Is reporting at risk?

(Photos of the diary entry can be found at the end of the text).

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Because I’m far from finished with my writing, I’d like to stay longer, but last night the Microsoft Word program on my laptop went dead. The fatal thing is that it no longer works on our replacement laptop either. A situation that is completely incomprehensible to me. But computers have incomprehensible errors and when a failure happens, it’s always the wrong time. I am now no longer in a position to continue writing. This means that not only the work on the book is finished for the time being, but also the reporting on our website and our social networks. Since the beginning of our big trip in 1991, we have had problems with the technology from time to time. In Australia, for example, the hard disk of my special laptop crashed. Fortunately, I had backed up the data of a book I had just written just minutes before. In Mongolia, the hard disk of my laptop also broke down at minus 30 degrees. Because we were in the deepest wilderness at the time, where the nearest paved road was 1,000 kilometers away, we had to have the computer delivered to the nearest post office on horseback. It took a month for it to be repaired in Germany. It was three months before we got him back. Over the last 30 years, several cameras and film cameras have died. We were only able to continue filming and photographing because we always have at least two, sometimes even three cameras and film cameras with us. Ultimately, we try to secure everything with a second device. In Australia, our GPS failed while we were running away with our camels from an approaching class 5 cyclone. Without a second device, we would be dead today. Some of our bikes and e-bikes have also fallen apart due to extreme stress and sometimes we have had to wait up to six weeks for spare parts in sometimes unpleasant places. Over the decades, we have almost become accustomed to breakdowns, but it is always a small to medium disaster when it happens again. Now this damned Word program is gone. “I’ll have to take a look at it via Teamviewer,” said our computer technician last night, whom I called in desperation in Germany. “We can’t do this via your router in the car. That sucks up far too much data and will be very expensive for you. Call me again when you’ve found a fixed Wi-Fi connection,” he advised. That is precisely the reason why we now have to leave this beautiful place. “Fucking technology!” I curse indignantly. “Can Thomas even repair it via Teamviewer?” I’m unsure. “I think so. He’s helped us out of trouble before,” says Tanja, confident as ever. In heavy rain, the Terra works its way up the slope over the wet, sometimes muddy ground towards Europastraße. At the top, I take the gear reduction out again. “It’s fantastic where we can get to with the four-wheel drive,” I say happily, because that’s exactly why we don’t have to rely on campsites.

We’ve only been on the road for 30 minutes when a supermarket appears in a small village. “We should stop there. I need to buy some groceries for us,” says Tanja, which is why I put on the blinker and head for the parking lot. “The building next to the supermarket makes an official impression on me,” she says from the terra rises. “So what? What am I supposed to do with this information?” I ask. “Well, maybe it’s the village hall? While I’m shopping, you could use the time to ask there. Maybe they have Wi-Fi.” “Okay,” I reply a little sluggishly, as I can’t imagine being that lucky. “Hello, hellooo! Is anyone there?” I shout as I walk around the deserted building a little later in search of a WALN connection. Lights are on everywhere in the long, heated corridors of the modern building. I knock on an office door and enter. A man who actually looks like he works for the state sits at his desk and looks at me in amazement. “How can I help you?” he asks politely in perfect English. I explain my predicament to him. “And that’s why I urgently need a Wi-Fi connection,” I say at the end of my explanation. “No problem. I’ll ask my colleague. He should give you the password. If you’ll follow me, please. I’ll show you where you can sit down,” he asks me to follow him in a friendly manner. “This is our training and meeting room. There are sockets for your laptop. Please take your time. Now if you’ll excuse me. I have a meeting with our mayor in a moment.” Two minutes later, another officer enters the room, greets me in the same friendly manner as his colleague and gives me the building’s password. Then he leaves me alone again. “Wow,” I am amazed at so much helpfulness and trust. I quickly rush out of the building to get our two laptops from the Terra and let Tanja know where I am. Back at the community center, I call our technician Thomas. “We’ve actually found a stable WLAN. Now we can do the Teamviewer session,” I say a little excitedly. Even though it is no longer anything special from a technical point of view, I am always fascinated by the fact that, no matter where you are in the world, you can use Teamviewer to access someone else’s laptop. Of course, only if you have the right access data. Spellbound, I watch the cursor flit back and forth on the desktop of my laptop. It only takes five minutes and Thomas has repaired the Word program. “And now everything works again?” I ask in amazement. “Everything’s okay. I wish you a safe and eventful journey,” he says goodbye. When Tanja enters the room, I am beaming like a honey cake. “I can see Thomas was able to fix it.” “Yes, it went pretty quickly,” I reply in a good mood.

It feels great when the technology works and the engine of our Iveco hums pleasantly. Satisfied, I steer the Terra over a ridge. Gloomy clouds envelop us. Suddenly it starts to snow and within a few minutes everything is white. The dark asphalt gradually disappears under a dense white coating. “Now the long-awaited winter is here,” Tanja is certain. “I don’t think so. Once we’re back in the valley, the snow will turn to rain,” I’m convinced. In fact, only a hundred meters below, the light snowflakes lose their graceful movements. They become heavier and heavier and end in heavy rain. It is already dark when, after 243 kilometers covered today, 7 tunnel passages and 19 bridges crossed, we find a place for the night on the 121 km long Lyngenfjord, the second longest fjord in northern Norway…