I sat exhausted on my balcony and squinted into the setting, golden sun, which was low above the treetops and gave away its power, glowing and benevolent. One of the first warm, sunny days of the year was slowly coming to an end and a pleasant freshness was gently caressing my skin more and more. My apricot-coloured balcony rose had finally opened five full flowers and with every gentle gust of wind, their beguiling, sweet scent now spread in the air. I took a deep breath, stretched my legs out in front of me on a dull green surface and let my gaze wander around the lush light green that surrounded me. It was the first time this year that I could ‘smell’ the rose from my seat.

It was Saturday and there was an event in Hamburg again: the harbour’s birthday. Hundreds of thousands of people had flocked to the largest city in the north from all over the country for the occasion, and together with its two million inhabitants, they had brought it to a quake.

But I was sitting in my quiet, green oasis, surrounded by huge old trees and hedges. A multitude of lively birds had found refuge and a home here and were now warbling their songs into the evening sun from all sides and at the top of their voices. I was watching two jays chasing each other from tree to tree and had almost forgotten the distant but constant roar of the busy cars from the city behind the large trees when a deep, loud ‘TUUUUUUUUUT’ tore me out of my thoughts. Normally, I find the signal horn of the huge container ships on the Elbe River, just a few hundred metres away, almost magical. It reminds me of the vastness of the sea and gives me a sense of freedom and adventure. But today it reminded me that I still live in the middle of a big city. I put on my noise-cancelling headphones, started an ‘organic house mix’ on YouTube, closed my eyes, accompanied by deep beats and now electronic birdsong, and slowly sank back into my ‘Ranger fantasy world’. It had been a busy day – and a damn expensive week.

Oniomania [o.njo.ma.nia]

The compulsive, episodic buying of goods

On Tuesday, I had used my free time to go on a spending spree. On Amazon alone, I had added over 25 items to my shopping cart, and my credit card was already glowing when I entered the photo store Calumet that afternoon to pick up my new 200-600mm zoom lens. Less than 10 minutes later, I was another 2000 euros poorer and although all these expenses were well calculated and planned, the mantle of guilt slowly settled on my shoulders. ‘Shopaholic’ shot through my mind and the minimalist in me was about to throw up on the cobblestones of the car park when I dropped the huge orange box in the boot of my car and, as the boot lid clicked shut, my rational self took control again.

All these purchases were important and necessary. The purchase of these ‘goods’ was part of my preparation for an awesome time in the wilds of Africa that was already close at hand.

Wilderness

The strength of the wilderness. Raw, rough, hard and untamed. To me, ‘wilderness’ means freedom, life and death. ‘Wilderness’ is dangerous, shaped by the no-frills struggle for survival and immediate strength and weakness – every day.

I wanted to explore this wilderness from the perspective of strength. But ‘wilderness’ consists of so much more than the attributes listed. ‘Wilderness’ is a huge, complex concept and at its core is our world itself. ‘Wilderness’ is nothing less than the basis of life and everything was once ‘wilderness’ – including us.

I realised that this would not be a simple, quick mission – quite the opposite. This expedition will probably never come to an end, the area to be explored is just too diverse, the subject of ‘wilderness’ is just too vast and complex, and there are just too many exciting subjects and stories waiting for me.

But everything begins with a first step, and my first step should be to develop a rudimentary understanding of the ‘wilderness’. A good understanding leads to further interesting perspectives and thus to numerous new, strong motifs. But the most important thing is that a good understanding significantly increases the quality of an interpretation of the motifs! An understanding of the wilderness is therefore essential for my work and leads directly to more intense and substantially higher-quality works.

In order to build a basis for a holistic understanding of the strength of the wilderness, I decided to explore the figure of the ranger as a bridge between man and nature.

In the wilds of Africa, however, the ‘ranger’ is actually only a fictional character and essentially consists of three different, real roles: the nature guide, the field ranger and the anti-poacher (APU).

Nature guides are the mediators of the African wilderness and their task is to educate and guide people. They are extremely knowledgeable and experienced in flora and fauna, but do not just try to ‘explain’ nature to people. In a rustic off-road vehicle or on foot in the silence of nature, they primarily introduce people to the fascination of the wilderness, and a good guide creates a truly immersive experience. They outline the direction of view for people and then enable them to grasp nature themselves. A nature guide creates a lasting experience and is an important link between wild nature, the natural world and the modern individual, you. Very similar to an artist.

Field rangers, on the other hand, are responsible for the management and conservation of wildlife parks or reserves. They are equally knowledgeable about flora and fauna, but their primary role is to manage wildlife populations, maintain the health of the ecosystems entrusted to them, and ensure the logistics and necessary infrastructure. They also lead other helping people or support research work, but otherwise have little contact with people interested in wildlife.

Anti-poachers, short APU are the bodyguards of wild animals in a reserve, and the necessity of their existence leads directly to the weakness of the wilderness: man. Since even the strongest wild animals fall prey to poachers, the protection of animals by humans themselves has become indispensable for maintaining the strength of the ecosystem. The roles of the anti-poacher and the game ranger can sometimes blur as ‘gamekeepers’, but are just as often clearly separated.

For me, this fictional character of the ranger was the key to understanding the strong wilderness of Africa. A good starting point, a logical start for me was the nature guide – as a bridge from man to nature and his similarity to the artist.

‘Are you coming?’ I ask, and Eike looks at me kindly with dark, tired eyes.

‘I’m ready.’

‘So you want to go?’ I reply, looking at him with my head tilted.

‘Yes, why not?’

Eike tugs at his white T-shirt, looks down at his long black tight jeans and his shiny polished Chelsea leather boots.

‘Because it’s supposed to be a warm day and we have at least 10 kilometres ahead of us?’ I reply. ‘How about shorts?’

‘Mhm…’ Eike grumbles. ‘I hate shorts. I always feel like I’ll get dirty so quickly in them.’

Eike had spent the night on my sofa bed after meeting up with a few friends in a very cosy restaurant and drinking far too many far too expensive drinks. As always after evenings like that, I woke up much too early the next morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. But this time, in addition to the fabulous weather that had been forecast, something else was driving me out of bed.

Over the last few days, I had been ‘harvesting’ the fruits of my shopping spree and taking delivery of one package after another. On the stairs in the hallway, so many packages piled up over the last three days that there was always a real mountain in the evening. But now almost everything was there and I had spent yesterday unpacking all the packages, checking the goods for completeness and functionality, and then throwing the items I had found into a huge box.

To be honest, the box was a bit too big, but for me it was the perfect container for this purpose, because under the company name of a large outdoor outfitter, the slogan ‘The Adventure Company’ was emblazoned – and ‘adventures’ was what it was all about for me. I had spent the rest of the day wrapping my new lens with self-adhesive, camouflage-coloured bandages and putting all the necessary items in my new camera backpack in the most sensible way possible. It took me a while to find the right position for the huge lens, because, thanks to the rubberised bandages, it no longer really wanted to slide into the compartments created for it. It would certainly be easier with an ‘original’ neoprene protective cover, but I just didn’t see the point of spending €70 on a few strips of sewn-together neoprene. Enough layers of the rubberised bandages should also serve this purpose. But the lens was a little more unruly.

Next to the lens, I had placed a monster of a mint-coloured 2.3 litre thermos bottle, which I had of course filled to the brim with cold water. The manufacturer promised that this bottle would keep the water pleasantly cold for two days. These two items alone added 8 kg to the backpack. Then there was a smaller lens, two books and a pair of binoculars, and later I would certainly need to add some provisions.

‘Ready. Let’s go!’ shouted Eike, who had spontaneously decided on a pair of light blue, short trousers.

I heaved my full backpack onto my back with a mighty swing and jerked my knees to ‘bounce’ the backpack into the right position.

‘Oh man, this thing is pretty heavy,’ I groaned as I walked down the stairs a little unsteadily and closed the front door behind me.

Our plan, or rather my plan, was to test the handling of all the equipment I would need for the time in South Africa for the first time and to prepare the body for the unusual strain that would soon be placed on it. That’s why I had chosen a route along the nearby Elbe that would also allow us to hike a little off the beaten track. However, it was just flat here; you won’t find any mountains in Hamburg. But there was sand in parts. Also exhausting. And of course we wouldn’t be alone. When the weather was so nice, the paths along the Elbe were often very busy and even our ‘wilder’ route, which ran parallel to the paved main path, was mostly taken over by dogs and their owners. I had walked this route before with my backpack, but at that time I didn’t have all the equipment for the backpack. This time I had everything with me, but I was especially curious about the looks of the others, because we had to look very funny:

Eike had, in addition to his white shirt and fine, light-blue trousers, now also switched to white sneakers and hid his eyes behind a stylish, black Ray-Ban glasses. I, on the other hand, wore beige cargo shorts, a black T-shirt, a matt brown base cap, brown combat boots, sporty black sunglasses and, of course, my large, green ‘tactical’ camera backpack. So while Eike took on the role of a typical Hamburg ‘city dweller’ who would probably rather sip a latte flat white macchiato in a hip, trendy cafe than fill his shoes with sand, I looked more like a ‘prepper’ who had lost his way in the big city and definitely didn’t belong here.

‘Screw what others say,‘ said Eike. ’This is about training, we don’t care about the others.” Eike had been a good friend of mine for many years, always motivating me and supporting me in my projects and ideas. Above all, however, I appreciate his enthusiasm, which had once again suddenly kicked in. Still hungover, we trudged towards our first goal, a floating café on the river five kilometres away, while the sun slowly began to warm up.

Rocket launcher

I unscrewed the lid of the thermos and let the ice-cold water flow into the cup. We had reached the café, but to our regret we had to find out that there was no coffee for us there, because the café would not open for another hour.

‘And now?’ I asked ‘do we want to go back and drink coffee at home?’

We had covered the five kilometres surprisingly well. The backpack had been a bit unusual at the beginning, but despite its weight, it hadn’t really bothered us. At the beginning, I had to fight against the urge to involuntarily move forward in a slightly bent position to counteract the weight – which caused me to experience slight pain in my neck. But in the end, I got used to the backpack and in the end I hardly had to remind myself to walk straight. It wasn’t just ‘not bad’, it was actually really fun! Contrary to my expectations, the route was deserted, the sun pleasantly warm and the shrubs and trees were clothed in full, bright green leaves. The birds were much more enthusiastic than we were and loudly exulted their supposed joy into the world. An army of insects whirred through branches and bushes and all kinds of scents tickled our noses. I was not only warm at the top of my head, back, arms and legs thanks to the sun, but also warm at heart and I realised once again how much I love being outside in nature.

‘I’m fine with continuing our walk,‘ said Eike, who was obviously feeling the same way. ’If you like, you’re the one wearing the sneakers,‘ I replied. ’So should we continue on the paved walkway or on the beach?”

‘The beach,‘ Eike said.

I looked at him questioningly. Apparently, he didn’t mind sand in his sneakers anymore, not to mention the “dirt”.

’Well…, I’m already dirty anyway,” he replied to my questioning look, as if he had heard my thoughts.

I screwed the cup back onto the jug and stowed the green monster in my backpack. The jug resembled a tank shell rather than a thermos jug in colour, shape and especially size, but at least some weight had now shifted into our bellies. I was supposed to be able to carry 2-3 litres of water in my backpack, according to the requirement of Bhejane Nature Training, the organisation that was going to train me in South Africa for the next few months. With 2.3 litres, this monster was the largest thermos flask I could find. Alternatively, there were plastic water bottles, but Arne, a good buddy and adept, self-proclaimed product tester of all kinds of equipment, strongly advised against them. ‘Too heavy to clean, nasty taste, warm water.’ So a thermos.

I opened a beer, continued to watch the busy birds in the large trees from my balcony and massaged the back of my neck with one hand. My left neck muscle, the ‘musculus trapezius’, had hardened a little and was slightly painful, my legs, especially my calves and back thighs, were heavy and I was quite exhausted. My smartwatch showed 19.8 kilometres when we turned into the driveway to my apartment at around 3:30 p.m. that afternoon, sweaty and in a good mood. I was proud and very satisfied. Except for the little aches and pains, I had coped very well with our spontaneous tour extension and the unfamiliar burden of the backpack. So, the wilderness of South Africa could come….

Five weeks later, I was sitting on my balcony again, sipping coffee this time, while Germany spontaneously showed me again at 30 °C that it could also be ‘warm’ here in June. ‘Yes, I understood that’.

The last few weeks had flown by and were fully dedicated to further preparation. I had to organise my visa, buy more stuff and keep training – that is, go hiking. Mostly along the nearby large river Elbe in Hamburg, but I also visited the Baltic Sea near Flensburg, the Bürener Land near Paderborn or the Lüneburg Heath. 20 kilometres were no longer a rarity, but had become the norm and I felt myself getting stronger.

In the meantime, everything had been organised: the last wash was hanging to dry on the glowing balcony, and the rest of the stuff was lying around the apartment, waiting to be packed. ‘But tomorrow I have the whole day for that’ I thought, sipping my hot, chocolaty-smelling coffee with relish.

A coffee in Dubai

After almost three hours of dozing and a total of almost six hours of flight time, I stumble into Dubai airport at around 5:30 am Outside, on the tarmac, it was already 30 °C but thank God the airport was well air-conditioned.

The first step was taken! Now for a big coffee! As I took a seat at a table in the ‘food corner’ with the warm, familiar-smelling drink, it slowly, very slowly hit me: Let’s go! The anticipation now burst out of me and took my very tired mind by surprise. I blinked happily with small eyes at the shimmering golden tarmac, which was already brightly lit by the sun’s rays, and at the busy aeroplanes taking off and landing. After a short stop, I too would be travelling on to South Africa, Durban.

Yesterday’s departure had been much more stressful than I had planned. I had been organising, planning and buying stuff all last week, but it had all gone into a big box, some of it without even unpacking it. So on the day of departure, I had to sort, unpack and repack – and somehow I ended up in a time vacuum. As a result, I was only wearing shorts thanks to the 33-degree weather, and as the day progressed, I was running around the overheated apartment like I’d been stung by an adder, producing huge amounts of sweat. Before I knew it, it was 6:30 p.m.

I quickly freshened up and at 7:15 p.m., I stood in the hallway with two suitcases packed to the max and an extremely overloaded hand luggage backpack and took a last look around the apartment. ‘See you next year, then’ I said loudly and suddenly felt a wave of melancholy when I saw my then-girlfriend Franzi standing there with her big brown eyes. I took her in my arms and couldn’t hold back my tears anymore. Not because I didn’t see the apartment for six months, but because I was leaving Franzi alone in Germany for half a year. A test, also for our relationship – which actually didn’t survive it. But that’s another story.

At the airport, I finally realised that my hand luggage was twice as heavy as allowed. 14 KG! ‘That‘s what happens when you’re not allowed to put batteries in your checked baggage,’ I grumbled, already thinking of various ways to reduce my hand luggage: power banks in my pocket, camera around my neck, laptop in my hand. At check-in, I was in for a shock. Not because of the hand luggage. Nobody was actually interested in that. No, because I wanted to stay in South Africa for more than three months. In this case, as I now learned, ‘the system’ automatically produces a block and a supervisor is needed to remove it. Unfortunately, however, he was busy, so I was the last one to finally check in my luggage – while all the other baggage carousels had already been switched off. I was getting nervous, because then I still had to go through security and passport control. Boarding had ended at 21:10 – I entered the plane, short of breath and completely soaked in sweat again, at 21:07 pm.

At least I’d made it! The adventure could begin.