BREAKING #312
Returning differently
I had planned to break them in after buying them new for the walking trip with the poet David Whyte in The Burren, Ireland. That none of that actually happened is clear today, as I awkwardly stomp around the house and write with my hiking boots on. They may feel heavy on my feet, but they carry a quiet signal of curiosity: the urge to step out the door and set off.
In The Burren, I had promised myself a sabbatical at the start of 2026, but that idea had to be abandoned. From February onwards, invitations began to pour in: to Città della Pieve in Italy, to Cape Town and the Karoo in South Africa, to the opening of La Biennale di Venezia. One after another, they simply fell into place – journeys based on being welcome.
A regenerative farm run by Italians. A silo turned into a museum in Cape Town. A three-day performance by a textile artist in the Karoo. The ripening of grapes on a wine estate. A safari. A forest of kelp. An octopus. By plane, jeep, vaporetto, train, and with flippers for the Atlantic Ocean, and hiking boots for treks through the semi-desert.
Crossing the equator and finding a new route. Going somewhere you’ve never been before. Taking a different turn and losing yourself, far from everything and everyone who benefits from that outrageous war rhetoric. Setting out and breaking free, because, as writer Paulo Coelho puts it: ‘If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine, it is lethal.’
Slowly, the list of things to do shrinks. Slowly, the small pile of things going into the suitcase grows. We’re travelling with hand luggage only, Anke and I. And from three and a half weeks on the road, we’re making a travel diary in words and images. In the coming weeks, only one thing is certain: the person who leaves is not the same as the one who returns.





















