Table of contents

• Traveling Around the Mediterranean
• Electrical problem
• Off-road stages and city bustle
• Information about the trip

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30th pictures

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Ummayden Mosque in Damascus.

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Snail shells mark extinct life in the Libyan desert.

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Old pyramids in a new light.

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The photographer portrayed people from Lebanon, Egypt, Morocco, Turkey and Tunisia.

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Adriatic between Durres and Sarande.

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This is what perfect stoppies look like in Spain.

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Selection in the fish market in Alexandria.

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The hardworking ladies prepare the meal.

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Camping on the beach in front of the Marmure Kaleri at Cap Anamur (Turkey).

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Hospitality is a virtue here.

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The end of the trip is celebrated on L’Espiguette beach.

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Roller coaster in Jordanian.

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Oversized railway barrier in front of Alexandria.

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Dry spell to the Siwa oasis.

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Sunset in Albania.

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Starwars: In Valencia’s city of art and science, architecture is breaking new ground.

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Night camp in Wadi Rum.

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The old town of Dubrovnik is always fascinating.

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People tell stories and don’t mind a photo.

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The people openly give the author insights into their lives.

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Dirk Schafer photographed a cultural diversity, the faces of people bordering the Mediterranean.

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People are happy to be photographed here.

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In the Medina, the old town of Tunis, many cultures merge under Islamic auspices.

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Cultural diversity: faces from all over the world.

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Portraits from life.

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The fortress walls of Aigues Mortes on the south-western edge of the Camargue in the blue hour.

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At its best: Croatian coastal road.

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Original Babylonian coins in Petra.

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The fascination of the trip lies in meeting people.

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Abandoned gas station in Syria.

to travel

On the go: around the Mediterranean

Traveling
Around the Mediterranean

The Mediterranean is more: more than beaches and holidays, more than dolce vita and sightseeing. Dirk Schafer’s circumnavigation of the Mediterranean lasted nine months. On his journey across three continents and through 21 countries, vacations and adventures such as ebb and flow alternated.

Markus Biebricher

07/01/2010

Let’s not kid ourselves: we love to plan. Planning a trip, how exciting! Even people who don’t particularly value planning do it. I am one of them. That’s why my travel preparations are completed quickly. Around the Mediterranean? That would be around 22,000 kilometers. In addition, there is the ferry passage to Morocco. I have two visas stamped in my passport and that’s enough planning and preparation. The rest will be found in the coming months.

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Provence, the Verdon Gorge and the foothills of the Pyrenees are enough for several annual vacations. This time they are the warm-up phase for my crumbly winter body and the fully loaded HP2. Whenever possible, I branch off onto gravel and sand so that the slopes of North Africa don’t surprise me as much as the gusts of the mistral a few days ago. I had just turned onto the coastal road from Marseille when a violent gust of wind tried to knock the handlebars out of my hands. The BMW staggered briefly like a three-promised clochard across the entire width of the lane before I was again in control of the wagon and my adrenaline level.

But then Spain! Because the Costas are built up over long stretches, I move to the hinterland. No mistake, because the sierras get lean junkies high and tire dealers richer. It’s a shame that the rubber dealers in southern Spain hardly offer any coarse tires. So the enduro rolls onto the ferry to Morocco with boring road tires. A grievance that I only briefly regret in the sandy south. The country on the Atlas has so much to offer that I can confidently postpone the sandpit games.

Shortly afterwards, I have to revise my brief travel planning: Algeria will not renew my expired visa and will therefore be canceled as a stage country to the east. In addition, the ferry passage back to Spain is already one more than the natural conditions force it. At the end of the trip I will book 22 more crossings to islands and to circumnavigate Israel. I comfort myself with the knowledge: planning replaces chance with error.

The ship that is supposed to take me to Tunisia is called Fantastic. Experienced ferry users know that the quality of a ship is judged by the toilets. Most of them are so bad that one only relieves oneself when a trip to the tile department becomes inevitable. Prepared for the utmost, I open the door.

Let’s be honest: everyone has visited a considerable number of toilets. But behind this door, which I close again immediately, there is a new dimension. I briefly weigh between need and fear and enter. The guy is maybe seventy and is standing in front of the middle sink. His pants hang at the back of his knees. In peace of mind, he sprinkles his genitals with water, mumbles to himself like a prayer. An unknown religion? Venereal disease? Or does he just not want to be thrown out of bed by mom after months of absence due to a lack of cleanliness? STDs are not cured with water, and mom shouldn’t be so fussy after months of involuntary abstinence. So there is only religion left. The brotherhood of a secret phallic order. Apparently there is a shortage of members because the brother calls out an encouraging one “Monsieur, monsieur!” afterwards, when I leave the disposal facility a little hastily.

Overview: trips of the MOTORRAD action team

Electrical problem

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Snail shells mark extinct life in the Libyan desert.

A bony slope over the Djebel Biada connects the fertile northern Tunisia with the salt lakes and the sandy desert in the south. Washed out gullies and trial passages keep the pace moderate. And suddenly the speed even goes to zero. The engine stops and it’s time to finish before the next incline. The starter makes no sound. No electrical problem, please!

It’s a quasi-electrical problem: The side stand switch housing was demolished by a stone, and the three cables that lead into it have lost their contact. Well, you can provisionally drill them together again. But which cables belong together? Like Bruce Willis in Armageddon, I sweat at the thought of pinching the wrong wires. Cable fire from stupidity! The whole half board and luggage were torched on a godforsaken Tunisian slope! That would be a story with which I could appear at the campfires between Cologne and Cape Town. But Allah, God, or whatever area of ​​responsibility I am in, has an understanding. An hour later, a lump of tissue tape will wrap all three wires together for the remainder of the trip.

Speaking of electrics: would you give Ghaddafi a nuclear power plant – only for peaceful use, of course? France’s president makes one jump for his new Libyan friend. I don’t know how well Nicolas Sarkozy knows Libya. But after my first two days in the desert state, I am convinced that the peaceful use of road traffic should first be enforced before the peaceful use of nuclear power. As a motorized dove of peace I had to give up a lot today and can only say: Nicolas, go inside again!

You can write a lot about Egypt. That the pyramids are now fenced in after having just stood around for 4995 years. Or that the hospitality on the Nile is just as great as the country and that Cairo has still not suffocated from its own emissions. As the most impressive Egypt experience, however, something completely different comes my way. And as so often, it happens unexpectedly and unplanned.

300 kilometers south of the Mediterranean coast, the Siwa oasis blooms in the desert. Because the heat of the day almost sings holes in the helmet, I drive there through the night. I take a short break somewhere between the oasis and the sea. When the dipped headlights go out, it gets dark like in a mole tunnel. But then the light comes back. An armada of stars paper the sky, and the gigantic Milky Way galaxy touches the horizon. The view from the space shuttle couldn’t be better.

A week later I maneuver the BMW onto the fully booked ferry to Aqaba in Jordan. Many Egyptians use Ramadan, the month of fasting that has just begun, to make a pilgrimage to Mecca. There is a merciless crowd on board. To distract myself, I photograph the sunset. “Excuse me, can you take a picture of me?” Ola is 20 years old. She arranged her hair neatly under a black headscarf. Her mother also wears a veil over her face. She also wants to be photographed. The brown eyes are framed by mascara and small wrinkles. “I can take off the veil too.” Her laughter can be seen despite the veil. I suggest taking the picture the way she would like. “Well then with a veil.” We have just finished when a man breaks away from the crowd of pilgrims and speaks upset the two women. That creates trouble.

Despite my limited Arabic vocabulary, I understand that the man in the white burnoos railed that it is not appropriate for a woman to speak to strange men. To save the two ladies inconvenience, I want to say goodbye. “No no”, interrupts Ola. With a contemptuous gesture to the self-appointed guardian of morals, she says: “He has nothing to say to us.” I admire the self-confidence of the two women. Ola’s mother closes her eyes for a moment. “If we put up with everything, nothing will ever change.”

Off-road stages and city bustle

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Starwars: In Valencia’s city of art and science, architecture is breaking new ground.

Jordan’s off-road stages push me to the limit of my capabilities. In the deep sand of the legendary Wadi Rum, a coarse rear tire is struggling again, but the rider is weakened by Ramadan and the decisive pull on the cable is missing. After the third time, I run out of sweat. One day later, the Enduro is parked on Mount Nebo, from where Moses saw the promised land. I see what he saw: the Dead Sea, the Negev desert and the arid strip that only turns out to be the green of the Jordan Valley many kilometers later.

If we let religion be religion for a moment, I can’t help but think. Wouldn’t a more homely piece of land have been appropriate for a chosen people than this piece of desert with a mouse-dead lake? Bavaria, Switzerland or South Tyrol maybe. What advantages wouldn’t that have had! At Christmas we no longer just have to pretend that the baby Jesus was born in the snowy Alps. Nobody should have taken land from the Palestinians, and the terrorist Hezbollah would be nothing more than a charity. But that’s different. Every time the world community flinches when the muddleheads of the Middle East play Cain and Abel again.

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30th pictures

Pictures: On the way

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Of all places, Beirut, the headquarters of Hezbollah, is the biggest surprise of my trip. The city center is no different from a major European city on the Mediterranean. However, the sheer number of Ferraris and other luxury cars provides the contrast. Only Monaco on the French Riviera can keep up. In Beirut they speak Arabic, English, French, and downtown Armani, Joop, Alessi and everything else that is expensive have spread. Is that still the Middle East??

When I entered Turkey, I almost feel at home again. Autumn is already on the calendar, but I can still cruise along the formidable coast with my visor open. Divine! Chopper-like gliding is popular with Ataturk’s sons anyway, because the speed limit for motorcycles is nailed to 70. If you drive faster, you risk the last thalers on the travel exchange.

The heavy scent of harvested fields hangs over the Corinth Canal. 2500 kilometers separate me from Marseille. But after all these kilometers the distance has lost its horror. On the contrary: the end of a fantastic journey is foreseeable. Nevertheless, it is still so far away that the journey along the Adriatic coast turns into a thrill of several days. Every glance over the handlebars is ripe for a mural. Every curve is a celebration, but still completely devoid of sadness.

A gram of melancholy only overcame me when I roll in with the HP2 on the last stage in Marseille. Can you travel around the Mediterranean for nine months and then end the trip at the hectic pulse of Marseille? No. I need a place where there is only the sea and nothing else. The eternally wide beach of L’Espiguette is such a place. The handlebars fidget one last time as the worn tires cut their way through the sand. Nobody can be seen. Only the black and white lighthouse, sand and surf are here. The sun will set in an hour. But first she writes a glowing farewell line in the sky over the water, which was more or less my constant companion for nine months.

Information about the trip

Werel

Dry spell to the Siwa oasis. Abandoned gas station in Syria (bottom right).

A trip around the Mediterranean is almost like a little trip around the world. You can make the round faster, but that comes at the expense of intensity, diversity and knowledge!

getting there:

The starting point for this circumnavigation of the Mediterranean was Marseille. Both Cologne and Munich are just over 1000 kilometers to France’s oldest city. In both France and Italy, tolls are due on the motorways. Travel time, nerves, tires and motorway fees can be saved with the DB Autozug (www.dbautozug.de) Avignon (F) and Alessandria (I) are ideal destination stations.

Travel time:

The Mediterranean climate is determined by hot, dry summers and mild but rainy winters. Since a minimum of two months travel time must be set for the entire route, spring or autumn are the ideal travel times. In summer, in addition to the great heat, the streams of tourists make it difficult to be pleasantly out and about.

The distance:

The planned route would have taken around 22,000 kilometers. Due to unplanned detours (Algeria had to be bypassed) and many detours, the mileage increased to 40,000. In principle, the route around the sea can be covered on asphalt. Detours or attractive alternative routes, especially in North Africa and the Middle East, often run over gravel, sometimes through sand. Visas are required for Algeria, Libya, Egypt, Jordan, Syria and Lebanon. More information is available at www.auswaertiges-amt.de. In addition, Libya, Egypt and Syria require a Carnet de Passage for the motorcycle. The automobile clubs can provide more information.

Stay:

Campsites, bed and breakfasts, guest houses, five-star hotels or the night under 1000 stars – everything is available along the Mediterranean coast. Often even next to each other. It will only be difficult if you are looking for luxury hostels in Libya or a campsite in Beirut. The so-called “Couchsurfing community”: The members, all travelers themselves, let other travelers stay overnight in their own homes free of charge (www.couchsurfing.org).

Cards:

Detailed maps for all regions of the Mediterranean do not fit on the bike. For this reason, the national overview maps of Michelin were used and for North Africa the Michelin maps 741 and 745 on a scale of 1: 400,000 and the 1: 200,000 map “middle East” (Freytag and Berndt).

Overview: trips of the MOTORRAD action team

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