January: It is the beginning of the end – I just don’t know yet. After some wonderful days in Sydney and a great New Years Eve Party I am leaving by bus to Melbourne. Australia experiences the worst floods in a long time in Queensland, Victoria and Tasmania and I am covering for the Deutsche Presseagentur while enjoying my time in the second largest and (at least) second most beautiful city of Australia. I live with Bruce and Peng, meet Friso, get a surprise-visit of Will and Benoit and spend some quality time with Luise. I celebrate the carnival and Australia Day, visit the Australian Open - and fall in love with this wonderful city in the south of Australia. Home is where I am. It is Melbourne and I am loving it.

February: One of the most horrorfying, challenging and interesting experiences in my life: After a huge earthquake in New Zealand’s second largest city, Christchurch, with many fatalities I report for big German TV stations like RTL and n-TV as well as the Deutsche Presseagentur. I find a totally destroyed Christchurch, friends in shock and tears, brave people. After the first earthquake in September 2010 people thought it cannot get any worse. More than 5000 aftershocks later this big earthquake destroys the city totally. At the beginning of 2012 we now know that the shaking will not come to an end in 2011 at all. Aftershocks or earthquakes – depending on the definition – continue. While the earthquke happens I am at a personal low point of my life: I live in Auckland now but cannot find a job even though I am trying very hard. The coverage of the earthquake and other catastrophes keep me somehow busy but I get the feeling this is not it… Home is where I am. Auckland just doesn’t want to feel like it.

March: “Home is where I am. And that is not an identity crisis, this is a feeling. (…) Freedom becomes the disadvantage of the advantage. Everyone wants to be free until they are. Then they realise that even freedom has its prize – be it only not to know who you are and where you belong.“ My last years slogan describes the dilemma I find myself in in March 2011. I cannot find a job in New Zealand, I am travelling between Australia and New Zealand on a monthly, sometimes weekly base. I don’t know where I am nor where I belong to. All I know for sure: It is not New Zealand. And it is not Australia anymore. The only good thing about this month: Ben who I live with in Auckland, became a very good and close friend of mine. That was worth living in this terrible city for a while. Home is where I am. A new slogan that shall describe my year better than any other would have done.

April: On April Fool Day I fool people in Germany by changing my location on facebook back to Gütersloh, the town my parents live in. What only a hand full of people in New Zealand knew back than: It was only half a joke. I was starting to plan my grand return to Germany. The chapter New Zealand and Australia is over. But before returning I decid to travel the Pacific: I explore Rarotonga on Cook Islands, the capital of the island group and get a completely new feeling for paradise. It is a fabulous trip. At the end of April I am in Samoa, a completely different island experience. The two-day-couchsurfing-stay at a family in the very small village of Vaip’ua changes my view on the island completely. The trip to Samoa becomes the best journey of my life apart from my trip to Israel. However, before leaving to Samoa I had to say good bye to New Zealand, too. I did one more trip to Taupo where I finally did the Tongariro Crossing with Judith and a great bungy jump. Saying good bye to Ben was one of the hardest good byes. Home is where I am. It is in wonderful places like Taupo and the Cook Islands. Paradise.

May: Samoa, Sydney, wonderful Vanuatu, Brisbane, Sydney, Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Berlin. Cologne, Mönchengladbach, Basel, Bremen, Gütersloh. The grand return is complete. I am lost but happy. Home is where I am. I could have sweared it would not have been Germany this year anymore. I prooved myself wrong.

June: There is happening a lot in my life at the moment. I am in bed when my closest friends are awake – on the other side of the world. I am awake with my best friends in Germany and share great moments with them. It is a complete upside down. I start looking for jobs and realize that I returned just about at the right time. Not too early, nor too late. I am in Bonn and Hamburg and most likely Braunschweig soon. Home is where I am. Und langsam fühlt es sich gut, zumindest richtig, an.

July: A work trial at the Norddeutscher Rundfunk Studio Braunschweig. A new city – Braunschweig of all places… I get the job, start a new life and search for a flat. Within the last few weeks I threw away the freedom I had and enjoyed, the freedom which defined my personality and minimalized my life to a 30kg-backpack. Do I regret? Not yet. Do I understand? Not even close. Home is where I am. It is the most unexpected place in the world: Braunschweig.

August: Change doesn’t stop these days. I find a flat and move into it on my birthday-weekend. Last year at this time I was in the Whitsunday Islands on a boat cruise… I meet interesting people in the region, work is demanding. I pay a visit to friends in Tübingen, travel to Berlin for work purposes and have a wonderful guest at home: Ben, who I lived with in New Zealand and who travels Germany at the moment. Home is where I am. Even though it is Brunswick I cannot stop traveling through Germany.

September: Wanderlust is when you cannot stop to wander – I can’t. This month I fly to Bucharest, Rumania, for a workshop with the journalism academy. At work back home things get complicated every now and then and after the quick start in Brunswick I enjoy some time off, even though Bucharest is purely work. People are weird in Brunswick, though. After years this is my first city with no uni-connection: it is tough to meet new people. The few I meet turn out to be – how do I say that nicely – different. Home is where I am. It is a bumpy start into my new life in Brunswick.

October: Just another month of work, work and work. I do way too many hours/week, however, saying no is not an option in my job at the moment. After all it is a freelancing position and therefor I have to work hard to earn money… In the meantime I start working as online reporter for the NDR’s website, too, which is a big deal: When I am working for television I have my own team with a camera operator and a sound guy as well as a cutter. Working online means you are your own team: I go out with my own camera, do the sound, the interviews and the editing afterwards. Great. Rik’s visit also brings some of the Spirit of Australia to Brunswick. It is unbelievably amazing to catch up with “old” friends from the better side of the world. Home is where I am. Better get used to it.

November: It is the 11th of the 11th of 2011. A remarkable day: Not only am I reporting on the brunswick carnival – which doesn’t get even close to the one I am used to in Cologne, Bonn or Aachen. Even more important is the fact that I am signing my first real contract with the NDR. Still freelancing but with other – better – regulations now. I also do my first pieces as radio reporter, however, try to focus on television. As far as I am concerned I am the only person in our very little studio serving all three media. Most other journalists here only work for one or two types of media. Home is where I am. Home is getting cold: Winter at its doorstep.

December: And suddenly… Christmas markets, candles, decorated shopping malls – it is Christmas without the typical Christmas-temperature I was waiting for. The three Christmas in the last years with snow in Germany I spent abroad on the other side of the world. Despite of having white Christmas the weather turns out to be extraordinary warm this year. Kinda feels like - Sydney. Just kiddin’. Not even close.

A trumendous year comes to an end. It started in Sydney with a fabulous fireworks display – and ends in Brunswick in front of our theater with load music (an English Waltz, to be precise), some fireworks exploding above our heads, my old and wonderful friends Alex and Julia, Flo and Jenny and some new guys I met recently. Home was where I was in 2011. It is Braunschweig now. 2012 will bring many new challenges. It will be a great year, I hope: Twenty12 – 12 months. 12 journeys. Who knows where it will end…

How was 2010? Check it out here. If you want to reread some of my great experiences on detail simply click on the months on the right hand side of the blog.

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.

New job. New flat. New life.

By now I have a new job, a new flat and sort of a new life as TV and broadcast journalist with one of the biggest German public broadcasters, the Norddeutscher Rundfunk (NDR). After returning to Germany I spent a few days at my parents place and started to send applications straight away. I was prepared to get negative answers (as I was used to it from Australia and New Zealand). However, things looked a lot better back here in Germany and I was lucky, too. Pretty soon I got a job offer with the NDR and started straight away after a work trial in July. It is unbelievable how quickly that actually was, right? Since July I have been working as TV journalist but also did some news bulletins for the NDR radio program. The most exciting thing, though, is the opportunity to work online as a video journalist. Basically I work on day-to-day news for several TV news shows. It is a tough and competitive job and it is likely to work weekends, too. However, I am grateful to have this wonderful chance to work in this field for this big station – it was a long term goal to end up with the NDR one day. Now I am with them already. (Besides: I am the youngest one in the Brunswick studio…)

Where the f*** is Brunswick?

My new centre of life therefore is Brunswick, too. Lower Saxonys’ second largest city with a population of just under 300.000, a University, wonderful parks, lakes and rivers, great shopping possibilities and the Harz (a huge mountain range and National Park) nearby. I would never have imagined to end up here and if someone asked me only a few months ago I would have probably bet and lost a million… But then again: It is a perfect location, really: Berlin is less than 90 minutes away by train, Hamburg (I love Hamburg!) only 2 hours and so is Gütersloh. If I have some free or spare time I usually visit my friends in Hamburg (like I did last weekend), go to Berlin or visit my parents, friends and grandma.

Socialising can be hard…

Even though I have been living in many different cities all over Germany, in Australia and New Zealand already, this time it seems to be a lot harder to get in touch with people. Be it because I am out of university and don’t meet too many people in class. Be it because I am working full time and don’t have the power and time to socialise. Be it because I tend to pick the people around me more than I did before – it probably is a mix of everything which made the first few months exceptionally hard for me in Brunswick. But with the year slowly coming to an end I meet more and more interesting people and start to feel better by the minute

Home is where I am is this year’s slogan. I think this slogan describes my life in a perfect way! Ever since I returned to Germany I have been in so many different cities: I visited Cologne, Mühlheim, Bremen, Hamburg, Berlin, Weimar, Tübingen, Wolfsburg, Hannover and Bielefeld, just to name a few. Because of my job I am driving through the Brunswick region next to every day, too, which makes life so interesting right now.

Yesterday was the “Erster Advent” and with the many Christmas markets and Gluhwine stalls in every city, the cold weather (I hadn’t had Christmas in winter since 2008!!!) and several Christmas songs in radio it is easy to get into the typical Christmas mood. I decorated my flat yesterday and there are Christmas candles everywhere now. Loving it!

My new flat is very spacey, too. Come and visit! I have a living and dining room, a big kitchen, a comfortable sleeping room, a small working room and a big enough bathroom. Ben, my Auckland flatmate, visited me a few months ago on his tour through Germany and we had a wonderful time. Alex and Julia, two of my best friends here in Germany, helped me a lot when I was moving in and I am looking forward to host more friends soon!

I will upload a few pics of my new flat soon, I guess. And at the end of the year I will resume the last few months and tell you guys more about my new year’s slogan which is already in my head. It is a slogan related to some great journeys which are to come…

To be continued…

Structured and coordinated, always going with the flow… The song continues, trying to embrace courage into everyone to cry out against social structures, conventions and what is considered to be the right thing to do. Similar to Kiwi’s Shortland Street or Aussie’s Palm Beach generations of people were watching the soap Marienhof, identifying themselves with characters or problems which were on a constant repeat-mode. Easy watching television.

I remember the morning at school – I must have been 17 or so – when everyone was talking about the terrible accident which happened the night before. One of the actors had – in real life – an accident and newspapers along with radio stations had nothing else to do but to report. That is how important the soap was for us Germans.

Es wird viel passier’n – and because I am not famous enough to be spoken about every day in the dailies (which, no doubt, I don’t mind at all) I talk about myself and my life on my blog. And there is happening a lot in my life at the moment.

Today one month ago I arrived in Germany after nearly two years on the other side of the world. I surprised my friends and family all over Germany went to an assessment centre for a traineeship in Bonn, visited a workshop in Hamburg and started to apply for other jobs. It is great to be close to my family and friends and I have to get used to think twice before calling or txting Tomasz, Ben or Mark now. They are most likely asleep when I am awake.

A small step, one moment, there will be happening a lot – I get the feeling more and more that I came exactly at the right time. The economic situation in Germany is great and there are even job vacancies in journalism (which is generally never or not to a big extend influenced by economic growth). Step by step I am sending out applications at the moment – eurowide. The next months promise to be very exciting as I have promising applications in the pipe and interesting interviews coming up.

Life is a constant up and down and the German band S.O.S. (which is not the homonymous American folk band) does not exist anymore, neither does Marienhof. The last episode of the soap was broadcast a few days ago, the ARD (First German Television) decided to stop producing the daily soap due to a constantly declining audience. There was happening a lot in the 19 years of Marienhof and even though I did not watch the last episodes (everyone had to (!) watch Marienhof in grade three!) I have the feeling that even after over 4000 episodes with more than 150 actors and over 88000 extras, 27 weddings, over 40 deaths and murders – at the end nothing really changed compared to when I watched it as a little boy.

The title song with the promising chorus There will be happening a lot, nothing stays the same therefor is an interesting persiflage on the soap itself. However it hits the nail on the head for my life – nothing stay’s the same and I am looking forward to some very exciting months. Home is where I am – a confusing sentence in these days. But it makes sense. Home is Gütersloh at the moment. Then Braunschweig, Bremen, Hamburg and most definitely Berlin…

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

I wish I knew how to start this blog entry. I don’t. I wish I had an answer to all the questions. I don’t. I wish I knew back then New Zealand would not be the country for me, my life, my plans and my ideas. I didn’t. Home is where I am. I know now it cannot be New Zealand. If you asked yesterday I would have told you a completely different story. But you ask today. So here I am – the opposite of what I was yesterday. I was lying in bed that one very night in March. It was pitch black outside and all I could hear was the sound of traffic. Cars passing by, people walking on the streets. I turned around in the room which was not mine and stared at the wall. Thoughts were constantly bumping into my head. In these days I re-did my resume. In this very night at this very moment I stood up and went to the toilet. It did not really matter but I realized that the mug which I was drinking some cold tab water out of was not mine. That one night in late March I could not get any sleep. I got up and went for a walk. When I came back home my flatmate Ben was still awake. We started to talk. I started to talk. He listened. For two hours. At least. The good thing about talking to Ben is: I can do it in German. Sometimes it is just better and easier for me to talk in German – even after two years in an English speaking country. I cannot exactly recall what I said that night and nothing in particular has happened before that very night: But generally things have changed. Maybe I just needed to say it out loud, hear myself say those words which were stuck in my head for quite some time. I am done. Done with New Zealand. Over it. What am I doing here? Am I wasting my time? What the hell!? After more than six months of trial and error I am throwing in the towel. It is not that I did not try hard, though. However, it just feels like I have to go. Friends and family on the other side of the world are missing me. I miss them, too. Work opportunities seem to be better, bigger in Germany. What am I doing on this side of the world then? I created a plan. And the plan involved some lying. Lying to my best friends and family. Coming home should be a surprise. And I hope it will be. I am posting this entry not before the end of May – more than two months after the initial plan – for one simple reason: No one should know that I was coming back to Germany… I kept track of all the things which happened in a diary of events. It all started when I tricked my friends and family for the first time this year… April 1st It is April fool day and I am changing my current city on Facebook to Guetersloh (where my parents live). Funnily enough some people are confused… Also I am starting to look for jobs and challenges in Europe. When I open a bookmarked website of a big German media company I realize that I missed a deadline to apply for a traineeship by one day. Shocked and angry with myself I put all in motion to be able to apply for the traineeship which is considered one of the best in Germany. Home is where I am. Germany is still so far away! April 2nd Luckily I get my application in. Even though I was a little late I could explain myself. The game is on. Parallel I start contacting people in interesting positions in media all over the world who I find on LinkedIn or Xing and who are linked with people who I am linked with. All about connections. Home is where I am. Germany or Europe, I don’t care. As long as I am gone from this side of the world! April 5th Again one of those nights. I cannot get any sleep, today because of an interesting email which I got a few hours ago. One of those people who I contacted came back to me and forwarded an interesting job vacancy. I believe I am not qualified enough for the job, however, at the moment I am already working for that company… In my thoughts and dreams… Home is where I am. London would be an amazing place to live in! April 6th Sometimes it is good to write things down which pop into your head over night. The idea to surprise my best friends and my family in Germany when returning popped into my head last night. I can’t stop thinking about it anymore. Home is where I am. I cannot wait to see my friends and family again! April 8th I will be gone over the weekend so I rather send my application to London today. Even though the deadline is only next Wednesday. I ask myself over and over again: Why have I spent so much time in New Zealand? But hey, it was not a waste of time. Was it? Fact is: The answer to the “Where do I see myself in five years”-question will not contain New Zealand nor Australia. I should have known that before… Home is where I am. Missing Europe! April 9th to April 12th I am in Taupo where Judith and I do the Tongariro Crossing and I a bungee jump. Also I am having one of the best talks in ages with Cindy who I meet at my couchsurfing place and who tries to convince me to stay. After four hours of pros and cons I know even more: I want to go. Home is where I am. Home was Taupo that weekend. Taupo is beautiful! April 13th Highway to hell? I am disappointed when I open my email client today: The job in London – gone. My application has not been successful. I kinda knew it already… But hey, it is not all about bad news today: I get another very positive email: I am one step further in the application for the traineeship. Two more steps to go – the last one would be in Germany. I am going ahead with the surprise-thoughts and plans. It will be hard to keep my return quiet but make sure that my friends will be at designated places at a specific time – without becoming curious! Home is where I am. Deutschland, ich vermisse dich! April 14th That’s what friends are for. A very good friend of mine can put me on some stand by-flights to wonderful destinations. We are booking the flights today – I am excited! In the meantime I am contacting close friends of Alex, Julia, Malte and Claudia… They will have to help me get those four to be where I will be in May… While enjoying a coffee with another friend of mine in Auckland I suddenly realize that there is only a few days left in Auckland. Somehow I am not sad at all… Home is where I am. Auckland, I don’t think I will miss you! April 15th Wow! Laura, Bene and Nicole love my idea and will try to support me with my plans. Today I booked all my flights through to Germany and the train tickets for my Tour de Friends. I wish I could visit and surprise more of my wonderful friends but time and money are limited. I decide to visit those very few friends who mean the world to me – which in return does not mean there is not any other friend who means the world to me… However, Alex, Julia, Claudia and Malte as well as Tin and my family have been most supportive of my situation – over the last two years! That is the plan: I will land in Berlin, take the train to Cologne (Julia and Alex), visit Malte (Basel), go to Bremen (Claudia) and end the Tour de Friends in Guetersloh at Tin’s place. This will be the day before my aunt’s birthday – and I will be the party crasher! Home is where I am. Touching ground on May 23rd! April 18th My New Zealand bank account has now been closed, my Rarotonga-bag is packed and a nice 15kg-parcel is waiting in Ben’s room to be send to Germany. He will send it in a few weeks time so it will not arrive before me… Home is where I am. Last steps in Auckland… April 18th to 24th Discovering Rarotonga. Hell yeah, what a wonderful island this was… Home is where I am. Home is Rarotonga! Can I stay, please? April 25th: As one journey ends another begins “Wiedersehen” (German for “see you later”) says the customs officer and stamps my passport. He knows it is gonna be the last of these stamps for a very long time. We started chatting while he was checking my details on the passport. I love how you can just start a conversation with anyone in this country! “All the best and good luck”, he looks at me with a warm smile. I will miss this way of social interaction, the easy going mentality of New Zealand… I was standing at the bus stop of Queen Street this morning at 4 with Ben. My hands were shaking, my stomach cramping. I said see you later so often in recent weeks. But this time was totally different. Today I walked down Queen Street for the last time. I shopped in Countdown, for the last time. I saw Elaine who was a great flat mate, for the last time… The last two days went past way too fast. I had to do some preparations for Samoa and Germany, sort the pictures from my last trip and prepare myself for a new adventure… Yesterday night I invited Ben, Cindy, Deon and Kris over for a “Good bye Easter feast”… The weather has been extremely bad in Auckland and Elaine said this was just the beginning. Winters in Auckland are long, cold and rainy. A wee bit like the ones in Hamburg. Ah well, that makes leaving the city and going “back to summer” easier It is always sad to go, but I like to see it positive, as usually: As one journey ends another begins! Good bye, Auckland, good bye New Zealand. WIEDERSEHEN. Maybe one day! Home is where I am. Auckland, will I miss you? April 26th to May 2nd The start might have been bumpy – at the end of the day my time in Samoa has been great, unforgettable and changed my view on things forever. I will update my blog with this story as soon as I get some time. Be prepared… Home is where I am. Samoa, I will never forget! May 5th to 11th My last Pacific-Islands trip takes me to the wonderful state of Vanuatu. I spend some time with my friend Benoit and meet wonderful people, see volcanoes erupt and nearly lose my left arm. More stories and wonderful pictures soon on my blog. Home is where I am. Vanuatu you wonderful and adventurous island! May 11th to 15th Before returning to Sydney I spend a few days in Brisbane. The fastest growing third biggest metropolis in Australia has suffered in the Queensland floods a few months ago. Today only a few missing board walks near the river bed remind of the terrible floods – everything seems to be back to normal. I visit museums and galleries, take long walks and discover the city. I learn that the word “Waltzing” in the unofficial Australian anthem “Waltzing Matilda” originates from the German expression “Auf der Waltz sein” (which I never heard of before… It means something like travelling while learning a trade – basically what I did in the last months, right?). Another quote is stuck in my head: “There are no passengers on spaceship earth. We are all crew.” Marshall McLuhan is right! I also received my travel itinerary for the Sydney-Abu Dhabi flight. Shit: Going home becomes so real. Germany is coming closer… I cannot wait to surprise my friends back home! One day in Brisbane I woke up not knowing where I was after an extremely real dream (colourful, not black and white… And that means it will come true if you believe the Cook Island Maori. However, I believe in what I got told as a young boy: Look out of the window and a nightmare will not come true. The weather is brilliant! ) to have missed all my flights and instead have taken the direct flight to Guetersloh. (Not sure if there is a Sydney-Guetersloh service? …) This dream is the third in a row. Help. When does my next flight go to where again? Right. Sydney. Tomorrow. Time is running! Home is where I am. Melbourne has art and culture, Sydney beaches. Brisbane has nothing of it. May 15th and 16th – Last day on earth? Coming “home” to Sydney feels good. I wonder if the decision to go back home to Germany was the right one?! Am I really doing the right thing? I had a great last day in the worlds most beautiful city! Sunset high up on level 47 – Sydney’s highest bar -, a magnificent ballet in the Opera House and dessert at San Churros. It doesn’t need much (more) to be happy. Benoit, Tomasz, Nghi, Nhu, Will and other friends were there… wonderful. The only bad thing: I got an email from the traineeship-company… I didn’t get through to round number three… Shall I better stay here? Home is where I am. Sydney has been home for me for over 15 months. Leaving this city behind feels – weird. Nowhere else (but in the place where I lived with my parents) have I called home for that long. In recent years I never spent more than one year in one city. May 17th Great… ok, I’m coming then! It’s a wonderful start in the last day on this side of the world when you read that the other side of the world wants you I got an email this morning from the traineeship-company saying that there was a computer problem yesterday and that wrong emails have been sent out. I’m through and in round three . Germany, here I come! However, it feels weird to leave home… Well, to leave home to go home I shall say… The V Australia flight is very empty which makes the 15 hour journey way more enjoyable: I have three seats all to myself… Home is where I am. The world looks so peaceful over the mountains… May 17th to 23rd Abu Dhabi is nothing but a hot city. I visit one of the biggest shopping malls – part of their culture – see the fabulous and at the same time intimadating grand mosque and spend some time in the warm water at the beach… The few days in Dubai are full of extremes: I see the artificial Palm (which is an Island off the mainland in the shape of a palm tree), celebrate a beach party at the tip of the palm and walk through the extremely luxurious Atlantis Hotel, climb up the tallest building in the world, walk through the largest mall of the world, visit the Mall of the Emirates with its snowfield and go crazy on a desert-safari. I learn that Dubai is more fake than anything else in the world and am quite happy to leave the 46-degree-centigrade hot city. Home is where I am. Short Arabic encounter.

During my journey back home I visited wonderful islands in the Pacific and the United Arab Emirates. The pics from the islands can be found in separate entries whereas the pictures from my Abu Dhabi and Dubai trip are in this entry. Click on them if you want to enlarge one. Some little patches of green in a city of sand. View from Marina Mall in Abu Dhabi. Traffic sign - in Arabic letters, too. Visiting the Grand Mosque - only opened a few years ago. Grand Mosque, Abu Dhabi Intimidating? Grand Mosque Grand Mosque Grand Mosque Inside the Grand Mosque Inside the Grand Mosque Inside the Grand Mosque Inside the Grand Mosque: The glass for the world's biggest chandelier is from Germany. Inside the Grand Mosque Prayer Hall for the men. Prayer Hall for the men. From underneath: One of the world's biggest chandeliers - it weighs nearly 10 tonnes! Mall of the Emirates, Dubai. Snowfield - artificial - in the Mall of the Emirates, Dubai. Burj Al Arab - one of the world's most exclusive and expensive hotels - at sunset with dust in the air. The Canyon, Dubai. A city full of skyscrapers. Magic? With over 30, sometimes even 50 degrees centigrade, it is always good to cool down. Dubai - sidestreet with some locals. Dubai Marina Skyline at night. Impressions. Dubai. Impressions. Dubai. Creative? Dubai... From the distance: Picture of the Canyon from the inside of the Emirate Towers. Modern? Dubai's new Metro and skyline. Beachparty at the Atlantis, a new and really exclusive hotel, located at the very tip of the artificial palm. A fake new world? My Abu Dhabi host Sara and I at the beach party. After Sunset at the Atlantis. A fake new world? The inside of the Atlantis is massive... A fake new world? The inside of the Atlantis is massive... An Aquarium in the Hotel - massive. The pool is big enough (so they say) to keep a little whale shark in it. They even did it for a while. Greenpeace and others weren't amused at all. Fake new world... The Atlantis in Abu Dhabi. Worth having a close look: The official Road and Traffic Authority map shows four artificial Island areas off shore. However, only two exist, one of the (the world) is erupting back into the see already. All fake. Dubai is a big lie! Dubai has a poor side, too. Dubai has a poor side, too.

Small boat to cross the creek.

On a souq, a traditional market.

Dubai's old town.

Dubai's old town.

Familiar bags as wall decoration in a souq.

Dessert Safari

Dessert near Dubai without...

...and with tourists!

Dessert Safari

Dessert near Dubai.

Dessert near Dubai.

Sunset in the dessert.

My new wife AISHA!

Camel tours

One of the most precious animals for the people in the United Arab Emirates: A falcon.

Traditional Bely Dance in the dessert.

Male Dancer

I am the power that lifts the world's head proudly skywards, ...

...surpassing limits and expactations. ...

Rising gracefully from the desert and honouring the city with a new glow, I am an extraordinairy union of engineering and art...

...with every detail carefully considered and beautifully crafted. ...

I am the life force of collective aspirations and the aesthetic union of many cultures. I stimulate dreams, stir emotions and awaken creativity.

I am the magnet that attracts the wide-eyed tourist, eagerly catching their postcard moment, the centre for the world's finest shopping, dining and entertainment and home for the world's elite.

I am the heart of the city and it's people; the marker that defines Emaar's ambition and Dubai's shining dream.

More than just a moment in time, I define moments for future generations. I AM BURJ KHALIFA .

Connected to the world's highest building in the world, Burj Khalifa, is the world's largest mall, the Mall of Dubai which is like a small (airconditioned) city in the city with shops, cafes (like the Armani Cafe on the picture) and an own aquarium. Fake new world.

Flying home and passing one of those highly and exclusively advertised but failed projects: The world as puzzle of small islands. Only one of the islands has a house on it, most of them are eroding already. Apparently someone who bought one of them already took his life.

May 23rd to June 1st: Tour de friends

Touching ground in Germany. Nearly two years after I left in the very south of Germany (Munich) I arrive far north (east) in Berlin. Walking through customs is easy as and I find myself in a clean and fast ICE (Inter City Express Train) of the Deutsche Bahn only 50 minutes after landing in Berlin. I love training in Germany – Deutsche Bahn rocks! The next days will be full of surprises for my friends and I cannot wait to see their faces! You didn’t miss out on anything, here they are the best moments of my Tour de friends:

The

Ten minutes earlier the Boing 737-800 touches ground on what is probably one of the smallest and most secluded airports in the world. When the doors open the heat of the tropics flows into the airplane. We disembark over little transportable stairs and make our way towards the terminal. The big Boing stands out: only two very tiny prop airliners are parked in the corner of the runway. Everything is dark, it is half past midnight.

The word déjà-vu never made more sense: For everyone of us the clock strikes 00:30 AM on April, 18th 2011 for the second time. We flew back in time, crossed the international dateline and landed in the past. A weird feeling to set back the time for 22 hours.

Until today I didn’t even know that I can still feel and act like a little child. I am filled with happiness and lurch towards the terminal. The customs lady takes my passport, opens and stamps it right away. She doesn’t seem to be too interested in the other facts and information which generally attract most attention with every customs officer. Instead she is spending more time searching for a nice spot for her stamp, smiling at me and wishing me all the best.

Surreal world: a big red suitcase passes the guitar player with the green shirt, straw hat and flower necklace. He keeps on playing heavenly music while backpacks, boxes and suitcases are circulating around him. I grab my backpack, go through what they call biosecurity (“Any hiking boots or so with you, Sir?” – “Yes, I declared them!” – “Ok, great. Are they clean? Can we have a look at them, please?” – “Sure they are. Let me quickly open the backpack for you!” – “Na, don’t worry about it. If you say they are clean then we trust you. Just go through and have a wonderful time on the island!”) and see an ocean of colorful dressed people with flowers in the hair and around the neck. I catch eye with a young guy who get’s up from his seat and walks towards me. “You must be Peter! Welcome to paradise, man! Why are you only staying for a few days?”, asks the tall guy with a thick french accent.

“I’m sorry, I live on the other side of the island. We will have to drive for like 20 minutes now”, he adds. As if it was a punishment to drive around an island in the pacific solely lid up by the light of the full moon high above us. With my backpack on my back I sit down on his scooter, the engine roars and we disappear in the darkness of the night…

Palms on Rarotonga.

The French guy’s name who meets me at the airport is Antoine, a couchsurfer who I met a few days ago on the website of the same title. He is talking continuously while we are driving down the one and only main road of the island. I think I answer, too, but all I remember is us driving down a secluded “main road”, passing by enormous palm trees and little houses. Sometimes close to the street, sometimes a fair bit away from the road I distinguish the ocean with its breaking waves and the shiny foam crowns in the moon light. Every now and then Antoine has to slow down because there are dogs, cats or chicken on the road.

Can it get anymore French? When Antoine and I arrive at his place in the little settlement of Muri he offers me a piece of a sausage. “Try that. It is a French sausage! Yum! My friends imported it for me from Tahiti! You don’t get that on this island!” The 20-year old is on the island since February. He is working for Alliance Française as an intern and French teacher for half a year and clearly enjoys his stay. “My other friends are in London or some other big European cities. Totally boring”, he says. He studies International Business in his hometown Lyon and part of the studies is a six-months work experience abroad. “I wanted to go to New Zealand first but it seemed that they didn’t have free spaces available. Then one day – I had totally forgotten that I applied by then – I get an email from the office in the Cook Islands. They had a spot available. I didn’t even know the Islands existed until then.”

The Cook Islands are an Archipelago of 15 rugged volcanic islands with wonderful coral attols, pristine waters and a rich marine life. They are scattered over some 2 million square kilometers in the Pacific Ocean, an area slightly smaller than the Mediterranean Sea in the South of Europe. Located between the Equator and the Tropic of Capricorn, Penrhyn is the most northerly Island lying on a latitude of 9° and Mangaia on 23° the most southern one. This shows how far away it really is from the perspective of the locals:

With Berlin being just over 15000 kms away and the next big city Auckland still 3000 kms off the coast this place is really in the middle of nowhere.

Have a look how far in the middle of nowhere this really is:

Only some 20.000 people inhabit a few of the islands which are named after British explorer James Cook who discovered them on his 1777-journey through the Pacific Ocean. 10.000 of them call Rarotonga their home, the island on which I arrived on this very night in April 2011. However, most of the population of the Cook Islands, the so called Cook Islanders, live overseas: Big cities like Auckland and Sydney offer more opportunities and possibilities especially for the young generations who often return to their home country to retire after a splendid life abroad.

Pristine Waters and moon rays

You generally only see them at nighttime and they make sure that flies and mosquitos don't bother you too much... - well until they are full.

After Antoine showed me my room I decide to make my way down to explore the beach. It is way after 1 at night when I start walking down the small road towards the main street next to the ocean. I strive through bush and suddenly end on a wide and wonderful beach. The palm trees cast shadows in the sand and the moonlight is clear enough to lighten the beach. I walk barefoot through the water and see my feet in the pristine clear waters of the Pacific Ocean. I see some fish swimming around my feet when I discover a big coconut lying at the beach in front of me. All by myself. In paradise. Everything is so intense. The colours. The smell. The silence. The ocean.

Back in the airplane I told the girl who was sitting next to me that it was actually quite cool to land during the night. That way you’d wake up the next morning and find yourself in paradise. Bullshit. Paradise was now. This was my moment and I didn’t want to share it with anyone in the world. It was just me, some palm trees and the endless waters of the ocean. “Please, please, please”, I was thinking to myself, “please don’t let the flights to this wonderful Island ever become any cheaper. That would only attract more tourists and spoil the region…” (No doubt a selfish thouht. Pssst, don’t tell anyone.)

An Air New Zealand Boing approaching Rarotonga.

Lying exclusively in the middle of nowhere it is indeed quite difficult to get to Rarotonga. The only two airlines operating flights are Air New Zealand and Pacific Blue, a subsidiary of Virgin Blue. With fewer than daily services from Auckland and only one other connection from Los Angeles the paradise stays out of reach for most of the people.

The national Airline Air Rarotonga operates flights between the islands and every now and then there is a flight to Tahiti, too.

After just over 4 hours of flying back in time and some three hours on the island I finally discover my bed. It is 3 something in the morning. Again. On a Monday. I had that already yesterday. Today-ish. Weird to travel back in time…

Even though the Archipelago is named after Cook he by far was not the first European to sight the Islands. Spanish Alvaro de Mendana is thought to passed by one of the islands as early as 1595 and it was not before 1814 when a so called Philip Goodenough set foot on Rarotonga.

Back than the indigeneous people of the Cook Islands have been living there for over 2000 years already. It is not entirely clear where they came from but it is believed that there was a lot of going back and forth between the islands in the pacific so Cook Islanders are thought to be related to New Zealand Maori as well as Tahitians.

The Islander

“It is so small here, you know, sometimes the whole island can be against you”, says Doug and in this moment I realize this could actually be the case with him?

Doug, the Islander.

The 53-year old guy with the shoulder long dark hair grabs the axe to open the coconut. He has been living on the island for eight years now in the house of his long dead grandmother. When asking about his children he quickly lets me know that they are 20 and 21 and live in Great Britain. The topic changes straight away back to coconuts and my – what he says – wonderful camera. A wife? Not in reach. Other relatives? Apparently not.

He is taking his axe and opening the coconut which we chose only a few minutes ago from his stall on the side of the road. It is going to be my first fresh coconut. I am so excited! Papayas, Coconuts and other fruit are lying there on the table next to the street, waiting to be sold. I try to get as many information out of Doug as possible. How do you guys live on the island? How is life like? What do you do? Export, import? What do people talk about? Doug changes the topic back to the obvious things. A free room for rent and my wonderful camera. And the coconut, sooooo delicious. He tries to sell grass to me while talking about his wild plans: A backpacker with huts just at the beach and a kayak rental and this and that – not living the dream but being caught in a dream I quickly realize that this guy is only after my money, playing friendly.

Doug's fruit stall

Opening my first coconut...

...is an easy game to play for Doug.

Yuuuum!

“Come in, I’ll make you a coffee. It is  a secret recipe”, he says, putting some green leaves from the garden – I assume it is lemon grass – into a pot with hot water. “Look, why don’t you give me, let’s say, you know, you can help me out, $3 for the coconut and $3 for the coffee, how is that?” – Hospitality at its best. He is a really bad businessman on top of that. It is not hard to realize that he tries to make me feel better with unimaginative compliments (“Great camera, man!”, “So good talking to you!”, “Yeah man, if all were like you!”…) and another great suggestion: “I know what you really need now: What about a nice shake? I make them fresh, aye? Really good! There was this other guy here the other week and he said he tried shakes all around the world but mine were the best! They are only $ 10!”

Well, maybe Rarotonga is a sort of drop-out island? After a more or less successful life in New Zealand or Australia (re)turning to shallow waters? At least I get this feeling.

Selling some fruits to curious people who stop at the stall.

Coconuts and Paw Paws – a fruity diet

My menu today consists of coconuts and paw paws, formerly known as Papayas. I saw how Doug opened my first coconut today and after a wonderful snorkel in the shallow waters of the lagoon which is around the island of Rarotonga with beautiful corals and plenty of colourful fish I return to Antoine’s place where he shows me his way of opening a coconut. There is palm trees everywhere, every house has at least two or three of them in the garden so a shortage of fresh coconuts cannot possibly exist.

Antoine is using a machete to open coconuts...

...but at some stage one has to use their hands!

After a sunset-swim to the coral banks (we are on the east-coast so the sun set in our back behind the mountains) and back we went back home to have some more fruits with dinner. Daily life is different on the islands in the nowhere. Antoine tells me that he completely changed from being a smoker and drinking a lot to living a healthy life with everyday swims and bedtime at around 10 o’clock. The life on the streets seems to die out in the early evenings, too. Banks generally close at around 3 and the bus starts to drive according to the night-timetable at 6 PM. Well, at least the 32 km in circumference big island has public transport: two buses, one clockwise, the other one anti-clockwise drive along the 32 km long main road surrounding the island. There is no buses after midnight, though, as there is nothing (but some 24/7 stores and gas stations) open, too. Except for Friday when the young and beautiful of the island mingle with the tourists to stay out and awake until the 2-o’clock-curfew kicks in. The buses bring them safely home even after midnight.

Beautiful sunrise at Muri Beach...

...on my second morning on the island.

Rainy Paradise

One day Antoine welcomes me at home in his boxer shorts. Now this did not involve any insinuating motives. On the contrary he had no other choice. Antoine just did not have anything to dress anymore. Everything was wet. Paradise was rainy. Very rainy. On day two on the island, Tuesday that was, I got wet to the underwear twice. And that was just the beginning…

Cute aye? On the way to town...

Antoine on the scooter. One doesn't need a helmet on Rarotonga.

The day in paradise started with an early shopping tour through Avarua. Downtown, as it is sometimes referred to, Avarua is the heart of the Cook Islands and the capital city. The small town has everything on offer from ATMs and banks to grocery stores and petrol stations. It also headquarters the police and other institutions. Tourists’ and locals’ needs are catered alike in Avarua and the 4 km out of town lying airport and the harbour on the shores of the city are the only two possibilities (swimming is not one of them) to leave the island.

Shops on Avarua's main road.

Patriotism on the Island.

The national headquarters of the police.

The tourist information centre of Rarotonga.

The “Champs-Elysées”, as Antoine calls the little strip of divided two-lane road in each direction in the heart of the city, gives it a hectic metropolitain flair. However, appearances are deceiving. At the end of the day everything here is very rural and ruled by agriculture. The few tourist shops are barely notable, there is no chain whatsoever. A McDonald’s-free zone, no Vodafone advertising at the airport and no Starbucks to go – life can get a different quality here.

Antoine has to work this morning so I decide to go souvenir hunting. In fact, I don’t like souvenirs too much. Aren’t they just in our way anyways? So the idea was to get the unique and special souvenirs. Even though the Cook Islands are a self-governing parliamentary democracy they still have very strong ties with New Zealand. The official currency for example is the Kiwi Dollar, however, with some minor exceptions. The Cook Islands don’t have their own mint but they do have their own coins and notes: A unique three dollar note which comes in two different colors and a triangular $2 coin as well as a $5 coin in the shape of the 50 cent coins in Australia (in the form of a stop sign) and a round-ish $1 coin in the shape of a bottle cap. As a result tills are full of different coins and notes and your change very often will be a mix of Kiwi- and Cook Island money which both can be used on the island. However, taking the Cook Island Kiwi Dollar to New Zealand doesn’t make any sense as it has no value in New Zealand. I still decide to take some notes and coins home to remember my far-away stay.

During the coming days I will try and talk to as many and as different appearing locals as possible to get a better understanding for the way of life and problems on the island. Even though I am really only at the surface of what might be called some cultural study in the Cooks, I quite enjoy to get an idea beyond what is written down in the books already. I understand that infrastructure has been a big issue during the last years.

Local fruits of Rarotonga: Bananas...

...Papayas...

...and Starfruit.

With tourism becoming more and more important it also is important to maintain a functioning infrastructure, including roads and emergency services. Because Rarotonga exists of many mountains in the centre of the island which rise as high as nearly 600 metres above sea level, life takes place on the coast. The main road is a circle around the island and there is a parallel inland way which is roughly 200-500 metres away from the main road, depending on where you are. Those are the only two sealed streets, however, they show major damages. Another big issue is water. The freshwater as well as the sewage seem not to be perfectly working and the last governments apparently neglected work which should have been done. The exclusivity and exclusion of this island is responsible for the high prices for food and energy, too. Petrol costs roughly 50 cents more than in New Zealand and food can be twice as expensive. However, local produce which is limited to some fruits (Papaya, Mango, Banana, Coconut, some Tomatoes and other vegetable) can be purchased to cheap prices. The majority of things which you find in the shelves of the supermarkets are imported, including milk which on the Island always is longlife milk.

Antoine loves to hike and Rarotonga with its rough mountains and peeks in the middle of the island has a hand full of challenging walks on offer. The DAY TWO plan for the afternoon therefor was a challenging hike. Unfortunately on the way home (with our groceries on the back) it starts to rain. Actually rain is probably not the right expression for what was happening there: it was raining cats and dogs, as if there was people employed to empty one bucket after another above our heads to make sure everything – and I mean it – gets really wet. Soaking wet after the monsoon we arrive at Antoine’s place and kill the afternoon plans until further notice.

Rain. Scooter. Antoine. Wet. Everything.

Once the rain stopped in the afternoon I was still all set up to hike. Antoine instead suggested not to do the hike as the tracks would be very slippery. I wasn’t happy at all about that. Therefor after a couple of minutes of sunshine (at least 20…) I once again suggested to do a hike. Antoine however, wasn’t in the mood but suggested to do the Cross Inland, a track which takes me from the north to the south of the island, climbing up to 413 metres above sea level and back down to zero again. He apparently did the hike already by himself. Even though the walk is considered to be too dangerous to do it without a guide I decide to give it a go and Antoine promises that if I only stick to the track everything will be fine…

I probably should have listened to the weather man – once arrived at the track entrance I start to walk down a nice broad gravel road, passing palm trees and banana plantations, pigs and chicken. It is the most exotic track I took in my life…

The clouds above my head are forming never seen patterns and it gets greyer by the minute. I am not even ten minutes in when the first shower makes me think twice to whether I should go back or continue. Ah well, why would I give up – it feels like summer rain anyway, I’ll be sweet…

…is what I thought. I should have listened to my non existend logic-advice-app in my brain which surely said: Don’t go. The rain did not stop for three hours, instead I was hiking through dense bush in what I would call bucket rain… The hike up to the over 400 metres high summit was extraordinair and I was wet to my underwear.

Once arrived and climbed, the top looked not appealing at all: Normally you can see the ocean on both sides of the islands which gives you a better understanding for the size of Rarotonga. All I could see was grey – and that everywhere.

On my way down the hill the track got so muddy that I had to be very careful not to fall. Halfway through I am actually walking down a creek as the rainwater seems to create a little stream which – surprise – is the track. I don’t even bother that my hiking boots aren’t waterproof (it would clearly be unfair to have dry feet when the rest of your body is really wet!) anymore and wonder how my sun glasses (up my hair) look like in rain? I wish I could tell.

If the summer rain wasn’t annoying enough (who would have thought that I will find summer rain annoying? Ever???) I eventually had to cross some little creeks (which is part of the walk) which by the time I got there (one million buckets of rain later) were strong streams. I found myself in kneedeep water, afraid of falling or slipping into the stream and destroying my camera and phone…

Just about at the end of the hike the expected happens: I slip and fell and badly hurt my wrist. That is the moment were my motivation for a very little while changes into a dangerously and very negative mood. However, I control and remember myself: Peter, you are in paradise. It might be the wettest and most painful one – after all it is still paradise. Shut up!

What started so promising on Monday nearly ended in hospital the day after. And that would not have been good. According to some locals who moved here quite some time ago the hospital should be considered as the very last resource: “If you get your hand checked here on the island, you will probably have to do it again once you are in Auckland!”… (When I visit the hospital a few days later on a scooter tour I realize that it probably was the right decision not to consult a doctor. No offense, I am sure people are doing a great job here – under the given circumstances. The hospital looks very ugly and miserable from the outside, I decide not even to take a look in the inside…)

Different and very special every morning: Sunrises at Muri Beach.

Cock-a-doodle-doo everywhere

Day three on the island and I am sure I actually broke my wrist. I am enjoying the sunrise behind clouds and the sky is painted in different orange-red colours.  I can hear cock-a-doodle-doo sounds everywhere – a completely new sound during a sunrise, at least for me. The weather is still crap and I decide to join Antoine on his way into town. With his scooter he is quite mobile and not depending on the bus. Wednesday flies by and the rainy patches all day long make me wonder if I did something wrong? “I swear, the last three weeks we had no rain at all”, Antoine says without comforting me. Because the pain in my wrist increases, I organize some soothing gel and consult the already retired neighbor of Antoine, a doctor. “All good, mate, it is just a bruise, I guess. Make sure to cool it properly!”

In the evening Antoine takes me to the National Atrium where tonight the junior dancer of the year finals are held. Young boys and girls from many of the Cook Islands compete against each other in traditional Cook Island dance: a lot of hips-movement and knee-shaking included. According to the host of the evening this is one of the events in Rarotonga and I like to believe that as the atrium is very full this evening.

The most impressive and characterizing moment of this night is the opening and closing prayer. Missionaries did a great job – before anyone starts to dance a priest prays and everyone freezes in silence.

An event this scale anywhere else in the world would be a very commercial thing full of security and restrictions. Cook Islanders instead don’t take themselves too serious: No one is wearing ties, there is hardly any security people around and the minister (for whatever, really) comes up in a hawaiian shirt covering his really (!) well fed belly.

The importance of the event is reflected in the news of the next day in television. Rarotonga has their own private TV station. What has been owned and run as a public services broadcaster until 1996 has ever since been privatized and a company in Cook Island family hands took over. I visited the company one day and had the chance to speak with some of the owners. Every day from Monday through to Friday there is a current affairs news show in the evening at seven and the also by the family business owned radio station produces news bulletins every hour on the hour during the day. They also print the Cook Island Herald, a weekly magazine published on Wednesdays and Fridays. The only and biggest competitor to the company are the Cook Islands News, a daily newspaper. It is impressive to see that the TV-radio-print company with no website manages to finance themselves solely through ads from local companies and money for the purchase of the weekly magazine. For most of the Cook Islanders these news will be the only source which they have to trust. The internet on the island is still very (!) expensive and primarily used by tourists. When I watch the evening news one day I recognize all the reporters and the pictures in the report: I have been talking to the reporters the day before and they are showing clips from the young boys and girls dance night in the Atrium.

Our evening ends in Hidie’s Bar with Karaoke. Even though I cannot see myself up on the stage with a mic in my hands, Antoine gives it a go with Roxaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaane!

It is not that I don’t like summer rain…

…and with temperatures never under the 24 degrees celsius marker on the thermometer every shower feels like summer rain. But believe me, even the most inspiring and wonderful cooling summer rain enjoyed at a beach with a view on crystal clear water under palm trees gets annoying after a while. Especially when the rain does not want to stop after three days… Though day four in paradise started really promising: After yet another sunrise behind clouds I decide to rent a scooter for a day to discover the island and the previously mentioned back roads of it. Surprisingly the weather stays nice until the very end of my tour: I get soaking wet during the last half an hour on the scooter.

A scooter for a day...

The 32 kms around the island seem very long considering the maximum speed is 40 kph. But even cars cannot really go any faster: All around the island is a speed limit of 50 kph and no one seems to have a problem with that. Island Time – time is not running away here. But with this chill-out mentality comes danger: No one wears seat belts or helmets, people are standing on the back seats of their convertibles and pick ups full of people (mainly children) in the back or workers on the back of trucks are normal. Already on the airplane to Rarotonga I learn from my neighbour that quite some people die in accidents related to the laissez-faire security and safety regulations on the island. (Or, to put it in pedantic German terms: we all know that in an accident with only 30 kph someone who does not fasten their seatbelt can be deadly injured.) Seatbelts are a nice accessoire in cars it seems.

On one of the back routes on the island.

I quite enjoy the warm wind blowing through my hair when driving my blue Suzuki-scooter which I rented for the day. Wearing only shorts and flip flops I feel extremely free. One of the main reasons to hire a scooter is probably the possibility to drive the inland route, too. As mentioned above, the Island of Rarotonga has two main streets both surrounding the island. The main one forming the loop near the ocean which is used by all tourists, all buses and the main traffic. It is a through and through sealed two lane street with little shops every now and then, kiosks, petrol stations and the odd bars, restaurants, hotels, resorts and backpackers.

The inland route though, a parallel street to the Ara Tapu, the main street, goes through residential areas and gives you a better feeling for the locals on the island. Of course I don’t want to miss out on the opportunity and take the Ara Metua, the Great Road of Toi. The mostly sealed one lane street reminds me of little streets through farm land somewhere in rural Germany or even more precise probably Poland (considering the quality of the seal).

Papaya trees on Rarotonga. In the background the rugged mountains of the island.

Banana- and Papayatrees, Palms, tomatoes – the scenery doesn’t change a lot all around the island. Every now and then houses, some of them beautiful, others rather falling apart – accompanied by old cars which are half ate by rust or taken over by lush green plants. The inland road shows to a very good extend how poor most of the people here are. They highly depend on tourism which brings more money from outside. Nevertheless or maybe because of this fact people here are very hospitable. Everyone is extremely friendly and welcoming, no grumpy faces which don’t belong to paradise anyway.

Inland Rarotonga.

Self explaining...

A little bit of home home...

People are not the riches on the island.

Cattle breeding is quite normal and there is goats...

...cows...

....and chicken.

When nature takes over...

A house in inland Rarotonga.

Papua Waterfall is the only accessible waterfall on the island.

Not as accessible indeed...

...is Raro's prison. Even on this wonderful and peaceful island one comes across the bad guys. "Well, I guess that is the case in every society, no?", rhetorically asks the officer at the prison when I ask about what crimes are the most committed on Rarotonga. He says that you can come across every imaginable crime from drug use to sexual assaults.

On the Hospital hill you get a nice view over parts of the island.

Backstreets...

...and their transportations.

Just another day in paradise.

The actual plan was to leave the island after four days, however, complications made me stay one more day which I did not complain about. The sunrise in the morning was magical again and I found a little sign with direction markers to famous cities all around the world. Berlin being the most far away city I realize what living on this island really means. Basically this island could be a small village with 10.000 inhabitants anywhere in the world. Theoretically. Practically it is different. The random next big city close to a normal village would be an one hour drive, maybe two or three, away. Leaving paradise is different though. You need at least three, I shall rather say four hours, too – but by plane – to get to some sort of big city.

The isolation is a luxurious good and those who live here know to appreciate it. “Everything is easier here, you know“, says the 20-something year old local I am talking to. If the island gets too small for the inhabitants they generally just leave. Those who stay, stay because they love it. “All I miss”, adds the young guy to the conversation, “is McDonalds.” As it comes with small villages, free time activities are limited to the few available options. On Rarotonga they are rugby (big times!), soccer, tennis and other sports and – unfortunately and despite the price for the good – alcohol.

You wouldn't wanna be hit by a falling coconut!

Rarotonga is different on day five. It is a Friday but most shops stay closed today. Buses are driving according to a Sunday timetable and there will not be the usual late night out as all clubs stay closed: Good Friday on the Island. Back in 1821 with western influence came the missions and with it a dark side of Cook Islands history. The result of the early European missionaries: Most of the Cook Islanders are Christians with a very high religious practice. Churches are spread throughout the island, including Catholics, Protestants, Seven Day Adventists and Jehovah’s Witnesses amongst others. On a day like today most of the people will go to church or spend the day with their families.

Enjoying paradise on the last day.

My day however shall be different (and I hope he who watches over us will understand). After returning my scooter at lunchtime, Antoine, Katja (a couchsurfer which arrived only the night before) and I visit Kotake. Kotake is a local winegrower and Antoine’s near neighbour. He produces his own banana wine and we are welcome to come over for a taste. But as we know in the meantime, Cook Islanders are very hospitable: One glas becomes two become three become four and at some stage and after a few shots of the home brewed liqueur we decide to go back home and straight to the beach. The weather is not too bad (considering it has been raining during the last few days) and we relax at Muri beach for a few hours before returning home.

Brewing Banana wine.

Winegrower Mr. Koteka himself.

The Pacific Islander explains us how nearly 50 kgs of bananas...

...after 13 months of process become...

...delicious fruit wine which...

...Koteka now wants to export. He and his dead have produced the wine for the last...

...18 months but so far only gave some bottles to friends. Since six months Koteka is trying to sell some bottles to tourists who love to pop in for a free tasting in Muri.

Koteka mentions that he is doing a blend of banana and passion fruit for a wine, too, and gives us some passion fruits to take home with us. Katja takes...

...the opportunity and prepares...

...a wonderful...

...fruit platter...

...for us.

All good things come to an end – and hopefully the rain, too. When I arrive at the airport it is – surprise – raining again! I hope for Antoine that I took the rain back to Auckland. When I board the plane another cloudburst, rain is heavily pouring down: paradise is sad cause I am leaving…

Good bye paradise with a massive burger.

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.)

When Andreas and I were travelling New Zealand last summer we have been to Taupo, too. We were there with Jeroen, Mies and Marieke and planned to do the Tongariro Crossing, considered one of the best one-day hikes in the world and the best in New Zealand. However, bad weather, storms and hail prevented us from doing the 20 km walk through rough terrain. We had to leave the city after three days of rain. Back then Andreas did his Bungy-Jump in Taupo – even though the weather was still very bad he must have had his jump of his life!
One year and a few months later I find myself in Taupo again. The sun is shining when I arrive with the InterCity bus. Judith, who I know from Christchurch and who was in Wellington for the last few weeks to do some research, arrived a few minutes earlier on a Bus from down south. She welcomed me with a big hug and a warm smile. This weekend was meant to be legen- wait for it! – dary!

Tongariro Crossing: Considered one of the best hikes in the world!

The alarm-clock rang at quarter to five on Sunday morning and Judith and I woke up with a big smile on our face: Finally! Today was meant to be the day. After a quick shower we had to prepare…

…our tucker bags for the day.

And because we had to take a bus to the start of the walk – and because the walk is sooooo long – we had to be at the bus stop…

…very early. Six o’clock in Taupo, New Zealand…

However, when we arrived at the car park where the walk starts it was bright daylight already. The sun was shining – perfect weather for this challenging crossing!

The Tongariro Crossing is so special and beautiful because most of the track is over rough volcanic terrain. The Tongariro area is full of volcanoes and craters which might actually be active every minute. In fact the last eruption is thousands of years ago… Not a long time in geographical or geological terms. However, we decided not to think about the change to be buried under hot lava today…

Because Judith is totally into volcanoes (her research project at Lincoln University near Christchurch deals with volcanic ashes) she had a smile on her face from the very beginning of the walk…

This path is taking all the walkers towards the mountains. In fact the very easy part at the beginning might be misleading: The hike is hard, the terrain rough and most of the track simply lava stones. Hiking boots are required…

After only a few more minutes the terrain got rough and the area changed into an often described as moon-like terrain. Well, if you have a look at the pics you won’t be surprised how they came up with the name… On the picture above you see Judith walking up. In the very distance is the path with some people (very small)…

It is probably one of the most famous mountains in the world: Mount Doom. Peter Jackson used this mountain in his Lord of the rings movies.

However, the real name of the Mountain is actually Ngauruhoe.

By the time we arrived in the above pictured South Crater…

We would have climbed already from 1150 metres above sea level (where we were dropped off at the car park) to 1660 metres… But that was not the highest altitude for today. In the above picture you see the way people are taking through the crater. Extreme…

Being at the rim of the Red Crater…

…meant we had climbed half of the way already and were 1886 metres above sea level. And because temperatures up here can rise and drop but generally are more towards the zero markers on a thermometer…

…we found the first ice!

There has actually been recent snow fall only a few days ago, however, with the temperatures being quite high still most of the snow melted away until we got up the mountain. Well, apparently it was still enough to stand in it…The top of Mount Ngauruhoe has a red-ish colour. Responsible for that is the very high iron content in the volcanic stone.

Even though we were quite lucky with the weather so far, these clouds could not mean any good…

At least the picture turned out to be quite cool.

We decided to do a little detour and wanted to climb the summit of Mount Tongariro. The hike would take us further up to nearly 2km above sea level. On our way to the summit we saw the famous Blue Lake. Also on the picture above you can see a very dark black-ish area. This is lava stone from the last and very recent eruption. Only like… thousands of years ago…

It is cool, man! High above over the mountains: 1967 metres over sea level I discover not only Mount Ngauruhoe but also see Mt. Ruapehu for the first time during our hike.

Chacka! High above the mountains, between lava stone and snow…

…one get a little bit…

…crazy!

On the way back to the actual walk we get to see…

…the famous Blue Lake again, before it totally disappears in clouds!

The Red Crater got his name from the very red-ish colouring. Especially with the bright sun and the blue sky…

…you can clearly see the colours which build great contrasts.

Slowly descending down we approach the wonderful Emerald Lakes.

They are water filled explosion craters…

…with extreme greenish water…

…which gets its colour from minerals in the water…

…which have leached from the adjoining thermal area.

As it was already way after lunch time and we started to starve we decided to take a lunch break with Karen…

As if we did not know better… It was good to take the lunch break just now as the weather turned just after we finished. The descent is apparently not too spectacular anyway, however, all we could see was…

…clouds! But maybe that was even better. Cause without too many clouds we would have seen how far it still was for us… VERY…

The more we descended, the greener and lusher it got.

Judith and Karen found themselves in lush, green rainforest. Unexpected…

…but wonderful!

After more than eight hours and nearly 24 kms (including the detour to Mt. Tongariro’s summit) we arrived at the end point of the crossing, only 750 metres above sea level.

Couchsurfing experience at its best.

The Tongariro Crossing might have been a wonderful experience, however, there is another thing I will never forget. Sometimes it is the small things which make the big difference. Judith and I decided not to stay in a backpackers in Taupo. I told her about couchsurfing and the concept and idea behind this wonderful platform and we found Lesley, a 64-year young and fit woman who lived in Taupo for the last few years. She was happy to host us and was one of the most considerate and amazing hosts. Not only did she pick us up and gave us a wonderful tour of Taupo. She also told us many stories about the region and welcomed us in her beautiful wooden house north of the town centre. We shared good wine and food, great stories and had a wonderful room to ourselves. As if it was the most natural thing to do the bed was made up and prepared when we arrived. Everything was just wonderful and we felt very cared after.

While Lesley was preparing some ice cream for dessert…

…another couchsurfer, Cindy, was helping out in the kitchen. Judith in the meantime contacted…

…a lovely person on the other side of the world…

The next morning Lesley showed us the Aratiatia Rapids near Taupo…

…which don’t carry much water anymore these days because a big company…

…built a damn. With the water which runs through a tunnel into turbines they generate power. Sustainable energy at it’s best. And because the rapids always were a tourist attraction, the company decided…

…to open the dam every day three times for the public so the rapids…

…slowly fill again to look like they looked before the dam after fifteen minutes…

…and Lesley had a lot of interesting stories to tell!

The sheep were listening!

One evening when we were having a cuppa tea, Lesley actually surprised me with her drinking habit. All she wanted was a pot of hot water. I thought she must be kidding and had to try. But all there was in the pot was hot water – and it tasted surprisingly good. Even though I never expected hot water to be that tasty it made sense, right? We drink cold water, so why not hot water, too. No need to put a teabag in all the time!? – Hot water won’t ever be forgotten, actually it might be high on my “what to drink on a nice evening”-list.

Three – Two – One – Bungy

It was on my to do-list since – well, at least since I first was in New Zealand last summer. A bungy jump. When Andreas did the jump in Taupo I decided to wait for Queenstown, the birthtown of the commercial bungy jump and adventure mekka for the adrenalin seeking Kiwi-tourist. However, back then I decided not to jump. Queenstown seemed unsexy compared to the wonderful Bungy Jump area in Taupo.

So this time – with the weather even nicer than the other time I was here – I decided to finally do it. And: I did it as you can see on the pictures and the video of my jump!

Standing on top of the platform – 47 metres above the ground…

THREE…

TWO…

ONE…

BUNGY!

What an experience! Water dip inclusive. Ah well, why don’t you check out……the video?

I want apples!

It was Cindy who surprised me, too, this weekend. The Chinese girl who also was a couchsurfer arrived the day when Judith and I did the Tongariro Crossing. We spent two great days together and had delicious dinners with her and Lesley in the evenings, followed by inspiring conversations.

Monday night, the evening after my Bungy Jump, Cindy and I started to talk about my time here in New Zealand and her expectations of New Zealand. She just arrived a few weeks ago and holds a working holiday visa. I told her about my experiences and the fight to get a job and she was speaking about what she wants to do and see. At some stage the discussion became a serious (still inspiring) conversation about giving up versus fighting for what you can – but not necessarily will – achieve. On a serviette we scribbled our ideas and used fruits as metaphors. I want apples but all I can get are other fruits like oranges and bananas. And feijoas – them especially and only in New Zealand. It is hard to summarize what has been said and done in one of the most interesting discussions which I have had in the past few weeks, however, four hours flew by and at the end of the discussion with Cindy I knew that I was right and the most recent decision I made was the one and only decision one could have made…

When Judith left on Tuesday at around ten in the morning, Cindy and I took a walk on the wonderful lakeside of Lake Taupo,…

New Zealands biggest and Oceanias second biggest lake by surface.

Again we had some wonderful and inspiring conversations…

before I, too, boarded my bus back to Auckland at two in the afternoon.

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 )

Als Andreas und ich im vergangenen Sommer durch Australien reisten, waren wir auch in Taupo. Damals waren Jeroen, Mies und Marieke dabei und wir haben das Tongariro Crossing geplant, eine der weltweit schoensten und Neuseelands bester Tageswanderung(en). Leider haben schlechtes Wetter, Wind und Hagel uns daran gehindert, damals den 20 km langen Wanderweg durch das unstetige Terrain zu machen. Wir mussten die Stadt nach drei Regentagen verlassen. Andreas machte schnell noch seinen Bungy-Jump – und selbst wenn das Wetter ziemlich mies war, so was das sicherlich einer der besten Tage seines Lebens!

Ein Jahr und wenige Monate spaeter bin ich erneut in Taupo. Die Sonne scheint als ich mit dem InterCity Bus ankomme. Judith, die ich aus Christchurch kenne und in den letzten Wochen zu Forschungen in Wellington war, ist wenige Minuten vorher mit einem Bus aus dem Sueden angekommen. Sie begruesst mich mit einer dicken Umarmung und einem breiten Lachen auf ihrem Gesicht. Dieses Wochenende sollte legen- wait for it! – dary! werden!

Tongariro Crossing: Eine der weltweit besten Wanderungen!

Auch wenn der Alarm an diesem Samstag bereits um viertel vor fuenf klingelte, sind Judith und ich mit einem dicken Lachen auf dem Gesicht aufgewacht! Endlich, heute war der Tag! Nach einer schnellen Dusche haben wir angefangen…

…unser Lunchbag fuer den Tag zu packen.

Und weil wir den Bus zu dem Startpunkt des Wanderweges nehmen mussten und weil der Wanderweg soooo lang ist, mussten wir schon sehr frueh…

…an der Bushaltestelle sein. Sechs Uhr morgens in Taupo, New Zealand…

Als wir an dem Parkplatz ankamen, von dem die Wanderung starten sollte, war schon heller Sonnenschein. Perfektes Wetter fuer den anstrengenden Wanderweg.

Die Tongariro Ueberquerung ist daher so besonders und wunderschoen, weil der Grossteil ueber Vulkangestein geht. In der Gegend um den Tongariro Berg gibt es zahlreiche Vulkane und Krater, die theoretisch jede Minute ausbrechen koennten. Der letzte Vulkanausbruch ist auch nur wenige tausend Jahre her – keine lange Zeit in geographischen oder geologischen Kreisen… Wie auch immer: fuer heute nahmen wir uns vor, nicht ueber die Option von heisser Lava bedeckt zu werden, nachzudenken!

Weil Judith total interessiert an Vulkanen ist (sie erforscht Vulkanasche an der University of Lincoln in der Naehe von Christchurch), hatte sie die ganze Zeit ein breites Lachen auf dem Gesicht…

Dieser Weg fuehrt alle Wanderer in Richtung Berge. Doch in Wirklichkeit kann der Anblick taeuschen: Der Weg ist lang und anstrengend und der allergroesste Teil auf Lava-Stein. Wanderschuhe ein Muss…

Nur wenige Minuten spaeter aendert sich das Terrain und die Gegend wird zur oft beschriebenen Mond-aehnlichen Landschaft. Wenn man sich die Bilder anschaut wundert man sich sicherlich nicht mehr, woher der Name kommt… Auf dem Bild oben sieht man Judith, wie sie den Berg hinauf laeuft. Im Hintergrund weit entfernt sieht man den Weg mit einigen Menschen (sehr klein)…

Es ist wohl einer der bekanntesten Berge auf der Welt: Der Schicksalsberg. Peter Jackson nutzte den Berg in seiner Der Herr Der Ringe Verfilmung.

Der richtige Name des Berges ist aber Berg Ngauruhoe.

Als wir am oben abgebildeten Suedlichen Krater ankamen…

…sind wir bereits von 1150 Metern ueber Normal Null (an dem Parkplatz, von dem die Wanderung abging) auf 1660 Hoehenmeter gestiegen… Aber das war noch nicht der hoechste Punkt fuer den heutigen Tag. Auf dem Foto oben kann man sehen, wie klein die Leute wirken, die durch den Krater wandern. Extrem…

Am Rand des Roten Kraters angekommen hiess…

…dass wir mittlerweile auf 1886 ueber Normal Null geklettert sind. Und weil die Temperaturen hier steigen und fallen aber in der Regel eher in der Naehe der Null-Markierung auf dem Thermometer sind…

…haben wir ersten Schnee gefunden!

Einige Tage vorher gab es Schneefall. Weil aber die Temperaturen immer noch recht hoch sind, ist der meiste Schnee bereits geschmolzen als wir hier oben ankommen. Na immerhin war noch genug da, um im Schnee zu stehen…Mount Ngauruhoe’s Bergspitze ist roetlich. Verantwortlich dafuer ist der hohe Eisengehalt im Gestein.

Selbst wenn wir bisher mit dem Wetter ziemlich Glueck hatten, so konnten die Wolken nichts Gutes bedeuten…

Na immerhin wurden die Bilder dafuer besonders schoen.

Wir haben uns fuer einen kleinen Umweg entschieden: Vom normalen Weg ab fuehrt ein Weg zur Spitze von Mount Tongariro, die rund 2 km ueber Normal Null liegt. Auf dem Weg sehen wir den beruehmten Blue Lake. Ausserdem sieht man auf dem oberen Bild schwarzes Lavagestein: Verglichen zu den anderen Steinen, auf denen wir stehen, ist dieses noch sehr jung – also nur wenige tausend Jahre alt.

Sehr cool! Hoch ueber den Wolken: 1967 Meter ueber Normal Null habe ich nicht nur Sicht auf Mount Ngauruhoe sondern entdecke Mt. Ruapehu zum ersten Mal waehrend unserer Wanderung.

Chacka! Hoch ueber den Wolken – zwischen Lavasteinen und Schnee…

…wird man schon mal…

…verrueckt!

Auf dem Weg zurueck zum eigentlichen Wanderweg sehen wir…

…den Blauen See nochmal, bevor er total in en Wolken verschwindet!

Der Rote Krater hat seinen Namen aufgrund seiner roten Faerbung bekommen. Und gerade heute bei so klarem, blauem Himmel…

…kann man die Farben wunderbar ausmachen, die einen tollen Kontrast bilden.

Auf dem Weg bergab stossen wir auf die wunderschoenen Emerald Seen.

Die Seen sind mit Wasser gefuellte Krater, die nach Explosionen entstanden…

…und in denen das Wasser extrem gruen ist…

…weil es entsprechende Mineralien enthaelt…

…die aus dem Thermalgebiet in dieser Region entweichen.

Da es eigentlich schon lange Mittagszeit war und wir langsam vor Hunger starben, haben wir uns mit Karen hingesetzt, um eine kurze Mittagspause einzulegen. Karen haben wir auf der Wanderung getroffen…

Als haetten wir es geplant: Das Mittagessen noch in prallem Sonnenschein verbracht, so aenderte sich das Wetter beim Abstieg rapide. Was wir sehen konnten, waren…

…Wolken. Aber vielleicht war das auch besser so, denn dadurch konnten wir nicht sehen, wie lange der Weg nach unten noch war… SEHR lang…

Je weiter wir den Berg runter kamen, desto gruener wurde es.

Judith und Karen standen ploetzlich in einem Regenwald. Unerwartet…

…aber wunderschoen!

Nach mehr als acht Stunden und fast 24 km (inklusive des Umweges zur Spitze von Mount Tongariro) sind wir auf rund 750 Metern ueber Normal Null am Ende der Wanderung angekommen.

Eine wundervolle Couchsurfing-Erfahrung.

Das Tangariro Crossing war sicherlich eine wundervolle Erfahrung, doch an diesem Wochenende gibt es noch eine andere Sache, die ich nicht vergessen werde. Manchmal sind es die kleinen Dinge, die den grossen Unterschied machen. Judith und ich wollten in Taupo nicht in einer Jugendherberge uebernachten. Ich habe ihr daher von couchsurfing und der Idee dahinter erzaehlt und wir haben Lesley auf der Platform gefunden, die seit einigen Jahren in Taupo wohnt. Sie war gerne unser Host und es stellte sich heraus, dass die 64-Jaehrige einer der besten und wundervollsten Gastgeber war. Sie hat uns nicht nur wie selbstverstaendlich vom Busbahnhof abgeholt und eine Tour durch Taupo gegeben: In ihrem wundervollen Holzhaus waren wir herzlich Willkommen und fuehlten uns sofort wie zuhause. Wir verbrachten tolle Abende mit Wein und leckerem Essen und Judith und ich hatten einen Raum nur fuer uns. Und als ob es das normalste auf der Welt sei: Das Bett war frisch bezogen als wir ankamen. Alles war perfekt und wir haben uns sehr wohl gefuehlt.

Waehrend Lesley Eis fuer den Nachtisch vorbereitet hat…

…hat Cindy, eine andere Couchsurferin, in der Kueche ausgeholfen. Judith hat in der Zwischenzeit…

…eine wunderbare Person auf der anderen Seite der Welt angerufen…

Am neachsten Morgen zeigt uns Lesley die Aratiatia Rapids in der Naehe von Taupo…

…die aber mittlerweile kein Wasser mehr fuehren, weil eine grosse Firma…

…Einen Damm gebaut hat. Wasser fliesst nun in einem Tunnel ab und daraus wird Strom erzeugt; Nachhaltige Energie in Neuseeland. Aber weil die Rapids immer eine touristische Attraktion waren, hat sich die Firma dazu entschlossen…

…den Damm taeglich mehrmals zu oeffnen, damit die Menschen…

…die Rapids immer noch geniessen koennen, die sich dann innerhalb von 15 Minuten langsam fuellen…

…Lesley hat uns dazu viele Geschichten erzaehlt!

Und die Schafe haben gehorcht!

Eines Abends als wir einen Tee hatten, hat Lesley mich ueberrascht: Sie wollte lediglich eine Tasse heisses Wasser. Zum Trinken? Ich dachte, dass sie mich verarscht und musste probieren. Aber in der Tat: Alles was in der Tasse war, war heisses Wasser – und es hat erstaunlich gut geschmeckt. Selbst wenn ich nie gedacht habe, dass heisses Wasser so lecker sei, hat es doch Sinn gemacht, nicht? Wir trinken immerhin auch kaltes Wasser, warum dann nicht auch warmes? Da muss also doch nicht immer ein Teebeutel mit in den Becher!? – Das heisse Wasser werde ich wohl nie vergessen und wahrscheinlich wird es sogar auf meiner “Was koennte ich heute Abend trinken”-Liste landen…

Three – Two – One – Bungy

Das steht auf meiner To-Do-Liste schon seit – na zumindest seitdem ich zum ersten Mal in Neuseeland war. Ein Bungee Sprung. Als Andreas damals den Sprung hier in Taupo machte, habe ich mich dazu entschlossen auf Queenstown zu warten, das Mekka des Adrenalins in Neuseeland und Geburtsort des kommerziellen Bungee Jumps.Aber dann habe ich mich doch dazu entschlossen, nicht zu springen. Queenstown hat sich irgendwie unsexy angefuehlt verglichen mit der wunderschoenen Bungee Jump Anlage in Taupo.

Also habe ich mich dieses Mal dazu entschlossen, den Sprung hier zu machen. Bei sogar viel schoenerem Wetter als wir damals hatten. Und ich habe es gemacht, wie man an Fotos und vor allem Video sehen kann!

47 Meter ueber dem Boden auf der Platform…

THREE…

TWO…

ONE…

BUNGY!

Was ein Erlebnis! Und der Dipp ins Wasser inklusive! Warum schaut ihr euch……das Video nicht selbst an?

Ich will Aepfel!

Cindy hat mich an diesem Wochenende auch ueberrascht. Die Chinesen, die eine andere Couchsurferin ist und an dem Tag bei Lesley angekommen ist, an dem wir das Tongariro Crossing machten, hat viel Zeit mit uns verbracht. Wir haben tolle Abende mit leckeren Essen verbracht und hatten sehr anregende Gespraeche.

Am Montag Abend, dem Abend nach dem Bungee Jump, haben Cindy und ich uns darueber unterhalten wie meine Zeit hier in Neuseeland bisher war und ueber ihre Erwartungen gesprochen. Sie kam erst vor wenigen Wochen auf einem Working Holiday Visum an. Ich habe ueber meine Erfahrungen bei der Jobsuche erzaehlt und sie sprach von Dingen, die sie gerne machen und sehen wollte. Recht schnell wurde das Gespraech eine anstrengende (aber immer noch tolle) Diskussion ueber das Aufgeben gegen Kaempfen um das, was man will – ohne es unbedingt zu bekommen. Auf einer Serviette notierten wir unsere Ideen und nutzten Fruechte als Metaphern. Ich moechte Aepfel, doch alles was ich bekommen kann sind Orangen und Bananen. Und Feijoas – die vor allem in Neuseeland. Es ist schwer zusammenzufassen, was in einer der besten Diskussionen seit langer Zeit gesagt wurde, wie auch immer, vier Stunden mit Cindy in der Kueche sind wie im Flug vergangen. Am Ende der Diskussion konnte ich mich zuruecklehnen denn ich wusste, dass die Entscheidung, die ich kuerzlich traf, genau die richtige gewesen ist…

Als Judith am Dienstagmorgen gegen 10 Taupo verliess, sind Cindy und ich an dem wunderschoenen Tauposee spazieren gegangen,…

…der Flaechenmaessig der groesste in Neuseeland und zweitgroesster in Ozeanien ist.

Und erneut hatten wir wundervolle Konversationen…

…bis ich schliesslich auch meinen Bus nach Auckland genommen habe.

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.)

The window front of Joe’s parent’s holiday house is massive. 2 metres high, at least, and 8 metres wide. Even though this Friday is rainy, windy – a typical autumn day up north they say – there is enough light coming into the living space. Joe and Hamish are sitting on the spacey couch facing the window, overlooking the grassy hills and the bay. You don’t need a television here, you don’t even need a radio. Network coverage? Ten minutes away, by car. Internet? Not here. Time seems to stand still in this little holiday village of Moureeses Bay.

I cuddle myself up in the cosy blue hoody. The coffee in one hand, my book in the other and a yummy heated up muffin placed on a small plate located on the armrest of the comfortable couch-chair. I take a sip, lean back and start reading.

The strong brownish colour of the wooden floor and the pink-blue-green-yellow blankets which cover Joe’s and Hamish’s legs are the most colourful things in this modern holiday apartment with its white walls and ceilings, the grey window frames and the white blinds which seem so terribly useless when there is no sun outside.

Paradise around the corner

Only a good three hour drive north of Auckland, just 40 minutes off Whangerei, this wonderful piece of earth is a popular but still quite unknown holiday destination. Joe has Thursday, Friday and Saturday off, Hamish is on leave and I am more or less unemployed – so free to leave Auckland anyway. A few days ago we decided to do this little pre-weekend trip and I am glad we came up here.

Even though the weather forecast was bad (and the people in the weather bureau seemed to be right about their predictions this time) we decided to drive up. I am relaxed, very relaxed and my thoughts are floating away with the wind and the waves. The thriller I am reading is taking me to Longreach, Australia, where a Swedish journalist discovers a long time dead believed woman.

A holiday house like this – not far away from the city, the stressful life – is perfect to chill out and think, to regain energy and forget about the busy streets, noisy shopping malls and crowded areas in the city. However, I feel misplaced here. I don’t belong here. Well, I do. I just don’t deserve being here. A dilemma.

Home is where I am.

Generally when I write my blog I think of a title once I am finished writing the post. Sometimes I got an idea, sometimes it comes up while I am writing. This time I knew from the beginning what title to choose.

Home is where I am. – This sentence describes the dilemma I find myself in at the moment. It is so strong, so full of truth, filled with philosophies and questions. It is strong enough to become my slogan for this year. But it is a dilemma. A good and a bad thing.

I met many people recently. Some I added on Facebook, some on LinkedIn or Xing (the German equivalent). It always is interesting to explore new cities and I have been in four of them already this year: Melbourne. Sydney. Auckland. Christchurch. With travelling and living in many cities come new people, new faces: “So where is home?” – I heard this question very often when introducing and talking about myself. A few months ago I would have answered Sydney. Hamburg before that, Düsseldorf and Bonn prior Hamburg.

From the very pure definition of home I shall rather say Kędzierzyn-Koźle. A small town in southern Poland, my birthplace. But then again: What do I have in common with the city which I haven’t seen for the last 13 years, the city where I have not been living in for the last 23 years even. Shall I then better say home is Gütersloh? The place where I grew up in? This little town in the west of Germany with a population nearly high enough to be called “Großstadt“, big city, but a mentality of a remote and narrow minded village.

I have to – want to! – identify myself with my home. And it seemed to be – in the past – very easy for me to identify myself with and in the place I lived in. However, for the last six months I have not really lived anywhere. Instead of being homeless in the pure sense of the word, I had the opportunity to live in different cities with different people which I am very happy about.

“So where is home?”

I still did not answer that question in this blog entry. And somehow I had trouble answering it to the person(s) who asked, too. Until – at some stage – I simply said: “Home is where I am.” Then I looked up – in shock – and stared at the other person’s face to see how they react. “What did I just say?” – it sounded so banal, so simple. Too easy to be true.

Home is where I am. And that is not an identity crisis, this is a feeling. The feeling which describes me in 2011. Nevertheless, Home is where I am describes a dilemma, too. Where do I belong? At this very moment I cannot answer this question, not entirely at least. I belong where I am. This is where home is. But where I am, home, has been in different places recently. – Don’t we need identification? Don’t we need a place to get back to? So: Where am I?

Where am I…

…in my life? At an interesting point where the future is totally unwritten.

…located? Somewhere in New Zealand at the moment. Could be different tomorrow.

…next week? God knows.

The dilemma is my last year’s motto: freedom.

I have no mortgage to pay. I have no job waiting for me nowhere in the world. I have no partner, no family*, no children, no dogs. I don’t have a car, I don’t have a house and I do not intend to have things like that. I am free, feel free, live free and act free. It is a wonderful feeling to do so – but only as long as freedom takes place in a setting of definitions, regulations, everyday live, tasks, jobs.

I have no flat. I have no job. I have nothing anywhere in the world. In the last six months after I finished my degree at UTS, I experienced many disappointments (among so many beautiful and extraordinary good things), setbacks and blind alleys. It has been – and still is – inspiring to be at the very (!) bottom of the food chain. However, after six months it does make you go nuts – mentally! – too.

Freedom becomes the disadvantage of the advantage. Everyone wants to be free until they are. Then they realise that even freedom has its prize – be it only not to know who you are and where you belong.

Well, even that can be inspiring, I guess. But also tiring. It has its moments, its ups, it downs.

“I think I gonna have a sandwich now,” says Joe and out of a sudden brings me back – out of my mental state of the in between to where we are, where I am. Well, strictly speaking: Home. – For the last and next few hours it is Moureeses Bay.

I don’t deserve being here…

It is just: Do I deserve to chill over a book with a priceless view, great people, a coffee (and a wonderful wine later), movies, good conversations…? Do I, who is not really working, deserve to enjoy? It feels like: no. Because society makes me think so. Because you have to deserve to relax, right? You have to earn that. Do I? Do I really? I don’t harm anyone with who I am, right? I don’t take away anyone anything? I don’t do anything wrong. I just – relax. The only difference to many other people who “just relax” is: When I come home (to Auckland in that case) I will still do – nothing.

At least that feels like it. Even though it is not entirely true as I really do and try hard to get a job, it does feel like I am doing nothing. It feels a bit like stagnation where there shouldn’t be stagnation. Like no movement where there should be. The point is – and this is very important for me to know and understand in my situation – that I am not doing nothing and really trying very hard.

Home is where I am. But maybe home should not be where I am (right now)?

I had the weirdest thing happening to me when going to Sydney for Mardi Gras this year. That was in the beginning of March and I wanted to visit my friends and be part of the carnival in Sydney. I have been travelling back and forth between Australia and New Zealand quite often already and last time (before Christmas) when I arrived in Sydney there has been an issue with my passport and/or visa. After going through Customs an Immigration Officer picked me up and took away my passport. Only a few minutes later he came back with it, saying that everything was fine now. Apparently my name in the visa was spelled wrong. I am not entirely sure if this is true…

When I arrived in Sydney this time I was one of the only people at Customs because I was sitting in the very front row of the airplane and apparently no other flights were coming in at that stage. I approached an officer and he scanned my passport. He then looked at me and said: Oh, you will have to talk to an immigration officer. “Is there anything wrong, Sir?” I asked, and he comforted me by saying this was a very usual procedure and would keep Immigration busy… Haha, funny joke.

The Asian lady from immigration who picked me up took my passport and disappeared. It took her quite some time until she came back with at least ten sheets of paper – and my passport. She sat down next to me and started asking me about my travels, the purpose of my visit, the purpose of the last visit when I was in Melbourne and Sydney and so forth. I looked at her, smiled, and said: “Are you afraid I want to stay in this country?” – “Well, to be honest, yes!” – I couldn’t help myself but had to laugh out loudly. “Madame, I do love Australia. I studied here and I travelled this country several times. But there is no way – and no reason for me – to stay. I am simply visiting my friends.” It took me some convincing, however, at some stage she gave up, returned my passport and let me go.

Sydney does not feel like home anymore. I thought this would happen.

I already described the feeling in a few blog entries, the one in January as well as one in February: I am done with Sydney. Somehow this city does not give me this wonderful and overwhelming feeling of home anymore. It seems like I moved on. And yes – after the experience of not even being welcomed anymore at customs this feeling continued.

New Zealand does not want to feel like home. Anymore?

The story continues, though, in a weird way. I had a great week in Sydney with my friends. I talked a lot and questioned my situation in New Zealand. Somehow I realised that New Zealand is not the place for me to be. However, my return ticket was booked – and most of my stuff still in Auckland. Back in New Zealand at a completely crowded and full airport the customs officer who scans my passport and looks deep into my eyes says: “So you have been travelling a lot, hey? You have been to New Zealand already, right?” – Am, sorry, stupid… I know it is late but you can bloody see in your damn computer that I have been here already a hand full of times and only have been gone for a week. What is your problem – should I have said. But I stayed polite and explained that I have been in Sydney for a short visit and was just about to return and go to bed. “Well, well,” he said, and did not write the usual “P” on my Passenger Incoming Card, which has to be filled in by every incoming passenger. I knew that was not a good sign.

The lady at biosecurity (the area where they scan all your luggage) then proved my feeling right: “Yes, sir, please can you go that way and wait there to be called?” – and here we go. Different country. Same shit. An interview with Immigration. Only was that one even more unnecessary, not only because it was 2 in the bloody morning by then…

The very friendly and on top of that extremely good looking officer asked me one million questions before I finally got her yes, the ok to enter the country. I passed. For me it felt like a fail – for New Zealand. The officer was afraid how I managed to survive in this country and pay for all my travels without having proper work. Yes, sweetheart, I wonder myself, too, sometimes…

Home is where I am. And somehow those and other little things give me the feeling it cannot and should not be New Zealand anymore. I tried my best. I did not bad. However, I did not manage to get my foot into the magic door of journalism. At least not to a satisfying extend.

Home is where I am. That is a great slogan for this year. It is great because it perfectly describes how I feel: Home, wherever I am.

Home is where I am also describes the dilemma I am in right now. If only there was a guideline for me. Instead it is me, and only me, who has to make decisions. Decisions which – that is how it feels at the moment – will change my life. Somehow. Somewhere. Where? Where to? When? Leaving? Staying? Why? When? Home is where I am. I wonder where this is gonna end…

Yes. I know. I am free. FREEDOM. Sometimes I feel I don’t even have the right to complain about my situation at all. It is – well, it is weird, right?! Don’t we all just want what we don’t have? I don’t want to be homeless and without work. All I want is a job. I am not asking too much here, am I? With this job comes money and with money a flat. Somewhere in the world. I am aware of the luxurious situation I am in right now. I am travelling the world. Living in so many different places. That is something not many people do, not many people CAN do. Rici, a very good friend who I met when travelling Australia with Alex in November 2004, send me a message on facebook a few days ago. She ended with this sentence: “Grüß sie von mir, die weite Welt, ich vermiss sie!” – Say hi to her, to the wide world. I miss her!

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*in the strict sense. Of course I have great parents and grand parents, two wonderful and successful brothers, great aunts and uncles and cousins​​. Family in the broad sense.

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 .)

Die Fensterfront der Ferienwohnung von Joe’s Eltern ist riesig. Zwei Meter hoch, mindestens, und acht Meter weit. Auch wenn dieser Freitag regnerisch und windig ist – ein typischer Herbsttag, so sagen sie – erhellt genug Licht den Raum. Joe und Hamish sitzen auf der grossen Couch, die zu den Fenstern ausgerichtet ist und schauen auf die grasgruenen Huegel und die Bucht. Man braucht keinen Fernseher hier und auch kein Radio. Handynetz? Zehn Minuten entfernt, im Auto. Internet? Nicht hier. Die Zeit scheint still zu stehen in dem kleinen Ort an der Moureeses Bucht.

Ich muemmel mich in meinen gemuetlichen blauen Kapuzenpullover. Den Kaffee in der einen, das Buch in der anderen Hand und ein leckerer aufgewaermter Muffin auf einem kleinen Teller auf der Armlehne meines Sessels. Ich trinke einen Schluck, lehne mich zurueck und fange an zu lese.

Das starke Braun des Holzfussbodens und die blau-gruen-pink-gelben Decken, mit denen Joe und Hamish ihre Fuesse bedeck haben, sind die auffaelligsten Gegenstaende in diesem modernen Ferienapartment mit seinen weissen Waenden und Decken, den grauen Fensterrahmen und den weissen Sonnenblenden, die so unglaublich deplatziert wirken, wo keine Sonne ist.

Das Paradies um die Ecke

Nur rund drei Autostunden noerdlich von Auckland, lediglich 40 Minuten entfernt von Whangerei liegt dieser noch ziemlich unbekannte aber immer beliebter werdende Ferienort. Joe hat Donnerstag, Freitag und Samstag frei. Hamish hat Urlaub und ich bin ja quasi arbeitslos – also kann ich Auckland immer verlassen. Vor einigen Tagen haben wir beschlossen, diesen Vor-Wochenend-Trip zu machen und ich bin froh, dass wir hier hoch gekommen sind.

Auch wenn die Wettervorhersage nicht gut war (und die Metereologen Recht behalten sollten), haben wir uns entschlossen hoch zu fahren. Ich bin entspannt, sehr entspannt und meine Gedanken schweifen ab mit den Wellen und dem Wind. Der Thriller, den ich gerade lese, bringt mich nach Longreach, Australien, woe in Schwedischer Journalist eine Frau entdeckt, die langezeit als vermisst galt.

Solch eine Ferienwohnung – unweit von der Stadt und dem ganzen Stress – ist perfekt um zu entspannen und seine Gedanken zu sortieren, um Energie zu schoepfen und das stressige Leben, die vollen Strassen und Einkaufspassagen und verstopften Gegenden der Grossstadt zu vergessen. Trotzdem fuehle ich mich wie am falschen Ort. Ich gehoere hier nicht hin. Irgendwie schon. Ich habe es nur irgendwie nicht verdient, hier zu sein. Ein Dilemma.

Zuhause ist, wo ich bin.

Normalerweise kommt die Ueberschrift bei meinen Blog-Eintraegen immer zum Schluss. Manchmal habe ich eine Idee beim Schreiben. Aber dieses Mal wusste ich schon am Anfang, welchen Titel ich nehmen werde.

Zuhause ist, wo ich bin. – Dieser Satz beschreibt das Dilemma, indem ich mich befinde. Er ist so stark und ehrlich, gefuellt mit philosophischen Gedanken und Fragen. Er ist stark genug, um mein Slogan fuer dieses Jahr zu werden. Aber es ist ein Dilemma. Eine gute und eine schlechte Sache.

Ich habe in den vergangenen Wochen viele Menschen kennengelernt. Einige habe ich bei Facebook zu meinen Freunden hinzugefuegt, andere bei Xing oder LinkedIn (dem englischen Aequivalent). Es ist immer spannend, neue Staedte zu erforschen und ich war bereits in vier in diesem Jahr: Melbourne. Sydney. Auckland. Christchurch. Und mit neuen Staedten, kommen neue Leute, neue Gesichter. “Also wo ist zuhause?” – Diese Frage kam haeufig, wenn ich mich vorgestellt oder ueber mich erzaehlt habe. Vor einigen Monaten noch haette ich Sydney geantwortet. Hamburg davor, Düsseldorf und Bonn bevor Hamburg.

Eigentlich sollte ich aber doch eher sagen Kędzierzyn-Koźle, zumindest wenn “zuhause” “home”, also “Heimat”, meint. Eine kleine Stadt im suedlichen Polen, mein Geburtsort. Aber dann: Was habe ich noch mit der Stadt gemein, die ich seit 13 Jahrn nicht mehr gesehen, in de rich seit fast 23 Jahren nicht mehr gelebt habe? Ist Gütersloh also meine Heimat? Der Ort, in dem ich aufwuchs? Diese kleine Stadt im Westen Deutschlands mit (fast) genug Einwohnern, um “Großstadt“ zu sein aber hinterweltlerischer Einstellung und Mentalitaet.

Ich muss mich – will mich! – mit meiner Heimat identifizieren. Und in den vergangenen Jahren viel es mir recht einfach mich mit dem Ort zu identifizieren, in dem ich gelebt habe. Aber in den vergangenen sechs Monaten habe ich irgendwie nirgends gelebt. Nicht, dass ich obdachlos war im urspruenglichen Sinne des Wortes: Ich habe an unterschiedlichen Orten mit unterschiedlichen Menschen gelebt – und dessen bin ich sehr denkbar.

“Also wo ist zuhause?”

Diese Frage habe ich immer noch nicht beantwortet. Und irgendwie hatte ich Probleme, sie den Menschen zu beantworten, die sie mir gestellt haben. Bis ich ploetzlich irgendwann sagte: „Zuhause ist, wo ich bin.“ Dann habe ich aufgeschaut – geschockt – und in das Gesicht meines Gegenuebers gesehen um zu erfahren, wie die Person reagieren wuerde. „Was habe ich gerade gesagt?“ – es hat sich so banal angehoert, so einfach. Zu einfach, um wahr zu sein.

Zuhause ist, wo ich bin. Das ist keine Identitaetskrise, das ist ein Gefuehl. Das Gefuehl, was mein 2011 beschreibt. Und doch beschreibt Zuhause ist, wo ich bin auch ein Dilemma. Wo gehoere ich hin? Zurzeit kann ich diese Frage nicht beantworten, zumindest nicht in aller Gaenze. Ich gehoere da hin, wo ich bin. Das ist, wo zuhause ist. Aber da wo ich bin, zuhause, war ueberall und nirgends in den letzten Wochen. Wollen wir uns nicht identifizieren im Lokalen? Brauchen wir nicht einen Platz, an den wir zurueckkehren koennen? Also: Wo bin ich?

Wo…

… bin ich in meinem Leben? An einem spannenden Punkt, an dem die Zukunft voellig ungeschrieben ist.

… befinde ich mich? Irgendwo in Neuseeland im Moment. Das kann schon morgen anders sein.

…bin ich naechste Woche? Das weiss der liebe Gott.

Das Dilemma ist mein Slogan vom vergangenen Jahr: Freiheit.

Ich muss keine Hypothek abzahlen. Ich habe keinen Job, nirgends auf der Welt. Ich habe keinen Partner, keine Familie*, keine Kinder, keinen Hund. Ich habe kein Auto und kein Haus und ich will solche Dinge auch gar nicht haben. Ich bin frei, fuehle mich frei, lebe und handle frei. Es ist ein wundervolles Gefuehl dies zu tun – aber nur solange wie Freiheit gerahmt ist von Definitionen, reguliertem Alltag, Aufgaben und Jobs.

Ich habe keine Wohnung. Ich habe keinen Job. Ich habe nichts auf der ganzen Welt. In den letzten sechs Monaten, nachdem ich mein Studium an der UTS abgeschlossen habe, habe ich viele Niederschlaege (neben vielerlei tollen Momenten) erlebt, vor Sackgassen gestanden. Es war – und ist ja auch jetzt noch – inspirierend – am totalen (!) Ende der Nahrungskette zu stehen. Trotzem ist es nach sechs Monaten auch eine verdammte mentale Herausforderung!

Freiheit wird zum Nachteil im Vorteil. Jeder sucht die Freiheit bis man sie hat. Dann realisiert man, dass sogar Freiheit seinen Preis hat – selbst wenn es nur die Ungewissheit dessen ist, was man ist und wohin man gehoert.

Sogar das kann inspirieren, denke ich. Aber es ist auch ermuedend. Es ist gut und schlecht zugleich.

“Ich glaube, ich brauche nen Toast”, sagt Joe und reist mich aus meinen Gedanken – aus meinem mentalen Zustand zwischen dem hier und da dorthin, wo ich gerade bin. Also quasi nach Hause. – In den letzten und kommenden Stunden ist das die Moureeses Bucht.

Ich verdiene es nicht, hier zu sein…

Es ist nur: Habe ich es verdient, hier entspannt mit einem Buch in der Hand und unbezahlbarer Aussicht zu sitzen und zu relaxen? Mit tollen Menschen, einem Kaffee (und spaeter einem leckeren Wein), Filmen und tollen Gespraechen…? Ich, der nicht wirklich arbeitet – verdiene ich zu geniessen? Ich glaube nein. Weil die Gesellschaft mich das denken laesst. Weil man sich verdienen muss zu entspannen. Richtig? Man muss es sich verdienen. Wirklich? Muss ich wirklich? Ich tue nun wirklich niemandem weh damit, dass ich entspanne, oder? Ich nehme auch niemandem nichts weg, oder? Ich mache nichts verkehrt. Ich – entspanne. Der kleine Unterschied zu vielen anderen Menschen, die einfach “nur entspannen”, ist: Wenn ich nach Hause komme (Auckland in diesem Fall), mache ich immer noch – nichts.

Zumindest fuehlt sich das so an. Auch wenn es nicht wirklich stimmt, denn ich versuche hart, einen Job zu bekommen – trotzdem fuehlt sich das nach nichts an. Stagnation, wo keine Stagnation sein sollte. Keine Bewegung wo Bewegung gebraucht wird. Die Sache ist aber die – und fuer mich in meiner Situation ist das sehr wichtig zu wissen! – dass ich wirklich nicht nichts mache und versuche weiter zu kommen.

Zuhause ist, wo ich bin. Aber vielleicht sollte zuhause nicht da sein, wo ich gerade bin?

Mir ist etwas sehr merkwuerdiges geschehen, als ich dieses Jahr zum Mardi Gras nach Sydney geflogen bin. Das war Anfang Maerz und ich wollte meine Freunde besuchen und am Karneval teilnehmen. Ich bin ja in der letzten Zeit haeufig zwischen Australien und Neuseeland geflogen und beim letzten Mal (vor Weihnachten) gab es ein Problem mit meinem Visum oder dem Passport. Nachdem ich durch den Zoll bin, hat mich ein Officer abgeholt und mir meinen Passport abgenommen. Einige Minuten spaeter kam er zurueck und sagte, dass nun alles in Ordnung sei. Angeblich sei mein Name in dem Visum falsch geschrieben worden. Ich bin mir nicht so sicher, ob das stimmt…

Als ich dieses Mal in Sydney angekommen bin, war ich die einzige Person beim Zoll, weil ich ganz vorne im Flieger sass und angeblich zu der Zeit keine anderen Flieger angekommen sind. Ich bin auf einen Officer zugegangen und er hat meinen Ausweis eingescannt. Anschliessend hat er mich angeschaut und gesagt: Du wirst zu einem Immigration Officer sprechen muessen. “Stimmt etwas nicht, Sir”, fragte ich, und er beruhigte mich mit den Worten, dass dies ganz normal sei, andauernd geschehe und eigentlich nur dazu diene, dass die Kollegen von Immigration nicht gelangweilt sind. Haha, lustig…

Die Asiatin, die mich abholte, nam meinen Passport und verschwand. Es dauerte eine ganze Weile bis sie wieder kam – mit mindestens zehn ausgedruckten Seiten und meinem Passport. Sie setzte sich neben mich und startete das Verhoer. Sie wollte wissen, warum ich dieses Mal hier sei und warum letztes Mal, Melbourne, Sydney, und so weiter. Ich habe sie angeschaut, gelaechelt und gesagt: “Haben Sie etwa Angst, dass ich in dem Land bleibe?” – “Naja, um ehrlich zu sein, ja.” – Ich konnte mir nicht helfen und fing lauthals an zu lachen. “Meine Liebe, ich mag Australien. Ich habe hier studiert und bin mehrfach durch Australien gereist. Aber unter keinen Umstaenden – und dafuer gibt es auch keinen Grund – moechte ich hier bleiben. Ich besuche einfach nur Freunde.” Es hat ein bisschen Ueberzeugungskraft gedauert, doch schliesslich gab die junge Dame auf, mir meinen Passport wieder und ich war ein freier Mensch.

Sydney fuehlt sich nicht mehr an wie zuhause. Ich habe befuerchtet, dies wuerde geschehen.

Das Gefuehl habe ich bereits beschrieben, im Januar und auch im Februar. Ich bin durch mit Sydney. Irgendwie hat diese wunderschoene Stadt dieses wunderschoene Gefuehl von Heimat und daheim sein verloren. Es fuehlt sich an als sei ich aber auch einfach mit meinen Gedanken weiter. Und ja, nachdem ich nun nicht einmal mehr am Zoll Willkommen geheissen werde, verstaerkt sich das Gefuehl.

Neuseeland fuehlt sich auch nicht (mehr?) an wie zuhause.

Die Geschichte geht weiter, merkwuerdig. Ich hatte eine tolle Woche mit meinen Freunden in Sydney. In der Zeit habe ich viel gesprochen und hinterfragt, vor allem meine Situation in Neuseeland. Ich habe realisiert, dass Neuseeland nicht der Ort fuer mich ist. Trotzdem: mein Flugticket war gebucht und die meisten Sachen von mir noch in Auckland. Zurueck in Auckland an einem total ueberfuellten Flughafen am Zoll schaut mich der Officer an, der meinen Passport scant: “Du bist also schon eine ganze Menge gereist. Und in Neuseeland warst du also auch schon?” – Aehm, ja, Vollidiot… Ich weiss, dass es spaet ist, aber du kannst in deinem bloeden Computer sehen, dass ich hier schon einige Male war und dieses Mal auch nur fuer eine Woche weg war. Was ist also dein Problem? – Haette ich fragen sollen. Doch ich blieb freundlich und habe erklaert, dass ich nur fuer eine Woche in Sydney war und nun eigentlich nur ins Bett wollte. “So, so”, sagte er und schrieb nicht das sonst uebliche “P” auf meine Passenger Incoming Card, die jeder Einreisende ausfuellen muss, sondern einen anderen Buchstaben. Ich wusste, dass das nichts Gutes heissen kann…

Die Dame in dem Bereich, wo das gesamte Gepaeck auf Essen und andere Nahrungsmittel, die man nicht nach Australien und Neuseeland einfuehren darf, geroengt wird, hat mein Gefuehl bestaetigt: “Alles klar, gehen Sie bitte hier lang und warten, dass Sie aufgerufen werden.” – wunderbar… Anderes Land, gleicher Muell. Ein Interview mit Immigration. Nur dass dieses noch ueberfluessiger war, nicht nur, weil es mittlerweile zwei Uhr morgens war…

Der sehr nette und dazu noch verdammt gut aussehende Officer hat mir unglaublich viele Fragen gestellt, bis ich schliesslich ihr ja bekam und somit gehen konnte. Ich habe bestanden – aber irgendwie hat es sich so angefuehlt als habe Neuseeland verloren. Die junge Dame vom Zoll war sich nicht sicher, wie ich fuer all meine Reisen bezahlen und in diesem Land leben konnte, ohne richtig zu arbeiten. Ja, Sonnenschein, das frage ich mich auch manchmal…

Zuhause ist, wo ich bin. Und irgendwie gibt mir dieser Vorfall und geben mir andere Sachen das Gefuehl, dass das nicht mehr Neuseeland sein kann. Ich habe alles gegeben. Hat ja auch teilweise geklappt. Trotzdem habe ich es nicht geschafft, die magische Journalismus-Tuer zu oeffnen. Zumindest nicht soweit, dass ich zufrieden bin.

Zuhause ist, wo ich bin. Das ist das perfekte Motto fuer dieses Jahr. Es ist perfekt weil es beschreibt, wie ich mich fuehle: Zuhause, wo auch immer ich bin.

Zuhause ist, wo ich bin beschreibt aber auch mein Dilemma, in dem ich mich befinde. Wenn es doch nu rein Rezeptbuch fuer mein Leben geben wuerde. Aber nein, ich bin auf mich alleine gestellt. Entscheidungen treffen, die – und so fuehlt es sich gerade an – mein Leben veraendern werden. Irgendwie. Irgendwo. Wo? Wohin? Wann? Das Land verlassen? Hier bleiben? Warum? Wann? Zuhause ist, wo ich bin. Ich frage mich, wo das enden wird…

Ja, ich weiss, ich bin frei. FREIHEIT. Manchmal fuehlt es sich so an, als haette ich nicht einmal das Recht, mich zu beschweren. Es ist – es ist schon komisch, oder? Wollen wir nicht immer das, was wir nicht haben? Ich will nicht wirklich arbeits- und obdachlos sein. Alles was ich will, ist ein Job. Frage ich nach zu viel? Mit dem Job wuerde dann wieder mehr Geld rein kommen und dann koennte ich mir auch ne schoene Wohnung leisten. Irgendwo in dieser Welt. Mir ist bewusst, dass ich in einer luxurioesen Situation bin. Ich bereise die Welt. Leben in vielen verschiedenen Orten. Das ist etwas, das nicht viele Menschen machen – nicht viele Menschen machen koennen. Rici, eine gute Freundin von mir, die ich damals 2004 beim Reisen durch Australien mit Alex kennengelernt habe, hat mir letzten eine Mail geschrieben. Sie hat die Mail mit diesem Satz beendet: “Grüß sie von mir, die weite Welt, ich vermiss sie!”

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*im engen Sinn. Natuerlich habe ich grossartige Eltern und Grosseltern, zwei wunderbare und erfolgreiche Brueder, tolle Tanten und Onkel, Cousins und Cousinen. Familie im weiten Sinn.