Actually, the little one didn’t do much at all. Whilst we were preparing for our parental leave, she simply turned ‘Greece’ into ‘Creeping-land’. With that, she’s once again provided the perfect setup for satire and a justification for her wit. A country is crawling towards its end. I never thought we’d get this far. But here we are. As the American said in the business section today: “There’s still plenty of good left in your lovely Germany.” Thanks! The Romans surely uttered exactly the same line in Germania 2,000 years ago – before they “redeemed” us with pizza.
I pause to reflect. I’ve never actually been particularly proud of being German. I saw it more as a medal for reliability in over-regulation and failure. Every traveller worldwide usually showers you, mostly unasked, with a slightly euphoric-smelling mass of positive adjectives: “Reliable. Punctual.” Done! Wipe it up! To the entire southern hemisphere, however, Germany still seems to be an anagram of “paradise”. For the time being, I’m obviously degenerating into an illiterate. (more…)
Warp Sard To Cagliari
You can’t understand Sardinian speed limits. You can only ignore them. On the long drive back south to the last stop on our two-week, 1,850 kilometre journey, this becomes almost painfully clear once again.
Sardinian speed limits are Dadaism in its purest form: completely devoid of meaning. A higher power has shat them directly into the brains of the legislature from a great height. There was a storm cell in between. The poo froze in it. Unfortunately, its now harder consistency caused irreparable damage to the danger centre of the Sardinian legislature’s brain on impact. (more…)
Crash! Boom! Bang! Uh!
A little travel guide to the Philippines. I love travelling, and I have to. Because if you don’t love travelling for its own sake, you really have a problem in the Philippines.
Judging by their questions in the Philippines forums, many German visitors in particular seem to have no idea what travelling here is like. Impossible schedules meet unrealisable wishes. Time for some realism. (more…)
The mysteries of Trapani are solved!
The Mysteries of Trapani are one of the most important Christian festivals in Sicily. In a 24-hour procession, hundreds of believers carry twenty statues of saints weighing up to a tonne through the old town of Trapani on Good Friday at 2.00 pm. They are accompanied by numerous large brass bands.
We arrive in Trapani’s old town centre in time for the start and are immediately blown away by the sound. The first band seems to be playing the Godfather’s theme music. A slow Jesus rave in a minor key begins with marches around 70 BPM. Despite the cool weather, the porters are sweating from the very first minute. The mysteries of Trapani are the essence of the Catholic faith, which is celebrated even more powerfully in Sicily than in Bavaria. (more…)
Lipsi: Of Sense And Nonsense
Lipsi is the smallest island on our tour. Settled since the Bronze Age, for centuries Lipsi served solely as a goat pasture for the monastery on the larger neighbouring island of Patmos. Today, Lipsi has just 700 inhabitants and is the only place in a wide area that serves water in glass bottles to its 8,000 overnight guests every year.
The village is committed to ecotourism. Plastic sun loungers and jet skis are therefore banned. Lipsi is the only island in the Dodecanese to practise waste separation. Our green dot has been around for over 30 years – and for just as long we have tolerated the fact that 60% ends up in waste incineration for “thermal recycling”. On Lipsi, all the wonderfully separated waste seems to end up in a single, poorly secured landfill site – with a fantastic view of the Aegean Sea. (more…)
Boracry
Seven years ago, Borawhy won the race as the best island nickname for New Year’s Eve. Today Boracry wins. I could cry when I see what we are doing to this beautiful little island. I have lost all hope that this can ever be changed. My only option after seven visits: Bye bye Boracay! Please stay away from this island!
Yes, Boracay is beautiful, the White Beach is unique. The palm trees are tropical, the jungle in the north is dense and the water at Ilig-Iligan Beach is a crystal-clear aquarium full of colourful fish. The selection of restaurants and bars is gigantic and the wind at Bulabog is usually very good for kitesurfing. But that’s about it. There is a lot that is extremely poor. (more…)
Fun facts from a clean country
Early in the morning, Phlippinos sit mesmerised in the waiting room of the ferry to Batangas in front of the bloody news on TV. Here, only good people have coloured faces. The faces of the violent criminals are discoloured. It looks like one of those black and white art photographs from the early nineties with a single coloured element – only reversed.
The bloodier the news, the calmer the Filipinos become. You can literally feel their pulse. Every pool of blood brings minus ten BPM. Pre-school children giggle enthusiastically to the most brutal zombie butchers from comfortable bunks on the eleven-hour Starlines ferry. For two days, I am travelling by boat, bus, minivan and trike to the strongest wind area in Asia at the remote northern tip of the Philippines. (more…)
If cats could dance…
…then they would dance the tango. In a swingers club. In Buenos Aires. After months in the Dominican Republic and the holy Sundays under the gay French direction of Thiery in the former Regensburg harbour brothel, I seriously thought that salsa was the most erotic dance in the world. I was so wrong! Salsa is just pornographic couple wankery. Tango is sex.
Today. Here. Buenos Aires. Probably the only small non-commercial tango venue in the tango metropolis of 15 million people. I find Café Vinilo after a long search on the internet, half an hour before it starts and five kilometres away. At first I just look. I’m good at recognising patterns. I don’t recognise a single one. Everyone dances different steps to different rhythms. Individualistic like cats. (more…)
From milkmaids & chocolate boys
Strolling along the beach at Santa Maria, I count the 57th milkmaid/chocolate boy couple of the day. There are far more chocolate child pairings here than single malts. There are hardly any white Fickingers to be found. The black lads are crisp, the white girls are willing and the hormones are running amok.
As a white man here, you’re about as sexy as a piss-yellow olm with dorsal fur, as sought-after as scabies spread for breakfast, as popular as an oven-blasting flatmate on meth – and you’re right at the top of the endangered species list anyway. This is exactly how the dinosaurs must have felt after the comet impact. (more…)
To every order its costume!
I have been living in the climes of my new order, Srilankakite, for some time now. Our colourful habit refers to the difficult local wind conditions. My monk brothers are adorned with the inscription “Gusty ain’t for pussy”, my nun sisters proudly wear the slogan “Size does matter” on their chests. Both remind us daily how much nature is our master here.
Our daily routine is characterised by the same meditative sequence of our monastic tasks: eat, kite, work, eat, kite, eat, drink, sleep. We perform our duties with the utmost fervour, some even claim that some of the monks have fallen victim to religious madness when it comes to “drinking”. Joining the loud music around the drinking area, their call “Arrack-Attack!” announces the next round. (more…)
Brazilian Humour
The TV presenter jokes about three bus robber Bandidos who are currently being interviewed in Rio. They were successfully lynched by passengers. Two motionless bloody bodies are censored, one stammers with a rather blue face about failed heroic deeds. Brazilian humour is harsh. And Galinhos is safe, because there are only donkey carts and buggies here.
My Portuguese is making decent progress. I successfully inform the housekeeper that I have just eaten a cat. Impressed by my good taste, she immediately asked me if she should wash my grandad. After just a few minutes of sign language, I realise that she means my washing. I rarely understand the answers to my questions, but I am very impressed by the effect of my words. (more…)
75$ Sheep Poo
Mea culpa. I’m still German, and in the year seven after “Geiz ist geil” we’re all finally the new Scotsmen of Europe thanks to Saturn. Lederhosen and laptops are a thing of the past; after the end of the world tomorrow, it’s all plaid skirts and energy-saving Ipads. So I can joke one last time about the lunacy of New Zealand pricing.
500 for a 4-hour ferry? Fine! 13$ for a muesli? Exemplary! 15$ for a “bag horsepoo” offered for sale in writing next to the road? Fertilises well according to Uli, great! 45 for old books with no historical value? Astrein! 50$ for geyser vultures? Awesome! But what we’re seeing today is the bottom of the barrel between megalomania and unquestioning obedience. (more…)
Meditation And Massacre
My father was a good person. When the bad grades came, he gave me a meditation cassette: Superlearning – learning in your sleep. Firstly, this end of the educational flagpole made me fall asleep quickly, secondly, it didn’t do what it was supposed to – and ultimately left me clearly traumatised by meditation as a child.
Today I am a so-called head person. Unfortunately, this hardly helps when playing chess, but it definitely manifests itself in a pronounced scepticism towards any skullduggery that cannot be logically justified. According to my last room neighbour – God have mercy on his soul – some meditation CDs have a more disastrous effect on me than a mixture of crack and crystal meth. (more…)
Religion And Videoke
If religion is opium for the people, then videoke is crack for the Filipinos. No drug is more addictive, has a stronger effect and produces more blatant films. You shall have no other gods beside me? Pah! Even the deep faith of the Filipinos knows its limits. It’s called Videoke. They will drop everything for it.
In every good Filipino household, the videoke system is more important than the toilet or cooker; it is roughly equivalent to the Indian household altar. I saw the most primitive bamboo huts in the middle of the jungle – with the thickest videoke systems. People often sing very well in such places. As soon as the system is in a public place, the level usually drops three metres below ground level. (more…)
Sibuyan Babble Skull
Sibuiyan is an island completely off the beaten track. In the middle of the Visayas, but difficult to reach. It has always been like this. Cut off from all other parts of the Philippines during the last ice age, there are many endemic species here today. Some are hard to find, others are unmissable. Today I am writing about one of these life forms: the Sibuyan Soder-Schedl.
He talks rubbish all day long, without exception. We met the first representative of this species the day before in the Romblon Deli. We didn’t ask for his opinion. He told us anyway. Of course, we were completely wrong with ours. On the ferry the next morning, he makes it quite clear again. I mime seasickness to escape the torrent of his words. (more…)
Worldwide Christmas Madness
Christmas was invented in the Philippines. Nothing makes Filipinos hornier: no white skin, no videoke, no jeepney towelling, no balut. The pre-Christmas season officially begins in the Philippines two weeks after Easter and builds up to a national bliss gangbang of epic proportions by December.
Everyone is extremely fond of everyone. Only the employers don’t love their employees, because they have to wear the worst hat creations for months on end, which clearly violate the Geneva Conventions. The Filipinos from the small islands come over to the big ones to shop and return as walking mountains of presents. The soundtrack: Jingle bells on techno, 180 BPM. Knecht Ruprecht dies of a heart attack. (more…)
Christmas Gifts For Filipinos
Dear Christ Child, the Filipinos have had a tough year. And they were good. If you’re still missing a few gift ideas: every Filipino will be happy about the following things. Without exception.
Sun protection in any form. As a matter of principle, the girls only leave the house with a parasol until midnight. The sugar cane cutters smoke through scarves that cover their faces completely. Of course, they are also happy to use sun cream, but at least SPF 70, please.
Soap with bleach is also very popular. All Filipinos think light-coloured skin is cool. At first I thought there was far too much sex tourism here. I was wrong. White skin just makes the girls too horny not to jump on it. (more…)
Porn Party During A Lunar Eclipse
I was desperate for days. Nothing happened, just tourists, no travellers, no stories. I found myself asking for room rates that I didn’t need just for the sake of communication. Today, a porn film unexpectedly bursts upon me during a total eclipse of the full moon. Sodom and Genorrhoea in paradise, revisited.
What happened? Speedboat to Bohol. The windows in the 6kW Tobol-Tagbilaran discobus would have been blown clean off the stereo – if there had ever been any. Hotel La Roca, enlightenment after Kukuk’s nest. But nothing happens. No matter where I look, I’m missing my second pair of eyes. Writing was unexpectedly light and pithy for a month. Now I feel more than half blind. (more…)
I Am So Nina!
Do you know Nina, our number one stupid blonde tidy bitch? She checks hotels on TV in “Achtung Kontrolle” and is the ultimate embodiment of New German embarrassment. Package holidays are booked for little money with the expectation of a dream from 1001 nights on Malle. Paying nothing, wanting everything, constantly complaining: typically German.
Her favourite utensil is a white cloth glove. She uses it to wipe places that no room occupant has ever looked at. Then she grimaces and says something like “Ugh, how unhygienic!”. In between, she mentions the word “Holidaycheck” 100 times without any financial context. (more…)
Of Crusaders And Permanent Campers
I find two types of “travellers” extremely distasteful. One is the cruise traveller, the other is the long-term camper. Both take the meaning and purpose of travelling ad absurdum. The cruisers think that just because their bums are moving, they are travelling. A conspicuous number suffer a heart attack when they actually follow a short procession to some completely overcrowded tourist attraction.
The others are the permanent campers. What is the point of a home that was built for travelling but is only ever in one place? Travellers are free at heart, permanent campers only have free choice in prejudice. Why do permanent campers like lace curtains and garden gnomes behind hunter’s fences, but not hollow bricks? (more…)
Chicken Or Fucking?
We set off at six in the morning. By then I’ve already spent three hours trying in vain to use my mobile phone as a laptop modem. Globe blocks the mobile phone as soon as it is connected to the laptop. Nothing frustrates web designers more than not having a connection. The omen of a daily motto knocks at the door.
We drive to the Marcos’ old summer house nearby. It’s still closed – and really completely covered in clouds. We roll back down into the volcanic crater of Lake Taal. No road in the whole of Talisay leads to the shore for a nice breakfast. We eat in the car. Stop at a shopping centre. Half an hour later it opens and two nice employees waste an hour and a half in vain trying to connect my mobile phone with a new Smart Simcard to the internet. (more…)
I Hate Julius!
There are names that send shivers down my spine every time I hear them. Names that induce pure, abysmal hatred. Names that are a punishment. Names as punishments have become very fashionable in recent years – or I’m getting on in years…I’m still thinking about it.
I hate Julius. It’s such a trendy new German old humanist name. If you’re called Julius, you’re an idiot. Or rather: becomes one. Like the gentleman, like the gentlewoman. Julius’ parents are always of the “I have a son, I don’t need a gun licence to be a control freak” variety. Every Julius less makes me happy that Germany is dying out. (more…)
In Timmerberg’s Footsteps
I get good books as presents. Helge Timmerberg three times in the last six months alone, none of them knew about the others and each came exactly once. I narrowly survived the first one with an acute abdominal muscle tear. The second is now lying next to me on the train to Basel. I’m afraid to start.
There is real travelling. And there is the opposite. Timmerberg does everything right, because he does practically everything wrong. He’s not afraid of it. He sees more, asks more, almost never finds what he is looking for – and falls on his face much harder than any stiletto-wearing mountaineer. I’m following in Timmerberg’s footsteps. (more…)
Sodom and gonorrhoea in paradise
Everyone who has been on Mana tells of paradise in glowing colours. Nobody I met was on Mana for as long as I was. My colours change with the length of my stay. If you’re there for a short time, everything shines brightly and beautifully. If you’re there for a long time, the colours fade.
What always remains beautiful is the colour of the sky, the water and the palm trees. They never change. What fades is the colour of the travellers here. Although they become more red every day, they become less colourful every day. It’s like mixing many colours in a pot. What comes out of the diversity is a boring grey. (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.