Dykes break properly

When I travelled from Seattle to Los Angeles on Highway No. 1 in 2007, I had no plans to turn it into a series. in 2015, I travelled for 10 weeks through 10 countries and incredible stories from Panama to Mexico with valuable travel friends. This year it will be a series. From 24 October, I will be travelling 15,000 km overland from Ecuador to Patagonia for three months.

Home is foreign. I’ve just been told I’m allowed to see it that way. If your world is different, then you have to travel it. Sometimes a little missing “this” in front of a “campfire” at seven in the morning hurls you into space. And sometimes a dear madman who claims you’re the most normal person he knows grounds you.

It’s harder for me to see people suffer than to suffer myself. And even harder to realise that salvation and failure can be in the same boat. I’ve always sailed close to the wind. But it always blows me to magical places. Often they are incomprehensibly beautiful. Sometimes incomprehensibly cruel. Rarely both.

You have to look beauty straight in the eye – at least if a good mother taught you to. Sometimes you recognise beauty at first glance. And sometimes not for a lifetime. Words can sound the same and yet say something completely different. Everyone always understands them differently, especially when travelling. That’s why travelling can tell you more than words ever could.

We’re still calculating the drama in the difference between being moved three and seven times, quickly calculating the route to the next party, and again nothing and everything is happening at the same time, quietly under massive drum’n’bases. I look into the campfire in front of number 5 lives in the east of little Berlin. Distinctive faces shine brightly in the dark night. The grass between them grows faster than it burns. Recognising and naming. Tomorrow I won’t know a face again, no matter how sober I’ve never been. Black becomes grey becomes light.

The fog is thick in October in Regensburg. Today there were five hours of sunshine. Others say five hours of fog. My car is in hibernation, the bills are written and I’ve applied for the artists’ social security fund. Many say “I want to have a life like that”. Some even accuse me of it. I just keep believing that anyone can do anything they want. If only they want to. I do. It’s time to go travelling.

Kiteinfos Normally you look on the internet for ten minutes and have all the kitespot information you need. For this trip there is little information. “The World Kite And Windsurfing Guide” is a good place to start, especially because of the large-scale meteorological systems. A few kite spots can be found via Wannakitesurf. The smaller problem will certainly be getting to the remote Andean lakes. What worries me far more is that I don’t have a kite buddy with me. There are certainly more oases in the desert than kiters in the Andes.

Route The first spot after I land in Quito will be Santa Marianita on the Ecuadorian Pacific coast. Via Cuenca and a detour on the Andean rail train to the adrenaline of Riobamba, I continue to the laid-back surfing village of Mancora in the very north of Peru. The buses in South America are said to be fantastic, but the following 17 hours to Lima, 1,100 kilometres to the south, should still be tough.

The wave spot Paracas is only a relatively short hop south of Lima. I won’t make it to Machu Picchu before the rainy season starts. But downhill mountain biking in the downpour is probably more fun anyway, and rafting in the foothills of the Andes towards the Amazon is pretty wet anyway. Using a dry suit just for kiting is a waste.

Lake Titicaca, with its 8,000m², lies at an altitude of over 3,800 metres between Peru and Bolivia. If I catch one of the rare windy days at the lake, there will soon be a second kite report on the web. Then it’s on to the world’s largest salt lake, Salar de Uyuni, via La Paz and the oldest and highest silver mines in Potosi (4600m). Friends say the three-day jeep tour through the desert is a dream in stars and salt.

The first stop in Chile is San Pedro de Atacama with its observatories and volcano sandboarding. The highest lake I’ve ever found a kitesurfing video for is Laguna Verde between Bolivia and Chile. It’s at 4,329 metres – and hopefully I’ll soon be hanging 5 metres above it on the kite. I’m already looking forward to double border crossings with full kite luggage, which I never get enough of after the border melodramas in Central America. Then I’ll continue south via Santiago de Chile.

Far down in Argentinian Patagonia lies Bariloche. It has even hosted the Kite World Cup. The lake lies at just 893 metres – almost deep-sea kiting compared to the lakes on the west side of the Andes. Lake Nahuel Haupi is also said to warm up to a breathtaking 16° C in January. I will definitely need a dry suit for the rest of the trip. The return flight is on 24.1.18 from Buenos Aires.

Route The route is very long for three months, covering at least 15,000 kilometres net. Apart from the tropics, I will be travelling through all of the world’s vegetation zones and crossing mountain passes at over 4,500 metres. I expect vast expanses and endless skies.

Equipment I have reduced the weight where possible. SUP pump instead of kite pump, lightweight kites without much dacron, even kiteboard fins made of carbon, kites in waterproof bags. It still ended up being a nice 40kg.

I always don’t understand these good “Have fun on holiday!” Wishes. A holiday is fun. No, they’re not doing anything, they just want to play. Travelling is so much more, and dykes break properly – or not. Hasta luego!