The coastal mountains between Haifa and the interior are behind me. On the last descent down to the Sea of Galilee, 209 metres below sea level, a violent gust of wind grabs my car and almost throws it off the road. YES! Right spot! The strongest winds in Israel prevail here. The trees are bending at almost 40 °C.
Tiberias is not too big, not too small and is located in the centre of an area whose cartographers would simply like to advise: please only mark where there is nothing super historic to discover! Much less work. But you do the work. Three world religions, places where Jesus worked, crusades, wars, 5000 years of history and nature. Variety would be a gross understatement. (more…)
Tel Aviv
Not even seven stamps from Arab states in my passport earn me the tourist attraction “private interview by the Israeli immigration authorities”. The brief questioning at passport control has to suffice. “Where did you come from? Berlin. What did you do there? Fighting tinnitus at daytime, enjoying it not getting worse at night in the clubs. Had a good time? Hell, yeah, beautiful people, magnificent places. Enjoy your stay!”
That’s it? Yep. Last train to Tel Aviv and off to the hostel. Reviews on the internet are incredibly important. Nobody knows or says who rates how, but everyone goes for gold. In my case, pigs have obviously rated a broken pigsty positively. The Overstay Hostel would be a great club in Berlin. Sleeping or even eating here is seriously less great. (more…)
Marsa Alam
Marsa Alam welcomes us with the strongest three days of wind of all my 15 years in Egypt. From early morning to late afternoon, the wind blows at 18 to 32 knots over turquoise-blue water. I’m on the water longer in three days than I was in half a month in South Africa. We kite until the doctor comes. In Florian’s case, literally.
At low tide – which is quite independent of the moon phases here – there are just 200 by 400 metres of safe kiting between 50 metres of water only 10 cm deep on the beach and another 150 metres of sandbank in front of the fringing reef. With 20 riders, the spot is tight. At very low tide, Flo swerves too far out of the way of a beginner over the “sand” bank, which is covered in stones, and crashes. (more…)
Viennese melancholy
I can’t remember how many times I’ve been to Vienna. Not even how long, and sometimes not even where exactly. Wherever I was, I wanted to understand people. But Vienna seems incomprehensible, just like the colourfulness of its inhabitants. And that is wonderful right now.
To say that lovers travel to Paris and melancholics to Vienna would be far too simplistic. Yes, Amelie is great in her Parisian café. But “Before sunrise” was also rightly set in Vienna. They do the washing in the dry cleaners. Taxi drivers are only there to drive. The suburban railway runs under the underground. Contradictions are part of everyday life in Vienna, and not just for Piefkes. The most dilapidated boas stand next door to posh hotels. (more…)
Hermanus & Good Bye
Our last stop is Hermanus, an hour and a half east of Cape Town. Famous for whale-watching, Hermanus is bursting with good restaurants. We savour one last time the South African cuisine, which is limited for vegans but almost always excellent and varied. Our hostel, Hermanus Backpackers, is the purest luxury boutique hotel with a pool, garden, olive trees and a huge kitchen/lounge – at hostel prices.
On the second day in Hermanus, the wind is good for the last time. Unfortunately, the spot on the lagoon behind Grotto Beach, which is quite well frequented by sharks, only works when the wind is blowing from the east (bumpy, coming over land) or west to south-west (clean). If the main wind direction is southeast, nothing works. (more…)
Return to Witsand
On the way back to Cape Town, we make another stop in Witsand. The wind is offline for a day. A German band dressed as Bavarians plays swing hits from the last 100 years in the Breede River Lodge. It would be horrible at home, but here and with lots of locals who constantly want to buy us something else alcoholic to try, it’s more than fun.
On the second day there is another wonderfully constant wind of a good 20 knots over the freestyle spot in the estuary. My back is cooperating again. The hangtime is good and the panorama in front of the sand dunes is gigantic. With up to ten kiters, the spot is quite crowded, but everyone is considerate – and rides very well. What’s more, the number reduces your chances of winning the top prize at the Hairoulette. (more…)
Knysna
We cruise another 500 kilometres to Knysna in the east. Our first tour along the Garden Route ended in Mosselbay. We didn’t think much would change there. We were completely wrong! The steppe east of Cape Town, which was scorched brown just three weeks ago, is now green again after a few rains. From George onwards at the latest, you feel like you’ve arrived in a completely different country.
Every few kilometres, rivers flow into the Indian Ocean via large reed-covered bays. Flamingos, storks, herons and cranes strut between them. The clouds clinging to the steep coastal cordillera, up to 1600 metres high and 15 kilometres inland, regularly bring heavy rain. The forests from there to the coast are as green as New Zealand rainforest. There are ferns and even the New Zealand Christmas tree with its red flowers. (more…)
Cape of Good Hope & Muizenberg
We check out the small Sandvlei Lake behind Muizenberg from Blouberg. According to local residents, you are allowed to kite there, although part of the lake is a bird sanctuary. There is a grassy park to set up in, and the best way to get in is on the windward side of the lake via a small sandy beach. The exit is steep and rocky to leeward. The wind is still offline. We drive on.
Dozens of surfers let off steam in the waves on Muizenberg’s colourful beach. The Boyes Drive from Muizenberg to Fishhoek offers endless panoramic views. As South Africa is a little too expensive in some places, we opt for the “stowaway under a load of kite luggage” method at the entrance to the Cape of Good Hope National Park. This saves eleven euros for a beautiful but rather lifeless park. (more…)
Langebaan for the second time
During the Cape Town rush hour, I pick up our new hire car at the airport, which is a good hour and a half away by bus. We move over to the nearby Saltycrax Hostel. In recent years, the owner has set up a programme for volunteers in the townships. There are currently a whopping 70 volunteers accommodated in the hostel and nearby houses.
Fortunately, our room is overbooked. This gives us the opportunity to shorten our time in Blouberg considerably. The waves are too rough for me, the water is really cold at around 13 degrees and I don’t need more than 25 knots of wind. Blouberg is a white luxury ghetto with no charm. The volunteers dream of world peace, the kiters of the waves and the rest of us of safety. (more…)
Blouberg & King Of The Air
Every kiter knows that the biggest big air competition in the kiting world takes place in Cape Town. What we didn’t know was that it takes place just two kilometres away from our new accommodation at Blouberg Kite Beach – on the very day we are moving.
The waves at Blouberg beach are still quite comfortable on our arrival day at just over one metre. The wind is rattling side-on at a good 20 to 25 knots on the wide white beach with a dream panorama of Table Mountain and Cape Town. We count over 200 kiters on the water. The beach is ten kilometres long – but in these conditions, even the 15 kiters on “my” 200 metres are too much for me. After just under an hour of scaredy-cat kiting on the nine, I’ve had enough. (more…)
Cape Town
South Africa is colourful. The change from quiet Langebaan and the end-of-the-world chill-out in Witsand to the four million inhabitants of Cape Town couldn’t be more dramatic. On our journey, we make a detour over the Tradouw Pass into the wine country behind the mountains and inspect a potential shallow water spot near Hermanus.
Our hostel looked a bit out of the way. In fact, the Cat and Moose with its beautiful old rooms is right in the centre of Long Street. Long Street is the Bourbon Street of Cape Town, an incredible party mile with countless restaurants, pubs, live clubs and fine house venues. As we have also booked for the weekend, we have a pretty hefty day & night double programme. (more…)
Witsand
South Africa is huge. Our journey takes a good five hours past Cape Town eastwards along the Garden Route. The country is also very dry on the Indian side. It hasn’t rained a drop for months. On the Sir Lowrys Pass, monkeys go about their business of mouth robbing. The dam behind it has dropped to 40% full. Cape Town will run out of water in 80 to 90 days.
After a good 400 kilometres through endless expanses of harvested wheat fields, we follow the sign to Witsand. The last 50 kilometres take us along a high-speed gravel road lined on both sides by ostrich farms. The small village of Witsand is idyllically situated at the mouth of the Breede River, one of the largest rivers in South Africa. Behind large dunes, the 300 metre wide estuary conjures up one of the most beautiful shallow water kite posts in the world. (more…)
Langebaan
South Africa is strange. After 150 kilometres with 3 bends through the most monotonous Brazilian pampas, we arrive in Langebaan. Langebaan looked like a big city on the map, but 90% of the houses are just holiday homes, and they are all empty even in the middle of the high season – behind thick nasty fences on far too much empty space.
As strange as the surroundings are, the people are wonderful. The first is Dane Per. At 88, his father Poul was the oldest kiter in the world. He died happily in his wetsuit from a heart attack. 150 kiters gathered in a circle in the mirror-smooth Danish Sea, like King Arthur’s table in XXL. They scattered his ashes. Suddenly the dead sea came to life. (more…)
Kite Spots Sardinia
Porto Pollo is only the most famous but by no means the best kitesurfing spot in Sardinia. Due to the jet between Corsica and Sardinia, the wind here usually blows at 5 to 10 knots more than on the northern west coast when the mistral is blowing – but it is also significantly stronger, especially when the mistral blows from the south. Porto Pollo works in all westerly winds, the main wind direction in Sardinia.
The beach is wide, coarse sand without stones or other obstacles – at least in the low season. There is no standing area at all. The waves are quite choppy, especially in strong winds over 25 knots, but there are no big ones in the bay. On some days, they come from all directions like a bathtub – especially near the Isola dei Gabbiani. (more…)
And I could walk 5000 years!
The day before yesterday, the Sardinian wind showed its teeth for the first time on the west coast in the UNESCO World Heritage Site of the millennia-old mines of Sulcis Iglesiente. It was blowing full offshore at 15 to 30 knots, gusting west of Iglesias over the old silver mountains and steep cliffs with mine ruins reaching down to the water. My breakfast baguette flies for a swim.
The coastal road to the north leads over breathtaking rollercoasters on steep slopes through old mining towns such as Nébida. The stub roads into the mines above Buggeru are completely unsecured and therefore offer sweeping views. On the motorway, the Sardinians really do slow down every farting hobo at 30 km/h – but if you need a jeep and blinkers to get up a mountain, there’s definitely nothing at the bottom. (more…)
Emmental in Sardinian
The driving style of a people reveals a lot about their soul. This is particularly true for Filipinos in Manila, Dominicans on Saturday nights and Vietnamese on the way to funerals. And for Sardinians in general. The wildest mountain roads are relatively discreetly regulated. But as soon as they are wide, safe and well-built, the state slows you down to half of what would be normal in Germany. 50 kilometres at 50 km/h is the whip for the Sardinians!
Their speeding seems to be the last cry against foreign rule. If you are driving legally in Sardinia, all your attention should be focussed on the rear-view mirror. 25% above the speed limit is the absolute minimum in order not to be constantly chased. 50% over the speed limit is the standard, even for pensioners. Speeding is defined by the Sarde at least 75% over the limit. (more…)
Sardinia sleeps
Like a vulture, I circle ever closer in my Panda in search of my first accommodation in Sardinia. Missing addresses are not a problem. They only become a problem when you can’t find anyone to ask for directions. Everything is closed, the streets completely empty, the houses barricaded.
Even today, few Italians speak English, but they understand my Spanish – and I understand their Italian answers, at least well enough to realise that each answer points in the opposite direction to the previous one. Sardinia is still in deepest hibernation. I am the universal soloist when it comes to eating, driving, walking and travelling. It’s cold and raining, but I feel good. (more…)
Forget Zanzibar!
Just one week of good wind is immediately followed by the next week of permaflake. The wings of horny kiters fall out of the sky at eight knots. A nasty stomach bug tries to push all my food out the wrong end for a few days. At high tide, I walk across a carpet of thousands of jellyfish to Dongwe, eight kilometres to the north. Poor villages and rubbish dumps on the beach alternate with empty luxury resorts.
Paje is suddenly completely deserted. If Jack Nicholson jumped out from behind a palm tree grinning madly with an axe, I would simply hold my stomach out to him: “There, you can have it, it’s already broken anyway.” The Paje cemetery is also a rubbish dump, and the whole of Paje is a cemetery. (more…)
Kiting with jellyfish
All the locals and long-term kiters say that the wind on Zanzibar has been exceptionally bad since December 2015. At the end of my second week, with just three good days so far, it finally arrives. For six days, the wind blows at 14 to 22 knots for a few hours every day. We have a lot of fun in the shallow water on the beach and in the waves up to two metres high on the outer reef.
The wind statistics published on Kitereisen, for example, give us false hope. For January it gives almost 100% gliding wind. It defines this as 4 Beaufort = 11 to 15 knots. 11 knots are actually reached almost every day, for a few hours, and often only in peaks. The basic wind rarely gets much stronger. Since mid-December 2015, there have been few days with at least 15 knots of basic wind. (more…)
Touring Sansibar
On the third day, I finally need the scooter for more than just withdrawing more money. I drive to the north of the island. Zanzibar is really tropical and green here. I realise how much I was depressed by the monotonous flat forestlessness in Paje. The route leads through sugar cane fields and spice plantations in the steaming jungle. A tour of a spice farm with tastings of fresh ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, pepper, cloves, passion fruit, star fruit and vanilla cheers me up further.
The Zanzibaris in the north seem happier than those in the arid poorhouse of southern Zanzibar. Smurfy schoolchildren in blue and white uniforms wander along the streets of the poorest villages. In one of them, I hit an easily overlooked high braking hill at 80 kilometres per hour. I manage to avoid a spin. But not another puncture five kilometres further on in the deepest jungle. (more…)
…simply withdraw money
Zanzibar is almost like travelling the world 100 years ago. I let the sound of the sea outside my beach hut beat up my tinnitus and surrender to the circumstances. There is very little of that, in every respect. I’ve been completely offline for three days, as has the wind. The time needs to be utilised. I hire a scooter.
The issue of a local driving licence, prepared in blank thanks to a bribe, is completed with the speed of a drop of heavy fuel oil falling from the tip of my nose. After two and a half hours I set off. The arse end of the world is just 15 kilometres beyond Paje. Deepest central African backwoods. (more…)
The Zanzibar Blues
I sit in the shade in the morning and blow upwards towards my glasses. It’s the only thing that helps against permanent fogging after a heavy thunderstorm the night before. 34°, 95% humidity, no wind. On the plus side, the Zanzibari mosquitoes are all non-swimmers and swimming is the only thing you can do in this air.
The roof of my palm leaf hut at Demani Lodge has a leak. Fortunately, right above my head. Saves the morning shower, which is not always available. After half an hour I’m clean – but unfortunately I can’t sleep any longer. The bed falls apart when I push it away. Assembling the bed in the darkness of the power cut is so exhausting that I only wake up after a total of 14 hours. (more…)
Terminal: Muscat, Oman
Oh Vienna!
The Western Railway from Salzburg to Vienna turns the DB-damaged world view of train travel completely upside down. The train pulls into the station. On time, at below zero degrees! Every passenger gets a seat with a plug at a good price – without a reservation, and you pay with EC to the friendly steward instead of the snotty conductor. Free wifi swings us gently and quickly to Vienna. Legendary German qualities on holiday in Austria.
On the first night, we slay a legend. The old doorman in the purple waistcoat asks us to leave. Looking at my old jeans, he announces the dress code – but after another critical glance at my Austro-Turk “hairdresser” ravaged head of hair, he takes pity on me. We enter the Eden Bar. (more…)
War!
Lush house beats thump heavily over the end of the deserted beach just before the Albanian border. Blissful people dream tiredly of dancing on sand. I’m in the middle of it all and somewhere else entirely, all I want to do tonight is write, write until the battery on my ancient mobile phone runs out. Write until I’m finally empty and calm.
Montenegrin wine is good, and it flowed more than abundantly today. The local house party coke dealer reacts with almost pitiful disappointment to the modest rejection of this white-bellied no-pat. His sales are guaranteed today, the crowds are clamouring to forget nothing, while I desperately try to remember how we got here. (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.