600 km. to Berlin - heraclio

My first impressions of Krabi

heraclio — Tue, 05 May 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Krabi, 07-02-2009.

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.

Back home in Amsterdam with a final word

heraclio — Mon, 30 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Amsterdam,
24-04-2000.

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.

Amsterdam,
30-03-2009.

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.

Breakfast with a twist

heraclio — Sun, 29 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Im Wald in der Nähe von Meppen.
23-04-2000.

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.

A storch family

heraclio — Sat, 28 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Im Naturpark Dümmer.
22-04-2000.

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!!!

Ordnung ist Ordnung and Befehl ist Befehl

heraclio — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Im Wald in der Nähe von Nienburg.
21-04-2000.

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.

I`m back in the real world of mankind.

heraclio — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Im Wald in der Nähe von Soltau.
20-04-2000.

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.

A birth explosion of magflies.

heraclio — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Im Wald in der Nähe von Lünenburg.
19-04-2000.

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!!!

Back on track to Amsterdam.

heraclio — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Im Wald in der Nähe von Wietzetze.
18-04-2000.

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.

Back on track to Amsterdam.

heraclio — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Im Wald in der Nähe von Wietzetze.
18-04-2000.

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 macho white peacock.

heraclio — Sun, 22 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Im Wald in der Nähe von Rastrow.
17-04-2000.

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.

A meeting with an old German lady.

heraclio — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Im Wald in der Nähe von dobbertin.
16-04-2000.

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 meeting with an old German lady.

heraclio — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Im Wald in der Nähe von dobbertin.
16-04-2000.

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?".

Her face is open and honest betraying curiousity.

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.

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.

I`ve been in the presence of wolves

heraclio — Thu, 19 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Im Wald in der Nähe von Boek.
15-04-2000.

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.

A care centre for the terminally sick

heraclio — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Im Wald in der Nähe von Neustrelitz,
14-04-2000.

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!!!

A care centre for the terminally sick

heraclio — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Im Wald in der Nähe von Neustrelitz,
14-04-2000.

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 constant rain that has been my companion these past two days only adds to my glum mood!!!

The voices of wolves

heraclio — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Im Wald in der Nähe von Templin,
13-04-2000.

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.

The voices of wolves

heraclio — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Im Wald in der Nähe von Templin,
13-04-2000.

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.

Old german villages with old german people

heraclio — Tue, 13 Jan 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Im Wald, in der Náhe von Liebenwalde,
12-04-2000.

¨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.

A lazy day in Little Istambul

heraclio — Sat, 04 Nov 2000 00:00:00 GMT

Berlin, Little Istambul,
11-04-2000.

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.

Cycling under Branderburgerturm

heraclio — Wed, 04 Oct 2000 00:00:00 GMT

Berlin, a campground 20 km. from Berlin centre.
10-04-2000.

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.