20080429-Conakry
20100615-St. Petersburg
"They never taught wandering in any school I attended. ... they never taught the art of writing a book, either. It's all so mysterious."
"Wandering is an art in itself. Wandering and writing don't mix"
"Writing demands commitment and if one thing your wanderer is allergic to is that very quality of commitment, for once one is committed he runs that very risk of failure ..."
Wanderer - Sterling Hayden.
This Fab Trek, photography and journey. A travel blog.
I am Manfred. This is the fabtrek site, a road journey since 2004. Moments in life, places in time, a voyage preserved in pictures.
"Photography enables you to grasp a place first time round. ... Photography is a means of exploration, it's a vital part of travel, almost as essential as a car or a plane. " - Wim Wenders.
After more than 3 years in Africa in a 6-wheeled Land Rover, then a Middle East round trip in a Mercedes 307 and now just back from a trip to North Cape with my twin boys Daniel and David, this summer ThisFabTrek had turned into a travelling with children site. But summer is over and what next? I'd be glad if I knew. For frequent updates follow me on Twitter or Facebook. Share it round if you like it.
22st of August - Vienna, Austria. End of the grand voyage north with Daniel and David.
The update that should have been posted in Trieste... Midsummer, midday heat of Trieste... No wifi...
So there is this long and hard way home via the outer parts of l’Hexagone, Rennes, Toulouse, a detour to pay visit to some old friends, Nico, Julie, Caroline, Philip, also a food journey, of fantastic French cuisine, great old wines, superb cheeses. You wonder why the whole world has not become French. And for me in the South after all these years that I have come to Ariège, Haute-Garonne and Tarn, the friendliness of its very mix of people of Germans, English, Dutch and French of course has grown on me.
On Friday 6th of August however I get up early at 5 in Cahuzac to leave paradise, I drive the van east towards sunrise, the boys behind still asleep, in a village I buy croissants. Later the congestions of Montpellier and the heat, still tired I sweat through one round about after the other, the vacationing masses, the Med coast. In Marignane, airport of Provence-Marseille I pick up Christina, arrive exactly when her plane touches down coming from Istanbul via Barcelona, Christina, who I travelled to the Middle East with, before Africa; on and off for almost 18 month.
The boys love Christina, Christina loves the boys, we spend 4 days in Cassis, I have known this fishing village a stone throw over the rough mountains away from Marseille for 38 years, been here in Provence and Cote-d’Azur some 30 times. This is a weekend, the mistral blows the skies clear of any haze; those Van Gogh blue skies. The sea is flat, clear and icy cold, adjacent beaches are packed to the last patch of pebbles (weekend), the Calanques are closed due to high fire risk, when the beaches empty a bit in evenings we stay till sun sets, a bottle of Côte du Rhone wine as a routine, and the grand rock on the other side glisters in gold, the wind has long abated. It is always pleasant to be back in Cassis.
Tuesday we take to the roads, travel the known and unknown routes and places, but really what is after 30 years still unknown to me seems common knowledge to the vacationing folk. Our voyage takes us through Aix-En-Provence, a police rendez-vous in Salon-De-Provence and a pizza the boys don’t like, don’t eat in Remy-De-Provence (has a lot of Roman stuff and is a pleasant town). Between Avignon (Chateau de Pape) and Orange (the Roman theatre) we spend the night, Carpantras is what France used to be, the boys sleep and we only manage a tour round the block of the hotel de ville (town hall), Venasque is one of those “most beautiful in France”, in arty ochre Roussillion the boys are being given an ice cream for free, one, and they are happy sharing it.
The other morning we arrive in Digne-Les-Bains, also a France as it once was, an early draft beer in a bar that has a very distinct Pastis/Ricard anis smell even at the early hours of the days, I would love to have some myself. We buy cheese, one round mature chèvre, one vache between Reblochon and Thome and baguette, but this now really has to go with a glass of red wine, or at least a half of it.
The road north takes us over the Col d’Allos and Col de Vars, we have entered the Alpines. While a pink cloud shows up in the nightly skies and we down two bottles of Côte du Rhone, help with Pastis before and Whisky after, we know clearly we split. Next morning Briancon is spoilt, Sestriere is Italian then, we land in Torino and while we search for a free wifi the pouring and the lightening start, while we head for Milano on another morning we have a flat tire. I wanted to see Torino, after 20 years again, I could not see it and I would not see much of Milano either. - Apart from the pigeons and the dome; on a half sunny morning the boys practise to capture, then capture and release those common birds. The North of Italy in summer is empty, all Italian folk is out on vacation, on the coast, all is shut and the irony is I cannot see it for different reasons, ...
So Christina leaves, the boys and I are in the 4th month of the grand voyage which has run its course. This flat tire in the pouring rain from Turin to Milan makes me think:
I managed to get 4 bolts off. The fifth broke the cross spanner, 2 cars I waved down, they took me and I bought new tools, managed to brake them all, the bolt didn’t come off, the pouring got harder, the police stopped, the boys were scared, I had to call assistance, 120 Euros, the guy came with a bigger hammer, and chisels, I held his umbrella while he slammed the bolt for 15 minutes, he didn’t even go underneath the van to put the jack in place, is demoralising to pay 120 Euros and jump in the wet dirt oneself... All besides the side door all of a sudden jammed; I needed to get the tires in and out by the front door, such a dirty affair. Then finally and on the very spot the window on the driver’s side fell through. This strange feeling of being cursed! Something here was certainly not on my side. I have driven more than 50,000 km to Egypt and the North Cape and all the time lucky/protected. This here said: Read the signs on the wall, this journey is over, go home, take it easy and bring the kids home safely.
Then so it is and it has been a grand great voyage where the boys have grown massively. Monday comes I find new tires on way to Trieste, weather is drier, I think about what next? What?
Though a bit shattered I could still use the van! Could go to Tirana then Athens? Or, - Bucharest and Kiev then via Kazakhstan to Iran to India? One day maybe! Or, - back to Africa, the Land Rover which is rusting away in Bamako, - the old cow? Been there! Well then maybe the Americas, the US, New York, go before Obama is gone again? This is what has been calling recently. Not just the US, but start should be NY, this is how I dreamt it up 15 years ago, in a station wagon south! Go to the US like to a party, as an onlooker, a passenger. So what do with the van, the van that won’t register anywhere? Hey, there’s a van for sale, has two new tires, runs faultless, just the window falls out and the side door jams, comes cheaply. Pays my flight to NY! So-far I keep changing my plans every other night.
Tuesday we get into bright, sunny, midday Trieste, the pizza in the backstreet restaurant is such a delight, the best in over a year. One hour in Slovenia, the boys sleep, no point stopping; no room to do anything anyway, the coast of Slovenia is too short. Croatia is still crowded, still we force our way into old Rovinj and its cobblestone streets on the western coast of the Istrian peninsula, next day Pula and the Roman coliseum, temples and arches. Both so nice, just summer here is very over run and this journey has run its course. Rijeka and Zagreb I don’t like, Varaždin neither, all the way up to Győr in Hungary nothing can inspire anymore, we have Bratislava, Slovakia our last night in the van.
On Friday 20th of August we reach Vienna, the boys see Hasna their mother again after 3 month and a half, after 22,000 km to the north of Europe. There is a room for them, a bed on top of the other, it takes them a while to decide where to sleep, on top or on bottom, in the end they decide to sleep on top, together; so I sleep below.
17st of August - Trieste, Italy.
1st of August - Toulouse, France.
30th of July - Paris, France, what is beautiful?
Yes Hamburg was cool, but not beautiful as Kerstin said, rather cool, cool trash, cool people, young Hamburgers are cool partying people, know enjoy themselves... That was then I was out of the Scandis and overwhelmed by the joy in the city. The frosty Nordics a faint memory, thought maybe Copenhagen deserved to be called beautiful but I have seen only so little, but Hamburg? No. What German city could claim this highest of all attributes, nearly all paid that horrific price for their key role in WW2. But some German towns have that coolness attached, like Hamburg.
The boys and I moved on to Utrecht, that maybe called beautiful, but is really to small and provincial to be included here, Amsterdam was cool and beautiful of sorts, also rather smallish, the coolness is a bit reduced to the sweat smell evaporating from the hundreds of coffee-shops; I was never fascinated by dope smoking, think it eventually burns the brain out, but I adore this smell, I do. Amsterdam though is cooler for tourists than for its own people, the visiting drinking and smoking hoards, but yes Amsterdam’s canal (grachts) system, hundreds of kilometres of waterways and houseboats on it have style, is beautiful.
We go and see Antwerp; I want to see the city again after 15 years; I deemed it so beautiful then. The main square and its 16th century Guildhouses are beautiful, the town hall. At 9 in the morning though all is dead, I cannot even find coffee to take away or chocolate croissants for the boys. Dead and beautiful! The chocolate croissants and the coffee have to wait till Brussels, in the Moroccan quarters. Belgium hosts the largest Moroccan community outside Morocco, some 500,000. We find beautifully crispy pain au chocolat, kawa nass-nass, half-half coffee in a Moroccan cafe. Brussels is busier, a walk around 4-5 blocks reveals 15 pharmacies outnumbering easily 3 cafes, 2 patisserie-boulangeries (bakeries), 2 corner-shops, run by immigrants. Alcohol all avail, no fresh milk. No super market. 1.20 for a chocolate croissant, nice price, will be 0.90 in Paris, still my stomach rebels and fights in agony the worst croissant in the world from Helsinki 1 month and a half ago for 3 Euros. Helsinki was not beautiful, provincial, a bit German to me. What can be beautiful when being ripped off on the croissant level?
Life is becoming more beautiful the more south we come. Brussels Main Square with the town hall takes my breath for a moment, at night and day. This is something! Writing this I still shiver and have yet to look at my photos. Brussels seats the European government, has had all the monies coming in over the decades, the EU and all that rides on its tail have made this town big, modern, beautiful beyond the main town hall square, from the Moroccan quarters to the Atomium. Brussels is a surprise.
But hey folks, you know me, I would never settle for anything less that the real thing, and that is Paris, Barbes in Paris in particular maybe, the immigrants’ quarter next to Montmartre has long become a beautiful little district, Malian or Guinean women in boubou and Algerian women wearing Arab head gear are as common as mini-skirting French and Asians. In a little corner bar at 6 p.m. a Malian and Algerian men, back from work, business men are in civilised conversations with one another, some freaks hang around as well, I am thirsty after all that road since Brussels and lunch time, the finding of a parking slot just around the corner (so lucky), have my two small biere-pressions, the boys an Orangina and chocolate croissants from the opposite corner bakery (0.90, life is chocolate sweet in Paris). My boys are seated there on the steps to the upper gallery, seated and sip their bubbly drink, so calm these days. I inhale, the African air, walls post show Fode Baro and Babani Kone concert announcements, both I have taken pictures from in Conakry, those were the days, I shiver again. Ca me fait envie, I miss Africa, now here more than ever.
We meet my friend Laure, buy couscous to take away, Belgian Leffe, climb the Sacre Coeur hill, sit near the steps in the grass, the boys run round, chase a dog round and round their owners, such beautiful Algerian couscous merguez, plus lots of meat, beautiful, Paris below, beautiful, in a haze, stretches as far as the eyes can see, the Sacre Couer Basilica behind, lights go on, the late evening skies turn slightly rose. Paris is everything my heart yearns for, my cosmopolis, a true world capital; multiracial, multicultural, enormous, vast, beautiful, cool!
26th of July - Amsterdam, Netherlands.
At the latest since Hamburg is the Nordic/Scandinavian tour over. When St. Pauli is cooler than ever, the hoards of young party, such a contrast, a beer is sold on any corner, prices have crumbled since those crazy days too; in Holland I ask twice whether the price for a beer and lemonade is just 4.20 instead of 16 in Norway.
But Germany’s famous autobahns greet with congestion and trucks going in one lane 24 hours, non-stop, still all the same, this is Germany. NDR news: IFO business climate survey shows the biggest jump since reunification, VW sells more cars than ever (foremost in China, the US and South America). Where has the crises gone?
My bottle of Jameson’s is dry, had my last sip yesterday here in Amsterdam, it lasted more than 2 months, glad I bought it in Russia. The weather here is a drizzle, not so much change! Think we need head further south then!
21th of July - Tornby Beach, Denmark.
While Daniel and David play with their new boogie board in the pretty cold North Sea, the van parked on the beach, is cool here, I think of the past 10 days and write this:
So after 3 days Stockholm, more beaches at lakes and the archipelago with the water only slightly salty, the beach because it is simply too hot for an extended get to know the Stockholm city tour, we head south. Öland is camper and caravan land, nice, but... camper and caravan high season. Karlskrona gives a little nice town impression, though people sit at 6 and eat dinner in “Toscana” and “Monte Christo” restaurants, eat dinner at 6?, think is the Med. probably too! We leave, the place might be dead at 8, to a beach we were earlier, nice, the sun sets in front, the boys leave to play, I cook, the young gather in groups for the dusk and sunset experience and a drink. I have mine.
We head further west along the southern Swedish coast. In Abbekås is Theatre Kapija of Janna and Mladan, I have been in contact with Janna ever since they performed on the Festival au Desert, 5 years ago. Their latest production is Her Majesty’s Voice, a Rock Show! Fantastic, the voice and simplicity of a PJ Harvey, it has been long since I heard live something so refreshing. We stay two days, the start of a friendship! When the boys give me time I finish the Greece story, am a bit sad, all the memories, the home coming bit, the end which is the beginning of this current northern trip with my boys, still! I enjoy putting the stories together, so may continue just doing this! Just how can I make some money?!
Here in Tronby Beach in the meantime the boys relocated from the beach to the dunes, I turn my chair round, they take their boogie board up and down. They started going far recently, so independent, just 3.5 years old, when will I have to put down my note book and look for them? They disappear, then resurface behind another dune.
After those splendid days at Theatre Kapija we enter Denmark and meet Jesper and Brett in and north of Copenhagen for another two days of exceptional treats, we also see Kronborg, Hamlets Elsinore on the way back. I have to say that I am talking to people for the first time in two months, having extended proper conversations, in the beginning words don’t come easy, soon they sprawl, I have something to say; talking feels good finally.
In Copenhagen we finally have left the Nordics and the prohibition behind us, Denmark’s metropolis is full of drinkers and bars, fast food, good Italian pizza, the boys and I take away two delicious to the lawn of the Royal Park. Copenhagen is summer, hundreds lie down on the grass in the garden, a student Dixieland quartet is cool jazzing away, blond girls stretched out surround them.
We take a walk to New Havn later, the harbour and tourist boats present themselves in nice colours, we walk all the way back to the van, the boys sleep a minute later. I make them walk many miles a day, their legs are becoming so strong; they are good climbers and runners, amazingly fit after almost 3 months of daddy’s summer adventure treatments.
In the meantime on Tornby’s Beach, they have been back in the sea and out, sit on the chair, shiver under the beach towel, the instructions are to remain seated get warmed up by the sun, I serve them half an apple each, of an apple they now eat all and everything, even the inner bits. They’re happy, engage themselves in endless talks, soon they receive a second half of an apple each.
We came here through Jelling, the stones, Arhus which I found pretty, the canals, the cafes, the bars, a late civilised eating at the outdoors terrace of McDonalds. The boys were seated so nicely, were so hungry. Via the most northern Cape of Denmark, via touristy yellow Skagen, this is high, high season in Camper and Caravan Country, the boys didn’t mind, had a tremendous time in pretty lousy, hazy, cold conditions. We walked some 3 kilometres, jeans got completely wet and sandy, sand inside their underwear, what a hippie mess, they loved it.
Intuition or good luck diverted us to Tornby Strand. Is cool everyone is parked on the wide beach, on the same evening of the same hazy day on the Cape we are surprised by a orange sunset here, the boy’s excitement ends them back in the sea at 9 p.m.
So here we are again back on the next morning, lunchtime in the meantime, while the boys are back in the ocean, apples in hand, play with the board, the apples fall many times in the sand, I taught them to wash off the sand in the salty ocean. I also taught them to clean their noses in the sea, runny noses ever since Stockholm, since we started frequenting the beaches. I have an early Tuborg and think of preparing lunch, Risotto to change away from pasta?
The wind is a bit off shore, I confiscate the board. The risotto is soon skipped for simpler pasta, again and again. But again and again I run between the van and the sea; keep my boys from floating out onto the ocean. Soon they eat the enormous amount of a proper full plate, cut well into my ration of two large plates, after they receive a tiny piece of chocolate, which I managed to buy secretly. After another half an hour in the water they sleep so quickly. So it is on the fab trek!
11th of July - Stockholm, Sweden.
Bergen is boring, Bryggen a couple of Hanseatic wooden houses, Unesco blessing makes it a farce, it rains, we leave and it rains nearly all the way to Oslo. Over alpine plateaus 700 to 1400m, the clouds hang in deep, clouds put a veil on the top of the waterfalls in Veringfossen, a tragedy. The Gulfstream sends this part of Norway the most of its rain. In winter snow, snow poles of 5 meters at the side of a road indicate a lot.
Oslo then is a nice surprise. A crowd gathers to watch the semi final Spain-Germany, beers for 8 Euros. No chance to see that with my energetic boys, who prefer to go round town, have fun with the cities fountains, get wet, needed a shower anyway. In the morning it rains; nothing to gain here.
We enter Sweden and the sun comes out. We have been craving for some heat.
I am not so into cars! But there are these cars we spot once in a while when on the highway, old, vintage, American, chrome, being it an old Buick or Corvette, from the 60s or 70s, or earlier, I cannot even tell them apart, but then I still go, “Hey look, what a car?” So it happens while we drive from Oslo direction Stockholm. One, then there is another one, and another one and many more. Power Big Meet takes place in Västerås, “biggest gathering of American vintage cars in the world”, 17,000 or so, for 3 days. The boys and I are not far so we have a look!
Many come from afar, Norway, Estonia. A huge party! For many of the cars though it is more that they can take, many old engines heat up, “800 hp under the hood” tells me one proud tattoo, they go up in a huge cloud of white smoke, especially the cruising on Friday is hard, the lining up and going at 5k an hour speed, it can take the whole day. But as they say, only the strongest survive.
A lot more of my pictures on the Power Big Meet here.
Once while I take pictures the boys accomplish what I never managed without help get onto the roof of the van, out by the window via the wind shield to the top, they do it seemingly so easy. The police come and I have some explaining to do that I have been trying for 20 minutes to get them down.
Enough is enough; cars remain just cars to me, after 24 hours we leave the site, to Stockholm, find late comfort at the Bouldbar with beer and lemonade. After midnight to bed, the boys never slept quicker. We parked at the side of a lake, there are beaches and lakes all around, Stockholm is Europe’s green capital, but also secretive, has so many islands and hidden corners, never one would manage to know it all. So nice is summer, weather forecast sunny 30°C next 10 days, the boys go all afternoon usually in and out of the water. Afternoon nap never starts before 6 p.m.
Laters! Oh I forgot who plays tonight?
6th of july - Bergen, Norway.
Recently I repaired the radio, yes again, reconnected the ground cables the boys had pulled apart, put the fuses back in. When I got it working the first song in random mode was Sayon Camara, Guinean singer that I managed to see three times in concert. I switch off random and listen to her for an hour, yes all my African memories come back; will I go back after this?
So we drive down along the coast, the fjords, in and out, somewhere I shower my boys in a lake, cold water not a problem for them, somewhere I wash my own hair, soon I shave, I promise, I even wash some of the boys T-shirts... Weather is much warmer, we descended nearly 8° from the North, nights are more nights again, though not completely dark yet, we passed the Arctic Circle (66° 33′ 44″) a few days ago shortly after Bodo while on a ferry boat still in Nordland.
We take about ten ferries; some tunnels are charged as well, not a cheap undertaking altogether. We follow route 17, Helgeland, another Norway’s most beautiful region, is beautiful all over, yes Norway is maybe Europe’s most beautiful country, we have done some 2500 km from North Cape down already, this is 2 month into the journey with the boys, half time. Just I have my problem with its provincial villages, some towns are really just geared to maximise revenues from tourists.
Trodheim is still kind of nice, has a nice cathedral and a McDonalds, the boys need their proteins, I mine too. But nothing moves here, any city in Poland would be bursting of activity, well yes the pub in front where I park my van, where I steal my wifi connection is open from 8-18 and when I wake at 9 a.m. it is full of beer drinkers.
Kristiansund 5.30 p.m. no people, no cars on street, most shops closed. Maybe all because of the World Cup in South Africa I think? Wanted to be there, had a plan to go there. Here in Norway, I have not watched a single match. Never mind. Kristiansund is dead. Three bearded men with sunglasses hold their drinks outside a pub, look like outlaws, probably feel as such, in a land so beautiful, so clean, so closed, so cold, so odd this kave (coffee) culture, so prohibitive. Not holding me here.
A tunnel, one of these deep ones that go down at a 10% descent then climb up at the same rate, under passing the fjord, the van struggles, Averoy, little archipelago, beautiful, cloudy, the drizzle starts. I cook penne arabiatta number one dish, one of three, apple risotto and cheese omelette being the other. The boys play in the rocks covered with soft moss in the meantime. The boys are like me, love pasta more than anything, they love it my way. We used to put cream every second time or so; just recent budget considerations have put an end to this. Oh, I recently added rosemary potatoes to our menu, comes with tomato salad. And of course there is the odd visit to McDonalds, for the proteins. The boys have a litre of milk and honey each day, bananas and apples, bread and white goats cheese (Norsk Chevre), they love it, some chocolate sometimes.
Molde, another one of these boring towns with ugly concrete architecture! Why did I come here, well yes the scenery between towns is stunning.
I wake up in the morning, headache, the sinuses blocked, could not unblock the nose overnight. Where am I? I cannot even remember the town I parked up last night. Coffee from my espresso machine, the boys wake, we go on a little tour, this town is ugly, Molde Fjord is vast, snow-covered mountains on the other side in the glistering haze. It will be a hot day. We buy milk for the boys at Bunnpris. The price of two onions (local, Norwegian, not of prime quality) is 15 NOK, almost 2 Euros, there are countries I wouldn’t buy two kilos for the same price; this country has gone nuts. But now I am curios in another town the next day, Lom at Coop, onions are slightly cheaper; where are they from? And now I am completely baffled or better angry again, almost ruins me another day, they come from Tasmania, Australia. All the onions at Coop in Lom come from Tasmania, Australia. No consumer choice. This is crazy! I can get you 10 kilos for 1 Euro in Morocco and it is a mere 3500 km away not 20000, is anyone questioning what they do here?
While we drive out of Molde I realise the boys have lost the top of the water bottle, cost me 1.5 Euros. One bottle of water in a country that has an abundance of free, fresh water! I doubt only tourists buy it. Well I bought it to have one to refill from the jerry cans. Hmm. I am so lucky; I find the top of the bottle at the next stop. I mean a low EURNOK= exchange rate explains probably half the high prices story but really only half the story. Why isn’t Norway awash with cheap Dutch onions as is all of Africa? In Italy or France people would mount the barricades, 1 Euro for 1 onion. Not in Norway, the richest state on earth, not part of EU but highly inter connected, standard of living is highest, cost of living highest (what’s the gain?!); its oil and gas wealth is being distributed amongst its citizens, the world’s “best functioning state runs” a 9% state budget surplus. Norway has savings that amount to a control of more than 1% of all the publicly traded shares in the world (Norway on wiki). Everyone in Norway can afford paying 1 Euro for 1 onion, equals waste money.
Andalsnes is the next one on the touted route, cheap architecture, bad smelling paper cup coffee outside a plastic tent (the cafe on the pier), most tourists, in the 60s, don’t mind; chew happily on their moist bap of ham and mayonnaise. I have my rant, Norway can make me miserable especially when the sun and the haze put a curse on photography, the snow covered mounts and the fjords move far, far to the background.
On this Scandinavia-Finland trip I simply have the feel I cannot afford it; I feel I am not making it home, my credit cards overstretched. I am overpaying; what is offered is not worth it, smelly brownish filter coffee. I am not having it, just a thousand road signs of Kafe (which probably means cafe, some kafes sell beer) eventually make you sick. Kafe, Kafe! Have not seen a sign that says beer or pub! Supermarkets stop selling alcohol at 6, on Saturdays think earlier, don’t sell alcohol at all on weekend. Supermarkets don’t have a wine or spirits section. And I 6 years ago complained about high prices and taxed spirits in Ireland... I have read Oslo, the capital is the most expensive city in the world; what am I going to there?
Further to Alesund, scenery amazes by beauty and the white haze at once, 7 km before we get there is this round-about, but no sign for Alesund, a sign to me by the universe not to go. I turn around.
Recently I repaired the radio, reconnected the ground cables the boys had pulled apart, put the fuses back in, so we have some music, Bjork, Dull Flame of Desire comes up randomly, featuring the sweet voice of Antony Hegarty, I press the repeat button. The song puts me into a dream. What will be will be, we turn south, take a ferry then another one, then turn land inwards towards the glaciers, scenery is most stunning, Styrn, but I don’t bother stopping in the towns anymore. Water falls from the cliffs, dark turquoise water, in still lakes, fishermen row their boats, broad streams, it is quiet, serene; the glaciers are not far, some tops get some late sun. Camp for night at Sogne Fjord.
I cooked pasta (2nd in 2 days, cannot afford the onions for risotto) a bit earlier at another lake, the boys played by the lake while I cooked, wetted their boots and shirts. I am amazed how much I can do with them, how much they have grown, how much they have learnt, how we voyage together, how much love and trust there is. They take and love the journey as if it is the most natural thing to do.
Dull Flame of Desire keeps playing! Something is going to happen I think and change life forever again, will put me on a new path, a new journey; some day, not just yet, the Gods know where and when, a new life. It has always been like this! I can be rightly curious, open cause change is going to come.
In the morning I press the random button again, when The Giant of Illinois comes up (Andrew Bird, 2009) the repeat button and start dreaming again. We are in Gods own land, the high plunging waterfalls and the rushing white waters are now so much nearer "and the sky was a woman's arms", the smell of snow and ice is in the air, we climb to 1100m, Styrn summer skiing centre, Strynefjellet. Snowfields touch the glacier lakes, with the boys I walk over the alpine field, trot through the glacial streams, when their gumboots take too much water they take them off, when they fall in we return to the van. We get to Lom and return a more southern route, climb to 1400m, go for a 2 hour walk to the ends of a near-by glacier, 3, 4 km? I am amazed what I can do with them.
At night it starts raining, next day we descend on Bergen, a midst a lot of rain I change music, I listen to Algerian Ray star Cheb Khalid, hmmm so funky, ca me fait envie and Nigerian Fela Kuti, all the way, will it be Africa then?
29th of June - Bodo, Norway.
One more time lucky before we cross south of the Arctic Circle again, weather improved in afternoon, stayed sunny all night. So I sneaked out again for midnight sun, then again at 3 when the light was stronger, with dark clouds rising in back already. At 6 in morning it rained again.
Days ago, the boys on one of 3 ferry boat rides we took, wet and gusty, David became a bit see sick on one of the journeys.
I think we are in dire need of a shower (the boys' last one goes back to St. Petersburg, mine to Lithuania), wash our clothes, my jeans, both are fading once again; need replacing. Such basic needs need wait a bit longer.
26th of June - Tromso, Norway.
Arrived in Tromso, feels nice, is off the main tourist path, its Mack brewery, “most northern in the world”; produces the expensive, soso brew that I drink for 4.5 Euros a can. Tromso has a large collection of 18th c. wooden houses, a great many pubs and I do not even want to ask the price of a beer (our budget here is really strained), a great many pubs in old wooden houses, yes feels nice.
We did get here and finally we had better weather, saw the midnight sun, it really exists! Night camp across Lyngen mountains and fjord, what a sight, I bed the boys, sleep in myself, wake at 1 a.m. not by miracle, sneak out, take lots of brackets, I do not know what I want, am too tired, 10 minutes later I am back, the boys have not moved.
So will I wear sunglasses 24 hours now? No, morning is still great, we crawl the beaches, search for little snails, lunch time is hazy, afternoon the rains are back, a bit.
23th of June - Nordkapp/North Cape, Norway.
We drive through Finland, north and further north, still have had a spread of 5 hours between sunset and sunrise in Helsinki, that quickly goes down to zero, soon sun is supposed to shine all day and night, obviously only when it is not overcast. The weather is the thing, rains non-stop, we drive on and on, escape the civilised parts, find the wild parts, endure the mosquitoes, see moose and reindeer, discover the untouched lakes and forests, go for a few walks.
Finland is flat, woods and lakes, I have forgotten how to change gears. Its architecture, people and spirits seem a bit flat too, beer is way too expensive, this is the thing you like one you dislike the other. It’s always been like this on my 6 year long journey, loved Scotland, not so Ireland, loved Mali and Cote d’Ivoire, not so Ghana and Senegal, loved Guinea, not so Guinea Bissau. We enter Norway, beer is even more expensive; one looks at you when you buy a six pack of soso beer for 25 Euros as if you’re a drug addict. But the interesting scenery starts, peninsulas, fjords, islands, canyons, waterfalls, moulded since glacial times by wind, snow and ice. It reminds me in fact a lot of Scotland and the Highlands.
But here is 24 hours daylight, is magic. One was used to the separation of night and day, dusk and dawn and sunset and sunrise in between and all like a wonder of a sudden someone has done away completely with this. One never knows when it is time to prepare dinner and sleep. I think of changing it all together, stay awake at night for walking and driving in midnight sun which really we hardly see due to un-cool weather conditions and sleep and rest during the day, but really the boys have their inner watch, comes 10, 11 p.m. they are gone to dreamland.
Yesterday morning we had a near accident or accident, but nothing happened; as so many times before the angels protected me/us to come down alive. Maybe a strong side wind was in play as well, fact of the matter is I didn’t concentrate for a second when the boys wanted to take their boots off. One boot in hand I realised I have come off the road, not adrenaline but an invisible hand steered the car to safety, helped me do the right thing avoid the wrong. The wrong would have been try stay on the road; we would have come off anyway and rolled over a few times.
Instead and through my desert driving experience I know it is best to go down a slope in a straight line as possible: We are not fast, never are fast, here there is no tree, no scrub, no ditch, we go down the slide, further down I break and stop, in the back everything has flown around, the car does not have a scratch, not even a flat tire; the angels have carried it on wings.
A reminder to take it easy and keep the mind on the road! Is the thing with children they are in the back unlike other stuff, GPS, radio, map, phone, a drink, you may look at it but the road always remains in front. I kiss my boys, check the car, and we head out, there is even a road to go back up.
We eventually reach Nordkapp, the North Cape, 5 years and 11 months into my journey; here I am with my boys. The island was connected 1999 to the mainland by a tunnel, it is amazing, bold hills that carry still a patchwork of snowy fields, so rough, the winds howl, the reindeer lie there dotted in the country, so rough a landscape, basalt cliffs and rock faces, fields of boulders and pebbles stacked on top of each other. 71° 10’ north; Is it Europe’s northern most point? One of those destinations I always wanted to go. It greets us with horizontal rains, altitude 300 and something meters, the cliffs are somewhere, we don’t leave the van for the first 12 hours here, the storms rage, shake us round. About 100 camper caravans are lined up, cuddle together, stand close together in the wind. When we arrive at 8 p.m. all is still pretty clear, the fog, true dense fog arrives though before midnight, sight goes down to 10 meters, the campers disappear behind a white curtain; remember we have 24 hours of daylight. Temps not so much above 0°C!
In the morning we see our breath, the boys ask for chocolate after their milk and honey and I give it to them, just a tiny piece, as always just a tiny piece at a time. All in all maybe this is not the place to stay under the current conditions. However we go and explore the site. Is cold, we enter the visitors centre; a film is shown in the basement, the tour busses unload loads and loads; outside most remains foggy, chilly and windy. Later we cook pasta in the van; then I bed the boys, “Jolie film” Nice film (it was)!
In the afternoon we attempt once more but the rains go horizontal again, no point hanging about under the current conditions, indeed it is exposed, the clouds travel at this altitude of 300m.
Driving off I am altogether very happy, a little inner satisfaction engulfs. A long way south lies ahead, we are going to take it easy, we are looking forward to warmer weather, sun, maybe even beaches and a swim, maybe even cheaper beer but a lot lies inbetween.
Below some highlights. Images are linked to stories.
Plans for the future ... as always, vague and uncertain ...
I am back from Africa, ideally a journey to Asia next...
I am back from the Middle East, ideally a journey to the North next...
And then Africa again??
Photography and Journey.
The mind, when pondering at night has always asked those questions: What are you doing in corporate wonderland, banking, university, office, church? Who is the other animal asleep inside, thinker, punk, creative, vagabond, healer, anarchist, artist, writer, rebel, photographer, intellectual? Oh God dare you to think.
So before checking out into the real world I was a financial markets derivatives trader, a cowboy trader, a clown, an anarchist, almost schizophrenic. But to get it right you need to be all of that. Read between lines to read the lies. Until you discover it's all statistics, gamble, manipulation and too many lies to see through, right what they taught back in university.
Knowing sure there'd be something I could do if walk out, I take the decision following the old old dream and leave on 22nd of July for a multi-year journey, intend to explore the world traveling overland. Leaving is easy, not special. Take on what comes.
I am father to twin boys Daniel and David.
As a photographer, writer - I have a long way to go.
The fab trek is ongoing. Enjoy. I take you on this journey.
The journal entries top right tell the story - or you start right where it started.
How to navigate?
The story is best understood reading from Prep time on, back to front. Or just jump in it where ever you feel like. Click on the Maps.
Left top Navigation bar (<--), look up "journey", you find continents and countries. Guinea, Africa.
Right top Journal bar (-->) lists pages as they appear online. The journey in chronological order. Also try the years pages: 2007.
Try the Galleries, e.g. Mali-Gallery.
Try Google ThisFabTrek (<--). Just under the Nav pane.
How to get most of it? Download the latest browser version, no matter which one, just stop using the old crappy versions. Expand the browser window to maximum. Try hit the F11 key.
All images are clickable (open a 1536 x 1024 image). All links and images open in the same browser tab/window. Use the back button of your browser. To open links in a new tab hold down the Ctrl-key or right click.
Enjoy!
