Daily Archives: 11. September 2010

Weg

Tag 28: Der Bloggertramp

15. August 2010, Auffahrt zur A8 in München
11. September 2010, Auffahrt zur A8 in München

Statt eines Nachworts.

I know I have the best of time and space – and that I was never measured, and never will be measured.

I tramp a perpetual journey,
My signs are a rain-proof coat and good shoes and a staff cut from the woods;
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,
I have no chair, nor church nor philosophy;
I lead no man to a dinner-table or library of exchange,
But each manand each woman of you I lead upon a knoll,
My left hand hooks you round the waist,
My right hand points to landscapes of continents, and a plain public road.

Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself.

It is not far….it is within reach.
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not know.
Perhapts it is every where on water and on land.

Shoulder your duds, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth;
Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch was we go.

If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on my hip,
And in due time you shall repay the same service to me;
For after we start we never lie by again.

This day before dawn I ascended a hill and looked at the crowded heaven,
And I said to my spirit, When we become the enfolders of those orbs and the pleasure and knowledge of everything is in them,
shall we be filled and satisfied then?
And my spirit said No, we level that lift to pass and continue beyond.

You are also asking me questions, and I hear you;
I answer that I cannot answer….you must find out for yourself.

Sit awhile wayfarer,
Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink,
But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes
I will certainly kiss you with my goodbye kiss and open the gate for your egress hence.

Long enough have you dreamed contemptible dreams,
Now I wash the gum from your eyes,
You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment in your life.

Long have you timidly waded, holding a plank by the shore,
Now I will you to be a bold swimmer,
To jump off in the midst of the sea, and rise again and nod to me and shout,
and laughingly dash with your hair.

Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

Danke für Eure Begleitung, Kommentare, Gastfreundlichkeit.
Thank you for your hospitality, for the ride, for letting me be a part of your life for some time. I am blessed to have experienced such kindness.

Good luck, to all of us.

Von vorne? Hier entlang.

English Posting

What happens on the road, part II (English post)

My English-speaking friends, I should feel ashamed having not done more English updates. But I am not, because this trip has been a joy, a pleasure, a kiss by life. Feeling like in a dream, but with being a wide awake. These weeks will stay with me forever.

It could name hundreds of things and incidents, but I will just name a few things that come randomly across my mind (more or less chronological).

-In Sweden, a hobby book-writer gave me a ride, we talked about plots, her work, life in general. I also drove with two Iraqis, who were telling me about the situation there.


-in Oslo, I experienced complete peace just by watching the fishermen in the harbour at night, doing nothing but waiting for a catch.


-In Scotland, I met Paul, a Scottish treeplanter and hippie. We went cherrypicking together in the hills and he gave me a place to stay at his croft, near the sea, with plenty of sheeps and mountains in sight. He showed me how it was to live in harmony with nature again.

-hitchhiking through the Highlands was pure bliss, with local people saying hello and even 70-year-old ladies picking you up in the middle of nowhere. Not even to mention the beauty of the landscape.

-on the Scottish islands, a nurse picked me up and told me so many thing about Isle of Lewis that I regretted not staying. I could have gone on and on like this, just driving around the island.

-I had great hosts like Aapo in Aberdeen or Robert in Belfast, who I had the pleasure of being the first couchsurfer after he moved there from the Netherlands. Belfast itself was quite full of history.

-in Dublin’s pubs, I danced the night away like there was no tomorrow.

-in Liverpool, I had a wonderful morning walking through the city while everybody was still sleeping. The wind was hell, though.
-On my way to London, Kevin picked me up, even though I wasn’t even standing there to hitch. He just returned from living in Greece because of his sick wife – and seldom have I met a jollier guy. After that, Edward, a guy from Zimbabwe, picked me up with his BMW and took me to London. I am pretty sure that the car was, well, not exactly paid for
-in London, I met a new friend and we spent the night on the roof talking about politics, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. In Brussels, I met an old friend, who I do not want to miss in my life.


-in France, a British couple picked me up at a parking space next to the highway, even offering me tea and food. In Germany, I went with a driver from Kosovo and I gave him my map, because he had to go all the way to the east of Hungary without having one.

-in Germany, an old friend invited me to his party and even drove me to the highway – after he had become sober again, that is.

I could go on and on, but this is not the time and place to do it. So I just want to say thank you to everybody I met or who has followed this. I am the luckiest guy in the world having been able to do this. Be all blessed!

Belgien Deutschland

Tag 27: Wiederkehr

Belgische Sonnenfront, deutsches Schmuddelwetter

Es gibt Sehenswürdigkeiten, die sollte ein Tramper nicht verpassen. Ich bin deshalb sehr froh, auf meiner Reise von Brüssel in die Heimat sowohl den berühmten Eupener Kreisverkehr, als auch die LKW-Zollstation zwischen Belgien und Deutschland mit eigenen Augen gesehen zu haben. Ich trampe in kleinen Sprüngen: Als ich die Grenze erreiche, ist es bereits später Nachmittag; Belgien will mich offenbar nicht hergeben.

Attraktives Eupen
Deutsche Spätsommerlandschaft

Doch auch mein Heimatland hat sich für meine Rückkehr etwas einfallen lassen: Regen, und zwar kräftigen. Auf einem Rasthof vor Köln schleiche ich an einer Tankstelle umher und frage Autofahrer, ob sie zufällig nach Süden müssen. Und wirklich treffe ich auf Markus, einen Ingenieur aus Ingolstadt, der mich mitnimmt.

Während wir durch die Schauer kreuzen, bin ich hin- und hergerissen. Eine Rückkehr nach München am späten Abend scheint möglich, doch die Vorstellung, in meinem eigenen Bett aufzuwachen, befremdet mich, ja macht mir sogar Angst. So entscheide ich mich, in meiner alten Studentenstadt Halt zu machen, zumal ich dort auf eine Party eingeladen bin. Leider unterschätze ich den Weg von der Ausfahrt Randersacker in die Stadt, befürchte kurz, auf immer in einer Brückenbaustelle zu verschwinden und bahne mir mit meiner Smartphone-Taschenlampe den Weg am Main entlang. Es ist kalt geworden, würde ich etwas sehen, wäre es wahrscheinlich mein Atem, der bereits als Dampf in die Nacht entschwindet.

Würzburger Labyrinth

Ich überlege, was meine Fahrer wohl gerade in diesem Augenblick, an diesem Freitagabend machen. Die meisten könnten wahrscheinlich nicht verstehen, wie sich ein einfacher Tramper solche seltsamen Gedanken machen kann, aber im Laufe meiner Reise haben sich die Menschen, die ich getroffen habe, zu einem eigenen Universum verwoben, eines, das hier nur andeutungsweise beschrieben werden konnte – so wie unsere Sternkarten nur einen Ausschnitt des Weltalls zeigen können. Dieses neue, zerbrechliche Universum zu verlassen und in das Leben zurückzukehren, das „richtig“ zu nennen falsch wäre, wird vielleicht der härteste Part dieser Reise. Auf der Party fühle ich mich denn auch zunächst wie ein Außerirdischer, wieder so viele deutsche Stimmen auf einmal, so viel Zivilisation. Eine Angst reißt an mir, die vielen kleinen Erinnerungen und Momente zu verlieren, weil mein Gedächtnis nun wieder mit den Dingen des Alltags verstopft wird.

Am Ende wird es dennoch ein angemessener letzter Abend für diese Reise, besonders gut gefällt mir der Moment, in dem ich einem angehenden Lehrer in bester Hippie-Manier Lebensratschläge gebe, woraufhin dieser sich verabschiedet, um in die Büsche zu kotzen. Als ich mein Lager aufschlage, dämmert im Osten bereits die Sonne. Der letzte Bloggertramp-Tag ist angebrochen. Es wird nicht das Ende der Straße sein, das ich heute erreiche. Der wirkliche Weg in die Wildnis hat gerade erst begonnen.

So früh schweigen selbst die Kirchenglocken