I’ve been creating regular content for Nomad Cafe in Heidelberg over the past two years. From photographing new menu items, to events and coffee tasting workshops.
Christchurch, New Zealand. I haven’t lived in New Zealand since 2010, and I come from the North Island, but since my parents moved to Christchurch in 2018 the city has become my default “home” in New Zealand. These are a few photographs I managed to get out and shoot in early 2019, and early 2020 – while back for Corona Virus lockdown!
Two weeks ago, I was making coffee in a small Café in Germany wondering why grown German men think it’s ok to eat cake together and drink sparkling water out of little bottles with straws. Hours later I was fleeing the continent on a last-minute flight, escaping something which, until recently, was known only as a harmless Mexican beer.
Now I’m locked in my parents’ house in Christchurch, New Zealand watching my Mum solve a puzzle, listening to Dad close business deals, and inhaling the byproducts of my brother’s overworked digestive systems.
This is my life for a MINIMUM of 4 weeks.
For the past 10 years, I’ve lived in a pretty broad range of accommodation situations, in about 20 different locations. From beachside hostels in the tropics to tents in the Australian outback and as (unplanned, and desperately underqualified) live-in help for an 85-year-old Lithuanian man with a bladder problem in an apartment overlooking Bondi Beach.
But it’s been a looong time since I’ve lived with my parents. To be honest I’m probably more likely to suffer from severe mental illness in here than I am physical illness out in the wild streets of Heidelberg where Corona is free to invisibly wreak havoc.
So far, though, it’s been exactly what you might expect; Dad has worked away in his office, Mum just put the featherless plastic chickens out on tea towels to sunbathe for the afternoon, and my brother has been comfortably relaxing in his giant, inflatable chair, which he lovingly refers to as the blue vagina.
As a means to maintain some level of sanity, I plan to document the completely normal dynamics in this household full of completely normal people.
Berlin, February 2020. Four days of wandering Germany’s rain soaked and brutally cold capital – highly recommended!
Tenerife is one of my favourite places on Earth. The combination of tropical weather, wild volcanic landscapes and a unique mix of human and culinary culture makes for a perfect escape destination. In October 2018 I was lucky enough to travel to Tenerife for my second time in partnership with Visit Tenerife and these are some of the shots I got.
Turkey is a land of incredible contrast, history and beauty. In December 2019 I was lucky enough to spend 9 days exploring the unparalleled Cappadocia region of Anatolia and the hectic, sprawling metropolis of Istanbul.
Broome & The Kimberley. Where do I start? This amazing part of the planet will always be second home to me. I spent 3 years of my life here (plus three dry seasons), and it’s where I really honed my photographic craft and developed a passion into a business. There really is no place on earth like Broome!
Contact me for image licencing, or take a look at some of these images in the Print Store.
Images created in partnership with Broome Camel Safaris
Neues Schwartz, Dortmund, Germany – Roasters of specialty coffee, and home to a cafe with a relaxed, down to earth vibe. I spent an afternoon with the baristas from Cafe Nomad as they learned the basics of coffee tasting, roasting and latte art.
Heidelberg has been my home for over two years, and I have taken countless photos during this time. Here are a few of my favourites. Images are available for licence and stock photography, please enquire for prices.
If you’re looking for Heidelberg photographs for print, you can find them in my Print Store.
In a few months, it’ll be two years since I last photographed the camels on Cable Beach. This job was an invaluable step along my path as a photographer and gave me confidence and foundational skills to pursue photography as a career.
I can’t say when I’ll next have the opportunity to run barefoot down Cable Beach, with camera in hand and salty air filling my lungs. But in the gloom of a long European winter, the scene often replays in my head behind closed eyes.
Hard as it was to leave this job, the climate, the people, the beach, this was a move that had to be made. One that I’ve tried but failed to regret. I could never better myself as a photographer, a person, by staying where I was. Life was too comfortable, too easy.
But I feel no guilt in reminiscing, in longing for an easy life of again running across a beach resembling an upside down sky and squinting into the blinding tropical light. Trying to get that perfect shot.
I never did get that perfect shot, I’m sure many photographers feel they never will. But this series of photographs is about as close as I feel I came.
I hope you enjoy.
As always, feedback is much appreciated. Do you have a favourite? Have you been to Broome, or ridden these camels? What was the experience of a sunset on Cable Beach like for you?
My favourite shots of Heidelberg, where I took them and the settings I used.
Heidelberg is a well-known tourist destination and the city has been well covered from all the common angles. But I have spent a lot of time around here over the past year and a half and tried to cover the city from a less common perspective. So here’s my take on Heidelberg and surrounds:
Ziegelhausen and the Odenwald
While these images are not specifically in Heidelberg, they’re close enough for me… One of the things I like a lot about Heidelberg is the proximity to the outdoors and what seems like complete wilderness. Heidelberg is surrounded by forests full of walking and mountain biking trails.
DJI Phantom 4 Pro
1/25 sec at f2.8
ISO 100
DJI Phantom 4 Pro
1/40 sec at f2.8
ISO 100
Canon 5D Mark III (with tripod)
Canon EF 24-105 mm 1:4.0 L IS USM @24mm
30 sec at f11
ISO 100
DJI Phantom 4 Pro
1/15 sec at 2.8mm
IS0 100
DJI Phantom 4 Pro
1/25 sec at f2.8
ISO 100
Note: You’ll realise that basically all my drone shots are shot at ISO 100. If the conditions are calm then I prefer to lower the shutter speed rather than raise the ISO. Of
Also, given the perspective of top-down shots, depth of field isn’t really required, so shooting at 2.8 doesn’t present any problems.
Philosophenweg
The most famous walk in Heidelberg. This path runs parallel with the Neckar River – Rather than capture the traditional shot of the city from up above, I like to head a bit further and capture the forest trails. Particularly in autumn when the fog starts to roll in.
Canon 5D Mark III
Sigma Art 35mm 1.4
1/200 sec at f2.8
ISO 200
Canon 5D Mark III
Canon EF 24-105 mm 1:4.0 L IS USM @24mm
1/125 sec at f4
ISO 1250
– A higher ISO than I usually use, but I don’t like to slow the shutter down much more than I already had – Mine aren’t the steadiest hands out there! One of those situations where I’d love to have the 24-70mm 2.8
DJI Phantom 4 Pro
1/400 at 2.8
ISO 100
– I purposely underexposed this shot to avoid losing the bright details in the sky, but not so much so that the shadows were unrecoverable.
Canon 5D Mark III
Canon EF 24-105 mm 1:4.0 L IS USM @24mm
1/250 sec at f5.6
ISO 500
Canon 5D Mark III
Canon EF 24-105 mm 1:4.0 L IS USM @24mm
1/60 at f6.3
ISO 640
– Here I wanted to capture some depth from the foreground to the background, hence the 6.3 aperture. Because of
Königstuhl
Evidently I like to go up Königstuhl when it’s snowy, and I generally only go there for drone shots – and usually for sunrise. The reason being that Heidelberg is in a valley and the sun doesn’t show until quite late. So if I get to the top of the highest peak then I can catch the first light better. Also, while the snowfall doesn’t usually stick around for long in town, the extra elevation up here means I’m more likely to catch some wintery looking shots.
DJI Phantom 3 Standard
1/10 sec at f2.8
ISO 100
Canon 5D Mark III
Canon EF 24-105 mm 1:4.0 L IS USM @24mm
1/80 sec at f4
ISO 200
DJI Phantom 3 Standard
1/4 sec at f2.8
ISO 100
DJI Phantom 3 Standard
1/6 sec at f2.8
ISO 100
Heidelberg Altstadt
Heidelberg’s Altstadt is famed for its beauty. As a
DJI Phantom 4 Pro
1/10 sec at f6.3
ISO 100
– The 6.3 kind of contradicts my earlier comments about not needing depth of field for top-down shots. Anyway, I’d only recently upgraded to the P4P and I guess I felt like I needed to make the most of the option to adjust aperture. But, like I said, in calm conditions the slower shutter isn’t really a problem with this drone.
Canon 5D Mark III (with tripod)
Canon EF 24-105 mm 1:4.0 L IS USM @47mm
20 sec at f14
ISO 50
To have the best chance of capturing a lightning strike I’ve increased the aperture and decreased the ISO to allow for a longer exposure. I found f14 offered the perfect balance between maintaining sharpness and allowing for a slow shutter speed.
Canon 5D Mark III
Canon EF 24-105 mm 1:4.0 L IS USM @47mm
1/200 sec at f5
ISO 250
Canon 5D Mark III
Canon EF 24-105 mm 1:4.0 L IS USM @45mm
1/160 sec at f4
ISO 250
DJI Phantom 4 Pro
1/30 sec at f2.8
ISO 100
Canon 5D Mark III
Canon EF 24-105 mm 1:4.0 L IS USM @105mm
1/4 sec at f7.1
ISO 50
– This shot took a bit of trial and error, but the idea is to ‘swipe’ the camera from right to left smoothly and while staying as parallel with the horizon as possible. Try it when there’s water to the horizon – it looks incredible!
DJI Phantom 3 Standard
1/160 sec at f2.8
ISO 100
DJI Phantom 4 Pro
1/60 sec at f7.1
ISO 100
Heidelberg Castle
While it is the obvious focal point of the city, I still had to include some castle shots. Hopefully, they’re a little different to what you’ve seen before!
Canon 5D Mark III
Canon EF 24-105 mm 1:4.0 L IS USM @47mm
1/160 sec at f6.3
ISO 200
DJI Phantom 4 Pro
1/30 sec at f3.5
ISO 100
Canon 5D Mark III
Canon EF 24-105 mm 1:4.0 L IS USM @65mm
1/60 sec at f4
ISO 320
– In hindsight, I should have bumped up the ISO here and used a faster shutter speed, especially with the focal length at 65mm. On close inspection there is a little camera shake involved.
DJI Phantom 4 Pro
This is a composite of 5 shots ranging from 1/8 – 1/50 sec at f7.1
ISO 100
– I’m not completely sold on the merits of HDR merging but I did like the way this turned out. There’s still a bit of lost detail in the highlights but I actually prefer that,
DJI Phantom 4 Pro
Also a composite of 5 shots ranging from 1/10 – 1/60 sec at f4.5
ISO 100
Leave a comment to let me know what your favourite shot(s) are and if any of the information I’ve provided is helpful!
Some of these photographs are available in my Print Store, but to enquire about purchasing the others as prints of digital reproduction please send me an email!
Tenerife is the largest of the Canary Islands, a Spanish Archipelago off the coast of Morocco. The island is infamous for being a tropical – lay by the pool and do nothing for a week – resort destination. But it doesn’t have to be. I’ve visited twice this year and discovered that there is so much more to this dramatic, volcanic paradise. My own impressions of Tenerife couldn’t be further from that cliche.
So for those of you picturing a beach full of stranded whales, mostly of British descent, pints of Fosters balanced on their sunburnt stomachs, let me paint you another picture of Tenerife.
Tenerife Is Wild
First off, I’m a photographer. So forget the poolside cocktails, I love Tenerife because of its incredible landscape. But what really gets me going is the visual diversity. Every turn you make on Tenerife offers up a completely new perspective. From remote villages and endless banana plantations to volcanic peaks and North American-looking pine forests.
When I first considered a trip to Tenerife I pictured sandy white beaches, palm trees and snorkel-friendly turquoise waters. But Tenerife is wild. Sure, you’ll find beaches and palm trees, but the coastline is more New Zealand than New Caledonia. Steep cliffs plunge into the Atlantic as the steady flow of breakers creates a curtain of mist, which lingers until dramatically capturing each day’s last light.
If you head inland the elevation increases rapidly as you navigate some of Earth’s most winding roads. Within a few minutes, you’ll be in a forest that’s enveloped in a veil of cloud – some 1500m above sea level. Drive on and you soon exceed 2000m in elevation and emerge from the cloud into a landscape resembling Mars, dominated at its centre by the ever-present Teide.
If you drive a lap of the island you will, within a few hours, experience the rainforests of the north, the barren desert-like south, snow in the centre and vineyards, forests & cities in between. Surely nowhere else can boast that kind of wild and compact diversity.
The Food and Wine Scene Is Amazing
You’ve probably never considered Tenerife specifically for a culinary getaway. Understandable. A few hours of wandering the resort packed south of Tenerife exposed me to foods with all the sophistication (and flavour) of a wet cardboard box. But, as in any destination, you need to escape the tourist masses to discover the real flavours. I mean, even in Italy it’s easy to find horrible pizza if you spend all your time amongst the crowds. So get out into the more traditional parts of the island and you’ll discover some unique, delicious foods and a rich history of wine production.
Traditional dishes include rabbit, goat stew and of course plenty of fresh seafood. Accompanying almost every dish are papas arrugadas and the Canarian speciality “Mojo” sauce. Papas Arrugadas are potatoes boiled with the skin on and a generous helping of salt. Mojo sauce is either red or green and made up of garlic, peppers, onion, olive oil, vinegar and chillies. I was lucky enough to visit Bodegas Monje (a 5th generation winery and restaurant in Tenerife’s north) and receive a Mojo making masterclass, after which I sat down to delicious local wines and the best pulled pork I’ve ever eaten.
While you’ve probably never seen a Tenerifeian wine on the shelf of your local supermarket, Tenerife has had a booming wine industry since the days of Shakespear – who apparently was a big fan. The fertile volcanic soil and generous sunshine make for perfect grape growing conditions. But the islands size and topography mean production is limited, hence the lack of mass-exports. On the flip side, that means they don’t waste their time producing rubbish. I’m no connoisseur, but I do love a good drop of red, and this was up there with some of the best I’ve tasted.
I can’t write about my food experiences in Tenerife and not mention Arepas. Arepas are a traditional Venezuelan food that can be found in almost any local bar or cafe on Tenerife. They became popular because of the two-way migration that has been going on between the Canary Islands and Venezuela (sometimes referred to as the 8th Island) for generations. Made from ground corn, the breads are then deep fried then sliced open and served like delicious little burgers; with meat, chicken, avocado – or whatever you want – inside. Not to be missed!
Tenerife has the Best Weather in the World
Tenerife is sometimes referred to as the ‘Land of Eternal Spring’, and for good reason. Regardless of the time of year, Tenerife is never too hot nor too cold; average temperatures range from about 18-28 degrees year round. Regulated by the cool currents of the Atlantic, the island is one of the places on earth with the lowest difference between average high and low temperatures. At least at sea level. Head uphill a bit and it goes from speedos to ski jackets real quick. It may be the tropics, but in “winter” there’s a permanent white cap on the centre of the Island.
The height of the Teide also contributes to a number of microclimates. Aside from altitude, this is most noticeable between the north and south of Tenerife, with the north receiving 73 per cent of the island’s rain – despite being less than 100km away. No doubt the reason most tourists never leave the south and miss out on the beautiful and moody northern rainforests.
But you can be forgiven for wanting to visit Tenerife only to experience perfect sunshine. Having lived in Europe for a year I now understand the need to escape the misery of winter and relax on a beach.
It’s Spain, but with Its Own Flavour
As a Spanish colony since the 15th century, Tenerife is dotted with cities and small, colourful villages with a very Spanish feel to them. However, isolated from the mainland and with close ties to Latin America, the Canaries have also developed some cultural and linguistic differences from mainland Spain.
Many Islanders’ joined expeditions to help Spain populate the New World, most notably in Venezuela and Cuba. Many of the relatives have since returned to Tenerife, bringing their way of life and Latin American influences with them. These are evident in the music, food, and the Spanish language in the Canaries.
The architecture is typically Spanish, but the topography of Tenerife gives some of the towns a very unique look. Many colourful villages are perched on impossibly steep hillsides. Then there’s the famous town of Garachico, rebuilt on the very same lava flow that destroyed it in 1706.
Tenerife Is One of the Biggest Volcanoes on the Planet
Have you ever considered the thought of being atop a 3718m snow-capped volcano while looking down at a tropical coastline? Teide is the highest point in Spain and one of the biggest volcanoes in the world from its base. You can hike the mountain from the plateau or you can take a cable car up. From the top of the cable car, it’s a steep 160 vertical meters to the peak. But the incredible views across the Atlantic and the other Canary Islands are worth it.
Hiking is popular all around the Teide National Park, but outdoor activities are popular throughout Tenerife. There are hiking trails throughout the rainforests of the north, and an incredible trail from the Masca village down to the ocean. Cycling has become very popular in Tenerife and Mountain biking trails have been built throughout the island’s interior. But if you’re really keen/a biological freak then it seems a popular activity to ride from one side of Tenerife to the other – reaching altitudes of over 2000m in between.
Because of its altitude, clear skies and lack of light pollution, Tenerife is one of the best places in the world to observe the night sky. Guided hikes, stargazing and sunrise tours from the top of the mountain can all be booked through Volcano Teide Experience.
For some more images of Tenerife you can check out my earlier blog 4 Days in Tenerfie!
“But if you’re up there who’s going to take care of you?” That was the response from my doctor the last time I left hospital as an inpatient. It was five years ago in Melbourne. I’d just told him I was moving to Broome, a small tropical town in the North West of Australia with no specialist Cystic Fibrosis care. “That’s the point. In Broome I won’t need looking after.” It probably sounded arrogant but it’s what I genuinely believed, and it turned out to be pretty accurate.
It was the middle of winter and I’d just spent 2 weeks receiving IV antibiotics. A pretty routine experience for someone with Cystic Fibrosis, and one that I’d been through maybe 6 or 7 times before. But this time I’d blown my lowest ever FEV1 (the main indicator of lung health), and I was scared. They say that with CF the lung function should decline by about 1-2% per year. Until that point I’d been stable for about a decade, but this time I was down nearly 10%.
Unwilling (as I always will be) to accept that this was just the natural progression of my disease, I decided that something had to change. So I quit my job and I moved to Broome. 5 years, zero hospital stays and a 20% increase in lung function later, I’m confident I made the right call.
Over time I’ve realised that Melbourne itself wasn’t the problem. It was more the other changes that came along as a result of new circumstances.
So, with the benefit of hindsight, I made a list. These are the 5 things I believe had the greatest positive impact on my health over the past 5 years:
- Exercise
- Avoiding winter
- Getting a lot of fresh/salty air
- Having passion and ambition (outside of CF)
- Being Busy
I’ll elaborate a little:
Exercise
Promoting exercise as a way of dealing with Cystic Fibrosis was the main motivation for my cycle across Europe in 2016. I cycled 4,000km solo through 11 countries in 6 weeks. My health has never been better.
Exercise was always the go-to for me, so this isn’t a recent development. I attribute my good health growing up to the fact that I was a very active kid (among other things). But there have been times when I’ve slumped and my motivation levels have flatlined. In Melbourne I was working late nights in bar. The work was fun but my exercise routine and sleep patterns were all over the place, or non-existent. I’ve always enjoyed working out or running in the evenings, but this wasn’t possible with my work hours. And after working late I was hardly motivated to get up and do anything early the next day.
So I made the simple decision that I wouldn’t work nights anymore. My routine may not be perfect and I’m not always consistent, but I seem to have that base level of muscle memory. Especially when it comes to running. If I feel that I’m coming down with a chest infection, my first instinct isn’t to visit the doctor or down a load of antibiotics. My first instinct is to put on my worn out Nike’s and head out the door. Sometimes it’s incredibly hard and I come up with plenty of excuses to avoid it. But, ultimately, I know it’s what I’m going to do. What I have to do. And I’m never more motivated and pumped than when I’ve just smashed out a run I didn’t want to start in the first place. Not to mention how much better it makes me feel physically.
Avoiding Winter
Until the start of the year I would have put this one right at the top of the list. I attributed a lot more of my good health to warm weather than I would now (I’ve just endured my coldest winter ever here in Germany without a single issue). Before this European winter my last winter was 2013 – in Melbourne.
Looking back, though, all but one of my previous hospital stays were in winter. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots there. Undoubtably I feel more energised in the warmer months, and sunny days are far better at seducing me into outdoor activities. Also, being outdoors more has the additional bonus of reducing your exposure to the bugs that other people carry.
In future I won’t head into winter with the same sense of dread, but I will still avoid it completely if possible. At the very least I plan on settling down somewhere where winter is a bit less wintery.
Fresh Salty Air
I first visited Broome in 2011. I remember it well because before arriving I’d been feeling sick. So sick that I was thinking I’d probably need to fly straight to Perth for a hospital visit. But, no exaggeration, the day I arrived – a full day of beach, sun and fresh salty air – I felt amazing. Maybe it was coincidental, but that effect was permanently etched into my mind. So, naturally, Broome was my first choice when it came to escaping the Melbourne winter. I lived there over the winters (Broome has no real winter) for the following few years, before staying permanently until 2017.
Warm weather aside, there’s a lot to be said for the healing properties of the beach and it’s salty air. Maybe it’s a personal thing – I almost feel some kind of claustrophobia inland or in a big city – but the wide open spaces and the fresh breeze at the beach give me an ability to breathe and think clearly. Then there’s also the medically proven ability of salty air to clear the lungs. In that sense, I was extremely lucky to have a job that required me to be at the beach 6 afternoons per week.
In future, I want to live as close to a beach as possible. But it doesn’t have to be a beach. Even here in Heidelberg, I find that just going outside to walk around for an hour, or even riding my bike to work both have a huge positive impact.
Passion and Ambition (Outside of Cystic Fibrosis)
Over the past few years I’ve found passion in photography and combining that with travel.
These last two are the big ones, because I firmly believe that good physical health starts in the mind. This is why, even when I was getting the first three right, it sometimes didn’t all come together.
Until the previous few years I’d been very unsure of what I wanted to do with my life. It’s not that I didn’t have any ambition at all, I just didn’t know where to direct it. I spread it around aimlessly and changed my mind on a daily basis.
While working in Sydney I developed a passion for the work I was doing as a Barista. I wanted to learn everything I could, and I wanted to be good at it. Eventually I found that I actually cared about my job and, get this, some days I actually looked forward to it! I’d genuinely not experienced that before.
Then, when I returned to Broome I got lucky with a job photographing camels on Cable Beach. I rediscovered my love for photography and I started to devote a lot of my spare time to it as well. Photography is now a massive motivator and distraction for me. And not just while I’m out there doing it; mind space that used to be set aside for worrying and stressing is now used up dreaming about the places I want to go and the things I want to photograph.
When I had nothing to aim for it was a lot easier to get caught up in thoughts about my health, and I have no doubt that those thoughts physically affected me.
Now on any given day I spend very little time, if any, thinking about Cystic Fibrosis.
Being Busy
Working a lot seems to have contributed to my good health. I guess it helps to have a job you love.
During the peak seasons in Broome I was working 60-70 hours per week over two jobs. In my spare time I’d be out taking photos, at home editing photos, or out running. I never felt sick. Before I left New Zealand I was working maybe 20 hours per week and I felt sick all the time. It sounds counterintuitive, and a balance needs to be found, but in my experience being constantly on the move seems to help my body stay on top of any potential infections. Being busy also I means I don’t have time to sit around and feel sorry for myself. An obvious mental advantage.
When I moved to Australia I made a point of never telling my employers (and I had many…) that I had Cystic Fibrosis, because I didn’t want the option of using that as an excuse. Also, in Australia I always had casual jobs. This meant that I didn’t get paid for sick days and I could be fired without notice. So being sick wasn’t an option.
It’s not that I have to be working all the time. But having anything else to focus on and distract me just seems to help a lot, and it’s in the down time that I often don’t feel my best.
Find Out What Works For You
I often find that there’s a sense of inevitability within the Cystic Fibrosis bubble. I know I’m in a relatively privileged position, though I won’t say lucky. Lucky is being born without CF, or any illness at all. I still have my stuff to deal with. I just realise that for many people Cystic Fibrosis was a dominant force in their lives from a very young age. But I still think we have the ability to dictate terms to Cystic Fibrosis more than we are led to believe.
During my first ever hospital stay (as a 12 year old) a nurse said to me “Oh, this is your first stay? I guess we’ll be seeing you more regularly from now on. You’ll also need a Portacath soon.” I had no idea what a Portacath was and I haven’t needed one to this day.
This is what I mean by inevitability. There was no malice in what that nurse said, just failure to consider that I could go on to have a normal life. Comments like that can instil such unnecessary negativity, and for what possible benefit? It was based on previous experience and education I’m sure, but there’s no hope, or faith, or imagination – whatever you want to call it. Not to mention encouragement. It’s the same as a doctor once explaining to me that my lung function could never improve, while showing me a graph of my lung function improving. And why, when I explained that in Broome I wouldn’t need taking care of, the doctor in Melbourne thought I was a fool.
This is by no means an anti-doctor post. I have full respect for the medical community and I’ve had a great relationship with most of my doctors. I still pop handfuls of pills on a daily basis and I can’t deny the positive effects of Hypertonic Saline. But I don’t think there’s a ‘one size fits all’ solution to CF. You’ve gotta take what you can from doctors and medicine, but work out your own way of dealing with it too.
“You’re from New Zealand and you moved here?”
My awful German inevitably leads to this question on an almost daily basis. It’s asked in way that suggests Germans feel obliged to inform me that, actually, I was much better off staying home. I don’t fully understand this reaction. Sure, New Zealand is beautiful and we can even go shopping on Sundays if we want. But Germany isn’t all sauerkraut, terrible weather and funny leather pants; the country is filled with history, culture, and some incredible scenery of its own.
Autumn colour in the hills above Heidelberg. This is the Odenwald, which you can reach by walking along the famous Philosophenweg.
LIFE IN GERMANY
Heidelberg Altstadt and the Neckar river viewed from Philosophenweg. Surely this is one of the most beautiful cities in Europe.
Recently I celebrated one year of living in Germany. Aside from a daily frustration with the Germans’ lack of queueing etiquette, and the inability to pay by card at will (they are very suspicious of technology), I love it here. So much so that I’ve even taken a liking to sparkling water – the default version of water here. All I need is a decent beach and I’ll happily stay forever.
I think there’s an old fashioned stereotype that paints the Germans as serious, even a little cold. Sure, they do love structure and rules here, and sometimes their brutal honesty catches me off guard. But Germans are some of the most friendly and accommodating people out there. During my time backpacking around Australia, it was often the Germans who I found the most fun and the easiest to get along with. Everyone I meet seems to have a genuine curiosity about where I’m from and how I like it here, and they are all incredibly patient towards foreigners who at least have a go at learning their language.
The Neckar winding its way past Heidelberg and towards Mannheim.
How did I end up in Heidelberg?
Schloss (Castle) Heidelberg. The most iconic building in Heidelberg and one of the most famous castles in Germany.
Long story short:
In 2016 I cycled across Europe (from France to Romania) to raise funds and awareness for Cystic Fibrosis. Along the way I met a German girl who studies here in Heidelberg. Soon after returning to Australia I quit my job and decided to return to Europe and have a go at living the German dream.
Heidelberg is an incredibly beautiful city of around 150,000 people. It’s home to Germany’s oldest university (1386) and about 40,000 students. The old town is one of the major tourist attractions in Germany – and I live right in the middle of it. Coming from a country where 100 year old buildings are rare and marvelled at it’s sometimes hard to comprehend the fact that the castle out my window is from the year 1214. Needless to say I’ve spent a lot of time out and about photographing the city and it’s surroundings.
Heidelberg Altstadt and the Church of the Holy Spirit.
The German Seasons
Sunrise over the snow coated trees on Königstuhl – the highest point in Heidelberg
Even though Heidelberg is in the warmest region of Germany, one of the major differences I’ve noticed here is the dramatic change between seasons. Ok, so I lived in Broome for the previous few years where it’s either hot and dry, or hotter and wet. But even compared to New Zealand the four seasons here are incredibly distinct. Summer days are long and hot, with sunrise just after 5 and sunset at around 9.30. Winter days, although mild by European standards, are short and, well, fresh! I had to buy my first ever genuine winter jacket, and for a few weeks there I basically tried not to leave the house if I could get away with it. The weather in Autumn and Spring is mild but unpredictable, an added bonus being I can usually move along the main street without being steamrolled by a Chinese tour group. Also, Because Heidelberg is surrounded by forest, these seasons are full of amazing colour.
Autumn colour in the hills behind the city.
Here’s a few more of my favourite shots from the past year:
The famous Old Bridge across the Neckar.
Early morning fog shrouds the city. As Heidelberg in situated at the end of a narrow valley, this is a common sight in between seasons.
Sunset from behind the castle.
A view of the city from Theodor-Heuss Bridge.
“It never snows in Heidelberg” – So I was told multiple times in the lead up to winter. This was one of about 5 big snowfalls. While I’m not big fan of the cold, I do love snow!
Classic view of the Altstadt, Castle and the Old Bridge.
I love all the colour in the Altstadt. If you want to avoid the tourists, get out and explore early in the morning – you’ll have the streets to yourself!
Sunset over the city from Königstuhl.
While snowfall coating the city is apparently rare, the hills above do get a regular coating.
ABOUT PAUL MICHAEL
PHOTOGRAPHER | TRAVELLER | CYSTIC FIBROSIS ADVOCATE
New Zealand born and currently living in Germany, I developed my photographic style on the beaches of Western Australia. I have a passion for people, travel and the natural world, and I’m constantly seeking the perfect light. Take a look at the About page to find out my story.
The incredible camel rides on Cable Beach with Broome Camel Safaris
BROOME, WESTERN AUSTRALIA’S HIDDEN TROPICAL OASIS
Broome is a well kept secret. Until I started a road trip in that direction 7 years ago, I’d never heard of this seaside paradise. People often ask me where I lived in Australia, but give me a strange look – as if I’ve misunderstood the question – when I reply. But it’s remoteness and the fact it remains so unknown are probably major contributors to Broome’s appeal. Broome, to me, is the most stunning and incredible place in Australia. Here’s why:
THE BROOME DOME
Lightning strikes just off the coast of Cable Beach.
It’s a legal requirement that you download at least three weather apps before you set foot in Broome. In fact nowhere on earth will you find such a concentrated population of weather experts, all with their own interpretations of the rain radar or the dragonfly-per-cubic-meter ratio. Which is strange, because for 8 months of the year Broome has no weather. I’ll sum up the forecast for April to November right now: Sunny and 30-35 degrees. Every day.
Of course there’s the Wet Season, though. But don’t be fooled into thinking that means rain. No, it just refers to the sweaty state of your clothing for four months. Coming from New Zealand it was a strange phenomenon to witness the excitement that comes with the prospect of rain, and the disappointment when the rain fails to materialise. But this is the daily reality of Broome’s Wet Season; For these four months it’ll be 35-40 degrees and humid. Like – I’m not embarrassed about my full back sweat stain because everybody has one humid – It’ll still be sunny most of the time and there will be huge cloud build-ups and epic lightning storms most afternoons. But these storms are just a visual spectacle; the rain only provides relief to those on the outside of the “Broome Dome”.
Trust me, though, the visual spectacle is worth it!
A regular wet season storm seen from Gantheaume Point.
CABLE BEACH
Not hard to avoid the crowds at Cable Beach.
Cable Beach isn’t all camels, hippie backpackers and naked old people, there’s also 22km of pristine white sand! In all seriousness, the first thing I did when I got to Broome after that road trip was park up at Cable Beach and dive into the water; I’ve had an unhealthy obsession with the place ever since. The turquoise water ranges from about 24 – 30 degrees year round, and you can either find a spot between the flags or wander a bit further and have plenty of beach to yourself. Best option is to drive anywhere north of the rocks and find a lonely spot to park your Land Cruiser. There you can crack open an Emu Export and watch the world (aka camels and naked men) go by.
If you do drive on to the beach just remember to check the tides. The tidal variation in Broome is one of the most extreme on the planet – up to 10m in variation at times! It’s not uncommon for tourists to park up and go for a swim, only to return and find the Indian Ocean where their car used to be.
The great thing about swimming at Cable Beach is that most days you can relax in the knowledge you probably won’t be eaten or poisoned. This makes it safer than 90 percent of Australia. Sure there’s the occasional Croc sighting or Irukandji sting, but in reality Cable Beach is incredibly safe. As far as I’m aware there’s never been a shark (or crocodile) attack, and in the time I lived in Broome I only ever heard of a handful of jellyfish stings. Just don’t go swimming in any of the nearby creeks.
Cable Beach camels from above.
BEST SUNSETS IN THE WORLD
A low-tide sunset at Cable Beach.
Of course I can’t write about Broome without mentioning the sunsets. Often when something is so talked-up the reality can be a little underwhelming. This wasn’t the case with the Broome sunsets. Day after day the sky lights up in colours you’ve only previously imagined. I was there basically every afternoon for three years and I can recall very few occasions when I wasn’t completely blown away.
Hot tip: The sunsets in the Wet Season are generally more spectacular with all that extra cloud around. For some epic reflections time your trip to coincide with extreme low-tides at sunset!
The famous sunset camel ride along Cable Beach.
BROOME’S LANDSCAPE
An outgoing tide in Roebuck bay.
If there’s somewhere on earth that can make an average photographer look good it’s Broome, which is lucky for me. Often it would require a lot of skill to take a bad photograph. The landscape, colours and contrasts are just ridiculous. It’s not hard to see why Broome quickly became a hotspot for drone photography. With the pure white sand of Cable Beach to the broken red rocks of Gantheaume Point and hardly believable water colour of Roebuck Bay, it sometimes feels like you’re on another planet. An observation that is best made from the air.
The rugged Gantheaume Point from above.
GATEWAY TO THE KIMBERLEY
Early morning on the Berkeley River in the Kimberley.
The Kimberley is one of the most remote, untouched and vast regions on the planet. It’s hard to describe just how vast and remote, but I’ll give it a go: With an area of 427,513 square kilometres it’s three times the size of England and has a population of around 35,000. Broome is the big city and gateway to this region, although Broome only has 15,000 residents and is more than 2,000km from Perth, the state capital. Perth itself is one of the most isolated major cities on the planet.
During an 11 day cruise from Broome to Wyndham I barely scratched the surface of what lies out there, but what I have seen was mind blowing. The whitest sand you can imagine, more waterfalls than you can count, world class fishing and of course the incomparable Horizontal Falls.
Tip: The horizontal falls day trip isn’t the cheapest attraction in town, but it’s not ranked number one on Tripadvisor for nothing. The views are ridiculous and the experience is like no other. To quote my Dad, who’s spent the last few years travelling to Europe, North & South America and has seen much of Australia & New Zealand: “I’ve seen some incredible places, but this is right at the top of the list.”
The incredible Horizontal Falls.
Many of these images are available for purchase in the Print Store!
ABOUT PAUL MICHAEL
PHOTOGRAPHER | TRAVELLER | CYSTIC FIBROSIS ADVOCATE
New Zealand born and currently living in Germany, I developed my photographic style on the beaches of Western Australia. I have a passion for people, travel and the natural world, and I’m constantly seeking the perfect light. Take a look at the About page to find out my story.
Tenerife: Incredible Landscapes Perfect Weather and Spanish Charm
Before my girlfriend suggested Tenerife as a quick holiday spot I knew very little about the Island. Aside from the fact that it was warmer and cheaper than Germany, therefore probably full of Germans. Bingo.
But the natural beauty of Tenerife caught me by surprise. Tenerife is a tropical island with a (3718m) snow-capped volcano right in the middle of it. The jagged coastline is full of stunning black-sand beaches and dotted with quaint villages, and the varying altitude means that the climate literally changes with every kilometre you drive.
Sure it’s touristy and a little tacky in places, but the island has retained a lot of it’s Spanish charm, and the landscape is unparalleled. We hired a car to get around (do) – a Fiat 500 wagon (don’t). From what we’d read beforehand I expected the roads to be horrific. They are steep, windy and narrow for sure, but provided you’re a semi-competent and confident driver it’s no biggie. I’ve seen a lot worse in New Zealand and to be honest the Fiat was my biggest concern.
Anyone who knows me well will agree that I seem to find myself in situations that aren’t ideal on a regular basis. It turns out Daria is the same, and together we make an ultimate team. On day two we got up before sunrise to drive an hour and catch the first cable car up the Teide. Too windy – closed for the day. Lets hike the Masca valley! Closed – Germans got stuck there last week. But, amongst cancelled airport trains, an unplanned 3 hour scenic view of the tarmac in Seville, watching our car get towed past us as we carried our gear to it, and catching the flu, we still managed to have an epic time.
I also took a few snaps, so I’ll let the pictures do the rest of the talking.
(Title image now available in the Print Store)
Puerto De La Cruz, our home for 4 nights. Population around 30,000. The city lively and packed full of restaurants, though still small enough to get around on foot.
The Atlantic pounding the rocks of Punta Brava. Not the Idyllic turquoise water beach scenes you expect from a tropical Island, but I’d take pumping surf any day.
Did I mention that the Fiat 500L was a mistake? Not because it struggled, just because it was embarrassingly ugly and no fun to drive on roads like this. While there are endless corners and hills on Tenerife, the roads are actually in pretty good condition. If anything we were surprised at how slow and cautious most other drivers were. If you’ve ever driven around New Zealand you’ll be sweet.
The drive from the main city, Santa Cruz, across north of Tenerife to Benijo was epic. I can’t stress the value of having your own transport enough. I think we paid 12 Euro per day plus an optional 60 Euro for full insurance, so it’s cheap! And getting around without a car would have been a nightmare.
Sunset over La Gomera, the second smallest of the Canary Islands. This was the view from Piscina Natural (natural pool) in Los Gigantes.
Pico del Teide, 3718m. Highest point in Spain and the third highest volcano in the world (highest if you exclude the Hawaiian Islands, which we don’t. So third it is). We didn’t get to go to the peak, but the views from the top of the road were still epic.
Los Gigantes (The Giants). These cliffs rise up to 800m in places and make for some pretty incredible viewing. More significantly, this is where I swam in the Atlantic for the very first time.
The view from our apartment in Puerto de la Cruz. It seems like each apartment building here was built without taking any of the neighbouring apartments into consideration. It’s a complete mess, but it comes together beautifully.
Benijo Beach was the most recommended destination for sunset, and it was beautiful. But if you want to see the sun setting over the ocean this would be a better spot in the summer months.
Last light in Benijo.
Plaza del Charco, Puerto de la Cruz. Completely surrounded by restaurants and cafe’s, this part of town comes to life at night.
Apparently the only golden sand beach on Tenerife is the one near Santa Cruz – Playa de Las Teresitas. Although that sand is actually stolen from the Sahara. Anyway, the black volcanic sand reminds me a lot of the beaches on the West Coast of New Zealand. I’m a fan, until I have to walk across it on a hot day. Pack some extra thick jandals.
Playa de Benijo from above.
Cystic Fibrosis & My Inspiration
Two years ago I didn’t even own a bike, in fact I probably hadn’t even sat on one for the 15 years before that. I’ve never been a big fan of cycling, partly because bike pants creep me out, but mostly because my legs are more built for sitting in cars. Most girls are jealous of my legs. But for some reason, late in 2015, I found myself unable to sleep and becoming increasingly obsessed with the idea of riding a bike across Europe.
At the time I was nearing the end of my 20’s. While the idea of turning 30 may fill most people with dread, it was a much anticipated occasion for me. Not because I like finding new grey hairs on a daily basis, but because of a Readers’ Digest article I read when I was 12. This particular article was about Cystic Fibrosis and it told me that I could expect to live to 30, if I was lucky. Until that point I don’t think it had dawned on me that what I had was so serious, or permanent. But at that young age I made a decision that, not only was I going to live past 30, I was going to do something significant to mark the occasion.
Cycling Across Europe
The Eurovelo 6 route.
I spent the few months after that sleepless night planning, saving and fundraising, and on August 18 2016 I found myself at the start of the Eurovelo 6 cycle trail in Nantes, France. I was feeling very apprehensive on day one, probably because my ‘training’ had consisted of three rides around Broome on a little girls’ bike. This occasionally involved the humiliation of being overtaken by actual little girls on their bikes. But, after a few obligatory selfies, I made a start and after a few hours I had 50km behind me and I’d arrived in Ancenis, stop number one.
On day two I managed 80km before setting up my tent for the night. That was to remain my daily average for the next two months as I followed the Loire River throughout the French countryside, the Rhine through Switzerland, then met up with the Danube in Germany. I stayed alongside the Danube as it grew and lazily twisted through Austria, Slovakia, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, Bulgaria and to it’s mouth at the Black Sea in Romania. Eleven countries and 4,000km in all.
I cycled with my 20kg of luggage through major cities such as Vienna, Budapest and Belgrade, through the quaint villages of France, past Europe’s largest waterfall in Switzerland and even picked up a girlfriend in Germany. I rode past thousand year old castles, through stunning river valleys and vast fields of corn. The over seemingly endless hills and across the borders of countries that were not so long ago at war with each other.
The Challenges
My first, and only, puncture. Picked this up on a busy highway into Belgrade, Serbia.
I faced challenges such as getting lost on a regular basis (at times cycling up to 20km in the wrong direction), the constantly changing languages and (I’m sorry Europe) awful coffee. Then there were the rough and crazy roads as I got further East, not to mention the crazy drivers! At the beginning of my trip I cramped up in the 40 degree French heat, but later on I froze in the Bulgarian Autumn rain.
Beating Cystic Fibrosis with Exercise
Riding through a war-damaged town on the Croatian side of the Croatia-Serbia border.
I usually try not to worry so much about Cystic Fibrosis on a daily basis, but I’ll admit that I was nervous at the beginning. I was half expecting a nasty infection somewhere in the back-blocks of Eastern Europe. But I can’t remember a two month period where I’ve had consistently better health. Even on the days I woke up feeling a little rough the fact that I had no choice but to get on the bike meant that I was forced to push through. Within an hour I’d usually forgotten about it and was feeling great again. This, aside from raising over $20,000 for CFWA and the desire for bigger legs, was the real reason for my trip. I wanted to prove, as much to myself as to anyone else, the importance that remaining physically active plays in fighting Cystic Fibrosis. I’m now more convinced than ever.
Trip Stats!
Total days spent cycling: 50
Total Distance: +/- 4,000km ( my trip computer died for a few days in Germany, so I’m not sure of the exact distance)
Average per day: 80km
Biggest day: 136km – Tata to Budapest, Hungary.
Most physically challenging day: Konstanz – Sigmiragen, Germany.
Average speed: 15.7 km/ph
Max Speed: 61.6 km/ph – racing Maurizio down a hill in Serbia somewhere.
Punctures: 1 – heading in to Belgrade in the rain.
Crashes: 1 – near Dole, France. My front rack collapsed and stopped the front wheel dead. Also I did forget to unclip my shoes and tip over a few times.
Money Raised for Cystic Fibrosis WA: $21,000
Heres a few photos from the trip…
Taking shelter from a storm near Regensburg, Germany. The first of the real bad weather that I encountered. Regen means rain in German, so it figures…
Couldn’t cycle through Germany and miss Oktoberfest!
Crossing the border from Hungary into Croatia. This was just a couple of hours before I got lost in the dark with no light and had wild Deer stampeding around me. In my mind they were running from Bears and Wolves, of course.
Happy days crossing the Danube at the border between Croatia and Serbia.
Baguettes for breakfast in France.
Found a can and hubcap graveyard in the Bulgarian hills. Lovely place for a lunch break on one of my toughest days.
Sunset over the Danube in Melk, Austria.
Budapest at night. My biggest day of cycling ended with one of the most spectacular city scenes I’ve come across.
Putting on a brave face while drinking some lovely Swiss hostel espresso. Just hours before I crossed into Germany.
German summers on the Lake of Constance.
Sunsets in the French countryside.
Romanian traffic conditions.
Lunch break with a few Serbian locals.
Being presented with the 2017 Cystic Fibrosis Community Fundraiser award by Sir Peter Cosgrove in Sydney.
SILISTRA - CONSTANTA
I had vivid images of how I’d celebrate when I finally saw the Black Sea. I’d settled on the idea that it would be really satisfying and cool to rip my shirt open in a burst of adrenaline. But when the moment came it was a little less dramatic than that; celebrating by yourself is strange, plus it was cold and I don’t have many shirts or money to buy new shirts. Although I suspect the real reason was my fear that I wouldn’t actually be strong enough to rip my shirt and I’d erase all the self-esteem I’d built up over the previous two months. In the end I was content with a deep breath of sea air, a couple of selfies and a cold beer in an Irish pub creatively named ‘Irish Pub’.
A colourful welcome into the Black Sea city of Constanta
It’s hard to believe, but it’s already been three weeks since I completed the ride. I now find myself back in Broome in my old place and sitting in the same spot I sat in during the planning stages of the trip. It’s very cliche, but it honestly feels like I never left. The last three months, while being some of the most memorable of my life, are now a complete blur. Although I’m still having to fight the urge to pick up my phone and check the distance for tomorrow’s ride or a cheap hotel for the next night, and when people speak to me it takes a few seconds to register that it’s English, I do understand, and I am expected to reply rather than nod, smile and revert to hand-gestures. As comforting as it is to be home and to have the security of a job and incoming funds, the thought of getting back into my old routine fills me with a strange sense of emptiness. I’m already trying to work out how long it will be before I can head off somewhere again.
Crossing into Romania
My final border crossing – Silistra, Bulgaria into Romania.
My final morning of cycling in Bulgaria was brief, as the border was literally through the middle of Silistra, so after about ten minutes I found myself in Romania dodging horse-drawn carts and Gypsies (there were nearly as many horse drawn carts as there were cars in rural Romania). With rolling hills, endless vineyards and patches of forrest with golden leaves, the countryside was visually quite stunning, but while riding through this isolated natural beauty the fact that Romania is home to 50 percent of Europe’s wild Bear population kept popping back into my mind, so I didn’t pause too often to take it in. I’d read that this part of the route was going to be most challenging because of the cobbled road surface, but this never eventuated and the recently paved roads were, surprisingly, some of the best quality since Austria, except that they were lined with litter and dead animals. Some of the villages I passed through were genuine slums where the ground had been trampled into mud and hillside caves were a legitimate accomodation option. Speaking of dead animals: having just committed the fatal faux pas of admitting to not loving all dogs in my last entry, I was forced to rethink my thoughts on the matter within minutes of crossing in to the final country of my trip. The dogs in Romania were seriously malnourished and timid – I went from fearing them to sympathising with them. I passed one particularly miserable looking dog as he walked up a hill along the centre line and as trucks passed by within centimetres of him he didn’t even flinch. I spent a few minutes trying to coax him to the side of the road, but every time I moved on he returned to where he had been. He wouldn’t even look up when I tried to call him and his body language suggested he didn’t want any help. That’s when it dawned on me that all the roadkill was more likely suicide than a series of impossibly frequent accidents.
Local traffic
My first night in Romania I ended up in Adamclici, a run-down village that didn’t have a single place to eat but did have a large, modern and seemingly brand new hotel. The hotel was hidden away down some back streets and when I arrived there were two identical BMW X5’s parked out the front. I don’t know a lot about the Romanian mafia, but this place reeked of dodgy business. I walked in the entrance and found a dark, abandoned reception area and rang the bell a few times before a woman appeared in front of me. Obviously I was an inconvenience to her, and she had no qualms making that clear to me, which, as far as I was concerned, provided further evidence that the place wasn’t built with money made in the hospitality industry. She pointed to a plaque on the wall which displayed the price for a night then shrugged her shoulders and turned back to me with a look that said ‘I know you can’t afford that, you scruffy piece of shit’. This process was repeated several times before I showed her some cold, hard Romanian leu and received a key in exchange. It probably goes without saying that I was the only other person staying there, and the walk through the dark hallways to find my room felt like the opening scene of a horror movie.
Less than 100km to go!
The next morning I woke before my alarm for the first time on the trip. I got up excitedly and went through the process of repacking my bags and tucking my pants into my socks one last time. Breakfast wasn’t an option in Adamclisi, but I didn’t care because it was the last day and I only had 65 Kilometres to go. I re-stacked my bike and cycled out past what had now turned into three identical X5’s. The cycling was similar to the previous day aside from the final 20 kilometres in to Constanta which were along a busy stretch of highway that, legally, I was probably supposed to avoid. Aside from the clouds parting and the sun shining on me for the first time in a week, the arrival in Constanta was a bit of an anticlimax. Once in the city I wasn’t even sure which direction the Black Sea was in until I finally saw it between two high rises at the end of a street, and when I got there I wasn’t quite sure what to do. I could see straight away that life in Constanta was a world away from the other parts of the country I’d been through; I’ve never seen so many late model European cars, and the people I came across were mostly young, well dressed and spoke english. I made my way to a hotel with a younger woman sitting on the front steps smoking, and without looking up she told me I could park my bike ‘over there’. I obliged, then turned around and asked how she knew I spoke english. She shrugged an ‘I don’t know’ and walked back inside – I’m always curious about what gives this away.
Breakfast with the locals
I made the mistake of thinking that the adventure was over by this point and as a result I was massively unprepared for the day I was about to face when I woke the next morning. I had to get back to Sofia where I’d left a bunch of my stuff in the apartment owned by my sister in law’s family, but public transport between Romania and Bulgaria isn’t too regular on a Sunday (I probably should have guessed this would be the case in a strictly orthodox christian part of the world). While I was at the bus station trying to find a way to Bucharest for an overnight train to Sofia, an opportunistic local approached me and told me he could drive me to the Bulgarian border for 200 leu (about 40 Euro). Every instinct was telling me it was a terrible idea and that I shouldn’t trust the guy, but I thought this way might end up quicker and cheaper, so I went for it. We bungy-tied the boot shut with the bike hanging out and headed south. The guy turned out to be decent and along the way he explained how hard it was to get ahead in Romania; how he’s left the country only once and would have to save for another five years to go on holiday again. His dream was to see Barcelona play at Nou Camp one day, something I made a casual decision to do when I happened to be in Barcelona four years ago. Listening to him (and just being in Romania) was another sobering reminder of how good we have it in certain parts of the world, and how much we take for granted. After he dropped me off he told me there was a bus from the Border straight to Varna and then on to Sofia – all I had to do was walk across the border. When I did get across I used google translate to ask the lady at the customs shop about a bus and she confirmed with her own google translate that it came at 1.30pm, but when 2pm came and went I got google out and asked her again and she straight away admitted that sometimes the bus doesn’t come on Sundays. I stared at her and shook my head, then asked google to translate “maybe that would have been useful information two hours ago”. I would have hitched a ride from there but it’s a little difficult with a bike, so I had to take a taxi 100km to Varna and buy a bus ticket there. The bus the driver said I couldn’t take my bike because there was no room but, miraculously, 15 leu created a little extra space and I was finally on my way to Sofia, bike and all.
A totally legitimate start to my journey home
After a 7 hour bus ride and another taxi trip, which nearly ended in a fight, I was back at the apartment of my sister in law, whose family were kind (brave) enough to let me have free rein. The taxi ride in question involved the driver getting lost and relying on my directions the whole way, then the fare coming in 20 Lev more expensive than quoted and an extra 10 Lev bike-handling fee, which apparently hadn’t existed at the time of the quote. I initially refused to pay but I changed my mind pretty quickly after he unfolded his 7 foot frame from the drivers’ seat and approached me with clenched fists at his side. As you can probably tell I’ve use the term ‘near fight’ very loosely here.
The stunning Alexander Nevsky Cathedral in Sofia, Bulgaria
I spent two days in Sofia looking around, getting all my things together and organising to get my bike boxed up for the flight home. My first impression of Sofia two months earlier had been so good that I prepared myself for disappointment upon my return, but once again I immediately picked up a great vibe from the place. For a city of close to two million, Sofia has such a calm, relaxed feel and is full of markets, cobbled streets and Viennese inspired architecture. I was so relieved to have finished my ride, but waking up in Sofia I found that all I wanted to do was get on my bike and go exploring. So I spent the days cycling through the stunning parks surrounding the city and sampling the many coffee shops.
After all the cycling I wanted to do some travelling as a normal tourist before heading home, so I flew to Germany for 10 days to visit some friends before flying back to Sofia to pick up my bike and taking off for the Southern Hemisphere.
Here’s a few stats from the trip for ya!
Trip Stats
Total days spent cycling: 50
Total Distance: +/- 4,000km ( my trip computer died for a few days in Germany, so I’m not sure of the exact distance)
Average per day: 80km
Biggest day: 136km – Tata to Budapest, Hungary.
Most physically challenging day: Konstanz – Sigmiragen, Germany.
Average speed: 15.7 km/ph
Max Speed: 61.6 km/ph – racing Maurizio down a hill in Serbia somewhere.
Punctures: 1 – heading in to Belgrade in the rain.
Crashes: 1 – near Dole, France. My front rack collapsed and stopped the front wheel dead. Also I did forget to unclip my shoes and tip over a few times.
BELGRADE TO SILISTRA
I’m in Silistra, the last Bulgarian town before I cross the border into Romania tomorrow morning. The roads to get here have been busy, the terrain hilly and the weather bleak. Particularly yesterday as I cycled from Svishtov to Ruse. Although it was only 100km in total it was easily one of the toughest days so far – full of hills that looked like they would would never end. By this stage of the trip my body has had enough, so to even get up and get started each day is a massive mental challenge, but to approach hill after hill and know you have no option but to cycle up them is pure torture. “Character Building” I keep telling myself, although Im not sure it’s helping. By now I can’t even take comfort in the fact that ‘at least it’s going to make my legs bigger’ because, well, I’ve been doing it for two months now and my legs definitely aren’t any bigger. I’m genuinely worried that when I get back people will see me and immediately write me off as a fraud: “There’s no way you cycled across Europe with those things!”
The other thing I’m having an issue with at the moment is dogs. Now I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with dogs at the best of times, mostly because I hate them. Come to think of it it’s more of just a hate relationship, really, but I’ve never actually feared dogs until now. Every time I stop to have a drink, or check my map, as if on cue a dog will appear at the nearest fence and absolutely lose its mind at my presence by making some kind of repetitive angry sound come out of its mouth. That’s if I’m lucky. Because at least a few times a day now they are not behind fences and they chase me, sometimes in packs, trying their best to bite my legs off, or at least push me into approaching traffic. They are genuinely wild around here. They roam the streets without anyone looking after them, and only the bones of ill-fated cyclists as sustenance. It’s for this reason that I stole a butter knife from an old couple at a home stay in Serbia (I didn’t have the heart to steal a decent knife) – I know that stealing is bad, but I left them my sleeping mat as compensation, so they got a good deal – A butter knife might not sound like much in the way of self-defence, but I keep it strapped to the front of the bike and I’ve done a few practice drills. I’m sure if I strike in the right place it’ll be effective. I’m mostly joking here, but at the same time I’m not sure. At least I hope it doesn’t come to that because I actually like dogs sometimes (when they shut up and act like cats), and the amount of dead dogs on the roads in and around every town here is sad, not to mention off-putting.
I woke up on Thursday to find that my good old mate Maurizio had ditched me in Belgrade. Apparently he’d found out there was a ferry crossing down the line that only went a couple of times a day, so he wanted to leave early to make sure he made it in time. I hadn’t done any planning ahead because I was relying on him, as he’d relied on me up until Belgrade, so you can imagine how excited I was to find this out when it was too late for me to make it in time. Cheers, Maurizio. As a result I had a slow day cycling through mud and across grass to get me within distance of the ferry for the next day. After I did cross the ferry the next morning I was suddenly hit by a strong headwind and spent the day feeling like one of the many plough-towing tractors I kept seeing in the fields alongside. I eventually arrived at a guesthouse nestled within the forrest in a town called Vinici just before dark. It was a beautiful little place and the hosts, who spoke no english, brought me rakija, coffee, a little cake and beer as a welcome. They then brought over a neighbour to act as translator and demand payment straight away, which I thought was a little distrusting. But, then again, I did steal one of their knives so they read me well.
My last day in Serbia took me to Negotin, which is across the bridge from Romania, and about 18km from the Bulgarian border. I had intended to cross the border and get to Vidin that night, but I’d had some bad information about how far this actually was. I was in the hills above Negotin and a German guy pulled his car over to talk to me. I told him I was headed to Vidin and he said it was just 10 or 15km past Negotin, which would have been well within range. Then, when I got into Negotin, I stopped at a sign which told me the Bulgarian border was still 18km away. Knowing that Vidin was well past the border I instantly realised I’d have to change my plans for the day. As if reading my mind (or maybe just my confused facial expression) a local couple approached me and told me they had a friend who owned a guest house for cyclists (that’s literally what it was called) which was ridiculously cheap (800 dinas, or about 6 euros), and they also happened to be the nicest people in Serbia. I went to dinner with them and we had a few beers while they told me all about the complicated political and social situation in Serbia, then they insisted on paying for it all because I was a “guest of Serbia”. I was blown away by the whole experience, and it’s one of the nicest examples of local hospitality I’ve ever experienced. Certainly a positive way to end my travels in the former Yugoslavian territories.
The next day I did cross the border, after being hurried through by an army lady with a gun who didn’t appreciate me taking selfies on the road, and headed to Vidin. It was easily the coldest day of the trip so far, and to top it off Vidin was one of the most intimidating places I’ve been. I know that gloomy weather never makes a great impression of a new town, but the streets were dirty and dark, many of the buildings completely abandoned, and the people seemed to take more of an interest in me than usual -as in they wouldn’t stop staring even after I’d caught them staring, a sure sign of craziness in any culture. It was a strange experience and I was actually a little worried to venture too far around the city that night, which is generally not something I have an issue with. Thankfully, since then the Bulgarian people I’ve met have actually been very nice. They wave to me as I go past in little villages and, although we cant communicate much, they mostly seem willing to try.
I realised that the weather at this end of the trip might become a factor, which it has, but what I failed to take in to account was the shortening of the days as the seasons changed. In the early stages of the ride I could go until 8 or 9pm without having to worry about the dark, but now as soon as 5pm hits I start to freak out a little and make sure I have myself a place to stay, something that is also more urgent because of the fact it’s far too cold to rely on my backup plan of wild camping. These factors combined have added a lot of pressure because I can’t now rely on the fact that I can suffer a few delays and still manage to pump out 120 kilometres in a day. As a result I did a little bit of cheating a few days ago. I was in Vidin, western Bulgaria, and realised that there was nowhere I could stay that was within 120km. The forecast was for rain and a high of 8 degrees, and the day before I’d heard that there was snow spotted on the surrounding hills. I’m pretty carefree most of the time, but I wasn’t risking getting stranded in that, so I caught a train to the next town. I would have stayed and tried the next day, but at this stage I also have a few time constraints – if I want a job to go back to that is. So I apologise for this! But I’m on track to do 4,000km and the website states that the Eurovelo 6 is 3,600km total, so it’s still more than I’d bargained on.
At this stage of the trip I feel like I can look back on things with a little bit of perspective, and I’d like to take this opportunity to apologise to France. I was a harsh critic of France’s roads, signage and even some of the scenery. But, now, having some basis for comparison, I can confidently say that I’d cycle back and forth across France a few times before I’d attempt to cycle anywhere east of Budapest again. The route I’m following (Eurovelo 6) is supposedly the ‘Danube cycle trail’. Well I see the Danube when I leave a particular town each day, then I see it again when I arrive at the next town each night. In between I generally see potholes, empty fields, run-down villages and, well, dogs, but I forget that there’s even a river there. Of course the route now is not along purpose built cycleways either, so I have to deal with heavy, and aggressive, traffic throughout the day. It’s a sad reality, but at this point it really has become just a case of going through the motions to try and get to the end.
Speaking of which: I am now (hopefully) only two days away from Constanta, my final destination! It’s strange to think that after two months this journey is nearly over, and that in a few days I wont need to put padded shorts on when I get up. But it’s also going to be a huge sense of satisfaction and relief when I finally get there. The forecast is looking good for the next few days, so lets see what the Black Sea has to offer!
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