Because sometimes the wrong car is the beginning of everything.
There are those moments that you understand immediately, even if you've never been there yourself. Someone talks about a trip through Africa, about months on the road, about dust, heat and roads that just disappear at some point - and even before they talk about countries, encounters or experiences, this one question always comes up:
What were you traveling with?
You don't expect a surprise. A Toyota Land Cruiser perhaps, or a Land Rover Defender. Vehicles that stand for exactly this kind of story because they were built for it, or at least designed for it.
And then Nikolai Fromm simply says: "A BMW X3."
No showmanship, no winking, no attempt to make it more than it is. And that's exactly why it sticks. Because it doesn't fit the picture. Because it triggers this quiet unease that we have perhaps become too accustomed to this image.
"Anyone can drive around the world in a Defender or Land Cruiser - and I'm not everyone."
You can read that as defiance. Or as a little jab at the scene. In fact, it's something much calmer. It is the decision not to start when everything is perfect, but to work with what is there - and to find out what is really missing along the way.
This idea doesn't arise in Africa, but much earlier. The Balkans, Greece, five months on the road, without a plan, without a setup, without the ambition to make a big story out of it. The X3 is nothing special at this point. Standard condition, summer tires, everyday life.
And yet this journey is enough to set something in motion. Not a moment to capture, but rather a shift in thinking. The realization that it's less about the right vehicle and more about the question of whether to set off at all.
The obvious reaction would have been clear: Change vehicle, upgrade, secure. More ground clearance, more reserves, more of everything. So Niko searches. Compares, tests, calculates. "After months of searching and several test drives were unsuccessful, I made the decision to upgrade my X3 for the next few trips and stick with this vehicle for the time being." What comes next is not a classic adventure story.
29,200 kilometers. 19 countries. 11 months.
Everyday life is simpler than you might imagine. You sleep in the car, somewhere outside, not out of principle, but because it makes sense.
"I slept 97 percent of the time in my car, somewhere in the wilderness under the stars."
That sounds like freedom. And it is. But it is also a form of clarity that leaves little room for illusion. You are closer. To the places. To the situations. To yourself.
The route takes you through everything that makes up Africa: loose sand in the Sahara, heavy mud in West Africa, rocky tracks in Namibia, coasts, rainforest, borders that are not a backdrop. And while the conditions are constantly changing, something happens that you only understand in retrospect.
The question of the right vehicle disappears.
"There have never really been any major or problematic breakdowns."
What remains are things that happen on every long journey. No matter which car you drive. Three slow punctures, one self-repaired, two in small garages along the way. No drama. No stories to blow up.
And then this one moment that could have changed everything. Namibia. Sandwich Harbour. Dunes that run into the sea. Sand that doesn't forgive mistakes. "This is where I shot my radiator ..." You might expect things to get more complicated now, perhaps even more spectacular.
It doesn't happen. "Thanks to a friend, I was able to remove and repair it on the spot on the beach within four hours." Four hours in the sand. With what was there. Without much storytelling. "Then I made the 30 kilometers back to the asphalt road in one piece." And further.
The X3 does not become anything else on the road. It remains an SUV. But it takes on a different weight. "The X3 can do a lot more than it looks and is often ridiculed for this - but only by people who have never driven one." That's not a conclusion. It's what remains when you've been on the road long enough to stop talking about theory.
At the end is Cape Town. An airport. The flight back to Germany. The car will follow later by ship. "I had the X3 shipped from South Africa to Rotterdam because I still need it for my next trips." And then this one sentence: "Now I'm not giving it away!"
Scandinavia. Tajikistan. No big plans, rather a direction that simply continues. In the end, the question of whether it was the right car remains. The answer to that has long been given.
What is more exciting is how many of these trips never take place because you tell yourself beforehand that something is still missing. That you're not quite ready yet. That a better vehicle is needed. And how often everything stops right there. Niko simply drove.
In this interview, he tells us what it was really like - on the road, alone, without a plan B.
To the interview with Nikolai Fromm
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