Goodbye, 2011!

When a year comes to an end one is thinking of the past and hoping for the future. My 2011 was yet another year of wonderful experiences, amazing moments, great people, unbelievable travels and some very unexpected turns. If someone was to predict my 2011 I would have bet a million against it. Maybe I would have secretely wished for it to happen…

Merry Christmas!

And suddenly it is winter.

Wow! What the hell? Is it already November? Actually, December is at its doorstep. How quickly can a year go by? I am sitting in an InterCity train from Brunswick (Braunschweig) to my parents place. It is Grandmas’ birthday, her 85^th, I have to visit. However, she is in hospital – definitely not the best news.

I promised to keep my blog up and running so my friends – wherever they might be and whenever they would want to know – would be up to date. So far I didn’t do a lot in this regard. I suppose that is just because the last few months were so unexpected, hectic and full of wonderful and scary experiences.

Es wird viel passier’n

Es wird viel passier’n, nichts bleibt mehr gleich. – There will be happening a lot, nothing stays the same yells the band into their microphones. It is the chorus of one of the most well known German rock songs by the (less known) band S.O.S. The song got famous as the opening song of the daily soap “Marienhof” which used to be one of the most watched soaps in German television. For the last 19 years this song was on television every weekday.

Home is where I am | How it really was.

Haven't seen this in ages: A wing of an AIR BERLIN plane. Home is...

Kia Orana Rarotonga

The exotic white flower behind her ear is the first thing I see. The blossom lets the chubby lady with the dark hair look like she is from paradise. Dressed in a light blue shirt and dark trousers she welcomes me with a big smile. “Kia Orana”, I say as I approach her table with some electronic devices on it. In the background I hear someone playing the guitar and singing loud in what I assume is the local language. The people behind me are chatting. Laughter everywhere. Someone is on the phone, another person takes a picture. “Kia Orana, welcome to Rarotonga”, says the guy with the guitar. He is standing on top of a carousel of suitcases and backpacks circling around him. I am lost, don’t know where to look first when I suddenly see the “Customs Cook Island” label on the lady with the exotic hair’s shirt. “Your passport please, Sir!” – My passport. Of course. I nearly forgot the seriousness of the situation: I am at an international border – by far the most exotic one I ever came across.

A story about apples and hot water.

The asphalt winds its way through the region like a long, dark snake. We are passing fields with cows and sheep, deserted houses, rivers with water as clear as glass and pristine lakes. Green hills and mountains as far the eye can see. After a weekend full of adventure, fruitful conversations, long hikes and the highest jump of my life I am sitting in a double-decker bus on my way back to Auckland. When I am looking out of the bus windows I realize again how wonderful this country is! Home is where I am. Home was Taupo last weekend. (Fuer hier klicken.)

Von Aepfeln und heissem Wasser.

Wie eine lange, schwarze Schlange windet sich der Asphalt seinen Weg durch die Region. Wir fahren an Feldern mit Kuehen und Schafen entlang, leerstehende Haeuser, Fluesse mit glasklarem Wasser und wunderschoene Seen. Gruene Huegel und Berge soweit das Auge reicht. Nach einem Wochenende voller Abenteuer, intensiver Gespraeche, langen Wanderungen und dem hoechsten Sprung meines Lebens sitze ich nun im Doppeldeckerbus auf meinem Weg zurueck nach Auckland. Wenn ich aus dem Fenster schaue, realisiere ich mal wieder die Schoenheit Neuseelands.  Zuhause ist, wo ich bin. Zuhause war dieses Wochenende Taupo. (Click here for the version in )

Home is where I am. | A dilemma.

Wind is throwing raindrops against the window. Waves are breaking and water is splashing onto the already wet and sandy beach. The trees are moving in the rhythm of the wind, singing the melody of autumn. There is no one here apart from us. The beach: deserted. The village: empty. The roads: abandoned. (Fuer hier klicken.)

Zuhause ist, wo ich bin. | Ein Dilemma.

Der Wind schmeisst Regentropfen gegen das Fenster. Wellen brechen und das Wasser spritzt auf den nassen und sandigen Strand. Die Baeume bewegen sich im Rhythmus des Windes, sie singen die Melodie des Herbstes. Ausser uns ist niemand hier. Der Strand: menschenleer. Das Dorf: verlassen. Die Strassen: frei. (Click here for the version in .)