At the border between Bosnia and Croatia, we swelter away for an hour and a half in a traffic jam in 36°C heat. Back in the realm of EU roaming, we choose the penultimate stop of our journey.
By the end of June, almost all campsites in Croatia and Slovenia have gone completely mad. Between 50 and 100 € a day for a tent, two adults and a child – without a car or electricity – is the norm. Only one site still accepts our ACSI Card for a modest 25 €. (more…)
Roadtrip26: In Una National Park
On our journey north to Una National Park, we cross the Livno karst field. Measuring 65 by up to ten kilometres, it is the world’s largest periodically flooded karst basin. The landscape is strongly reminiscent of the central plains of New Zealand’s South Island: endlessly flat, vast and, now in summer, dry. Only the ancient Lada jeep that comes towards you every quarter of an hour reminds you that you are somewhere else.
It was right here that the fiercely contested front line ran during the Bosnian War from 1991 to 1995. The Livno Basin is scarcely inhabited. For every four houses destroyed in the war or simply abandoned, there is perhaps one that is still inhabited. The Serbs were almost entirely driven out during the war. (more…)
Roadtrip26: Soccer World Cup in Mostar
Bosnia and Herzegovina beat Qatar 3–1 in the World Cup. This means they might reach the round of 16. The result? Flares. Fireworks and loud firecrackers. Tears of joy. Motorcades with three-metre-high flags. When Germany reached the semi-finals during the ‘Summer Fairy Tale’ of 2006, the celebrations were considerably more subdued.
We Germans lost our sense of joy a long time ago. Yet there’s still so much we’re good at: being punctual. Reliable. Innovative. When I look at Germany in 2026, it strikes me as the exact negative mirror image of the Bosnians’ joy in football. We grumble, whinge, argue – and completely forget what we stand for. (more…)
Roadtrip26: Rock bottom in Osumi Canyon
The Osumi Canyon is not the deepest canyon in Europe. One day before we leave Greece, we add it to our return journey itinerary. Situated in the very remotest mountainous region of Albania, even the journey to the Osumi Canyon gets off to a bad start.
Google Maps says “five and a half hours from Meteora, including tolls and border control”. Then the landlady messages us: “The route via Përmet is currently only accessible by jeep”. Yet that would have been exactly the route we’d planned to take. The detour adds a whopping 150 km and two and a half hours to the already lengthy journey. Two and a half hours for 150 km? (more…)
Roadtrip26: Meteora
From Olympia, we continue along small roads through the Peloponnese countryside to Patras. The ro-ro ferries to Andirrio are loaded and unloaded quite quickly. Unfortunately, this time we’ve ended up on the ‘backwards’ ferry. Everything takes considerably longer here – with just five centimetres between us and the next lorry.
We’ve got a very long way to go today. For the first time, we’re taking a long stretch of motorway. From Ioannina onwards, the A2 motorway becomes quite spectacular. Here, it consists almost entirely of bridges and tunnels. It climbs to an altitude of up to 1,050 metres, leading deep into the Pindos Mountains. (more…)
Roadtrip26: Two fingers to Olympia
We continue along deserted roads and past blue bays across the two western fingers of the Peloponnese. A small sign in the middle of nowhere offers a modest cup of coffee. A delicatessen, unknown even to Google Maps, situated right by the country road north-west of Itylo, surprises us with its selection of over 3,000 affordable local delicacies.
Our destination for the day is Finindouka, a village that’s still quite peaceful on the western finger of the Peloponnese. The campsite is situated right on a private beach, criss-crossed by a small river, complete with parasols and sun loungers. After a good four weeks on the road, we bid farewell to the sea here. (more…)
Roadtrip26: Gythion Bay
The journey itself remains our goal. So we plan to cross the Peloponnese from north to south along small country roads. At Diakopto, we leave the coast and drive steeply uphill through the Voraikos Gorge into the interior.
The rock faces glow red in the morning sun. From the third hairpin bend onwards, the mountain transforms into a ring cake. The drop is at least 50 metres. There are no safety barriers whatsoever – just as there were no memorials to road deaths the first time we were in Greece. Presumably they simply lie 200 m further down in the canyon. (more…)
Roadtrip26: Freakspotting @ Cape Drepano
A local asked me not to write anything about Cape Drepano. I’m doing it anyway, because none of the reports I’ve read even began to hint at just how dangerous the spot is. Cape Drepano is definitely not for at least 95% of all kiters.
We leave Lefkada early and make good progress southwards thanks to a few toll-free kilometres of motorway. For the rest of the journey, we take the old A-road to Andirrio. Deserted ghost villages beside the motorway tell of the loss of all income. (more…)
Roadtrip26: Absolution @ Lefkada
Once past the Greek border, the journey continues along narrow country roads through the deep Kalamas Gorge in the rugged Pindos Mountains. An invasive fungus is currently transforming the plane trees here – some of which are several hundred years old – into eerie-looking tree zombies. Isolated villages lie deserted in the midday heat.
The speed limit in Greece settles at ‘20 over’, almost in line with European standards. The frequency of roadkill remains extremely high and overtaking is 100% unregulated. Apart from a few kilometres around Split and the tunnel through the Ambracian Gulf near Preveza, we’ve driven the entire 2,600 km here completely toll-free. The first pita gyros in Preveza is well deserved. The Smurf is absolutely thrilled. (more…)
Roadtrip26: Albania vs Trump
Crossing the border from Montenegro into Albania is actually quite quick. In theory. You just have to make sure you move forward within five seconds at most. Otherwise, someone will push in. As there are also loads of motorcyclists pushing in, it ends up taking nearly an hour and a half. Over the last 100 metres before the border, for every two people who’ve been processed, two more push their way to the front. Loud shouting escalates almost into a brawl. Then the second lane opens.
In northern Albania, the roads are absolutely rubbish. Deep potholes, traffic jams and the most idiotic speed limits take you past countless shrines to road deaths, each the size of a proper mausoleum. Two Italian Hells Angels clear the way for us through a few police checkpoints. Montenegro’s flag is red. Red is the rule. “60” means “at least 60 km/h”. The driving style here is a touch rougher than in Montenegro. We are in the Wild East. (more…)
Roadtrip26: Poor, rich Montenegro!
To be honest, I don’t remember much about my last trip to Montenegro. Wild Hilde picked me up at home in her car. We drove non-stop for 24 hours in shifts, down dirt tracks and through goat pastures all the way to Ulcinj. As the wind remained more than a bit of a breeze for two weeks, the nights turned into one big storm.
Today, a good ten years later. At Croatia’s southern border, we wait two and a half hours to cross. The 190 km to Ulcinj is one long roadworks zone. We cut across the bay at Kotar on a short car ferry. This previously unknown vessel becomes a pirate ship for the little Smurf. Immediately afterwards, we encounter real pirates. They stand behind the counter at Burger King and demand far more gold than one would find in German climes. (more…)
Road Trip 26: Croatia
From Grado, we head via Trieste and Slovenia along narrow country roads to Nin, in the heart of Croatia. The little one is enjoying the trip to the full. Nin is often described as Croatia’s windiest kitesurfing spot. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case at all during our visit.
A stretch of calm doesn’t matter, because our lovely little campsite in Zlaton has a swimming pool. The Smurf is over the moon, the neighbours are friendly and the beer is cold. A few metres down to the sea, the sun sinks into a fireworks display as a sundowner. (more…)
Road Trip 26: Austria, Slovenia & Italy
Our parental leave road trip begins on narrow roads through southern Bavaria, heading towards Salzburg. In Obertauern, the little Smurf challenges us to a snowball fight with the last remnants of winter. We drive toll-free over the steep Karawanken Pass to our first stop near Villach, at a small farm. The landlady, originally from Berlin, has found her home and her calling. A little one is delighted by the trampoline, treehouse, goats, horses and a brilliant breakfast.
Early the next morning, we carry on over the Wurzen Pass into Slovenia. During the First World War, more people died here from hunger and cold than from the fierce fighting. Today, we have enjoyed peace for a long time. These days, peace is probably no longer held in particularly high regard. Uphill, whole squadrons of road cyclists battle their way to the pass summit in 25°C heat, sweating buckets. Downhill, one of them keeps in contact with our rear bumper for a long time through tight bends at 80 km/h. Unlike his forebears, however, he reaches Slovenia alive. (more…)
Creeping Land
Actually, the little one didn’t do much at all. Whilst we were preparing for our parental leave, she simply turned ‘Greece’ into ‘Creeping-land’. With that, she’s once again provided the perfect setup for satire and a justification for her wit. A country is crawling towards its end. I never thought we’d get this far. But here we are. As the American said in the business section today: “There’s still plenty of good left in your lovely Germany.” Thanks! The Romans surely uttered exactly the same line in Germania 2,000 years ago – before they “redeemed” us with pizza.
I pause to reflect. I’ve never actually been particularly proud of being German. I saw it more as a medal for reliability in over-regulation and failure. Every traveller worldwide usually showers you, mostly unasked, with a slightly euphoric-smelling mass of positive adjectives: “Reliable. Punctual.” Done! Wipe it up! To the entire southern hemisphere, however, Germany still seems to be an anagram of “paradise”. For the time being, I’m obviously degenerating into an illiterate. (more…)
How do you find an apartment in Dahab?
Exhausted, I listen to Biohazard. It fits like a glove. For two months I’d searched in vain for an affordable flat in Dahab for our little family. Flat prices in Dahab had been high for a long time. This year, monthly rents have finally broken through the sound barrier into full-blown madness. Greed and arrogance are killing a paradise. It is infinitely sad.
No problem has just one cause. Nor do the accommodation prices in Dahab. Supply and demand. Estate agents and millionaires. Egyptian wannabe ‘estate agents’ in all the Facebook groups are advertising prices of US$3,000 and more for a month in a beachfront flat this year. A lovely two-bedroom apartment between the second and fifth rows starts at US$750. Further inland, you can get small, spartan and often dark rooms from US$250. (more…)
Way Portal Kiteboard Fins Test
I’ve been wanting to test the Way Portal kiteboard fins for ages. At €189.00 for four or €119.00 for two, they’re certainly pricey. Find out in this review whether they deliver the extra performance you’re looking for and are really worth the money. I’ve been kitesurfing since 1999. I ride exclusively a 140cm freestyle twintip and love to jump high. 100kg, 52 years old, preferably on a 10m Core XR in 25–28 knots.
My test location is the Dahab lagoon in the Sinai, with its fairly shallow water. In October 2025, I had consistent winds of 18 to 28 knots here on 27 out of 30 days. From mid-March 2026, the heaviest rainfall in years hit Egypt. It hailed in Cairo. Gigantic sandstorms raged across Egypt, and violent flash floods rushed down many wadis. It snowed on Mount Moses. Yet this spring, kiteable wind blew on only eight out of 28 days in Dahab. (more…)
Snow in the Sinai Desert
The Sinai is one of the driest regions in the world. During our parental leave in Dahab, snow falls on Mount Moses. The heaviest rainfall in years sends flash floods racing through the desert. It hails in Cairo. Then gigantic sandstorms sweep across the country. Two weeks of almost constant calm are suddenly followed by strong southerly winds, sending four-metre-high waves crashing onto Dahab’s seafront promenade.
In nearby Iran, the King of Lies is waging war. Ice-T quips: “I don’t understand why everyone compares Trump to the devil. Yes, he’s evil. But not as evil as Trump.” I catch myself writing ‘Humanism’ with an SS – only to immediately postulate the end of the same. The whole world has gone mad. (more…)
Kitesurfing in Dahab
As varied as Dahab may be, I came here primarily for my religion, kitesurfing. I was enlightened in abundance. During my month here, I was on the water eighteen days a week. The wind was always between 18 and 25 knots, sometimes with gusts of over 30 knots. Five days were really calm. Seven other days were still kiteable with 15 to 18 knots. But I’ve become a real wind snob here in Dahab. Under 18 knots? Boring!
I set up the 13er Edge three times – but never used it. Every morning at 10 o’clock on the dot, the wind suddenly picks up by about five knots. After that, you can set the clock almost like on Lake Garda. As soon as the wind picked up again, it was already too much for the 13er. I spent a whole month sailing exclusively with my beloved Core XR 10m². The best forecasts were provided by Windguru, namely between the WRF3 and WRF9 models. Deviations were usually only minimal, around one to two knots. (more…)
Mel Gibson would love Dahab!
They arrive at the dorm late at night. Unpacking. Very slowly, carefully and extremely “considerately”. Whispering. Crackling. I fall asleep three times and it feels like hours. Then a hard-shell trolley crashes down onto the tiles from the top bunk bed. I have déjà vu.
No nation in the world can get me as considerate and high on the hog as the Chinese when clearing the dorm at night. Each sock is individually wrapped in a crackle bag. The check-up in the morning says: just missed. The Japanese are also considerate night workers. The wind stops for three days. I take care of the golive from Hambuger-Fischwerker.de. (more…)
Big Boys Play @ Baby Bay!
After almost a whole year without kiting, I need a good two weeks of rehab in Dahab to get fit again. For a long time I just can’t get the edge into the choppy water of the lagoon properly. I shout at them. Over time, the jumps finally get higher.
It fascinates me how infinitely long it takes to reposition my jumping leg. It’s so simple: start quickly, fall off, hit the edge, kite back, pop and take off. Always the same, for 25 years. But it’s only here, five years after the changeover, that I’m back up to just under nine metres with my “new” jumping leg. With the old jumping leg, that and more was no problem at all. I’m working hard to break my old record – and I’m as happy as a child about every jump I nail. (more…)
Everyday life in Dahab
The expensive Chill Opposite Music Festival empties the entire hostel for four evenings. Together with the salary payments at the beginning of October, it ensures that no ATM in Dahab is working. It wasn’t until the following day that the eighth ATM I visited spit out some money with my third credit card. I didn’t have a cent left.
The water is out at Rafiki Oasis. That’s less of a problem for the web designer than the mostly drippy Wi-Fi. I will also hardly be able to use up my 22 GB of mobile data by the end of the month at this rate. After two weeks here, I’m a hostel grandpa. Fate is now bringing out the big guns. My new dorm neighbour is a lumberjack. His extremely rusty chainsaw is constantly misfiring. (more…)
Rafiki Dahabibi
I’ve probably slept in over 500 hostels in my life. Here in Dahab I’m taking my master’s exam: a whole month in the Rafiki Oasis Hostel Dorm. With a wife and child, hostels were no longer an option in recent years. This trip will be “back to the roots”: lots of fun and relaxation with little money and full minimalism.
Rafiki Dahab is more than just a hostel. There are at least three. Or even four. Nobody knows for sure. The guests are a colourful international mix, but the majority are young Cairo students. I’m sure everyone heard about the Rafiki leisure programme before they booked here. Including me. Everyone will probably expect a little something. (more…)
Sinai’s plastic heroes
A whole legion of street sweepers in neon yellow waistcoats are working day and night to clean up the plastic rubbish flying around Dahab. With a 200% increase in the cost of living within five years and prepaid electricity cards, Egypt truly has enough other problems to worry about at the moment.
But Egypt’s superheroes are sweeping up dust and plastic. On the edge of the windy Sinai desert. It is infinitely bizarre. On a morning MTB tour, I search in vain for comparable superheroism on the sea. Nobody mops up the water there. (more…)
Rehab @ Dahab
Outside of one of the three internationally bookable all-inclusive hotels, Dahab is as colourful as it was last year at the Tropitel Dahab Oasis. in 2015, the Islamic State province of Sinai claimed responsibility for the bomb attack on the Russian Metrojet 9628 aircraft that took off from Sharm El Sheikh, as a result of which Russia suspended all air traffic to the Sinai Peninsula for several years. Dahab asked the rest of Egypt for help, as Russians made up a large proportion of the visitors up until then. The call for help was answered. It was only then that Egypt learnt of Dahab’s existence.
Today, most visitors to Dahab come from Cairo. This is also the case at my hostel Rafiki Oasis. Within my first three days, I learnt more about the Egyptian soul, the country and its politics from many good people than during my 25 years of numerous visits to the slave-driver tourism in the Hurghada, Marsa Alam and Sharm El Sheikh area. I always had the vague feeling that I wasn’t learning anything at all about the country I was travelling through. Only Dahab changed that. Here in Dahab, hardly any of the stories I hear today make any sense. Some stories are very frustrating. But all of them are interesting. (more…)
Quo Vadis, Germania?
Leaving has never been harder. Our almost four-year-old little human has developed rough edges and now shows strengths and weaknesses. She couldn’t be better with all of them. As much as she pushed me to my limits again and again last year, I will miss her immensely during my month in Sinai.
I am leaving a country that is falling apart. The economic situation has never been more tense. There has never been less cohesion. I have never identified myself as “German”. But even at the railway station I miss the homeland I had forgotten at home: my Donautaler, the best bread in the world, with butter, chives and fleur du sel. (more…)
The Author
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.