Unfortunately the gates have been closed and I had to wait in front of the border. A huge crowd, around 70-80 people were gathered already. Suddenly this very big human appeared beside me. Type Persian Wrestler. Bold and of Bear-like statur. Compulsory dislocated joints and half-torn ears appeared in my mind. One of those people, that cause with their appeareance, that you listen. And you gonna try to show unquestioning understanding for everything, what this person has to say. Even if you don‘t understand a word of it.

My „leave-me-alone-with-your-stupid-parcel“ attitude changed. I would do my best to give a favour to the local folks. I couldn‘t wait to take this, whatever it was, across the border, if that would also make this person dissapear without harming me. I even would have taken the damn thing without any money.

They gave me my parcel and my new friend sqeezed me into the crowd. People realised that I was into the smuggling business now and they startet to yell and jeer as if a popstar would have arrived. Hello there. I was a bit more in front in the crowd and the gates opened to start the madness. Young men climbed over the rails and jumped into the crowd as if they would stage dive a RATM concert. Only to make a few spots within the queue. Pogo riot at the border to Iran.

Of course I did not participate in that and lined up, civilized, duteously and German-like, after climbing the first rail, to leave at least some kids and old ones behind me. And so I had to wait there. With this suspicious parcel. Btw. what was this parcel? Heroin? Weapons? I was responsible for it now and had to transport it safely into Iran. The whole situation was a bit ominous. But everyone had such a parcel in his/her hands. So it seemed okay for me. And they explained me, that I was carrying sandales.

Beside us was the womans queue on the bright side of life. The bright, blazing, hot sunshine side. One woman became unconcious during the wait. I shared my water with her, because I was the only one, who had water. Of course I would have shared my water as well, if I would not have been the only one. The border control definitely took its time. At some point we approached the first building, I was identified as foreigner, waved through the rest of the crowd and examined by the friendly border police. Leaving Azerbaijan. No problem. Then I was about to enter the Iranian side with my suspicious parcel.

First I caused amusement and shaking-heads at the Iranian border police. A little like: „Oh, now they even made this stupid tourist to carry one of those parcels to the other side.“ I just kept on smiling, naivly and dumb how I always deal with authorities and got with the „not-my-fault-isn‘t-it?“-shrug to the other side. I made it into Iran. Then the business part started, which I could not have cared less about.

I had some companion, who also had a parcel and wanted to care about my reward. I mean, I would have thrown that stupid thing into the trash or leave it in the x-ray. But he insisted to help me getting my much deserved money. My negotiating skills were taken out by missing business sense and survival instinct. But people are honest and especially the Persians are business people to the core. I got my money. Around one Dollar. And after all this incarnate mass murder has shaken my hand before, which meant the contract was achieved. And the Iranians, I would learn that soon, are world-class in shaking hands.

Der Beitrag Smuggling parcels into Iran erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

I was born in the Lithuanian countryside, but moved to the city when I was very young. My father was a farmer and my mother a proud Zucchini motherplant with lots of children. I left my family, when I was six weeks old, to become part of a Tortilla party. Getting sliced into some delicious stuffing and feed some humans. But things went different. I made friends. Human friends. And they were going to do some strange thing called „hitchhiking“. I was invited.

My mother was really upset in the beginning. Why can‘t you do normal things like all Zucchinis do? She wanted me, to become a meal. A Moussaka, Zucchini Bread, joint venturing with some pasta or getting thrown on a barbecue, like my more „cool“ brothers. Just social pressure. We started to have a fight. Who are you, to tell me what to do? You never got out of your garden. There is more in the world than the carrot bed and the apple tree beside you. And even those stupid herbs suck!

Of course the herbs don‘t suck, I had a beautiful childhood with them and I really love how they grow and smell. But I was so upset. All those expectations what you should become. Just because you were born as a Zucchini. Lucky me, I made new friends. They were so different that my life seemed to cleave. And it did. I left my home. Today I understand, that I just wanted to explore.

We went to the countryside. There was some good air, Sauna, a lake to swim and some more crazy hitchhikers. But again I was not eaten. For days I was lying between rotten tomatoes and moldy rutabagas. I realized, I don‘t want to end like this. End like an outcome of this capitalistic overproduction. Too much food that just got thrown away and not eaten. I mean, it is okay if food is not eaten. But then it should receive another sense for their existence. Shouldn‘t it? But what could that be for me?

I was thinking about this question. What can I be? If not a Zucchini in a meal? It stroked me. There was no answer. Fuck. My life. So poor. And then I might rott away aswell. It make me become really depressed. My rotten tomato friends tried to cheer me up and grew some beautiful mildew on their heads. But it did not help. For days I could only stare and felt so numb. Dead end? Eventually, the answer came just like that. My friends took over the decision, without knowing about my doubts. They probably did the best thing that ever happened to me. „Zucchi, we hitchhike to Oslo and you will be part of it. Come on!“ I was so surprised. I could not talk or express myself in this moment. Because I am a Zucchini and Zucchinis have no way to express themselves, nor can not talk to humans. But I was happy and excited about hitchhiking to Oslo.

When I called my motherplant, she was raging. But this time she was also worried. She knew I made it to the Lithuanian countryside and that my life was already going nuts. „Around the baltic sea? How can that work? Nobody will stop for you guys.“, she said. „It is such a long way. And you are a Zucchini, how should you be able to hitchhike?“ Last point was a legit argument. But you know, I always believe in life. I always believe I can make a difference. And the truth was: Once my new friends picked me up, I wasn‘t a normal Zucchini anymore. I was Zucchi now.

My friends. They were awesome. They made me an arm and put a thumb on it. It looked quite shitty, but it is hard to hitchhike without a proper thumb. Also they glue this sticker in my face. Seemed to be about some hitchhiking club and was supposed to help me finding rides. Now I was looking a bit more like a human. Because humans stop for humans and not for Zucchini they said. Of course, it was just a bad try to fake my appeareance. I was still looking like a Zucchini. Kind of. But now everything was prepared, for the very first Solo Zucchini Hitchhiking Expedition.

Hitchhiking is so much fun. I don‘t get why so many humans are not doing it. It is a very liberating lifestyle. We are road punks, just taking the next random ride. Bumming around, as if the whole world our living room. In fact it is. The world is ours! And yours! Because ownership is theft.

How is hitchhiking as a Zucchini? Usually we hitchhiked during the day. Waiting at onramps, along the road, gas stations and sometimes even parking lots of supermarkets. I could not talk to the people, so my human friends took care about this. But most of the time we just stick our thumb out and wait that one of the passing cars will stop. Thats why the Russians call it autostop. Easy as that. It is the philosophy of hitchhiking.

In the evening we rest at random places. Where our car drops us. We put up a tent, make some dinner and go to sleep. Sometimes we don‘t set a tent. Just because we are lazy bones and like to sleep under the clear sky. Sleeping everywhere outside is an important skill if you hitchhike. I mean, you can just live on the road. In the morning you make coffee, pack your backpack and walk 50m and move on. No cities, hotels, eating in expensive fast food shit restaurants. Just enjoying the show on the road.

Sometimes we didn’t sleep during the night, because we were hitchhiking all the time. But thats no problem.,The next day we just find a good place to crash and have a nap. Once we arrived in Tallinn at the harbor to catch a ferry. There where still some ours left. Time to set a hitchhiker-camp in the waiting area and make yourself another home. Home is where your Zucchini heart is. And my home was always with my hitchhiking friends.

Other times we hitchhike with weird people. Many are fucking cool. They do this random act of kindness. I am very grateful that they share a little bit of their time with us, while moving in the same direction. I never had any bad experience on this trip. Some want to know if it is dangerous to hitchhke. Dangerous? Well, those dumb fucks who carried me were the most dangerous. Hard to rely on human carefulness. In the beginning I got dropped several times. In the mud, on stones, on the street or, if I was lucky, into the grass. Scars all over my Zucchini body. I started to like them while our trip was progressing. They make me look more dangerous. And I understood that humans think, this is cool.

Once we got picked up by this family in a camper. seven people already in there and this stupid looking guy called Walter. He was dutch and had a great sense for humor. While hitchhiking you meet a lot of different fellows. Zucchinis from the city. Zuchinis from different countries. Zucchinis that are made for Feta-Cheese Salad, Barbecue, reproduction, Zucchinis that just exist to look good or Zucchinis that are on the good old Musakka career. The classical Zucchini life path, lots of work, no pleassure, just to end up eaten as everyone else. But I don‘t judge it. Because I feel a certain love for everything during hitchhiking. Everyone can make life how he or she wants. In the end I appreciate, that they picked us up. Hitchhiking is a good lesson for becoming grateful.

Once I met this girl. She looked so different with her darker skin. Back home people often don‘t like Zucchinis like this. Maybe they are scared. Maybe they don‘t know what else to feel towards them. Because indeed it is kind of strange in the first moment, when you see another Zucchini that looks not like you. Hellya! I even heard there are Zucchinis that are yellow! Can‘t believe it!

Anyway. I think inside we are all made from the same flesh. More or less. And this girl had just a wonderful charactini. She was driving around with her human step-mother since a couple of days. Her name was Zuzu. She was so sophisticated, seen all Sweden already. I felt in love with her. She adored my scars and I had to look at her beautiful stub all the time. This perfect cut, probably made with a proper knife by a skilled gardener. We talked without a break during the 15 minutes, while I was with her in the car. She was definitely the Zucchini of my dreams. The one and only. There is no Zucchini like her outside. I am so sure about this.

But I couldn‘t stay with her. Those dumb humans just took me with them, when they left the car. I was screaming, swearing, tried to hit one of them in the nuts with my fake hitchhiking thumb. But I know I had to leave. And it was my choice. I was a wandini now. A nomadic Zucchini. I had to leave my emotional boundaries. There was no room for it in this kind of life.

Finally we arrived at this strange hitchhiker meeting in Norway. What an awesome gathering. Hitchhikers from all over Europa, ah bullshit, from all over the world have been there. It was more a family thing, less than 100 people, but everyone was unique and awesome. I loved to be there. Met a lot of other vegetables there. Some of them with a really sad life story. Thrown carelessly into the dumpster, because they are not looking as nice as their friends. Because they look different and seem not worth to get a spot in the spotlights of human admiration. The world is so cruel.

How can people do something like this? There is a nice and friendly melon, she has some dents okay. It might even look a bit shitty, but she was the best stand up comedian in the whole gathering. All those fruits and vegetables have wonderful charactinis. Still. And it breaks their heart to be rejected from the normal food circle. Those hitchhikers….they rescued them. Gave them a new home, new purpose of existence and ate them like….holy shit. It was such a feast. Those savage humans. Some reminded me of the pigs I knew from my country-side home. Just stuffing all day long food into them. I loved it! They are true heroes!

I was not eaten again. Maybe it is my destiny to stay in this world and get old. I tried to lvfe as a forest Zucchini. But that sucked. There are no toilets in the forest, I never got used to that. No place for a comfortable shittini So I had to get back on the road. I am planning to visit Lofotes next, because I heard it is the most beautiful place in Europe. I think, if you once fall in love with hitchhiking, you can‘t stop. You shouldn‘t stop. Just stay on the road. This is were we belong. Hitchhiking will always be a part of my Zucchini life. Because I am Zucchi, the Hitchhiking Zucchini.

Zucchi died in the age of 3,5 months by a moldy tumor that appeared in one of the cracks from her early lifetime dropping. This squashy spot got stucked on a branch while Zucchi climbed a mountain. He passed away in the forest, between a bunch of mushrooms and forget-me-not-flowers. What nobody knew. Zucchi contained seeds from the short encounter with Zuzu. He was pregnant! A new, wild motherplant would grow out of those seeds and remain on the place where Zucchi stucked. She is known to produce very adventurous and colourful Zucchinis.

Der Beitrag Zucchi – Memories of a Hitchhiking Zucchini erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

I was sitting in canteen of our container ship, crossing from Kazakhstan to Azerbaijan and I started with my dinner. Both of my French travel companions haven‘t been there yet. Besides us and the crew, there was a bunch of truckers on the boat. Mostly Georgians. The table beside me was fully occupied. A 1,5l bottle of good homemade Vodka saw the light of the day. Condensation at the bottle wall proofed a good cooling. Glasses were served. The icecold homemade gushed into the same. And it would not be typical Georgian if I wouldn‘t have come into the focus of their caring hospitality, while I was sitting alone at the neighbor table.

The head of the household approaches me with a bright smile. Equipped and prepared for all eventualities he brought an empty glas with him. If I want some Vodka, he asked and showed me the bottle like a Sommelière. No thanks, I am not drinking alcohol. His bright smile did not change at all. It seemed not to be an answer that had an right of existence in his reality. He didn‘t even take the effort to deal with it but just kept on standing there. Vodka? With a mix of courtesy and intercultural sense of responsibility I eventually agreed and received a double respectively triple in my tea glass.

I have many friends that went to Georgia and they all have only good things to say. The hospitality is widely known but more than that the Georgians have the reputation of constantly welcoming foreigners for drinking. Especially during Dinner there is a lot of toasting. There are a lot of countries you say this about, but the Georgians seem to be world-class boozers. The trucker on the neighbor table told later, that he distilled 230L Vodka and made 340L of wine this year. Not possible to drink all of that alone.

Out of politeness I emptied my glass. I am used to start with the disgusting things I don‘t want during eating and then move forward to the delicious stuff. Big mistake in this case. The empty glass has not escaped the attention of my new Georgian friends. Immeditaley he reappeared with the bottle at my table. I told him again, that I don‘t want any more Vodka. But trying to persuade a Georgian with a bottle of Vodka is like throwing nougat rings into a black-hole. Resistance. Next mistake. Of course, this is not acceptable. Cognitive dissonances were smiled away. As my resistance finally broke my glas got filled up to the edge irrespective of my protest.

Soon my French mates arrived. Of course they also got into the benefit of Vodka and chill homemade white wine. The wine was actually pretty good and much easier to get down than the other stuff. The booze-up was established. I hate hard liquor, but of course I could not waste this present. It is not polite and I didn‘t wanted to offend anyone. You need intercultural tact when traveling.

I really like that. And I really would love to visit Georgia for longer. But since I don‘t drink anymore I hesitate, because I will never have the „real Georgian experience“ which is probably only possible with drinking Vodka. And my personal dream, to get wasted in a Siberian forest hut and start a bare-knuckle boxfight with a drunk Russian, is not coming any closer by that. I just thought these are valuable experiences one should have made in life.

But I had to find out for me once again this evening, why I really dislike small portions of alcohol. And why I don‘t want to drink anymore. If you drink your brain gets a good load of Serotonin and this is actually pretty damn nice in the beginning, because you start feeling very relaxed and happy. I realized after the first glas already, that my mood is becoming really good. I was not drunk, but just on the ball.

I observed that very alert. What is this shit doing with me. The beginning felt great. Nothing against that. We went on deck and watched the sunset and a latent desire of drinking another small beer showed up. Only a small one. I know that feeling very well. The small beer leads to another big one and the evening starts rolling till the beer is empty or all people have left (only the case if there are no Scotish or Irish people around while traveling). That happened quite often to me on my trip, while I was still drinking. Melancholic and beautiful sunrises alone in unknown countries, while I was desperately looking for some more alcohol on the table.

And then those moments on deck, when you just started getting tipsy and you try to convince yourself that a little alcohol is not too bad for you. My observation was not finished tho. At some point I went sleeping and my euphoric mood has passed away already. I had a terribly restless night. The next morning I felt bizarre melancholic.

It might seem exaggerated but even after 1-2 beers I recognize, that I feel shitty the following day. Not as vital and awake like on a normal day. It changes my body, not only during the night I drink, but also the next day. And of course, there is a difference in „not-feeling-100%-well“ and waking up, half-dead on the sofa of an unknown apartment, questioning your basic physical functions. For me the hang-over starts, when I know the next day is influenced in any way by the alcohol. Worth it? Not really.

My dear Alcohol, it was very nice with you, but our relationship is ruined. It is not the same anymore between us. Maybe I am getting old. My life-time became to precious for hang-overs, just for this nice euphoric feeling the night before. So I decided to only drink out of intercultural duteousness and to be a good guest.

Der Beitrag Georgian Hospitality – Why I stop drinking erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

I wouldn‘t say he was a friend, because for friendship I did not know Patrick long enough. I would say he was soul mate. I felt like two brothers in spirit with him. We did not only share the same hitchhiking route but also the same attitude towards travellng and life. It is not only, that he could understand, but also could always contribute with an own anecdote. He was part of the hitchhiking family. A special one.

In 2009 Patrick went without money from Texas into South America. He was on the road for about 5 years in total. He worked in a shitty job in Brazil for local wage, to buy himself a canoe. He went for 2 years, more than 4000 km through the waterways of the Amazonas jungle. He is probably one of the first hitchhikers, who ever made it through the Darien Gap and the only person I know, who hopped freight in South America. He was a Texan original, totally crazed guy, in a positive sense.

Through his Darien Gap expedition I started to get in touch with him, because I was preparing my own trip through that area. I knew his blog before. I think it is the best English-speaking hitchhiking blog in the web. His way to tell stories inspired my own writing and made a huge impact on my style of storytelling. When I was in Bolivia I came into a deep creative crisis. Patricks‘ Blog helped me, to get out of this. His humor and way of observing the small, inconspicuous things are very entertaining. And you can feel, that he is an adventurer with heart and soul. I always wanted to write like he did.

„Sorry for doing that in your car“ is one of those stories, where I still start laughing, when I think about it. Patrick describes here, how he almost suffocated, while swallowing a piece of meat „roughly the size of a computer mouse in one go“, because he was so creedy after not having a proper meal for a few days. This story was one of the reasons, why I started to go without money during my long-distance hitchhiking trips. And in Peru I followed his example and tried to hop the same freight like he did. King of the road was the name of this article. Yes, your really were the King of the Road!

He was flying with me through half of the states and we had just a wonderful, crazy time together. We somehow escalated together, like two boys who should not play with each other. This encounter was so special to me, that I even wrote a whole article about this and about Patrick. I promised him, that I would show him the article before publish. It is ready since months. But I could not translate it yet. He will never be able to read it.

Patrick and his friend Zach Esters died on the 3rd September while performing acrobatics with his small airplane. He was 26 years old. He is gone. Nothing can bring him back. I cried a lot because of this. It is just too confusing. But I was also smiling a lot and being happy that he was there. That he lived his life to it‘s fullest. That I was able to meet him. About his childish curiosity he kept himself and which was the base for his open minded personality that brought him so many adventures. Happy that he was the guy he was: A totally crazy but pure hearted freak! I will miss him, not like a friend, but like a soul mate. And you will still inspire me. Thank you for everything!

Here is an interview I found with Patrick, during his time in the Amazonas area as well as a nice video of some guys who met him on the river.

Der Beitrag Tribute to Patrick Falterman erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

First ride in the morning from Wuhan

My nightlride to Urumqi. Bread and onions and visiting the mosque in the morning.

He picked me up afterwards

Policemen who thought I am a famous football playerPolicemen who rescued me from the terrible service area near Yinchuan

Policemen who rescued me from the terrible service area near Datong

And he let me stay in his service area overnight

Just a random guy who wanted to take a photo with me

He as well

Friendly truck driver who took me after my Bundesliga night and brought me to this nice trucker breakfast place

Family in Yunnan, one of my first rides in China!

Tibetan trucker

This nice lady brought me some food. Probably lung.

Here I was very tired

My most favourite Tourguides!

First ride off from the service area in Datong

Ride from Harbin. He was on the road all night long and we started the ride with a two hour nap, before we drove off

Nightride Chengde

Pork feet and pork ear right before the chinese wall

Ice and she spoke very good english

With him I go the soy bean cut and probably the most shining smile of Xingjian

And this lovely people gave me a chinese talisman

It is a great gift, that I received so much hospitality and I want to thank all this wonderful people, regardless if they are on those pictures or not. This will stay in my heart and shows once again, how beautiful people in this world are. Just: Thank you!

Der Beitrag My deepest gratitude to chinese people erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

I arrived in this little chinese mountain village. My driver raised his eyebrows, when he realized, where this place was. But that was already after he assured, to bring me there. Now it there was nió way back. In the village I had to leave the car, because there was a gate and it was not possible to pass by car. Also there was a little ticket house, where you could buy an entrance ticket for about 4€. I just walked through and nobody seemed to bother. Anyway I did not plan to pay.

It was a very nice village. All of the inhabitants were farmers, which made some extra money with tourism. But I did not see tourists at all. My first objective was, to have a shower. After days on the road it can be difficult to have a proper shower. I found one of those „private hotels“, asked the lady if I could shower here and she agreed. Not even wanted money for it. Very friendly.

It was a wonderful, sunny summer’s evening. Blue sky and I was fresh as fuck to start the two hour climb up to the wall, which I could already see on the back of the mountain. If I go straight I might do it till sunset. At the end of the village an old grandpa was sitting in the field. I asked him which way I should go and he told me to follow the arrows. He was the last person I would see for a while. I approached a very wild and abandoned part of the wall. Along the path there were several signs which said, that this part of the wall is not open for tourists. Probably the reason, why I did not meet anyone in the village. I couldn’t care less and started hiking.

The path was really difficult to follow. There were no arrows. Just two at the very beginning. I had to turn around after 10 Minutes, because I walked the wrong direction. It was very warm and a swarm of flying insects was having a massive mosh pit around my head. I tried to get rid of the, using my hand or my basecap. Unsuccessfully. So I started walking faster.

I found another path which seemed to go straight uphill. If I have the choice, I always take the steeper way. Eventually you will reach the top faster. I followed this path. At some point the ground changed. A lot of leaves. More leaves. Followed by ankle-deep foliage. But I saw some trash, so it should not be completely wrong. So I continued. I had no clue where I had to go, but straight uphill shouldn’t be too wrong in my eyes. The path turned steeper and steeper. At some point I realized, that I might follow the course of a river.

I was to lazy to turn around. The normal path was way behind me. I was in the open field. I went on, always straight up. It became steeper and steeper. I had my 12kg backpack and a full tote bag of food with me. The ascension took all my energy. Again and again I had to pull myself up with the ehelp of trees. Some broke, when I crabed them. Hard work. More climbing than hiking. And one of those moments, where I profit from the fact, that I climbed that much, before I left Germany. The terrain I was moving in was far from being accessable by „just walking“. I brachiate through this abyss from tree to tree, always uphill. The plan was so simple.

In between I had moments, where I turned around and realized how steep it was. It must haven been around 80-85°. I felt a bit scared, hen looking behind me. The problem is, that ging up is always easier than going down. And it looked very dangerous behind me. I would definitely not turn around. So there was only one direction left. I could see the sun in the trees already. A safe sign, that I would get closer to the end of the mountain. Somteimes it was really hard to get through with my backpack. I had to crouch between branches, then pull myself up again, find a safe point to stand stabile and then do the next step. Slowly and controlled I climbed towards the top.

As I was already quite far up, a rock face appeared in front of me. Trees turned into bushes, the ascent became overhang. It was impossible to continue here with my backpack and without some proper climbing gear. I was already at the wall and touchgin for some holds when I decided not to approach this part. Much to dangerous. No way up. But I was climbing for around 45 minutes already and according to this the area behind me was looking like. What to do? I observed my surrounding area.

Right of me, at least it looked like, was the cliff not as abrupt and maybe here I would find another way up. In between was a 3m long transition, probably the steepest part of the hill, without any trees to stabilize yourself on it. Seems like here creek would shoot down into the valley, when he carries water. I had to to at least two, if not three steps, to get across this to the next hold point.It was necessary to stand in the abyss freely, to get to the other side. Difficult mission.

I looked back. It was so steep going down, that I hardly could imagine to take this direction. The ground was very earthy, if I only would dig my feet deep enough into it, I might find hold here to get to the other side. First step. Still I could hold at the tree I was standing at. Earth trickled down. Somehow I found hold. My foot stood stable. Second step, I still hold on the tree. Feet one was still stable in the earth. With a proper jump I should be able to reach the other side and grab the next tree. Then I let go of the tree to stood freely without any security.

I immediately lost footing and felt down. After that I am not sure what exactly happened. I picked up speed pretty fast, in the beginning I tried to press myself onto the slope. At some point I overturned, lost orientation. I felt around 10m downwards. And this was just the beginning of a long, long slope. As if by a miracle a tree stopped my crash, which I thunk into with my chest. The impact was so strong, that all my air was pressed out of my lunges. In the moment of the impact my glasses slipped of my face and dissapeared in the abyss, covvered by earth and rubble on the way downwards.

I could get hold with one hand but still had my backpack on me and my food supplies in the other hand. Somehow I hung at this abyss. It was not over yet. After the tree there was the next part, going down 20-30m, maybe more. And there were no more trees that would stop my drop.I couldn’t pull myself up, cause my food supplies somehow stucked between me and the tree. I thought about dropping them. But what would I do without food? I could hardly imagine to get back to it, once I drop it. Pulling, stabilizing, swing around the tree, somehow I managed after a while to get behind the tree and sit on the abyss to take a rest for a moment.

I was shocked. First of all I send a voice message, because I had internet connection here. Then, isntead of going down, I continued sidewards along the abyss, to get into less steep terrain. Actually I just wanted to get back into the village and close this whole mission. Enough of this shit. Well and while I was progressing sidewards, I suddenly found the real path. You could see it. It was marked by plastic bottles they pulled over the tree branches. Well even after this, I was already on top, so why not continue then? So I did. The new path was not less dangerous than the part I was on before. Same steep sections, same climbing shit. I got lost as well. It took me another 15 minutes to reach the „real“ hiking path, where it was actually possible to walk normally without climbing in between trees and rocks. I reached the Great Chinese Wall before sunrise.

I was very lucky. A sprained finger, hermatome at the leg, lost glasses and a dirty hitchhiking suite. My left foot was a bit numb, which was because of the crash on my solar plexus. I could life with that. Lost my glasses already two times, when I had my heavy car accident and when I crashed with a Paraglyder before. Just my semi-annual near-death-experience. Hope this was the last for the rest of my trip.

But I reaced the wall. Accidently I arrived at the most scenic spot of the world heritage, watched the sunset and afterwards I made a bond-fire and camped on op of the wall. No humans here, just the eagle owl singing in the night. After the crash I was so agitated, that I could hardly sleep this night. Also being alone in this middle age stone construction was kinda scary. I had slightly anxiety states. At 04:30 I woke up to watch the sunrise.

Afterwards I hiked three hours along the wall. In the morning sun. It was quiet and peaceful. I hiked all the way down to the valley on the other side, crossing the more wild and abandonde parts of the wall. At some point I reached an „Continue forbidden“-sign and entered the restored, touristic part of the wall. Completely alone. There was no one else. All morning long I was alone. The wall was empty. Usually this experience is only for US-Presidents, for whom the whole wall gets closed, when they walk it. I got it for free. What a beautiful walk. And I was happy being able to experience this.

Here some impressions:

Der Beitrag How I felt down the chinese wall erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

Der Beitrag Cherry-blossom in Japan! erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

People in Tokyo have a certain style to enter full trains. They go backwards and press themselve into whatever is in there. Same principle like pogo dancing. You always jump into the Mosh-Pit with your back first, so that you won’t get any ellbows or other things into your face. Or at least not that easy. And to bring this to perfection, there are also law enforcement forces on the outside, who press people in, if the can’t make it and the doors start to close.

If you have claustrophobia, rush hour in Tokyo might not be the best idea for you. Maybe to overcome you fear. But you are packe like sardines in a can, that was recently overrun by a truck, stucked to the tire while entering the onramp and acclerating towards the highway. I mean, I somehow liked that. But I am a touchy guy anyway. You totally loose control over your body. It was a strange experience. This compressed mass moves collective. You seem like standing on your place, but then suddenly you stand at another place, without even moving or doing anything.

As we are in Japan, this even felt comfortable, like everything in Japan. Even the rush hour madness underlies a certain politeness. It is not as if another asshole presses himself in the already overflowing train, when new people enter. Your are anyway so tight, that you can not move at all. All people merge to a single clump of body mass.

For me this was quite a funny experience. But to do that every morning can be very exhausting. Another story of this crowd is, that some gentleman use this circumstance to feel up on the woman around them. And they often don’t know, where this hand comes from, as there are so many people so tight around then. My japanese female friends told me, that every girl has made that experience in the Tokyo trains at least once. This is very awkward and not nice at all. For that reason the first tow wagons are usually for woman only during the rush hour. Makes absolutely sense in my eyes.

Der Beitrag Traveling without moving – Toyko trains erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

Little details in your daily life. Do you this? It is a almost unbearable hot day and there is nothing better than to drink this ice cold coke in your hand. You try to use the little opener, but it sticks to the aluminum like a baby to mothers breast and you lack of fingernails, can’t open the goddamn, time to go postal. But not in Japan! There is a solution. A little space between can and opener. Genius!

You can buy single, ready-to-eat eggs in the stores. Never seen that before.

Next level bike parking. Not a lot of space in Tokyo.

Pizza is not served with fork and knife. That never worked, but nobody seemed to care. In Japan you get a pizza slicer. This is how it should be!

I could write a whole article about the pleassures of japanese toiletes This is its own world. No need to do anything. You get washed, dryed and if needed, you can play some flushing sounds, without flushing the toilet.

However. This is my friends toilet. From Panasonic.I mean, what comes next? Tooth brush from NASA? This is Japan. Value the crucial things in life.

Tooth picks are not as boring loveless as in the rest of the world. They got a side were you grab it and a side where you clean your teeth with. Somehow sweet! And I found a lot more sweet stuff:

Little hedgedog at the train station. Just there.

Food that makes you happy and comfortable! Promise!

Cranes to take with you at the money exchange counter at the airport. They are supposed to bring luck.

Sometimes you got to take your bunny for a walk I guess.

Even mascots are much sweeter than anywhere else, allthough I suspect some hidden child labour here. Even japanese are not THAT small. Cmon.

Chairs get socks to threat the floor with care.

And on the school bus is a lot of love for details.

In general designers seem to have a sympathy for animals.

Typical Japan is also:

The earthquake-proof construction style.

Next level fishery.

Where is that doggy? I can’t see it! Well hidden with camouflage trousers.

Posing like winners, not like tourists.

Responsible handling of media.

And discreet use of advertisement.

This is Japan. And I love it!

Der Beitrag This is Japan erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.

I considered this article very carefully. It is already my third retreat. The last one was five years ago. Five years which I needed to feel fully prepared to sit a course again. I don’t like to talk about all this meditation thing. Probably, because many people don’t understand much about it and I wanted to keep this part of my life for myself, without exposing it to the ignorance of my fellows. Also I never wanted to missionize with this. And still I don’t want to. But I feel that i should write a text about it.

To my first retreat I came by accident. I worked part-time in Berlin and managed a project at this time. Commuting every weeks, while I did seminars in schools and wrote my bachelor thesis at the same time. I was pretty exhausted. A friend told me about 10 days of silence and I thought: Why not? Sounds good! This is exactly what I need. I applied for a course through Christmas and New Year. I wanted to get out completely I was not aware, that it was not at all about the silence, but about the meditation.

From my family and childhood I had no connection with any kind of spirituality and still I don’t consider myself as a spiritual person. I am very happy about this, cause it made me attend the course without having and expectations or prejudices. Another reason why I did not talk much about this so far, cause I also want others to make this experience. A Dhamma-Friend hitchhiked in Australia and got picked up by an assistant teacher who was on his way to a 10 day course. He asked him, if he wants to join. My friend had no clue about it and just said „Okay.“ He attended the course and carried through it. I still have to laugh, when I think about this story.

Vipassana is in first instance a technique, which can be practised independently from any religious believe. The aim is to develop awareness and equanimity. To experience the reality how it is within oneself. The technique does not work with any visualisations, mantas or other ways to influence body and mind. Only the breath and the body sensations are in the focus. Basically the technique teaches to observe without reacting to yourself. A silent witness in a choiceless observation.

But the technique is something else as well: Hard and honest work with yourself. There is no magic behind it. You are responsible for the results get out of it. You gotta go the way by yourself and not just listen to the description. And you get effects immediately. At the end of the course you look around you and you see people who seem to be really really happy. People who shine from inside. It is a different kind of happiness than this ecstatic moment of euphory and happiness that I experienced during my trip so far. No doubt about those moments. But it is just a different world to how I feel, when I get out of a 10 day retreat. I really think that this kind of happiness is what makes life worthwhile.

And you lose all the benefits, if you don’t keep up with the practise. Meditation is for your mind what sport is for your body. If you don’t exercise you won’t stay fit. Simple as that. I am not a model student at all. In the last six years I was far away from a regular meditation practise. My life did not went ideal and I know what I am talking about. But still I can say that I observe a great change in my life and myself. There are many reasons. Assuredly. But this technique is the most important resource I have in this process. I will need some time till I integrate Vipassana completely into my life. But that this will happen one day…I never doubted it. And still don’t. Since then I try my best, fail, fall back into old behaviour and start again.

The courses are for free. There are about 180 different centres around the world who offer regularly 10, 20, 30 or 45 day courses. Everyone who is involved in the courses is volunteering. Teachers, kitchen crew, course managers, centre managers. It is completely funded completely by donations of old students. And if you did not finish a 10 day course you are not allowed to donate. I think this is a big quality. And the real value of this technique is not comparable with money.

Back in the days there was a contribution for accommodation and food but they decided to make the courses completely for free to keep the purity of the technique. You should have the possibility to live like a monk for 10 days and try to learn the technique under optimal conditions. This also means to live from the charity of others. It deflates the ego. If people pay for room and food they also start to have expectations and demand things, if they are not satisfied. Because I payed for this I want this and this now.

There was a lot scepticism especially in India, if this would be a good idea. Food and sleeping place for free, when there are so many homeless people around? “They can all come and participate!”, said Goenka, who was one of the main teachers to spread out the technique at this time, “But if they come they have to get up at 4 in the morning, work hard, keep the rules…..” And in the end it worked out great and the doubts not reasonable.

I can not do more than recommend it. Invest 10 days of your life, give it a fair try, work hard and decide in the end, if it fits you. Or not. Also okay. For myself I can say: It is so good! It feels so good! It gives me so much. I know now, that I am 100% self responsible for my own feelings and my own suffering. This is a great attitude and makes you become very independent. And this technique supports me, to live this independent life. They also call Vipassana: The Art of Living. The way is long laborious, but with every little step it gets easier. And with every little step on this way your life gets a bit brighter.

All infos on: https://www.dhamma.org

Der Beitrag Meditation erschien zuerst auf Warm Roads.