“Even in Kyoto, hearing the cuckoo, I long for Kyoto.”
Bashō wrote this haiku in the 17th Century, but you can imagine how it might resonate today. Kyoto is Japan’s ninth largest city, but one of the most visited in the country for its concentration of temples teasing tourists with a time travel adventure to a romantic era of Japan full of geisha, samurai, and whatever else the gawking western imagination can conjure up.
It’s easy to picture a local squeezing their way through crowds that are clambering to visit a temple they saw on TikTok. Fed up, the local might think to themselves, “In Kyoto, hearing the tourist, I long for Kyoto.”
But Kyoto’s still out there… If you know when and where to look. And if I, the cuckoo tourist can figure it out, so can you.
The Berlin Wall—such a strange and brutal thing to think about. Concrete, barbed wire, machine guns, and the unthinkable idea of one city split down the middle, cutting off families, friends, and entire lives.
Berlin was once a battleground for ideology—two competing worldviews divided by 100 miles of hatred. When the Wall fell in 1989, it wasn’t just bricks that came crashing down—it was a monumental shift in history, and with it, the end of an era of division that lasted nearly 30 years.
Yet, despite the euphoric celebrations and cries of freedom, the scars left by the Wall still linger. The Berlin Wall Trail is an unnerving, sometimes uncomfortable, but ultimately necessary journey through this fraught history.
Let’s travel it together with 10 essential stops on the Berlin Wall Trail, each one a story unto itself.
Strasbourg. It’s a quiet morning in the half-timbered village turned European capital city. But there’s not much time to linger as thunderstorms are threatening, and I have a date with the forests just outside of nearby Saverne, where the ancient Celts once roamed in the Vosges Mountains and castle ruins stand tall, like Château de Haut-Barr, otherwise known as the “Eye of Alsace,” with its not-at-all-ominously-named Devil’s Bridge.
About six or seven years ago, my wife and I were hiking along the Neckarsteig –– a 128-kilometer trail from Heidelberg to Bad Wimpfen. It’s claim to fame is that Mark Twain hiked around these parts way back when the worst thing you could say about Germany was that it has a complicated language.
At the end of one of the stages, we stumbled upon this local festival. Everyone was out in traditional dress, having a beer, and it remains one of my favorite travel memories in 8 years of living in Germany.
The Neckarsteig isn’t a trail anyone outside of Germany or maybe even this region of Germany has ever heard of. So in this video, I’m going to share with you everything you need to know about hiking in Germany and how to find these off the beaten path hiking trails so you can make your own special Wandererinnerungen (hiking memories).
North Macedonia’s Pelister Unique Trail Marathon: 54 km of rugged trail through forests, scrambling up high alpine mountains, and pushing through brambles that slice your legs like minced meat. I signed up for this—this is what I do for fun.
But before we get to the race, I think we should take a moment for a hasty, albeit brief and wildly incomplete, history of North Macedonia.
History of (North) Macedonia
In ancient times, the area was part of the Kingdom of Macedon, famous for Alexander the Great, who was born in Pella, in what is now northern Greece. It came under Roman rule and was later part of the Byzantine and Ottoman Empires, whose legacy is particularly evident in the capital city, Skopje’s old town, and the ancient city of Ohrid.
In the 20th century, it was part of Yugoslavia until its peaceful independence in 1991. In the 2019 Prespa Agreement with Greece, the country officially agreed to go by the name North Macedonia to assuage Greek concerns that their northern neighbor was trying to claim the Greek historical region of Macedonia as their own. In exchange, this agreement is supposed to eventually help pave North Macedonia’s way into the European Union. Unsurprisingly, nobody on the ground actually refers to the country as North Macedonia. The food is Macedonian, the trail maps are Macedonian, and the people are Macedonian. So, at the risk of inadvertently causing an international diplomatic incident, I’ll honor how those who spoke with me refer to their country and follow suit.
Arriving in Skopje
I arrived in the capital, Skopje, with my friend Danielle, who’d be running the race with me. We opted for the three-and-a-half-hour train ride down to Bitola, where the race would start. Unfortunately, we later learned that this was a bad idea. Not only was the train a sauna on rails, but it also stopped in the middle of nowhere for about an hour with no explanation or anything.
Okay, an hour might not seem like much, but when you’re roasting, it’s the difference between tender and juicy or inedible crisp. But we made it, and with a full day of rest before the race kicked off. At bib pickup the next day, I met up with the race director, Nenad Lazic, a Croatian-born runner who’s been in Bitola for the better part of a decade. He spent some time living in German-speaking Switzerland as well, which is why we’re speaking in German in Macedonia.
“Out of passion for trail running, I launched the Pelister Unique Trail Marathon,” says Nenad. “Now already in our third year, I can say that this is one of the best organized [races], and that it’s a very, very innovative and high-quality race. And I’m excited for every runner who comes here, no matter if they’re Macedonian or from any other part o the world. We’re thrilled to be able to show runners what we can ofrer here in Macedonia, especially in Bitola.”
Nenad added that the race takes place among the former battlefields of World War I, where countless soldiers lost their lives.
“When we run these trails, we can imagine everything a soldier had to endure,” he says. “We have a lot of respect for this mountain and we’re proud to have the opportunity to host an event like this on this mountain.”
I also spoke with Dragan Chichikj, a local volunteer who shared what’s so special about this race:
“What people tell us, people such as you, who come here usually for the first time—they experience Macedonia in the fullest,” he says. “It’s usually out of the way; people don’t often come here for business or anything, or even vacation. But they happen to visit Macedonia like this, through these races.”
Running The Pelister Unique Trail Marathon
Race morning. It’s a small crowd, with only about 23 runners lining up for the ultra distance. Another eight runners had signed up but didn’t start, leading me to wonder: what do they know that I don’t?
Eight kilometers in, and I’m on a nice runnable section before the really steep climbing begins. So far, so good. The heat’s not bothering me as much as I thought it would. That said, we are in a very lovely forested section, and I’m pretty sure a lot of that climbing is going to be exposed, especially up Baba Mountain. But only time will tell if I keep my ass moving.
Just past 21 km, with 30-plus to go, and I’m feeling okay. The climbing in the forest has been a lifesaver because my heart rate’s getting up there, and I can only imagine what it would be in the sun. So I’m basically 27 km in, halfway through the course, feeling pretty good. I’m loving the course so far—lots of flowing single track early on, so it’s runnable. A lot of pretty steady climbing. There’ve been some rocky bits where it was hard to figure out which way to go to stay on the trail, but all in all, I’m really enjoying it.
Hiking Baba Mountain
Well, folks, I believe we’ve reached the hike up to Baba Mountain. My watch says over 6 km, and I’ll be climbing 1,000 m more or less, with an average gradient of 16%. Now, if you can’t visualize what a 16% grade is, just know that it’s steep. This is naturally the point in the race where I ask myself, why is this what I do for fun?
I mean, I think I know. I know, I know. But at the same time, why is this the thing I do on a Saturday? A nice summer Saturday? If you, too, are a trail runner who does these things for fun and pays to do them, let me know in the comments why you do them, so I can remind myself why I’m here and doing this to myself.
I’m just kidding; I love it!
At a certain point, I put on my epic jams playlist to help energize me and distract me from the swarms of bugs flying around my head. I tell you, this stuff really gets my juices flowing, which is why I started grinning like a maniac. Unfortunately, I got so jacked up on Hans Zimmer that I missed my turn, but it wasn’t long before I got back on track and continued the schlep up Baba Mountain.
The Low Point
Well, folks, we’ve reached the low point. I’m on my last climb, a little bit of a bump in the trail on the route, but, man, did I really struggle to get up those mountains. Whenever I exert myself, I feel like my heart is racing, even though my heart rate isn’t really that high. But I’m just here to finish, so I’m taking my time. Again, I chose to do this. Oy vey, what’s wrong with me?
But after a little descent into my last checkpoint at the aptly named Big Lake, 42 km in, my body went full Wilt the Stilt and started to rebound. After my last checkpoint, with about 10 km to go, almost all downhill, I start to feel better. I don’t know what it was about the climbing up there—I don’t know if there’s altitude at play, if that was a thing, or what happened—but I’m feeling much better and like I can run this in once we get a little bit more of a decline.
At least, that was the plan, and it worked for a little bit, but of course, the trail had other ideas as it sends me into waist-high brush and bramble covering the trail. I’m on the route, I can see the trail ahead, and at this point, I’ve got like five kilometers to go. This is a hell of a way to end a pretty grueling race—just annihilate your legs, death by a thousand cuts style. I’m ready for this to be over.
The Home Stretch
After trudging through some of the wildest trail I’ve ever run, I finally stumbled onto some runnable trail for my final 3 km. And for the final kilometer, I roll on in over some asphalt after spending about 10 hours making an ass of myself. But just when I thought the climbing was finally over, the finish line popped up on the top of a godforsaken hill.
Perhaps not as triumphant as I would have liked, but I hobbled over the finish line nonetheless in a whopping 10 hours, 40 minutes, and 46 seconds. That’s more than double the time of my first 50k ultra back in October, which tells you all you need to know about this ruthless episode of Legends of the Hidden Temple, with special executive producer Satan.
Congrats if you got that reference—we’re the same age!
Exploring Macedonian Cuisine
With the race behind us, we took the bus over to Ohrid, a UNESCO World Heritage site known for its crystal-clear lake and some old church stuff I couldn’t be bothered to learn about. Give me a break, people; I was tired. Then it was back up to Skopje, where I was able to shake out my legs and meet up with Vojislav, a local tour guide who shared with us some of his favorite Macedonian eats:
“Macedonian cuisine, man, it’s a mix, you know? It’s a mix, and it’s a colorful fusion of many, many cultures and styles, and it’s very, very tasty,” he explains. “Me, personally, I love a lot of meat, but we’re also a kind of bready nation—we eat a lot of bread. We don’t mind being a little chubbier than the typical European guy or girl. It’s not just about the houses and the stores. Meeting the locals in a town, that’s the way to experience the culture.”
After the race, I said there’s no way I would have done it had I seen, frankly, a video like this beforehand. The combination of brambles slicing my legs like deli meat and bugs buzzing around my head like I was the Queen’s hive would have gotten a big fat pass from me.
But with the race behind me, I couldn’t be more thrilled that I did it. Now I have an even better idea of what my body is truly capable of doing, and for that, I couldn’t be more grateful to Pelister and to the land that put me through a mental and physical test unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.
I ran along the Berlin Ringbahn in a marathon attempt at the Fastest Known Time. Here’s why and what happened.
On paper –– or more realistically, Google Maps –– the Ringbahn is the train that winds itself around Berlin in the shape of man’s best friend –– earning it the nickname, “Hundekopf” or “Dog’s Head.”
This train connects the city’s multitude of core neighborhoods. Without it, Berlin would be a hodgepodge of disconnected enclaves, like neighbors you know exist but mostly ignore. And when I say “connects,” I don’t just mean in the literal sense. I’m talking symbolically or even spiritually, if that’s your jam.
Simply put, the Ringbahn is the only thing that makes Neukölln, Schöneberg, and Prenzlauer Berg feel like they’re actually part of the same hedonistic, chaotic, yet strangely quiet city. It’s what makes Berlin, east and west, one.
Access to trains like the Ringbahn was one of the main reasons I wanted to move to Europe, trading in the destructive highway ribbons of my native land for rails that make you feel like you’re part of the city rather than trying to avoid it.
Now as much as I enjoy riding the Ringbahn, I started to wonder what it would be like to *run* the Ringbahn –– all 37-and-a-half kilometers of it. What better way to see the different patches of quilt the Ringbahn stitches together than to make like the Bahn and run around the ring myself?
So I did… and while attempting to win the Fastest Known Time.
Watch what happened, learn about the creation of the route by Annie Voigt, and hear the history of the Ringbahn and how it mirrors Berlin and German history by watching the full video.
Why do people spend money on marathons and ultramarathons, generally torturing themselves for months on end, day in, day out, all for a climatic day (or sometimes more) of torture? I’m still trying to figure that out.
You might remember that I DNFed my first ultramarathon attempt back in June. After allowing myself some time to recover, I doubled down on beating this distance. I took strength training more seriously and I signed up for a running plan with Ultra Trail Coaching, which dynamically planned my workouts based on my running history and my new A race –– The Alb Marathon 50K in Schwäbisch Gmünd, Germany.
About a month before the 50K, I shed 16 minutes off my PR in the Berlin Marathon, giving me a wave of confidence heading into my second ultra attempt. But as I learned before that race in June, nothing is guaranteed. Injury, illness, or some twisted combo of the two, can strike at any moment.
The Berlin Marathon––one of the preeminent athletic events in human history. And one of the few of such caliber that would let a shmendrik like me join in the fun.
