Crossing Rügen can take an hour, depending on traffic. If you have your accommodation in the east in westerly winds, Thiessow, located at the end of a headland in the south-east, is a good alternative to avoid long island crossings.
You can park for €8 directly at the small campsite in front of Klein-Zicker, including toilet facilities. Or you can walk 250m to the Thiessow bathing car park, which costs a maximum of €5 per day. Pitches are set up on the meadow next to the campsite. There is also a small hire shop and school there, but no catering.
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Rügen rocks!
Rügen has been my favourite German kitespot for 20 years. Reliable forecasts for easterly and westerly winds, plenty of space at all spots for every wind direction and no dangerously steep rock dams like on Fehmarn are reason enough, right? Oh yes, the largest standing area in Europe off Suhrendorf and plenty of flat water at practically every spot, as well as some wave spots in the east: time for the second kite report after ten trips.
The three of us set off from Regensburg early in the morning with a bus, trailer, seven boards and even more kites for the nine-hour journey to Rügen. The forecast has fluctuated quite a lot over the last few days, and the wind directions have also varied considerably. In the afternoon, we land at the Ummaii Surf Hostel in Suhrendorf, put up in one of the simple, affordable cabins with eight beds and immediately push the trailer to the dyke 200 metres away. (more…)
Fehmarn: take me home
The journey to the Baltic Sea takes a good nine hours and a lot of traffic jams through almost 40 degrees to Fehmarn. For many days, the wind oracles heralded the approaching end of the hottest June in living memory. Strong winds swept the heat away to the east for a whole week. There are more kites hanging in the sky over Fehmarn than baubles on a Christmas tree. The feeling is Christmas-like: very cold – but full of endorphins.
Rabbits hop fearlessly between the car and waving cornfields. Swallows give wind warnings by scratching their belly feathers on blades of grass. Shawn the sheep bleat as they graze on the dykes. The radio warns wind-prone vehicles not to cross exposed bridges. The trees are bending. We are clearly in the right place at the right time. (more…)
Infinity Kite @ Beauduc
Winding side roads take you through the last foothills of the French Alps down into the Rhône Valley. This is the cradle of the Mistral, one of the most powerful wind systems in Europe. First the vineyards tremble. Castles, aqueducts and medieval villages pass by on rollercoasters. Then the poplars sway. The land becomes flatter and flatter. Mountains become hills.
From Arles onwards, the land flows into water for 50 kilometres like nowhere else in the world. The distances between the villages increase between the last rows of trees swaying in the strong wind. Yawning bulls and grazing grey horses on the last solid meadows before the sea. Then, very slowly, the water creeps inland through canals between rushes. (more…)
Swiss cheese @ Leucate
Two long journeys of up to eight hours take me via Barcelona to the small French backcountry village of Durban-Corbières near Leucate. A supermarket, a restaurant and a dilapidated castle in the middle of vineyards slow down my 7,000 kilometres comfortably. Everywhere, the winegrowers collect their harvest in Playmobil tractors.
The quirky innkeeper sorts cassettes under fig trees in front of his ancient stone house. Mambo from the 50s is playing inside. I am the only guest. A castle glows a lonely gold in the sunset while the moon rises behind the vineyards. (more…)
Al Andalus
The good travelling friends have long since returned home. Gratitude opens your eyes. Magic cannot be planned. It happens. After five hours, I arrive in Almeria. Check-in in a pitch-black, air-conditioned high-rise flat behind three closed doors per metre of corridor. It smells of incense sticks, and even on the second contact, the dense landlord can barely find his trousers behind the door.
Off to the first beach, Costacabana, a cruel urbanisation in the middle of nowhere before the airport. The wind is right. The only family on the beach helps with the take-off. Three young daughters comment on every jump, no matter how small, with euphoric cheers. It intensifies as I pull each kite through the water individually. Even the dad with a huge gap in his teeth wants to join in. All the daughters want an autograph, with Herzerl, “my best friend”, on a stone, and the warmth of remote Philippine islands drifts by on the coast. (more…)
Tarifa
You would think that thanks to global warming under Trump’s butt – combined with more weather extremes – the wind should also increase globally. Maybe it will. But not where you would expect it. So far, I’ve travelled more than 5,000 km in Switzerland, France, northern Spain and Portugal with very little wind. I only had four kiteable days – and I’m only talking about one really good day.
Even at my very first kite spot, Lagos, where I rode a 2.20 m waveboard for the first time 19 years ago and managed a nice kilometre downwind thanks to a year of previous dry practice, there was absolutely no wind – so I went straight on to Mekkarifa. But even in Tarifa, with its 300 windy days a year, there were four days of calm at the beginning. (more…)
Muxia
The clouds hang low at the north-western end of Spain. Galicians in traditional costume play the bagpipes at the fourth village festival in four days. I eat mussels in the pleasantly cool rain. If it weren’t for the funny language here, which is exactly halfway between Spanish and Portuguese, this would be Scotland: old stone churches above the rocky coast and lots of greenery around the small fishing village of Muxia.
The end of the Way of St James, Santiago de Compostela, is just around the corner. I am the only kite pilgrim in my hostel. Everyone else is a hike pilgrim. With up to 800 kilometres in their legs, they still haven’t had enough in Santiago di Compostela – and are still doing a little 120-kilometre aftermath to the end of the world in Fisterra. (more…)
Kite War @ Guincho Beach!
After a few days with little wind on the entire Iberian Atlantic coast, my flat disc is delighted with the forecast on the thermally active beach of Guincho. Shortly before midday, the wind is still blowing 200 metres off the beach. Then it suddenly turns slightly to the west and picks up quickly. A light Swiss is torn across the beach on the 10. I set up the 9er Rally in a stubborn 24 knots.
At the leeward end of the beach, 200 metres away, seven-metre-high cliffs create strong windward eddies and nice breakers, according to the locals. The southerly current also pulls strongly in the water there. If you drift off, the only landing option is a 50 metre wide beach with plenty of rocks 200 metres further downwind. The locals advise swimming out there only with a retracted umbrella. (more…)
Kitesurf @ Ebro Reservoir
In Cantabria in northern Spain, the mountains rise directly out of the Atlantic Ocean to over 1,000 metres. On the nearby Picos de Europa, which are up to 2,400 metres high, there is still snow even in midsummer. The incredibly green land glows in the peculiar sunlight on the retina like Ahoy sherbet on the tongue. Endless blue skies and the sea add a pinch of Tiegerbalm under and over.
The Embalse de Ebro lies just 50 kilometres from the coast at an altitude of 800 metres in a completely different deserted land. The ancient houses are made of stone. There are pictures of two metres of snow on the only village street. Even now, at the height of summer, the thermometer is only a pleasant 17°C after 42°C in Bilbao – from below. (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…)
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…)
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…)
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…)
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…)
Living Like God In France?
Some wisdom is easy to grasp. Others you have to survive in order to begin to understand them. “Living like God in France” is one of the latter. The destination: Provence. The time: peak season, start of the summer holidays in Bavaria and France.
In the face of the economic crisis, President Hollande called on his people to go on holiday in their own country. They obeyed en masse. I’m still amazed that we make it to Mulhouse, France, in just 3.5 hours in the evening. The traffic jam only comes after driving through the night before leaving for the Rhone Valley near Montélimar. From then on everything goes very slowly. Every 10 kilometres, the French set up altars for Mercurius. They flash in the night. (more…)
Kitespots Wismar
Wismar is not famous as a good kitespot, but it has a lot to offer: firstly, at least half a dozen good kitespots within a radius of 40 kilometres. Secondly, a beautiful old town with a lot of history and, thanks to its small university, some nightlife away from the Musikantenstadel. Thirdly, good food and a large selection of affordable accommodation from €15 per night – ask at the tourist information centre on the main square.
The kite spots around Wismar all have one thing in common: the sea is very shallow. In some cases, you should stand 300 metres out for every jump – crash landings in 20 cm of water are no fun. At some kitespots, the local authorities charge outrageous fees for parking and beach use – but there are plenty of free kitespots. (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.