Aotearoa, the long white cloud and a brief taste of Sydney

"A cloud, a long white cloud!" exclaimed Kupe's wife.

Kupe was the original Polynesian adventurer that decided to venture out into the wild waters of the pacific in search of  a new land for himself and his family. Why did he set out on such a dangerous task? Why did he not just stay home sipping coconut water and eating fish on a tropical island? Why leave the comfort of what you know for something that no one knows and all fear?
Maybe Kupe was crazy. Or maybe he was forced to move. But what if he just wanted something new? What if his original home was beautiful and lush, but he just wanted to challenge himself? Kupe's adventure lives on in the Maori legends, talk about "having memories to tell the grandchildren about".
Traveling has been a real education to me and cannot imagine what I would be like if I hadn't of embarked on this journey. But once again I am digressing into the world of abstract pseudo-philosophy.Back to reality, shall we?

Lazy seal baking in the sun on a beach close to Kaikoura

Taranaki!

Me surfing on a small day in the shadow of Mt. Taranaki

So I last left you in New Zealand. Haere mai, welcome to New Zealand. The fond memories of the afternoon light enveloping the patio in front of Lana and Thekla's room in Raglan will find a place in my dreams from now until the end of time. The sound of the roaring surf gently rocking me to sleep. I surfed, slept, read, ate, surfed, slept and read. I was tired of driving around the beautiful NZ countryside after the glorious road trip with Robin and Samantha. Resting and surfing. And what a place to surf. Raglan offers some of the most perfect point break waves in the world. This also means that the town has turned into a surfers town, which means that tons of very tanned young men and women sit around drinking coffee and reading surf magazines talking about waves and surfing, while many other tanned humans are busy doing the real deal in the water. I don't know how people in Raglan do it, the house prices are expensive by global standards and yet no one ever seems to work (or maybe they work at night?). Either way, the local surf community is an interesting social environment: you are either a long term resident and everyone knows you and you know everyone else, or  you are just traveling through town, which means that everyone knows that you are not part of the club. It is a most unusual feeling, that I cannot explain. Boy, was a glad to have a local friend, with a connection to the Raglan surf community. Once again thank you Lana and Thekla. After ten days of resting my sore bones I felt I had overstayed my welcome (I kept on thinking "guests are like fish, they start to stink after 3 days") so I decided to head back to the Taranaki region. I spent a good two weeks camped at the beautiful sand beach of Oakura and spent my days traveling up and down the coast (the local "highway" is called Surf Highyway 45!), roaming deserted beached in search of surf, crossing farms wearing a wetsuit and carrying a surfboard. Walking on a black sand beach to a deserted left hand point break in the midday sun after trying not to disturb the cows while crossing the green green fields in the shadows of the imposing snow-capped Taranaki was a unique experience that made me feel like a bit of an adventurer in my own right. In the empty camping grounds I was adopted by the "Stanford Caravan Club" a lively group of 70+ kiwis that has been caravaning for years, they pretended to be thrilled with my ukulele playing skills and spoiled me rotten with cookies, tea and chocolates. They were wonderful to me and reminded me a lot of my gran, who I am sure was looking down and nodding in approval. This fantastic club is living proof that even as our bodies get older we can still maintain a youthful mind and have a blast. The club left and I was one of the few occupants of the camping grounds, waking up with the sight of the beautiful Oakura beach every morning and eating my oatmeal before heading out to the cow dotted fields in search of surf. After being a  bit of a surf hermit I was glad to head back to Raglan for my final surfs in New Zealand. We had a great time with Lana, Thekla and friends,  we enjoyed a fine bbq and great dinner. It was time to say goodbye to the surf and head back to Auckland. Entering the city after almost 2 months of nothing but fields, cows, sheep, mountains, glaciers and lakes was a bit of a shock. I hadn't planned it very well either: I ended up crossing the city South to North in the middle of Friday rush hour traffic. I arrived in North Shore, Auckland, where family friends Madeleine and Greg had been waiting for me. It had been a very long time to since we had last been together in South Africa (more or less 17 years!) and I had no idea what to expect from the reunion with Madeleine, Greg and their daughters Colette and Claire. The whole family once again spoiled me rotten! With braais (South African word for bbq), tours of the city and surrounding areas, visits to South African shops to buy biltong (SA dried meat that is way better than jerky). Catching up with the Ellison family was a real pleasure and I was honored to be their guest! I hope that they will soon visit me in Switzerland. It was also great to meet Claire's husband Simon and Colette's husband David! Thank you so much all of you for making my stay in Auckland so great!

After originally complaining about the weather in New Zealand I had a great spell of fantastic weather for the better part of my last month in the country and really got to enjoy the stunning landscapes and the friendly inhabitants of the Land of the Long White Cloud! People had raved about New Zealand in the past and I always thought, yeah, sounds like Switzerland with the sea and very very very far away. In a way it did remind me of Switzerland, but then the two islands are so diverse, the landscapes so stunning and the people so über-welcoming that I finally understood what the hype is all about: New Zealand is simply great! Sell all your belongings, pack some warm clothes (or  buy the good quality local Merino stuff), a good wetsuit, buy a camper van and get lost in all the glory of this gorgeous country!

I reluctantly left New Zealand behind and flew to Sydney. I had visited Australia for a month in 2009 and had no interest in traveling around the country. However I really wanted to see my friend Stefano who is living in Sydney. It was so great to see him again! I finally got to meet his girlfriend Ganga and we managed to go surfing together! I wish there were a faster way of traveling from Europe to Down Under because I really miss Steto! The week in Sydney flew by and I feel that I had no sooner landed that I was headed for Bali.

More pictures and news soon! (or so I hope).

touch and go Fiji and welcome to New Zealand

So, where do I start? I Have been putting this off for so long that I am not even sure if I remember have of what I have experienced since I last wrote to update my blog.

Hawai'i was a culminating moment of my life, the cradle of surfing and still the epicenter of modern day surfing. The North Shore... I lived there, I was privileged to surf there (at the mellowest breaks of course) and met some great people. I thought this is too good, does it get any better? I think it does, all the time. I landed in Fiji, where I was greeted by friendly Bulas (Hellos) and a ukulele band. As a blooming ukulele player I was quite thrilled by this reception. I then went to a low key backpackers resort that was close to some of the best waves in the world and mosquitoes tried to devour me whole. I had no less than 40 mosquito bites on my right and left ankle and foot. My time in Fiji was most unusual, the resort had only just changed management and I was pretty much the only guest on the island for most of the time. Notable exceptions Eleanor, from Germany, that was a good chess companion in the long and lazy tropical afternoons and Tobi, also from Germany, who arrived just in time to surf some truly epic uncrowded waves in the island paradise of Fiji.

The staff that worked at the backpackers was absolutely fantastic. I have stayed in 5 star hotels in the past and nothing came anywhere close to the kindness and attention that I received while staying at the resort. One day it was raining and without us realizing it, they left umbrellas for us right by our sides for us to get back to the rooms and since we were the only guests they would ask us what we wanted to eat at meal times. Fijians seemed to me like genuinely welcoming, not because they had to be due to the nature of their jobs in then hospitality business, but more because of their culture. I hope that I will get an occasion to return to this little paradise and this time I will pack some real heavy duty insect repellent. My highlight in Fiji was surfing world class waves at the outer reefs of Wilkes' Pass and Namotu Lefts. Sitting in the middle of the ocean with one other surfer, perfect waves, the great Joseph the boat man and the closest land 1 km away was a beautiful experience. In Fiji you can surf while you check out the beautiful tropical fish on the colourful reef, just make sure you don't fall on the reef or you will damage it and yourself in the process. Tropical paradise, emerald green islands surrounded by intense aquamarine water, so beautiful that the Creator had to infest it with blood-thirsty mosquitoes that I can guarantee will try to eat you alive.

From Fiji, I took a plane to Auckland, largest city in New Zealand. The weather was gray and gloomy and as I stepped outside it felt very cold. Here I was to pick up a camper van and wait for my good friend Robin from back home to join me on this leg of the adventure. I somehow drove out of the urban chaos and spent two nights in the serene little beach town of Piha, about 50 minutes from Auckland airport. I was secretly hoping to get some surfing done before the arrival of Robin, unfortunately the weather had other plans. A full blown storm hit the region, the winds were so strong that I thought the faithful camper van would topple over or be blown out to New Caledonia. After having spent over two months in the tropical sunshine of the pacific I was not quite prepared for the cold conditions in Piha and thought that I was going to die of hypothermia on my first night. This of course was just exaggerated by my mind, as it was actually not really much colder than 12C at night and the locals were not phased by the storm and they kept on sporting shorts and flip flops to prove that summer is a state of mind, not a season in which the air temperature is high. No wonder the inhabitants of the British isles felt so at ease relocating this far from home, the weather is just the same, thought I.

Anyway, survived the storm and the sun made its first appearance to show just how beautiful the Land of the Long White Cloud is. Green rolling hills, snow capped mountains, rainforests, cliffs, roaring seas of blues and greens. I picked up my mate and we set off to do the impossible: visit the whole of New Zealand in three weeks. We drove an average of 400km per day in our faithful Samantha (this is the nickname Robin gave to our old, beat down diesel guzzling beast of a van). We watched the natural beauty of New Zealand roll by, from Samantha's mosquito splattered windows. We did touristy stuff and then we went were no tourist ever had gone before, we went full circle on the South Island and almost full circle on the North Island. We even went to Invercargill, don't think the locals had ever seen toursits before.The kiwis (inhabitants of New Zealand, not the fruit or the bird in this isntance) were super hyper friendly. If you love the great outdoors sell everything you own and relocate to New Zealand, or you could also just visit on a vacation. Highlights included: climbing the Franz Joseph glacier, walking to the lake at the feet of the Abel Tasman glacier, walking along the ebach with snow capped mount Taranaki in the background and -of course- swimming with wild dolphins in Kaikoura. I could write a million words but nothing would do the experience justice. Three weeks flew by faster than you can say “70 million sheep” and it was time to see Robin off. It was an absolute pleasure to travel with Robin and I would like to thank him for patiently putting up with my long drives in search of the best surf spots. Since you left Robin Samantha is no longer the same, she cries everyday and is even slower going up hills before you got here. Since then I have surfed in magical Kaikoura and made my way back up to the North Island. I am currently in Raglan, New Zealands surf capital. There are plenty of really good surf spots in close proximity but also the biggest crowds you will experience in New Zealand. Lana from Slovenia had seen on Facebook that I was headed to New Zeland and said that I was welcome to visit and I have been blatantly abusing her hospitality ever since I got to Raglan. Lana was a surf instructor that I met at an all Slovenian+one Swiss surf camp in the South of France. I cannot say how glad I was to have a place to rest my sore bones after running around the whole of Kiwiland.

A big hvala/danke schön/thanks goes out to Lana and Thekla for letting me stay in beautiful Raglan. It was an absolute pleasure to live with you. Upcoming plans before leaving New Zealand include surfing some of the best waves in the country and visiting family friends in Auckland. More on that in the -hopefuly- upcoming future. Currently in Taranaki, surfing in the shadow of the imposing snow capped volcano.

GLORIOUS HAWAI'I

BROKEN BOARDS AND WILD CHICKEN

The Pipepeline pro contest was incredible. It was the WQS, qualifying series where some of the best surfers on the planet battle in order to compete against the top 34 surfers in the world in the WCT. In the final heat local Jamie O'Brien caught some impressive waves, getting deep into the barrel, making the whole beach cheer. John John Florence, also Hawaiian born,caught a bunch of good ones too, but up until the last 10 seconds Jamie OB was leading. Then a sizable set came in and John John dropped into the wave and went Backdoor (Pipeline breaks left and right, the left is Pipeline, the right is Backdoor). The beach went silent. the wave was gigantic and it looked like the tube would just collapse on him, but somehow he made it out, after what seemed an eternity, sending the crowd into raptures. It was a truly epic final and I couldn't believe how lucky I was to be watching it. I also bought a beautiful second hand short board that I called Pele, like the Hawaiian Goddess of Volcanoes/Fire. She will be traveling with me to Fiji and NZ. In the hostel I have met many nice people and met a cool guy from Como which is just around the corner from where I live in Switzerland. Claudio and I set out to explore the island of Oahu and looked for a surf spot suitable for both beginners and intermediate surfers. We came upon a great wave in Puaena Point, just before entering the pretty little village of Hale'iwa, the gateway to the North Shore. We have surfed there several time and I have caught some fabulous waves. The local surfers were always pretty friendly and sea turtles pop up all over the break for air.

Today it is Saturday and the breaks are all crowded and the wind was blowing onshore, which doesn't help the quality of the surf. So we decided to rest our tired muscles and we went sky diving instead... SKY DIVING!!! Jump out of a plane at 14'000 ft. I don't think I was ever so nervous in my life. But I couldn't chicken out of this one. The safety record of the company is impeccable and a friend of mine sky dives back home on a regular basis, so I figured it cannot be that dangerous and I have also wanted to try it. The plane ride made the trip worth it already, with breath taking views of the entire North Shore, pineapple and sugarcane fields fading into glorious golden beaches that are constantly hit by roaring surf. We reached the drop zone and before I could say “parachute” we were dropping out of the plane, my guts felt like they would erupt out of my ears, but the views were amazing. I cannot describe the adrenaline rush that sky diving gives you, but it is something worth trying once in a lifetime.

In the hostel, where 95% of the occupants are surfers, the mood has improved as the wind has turned offshore and the waves have picked up in size. The famed Waimea bay is providing the goods and my Brazilian room mates can testify to that with the 3 boards they broke in less than a week. The hostel I am staying at is one of the most expensive hostels I have ever stayed it. It has a very rustic feel about it and many say it is true to the original spirit of the surfers that started the pilgrimage to the North Shore back in the '50s and '60s. Back then there were no fancy beach front villas, no monster truck driving locals and hardly any surfers out in the water and the Californians that came for the surf would camp out on the beach and live off the land: there were plenty of wild chicken and they are still there, very much uneaten and quite happy to get you out of bed at some ungodly time of the morning.

I digress, back to Waimea bay-

Recently I read a quote by Kelly Slater, 11 time surfing world champion, regarding Waimea bay: he said that it is intimidating to surf such big waves, with a high vertical drop, but that at the end of the day one has to remember that it is “just water”... easy for him to say I guess. I have never been anywhere in the world where water moves with such power. At pipeline on the day of the contest the rip currents were so strong it reminded me of river rafting: surfers would enter 100 meters to the left of the break and within 20 seconds they were transported 200 meters to the right. The waves come smashing down with such violence that it looks like the Niagara, Iguassu and Victoria falls are all simultaneously pouring down on the same spot. The water at Pipeline sprays out of the barreling wave with such force that it often knocks surfers off their boards. People that surf here are aquatic titans, they are in perfect physical conditions and -more importantly- are mentally ready to surf here. To me 6ft wave faces look big. Just to give you an idea the Hawaiians measure the waves from behind, so 6ft wave faces are more like 3 foot to them. When Hawaiians say that the surf was big, what they actually mean is that it was humongously massive!

Claudio and I before jumping out of a plane...

Puaena point and Hale'iwa from above

WQS contest

Pipeline!

Puaena Point, home of the sea turtle

Somewhere over the rainbow.

Hell in Paradise

The swell picked up again, and the wave faces went above 10ft for most of the remaining days in Hawai'iHawai'i, or at least Oahu. There are serious drug addiction problems and a lot of poverty. The South coast is the urban area that comprises Pearl City, Honolulu and Waikiki. Many tourists come to Hawai'i and don't really leave Waikiki, they are happy to escape the cold and be in a sprawling urban environment that offers shops and restaurants galore.

In our explorations of the island we felt sorry for the meth addicts of the West coast. We were also saddened by the very high homeless population in Waikiki, Honolulu and the West coast. It seems that people with Hawai'ian heritage were the ones that suffered the most and I cannot but help wonder what this island would look like now if the West had never brought its ways with it: private property, drugs, cement. Oahu is a small paradise for the holiday maker -usually over weight mainlander that sticks to the ritzy boutiques and if he really goes out of his way Waikiki beach- and on the other hand the surfer -usually sticks to the North Shore and couldn't care less about the shops, except those well stocked surf shops-; but Oahu has turned into hell for many Hawai'ians, who were robbed of their land and worse yet, their identities. It is easy to ignore this when you are out surfing the perfect waves of the North shore or shopping in the glamorous shops of Waikiki's main street. I often think about the less fortunate and wonder what I could do to make things better. If I ponder this question for too long I fall into a depressed state in which I am of not much use to anyone. I like to think that if we all conduct our life as good citizens: vote for the best government, adhere to the law, help our neighbors,take care of our family and respect the environment, that would already be a big improvement. Honolulu was recently voted the city with the best quality of life in the United States. I wonder how the homeless and meth addicts feel about this? How can there be so many poor, desperate people living amongst so many rich, wealthy people? On a local paper I read an editorial by a conservative party supporter.

He wrote something like this:

“I was recently in company of my liberal friends that have a young daughter and I asked her 'so what do you want to do when you grow up' and she answered 'I want to help the poor and the needy' and so I told her 'I tell you what, why don't you come by my house and you can mow the grass and clean up the garden, then I will give you 50 dollars and you can give them to the homeless guy that lives on Roberts' St.' at this the little girl answered 'why does he not come and work for you then?', so I answered 'welcome to the conservative party'. To this day her parents still don't speak to me”.

Now I agree that everyone has to do their part. But in modern day society families are shrinking, the units become smaller and smaller, the individual is in the spot light, greedy wealth accumulating is praised and those that fall out of the system are labeled misfits, bums and plain lazy. Is that really the case? Or perhaps we have become too self centered to recognize that our system has a downside. I admire the American dream concept, it encourages people to try harder, to innovate. It certainly has brought improvement in many things we do. Communication systems, modes of transportation, refrigeration, ect., in some way these are all a product of the capitalist society. But then there are 3 billion people that live in poverty, the under paid underbelly of the world, many of which still don't have access to any of those innovations I just hinted at.

Sorry for these mildly depressing thoughts. I try to focus on the positive, but I believe it is good to mention that there are plenty of things that can be improved on this beautiful planet.

Aloha (Good bye) Hawai'i

I left the islands for Fiji, feeling a little sorry to have to go so soon. I met some really nice people and had a very good time. I surfed in challenging surf and at a variety of spots around the island of Oahu. The rugged green mountains and the roaring ocean were so stunning that I had to pinch myself daily to make sure that I wasn't dreaming. Watching the pro surfers and local hawai'ians surf was a joy to behold and it also gave me more motivation to improve the level of my own surfing.

My personal highlights were the surf, snorkeling right along a beautiful sea turtle that was suavely flying along in the crystal clear warm wate, body surfing in Waimea, meeting new friends and being in the surf capital of the world.

And let us not forget the slogans from the local bumper stickers:
Eddie would go
Keep the country country!
Keep the ghetto ghetto
Defend Hawai'i (with a machine gun next to it!)
This ain't the mainland: slow down!

Welcome to Paradise

Aloha! (hello, not goodbye).

You might have guessed it. I have landed on the Hawaiian island of Oahu, surfing's Holy site, the mecca of big wave surfing, the cradle of wave riding. This place is pulsating with the adrenaline of some of the best big waves surfers in the worlds. I cannot believe that I am here!

I have come to witness the North Shore beaches light up with the winter swells. There is a stretch of coast known as the 7 mile miracle. It is probably the only place on earth with so many high-performance surf breaks in such close proximity. My first impression of Oahu? I must have died and landed up in heaven, because this place is just too beautiful to be true. I didn't visit Honolulu yet, I drove straight to the North Shore and I cannot believe how beautiful the coastline is. There is very little development and most houses are single story wood buildings that give off a paradisaical island vibe. The landscapes are stunning; rugged mountains, pineapple fields, deep blue ocean, roaring waves, golden beaches. Everything screams out surfing. The cars, the people, the people's gigantic v-shaped upper bodies, the mailboxes (old surfboards with the street name and number painted on them), the supermarket, everything. The Hawaiian islands are volcanic islands that popped out of the sea's depths after violent quakes and eruptions. This means that the islands don't have much in the way of a continental shelf... which might sound like absolute gibberish to you, but this means that the swells generated by distant storms in the North Pacific land onto the coast with minimal dispersion of potential energy, transforming into kinetic energy. Who would have thought that physics could be so much fun?? If only I'd known back in High School! Basically what I am trying to say is that the waves in Hawaii are a lot bigger and more powerful than in most other places around the world. 

Puaena Point. Caught some fantastic waves here. There are always at least 5 sea turtles hanging out at this spot.

3 tables beach in front of the hostel!

I have felt a strong connection to the Ocean since I can first remember. There are pictures of me on a windsurfing board at a very tender age. I remember the sea always being there somehow. Perhaps the voice of the ocean has been calling me all along, just like on of the characters out of “1900” Baricco's fabolous novel (read it if you haven't). What I am about to write is extremely cheesy, so please try to put up with me only a little while longer. When I was around eight years of age my father returned from a trip overseas and brought me a gift that I think might have infected me with the latent virus of surfing. The present was The Beach Boys' Greatest Hits (to this day I still love their music, even though many hardcore surfers will argue that the Beach Boys only wanted to profit from the cool image of surfing and contributed to the over-commercialization of surfing). On the cover of the cassette was a picture of a surfer riding a giant , gorgeous, aquamarine wave. I am pretty sure it was Waimea or Sunset beach. Either way, North Shore Oahu, Hawaii. The distinctive shape of the wave, the colour of the water and the size of the wave all seem to suggest that it must be one of the two. That picture was a time bomb, it remained engraved in my subconscious, waiting to explode. I am obsessed with surfing, the more I get, the more I want. The more I watch it, the more waves I want to see. Tomorrow I will witness a contest at legendary Pipeline, a hollow, fast, huge barreling wave that breaks close to the beach with such power that apparently the beach trembles on impact.

Aloha (goodbye)

Welcome to Mexico, Welcome to Mexico, Welcome to Mexico

Have I finally gone crazy? Have spicy fish tacos fried the last remaining sane cells in my left side brains? No, I actually landed in Mexico 3 times in the past month, well kind of. The first time in Philadelphia where a señor Garcia welcomed me into the United States Of America (or is it Mexico?). The second time when I landed in Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco, United States of Mexico (or is it America?). The third and final time -at least I think so, and my digestive system truly wishes so- in Los Angeles.

LA actually felt more Mexican than Mexico. In the Pacific provinces of Jalisco and Nayarit the bars and restaurants all broadcast American Football and there were more baseball (BEISBOL!) courts than football (soccer) fields and to make matters worse most Mexicans insisted on speaking English with me. Very amigable and all, but I was hoping that by answering back in fluent Spanish I would get them to desist and return to their native language. Not a chance, When I landed in LA everyone around me seemed to be speaking Spanish and the TV set was broadcasting a Mexican football (soccer) league game. About time!

Anyhow, as I believe I might have mentioned in my previous update Mexico was not originally planned. The busted ribs, the supposedly predominant Northern swell pattern of the Pacific in the month of January and mellow waves in the Nayarit area and desire to get a taste of Mexico were what attracted me to the region. I came away with improved physical conditions, a low wave count and a taste of what Canadians and Americans are like when the escape the cold winter and fly south to the mass tourist resorts of Pacific Mexico to drink cheap margaritas and eat tacos. I was a little disappointed with my stay in Mexico. Mexican culture in the region is not easy to come by if you stay in the “sleepy” tourist town of Sayulita (mistake number 1) and look like a gringo (mistake number 2). Unlike Perù -where the term could sometimes be used in a friendly manner to refer to anyone Caucasian-, in Mexico a “gringo” is a mildly derogatory term that is used to address Americans. The etymology of the word isn't quite certain, it is believed to be a contraction of the sentence “green go home”, usually directed to US soldiers back in the day of the US-Mexican wars.

I am certain that Mexico is a wonderful country and I will have to return, but I left the country with a bitter after-taste. I would greet people in the streets of Sayulita and they wouldn't even grunt back. The only time when people were remotely kind to me was when they could extract money from me. The kindest people I met in Mexico were all American, Canadian and Italian expats. What happened? Did mass tourism steal the soul of the region? Are people bitter because twenty-fifteen years ago they sold off their properties to the Gringos at super low prices that have skyrocketed since?

The “sleepy” little town reminded me of the seaside resort of Huanchaco in Perù. Except that it was a lot cleaner, tidier and tropical, with a lower stray dog count and unfortunately a much higher unfriendly person count. As I said, I am sure this was not Mexico and I hope I will get a chance to fly back an travel around the country for an extended period of time at some point in the future.

The waves in Sayulita contributed to my frustration. They were small, very crowded and the water was definitely not clean. Fortunately in the first couple of days I met two French surfers at the hostel and we escaped to the Bay of Banderas, approximately 20kms south of Sayulita. The coastline has been bought up and sealed off, but the land owners graciously let surfers into the properties. We surfed at a magic little spot called la Lancha. A stunning scenery, crystal clear tropical water, islands in the distance, long white sand beaches and scattered jungles in the background. Shame the swell didn't really pick up during my stay and most of the time I was left trying to surf mushy, powerless waves on my chunky 5'8'' fish (a surfboard design).

The French guys left. I ate too many Tacos, which didn't actually mess up my digestive tract (although I suspect that the spicy sauces were burning holes into my stomach), but I did get tired of eating Tacos... so I searched for the cheapest alternative that was relatively tasty, would not kill me or my wallet and would not force me to cook. The Italian expats came to my rescue with some really good pasta and pizza. I was lucky enough to meet Maurilio a 40 year old Roman former world traveler who had been living in Sayulita for too long. We shared the passion for surfing and a common will to escape the crowded home break of Sayulita. Fortunately Maurilio happens to be an interesting, intelligent and very welcoming person. Our daily surf trips to Burros (donkeys) and La Lancha were often followed by spaghetti eating in the company of any of Maurilio's friends. We re-created a little Italian colony to escape from the delirium of drunk American tourists, terminally sunburnt Canadians and the most melancholic depressed Mexicans you can imagine.

After surfing miniature waves at Burros with my 5'8 fish which I called "gordita" (fatty in Spanish)

The hostel in Sayulita, boy that street was noisy at night

You know you are in Latin America when there is a fluorescent Jesus or Mary watching over you everywhere you go (public bus in this case)

Maurilio and I showing off our boards in front of Maurilio's baby girl

Escape from Sayulita. Driving to the surf spots!!

The pasta eating sessions, the drives to the surf in Maurilio's prized vintage convertible wrangler Jeep (do not mess with Maurlio's Jeep or you will witness the wrath of a retired Italian dentist turned cook!), the minuscule waves at Burros and la Lancha will be amongst my fondest memories of my stay in Sayulita. Especially a surf session in which turtles would pop up for air right close to me and when we exited the water with the sun setting we heard everyone on the beach cheer, turned around and witnessed a majestic Humpback whale breaching and waving its fins at us. This was a truly magical moment and it reminded me of how lucky I am to be alive, to be living out my dream and to be a surfer. I wish my family and all my friends could have been with me to take in this moment.

Now I have two formal complaints to make. The first one is directed to the genius that decided to rip apart the streets of Sayulita during high season. Thank you... you made my stay relaxing and pleasant. /sarcasm off. And my second complaint goes out to humanity as a whole for not caring in the least about the environment. Now, I am certainly not a guilt free tree-hugging zero carbon footprint environmentalist, however is it really that hard to collect your trash before you make your way home from the beach??? Do you know how many turtles are killed each year by plastic bags left behind? It almost makes me wish sea life invented some form of weapon and retaliated. Please do not eat the surfers hungry little stripy tiger sharks.

Did I ever mention how amazingly smart I am? On my second last day in Sayulita I managed to loose the keys to my hostel room. I simply forgot to put them in my special airtight bag in my pocket and left them hanging around my neck. Now my keys are lying at the bottom of the ocean. Hopefully not harming any form of sealife. Upon return to the hostel I was informed that the previous occupant of the room had lost the original keys and that my set was the only copy! Hurray!!! I was told not to worry, it would be taken care of. I spent the night in the empty dorm room and trusted that the following morning a locksmith would pick the lock and let me pack my luggage. At 9 am I was again told not to worry. At 11 am and no trace of the locksmith I worried and set out to find a locksmith in the sleepy village of Sayulita, that looked like a warzone thanks to the genious that was having the city ripped apart in the middle of high season to put electric cables underground and build underground parking (???!!!!) on the formerly beautiful main square and now post atomic warhead crater. Turns out there is no locksmith on a Saturday morning. I return to the hostel and ask the manager to do something or I will do something drastic. I was trying to be as Zen as possible, but I was starting to lose it. I think the hostel manager sensed it and decided to take it upon himself to break the bedroom lock before I turned into the Incredible Hulk and ripped the hostel to shreds. He proceeded to break three drill bits and two screwdrivers and the door would just not surrender. After one hour he eventually succeeded to smash the door open damaging the door frame and annihalating the lock in the process. I quickly packed. On my way out one of the girls working at the hostel suggested that this was Sayulitas way to tell me not to leave, that it was my destiny to stay, “sorry darling, this is Sayulita's way of confirming that it is time for me to swiftly depart before I turn into an over sized angry green man”. Maurilio was kind enought to drive me to the airport. I received a text message this morning that informed me that he has also bought an escape ticket from Sayulita. He is relocating to the Caribbean coast of Mexico. Good luck my friend!

In Hawai'i at the moment... AWESOME. Pictures and rambling post in the upcoming future

Who is Mel Gibson?

Santa Teresa was brilliant. Mel Gibson ate breakfast at the same bakery where I did. They should have charged him double for the honor.

My time in the Italian/Argentinian/Israeli colony at the tip of the Nicoya peninsula (apparently Costa Rica) was pretty good. It started off with my beautiful 6'4 short board. The waves were amazing, the apartment was really nice and then I fell from a 4 foot wave onto my board, separated my cartilage from my rib, thought I was going to die, somehow got out of the water without being able to swim or breathe. Nico, the awesome owner of the awesome Rumbo Surf Lodge, my local digs, drove me to the emergency room where a 20something year old wearing a university of godknowswhere t-shirt declared that I would live, that I am a sissy,hypochondriac and that I should take some pain killers and rest. Ok, he did not say the sissy hypochondriac part out loud but I could see it in his eyes.

At first I felt sorry for myself, brand new board, perfect waves and me unable to get in and out of bed (being the sissy that I am). But then I realized that I was so lucky to be in this tropical paradise. What better place to meditate, read books about Cuban-Polish-American teenage girls and Indian boys stuck on rafts with Bengal tigers? What better place to annoy Bob the Iguana, the monkeys and my neighbors with my annoying attempt to learn how to play White Christmas on my 39€ ukulele. White Christmas? It is 28°C and the humidity has reached 200% and I am melting like apricot sorbet on a Sahara desert dune in the midday sun. White Christmas. Ah! After a couple of days of hardly moving out of bed, Anna arrived in Santa Teresa and helped me return to life. The time flew by drinking Ultra Violet juices (a delicious concoction of beetroot, ginger, green tea and carrot) at Ginger Café, eating tuna tartare, taking long walks on the beach, contemplating breath-taking sunsets, watching Anna learn how to surf, chatting with Nico, Mar, the upstairs neighbor Matthias, Pablo and Tom from the surf shops just across the road and the nice guys from Verona that run the Ginger. I'm sure Mel Gibson didn't enjoy his vacation as much as I did. 

Tico sunset

Future ASP surfing champion Anna

Santa Teresa, Mal Pais

Now, Christmas doesn't feel very christmassy in Costa Rica. Coconuts, palm trees and balmy weather are not Christmas to me. I was missing my family and wanted to be with them. Little did they know that I had already booked tickets to return home for Christmas. And it was a beautiful white Christmas in Arosa, a ski resort in the Swiss alps. The greatest gift was not the palm fringed tropical paradise of Costa Rica, nor the majestic snow-covered Alps with a backdrop of the bluest sky imaginable. No the real gift was to spend Christmas with my family. Thanks Mom, Dad. Nati and Tessa for spoiling me. I ate as much panforte as I could and went on numerous sleigh rides in the snow. I soaked it all in, and loved every last instant of it. 

Christmas in the snow

I have to apologize to all my friends back home for not calling them over the Christmas and New Year period. I don't know if any of you will read this, but I wish you a fabulous 2012.

As for me, there has been a sudden change of plans, I am no longer going to travel around our big blue planet, seeking for wisdom and waves, I am relocating to Mexico, where I will be joining a Mariachi band. So long everyone. See you at the next piñata party!

Just kidding. I have however changed my travel plans. I was supposed to be in Hawaii over the new year, but decided that 2 months on the North Shore of Oahu, surfing's Mecca, is probably a little heavy on the budget and on the recovering ribs. And since I am not inclined to drown at the ripe old age of 29 and I also don't intend to blow the budget away, I have decided that the Mexican banditos can have my money instead. Joking. I am currently sitting on flight 711 from Zurich to Philadelphia, en route to Los Angeles. I will spend one entire day walking in and out of the best stocked surf shops in the world like a heroin addict that hasn't had a fix in a while. I don't think my budget will make it to the end of this trip after all. And the following day I will be flying to Mexico to surf mellow waves, get food poisoning, sing “Cielito Lindo” and hopefully get back in shape for Surfing Mecca. Thanks Nico, Mar, Leo and everyone in Costa Rica for the great hospitality. Pura Vida!

Thank you lovely South African guests for the wonderful time between xmas and new year. Thanks Robin for driving up to Arosa to come and visit me. Don't forget snow chains the next time :)

Thank you Anna for nursing me back to life and being so cool.

Thank you Mom, Dad, Nati and Teddy-Tess for making Christmas special and being so great.

Wish all of you a glorious 2012. Hope the Maya's are wrong about that end of the world nonsense, there is still a lot of living to be done and it cannot all fit in just 12 months.

Costa Rrrrrica!

Welcome to San José International airport. Where am I? I think the plane must have landed in the United States... did I book a flight to the wrong San José?

The airport looked like a US airport. Fast food left, right and center. Even the taxi driver that will take me to the hostel speaks Spanish with a gringo accent. Many Ticos do this because it is apparently considered cool. It sounds very amusing, a native Spanish speaker with an American accent.

I spend a night in San José, go to the mall to withdraw cash and I cannot help notice that every young person in sight has a piercing and often in the weirdest places. One guy had a piercing on his cheek! In Brazil lots of people had tattoos, it is considered normal and acceptable for people from all walks of life: lawyers, doctors, diplomats. In San José body piercings are the fad.

The following morning I wake up very very early without a reason and don't manage to fall asleep again, I subsequently head to the airport and catch a small propeller plane to Tambor airport... the flight is short and in no time we are starting our descent. The scenery is stunning, lush islands in an emerald sea. They look like the landscapes out of the Jurassic Park movie. The plane flies lower and lower... where is the tarmac?! We are approaching a small landing strip that is barely paved. The runway is in the middle of the jungle and right off a gorgeous beach.

Where is the airport? There is no terminal, no buildings. Someone built a small laminated roof and installed two pay phones. There are taxi drivers waiting to rip off the gringos. With no other option in sight I surrender and agree to make the short drive for an extortionate price. The roads are not tarred and it soon turns out that perhaps the price was not that bad after all because it does take almost an hour to get to the village of Santa Teresa. The rainy season has just finished and the taxi driver points out the damage that a recent storm did to the region, entire sections of the mountains have crumbled onto the road. It must have taken them weeks to clean the roads. There still are fallen trees all over the place.

I am staying in a cute apartment on the “main” road, a quick walk to the beach. There are iguanas, squirrels, parakeets and monkeys all over the place. The iguanas look like mini dinosaurs but are totally harmless and are amazingly good tree climbers. The monkeys are very naughty apparently and are known to steal all kinds of stuff left laying around.

My friend Bob the Iguana likes to hang out on the thorny tree in the garden

home

I bought all the basic necessities: a surf board, tropical wax, a silly looking tourist hat to avoid terminal sunburn while surfing and some groceries. I try to wake up at 5:50 a.m. In order to catch some uncrowded waves. Dawn patrol, the early surfer gets the waves. I surfed 4 hours yestarday morning and 3 hours this morning, my shoulders and neck are screaming in pain “why do you have to do this to us???!!!”. The waves are amazing in the mornings, very fast and hollow, with off-shore winds and hardly any surfers out. The landscape is breathtaking while surfing, the vegetation is so thick that I cannot even see the buildings... just millions of palm trees. Beware of the falling coconuts! I like the fact that the main road is not paved, it encourages people to drive slowly and take it easy. The only disappointment so far is that I haven't really met any Ticos. The apartment I am staying in is owned by Nico, a very nice guy from Italy, the surf shop across the street is also Italian owned, the restaurant right next to it is Argentine. I don't know where the Ticos are hiding, but there are plenty of Israelis, Italians, Argentinians and Americans. As a matter of fact I think there are no Israelis left in Israel, they must have all moved to Costa Rica.

My new surfboard (the white stuff is wax, in case you were wondering).

The beach...

Surfers at sunset.

Well, as they would say around here: 'pura vida' ('good bye' in this instance...).

Touch and go. 5 days in Perù.

Friday night, blaring live Salsa music in the background accompanied by the squeaky sounds that only a cuy can emit, sore muscles from surfing long lefts, the sun sets where it really should set, big smiles from meeting old friends. Where am I? That's right, I am back in Trujillo and it is as beautiful as ever.

I just wish I could stay for longer.

Ok, somebody please stop pressing the fast forward button on the story of my life. I barely got to Trujillo and left again.

Tia Carmen shuffling around the house in Calle Paraguay 499, David in and out with the energy of a thousand duracell bunnies, he has now started a cooking course and has some very interesting plans for the future, which I will not disclose on the internet just in case someone decides to steal his idea. Elizabeth working as hard as ever, but looking really happy. Carlita, Carolina, Rodrigo, Milton, Joana, Ericka, Octavio, Tereza, Tanya and Co. still going strong. The Huamanchumo family from the Muchik Surf School adopted me, fed me and treated me like one of their own. Gracias Marga, Milly, Monica, Chicho, Rubén y Omar. Doña Maria who calls me “hijito” (little son) and invites me to have a tamal and soak in one of those glorious Huanchaco sunsets. The children at USDA group takle-hug me and almost make me cry. The kids at Simon Bolivar stay in longer just to wait for me and want to play games. They group hug me too and won't let me go, once again I work hard not to cry.

I wish I could stay longer, but someone pushed the fast forward button and here I am sitting on LACSA flight LR 634 bound to San José de Costa Rica. I miss Trujillo, but I am also looking forward to Costa Rica. Doesn't the name alone sound great? “Rich coast” or “tasty coast” or “beautiful coast” -the adjective “rico” is pretty versatile- you take your pick. I have never been to Costa Rica before. I have never even met anyone from Costa Rica before. All I know is that it is a small country in Central America covered with rainforest and volcanoes , it has no army, is considered one of the most stable countries in Latin America, the locals are known as “Ticos”, the tourist slogan is “pura vida” (I like the sound of that, I think I will adopt it as my personal life motto, maybe I could have one of those fancy looking emblems like the aristocratic dynasties or private schools... put a surf board and a palm tree in the middle of it and add the pura vida motto) and it supposedly offers amazing tropical surfing. However it goes, I can assure you I will make the most of it and keep you posted-

Over and out from the skies above the Pacific Ocean.

P.s.: could you please ask the person with the remote control to press the slow motion button?

Rio baby!!

Christ the redeemer

Rio de Janeiro is definitely one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I don't know what it is. It could be the combination of a vibrant series of urban settlements laid out around a series of breathtaking mountains, lagoons and beaches. Is Christs' big embrace from the top of Corcovado, or the sugar loaf overlooking the bay of Guanabara. Or perhaps it is the beautiful girls, the “alegria brasileira”, the happy samba, the busy markets, the crumbling, yet beautiful colonial buildings. Maybe it is the sunsets on Ipanema with the dois hermaos and the pedra da gevao gracefully swallowing the burning orange sphere. The sunsets are so beautiful that people on the beach spontaneously start applauding and cheering. I almost started singing O Sole Mio with all the air in my lungs, which is something I often do when I am happy and it is something I have found myself doing more and more often over the past year.

Fried fish 15 Reals, sunset in Copacabana: priceless!

Or maybe, and most likely, it is just the fact that I am with old friends and I just feel absolutely free and happy. Soak in the beauty of it all. Life, Rio, Brazil, friendship, the way people sing “beleza” when they speak, the colours, the sunshine, the smile on a child's face. Everything.

I arrived in Rio at a very important moment of the citiy's history. Rio used to make the headlines for the violence in the favelas, the informal settlements that spread in impossible positions on the hills that surround the city. Things have changed in the past years, Rio will be hosting the 2016 Olympic games and will also be hosting the 2014 Fifa World Cup Final and the local government has decided that the time has come to clean up the city. The police has now gone where it never went in the past: the favelas. They have “pacified” the favelas by setting up camp in all of the favelas around town and fighting the drug lords. A couple of days ago they entered the Rocinha complex, one of the largest in Rio and they arrested the top dog, who was trying to escape hidden in the trunk of a car driven by two gangsters who claimed to be diplomats from Congo and invoked political immunity.

Films like “City of God (Ciudade de Deus)” and “Elite Troops (Tropas de Elite)” have portrayed the extreme violence that has surrounded Rio for so many years. There are still many issues that the government has to solve, but things are definitely moving forward. I hope that “a ciudade meravilhosa” can now make the headlines for its beauty, because this vibrant city definitely deserves better.

Meanwhile I have visited all the main tourist attractions and have sampled the amazing nightlife in the Lapa district. The night started off with live samba music on the stairs close to the Pedra do Sal (Salt Rock) and was followed by more samba dancing on the streets of the Lapa district. One big energy blast rocks Rio on a week end and it becomes the ultimate party place and even if you don't like parties it doesn't matter because the atmosphere swallows everyone and you cannot stop shuffling the feet and moving your hips to the sound of the samba.

The sun goes down but Rio doesn't sleep

This little fella wanted to steal our bananas at the Sugar Loaf

Friendly Brazilian dude helped us keep the banana out of the monkey's reach

Sugar Loaf

Jeroen and I on the Suger Loaf with Copacabana in the background

This is the view that Jesus has of the Sugar Loaf... not bad!

Copacabana and Praia Vermelha as seen from the top of the Sugar Loaf

My first month in Floripa was wonderful and relaxing, but something was missing and I could never quite could point out exactly what. I know now: Floripa is very European, it didn't feel like South America to me. The natural beauty of the island was stunning, but somehow I never felt I was on a different continent. Rio on the other hand was lively and eclectic, loud and colourful, it was order and chaos rolled into one, live samba music and crumbling colonial buildings. Stereotypes? I guess. Maybe I just wanted it to be that way and that it what I experienced, but I still think that the city has its very own special character. I really liked the fact that the geography of Rio has really created micro-cities. Rio is not one, there are many Rios and you just get to pick the one that suits you best.

Old part of downtown Rio

Havaianas, lots of them, in all shapes and colours. They even had a pair that glows in the dark (brilha no escuro!!!!)

I am approaching my last day in Rio, tomorrow I will make my way to Sao Paulo and two days after I will fly into Trujillo. I'm exited that I will soon be visiting old friends and cannot wait to see the children at USDA and Simon Bolivar.

Brazil was amazing. I met wonderful and interesting people all over the country. I will definitely be coming back! Obrigado Brasil. Obrigado amigos brasileiros! Thanks to all those that made my stay special: the friends and staff at Barra Beach Hostel and Hilltop hostel in Barra da Lagoa. I would like to especially thank Thiago,Luis, Gustavo, Joao Paulo, Binho and Amanda. Thiago obrigado for introducing me to Gustavo, Joao Paulo and Binho in Sao Paulo and hosting me in Copacabana. Gustavo, Joao Paulo, Binho, Luis and Amanda thank you for going out of your way to make me feel at home in Sao Paulo. I don't have enough words to express how grateful I am for this Brazilian hospitality! A ospidalidade brasileira foi o mais lindo presente que eu recebi no pais.

Floripa, Ilha de Santa Catarina, Brazil

After almost one month in Brazil I have managed to confuse Spanish, Portuguese and Italian to the point that I am never really sure what language I am speaking. Trying to learn some Portuguese was not such a great idea I guess. So what have I been up to? Is Brazil nice? Are the girls really beautiful? Do people dance samba in the street? Is the surf good?

First things first, when I landed in Brazil I stayed with Gustavo a friend of my good friend Thiago and a really great guy. The Brazilian people I met so far were all absolutely fantastic and meeting people like Gustavo is what makes traveling special. I didn't really like the city of San Paulo, it is a gray man-eating Megalopolis, however I had a great time and met new friends.

After my stay in the biggest city of South America and the financial capital of Brazil I headed down to Florianopolis. To get here I took an 11hr night bus which I think drove past the arctic circle on the way here, the air conditioning was so strong that I was starting to wonder if I hadn't landed in a cryogenic clinic by mistake. Fortunately I had warm clothes with me and I survived the extreme temperatures.

I have been staying at the Barra Beach Hostel, right in front of a beautiful little beach that goes by the name of Prainha do Leste (Little beach of the east). The hostel is a beautiful place set in the lush green hills of the Isla da Magia (island of magic) or Island of Santa Catarina. Some parts of the coast are overdeveloped, with tall buildings and ugly highways in what is otherwise an idyllic setting, however not Barra da Lagoa. The east side of the island was kept intact thanks to the wise government, most of it is considered a natural reserve and severe building restrictions are -almost always- imposed. This makes Barra da Lagoa a peaceful fishing village. The island of Florianopolis is beautiful, the greenest mountains are the backdrop to stunning beaches and a beautiful lagoon. It feels like Lugano, Knysna and Cape Town all merged into one. Nature is the boss of the island: Atlantic rainforest, Iguanas the size of crocodiles, multicoloured butterflies, birds that emit the craziest sounds, dolphins, very hungry mosquitoes, lots of centipedes and gigantic hairy spiders. 

View from my bedroom at the hostel, with 11km Barra da Lagoa beach int he background

Sunset from my hostel room.

The hostel is an interesting place to stay, there are lots of young people of all nationalities and I have met so many great people. I have gone surfing with new friends, walked to the “killer” waterfalls in the tiny fishing village of Costa da Lagoa, drove to Blumenau and drank beer at the second biggest Oktoberfest in the world with fourth generation German settlers, ate the best sushi of my life in company of new friends, taken a day trip to the Southern tip of the island where Barry the dog followed us for 1 and a half hours along the trail to a deserted beach called “Shipwrecked”. Went rafting on a local river in the catarinense country sid that looked like Austria or Germany with cows scattered everywhere.... with palms and monkeys there to make things a little exotic.

I have fallen asleep and woken up with the ever present sound of the waves crashing in on the small stretch of sand of the aptly named Prainha do Leste. Hundreds of times I have crossed the blue bridge that goes over the canal that takes water from the sea to the lagoon and from the lagoon to the sea. I hiked for an hour on a slippery steep path leading to the beautiful Gelheta beach carrying a surfboard all the way only to discover that the waves were too big and the current too strong for my current level of fitness. I have drank the sugary guaranà energy drink, eaten countless açaì bowls with fruits. Yes, Brazil is beautiful, yes the girls are truly stunning, people dance samba but usually not on the street and the surf is decent on the local beach of Barra da Lagoa and too difficult on the other beaches on the island.

I still cannot believe that I am really doing this, I am really out here living my dream, meeting new people, discovering new places and having all these great experiences. I am the luckiest person alive.

I crowned a life long dream just two days ago when I went out for a surf, caught a wave, turned around and saw two dolphins surfing the wave behind me. I paddled out and to my left a dolphin jumped out of the water as if to salute me. I will treasure this experience for as long as I live. In one week's time I will be flying to Rio de Janeiro and catching up with my old friend Thiago and in sixteen days time I will be headed back to my beloved Trujillo, Perù, where I will see all my friends.

Pancakes with George (England) and Yasmin (Denmark) on the terrace of the Barra Beach Club bar. We shared lots of great moments in Floripa!