Ost-Europa-Motorradtour #3: Wiedersehen in München

Für das Oktoberfest bin ich zu früh, dafür sehe ich alte Freunde wieder, was mir sowieso lieber ist. Zuvor habe ich Zeit durch die Stadt zu schlendern. Durch das Siegestor, an der Frauenkirche vorbei, auf den belebten Marienplatz bis zum Viktualienmarkt und Hofbräuhaus. Für ein Bier war’s aber zu früh. Kaffee geht immer. Zurück ging’s durch den Hofgarten in Englischen Garten, wo sich Massen von Sonnenhungrigen mit oder ohne Kleidung einfanden. Gerne wäre ich auch ins erfrischende Nass getaucht, doch das Treffen mit Freunden und ein Vietnamesisches Abendessen warteten.

Ost-Europa-Motorradtour #2: Via Innsbruck nach Salzburg

Endlich geht’s los. Gen Osten. Mir fällt ein wie lange ich nicht mehr in diese Richtung gefahren bin. Um so schöner nun auch nach langer Zeit wieder Freunde zu treffen. In Innsbruck der erste Stop mit sommerlichem Wetter. In Motorradkluft und mit schwerem Tankrucksack an der Schulter hängend, schiebe ich mich mit der Kamera durch die Menschenmasse. Durch’s Stadttor, um die Anna Säule herum, auf’s „Goldene Dächlein“ zu. Wie erholsam ist’s dann in einem schattigen Cafe zu sitzen und mit ner guten Freundin über alte Zeiten zu schwatzen.

Frischer Wind weht durch die Täler um Kitzbühel, bringt Erfrischung auch unter das geöffnete Helmvisier. Wenn nur nicht so viele Verkehrsteilnehmer die gleiche Route gewählt hätten. Trotzdem erreiche ich das malerische Salzburg, vorbei am opulenten  Schloss und ausladenden Gärten, über Brücken mit hoffnungsvollen Liebesschlösser behangen und am hoffnungslos lachenden Eulenspiegel vorbei.

Den passenden Austausch über Irrwege menschlichen Seins, die Satire des irdischen Lebens und die Notwendigkeit eines gesunden Zynismus, finde ich in der redegewandten Freundin, die zudem auch echt lecker kochen kann. So macht Reisen nicht nur Spass, sondern bereichert auch ungemein.

Ost-Europa-Motorradtour #1 : Schweiz-Fürstentum Liechtenstein

Schon seit geraumer Zeit spukt mir diese Idee im Kopf herum: Meine altgediente Honda Varadero wieder einmal richtig ausfahren. Hinüber von den wohl bekannten Pässe, runter von den langweiligen Autobahnrouten, hinaus in neue, unbekannten Gefilden. Doch zuerst musste sie die verkehrstechnische, amtliche Prüfung bestehen, bekam ein gründliches Check-up in der Werkstatt und neue Reifen für die Fahrt. Der erste Reisetag konnte somit auch als Prolog verstanden werden. Mit vollem Gepäck ging’s ins benachbarte Fürstentum Liechtenstein. Eine Weindegustation in der Hofkellerei blieb mir verwehrt. Dafür gönnte ich mir ein Cappuccino gleich unter dem Schloss des Fürsten und sinnierte über Franz Kafkas gleichnamiger Erzählung nach. Franz Kafka, das wäre nun die Überleitung zur tschechischen Hauptstadt Prag, doch die muss warten. Erst sind noch schweizerische Werte zu besichtigen, wie der Heidibrunnen, das Schloss Werdenstein oder die brandneue Tamina-Brücke. Doch morgen geht’s richtig los, in Osten…

Sister Therese

A friend wrote me a message, telling me about a German lady, who lives in Africa since decades as a nun and founded several dispensaries. If i’m passing by that area i should visit her, he suggested. And indeed, it seemed i’m pretty close there anyway.

On my way i got stopped by the traffic police. Once more. While the officer check my papers he wanted to know where i’m heading to. I told him the story of the old lady, doing so many good things for local people. I admire to meet her and maybe making some photos of the place she founded, i explained. As the officer has seen my camera he wanted me to do a portrait shot of himself. I did. With a smile on both of us he let me go.

Just ask for ‚Sister Therese‘ when you reach the town, my friend advised me. And indeed, even the people on the street didn’t recognized the name of the dispensary, they reacted promptly on the name of the nun. But Sister Therese doesn’t live here anymore. The new chairman of the small hospital organized a nice chap who’s guiding me to the new founded dispensary of Sister Therese. It was about an hour drive or so. Maurice asked me to stop in a village to introduce me with the chief, who owns a shop. It’s all interesting and so much to learn about, but also time consuming. Finally we reached the dispensary and i met Sister Therese in person. After a brief tour trough the building and nearby garden, she told me her story by a soup and tea. Since she was a young girl she wanted go somewhere far. As a young nun she went to Southern Africa, studied to become a nurse and stayed many years in Zimbabwe. Many stories about trouble and terrible times, in Southern and later in Eastern Africa, but also about never ending hope and times of happiness. Her eyes are always smiling even when she’s telling dark stories. A truly strong woman, which i’d like to spend more time with, but it got late and time to leave for me. Despite the short time with her, it let a deep impression on my way out of the bush.

Rough Road To Kenya

I could take the nice tarred road out of Uganda, but the scenery on the northern slope of Mount Elgon was to tempting. The road became more bumpy and dusty with every mile, but bigger also the people smile. From time to time i had to stop for a photo, or just for the stunning view, or simply to give way to a big truck on narrow roads. Time schedule got lost. Instead of a few hours drive i needed all day to reach the Kenyan border post. The last village before frontier i found a fuel station where the diesel pump worked by hand. Can’t remember when i had such a laughter with tank guys filling up my diesel tank.

The Sipi Falls

From Kampala leads a wide, tarred road to the Kenyan border, but on my way i decided to drive a detour to the Sipi Falls. The camp was settled opposite the falls with stunning view to the scenery. Even a sprinkling rainbow appeared with the setting sun. Unfortunately it’s a typically ran down campsite, as many others in Uganda and in Africa in general. The staff tell me from a owner living far away, not interested to invest in facilities, nor seems the employers really keen on keeping it nice and tidy. they only count on customers coming (and paying) for the scenery up here. Probably i would had stayed longer if the campsite would been better maintained. However, that one beautiful night i enjoyed the place.

The Source Of River Nile

I felt the privilege to camp on a grassy site overlooking the River Nile. One site called „The Haven“ became easily a base of tranquility and peace, inviting me to stop by for awhile and do nothing than watch the river flow, the eagles fly and fishermen boats float. It was both, inspiring and meditative. The village nearby couldn’t offer much but laughters and friendly talks when i got to the only little shop around. It was actually just a shack with a weird calendar showing the Ugandian president in truly Rambo style. The ‚roll-eggs‘ they made was delicious, though.

Another camp i found was just above the spot where the Lake Victoria giving birth to the River Nile. A humble monument shows the place where the first European, a certain Mr. John Hanning Speke, spotted the source of the river on 28th July 1862.

Nyero Village and Rock Paintings

A few kilometer off the main road, the dusty road leads trough savannah and small villages. Red rock boulders appear on the horizon, growing bigger to nice shaped mountains. On such boulders, the Twa people draw mystical signs and figures on the rocks. Next to a tiny building, which suppose to be the office, i can even camp over night. This let me time to explore the the small caves with rock arts, climbing on the rocks to watch the landscape from above and visiting the villages around. There’s hardly any artificial light at night. The colors of sunset and sunrise are amazingly strong and the full moon send a silver light over the landscape.

At The Banks Of River Nile

At the other side of the Nile a fishing lodge offers boat trips even into South Sudan, i heard. Fishing lodge sounds posh, but when i arrived it was a run-down lodge with basic facilities. Yet still the charm of better times stays in the air. A small group of locals arrived just after me. They came for a little party under friends, brought a living goat in the car trunk and let them to the butcher to slaughter it in the backyard. There were more animals waiting to get eaten up, but having a peacefully live till then. A pig with a bunch of small ones, chicken, more goats. Eagles circling over the river when i walked along the banks and gave the scenery a peaceful touch of freedom.

Moyo’s Refugee Camps

There’s a beautiful landscape far north of Uganda, just at the border to South Sudan, i read. Off i go, and many bumpy kilometers later i reached Moyo, a dusty border town. Dozens of big, white Toyotas and trucks with blue UN letters or red crosses crossing my way. It’s not a sleepy town anymore since thousands of Sudanese refugees fleeing from the war and passing trough here. I stopped for a bitter lemon at a bar, watching busses with refugees coming from reception camps, get somewhere out of town. Young men hanging around, drinking cheap liquor from small plastic bags. I need a tourist camp to stay overnight, i tell them. Helpfully they explain me the way, spell the name of a place and show me the spot on the map. Just at the river Nile. Looks great to me. When i arrived the place it turns out as huge refugee camp. It’s too late to turn back, so i ask around for a real „tourist camp/lodge“. Another friendly guy shows the direction, just to end up in another refugee camp, even further away from next town. I felt lucky to see a bunch of big, expensive Toyotas with the emblem of a NGO. I asked friendly to stay at the carpark, where a guard is watching at night anyway. A young white guy called himself in charge, but refused to take any responsibility and sent me away. When i turned for another help, he gave me the advice to ask the neighbors, but offer them some money for their help. „sure“, i smiled to him, but thought ‚fuck you off with your cheap advices while too cowardly to let me even stay here, you white prick‘.

The locals were more helpful, sent me to the police station midst of a refugee camp. In front of a few round houses some police officers were sitting in plain clothes. After i got the allowance to stay, i sat with them and listen to their stories. The current camp opened only three months again. Every day hundreds of more refugees are coming, flooding the camps and plans for extending the area already existing. While we spoke, some armed officers arrived in uniforms, turned back from their patrol by motorbikes.  In one of the round houses the prisoners are kept until there’s a transport to Moyo to the bigger jail. Some of them move relatively free, others were with hand chains. They get out of the house to help carrying water or doing some minor jobs. When night falls over the camp, all went silent. No light, no noise. I felt like sleeping in a completely remote area.