Columbus built the first fort in the New World near Cabarete in 1492. It was more of an emergency solution, similar to “Houston, we got a problem”. Of course, there was no radio back then. As one of his three ships was a little too damaged to return to Spain, a few people had to stay behind. They waited in Fort Isabela for their master to return.
Today we are there, quite far out in the West Dominican Pampas. The only visitors. There are no more masters, the ones left behind have been massacred. Not all of them. Those who survived gave Columbus a hell of a reception when he returned. Thanks to our half-Dominican friend José, I get the whole story this time, because the guide only speaks Spanish. (more…)
Dominican Republic by jeep
We hire a jeep for two days. On the first day, we are accompanied by three young Frenchmen from Martinique. Our first stop is Playa Grande, one of the most beautiful beaches in the Dominican Republic. Our breakfast is served directly on the beach: Grilled red snapper with fried bananas, rice and salad. We watch the surfers in the big waves. The friendly chefs charge perverse prices.
During my four visits to the Dominican Republic, I must have ridden 2000 kilometres on my motorbike. The roads have always been bad. Everyone drove like idiots, see“Traffic in the Dominican Republic“. But the roads have never been as bad as they are now. (more…)
Diving in the terrourist camp
Nobody can just kitesurf all the time. After five days on the water, we want to get under it today. We book a dive in Sosua. The introduction takes place in the pool of a terrourist camp. There really are people who fly halfway around the world to be imprisoned. Not just in Guantanamo.
The terrourist camp is a good distance from Cabarete. So that the terrourists don’t get the idea of having any kind of contact with the indigenous people. With the exception of the beach vendors with coconuts. And the reanimatos with funny games like horseshoes. The typical terrourist is usually fat and sluggish. They are already sipping Cuba Libre at eleven in the morning. You can’t stand the techno drone without being drunk. (more…)
Kitesurfing in the Caribbean
Sabine’s infection jumps over to me. The wind blows laminar side onshore at a perfect 15-20 knots for four days in a row. If I was a true German, I’d have to grumble about the seaweed in the water. But otherwise I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else. Everything is perfect, the sun is shining, the wind is blowing and Cuba is getting a good clearing every evening.
Every lunchtime we take the shuttle from Ali’s camp to the kite club. Sabine always has an uneasy stomach beforehand, with all the joyful anticipation mixed with a little anxiety. This mixture is hellishly energising. Some days I stand on the beach and wonder whether I can still master the wind. But the XBow simply flattens out every gust. (more…)
A serious infection
My diabolical plan is thwarted by a serious infection. Sabine touched one of those long things on the beach. Her mum had warned her about it just before she set off. But Sabine’s upbringing was anti-authoritarian. The virus jumped over to her in the same second of first contact. By evening number one, she already has very strange facial features.
She enjoys the little trainer kite. On day two, she goes straight to the 8m² bowkite with her instructor. You can see her grin 300 metres into the wind. It stays windy until the evening. On day three, the infection worsens, she learns about the power of the wind, practises the water start on land and running in the water. (more…)
Of Motorbikes, Mountain Flowers & Terrourists
On the evening of the third day, the rain finally stops. We hire a scooter and set off for the Cordillera Central. In Sabaneta de Yasica, a Swat team has just struck with pump guns and machine guns. The Dominican villagers stand around like relatives of recently snatched meerkats. The hinterland of Cabarete is mountainous. Palm trees, donkeys, rivers and petrol from rum bottles.
The next morning we drive through hell to paradise. It was bad four years ago. The roads had more holes than tar. That’s different now. But there are even more massive stinker trucks on the way to Puerto Plata. Last time I thought: “Shit, they drive like idiots”. Now I think they’re all angels. I rode 1000km on a motorbike in Vietnam. (more…)
Condor to Cabarete
Finally away from the German autumn! After an almost sleepless night, we take the train to Frankfurt. The train is on time, the plane is not. There are lots of my favourite people scurrying around at the airport: German holidaymakers. They expect only the best, know a lot, see little, like to complain and never think what they experience is the best of the best.
We go through all the checks (How much longer will it take?), off to the gate, out again (Why do we have to wait so long?), back in again (Can you give me the ticket?) and finally onto the Condor to Cabarete. For the first time in 20 flights, my knees don’t hit the seat in front of me. After 16 hours of travelling, the sun sets blood red over the Caribbean clouds. (more…)
Kitesurfing in Hawaii at last
Another windless day passes. I’m working on a thank-you poster for all my hosts. The house and me, alone. I head to the beach again in the evening. For free, as expected. At a good Mexican restaurant, I treat myself to a club, firm and liquid. Back home again. My surfing in Hawaii has so far only taken place on the Internet. Desolate kite lulls me into a restless sleep.
The next morning I am woken by the unfamiliar sound of moving leaves. Only briefly, then it’s over. I fall asleep again. Shortly before midday it’s clear: there’s finally wind today. Not much, just enough. Once more than the forecast, so far it’s always been 5 miles less in Kailua. My last day in Hawaii. Kitesurfing at last. (more…)
Waiting for wind in Windward Oahu
My new home is just 2 kilometres from a large army base. The huge Galaxy transport planes come in every five minutes. They are flanked by small security Cessnas or Chinook helicopters. That’s what I call fear in your own country. You can’t blame the soldiers. It wouldn’t be the first time here that a president has had 2,000 soldiers barbecued for a reason for war.
Despite the proximity to the base, it’s wonderfully quiet here. But compared to Waikiki, even a jackhammer is quiet. I check the wind on the other side of the bay on the internet and after 11 weeks of almost no kitesurfing, I finally head to the Mecca of kitesurfing on Oahu, Kailua. (more…)
North Shore & relocation to Kailua
After one last reasonably unhealthy and uneventful night, I get a hire car the next morning with Ingmar, another German exchange student. My drunken English Springbreak kids have stolen my towel. I quickly pack up the rest and throw everything in the car. Off we go.
Half an hour later, we arrive in Kailua on the other side of Hawaii. The region goes by the name of “Windward”. There’s no sign of it today. It’s raining. No matter. The main thing is to get away from Honolulu. My room looked good on the internet. In reality, the house is an absolute dream. Hammock on the large terrace. Five minutes’ walk to the beach. Large bathroom. Huge living room and kitchen. (more…)
No nolulu, no cry.
The next few days are all the same. Get up, have breakfast, somehow pass the day until the evening and party until you drop again that night. There are cultural highlights such as “Waterfall” (everyone in a group of 20 has to drink until the person in front stops) and boozy football on the beach at night. I can’t remember any names. Nothing happens. I work a lot and it’s easy.
On Monday, I take the bus to the biggest shopping centre in Hawaii, Ala Moana. Unbelievable. Higher luxury density than on 5th Avenue New York. The top 50 designers in a never-ending row. I can’t find a pair of normal walking shoes anywhere, and a naughty girl stole my flip-flops the night before. (more…)
Crusade to senselessness
The days come and go. Nothing and nobody to remember. Nothing happens. The hostel is full of Germans who have met here to start a semester abroad in Hawaii. I drive around Oahu with some of them for a day in a hire car. We are offered a Mustang convertible because, once again, we don’t have the right small car. Unfortunately it’s suitable for four, there are five of us. Licked the bonnet for nothing. I feel sick from the previous evening. An American soldier had talked to me for too long on the beach about Bush and Iraq.
Oahu is a small world, smaller than I thought. Beautiful beaches on the Northshore, some snorkelling. We lose our way on the way to the beach from “Lost”. (more…)
Welcome to Springbreak Central Honolulu!
To be a bit snobbish: The flight to Hawaii with American Airlines was one of the most miserable of my life. Lousy films, no food within 5 hours, hardly anything to drink, no newspapers, musty seats. Never mind. I’m in Hawaii now. I take the shuttle to the Waikiki Beachside Hostel in the south of Honolulu. springbreak Central is 200 metres from the beach. Around 200 world travellers turn the hostel into a madhouse of excess.
The hostel offers caged accommodation with weekly cleaning for $25 a day. Morning feeding is included, each chicken provides its own grain in the evening. Eight chickens share their own kitchen, bathroom and, importantly, TV. There is free WiFi and 3 1.5 metre plasma screens in the lobby. My roommates are from England, very British. Lobster red and drunk as a skunk by eight o’clock. (more…)
Good Bye, Un-ited States of America!
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…)
Santa Monica, Venice Beach & Viper Room
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…)
Getty Center, Luxury Shops & Beverly Hills
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…)
Hollywood
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…)
Salt Lake City & Monster Tour To LA
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 Land of Navajo & Arches National Park
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…)
Grand Canyon & Lake Powell
I thought the owner of the hostel in Flagstaff was an Irish alcoholic. I mean an Irishman. When we said goodbye, he said a few words in German. Excuse me? I see. A native of northern Bavaria from Hof. The world is shrinking again. I have to move on to make it bigger.
Heading north across the Arizona steppe. With the top down, I’m amused by Boss Hoss, Jesus built my hotrod. The side canyons of the big one look much better. Crazy colours and much better light today. Constant police checks annoy me. Probably 10 times more often than in Germany. (more…)
Thunderstorm over the Grand Canyon
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…)
Leaving Las Vegas
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…)
Death Valley & Las Vegas
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…)
Through the Mojave Desert
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…)
When “topless” saves lives
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…)
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.