New Chapter.

A flood comes rushing in every time I shut my eyes. Waves of smells of the sea in front of our street mixed with seaweeds, ocean spray & barbecue smoke. Photographs of my girl's beautiful face from a thousand angles. The beeps of the garbage truck backing up, reminding everyone awake in the apartment (which usually meant: everybody) that the sun will rise soon - again.



After trying to get back on German track in February, I eventually thought "Over so soon?" and left. This time for Spain: A friend I had worked with in the orphanage said "Come whenever you want to; you'll have a home, a family and a job here." and so it was. Coming from German society, this Spanish hospitality was quite incredible at the time. So I started working as a waiter, moved into an apartment with other friends from my journey who couldn't or didn't want to fit in at home. And then Joice came and heaven began and hasn't ended ever since, I've just... changed cloud levels up and down over the days ;)

Altea, a little village on the Mediterranean coast between Valencia and Alicante is a beautiful village that has kept more of is "Spanishness" than any other town around: Whitewashed old houses in the center and a beach you can still walk on without circling around busloads of tourists. Working as a waiter was hard, but my Spanish is fluent now and I had my friends to party with, the ocean and my love with me - and a job to keep all of this simple dream afloat; que mas quiero?



During the last two weeks of our summer me and Joice wanted to see more than just our bay and journeyed to Barcelona, Sevilla, Tarifa & Granada; some of the most beautiful and vibrant cities this country (& continent) has to offer... we had a blast, flamenco, tapas, Gaudí, 2 oceans, an Arabic bath, too much drinking for me to remember how much it actually was, a night in my hammock, a night in a fancy-ass hostel filled with rich backpackers (never seen that kind before) and too many more things to list at this hour of the night...

From Barcelona

From Tarifa

From Sevilla

From Granada

But now all of that is over and I am preparing my life as an ordinary student at the university of Heidelberg... normal life with job, studying, my mountain bike, singin', my girlfriend in January and a teaching diploma of English and Spanish language in half a decade or so.
I walk my village in the evening and wonder what all the people behind the windows have lived through. What experiences have shaken them down, made them happy, brought themback on course. I feel like a song.

In the stick count for the song
of knowing your're gone
Glancing up at where you lived
When you lived here

I see you suddenly alive
And nearly smiling
I stop and hold my breath
And watch the way you used to be

The full moon makes
Our faces shine
Like over ironed polyester
Then dissapears behind the clouds
Leaves me under empty rows
Of night windows.

To all of this... what else could I say but: YEEEHAW!!!

Home.

This is it, I am back. In my hometown. I landed a few days ago. Hm, reading this on screen helps me realize it a bit more, yet... I am still arriving here. For four hundred and fourty-two days had I not seen my family, seen the wine around my village and smelled the millenia-old wood of the forest behind the houses. Had I not listened to songs I have grown as familiar with as with my friends, had I not gone to the woods with my brother to first swing our axes and then light up the fireplace. Had I not slept in this absolute sweet silence of my tiny town on the edge of the rhine valley. Had I not the necessity to ask myself: What are you going to do tomorrow?

I apologize for not writing earlier... as you can see throughout my blog, I can never spend enough time on the web for every little detail... I have met "travelers", who spend half the day "experiencing" (traveling, seeing & doing things etc.) and then it the other half in front of the computer to blog about every tiny bug they've seen or how cool it was that that lady gave them a smile. Not for me. I like to see, while I still can. Now I am at home, in the same place everyday; now I can write. The only downside is: This results in few, but laaarge posts here... Sorry for that. I'll put a few pics to lighten things up ;)

From Lago de Atitlan.

From Casa Guatemala.

From Antigua.

In Guatemala, I once asked a friend out of the blue: "David, why do you travel, by the way?" He looked at me strange and said "'Cause I prefer this to working, what do you think?! So why do YOU travel, then?" At first, I was stunned. Here I was, already travelling for months and I still could come up with a clear answer. So I sat down and made a list of why I travel...

• For the sensation tingling down my body with anticipation of the unknown after my homedoor has fallen shut.
• For finding and exploring my limits in all directions possible... in thin air, in the jungle, in love, on the streets, in everchanging crowds and in the solitude of standing alone beside the road, following it without all the things and people I love/loved.
• For the freedom of traveling on the back of a pick up truck with the wind and the sun in my face and a 360view.
• For all the beautiful, crazy people from all over the world that are seeing this with me.
• For mastering my guitar play & expanding my music collection (got about 350 new CDs now)
• For all the moments of sheer silent beauty that make me say: "Que hermoso es el mundo!"
• For my version of true luxury: Having the time to stand, stare and settle in.
• For the feeling that then follows after a while: That, and if only for an instant, you are part of the place you live in.
• For a change of personality so intense you can feel it.
• For the simple privilege of being able to travel. I met many people who want to but never could.
• For learning how friendly the world actually is. It's not as scary as CNN tells.
• For playing with my kids, all speaking the same language.
• "Because I was unhapp where I was before." (from a friend & me)To lead a life more simple.
• To rid myself of all the bullshit from home, like TV, ringtones, arrogance and the cold in people & weather.
• To have a story to tell my children one day.
• For the sand in my pockets.
• For the sand between my toes.
  
• For returning home.

But of course I didn't fly straight back from Oaxaca, my last post location... to keep it short (anyone who wants a longer account on my travels shoud e-mail me, Tins! ;) :

In Oaxaca I then went to the beach, because I had heard about a tiny, original pacific village called Mazunte. Hidden inbetween the rocks of the wild shores, I found it: A handful of fishermen, some huts for the tourists where I simply slung my hammock and watched the waves of the ocean crash. I wondered why there were hardly any swimmers until I tried it myself... I don't think I've ever experienced being triple-looped by force of water. In the night, we made a fire, which attracted some "firedancers" (see photo) and I also met some guys who were from a place close tothe capital... After introducing them to CouchSurfing (Imanti & Heitor), they were true Mexicans by taking me all the way up to their city, from which it was a cat's jump to the capital.

And after some more Tequila-laden fiestas, I shouldered the guitar again and headed for the City where one Quarter of all ofthe country lives: Mexico City. But since I was under time-pressure and my camera broke and the article is already too damn long, I'll only say that within half an hour of just standing at the main plaza, probably half a million people had passed me by. Incredible.

The way from the heart of Mexico to Texas went so quickly I can barely remember: The Mexican truck drivers are so friendly that I covered 1100 miles to the to Laredo, TX in 24 hours. When I told them, what I was doing, most were like "Nice idea, here's a few hundred pesos, you need them more than I do." They kept insisting until I accepted. Like I said, incredible.

Hitchhiking in the States was completely different. I have yet to find out what it is that the people are so afraid of. I got kicked out of gas stations, a few hundred people refused my questions quicker than I could pose them every day and I never covered more than a few miles. The country had changed a lot since my last visit. But I eventually got to where I wanted to get to: Berea, Kentucky, a place I hand't seen in half a decade. But right now it's 2 in the morning once again and if I go on like this, I'll never get my body readjusted after the jetlag. So to speed things up a bit (sorry, Tins, more to follow later): It was wonderful seeing my host family again and having fun with old & newfound friends... I fell in love, I fell over drunk, I fell for Pabst Blue Ribbon, I felt great. Good times.

But then all of a sudden my mom decided to visit me and I just said: "But not here! Let's go to Guatemala" - which we then did, rushing through 2000miles, 5 border crossings and seeing more than most backpackers in 3 months down there.

From Tulum

But now I am back here. And like a good friend of mine said: "Regresar es un parte (probablemente el más grande) de cada viaje!" - Coming back is a part (and probably the biggest) of every journey.I have changed a lot and tomorrow I will head out into the world of universities to see what they have to offer me. And once again, just like a year ago, I cant wait.

Thanks for reading.

Oaxaca: Quality fascism made in Mexico.

Here I got shelter with another HospitalityClubber, who immediately invited me to his parents house, where his mom prepared a delicious dish. Mexico. How the hell can it be that such a dictator rules over such friendly people?


Sorry, no touristy news this time. What is happening in this "democratic country" right now, deserves without doubt the title of this post.

On the 2nd of July the presidential elections were held in Mexico; the left-of-center candidate Andrés Obrador was here on top of the list against Felipe Calderon (currently in charge PAN Party). But around 11pm strange things started to occur - the vote counting machines crashed mysteriously & bang all the computer forecasts for the formerly losing Calderon rocketed upwards. Shouts of fraud and a necessity for re-election from the people and the senate were met by the governments comment that a new election would put shame on the whole election commission. The court of justice (controlled by: PAN) simply stated that "everything seems quite alright".

At the same time, in one of the poorest states of the country, Oaxaca, peaceful protests began: Teachers demanded for better conditions in the schools and better pay (something more than $180). Pacifist demonstrations and sit-ins on the main plaza were part of the city from there on. During all this time of protest not a single shot was heard, not a window was broken. The mayor of Oaxaca then decided to move towards the demonstrators - at 4AM with teargas and the plan to remove the "vagabonds". Thereupon the teachers informed their students what happened, these told their parents and they in return called their friends... Result: Within 5 hours a whole city was on its feet. When the local police saw that this time they would have to cope with a bit more than just 4000 sleepy professors, they suddenly took flight.



Meanwhile, the two public television stations (both controlled by government) began to report about "vandals out of control, who are terrorizing the city center"; according to the official news, they were mostly unemployed & junkies, who wanted to vent their frustrations. But the actual participants included doctors, lawyers, housewives and even children (students of the protesting teachers). Shortly thereafter the police began their work undercover. And this is how I first heard about the beginning civil war: The shooting of IndyMedia-reporter Brad Will - done by the local cops in plain clothing. They wanted to deliver proof and reason to the federal government (in Mexico City), that the situation is now spinning out of control and that people are getting killed (by them, the police!). Thus they legitimized the sending of the National Guard (PFP, Policia Federal Preventiva).



On the secod of November a street battle erupted between the whole population of the city and the national police, armed with teargas, water cannons, firearms, armored trucks and helicopters. And it was only until now, after months of peaceful protest, that people got killed out in the open. Shops got razed. Women raped. Hundreds and hundred of demonstrators disappeared. And it were not the teachers or their sympathizers who made mischief; the police itself in plain clothes created terror in between the people, not to get acquainted with the protesters.

With success. When I arrived in the city in December, I met heavily armed police (which were of course all deaf & dumb) everywhere. But the people were now afraid of losing even more friends and family; I assume it is hard to keep on fighting when your son is held captive without accusation and your husband has simply disappeared. I stayed a weekend with one of the protestants who told me all of this and showed me the videos you see here.



I am not making this up. Let us welcome the Mexican fascism.

You can find more information at IndyMedia (English & Spanish), YouTube & Google.

The capitals of an ancient culture.

Okay, foot usable again. The eversmiling doctor gave me some drugs and because it was a cheap pharmacy, no information 'bout what I'm takin' here. So what, since I ate them pills, I feel just great! Splendid! Gorgeous! Spectacular!

Grinning like that I continued hitchhiking across the Yucatan peninsula... I got only three weeks to make it to my former host family in Kentucky, USA, for christmas. Around 4500 miles still to go. Because of that, I couldn't spend much time in each ruin site... at least that's what I thought. The first, Chichén Itzá ("Place of the sacred well"), consists of around 2000 structures and the icon of the Maya world (see right and try to find me ;)

Then on to Merida, a typically mexican city: Every night there's Mariachis (you know the ones with the bigbig hats and even bigger guitars that come wailing from every mexican movie) playing on every major plaza and on the weekend they just shut down the whole innner town, cafes put their tables out and we strolled through the colonial cobblestone streets, looking for a hammock (which is part of life down here) - then on I went to Uxmal. No words:

After 2 days on the backs of pick-up trucks and in 18-wheelers (& a night in my hammock beside a guards house in some nameless industrial city) I finally arrived where I spent most of this year, where I belong: In the jungle.
The ruins of palenque, surrounded by hundreds of miles of dense, damp, evergreen forest. The same magic overcame me once more, just as it was the fist time I saw a Mayan city: The strange feeling that they are still here. That they are watching with serious and calm determination over their lands from the temple pyramids. They know nothing else, this is their home and they are connected to it like the bromelias to the trees. And I?

I momentarily am in Oaxaca, but the things that are going on here, are -as stupid as that might sound after having made such cheesy rhetorical pictures in past entries- still beyond my abilities to describe them.

But see for yourself.


:::all photos from Chichen Itza, Palenque, Uxmal & waterfalls, I found on the way:::

Un año.

Had I met myself one year ago, I would most probably have shouted "You Dumbfuck!", seeing that I only got three hours by caraway from the place where I landed last year. At this point of the year, my plan was to be already on the ocean, sailing back to Europe. But if I told myself about what I've done the past year, I'd probably smile...
One Year. Can't believe it.

The waves break metallic blue out on the reef, the foam being ripped away by the wind. Until they reach the shore, their color will have changed around 40 times, from turquoise to aquamarine to the color of the sky.
When I wake up outside in the morning to the sounds of the sea in my cozy sleeping bag, I first see the sun as a ruby through the clouds. Then the water, which seems to break at the same moment on the whole beach. I look up to the flawless blue and the palms with dozens of coconuts on them. This is what beachlife should be. Wild and natural, soft talking and my guitar are the only things that come from the outside. The sand smoothes everything. The light, the voices, the sleep. Cool and finer than powder.

From Tulum

Here in Tulum, Ruins from which the Mayas of Yucatan probably for the first time ever saw the Galeons of the Spaniards in 1516, I "had to" stay for 6 days until my sprained foot (with 35kg-backpack + Guitar on me, my ankle hit a rock) wasn't as thick as my calf anymore. I slept right on the beach, opened a few coconuts every day, swam a bit, played some guitar with friends... no electricity or warm water, but I could really imagine worse places to get stuck at ;)

Todos Santos: Traditional drunken frenzy.

The All Saint's day is very important in Central America; know as the "day of the dead" in Mexico, here in Guatemala everybody also goes to the cemeteries on the first of November to remember, laugh, cry and party.

In the remote village Todos Santos in the Cuchumatan Mountains, this was not quite all. I got there the eve before and found everyone out getting hammered (where just walking the streets with a beer in your hand is usually considered unthinkable in this country), marimbas roaring everywhere... the quiet village I found peaceful and isolated from the rest of the world had turned into a full-blown fiesta. So I found me a lovely furnished little room (for around $2), met up with some friends and started to greet the night myself... which ended once again with us jamming the guitars with some locals who were as drunk as we. Wonderful fun, but nothing compared with the next day.

I woke to the blasts of some huge firecrackers they fired on the other side of town; On the street, I just followed everyone else and came to a piece of road that was blocked on both sides, about 250m long. Hundreds of villagers sat on the fields around the track gazing woozily at a surreal spectacle...

Completely drunk men that had not seen a bed in the night and were clad in bright-colored costumes with flowing scarves started to tumble towards their horses and began a crazy race up and down the short track. Up and down and up and down, taking a good hit of beer each turn. They started valiant and clean at 8AM; by noon they were howling with delight and delirium on horses crazy with adrenaline and fatigue. Everybody on the fields was drinking and I just went from my hangover to the next beer to pay some respect to these daring/stupid men...


After lunch (which for the 54 riders consisted of more beer being passed up to them) we went back and found a cloud covering the whole site... the foreboding screams of the riders that then dashed out of the fog and disappeared into it again to the other side... by now they could barely hold themselves in the saddle. When they started falling off, they simply got trampled under hoof by the rest dragged off. To the indigenous people, a death at the races is a welcome tribute that will do good to the whole community. Some were taken down by crashing into another horse, some fell asleep and then slowly slipped off. At 5PM the whole thing had dissolved into one big mess, the crowd out of their minds, the riders out of their comatose bodies, the few tourists unable to comprehend. They say it goes back to an ancient legend were the Mayans wanted to prove the Spanish Conquistadors that they too could master a horse - and got themselves completely wasted in order to do so. Every man that participates spends the savings of a whole year (around 15000 Quetzales or $2000) on this one day. It is the greatest honor and they know they might die, so they drink the whole night before.

It's experiences and places like these that I travel for. But I can only list the impressions through photos and words here... the experience of the things I encounter is most of the times, well, indescribable. So this blog shall just be that - a record of where I've been, what I've seen and what I've done there. Can't be more than that. Hope you're havin' fun...










:::all 71 pictures from Todos Santos Cuchumatan:::

La Capital: Guatemala City.

Damn it's hard keeping this thing up. I am not made for the internet. So now I am doing my last loop through the country: Once again couchsurfing and hitchhiking from the jungle of Guatemala to chaotic Guatemala City to the Lake Atitlan...

After I left Flores I hitchhiked down to the 2-3(no one knows)million monster of a City called Guatemala Ciudad... the journey was a typical one: Stick my thumb out and 5 minutes later I find myself riding along the banana groves inside a pickup truck. The driver was friendly (as always) and invited me, when we stopped to eat - the first time I tried to pay my own meal, he humbly refused my offer - when I wanted to do so again a few ours later, I tried a little harder. The result was him speaking firmly: "Look, if you don't let me pay for this, I'm gonna have to kick you out of the car." Every time, the people here are just like that.


I wrote my CouchSurfing-Friend Pampa if I could stay a day or two, seeing what there is to see... even being the biggest metropolis in Central America, it's not much... a few museums, some skyscrapers and that's it - people come here to work, for nothing else. But of course it should all turn out differently...

In the end, I stayed a week. Coming from the quiet life of the jungle, the city hit me like a surprise punch: People overflowing the streets, selling everything they can, some in a rush, some sitting on the curb from dawn till dusk. Some from dusk till dawn. The buses were a miracle in itself: Hidden in a black cloud of diesel smoke, they got no timetable, no stable driving route, no ticket, no bus stops, not even the locals see through the system. You get on the bus by looking for a crowd of people beside the street, paying around 10ct for staying on the bus as long as you want on the route. You know if you are going in the right direction by looking out the window and asking around... if not, just get on the one going back and try another. Never waited longer than 5 minutes for any of them.

CouchSurfing being what it is, we all got together right the next day for a night out in Antigua (here are the photos), the former Capital of Guatemala - to party. So there was no sitting on a hotel bed, thinking "Hmm, I am in a city where I know nobody and nothing, what to do now?" - nope, with CouchSurfing it's all straight to the fun =) After having found a bunch of new friends -once again- I started exploring Guatemala City in an a bit unusual way...

Going to the main Cemetery. And I was not prepared for what I found there... rows after rows after rows of grave walls. As far as I could see, there were the dead stacked up onto each other. None of the graves where older than 14 years, for after that the dead are taken out and buried on one big pile on the other side of the graveyard. Few can afford to hold them there longer - but those who can have usually no grave in a wall - they have mausoleums. Rich and dirt poor rub shoulders here just as everywhere else...

While I wandered through the thousands of people, a strong smell stayed around the whole time. When I reached the end of it, I found myself overlooking the biggest garbage dump in the country. Hundreds of huge vultures hovering of the vast hole in the ground, people searching through the hills of waste, bulldozers moving our shit and all the time trucks arriving, surrounded by crowds of people waiting for them to unload. And in the background: The skyline of the rich Zona 10 and its streets protected by armed guards...




The rest of the week I spent with my new friends - fiestas, guitar & everything I have not had in the past 10 months in the jungle: TV, damn good food, nerds, clean streets, ice and rolling down 8-lane streets in a Smart, listening to Emo & the Weakerthans (since 3 years best band in the world for me)...

But eventually came the hour of my departure, leaving for my last destination in Guatemala, where I am going to retreat and clear my mind for the following months of travel:

El Lago de Atitlan...

The most beautiful lake in the world.

Set in the Mayan Highlands, on 1500m of height. Surrounded by 3 majestic volcanoes (while the lake itself is one huge crater). Filled with azure blue crystal-clean water, This is the Atitlán lake...



I've come here before and I have been drawn back to it... this time to clear up my head, order my feelings and to prepare for 6 months of life on the road. I have now been traveling for almost a year and in my mind were only thought about what already has happened to me and what might happen in the future.
In other words, I wasn't looking left or right anymore; I was busy remembering the great time I had & also worrying about everything that might go wrong soon (running out of money, finally getting into the accident that statistics predict on my frequent hitched rides, falling in love with some one and still moving on etc.) - the death to every healthy journey. 'Cos my eyes were on the ground, my ears were listening to songs long gone and my heart felt only the past...

So I pulled a stop and went to the lake. To calm down. To reflect. I went to a tiny tranquil village on the shore and settled in for about 2 weeks... I lived in "Las Piramides" and did everything I always wanted to: I woke up every morning with the sun, went for a swim in the cold water of the lake that in the morning was so clear I could see the ground 5 meters deep... Then learned Yoga as the sun rose and began to explore meditation during the two classes we had each day. In between these things I sat back, relaxed and watched my mind find peace and my body balance.

I don't feel like this is the right place to tell you about all the experiences I had. First, because I think they would neither sound very credible nor serious; "spiritual enlightenment" and its associations have become quite a joke these days. Second, because I could not fully explain what happened to me and how much it has changed me, because words can never substitute experience, so I conclude: You've got to go there and see for yourself...

But to make this a blog entry that actually has something substantial to say: I learned how to cook, improve my back, make an Australian sauna and"wake up" while dreaming: "Hey! I'm dreaming! Let's see what I can do..."

And cliff-diving!

:::all 65 photos from the Atitlán Lake:::

The subtleness of a rock falling on a glass table.

(I know a song isn't something you'd expect in a travel blog, but I heard it here so it is part of my trip)

The glove compartment isn't accurately named
And everybody knows it.
So i'm proposing a swift orderly change.

Cause behind its door there's nothing to keep my fingers warm
And all i find are souvenirs from better times
Before the gleam of your taillights fading east
To find yourself a better life.

I was searching for some legal document
As the rain beat down on the hood
When i stumbled upon pictures i tried to forget
And that's how this idea was drilled into my head

Cause it's too important
To stay the way it's been

There's no blame for how our love did slowly fade
And now that it's gone it's like it wasn't there at all
And here i rest where disappointment and regret collide
Lying awake at night

There's no blame for how our love did slowly fade
And now that it's gone it's like it wasn't there at all
And here i rest where disappointment and regret
collide.
Lying awake at night (up all night)
When i'm lying awake at night.

~Death Cab For Cutie. Caught me off guard. I stopped & listened bewildered for the next hour.

The Song.

Was war's für eine geile Zeit...

Die Weltmeisterschaft. El Mundial. The Worldcup.



Und sowieso: Fussball ist immernoch wichtig!