A wonderful day at the fishing lodge

“Uahh!” I yawn and stretch comfortably. “Did you sleep that well, too, snail?” Tanja asks me quietly. “Fantastic Schneckdieschneck”, I reply, laughing to myself, because Tanja has recently come up with a new pet name for me. She is really good and inventive with the names for me. Hare, Schnupsi, Wackerle, Knöder and Dicker-Bär are just a few of the soon to be countless names. I always see it from the fun side and am almost never offended because she means well. Sometimes, however, I object. I didn’t find it funny at all when she called me a snooty dumpling. Sounds kind of weird. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. “I have no idea. It just occurred to me,” she replied. Well, we’ve agreed that I’m not just a dumpling. I can work quite well with Schnecke. It’s not an allusion to my speed, it’s just a snail. A snail always has its own house with it, doesn’t let itself be disturbed and likes to eat salad. As I also share one or two characteristics with this mollusk, I think snails are just fine.

As the first rays of sunshine creep onto the terrace and heat up our fabric shelter, we leave our tent and put it together. “Look. Is that Dan over there on the other bank? Or is someone stealing fish from the lake?” asks Tanja. “Looks like Dan. I think he wants to prove to us that there are fish in his lake that eat his bait,” I reply with a laugh.

Today we want to leave this beautiful place and cycle on towards the Black Sea. We load everything onto the bikes, fortify ourselves with a Rapunzel muesli and wait for Dan and Andrei. They promised to stop by yesterday before we set off again. Dan and his wife Okctavia arrive at 10:00 am. Using sign language and a little English, they ask if we would like to stay for dinner. “I caught some fish,” says Dan with a mischievous smile and shows us three fat carp. Tanja and I look at each other questioningly. Actually, we should really do some stretching now. We’ve been in Romania for nine days now and have covered just 27.57 kilometers. If we were to convert that into an average, we wouldn’t even manage 100 kilometers a month. Since it is about 7000 km to the Urals, depending on the detours, we would need almost six years for this stage alone. “Hm, what do you think?” I ask Tanja. “I have no idea. You decide,” I hear.

Explanation for the conversations with Mother Earth

I feel inside myself and don’t know what to do. “What is important for our journey?” I ask quietly. “You know what’s important,” I think I hear the voice of Mother Earth whisper. By way of explanation, I must mention at this point that I have communicated a lot with Mother Earth in recent years. It all started in Australia during our 7000 kilometer march from south to north and from the west coast to the east coast of the continent. We lived Down Under for over four years and achieved the impossible with our seven camels, namely crossing the inhospitable outback on foot. Sometimes I sat down on a dune out of despair over one natural disaster or another, one event or another that was hard to comprehend, and I quarrelled with God and the desert. After more than a year of walking, I got the first crystal-clear answers to my questions. I was surprised, at first I thought I had caught a bit too much sun and loneliness. Thought my brain was overloaded and playing tricks on me. To be honest, I was even a bit scared that I had gone crazy. But after a while I realized that the exact opposite happened and I always got fantastic answers to my questions. I have no idea whether the answers lay dormant in my subconscious or whether they actually came from the desert or Mother Earth. In the end I had a wonderful working communication which I described as conversations with Mother Earth. After a while, Tanja and I decided to stop hiding this fact and write about it. To be honest, it’s a bit daring, the reader might think: “Aha, now they’ve really got it.” But in the desert, people are brave in the face of such things. Germany and Western civilization are a long way away, and as a desert wanderer you hardly have anything to do with them. So I wrote about it and, lo and behold, our readers greeted these conversations with favor and no one, at least as far as we know, called us crazy. Well, at least that’s the explanation for the talks.

During our stays in Germany, the voice regularly falls silent. Maybe it’s because of all the work there. Maybe it’s because I can’t keep my head as clear in Germany as I inevitably do when I’m traveling. No idea what the problem is. It doesn’t matter. The main thing is that these discussions take place. But it is also the case that they cannot be enforced. They either come or they don’t. Whether they will take place again on this trip remains to be seen. At the beginning, I first have to get into the right mood. By which I mean that it takes me a while to step out of our cultural circle and become open to the other, the new world. In my experience, this can take up to three months. However, in the course of the many years of travel, it happens faster and faster. I feel as if a switch has been flipped and the time in Germany has faded out. By which I mean that there is a direct connection to the last stage after just a few days of travel. As if we had never interrupted our journey. It actually feels like traveling back in time. A journey through time in which you engage the forward and reverse gears yourself. That’s why I believe that a kind of time travel really does exist. I am beginning to believe that time travel is possible within us, i.e. within a person. A journey through time in thoughts, feelings and sensations. Well, you might think that thoughts, feelings and sensations are not real in this context. However, I have a different opinion. From a holistic perspective, everything is real. If that is the case, the kind of time travel I believe I am experiencing is also real. At least for me and that is the fact for me.

Wow, now I’ve digressed. I wanted to tell you something about my conversations with Mother Earth. But that’s the way it is. Everything is connected. Nothing stands alone. If we humans understood this, we would no longer pollute our planet. For example, the way plastic bottles are lying around everywhere here in Romania or are being burnt in every nook and cranny. But now I’m really done with my digressions. I’m going from the hundredth to the thousandth.

“What is important for our journey?” I ask myself. “You know what’s important,” I think I hear the voice of Mother Earth whisper. “So, what’s important?” I ask again. “That you let the events flow. That you allow and recognize. That you understand how unimportant it is to cover many kilometers, but how important it is to gather experiences and encounters. That you realize that everything happens at the right time and that you don’t try to steer events and influence them too much.” “Hm, that’s right. I know that.” “Then why do you keep asking?” “Because I’m unsure.” “Listen to your feelings. Your gut will always give you the right answer. It takes away your uncertainty. The more you pay attention to your feelings, your intuition, the more confident you become, the clearer and quicker you can make the right decision for you. Just practise. Have faith in yourself. Believe in yourself and you’ll see how easy it is for you to make the right decision in the future,” I hear very clearly.

“We’ll stay for lunch. We can cycle a few more kilometers this afternoon,” the words bubble out of my mouth. “It’s a good decision. I thought the same thing,” Tanja replies.

While Dan drives off again in the car to fetch the barbecue utensils, Okctavia stays with us. As she doesn’t speak English, communication is a little difficult. Nevertheless, we have a kind of conversation. “Shall I give you a little Prananadi (kind of Reiki)”, we think we understand. Since we have to wait for Dan anyway and I’m curious what exactly Prananadi is, I say yes. So I lie down on the old sofa in the little fisherman’s hut and wait to see how Oktavia’s prananadi affects me. She holds her hands over various parts of the body for an hour. In the end, I feel quite dizzy but not uncomfortable. “It will give you energy and healing,” says Octavia. I thank her and when Dan and his son Andrei reappear, the barbecue preparations begin. Octavia immediately cuts the three carp into their individual parts, while Dan and Andrei fire up the barbecue. It takes another hour until the embers are no longer so hot and Octavia gives the green light to put the fish on the grill.

At around 2 p.m. we sit on the small terrace and enjoy Dan’s freshly caught carp. With a garlic sauce, fresh sheep’s cheese from the village, white bread and a few bottles of beer to celebrate the day, we get an excellent meal. By 3 p.m. we are full and dog-tired. “I think we’ll leave tomorrow,” I say to Tanja, who nods to confirm my decision.

Then we all go onto the jetty together and dangle our feet in the cool water. Fish pluck at them and tickle the soles of our feet. The mood is cheerful and Tanja unwraps one of our precious Rapunzel chocolates to everyone’s delight. Then Dan and Andrei come up with the idea of sealing the weir at the end of the lake. I follow them and watch them at work. There is no doubt that this place is in a different century. Horse-drawn carts clatter past, village children play on the shore and pose happily in front of my camera. “Why are you raising the weir?” I ask Andrei. “Because otherwise the water would flow into the adjacent lake and our fish would end up struggling in the dry. Look, our neighbors aren’t doing anything about their lake. It’s drying up more and more. It belongs to the municipality and nobody feels responsible for it. The mayor doesn’t care either. He has nothing to gain from looking after the lake,’ he explains to me. In fact, I notice large piles of garbage extending into the water. Anglers retrieve their probably contaminated fish from the pond.

After the successful repair work of our two hosts, I walk back to the fishing hut with them. Strong winds whirl dust into the air. Small ripples on the water foam their tips. A flock of sheep graze in the pasture. Herons help themselves to fresh fish from Dan’s lake. “Let them get what they need. I used to hunt, but now I love all animals,” he answers when I ask him if he doesn’t mind if the herons feast on his fish.

In the evening, the extremely friendly and lovable family bid us farewell again. On the way to the car, Andrei says: “Well, as you know, there are a lot of bad people in this area. If you notice someone sneaking around on the shore at night, they’re up to no good. Don’t go to them under any circumstances. It could end badly. It’s better to punch them in the face right away,” he recommends. To reinforce his statement, he waves the axe he had been working on the weir around in the air. Tanja and I feel quite uncomfortable at his warning. Andrei certainly meant well, but sometimes it’s perhaps better not to know what’s going on around you.

Nocturnal visitors

“Do you think someone will come by today?” Tanja asks me as we lie in our tent later, listening to every little sound. “Who knows, but I don’t think so,” I try to reassure her. A little later I hear her breathing deeply, which tells me that Tanja is asleep. “Hm, obviously he’s not afraid anymore,” it goes through my head. Unlike her, I lie there wide awake and listen for a supposed attacker. Dogs barking in the distance. Every now and then I hear a car. Sometimes a cone of light streaks across our terrace, which immediately startles me. I try to calm down, but to no avail. Then, after about two hours, I finally drift off into a light sleep. But suddenly the approaching sound of a car engine snaps me out of my dream. “Is it really getting closer?” I ask myself. Yes, without a doubt. It’s getting closer. It’s too early to wake Tanja. Maybe it will drive by. But if not? Who could possibly want anything from us at midnight? Are they young people from the village who have heard about us? There’s no doubt that everyone in the area knows that two German cyclists have been staying in the fisherman’s hut for days. I wonder what they want from us? Are they drunk? Oh no, the engine stops right behind our hut. Suddenly I hear footsteps approaching. Tanja is now awake too. “Who is that?” she asks in a whisper. “I don’t know,” I reply, straighten up, reach for the irritant gas next to me and hold it in my tense fist, just in case. My heart is beating up to my neck. Tanja is also crouching next to me armed with irritant gas. “Why don’t our dogs attack?” whispers Tanja. I do not answer. In my imagination I see the poor animals lying beaten to death in front of the hut. The footsteps approach and suddenly we can see their legs through the mosquito net of the tent entrance. My body tenses up, ready to explode out of the tent if necessary. “Hello!” calls a voice. We pretend to be asleep. Simply remain silent. “Hello!” it calls louder. The handle on the door to the fisherman’s hut is pushed down with a creak. This terrible moment seems endless. “Denis?” I hear the voice now, completely surprised. What thief in this region would know my name? “Andrei?” I ask cautiously. “Yes? Are you asleep yet? My mom and I will bring you something to eat. She spent half the night cooking for you,” he says. Stones literally rumble from our hearts. Relieved and soon amused, we jump out of the tent. “Man, and we thought you were the thieves you said you were. You might have scared us,” I say, snorting and laughing. “I’m sorry, but look what we have for you,” he replies and prepares his culinary treasures in front of us. There is cake, cheese and deep-fried drumsticks. “Do you want to eat some right away? Are you hungry?” “No thanks, but we’ll be happy to take it with us tomorrow as travel food,” says Tanja happily. It only takes a few minutes and Octavia and Andrei have disappeared into the night again. With beating hearts, we lie down again. “Wow, a little longer and I really would have jumped Andrei,” I say jokingly. “Yes, I got a terrible fright too,” says Tanja, to which we laugh heartily and freely.

Tanja writes:

I go to bed that evening with a really strange feeling. Firstly, I have been determined for some time to stop polluting my environment with my fear. Secondly, I realize once again how powerful the word is. We had a wonderful, beautiful day on which an atmosphere full of happiness and joie de vivre built up. As a human being, can I turn off my stupid fear? Can I wrap myself in the pleasant, beautiful atmosphere of the past day and take this beautiful feeling with me into the dream world? Instead, I lie down for a short time with the thought that a bad guy might come tonight. So I decide to go back to plan A and stop being afraid of things, situations and ideas that only take place in my head. As far as the power of the word is concerned, it could have been Andrei saying, “Nobody comes here, you can sleep well here and wake up refreshed in the morning.” So I say a few nice sentences to myself along these lines and fall asleep.

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