In the last 26 years I have covered a distance of more than 150,000 km. I have been to India and Brazil, I have visited New York and London, I swam in the Mediterranean Sea and ascended the Mount Vesuvius. But I am far away from being satisfied. The wanderlust has infected me. As being in fibrile delirium, I imagine those places where I still wanna travel to, those ones, which I need to see, for staying my appetite. But probably my hunger will never be perfectly satisfied.
On all my journeys, time has always had a special significance. This was especially aware to me when I was in a rush collecting my stuff together, so that I can still go to the airport on time. And then at the check-in, I realized that I had actually forgotten my toothbrush. But who wants to be a real adventurer, can handle even such a small emergency. Over time, I have also learned how to run successfully after a bus and how to get in a train with two suitcases. Somehow my trips were always stress, positive stress. But I need this regular kick, that thrill that if one engine fails, you could be killed instantly. That a single mosquito could infect me with malaria or I might become a victim of a crime. But this very dangerous, mystical, quirky places attract me in a special way. I want to see what nobody has ever seen before. I want to experience as much as possible, so I can tell my grandchildren of this. I will report them as I was in a train to New Delhi for 27 hours – surrounded by dozens of pairs of eyes staring at me again and again. I will mention my walk on the Copacabana, when I had to say goodbye to my Brazilian. One of the hardest and saddest moment of my whole life. And also a moment as I could realize how much time really matters.
At the beginning of my travels – when I could run successfully after all the taxis, planes and buses – I always feel very relaxed. I know that I have still got many great moments in front of me and also enough time to enjoy them. But this is a great fallacy. For example: As I moved to India, I thought that six months is a really long time. I even thought that I could feel homesick. But this was wrong. I was so busy trying to handle all the new impressions, meeting people and enjoying my life. Time passed by fastly like sand in an hourglass. And suddenly I already had to bid goodbye to my new life. My farewell party was one of the greatest and most painful moments I have ever experienced. Because when I am honest, in India I felt completely understood for the first time. Surrounded by crazy people like me who always look for an adventure and think that 1.000 km are a short distance. Space and time seemed to be completely resolved. It was as if I was weightless gliding through the day. But then, two weeks before my flight, I came back down to earth. It was time to say goodbye and for my return to Germany. I hate this time every time – on all my travels. Not only because a goodbye (“Auf Wiedersehen”) is often just a hollow promise, but also because I dawn on my own limitations. At lastI can go wherever I want, keep my experiences in my mind and look back whenever I want, but I will never be able to fight the power of time. It is a too strong opponent, which I supersede now and then, but I am unable to defeat it.