A melancholic start

A road trip through Germany with a roof tent has been our wish for a few weeks now.

We, that's our two school children and their parents: Anja (that's me and my dear husband Kai). We have been living in Switzerland for 10 years and are native Brandenburgers.

I like to write and take photos. I also make money with photography. Of course, I accompany our roof tent trip through Germany with text and image. I also have my father's analog camera with me and dare to fill four films with pictures. A small selection of these photographs will also accompany these posts.

Our inspiration for our 2019 trip is reinforced by a sad event in my family. My father suddenly passed away at the age of 71. We received the news two weeks before the start of summer vacation. Our desire for nature and to escape the four walls is intensified. We have therefore decided on the following content: Yes, it should be a journey of inspiration, we want to feel free and the travel plans should gradually come together to form a whole.

For months now, we have been fans of the story of the roof tent. That's something a very lovable person fulfilled for us. Hans, you accompany us on this special journey, just like my father. You provided us with your self-developed roof tent at the last moment. Your instructions and the two-hour setup on our roof were well worth it. It held up and it also fit on our roof rack. Any other supplier would probably have backed out. We appreciate your calmness, patience, and absolute competence, and we thank you for your warm welcome.

The evening before our departure is July 29, 2019. We are prepared, at least roughly. We start and pack everything necessary for outdoor living and eating. Flashlights, batteries, dish soap, fairy lights, and enough clothes have been the key items on our lists so far. The next destination after leaving the wine region of Zurich should be no more than 3 hours away. Since we now have to start in East Germany, we quickly move West Germany to our return route. On the drive, we search for a campsite for our first rest. So we 'call the Thuringian Forest'. A spot at Hohenwarte Reservoir opens up. When we arrive, we find out, after the navigation system no longer has a destination and searches for minutes, and the smartphones don't have full reception either. However, we do find the campsite and are warmly welcomed by a Dutch lady. The roof tent is set up within minutes. Rain was expected, and we didn't want to catch it during setup. The campsite and the restaurant have been inspected. Sleeping places, fairy lights, and the first clothes have been sorted. In the early evening, we hike to the recommended bathing area and arrive in a forest that literally embraces us, or rather: its branches. I am a child of nature, but the sight of this greenery, the gigantic conifers, the moss, the rocks, and the remarkable silence and seclusion fascinate me. In addition, there are childhood memories, not so much of the place, but rather of the term Hohenwarte Reservoir, Thuringia.. And its atmosphere touches me at a point that must be about 38 years ago. We walk and walk. Until we hear voices, bathers. We have arrived. It is only a corner of the body of water, but our children and my husband are very happy to take a short swim in it. I am not a fan yet. I have already swum a lot in the shimmering blue Lake Constance and simply enjoy the soothing forest. An hour later, we are back at the campsite, as the restaurant, the only source of warm food for today, will soon close. The service is very friendly, probably the father of the campsite owner. It's raining. The four of us sit with a few other guests on the terrace of the only supplier far and wide. It's almost 8pm. The stomach is initially calmed down and after a small talk with the Dutch, we enjoy the absolute silence. We also have some Wi-Fi here to check the weather forecasts and at least inform our relatives where we ended up. And to tell them that today we came across an equally secluded and very friendly gas station, where we bought our favorite sweets from our childhood and got into conversation with the locals who wanted to know where we were going or if we were just arriving. (In my stage of grief, I would have liked to answer, 'it applies to both of us' or 'We actually don't know if we will reach the desired destination or where we want to go'). Before and after the rain, we really don't hear any birds, no other nocturnal animals, no crickets, hardly any voices on the entire campsite. It is a wonderful moment. I would say, among the emotions, it is almost a comfort - nothing distracts. Just me, just us - our children and mom and dad, with our feelings, without noise, without disturbing light, we don't hear any cars or even airplanes. In the deep darkness, we only see the silhouette of nature. After setting up the camp for the night, I go back to the restaurant because it's the only place with internet connection. And I want to capture this darkness and silence in nature high above the campsite in my thoughts, inhale it. I am somewhat agitated and crying, crying for my father, crying because I miss him and know that he is here with me. I cry because I can feel him, but I can't touch him. Nature embraces me. The journey has begun for me and a little later, I kiss my family goodnight. The colorful lights of our fairy lights, gently swaying in the light wind, stay on all night. My night watchman. I toss and turn a bit, but then I notice a certain coziness that promises that sleeping in the car can be nice. From the roof tent, the children's audio play can still be heard at a low volume across the campsite. The children are sound asleep. We snuggle into our sleeping bags and try to sleep. The air is heavenly.