A thousand years ago, a group of devout Christians from the Greek island of Samos built a church and small monastery in an impossibly remote location, high above the small settlement of Kambos, on Mt. Kerkis. The nuns who lived in what evolved into a convent moved away in 2007 due to the impossibility of living in such a remote locale in failing health, and today the site, which sits near the end of a glorious hike on an idyllic island, is closed to the public.

Sign for Panagia Makrini Cave Church.

Behind the altar at Panagia Makrini.

Gates of Evangelistria.

View from above the Evangelistria Monastery.

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The fear of outsiders with bad intentions that motivated locals to build a place of worship in such a hidden spot still exists today. But could one relentless American hiker convince a stubborn headmaster who holds the key to the church to open it up to the world?

Few Americans venture to Samos, a verdant, mountainous island whose name is derived from an ancient Ionian word that means 鈥渉eight,鈥� but for those in search of an affordable holiday destination with stunning beaches, great food and wine, and rewarding hikes to medieval churches and monasteries, look no further.

A quick look at a map of Samos reveals a lot about the history of the island and the devotion of its early inhabitants. There are dozens of little black dots with crosses, signifying the presence of a church or monastery, all over the map, but mostly in the mountainous interior. Here and indeed all over the Balkans, Christians built churches in remote locations because they feared pirates, Turks, and other invaders.

These places of worship can be difficult to find, but many in Samos and across what was once ancient Macedonia, are adorned with stunning frescoes and make for remarkably good hikes. My first hiking target on the island of Samos was a 13th-century church called Panagia Makrini that鈥檚 located in a cave, high above the town of Kalithea, a tiny little village on Samos鈥� wild, beautiful, and undeveloped west coast.

I lived in Macedonia for two years a decade ago, and spent countless weekends searching for medieval churches, often knocking on random doors in villages to find the person who held the keys. These sites are almost always difficult to find, so I was relieved to see a sign pointing up a rocky track toward Makrini.

But the sign didn鈥檛 indicate how far away the church was, so I thought I should drive up at least part of the track, since I was with my wife and two small children and we planned to take turns making the hike up to the cave church. After about 20 minutes on the road, I couldn鈥檛 stand to drive any more鈥攚e had a little Hyundai rental car but needed something with four-wheel drive.

I parked the car and walked up the rocky track, enjoying the piney aroma of the trees and the view of the cobalt blue Aegean below as I looped up the road. Eventually I discovered the steep rocky path, but soon found myself lost on the side of the mountain. By the time I found the trail again, I was soaked in sweat and starting to worry that my wife and children would be irate by the time I made it back down. Backtracking, I caught site of crosses painted on big boulders. There it was: a tidy little white church hidden in a cave way up in the middle of nowhere.

I was in a bit of a rush, so I just took a quick look inside the church and, assuming that it was just a plain interior, beat a hasty retreat back down to the Hyundai. My wife then took her turn and was glowing after the hike.

鈥淭hose icons behind the altar were amazing,鈥� she gushed. 鈥淚cons,鈥� I said. 鈥淲hat icons?鈥�

I hadn鈥檛 thought to pull back the curtain behind the altar and had missed some faded, but still remarkable medieval frescoes. I told my wife I was going back up to see them but she was having none of it. Still, I couldn鈥檛 bear the thought of what I had missed, so I went back two days later and enjoyed the hike and church infinitely more than on my first go-around, when I was lost and clueless.

After the Markini hike, I was hungry for more and set out early one hot morning for the 10th-century Evangelistria Monastery, which I was told was a half-hour drive up a rocky track and then another steep climb up Mt. Kerkis. Rather than blow out the tires on my sad little rental, I decided to hike almost all the way up from the nearby town of Kambos.

The path takes you past a few homes and then splits, with Evangelistria to the left and a cave that supposedly was the ancient refuge of Pythagoras, who was born in Samos, on the right. (The cave is also a nice hike, but the site is marred by a souvenir stand and tacky snack bar, making the place feel a bit like a tourist trap.) The higher you get, the better the views of Samos and the surrounding islands become.

After an hour or so, my shirt was soaked through and I couldn鈥檛 help but wonder how much further ahead the church was. The point of building a church in a hidden locale, though, isn鈥檛 to put it in a spot where you can see it on your way up a mountain, so I didn鈥檛 catch sight of the place until I stumbled right onto it, after about 90 minutes on the trail.

As I ambled around the church, I felt that giddy sense of accomplishment that comes at the end of a long hike when you reach your goal and can鈥檛 wait to see what鈥檚 there. No one was around, so I tolled the bells just for the hell of it. But my hope that the church would be open was quickly dashed as I tried all three doors with no luck.

After all the effort, I felt like I deserved to see the church, and I half considered trying to break into the place. I looked around for an open window or vulnerable entry point but found none. After savoring the view for a few more minutes, I hiked another 15 minutes up above the church to get a panorama of the place before beating my retreat down the mountain, as the morning sun began to make me feel like a pancake burning on a griddle.

Near the beginning of the trail, I asked a man who was sitting in his backyard who held the key to the monastery.

鈥淵ou have to talk to Mr. Nanos,鈥� he said. 鈥淗e lives over in Marathkampos.鈥�

Marathkampos was about a half-hour away and the man had no idea how to contact Nanos. Usually the people who keep the keys to old churches actually live near them and are easier to find. I had a feeling that searching for Nanos would be a goose chase, but I wanted to know why it was necessary to lock such a remote church that was such an important part of the island鈥檚 history.

The owner of my hotel found a phone number for Nanos but wasn鈥檛 optimistic that I鈥檇 be able to get any satisfaction from him. Sure enough, I dialed the number numerous times over the next few days with no luck. On my penultimate day in Samos, the owner told me that Nanos was the headmaster of a high school in Marathkampos, so I resolved to Pearl Harbor him, in WWF parlance.

On the way up to the town, we passed a group of teenage girls who were chatting on the side of the road. I stopped to get directions to the school and then asked them if they knew Mr. Nanos.

鈥淥h yes,鈥� one said with a wry smile in English. 鈥淲e know Mr. Nanos all right.鈥�

They all started laughing and a few rolled their eyes. It was clear that they weren鈥檛 fond of him. I walked into the sweltering school right around lunchtime and found an adult male with a sad little ponytail sitting in a large office who wore a T-shirt that read 鈥淪ave Water鈥擠rink Beer鈥� and featured an image of an inebriated duck.

鈥淎re you Mr. Nanos,鈥� I asked, assuming he wasn鈥檛 on the logic that guys who wear novelty T-shirts and sport ponytails probably wouldn鈥檛 be entrusted with the keys to an important church in Greece.

The pony-tailed man pointed me toward another building and there I found Nanos, sitting in a large office with an ancient photocopy machine and stacks of papers. He had gray hair, a very neatly trimmed goatee, and was wearing a full cast on his right arm. I took him to be in his early- to mid-sixties.

I introduced myself and he measured me, warily offering me a seat before picking up the telephone to call someone. I told him I wanted to talk about the church and I was afraid he was about to call security on me, but he explained that he didn鈥檛 speak English and had summoned the school鈥檚 English teacher, Katerina.

Katerina, a slender, pretty woman with black hair in her late twenties arrived to interpret for us, but before I could ask any questions, Nanos wanted to know who I was, how I found him, and what I wanted. When it was finally my turn to speak, I started out by asking about the nuns who lived in Evanelistria.

鈥淏y 2007, there were only a few left,鈥� he said, through Katerina鈥檚 interpretation. 鈥淭hey were all old and in poor health and it was getting hard to bring medicine and food up to them.鈥�

Nanos said that he was asked to become the caretaker of the monastery after the nuns left, because he had gone to school with the Orthodox Archbishop of Jerusalem, which has jurisdiction over the site.

鈥淲hen is the church open?鈥� I asked, finally getting around to the real reason for my visit to his sweaty office. He explained that the church and monastery were open only twice per year, on March 25 and August 15, for religious festivals. Pilgrims hike up to the church the night before, sleep at the monastery and then celebrate the following day.

鈥淎nd aside from those days, how can the public visit the church?鈥� I asked. He looked deeply uncomfortable and I knew we were reaching the start of a big impasse. 鈥淚 go up there sometimes, and when I鈥檓 there, people can see it,鈥� he said.

鈥淪o unless you happen to be there, there鈥檚 no way for anyone else to see the church?鈥� I asked. Katerina looked uncomfortable and didn鈥檛 want to interpret the question. This was, after all, her boss. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 think it鈥檚 possible for people to visit the church,鈥� she said, clearly hoping that I鈥檇 retreat from my line of questioning. With a bid of prodding, she interpreted my question and Nanos vacillated before concluding that perhaps he could leave his mobile phone number on the church for people who wanted to get in to see it.

鈥淏ut it鈥檚 a long drive from here to Kambos and then a long hike up to the church,鈥� I said to Katerina. 鈥淗e鈥檚 not going to hike up there every time someone calls him, is he?鈥� After thinking about it for a moment, Nanos conceded that he wasn鈥檛 about to trek out to the church upon demand.

鈥淪o should I write in my story that the church is closed?鈥� I asked. At this, Nanos became angry and snapped, 鈥淚t鈥檚 a holy place; it鈥檚 not a youth hostel!鈥� I clarified that I wasn鈥檛 talking about accessing the residential part of the monastery, just the church itself, but Nanos only grew more flustered with me.

I asked if it wasn鈥檛 possible for him to make a copy of the key and leave it with one of the hotel owners in Kambos, closer to the site. 鈥淒o you give people the key to your house?鈥� he asked. 鈥淣o, but my house isn鈥檛 a 1,000-year-old place of worship,鈥� I said, but I wasn鈥檛 sure if Katerina, who was growing increasingly horrified at being in the middle of our spat, interpreted my retort.

After Nanos ruled out the possibility of giving anyone else a copy of the key, I asked why it needed to be kept locked, given how remote it was. 鈥淎nything could happen,鈥� he said. 鈥淚t could be vandalized, set on fire, totally destroyed perhaps.鈥�

鈥淗ave any other churches been vandalized on Samos?鈥� I asked. He pondered this but eventually admitted that he couldn鈥檛 recall hearing about such an incident. 鈥淏ut anything could happen,鈥� he repeated. 鈥淎nything.鈥�

鈥淏ut Panagias Makrini is left open, with no lock at all,鈥� I said. 鈥淵es, but that is a church, not a monastery,鈥� he replied.

We were going in circles, and I could see that we were getting nowhere. He then went on to change tack, claiming that he鈥檇 like to keep the church open or possibly let someone else have a copy of the key, but he wasn鈥檛 allowed to. How anyone in Jerusalem would know what he was doing with the church was beyond me, but I didn鈥檛 press him further on the matter.

I asked him if I could borrow the key to the church so that I could take some photos of the interior to accompany my story, but he refused. I offered to leave my passport, but he insisted that he wasn鈥檛 authorized to let anyone else touch the keys.

After determining that I was leaving Samos the following night, he said that if I were staying for another week he could take me up to the church himself. I half considered calling his bluff and saying I鈥檇 stay another week, just to see if he鈥檇 really take me but thought better of it.

At a complete dead end, I decided to ask him about how the crisis in Greece had affected the school, but Katerina was so eager to respond, she didn鈥檛 relay the question. 鈥淥ur salaries have been greatly reduced,鈥� she said. 鈥淎nd I don鈥檛 even know if I鈥檒l have my job for the next school year. But worst of all, we have no supplies, no textbooks for the students, and no money to make the photocopies for their workbooks. There鈥檚 no money for anything.鈥�

I considered the situation and felt bad about hassling them about the church. Nanos had been tasked with protecting the place and didn鈥檛 have time to deal with it. It was a shame, but it was small potatoes compared to all the pain and suffering the Greeks were enduring at the moment.

As we wrapped up our conversation some time later, I asked Nanos to confirm what I should write about the church and he had a change of heart. 鈥淭he church will be open,鈥� he said. 鈥淚鈥檓 going to retire this summer and, starting in July, I will hike up the church every Sunday, and keep it open from 10 until 4 p.m. You can put that in your article.鈥�

IF YOU GO: There are direct flights to Samos on Aegean Air, Olympic Air, and a variety of other European discount airlines. I stayed at the Sirena in Kambos and highly recommend it as a great base for exploring Samos鈥� beautiful west coast. The nearby Psili Ammos beach is idyllic. National offered the lowest rates on the island for an automatic transmission car, at 25 euros. Other than the hikes to Makrini and Evangelistria, another great hike is from Kokkari up to the monastery Panaghia Vrontiani. The monastery Megalis Panaghia is also worth a visit.

If you want a livelier base than sleepy Kambos, consider Pythagoria in the east. Be sure to check out all the honey stands on the dizzying, but gorgeous road west of Pythagoria near Pirgos, and definitely buy some homemade sweet Samos wine from roadside stalls.

The post The Tiny Church Hidden High on a Mountain in Samos, Greece appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Gunther Holtorf has been living in his car for the better part of the last 23 years. He has driven 823,000 kilometers, a quarter of that on unpaved roads, all in a 1988 Mercedes G Wagon he calls 鈥淥tto,鈥� across 172 sovereign countries, 17 dependent territories, six special territories, and five de-facto states. He鈥檚 driven to Tibet, Mt. Everest, Sudan, Iraq, and Afghanistan during periods of conflict, and became the first Westerner to drive in North Korea last year. He鈥檚 never been robbed and insists he鈥檚 never paid a bribe.

An incredible journey.

An incredible journey.

An incredible journey.

An incredible journey.

Holtorf travels without a suitcase and has no mobile phone, no blog, no Facebook or Twitter pages鈥攏o electronics of any kind. He has rebuffed potential sponsors because he doesn鈥檛 want logos on his car. Holtorf doesn鈥檛 patronize hotels or restaurants; he sleeps in a makeshift bed in Otto鈥檚 backseat and cooks food he buys in local markets.

On January 10, Holtorf, 75, will leave his native Germany for his final voyage, which will take him to nine of the 10 countries in the world he has yet to visit. But when asked if his final voyage will confirm that he鈥檚 the world鈥檚 greatest living traveler, he scoffs.

鈥淎 lot of people have tried to travel everywhere,鈥� he says. 鈥淚鈥檓 just another traveler, but the car, the car is special. Otto is the most traveled vehicle on earth.鈥�

Holtorf says that Otto has never had a breakdown and still runs on its original transmission. But his travels haven鈥檛 been without a cost. Holtorf and his late wife Christine left their son, Martin, then 10, with an aunt for what was supposed to be an 18-month trip across Africa in 1989.

鈥淏ut the more we traveled, the more we realized how little we鈥檇 seen,鈥� he says, and so they kept going, putting Martin in a boarding school.

And Holtorf continued to travel, even after his wife was stricken with cancer and became too sick to continue because that鈥檚 what she wanted. On his final voyage, Holtorf is traveling with a lady friend who is also a widower. We caught up with Holtorf from his home in Gollenshausen, Germany, just before his departure to ask him about his life on the road.

What did you do before leaving home on this remarkable journey back in 1988?
I represented Lufthansa in various countries as a country director. At the end of my professional life I was the CEO of an airline based in Germany that had 25 aircraft. I was 51 when I quit my job. I lived overseas for 20 years in Hong Kong, Indonesia, Uruguay, Chile, and Argentina.

The airline was becoming too big to be run by one person, so I said to myself, “I can continue doing this 24/7 kind of job until the end of my life, or I鈥檒l do something else.” I also produced the first-ever city map of Jakarta back in 1974 and it has grown into one of the largest street atlases on earth.

What was your original plan when you quit your job and hit the road?
My (late) wife and I left Germany in December 1988. The plan was for us to just cross Africa from north to south, for a year and a half or two years.

That was the plan. This was before mobile phones, Internet, and email. It was pretty basic. Soon enough we realized that a couple of years would not be sufficient. So with a couple of short interruptions, we stayed in Africa for five years.

Five years in Africa? And then you just kept going?
Then we decided to take the car down to South America to have at least a basic tour through the continent. Step by step it grew into a world tour. We never planned it, we just grew into it. We zigzagged around South America and then considered taking the car up to Panama by ship, because there is no road.

So we did that and then continued from Panama through Central America, into North America, all the way to Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, into Canada, and up to Goose Bay, the port city of Labrador and beyond.

So far, you鈥檝e traveled more than 800,000 kilometers?
Yeah, 823,000, with more than 200,000 of that on unpaved roads鈥攐ff-road, shitty gravel, corrugation, whatever you have; 200,000 kilometers鈥攖hat鈥檚 five times the equator.

How many countries have you visited?
So far 200 countries and territories. If a territory has it鈥檚 own currency our legal situation, like Hong Kong, we count that.

Where haven鈥檛 you been?
I鈥檓 missing a few countries in West Africa, which we could not visit because of civil war or landmines.听 We want to visit these countries now on the way back to Europe before the car enters the museum. We have about 10 more countries to go.

What鈥檚 your route for this last big voyage?
The car will be shipped to South Korea and then to Bangkok, Thailand. And hopefully, get the permit to enter into Burma in early January. Over the last 15-20 years, there haven鈥檛 been any foreign vehicles in Burma. After Burma, we鈥檒l return to Thailand, driving to Singapore via Malaysia and then shipping from Singapore to Mauritius, then Madagascar, and from Madagascar into South Africa, and then Namibia, Angola up to the north, finishing in Germany. The plan is to finish by August 2013.

You must have a ridiculous amount of stamps in your passport?
Passport? I have four active passports in use at the same time and I just applied for a 5th. One is full, one has one or two pages free, another one two or three pages free. The last one I got last year, it has 42 pages and it鈥檚 also nearly full. I have a huge stack of old passports, 12 or 15 of them at least.

How have you financed all these years on the road?
My backbone was the mapping business. I always tried to save money, so I was able to accumulate quite a bit to be able to travel. But I told you, I don鈥檛 go to hotels or restaurants. Not at all. We shop in local markets and prepare our own food. By doing that we spend much less than we spend in Europe.

So what kind of budget are we talking about?
In the early ’90s, when we were traveling in Africa, our monthly budget was 1,000 Deutsche Marks, which was about 500 Euros, covering everything鈥攆uel for the car, visa charges, and any side costs, food everything. Fuel was much cheaper then than it is now.

Driving through Siberia and all these places, your cost is fuel, it鈥檚 not food. When I travel in Africa now I think I will spend about 800 Euros per month, not counting visas.

And how much do you spend on bribes to get the car from one developing country to the next?
I have never paid one penny or one centavo in bribes. Never, never. But you need to invest a lot of patience. Patience is number one. Number two you have to keep your documents clean. And number three, I use my world map as a door opener. With that map, people realize that the car they are dispatching at the border is not a normal tourist car. It opens many doors.

Tell me about your car, Otto?
The car was built in July 1988. It cost 30,000 Euros. I鈥檓 still driving it. It鈥檚 not only the same car; it鈥檚 the same car with the same components. It has the original gearbox鈥攏ever touched, never opened. The original transfer case鈥攏ever touched, never opened. And also the original axles and differentials. It now has exactly 823,000 kilometers.

The aim is to continue now and complete the tour with the car in its original shape. Mercedes Benz wants to take the car and put it in their museum in Stuttgart after the journey is over.

So are you being sponsored by Mercedes now?
Mercedes would have been the prime sponsor but other companies have approached me also. But I never considered accepting these opportunities because they all wanted something in return. Normally they want to plaster the car with stickers like a Formula One car. Which would not be appropriate for security reasons.

But Mercedes is going to buy Otto to put it in a museum when the tour is over?
Certainly, but I鈥檓 not sponsored by them; I鈥檓 a private man doing a private tour. It鈥檚 only a liaison with them.

So you haven鈥檛 made any money from your travels?
No, not at all. I鈥檝e paid for every spare part at the normal price.

How do you transport Otto from one continent to the next?
Shipping has been the biggest problem, the biggest headache and most expensive part of the tour. It鈥檚 been in a shipping container 36 times from one corner of the world to another. That鈥檚 a pretty abrasive exercise each time.

For the first 15 years of the tour, we had to continue with my Jakarta mapping business, so we鈥檇 have to put the car in storage and go to Jakarta to work on the mapping business, and then go back to get the car again and continue. So during those years, we traveled for at least two-thirds of the year.

Did you ever ride with Otto on the cargo ships?
A couple of times I got the chance to join Otto as a paying passenger on these ships, but most of the time they don鈥檛 accept passengers.

And did you keep your home in Germany?
We kept a home鈥攊t isn鈥檛 owned, it鈥檚 a rented home. My son lived in it at times. Friends stayed there, too, but normally it was empty.

Tell me about your style of travel?
The way we live, the way we drive is adventure style. We do not stay in hotels or eat in restaurants. We sleep in the car or in hammocks. Africa was mostly hammocks. The last few years I鈥檝e mostly been sleeping in the car. We do our own cooking. And normally we stay overnight somewhere in the bush, the wilderness.

Doesn鈥檛 that get old?
The advantage is that you sleep in the same bed every night. It鈥檚 that same peculiar smell you have each night. Our mattress in the back of the car is the size of a French double bed. People always ask, “How can you sleep in the car?” because it looks quite small from the outside. But since it鈥檚 a boxy car, you can use all the space inside. It鈥檚 much bigger than you鈥檇 assume.

We keep the hatchback open to get breeze, and there鈥檚 a sliding roof. We keep it open depending on the security situation. Last year, after my wife passed away in June 2010, my son joined me in China and in Tibet. We were at 17 or 18,000 feet to the Base Camp at Everest. At night it was down to minus-10 centigrade. That鈥檚 about 15 Fahrenheit. The water containers were solid frozen ice, so it was pretty cold, but we have sleeping bags, blankets. We are prepared for the heat; we are prepared for the cold. That鈥檚 no problem.

So when did you arrive back home in Germany?
I arrived back in Germany on September 2. I drove from Tokyo to Hokkaido and from there to the east Siberian Russian island of Sakhalin, to the mainland of Russia and then all the way back home. It took exactly one month. It was about 15,000 kilometers. I鈥檝e done that route west to east before and now I did it east to west. I wanted to get the car to Europe to give it an overhaul for the last leg of the tour.听

What鈥檚 the point of spending years on the road? Why did you keep going?
The plan was just to travel to Africa, nothing more. But step-by-step, we grew into it. But the more you travel, the more you realize how little you鈥檝e seen. And the more you鈥檝e seen and experienced, the more you want to continue seeing and continue experiencing.

But what it is you鈥檙e searching for?
It鈥檚 difficult to say. I鈥檓 not addicted to it; I鈥檓 definitely not. I鈥檓 very glad to be at home. I like the place where I live. I realize now how good I have it at home after having seen all the shitty, negative places, all the overpopulated places all around the world. The unbelievably big cities where people don鈥檛 live next to each other but right on top of each other. I鈥檓 glad to be back here in Germany where we have space, security, oxygen, and peace.

In the small village I live in, in the state of Bavaria, people have their milk farms, they are hippies, they don鈥檛 want to travel anywhere and they don鈥檛 envy me. They鈥檙e happy. They鈥檙e settled and happy with what they have. They don鈥檛 want to travel because they realize they live in one of the best places on earth, aside from the bad weather.

When I talk to them and tell them my stories they are even more convinced that they are living in the right spot on earth. They respect what I鈥檓 doing, but they don鈥檛 envy me. They are rooted where they are.

Travel really always inspired me. I like to travel. I like to meet people. I鈥檓 curious to see different countries. But I also very much appreciate and I鈥檓 happy to be at home. I鈥檓 not a man who likes to join a tour group. My wife and I always said, “We like to go where other people don鈥檛 go.”

Is that your traveling philosophy?
The world is overpopulated and the tourist industry has sent too many people to too many places. We go to the famous places鈥擭iagara Falls, the Taj Mahal鈥攂ut exploring the globe means you have to look behind the curtain. You have to visit the small villages. Big cities all over the Third World are very much alike. But in the countryside, it鈥檚 a different world.

Traveling in the developing world can be exhausting though. How did you maintain your desire to keep going?
German people, they like to strive for perfection. So when we started, it was just Africa. Then we put our noses in South America and North America. Then we said, Well, we have the car, we really should see Australia and New Zealand, so we did that, and we grew into it. Then we kept saying, Well, why should we miss this or that? So last year my son and I even went to the South Pacific.

I had never been there. To travel with your own vehicle, the shipping is difficult, but you have a great deal of flexibility with your own car. We have been in every country on earth except a few in West Africa, plus Burma, Mauritius, and Madagascar.

What about Afghanistan and Iraq?
We visited Afghanistan four or five years ago during the war. Also Iraq. We entered Afghanistan from Tajikistan. There was a ferry across the river, we were the only car on it and we entered into Kunduz province, Mazar e Sharif. We toured the north, went to Kabul, stayed a few days, then crossed the Khyber Pass into Pakistan and then continued.

I wasn鈥檛 concerned at all. There were lots of soldiers and strange people but there and even in Iraq, they are big countries and even during war they are living normal lives. They have to use the toilet, the telephone, do their shopping in the morning, and so on. Normal business is continuing there and that鈥檚 not being shown on TV.

You traveled for years with your wife. Did she continue to travel after she got sick?
Christine was my second wife. She suffered from cancer for seven years and she really suffered near the end. During the first couple of years it was difficult, but we could still travel and she could enjoy it, but over the last 10 or 12 months it really went bad and she was unable to join in.

Were you traveling when she was diagnosed or were you back in Germany?
The diagnosis we got over the years. It starts slowly, so the diagnosis was initially misleading. The real diagnosis came about three to four years before she died.

And you kept traveling during this time?
Oh, yes. She died in June 2010 and we traveled the whole Caribbean during the first months of 2008, and even after that in 2009, we traveled to Europe and a few other countries but it was a little bit on and off.

And then she had to stay home?
She had to stay home temporarily starting in 2008, but even after that she got treatments and the forecast wasn鈥檛 too bad, so she joined in here and there.

Did you keep traveling alone?
She stayed in Germany and underwent treatment and I stayed with her, and once the treatment was nearly complete, I continued traveling. I couldn鈥檛 leave the car unattended somewhere on the outskirts of the world, so I had to go back. She asked me to do it, she wanted me to go back on the road and she planned to join in again. It was a little bit back and forth up and down situation but at the end it was down, down.

You keep her photo in your car?
Certainly. When you live in a car for nearly 20 years, it鈥檚 not a normal situation of a couple living in a home. Living in the car, and doing all that travel over all those years is like living as Siamese twins. When you travel like that, you can鈥檛 say, “I鈥檓 going to go read a book in the garden.” You are stuck together, 24 hours a day. The only splits would be if one of us went shopping, or if you go behind a tree to use a toilet. You are bound to be together.

And who else has traveled with you?
There are four names on my world map signifying who has been on the tour. Me, Christine, my son, Martin, and the fourth name is Elke Dreweck. She joined me in Tokyo and spent a few weeks with me. She will join me for the last leg of the tour.

Is she a friend or a girlfriend?
She knew my wife. It was by coincidence that our tracks crossed. Her husband passed away about a year ago, so we are sort of in the same boat. She鈥檚 German, and she has unpaid leave now for nine months from her job. So we鈥檒l do it together.

How old was your son, Martin, when you left for your trip in 鈥�89?
He was pretty young; that was a difficult situation for him, but we managed. He stayed with family members and later on went to boarding school. But in the end, it was good for him. He was nine or 10 when we left. My wife鈥檚 sister took care of him with some other friends.

Would you advise people to wait until their kids leave for college before setting off on this kind of voyage?
It鈥檚 very hard to say. We met many couples traveling with small children. Education is a problem. Legally, you have to send your children to school in most countries. But of the couples with children I met, they found a way to make it work.

What do you cook on the road?
Nothing fancy. We have a very straightforward gas cooker, with two gas bottles that last about three to four months. We prepare a real dinner every night. No canned food or fast food. We shop in local markets.

Where did you shower over the years?
It鈥檚 always behind a tree. Nature is the best toilet, especially in Third World countries. In Russia, the toilets are unbelievable. We have plastic bottle containers, three-gallon plastic containers that we hook upside down outside the car. We open the wells and have running water we use to take a shower. You find a quiet place somewhere in the forest or wherever, every day.

How many suitcases do you travel with?
No suitcases. When you open the rear door, I have a small table and keep the cooker there. We cook outside.

You don鈥檛 travel with suitcases?
None. The car is equipped; on the mid level there is a board we installed. The car has only two seats. We have a plank in the back, two meters long, we have a double bed there and, underneath that plank, we have storage boxes, plastic ones filled with all the clothing and things we need, spare parts, and so on. Plus aluminum boxes on the roof rack. The car is full, but we don鈥檛 use suitcases.

Have you ever been robbed or felt you were in great danger sleeping in your car?
Never. We鈥檝e been very fortunate. No incidents, no accidents, no hold ups, no robberies. But you have to be very careful, very alert. You have to avoid unnecessary risks.

You never felt scared or threatened?
A couple of times we parked the car, made our bed and food and one of us said, “It doesn鈥檛 feel safe here.” And we鈥檇 move somewhere else to sleep. Maybe 10-15 times that happened over the years.

What鈥檚 a typical day like for you when you鈥檙e traveling in a developing country?
We go to bed early and wake up very early. We live with the daylight. We might get up at 5 a.m., and by 6 p.m. we are looking for a place to park overnight. And we might be in bed by 8 p.m. We sleep nine hours per night. Some days we don鈥檛 move about at all. We might stay three, four, five, six days in the same place. Other days, like when we drove through Russia, it was traveling, traveling, traveling. Everything is possible; every day is different.

Why do you use film cameras instead of digital?
I have two Leica cameras; both have super lenses that are very expensive. For that reason, I keep these cameras. At the end of the tour, maybe I will switch over to digital. But I鈥檓 finishing my tour with film. Everyone agrees that film is still the best quality.

Do you travel with a mobile phone?
No. No iPad, no iPod, no iPhone. No electronics at all. I don鈥檛 need it. Why do I need a mobile phone? When you travel, whatever happens, you must take care of yourself. If you are in the center of the Sahara desert, a satellite phone might work but only to tell someone you have that problem, but they can鈥檛 help you anyway. And mobile phone coverage only works in some places. And with roaming, it鈥檚 too expensive.

Most world travelers like to have a blog so they can brag about their travels. Why don鈥檛 you have one?
I don鈥檛 need it. It鈥檚 a modern way of life, but I don鈥檛 do it. I鈥檓 not a member of any of these sites鈥擣acebook, You Tube, Twitter. I鈥檓 not going to use them. If I could gain something from it, I鈥檇 be the first to join in, but there is no advantage from it. I see no reason to do it.

Are there some countries that you absolutely hated?
I don鈥檛 want to say that. Certainly there are countries that are very difficult. Like, India is very difficult, but that doesn鈥檛 mean I wouldn鈥檛 like to go back. Each country is peculiar in its own way and I have to accept it as it is. You cannot Americanize or Germanize a foreign country and I don鈥檛 want to.

What are your favorite places?
I鈥檇 love to go back to Virgin Africa. Not one specific country but those parts where nature still prevails. Parts of Zimbabwe, Zambia, Angola. Just to be with the animals鈥攐nly animals. I鈥檇 like to go back to the southern part of South America. Chile, Brazil, Bolivia鈥擨 want to go back to those places. And I鈥檇 like to go back to Australia and New Zealand鈥攖hose are perfect countries.

Which country has the filthiest toilets?
Russia. Russia! In the real Russia, it is unbelievable. It鈥檚 better to make use of nature there. Russian men, they spend half their lives with a bottle of vodka. That鈥檚 the main problem. They can鈥檛 make use of a toilet in a decent manner.

How did growing up during and after World War II in Germany affect who you are today?
The situation during and after the war鈥斺��46, 鈥�47, 鈥�48鈥攖hose were very difficult years. I don鈥檛 know only the word hunger, I know what hunger means. We weren鈥檛 biting our fingernails but we had a very difficult situation in my town; everyone was in the same boat.

Money was tight and even people who had money, there was nothing to buy, nothing in the markets until June 1948鈥攗ntil that time it was very, very difficult for everyone.

What did your father do for a living?
My father was a chemical engineer and a higher-level government official.

That was during the war or after?
Before the war, during the war, and then after the war.

So was your family comfortable or not?
The situation was very difficult. Money was available, but you couldn鈥檛 get anything. The diet was American cigarettes鈥擫ucky Strikes and Camels.

You grew up with the war but had no hesitation to go to Iraq, North Korea, Sudan, Somalia?
Somalia, no. It wasn鈥檛 possible at that time, we were near there in 鈥�93, 鈥�94, during the unrest there. There was no way. We can鈥檛 go there now either; it鈥檚 like Russian roulette.

Sudan is OK; the northern half of Sudan is no problem. They are the friendliest people in Africa in northern Sudan and Eritrea. Sudan is a perfect country, but they have a negative image. Iran and Sudan have a negative image, but are great places for travelers. Very friendly people.

What about Iraq?
I could only travel in northern Iraq, Kurdistan; there was no problem there. I wanted to go to Baghdad too, but the Americans wouldn鈥檛 allow it. On the end of this tour, we may try it again. This was four years ago.

You also traveled to North Korea?
Otto was the first-ever foreign vehicle to enter North Korea. It was a special arrangement from the late Kim Jong Il, the so-called Great Leader. That was together with my son last year. We were official, paying guests of the government. We paid heavily. Even the German foreign ministry couldn鈥檛 believe it happened.

How did you set it up?
A few years of preparations. The German ambassador to North Korea filed an application with the government for us. After many months, they responded positively.

Did you have to travel with a government minder in your car?
Even up to toilet visits, everything was pre-planned and scheduled. There was an escort car, and I had an escort in my car and my son was in the escort car. It was 100 percent controlled. Even the watchdogs had their own watchdogs to watch them; nothing was left to chance. No one trusts anyone there鈥攖ypical of all communist countries.

Was North Korea the only country to restrict your movements?
China did also. You needed an escort to drive in a foreign vehicle. We were lucky to get into Tibet; now it鈥檚 closed for foreigners. And now we hope to be able to enter Burma as the first foreign vehicle, but the escort is very expensive. When you drive through North Korea it鈥檚 different than being a passenger on a bus. Driving your own car, you get a different perspective. I could very openly talk to these escorts. They were fluent in German鈥攖hey were high-level people in the foreign ministry. We had very open talks. But you can鈥檛 talk about the military.

In even the most remote corner of earth, you don鈥檛 see poverty like there is in North Korea. It鈥檚 difficult to describe. You cannot compare it to Africa. People are poor in Africa, but the climate is good; North Korea has winter weather. They are not free, even neighbors are afraid of each other because the neighbor might be a spy. The poverty is beyond imagination.

The government has everyone on the shortest possible reins. They are totally blocked off from the outside world. Even the high-level escorts we met, they know hardly anything about the world, even China. They have no ability to get information about the outside world.

Do you care if Guinness and others recognize you as the greatest traveler, or do you not care?
I travel for myself, nothing else. I don鈥檛 care about communicating with the world and I don鈥檛 do anything to please the world. It鈥檚 a private undertaking and that鈥檚 it. Many travelers, backpackers especially, they undergo all this stress and strain to find an Internet connection. And they sit there for hours typing stories about what they ate for breakfast or whether the customs officer smiled at them or not. Who cares about reading things like that? That鈥檚 their world, but it鈥檚 not mine.

Do you think you are the world鈥檚 greatest traveler?
No. It would be correct to say that the car, Otto, is the most traveled vehicle on earth. Otto has been to more countries than any other car in automotive history. But there are many people who have traveled more than me.

Like who?
I don鈥檛 know their names. A lot of people try to travel everywhere. Every little island, every dependent territory. But they don鈥檛 have a car that has been where Otto has been.

Some travelers, though, just want to tick off the box that they went to a country. Every country that we鈥檝e been to, we traveled through it, toured, and spent time.

When you finish this final tour, will you continue to travel?
No, I won鈥檛 continue traveling like this. I鈥檒l go back to Argentina and Uruguay, Australia. I鈥檒l go there in the winter but I鈥檒l be very happy to spend time here at home enjoying nature. I don鈥檛 want to repeat what I鈥檝e done.

How do you want to be remembered?
It鈥檚 not about me being remembered. I want Otto to be remembered, and so would my late wife. The car belongs in a museum. The car will continue to live鈥攖hat鈥檚 what I want to see. It鈥檚 not me that is special; it鈥檚 the car. This car has been in so many countries all around the planet.

Do you hope that your example will inspire people?
Hopefully people will try to look behind the curtain. Don鈥檛 just get your information from TV and the Internet. Do it on your own. And that doesn鈥檛 mean going from one air-conditioned hotel to the next. If you go from the Hilton to the Sheraton and so on, you won鈥檛 understand anything. The point is to look behind the curtain and see the real country, the real life.

Would the world be a better place if more people traveled in this way?
There would be more understanding for sure. In America, some people don鈥檛 even leave their state, let alone their country. And then some people travel, but they have to wait until they get back home and look at their photos to see where they were.

People will read this story and say they want to do what you did.
Most people are tied down by their jobs. I met so many people who said they want to do what we did, but when we discuss details, they say: “I need my bread rolls and hot coffee in the morning and a private shower and my newspaper.” We weren鈥檛 tourists; we had to bear down and restrict ourselves. Sometimes we lived in very miserable conditions. It requires a hell of a lot of patience.

The post The World’s Greatest Traveler: A 1988 Mercedes That Has Been to 172 Countries appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

It鈥檚 Tuesday morning, 8 a.m., and I鈥檓 being driven up a mountain road in Crete with Kardashian-esque curves by Elena, a barefoot, chain-smoking grandma who鈥檚 ready to party. Her battered old Skoda vibrates as the Greek folk music she鈥檚 blaring reverberates across the Imbros Gorge, my destination for a morning hike. My window is broken and will only go down a crack, so I can taste Elena鈥檚 third cigarette of the 20-minute drive almost as well as she can. I thought hiking was supposed to be good for you.

The Imbros Gorge.

The Imbros Gorge.

Southern Crete.

听

鈥淭his road,鈥� she says, in between puffs and hacking coughs. 鈥淶ig, zag, zig zag. I no like.鈥�

鈥淗ow long does it take to hike down the gorge?鈥� I ask, before realizing the absurdity of my query. With Elena鈥檚 smoker鈥檚 cough, she鈥檇 be lucky to take a walk down the street, let alone embark on a long hike. I had planned to hike Crete鈥檚 famous Samaria Gorge, but as the mercury soared past 100, I reconsidered after hearing that the famous trail was nightmarishly crowded and lacking shade. But I had no solid information on Imbros and was now relying on Elena, who had no clue.

Crete is filled with gorges that are perfect for hikers, and while Samaria draws crowds, many of the other gorges are reputed to be just as beautiful. I picked Imbros for its proximity to my base in Plakias, a terrific, low-key beach town on Crete鈥檚 less developed south coast. The only brief I had on Imbros was a tip from a local travel agent in Plakias. She told me the round trip hike was 鈥渨ay too long鈥� but advised that I could hire a car to take me to the trailhead and hike down the gorge in about three hours.

With the forecast calling for a high of 99 degrees on the day I planned to make the hike, I was out of my hotel by 6.30 a.m. in an effort to try to beat the heat. But the town鈥檚 only gas station wasn鈥檛 open yet and the distance between my gas gauge and E was thinner than a heroin addict on Atkins. The road leading west from Plakias to Komitades, the small town at the foot of the gorge, passed through postage stamp-sized villages and I had no idea if there would be any gas stations. Even before 7, it was already in the mid 80s with plenty of humidity鈥攏ot a good day to run out of fuel, but I decided to be optimistic, and set off hoping to make it to Imbros.

The road twisted and turned up and down roughly along the coast and at each fork the signs presented two options, always advertising two microscopic villages rather than further destinations, causing me to have to pull over to consult my map seemingly around each bend. A half-hour outside of Plakias my gas gauge nudged a touch below the E mark and I stopped in a tiny village to ask a young man in a camouflage t-shirt and matching cargo shorts where the nearest gas station was.

鈥淵ou go to Fragokastelo,鈥� he said.

Fragokastelo looked to be another 15 minutes west and I reckoned I could make it if I slowed down a bit. Sure enough, Fragokastelo had a gas station, but alas it didn鈥檛 accept credit cards and I had but 40鈧� on me. I put 20鈧� worth of gas in the tank, which doesn鈥檛 buy much in Europe, and hoped I wouldn鈥檛 need to buy anything else since the ride to the gorge trailhead was supposed to cost 20鈧�.

A taverna owner at the foot of the gorge hooked me up with Elena, who had no problem reducing her price to 18鈧� after I bought two bottles of water for the hike. A couple minutes after we pulled out of the village, Elena stopped in front of a dilapidated building.

鈥淓xcuse me,鈥� she said, before turning off the ignition and stepping out of the car. 鈥淚鈥檓 coming back, one minute.鈥�

She walked up a small half-flight of stairs to a terrace, grabbed a mug and returned to the car. Apparently she鈥檇 received the call from the taverna right in the midst of her Tuesday morning coffee and had forgotten to take it with her. She drove up a series of switchbacks with the mug in her right hand while taking intermittent puffs on the cigarette in her left as music pumped out of her tinny car speakers.

After we arrived up at the trailhead, a few miles straight up from the village, I insisted on taking Elena鈥檚 photo by the Imbros Gorge sign.

鈥淗ave you hiked this trail?鈥� I asked as she erupted into one of her two-per-minute smokers coughing fits.

鈥淗iking?鈥� she asked, furrowing her brow. 鈥淚s better to drive I think.鈥�

Right near the start of the trail, I saw a hut with a sign requesting a 2鈧� entrance fee. Elena had already pealed out and I had not a single cent left. Surely they wouldn鈥檛 turn me away, would they? Thankfully, the hut wasn鈥檛 staffed and I hustled through before anyone could turn up.

The gorge turned out to be a glorious hike. The first three kilometers were dull, but after that the trail evolved from a razor thin little passageway between huge rocks the width of a Fiat, into a wider section that was caked with enormous pine trees, massive, dramatic rock formations and the occasional curious mountain goat ambling about.

I didn鈥檛 see a single person for the first section of the hike, but just as I rounded a bend, camera in hand, I stumbled right onto a woman squatting to pee next to the trail. She obviously thought she had the whole place to herself and, when she heard me, she quickly pulled her underwear and pants up and wheeled around to see who鈥攐r what鈥攚as coming.

Seeing my camera, she gave a horrified look and it wasn鈥檛 clear to me if she thought I鈥檇 just taken a photo of her bare ass. I contemplated defending myself, but instead just beat a hasty retreat down the trail.

It took me just 90 minutes to hike down the eight-mile trail and I felt like I should have done it round trip. But then I wouldn鈥檛 have met Elena and wouldn鈥檛 have had the chance to pay her enough to buy her morning鈥檚 supply of smokes.

Just before I exited, there was another tollbooth, this one staffed. 鈥淭wo euros,鈥� said the man in the booth, looking up from a newspaper.

鈥淭o be honest, I鈥檓 completely out of money,鈥� I admitted, sheepishly.

鈥淲hat country are you from?鈥� he asked, almost certainly to ascertain if I was German, the least popular nationality in Greece at the moment, thanks to Chancellor Angela Merkel鈥檚 handling of Greece鈥檚 economic crisis.

鈥淯SA,鈥� I said.

鈥淔or you, the gorge is free,鈥� the man said. 鈥淲elcome to Greece.鈥�

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Last June, set out to become the first person ever to circumnavigate North and South America by sailboat, non-stop and solo. Expeditions of this scale often require major corporate backing and take years to plan, but Rutherford, who was raised in Ohio and is a veteran of a trans-Atlantic sailing expedition and a bicycle trek across Southeast Asia, collected money and organized the voyage largely by himself. (He is also fundraising for for , an organization that provides sailing opportunities for the disabled.)听Rutherford lived on his boat for 11 months as he prepared to sail, enduring a Maryland winter without heat and eating Ramen noodles to save money. On June 13, 2011, he set sail from Annapolis. Nine months, two broken GPS units, one confrontation with drunken fishermen, and more than 24,000 miles later, he is north of Puerto Rico, on a track to make landfall in mid-April.听

Drying clothes on the St. Brendan

Drying clothes on the St. Brendan

Rutherford in August

Rutherford in August

An iceberg in the Northwest Passage

An iceberg in the Northwest Passage

Why are you doing this?
I had wanted to do the Northwest Passage for five or six years. It鈥檚 been a long-term goal. When I sailed single-handed from Annapolis to Europe, Africa, and the Caribbean, and then back, I kept talking about doing the Northwest Passage and people kind of laughed at me. Some of the legends of sailing have done these long, single-handed trips out on the oceans, so I decided to do a non-stop, solo, circumnavigation of the Americas, which has never been done before.

How do you pack for a year at sea?
I brought a year鈥檚 supply of Shelf Reliance freeze-dried food and I have a manual water maker that I pump to make water. I had to fill every empty spot of the boat with cans of food, 750 pounds worth, in order to get it all on board. If I鈥檓 lucky, I catch a fish. I lost about 30 pounds in the Arctic but I gained most of that back in the Pacific.

What鈥檚 a typical day at sea like for you?
I wake up at first light. I pump the water maker for about a half-hour to make coffee. If the weather is nice, I try to work on the boat. Things are always breaking. Some days I don鈥檛 do much.

How does your boat compare to boats that other sailors have used for these types of voyages?
For such a long trip, usually the boat would be worth between $200,000 and $600,000. The last circumnavigation of the Americas was done in a boat worth close to a million, and it wasn鈥檛 non-stop or single-handed. This boat, the St. Brendan, is worth between $10,000 and $12,000.

A said that everything on your boat was broken, rotted through, or water-logged. Is that right?
The Arctic fog destroyed many, many things. The ocean is rough on everything.

You wrote on your blog that all your books were ruined. How are you passing the time? My Kindle broke, too, but I have about 10 books on my iPod touch. I鈥檝e read most of them a few times. I鈥檓 still working on The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, which is around 18 volumes long, like 2,000 pages. It鈥檚 a slow read.听

Do you ever feel like you鈥檙e going crazy?
I鈥檓 not sure if I was sane when I left.

What鈥檚 been the low point of the trip so far?
Getting knocked down in the Bering Sea was rough. The boat was damned-near upside down. But there haven鈥檛 really been too many low points. I miss having real conversations, where you can look at the person you鈥檙e talking to. Or being able to lie down and get a real night鈥檚 sleep. I鈥檓 always waking up during the night to check for freighters and check my course. I never truly sleep.

In February, you : “I try not to think much about land. I wish land didn’t exist, as if that would make all my negative thoughts go away.”
This is my niche. Life is easier at sea. Your problems become very basic and are based on survival, not drama. I am starting to look forward to land but land is also where the problems live.听

You mentioned that you don鈥檛 have a girlfriend and that your family situation is complicated. Do you know who will be there in Annapolis to greet you?
I don鈥檛 know. My contact with people back home is minimal, calls on the satellite phone are expensive, and I鈥檓 in a bad situation with power. Maybe my dad will show up, but he lives in Arizona, so I don鈥檛 know. I鈥檒l be fine as long as one person shows up with a six-pack of Guinness. After being alone so long, the idea of seeing a lot of people is intimidating.

So what will life be like for you when you return home?
I鈥檒l be broke. When I get back I plan to make a few deliveries鈥擨鈥檒l bring some boats up from the Caribbean. Then hopefully I鈥檒l have enough money to live on my boat, on anchor, which is free, and try to live off the savings I get from the deliveries to have two to three months to write a book. I鈥檝e been traveling, one trip after another, for 10 years now. I鈥檓 not sure what the future holds. I try not to think about it.

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