup of coffee is still waiting for consumption. Not that I expect to really wake up seriously from this low cafeine brew that looks more like dish water then anything fit for human drinking purposes.
I`ve no doubt that an impoverished Indian or a Thai individual from the poor north of the Thai Kingdom would consider this breakfast a once in a life time five star restaurant delicacy.
However I'm far from being an impoverished Indian or a poor Thai and need my food desperately in order to do my daily 100 km. of cycling.
"Darf Ich mich vielleicht ein moment mal bei Ihnen setzen?".
Being disturbed in my mental ponderings about bad food and weak dish water I look up into the roundish and wrinkled face of a rotund old woman, maybe somewhere in her late sixties dressed in faded jeans and a woolen sweater that once must have been red but has discolored to a darker sort of brownish color with age.
Her face is open and honest betraying curiousity.
She introduces herself as Die Kerstin coming from the nearby village of Brüel having been married to a local man in this village called Dabel. "Er ist aber schon seit vielen Jahren tot und unsere Kinder sind alle ausgeflogen zum West".
Husband died many years ago and the kids have moved to the Rich West. She seems in a serious need to tell me her life story and wants to hear all about my travels across the globe....she tells me she can see from the look in my eyes I`ve seen many places....have been to the corners of the world.
"Ich kenne nur diese Wälder, war sogar noch nicht mal in Berlin, noch nicht im Leben im Zug oder Flugzeug. Das war in meiner Zeit gar nicht möglich, lieber Herr". "Die Partei gab kein Erlaubnis und jetzt bin zu alt zu reisen".
Basically she never has been anywhere in her life, no permission from the former communist party and now she is too old to go anywhere but enjoy her small pension.
I offer her a Schnapps feeling genuinely sorry for this gnarled old woman who is obviously still in the possession of all her wits drinking one myself as well mentally considering the fact that she has probably been eating runny eggs and stale bread, drinking weak dish water all of her life.
One Schnapps turn into several and while the heavy german rain drums away on the opaque windows of this little run down bar with its disfused light and stale air inside, while the habitual clientêle slowly fills the five tables oppressing the already laden air with old men`s farts and the smoke of cheap tabacco, Fraulein Kerstin tells me what it was like to life under the communist yoke. With a Lächelchen - a smile you knowe - she tells me how it feels like to be the Mum of children who have left and have Keine Zeit für ihr Mütterchen heute. No time for Mum today.
Trying to get my act together after all the Schnapps I expalin my life in Thailand, my trips to India and South and Middle America, my cycle trips around Europe.
Half drunk on all the Schnapps and with the German rain having come to an end I apologise and stagger out cycling through dark green Eastern German forests where the animal world is feeling happy with the onslaught of Spring and most definitely much more sober then me.

a macho white peacock.
Im Wald in der Nähe von Rastrow.
It has been raining every night now since I left Berlin but with enough dry hours during the day time to manage my 80/100 km. a day, though last night it was hail that was being sent down to me by those divine beings that are rumoured to inhabit the clouds above my mortal head.
In the early light of a not so brand new day I break down my tent which is still wed from last night`s hail. The stretch of open agricultural land in front of me is covered by a fine whittish fog but I can still discern the small herd of deer munching away on the first sprouts of Spring grass. They eye me curiously keeping a safe distance but seem otherwise unconcerned by my presence.
A completely white - albino? - peacock is hopping busily around and among the deer proudly showing off his huge white tail every so often. Is this bird trying to impress the deer with this halo of white feathers - I mean I see no female peacocks anywhere - ,if so he is not doing a good job of it.
I`ve always thought peacocks to be native to the Indian subcontinent but these german forests seem to contain a sizeable population.
Packing my gear together and on the back of my bicycle I leave this macho bird behind quietly hoping he`ll eventually see the error of his ways trying to impress a herd of deer instead of female peacocks. His changes of getting laid the peacock way are very slight this way.

Back on track to Amsterdam.
Im Wald in der Nähe von Wietzetze.
Flashes of lightning light up the inside of my tent while I work on a couple of cans of Weissen brew. The rain is once again coming down like a tropical downpour reminding me as always of my trips to Thailand and the little family I have there.
Thai voices ring inside my head drowning the steady patter of rain on top of my tent. I`m slowly getting into phylosofical mood brought about no doubt by the alcohol and several weeks of wild camping in German woods, living it rough, shunning human contact as much as possible, living a solitary life of cycling all day on a bare excistence, my only luxury of the day my runny eggs and stale bread served with luke-warm watery dish water that qualifies as hot coffee in these lonely Eastern German villages.
The rain is slowly subsiding and the sounds erupting outside my little one-person tent in this dark and mysterious forest are at the same time fascinating and scary bringing my farang mind back to the here and now from the far away Land of the Thais, from the sociable and always smiling Thais to my self chosen life of solitary.
I`ve spent all day cycling through the beautifull Nossentiner-Schwinzer Heide National Park with groups of sparrows and wood pigeons in the Fields, deer running away ahead of me, dozens of swans in a Field. An owl sitting on a barbed wire pole looking at me cycling by, a big brown buzzard sat only a few short yards away from me in the grass. I had no idea what he/she was doing there and when I stopped to investigate the bird flew away loudly shrieking his/her protestations.
Today I also reached the river Elbe which means I`m slowly leaving the former East German Replublik behind and am back on track to Amsterdam.

A birth explosion of magflies.
Im Wald in der Nähe von Lünenburg.
A brave but still weak sun greets me when I wake up and stick my head out of my tent.
I`m surrounded by literally thousands upon thousands of tiny mayflies buzzing around my head while I break down my tent, bury the five half liter cans of Kranenborger Beer I consumed last night in front of my tent and prepare myself for yet another day on my bicycle.
A real birth explosion of these tiny one-day creatures that are rumoured to live only one day. One single day of life during which they have to go through the whole process of creeping out of there eggs, find a partner and reproduce and then die.
Pushing my bicycle through the forest in the direction of the road I`ve to frequently navigate through huge spiderwebs that are hanging between the trees full with the early morning dew and unfortunate magflies trapped in the web`s sticky threats. For these unfortunates life was already over before it even started!!!
The masters of these webs, cross-spiders whose hairy backs proudly sport colorfull crucifixes, look fat and big though they too can only have been born recently.
I presume a diet of careless magflies must be good to a young spider`s physical development.
Not that I really care about magflies buzzing around my head or sticky spiderwebs blocking my way....I too have the early sun of spring in my head feeling happy at the prospect of cycling during what will obviously be a sunny day, with probably many yet to come.
Cycling under a german early spring sun during the day and sipping cans of Kranenborger beer in front of my tent at night, getting philosophical while keeping a small campfire going and eating german bratwurst bought in the Lidl supermarket.
No more nordic god Thor causing big thunderstorms while his magic hammer Mjölnir will light up the night sky with rowdy flashes of lighning forcing me to hide in my tent, smiling down on me with malicious content in the morning while I pull down my tent in pouring rain.
From now on these last five days of cycling back to Amsterdam will be absolute delight!!!

I`m back in the real world of mankind.
Im Wald in der Nähe von Soltau.
Having my breakfast in a small McDonalds roadside restaurant I realise that my time of cycling through these dark-green and mysterious Eastern German forests has come to a definite end. Long and solitary days on the bike cycling under overcast skies that never promised anything positive, endless showers of sleet and rain, thunderstorms at night with flashes of lightning lighting up the inside of my tent at night.
Ancient small nearly deserted villages where time seemed to have come to some weird sudden end, devoid of young people, where old people looked like they were under a strange and mystical spell, live energy gone from dull old rumy eyes.
The sounds of animals at night adding to the overall feeling I was in some sort of fairy land cunjured up by the brothers Grimm.
So now I sit here in this German version of the American born McDonalds, an unruly week old beard covering my face, disheveled hair that could use a serious visit to a hair salon, smelly old clothes, drinking inky black strong McDonalds coffee and eating greasy omelettes contemplating this confined world of an american fast food joint on German soil.
People hurriedly entering and impaciently queueing up while dragging nervously from Marlboro sigarettes, no time to sit down and relax while having a bite...instead they hastily eat their hamburger on the way to the exit, unsure of sipping from a cup of hot coffee or having another drag from their still burning Marlboro provided cancer stick, preparing themselves for slave driven life at the office.
Shappy dressed teenager girls gossiping about the hottest looking hunk at school, giggling while they sip their strawberry flavoured milk shakes with bright red lipsticked mouths.
Two young women at the other table eye me with disgust and when I give them my warmest smile look away with hauthy faces. I have no doubt that my bodily odour has a serious say in this matter.
Yes I`m back in the real world of mankind.

Ordnung ist Ordnung and Befehl ist Befehl
Im Wald in der Nähe von Nienburg.
Ever since I left Eastern Germany`s dark-green forests behind me, goodbye to the weird fairy tale land of the brothers Grimm, things have turned for the better.
I cycle all day under a nice spring sun. No more rain and sleet slashing into my face all day. No more cold wind whipping against my frame trying to slow down my hard work on my bike, instead I experience a nice but easy breeze in my back gliding me along all the way back to my beloved Amsterdam.
Gone are the nearly abandoned ancient German villages where the aged left-over population looked downtrotten with dull eyes that betrayed no hope for the future, whose clothes where moth eaten, old people sipping Schnapps while waiting for eternity`s bony fingers to come and get them. Instead I cycle through small cities that are full with life, , the hustle and bustle of a hard working population, where people hurry to and fro, where the stinking exhaust fumes of passing cars invade my nostrils making me cough.
I cycle through countryside dotted with farms where locals are busily plowing the earth with massive tractors, fields with grain and maize glide by while my legs do the work....up and down they go on the pedals of my bicycle.
Small little roadside cafes and bars provide me with the occasional cup of strong coffee and disapproving looks from the other clietêle. I`m a drifter and these are frowned upon by the highly organised culture of the economic powerhouse called The German Republic.
Ordnung soll es geben and Befehl ist BeFehl.
Their obvious but quiet disapproval does not bother me...in mere days I`ll be back home, back in my own appartment where I can shower and shave off my bushy beard, where I can step out of these smelly cycle clothes, visit a hair salon and get my disheveled hair cropped....but then I mere days I`ll be like them again...a working stiff having to slave away for a dominant boss to pay my rent, my bills and my taxes.

A storch family
Im Naturpark Dümmer.
I make camp in a small forest of birch trees just before sunset. There are several farms nearby but I don`t expect any problems wild camping like this. Not like the inhabitants of the nearby farms will phone the police and I`ll end up sleeping on the hard wooden bench of a German police office holding cell on charges of vagrancy.
One of these farms is actually so nearby that I can hear the clatter of storches that live on a nest overhead the farm. I have heard that storches are soundless, that their throats can`t produce sounds so instead they clapper their beaks together.
They fly to and fro their nest carrying half a forest for nest building purposes and in the last of the day`s light I see them mating, a quick and rowdy affair with feathers flying around and the male repeatedly slipping off the female`s back due to his long legs.
The farmer`s children watch the whole proceedings with just as much interest as me if not even more. Even the farm dog is looking up with keen interest in his canine eyes
When it is all over the storch couple rearrange their feathers and continue working on their nest. Small and bigger pieces of wood, branches and boughs are moved from side of the nest to the other. the nest itself is on top of a man made construction on top of a twenty-five meter tall wooden pole.
Slowly working on my cans of Weissen brew my mind wanders back to my childhood in the south of Holland, to a time when storches where still plentyfull with every farm having a similar storch nest construction, each farm having its own storch couple - sometimes even two storch couples. People used to believe that having storches inhabiting these nests would bring them luck, People used to believe they would bring fertility to the farmer`s wife.
Even today it is custom in Holland to put a wooden storch in the garden when a baby has been born.
Human superstition which served the storch clans well but eventually the storches stopped coming to Holland and became extinct in our country due to extensive hunting during their winter migration routes.
Like always mankind can be a blessing or a curse to the world around him/her!!!

Breakfast with a twist
Im Wald in der Nähe von Meppen.
I`m cycling...cycling...and even more cycling, I`m on a mad and crazy hunt for envelopes and packages, ordners and photo albums, the portophone that hangs with a leather string from my neck is cackling away in dutch - a strange and gutteral language that I seem incapable to understand though it is my native tonque.... but then I tune in....
"Shiva, hoor je mij? we hebben een spoedje bij Lettergrafica voor de rechtbank".
It`s Bart from the planning, from the Fietsdienst - the bicycle messenger company I work for in my beloved Amsterdam telling me about this Hurry-Hurry deliverance I have to make. Thirty minutes I`ve to pick up an envelop in the heart of the city and bring it to the court of justice building in Amsterdam South.
"Wel door fietsen, Shiva, het heeft super haast!!!", my phortophone keeps cackling.
With a sudden start I wake up, not in my own bed in Amsterdam as I believe for a short moment, not somewhere in a cheap hotel room at the other end of the world, a third world place where the locals always love to hear my travel stories, see the drawings in my sketch books, can only dream of the crazy and free life I live...no, nothing like that at all...I wake up inside a dirty sleeping bag, the smell of stale sweat all around me produced by unwashed cycle clothes haphazardly strewn around in my little one-man`s tent, my bicycle bags under my head being used as a impromptu pillow, several empty cans of Deutsch Weissen beer within easy reach, my last clean pair of underwear wrapped around my farang hips and already several days in need of a washing machine job.
Outside my tent I hear strange growling noices..am I still in the brothers Grimm fairy tale land of dark-green forests where the thunder God Thor throws his magic hammer Mölnir around just to make the cycling difficult for me? Is there a pack of wolves outside my tent ready to devour me, rip me to bloody pieces and thereby bringing my cycle trip in this land of the Sauerkraut and Bratwurst people to a sudden end and with it my very life???
With s certain tripadation caused both by mortal fair and a Weissen brew induced hangover I stick my still sleepy head out of my tent, knife in hand, you never know.
No wolves outside but the farm dog from last night greets me his tongue trying to lap my face in a friedly but very wed way. A few meters away I see the farm children, open and curious faces I remember from last night watching that storch couple mating.
"Mutter fragt ob Sie vielleicht Früchstück haben wollen", the oldest and bravest of them, a maybe 15 year old boy wants to know looking a bit rough around the edges but then we are talking about a farmer`s boy.
Hot coffee, fresh bread, omelettes and beacon and the kids hovering around me while I stow it all away sitting at the farm`s kitchen table and uncomfortably aware of the stench of stale urine hanging around me produced by the aforementioned since several days unwashed underwear, the puking smell of dirty laundry while I show the kids the drawings in my sketch book, tell them about my trips around the globe, their Mum filling my cup with yet more inky black strong coffee.
When I leave "Mum" puts a plastic container in my hands telling me "Hier haben Sie noch Ihr Abendessen Sauerkraut mit Bratwurst für wenn Sie Heute Nacht wieder im Wald pennen, können Sie es aufwärmen mit dem Microwave", heating it up with my microwave when I wild camp in the forest tonight. Like I carry a microwave on the back of my bicycle??? Not really sure wether to be amused or bemused but the offer is positive in its very nature I presume.
Only when the Farm of Hospitable Locals is far behind me and the Dutch border in my sight do I realise this friendly "Mum" actually gave me a Sauerkraut and Bratwurst meal, the very nick name I always give the German people when travelling in their country.

Back home in Amsterdam with a final word
Amsterdam, Netherlands
Amsterdam,
I watch the sunny Dutch countryside gliding by from the closed confinement of a Dutch train. I listen to the conversations around me, other passengers speaking Dutch, outside I read the steet and traffic sign in Dutch, the headlines of the newspaper the elder gentleman in front of me is hiding behind, scream at me in Dutch, the train conductor checking my ticket "mag ik uw kaartje zien meneer?" too in Dutch.
Goodbye to the Sauerkraut and Bratwurst People and hello to the Land of Wooden Clogs and Smelly Cheese. Hello back home, back to my job and my house in Amsterdam.
These were the last lines I found in my sketchbook. I remember I had to take the train back to Amsterdam instead of two more days of cycling which would have been fine with me.
I made the mistake of phoning the company I worked for at the time from a small bar where I had breakfast informing them of my return in two days time. They informed me I was two days late for the job but were willing to compensate the trainfare which they never did.
As for this trip....like the other trips I`ve been uploading to the internet, rereading my own stories and editing them in my house here in Amsterdam, looking at the drawings..it brought the whole trip back full circle, the rain and sleet and even more the Mystic feeling I felt surrounded by there in these dark-green forests of Eastern Germany - sh*t, I wouldn`t have been surprised if I had seen an elf or a gnome running across the road.
I still vividly remember that total despodence in the dull rumy eyes of the last inhabitants in these decayed villages.
When I left Amsterdam I set out on this trip to visit Berlin, a city I had always wanted to visit and ended up cycling through Eastern Germany enjoying it to the Max.
Thanks for reading my stories and I hope the God of Thunder Thor with his magic hammer Mjölnir will smile down on you a bit more benignly as he did on me.
written by  heraclio on March 30, 2009 from Amsterdam, Netherlands

My first impressions of Krabi
Krabi, Thailand
Krabi is quite a busy affair these days, small budget hostels where a weary backpack traveller can rest and sleep untill the ferry to Kho Phi-Phi will depart, cozy restaurants serve sweet pancakes for breakfast while long-tail boat owners approach any Farang face looking for business.
The universal power of money even in mystical Thailand!!!
Despite the sheer number of Farang in Krabi, the place is still laid-back, no girly bars or rowdy nightlife, instead flatscreens showing the latest pirated DVD releashes in any of the many restaurants, young backpackers sitting behing computer monitors checking their e-mail.
A enormous German of indefinite age holding hands with a petite local female whose belly is even bigger as her sugar daddy`s fat gut betraying her avanced state of pregnancy. The Thai genome is enriched by literally thousends upon thousends of Leuk Kreug/half-caste babies.
Lone Farang males possessing a fat wallet and a terminal love starvation probably rule the genes of several Thai generations yet to come!!!
Souvenirs shops, ATMs and tourist travel agencies, small little dank Sois - alleys in Thai - with even more shops with their junk spilling out on the pavement, less room to stroll but more vistas for my eyes to feast on.
Krabi has definitely changed from a small laid-back fisherman`s village when I was here last in 1994 to a still laid-back but quite a bit busier small coastal Thai town.
I check in at a cockroach rich hostel where the lobby doubles as a garage for the scooters they rent out. The strong smell of benzine and machine oil heavy on the warm air.
I try to ignore the shrewd and assessing hazelnut eyes of the lady receotionist still vividly remembering the Chinese receptionist lady of the Nathon Residence on Kho Samui.
written by  heraclio on May 5, 2009 from Krabi, Thailand