Today is the day. Part one of the world tour comes to an end. 10 weeks travelling across the United States of America. Seen a lot, maybe even too much. I’m sitting at the airport in LA waiting for my flight to Honolulu. Let’s just count Hawaii as non-USA. Fortunately, the French don’t speak Italian these days either.

It was nice, exhausting, surprising and sometimes pretty dull. America is not one country. America is 50 individual countries. Each one is different, some completely different. In one country you pay $100 for one mile too much, in the next you pay nothing for 10. In one country there are no bends, in another there are no straights. (more…)

I take the bus to Santa Monica. It’s not true what everyone says: it’s fine without a car in LA. Three quarters of an hour later, I’m on the beach for the first time. Okay, I can’t find the next bus northwards. No matter. I first walk to the northern end of the Palisades, then along the beach under the Santa Monica Pier to the southern end of Venice Beach. David Hasselhoff is gone. Probably surfing around drunk on hamburgers again. We head back to Santa Monica Pier via Venice Beach Boulevard. The houses are interesting. Like bags: American Homes, Best of Volume II. At a bus stop, a drunk is shouting after two blondes. When I hand him his lost headphones, he grabs my bus ticket. (more…)

I haven’t managed to get a bus map of LA in two days. That makes navigation a bit difficult. Before I set off for the Getty Centre, I download the map as a PDF and take my laptop with me. On the way, I pass through UCLA University. Some of the student fraternity houses look like castles.

After the first bus I am lost despite the map. There is no stop indicated anywhere. I walk a few kilometres in circles and then walk to the Getty Center. I take the hovercraft train up into the Santa Monica Mountains. All for free. It’s fascinating what you can do with just 10 billion dollars. (more…)

I have the car at the airport in half an hour. Dropping it off runs smoothly. When they open the petrol cap, sand will fall out. It takes 1.5 hours to get back by bus and metro. The stations are all empty, the metro is echoing. I walk along Sunset Boulevard. No, this is definitely not the famous stretch. But I want to enjoy myself.

There’s a sign in front of a huge complex: Free Stress Test. Interesting. My first contact with Scientology. After half an hour I am enlightened: all our misdeeds are the result of unresolved past issues. Aha. And the Oscar goes to the black man with the funny glasses there. (more…)

The journey to Salt Lake City runs smoothly. A few more times up to over 2500 metres, down into valleys. A cowboy mountain pasture brings a longer stop. When I arrive in Salt Lake City, I quickly find the house of my new host Julie.

My car insurance is good. I want to pickle Pete Cruiser. Driving a black car across a white salt desert would be something. After 50 miles along the Salt Lake, I give up. The desert is too far away to be conquered in an afternoon. What remains is the knowledge that the world speed record was set not far away. There is a good wind on the way back. But there’s not a single access to the Salt Lake for 50 miles. I drive back annoyed, do the shopping and cook the two girls something. (more…)

In the 80s, this Indian saying hung in every other teenager’s room: “Only when the last tree is cut down…will you realise that you can’t eat money”. This morning I wanted to visit Antelope Canyon near Page. I waited almost an hour at the entrance, I was up too early. The brochure said: $6 entrance fee. What it didn’t say was: only with a guide. This costs an additional $20. If you want to see the Upper and Lower Antelope Canyon, the price doubles. For public pictures (blog) there is an additional $35 photo licence fee.

Dear monster truck-driving Navajos! Only when you have eaten the last dollar will you realise that you can also make a fire with wood. I drive off in a huff with squealing tyres. (more…)

The Du Beau International Hostel in Flagstaff is highly recommended. Apart from the nearby railway line with trains constantly honking in fear, it is very quiet. For $19 a night, a good breakfast is included, plus free WiFi and billiards. I find a second passenger. Today we are finally travelling cheaply and individually.

We head north along the old Route 66. After an hour, we arrive at the first tributaries of the Grand Canyon. Entry for everyone is regulated with my annual pass. There is only one road to the rim. There are several viewpoints off this road. That’s about it. A thunderstorm is brewing. We stop a few times, take a few photos and reach Grand Canyon Village after another hour. (more…)

Ich hab hier nix mehr verloren. Feiern tat ich daheim schon genug. Gegen 10 steh ich auf und pack mein Zeug. Peter, ein netter dänischer Designer ist deutlich mehr als ich beschädigt. Ich fahre zu Mac. Hilft immer. Dann weiter zum Hoover Dam. Guter Mittagswind am Lake Mead…öh…wo ist eigentlich mein Kiteboard? Vergessen in Las Vegas. Nach der gestrigen Nacht verzeihbar. Hätte schlimmer kommen können. Wieder zurück an der Rezeption in Las Vegas surft ein verzweifelter mexikanischer Kumpane der letzten Nacht nach Billigtickets. Hat seinen Flieger um sechs Uhr Morgens verschlafen. (more…)

Although I let my alarm clock ring long before eight, nobody really wakes up. I wouldn’t have begrudged them that. I pack up my stuff slowly and loudly, slam the door and drive over to the Sin City Hostel right on the Strip. It’s better, cheaper, smaller, no pool and no loud booming, miserable fuck-me hip hop until after midnight.

Leaving Las Vegas. I head north-west along the Lost Highway towards Reno, to the rear entrance of Death Valley. Along the way are prisons, air force bases, a genuine desert whorehouse, Area 51, and I think ground zero of the first atomic bomb. Sand trousers whip through the desert. (more…)

I spend the night in bed with two cats. When you wake up and don’t know where you are, a purr like that is really nice. In the morning I almost look like a cat myself, I’m so full of hair. But it was worth it. I drive off to Gregg’s sound selection on the local radio station KCPR.

I still don’t have any stays for the whole week. I only have two cancellations from hostels for Las Vegas. So I have to organise it in the evening when I arrive. I hate that. Always stressful. It’s gone wrong a few times and usually makes everything even more expensive. (more…)

Early in the morning I take the bus to the Alamo City Office. My luggage buries passengers’ feet several times. When I arrive at the car hire station, a bored Latino tells me that my reservation is at the airport. I check again. Nope, it’s right here. Airport would be 2 hours by bus. He reluctantly organises something, grumbles that he doesn’t have a car, that I haven’t printed out the voucher, that my board wouldn’t fit in this class. He obviously gained his customer service licence at a tourist camp in Afghanistan. I’ll definitely be taking a printer with me on my next trip around the world. This guy is driving me up the wall and I’m about to go for his throat. The only thing stopping me: Bush would probably give me a medal for it. (more…)

In the morning I organise stays for the next week. It’s high time I set off early on Thursday. After two hours and 40 emails, I set off into the city. I’m still missing Haight Ashbury. By bus via Golden Gate Park to the west. If you pay attention, you can see exactly where San Francisco burnt down after the big earthquake. The most colourful Victorian houses start right behind it.

First I wander through the park, go to the De Young Museum and the Flower Conservatory. Then across Haight Street to Buena Vista Park. The bum rate in SF is generally high. In Haight Ashbury, normal people are almost outnumbered. No idea who lives in the expensive houses. It smells of weed everywhere. (more…)

Bree, the last flatmate I didn’t know, arrived the evening before. The fog in San Francisco was so thick that her plane didn’t land until two hours later. I somehow don’t get the whole living and working in America thing. She’s just come back from a week of hiking in the Grand Canyon. Quickly chats to me for a few minutes. Goes to bed. After eight hours of sleep, she heads back to work the next morning. When does all this free time end? And how can you take anything with such a transition? And: yes, I know I need to talk to my travelling speed right now. There is one difference: I travel so fast because free travel is so expensive. Americans live so fast because free time is so expensive. I’m glad I only have to travel like this for a while. Wouldn’t want to live like that. (more…)

Yes, my city. Lots of weird and crazy people. Everyone is different, some even totally different. I spent a day relaxing yesterday. After a total of 9700 miles on the bus and in the car, a day at work was real relaxation. And also an urgent top-up for the travel fund. As I said before, the boys here have pretty much the coolest flat you can imagine. And they have to work 10 hours a day for it. I’m alone in this castle all day.

The location is perfect. See the map on the left, blue dot in San Francisco. Right in the centre of everything, but nice and quiet on the 7th floor. Highway 101 runs one block through the city. This is also where the Academy of Art is located, surrounded by Asia-Aldis and bum supplies. (more…)

We set off for Yosemite National Park at around eight o’clock. I’m still dead tired. There’s a traffic jam at the entrance. And the roads in the park are also pretty full. To say it up front: quite disappointing overall. The Americans are a bit like the Catholics in medieval Germany. They have to build something in every beautiful place. Catholics built churches and Americans build golf courses. This is also the case in Yosemite National Park.

I drive up to Glacier Point, 3000 metres above sea level. The view is stunning: gleaming white mountains. During the ice age, the ice rubbed against them until the mountains were really cold, hence the colour. (more…)

Unfortunately, rideshare was not an option. The youth hostel is fully booked with 150 people, but unfortunately only children. No potential passengers. I leave most of my things at the hostel and head south. First destination: Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Park. These are not the tallest trees in the world, but they are the biggest. After 200 miles, the road slowly climbs through citrus groves into the Sierra Nevada. It gets hotter and drier, despite the altitude.

Even the first trees knock me off my feet – leaning my head back too far at over 2000 metres makes me dizzy. (more…)

After a few days of trembling, Scott from San Francisco replied after all and confirmed the stay. That makes me happy, now the next few days are safe. I set off very early and head south on Highway 101 from Arcata. The redwoods continue to accompany me. Especially in the “Avenue of Giants”, the really big ones stand close together right next to the road. You can even drive through one tree by car. Finally a benchmark…

After about 80 miles, I leave Highway 101, which drifts inland here, and change over to Highway 1. A really fun route. After too many straights in the Great Plains, every bend is a reason to cheer. I cheer for the entire rest of the day, without a break, for 350 miles. (more…)

The hangover the next morning is massive. I haven’t had much to drink, but it seems to have a triple effect on my travelling speed. I wind my way over mountains and through valleys and from coffee to coffee until I reach Crater Lake National Park, about 150 miles away.

Within a radius of 30 miles around Crater Lake there are only pine trees, with the occasional spruce in between. Everything is dust-dry, red lava sand, highest fire warning level in the desert. Even the drive up to Crater Lake is breathtaking. After a quarter of an hour, I look into the crater for the first time and see the bluest blue of my life. (more…)

The wind picks up again early in the morning. Time to drive on. Up into the Hood River Valley, past orchards and up Hood Mountain to a summer ski resort. Not much going on, of course, snow is total slush at this time of year. I can see where the sandbank that is not visible on the satellite images in Google Maps comes from. Huge debris avalanches have washed tonnes of sand and small stones into the Columbia River.

I continue south through the Hot Springs Indian Reservation and the Cascade Mountains to Eugene, my next stay. The landscape changes rapidly from desert to green hell. Waterfalls roar over 3000-year-old lava flows. (more…)