Lonely Planet

During the flight from New York to Berlin, the screen displays the flight route. I zoom in with my fingers over my traveled countries and think of Rainald Grebe's song Lonely Planet:

'Now I stand here on the roof of the world with my Mastercard

It's alright'

177 days, 17 countries, four continents, and two oceans later, I am back in Leipzig.

At first, I didn't even plan to write a blog. In the end, I may have taken it a bit too seriously. But it was helpful to capture my thoughts.

In addition to my notes and blog entries, I have a list on my phone, sorted by date, of the people I met during my journey. A 'human library,' as Tania from Australia, whom I met at the hostel in Gifu, aptly called it.

In the onsen hotel in the Japanese Alps, I went through this list from start to finish for the first time. It triggered a spiral of thoughts and kept me awake half the night. In my mind's eye, I watched my journey unfold. In that moment, I realized: I should have taken stock much earlier, paused and reflected. Writing down my memories here was the least I could do to process what I experienced.

Before I set off, friends and colleagues asked me if I wouldn't feel lonely. And although there were moments like that, I was rarely as social as on a solo trip. I maintained my 'human library' until the end. It is proof that it's easy to make connections anywhere as long as you lift your head and seek out other perspectives.

It sounds a bit cliché, but what will stick in my memory the most in the end are not just the landscapes and places I've visited, but primarily the encounters.

Some of them were fleeting yet memorable conversations. I exchanged names and contacts with other travelers or locals. Some accompanied me for part of the way. From a few of these encounters, potential friendships developed. And to get fully sentimental, I want to at least mention some of them here chronologically:

Ayoub in the bunker of Brno; Danna and Owen on the walking tour through Budapest; Silje and Jitse in Bucharest; Ewan and Sophie in the Vitosha mountains; Christian at the hostel in Sofia, whom I later ran into again in Istanbul and Tbilisi; João and Zeynep in Istanbul; Darryn, who hiked through Cappadocia and Svaneti with me; Danni and Glyn in Mestia; Victor, whom I met while hiking below the Koruldi Pass; Erakle in the village of Lakhiri; the bar owner in Adishi; the old man who shared wine with Darryn and me in the Ushguli valley; Nana and Leva in Tbilisi; Bea in Bangkok; Daniel and Saranna in Chiang Mai; Cat and Gary on the gibbon tour; Roshni in the ruins of Angkor; the Mongolian in the hostel in Siem Reap; Leo, whom I met in Hoi An and ran into again in Ninh Binh, Hanoi, and Ha Giang; the Dutch couple on the bridge at sunset in Ninh Binh; Hau and Kirks in Hanoi; my easy rider Leo in Ha Giang; the nice café owner on Lantau; the elderly woman who shared a mandarin with me in Shenzhen; the friendly black cat that crossed my path in Hong Kong; the Taiwanese flood helpers in the Hualien hostel; Blacky, the kayak guide; the French Theo and Axel in Taipei, whom I visited a month later at their family home in Fukuoka; Silvia with her friend, whom Axel and I met in the nightlife district of Taipei; the people at karaoke on the Dadaocheng night market; the homestay operator Lilly; Xiawei, who showed me Hangzhou; the Chinese woman on the subway to Beijing airport; Leonhard in Seoul; Tim on the DMZ tour in Korea; Ale and Tran at the hostel in Busan; Aleksander and Constanze on the Igidae Coastal Trail; Sel, the Spanish cyclist on a world trip; Alex on the ferry to Japan, with whom I explored Fukuoka; the Australian on the walking tour through Hiroshima; the siblings Claire and Emily in Kyoto; the Belgian on the Nakasendo Trail; Plamen, Alexa, and Tania with their son at the hostel in Gifu; Wati on the flight from Sydney to Nadi; Kyle and Scarlett on the ferry in Fiji; Tailo, the resort manager, and Michael and Nicolas in Waya Lailai; Lili in Auckland; Ed and Jil on the train from LA to Flagstaff; the two Amish while hiking at the Grand Canyon; the owner of the antiques shop in Albuquerque; Will, Dusty, and Raven, who went on a bar crawl with me in Chicago; my friend Robert and his girlfriend Ana in Urbana; my cousin Emanuel, his wife Brittney, and their cat Millie in Philadelphia; Alain at the hostel in Brooklyn...

And that's just a snippet from my list; in total, I have met over 200 people from various countries during my journey. Hardly a day has gone by without having either more random encounters or less random ones, where I met friendly fellow travelers or helpful locals.

Because many now only communicate through Instagram, I installed the app starting from Turkey. Once, a reel from Kai Pflaume popped up in my timeline. He lets himself be filmed while running through some city in India. As he finishes his jog through the packed, dusty streets, he announces to the camera: 'So, we've checked off this adventure too.' Kai Pflaume is keeping up with the times. Fast travel, bucket lists, adventures to tick off and post.

It has become trendy to travel and collect countries like Pokémon. Many fellow travelers make you feel as if you must experience everything. Go there, do this, don't miss out on that. Because once you've 'done' a country, you never go back. You have to travel another new one instead. 'I did country x already, I wanna do country y now.' So you check out all the highlights touted as 'must-dos.' If you have one or two blank spots on your list, you look foolish. In the competitive world of travel quartet, you quickly end up on the losing side. What, you spent a month in Vietnam and didn't see Ha Long Bay?

In this post-materialistic time, it's no longer about 'My house, my car, my wife' like in 90s savings bank commercials, but about the number of countries visited. '50 countries and counting *airplane emoji*.' Escaping the hamster wheel of a classic 9 to 5 job by jumping into another? You chase after your own fear of missing out without ever arriving at the end, selling your hedonism modestly cloaked as self-discovery. And how much am I not even a part of that..?

You don't have to travel today to be cosmopolitan. Will from Chicago has only been to Japan and Puerto Rico once in his life. Nevertheless, he understands two foreign languages and knows a lot about philosophy and history, aside from running his restaurant. It doesn’t necessarily make you more interesting or tolerant when you go abroad. The Russian who quotes Hitler on Cham Island and rants about the superiority of the white race was a racist in Russia and remains one in Vietnam.

In Nadi, on the last evening before my departure from Fiji, I spontaneously go into a hair salon. In the tiny room with just four chairs in front of a long mirror, Joe cuts the hair of his regular customer, Will. They want to know where I'm from and where I'm flying next. Auckland and then Los Angeles. Will tells that he has once been to the States and recalls his long flight to Los Angeles. As a Mormon, he helped his fellow believers rebuild a settlement in Utah. After Will is satisfied with his short haircut, I shake his hand to say goodbye and sit in his chair. The younger Joe continues the usual barber small talk. The barber's English is a little simpler than that of the Mormon Will. But still, I continue to chat in the same tone. Right, Auckland next. 'Have you been there?' I ask him casually and instantly regret it. Joe's eyes narrow, his voice rises, and he briefly stops cutting. 'Brother, you come here and fly to my country for your vacation... I have a simple life, very different from yours. I am a simple man. I have a wife and kids, and I need to take care of them. I have a simple life. A good life.', he looks me in the eyes in the mirror. 'I am sorry, I didn't mean to offend you.', I try to apologize for the naive question. After a minute it's forgotten, and Joe tells me about his four children, about his wife, who works at the supermarket next door, and that they both take the bus home right after work. Joe cuts my hair flawlessly. I should have known better. In his reality, even a trip to Auckland, which costs time and money two hours away by plane, is completely absurd.

When I board the plane in Hanoi, the city is struggling with the effects of flooding. A few weeks later, I read that Hoi An is underwater again, and Hue has experienced record rainfall. Climate change is no longer deniable. But flight shaming was a trend before Corona, and today no one talks about it anymore. When I try to explain the concept of personal responsibility and climate impact in Asia, people only shake their heads in disbelief. Here, most can only dream of taking half a year off and meandering around the world. Explain to me, what's a sabbatical?!

It is a privilege for which I am grateful.

'And now

what should I say

I have recovered well

The vacation was so great

My tank was empty

Now the tank is full again',

What have I learned about the world or about myself? Certainly quite a bit. In any case, I have made peace with all the pressure and expectations that I felt six months ago on the bus ride to Brno. Sometimes it helps to first drink coffee, take a breath and sort your thoughts. That's already an insight.