Anecdotes from a never-ending World Tour
Kopenhagen 2001
Should I or shouldn't I? I certainly experienced quite a lot... between 2000 and 2010... And so, I decided to present my travel impressions from that time... "Anecdotes from a never-ending World Tour"... And this is just a small glimpse...
P.S. A little nostalgic detail: All travels between 2000 and 2005 were photographed entirely on analog film. So please excuse the occasional grainy look—it’s just pure, unfiltered history!
P.P.S. Notice that in these times, we didn't have any smart phones, GPS or Google Maps to get around. You either used a map or you asked the locals ;-)
** Traveling by car or motorcycle **
Oncoming Traffic at the End of the World
As everyone knows, having your own vehicle when traveling brings greater independence and freedom—and leads to the craziest adventures. Of course, there are often a few hurdles to overcome along the way. That was certainly the case on Easter Island, for instance. Unsuspecting, I had rented an off-road vehicle with three other English travelers.
As everyone knows, having your own vehicle when traveling brings greater independence and freedom—and leads to the craziest adventures. Of course, there are often a few hurdles to overcome along the way. That was certainly the case on Easter Island, for instance. Unsuspecting, I had rented an off-road vehicle with three other English travelers.
Isla de Pascua, Osterinsel, 2001
The End of the World in the Rearview Mirror
Our plan was perfect: we wanted to explore the whole of Easter Island by car—especially the mystical Moai quarry, "the end of the world," and the various *ahus*. When the car was finally ready to go, just one small detail remained: who would drive? The decision was made sooner than expected. My friends approached me early in the morning; I could tell right away that they were uncomfortable about something. They looked down sheepishly until one of them finally made a timid suggestion: "Hey... do you think you could drive?" The reason for their sudden driving phobia? The car was set up for right-hand traffic, and the guys were stubbornly accustomed to driving on the left. In hindsight, it wouldn't have mattered at all. On the island’s rough dirt and gravel tracks, you mostly drive right down the middle of the road anyway, and you get used to the car incredibly fast. But oh well—I took the wheel and thoroughly enjoyed the drive! However, we didn't realize until we got to New Zealand that switching sides isn't quite as simple as it seems... that’s where we promptly took out an entire garden hedge!
Neuseeland, Maoristatue, 2002
Windshield wipers on, hedge off!
Olivier, Jeff, Jan, and I had treated ourselves to a rental car for the week, and the guys quickly got the hang of driving on the left. When Jan and I needed to run an errand in the village, I thought to myself: Surely I can manage that too! The guys handed the car over to us girls without hesitation. So we got in, and everything went great at first—until we went bumping down a narrow country lane with a huge hedge growing along the left side. My biggest problem with driving on the left is simply maneuvering in reverse—not to mention the fact that I kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of the turn signal. Well, the end of the story? We ended up shearing off the entire garden hedge!
Basically, Jan saw more of the hedge than the road, and I just couldn't manage to steer the car over to my side of the road during that 150-meter stretch. But fortunately, in the end, no one noticed the scratches on the car!
Trinidad & Tobago, 2002
Parking out? We’ve got this! (It does get a bit tight at the front, though.)
In Trinidad & Tobago, I finally got the hang of driving on the left! Well... almost. The one thing that still didn't quite work out—despite overcoming the initial hurdles—was pulling out of a parking space. I managed the reversing part just fine. But when I tried to zoom off briskly in a forward direction, I—naturally—clipped the curb on the left. Luckily, we were in a sturdy Jeep that was used to a bit of rough treatment and practically made for maneuvers like that.
However, the brief moment of alarm was quickly forgotten by evening: I managed to pull off a perfect surprise for Mo when I picked her up from the ferry terminal in the car. What sheer luxury! There is something truly special about traveling in your own vehicle.
Parking out? We’ve got this! (It does get a bit tight at the front, though.)
In Trinidad & Tobago, I finally got the hang of driving on the left! Well... almost. The one thing that still didn't quite work out—despite overcoming the initial hurdles—was pulling out of a parking space. I managed the reversing part just fine. But when I tried to zoom off briskly in a forward direction, I—naturally—clipped the curb on the left. Luckily, we were in a sturdy Jeep that was used to a bit of rough treatment and practically made for maneuvers like that.
However, the brief moment of alarm was quickly forgotten by evening: I managed to pull off a perfect surprise for Mo when I picked her up from the ferry terminal in the car. What sheer luxury! There is something truly special about traveling in your own vehicle.
Australien, Sydney, 2000
When even the Englishman gets the side wrong
After all the trouble I had driving on the left, it’s good to know I wasn’t the only one—even the pros slip up sometimes! When Marcus picked Dave and me up from our hotel in Sydney in his VW bus to head to the Blue Mountains, he actually mixed up right and left. And the best part? He’s English!
Grin and bear it: Sydney’s one-way street dilemma
He wanted to turn left, and suddenly we found ourselves driving the wrong way up a busy, two-lane one-way street—heading straight into oncoming traffic! Making a U-turn was completely out of the question: for one thing, there was no room due to the heavy oncoming traffic, and for another, a solid traffic island separated us from the correct lane. So, we had no choice but to grit our teeth, weave our way through the oncoming traffic, and take the next exit. Marcus was living in France at the time and must have briefly been thinking in terms of the wrong system—in any case, he completely botched that turn. But he took it in stride, just like the Aussies. They seem to be used to the many Europeans who occasionally end up on the wrong side of the road there! :-)
After all the trouble I had driving on the left, it’s good to know I wasn’t the only one—even the pros slip up sometimes! When Marcus picked Dave and me up from our hotel in Sydney in his VW bus to head to the Blue Mountains, he actually mixed up right and left. And the best part? He’s English!
Grin and bear it: Sydney’s one-way street dilemma
He wanted to turn left, and suddenly we found ourselves driving the wrong way up a busy, two-lane one-way street—heading straight into oncoming traffic! Making a U-turn was completely out of the question: for one thing, there was no room due to the heavy oncoming traffic, and for another, a solid traffic island separated us from the correct lane. So, we had no choice but to grit our teeth, weave our way through the oncoming traffic, and take the next exit. Marcus was living in France at the time and must have briefly been thinking in terms of the wrong system—in any case, he completely botched that turn. But he took it in stride, just like the Aussies. They seem to be used to the many Europeans who occasionally end up on the wrong side of the road there! :-)
Chile, 2001
Trunk open, luggage in, freedom awaits!
Of course, you can also get lucky on road trips like this and end up on the "right" side—just like I did during my trip through Chile. Antje and I enjoyed a fantastic drive from Santiago de Chile via Valparaíso all the way to Pichicuy, following the beautiful coastline the entire way. We visited one idyllic fishing village after another. It is precisely in moments like these that you truly appreciate the convenience of having your own car: open the trunk, load the luggage, close the trunk—and simply drive on!
Of course, you can also get lucky on road trips like this and end up on the "right" side—just like I did during my trip through Chile. Antje and I enjoyed a fantastic drive from Santiago de Chile via Valparaíso all the way to Pichicuy, following the beautiful coastline the entire way. We visited one idyllic fishing village after another. It is precisely in moments like these that you truly appreciate the convenience of having your own car: open the trunk, load the luggage, close the trunk—and simply drive on!
Chile, Patagonien, 2001
A pounding head instead of hauling a backpack
No more lugging heavy bags around, no more tense shoulders, and no more agonizing over packing your backpack with millimeter precision. A road trip is simply pure comfort! Unless, of course, you’re as clumsy as I am—prone to banging your head on the trunk lid or slamming the car door right into your own face.
Aside from these minor clashes, however, traveling on four wheels is pure, deep relaxation. Open the car door, hop in—one person armed with a road map, the other behind the wheel—and off you go! You simply stop wherever the scenery is beautiful, leaving behind the hassle of switching buses and endless waits at train stations.
No more lugging heavy bags around, no more tense shoulders, and no more agonizing over packing your backpack with millimeter precision. A road trip is simply pure comfort! Unless, of course, you’re as clumsy as I am—prone to banging your head on the trunk lid or slamming the car door right into your own face.
Aside from these minor clashes, however, traveling on four wheels is pure, deep relaxation. Open the car door, hop in—one person armed with a road map, the other behind the wheel—and off you go! You simply stop wherever the scenery is beautiful, leaving behind the hassle of switching buses and endless waits at train stations.
Costa Rica, Bruja Rocka, Playa Naranjo, 2002
Pura Vida and four-wheel drive
My road trip through Costa Rica unfolded in much the same way—though with the minor caveat that the road conditions there are a real adventure in themselves. After Frank and I had left Lake Arenal and Santa Elena behind us, our next destination was clear: we wanted to go out and explore the Nicoya Peninsula!
Wisely, we had opted for a rugged off-road vehicle from the start, and that choice paid off damn quickly. Our driving skills were put to the test right away: to reach Playa Naranjo in Santa Rosa National Park, we had to battle our way along a grueling 12-kilometer track full of bumps and rocks. But it was no problem—we had time, and with the right set of wheels beneath us, it was an absolute breeze!
My road trip through Costa Rica unfolded in much the same way—though with the minor caveat that the road conditions there are a real adventure in themselves. After Frank and I had left Lake Arenal and Santa Elena behind us, our next destination was clear: we wanted to go out and explore the Nicoya Peninsula!
Wisely, we had opted for a rugged off-road vehicle from the start, and that choice paid off damn quickly. Our driving skills were put to the test right away: to reach Playa Naranjo in Santa Rosa National Park, we had to battle our way along a grueling 12-kilometer track full of bumps and rocks. But it was no problem—we had time, and with the right set of wheels beneath us, it was an absolute breeze!
Costa Rica, Bananenstaude, 2002
Why you always need a Plan B in Costa Rica
Visiting the place would be absolutely impossible without a car of one’s own, as you have to bring all your own supplies—including plenty of water—down there with you. Yet that sense of comfort was deceptive: one day, when the coastal road was closed and we had to take a detour inland, we too were in for an unpleasant surprise.
A 55-year-old Austrian woman in a jungle taxi
At that point, we had an unusual companion on board: Diana, a 55-year-old hitchhiker from Austria. Her 60-year-old husband, Günther, was energetically cycling right along the beach, while she used buses—or various other ride-sharing options—to meet up with him again at the agreed-upon destination. We were traveling together from Playa Sámara to Malpaís when a roadblock forced us to make that detour through the interior.
Visiting the place would be absolutely impossible without a car of one’s own, as you have to bring all your own supplies—including plenty of water—down there with you. Yet that sense of comfort was deceptive: one day, when the coastal road was closed and we had to take a detour inland, we too were in for an unpleasant surprise.
A 55-year-old Austrian woman in a jungle taxi
At that point, we had an unusual companion on board: Diana, a 55-year-old hitchhiker from Austria. Her 60-year-old husband, Günther, was energetically cycling right along the beach, while she used buses—or various other ride-sharing options—to meet up with him again at the agreed-upon destination. We were traveling together from Playa Sámara to Malpaís when a roadblock forced us to make that detour through the interior.
Costa Rica, Nebelwald, 2002
Lost in the gravel: When the map shows only imaginary paths
What we hadn't counted on at all, however, were the disastrous road conditions. It is unimaginable today, but back then, travel was entirely analog: we had neither GPS nor mobile phones with us and relied solely on our printed paper map. Although the tracks were roughly marked on our map, there was no indication that they were nothing more than gravel roads—or little better than farm tracks. To make matters worse, there were far more turn-offs than shown on the map—and each one looked just as adventurous as the next.
When potholes turn into craters
In some places, it took a good deal of imagination to make out a path at all. When we finally reached a point where the term "road" no longer applied, I decided to call it quits. Ahead of us lay a track riddled not merely with potholes, but with crater-like holes resembling the aftermath of a meteorite impact. Without digital navigation in the deep jungle, the risk was simply too great; with heavy hearts, we decided to turn back and accept an even longer detour.
What we hadn't counted on at all, however, were the disastrous road conditions. It is unimaginable today, but back then, travel was entirely analog: we had neither GPS nor mobile phones with us and relied solely on our printed paper map. Although the tracks were roughly marked on our map, there was no indication that they were nothing more than gravel roads—or little better than farm tracks. To make matters worse, there were far more turn-offs than shown on the map—and each one looked just as adventurous as the next.
When potholes turn into craters
In some places, it took a good deal of imagination to make out a path at all. When we finally reached a point where the term "road" no longer applied, I decided to call it quits. Ahead of us lay a track riddled not merely with potholes, but with crater-like holes resembling the aftermath of a meteorite impact. Without digital navigation in the deep jungle, the risk was simply too great; with heavy hearts, we decided to turn back and accept an even longer detour.
Costa Rica, Hoernchen, 2002
No way back? Turn around!
We were absolutely forced to turn back. Anything else would have been a dangerous journey into the unknown—including an unplanned overnight stay in the middle of the mountains, as tropical darkness was already nipping at our heels.
8 hours for 160 kilometers: The slowest road trip of my life
To give you an idea of the scale of this grueling journey over completely impassable tracks: it took us a staggering eight (!) hours to cover a distance of just 160 kilometers. No joke! That works out to an average speed of a mere 20 km/h.
The real point of the story...
But the real highlight of the whole story was yet to come. When we finally rolled into Malpaís—drenched in sweat, exhausted, and completely coated in the fine dust from the tracks—it didn't take long: just two hours later, we ran into Günther there, of all people...
We were absolutely forced to turn back. Anything else would have been a dangerous journey into the unknown—including an unplanned overnight stay in the middle of the mountains, as tropical darkness was already nipping at our heels.
8 hours for 160 kilometers: The slowest road trip of my life
To give you an idea of the scale of this grueling journey over completely impassable tracks: it took us a staggering eight (!) hours to cover a distance of just 160 kilometers. No joke! That works out to an average speed of a mere 20 km/h.
The real point of the story...
But the real highlight of the whole story was yet to come. When we finally rolled into Malpaís—drenched in sweat, exhausted, and completely coated in the fine dust from the tracks—it didn't take long: just two hours later, we ran into Günther there, of all people...
Costa Rica, Nebelwald, 2002
Bicycle beats SUV: The jungle finale
We quickly did the math and were stunned to discover that his actual cycling time was also exactly eight hours! The only difference, of course, was that Günther had taken leisurely breaks along the way. While we were fearing for our lives in the Jeep, he was simply enjoying a dip in the warm sea or sitting blissfully relaxed under a palm tree, listening to the sound of the waves.
Well, that’s how it goes. But then again, sometimes you just get lucky with road conditions...
We quickly did the math and were stunned to discover that his actual cycling time was also exactly eight hours! The only difference, of course, was that Günther had taken leisurely breaks along the way. While we were fearing for our lives in the Jeep, he was simply enjoying a dip in the warm sea or sitting blissfully relaxed under a palm tree, listening to the sound of the waves.
Well, that’s how it goes. But then again, sometimes you just get lucky with road conditions...
Brasilien, Rio de Janeiro, 2002/03
At a snail's pace through the vast country
When Irmy, her son Patrick, and I rented a car in Brazil, we actually found excellent road conditions. The only thing that made the drive a bit of a slog was that seemingly endless straight stretch—and since Brazil is famously huge, the asphalt seemed to stretch on forever toward the horizon.
Brazil’s Speed Bumps: When the Road Suddenly Humps Up
There is, however, a massive catch. As soon as you approach a village—or even just pass an ordinary bus stop—you encounter the Brazilian method of speed control: massive concrete bumps in the road. When one of these humps appears, you’d better slow right down and crawl over it at a maximum speed of 1 km/h. Well, maybe 2 km/h is acceptable, too. But you’d better be damn careful...!
When Irmy, her son Patrick, and I rented a car in Brazil, we actually found excellent road conditions. The only thing that made the drive a bit of a slog was that seemingly endless straight stretch—and since Brazil is famously huge, the asphalt seemed to stretch on forever toward the horizon.
Brazil’s Speed Bumps: When the Road Suddenly Humps Up
There is, however, a massive catch. As soon as you approach a village—or even just pass an ordinary bus stop—you encounter the Brazilian method of speed control: massive concrete bumps in the road. When one of these humps appears, you’d better slow right down and crawl over it at a maximum speed of 1 km/h. Well, maybe 2 km/h is acceptable, too. But you’d better be damn careful...!
Brasilien, Zug nach Curitiba, 2002/03
Brake nicely!
If you happen to be going too fast—or miss the speed bumps entirely, which happens all too often given the monotony of the road—the car bottoms out with a deafening crash. Usually, however, you get off lightly, escaping with nothing more than a bad scare, a few new dents in the headliner, and ugly scratches on the underbody.
The Axle-Breaker Cobblestone
But those concrete humps are built so devilishly high that they can easily wreck your axle. Luckily for me, there was just a massive jolt when I slammed over one of those "bumps," and the rental car remained drivable. But it’s definitely not a pleasant experience! You just get lulled into a false sense of security on those endless stretches of asphalt, and—wham—you miss those nasty things again.
If you happen to be going too fast—or miss the speed bumps entirely, which happens all too often given the monotony of the road—the car bottoms out with a deafening crash. Usually, however, you get off lightly, escaping with nothing more than a bad scare, a few new dents in the headliner, and ugly scratches on the underbody.
The Axle-Breaker Cobblestone
But those concrete humps are built so devilishly high that they can easily wreck your axle. Luckily for me, there was just a massive jolt when I slammed over one of those "bumps," and the rental car remained drivable. But it’s definitely not a pleasant experience! You just get lulled into a false sense of security on those endless stretches of asphalt, and—wham—you miss those nasty things again.
USA, Kalifornien, Venice Beach, 1994/2009
Stones in his lap and dust in his face: Jim's Desert Express
After all, you wouldn’t want those concrete pieces to pierce the car at some point—like what happened to Jim in California with his 1969 VW Beetle. When we took a trip to Death Valley in 1994, I suddenly felt an urgent need to stare fixedly out the window. The reason? Boulders from outside were flying right past us—and right beneath my feet!
Hunting for Souvenirs While Seated: Our Road Trip Without a Floorpan
As Jim sped across the scorching desert in a state of total relaxation, he couldn't have cared less about the condition of the track or whether the old heap was about to fall apart. Anyone daring enough to take a peek could look straight down at the rushing desert dust through a massive, 50-centimeter hole in the floorboard on Elettra’s side. It felt just like *The Flintstones*! And the best part? Occasionally, a few stones would even hop right onto our laps—saving us the trouble of bending down to collect souvenirs.
After all, you wouldn’t want those concrete pieces to pierce the car at some point—like what happened to Jim in California with his 1969 VW Beetle. When we took a trip to Death Valley in 1994, I suddenly felt an urgent need to stare fixedly out the window. The reason? Boulders from outside were flying right past us—and right beneath my feet!
Hunting for Souvenirs While Seated: Our Road Trip Without a Floorpan
As Jim sped across the scorching desert in a state of total relaxation, he couldn't have cared less about the condition of the track or whether the old heap was about to fall apart. Anyone daring enough to take a peek could look straight down at the rushing desert dust through a massive, 50-centimeter hole in the floorboard on Elettra’s side. It felt just like *The Flintstones*! And the best part? Occasionally, a few stones would even hop right onto our laps—saving us the trouble of bending down to collect souvenirs.
Australien, Fraser Island, 2000
Australien, Fraser Island, 2000
Jeep Thriller on Fraser Island, Australia
As long as the vehicle gets you to your destination safely, everything is fine. But woe betide you if the old heap starts acting up—then you need nerves of steel. Just like back during our unforgettable trip to Fraser Island in Australia.
Eight people, an ancient Jeep, and the great silence
There were seven or eight of us in the group, and we had rented an ancient Jeep from a Greek hotel owner. We had a bad feeling the moment we got in: the vehicle’s capacity was a bad joke. The Greek owner was absolutely convinced the car offered more than enough space, so we somehow squeezed and shoved ourselves inside. We took it in good humor, but a mere five kilometers later came the first setback: a flat tire! The guys jumped out and changed the tire, cursing all the while. That was the moment we really should have pulled the plug and turned back. But, smart as we were, we just stubbornly drove on.
Stars instead of tent poles and one tire too few
We took the ferry over to the island. Surprisingly, the first day passed without any disasters. We managed to snag the most amazing spot on the beach imaginable. We didn't care that most of the tent poles were missing—we simply lay down directly on the groundsheet under the starry sky, without a tent.
Two flat tires and no plan: The tire dilemma from Down Under
The next day, we explored the island's wild interior until fate caught up with us on the way back. A second flat tire! And now we faced a massive problem: since the first spare was already in use and we hadn't arranged for a replacement before the crossing, we were completely out of options. As we stood there looking utterly helpless, the clock ticked on relentlessly: in exactly two hours, tropical darkness would descend upon us...
As long as the vehicle gets you to your destination safely, everything is fine. But woe betide you if the old heap starts acting up—then you need nerves of steel. Just like back during our unforgettable trip to Fraser Island in Australia.
Eight people, an ancient Jeep, and the great silence
There were seven or eight of us in the group, and we had rented an ancient Jeep from a Greek hotel owner. We had a bad feeling the moment we got in: the vehicle’s capacity was a bad joke. The Greek owner was absolutely convinced the car offered more than enough space, so we somehow squeezed and shoved ourselves inside. We took it in good humor, but a mere five kilometers later came the first setback: a flat tire! The guys jumped out and changed the tire, cursing all the while. That was the moment we really should have pulled the plug and turned back. But, smart as we were, we just stubbornly drove on.
Stars instead of tent poles and one tire too few
We took the ferry over to the island. Surprisingly, the first day passed without any disasters. We managed to snag the most amazing spot on the beach imaginable. We didn't care that most of the tent poles were missing—we simply lay down directly on the groundsheet under the starry sky, without a tent.
Two flat tires and no plan: The tire dilemma from Down Under
The next day, we explored the island's wild interior until fate caught up with us on the way back. A second flat tire! And now we faced a massive problem: since the first spare was already in use and we hadn't arranged for a replacement before the crossing, we were completely out of options. As we stood there looking utterly helpless, the clock ticked on relentlessly: in exactly two hours, tropical darkness would descend upon us...
Australien, Cairns, 2000
Guardian Angel Peter
To have any chance of rescue at all, we decided to keep bumping along on the rim toward the beach—no one would have found us in the middle of the woods anyway. Without wasting any time, I set off on foot ahead of the others. After a grueling hour-and-a-half trek, I finally reached the coast, flagged down a car, and was allowed to use the phone at the nearest house. Our Greek landlord, however, was unimpressed by the distress call. He promised, in a bored tone, to send a mechanic—eventually. Well, thanks a lot!
Between the tide and wild dogs: A last-second rescue
I hitched a ride back and intercepted the group just as they came rolling down the track toward the beach. But instead of relief, another shock followed: the sun was setting, the tide was rising relentlessly, and suddenly we weren't alone. We were surrounded by a pack of hungry dingoes! Huddled together in the freezing-cold Jeep, we sat trapped—shivering with fear and cursing our situation.
Hearty food and a sardine-can vibe in the outback
Suddenly, headlights appeared out of the darkness. Peter, a local, pulled up alongside us in his Jeep. "If you stay here, your car will be floating out at sea in a few minutes!" he shouted. After we explained our plight, the Australian didn't hesitate; he promptly fitted his own spare tire onto our heap of junk, and we followed him blindly through the night. He took us to the cabin of an acquaintance who, upon seeing our utterly exhausted group, immediately set to work without a word and whipped up a hearty dinner. The night proved to be just as adventurous: the five of us girls squeezed into Peter’s tiny 3-by-2-meter shack—three in the bed, two on the floor. And the guys? They slept packed like sardines on our hostess's dining tables in the front room!
To have any chance of rescue at all, we decided to keep bumping along on the rim toward the beach—no one would have found us in the middle of the woods anyway. Without wasting any time, I set off on foot ahead of the others. After a grueling hour-and-a-half trek, I finally reached the coast, flagged down a car, and was allowed to use the phone at the nearest house. Our Greek landlord, however, was unimpressed by the distress call. He promised, in a bored tone, to send a mechanic—eventually. Well, thanks a lot!
Between the tide and wild dogs: A last-second rescue
I hitched a ride back and intercepted the group just as they came rolling down the track toward the beach. But instead of relief, another shock followed: the sun was setting, the tide was rising relentlessly, and suddenly we weren't alone. We were surrounded by a pack of hungry dingoes! Huddled together in the freezing-cold Jeep, we sat trapped—shivering with fear and cursing our situation.
Hearty food and a sardine-can vibe in the outback
Suddenly, headlights appeared out of the darkness. Peter, a local, pulled up alongside us in his Jeep. "If you stay here, your car will be floating out at sea in a few minutes!" he shouted. After we explained our plight, the Australian didn't hesitate; he promptly fitted his own spare tire onto our heap of junk, and we followed him blindly through the night. He took us to the cabin of an acquaintance who, upon seeing our utterly exhausted group, immediately set to work without a word and whipped up a hearty dinner. The night proved to be just as adventurous: the five of us girls squeezed into Peter’s tiny 3-by-2-meter shack—three in the bed, two on the floor. And the guys? They slept packed like sardines on our hostess's dining tables in the front room!
Australien, Fraser Island, 2000
The Knife in the Wheel Arch: The Secret Behind Our Flat Tires
The next morning, Peter and one of his buddies set to work inspecting the wreck. They made a shocking discovery: a sharp piece of metal was protruding right from the frame and—like a hidden knife—had slashed our tires! Once the hazard was removed, we were certain of one thing: we had to get back to the mainland immediately.
First no tire, now no juice: When the clunker breaks down
Peter didn't hesitate for long and decided to join us—mainly because he wanted to give the Greek car rental agent a real piece of his mind. But that heap of junk had no intention of making our departure easy: when Peter turned the key, there wasn't a peep. So, once again, it was time to pop the hood. Peter’s buddy had to give us a jump-start before the engine finally roared to life and we could make our escape.
The next morning, Peter and one of his buddies set to work inspecting the wreck. They made a shocking discovery: a sharp piece of metal was protruding right from the frame and—like a hidden knife—had slashed our tires! Once the hazard was removed, we were certain of one thing: we had to get back to the mainland immediately.
First no tire, now no juice: When the clunker breaks down
Peter didn't hesitate for long and decided to join us—mainly because he wanted to give the Greek car rental agent a real piece of his mind. But that heap of junk had no intention of making our departure easy: when Peter turned the key, there wasn't a peep. So, once again, it was time to pop the hood. Peter’s buddy had to give us a jump-start before the engine finally roared to life and we could make our escape.
Australien, Cairns, 2000
Last station Ferry Terminal
As if stung by a tarantula, we raced through the dense forest to another ferry landing. Once there, Peter turned off the engine—and immediately tried to start it again to reposition the car. The result? Not a peep. Yet again. By this point, it was official: this car was absolutely ready for the scrapyard.
Key in the lock, we’re off! The last-minute dash to the ferry
As the ferry docked, the crew wasted no time, shouting at us: "Make up your minds now! Either you come with us, or you stay with your Jeep!" For us, there was absolutely no hesitation: we had to get out of there, fast! We grabbed our luggage, simply left the key in the ignition, and leapt onto the boat in a final bound. The Jeep was left behind—lonely, abandoned, and blocking the way right there on the pier. Someone would deal with it eventually—perhaps that legendary mechanic of the Greek’s... In any case, anyone wanting to board the ferry with their own car the next morning would first have to play a round of "push the off-roader."
And us? We made our way back to civilization completely without a vehicle—but overjoyed nonetheless. The main thing was that the story ended well—after all, none of us wanted to end up as a meal for hungry dingoes! :-)
As if stung by a tarantula, we raced through the dense forest to another ferry landing. Once there, Peter turned off the engine—and immediately tried to start it again to reposition the car. The result? Not a peep. Yet again. By this point, it was official: this car was absolutely ready for the scrapyard.
Key in the lock, we’re off! The last-minute dash to the ferry
As the ferry docked, the crew wasted no time, shouting at us: "Make up your minds now! Either you come with us, or you stay with your Jeep!" For us, there was absolutely no hesitation: we had to get out of there, fast! We grabbed our luggage, simply left the key in the ignition, and leapt onto the boat in a final bound. The Jeep was left behind—lonely, abandoned, and blocking the way right there on the pier. Someone would deal with it eventually—perhaps that legendary mechanic of the Greek’s... In any case, anyone wanting to board the ferry with their own car the next morning would first have to play a round of "push the off-roader."
And us? We made our way back to civilization completely without a vehicle—but overjoyed nonetheless. The main thing was that the story ended well—after all, none of us wanted to end up as a meal for hungry dingoes! :-)
Australien, Fraser Island, 2000
Nicaragua, Leon, 2002/03
The Nicaragua Show: Through the jungle in a '50s Chevrolet
Even the most rugged off-road vehicle eventually sees its best days pass—yet vintage cars captivate everyone with their looks and their unique driving feel. Standing out certainly wasn't a problem for us. That was guaranteed by the eccentric Swiss guy who chauffeured me across half of Nicaragua back then in his old 1950s Chevrolet. No matter where we showed up or spent the night, that ride was the absolute main attraction in the entire country!
Bus Roulette between San Carlos and Managua
For such a sleek, low-slung model, the Chevy had surprisingly good shock absorbers. It proved this impressively as we made our way along rough dirt tracks toward El Rama and the Atlantic coast—cutting right through jungle and scrubland. We even left the local buses in our dust along the way. Then again, taking a bus in Nicaragua is like playing Russian roulette anyway. You simply need a hell of a lot of luck: either you catch a vehicle that tears down the San Carlos–Managua route in a brisk seven hours (though without a single bathroom break), or you crawl along for 20 hours because the heap breaks down halfway and you have to arrange an expensive replacement taxi in the middle of nowhere.
But things get truly miserable when the buses are packed to the rafters...
When 23 hours of travel time is “normal”: Everyday life in Bilwi
When I lived in Bilwi with my son in 2009 and 2010, we learned a whole new definition of "racetrack." A travel time of 23 hours for a distance of just 180 kilometers was completely normal—though mind you, that was only when everything went smoothly! If something went wrong, you could easily find yourself stuck on the road for 35 or 40 hours.
Five days for one trip: When trucks sink into the mud
Trucks took a full five to six days to cover the same distance—provided there were no mishaps. After all, an overturned truck or bus represents an absolute worst-case scenario in this remote region: there is simply no heavy recovery equipment or cranes available. If a vehicle weighing tons ends up on its side here, it has to be righted using nothing but raw human muscle power. The golden rule in the jungle is therefore: whatever you do, don't tip over!
Today, it is hard to imagine, as the road has since been completely modernized.
Even the most rugged off-road vehicle eventually sees its best days pass—yet vintage cars captivate everyone with their looks and their unique driving feel. Standing out certainly wasn't a problem for us. That was guaranteed by the eccentric Swiss guy who chauffeured me across half of Nicaragua back then in his old 1950s Chevrolet. No matter where we showed up or spent the night, that ride was the absolute main attraction in the entire country!
Bus Roulette between San Carlos and Managua
For such a sleek, low-slung model, the Chevy had surprisingly good shock absorbers. It proved this impressively as we made our way along rough dirt tracks toward El Rama and the Atlantic coast—cutting right through jungle and scrubland. We even left the local buses in our dust along the way. Then again, taking a bus in Nicaragua is like playing Russian roulette anyway. You simply need a hell of a lot of luck: either you catch a vehicle that tears down the San Carlos–Managua route in a brisk seven hours (though without a single bathroom break), or you crawl along for 20 hours because the heap breaks down halfway and you have to arrange an expensive replacement taxi in the middle of nowhere.
But things get truly miserable when the buses are packed to the rafters...
When 23 hours of travel time is “normal”: Everyday life in Bilwi
When I lived in Bilwi with my son in 2009 and 2010, we learned a whole new definition of "racetrack." A travel time of 23 hours for a distance of just 180 kilometers was completely normal—though mind you, that was only when everything went smoothly! If something went wrong, you could easily find yourself stuck on the road for 35 or 40 hours.
Five days for one trip: When trucks sink into the mud
Trucks took a full five to six days to cover the same distance—provided there were no mishaps. After all, an overturned truck or bus represents an absolute worst-case scenario in this remote region: there is simply no heavy recovery equipment or cranes available. If a vehicle weighing tons ends up on its side here, it has to be righted using nothing but raw human muscle power. The golden rule in the jungle is therefore: whatever you do, don't tip over!
Today, it is hard to imagine, as the road has since been completely modernized.
Responsibility on four wheels
You undoubtedly enjoy the greatest freedom when traveling with your own rental car—a luxury I treated myself to for a full five weeks in Nicaragua in 2008. Yet with that freedom comes responsibility for the vehicle and the passengers.
Stop or hit the gas? The Shadows of Corinto
My son Felipe, a friend of mine, Gary, and I went on countless excursions back then. And as is the nature of adventure travel, you sometimes find yourself in dicey situations where you have to make a split-second decision. That’s exactly what happened on our way back from Corinto to Chinandega: we were driving along when three figures suddenly appeared in our headlights. They were walking straight toward us, with one of the men being supported by the other two. When they frantically waved their arms, trying to force us to stop right there on the dark road, sheer terror instantly shot through us: Was this a genuine emergency—or a cold-blooded ambush?
From a suspected ambush to a dramatic rescue drive
At first, suspicion prevailed: we drove past the group because the situation just didn't seem right to me. But a glance in the rearview mirror changed everything: I saw the man in the middle staggering violently and looking visibly, severely injured. I slowed down and stopped at a safe distance. A few fruit pickers were working by the roadside, and we immediately questioned them in disbelief. The workers described a harrowing scene: the man had fallen from a tree while harvesting. In the process, the machete he carried tucked into his trousers had driven deep into his body. Diagnosis: life-threatening. If he didn't get to a hospital immediately, he would bleed to death right there on the road.
Full speed to the emergency room: A life saved in Chinandega
There was no hesitation for Gary and me. We turned the truck around and picked the men up. We sped toward the city with the engine roaring at full throttle. Since we were in a pickup, the companions crouched in the open cargo bed, shouting directions to me in rapid-fire Spanish through the rear window. Then, right in the middle of the city of Chinandega, we found ourselves in a tricky situation: a police officer stopped us at a red light. Fortunately, however, he immediately recognized the urgency of the situation and promptly guided us straight through the red light. We reached the emergency room in record time, where the poor guy was immediately taken into the doctors' care. But upon arrival, another profound shock immediately followed—this time regarding the catastrophic conditions at the local hospital. When the paramedics rushed over, they brought a stretcher that—no word of a lie—still held the completely blood-stained sheet from the previous patient. Hygiene and medical standards were clearly a far cry from what they should have been. I hope he made it!
A six-hour drive ahead of us – and the back full of blood.
We didn't realize just how close a call it had been until we looked at the truck bed: the back was completely drenched in blood. He had lost a massive amount of blood during those few kilometers. This posed a huge problem for us, as we faced a grueling six-hour drive back to San Juan del Sur—a route notorious for its strict police checkpoints. We couldn't possibly keep driving with a truck bed that looked like a slaughterhouse. So, we pulled over off the road and desperately tried to wash the blood away using a little water. It was a macabre stop, but the feeling in our hearts was priceless: maybe we had saved a human life that day. And that made every bit of scrubbing worth it!
You undoubtedly enjoy the greatest freedom when traveling with your own rental car—a luxury I treated myself to for a full five weeks in Nicaragua in 2008. Yet with that freedom comes responsibility for the vehicle and the passengers.
Stop or hit the gas? The Shadows of Corinto
My son Felipe, a friend of mine, Gary, and I went on countless excursions back then. And as is the nature of adventure travel, you sometimes find yourself in dicey situations where you have to make a split-second decision. That’s exactly what happened on our way back from Corinto to Chinandega: we were driving along when three figures suddenly appeared in our headlights. They were walking straight toward us, with one of the men being supported by the other two. When they frantically waved their arms, trying to force us to stop right there on the dark road, sheer terror instantly shot through us: Was this a genuine emergency—or a cold-blooded ambush?
From a suspected ambush to a dramatic rescue drive
At first, suspicion prevailed: we drove past the group because the situation just didn't seem right to me. But a glance in the rearview mirror changed everything: I saw the man in the middle staggering violently and looking visibly, severely injured. I slowed down and stopped at a safe distance. A few fruit pickers were working by the roadside, and we immediately questioned them in disbelief. The workers described a harrowing scene: the man had fallen from a tree while harvesting. In the process, the machete he carried tucked into his trousers had driven deep into his body. Diagnosis: life-threatening. If he didn't get to a hospital immediately, he would bleed to death right there on the road.
Full speed to the emergency room: A life saved in Chinandega
There was no hesitation for Gary and me. We turned the truck around and picked the men up. We sped toward the city with the engine roaring at full throttle. Since we were in a pickup, the companions crouched in the open cargo bed, shouting directions to me in rapid-fire Spanish through the rear window. Then, right in the middle of the city of Chinandega, we found ourselves in a tricky situation: a police officer stopped us at a red light. Fortunately, however, he immediately recognized the urgency of the situation and promptly guided us straight through the red light. We reached the emergency room in record time, where the poor guy was immediately taken into the doctors' care. But upon arrival, another profound shock immediately followed—this time regarding the catastrophic conditions at the local hospital. When the paramedics rushed over, they brought a stretcher that—no word of a lie—still held the completely blood-stained sheet from the previous patient. Hygiene and medical standards were clearly a far cry from what they should have been. I hope he made it!
A six-hour drive ahead of us – and the back full of blood.
We didn't realize just how close a call it had been until we looked at the truck bed: the back was completely drenched in blood. He had lost a massive amount of blood during those few kilometers. This posed a huge problem for us, as we faced a grueling six-hour drive back to San Juan del Sur—a route notorious for its strict police checkpoints. We couldn't possibly keep driving with a truck bed that looked like a slaughterhouse. So, we pulled over off the road and desperately tried to wash the blood away using a little water. It was a macabre stop, but the feeling in our hearts was priceless: maybe we had saved a human life that day. And that made every bit of scrubbing worth it!
Riding a Motorcycle Through Volcanic Nicaragua
The ultimate alternative to a four-wheeled rental car is, of course, a two-wheeler—so it wasn’t long before motorcycle adventures came along. Most of the time, however, I was just riding pillion. Like that time in Estelí, when Larry and I set out for a nearby waterfall.
Shorts, sandals, and a heap of wire: On the road on Nicaragua's tracks
For the locals—the "Nicas"—it is the most natural thing in the world to hop onto a completely rickety dirt bike wearing nothing but shorts and sandals—a machine that feels like it dates back to the 19th century and is held together by little more than a few wires. After a quick stop at the market, we set off on our ride. And it has to be said: aside from the massive volcanic rocks constantly blocking the path, a motorcycle offers unbeatable flexibility when navigating the volcanic landscape of Nicaragua!
The ultimate alternative to a four-wheeled rental car is, of course, a two-wheeler—so it wasn’t long before motorcycle adventures came along. Most of the time, however, I was just riding pillion. Like that time in Estelí, when Larry and I set out for a nearby waterfall.
Shorts, sandals, and a heap of wire: On the road on Nicaragua's tracks
For the locals—the "Nicas"—it is the most natural thing in the world to hop onto a completely rickety dirt bike wearing nothing but shorts and sandals—a machine that feels like it dates back to the 19th century and is held together by little more than a few wires. After a quick stop at the market, we set off on our ride. And it has to be said: aside from the massive volcanic rocks constantly blocking the path, a motorcycle offers unbeatable flexibility when navigating the volcanic landscape of Nicaragua!
Guardian Angel on Ometepe
Paul and I had exactly the same experience on Isla Ometepe. Seeing all the loose rock on the tracks, I knew right away: you have to be incredibly careful here! But as we sped toward Mérida together, things naturally took a completely different turn—and we truly had a guardian angel riding with us.
The Mérida Sleeping Bag Trap
The climb was steep. While Paul focused intently on the rocky path and the machine groaned in agony under our combined weight, my sleeping bag worked itself loose from the backpack without me noticing. It fed straight into the spinning rear wheel. The shock was instantaneous: the wheel locked up in a split second! Right there on a steep, rocky slope, completely overloaded—an absolute nightmare.
Through the rain gutter in sandals: Paul’s masterstroke on the volcano
But Paul reacted brilliantly. Thinking fast, I jumped off the back so he’d actually have a chance to catch the bike. It was a matter of millimeters, as the track was crisscrossed by deep rain ruts. Even at a towering 1.90 meters tall, Paul had to use every ounce of his strength to somehow keep the heavy machine upright. Well, the moral of the story is: you really shouldn't ride on volcanic gravel tracks in sandals...!
Paul and I had exactly the same experience on Isla Ometepe. Seeing all the loose rock on the tracks, I knew right away: you have to be incredibly careful here! But as we sped toward Mérida together, things naturally took a completely different turn—and we truly had a guardian angel riding with us.
The Mérida Sleeping Bag Trap
The climb was steep. While Paul focused intently on the rocky path and the machine groaned in agony under our combined weight, my sleeping bag worked itself loose from the backpack without me noticing. It fed straight into the spinning rear wheel. The shock was instantaneous: the wheel locked up in a split second! Right there on a steep, rocky slope, completely overloaded—an absolute nightmare.
Through the rain gutter in sandals: Paul’s masterstroke on the volcano
But Paul reacted brilliantly. Thinking fast, I jumped off the back so he’d actually have a chance to catch the bike. It was a matter of millimeters, as the track was crisscrossed by deep rain ruts. Even at a towering 1.90 meters tall, Paul had to use every ounce of his strength to somehow keep the heavy machine upright. Well, the moral of the story is: you really shouldn't ride on volcanic gravel tracks in sandals...!
Riding sideways along the cliffs: By motorcycle to the sacred village of Orongo
My companion on Easter Island displayed that very same unshakable composure when we took a trip on his motorbike to the sacred village of Orongo. Orongo has always been buffeted by powerful, mystical winds—yet, despite the gusts, he steered the bike with absolute confidence along the dizzying cliffs.
Traditional furnishings at the end of the world
It is worth noting that the sacred site sits in isolation on a narrow crater rim, accessible only via an exposed cliffside path. To the right lies the deep crater lake, to the left the roaring Pacific, and in between, the gale-force wind howls across the open water. Riding on two wheels, leaning into the wind was an absolute certainty! And how could it be otherwise? Even on the other side of the world, traditional footwear—perfect for the ultimate shock-absorber test—was a must: we rode in sandals!
My companion on Easter Island displayed that very same unshakable composure when we took a trip on his motorbike to the sacred village of Orongo. Orongo has always been buffeted by powerful, mystical winds—yet, despite the gusts, he steered the bike with absolute confidence along the dizzying cliffs.
Traditional furnishings at the end of the world
It is worth noting that the sacred site sits in isolation on a narrow crater rim, accessible only via an exposed cliffside path. To the right lies the deep crater lake, to the left the roaring Pacific, and in between, the gale-force wind howls across the open water. Riding on two wheels, leaning into the wind was an absolute certainty! And how could it be otherwise? Even on the other side of the world, traditional footwear—perfect for the ultimate shock-absorber test—was a must: we rode in sandals!
Driving through paradise with a tropical driver's license
However, the absolute best moped tour I experienced was on Rarotonga, one of the Cook Islands. The adventure began even before the ride itself, as renting a car or a motorbike there requires an official island driving permit. Those without a motorcycle license can take the driving test right there under the watchful eyes of the local police. Since I already held a license, the process was much more relaxed for me: I headed to the registration office, paid the fee, had my photo taken, and within just an hour, I was holding my tropical driving permit in my hands!
Once, twice, three times around the island: moped bliss in the Cook Islands
And then the island merry-go-round began: we drove all the way around the island once, twice, three times. For a change of pace, we reversed course, zoomed off in the opposite direction, and finally puttered along the only road leading inland to the island’s only waterfall.
To the island's only waterfall – but without brakes, please!
But a word of caution in paradise: if you get caught in a surprise tropical downpour while heading downhill, you’ll definitely want to be wearing sturdy shoes! The bikes' braking power leaves a lot to be desired. The tires on ours were so worn and bald that, on the wet asphalt, there was a lot more sliding than braking going on! :-)
However, the absolute best moped tour I experienced was on Rarotonga, one of the Cook Islands. The adventure began even before the ride itself, as renting a car or a motorbike there requires an official island driving permit. Those without a motorcycle license can take the driving test right there under the watchful eyes of the local police. Since I already held a license, the process was much more relaxed for me: I headed to the registration office, paid the fee, had my photo taken, and within just an hour, I was holding my tropical driving permit in my hands!
Once, twice, three times around the island: moped bliss in the Cook Islands
And then the island merry-go-round began: we drove all the way around the island once, twice, three times. For a change of pace, we reversed course, zoomed off in the opposite direction, and finally puttered along the only road leading inland to the island’s only waterfall.
To the island's only waterfall – but without brakes, please!
But a word of caution in paradise: if you get caught in a surprise tropical downpour while heading downhill, you’ll definitely want to be wearing sturdy shoes! The bikes' braking power leaves a lot to be desired. The tires on ours were so worn and bald that, on the wet asphalt, there was a lot more sliding than braking going on! :-)
Three on the motorbike: Off-road adventure with a five-year-old
However, the truly most unforgettable moped rides I experienced were in Bilwi. The region consists almost entirely of wild, open terrain, so genuine off-road riding was the order of the day. Since there were three of us—my son was just five years old at the time—it was a tight squeeze on the seat. Whenever the craters on the track became too deep and muddy, it meant one thing for us passengers: dismount! Understandably, Larry didn't want to take any risks. Yet, despite the bumpy ride, you could feel a sense of total freedom in that endless expanse. Roads simply didn't matter anymore.
How to tow a car trailer with a motorcycle in Nicaragua
Bouncing along the backroads three-up on a motorbike takes some getting used to, though it’s an everyday sight locally. The same goes for the bizarre things you spot along the way: I once watched two men seriously attempting to tow a full-sized car trailer with a motorcycle! One was driving, while the other sat on the back, holding onto the trailer hitch with his bare hands. It was inevitable that the police—who were directing traffic nearby—would step in and start a heated argument. To the guys, their own "manpower" seemed like a perfectly adequate safety measure, but for the officers, the whole thing was just a bit too adventurous!
However, the truly most unforgettable moped rides I experienced were in Bilwi. The region consists almost entirely of wild, open terrain, so genuine off-road riding was the order of the day. Since there were three of us—my son was just five years old at the time—it was a tight squeeze on the seat. Whenever the craters on the track became too deep and muddy, it meant one thing for us passengers: dismount! Understandably, Larry didn't want to take any risks. Yet, despite the bumpy ride, you could feel a sense of total freedom in that endless expanse. Roads simply didn't matter anymore.
How to tow a car trailer with a motorcycle in Nicaragua
Bouncing along the backroads three-up on a motorbike takes some getting used to, though it’s an everyday sight locally. The same goes for the bizarre things you spot along the way: I once watched two men seriously attempting to tow a full-sized car trailer with a motorcycle! One was driving, while the other sat on the back, holding onto the trailer hitch with his bare hands. It was inevitable that the police—who were directing traffic nearby—would step in and start a heated argument. To the guys, their own "manpower" seemed like a perfectly adequate safety measure, but for the officers, the whole thing was just a bit too adventurous!
Tuk-tuk racing in neon light: Our wild night tour through Bangkok
In Asia, right alongside cars and motorcycles, another iconic alternative mode of transport awaits: the rickshaw! Back then in Bangkok, I went on an absolutely unforgettable night tour with a Frenchman named Michel.
Our rickshaw driver showed us absolutely everything amidst the metropolis's neon glow—from the vibrant gay and straight nightlife and bustling markets to the locals' hidden residential neighborhoods. But that wasn't all: at one point, the driver got competitive and started racing other tuk-tuks illegally in the middle of the night! Let me tell you: our rickshaw was hands down the fastest. But we had to hold on for dear life during those high-speed maneuvers—whoosh! :-%
In Asia, right alongside cars and motorcycles, another iconic alternative mode of transport awaits: the rickshaw! Back then in Bangkok, I went on an absolutely unforgettable night tour with a Frenchman named Michel.
Our rickshaw driver showed us absolutely everything amidst the metropolis's neon glow—from the vibrant gay and straight nightlife and bustling markets to the locals' hidden residential neighborhoods. But that wasn't all: at one point, the driver got competitive and started racing other tuk-tuks illegally in the middle of the night! Let me tell you: our rickshaw was hands down the fastest. But we had to hold on for dear life during those high-speed maneuvers—whoosh! :-%
Swapping Roles in Yogyakarta: When Tourists Drive the Rickshaw
In Indonesia—specifically in Yogyakarta—Jamie and Johnny had a brilliant idea. Unlike in Thailand, the classic rickshaws (becaks) here are still powered solely by human muscle using a bicycle mechanism, making it back-breaking work for the locals.
On the spur of the moment, the boys decided to swap roles to give the drivers a break: they hopped into the saddle and pedaled hard! The actual driver got to sit up front with me in the cozy cabin instead. It was a priceless moment. For a brief instant, the Javanese man could simply be a passenger himself—leaning back and watching his own hometown drift by from a completely new perspective. (A look at the photo shows just how much fun we all had!)
Chickens, pigs, and sacks of rice: The real adventure on the public bus
For those without the budget to constantly treat themselves to a rental car: don’t worry—the real adventures await on public transport anyway! Only there do you enjoy the priceless privilege of truly getting close to the locals. This is especially true if you end up on one of the legendary "chicken buses," where live chickens and pigs spread out on the seats alongside the passengers. It’s a case of gritting your teeth and somehow balancing for ten hours amidst the other passengers' suitcases and sacks of rice.
Venezuela’s rolling freezer: Flash-frozen to a samba beat
I experienced the ultimate version of this in Venezuela. There, I unsuspectingly boarded a night bus that turned out to be a rolling freezer. Equipped with a deafening samba jukebox, we were put on ice for ten hours—flash-frozen so perfectly that we were guaranteed not to spoil before the journey ended. The most fascinating part was the stoic calm of the locals: everyone on the bus was visibly freezing to death, yet not a soul uttered a single word about it.
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For those without the budget to constantly treat themselves to a rental car: don’t worry—the real adventures await on public transport anyway! Only there do you enjoy the priceless privilege of truly getting close to the locals. This is especially true if you end up on one of the legendary "chicken buses," where live chickens and pigs spread out on the seats alongside the passengers. It’s a case of gritting your teeth and somehow balancing for ten hours amidst the other passengers' suitcases and sacks of rice.
Venezuela’s rolling freezer: Flash-frozen to a samba beat
I experienced the ultimate version of this in Venezuela. There, I unsuspectingly boarded a night bus that turned out to be a rolling freezer. Equipped with a deafening samba jukebox, we were put on ice for ten hours—flash-frozen so perfectly that we were guaranteed not to spoil before the journey ended. The most fascinating part was the stoic calm of the locals: everyone on the bus was visibly freezing to death, yet not a soul uttered a single word about it.
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Squeezed into Java
Sometimes, when traveling, every decision is taken out of your hands, and you simply have to accept whatever is dished out to you—as long as things keep moving somehow. Johnny, Jamie, and I learned this hard lesson on the journey from the ferry port between Bali and Java to Yogyakarta.
Twelve people, ten backpacks, one VW bus: The nightmare journey to Yogyakarta.
Ten of us—plus two drivers, making twelve people in total—squeezed into a tiny VW bus from the 1950s. To make matters worse, ten huge, stuffed trekking backpacks also had to be stowed inside. Since there was no room in the trunk, the bags were piled up in the footwells, forcing us to rest our legs on top of them.
Screeching Halt in Java: My 38-Hour Battle for a Bathroom Break
As if being packed in like sardines wasn't torture enough, the drivers were also tearing along the roads like absolute maniacs. And the whole ordeal dragged on for an unimaginable 38 hours! Since we were in a region with deeply rooted Muslim traditions, I faced another grueling challenge: my pleas for a bathroom break were simply ignored by the drivers. As a woman, I was invisible to them. It wasn't until one of the male backpackers took the initiative and loudly demanded a stop for me that a miracle occurred: the bus slammed on the brakes immediately. I could finally breathe a sigh of relief. So it *is* possible!
Sometimes, when traveling, every decision is taken out of your hands, and you simply have to accept whatever is dished out to you—as long as things keep moving somehow. Johnny, Jamie, and I learned this hard lesson on the journey from the ferry port between Bali and Java to Yogyakarta.
Twelve people, ten backpacks, one VW bus: The nightmare journey to Yogyakarta.
Ten of us—plus two drivers, making twelve people in total—squeezed into a tiny VW bus from the 1950s. To make matters worse, ten huge, stuffed trekking backpacks also had to be stowed inside. Since there was no room in the trunk, the bags were piled up in the footwells, forcing us to rest our legs on top of them.
Screeching Halt in Java: My 38-Hour Battle for a Bathroom Break
As if being packed in like sardines wasn't torture enough, the drivers were also tearing along the roads like absolute maniacs. And the whole ordeal dragged on for an unimaginable 38 hours! Since we were in a region with deeply rooted Muslim traditions, I faced another grueling challenge: my pleas for a bathroom break were simply ignored by the drivers. As a woman, I was invisible to them. It wasn't until one of the male backpackers took the initiative and loudly demanded a stop for me that a miracle occurred: the bus slammed on the brakes immediately. I could finally breathe a sigh of relief. So it *is* possible!
Stranded in Cancún: Why We Ended Up on the Highway Without a Hotel Booking
Sometimes, when traveling, you get thrown in at the deep end and have to rely entirely on hitchhiking. That is exactly what Christine and I experienced in Mexico, right after landing in Cancún. It is unimaginable today, but back then, there were no shuttle buses whatsoever from this extremely popular airport for independent travelers like us; all transport was reserved exclusively for tourists staying at pre-booked resort hotels.
No shuttle for backpackers: Hitchhiking to Playa del Carmen
So, to get away from the airport grounds at all, we were left with only one option: hitchhiking! After a grueling trek of several kilometers along the dusty highway, our luck finally turned after two hours. A driver stopped and gave us a lift all the way to Playa del Carmen.
Riddled with holes like Swiss cheese: As a foreigner in a Mexican taxi
My tip for this kind of thing: bring plenty of time and patience! As a foreigner, you get bombarded with questions by the driver—practically peppered with them like Swiss cheese. Being fluent in Spanish is absolutely essential! Despite our good luck, I want to issue a clear warning here: hitchhiking never guarantees that everything will go smoothly. You bear the risk yourself—and sometimes it is simply wiser to opt for the expensive tourist transport after all.
Sometimes, when traveling, you get thrown in at the deep end and have to rely entirely on hitchhiking. That is exactly what Christine and I experienced in Mexico, right after landing in Cancún. It is unimaginable today, but back then, there were no shuttle buses whatsoever from this extremely popular airport for independent travelers like us; all transport was reserved exclusively for tourists staying at pre-booked resort hotels.
No shuttle for backpackers: Hitchhiking to Playa del Carmen
So, to get away from the airport grounds at all, we were left with only one option: hitchhiking! After a grueling trek of several kilometers along the dusty highway, our luck finally turned after two hours. A driver stopped and gave us a lift all the way to Playa del Carmen.
Riddled with holes like Swiss cheese: As a foreigner in a Mexican taxi
My tip for this kind of thing: bring plenty of time and patience! As a foreigner, you get bombarded with questions by the driver—practically peppered with them like Swiss cheese. Being fluent in Spanish is absolutely essential! Despite our good luck, I want to issue a clear warning here: hitchhiking never guarantees that everything will go smoothly. You bear the risk yourself—and sometimes it is simply wiser to opt for the expensive tourist transport after all.
How a street deal turned into a royal ride
I experienced a completely different, absolutely positive surprise in Mexico City. At the time, I was sharing a room with three Italians, and we were looking for an affordable way to visit the metropolis and the famous Teotihuacán temple complex.
In the historic center, you are practically besieged every few seconds by freelance tour guides. Normally, you’d reflexively wave them off, but at one point we took pity on them and decided to give it a try. And what can I say? To our utter surprise, a state-of-the-art, ice-cold air-conditioned minibus was suddenly waiting for us! The driver treated us like royalty all day long. He took us wherever we wanted to go—completely stress-free—and even showed us a few real insider tips off the beaten path as a bonus. There wasn't a single hitch, and the price was unbeatable. My verdict for the day is definitely: no risk, no fun!
I experienced a completely different, absolutely positive surprise in Mexico City. At the time, I was sharing a room with three Italians, and we were looking for an affordable way to visit the metropolis and the famous Teotihuacán temple complex.
In the historic center, you are practically besieged every few seconds by freelance tour guides. Normally, you’d reflexively wave them off, but at one point we took pity on them and decided to give it a try. And what can I say? To our utter surprise, a state-of-the-art, ice-cold air-conditioned minibus was suddenly waiting for us! The driver treated us like royalty all day long. He took us wherever we wanted to go—completely stress-free—and even showed us a few real insider tips off the beaten path as a bonus. There wasn't a single hitch, and the price was unbeatable. My verdict for the day is definitely: no risk, no fun!
When My Father Replaced the Taxi Lock: Chaos in New York City
You might expect that kind of chaos in Mexico—but certainly not in the USA, or so you’d think. Yet that is precisely where we learned otherwise in 1992. After all, when you get into a taxi in New York City, you never quite know what you’re letting yourself in for.
Cruising NYC in a beat-up Yellow Cab: When the door flies open on a turn
When my father, my brother, and I traveled to the North American East Coast, we first landed in NYC. Carefree, we took a yellow cab from the airport to our hotel. That yellow vehicle had definitely seen better days; we practically sank into the completely worn-out, sagging seats. But the real shock came at the first sharp turn: suddenly, the passenger-side door flew wide open! With quick reflexes, my father’s hand shot out, grabbed the handle, and slammed the door shut again. For the rest of the ride, he acted as a human door lock, holding onto the metal frame for dear life so that none of us would go flying out onto the asphalt. Absolutely unthinkable in Germany!
But that’s exactly the beauty of traveling: whether in your own car, on a motorbike, in rickshaw-racing mode, with a private chauffeur, or on a freezing-cold public bus—in the end, you always reach your destination somehow!
You might expect that kind of chaos in Mexico—but certainly not in the USA, or so you’d think. Yet that is precisely where we learned otherwise in 1992. After all, when you get into a taxi in New York City, you never quite know what you’re letting yourself in for.
Cruising NYC in a beat-up Yellow Cab: When the door flies open on a turn
When my father, my brother, and I traveled to the North American East Coast, we first landed in NYC. Carefree, we took a yellow cab from the airport to our hotel. That yellow vehicle had definitely seen better days; we practically sank into the completely worn-out, sagging seats. But the real shock came at the first sharp turn: suddenly, the passenger-side door flew wide open! With quick reflexes, my father’s hand shot out, grabbed the handle, and slammed the door shut again. For the rest of the ride, he acted as a human door lock, holding onto the metal frame for dear life so that none of us would go flying out onto the asphalt. Absolutely unthinkable in Germany!
But that’s exactly the beauty of traveling: whether in your own car, on a motorbike, in rickshaw-racing mode, with a private chauffeur, or on a freezing-cold public bus—in the end, you always reach your destination somehow!
The unwritten laws of the Jamaican streets
Sometimes you don’t travel alone but instead meet the best guides right on the spot. I was invited to a wedding in Jamaica, where I met Daniel, a Canadian. He offered to show me around the island for a week. For our tours, we used the island’s unique form of local transport—the so-called "route taxis."
Riding a Route Taxi: When the Driving Style Becomes a Test of Nerve
However, this way of traveling is not for the faint of heart; for us white people, it can feel almost suicidal. Unfortunately, the historical suffering Jamaicans endured under British colonial rule is still deeply palpable in everyday life. Consequently, many locals still harbor resentment toward white people. This attitude is reflected in the driving style of the route taxis, where the unwritten rule of the road is: the faster, the better! And if an accident does occur, the bitter, unspoken sentiment is often: let's just hope it happens to a white person... So, you should think carefully before getting into an overcrowded route taxi in Jamaica.
Nevertheless, Jamaicans are great people!
Sometimes you don’t travel alone but instead meet the best guides right on the spot. I was invited to a wedding in Jamaica, where I met Daniel, a Canadian. He offered to show me around the island for a week. For our tours, we used the island’s unique form of local transport—the so-called "route taxis."
Riding a Route Taxi: When the Driving Style Becomes a Test of Nerve
However, this way of traveling is not for the faint of heart; for us white people, it can feel almost suicidal. Unfortunately, the historical suffering Jamaicans endured under British colonial rule is still deeply palpable in everyday life. Consequently, many locals still harbor resentment toward white people. This attitude is reflected in the driving style of the route taxis, where the unwritten rule of the road is: the faster, the better! And if an accident does occur, the bitter, unspoken sentiment is often: let's just hope it happens to a white person... So, you should think carefully before getting into an overcrowded route taxi in Jamaica.
Nevertheless, Jamaicans are great people!
The most inappropriate hiking outfit in Nicaragua
Sometimes, purely business-related relationships turn into the most beautiful travel memories. When I wanted to visit the Peñas Blancas Nature Reserve in Nicaragua, I was accompanied by my guide, Memo. For the two-hour drive there, we used the car belonging to Santos—a taxi driver Memo always hires for such tours.
Jungle trek instead of waiting: When the taxi driver forgets his hiking boots
The original plan was for Santos to wait for us in the car at the entrance until we got back. But just before we set off, he shyly came up to me and politely asked if he could join us. Naturally, I said yes right away! Santos didn't hesitate; he hurriedly packed a snack and some water and came along with us.
Muddy Climbing in Peñas Blancas: A Photo Full of Happiness
The absolute best part? He wasn't equipped for an adventure like that at all! Instead of sturdy hiking boots, he was wearing his smart city loafers and a pair of dress trousers. The hike turned out to be quite a challenge, though: the trail was moderately difficult, leading us deep through thick mud, and we even had to do some actual scrambling. In the end, the outing took a whopping seven hours! There’s a priceless photo of the two of us from that day: our clothes completely caked in mud and our shoes ruined, yet both of us wearing huge, happy grins!
Sometimes, purely business-related relationships turn into the most beautiful travel memories. When I wanted to visit the Peñas Blancas Nature Reserve in Nicaragua, I was accompanied by my guide, Memo. For the two-hour drive there, we used the car belonging to Santos—a taxi driver Memo always hires for such tours.
Jungle trek instead of waiting: When the taxi driver forgets his hiking boots
The original plan was for Santos to wait for us in the car at the entrance until we got back. But just before we set off, he shyly came up to me and politely asked if he could join us. Naturally, I said yes right away! Santos didn't hesitate; he hurriedly packed a snack and some water and came along with us.
Muddy Climbing in Peñas Blancas: A Photo Full of Happiness
The absolute best part? He wasn't equipped for an adventure like that at all! Instead of sturdy hiking boots, he was wearing his smart city loafers and a pair of dress trousers. The hike turned out to be quite a challenge, though: the trail was moderately difficult, leading us deep through thick mud, and we even had to do some actual scrambling. In the end, the outing took a whopping seven hours! There’s a priceless photo of the two of us from that day: our clothes completely caked in mud and our shoes ruined, yet both of us wearing huge, happy grins!
The Key Miracle
Sometimes, travel offers experiences that almost have to be classified as "divine providence." On one of my visits to Isla Ometepe in Nicaragua, I arrived by ferry at the small port town of Moyogalpa. The problem: not a single bus heading my way was scheduled to leave for the next few hours.
Step on the gas first, then lock up: The magical ride in the nuns' Jeep
As luck would have it, I ran into a nun driving a pickup truck at the harbor. She was incredibly helpful and promptly offered a ride to me and two other French travelers. Before we really got going, we stopped at a gas station. And that was where the absolutely unbelievable happened: the nun filled the tank, got back in quite casually, started the engine, and simply drove off. It was only while we were driving that she reached into her pocket, pulled out the ignition key, and calmly inserted it into the ignition! The two Frenchmen and I couldn't believe our eyes. We stared at each other in disbelief and spent the rest of the journey wondering how on earth such a thing was physically possible. A real automotive miracle on Ometepe!
Sometimes, travel offers experiences that almost have to be classified as "divine providence." On one of my visits to Isla Ometepe in Nicaragua, I arrived by ferry at the small port town of Moyogalpa. The problem: not a single bus heading my way was scheduled to leave for the next few hours.
Step on the gas first, then lock up: The magical ride in the nuns' Jeep
As luck would have it, I ran into a nun driving a pickup truck at the harbor. She was incredibly helpful and promptly offered a ride to me and two other French travelers. Before we really got going, we stopped at a gas station. And that was where the absolutely unbelievable happened: the nun filled the tank, got back in quite casually, started the engine, and simply drove off. It was only while we were driving that she reached into her pocket, pulled out the ignition key, and calmly inserted it into the ignition! The two Frenchmen and I couldn't believe our eyes. We stared at each other in disbelief and spent the rest of the journey wondering how on earth such a thing was physically possible. A real automotive miracle on Ometepe!
After 20 years on the volcanic island: One scooter, three friends, and the great joy of Ometepe
To me, Isla de Ometepe seems like a magical place where time sometimes stands still—and yet everything changes at the same time. During my last visit, I met up with a Nicaraguan friend from Matagalpa and experienced something truly extraordinary: after a staggering 20 years (!), I ran into an acquaintance of mine from the Basque Country, Iñigo, completely unexpectedly.
The Ometepe Scooter Trio
The three of us set ourselves up at the place of an acquaintance of mine, a Catalan named Fernando. Since we hadn’t made any bookings and his hotel was fully booked from time to time, he showed true hospitality and simply let us stay at his private home. We spent just under three weeks together in this wonderful group. To get around, I had rented a scooter—and, as is the custom in Nicaragua, we ended up exploring the island all three of us together on two wheels!
From a landscape of potholes to a dream road: En route to Mérida
Do you remember my adventurous moped story involving Paul, that steep slope, and the sleeping bag that got jammed on the way to Mérida? A real miracle has happened there since then: the roads have become incredibly good! Mérida is the place I head for whenever I visit Ometepe. It’s hard to believe, but back then, the bus used to take a full four to five hours to cover the mere 12 kilometers there, bumping over nothing but rough rubble. Today, you can zip across the island on smooth asphalt—even with three people on the scooter, and without any sleeping bag disasters!
To me, Isla de Ometepe seems like a magical place where time sometimes stands still—and yet everything changes at the same time. During my last visit, I met up with a Nicaraguan friend from Matagalpa and experienced something truly extraordinary: after a staggering 20 years (!), I ran into an acquaintance of mine from the Basque Country, Iñigo, completely unexpectedly.
The Ometepe Scooter Trio
The three of us set ourselves up at the place of an acquaintance of mine, a Catalan named Fernando. Since we hadn’t made any bookings and his hotel was fully booked from time to time, he showed true hospitality and simply let us stay at his private home. We spent just under three weeks together in this wonderful group. To get around, I had rented a scooter—and, as is the custom in Nicaragua, we ended up exploring the island all three of us together on two wheels!
From a landscape of potholes to a dream road: En route to Mérida
Do you remember my adventurous moped story involving Paul, that steep slope, and the sleeping bag that got jammed on the way to Mérida? A real miracle has happened there since then: the roads have become incredibly good! Mérida is the place I head for whenever I visit Ometepe. It’s hard to believe, but back then, the bus used to take a full four to five hours to cover the mere 12 kilometers there, bumping over nothing but rough rubble. Today, you can zip across the island on smooth asphalt—even with three people on the scooter, and without any sleeping bag disasters!
Heart-wrenching America: What you see from the bus when you don't rent a car
In 2018, I decided to visit my American host family in California and then embark on a truly epic adventure: crossing the USA to the East Coast—using nothing but public transport. I started out by train and continued by bus. My friends were terribly worried beforehand and urged me to rent a car. But it was obvious to everyone that covering such a vast distance alone behind the wheel would be nearly impossible. Besides, doing so would have deprived me of the incredible experiences I had on board the buses.
Hauling luggage with a broken hip: True civic courage on the way to New Orleans
It started with a 60-year-old homeless man who was desperately trying to get to New Orleans to seek medical help through a church congregation. He had broken his hip, and no one was helping him. So, without hesitation, I supported him as he walked and carried both our bags.
The Little Fairy on the Greyhound: When the US Bus System Forgot Time
The second incident was a case of sheer systemic madness: since I was traveling in March, the daylight saving time change was due at the end of the month. The US bus transport system simply forgot (!!) about the time change, leaving numerous passengers stranded and scattered at terminals across the country. With most of them not having a single cent left in their pockets, I promptly turned into a fairy godmother and treated the hungry travelers to food—right there in the middle of the USA.
Put on Ice off Daytona Beach: My Journey with the Homeless, Veterans, Criminals and Train Hoppers
For the final leg—at the last bus terminal before the trip to Daytona Beach—we had to wait outside because the air conditioning indoors was freezing us to the bone. A woman stood next to me, and we struck up a long conversation. At some point, I learned she had just been released from prison—for assaulting a police officer. Her real passion? Hopping onto moving trains illegally to travel across the country. She described the incredible sense of freedom one feels doing it. The people you meet on these buses and in these terminals are often heartbreaking: traumatized veterans, lost souls, outcasts... and outside the stations, vast numbers of homeless people. It was a journey that will stay with me forever.
In 2018, I decided to visit my American host family in California and then embark on a truly epic adventure: crossing the USA to the East Coast—using nothing but public transport. I started out by train and continued by bus. My friends were terribly worried beforehand and urged me to rent a car. But it was obvious to everyone that covering such a vast distance alone behind the wheel would be nearly impossible. Besides, doing so would have deprived me of the incredible experiences I had on board the buses.
Hauling luggage with a broken hip: True civic courage on the way to New Orleans
It started with a 60-year-old homeless man who was desperately trying to get to New Orleans to seek medical help through a church congregation. He had broken his hip, and no one was helping him. So, without hesitation, I supported him as he walked and carried both our bags.
The Little Fairy on the Greyhound: When the US Bus System Forgot Time
The second incident was a case of sheer systemic madness: since I was traveling in March, the daylight saving time change was due at the end of the month. The US bus transport system simply forgot (!!) about the time change, leaving numerous passengers stranded and scattered at terminals across the country. With most of them not having a single cent left in their pockets, I promptly turned into a fairy godmother and treated the hungry travelers to food—right there in the middle of the USA.
Put on Ice off Daytona Beach: My Journey with the Homeless, Veterans, Criminals and Train Hoppers
For the final leg—at the last bus terminal before the trip to Daytona Beach—we had to wait outside because the air conditioning indoors was freezing us to the bone. A woman stood next to me, and we struck up a long conversation. At some point, I learned she had just been released from prison—for assaulting a police officer. Her real passion? Hopping onto moving trains illegally to travel across the country. She described the incredible sense of freedom one feels doing it. The people you meet on these buses and in these terminals are often heartbreaking: traumatized veterans, lost souls, outcasts... and outside the stations, vast numbers of homeless people. It was a journey that will stay with me forever.
