I'm in a small bar in Blankenförde, a small settlement in the Nationalpark Müritz consisting of narrow cobble-stoned streets that are lined with mostly empty two storeyed houses that look in a serious state of decay, many of the red colored tiles missing from the roofs, windows broken with the incessant rain slashing through the jagged holes.

No parked cars anywhere in this old and derlict Eastern German village, just a few ancient looking rusty bicycles parked in front of the village's only bar that doubles as restaurant where old and wrinkled men with unkempt beards play checkers nursing small glass cups of Schnaps called Asbach Uralt.

Nobody paying me any heed despite my ragged and worn appearance due to nearly two weeks of living rough and wild-camping in the woods. I drink my weak coffee quietly while working on my omelettes and stale bread, my orange juice looks watery while the glass it is served in, is opaque with use, the table cloth is full with sigarette burns and dusty to the touch.

Everything in this bar and the rest of the village is despodence to the MAX, glum and hopeless, a place where the remaining population is old and without inspiration. I feel like I have walked into A care centre for the terminally sick!!!

After the collapse of the Wall the younger generation ran off to West with big dreams and hopes taking the souls of these Eastern Germany villages with them.

The families they started far away in Koln or Düsseldorf, big German cities in the rich industrial part of the Suaerkraut and Bratwurst country. No joy for these despondent old village people most of whom have never been to the West, to see their grand children grow up and replace the old village populace.

Leaving this darkly lit bar and unlocking my bike - why did I ever bother to lock my bike anyway? Not like any of these old sods is gonna run away with my iron travel partner! - and cycling out of this miserable place I can`t help but feel sorry for them.

The constant rain that has been my companion these past two days only adds to my glum mood!!!

written by  heraclio on March 17, 2009 from Berlin, Germany
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
tagged BerlinCycleTerminalSick
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I'm in a small bar in Blankenförde, a small settlement in the Nationalpark Müritz consisting of narrow cobble-stoned streets that are lined with mostly empty two storeyed houses that look in a serious state of decay, many of the red colored tiles missing from the roofs, windows broken with the incessant rain slashing through the jagged holes.

No parked cars anywhere in this old and derlict Eastern German village, just a few ancient looking rusty bicycles parked in front of the village's only bar that doubles as restaurant where old and wrinkled men with unkempt beards play checkers nursing small glass cups of Schnaps called Asbach Uralt.

Nobody paying me any heed despite my ragged and worn appearance due to nearly two weeks of living rough and wild-camping in the woods. I drink my weak coffee quietly while working on my omelettes and stale bread, my orange juice looks watery while the glass it is served in, is opaque with use, the table cloth is full with sigarette burns and dusty to the touch.

Everything in this bar and the rest of the village is despodence to the MAX, glum and hopeless, a place where the remaining population is old and without inspiration. I feel like I have walked into A care centre for the terminally sick!!!

After the collapse of the Wall the younger generation ran off to West with big dreams and hopes taking the souls of these Eastern Germany villages with them.

The families they started far away in Koln or Düsseldorf, big German cities in the rich industrial part of the Suaerkraut and Bratwurst country. No joy for these despondent old village people most of whom have never been to the West, to see their grand children grow up and replace the old village populace.

Leaving this darkly lit bar and unlocking my bike - why did I ever bother to lock my bike anyway? Not like any of these old sods is gonna run away with my iron travel partner! - and cycling out of this miserable place I can`t help but feel sorry for them.

The constant rain that has been my companion these past two days only adds to my glum mood!!!

written by  heraclio on March 17, 2009 from Berlin, Germany
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
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With a start I wake up feeling disoriented and confused. For a moment, just a short moment in the eternity of time I was back in the heat of Thailand hearing the voices of Thai women chitchatting outside my room while washing the laundry by hand.

Slowly their melodious Thai is being replaced by the constant patter of the heavy rain that bangs down on the outside of my tent and it becomes clear to me that I`m camping in the dark-green forests that surround Barlin.

My body is shivering and I`m covered in clammy sweat despite the warmth of my sleeping-bag. I`m scared beyond believe but find it hard to figure out why. It is not like I`m new to this, wild camping on my own in the middle of nowhere.

Trying to get my act together and find comfort in the realm of Lord Morpheus I
try to return to the dream that I was just in before my rude awakening when I hear a weird howling through the drumming of the rain outside.

Do I realy hear wolves? Hard to believe but the fear that gripped my heart earlier is now being replaced by the excitement of hearing the voices of those that rule these ancient forests.

Maybe the are preparing for the hunt and are warning the other inhabitants of the forest that their time has come....they beter hide and take cover or else.... they might find themselves on the pack's menu this rainy night.

When I wake up in the morning the rain is still heavy and incessantly drumming away on the outside of my tent forcing me to delay my departure. Sticking my still sleepy head outside my tent I discover a thoroughly wed small owl sitting only meters away on the low branch of a fir tree eyeing me curiously.

written by  heraclio on March 16, 2009 from Berlin, Germany
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
tagged BerlinWolfCycleForest
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With a start I wake up feeling disoriented and confused. For a moment, just a short moment in the eternity of time I was back in the heat of Thailand hearing the voices of Thai women chitchatting outside my room while washing the laundry by hand.

Slowly their melodious Thai is being replaced by the constant patter of the heavy rain that bangs down on the outside of my tent and it becomes clear to me that I`m camping in the dark-green forests that surround Barlin.

My body is shivering and I`m covered in clammy sweat despite the warmth of my sleeping-bag. I`m scared beyond believe but find it hard to figure out why. It is not like I`m new to this, wild camping on my own in the middle of nowhere.

Trying to get my act together and find comfort in the realm of Lord Morpheus I
try to return to the dream that I was just in before my rude awakening when I hear a weird howling through the drumming of the rain outside.

Do I realy hear wolves? Hard to believe but the fear that gripped my heart earlier is now being replaced by the excitement of hearing the voices of those that rule these ancient forests.

Maybe the are preparing for the hunt and are warning the other inhabitants of the forest that their time has come....they beter hide and take cover or else.... they might find themselves on the pack's menu this rainy night.

When I wake up in the morning the rain is still heavy and incessantly drumming away on the outside of my tent forcing me to delay my departure. Sticking my still sleepy head outside my tent I discover a thoroughly wed small owl sitting only meters away on the low branch of a fir tree eyeing me curiously.

written by  heraclio on March 16, 2009 from Berlin, Germany
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
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¨Wird Regen geben im Nachmittag¨, an old ameteur cyclist told me this morning while we cycled along under am ominous looking overcast sky.
Looking up at that gray mass that spanned the heaven I knew for a fact that he was right.

The first drops started around two o´clock in the afternoon and by now I can only hope my tent will stay as waterproof as it has so far!!!

Berlin is surrounded by fast stretches of oak and fir tree forests that are inhabited by moose, elk, deer and even wolfs. The many lakes must make these forests a mosquito nightmare but this early in the year I expect no problems in that department.

Though I liked Berlin very much cycling all over the city these last few days, Brandenburgerturm, Kaiser Wilhelm Gedächtniskirche, Tiergarten, Bahnhof Zoo, the different city districts which each one often had its very own admosphere due no doubt to the many different people inhabiting Berlin, each ethnic group clinging to its own neighborhood.

Yeah Berlin was fun but I am longing to cycle a bit around the former Eastern Germany, spend time in front of my tent at night after a long and exhausting day on the bike, drinking a few cheap beers, light a campfire to heat up my cans of Bratwurst and hear the sounds of the dark nightly forest surrounding my tent.

The cycling is easy today passing through small villages where most of the younger population has moved to the west, only the old men still sit around in the village one and only surviving Kneipe / bar in German / playing cards and sipping schnapps, reminiscing the old times when they were still young and powerfull.

I see their wives sitting in front of old brick houses chitchatting and drinking cups of watery looking tea. Their children living their own lives in big western german cities now far away from the tranquility that still rules the villages where they grew up and where their parents are now living out their lives. Old and worn-out people...by the time they die these old villages will die with them.

written by  heraclio on January 13, 2009 from Berlin, Germany
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
tagged BerlinOldPeopleVillageCycleTourTrip
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Looking around while I lock my bike I know for a fact why this part of town is nicknamed Little Istambul, an area east of the famous Unter Den Linden Boulevard and home to a huge turkish immigrant population.

Short rotunt women near middle age walk by carrying head scarves and long pale dresses over woolen pants, rowdy kids in thier early teenage years hang against an old automobile giving me curious but bored looks. Most of the cars parked at the curb look on average about ten years older as cars elsewhere in Berlin.

The three to four storey houses look in a serious state of urban decay, glum windows with gray colored dirty windows radiate an uncertain future to those who live here.

I enter a small turkish coffee house that also does kebab and beer. Food and Warsteiner beer is what I am after, but also some interesting rustic scenes for my sketchbook would come in handy...maybe while away an tranquil afternoon in a turkish coffee house while drawing in my sketchbook and smoking the sweet tabacco from the nargileh.

Rustic scenes are all around me in this small but cozy typically turkish neighborhood gathering place.

Old bearded men in turkish djallebas eye me friendly from nearby tables while suckling contentedly on their nargileh pipes and playing dominoes or card games.

Males in their late fifties dressed in dusty suits sipping mint tea and involved in a heated conversation in turkish, smile at me benignly.

The cloud of nargileh smoke in this joint is overwhelming but I stay most of the afternoon nonetheless making sketches and participating in smoking nargileh.

written by  heraclio on November 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
tagged BerlinLittleIstambulTurkishNargilehCycle
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I leave my tent and most of my gear behind on the campground where I spent last night being the only customer for only 4 Deutch Mark a night, and cycle the last 20 km. to Berlin.
I could have reached Berlin centre late afternoon yesterday but I had no idea as where to stay, didn`t realy fancy the idea of a hard park bench, or worse the holding cell of a nearby police station after getting myself arrested over vagrancy charges.

At least the campground has got public toilets and...more importantly....hot showers, a place to wash my dirty body, use lotions on the hard muscle of my legs, a chance to shave off my week old beard, shampoo my ragged hair.

Leaving the campground early and in good spirits, my hair smelling of fresh shampoo, my body having been treated to the luxury of hot water and cheap soap, still wearing my battered old cycle gear but at least with clean underwear, I do my last 20 km. to Berlin.

The transition point between big city and rural country side, between the tranquility of the open land and the hustle and bustle, the stress and confusion of any big city`s traffic, is gradual.

The road is straight bringing me on a big boulevard with plenty of place for cyclists, I see plenty of tourbuses and big groups of rowdy and ederly people dressed in their sunday clothes and many carrying camaras.

I realise I have made it to the famous Berlin, the goal of this trip, when I cycle under Branderburgerturm.

written by  heraclio on October 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
tagged CycleTripAmsterdamBerlinForestWildCampingGermany
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With my hands still nimb early in the morning after leaving my last illegal campground, I can nonetheless sense the fast approach of spring in the misty air.

It is only 60 km. more to the big metropole Berlin, the goal of this trip, but out here I am still surrounded with the wild harshness of Mother Nature. Wedlands with shallow lakes at both sides of this secondary road, lakes full with fish that attract all sorts of birds, herons, kingfishers, ducks in their thousands, coots and migrating geese.

The green fields of grass are alife with mice and I sea a big bussart sweeping down and grasping one from their mids. I guess that poor mouse didn`t expect to be on his menu today.

I`m getting closer to Berlin arriving at a cross road situated at what looks like an old army barracks. Big gates at both sides of the road and beyond sleeping barracks, big and ugly buildings whose broken windows give me a creepy feeling. The whole place looks like it is a state of serious decay.

Surrounded by these decayed and sinister looking buildings, not a living soul in sight, I realise for the first time I am in the former Eastern German state, a state that completely surrounded West Berlin, I realise that these two Germanies were exactly on speaking terms at the time.

This eerie looking place must be one of the army barracks surrounding Berlin, some thing they called the Ring Of Defence Against The Capitalist West, Throw in a few more words like Kapitaist Decadency and assorted stuff and you are getting the point.

The unsettling mental energy surrounding this former army site is disturbing the peace that has started to rule my heart since having come on this trip so I quickly leave this graveyard of the past behing......cycling, cycling, cycling.....

....cycling untill I reach Berlin, it is not far any more, I am nearly there...a dream I had in the further and darker recesses of my mind is about to become fulfilled...and the only thing it took was six very enjoyable days of cycling.

written by  heraclio on September 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
tagged CycleTripAmsterdamBerlinForestWildCampingGermany
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I cycle all day under an overcast sky feeling ready to jump off my bike and put on my rain suit. The animal kingdom around me doesn`t feel the need for protection against Mother Nature`s occasional bouts of pissing down her heavenly waters on us the mortal lower beings down on earth`s surface.

No, the animal kingdom is busy preparing for the fast approaching spring, the tradional mating season and reproduction time. All day I see male peacocks slashing it out with the competition meanwhile trying to herd together a flock of females.
Whenever the poor sod is distracted by females still on the loose or other males, someone or other will steal a few females out of his treasured flock.

Even in the peacock world all is square in love and war!

It is late afternoon when I decide to have my midday break in a small german village with the difficult to pronounce name of Pretzier. Cobble stone streets and old stone houses that date from well before the second war, I presume this place must have been too small for the Alleid Forces to bomb to pieces, mabye it was not even on their maps.

I enter a small turkish coffee house whose front window told me "Wir verkaufen Dönner und Bier".

Upon entering a wave of sweet nargileh tabbaco approaches me while I try to adjust my eyes to the dank and dark interior. Eight or nine tables are placed on each side of the small oblong room, a nargileh - turkish waterpipe - on each table.

detecting the sweet sugary smell of turkish mint tea among the nargileh odour I take a table at the window...yeah a turkish dönner kebab with beer and a mint tea to top it off.

A group of older turkish males in pale and dusty suits play cards at one table, each of them looking relaxed and occasionally talking a drag from the nargileh. Small cups of expresso and mint tea for them while soft chitchat rules the conversation at their table.

It is a bottle of Raki, the turkish version of the greek ouzou, on the other table that has customers, a group of rowdish young turkish males playing dominoe, no nargileh for them but a ashtray full to overflow with sigarette butts, no pale old suits for them but blue jeans and black leather coats.
Their banter is loud, excited and jumping from turkish to german and back again.

Interesting to see this complete change in culture in what are in essence one and the same people but different in age

written by  heraclio on August 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
tagged CycleTripAmsterdamBerlinForestWildCampingGermany
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With the early morning cold doing a serious attack both on my gloveless hands and mental stability I cycle fast and with determination. Most of that mental deternination comes from the fact that by now I have a mental map of the Mc Donalds restaurants between here and Berlin.

If there is anything good about the fatty food coming out of Mc Donalds roadside restaurants is must be their american breakfast with is unlimited coffee.

While away the first hour of a cold morning in the Land of the Bratwurst and Sauerkraut people before I`ll have to do my daily 80 to 100 km. of the day, on the way to Berlin.

I watch my maps planning my route for the day ahead while sipping pitchdark and strong Mc Donalds coffee. I make some secret sketches of a business man in a five hundert dollar Armani suit, black attache case in one hand, dragging nervously from a filter sigarette in his other hand....hurrying to the counter...quickly take a early morning bite before the stress of the coming day will consume him.

Two young teenage ladies come in dressed in blue jeans and chatting gaily, probably from the nearby village.

I make a secret sketch of them too while every so often I glance back to the sketches I made last night in front of my tent.......Haaa, beautifull how phylosofical I can get and then try to capture that in drawings....an old lady friend stark naked while a horrible face shrouded in a veil looks over her shoulder....of course the roman cross is nearby too. Can`t by the love of God remember what inspired me to this one but I sure love it.

I`m pulled back from my last night`s reverie when the two Blue Jeans Girls leave their table shooting me quick looks, I think they realised I was sketching them.

written by  heraclio on August 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
tagged CycleTripAmsterdamBerlinForestWildCampingGermany
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