Hey Joe

pussy riotKiev, Ukraine, 03/14. “If Joe comes to Russia”, Nadya and Masha aka Pussy Riot said, “he will need protection.”

 

Latin America No. I
January 2012 – May 2012. Brasil, Paraguay, Uruguay, Argentina, Chile, Bolivia, Peru

Vienna, Austria, 01/12. Getting started.

Rio de Janeiro, Brasil, 01/12. Having a welcome beer along Rio’s Copacabana.

Rio de Janeiro, Brasil, 01/12. Enjoying the view on Rio’s financial district from our balcony located right at the heart of Santa Teresa.

Rio de Janeiro, Brasil, 01/12. Being caught off guard by a film crew during the first days of the trip. They did a feature on our quarters for the Brasilian breakfast TV. It goes without saying that they chose the dozy “rubio” as a pundit (05:10).

Rio de Janeiro, Brasil, 01/12. On our way to the sugar loaf. Inescapably the cable car ride evoked Moonraker’s legendary fighting scene between James Bond and Jaws.

Rio de Janeiro, Brasil, 01/12. Hey Joe!

Florianopolis, Brasil, 02/12. Living in a house on the beach with Brasilian musicians. Learning Portuguese during the days. Dancing on the beach during the nights. Some danced to remember. Some danced to forget.

Curitiba, Brasil, 02/12. Resting right in front of the Oscar Niemeyer museum in Curitiba.

Curitiba, Brasil, 02/12. One fine Latin American feature: indoor hammocks.

Piriapolis, Uruquay, 02/12. Watching sunset from laid back Piriapolis’ boardwalk.

Buenos Aires, Argentina, 02/12. Hanging around on the balcony grid of our attic floor appartment with the sun setting. It was February 17th 2012. Once the sun came up again nothing would be the same again.

Mendoza, Argentina, 03/12. Crossing the Andes by bus on our way from Mendoza to Santiago de Chile.

Argentinean-Chilean Border, 03/12. The sniffer dog kind of fell in love with Joe. The picture taken was promptly deleted by a border official.

Santiago, Chile, 03/12. There is this swimming pool on the top of the hill in the very centre of Santiago de Chile. If Joe only wasn’t a nonswimmer!

Valparaiso, Chile, 03/12. Walked around “Latin America’s San Francisco”, homeland of Allende and Neruda, with it’s proletarian and artistic charme. Finally ended up in a hazy bar. A melancholic dock worker – too big leather jacket, raw beard, oily hands – worked the jukebox. Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. Conspiratorially smiled at the stranger. Didn’t dare hugging him.

Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia, 04/12. Right in the middle of the world’s largest salt flat, some 3,600 meters above sea level, it is totally mute and so bright that you can endure only seconds without sunglasses.

Potosi, Bolivia, 04/12. It is only a little exaggeration to say that Potosi’s silver mine financed Europe’s economic development for centuries. There were times when the streets of Potosi, with more than 4,000 meters elevation one of the world’s highest cities, were paved with silver. Nowadays, after dozens of thousands of slaves have died in the mines, the streets are paved with poverty (symbolically) and shit (literally). Right before this picture we saw Bolivia’s indigenous President Evo Morales parading through Potosi. Right after it we climbed down some hundreds of meters into the mines, guided by a boy who had started working in the dark at the age of eight and who has a life expectancy of 35. As his father had. As his grandfather had.

La Paz, Bolivia, 04/12. I remember running a red light with seven people in the car. This was as legal as it got – and as much as I remember.

Isla del Sol, Lago Titicaca, Bolivia, 04/12. Getting sunburned during the days, getting a cold during the night. Bewitching.

Bolivian-Peruan border, 04/12. Do it quick before the border officials see us!

Cuzco, Peru, 04/12. The ancient Inca’s capitol. I called it a Sodom and Gomorrha in yellow-blue.

Machu Piccu, Peru, 04/12. This is what they call: the cloud forest.

Machu Piccu, Peru, 04/12. Sometimes it’s love. And sometimes it’s not.

Machu Piccu, Peru, 04/12. Postcard your life.

Vienna, Austria 05/12. Arriving at, well, home.

 

Latin America No. II
November 2012 – June 2013. USA, Mexico, Cuba, Belize, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama, Colombia, Ecuador

Vienna, Austria, 11/12. Getting started over again.

Los Angeles, California, USA, 11/12. Breakfasting at the Pacific Palisades.

Los Angeles, California, USA, 11/12. Watching a guy called David Beckham crossing a soccer field.

Santa Barbara, California, USA, 11/12. Watching the sun go down over Santa Barbara.

Santa Barbara, California, USA, 11/12. Breaking the waves.

Santa Barbara, California, USA, 11/12. This oil rig inspired a guy called Jim Morrison to write a song called “Crystal ship“. Well, the oil rig and a hand full of LSD did so: “A million ways to spend our time. When we get back, I’ll drop a line.”

San Simeon Bay, California, USA, 11/12. Fording northwards on Highway 1.

Big Sur, California, USA, 11/12. Henry Miller, Hunter S. Thompson and Jack Kerouac have already left their Big Sur exile. The huge trees stayed.

Big Sur, California, USA, 11/12. No one to be seen on the Big Sur scene.

Big Sur, California, USA, 11/12. Watching the Pacific’s aquatic life live.

Big Sur, California, USA, 11/12. Peace.

Big Sur, California, USA, 11/12. Is this a bridge?

San Francisco, California, USA, 11/12. THIS is a bridge.

San Francisco, California, USA, 11/12. Hanging out at Golden Gate Park. Where have all the hippies gone? For obvious reasons Joe refused to wear a flower where others have, well, hair.

San Francisco, California, USA, 11/12. Falling for the Bay Area.

Berkeley, California, USA, 11/12. Joe over Berkeley.

San Francisco, California, USA, 11/12. Joe over San Francisco.

Mexico City, Mexico, 12/12. Having arrived in Latin America.

Mexico City, Mexico, 12/12. It looks like painted chicks with hats glued on their heads. Oh. It is painted chicks with hats glued on their heads.

Mexico City, Mexico, 12/12. Palm trees and churches get along rather well.

Mexico City, Mexico, 12/12. Watching the sun rise over Mexico City’s Cathedral from our room. Somehow Joe just can’t get the fact off his mind that it was built atop one of the most sacred Aztec temples. It’s the church, stupid!

San Cristobal, Mexico, 12/12. Can you dislike the curch and like churches? Especially in Latin America? Joe can.

Aqua Azul, Mexico, 12/12. Ready for a jungle swim? Ready.

Palenque, Mexico, 12/12. And from the jungle you could hear the howler monkeys howl.

Tulum, Mexico, 12/12. The day the world would go under. Not.

Tulum, Mexico, 12/12. On the morning after the world didn’t go under Joe found himself in paradise – and in pain. Time to get off to Cuba for a month without photos.

Flores, Guatemala, 2/13. Austria’s Salzkammergut? Almost.

Tikal, Guatemala, 02/13. We walked through the jungle before sunrise. We watched the torch light dissapear. We found the pyramid nevertheless. We witness a once in a lifetime sun rise from atop.

Lago Atitlan, Guatemala, 02/13. Watching the volcanoes watching us.

Antigua, Guatemala, 02/13. The arch of Santa Catalina is famous for a reason I must have forgotten. Maybe because you could see Pacaya Volcanoe where you can see Joe’s head instead.

San Salvador, El Salvador, 02/13. The UN calls El Salvador, along with Honduras, the most dangerous region in the world. After already having scarcely escaped with Joe’s life twice in recent months: a good place for passing through.

Choluteca, Honduras, 02/13. Hondurans looking at Joe. Joe looking back.

Honduran-Nicaraguan Border, 02/13. As always, Joe being photographed at the border meant: troubles.

Managua, Nicaragua, 02/13. The old Cathedral of Managua that was damaged in the Earthquake of 72′. A moment later a police man came along. Nice fellow. He said I had to leave this place as he couldnt guarantee my security. Now. Behind him there was a bunch of youngsters. I swear they were baring their teeths.

Las Penitas, Nicaragua, 02/13. It has been five of us who have stranded in this Nicaraguan beach lodge. We were writing and reading and making music. It has been five days that we didn’t speak one word but only looked at each other. Knowingly. In that abbey by the sea.

Telica Volcano, Nicaragua, 02/13. Midnight on the crater rim. Looking down some hundreds meters right into the earth working. There is a wind that blows the sound of jumbos taking off, and it smells like long hidden eggs and looks like, well, blood boiling in slow-motion. It’s magic, or the exact opposite.

Telica Volcano, Nicaragua, 02/13. Waking up with the sun rising on top of Volcano Telica.

Telica Volcano, Nicaragua, 02/13. And Nicaragua turned into gold.

Isla Ometepe, Nicaragua, 03/13. The biggest lake in Central America. An island formed by two Volcanoes. The sun went down and the stars started to dance. Fairy, fairy tale.

Juan Vinas, Costa Rica, 03/13. It’s blue and green and white, it’s Costa Rica.

Limon, Costa Rica, 03/13. Visiting Costa Rica’s Caribbean Coast, United Fruit’s home turf.

Sixaola, Costa Rican-Panaman Border, 03/13. There obviously must have been a misunderstanding when I called Panaman Border officials “mafia”. At least that was what their faces said.

Almirante, Panama, 03/13. There obviously must have been a misunderstanding when a huge Creol called me “dead”. At least that was what my face said.

Isla Bastimento, Panama, 03/13. Everybody’s gotta something to hide, except me and my monkey.

Isla Bastimento, Panama, 03/13. Finally alone in the Panamanian Garden of Eden.

Isla Bastimento, Panama, 03/13. Getting up at 7am. One hour running. 30 minutes swimming. Big breakfast. Six hours writing. Late lunch. Getting lost in the jungle for an indefinite time. Going to the beach with guitar and notebook and a can of beer (see picture). Big dinner. Starting a bonfire on the beach. Swimming, dancing, laughing, singing in the moonlight. Going to sleep at midnight. I called it a life.

Panama City, Panama, 03/13. Hazy Panama City skyline.

San Blas Archipelago, Panama, 04/13. Sailing from Panama to Colombia we spent a day on this abandoned Caribbean island, Joe and I and a poisonous snake.

Medellin, Colombia, 04/13. Looking down at Medellin, the beautiful and intense and weird and conflictive hometown of Pablo Escobar and Fernando Botero. On the occasion of the German President’s visit, Colombian media called it “the most innovative city in the world”. German media just called it “the drug capitol”.

Santa Elena, Colombia, 04/13. The quiet before the storm.

Santa Elena, Colombia, 04/13. Fear and loathing in Santa Elena. Drinking hot chocolate with rum by the fireside. Playing boozed poker with a US-american writer in exile. Strawling the woods singing. Writing poems on the porch. Making music with beloved strangers. Watching Colombian film makers high on LSD running naked through the woods at night. Doing things. Seeing things. Being things. And the rest was silence.

Salento, Colombia, 05/13. Sapgreen hills. Banana trees. Hummingbirds. Coffee plantations. Donkeys. Palm trees. Cordial men in ponchos. Rain. The shire, the shire.

Valle de Cocora, Colombia, 05/13. A hummingbird falling in love with Joe – part 1.

Valle de Cocora, Colombia, 05/13. A hummingbird falling in love with Joe – part 2.

Valle de Cocora, Colombia, 05/13. A donkey not falling in love with Joe.

Valle de Cocora, Colombia, 05/13. Arriving in the wax palm valley. “The most beautiful spot in Colombia”, as I call it.

Quito, Ecuador, 05/13. Looking at Quito from our room.

Quito, Ecuador, 05/13. The tiny little person with the colorful bow standing on the balcony is Rafael Vicente Correa Delgado, President of Ecuador and patron saint of all the whistleblowers out there.

Quito, Ecuador, 05/13. Visitando la Catedral Metropolitana de Quito, parte 1.

Quito, Ecuador, 05/13. Visitando la Catedral Metropolitana de Quito, parte 2.

Quito, Ecuador, 05/13. Quito from above.

Quito, Ecuador, 05/13. Icarussing in Ecuador. Technically, we have never been closer to the sun. It is lonely up there, silent and damn cold.

Canoa, Ecuador, 05/13. Abandoned old testamentarian beaches. Children riding thin horses. Iguanas doing the love dance. Residents in disguise robbing gringos. Dogs dying on the side of the road. Hammocks swinging to the pulse of life.

Canoa, Ecuador, 06/13. We met Nathaniel (left) on a sandy Canoan street in the heat of the day. The music teacher and world traveller from London had a trambone with him and I had my guitar. Ours later we did a gig in the Jungle Bar. We played Beirut and Bob Dylan and Gloria Gaynor. Dogs hobbled along. The night was silent and orange.

Quito, Ecuador, 06/13. The Last Latin American sunrise. What a long strange trip it has been.

Vienna, Austria, 06/13. Arriving at, well, the place formerly known as home.

 

Europe

joe beirutVienna, Austria, 06/12. Watching Beirut.

joe italyNorthern Italy, Adriatic shore, 06/12. Low tiding.

joe wörtherseeWörthersee, Carinthia, Austria, 07/12. Swimming in words.

joe danubeKritzendorf, Austria, 07/12. The danube is not blue.

joe munichMunich, Germany, 08/12. His head in the clouds.

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