How a 12-Year-Old Took His Parents on a Bicycle Journey Around the World
This was never the plan. We never intended for our son to grow up outside the school system. Yet from the age of five, he made his wishes remarkably clear. He did not want to be looked after by adults whose lives he knew nothing about, and he had no interest in attending kindergarten or school. It took us almost two years to truly listen to what he was saying. For us as parents, that meant letting go of many assumptions and finding creative ways to support learning outside the conventional education system.
In Germany, this is not an easy path. Unlike most European countries, Germany has compulsory school attendance rather than simply compulsory education. Over time, however, self-directed learning began to feel both natural and joyful. Living in a large eco-village gave our son daily contact with other children and a rich social environment. When he was eight years old, we walked more than 1,000 kilometers through Spain and Turkey together as a family. During that journey, he repeatedly told us that he enjoyed cycling much more than walking. Somewhere along the way, a dream was born: to cycle around the world.
On May 1st, 2026, five years later, that dream began. We left behind not only our comfort zone but also the community where we had lived, loved, worked, and raised our children for eighteen years. Preparing for the journey took an entire year. Our house was rented out, most of our possessions had been sold or given away, and on the morning of our departure sixty-five people gathered in the village square to accompany us on the first stage of our adventure. A smaller group continued riding with us for a few days before it slowly sank in: we were not leaving for a holiday or a six-week trip. We were attempting to cycle around the world.
Will we succeed? Time will tell. We have always encouraged our son to believe that almost anything is possible. As his mother, I often remind him that this journey is not a mission and that we can turn around at any point. He disagrees. Very calmly, he tells me that he does have a mission. And so here we are, setting it into motion one pedal stroke at a time.
Our two older children had recently moved out, and we had begun to feel the limits of self-directed learning within our familiar surroundings. Rather than forcing solutions, we chose movement. We chose uncertainty. We chose the road.
Our first overnight stop was Lake Steinhude. To be completely honest, we knew very little about bicycles. Fortunately, a close friend who works as a bicycle mechanic joined us during the first days and introduced us to the surprisingly complex world of bike touring. Since then, every morning begins with the same routine: oiling the chain, checking the brakes, inspecting the headset, and making sure the gears are working properly. Only after everything is ready do we start riding. It sounds simple enough, but maintaining this discipline day after day is not always easy. Just as I do not particularly enjoy practicing yoga outside in the rain or meditating with a migraine, I also do not enjoy inspecting bicycle components in cold, wet weather.
And wet it was. During those first weeks, rain, wind, and low temperatures accompanied us almost constantly. We followed the water, and the water seemed determined to follow us. Along the Mittelland Canal, onward to Dresden and the Elbe River, and eventually upstream toward Prague. In Dresden we made our first major adjustment. Our son’s bicycle was just slightly too large, and carrying luggage made things harder for him. Luckily, we found the perfect second-hand trailer, allowing us to redistribute the weight and continue more comfortably.
One of our intentions for this journey is to meet people, understand how they live, and explore the countless ways our lives are interconnected. Sometimes this learning comes through conversations, and sometimes through places. At the former transit camp of Theresienstadt, we spent half a day visiting the cemeteries, crematorium, fortress prison, and Ghetto Museum. The museum is housed in what was once a boys’ home. Around 10,500 children lived in Theresienstadt; most of them were murdered.
The visit stayed with us long after we left. For hours, our conversations revolved around Jewish history, faith, and the Holocaust. This is what learning on the road often looks like. Petur, the almost thirteen-year-old riding beside us, kept returning to one question: “Why do we humans do things like this?” The word we in his question struck me deeply. The people who wage wars and commit atrocities are not some separate category of human beings. They are us. His question invited me to look honestly at my own shadows and the parts of myself I would rather ignore. Whatever remains unconscious tends to continue influencing the world from the darkness, and rarely in a helpful way.
From there we continued along the Vltava River toward Prague. The city welcomed us with its magnificent bridges, historic architecture, and castle overlooking the river. Travelling on a modest budget, we spent only one day exploring before cycling thirty kilometers south and pitching our tents in a forest for the night. We fell asleep early, knowing that the next morning we would continue heading south once again.
The road ahead will take us along the Danube Cycle Path through Budapest, Belgrade, Sofia, and eventually Istanbul. Every day we ride toward the rising sun, which somehow continues to remind us of hope. Hope for a world in which people live together peacefully despite their differences. Hope that encounters, conversations, and genuine curiosity can build bridges where fear and misunderstanding create division. Through this journey, we hope to contribute, in our own small way, to that vision.
Perhaps that is the greatest lesson our son is learning along the way. The world itself can be a classroom. Not because it always offers easy answers, but because it constantly invites us to ask deeper questions.