As a girl that grew up in the South Indian state of Kerala, I always loved cycling. Who would’ve thought that I would go beyond getting milk from the corner shop and revel in long-distance journeys? I had never imagined that I would rediscover this lost love as an adult several years later. In 2020 alone, I rode about eight hundred and fifty kilometres across the length and breadth of Germany, where I now live, finally discovering my own brand of sustainable travel. Apart from the environmental damage I wasn’t willfully contributing to, I appreciated a way of travel that wasn’t influenced by commercial tourism.
When travelling for leisure was prohibited across the European Union as well as in many countries worldwide, my getaway had been biking in and around Berlin and Brandenburg, two German states that offer plenty in terms of nature and landscape. One of them was a fifty kilometre ride from Berlin to Beelitz, a historic town in Potsdam-Mittelmark district in Brandenburg. Famous for its cultivation of white asparagus (Beelitzer Spargel in German), we rode through picturesque landscapes, from wide yellow fields to the uneven climbs on forest routes. Beelitz is home to one of the oldest hospitals in Germany, where tuberculosis patients were quarantined in the early 1900s; it was later ruined in World War 2. The main attraction other than the beautiful ride to Beelitz is the Baumkronenpfad, a treetop canopy walkway of 540 meters, for a view from ‘atop the jungle’.
On what I call mini get-aways, I often ride on narrow roads laid through lush green pastures, explore unpaved forest trails, or race against the wind on highways that lead to small towns, the highlight being the expanse of yellow canola fields on either side. Last September, on my first hundred kilometre ride, I followed the river Elbe on an interstate ride to Hamburg in northern Germany. On the weekends, when I am not hiking in a nearby forest, I ride in and around Berlin.
Berlin offers access to a variety of landscapes in a fifty kilometre radius. A Sunday bike ride exploring the city’s central tourist spots such as the Brandenburg Gate, the Parliament building, the museum island, and the banks of the river Spree is perfect to explore the German capital. A personal favourite route that I keep revisiting is the Berliner Mauerweg, a nearly 150km long biking path along the fallen Berlin Wall. Through the wild part of the city, this route is a constant reminder of the turbulent and fascinating past of the country I now call my home.
A seventy-five kilometre ride on weekends may not necessarily qualify me as a cyclist but I really do believe I am now lost in my own wanderlust. Claudia Wich-Reif, professor of German language history at the University of Bonn, observes that wanderlust is related to a deep connection with nature. “It’s connected with a certain curiosity about the world, an openness to new experiences and a desire to discover and learn. Wanderlust is also strongly connected to being outside with nature. The Romantics, among them Schubert and Schumann, believed you could find happiness there,” she was quoted saying.
The BBC described wanderlust as “the travel ache that cannot be translated’. The word itself comes from two German words ‘wandern’ – that means ‘to wander or to hike’ and ‘lust’ that means ‘desire. It has so effortlessly entered into the English language and as I have slowly learned to pronounce the word correctly, I like to believe I have imbibed its philosophy, too.
A year since getting into long-distance cycling and exploring the wildlife and nature near home, riding has become a medium through which I can quench my desire for exploration. Although completely shunning other kinds of leisure travel may not be horizon, that too is a goal worth working towards. At a time when global nations become more and more conscious of climate change at a policy level, it is also essential for societies to rethink the way they travel.
A few months ago, an acquaintance who had been working in the aviation sector for a decade or so, quit the industry in her efforts to lead a more sustainable lifestyle. The decision to stop contributing to climate change however possible was one made at the cost of huge personal sacrifice. Climate change is affecting the biodiversity on earth. Small steps like switching to eco-travel forms like cycling can help slow environmental degradation, protect wildlife and sustain a healthier ecosystem. Traditional fossil fuel based travel modes ought to be viewed as a relic for us to be able to slowly but surely, discard them.
Just months after travel restrictions were imposed, the visible effects of lesser degradation were seen worldwide. Social media was flooded with photographs of clear Venetian canals, dolphin sightings, reduced air pollution, clearer skies, cleaner air and reports of better green cover. A more mindful approach to travel and exploration is essential for us to make an impactful change. The first step towards trying to live by the principles of wanderlust, and not give in to quick, convenient tourism is to question our own motives behind travelling, and also understand its consequences.
For me, travelling to new places has adorned deeper meaning. Most travellers, at some point, say they wish to live life with the wind brushing through their hair, experiencing real freedom. When I descend after a steep climb that took everything in my capacity to pull through, and I can finally let go to take it all in, I know I want the wind in my hair just a little longer, too. Perhaps we don’t always need airplanes to take us to our destinations immediately, once we have learned to enjoy the journey.
