I was born in a small village outside Munich in the late 50ies; an only child. Already before I started school, my "mountain crazy" parents took me to the Alps; whether I wanted to or not. To be honest, I never wanted to, and all I remember about this time are blisters all over my feet caused by heavy boots, allergic itching caused by scratchy woolen socks, traditional knee pants that never fitted properly and my red anorak – a colour I hated as a child. Any reason allowing me to stay at home was welcomed with enthusiasm, and I developed a great talent in making up excuses. Going to the mountains was definitely not my cup of tea, and I did not see the point of it. Occasionally, my cousin Reinhold joined us on our holiday trips. Then, at least, it was less boring but still these trips were physically demanding; something I did not like at all.
Picture to the left: Reinhold and me above Garmisch-Partenkirchen; Bavaria
It is almost a miracle that I developed a liking for the mountains as an adult, but I did.
Since the 80s, numerous journeys took me to the Himalaya; Nepal, India and Pakistan. I roamed through the Alps and other European mountains, joined the Merzbacher Expedition to Central Asia and had a go at some peaks in South America.
... and whenever I did not feel like walking, I cycled in places like Sibir, the Alps, Norway, Kyrgyzstan....
The most terrible thing for me is to wake up without having a dream to go for.