A new day. Some people who were involved in yesterday’s kiting permission ask how it was. Short and sweet! Everyone who hears the question immediately gets their camera out and shows me pictures. I must have put a nice splash of colour in Milford Sound. I keep asking around: Has anyone done it before me? No one has ever seen one.

We take the boat out onto Milford Sound early. If there had been anything going on at that time of day, I would have tried to top yesterday. Out with the boat, chat to the captain and then 15 kilometres downwinder to the entrance. But the wind didn’t arrive until much later. The captain was already in Regensburg, which gave me a great view from the bridge for a while. (more…)

Georg and Arnulf go on a day trip to Milford Sound, I book a jetboat trip in an old gold mining canyon in the mountains north of Queenstown. First we go up to the ski resorts, then on a gold rush gravel track through spectacular high mountain scenery. Next to the track you can see the footpaths of the gold miners of 1862. T

he gold rush only lasted 7 years, then it was all over. The 7km long track was completed after 7 years at the end of the gold rush. Huge amounts of equipment were hauled up the steep slopes. If it wasn’t lost on the way, crashed during transport or washed away by the first tidal wave after 2 weeks of use, every piece was still for nothing after 3 years at the latest. Gold. Everyone does everything for it. (more…)

We drive further south. The mountains get higher, the valleys deeper, the meadows greener and the petrol most expensive. There are only a few villages left, and they are small. The roads look as if they were built exclusively for the summer tourist crowds. You simply couldn’t designate anything as a scenic road. Otherwise the next road would be a stinker.

My head is great after the New Year’s Eve party, as is my stomach. I look forward to every single bend on the 300 kilometres to Lake Wanaka. There are countless of them. Shortly before Wanaka, we stop at Lake Hawea, a very thermally active mountain lake. Unfortunately, there is not enough wind for kiting. On to Lake Wanaka. The wind is blowing strongly here. (more…)

We continue south to New Zealand’s highest peaks. Our accommodation is right next to Franz Josef Glacier. We take a short tour to the glacier break. Chunks of ice up to 1 metre in size lie everywhere in the valley. A DOC ranger tries to stop the crowds from going as far as the last barrier in front of the quarry. The chunks all came down in a big wave yesterday.

The evening is quiet in Franz Josef Village. The next day we continue to the neighbouring Fox Glacier. Less crowded. We have booked a tour over the glacier tongue. The ascent first goes through the valley, then 200 metres up a steep face next to the glacier break. After an hour we reach the starting point for all the glacier tours. We are given crampons and ice sticks, then off we go. (more…)

As soon as we get up, Captain Josh from EcoRafting picks us up. We head south to Mount Cook in a VW bus. Numerous rivers pour into the Tasman Sea in endlessly wide gravel beds. At around nine we reach the helicopter landing site in a lonely mountain valley near the New Zealand glaciers. We will fly up the Whataroa River by helicopter, then raft 10 kilometres over grade 5 white water back to the sea.

We are given thick neoprene suits for the ice-cold glacier water. Thermal overalls and jackets, thick life jackets and helmets. Two rafting boats, a kayak and the rest of the equipment are stowed in a large net. Then the helicopter arrives and the net is hooked in at the bottom. (more…)

I hitchhike from Golden Bay back to Nelson. It’s much better on the South Island. I need a good four hours for 160 kilometres and nice drivers from Jena, Israel and Holland. I arrive in Nelson exactly five minutes before Georg and Arnulf. I still know Georg from Fiji and we’ll be touring the South Island together for the next few days.

We take another hostel right on the beach, there are far fewer children here. Georg and Arnulf are both 26, which is old for world travellers and a real blessing for me – as much as I like travelling with younger people. We hang out on the beach and play poker. Then they also go to Abel Tasman National Park for a day. Meanwhile, I wander around Nelson. (more…)

The next day, I’m still feeling under the weather. I hitchhike from Pahara to Takaka, where I realise as it starts to rain that I’ve forgotten my rain jacket in the hostel. I hitchhike back. Nothing. Back to Takaka. Ah yes, it was in my rucksack the whole time.

Takaka is a nice little hippy town in Golden Bay. There are three clothing shops. All of them sell hippie wear. A few fair trade and organic products shops. And that’s about it. A toboggan gives me the first lift to Collingwood, a young German couple the second. The Sommerset Hostel is an old Sunday school above the 19th century church. (more…)

We set off at 9 o’clock in the morning. The Abel Tasman Coastal Track winds all the way through the hills along the coast. On the left is always dense jungle or forest, on the right the azure blue sea and golden yellow beach. Lots of boats and kayaks are touring around. Wild chickens keep crossing the path, sometimes with chicks. The southern part is rather unspectacular. Have I been to Fiji before? Have I seen the most beautiful beaches in the world?

The evening before, I even tore off the parts of the map I no longer needed to reduce my weight. My rucksack is still too heavy. My shoulders are really tense and I can’t tighten my waist belt because the buckle is wrong. A full 17kg is a big difference to my usual daypack. (more…)

I take the bus to Abel Tasman National Park. The same sign flies past several times at the side of the road: “Home Kills”. That means something like “home kills”. I have to grin. It could also be translated differently.

My last stop before the big hike really is the very last hostel before the Abel Tasman National Park. The Barn, a small farm, campsite and dorm. The last place is already 15 kilometres behind me. Chimes and flowers blowing in the wind. Birds are chirping, bees are buzzing. There’s a saying on the wall: “Life does not consist of the number of breaths we take, but of the places and moments that take our breath away.” (more…)

The third day in Nelson finally brings all my dreams: up to 60 km/h wind, side-onshore and very stable. The waves are up to 1.5 metres high and sometimes just as close together. I’ve never been out in conditions like this before. Several times I take waves at the wrong angle at the wrong time and get a good wash. The rest is jumping, jumping, jumping.

After more than two hours on the water, the wind gets even stronger. I can hardly feel my knees any more, but I’m still having fun. Then I misjudge a big wave. I crash into it almost head-on and at high speed – just as it breaks. It feels like riding into a concrete wall. Shortly afterwards, I realise that my harness has snapped. (more…)

The waves are crashing in Wellington, three whole nights. On the first, I go to a small indie club. Good music, but not enough people. Back out into the night, and after five minutes of walking it’s clear why: there’s a club every 50 metres where something is being performed live. Wellington is hardly any bigger than Regensburg, but has probably 10 times as many clubs. That thins out the crowd a bit.

In the second club, a noisy rock band is playing, a mixture of Hives and Black Crowes. There’s a lot of jumping around until one o’clock, then I’m suddenly standing next to a really wild punk. I go through a few clubs with her, then I ask about her parents. “My stepfather’s in prison,” she says, “I got him in.” I ask why, then there’s a long silence. (more…)

On the journey to Wellington, we stop off in Palmerston North for another day. The mood is a little tense. Very little happens, so I’ll just philosophise about a saying that I come across every day on the trip. It’s mainly used as a slogan for hostels and bars. The slogan is: “Your home away from home.”. I ponder.

Why is the slogan so successful? What is home, and how many bars can claim to be home? Do travellers from faraway countries have to drink more beer to get home? Are Germans also at home in Irish pubs? What is the difference to “You come as a stranger and leave as a friend”? In my home country, the saying is at the entrance to the Palais d’Amour. (more…)

From Gisborne, we head south along the east coast. Shortly before Napier we stop in Bay View. The girls let me kite. Good wind at last, fully onshore at 15 knots. Problem: the lava shingle beach drops off steeply. waves 1.5 metres high break directly on the beach. I get washed so hard three times that I find gravel in my wetsuit above my knees. Then I give up. Not my day.

In Napier, Ilka offered us accommodation. We are warmly welcomed and have a nice little asparagus feast for our first dinner. The lemons for the hollondaise come from the tree in the backyard. At night, Quentin drives us into town to celebrate the half-year anniversary. A few bars, some 80s, then home again. Not much happens, just can’t always. (more…)

Today is exactly the halfway point of my world trip. 182 days. It’s raining, but it doesn’t matter. I let the girls drive me from Gisborne to Napier. Taking a breather. Half a year of travelling is over. I set off to find something. I don’t know exactly what. All I know is that I haven’t found it yet. But I’m on my way. And will recognise it when it’s there.

Travelling means something of everything to me, the bad and the good. Much more of both than at home. From all directions. I can no longer imagine how that would work: living in one place. What would there be to experience? How could I beat boredom? How could I sit so still in my favourite pub for so long? Values of screaming restlessness… (more…)

The East Cape is the loneliest and quietest corner of the entire North Island of New Zealand. A brochure points out all the tourist attractions. Unbelievable: you can swim, picnic and fish on the beaches here. Aha. There are rivers where you can go jet boating. If you have one. Oh yes, and you can ride horses. And that’s about it.

The landscape is wild, the land rises steeply directly behind the coast. The sea breaks hard on lava rocks. The only petrol station for 100km is almost invisible, a pump in the middle of nowhere. Immediately afterwards: horses, sheep, cows. On the road and beside it. The sky hangs low in the coastal mountains. The sound of an approaching car startles me. (more…)

The next morning we go shopping in the last big supermarket before the loneliness. There’s a singing Father Christmas next to the entrance. I dance with him, but the Christmas spirit just isn’t there at 24 degrees. There are palm trees outside, and I get a bit cold barefoot and in shorts next to the meat shelf.

Somehow Kiwis are completely different, but always only half. They drive on the wrong side of the road, but still have the right before the left. Christmas is in midsummer, but instead of “Let the sun shine” they play “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas” for Advent shopping. I float past the gingerbread and Christmas beer and out into the glistening sun. (more…)

Another two days at Yaping House in Auckland. Free WiFi and lots of work. Some old friends are still there. Luckily I realise on Sunday that I don’t have to return my car on Monday. The car hire company could have charged me $100 for the one-hour delay. But they don’t. A lost hubcap is also overlooked, as is the sand from 90 Mile Beach that trickles outside when I open the door.

Early the next morning, I make my way back to Tauranga. I want to try something. Everyone said that hitchhiking would be super easy in New Zealand. Unfortunately, I think this idea is a bit outdated. (more…)

Took a few days off for work. The girls want to do the Tongariro Crossing. So we move to Turangi at the southern end of Lake Taupo. The road goes right through the heartland of the North Island. Long stretches of gravel track. It’s called “The Forgotten World Highway”. I couldn’t think of a more fitting name.

Early in the morning, I take the girls to the start of the Tongariro Crossing up into the national park. Within just two weeks, a lot of snow has melted on the volcano and the weather is also much better. From the start you can already see Mount Taranaki 150 kilometres further along the coast. The crowds of visitors are also increasing. Today there must be 200 people at the start before 8am. (more…)

Somehow I’m gradually developing a soft spot for heavy physical exercise after short, heavy nights. This night was very short again and my head was quite cloudy in the morning. We check out of the hostel and make our way to the nearby Mount Taranaki / Mount Egmont at around 10am. a 2500 metre volcano rises directly from the sea into the sky.

Even the journey there is awe-inspiring. After half a round trip, we arrive at the top car park at just under 1000m around midday. Unfortunately, we are a little too late for a full ascent. From 2000 metres upwards, you need high alpine equipment because the thing is still glaciated at the top. We set off on shaky legs. (more…)

Unfortunately, the good wind didn’t materialise. On the last day, my kite simply fell out of the sky. Should probably go on. On the way to New Plymouth, we stop off in Waitomo. Glow worms await us in the largest caves in New Zealand. Our guide Tim gives an impressive and gory description of how it’s better not to abseil. Then we descend 30 metres vertically.

We walk along an underground river. A few hundred metres from the entrance, we switch off our lamps. All the walls glow green in the light of millions of glowworms. One fly caught makes the arse of the glowworms glow for three months. It would be pretty cool if humans could do the same: glow with their bums after eating instead of stinking… (more…)