02: The Golden Chalice

Crossing a bridge, I entered the a town and made my way up the hill. Strangely, many of the sights felt oddly familiar, though I couldn’t quite place why. I pushed these thoughts aside as I arrived at a small square.

Dusk had already begun to fall. Lanterns glowed warmly all around, casting a friendly, golden light. The clouds were beginning to clear and a small crescent moon flashed through the wispy clouds from time to time.

Despite my crash landing, I felt a surprising sense of optimism and headed toward the largest building on the square. I could hear music and laughter coming from inside – and if there was anywhere I might find food and, hopefully, a place to sleep, it would be there.

I opened the heavy wooden door and entered the pub. The guests’ heads turned towards me and I saw astonishment on their faces. I didn’t realise at the time that hardly anyone comes to Tarcania, so I was a little surprised.

The astonishment gave way to a friendly smile and a cosy-looking middle-aged man with red cheeks and a leather apron came up to me and led me to a table.

‘I’m Marcus and I’m the owner of the Golden Chalice,’ he introduced himself. ‘You must be hungry after your journey, right?’ he smiled. How did he know I’d had a long walk?

‘I’ll bring you something to eat and drink.’ Marcus disappeared behind a door and came back with a jug and a wooden board with bread, cheese, grapes and ham.

‘I’m Bobbie and I don’t know if I can pay you because I only have Syrian piastres and Reichsmark.’ Marcus just grinned and said, ‘No problem, you’re my guest today and tomorrow we’ll find a solution.’

That moment I realised how hungry I was and was grateful for this gift.

When I was satisfied, Marcus came with two jugs, sat down with me and asked me where I had come from. I told him the story of my crash and was naturally curious myself as to where I was.

‘Tarcania? That doesn’t mean anything to me and I know my maps and Europe. Where is this country?’

Marcus leaned back with an amused smile and explained to me that it was a land between worlds and therefore not on any map I knew.

I had previously dismissed such stories as fantasies and fairy tales and now I was in the middle of such a story. That was pretty hard to accept.

The storm had carried me to another dimension and here I was, stranded and with no idea if or how I would ever get back.

But the people seemed to be friendly and so it seemed that I was lucky in my misfortune.

‘If you want, you can sleep in one of my guest rooms and tomorrow we’ll work out together how things can go on for you here and how you can get back home,’ Marcus offered me.

I was relieved and gladly accepted the offer, as I was feeling very tired after such a long day.

I followed Marcus up the creaky wooden stairs to the first floor. At the end of a narrow corridor, he unlocked a door, pressed a lantern and the key into my hand and disappeared.

The room was simple, just a bed, a wooden table with a stool, a chest of drawers and a bowl of water with a thin towel hanging next to it.

I was too tired to think clearly. So I sank onto the rather hard bed, pressed the pillow together and pulled the blanket over me.

Tomorrow I would find out more about Tarcania and how I would get home again…

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01: My arrival in Tarcania

As I was flying home to Falkenstein from Damascus via Istanbul, I found myself caught in a violent storm. I had never experienced anything like it. The wind tossed my plane – which I had named “Dragonfly” – around like a leaf, rain lashed against me, and I could barely make out my instruments. All the forces of nature seemed to be unleashed. Thunder crashed like giants locked in a fistfight, and lightning illuminated the mountains and the demons of the underworld around me.

With every ounce of strength, I desperately tried to keep my Dragonfly in the air. I prayed to every god I knew, and as I saw the mountains looming closer, I made peace with the fact that my life was about to end. I was convinced I wouldn’t survive the next few minutes.

Then, in a flash of lightning, I caught a glimpse of an open field below. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance… I pushed the controls down with the last bit of strength I had, praying I hadn’t misjudged the distance.

I don’t know who had their protective hand over me, but against all odds, I managed to bring my beloved Dragonfly down to the ground. The landing was rough and jarring, every bolt, beam, and part of my plane felt the full force of nature’s fury. But somehow, I made it. My Dragonfly let out a final creak before the engine sputtered and fell silent.

I had landed, but I had no idea where I was.

At some point the storm subsided and I was able to leave the aircraft. It had taken a beating, but I had expected worse. I had run out of fuel and some of the struts were damaged. But it was possible to get the Dragonfly back in the air. All I needed was a mechanic, some materials and fuel, then I could fly on home.

But first I would need to know where I had landed. My compass was acting up and my maps had been lost in the storm.

I took my old leather bag with my diaries and my beloved tarot cards, which I had bought some time ago in Cairo after many cups of tea, and set off. I found a small river and followed it, because I knew people always settle near water.

After a long walk, I came to a valley surrounded by steep mountains. At the heart of this valley was a town, picturesquely situated on a lake fed by waterfalls.

I was enchanted, because this place radiated something mysterious and magical. I had no idea how right I was.

I followed the path down to the town, hungry, tired, but happy to finally arrive at a place where I could find help for myself and my Dragonfly.

I didn’t know where I was at the time. Later I learnt that the capital was called Tarcania, just like the land.

Originally, I thought I was stranded somewhere in the wild east of Europe. But I was quite wrong. This secret was soon to be revealed.

On my way, I met people who not only understood my language, but also spoke it, which surprised me.

I still don’t know why, but it probably had something to do with the magic of Tarcania and the collective subconscious. I had read some of Carl Gustav Jung’s writings, which had only recently been published, and remembered them.
Perhaps there was also something like a universal basic language and the symbols such as the circle, the infinity sign or the cross, which I have seen in so many countries, are part of it.

I was now in Tarcania and it was to be the most memorable, exciting and enlightening time of my life – a journey not only through Tarcania, but above all to myself.

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