12 – 17 January 2006: Zillertal, Austria

Moments in the mountains:

My face is hot. In fact it is glowing from the strength of the sun rays warming my face. I am surrounded by snow but when I close my eyes it feels just like summer. I open my eyes and see mountains and valleys as far as the eye can see, wrapped in a thick cover of snow sparkling in the sunlight as if a thousand mirrors were pointed at my eyes.

Relearning to ski:

I do not recall the first time I stood on skis but skiing is something that has accompanied me my whole life. How unfortunate that I have not taken the time over the past years to ski more. Even stronger the excitement now the I re-connect with a long-lost hobby, which I have always loved.
Isn’t it exciting to re-discover things, which we have known all along?




Sunshine on my face:

There is something very pleasing about rest after a good workout. Your body simply feels good. I am sure the biologists have deduced this happy state to a chemical reaction in the brain. I am glad that at the moment I do not have to confuse myself with these complexities or any complexities for that matter.
I am feeling the hot mountain sun warming my face. My tired legs are dangling from the bench of a mountain lodge. I can feel the blood pumping through them replenishing their energy, taking away the fatigue.
In front of me lies a beautiful panoramic view of the Austrian Alps – snow covered mountain tops, steep valleys, ever-green forests partially hidden by snow. I cannot decide with I enjoy more: keeping my eyes open and indulging in the scenery or closing them and immersing myself in the warm flood of sunlight.
This lunch-break is beautiful and in retrospect I can no longer understand why it has taken my so many years to return here (23 years to be exact; It was here where I learned how to ski 23 years ago).


Harakiri:

Dictionary: Harakiri: Japanese for ancient form of ritual suicide.
It is already later in the afternoon when we discover a ski-slope denoted by a skull and crossed bones on the ski map. Below it reads that this ski-slope entails a 78% decline, which makes it the steepest slope in Austria.
A few minutes later my dad an I are standing at the edge of the a ledge looking down into the valley below. There are no people in sight but the signs to the left and right leave no question: this is where you are supposed to ski down. It is hard to put a 78% decline into words, other than to say YAHOO!!!

Feelings:

The last few days have been unique for me in the sense that I am experiencing a feeling which I do not recall having felt before (at least not in a very long time): Very gradually, little by little, the feeling of being rushed, of always having something to do, somewhere to be, the feeling of wanting to be “productive” is fading away. I am not sure if these feelings are the symptoms of a good vacation starting to show its effects, me starting to relax or the notion of “scarcity of time” being re-defined. By no means I am bored or am running out of things to do, but the feeling of being rushed is going away. In other words it is not so much my actions that are changing but my state of mind. Smiling I continue on with my day.

27 December 2005 - 2 January 2006: Cervieres, Provence, France

View all photos from this trip: share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0AcNmzVq5YsWLlw


Medieval Hospitality:

Only 3 days after having returned to Germany I am on the road again, a week long road trip to the French Alps, together with my sister and 3 other friends. Symbolically speaking this trip marks my first journey "in my new life" as I am moving forward with my life. As such, it is quite ironic that this first destination takes me back in time, back to Medieval times.
After a long drive through the snowy Alps (driving through 4 countries in the process) we finally arrive in a small village. With not more than 50 houses, this sleepy village, called Cervieres, is located in a valley surrounded by mountains, one of which marks the border to Italy.
Tired and hungry we park the car and knock on an old wooden door of a house that looks like it was stolen from a fairy tale. The door opens and we are greeted by a friendly man who also looks like he was stolen from the same fairy tale. He steps into the freezing night (at least -10 degrees Celsius). Bare-footed wearing flip flops and a light shirt he introduces himself as Franci­s. His handshake was only the first touch of great hospitality. First we are served a glass of champagne and then receive a tour of the house, whose foundation was constructed in the 15th century (possibly before Columbus set foot on the Americas), but even the newer portions of the house are hundreds of years old. I do not think I have ever even been in a house close to this, let alone lived in one. Moving around the house, I constantly had the impression that the walls were speaking to me of the many years they had witnessed. Making it through narrow hall ways, up ladders, ducking my head several times we finally reach our newly constructed apartment, which has an amazing atmosphere of hospitality along with medieval vibrations.
We then gather around the open fire in the kitchen to keep warm during this freezing night and were served a delicious home cooked dinner along with great wine, listening to Francis telling stories. Among many other things, he enlightens us that life is a terrible disease: it is always mortal and spreads tough sexual transmission.
As I fall asleep that night I am not sure if I am actually in a fairy tale or not.














The summit:

Every time I am in the mountains I am put in awe by their majestic beauty. Today we picked on of the white peaks near by and gradually made our way up towards the top. The sunshine reflecting off the snow-covered meadows, the air perfectly crisp and clean, the freezing wind gusts hitting my face. We reach the top and the view is spectacular: snow-covered mountains all around us, some of which are mysteriously wrapped in clouds, others openly displaying their full beauty. I lift my hands upwards in joy.



A day in the mountains:

There is nothing like the breathtaking view from the top of a mountain. The panoramic 360 degree view of snow covered peaks all around, some taller, some shorter, some rocker, some snowier, some in the sunlight, some in the shade, some wrapped into ever-green forests some presenting their naked beauty.
My eyes will never tire of such a view.



French cheese:

Although I have been walking on the face of this earth form some years, from time to time I experience things which are fundamentally new, or should I say unexpected, to me. By that I mean not necessarily that I have never had this experience before but perhaps that I have had the same experience but see it with completely different eyes.
I have been eating cheese my whole life, however I must say over that past three days my relationship with cheese has been transformed fundamentally. Over these three days I have tasted a plethora of cheeses previously unimagined by my gums: the diversity in size, density, texture, smell, colour and of course taste has left me speechless (literally).
Never again will I look at a piece of cheese the same way. Bon apetit.


A walk thorough the forest:

There is something virgin about an untouched snow-covered forest. Over night all trails have disappeared, only to be recreated by the traveller's footprints the next day. One step after the other making the first marks into the crisp and shiny snow surface.
All sounds seem muted by the snow, the constant cadence of one step after the other and the only thing that breaks the silence is an occasional chirping by a bird. Snow flakes continue to drift downwards from the sky. However before descending to the ground some of them transcend the law of gravity and dance in the air as if they wanted to celebrate the individual existence one last time before merging as one with the blanket of snow underneath. A feeling of peace and lightness starts to spread through my body unquestionably ignited by this picture perfect snow covered forest scenery. My gift from the universe on the last day of the year.

A picture of me in my favourite hammock drinking a delicious smoothie fruit shake.  

Opening comments

The true voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes but in seeing with new eyes. – Marcel Proust

Die wahre Entdeckungsreise besteht nicht darin, dass man neue Landschaften sucht, sondern dass man mit neuen Augen sieht. – Marcel Proust

El verdadero viaje del descubrimiento no consiste en encontrar los nuevos paisajes sino ver con ojos nuevos. – Marcel Proust

"Le véritable voyage de découverte ne consiste pas à chercher de nouveaux paysages, mais à avoir de nouveaux yeux."
Marcel Proust

In these pages I hope to share with you many tales about the landscapes through which I travel. But more importantly I will try to see these landscapes and write my stories with new eyes, eyes which I hope to borrow from the people I meet along the way. As such, these travels for me are as much an outward journey as one of self-discovery.
These notes are meant as a convenient way of keeping in touch with so many of you. As much as I would like to, I am not able to write to each of you individually and rather to disappear without a trace into the vastness of this world, this website will have to suffice in coming as close as possible to me telling you these stories face to face. Please view this as an invitation for dialog and respond if there is an entry you particularly enjoyed or share with me things that are occupying your mind.

Frank