May 6th, 2026

Three Years Between the Atlas, Operating Theatres and Hope

At first, this story was meant to be about motorcycle travel.

About dusty roads in Morocco, endless landscapes and small cafés somewhere between the Atlas Mountains and the Atlantic Ocean. About my Honda Africa Twin, the joy of being on the road, and that particular sense of serenity that only long motorcycle journeys can offer.

In the spring of 2023, I was on my way to Morocco. After years of planning, postponements (COVID) and waiting, the moment had finally come to live this adventure. From Sète in the south of France, I followed the Catalan coast on board the GNV ferry. The Balearic Islands appeared on the horizon, while Tangier, the vastness of North Africa and countless stories awaited me ahead.

Then, on 10 May 2023, everything changed.

In the High Atlas, I stopped briefly to take a few photographs. No risky manoeuvre, no motorcycle accident, simply a quiet moment in a magnificent landscape. Seconds later, after a violent fall against a rock, I found myself lying on the ground. The diagnosis at the hospital in Midelt: a severe dislocation of my left ankle.

Thus, my journey across Morocco and my planned return through Spain, Portugal and France, ended abruptly. And at the very same moment, another journey began. One far longer, more complicated and, honestly, far more exhausting.

Today, three years later, this accident is still part of my everyday life.

What initially appeared to be a complex but treatable injury turned into a true medical marathon. Ten operations followed. Plates, screws, bone reconstruction and repeated surgical procedures. On top of that came two serious staphylococcal infections, a thrombosis, neuropathic pain and later even an additional fracture of the tibia. Time and again, hope returned, only to be followed by new setbacks.

My daily life shifted from mountain roads and travel plans to months shaped by hospital rooms, physiotherapy sessions and medical appointments. At some point, you begin to think in X-rays and use medical terminology that once felt completely foreign. Conversations about screw lengths, bone fusions and healing processes suddenly become normal.

But healing is not only a matter of medicine.

When you live for years with health problems, you discover a different kind of patience, a quiet, stubborn and sometimes exhausting form of patience. The kind where the smallest progress suddenly feels like a major victory.

And yet, during these three years, there was far more than medical diagnoses.

There were people who supported me when my own strength was no longer enough. My family, friends and close companions often became my real anchor during difficult moments. I am particularly grateful to Deniz who, despite his demanding nursing studies, always found time to help me. Between his own daily life and the many kilometres between Olten and Bern, he was always there.

René, from Cologne, also played an important role during this period. He organised trips to Berlin and Phantasialand, visited me regularly in Bern and often helped me regain a sense of lightness. In difficult times, gestures like these take on immense value.

Writing my blog also became an essential anchor for me. When the body comes to a standstill, at least the mind can continue searching for stories, light and perspective. Many of the texts and pictures were not simply created as a hobby, but as a way of making sense of what had happened to me.

Of course, there were also difficult moments outside the hospital. Discussions with insurance companies, administrative battles and situations in which one sometimes feels more like a file than a human being. Yet even these experiences teach something valuable: the importance of perseverance, clarity and, occasionally, a touch of humour.

With time, one almost becomes more familiar with operating theatres than with certain hotel rooms. You discuss screw lengths and bone healing with surgeons as though it were an ordinary subject. And suddenly, being able to walk a few more steps becomes a tremendous achievement. You learn to celebrate small progress as though it were a great victory.

These past three years have profoundly changed my life. They replaced freedom with patience, motorcycle boots with orthopaedic braces, and spontaneous journeys with rehabilitation programmes. But they also showed me just how resilient human beings can be.

They made many things slower, more complicated, but at the same time they sharpened my awareness of what truly matters. I am no longer the same person who set off for Morocco back then. Perhaps more cautious. Perhaps more patient. Certainly, more aware.

Today, I am still not where I would like to be. My left foot continues to dictate part of my daily life. The great journey to Morocco and beyond remains postponed for now. But curiosity, the joy of travelling and the passion for storytelling remain untouched.

Perhaps the most important journey of these past three years was never really the one towards Morocco.

But rather this slow, difficult and incredibly valuable journey back to life itself.

And that journey continues.

To everyone who, in one way or another, is part of this journey: my sincere thanks.

My next blog post will be on 10 May, marking the third anniversary of my accident. My next appointment with the surgeon is scheduled for 20 May!