Around midday, we head one kilometre west on the Galinho side of the lagoon at low tide. The beach is now endlessly wide thanks to the low tide, and the lagoon and estuary offer several square kilometres of ironing board for the three of us kiters. The spot is heavenly. I don’t understand why there aren’t at least as many people here as in Cumbuco. Okay, it’s not “umpfumpf” here – unless you do it yourself. But life in a small village has other charms.
The wind is a bit lousy at first. The kite instructors run up on the shore a few times with 9m², I ride 13m² and am happy. Around one o’clock the wind picks up to a pleasant 18 knots, now we have hot water. Huge spray, high speed and bombastic crashes. The mangroves are the gangs, a few passing fishing boats are the balls and we are the cues. (more…)
You Should Surf, Not Surf!
The last 30 kilometres to Galinhos lead through endless wind farm forests over brilliant white sand dunes. Galinhos lies at the end of a long peninsula. The sandbank offers a unique variety of conditions for kitesurfing: on the land side is a large estuary, the perfect flat water spot. On the seaward side, the waves break evenly on the gently sloping beach.
The very first jump in the flat water after the waves inland knocks me out a good five metres. Landing in the waves, turn and out again. The waves are not big, but quite steep for a long time. Perfect ramps for endless gliding downwind. In 15 years of kitesurfing, I’ve never had a wave spot that offered such good conditions in both directions. (more…)
Around The Corner With The Beach Buggy
Bob booms cleanly out of the box. The sound system drowns out the loud roar of the VW engine in the back of our beach buggy. Water splashes through the floor in the footwell when we cross rivers. Handel’s water music plays. I’m on my way to the promised land with two long-distance travellers from Australia. The strong trade winds start pretty much at the north-eastern corner of Brazil. We drive around it for two days and 170 kilometres in the Captain Maol beach buggy.
Maol is 65 and has been riding beach buggies for 30 years. As an enduro biker, I’m sceptical at first. I still remember well how my grandma used to ride. But my worries are completely unfounded. Before the first sand dunes north of Natal, he reduces the tyre pressure. Then he really steps on the gas. (more…)
Goodbye Pipa!
On the last day in Pipa, the wind finally picks up. As has been the case all week: different from the forecast. In Pipa, hope is written differently. I go to Cacimbinhas Beach in the morning with an Argentinian radio presenter. A rough breeze sweeps over the edge of the steep cliffs. A small hut on a lonely beach, the sea and me. Everything is fine.
The waves are a little milder at Cacimbinhas than at Praia de Amor. But still 1.5 metres high and breaking hard. Wash, out and in, then after an hour some rain and calm. A little further south towards Praia de Madeiro, and the wind picks up again. Outside, the swell is high and steep, crashing into the next wave crest. At the end of the day, I limp home happy. (more…)
Kite Hike To The Barro De Cunhau
In the minivan to Cibauma, a gay German-Uruguayan couple on their honeymoon are having a great time mocking the baffling ways of liberal bureaucracy. According to their marriage licence, one of them is now a “senora” and therefore has to undergo a sex change, which they both find discriminatory and a complete turn-off.
At the end of a country lane, the bus driver kicks me off. I’m on my way to a legendary kite spot, the Barro de Cunhau. From Pipa, you would have to take a taxi for the 7 kilometres as the crow flies. After a short hike, I realise why. At high tide, you can only cross this river on a raft. Now, at low tide, I’m sinking waist-deep in water. (more…)
Kitesurfing Pipa: Praia do Amor
On the second day in Pipa, the wind finally doesn’t blow at night, as is so often the case here, but also during the day at a cosy 17 knots. The east-facing Praio de Amor is only 15 minutes away from the Sugar Cane Hostel. Standing on top of its cliffs, I finally spot the first other kiter. I hadn’t met anyone yet.
At high tide, Praio de Amor is just 7 metres wide in the less densely populated southern section. Even at low tide, it’s unlikely to be more than 12 metres wide. Directly behind it are steeply rising cliffs, some of which are overgrown with scrub. Thanks to the windward eddies caused by these cliffs, I make two really bad starts, which also happens to a few other kiters later on. (more…)
Pipe? Paradise!
After a long bus journey, the sun sets behind me and my Israeli fellow travellers over the Amazon. Ahead of us, red-hot clouds lie over Pipa. The small village is listed in every travel guide as one of Brazil’s highlights because of its legendary beaches. Travelling highlights have almost always been my biggest failures. This time everything is different.
The route winds its way through small villages and sugar cane fields past children playing football into a small village. There are no big hotels, just a few pousadas, apartments and hostels. The main street is a cobbled road full of life. The Sugar Cane Hostel has never before seen 96.4% positive reviews on Hostelbookers. (more…)
Travel Anxiety In Brazil
The white skyscrapers shine brightly in the late afternoon sky high above Recife. Between them lies the dark dirt on the ground: barbed-wire-secured semi-favelas on the edge of hope. I walk a few kilometres to the largest shopping centre. Robocops on Segways patrol inside. I am surprised to realise that you only laugh when you feel safe.
Brazil is the only country in the world where you have to put your credit card in the ATM twice to withdraw money once. This region-specific feature gives the Darth Vaders positioned in front more time to empty their pump guns completely into potential card thieves after the third incorrect entry. A welcome side effect is likely to be a significant improvement in the Brazilian genome in the direction of memory worldweisters. (more…)
Rise of the Silver Surfer
No one who has ever had a real category five lumbago can ever imagine how infinitely superheroic you feel after its exodus. I’ve just had the worst lumbago I’ve had for many years. I would have been much more mobile in a wheelchair for the last three days – I could have sat in it. Nothing worked anymore.
After three days of physiotherapy, the very capable Surf Doctor Navarro deemed my back muscles soft enough to set the bones. 45 kg of physiotherapy instantly conquered the pain with a loud crack. From one second to the next, I am practically completely pain-free. I’m not religious. My problem certainly existed 2000 years ago. Without today’s knowledge, the Messiah was the only plausible explanation. (more…)
Toreros? Faggots!
It wears pink stockings in ballerinas, has pearly white teeth under toupee-like hairstyles and dances chuggingly in circles? Clearly: gay as the night is black. The Spanish, however, consider their toreros to be male heroes. The three of us have our first corrida. We were expecting blood – and got a slaughter.
In front of the arena there is a car with “Carnices” written on it. Surely just a coincidence, because the old Spaniard next to me later says that the bulls are not eaten. We enter the arena on the sunny side. The sun soon sets, and that’s a good thing. We unpack our wine in the shade. It will soon be needed. (more…)
Cut!
On the third day, the wind in Tarifa picks up to a good 35 knots. As we have to pick up Max from the airport in Jerez de la Frontera in the evening anyway, we decide to head north-west out of the wind. In the beautiful bay of Canos de Meca, a few kiters are already out in the sideshore wind, which is still quite strong here, with a swell of one and a half metres.
Some older locals comment on the wind conditions with “Hasta manana!” and pack up by midday. They are right. The wind is not only strong and gusty, but also interspersed with plenty of zero holes. Like a large wing, the current behind the isthmus of Tarifa breaks off completely for a few minutes at a time. (more…)
Heaven And Hell
We drive a good distance to Bolonia. At an over-celebrated pirate bar, I ask the last survivor. She points towards the beach. The only surf instructor points us away. 5 kilometres of beach, endless space, but we kiters are not allowed to fly. Frustrated, we turn back. It seems that there is only one free beach for kiters in Tarifa within a radius of 30 kilometres, and even there we have to make do with 100 metres of sole dominance.
For kiters, it’s either “forbidden under penalty” or Valdevaqueros / Spin-Out: swimming, surfing, kitesurfing – all together. Yes, it’s peak season. Yes, the wind is either chopping at 25 knots or, like today, it’s larking about with zero holes around 14, undecided whether it wants to be called Levante or Poniente. Either way, it’s crying out for safety. (more…)
Mekka!
The first day in Mecca brings us what we expected: Enlightenment. As regligion is never easy, the winds here are also quite challenging. At Valdevaqueros Beach, the main kite beach a few kilometres north-west of Tarifa, we are almost the first. The Levante has been active there for a long time.
Long before the midday crowd arrives at 10am, my 9m² are easily enough for the first ride through Mecca. Not only does the Levante fluctuate a lot in the 15-minute average, it’s also quite bucky and slightly offshore. After just under 2 hours, I’m pretty much exhausted and go ashore. Heaven is different, but being allowed to kite in Mecca is still an honour. (more…)
Always almost windy @ Gökova
For Germans, Turkey is a crisis area in times of the NSU and the police and interior ministries once again showing a clear right-wing bias. At the airport, the German tour guide speaks to us in English. Only on the bus in front of a small group does she switch to quiet German.
We try the same without success. But even in tourist centres, Turks speak less English than Thais on the edge of the Golden Triangle. Me at the airport “Surfboard: where?”. Turk points to the baggage carousel. Of course it comes out somewhere else, “surfboard” is simply too multilingual. (more…)
Concerts In Regensburg
Tell me, dear people, why are concerts in Regensburg always so boring and bland? Is it just because I’ve just read a stupid article on Zeit-online that claims that we young people (at least in our heads) simply have nothing left to sing against the tsunami of opinions of 50-year-olds?
Or do the concerts in Regensburg just suck? Alte Mälze: For 15 years, the booking has been more conservative than the CSU’s stance on gay marriage. Danube arena? Yes, of course, my tinnitus likes endless reverb, my Schedl likes being naked and somehow only having the feeling of really being THERE at the concert – I’ve always been totally fed up. (more…)
The Hotel In The Centre Of Vienna
We’re spending a few days in Vienna again. Meeting friends and enjoying culture in all its forms. We are staying in the centre of Vienna, Hotel Capri, right between the Prater and the Danube Canal. The hotel offers parking spaces for guests in the inner courtyard and the Nestroyplatz underground station is right on the doorstep. The staff are excellent, very courteous but not intrusive.
Champagne and sweets are waiting in the large room, the balcony faces the quiet inner courtyard. The room in the hotel in the centre of Vienna is very well equipped: Flat screen TV, free Wi-Fi, desk, fridge, large wardrobe with safe, cosy sitting area, king-size bed and bright bathroom with walk in shower. We set off straight away. (more…)
Dragon Slayer / Banderole Carrier
A lot has changed since my last visit to Egypt. My favourite hotel now has handcuffs. At reception, our hands are decorated with a red plastic band. At just under 30°, this ribbon is unconcealable. White skin alone is not enough. Is this revenge for our grandfathers’ yellow stars?
“So what?” thinks one person. For me, it’s a disaster. I am now branded as a travelling goat – not organic. And from the Grand Resort. Where you once had a good chance of bargaining without a Depperlband, every taxi driver now has the ultimate knock-out argument: 5-star roosters are there to be plucked. No matter how cheap the hotel is. (more…)
The Best For Last: Skyline Kiting!
In our three months in New Zealand, we didn’t give ourselves anything, lived frugally and hardly did without anything. We were able to compensate for the 50% increase in prices since 2008 by camping more and eating out less. Good living, almost 14,000 kilometres of rental car and a few adrenaline passes ended up costing us €1,800 per person per month plus €1,000 for the flight.
For one of the last three days in Auckland, we treat ourselves to pure luxury. The SkyCity Hotel is located right at the foot of the Skytower in the centre of Auckland. Huge rooms high up, even bigger beds, the latest cinema films on demand. A Korean barbecue at the table with 50 delicacies. We savour until our brains fail – and then even further. (more…)
Coromandel
The first stop on Coromandel is a flop. The tour of the Waihi gold mine was actually supposed to be free. But the offer was cancelled five years ago. However, in order to hear how harmless mercury is for the local biotopes, we are not prepared to pay twice the $28 and drive to the “historic gold mining site” of Waitekauri.
The word “historic” is about three and a half times as trendy in New Zealand as “organic” was here in 1992. If a fart stinks for more than ten seconds, it’s called “historic”. Our gold mine dates back to 1987, as we read in awe after travelling 20 km. We definitely count the two remaining reinforced concrete foundations on a remote cow pasture among the illuminating historical highlights of this trip. (more…)
Bay Of Plenty Bed Bugs
As soon as we round the East Cape, the weather clears up again. The Bay Of Plenty is ancient Maori cultural land. The first canoes of our ancestors from the Pacific landed here sometime between 700 and 1400. We also land here. These are the last days of a great journey. This too ends as good journeys should: We are ready for a holiday.
I catch bed bugs in a hostel in Opotiki. Bed bugs are by far the worst travelling nuisance. Neither the white and black ringed giant mosquitoes of Fiji nor the clouds of sandflies off Milford Sound have anywhere near the same potential to turn you into a walking pile of bloody mincemeat. (more…)
Eastcoast, Baby!
From Wellington onwards, we drive several hundred kilometres every day. Even country roads are a bit different in New Zealand: if you don’t slow down on a bend, you’re guaranteed to take off on the next bump. Part one of the trip takes us to the Art Deco town of Napier. After a five-hour drive, the wind is still blowing over the rough shore break, so the architecture has to wait.
In the evening, the rest of the Bee Gees play in the nearby stadium – presumably also “Staying alive”. At midnight, the old fans stagger drunkenly into the dorm. A granny first pours wine over me, then snores all night, interrupted by worryingly long breathing interruptions. Napier’s last two dormitory beds hardly bring us any sleep either. (more…)
The Rocket Kiter From Wellington
The animal experiments on manned space travel in the 1960s brought NASA one ground-breaking realisation in particular: dogs have a short life. To be precise: too short for interstellar space travel. NASA is therefore now looking for suitable human test subjects for longer-term employment.
The job advertisement calls for a pronounced bounce and promises excessive opportunities for inner contemplation as well as few pee breaks. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, which is why applications have so far fallen well short of NASA’s expectations. Rumour has it that the first test subjects have already been abducted. (more…)
Travelling In Circles
We started our six weeks on the South Island of New Zealand on the Queen Charlotte Track. This is where we will end it. Tutukaka’s foot is lame. The brakes are squealing worse and worse and need to be repaired soon. But he still manages the last winding 60 kilometres out onto the outermost gravel tracks of the Marlborough Sounds.
The last hike takes us to the highest peak in the Sounds. At 1203 metres, Mount Stokes is not particularly high. But the hike starts close to the sea and the path is definitely one of the tougher ones. It begins steeply through the jungle, becomes steeper and climbs steadily up to the summit over rough rocks, roots and fallen cowries. (more…)
Null In Nelson
Travelling is life. It is the life I have chosen. Some friends called it escape, others don’t understand that I call this dream life. Everyone chooses the life they think is right. Some follow a good plan, and a few complete it. I just lost the dream somewhere along the journey.
We take a few days of rest in Nelson, the Tuscany of New Zealand. The kites on the beach put me in a bad mood: there’s no wind in the sail. I can hardly keep my eyes open for all the beauty. My ears can no longer hear the incredible stories. Or simply put: blind, deaf and dumb are very bad travelling companions. (more…)
Golden Bay
Golden Bay is located in the very north-west of New Zealand’s South Island. The clocks tick very differently in this hippie centre. The houses are colourful, the people relaxed and/or naked. The sea runs endlessly flat on the beach, so flat that you can’t even see it on the horizon at low tide. Herons stalk through the mudflats.
Near Takaka, the largest freshwater springs in Australasia spew 14 cubic metres of crystal-clear water per second from the karst ground. Sheep pastures and roads are rarely separated by fences. We drive to the last corner of New Zealand, Farewell Spit. A 50 kilometre long sandbank stretches out into the sea. (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.