Asia & Europe 1975: Long journey home



”I always take the long way home.”


Tom Waits (born 1949), American singer, musician, composer, songwriter, and actor, in Orphans, 2006




Street scene in a village near the Khyber Pass. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)




After spending 3 months in Sri Lanka*, and about ten weeks in Thailand, Malaysia, Sumatra, and Borneo**, it is now time to go home. I decide to undertake the long journey over land, wherever possible, as this will be an excellent opportunity to experience – and compare – the various cultures and religions on my way.


*See Travel episodes Sri Lanka 1974: Among the Veddas, and Sri Lanka 1975: An illegal walk through Wilpattu.


**See Travel episodes – Borneo 1975: Canoe trip with Punan tribals.



Farewell to Southeast Asia
From Kuala Lumpur, I get a lift with various cars and trucks, heading north through Malaysia, to the town of Kota Bharu, where I board a bus to the Thai border, and then another bus to Bangkok. As I have visited this city earlier on my trip, I immediately book a flight ticket to Calcutta, the largest city in West Bengal, eastern India. It is not possible to cross Myanmar over land, so I am forced to fly.



Scene from my journey through Malaysia: Clouds at dusk, Kuala Trengganu. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Plenty of water melons for sale, Kolok, southern Thailand. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)




An entirely alien culture
I am now accompanied by a young German, Eberhard, and a bus brings us from the airport to downtown Calcutta.

After experiencing the relatively civilized Southeast Asia, this metropolis is an overwhelming experience, displaying an entirely alien culture and religion. Everything seems utterly chaotic in this city, where trucks, busses, cars, motor-rickshaws, ox-carts, motorcycles, scooters, pedestrians, and sacred cows mingle in a seemingly hopeless tangle, but, almost miraculously, traffic is still moving, albeit at a snail’s pace. In Calcutta, you also notice the old-fashioned rickshaws – two-wheeled, open carriages, pulled by a man, who is running – most often barefoot – in front of the vehicle, holding on to two bars.

Poverty is appalling in this city, in which millions of people live without a roof over their heads. Instead, they stay beneath bridges, on railway embankments, or simply on the street, where busy people pass them, oblivious of their need. Countless Indian white-backed vultures (Gyps bengalensis) and Indian black kites (Milvus migrans ssp. govinda)* are soaring over the city.

Calcutta’s former name was Kolkata or Kalikata. In 1696, an Englishman, Job Charnock, who was working for the British East India Company, lead a group of traders up along the Hugli River, as they had been chased away from their original trading post by a local ruler. Now, further up the river, they constructed a new trading post, Fort William, near a couple of villages, of which one was named Kalikata, supposedly named after an old cultic shrine, dedicated to the Hindu goddess Kali. This name was distorted to Calcutta by the British.**


*In 1975, vultures and kites were extremely common all over India, but since the 1990s, all species of Indian vultures have declined alarmingly due to poisoning from diclofenac, a veterinary drug widely used to treat diseases in livestock. Research has shown that when these vultures feed on cattle carcasses, which contain diclofenac, it will destroy their livers. The kite has also diminished, mainly due to less available garbage.


**In 2001, the name of the city was officially changed to Kolkata.



After spending time in the relatively civilized Southeast Asia, Calcutta was an overwhelming experience, with a depressing poverty displayed everywhere. This picture shows homeless people, living beneath the Haora Bridge, which spans the Hugli River. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



In Calcutta, I noticed many of the old-fashioned rickshaws – two-wheeled, open carriages, pulled by a running man. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



A sadhu (an ascetic Hindu), walking down a street in Calcutta, carrying his few belongings. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Fortune teller, reading the palm of a client, Calcutta. He also has various herbs displayed for sale. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Shoeshine boy at work, Calcutta. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)




The most sacred city at the most sacred river
Eberhard and I board a crowded train, headed for our next stop on our journey across India, Varanasi – the most sacred of the seven sacred cities of the Hindus, situated at the most sacred of all rivers, Mother Ganges. Hindus consider bathing in the river at this spot especially cleansing, and every day thousands bathe in it, convinced that it will remove their sins.

The original name of the city was Kashi, meaning ’light’, and as the city is situated at the river bank, facing east towards the rising sun, you may call it ’a city of light’. Its more recent name Varanasi is a combination of the names of two rivers, Varuna and Assi, which have their outlet in the Ganges at this spot. During the British colonial period, the name Varanasi was corrupted to Benares.

Archaeological evidence suggests that Varanasi was founded about 3,000 years ago. However, most of the present buildings are not particularly old, as the city has been destroyed several times during invasions by various peoples, including the Moghuls, a Muslim tribe from Turkmenistan, who conquered most of northern India. For about 300 years, they ruled this area. Especially during the reign of Emperor Aurangzeb (1658-1707), who was a fanatic Muslim, many Hindu buildings were destroyed, including the Golden Temple in Varanasi, which was replaced by a mosque.

We roam the lanes of Old Varanasi, which are so narrow that cars cannot enter. What you encounter here are pedestrians, water buffaloes, sacred cows, and an occasional motorcycle or scooter. Loud shouting announces that a burial procession is on its way towards the Ganges. Many old or sick persons are brought here to die, later to be cremated on the banks of the sacred river. Following the cremation, their ashes are strewn on the river, increasing their chance of attaining moksha – liberation from the eternal sequence of re-incarnations. Moksha and other Hindu phenomena are dealt with in detail on the page Religion: Hinduism.



Varanasi is the most sacred of the seven sacred cities of the Hindus, and a bath in the Ganges River at this spot is considered especially cleansing. Every day, thousands bathe in the river, convinced that it will remove their sins. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Hindu Brahmin at the Ganges River. Brahmins constitute the highest of the four Hindu castes. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Street barber at work, Varanasi. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)




Morning on the Ganges Plain
It is the hottest time of the year in North India, the sun baking from a misty, yellowish sky throughout the day. We are always thirsty, despite constantly drinking tea and water, and eating plenty of oranges.

Eberhard plans to go to Bombay, while I want to leave this baking oven as quickly as possible. The train journey to the capital of India, Delhi, is a lengthy affair, so in order to avoid a trip similar to the one we experienced from Calcutta to Varanasi, where we had to sleep on the floor, I book a so-called ‘sleeper’. A Second-Class sleeper is just a plank bed with a thin cover, which you have the right to occupy during the night. I spread out my worn-out sleeping bag to announce that this place is occupied.

Vendors walk along the train, shouting, ”Chai! Chai! Garam chaiii!” (’Tea! Tea! Hot tea!”), carrying a large pot with hot, sweetened milk tea, and a sack filled with tiny cups, made from unburnt clay. The idea is that when you have finished drinking your tea, you just toss the cup out of the window, where it breaks on the ground, re-entering the cycle of nature. In this way, the vendor doesn’t have to return to collect cups.*

In the morning, I awake early, and during a stop at the next station, I leave the train to buy breakfast on the platform: puri, which is pancake-shaped loaves, fried in oil, until they pop up, served with tamarind sauce, and samosas – small, deep-fried triangles of dough, containing potato curry.

Refreshed, I can now concentrate on watching life on the immense, flat, dusty Ganges Plain. In the villages, houses are mostly made of clay and straw, often surrounded by groups of mango or fig trees, which cast long morning shadows. Beneath these trees, in the shade, village men will gather in the evening after a long day’s work to talk and smoke a bidi (a ‘poor man’s cigarette’, made from the leaves of a tree, Diospyros melanoxylon). Carts, pulled by oxen, move at a snail’s pace along bumpy tracks, and the leaves in small bamboo groves rustle in the morning breeze. A flock of vultures are fighting with dogs over the remains of a dead cow. Many people are defecating on the railroad slopes, oblivious of the passengers watching.

Occasionally, we pass stinking industrial towns, where factory chimneys emit huge quantities of black smoke into the already misty landscape. Lots of vultures and kites are soaring over the fields, while gorgeous Indian rollers (Coracias benghalensis) take off from the thickets. Various birds are feeding in puddles along the railroad, such as black-winged stilts (Himantopus himantopus), pond herons (Ardeola grayii), and yellow-billed egrets (Mesophoyx intermedia).


*Unfortunately, nowadays you don’t see many of these clay cups anymore. They have been replaced by cups of soft plastic, on which you burn your fingers, and which are littering the railway embankment everywhere by the thousands.



Along the railroad, gorgeous Indian rollers took off from the thickets. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Pond heron, balancing on a rhizome of a waterlily (Nymphaea). This small heron is ubiquitous in India. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)




Capital eight times
Late in the day, the train arrives at New Delhi Railway Station, which, despite its name, is situated closer to the centre of Old Delhi than to New Delhi. Not far from the railway station, I find a suitable lodge, then leave to explore Old Delhi. Many of its lanes resemble those in Varanasi a bit, but are wider and somewhat more ’modern’.

Throughout its long history, Delhi has been a capital at least eight times, for example during the Muslim reigns of the Delhi Sultanate and the Moghuls, and later during the British colonial days, when the capital was moved here from Calcutta. Today, Delhi is the capital of the Indian Union.

The city contains a huge number of marvellous buildings, but I concentrate on exploring two in Old Delhi. Here is an enormous fort, Lal Qila (‘Red Fort’), built in red sandstone. Construction was begun during the reign of Moghul Emperor Shah Jahan, completed in 1648. The entrance gates to the fort are very high, as the Moghul rulers wanted to be able to ride out through them, sitting on gorgeously adorned elephants, thus demonstrating their power. Divan-i-Am is a beautiful marble building, in which the emperor, seated on his famous peacock throne, would receive his subjects. Unfortunately, this building has been plundered several times and much of the original inventory stolen, including the peacock throne, the silver ceiling, and most of the vividly coloured, inlaid semi-precious stones. On the northern and southern walls is a famous inscription in Persian by poet Amir Khusrau (1253-1325), saying, “If there is a Paradise on Earth, it is this, it is this, it is this.”

Not far from the fort is Jama Mashid (’Friday Mosque’), India’s largest mosque. Like the fort, its construction was initiated during the reign of Shah Jahan, completed in 1658. Friday prayer takes place on the 99-metre-wide main square, which is able to hold 25,000 people. Centrally on this square is a small pond, in which you wash your face, hands, and feet before the prayer. The mosque contains two minarets, both 39 m high. According to legend, a small building in the north-eastern corner of the mosque displays a footprint of the Prophet Muhammed himself.



Marble wall in the Lal Qila (’Red Fort’), Old Delhi, adorned with inlaid semi-precious stones, and with tiles, depicting various motifs, including parakeets. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Domes of the Jama Mashid (‘Friday Mosque’), Old Delhi, seen from one of the minarets. The birds on the domes are feral pigeons. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Grimy little boy, Old Delhi. It must be ages since he had a wash! (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Street vendor, selling apples, Old Delhi. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



The Indian black kite (Milvus migrans ssp. govinda) is common in Indian cities. This one is sitting on a floodlight projector outside New Delhi Railway Station. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)




Spring in Afghanistan
From the city of Peshawar, northern Pakistan, I board a bus, headed for Kabul, capital of Afghanistan. At the border, many men are armed with rifles, and a hole in the windscreen of our bus, made by a rifle shot, testify to the unstable conditions in this region. From the relatively lush Pakistan, we now enter a far more barren, desert-like area, and birdlife changes from tropical species like black drongo (Dicrurus macrocercus) and common myna (Acridotheres tristis) to Palaearctic species like raven (Corvus corax) and European bee-eater (Merops apiaster). Large parts along the road are covered in bright red poppies (Papaver).

Our journey brings us across the famous Khyber Pass, situated in the Spin Ghar Mountains. Formerly, almost all conquerors passed this way to enter the Indian Subcontinent, among these Persian kings Darius the Great (550-486 B.C.) and Mahmud of Ghazni, born Yamin-ud-Dawla Abul-Qasim Mahmud ibn Sebüktegin (971-1030), Afghan Muhammad Ghori, born Shihab ad-Din (1149-1206), Mongolians like Genghis Khan (c. 1162-1227) and Duwa (dead 1307), and Babur (’Tiger’), born Zahir ud-Din Muhammad (1483-1530), a Timurid prince of Turkic origin, who later became the first Moghul Emperor of India.

It is now mid-April, and a mild spring wind is blowing in Kabul, although the surrounding mountains are still covered in snow. I walk the streets of the city, taking in a new style of dress. The men all wear European-style jackets and long, loose trousers, making it more convenient for them to squat. Most men wear turbans, often consisting of a long, white cloth, folded numerous times around the head. Others wear small Muslim caps, often richly embroidered. Many of the women are completely hidden beneath a burka, a huge piece of cloth, which covers head and body, with a visor-like opening in front of the face, which makes it possible for the woman to find her way. The Holy Qur’an, Surah 33, verse 59, says, “Oh, Prophet! Say to your wives and your daughters and the women of the faithful to draw their outer garments close around themselves; that is better that they will be recognized and not annoyed. And God is ever forgiving, gentle.”

Motorized vehicles in this city mostly consist of busses and trucks, while private cars are remarkably few. Donkeys constitute a considerable part of the street scene, and several men are busy loading the animals with various items, including apples and garlic. In many places, tiny cages, containing various species of songbirds, such as calandra larks (Melanocorypha calandra), crested larks (Galerida cristata), goldfinches (Carduelis carduelis), and red-fronted serins (Serinus pusillus), are displayed for sale. Songbirds are popular pets in many Muslim societies.



Mid-April, spring had arrived in Afghanistan. This picture shows the Hindu Kush Mountains near Kabul. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Man, smoking a water pipe, Kabul. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



A huge sack of apples, adorned with red plastic flowers, is being transported by donkey to a market in Kabul. The donkey is described in detail on the page Animals: Animals as servants of Man. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Songbirds are popular pets in many Muslim societies. These tiny cages, containing calandra larks (Melanocorypha calandra), were for sale in Kabul. The vendor in the background is selling various types of beans. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)




A desert town
The bus leaves for Kandahar early in the morning, and the first couple of hours of our journey through the mountains is a cold affair. My fellow passengers huddle behind the seats, enveloped in all their clothes. From the mountains, we enter a flat, desert-like plain with scant vegetation. Tiny villages are surrounded by growths of slender poplars, and farmers are ploughing the few fields with oxen. Birdlife in this region displays species like crested lark, hoopoe (Upupa epops), isabelline wheatear (Oenanthe isabellina), and pied bush-chat (Saxicola caprata). I also notice several fat bobak marmots (Marmota bobak), a ground squirrel the size of a hare.

Despite having only about a hundred thousand inhabitants, the desert city of Kandahar is spread over a huge area, as no house has more than two storeys. The bazaar is a lively and colourful spectacle, and among many other items, vegetables are sold here. To make them look more inviting, they are rinsed in water, running in the gutter. However, this water is extremely dirty, and I immediately lose any craving for raw salads! Meat products and sweets are displayed for sale, attracting thousands of flies, which swarm around the goods. I notice several blind beggars, who are probably suffering from trachoma, an eye disease transmitted by flies.

A few of the inhabitants differ from the majority by their Central Asian facial features. They are Hazara, a people who partly descends from immigrating Mongolians or Turks, who settled in Afghanistan around the 1200s. Even today, their language, and also part of their culture, differ from those of other Afghani tribes. Most Hazara are Shi’a Muslims, as opposed to the majority of the population who are mainly Sunni Muslims (see next caption).



A rare rain shower in the desert near Kandahar, Afghanistan. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Street scene in Kandahar. The woman is wearing a burka. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Crowd in the bazaar, Kandahar. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Rinsing vegetables in the gutter, Kandahar. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Hazara boy, Kandahar. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)




Death of Husain, the martyr
From Herat, I board a bus to Mashhad in eastern Iran – sacred city for Shi’a Muslims. The origin of the two major denominations within Islam, Sunni and Shi’a, almost date back to the foundation of Islam. Following the death of the Prophet Muhammed, in 632 A.D., certain Muslims, who later called themselves Shi’a (from Shi’atu Ali, ‘followers of Ali’), only acknowledged direct descendants of the Prophet as his heirs, maintaining that God, via Muhammed, had selected his cousin, Ali ibn Abi Talib (601-661), who was also his son-in-law, as imam – leader of Islam. Ali’s sons, Hassan and Husain, were imam number two and three, succeeded by their descendants.

In 681, Husain and his followers went to Iraq to fight against the Caliph of Damascus, who claimed that he was the true heir of Muhammad, selected by a council of elders. The Shi’a did not acknowledge this choice, maintaining that only God could appoint Muhammed’s heirs. In a battle at Karbala, Husain and his men were all killed, and from this day, the Caliphs of Damascus, and later Baghdad, held the power within Islam.

The Shi’a fervently commemorate the death of Husain. In his book Reisebeschreibung nach Arabien und andern umliegenden Ländern (Gloyer und Oldshausen, Hamburg, 1837, in English Travels Through Arabia and Other Countries in the East, Performed by M. Niebuhr, Gale Ecco, 2018), German cartographer and mathematician Carsten Niebuhr gives a vivid description of a group of pilgrims, paying a visit to the tomb of the martyr in Karbala, in present-day Iraq: “I was genuinely puzzled by watching the devotion, with which the superstitious people already in the front yard kissed the entrance door, and also later kissed the door of the mosque. Inside the temple, they eagerly kiss the floor, and I was told with conviction that to some devotees the death of Hössein is so sad that they hit their head against the wall and the iron grids. It has been told that some devotees have become so mad with rage that they have killed themselves at their great imam’s grave, believing that they will also be recognized as martyrs, and go to heaven, because they have given their life for the sake of Hössein. I must confess that I have never heard anything more plaintive than these devoted Shi’a. People screamed and howled as if Hössein had been their father and had been murdered this day; this was by no means false, like the professional mourners who weep over a deceased for money, but so genuine that the eyes of those who left the mosque were swollen from crying.”


Imam Reza’s grave
The Shi’a acknowledge a succession of 12 imams, and they maintain that the last of them, Muhammad ibn Hasan al-Mahdi (868-941), vanished without a trace, but will return in due time as the ultimate saviour of mankind and, together with Isa (Jesus), bring peace and justice to the world.

In 818, the 8th imam, Ali ibn Musa al-Riḍha (in Iran known as Imam Reza), was murdered by order of the Abbasid Caliph, al-Ma’mun. The place he was buried was called Mashhad al-Ridha (‘Martyrdom of al-Riḍha’), and in the late 9th Century, a dome was erected on the grave. Later, numerous other buildings were built on this place, today constituting the largest Islamic temple complex.

When I visit this mausoleum, the entire area in front of it is one huge construction mess. At the entrance, I learn that non-Muslims do not have access to the complex, but I am welcome to walk around it. On my walk along the outer wall, I can admire the wonderful tiles on it, adorned with Muslim inscriptions in beautiful calligraphy.



A lot of construction work was taking place outside Imam Reza’s mausoleum in Mashhad, Iran (top). The wall enclosing the building is decorated with tiles, adorned with Muslim inscriptions in beautiful calligraphy. (Photos copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Cleaning and repairing an old Persian carpet, Mashhad. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)




Across Kurdistan
My journey now continues by bus towards Tehran, the capital of Iran. On our way, we pass through the most wonderful forest in the Elburz Mountains, south of the Caspian Sea. (A thorough description may be found on the page Travel episodes: Iran 1973 – Car breakdown at the Caspian Sea). We arrive in Tehran at 1 A.M., and all hotels are either full or closed. However, I am told that I can sleep in the telegraph office.

The following morning, I board another bus, headed for Tabriz and the Turkish border. The area around Tabriz is a lovely green, with poplars, in which rooks (Corvus frugilegus) are building nests, and wheat fields, where white storks (Ciconia ciconia) strut about. Yet another bus brings me along the huge Lake Van in south-eastern Turkey, a region known as Kurdistan. This area is inhabited by Kurds, a people with a sorry fate (see Travel episodes: Iran & Turkey 1973 – Kurdistan! Bum-bum-zip!). Birdlife is rich along the road, with species like lesser kestrel (Falco naumanni), ruddy shelduck (Tadorna ferruginea), European roller (Coracias garrulus), and woodchat shrike (Lanius senator). Small Anatolian ground squirrels (Spermophilus xanthoprymnus) sprint about along the road, and in case of any danger, they quickly vanish into their dens.



This man is from the town of Silvan, Kurdistan. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)




Saving a threatened bird
My goal is the town of Birecik, on the banks of the Euphrates River, near the Syrian border. This town is home to a small breeding colony of the globally threatened northern bald ibis (Geronticus eremita). This species was once widespread across the Middle East, northern Africa, southern Europe, and the Alps. However, it disappeared from Europe more than 300 years ago, and the other populations also plummeted. By the mid-1900s, only two colonies were known, in southern Morocco and here in Birecik.

Formerly, the ibises in Birecik were held in esteem, as it was believed that the birds, when on migration, would guide Muslim pilgrims on their Hajj (pilgrimage) towards Mecca. Each spring, a festival would be held to celebrate the return of the birds. Despite this, its decline continued, and in 1972 only 26 pairs were breeding in Birecik.

At this point, a well-known Turkish bird painter, Salih Acar, his wife Belkis, and Udo Hirsch, a young German ethnologist and wildlife photographer, began their struggle to preserve the birds, for example by constructing artificial breeding platforms on the rock face above the town.*

Udo Hirsch once said, “Generations ago, the ibises built good, deep nests. Its eggs are very round, not oval, and roll easily. Today, the ibis nests in Birecik are nests only by courtesy. They are flat bunches of twigs, plastic-bags, and grass, and one good kick by a startled adult bird can easily throw an egg out of the nest and right off the ledge. The same is true of nestlings: as they squabble for food, the smallest are often bullied out of the nest, falling 40 feet.”

The first description and illustration of a northern bald ibis appeared in Historiæ animalium, Liber III, published in 1555 by Swiss physician and naturalist Conrad Gessner (1516-1565). He named it Corvus sylvatico (‘forest crow’), which in Old German became waldrapp – a name which has stuck to this day. The generic name is derived from the Greek gerón (‘old man’), referring to the bald head of the ibis, whereas the specific name is from the Greek eremía (‘desert’), alluding to the barren habitats of the species.


*As it turned out, their efforts bore fruit. In the 1980s, the Turkish National Park Service decided to stop the decline of the ibis by taking all birds into semi-captivity. Two large aviaries were built to house the birds in winter. Each year, they are caught in July or August and kept in the center until March, when they are released to breed in their natural habitat. Some also breed in artificial nests on the rock wall, where the nesting shelves are tipped inward to prevent egg and chick loss. Today, there are well over 100 breeding pairs. (Source:

The wild population in Morocco is believed to be around 500, and the total number of birds in captivity is about 1,000. In Spain, the species was re-introduced in 2003, and today a growing population is breeding in the wild. In 2005, when I visited the Extremadura region of western Spain, I observed a bald ibis. I hardly believed my own eyes, as I had no knowledge of the re-introduction program, and this bird was indeed very far from the breeding colonies in southern Morocco!



Market street in Birecik, southern Turkey. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Rope-making, Birecik. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Northern bald ibis. Illustration from Historiæ animalium. (Public domain)



In Birecik, Turkish and German conservationists constructed artificial breeding platforms for the bald ibises on the rock face above the town. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)




Towards the Mediterranean
From Birecik, I head west, often getting free lifts on trucks, or paying a nominal fee. On the whole, Turks are a very friendly people, and although I only speak a few words of Turkish, I get along fine with the drivers and their helpers. Some of them speak a bit of German, as they have been working in Germany to send back money to their families. On one occasion, I am sitting on the body of a truck, when I notice another truck, lying upside down in the ditch along the road. My truck comes to a stop, and the driver gets out to investigate. He returns, saying, “Zwei tod!” (‘Two dead!’). This doesn’t really surprise me, as Turkish truck drivers often drive like lunatics, taking insane chances when overtaking.

My next goal is the small town of Çeşme, on the Mediterranean coast of Turkey, near the city of Izmir. During my stay in Sri Lanka, I met two Danes, Pia Rasmussen and Fritz Hansen, whom I stayed with for some time. They were planning to spend the spring on the Greek Island of Chios, and we agreed to meet there in May.*

However, when I arrive at Çeşme, I learn that the ferry to Chios has been cancelled for an unspecified period of time, due to tensions between the governments of Turkey and Greece. Consequently, I must travel north along the coast to the town of Çanakkale, where I board a ferry across the Dardanelle Strait.


*Back in Denmark, I learned that Pia and Fritz did not go to Chios, so even if the ferry had been operating, I wouldn’t have met them.



In Turkey, I often got a lift with trucks. These pictures show friendly truck drivers near the small town of Bahçe, Adana Province. In the lower picture, we have had a puncture, and the driver is adding oil to the jack. (Photos copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Castle ruins in Çeşme, on the Mediterranean coast of Turkey, near the city of Izmir. During the rise of the Ottoman Empire, Çeşme was attacked twice by the Venetians, in 1472 and 1501. The castle was built in 1508, during the reign of Sultan Bayezit II (1447-1512), as a precaution against further attacks. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Fishing boat at Diliki, on the Mediterranean coast of Turkey. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)




Into the ditch
Greece is not a good place to hitch-hike, as I often have to wait for several hours at the roadside to get a lift. Consequently, I board a bus to Thessaloniki, from where I go by night train to Beograd, the capital of Yugoslavia. This turns out to be a better place to hitch-hike, as four lifts bring me to the small town of Ivanic Grad, near Zagreb.

While I trudge along the road towards the centre of Ivanic Grad, a car comes to a stop, and the driver informs me that I can sleep in his new house, which has not yet been fully completed. As it turns out, he has already had a fair share of drinks, but nevertheless makes a stop at a restaurant, where we meet some of his friends who offer more drinks. After some time, I am not quite sober myself. On our way towards the man’s house, his reaction speed has now been reduced to a degree that he forgets to turn at a road bend, causing the car to slide sideways into the ditch. This doesn’t bother him much. He gets hold of some friends who can pull his car out of the ditch, and we continue our journey to his house, where he bids me good night.

The following morning, I get a lift to Zagreb, but, unfortunately, I am dropped at a place with a long queue of cars. I trudge along the road, but then I am lucky again. A car comes to a stop, and the driver asks me if I want a lift to Germany! He is a young Turk, who is in a hurry to go back to Germany, where he is working. His father, who didn’t go back to Turkey on holiday, has fallen sick. The young man already has two other passengers, one of whom I met previously in Pakistan. By contributing a small amount for petrol, I get a lift the rest of the way through Yugoslavia and most of Austria.


Spring is late in the Austrian Alps
I leave the vehicle in the Salzburg Province, as I intend to hike into the mountains to observe, how far spring has advanced in the Austrian Alps at this time, in the beginning of May. I board a bus to the village of Russbach, where I walk along a stream, Rinnbach, towards Rinnberg Alm. (Alm is German for ‘mountain pasture’.)

On my way, I notice flowers like Christmas rose (Helleborus niger), alpine snowbell (Soldanella alpina), spring gentian (Gentiana verna), and alpine butterwort (Pinguicula alpina). The Christmas rose, also called black hellebore, is among the earliest flowering plants of the Alps, sometimes appearing in winter, as the name Christmas rose implies. Incidentally, the species has nothing to do with roses, as it belongs to the buttercup family (Ranunculaceae). The generic name of snowbells, Soldanella, is a diminutive of the Italian word soldo (‘coin’), thus ‘little coins’, referring to the leaf shape of most of the 15 species of this genus.

The mentioned species and many other alpine plants are described on the page Plants: Flora of the Alps and the Pyrenees.

Birdlife in this area is scarce at this time of the year, but I do observe ring ouzel (Turdus torquatus), water pipit (Anthus spinoletta), and alpine accentor (Prunella collaris).

When I reach the pasture huts on Rinnberg Alm, snow is still covering the ground in most places. The door of a wood shed is unlocked, so I decide to spend the night in it. There is a very fine view from a ridge, and I look forward to enjoy the morning sun in this lovely place. But alas, when I wake up the following morning, the mountains are hidden in clouds, with a cold wind blowing. I quickly pack up, returning the way I came.



Snow on a mountain pasture, Rinnberg Alm, Austria. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



This picture from Rinnberg Alm shows a pink-flowered form of Christmas rose. Usually, the flowers are white. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Alpine snowbell, Rinnbach. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)




Intermezzo in Wittelsberg
Three days later, I have reached the vicinity of the city Marburg an der Lahn, central Germany. I have just been dropped at a hopeless spot, where the motorway divides, as the driver, who picked me up, was going the opposite way. Not only does it seem hopeless to get a lift on a motorway, where cars are not allowed to stop, but staying here as a pedestrian is also highly illegal. Disheartened, I trudge along the highway, when the incredible thing happens: a minivan comes to a halt, and the driver, who has a huge, curly hair, asks me if I want a lift. If I do!

His name is Dieter, and he and his wife make a living from picking up all sorts of things, for instance from estates of deceased persons, which nobody else wants, selling the most useful items at flea markets in Frankfurt. They live in a small farm house in the village of Wittelsberg, and Dieter kindly invites me to stay with them for a couple of days. Here I meet his wife, Judith, who is likewise very friendly. Their home is an unbelievable collection of things, which most people would call old rubbish, but a cozy and happy atmosphere prevails here, so I spend a few lovely days with the family, before taking to the road again. On May 14, I am back in Denmark, 39 days after leaving Kuala Lumpur.



Old farmhouse implements outside Dieter and Judith’s house in Wittelsberg, near Marburg, Germany. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Dieter, playing an organ. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



In this picture, he is grinding coffee beans. (Photo copyright © by Kaj Halberg)



Dieter and Judith were loving parents, and their little son was indeed well-fed. (Photos copyright © by Kaj Halberg)




(Uploaded June 2018)


(Latest update August 2022)