In Sighișoara in Romania, Santa Claus greeted me with a Nazi salute (albeit with his left arm). The large number of German-speaking Romanians whom I met in Sighișoara are hopefully a mere coincidence and not evidence of a secret fascist cell being formed.
(Photo by Dominik Lenz. – Zur deutschsprachigen Seite.)
Enjoying the mountain air at the Curmătura refuge in the Piatra Craiului Mountains in Romania.
(Photos by Dominik Lenz.)
When I made my decision to leave Europe in 2015 and to move around the world, I knew it would be hard to decide where to begin this journey. My mind was going back and forth between Africa, Asia, the Middle East, South America, Central America and the Caribbean. There are beautiful and interesting places everywhere.
Looking at maps and photos and reading about places didn’t reduce the list of options (it rather expanded it), so I decided on a different strategy: I would subscribe to several newsletters with offers of cheap flights until I saw something that was such an extremely good deal that I would feel stupid if I didn’t book it.
Then I went for the one deal which was not a flight, but a cruise. Because I would have felt stupid not taking it. In October and November, cruise lines are pulling out their boats from the Mediterranean and shipping them to America, where they work in the winter. This means that the cruise ships cross the Atlantic for a week. Apparently, this is not very popular with tourists or business travelers. Otherwise, you couldn’t book such a crossing for 150 €.
For me, the idea of being on the Atlantic for a whole week is very enticing. One week on the open sea, no islands, no ports, just some other ships, maybe some whales and some terrible storms. No internet and enough time to read. Wonderful! So I booked a cruise from Gran Canaria to Salvador de Bahia in Brazil for November 2015. It will take eight days to get to America, more than it would have taken the Titanic to cross the ocean.
Once in Brazil, I will of course move around South America, Central America and the Caribbean over the coming years, staying in each country for a few months, like always exploring the nature and old cities, learning about the history and reporting on current events. Hopefully, I will also learn Spanish.
So if you are in Latin America and have a place to stay, want to go hiking or want me to write about your town or area, let me know. I’ll be happy about any invitation, except from the Colonia Dignidad in Chile.
But first, I have to survive the stormy passage across the treacherous Atlantic Ocean.
(Between now and November 2015, I will be in Eastern Europe, mainly in Romania, Moldova, Transnistria and Ukraine. – Hier gibt es diese Ankündigung auf Deutsch.)
Tomorrow I will run the Jerusalem half marathon. Usually such long-distance runs kick off at 10 a.m. Not in Jerusalem: the runners will set off at 6:45 in the morning. The biorhythm wonders whether it’s already light that early.
But it doesn’t matter. Running across cobbled stones from the time of Pontius Pilate in a city with one hill on top of each other is not the place to set a personal record anyway. Jerusalem is a city to enjoy, to learn, to marvel.
A half marathon (13 miles = 21 km) takes me about two hours. In these two hours in Jerusalem I will run through 3,000 years of history; more than one would see in other cities in a whole week.
The finish line is in Sacher Park, which lets me hope for a cake for each runner. The documentation for the race includes the notice “attention: no weapons are allowed in Sacher Garden area”. But that doesn’t stop today’s terrorists. The latest trend in Jerusalem is for Palestinian “martyrs” to run over their victims by car. This is how erstwhile proud dynasties of terrorists go to the dogs. Grandpa hijacked planes to Entebbe, the father made it all the way to a beach bar in Tel Aviv before blowing himself up, and today’s teenagers ignore traffic lights.
Good luck to all the runners tomorrow!
“Danger to life,” the sign warns – apparently without finding much attention, as indicated by the hundreds of graves next to it.
(Seen at the cemetery in Bari in Italy.)
Ok, not quite in the jungle, but at the impressive Botanical Garden of Palermo in Sicily.
The name of the picnic area – Musolino – reminded me too much of Italy’s erstwhile dictator, but we had just left the zone of the fog, and after the disappointment at the peak of Mount Dinnammare we were happy for any opportunity to stretch our legs and go for a walk in the forest.
We left the car behind and took the first path that we saw. No destination. Dense forest, birds, a cloudy day, not exactly warm, trees that had fallen over, a little wilderness, and all of this only a few minutes away from Messina. Good that the mountain is so steep, otherwise it would be completely built over already.
But then I spot something through the bushes. What is this, in the middle of the thicket?
A house, but a deserted one. I can’t detect any path that would lead to the house, so it must have been left a few years ago already. Windows and doors are open. I am filled with curiosity, but I don’t even try to convince my mother and my sister that a closer inspection of this mysterious home is a good idea.
Fortunately, as it shall turn out soon.
Because after another 15-minute march we find more relics of a bygone civilization. These are not only more accessible, they are directly next to the path, but they are also considerably more interesting than a simple residential building.
A chapel. Nothing much left of the interior decoration. Only a simple wooden cross and two frames which once adorned valuable icons. In symmetry they stand behind the altar, like a signal to posterity.
We are getting curios. What used to be here? Why isn’t it anymore? What else are we going to find? There are no signs, no plaques, no hints, nothing. It’s not marked on the map.
Then, this appears.
Now I don’t have to convince anyone. We are all on fire. We have to go over there! We find a very large, not too old building, ornamented with merlons and classical arches. With its terraces, its large windows and the pond, it appears to me like it used to be a restaurant.
But now everything is empty, destroyed, left behind.
When windows and doors stand open like this, one is almost compelled to accept the invitation thus expressed. To be on the safe side, we listen attentively for a while. Nothing. No voices, no other sounds, no chainsaws.
We step inside. Carefully, we move through the long corridors and along the crumbly stairs into the higher levels, floor by floor.
Except for a few graffiti, which were obviously added later, we find no written or other indicators of the former use or the year of construction, let alone the story of this village, which mainly consisted of a chapel and this pompous building.
The internet allows me to have hope that someone from Messina will come forward who is able to shed light on the story behind these ruins. – UPDATE: My Sicilian landlord, who showed me Mount Dinnammare in the first place, was really quick in answering my question. Please see Alessio’s detailed comment below.
Today, when I wanted to prepare a pizza, I felt really stupid. I tried to read the instructions, but I couldn’t read them in any of the fifteen languages provided. Fifteen languages! And I don’t speak any of them. What an embarrassment.
I tried to decipher the symbols in the bottom right corner, but these seemed to suggest that I should throw the pizza in the rubbish bin. I am not yet willing to give up, so if anyone speaks
you are welcome to come over and show me how this pizza works.
From 8 to 22 March 2015, I will be in Israel.
“… I will be in Israel again,” I should say because this will be about my fifteenth or twentieth time to visit Israel. But six years have passed since my last trip.
Why go to the same country so often? Because Israel is not only beautiful, but above all interesting, versatile and multi-faceted, because I learn something new each time. And because discussions about war and peace, about the future and identity of a nation are more interesting than those about the debt ceiling or a Royal baby.
Here is the schedule of my trip:
I will spend the first few days in Haifa. The third city after Jerusalem and Tel Aviv is too easily forgotten. I have never spent more than a few hours there, which seems inappropriately brief. That’s why this Israel trip will kick off in Haifa.
Then I continue to Jerusalem where I will run the half marathon on 13 March 2015. Not an easy feat in this hilly city, but hopefully a very special experience.
Then I will go hiking in northern Israel. I will walk the Jesus Trail (as an Atheist) and part of the Israel National Trail. This is my itinerary:
13 March 2015: going to Nazareth, the starting point of my hike
14 March 2015: hiking to Cana
15 March 2015: hiking to Ilaniya and Arbel
16 March 2015: hiking to Tabgha and Capernaum
17/18 March 2015: election night and resting in Tiberias (if resting won’t feel right: circumventing the Sea of Galilee by bike)
19 March 2015: hiking to Kibbutz Kinneret and Kibbutz Degania (the first kibbutz ever)
20/21 March 2015: hiking back to Nazareth across Mount Tabor
I had to drop my original plan of spending a few days in Jordan. I would have needed a pre-arranged visa for the border crossing at Allenby/King-Hussein-Bridge and the Jordanian Embassy in Bucharest ignored all of my e-mails. Going to any of the other border crossings would mean spending a whole day on a bus. Sad, particularly because my visa fee would have financed the fight against ISIS.
For those of you in Israel: Here is my Couchsurfing profile with plenty of reviews, so that you can be sure that I am a friendly and uncomplicated guest.
The Happy Hermit 