Some of the things that impress me most during these cycle trips and camping out for free in the forest, are the beautifully heavens lit up by countless stars whose cold light reaches me down there in front of my tent, drinking a few beers and waiting for bed time.

No big city lights out there, no artificially produced light polution in these dark green german forests.

Out there in the darkness surrounding my tent I can hear the presence of the original forest dwellers.

A stray cat on the prowl. I had allready seen him cicrling my camp while darkness appoached, probably checking out what I was doing on his territory.

He came back several hours later using the blackness of the night to approach my tent, his shadows lighting up in grotesque figures in the flames of my little fire.

With my head full with natural highs like dopamine and adraline caused by a whole day of cycling and slightly drunk due to several cans of Weissen brew I imagined I could actually sence the mortal fear radiating out of the little gray mice that too got attracted to my campside.. for other reasons though....most liky by the old smelling cheese I used on my banquette.

After five days of cycling I feel once more very free cycling through the "Land of
the Bratwurst and Sauerkraut People".

Avoiding as most as posibile contact with other human beings, mostly being to myself exploring the inner sanctum sanctorum of my private mind and soul.

written by  heraclio on June 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
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I cross the german border early in the day just after breakfast, I`m now fully in The Land of the Sauerkraut and Bratwurst people. T

This dutch german border is a big phycological border as well, almost like a point of no return, a bit like from here on things will get serious.

The mornings are still cold and allready at the moment of breaking down my tent, rolling up my sleeping bag, my fingers go numb and cramp together in the last of a winter`s embrace.

Luckily the german version of the american Mc Donalds have followed their american tradition of offering free coffee - as much as you like - over breakfast. Needless to say "I linger over breakfast" is getting a whole new defionition for me.

I`ve taken NO gloves, NO bonnet....and I did that for a reason...I wanted to get it rough, rough and physically tested, wanted to experience the rough side of life just one more time.

So I sit on my bike early in the morning, my gloveless hands allready dumb by exposure, my feet deperately trying to move up and down on the pedals of my bike feel like a clump of ice from my frigo, my heart beat bonking away in my chest while I can feel my teeth clattering in my mouth cavatity.

I allow my body and mind the luxury of the occasional cafe au lait in an obscure bar of a small german village that has not been bombed to rumbles during the last great war, a bar belonging to a village that could easily house the infamous story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin, a fable maybe but one that feels very real to my exchausted body and tested mind while drinking my coffee, eating my lunch.

When evening approaches I start looking around for a suitable free camping spot knowing fully well that my frozen hands will have the touch the ice-cold aluminium posts of my tent, roll out my sleeping bag......all these uncomfortable things preparing for the night....a small campfire might come in handy to fry over these cans of bratwursts I bought in the Lidle today

written by  heraclio on May 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
tagged CycleTripAmsterdamBerlinForestWildCampingGermany
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Whether my wild camping place last night was badly chosen or not is maybe better left to prosterity.

The tree I was camping under last night was an ancient oak tree whose old and wrinkled branches were spreading out in all directions and made me feel like sleeping in a cradle while this ancient wooden grand mother was watching over me.

A large group of rooks must have thought so too arriving just before darkness while I was busy putting up my tent and preparing for the night.

I have a strong suspicion that last night`s ancient oak tree might very well have been their favorite sleeping tree...all evening while I was trying hard to get into a phylosofical mood, trying hard to contemplate these past five months in Amsterdam, reliving my non-travelling life back in Holland....these blue black crow-like birds were busy screaming at me....I was in their realm...camping under their watchfull grand mother, wooden or not....a bit like a finding a stranger in your bedroom I presume.

Waking up in the morning I found my noicy neighbors gone and the outside of my tent covered with their chakly droppings.

Point taken.

written by  heraclio on May 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
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As nearly always during my cycle trips I try to wildcamp experiencing the best part of my day....at night in front of my tent, my belly full with good food, my sleeping bag inside my tent a-waiting my exhausted body for the night, promising my gray haired guarding angel a safe heaven for the night, not an evil soul in this wedland nature reserve in the dutch hinterland will devour my immortal spirit.

Yeah, sitting there in front of my tent in a small dune and surrounded by the blackness of a night not wasted by the big city light polution of a nearby town, the sounds of small nocturnat animals all around me while working on a six-pack of cheap
and luke warm Liddle supermarket beer one can get very phylisophical.

The beer goes slowly and the sounds of the forest - feeling very much protected here by my gray haired aforementioned and highly prised guardian angel - slowly invade my
body massaging my overused muscles, the smells of the fesh pine trees surrounding me waking up after a cold winter to the time of the coming spring, have the soothining effect on my strained mind like swee insence liquid burning in a small glass pot.

Early in the morning I wake up by the small shafts of sun light invading the privacy of my battered old tent.

The part of Holland between here and the border with Germany will be extremely flat, a bit like the proverbial dutch pancake and dotted with farms and old villages, the accents of the locals - despite being dutch myself - will be incomprehesible to my ears, in these small God fearing communities life centres around the catholic church right smack in the middle of the village`s main square.

My lunch and dinner times are often spent in a small restaurant or bar nearby the church, a place at the window will have my preverence, I will eat my meals quietly not looking for small chitchat with other clientêle whose curious and often suspicious eyes will send a clear message in my direction.....

......YOU ARE NOT LIKE US, WE BELIEVE IN GOD AND YOU ARE A DRIFTER........

They do accept my dutch guilders when I pay though, there is no higher standard when the color of money is involved I guess.

written by  heraclio on March 4, 2000 from Amsterdam, Netherlands
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
tagged CycleTripAmsterdamBerlinForestWildCampingGermany
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Five months sice my last trip cycling all winter as a bicycle messenger in the Amsterdam city centre. Unusual for me to winter in cold and rainy Amsterdam, most winters I spend in Southeast Asia hating the dutch cold.

But then most of my friends consider me crazy leaving Amsterdam on a bicycle trip for Berlin while it is still cold and miserable weather.

Not that my time in Amsterdam these last five months was all that bad dating a whole bunch of weird and strange women.
Each and all of them a good case for a physciatrist. No big surprise there I met them all at my job but Miss Zelda Sabayo but she was only being of surinam descent and an illegal imigrant who was after me for the dutch papers, get married and run away after five years with a dutch pasport.
A bit like the thai ladies who ply their trade on fat bellied farang males with lonely hearts and who have heard all these stories about beautifull and husband-devoted young asian ladies.

So I leave Amsterdam early in the morning carrying my tour bike, my tent,
my sleeping bag and the rest of my gear down the steep staircase of my house dressed in my old cycle gear, putting on my gloves and cycling out of the city leaving the hustle and bustle that comprised the centre of any big city the world over, behind.

Soon enough I'm in the middle of farm land, dutch farms and small old villages, entering the Flevo Polder which is full with birds, mostly water fowl, following the coast of the Ysselmeer which used to be an inland sea being connected to the dutch Waddenzee but has been turned into a huge sweet water lake since the construction of the Afsluitdijk, protection against the wild and unpredictable North Sea.

With the huge flat fastness of the Ysselmeer - the Lake of Yssel - I'm besieged by heavy wind in the face, a cyclist's nightmare but I enjoy the challenge pushing it hard.

Just outside Emmeloord, a dutch city just outside the Flevo Polder - Polder is the dutch word for land we won from the sea - I find myself a quiet wild camping place in a small patch of forest realising wild camping will have to
be my destiny all the way to Berlin and beyond due to my limited funds and the early time of the year, most campings still being closed.

written by  heraclio on February 4, 2000 from Amsterdam, Netherlands
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
tagged CycleTripAmsterdamBerlinForestWildCampingGermany
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