My Paradise
by Max Leonhard
It was a night like every other one, lying there with my eyes closed, not being able to sleep, thinking about this and that. I was practically thinking about the place that I lived and how it would be to live somewhere else. The place in which I lived was a small little village in the Black Forest in Germany, surrounded by woods, fields, creeks and some old castles form the middle ages. This village Kollnau, has a population of around 8,000 inhabitants. Most of these people plan on living in Kollnau for the rest of their lives. They want a single, stable job and maybe a family with kids. It is very easy to slip into this mind-set and fall into this rhythm. You go along with this mentality because it’s where you live and it’s what you become familiar with and accustomed to. However, I have realized that it is too boring and monotonous. Day after day you experience the same sorts of thing and the same perceptions about life and how it is. This began wear on my nerves, and as much as I loved my home and where I grew up, I knew that I needed to leave and experience something new.
I felt the urge to get away from the home I loved. I needed to go out into the world beyond. I needed to push away the old and strive for the new. I longed for new experiences. My greatest wish would be to take them all in at once; I wanted to know what way going on “out there.” If I could just get to know new people and get from them that which I haven’t yet experienced. If I could just meet many different characters and see how they live, I would then have a broad enough perspective to realize what I truly want for myself in life.
During my travels, I have always returned again and again to a place that has captured my heart. It is a place of beauty and a place of inner peace for me. This is the place where I have also made the biggest mistake of my life. The place of which I speak is in Spain. It is a small village, which is surrounded by mountains that form a bay. I have been to this place many times since I was a small boy, at first with my parents and later alone or with friends.
The surrealist Salvador Dali lived there and gathered much of his inspiration from the beauty he found in it. Here you will find stony beaches with cliffs hanging over the Mediterranean Sea, old houses all made in the an old Spanish fashion, with curvy roads winding around them, all so narrow that cars can barely use them. The sun and the moon, both, reflect brilliant light into the small bay while warm, dimly lit little bars emit breathtaking music played live on Spanish guitars. This atmosphere is truly one of a kind. People here say, “one get up an hour earlier and goes to bed one hour later just to simply have two more hours to do nothing.”
This place is my version of paradise. It has been since the age of 15. At 15 I began to know this place as if it was my second home. Most tourists spend their money there, have a nice time and go home. I, on the other hand, began to realize that the most precious things the town has to offer can not be bought with money. Seeing and experiencing the real life of the people there is what is truly magical, and what forced me to wake up from this tourist dream world. I didn’t just find friendships with some of the locals, but also met people from all over the world who would always come back to this place throughout the year, like me.
During the summer of 2004 I managed to escape the daily stress of life and go to my paradise…
One night I was sitting outside in front of my favorite bar in the entire world, it had just closed and the sun had just given its first beam of daylight. This time of night is the time of recovery and peace everybody stands in front of the last remaining bar and talks, sings or plays guitar. I love standing there with people from all over the world. It is a really nice feeling and very interesting. One would be talking with groups of people who all individually live in other parts of the world.
Here you will meet the most crazy people, people who like to have fun and enjoy.
I was talking to a German hippy of 30, with his long, unkempt, blondish red hair. We were having a lot of fun, until he asked me, in his scurvy, rasping voice “how old are you?” I answered him honestly and said that I was 15. Now, the age scale of people going to the “L’ohal,” is probably somewhere between 25 and 90. So, obviously, I was quite young to be hanging out there with this peer group.
You may well imagine the reaction of this self-absorbed, drunk hippy when I told him my age. He was utterly shocked and made it quite clear, through his reaction, that this was not something he was expecting or comfortable with. I really liked him, but his reaction made me want to just punch him in the face. He bellowed out “Hah, 15, was machst du denn hier, alter?!” Which means “Hah, 15, what are you doing here?!” Then he started to laugh uncontrollably. I began to feel ashamed, it felt as if somebody were sticking me with needles all over my body. Pain began to emerge from the inside of me, and I walked away wanting him to stop talking about my age.
It was quite fortunate for me that nobody else found out my true age that night. The following night he had forgotten the conversation ever took place and asked me the same question again. I, taking my good fortune by the hand, and being very happy with his memory lapse, replied “I’m 18.” Luckily the additional three years I had tacked on my age were enough to evoke and entirely different reaction from him.
I was no longer the “little child,” I was only thought of as simply “young.” Soon, my newly enlarged age was known by the entire village, and I knew at once this may have been a mistake. People began asking me about my life and what I had been doing up to that point. I had a bit of a problem answering, without a bad conscience because all of a sudden my life contained 3 fictitious years, which needed to be explained.
I began to create 3 nonexistent years of my life from scratch. I told everyone that I had been acting in the city theatre in my town. This is actually true, but I was still in school and not out of it like I had led them to believe. Also, I said that I held down a full time job, and theatre was actually just a hobby of mine.
Once, this was almost discovered. It was a lovely, sunny afternoon, and I was sitting outside a café on the patio, talking to a 70 year old friend I had made. Unexpectedly, an old bearded man appeared and asked if I were the actor from Germany. I obviously replied that I was, to which he responded that that was quite a coincidence because he was also an actor in that town in Germany. My heart sank. I had to come up with a way to not be discovered. Luckily, I had been saying that I acted in Freiburg, which is very close to the town I really acted in, Waldkirch. I told him I actually act in Waldkirch, but say Freiburg because otherwise no one knows where it is. Luckily this was a satisfactory response and my true identity was not discovered. I felt ridiculous after this encounter and wondered why I had ever bothered to promote the lie in the first place. Why did I do this shit? I realize now that this was a childish thought, without thinking about how this action could affect the future.
I soon began going there many times a year, in August, Spring and even in Winter. I’ve seen this place in wind and weather, I’ve seen it in action, flooded with tourists, I’ve even seen it quiet and peaceful with all the 3000 locals.
The following Winter Patrick, one of my best friends, and I, celebrated new years in this village. We arrived 1 week before the next year started. We were shocked. Not one single tourist was anywhere to be seen. The village was entirely empty. The first couple of days we were even thinking about leaving, and going somewhere else. Now I’m so glad we didn’t, for we had the best time of our lives.
In Germany, one celebrates the new year with fireworks and drinking, but in Catalonia (part of Spain), our mouths were stuffed with grapes. It is traditional to put one grape in your mouth for every single one of the twelve “ding, dongs”, before it turns twelve and the next year begins. This action is meant to give luck. We were standing on a balcony together with some friends of ours, munching up our grapes, so we could finally make one of our own traditional toasts for good luck, this time not with grapes, but with champagne. The silence that had been present for the last week was broken, people were everywhere yelling “Feliz Año Nuevo”, which means happy new year.
Patrick and I went outside to discover what was going on and basically got pushed into the door of some party, which had free drinks. We spent about an hour there and after emptying all the drinks we decided to go pub-crawling in the village. It was a beautiful night and we were drunk as can be, wandering through the streets singing multi liguistic songs containing German, English, Spanish, Dutch, French and many other thrown in words from other countries and people. We all marched to the L’ohal, which was filled. Everybody was going crazy. The dim light produced by candles glowing down on us, the music, which was mostly blues and flamenco, the drunk folks dancing on every item you can think of and the fact that it was new year all put together, produced a vibe so strong and powerful that it can never be forgotten. We had huge sunglasses on and were covered with confetti in all kinds of colors. We were wearing wired plastic hats, which just happened to be on our heads, don’t ask me why.
Time was forgotten. The singing, dancing, smoking, drinking and other fun, was all we were thinking about. Soon it was 5 A.M. and we noticed that our ride up to the light-house was gone.
We had to go up there. We needed to see the traditional new years dance. We stood by the street pointing out our thumbs in order to show the cars our need for a lift. We were lucky, shortly before our thumbs froze off, a car stopped and told us to hop in.
Up at the “Cap de roca” (the light house), you could see over the entire region, the sun was just rising over the ocean and the traditional song was played while the locals danced to it. After sitting on a cliff staring into the wide landscape glowing in the first sun beams, we joined in and tried dancing it, but what we didn’t know was that the T.V. was filming the dance, which we discovered later. It was a little embarrassing but a lot of fun.
At around 11 A.M. we decided to get back home and sleep, which we did until the next night.
One afternoon, the following summer, I was sitting on the bar patio, drinking my “San Miguel” brew as usual. The bar was pretty full that day, and the sun was shining through the leaves of a big tree standing in front of the bar. It was not a usual day at all; people were very exited about the event that evening. It was the 60th birthday of John and Dave, the two English twins, and I was invited. Just about the entire village was invited.
I asked Korim, a good friend of mine, who is a cook in a very nice Spanish restaurant, what I should get them for a present. He looked at me as if I were telling a joke, and replied: “there is only one thing people give the two twins for their birthday, red wine.” I laughed and realized how stupid the question actually was, seeing them every day in the bar, one always being more drunk than the other. If they were drunk, which they always were, they would address everyone with “darling” and how “charming” you were. In the evening you have to be very careful of them, and always be aware of ducking their spit, for that would be typical for their drunken speeches.
So, I took off to buy the gift, which was not that hard to find, soon I was on the way to the mountains, together with Brigit, her dog, and Eli.
It took about one hour, until we started to hear the faint music of guitars and drums from far away. As soon as we arrived there, I realized it was something totally new for me, I was used to party’s in forms of dance clubs with music coming out of speakers and light being created by electricity, but this was nothing like that. As I stood in front of the little cottage I started to examine my surroundings, and couldn’t believe the way they have been living. You could look in every direction without seeing anything but the bare mountains with little staked up stone walls, leading up to a point at which you lose your view. These walls were built a long time ago to mark property on which the locals would plant their olive trees. The only orientation point was the ocean, which was about 1 km away. It was beautiful.
I went into the cottage and was astonished once again, there wasn’t any electricity, meaning no fridge, no running water, no TV, radio nor anything else which has to do with this genre of items. The only light was coming from candles, which gave this place a peaceful glow of calmness, happiness and satisfaction. The walls were made out of stone, which had neither plaster nor wallpaper. The bedroom had one huge bed in it, surrounded by big clothes in all kinds of colors. It looked like a kings bed from the middle ages. I felt like jumping in it and staying there the rest of my life.
In front of the house, people were improvising music with all kinds of items which you could make sounds with. After having my share of wine, beer and everything else, my mind wasn’t present anymore. Fantasy took its place and I began to be living in my own dream world. I happily wandered around and enjoyed myself.
Outside, it was full moon, and I looked up to it while listening to the Spanish music and felt something I have never felt before, the erotic of the moon. People here had told me about it before. They told me how important this one night in every month is, and that they celebrate it every time. Now, I could understand why.
I started to realize that I was getting too fond of the fake, the never ending act, people hiding behind masks, faking their feelings and living in a world based on the new century, a world full of electronics. But how did people live before? How did they spend their time without this equipment? Until this point I have never really realized how much beauty there is to find in nature and a crazy life style.
I sat there for about 1 hour looking at the moon, smoking a joint and thinking about life.
As I came back to the population, there was loud drumming, and my eye fell on my friend Pera. I have never seen a 90 year old that active and soooo full of life, he stood there with his arms high up in the air, with a wide smile on his face and a joint in his mouth. I stood next to him, joining his way of dance and clapping my hands to the beat of the music, like the Spanish do it in their traditional way.
As I was doing this, a pretty women came to me and was repeating in a shrill ton: “amor, amor, amor!”. Which means love. She was singing out of tune, and one could see that life had worn a little too heavily on her. I was disgusted. However, I was conflicted by the simultaneous desire to run and embrace the women’s warm and inviting body. At first I made no response, and examined her just with my eyes, I glanced down at her lips which were covered in red spots. I was terrified. Later, I found out that these were just from drinking red wine, but at the time, I thought I was being confronted by a demon.
I started to walk away from her, but not enough, she followed me, she followed me everywhere. Soon I was hiding from her, and praying she wouldn’t find me and try to get close to me, but there she was again, still saying the same thing: “amor, amor”. This time, I had had too much, and decided randomly, in my hazy state of mind, to run away into the mountains. As my fear began to leave me, I looked around and noticed I had no clue where I was. Endless, until the sight of mine got blocked by the surrounding darkness, there were just mountains to be seen. Another kind of fear set in, where am I?! Where’s the village?!
I started to search. Then as in a real dream, a man with a long Gandalf-like white beard appeared several meters in front of me, wandering around playing his guitar.
Full of hope I ran to him, and explained that I got lost leaving the party. He started laughing and told me that I had walked further into the mountains, instead of going towards the village. He showed me a small hidden path leading back to the village.
The path was very narrow and invisible, winding around huge cliffs. The thundering water became within hearing distance and everything became peaceful and beautiful again. The entire way, we talked about the colors and noises made by the ocean and the power of the moon reflecting on it, until we arrived in the village. It was around 4 A.M., and I decided I would go to my favorite bar, “L’hohal” and have a drink. Outside of the bar stood Pera again. We sat down on a bench and discussed random unimportant things; both of us had had a long night. Soon the sun started to rise and I sat at the beach together with the last remaining souls. I was tired, but happy I had discovered and experienced the typical Spanish way of celebration.
One day in spring Patrick and I were lying down at the “Saconca”, which is the Spanish word for cliffs hanging over the Mediterranean ocean. We had everything set up for the day: towels, Food, Beer, Tobacco, some marijuana and a boom-box with CD’s, which we called our brother because of how important music has been for us. There we lay, relaxing and enjoying are vacation thinking of nothing, as Ed came a long.
I have never met a guy like Ed before. He is French and carries the craziness within him. He would be the guy wandering through the streets dressed as if he were on the way to a costume party, always having a different Costume on. His backpack always filled with alcohol, a glass and ice to mix it with. He would be the guy with three beautiful women raped around him like a blanket, while wearing a garbage bag. He came up to us and asked if he could hit our joint, which we happily passed to him. He started talking about how often he comes here too and how he schedules his life. He showed us a tattoo on his arm, which was a circle cut in the middle. The meaning of this symbol has been very meaningful for me ever since, it shows the optimal mean between craziness and wisdom. He told us: “Have all the fun you can possibly have, but never forget to live your life with meaning, celebrate but celebrate that which you have reached and done, because those are the things which make it fulfilling”.
He told us about his life in France, and his job, which he takes very seriously, but never forgets the other half, which for him is here, the craziness.
Since then I am always trying to live my life in balance. How can I ever be sure of my own opinions without developing wisdom through experience? Experience can just be gained by doing, and sometimes it has to be crazy to be valuable. I want to see and experience both the good and the bad. One needs both perspectives to really learn from either. Traveling has a lot of pain within its fun, and without having this pain you can’t see the beauty of where you’ve been and where you may go. Isn’t it great to have people who care for you, and visa versa? However, this makes the depression that comes from saying goodbye to them all the more potent. It feels like a deep dark empty hole, as if there isn’t anything left. We cannot avoid this sort of pain if we want to grow. There are people who never experience the pain, but they also deprive themselves, simultaneously, of the satisfaction that can grow from the pain. I believe this makes life empty and shallow and without point.
Life can be a truly marvelous thing, and along the path we make many mistakes and get involved in many various situations. I have been on a quest ever since then to gather experiences and grow from them. We must all strive to learn. Sometimes learning is easy and sometimes the lessons come quite hard and can be embarrassing or even painful. However, there is one certainty if you don’ t put yourself out there and take risks you can never learn the many lessons and truths this existence can share with you. No risk no fun. I have made many mistakes and learned many things in a short time. I realize that I haven’t yet scraped the tip of the iceberg when it comes to life experience, I probably haven’t even claimed the mountain, but I am trying and will continue to try. I don’t regret any choice I’ve made, but I am aware that learning from them is imperative. Life is tricky! I want to learn, but I also want to have fun and be able to let go. Life is too short for me to be wasting it on a strict, predeveloped and hollow goal. My life must be free and fulfilling. Therefore, I have decided to see for myself what the world has to offer as far a beauty, fun, culture and much more, and I hope I will go…
This is the reason for which I left Germany, I need to see the world.
I thought the best place to start would be the place where I was born but never really have lived: California. I have been in Berkeley now for 3 months attending Berkeley High, and have experienced a gigantic culture shock. People here are different than in Europe, negatively as well as positively seen. Berkeley is beautiful for many reasons: the weather always being sunny and warm, the countryside with mountains, cities and oceans with long, tremendous sand beaches. The culture is that which gives me problems, everything is different, the living still, mentalities and varieties of people.
I have been longing to see many different cultures, but until now, I have never realized how hard it would be to leave everything behind without knowing the next step to take, never knowing where I will be in the following years and what I will do.
For all that I know, I could be anywhere by next year, maybe I will study drama in London, Germany or in the US, maybe I will be in Spain working and learning the language that I love so much. Maybe I will take a journey crossing the entire world seeing for myself what is out there and what life has to give.
But there is always one deep urge inside of me, the urge of getting back to the embracing warmth of my village, getting back to my friends who I love so much. There is nothing stronger than deep friendship, and I have discovered that it is a very special thing and not that easy to find. People pass through your life day to day, but mostly just in a “Hi and Goodbye” way. For me, my old friends will always stay in my heart, even if I can’t be there with them right now and maybe not for a long time; they will never be forgotten. Thoughts of my past fill my heart with joy and warmth. I know I always will have those soul mates for my entire life. They never will vanish out of my heart. As hard as it is, I can’t be there right now. There are so many places to go and see before I can allow myself to live there again.
I have learned that trust is a thing you give only to the people you love, trusting others can screw up your life. You can never trust without truly knowing. This is a lesson I had to learn over and over again in the last years. Not every human being has good intentions. How can you know a person if everyone is acting?
The US has a lot of this acting. Characters covered with masks through which you can’t identify the true thoughts or emotions they have towards you.
It is a hard experience for me to live here, but those are mostly the most powerful experiences. The only and best thing I can do at this point is to observe as many experiences as possible, so I can move on to a different part of the world, knowing what goes on in this one.