My life is travelling. If I could only do one more thing in life, it would be travelling. I was terrified that the most important part of my life would be over with the baby. I was also afraid that our attempt to combine my life and the baby would go wrong. My father simply thought our plan was crazy.

Our plan? Travelling to Tarifa in Spain by car for a month. That’s a nice 2,800 kilometres from Regensburg, including stopovers. Parents we know said that a maximum of four hours’ drive a day would be feasible with a baby. We didn’t book anything at all in advance and just went with how the baby was feeling. In the end, we came to two realisations: Our baby is the most stress-free and favourite child in the world. But travelling with a baby is still endlessly exhausting. (more…)

It rains constantly on my last day in Barcelona. I play wet fashion poodle on the upmarket Passeig de Gracia. Gucci, Gabbana, Chanel, Diesel, Zara. Every shop is a welcome shelter from the rain. Whenever the rain gets heavier, I buy something. Nevertheless, I’m soaking wet in the evening.

I get up at five in the morning, pick up the car, load up and drive off towards the Pyrenees. My destination is La Molina. I found the idea of snowboarding in Spain kind of funny. The journey doesn’t bring any joy. There’s no snow at all up to 1300 metres, then it starts to snow lightly. The pistes are white, but I very much doubt whether it’s worth it. (more…)

I’m finishing my Spanish course in Barcelona. It was hard to keep up and still do enough travelling. Tonight is my last night. We go into town, almost the whole course, me and Dave. The landlady of the first bar looks like a madam. The Black Sheep is packed. The first signs of the night are starting to appear and nobody knows where they’re going.

The lack of a plan irritates me a little. Our plan was to go out properly one last time in Barcelona. Dancing. You’re supposed to do what you plan, so I urge them to get going. Suddenly there are twice as many of us as before. I head off into the middle of nowhere. Everyone asks for directions at some point, but no one can tell us exactly where it is. So we settle down in a square. (more…)

The days turn into nights. My journey is coming to an end. I’m still learning Spanish, but if my classes weren’t from two to six in the afternoon every day, life in Barcelona would be a lot smaller. David has organised tickets for a concert. I don’t like nasty lawyers chasing pictures. That’s why I’m christening the band of the day Kaisermeister.

In a tapas bar right on the Rambla, we eat for 20 minutes, attentively looked after by two gay waiters. The hot service comes at a hefty price. On to the concert. The beer vendors are stacked in three tiers in front of the hall. The service is fine, but we have wine. Inside, good people in rabbit skins are waiting. (more…)

I go back to Castelldefels with Dave. The road there is still a battlefield scarred by the strongest storm ever. On the beach, the sun is shining on 8-degree water and the air is barely any colder. I’ve caught a heavy cold and realise: on my last trip, my kite stays in the bag.

The next day, Susi from Kaufbeuren sends an email to Helga, a fellow student from the old days. A day later, we’re sitting in a really cosy tapas bar in Barceloneta. I hate seafood. Even gamba heads taste great here. Then it’s off to the Barrio Gotico to a bar that I would like to make my favourite pub if it wasn’t the last few days of a long journey. (more…)

Dave arrives on the plane from Munich around midday. A quick bite to eat and then back into town. I’m not feeling well, I’ve caught a bad cold. We drive to the Sagrada Familia. It’s just like all the other big things on my travels: bloody pathetically small.

Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia is one big building site. Cranes on the outside, 80% of the inside covered by scaffolding in wonderfully contrasting colours. The remaining 20% is shared by a plethora of vending machines (Snickers, Mars, Raider, no wafers) and the herd of Toruistas. Wow! Great echo. Off to the tower. It only costs an extra €2.50, a real bargain after the €11 entrance fee for a building site. But an hour’s wait is too long for me. (more…)

The wind is getting stronger every day, the current forecast for Saturday is 78km/h. The storm will catch me offshore behind Barcelona. You don’t really need a kite to fly there. Jacket on and take off. The planes will stay on the ground, the ships in the harbour and the gondola up Montjüic will be shut down. I wait full of anticipation.

I can’t find a pair of neoprene gloves anywhere in Barcelona, let alone a balaclava. Even though the Barcelonians are walking around in their thickest polar coats at 12 degrees. How could they ever go kitesurfing? Like every day, I walk several kilometres through Barcelona. Today I’m going to the old castle on Montjüic. The wind blows cold around the old cannons. (more…)

I’m getting the Barcelona blues. Kids everywhere, lots of drunk people, lots of dead bodies. The Spanish course is slowly becoming more demanding, the vocabulary is growing faster and faster. After today’s course I’ll check the wind again. There’s a big storm on Saturday, the current forecast is around 55km/h. You should do what you’re told, so I’ll say: it’s going to be ridden!

I go up to Montjüic, pack my board and kite, don’t forget my longsleeve. Back down the hill into town. As always, the best things happen by chance. Sure, architects always know everything, and intelligent people have something like a gift for deduction. The fact that I’m suddenly standing in front of the Barcelona Pavilion in Barcelona of all places is something I really couldn’t have imagined. (more…)

Do you know Big Lebowski? Yes? And his deadly erotic bowling opponent Jesus? Yes? Here in Barcelona, everyone is Jesus in three ways. Firstly: Barcelonians are vain. What they consider to be good taste sometimes far surpasses Jesus’ outfit. They move more gracefully and probably don’t have a faecal language anywhere near comparable. But they are all a little bit Jesus.

Visitors to Barcelona are also Jesus. I sneeze. Everyone calls me Jesus. I blow my nose with an illuminating grin. But the best thing of all is the wine: in Barcelona, wine is cheaper than water. So you can easily turn water into wine at any time by bartering. That makes every person in Barcelona a potential messiah. (more…)

Winter is great. Even self-confessed late risers can claim to be on the road before sunrise. Around seven o’clock, after a total of 700 kilometres, I slowly run out of petrol. The first petrol station is closed, as is the second. The third only has diesel for lorries (?), the fourth doesn’t take any of my cards. Numbers five and six are barricaded, seven again won’t take my cards. The sun rises and my courage sets.

After 763.7 kilometres I finally find a petrol station with a friendly attendant who can read my cards. She will never know how close she came to being snogged by me. I drive on to the white wild horses of the Carmargue in the Rhone delta on the Mediterranean. (more…)