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"Holy Shit Moly!" I shout gallantly and in discrete megaphone volume across the hills. There is steam and hissing everywhere. I'm in the Upper Geyser Basin of the Yellowstone National Park.
Between the tops of the Rocky Mountains lays the largest concentration of geysers in the world. Some erupt at a definable time, many are unpredictable. But basically it doesn't matter, because the sheer rainbow splendor of their existence lets my camera lens crack and gives me the feeling of having an LSD trip on Mars.

My wet and cold fingers cling to the black roots. My lungs are burning, my ankle hurts.
"You've got dirt on your face," my boyfriend shouts from above. Instead of being in such trouble, I could sit in the warmth and watch TV series in which someone runs through a forest with blood in his face. But my problem has always been that I wanted to be that "someone" myself.
There is nothing more honest  than jumping into nature with one's heart. To find ourselves again. The child in us. And maybe even our true destiny.
I stumble down the grey stairs at the airport of Billings, Montana. I just survived 29 hours in three aircrafts with light-year-long overlays at whatever-airports. Then I see someone with a strange sign. Saying "Smokin' hot German woman". Only one person can write such nonsense. My boyfriend.
We settle down in an old motel for a few hours and then drive off the next day - 1,200 miles down to New Mexico. Where the wind chimes sound like stars, the desert blooms and the sky sinks into infinity.

One cramp in my abdomen goes after the next. "I have to send you to the hospital now," the nice doc says. Three days are following in which I mix up the hospital by being high from the gastroscopy, looking out for wifi desperatly and making the entire ward laugh.
Then the diagnosis: Ulcerative Colitis. The little sister of Crohn's Disease. Lifelong chronic bowel inflammation. Crying? That's something I can do when I'm dead. How I got up from the floor and started to fight my disease.

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Roadtrip USA, solo trip, female solo traveler

In 2017 I fulfilled my life's dream and travelled solo across the US for four months. From New York to Chicago, down the entire Route 66, through several national parks. Los Angeles, San Francisco and finally across the wild North back to the East Coast. I laughed, danced, cried and saw the craziest and most beautiful things. Here comes my little diary.

Indigo and her dog Zelda are living full time in a truck they converted into a camper. “Altogether we’ve been living this lifestyle for a couple of years now, and I stand firm in the belief that it’s the best decision that I’ve ever made.” She did not need to say it out loud. Seeing her sparkling eyes would have been enough. But it was a long and hard way to go.

I have to brake hard. I have a truck behind me. Who doesn't seem to care much about the stopping cars. I can barely see anything. But I do think a lot. Please don't let it be over! When I get home, I start to think about that incident again. Why I was so scared. About The End. After all, we all have to die. But not now. Two years later, I close my eyes at the abyss of the deep red canyon. What if. I smile and a deep peace is filling me. Not now? Not anymore. How I lost my fear of death.

It's January 1, 2018. I don't have a job, nothing works out and I feel like shit. Today is December 31, 2018. I have my own company, I have traveled for 11 weeks, broke up with my long-standing relationship, I have moved, I have found my soulmate. And only a few days before Christmas I bought a tiny home, into which I will move in early 2019. My euphoria-level is close to LSD. Who could have know that!?


Ehrliche Reise- und Lebensgeschichten mit einem scharfen Schuss Humor. Ein Blog, der dir in den Hintern tritt, damit du rausgehst und lebst. ♥

Honest life and travel stories flavored with hot spices of black humor. A blog that kicks your ass so you go out and live your damn life. ♥


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