I had used my jet lag trick again so as not to arrive in Rio completely destroyed. On the flight from Sydney via LA and Miami, I only allowed myself to sleep when it was nighttime in Rio. The rest of the time I kept myself awake with books, games and movies. The plan worked to some extent. Lack of sleep and time difference create a strange surreal perception.

For a while during the first two days, my brain trailed my body, as if standing next to me and watching what was happening around me from the passenger seat.

The city is hot, it’s glowing. I acclimatize in my Mannheim friend Stephen’s apartment. I have no pressure to look at the city. I immediately adopt the daily rhythm of Stephen and Justin, his roommate. Every morning is started with meditation and yoga. In general, they do a lot of sports and eat healthy. Somehow I have slipped into a lifestyle here that suits mine. You don’t rush, time passes without paying much attention to it. The clocks tick differently here than in the Western world. Just because there is a timetable doesn’t mean it will be followed. We’re in an Uber. We’re stuck in traffic. According to the timetable, we’re already late, but nobody cares. The bus is also late.

Ilha Grande (big island)

Ilha Grande, a small paradise south of Rio. Aventureiro, the beach where we land with a small cab boat, seems to be reserved for only a few. No ferry that brings crowds. The only other way here is on foot by land, an eight-hour walk from Abraão, a bustling town on the other side of the island.

In paradise, there’s no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong attitude. There are different gradations of sun that penetrates to us. People use the rain-free times to explore the beach. If you go into the sea, you get wet. The rain only makes the wetness sweeter. When we didn’t want to get wet, there were retreats to play cards and get introspective. In many cases, the experience relies heavily on expectations. Without expectations, there is room for reinterpretation of impressions. We redefine the experience of our surroundings. Everything is looked at closely and taken in. In general, I feel at home in nature. I can absorb it for hours in all its facets. If you let yourself go for it, you can discover many small details in everything that surrounds you, which otherwise tend to escape you. How colorful and detailed the world can be.

Migration

Stephen and I decide not to return to Rio with Justin. We try to walk around the island to get to the ferry to Abraão. The path leads from beach to beach. Each one a small village, a secluded world in itself. Another hiker joins us. The Argentinean is on the way with his tent. I feel connected to him by my not too distant existence. The rain, which makes so little difference to us, has a completely different quality for him, who spends the night in his tent.

Late in the afternoon, our feet start to get heavy in the setting sun. With no shelter in sight, we discuss alternatives. Suddenly we spot a couple of ladies just boarding a boat. They have spent the day having a few beers on the beach. Unwilling to go any further, Stephen has a spontaneous idea. “Where are you guys going?” he asks. “To Abraão!” it comes back. “Can we come with you?” “Sure.” The captain sniffs out another quick buck. We agree. It’s the second time I’ve been on the road with Stephen and we spontaneously abort before reaching our destination. The last time, we got stuck at a brewery in Israel.

Abraão

Life awaited us in Abraão. The tourist town quickly offers us cheap accommodation and a wide choice of restaurants. We hear a lot of Spanish and French on the cobblestone street. There is a plate of pasta for 5 euros and for dessert a crêpe, which is so long in coming that he can hardly remember when it was last warm. One can also overdo it with the relaxedness.

The papers for the next day are already ready. We let ourselves be driven to a paradisiacal beach, which seems to me to get wider and longer as the day goes on.

We are obviously in Brazil. All are amateurs at the camera. Everyone is here to shoot. We blend in. Away from the crowd, our swim trunks rip off our legs. Even tan from head to toe.

When asked if they are doing a photo shoot, the lady just laughs indignantly. If not, then what’s the tripod for? I guess there is a limit to what counts as a shoot.

A slender woman comes out of the water further away. She spreads herself demonstratively in front of us. She seems to be trapping herself a bit. Should we approach her? I hesitate. Stephen challenges me. I overcome my reluctance.

We have a conversation. She is Armenian. She’s acting a little strange. Maybe it’s culturally unfamiliar to just talk to a strange man like that. Or maybe I’m just in a different world, on a different wavelength. She has to leave.

We explore the rocks a bit. The waves are brutal. The up and down, the filling of the cracks. I like the way they rub against the rocks. You feel like they’re washing the world away. Eventually they will. Until then, they’re just beautiful, an analogy, change.

The jungle lines the sand that winds around the bay like a crescent. The forest rises in layers up the mountain. The gathering clouds make the peak look like a volcano. The angry colossus spits and smokes.

With no sense of time, we make our way back through the jungle. Small monkeys sway above our heads. One or the other stops to watch the other strange primates. We watch each other.

We meet the Armenian woman again. She is changed. From beach mermaid to beach queen. Elegant with cocktail. Stephen confirms her strange behavior. She wants to party, get drunk. We want our peace.

Our boat rocks leisurely on the waves. The rough ride is served with Bob Marley. The captain is the calm himself. It seems to be in his blood in which direction the waves will drive his cutter next. He lets it drift into them. Celebrating, enjoying.

Savoring the moment before the finish

I’ve come to an important realization for myself. Not being able to celebrate great success is in itself nonsensical. What I realized is the irrelevance of this feeling. I have already left the path to the goal behind me. The path is the reason I embarked on this journey in the first place. I have already enjoyed the moments that make up the path to the fullest. So there is no reason to push for that satisfaction when I have already enjoyed the many moments that have led me there.

The goal is the moment I set new goals that I can fill with beautiful moments.

top-heavy

I can still remember how Alice, an old friend from Mannheim, pointed out to me that I shouldn’t keep looking up everything I didn’t know or didn’t understand. At that time I smiled at this objection as disinterest or even unwillingness to develop. Today, 15 years later, I think I understand what might be meant by it. It distracts from the moment spent together or even alone.

Rather, I now see very clearly that my rational penetration does not bring me any further in certain circumstances.

Sometimes it is a hindrance, because there is nothing to penetrate rationally. I meditate to be more focused and more with myself, to not identify with my thinking and thus give the ego a little less food.

Now what happens when I try to understand why my dear little head constantly produces thoughts and lets them loose on me. And that’s exactly where I fall into the trap of identifying with these thoughts and even generating new ones, instead of simply making friends with their existence and letting them go without giving them more space than they actually claim, namely as much as I allow them. I allow myself to leave them be.

Main page of my world trip