All language subtitles for gua-adventureland.2023-720p

The guy with the paddles
on his backpack, that's me.

I know, the whole thing seems
pretty unusual, even a bit absurd.

And that's why I want
to start this story a little earlier.

ADVENTURE LAND

My name is Chris to
and I have a great passion:

micro-adventures.

For me, a micro-adventure is
an adventure in nature, but close to home.

I've come up
with three little rules for myself.

First, my micro-adventures
take no longer than 72 hours.

Second,
I use neither a car nor an airplane.

Third, I always sleep in the open air,

without a tent.

I don't really need
to plan a micro-adventure.

I can leave spontaneously,
and it costs almost nothing.

I get to know
the local countryside better.

Besides, I hardly produce CO2.

And honestly,
I prefer having many small adventures,

to waiting all my life
for one big thing at the end of the world,

which I end up not doing after all.

But at some point, I had this crazy idea.

How about doing a big expedition,

but in my home country?

I couldn't go really far anyway,
and I didn't want to.

After all, I'm a family man.

No car and no airplane,
I could stick to these rules,

just like the one about sleeping outside.

The idea of a macro-adventure
close to home didn't let up.

And soon, it became pretty concrete.

I planned to travel from
the highest point in Germany,

in the Alps,
to the northernmost tip of the country,

from the Zugspitze to Sylt,

on waterways,
with my stand-up paddle board.

If necessary, I would walk a bit.

The Rhine would probably be the easiest,
fastest way to get to the North Sea.

But I was looking for a route
that promised more variety

and would lead me through all
the landscapes that shape Germany.

Abrupt mountains, wide valleys,

lowlands, and forests,
marsh meadows and cliffs.

Maybe I would even hike a bit
through Southern Denmark just before Sylt.

My good old friend Kai,
who is a filmmaker,

would join me intermittently
for a few days at a time

I would be alone for most of the journey.

I set a time frame of eight weeks
for this close-to-home adventure:

departure at the beginning of August.

I hardly dared to tell
my wife Anja about the idea.

She didn't jump with joy when I did.

But she gave me the green light.

"Attention!

Warnings have been issued
for extreme weather.

Zugspitze."

Of course it's naive.

But I made an effort to calculate it
in a semi-realistic way

and firmly believe that it is feasible.

The only thing I'm thinking
about right now is the Zugspitze.

"Expect morning snow
at the weather station Zugspitze

with temperatures of minus 2 degrees."

"Gusts between
35 and 46 kmph are to be expected."

When in doubt,
you of course have to concede

when nature says
it's really not possible at all.

But as soon as I'm on a river,
it's relatively relaxed.

I say that now.

The good thing is,
I have everything with me.

I have everything I need for eight weeks.

I won't freeze.

But I also have to carry
all the equipment.

And so I must really consider
what exactly to take.

I will buy my food
in supermarkets on the way

and prepare it on the gas stove.

I'm sure I can charge my electronics
somewhere in between.

Or I'll use my little solar panel.

I'll wash myself and my clothes
in rivers and lakes.

My board and paddles
will come with me up the mountain.

After all, I want to take everything
I need on my own from Zugspitze to Sylt.

Sometimes, I'm a pretty chaotic guy
who loses things

and hopes that I keep track
of everything on this trip.

It'll be fine, right?

In total, my luggage weighs 40 kilos.

But that's without water.

You pack mule. Do you want to come along?

Can I carry it?

Is it heavy?

It's OK.

He's someone who always wants to
and has to get out.

And that he needs that,

to go and do his thing
and finally have an adventure.

He just needs that to be happy.
And it's important that he does that.

Even if it's going to be
a hard time for us.

For the children,

who've never had to
get by without their dad for so long.

They love their dad above all else.

It will be hard for them
and they will have moments

that will simply be difficult.

But they also know
that it is totally important for him.

And they are also very proud of their dad,
that he does such cool things.

Be careful.

I've never been separated
from my children for more than a week.

That was the advantage
of the micro-adventures.

Now it will probably be eight weeks.

The train trip from Hamburg to the Alps
only takes a few hours.

Crazy, when I think about
how long it will take me to get back.

With the gondola,
which takes almost 600,000 people

up the Zugspitze every year,

I reach the visitor platform
in just ten minutes.

The Zugspitze
is Germany's highest mountain

and was climbed for
the first time almost 200 years ago.

It originally had three peaks.

The middle peak was cleared to build
a cable car station in 1930.

The western peak
was blown up eight years later.

The 2,962-meter-high
eastern peak has remained.

That's where I'm standing,

at the highest point in Germany.

And this is where my adventure begins.

AUGUST 2, DAY 1

It feels so good.
It feels so good to be up here now.

So good.

Now it's all downhill.

I've never seen that before.

You have the wrong equipment with you.

That's great.

I want a picture too.

The question as to what I,
a native of Hamburg,

am doing with these paddles
has been answered.

And I admit, the things are annoying.

Well, it's my own fault.

The weight is really tough.

I can't get it all on my back.

With the paddles and stuff.
They keep hitting against the rocks.

They'll break, and I need them.

So I often have to leave one
of my two bags behind

and hike many sections twice.

After a six-hour descent,
I reach the Wiener Neustädter Hütte

and haven't even completed
half the hike to the Eibsee.

Oh, that was so hard.

My legs are so cooked.

I don't know if I'll make it down.

But I don't care at all right now.

I have so much time.
If it's one day earlier or later

or if I'm in Garmisch or on the Loisach,
I don't care.

Guido, the host,
welcomes me to the shelter.

Hello.

When he sees my luggage
and hears what I'm up to,

he tells me about Berta,
who used to run this shelter

and was apparently an extraordinary woman.

A real go-getter, who never complained.

She managed the shelter from 1934 to 1984.

She was an original...

The hemp rope
in the back was her climbing rope.

Just like that, with a Dirndl

and normal mountain shoes,

she climbed the summit
without ropes in her late 70s.

She only took the rope to rappel down.

She climbed around up there
with a Dirndl on.

She died in her early 80s, one month
before she planned to summit again.

Berta was awesome.

Yeah, Berta.

Guido says he still has a spare bed.

That's tempting, but I don't want
to break my rule about sleeping outdoors

on the first night.

I ask him if I can hang
my hammock somewhere outside.

He allows it.

I'm so happy that I made it down here,

and have a good spot for the night,

that I can rest up for tomorrow.

And then I keep going.

Really good.

I thought
I was going to sleep like a baby tonight.

But that didn't happen. It was so cold.

Around 0 degrees Celsius.

The sleeping bag has a
comfort temperature of 4 degrees.

So there wasn't any comfort.
I barely slept.

I'll be so happy when I'm down there.

But that will take a while.

Because there is still a descent
of 1,200 m to the Eibsee.

My water will be empty soon too.

Why isn't there any water here?

My legs hurt like hell.

This heavy backpack
really presses on my shoulders.

It isn't reinforced.

There are only two shoulder straps on it.

A duffle bag.

After what felt like an eternity,
where I could see it,

but it never seemed to get any closer,

I finally reached it: the Eibsee.

There's the lake.

From 2,962 meters down to 973.

Stage one: complete.

The lake and the view
of the Zugspitze massif.

What a wonderful reward for the hard work.

Suddenly everything is so light
when you're in there.

The backpack was so heavy.

It dug into my shoulders.
Every step was difficult.

Then you jump into the water.

And everything...

Everything falls away.

Everything is easy.

From the Eibsee
I continue to Garmisch-Partenkirchen.

That's where the Loisach flows,

on which I want to paddle to Isar
and towards Munich.

AUGUST 4, DAY 3

The paths are no longer so rocky,

so I can use the small boat cart
I have with me.

Finally the luggage is off my shoulders.

It almost feels like it's no longer there.

But the cart
takes a bit of getting used to.

There will be no paddling on the Loisach.

It has rained so hard recently

that the river is swollen and far too wild

to paddle on it with heavy luggage
and without protective equipment.

So I walk along the Loisach for two days

and try not to think that I would be
twice as fast on the water.

To be honest, walking is not

my favorite mode of transport,

at least not over long distances.

After ten hours of walking
in the constant rain,

I find an unusual
but magnificent place to sleep.

At the Schlehdorf Monastery,
I am kindly allowed

to make my camp under the roof of a barn.

On a wooden pallet and old coffee sacks.

OK, I'll lie down on the pallet.

And then I'll get cozy.

It was reasonably comfortable.

Dry. And it rained all night.

And now I'm going to freshen up a bit,

in some puddle.

I have three shirts:

a long one, a short one,
and one for the night.

The long one is wet, the short one is wet.

But I hope it dries while I wear it.

And the one for the night is nice and dry.

Yeah. It's OK.

AUGUST 6, DAY 5

I'm walking along the lake now,
up to Kochel, about an hour.

I'll see what it looks like.

I don't know
if I can go on the water there.

I hope it stops raining.

Hope dies last.

Then it's finally time.

At Lake Kochel,
through which the Loisach flows,

I have the feeling it is worth a try
to go out on the water.

The current is still strong
and the water level is high,

but now the river
seems to me to be navigable.

From here I want to go to Wolfratshausen,
where the Loisach flows into the Isar.

Munich lies several bends
and rapids downstream.

It's a good feeling
to begin this chapter of the journey.

I'm finally on the water and I can paddle.

Now I don't have to carry
or pull my luggage.

I just float down the river with it.

Normally, the Loisach,
the middle section of which was shaped

by the Isar-Loisach glacier
thousands of years ago,

is crystal clear.

But the floodwater
stirred up so much sediment

that it is now dark brown.

If I didn't know better,
this could also be

a tributary of the Amazon.

But I'm in Bavaria, not in Brazil

and I'm gliding straight through
the foothills of the alps.

AUGUST 7, DAY 6

In Wolfratshausen,
I first replenish my provisions,

sit out the approaching storm,
and gather strength.

Because the next day, I want
to head to the Isar with renewed energy.

The Isar is impressively wild,
at least in this section.

From its source
in the Karwendel Mountains,

it flows a total of 292 km
through Tyrol and Bavaria to the Danube.

It is much too shallow here
for anything larger than a raft.

AUGUST 8, DAY 7

In Munich, I leave the Isar,
there are too many strong currents.

Plus, two policemen pass by
and ask me not to paddle anymore today.

A 14-year-old boy got caught in a current
and was carried away by the water.

Neither the fire department or lifeguards
with helicopters could find him.

He was found days later
much further down the river.

Unfortunately, too late.

I decide not to continue today.

I walk to the English Garden
to spend the night there.

Camping would be forbidden here.

But I'm just lying
in the hammock and resting.

The incident yesterday dampened my desire
to continue paddling down the Isar.

And the river doesn't flow as freely
after Munich as before.

So I change my plans

and decide to go overland
to Vohburg on the Donau.

AUGUST 13, DAY 12

Slowly but surely,
I really feel at home on my journey.

And every action seems to become
more routine from day to day.

The rest is learning by doing.

I had a problem this morning

with slugs.

They were in my shoes today.

And unfortunately also all over my socks,

my only pair of socks.

I actually brought two pairs,
but I lost one somewhere on the Isar.

My toothbrush is gone,
a water bottle is gone.

If I carry on like this,

I'll have less and less gear.

The shovel for digging,
the little spade...

to dig toilet holes in the morning...

I also left that somewhere.

Damn. Yeah, I miss that.

Now I always have to dig a hole
by hand or with my feet.

In order to get everything in there
and cover it up again.

Yeah, that's annoying.

But I hope that I can keep
everything else with me.

After three days of walking
in brutal heat,

I finally reach
the second longest river in Europe.

The Danube
stretches over 3,000 kilometers,

from the Black Forest to the Black Sea.

In front of me lies what is probably
its most beautiful section:

The Danube Gorge,
also called the Weltenburg Narrows,

with cliffs up to 80 meters high.

This river looks different
from the Loisach or the Isar.

It is deeper, darker,

it flows quickly,
but radiates an incredible calmness,

which eventually rubs off on me.

Just after the Narrows,
I leave the Danube again

so I don't go too far east.

I want to go north.

I turn onto the Main-Danube Canal,

which leads from Kelheim to Bamberg.

And just a few hours after
the first strokes on the Danube,

I find myself again in a new world.

It's quite unusual,
because it's standing water.

There's no current at all.

That means if I don't do anything,
nothing will happen.

It's more tiring than on the Danube,
where you can just drift.

AUGUST 16, DAY 15

Since 1960, the canal has crossed

an extensive mountain range
that is considered a European watershed.

Over 170 km,
it first rises 68 meters in altitude,

then descends 175 meters again,

down to the Main.

Climbing is hard here.

This is the second of...

I don't even know how many locks.

Many.

Very many.

There are a total of 16 locks,
and I can't paddle through them.

I get around them in the same way.

I go up a small ramp,
pull the boat around the lock,

and then get back on the water.

AUGUST 18, DAY 17

I'm starting to get really good
at carrying this around.

The markers on the shore
are my silent companions.

Every 100 meters they show me

that 100 meters have just passed.

Some of the calm
from the Weltenburg Narrows has remained.

But there's not much happening here.

I spend all day doing three strokes
on the left, three on the right.

I repeat the rhythm for ten hours.

I see not even a handful of boats
and just a single rower.

But that doesn't mean I'm alone.

I have a lot of companions.

The silence around me is full of life.

AUGUST 19, DAY 18

It was a real canal today.

Not so nice anymore.

Wide.

Wind from the front.
It gets really hellish on the canal.

It was a slog today.

Now to hang the hammock somewhere.

First of all, I want to eat.

Bug spray.

Bug spray and food.

It's not a gourmet meal,
but it's very good.

That's the nice thing,
my standards are getting lower.

When you're outside,

just a simple, warm meal

is the best there is.

It's often dark
when I start to look for a place to sleep.

And I take a pragmatic approach.

I just need two trees close to the water.

When it gets light next morning,

each of these places
reveals a special magic,

even if they're not in any guide book.

Morning.

It's almost like a structured working day.

In the morning it's always the same.
I get up and usually pack my stuff first.

I put my things on the board and go.

That's it.

I'm on the go.

Then, in the evening, I look for a spot,

hang up my hammock,
make something to eat,

brush my teeth, take out my lenses,
go to sleep.

Yeah, it's...

It's become my occupation.

I'm now on this journey
and honestly can't imagine

that it will be over at some point.

It will probably take some time afterwards

for me to see
what this journey has done to me.

When the canal has passed
its highest point, I reach Nuremberg.

I've covered 100 km without any current.

And again, I've hardly met anyone.

This makes the contrast
to the noisy, hectic city even greater.

To be honest, I feel a bit overwhelmed.

Have I already become
so incompatible with city life?

The good thing is,
I don't have to do anything.

I can just move on.

And that's exactly what I do.

Having passed over the watershed,
I can go north again by river.

I decide to modify the route a bit
to get away from standing water.

Instead, I walk from Nuremberg to Firth

to get on the Regnitz,

which, like the canal, leads to Bamberg.

I'm curious about my social behavior.

How will it be
when I'm among people again?

I will certainly need a little time.

I do notice that the...

The little problems
that others have in their daily lives,

even my family,
when I talk to them on the phone,

are sometimes hard for me to grasp.

Or I can't really understand it.

Because I'm just...

I'm traveling in a different world.
I have other problems.

And maybe it's good

to be a bit of an outsider,
someone from another world.

And also to understand how it feels

when others can't really understand you.

In Bamberg,
the Regnitz flows into the Main.

From here, I continue on foot again,

120 km through the Franconian Forest,
to the northeast.

I want to reach Blankenstein
in the Thuringian Highlands in four days.

Germany's most famous hiking trail
begins here: The Rennsteig.

But I want to get back on the water there.

And the Saale flows through Blankenstein.

AUGUST 22, DAY 21

The environment around me
has seemed surprisingly intact.

But here, it is unmistakable
that the forests are not doing well.

I often see barren areas on the slopes.

In many places, the sick spruces

are unapologetically cleared away
with heavy equipment.

On my heels...

I have huge blisters

on my left and right feet.

They hurt with every step,
especially when I start.

I've been on the road
for almost three weeks.

Yes, of course I miss my family.

When you're separated
from each other for so long,

you realize what it means to you.

Maybe it's good every now and again

that you learn to appreciate it again.

But we also talk on the phone

and exchange ideas.

I just wanted
to tell you that you're great,

that I'm very happy that you're there.

You too.

And Annie, you too.

You're amazing.

And when I'm alone here,
I think of you a lot.

And I miss you a lot.

Yes, we miss you too.

I just wanted to tell you that.

Yeah, that's very nice.
And you're our hero.

No, not our hero, Mom. Our superhero.

-Superhero.
-Yeah.

Tomorrow, I'll be on the Saale.
And I'm really looking forward to it.

Because the Saale flows into the Elbe.

And the Elbe flows to Hamburg.

And Hamburg is pretty damn close to Sylt.

I'm definitely heading downstream.

But before it really goes down,

the upper course of the Saale
passes through five dams

over the course of 80 km.

Beyond the dams, the Saale flows freely.

It becomes narrower and flows
through Thuringia and Saxony-Anhalt.

Just before Magdeburg,
it flows into the Elbe.

From the first stroke,
the Saale impresses me.

If there are forgotten corners in Germany,

this is definitely one of them.

I can hardly believe this landscape
is also part of my homeland

and I've never been here before.

The dams were built by the Third Reich

to be able to supply enough water
to the Elbe at all times

and thus ensure shipping traffic.

This section
is also called the "Saale Cascade.”

Today, the dams
mainly serve to generate energy

and prevent flooding
and provide for recreation.

Like a Scandinavian fjord,
the Saale runs majestically between

the forested slopes
of the Slate Mountains.

And it seems to me as if
I were traveling in a real wilderness.

I am deeply grateful
that I chose this route

and can paddle north
right here on the Saale.

Unfortunately, paddling the Saale
just after the dams is forbidden.

The water level is too low
and the riverbed too unstable.

At some point, it starts to rain

and does not stop for days.

Rain is really just water from above,

but I am living outdoors right now.

And when it rains,
things quickly become uncomfortable.

My rain jacket no longer keeps me dry.

All my clothes are soaking wet
and I have no chance to dry them.

The situation is quite stressful.

I know, I chose all this myself

and I'm not fighting through
life-threatening wilderness,

isolated and far away
from any civilization.

I could just go to the next hotel,
but I have my rule about sleeping outside.

Oh, what a night!

My feet hurt.
Here, where the blisters are,

the ones that are open.

They throb and burn all night.

I can't even find
the right position to lay down.

AUGUST 27, DAY 26.

The night was really no good.

I set up in the rain last night.

Then the tarp wasn't hanging properly,

then the sleeping bag got wet.

Then I set off in the rain again
this morning.

It was the first time I thought,

"why don't I go home for a few days?"

It's really tedious at the moment.

I'd love to see you.

Yes, we'd love to see you too.

-Right?
-Yeah.

What if we came to visit you?

That's a really good idea.

-That'd be nice.
-Yeah.

Yes, then we'll see each other.

I reach Jena and now have
almost half of my journey behind me.

From here, it is still 90 km to the Elbe

and 900 km to Syit.

Above all, though,
it is not far to the spot near Halle,

where I'm meeting Anja and the kids.

It was a different sleeping arrangement

and a shorter night than usual.

I was allowed to set up my hammock here

in a beach bar

right in the middle of the city.

I went to bed at two.

And now I head merrily down the Saale.

Today,

I hope.

SEPTEMBER 1, DAY 31

That's how it is, right? That's how it is.

Shit weather.

But this evening
I'm going to meet my family.

Anyone home?

Daddy!

It is fantastic
to meet Anja and the children.

Although we haven't
seen each other for ages,

I have the impression
that we are closer than ever before.

Maybe that's why.

Are you ready to sleep?

Yeah.

Is it cozy in there?

-Yes.
-Great.

We make a plan.

I expect to arrive in Sylt
on the last weekend of September.

Anja will book accommodation there

and bring the kids
to meet me on the beach.

From now on, I have a deadline,

but also a pretty tight window
for my arrival.

The nice thing is,
deadlines don't make me nervous

as long as they're well in the future.

From Halle, I follow the Saale to Bar by,

where it flows into the Elbe.

For decades,
the lower part of Saale was used

as a transport route
for the chemical industry.

Today it is still a federal waterway,

but freighters no longer use it.

Just before it reaches the Elbe,

the Saale is above all one thing: dirty.

This river really inspired me,
carried me through highs and lows,

but it leaves me with a bad taste.

The nice thing about this trip is
that it has countless new beginnings.

The Elbe is one such new beginning.

In total, the Elbe is 1,100 km long.

It starts in the Czech Republic,
passes the border to Germany after 370 km.

And reaches the North Sea
after another 730 km.

I will follow it to Lauenburg

to continue my journey
from there to the Baltic Sea.

This river is more powerful,
sometimes up to 200 m wide

and the current is stronger.

When the wind picks up,
it sweeps over the water.

There are moments when I feel
as if I were already on the North Sea.

And then, from one hour to the next,

my arms suddenly give out.

I just paddled for 20 km and I thought

I had to stop now and take a break.

Lie down, sleep.

I'm incredibly tired.

A little hot. I feel bad.

There's really no reason.

Except that for weeks, I've been powering
through every day from sunrise to sunset.

And paddle and paddle and paddle
or walk and walk and walk.

I must have caught a stomach bug.

Maybe because I've been rinsing my pot
with river water

and drying it with dirty socks.

Maybe my drinking water was bad.

But the reason isn't so important.

I just know that I can't go on like this

and I have to recover.

It was so cozy in my sleeping bag.

I didn't want to get out.

I need to rest until the next day,
to gather strength.

I'm reminded
that the purpose of this journey

is not to push myself to the limit

or to rack up kilometers.

It's about being out here,

discovering wonderful places in my country

and really experiencing
every single moment.

SEPTEMBER 9, DAY 39

For me, at the moment,

it's really about taking
one step after the next.

To the next place,
to the next bend, paddling or walking,

always one step after the next.

That's what characterizes
this part of the journey

that I don't really
think about what tomorrow will be

or about reaching my goal,

in Sylt.

It's not that euphoria that characterized
the beginning of the journey,

or the first part...

this constant discovery
and this excitement.

Right now it's just about doing it,

doing it every day.

The Elbe is so different
from everything else I've seen.

Because it has a real current,
because it's really wide.

I feel like I'm on the Mississippi,
because I'm all alone.

I'm all alone on this river, all day long.

Sometimes I don't pass a town all day,

so I really have to look
for drinking water.

SEPTEMBER 11, DAY 41

At kilometer 515 of the Elbe,
my old friend Jozef is waiting for me.

He came from Hamburg
to paddle with me for two days.

He's a photographer, climber
and a real sea dog.

He's had a lot of crazy adventures.

I'm looking forward to having Jozef
accompany me for a while

on this journey.

This section of the Elbe
formed the intra-German border.

It's inconceivable that you couldn't
paddle from one side to the other

without endangering yourself.

The meadows on either side
of the Elbe flood again and again,

which makes them unusable for agriculture,
but a paradise for animals.

The white-tailed eagle, the short-toed
snake eagle and many other rare species

are at home on the Elbe.

I ask Jozef to come with me
across the Baltic and North Seas to Sylt.

After all, he was up there
often enough with his old sailboat.

I know that from the Frisian Islands,

between the islands,
where the water flows out.

There's such a current

that when you get in it,

they might find you
three or four miles further out.

You can't fight it.

When you said,
"I don't even know what day it is."

I thought that's actually,
in addition to all the adventures

and the beautiful environment around you,

that's what I envy you for with this trip.

That you're just in your own world
for a while.

And you don't notice
all the madness happening in the world.

And I think that's great,
because it's so much,

that sometimes it's really...

healing

when you don't know everything.

Chris to, I would like
to apologize in advance if it...

tastes a little strange.

And it'll look a bit strange, too.

Let's see.

Yes, I think it's OK.

A meal like this... is really a highlight.

I'll try it.

I think it's delicious,
but I grew up on this.

Good.

I'm glad.

-Experiment successful.
-Thank you.

The next day, Jozef accompanies me
a few more kilometers,

then I'm alone again.

We didn't spend long together.

But like the time with Anja and the kids,

it was incredibly intense.

The simple fact of being there together,

seems to hold more mystery than I thought.

Even if noodles with poppy seeds
won't become my favorite food.

The Elbe, with its huge dimensions,
has shown me how small I am.

And yet, for a few days,
I was a part of this

unique riverscape
flowing relentlessly to the sea.

After 300 km on the Elbe,
I leave the river near Lauenburg

and paddle on the small Elbe-Lübeck Canal
toward the Baltic Sea.

The canal is one of Germany's
oldest artificial waterways.

Its precursor was the Stecknitz Canal,

which was built in 1398.

But like most German waterways,

this canal's heyday
as a means of transport is over.

Smaller cargo ships
are no longer economical,

container ships are too large.

When I reach Lübeck
and the Baltic is within reach,

that changes.

I am at sea.

What an indescribably good feeling.

Again, a new chapter begins,

because
from now on I won't paddle on rivers.

The water is now salty
and even the air tastes of the vastness.

I will try to paddle up the coast.

My first goals are Kiel and Eckernförde.

Now I've made it over the Kielerförde.

Now I'm at Eckernförder Bay.

It's quite a bit wider.

I have to go over there.

It's probably ten kilometers to there.

But I can't go.

There's too much wind.

That means I have to walk 20 kilometers
in that direction to Eckernförde

and 20 kilometers back

instead of crossing over ten kilometers.

On the way to Flensburg, I have to travel
several longer stretches on land.

As soon as the wind and the waves allow,
I go back on the water

and work my way north,
parallel to the coast.

Over the last kilometers, the Baltic
pushes me into the Flensburg Förde

with a light tailwind,
giving me a dignified farewell.

I now head overland through Denmark
to the North Sea coast.

If I wish to paddle
to the northernmost tip of Sylt,

I should start from the Danish mainland.

The German-Danish border landscape

offers me a completely different
topography

to all the ones I've come through before.

I don't see any mountains, not even hills,

just vast expanses
cut into pieces by straight roads.

I walk 30 kilometers
without coming upon a single town.

The place from which I want to cross over
to Sylt is not far.

This will definitely be my last walk

before I end this journey
and see my family again.

They will arrive in Sylt today.

If that's not perfect timing...

I'm now exactly in line
with the top of Syit.

This is exactly
where I wanted to paddle over.

That's about 13, 14 kilometers.

It's crazy. Now I'm here...

after more than seven weeks
and I can't get over.

Because it's supposed to be really stormy.

So much for perfect timing.

The first big storm of fall
was a bit faster than me.

There aren't many options.

The Hindenburgdamm,
to the south, leads over to Sylt.

But I'm not allowed to walk over it,

and it's too shallow and muddy
to paddle alongside it.

But there is one other possibility.

North of Sylt
is the Danish island of Rømø,

which is reachable by road.

And from the southern tip of Rømø
it is only a few kilometers to Sylt.

In between flows the heavy tidal current
that Jozef warned me about,

but on the map it really doesn't look far.

Crazy. I mean...

I wanted to go
all the way through Germany,

Now I'm walking to Rømø.

OK.

Keep going, keep going.

So much for my last walk...

I'm walking again,

40 km up the coast and across
the dam to the southern tip of Rømø.

Did I already mention
that I don't really like to walk?

At least not this much at once.

Well, this trip has fundamentally changed
my relationship to distances.

Most people ask me,

"Where are you going?"

And then I always just say the next town.

Kappeln, I remember.

Kappeln. Eight more kilometers.
"Whoa, that's far."

And that's so weird, because
for me at the time it wasn't far at all.

But if you live in a place like that
and someone comes with a paddle board...

You also ask yourself, "What's he doing?

What does he want?
Where's he going?"

I probably would have been surprised too.

SEPTEMBER 23, DAY 53

A bit of wind here at the North Sea.

But hey, if you want to go over the water,

you have to get used to the wind.

I'm just going straight
for 10 km on this dam.

Just straight ahead.

And I have no reference point at all.

But it feels
like the island is already quite close.

I'll be relieved when I get there.

Then I actually reach Rømø.

The southernmost island in the Danish
Wadden Sea has under 600 inhabitants.

Besides the beach and dunes,
large forests shape the island.

All reforested.

Until the Second World War,
there were almost no trees on Rømø.

The wide beach
on the North Sea becomes wider every year,

the sand carried by the wind and waves
from Sylt arrives here.

The finale of this adventure
is now right in front of me.

I bet everything on tomorrow
and hope that the wind lets up.

The 53rd evening
and the 53rd night outside.

It's kind of weird, I'm almost a bit...

On the one hand, totally full...

fulfilled.

On the other hand, also a bit empty.

I'm really looking forward
to this final act tomorrow.

And on the other hand,

I can't even imagine
that it will be different again.

When I think about the moment

when I was standing
on the top of the Zugspitze.

It feels so long ago.

It feels like forever ago.

Everything that has happened since.
Everything I've seen.

It's been a very intense time. A very...

vivid, very full, very rich time.

Although I didn't do much,
except paddling and walking.

Of course I'll miss
what I've had here in the last few weeks.

And I'm sure I'll look back
on this time wistfully.

But I'm not sad.

I'm totally satisfied.

Yeah.

Everything is just right.

What happened and what is coming up now.

Everything is good.

But I'll take it with me.

With me into the future.

The storm died down overnight.

Thank God.

It's still pretty windy,

but it's not a storm anymore.

SEPTEMBER 24, DAY 54

Yes, I'm a bit nervous.
A little excited, of course.

Because this isn't some
little lake or a small river.

This is the North Sea.

And that's quite formidable.

Only four kilometers of water separate me
from my destination.

However, the mass of water
is gigantic and constantly in motion.

If I were to head out
when the tide is going out,

I would hardly have
a chance to get over there.

That's why I wait
until about an hour before low tide.

Now it's time.

One more time.

The finale.

At every tide,
500 million cubic meters flow

right here through the Lister Deep
between Rømø and Sylt.

A huge amount of water
that pulls out or pushes in.

Now, it's flowing out.
In an hour, it will come back in.

At some point, I reach the main current.

There are up to 40 meters
between me and the seabed.

It's an uneasy, almost creepy feeling

to feel the flow of the water,
but not to be able to see it.

And for a few minutes
I can hardly move forward.

At some point,
I feel that I can not only resist,

but that Sylt is actually getting closer.

And then I know, it's working.

I'll be over there soon.

I'll finally reach the place

I've been walking and paddling toward
for almost two months.

And I'll see my family.

It's been 54 days since I set off

to seek a grand adventure close to home.

Here in Germany.

I've discovered and experienced
more than I could have imagined.

I've gained a whole new understanding
of how beautiful my country is,

how exciting, diverse and, yes,

even species-rich
the environment around me is,

how vast and proud and yet
so fragile, so worthy of protection.

I have learned how little it takes
to create intense moments

on your own,
with a simple setup, and only one task:

to move a little further north every day.

I was allowed to spend every night outside

and wake up every morning in a different
place that was unique in its own way.

And I felt what it's like
to be alone and yet not lonely.

What a gift it is to just be able to let
your mind run free for weeks on end,

to have no appointments,
no obligations or expectations to fulfill.

I got a glimpse of what happens

when I recognize what is special
about insignificant things around me

and really appreciate the here and now.

I was able to experience all this here,

here in my immediate environment,

without traveling
halfway around the world.

Here in my adventure land.

WELCOME
TO THE NORTHERNMOST POINT IN GERMANY

SEPTEMBER 24, DAY 54

Daddy!

Of course, this tour,
this adventure tour, will end in Sylt.

But my journey continues.

Where to? Let's see.

I don't know yet. Thank God!

ON HIS 54-DAY JOURNEY
FROM THE ZUGSPITZE TO SYLT,

CHRISTO COVERED
A TOTAL OF 1,602 KILOMETERS.

1,000 KILOMETERS ON WATER
AND 602 KILOMETERS ON FOOT.

HE WALKED THROUGH THE ALPS,
THE ALPINE FOOTHILLS,

THE FRANCONIAN JURA,
THE THURINGIAN SLATE MOUNTAINS,

THE NORTH GERMAN LOWLANDS
AND THE GERMAN-DANISH BORDERLANDS.

HE PADDLED THE LOISACH, THE ISAR,

THE DANUBE, THE MAIN-DANUBE CANAL,
THE REGNITZ

THE SAALE, THE ELBE,
THE ELBE-LÜBECK CANAL,

THE BALTIC SEA AND THE NORTH SEA.

52 OF THE 53 NIGHTS,
CHRISTO SLEPT IN HIS HAMMOCK.

ONE NIGHT, HE SLEPT ON OLD COFFEE SACKS.

Subtitles: John Eltringham
EUROTAPE - 2023