Hitchhiking Planet

Pre gathering in lyon was great! Big group left for Barcelona and Basque countries for other pre meetings. Few are still in lyon if u wanna catch them! Vale

Right on! Great time at th farm, long sleep and a straight lift to dijon, 1/3 of france. mission: to be in bcn be4 noon tomorrow!

Hitchhiking fun, taking it easy, 6 rides maastricht and chilling at a farm, as i joined another hitcher and allowed life to bring me to the unexpected :)

I was just interviewed live by the biggest public radio in spain about hitchgathering.its hard to talk to the media!i hope it helps.

Mit einem Jesus-Freaks-Pärchen an Frankfurt vorbei, sie wollen zum Freakstock, sind aber vergleichsweise entspannt und scheinen in puncto Abtreibungsfrage nicht ganz auf der Linie zu liegen.

Von Wetterau mit einem Sonderschullehrer, der laut und enthusiastisch seine Musikpädagogik und seine Barocklaute vorstellt, verschiedene Anekdoten aus der Welt der Behindertenarbeit ausbreitet. Er ereifert sich über fehlende Mittel und schlecht ausgebildete oder unmotivierte Kolleginnen (er sagt immer “Personal”); geht seltsamerweise davon aus, daß die meisten Leute es gut finden würden, wenn möglichst viel Geld für die Beschäftigung mit Behinderten ausgegeben wird.

In den Rasthof Harz kurz reingeschaut, viel zu voll war es, wieder den ersten an der Tanksäule angequatscht, der fährt - das dritte Auto - nach Berlin, ein Italiener, der seit einer Weile in Deutschland arbeitet und von seiner Drogenvergangenheit erzählt. Die meisten seiner früheren Kumpels aus seinem Heimatdorf sind mittlerweile Junkies, er hatte seiner Meinung nach deshalb Glück, weil er nicht daheim war, als sie von Dope auf H umstiegen. So blieb er beim THC, was er sich allerdings verkneift, seit er in Deutschland Lieferwagen fahren muß. Er hatte ganz offensichtlich solche Lust auf marokkanische Schokolade…

Patience and rational considerations leave,
Only passion stays, whimpering and feverish.
[Rumi]

orange moons, the sky still filled with dusk past midnight.
fuck future days, I will be with you when you lose your mind. Closer to lapland. Unbelievable, incredible days. Getting colder as we move north, shock to the body after the days of sun these last months. Sneezing uncontrollably, eating wild berries, move on regardless.

There is a magical symphony at work, here, playing to the sounds of my footsteps. But, the night before last, in Necmi's truck, which he'd turned into a sauna (of turkey and endless summer nights), waking at 4am ..I entered a conversation with myself that hurt, memories turning to little pieces of dust and taken by the swedish winds, out to the arctic circle, thinking what you have now is this and all feelings sliced up, left to dry under the turkish sun. I never could adore future days, but here they taunt me, sweating in gothenburg.
Now in Hamsun's lands [the pleading of bone marrow..the whispering of blood]. Astonished by the happenings of the last days, but the Pakistani Norwegian speaking harsh, dragging, carnivorous essex english left me in ruins, taking us 200km out of his way. Walk past the river, enter this mysterious, wonderful house at 2am, collapse in bed, sleep the sleep of ten thousand bears.
[let yourself be silently drawn
by the stronger pull of what you really love]

Ride from braunschwerg to Dortmut. I love german speed limits!

Berlin Nicolassee spot. Plenty of hitchers. Between them Heather, Federico, Valentina going to 6810 gathering. Pre meeting in Aachen!

Wenig Wettbewerb in Nikolassee, und das erste Auto war schnell und fuhr nach irgendwo zwischen Wiesbaden und Koblenz. Allein, es war sehr klein, es war sehr eng, so daß ich nur so lange mitfuhr, bis meine Beine endgültig eingeschlafen waren, also bis zum Rasthof Eisenach. Gesprächsthema mit dem fahrenden Pärchen: der Panikausbruch auf der Love Parade, inwiefern es eine Stadt der Größe Berlins für diese Veranstaltung braucht, eine Stadt ihrer Selbstverständlichkeit von Menschenmengen, Feierei und Drogengebrauch. Sie: “Das könnte doch auch mal in die Planung und Vorüberlegung mit einbezogen werden, daß das ein Event ist, wo die meisten auf chemischen Drogen unterwegs sind - und dann muß man das anders aufziehen.”

Mit dem zweiten Auto, darinnen ein Linksradikalen-Sympathisant aus Schwäbisch Hall, der den Club Alpha als Auftrittsort empfahl und mit dem es um die Entwicklung der letzten Jahre im linken Universum ging, kam ich schon bis nach Heppenheim, wo ich an der B3-Ausfahrt aber prompt eine Dreiviertelstunde rumstand, zum Teil, weil Autofahrer vor einer psychiatrischen Einrichtung einen bekloppt angrinsen und auf die andere Fahrbahn wechseln.

Der mich mitnahm, erzählte, er fährt regelmäßig LKW nach Berlin und zurück, aber wenn er Tramper aufliest, pennen die immer einfach ein, weshalb er das eigentlich nicht mehr macht. Er fährt aber auch immer frühmorgens aus Berlin los, wenn die alle gerade von der durchgefeierten Nacht kommen.

Am Ortsausgang von Weinheim Richtung Gorxheim hält dann ein schwarzer GI, der mir auf dem Weg nach Löhrbach davon erzählt, wie er in Amerika zu trampen pflegt und wie gut das geht, aber auch damit, wie er hier in der Gegend von Nazis angegriffen wurde und - er ist Soldat mit speziellem Nahkampftraining - sie dann ordentlich verprügelte. Er will auch unbedingt mal nach Berlin, weil er es sich so multikulturell vorstellt wie Amerika.

Just took my 51st mugshot! http://www.dailymugshot.com/main/show/48441 # Lost my "important bag" with laptop,passport, camera in a taxi that drove off and got it back within 15 mins. Thank you, #Karma #traveling # Just took my 52nd mugshot! http://www.dailymugshot.com/main/show/48441 # "baby, we need 2 talk" – "No, don't say that. When women say that all goes [...]

Just took my 51st mugshot! http://www.dailymugshot.com/main/show/48441 # Lost my "important bag" with laptop,passport, camera in a taxi that drove off and got it back within 15 mins. Thank you, #Karma #traveling # Just took my 52nd mugshot! http://www.dailymugshot.com/main/show/48441 # "baby, we need 2 talk" – "No, don't say that. When women say that all goes [...]

Hitchhiking in Western Europe so far….: Boring! Germany as usual crossed in a day time, Switzerland was horrible at first but o.k. in the end, at least one guy tried to convince me to Mormonism, which was fun. They believe that some guy (Mormon?) wrote a book 1000 years back about Jesus hanging out in [...]

The 21st of July

This was about the time to set off and head towards Portugal. I was waken up after a few hours sleep by my parents telling me that they were going 70km in my direction with a car and if I wanted a lift I had to hurry. That wasn’t good news, but the lift sounded great. I packed my stuff and half awake got in the car. We arrived in Olsztyn, my parents dropped me on the hitching spot towards Warsaw and after few warm good-bye words I was on my own. Apparently it was my lucky day, cause I barely had finished smoking a cigarette when the car stopped. This was straight ride to Warsaw. The businessman didn’t feel like talking so I enjoyed sleeping in a conditioned car while it was about 35 degrees outside. I woke up in Warsaw.

The 22nd of July

I woke up in the morning and realized that I didn’t want to stay in Warsaw a night longer, mostly because of the heat. It was horribly hot, especially in the centre of the town and I was fed up of 35 degrees all the time. I hit the road around noon got to the hitching spot with a tram. Amsterdam was my destination.

At the beginning my plan was to go to Koln and apply for Russian visa and make it to the Bajkal lake after attending the gathering in Portugal but I had changed my mind. I had realized that I didn’t have that much time and if I wanted to do that I’d have to be in rush and stress, hitch every day huge distances which I didn’t want to dom chilling is the plan for this summer

When I got to the hitching spot I met 2 Estonian guys and a Latvian guy. The pair was headed to Berlin, Latvian guy to Rotterdam. I told them about the gathering in Portugal. After a short talk I stuck my thumb up and waited for a lift. After half an hour a car going out of gas station stopped, the window opened. 2 ladies took me 50 km furter, to a perfect hitching spot towards Berlin and further. I got a lift after a few minutes to Lodz from a trucker, so yet again 50km further. Again, spot was perfect, the sun was shining strongly. It took me a few minutes to stop a huge truck. This awesome, super-nice 60 years old trucker was willing to take me all the way to Berlin.

He asked me:

‘You know why I picked you up? ‘

me: ‘Probably because of the heat?’

him: ‘Noeees, you look cute and I could read from your face that you were a hitchhiker who’s seriously going to Berlin as the sign says, not someone who’s got  bad intentions’.

500km in a truck with this man sounded nice. We had nice conversation all the way long, I got to know his whole family just from hearing: son studying in Technical school to be a car mechanic, talented one, lovely daughter studying journalism in Katovice and loving wife, Unusual thing happened on the road, when we were driving down the highway it started to rain and temperature went down to 20 degrees, so 16 degrees difference. After 10 km it stopped raining, and it started warming up. Withing 20 km temperature got back to 36 degrees, amaizing, isn’t it ? We stopped before the border cause he wanted to get more fuel. He exchanged vouchers he got from pumping for 2 dinners and we had an awesome polish dinner with black coffee. We moved on, made it to Berlin around 10 pm. I was dropped on the first gas station on the ring, it started to rain. I started asking around and one of the Polish truckers took me to the next gas station – michendorf. It was late in the evening, still raining. I met another hitchhiker, German guy was going to Leipzig. I saw another Polish truck pull over. I talked to the guy and it turned out that he could take me onto A2, but he could only drop me in AUTOHOF, which wasn’t that cool, cause it rained. I still jumped in the truck and we started calling people on CB radio, it was one of these moments when I know that within 30km I’ll find next trucker going my direction who will pick me up. After a few km I swapped trucks, I was in the truck to Hannover, another Polish trucker When we arrived it was 3pm, I was exhausted, lack of the sleep had occured to me. I put my hammock on the ground, cause there were no 2 trees in the near where I could put it up and I totally didn’t mind sleeping on it using it as a blanket just by the highway. I woke up 2 hours later fresh and ready to go and had a cool view of the sunrise in front my face. I barely got on the side of the road and saw a Polish truck coming. I waved my hand up and down and the truck stopped. I opened the door and yelled over passenger’s chair – ‘ONTO A30?’ – ‘YEA, GET IN MATE’. I was exhausted but this guy was so nice that I didn’t even think about sleeping even for a while. Nice conversation kept me awake, coffee cooked on the stove  on the gas station woke me up. We drove till Rheine Nord, where I asked him to drop me. I jumped off at the junction, spot didn’t look bad despite little space for car to pull over. I stayed there one hour, nothing happened. I saw a hitchhiker coming up. It turned out that he was also headed to Amsterdam. Petr from Czech Republic and I stack our thumbs up and waited. Our communication was very limited, he didn’t speak English well. We got a lift to the border after another hour waiting. Spot looked good but we made a mistake, cause we should have gone to the highway junction with him, but we got off on the gas station which seemed to be good at the beginning, but it turned out to be the worst spot ever. Quite suprisingly I noticed another hitchhiker. What turned out is that it was the same guy I met in Warsaw who was going to Rotterdam, Latvian guy. We hitched for a while with 3 but it didn’t really make sense, so Latvian guy decided to go on his own. After long time waiting, around 2 hours I’d say we got a lift to Hengelo. The owner of restaurant took us to the on-ramp 20km further. We cooled down in a canditioned car and carried on hitching. Yet again, long waiting period, we get a lift just a few km further, to Arnhem. Only dutch-speaking elder gentelman gave us a lift. I overslept our junction and got up when we were on A50 already. We got off at the first exit and got on the local road to Amersfoort. It was only 10km to A1 highway, so we decided to walk it and hitch at the same time. A business man going back from work stopped and took us towards Amersfoort. This wonderful person, married to German woman speaking Russian took a detour and drove us 30km down the highway. We were dropped in a perfect spot. Out of nowhere I asked Petr a question:

‘hey, you are Czech, I’m Polish, why don’t you speak Czech and why don’t I speak Polish, we might be able to understand each other better?’,

he answered: ‘ye, why not ‘

me: ‘so say something in Czech’

Petr :  [in Czech] ‘what do you want me to say?’

me:  [in Polish] ‘anything, just speak Czech’

Petr: ‘do you understand me ?’

me: ‘woaaah, that’s awesome !’

We enjoyed speaking more or less mutual language for a while longer when car stopped. Old man was going to Bussum, just 20km before Amsterdam. He spoke little English, no German, mostly Dutch. We got to the next on-ramp. We managed to stop a car but police showed up and sent us away from the spot and at the same moment the driver who was going to Amsterdam Nord was forced to drive away. We were kinda pissed off, cause it had been 6 hours since we teamed up and we just moved 200km forward. However, 10 minutes later a young, easy to get along with guy took us to Amstelveelen. We arrived there at 4pm, so it took me 28 hours to get there. We shared numbers and e-mails with Petr, had a spliff in a coffee shop then split and followed each other’s way.

It was really good hitching, despite bad timing. Awesome people, non-stressed atmosphere and the feeling that I was not in rush, and that I’m not going to be in rush for the next 2 months. More days like that please.

So far I have no plans regarding to the future, the last point of my plan is Sines, Portugal, then I’ll see what happens. At the moment I’m considering joining Viva von Agua race from Hamburg to Vama Veche in Romania or hitchhiking around Morocco, Western Sahara and Mauritania.

More to come

During my time in Costa Rica I was wondering why the catholic religion is still the official religion in Costa Rica. The church does get a share of the general taxes. Thats not fair to people of other (or no believes).

I ve thought that in Germany it s different. Even though the state takes care of charging the church tax (what I disslike as well)  you can avoid to pay if you leave the church. Now I ve found more information about that.

Actually the state pays additionally to the two churches (catholic and protestant) another 450 Million €. Thats on top of the estiamted 1.2 Billion € which receives just the catholic church each year.

Tax money is not just invested into arms but as well religious institutions I do not support. I would like to change that and thats why I m going to sign the petition against this tax.

I went diving with one of my best friends Eef in Sipadan. Sipadan is in the list of the top 10 best dive sites in the world, and deserves it’s place there definitely! I made a video of all the footage I shot there, check it out:

time is life itself
and life resides in the human heart
momo

switzerland filled me with the greatest of banquets, lavished me in warmth.
but I had to move on. you follow your guts or become lead by the empty roads. you leave yourself.
try to always be true, in some way.
despite my sign for HAMBURG, just outside of dusseldorf, a car, english, stops and offers me a ride back to the lands where I passed through the winter days. the lands that taught me so much and sent me to the edge. cut me up and kissed my wounds. the ones that filled my belly with laughter and too much food. 
I'm back in Amsterdam 2 hours later, not copenhagen.

time throttles me. I cannot stand it despite any wisdom that comes my way of or relating to it. it will continue to tease me, mock me, tickle me. It's more, of course, an absence that suddenly exposes time, its grandeur, its teeth. Makes me want to go to the ends of the world to escape it. Far far far north, away from everything, to confront all that is inside of me. 

All night, listen
to the conversation. Stay up.
The moment is all there is.

Death will take it away soon enough.
You'll be long gone and this earth will be left
without a sweetheart, nothing but weeds
growing inside thorns.

I'm through. Read the rest of this poem
in the dark tonight.
                      Do I have a head? And feet?

Shams, so loved by Tabrizians, I close my lips,
I wait for you to come and open them.
-Rumi

All ridiculous, of course. Sweetness hangs on every corner, I whisper to myself, in my most crazed nights.
But sometimes it doesn't.
Sometimes the war wins. 
Sometimes bad things happen and you have no way to stop them.
I don't trust the life completely. But either way, it goes on, and you either trust or hound this ugly dog until it bites off your hand. Easier to trust than to fear, slobbering all over y'r hands. 
Regardless, it's so good to be back in these lands. Good good good.
Sometimes you need good things, ragged wanderers. Try my best not to forget.

Ride to barcelona with 2 spanish wonderful women that do reiki.first good experience hitching spain!tau

Either give me enough wine or leave me alone,
now that I know how it is
to be with you in constant conversation
-Rumi

The water here, breathes, in short blasts.
I laugh so much when in the shower. Never thought I would be naked with water that's alive. 

A sweden that doesn't exist. 
A moose, a year exactly since I last saw one in vermont. My favourite creature in all the world. Drunken mystical powerful.
A walk to find berries for breakfast. Kneeling in the woods, slapping off mosquitoes, greedily drinking the forest air. So good to be alive, in these moments.
On the path were chanterelles, too. Picking them felt like breaking the neck of some sweet song, tumbling so fragile into my hands. I swear they're alive, too.
But when you find your courage again, everything regains its breaths.

Last night, I suggested we go out and make a campfire. 
In the clearing, we found a storage of heavy wood. For a long time I ran around with a torch, scrambling down hills, collecting dead wood. I am a beast in these moments, utterly invigorated. The fire begins to take form, grow, becomes stronger. Ania falls asleep in the little cabin beside us. Talk with hot cocoa and potato cakes. 
The woods, mountains, oceans are my home, I know it now. Forests more than all, for the trees seem to speak a special, secret language to me. How it is to discover this after so many years searching for homes inside cities! 

Walking back on the road, I walked in a deep meditative state.

Be patient.
Respond to every call
that excites your spirit.

Ignore those that make you fearful
and sad, that degrade you
back toward disease and death

If anything, I have learnt patience, in these days. 
& it seems like the idea of going north, rather than south, entices and excites my spirit. 
Again..any idea of plans make me laugh manically, why do you keep to ask me? At least, it is a good chance to make up some fantastical stories..and where I am from, such gruesome lands I can describe! Anywhere but there, my friend! 
Hold onto guts, and go go go. 
That's all that matters, isn't it, listening to yourself and those that are dear to you and having faith in that, and only that, beyond all that murders lives in front of your very eyes, cities that leave you wretched and only just there and nothing else? Buying things to fill the void, killing time just for its blood, conversation just to fill silence..what now, o' brother?
Ah forget it! This is it! Usurp! Outlive! Those with heart will feel the strength within them, one day, they will they will they will!
More and more awake, getting up at night,
spinning and falling with love for Shams
[Rumi]

and hush, this longing you express is the return message.
Always remember.

I left brussels this morning,now 35k to Lyon. l can see barcelona already.riding to the sea!

Our three months visit in Malaysia has almost reached the end. The stamp in our passport is expiring. Our next stop we have got to know just recently by listening to our feelings and intuition. Some days ago Thailand appeared in the minds of both of us, independently. So we follow the signs, as usual. We are going to Thailand.

This Saturday we leave the house we have rented for 2 months and we will travel to Penang (still in Malaysia), to the consulate of Thailand. They process visa applications within 1 day, so in about 1 week from now we will be in a new country. What we will do there – we find out once we are there

The End and New Colors

Recently we have realized that our way of living, which we called “Follow The Road” has finished. It was a period during which we were learning, growing inside and were carrying a label called “travellers”. Actually, we are literally far away from travelling already for quite some time. This what is happening Now – is not anymore a trip. It is more likely to be called a Good Life.

There are a lot of changes. Life is getting more colorful. Three months ago Augustas stopped his several years lasting activity related to web-development of commercial Internet projects. Katja is working on her persona as an artist – dancing, drawing, singing, writing, learning guitar. Her artistic nickname is Orangine Coconell.

The flow

Everything around us is moving, changing and has a flow: water, time, animal migration, weather, feelings, and our lives. We have realized, that money is no different. When it comes to us, there is no point of holding on it – it should flow as well! During our stay in Malaysia we have paid attention to good quality food. This is where we invested a lot. It is hard to describe what an abundance of fruits and green leafy vegetables exist here: durians, rambutans, longans, mangosteens, mangos, water melons, melons, dozens of different green leaves, other vegetables… As much as we could get, we were consuming organically grown veggies. We could get them twice per week from two different health shops nearby. Since the beginning of this month we eat mostly raw food. It makes us feel lots of magical energy!

Remember: Life has no meaning by itself, only you give meaning to your life.

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Either you see the beloved
or you lose your head!

If your throat's not ready for that wine, cut it!
If your eyes don't want the fullness of union,
let them turn white with disease.

Either this deep desire of mine will be found on this journey,
or when I get back home!

It may be that the satisfaction I need
depends on my going away, so that when I've gone
and come back, I'll find it at home.

I will search for the Friend with all my passion
and all my energy, until I learn
that I don't need to search
from one of my favourite Rumi poems -
In Baghdad, Dreaming of Cairo
In Cairo Dreaming of Baghdad
The title reflects the absurdity of my current co-ordinates.
My hallucinations are endless, colourful, sometimes grey slaughterhouses of insight. After days of wandering, lost and weary, you find only that fascination will bring you back alive again. You begin again, a small child in wonder at train tracks and stories, tall tales, instinct.. always this.

So the sea-journey goes on, and who knows where!
Just to be held by the ocean is the best luck
we could have. It's a total waking up!
-Rumi

how many times can you seemingly be awoken from a deep, grievous sleep by laughter and a friend's arrival?
I am anew. 
Hiking in sweden, floating up to norway.
O' instinct!

Eine Woche rumgetrampt, rumgelaufen und Musik gemacht.

Nach einem kurzen Besuch in Landshut besichtigte ich in Augsburg die Spuren einer der frühesten Formen von modernem Kapitalismus. Hier wuchsen Ende des 15./Anfang des 16. Jahrhunderts die Fugger zu einem gigantischen Konzern heran, der den damaligen europäischen Bergbau, die Textilindustrie, das Kreditwesen und mittels seines Nachrichtendienstes auch verschiedene Staatswesen kontrollierte. Hatte ich vorabendlichen Blättern in “Schindlerdeutsche” noch Joachim Bruhns Gedanken im Kopf, dem Kapital und dem Trieb sei alles eins, das bürgerliche Subjekt spalte aber beide in anständig und unanständig auf, lief ich nun in der Verherrlichung anständiger Wohltäter herum, die doch in den Worten Günter Oggers “von den Lastern der Fürsten ebenso wie von den Entdeckungen der Seefahrer” profitierten und “kaltblütig die Jenseitsangst der Gläubigen und die diesseitigen Erkenntnisse der Wissenschaftler” nutzten. Heute treibt man Schulklassen durch die Fuggerhäuser und fragt sie dann, was wohl die Stadt Augsburg davon hatte, daß einer so reich war. Und die Arme der Schüler fliegen hoch: “Stiftungen!” - “Bauwerke!” - “Wohltätigkeit!” Ist es nicht schön, wenn einer viel Geld hat? Dann haben alle was davon! Nicht auszudenken, wie es wäre, wenn alle reich wären…

Fuggerhäuser mit Privatbank und Damenhof

In der als “älteste bestehende Sozialsiedlung der Welt” beworbenen Fuggerei beten seit 500 Jahren sämtliche Bewohner täglich dreimal für Jakob Fuggers Seelenheil - was man sich alles kaufen kann! Ebendort kann auch der Luftschutzbunker aus der Nazizeit besichtigt werden - mit Fliegeralarm und Zeitzeugenstimmen kann der Besucher den Grusel nachempfinden, als die Bomber die Häuser armen Bedürftigen zerstörten. Eine große Tafel gibt mehrere Dutzend Kenndaten zum geschichtlichen Hintergrund - Zweiter Weltkrieg und Nationalsozialismus -, Wannsee-Konferenz und Vernichtungslager fehlen.

Von Augsburg nahm mich ein französisch-deutsches Pärchen mit, das unter einem kritischen Blick auf die Geschichte vor allem verstand, daß das mit dem Holocaust ja wohl so nicht gewesen sein kann und die Juden diesen Mythos bis heute benutzen würden, um vom viel schlimmeren Holocaust in Afghanistan, Irak und Palästina abzulenken.

Also fuhr ich doch nicht so weit, sondern stieg schon an der nächsten Raststätte wieder aus. Kurz überlegte ich, ob ich darauf hinweisen sollte, daß derlei Äußerungen in Deutschland strafbar seien, aber dann dachte ich mir, das können sie auch gern selbst rausfinden.

Der Rasthof Burgau liegt direkt an einem See

In dieser Situation traf es sich sehr gut, daß als nächstes ein Salzburger anhielt, der meinte, er würde auch eher ins Blaue fahren, vor allem aber hätte er den Eiffelturm noch nie gesehen. So kam’s, daß wir bei Einbruch der Dunkelheit schon in Frankreich waren, wo wir erst ein, dann zwei, dann viele Feuerwerke sahen und dann feststellten, daß ja der 14. Juli war. In Paris angekommen, ließ ich meinen Chauffeur weiter zum Eiffelturm fahren und sprang am Place de la Bastille raus, wo eine Menschenmenge feierte, grillte, kiffte und musizierte.

Danach wurde es privat, intim und unübersichtlich, weshalb ich mit meinem nächsten Reiseziel Freiburg fortfahre. Dort nahm ich mit Björn Peng drei Stücke auf, zu welchem Behufe er das teuerste Mikrofon auftrieb, in das ich je gesungen habe. (Ob es das rausreißt?) Der erste Track, den wir wohl bald einfach frei im Netz verberiten werden, basiert auf “Fire” von Scooter, wobei es textlich jetzt um eine 8.-Mai-Feier geht. Bei der zweiten Nummer, “No competition”, handelt es sich um ein Liebeslied, das sich zunächst an meine Liebste richtet, im weiteren Sinne aber benennt, was ich überhaupt im Zwischenmenschlichen mag. Kommt vermutlich auf die Kullaboration-Scheibe, für die ich wohl noch im Laufe des Sommers mit verschiedenen befreundeten Musikanten weitere Sachen aufnehmen werde. Als drittes schließlich machten wir “Alles muß raus!”, einen von der Stimmung her typischeren Björn-Peng-Track über die kapitalistische Dauerkrise, basierend auf diesem Diskussionsbeitrag des Drummers von Ton Steine Scherben und einem düsteren Star-Wars-Sample.

(zum Vergrößern Draufklicken)

Am Donnerstagabend sah ich in der KTS Comadre. Die mußten unbedingt im kleinen Raum und vor der Bühne spielen, damit sich alle möglichst dicht an sie herandrückten, was wohl die Trennung von Band und Publikum aufheben soll, aber zumindest hier nicht wirklich klappte. Obwohl allgemein ordentlich abgegangen, genickt und gewackelt wurde, wurde das ganze irgendwie nicht ein Ding. (Naja, letztlich macht ja auch nur die Band die Musik…) Um einiges besser fand ich die Vorband Punch, deren Sängerin auch weniger Pose und mehr Wums hatte. (Spielen diese beiden Bands morgen, also am Mittwoch, wirklich im ://about blank?)

Immer gekühltes “Kapital” im Freiburger Kyosk

Schließlich machte ich mich mit kurzem Zwischenhalt bei Entropia in Karlsruhe wieder auf den Rückweg nach Berlin, was sich erst ewig hinzog, dann aber umso schneller ging. Am Rasthof Reinhardshain sagte einer, ja, er fährt nach Berlin, aber er fährt sehr schnell, weil er dort in fünf Stunden einen Zug nach Polen kriegen müßte und vorher noch bei Bekannten vorbei wollte.

Working while rocking out on some good ol' After Forever. Boy, I need to find some kind of metal/rock-like live music here in KL! # Just took my 46th mugshot! http://www.dailymugshot.com/main/show/48441 # RT @urbandaily: Obsessive Computer Disorder – To constantly be online or just on a personal computer for fun… – http://urbanup.com/5072347 # RT @yesmagazine: [...]

The evening before a middle-aged man had called us over from our table in the central tea garden of this village, picturesquely situated in the midst of olive groves on the hills of the Aegan sea coast. Thinking we did not speak Turkish he made the gesture of a pair of scissors cutting, repeating "snippety-snipp" a couple of times, while pointing at an embarrassed 11-year-old on a bike, indicating that he was 'benim oğlum' -his male offspring. What he meant was "my son had his circumcision done". Seeing that we responded in Turkish, he then said "Tomorrow night will be the celebration. I adore having guests, please come to the party!".
And so we did.

We arrived rather early in the morning. This way we had occasion to watch the ladies of the house prepare the feast for the evening. On the open charcoal hearths baby baths of broth were bubbling. An elderly woman dressed in a sharwal with flower print, wearing an equally colourful headscarf, was doing the round of them, sliding two entire blocks of butter into each pot, using wooden spoons so large and coarsely cut they ressembled oars. Next to her stood two buckets that held shiny, deep-green olive oil almost up to the brim, and at her feet in a massive marmite a white mountain of quivering hot rice was steaming. In a pan on the fire decapitated, plucked chicken jostled each other, slowly getting a tan. They resembled ugly and deformed human fetuses. Later Keşkek, an Anatolian stew made of barley and chicken which is made on festive occasions would be prepared in marmites so gigantic, they used a tractor for stirring!
Noémie was on cloud nine. This was exactly the massive sort of Volxkeuken she always dreamt of organizing back home in Belgium.

The musicians arrived around noon. There were five of them: They had three different kinds of drums, a clarinet, and the singer also played the violin, which he had to hold at a strange angle away from his chin. The 11-year old kid whose party it was going to be, and who had just changed into his cream-coloured, gold-embroidered Persian prince costume, replete with sceptre and triangular hat, that is traditionally reserved for the Circumcision celebration, started to dance with his friends. The boys spread their arms, snapping their fingers, and circled around each other as is the local fashion. After their dance, the child lit a cigarette. You could tell by his manner of smoking this was by far not the first fag of his life. His uncle, a silver-haired man in his 50's, taunted him by asking: "Adam mı oldun?" -"So, we have become a man?".

Relax, originally uploaded by platschi. untitled #5, originally uploaded by platschi.

Some days you just wait at your favourite on-ramp somewhere in Westphalia in hope for the next immigrant passing by. At least (s)he will stop for you for sure and give you a ride. You just have to wait for it. Without them, hitchhiking in this area would be pure horror. Here, in Westphalia, many [...]

This was like one of the most amaizing days ever. I hit the road late friday morning. I found myself at the junction where from I was picked by Spanish truck driver. This cool fellow told me the story how he got to know his South African wife when he was on the road, brilliant one ! I was also introduced to some good Spanish music. He drove me for nearly 100km and drop me at the service. I didn’t wait too long, English truck driver picked me up. This one was an easygoing type, really easy to get along with. After little chat he offered me some green herbs increasing humour, I didn’t deny. We had a freaking good time talking about various things. When I got off the truck I found myself on the ring of London. I got a short lift from an English priest who was going to take the weeding. Then, after probably an hour or even more standing on the terribe heat I got next lift from elderly guy. This one kept telling me to take as much from the life as I can, enjoy it and don’t waste it doing nothing, hell true though. The junction I was dropped at looked quite good, but noone would pick me up for over an hour. 2  ladies stopped after some time. They dropped me on the straight road to Dover, far past London. I got off, grabbed a snack and continued. When I was walking down the road with the sign on my back ‘DOVER’ a Mercedes stopped. Young fellow from India offered me a ride to Dover with detour to the harbour where from I could hitch a car over the channell. This guy was frankly amaizing, didn’t mind talking about India and shared a lot with me. When I got off I had been so thirsty and hungry that I barely could manage hitching, but the sun was slowly going down so I had to hitch a car over the channell. Suprisingly, cause I thought that gettin a lift over the channel would be difficult, I got a lift after half an hour from Polish truck driver. I got in quickly and finally could take a rest. When I asked him where he was going, I was expecting Belgium at best, but he wanted to be home as fast as possible and it turned out that he wanted to drive all the way from Calais to Poznań non-stop. 1300km with a truck, without break for a sleep sounded insane to me, but whatever, why would I complain ?! We ended up driving non-stop, with short breaks for coffee till Poznan. We made it even further, to Września where I got off. After 17 hours in a truck I could finally feel the temperature in Poland. Walking with my 20kg rucksack on 35 degrees wasn’t enjoyable, but whatever. After a few minutes I got another lift to Grudziądz, then another one across the city. The guy shared with me snickers and redbull, took a detour as well, to make sure that I would be fine. Yet again, no longer than 10 minutes it was when I got a lift. 2 guys were going to the village nearby, but still 20 km further. They helped me out with cardboard so that I could have a sign. It was getting dark, I was horribly exhausted (around 36 hours awake). I put on my high-visibility clothing and carried on. When it was completely dark I saw some Lithuanian car pull over. I ended up in a car to Olsztyn (70km from my place) driven by lady who was going with her son back home from holiday. She was very helpful and nice, even spoke bit of Polish. She made sure that I was on the bus stop where from I took bus to my place, cause hitchhiking with 800 pounds in one’s pocked ain’t best idea in Poland during saturday night

Pictures of the BP Oil Spill

Shock

Sadness

ANGER!!!

Refusing to be ill and sit home, I did what you are never supposed to do: hitchhike while feeling poorly. Probably a fluke that the third lift I got after leaving Paris was one straight from somewhere in Southern Germany all the way to Slovakia. Feverish, I rode these 100s of kilometres, lapsing in and out of sleep. The last thing I remembered in Bavaria was a radio announcement that deer were on the motorway, then I snoozed all through Austria and when I was finally shaken awake, it was to the familiar hiss and lilt of a Slavic language.
I couldn't resist and celebrated the arrival in the new country with some zmrzlina quickly snaffled from the roadhouse café. A great word for a great thing: Zmrzlina means ice-cream. Listening closer to the language spoken around me, intelligible tatters of speech wafted over to my ears, some of them sounding like archaisms to the Russian-speaker's ear.
I was on the northern fringes of the continuum of mostly southern Slavic languages whose conspicuous absence of vowels inspired a nineties Onion article about Bill Clinton airlifting A's,I's and E's to the area since they were obviously in dire need of them. In reality, it is the letters "R" and "L", semi-vowels in English, which function as full ones here, I was told. That's how you get people with names like Vlk Trlin, which I would like to pretend was the name of my next driver, but that would be taking too much literary licence.

It took me three rides to get across the country, lengthwise. Each driver turned out more forthcoming than the precedent one. The first one bought me coffee, the second one bought me lunch, the third one dinner and drove a 80 km detour to drop me off at the border. Some 20 kilometers before it we sailed past a war monument. A first sign of the real East. "Russia is not very far from here", the locals said when we chatted with them at the garage where we stopped for tea. It was not without a certain degree of pride that my driver, a very knowledgeable man, sub rosa informed me that the country's actual name was now "Ukraine".

The penultimate small town before the border was called Lúcky. And, notwithstanding the errant accent, that's how I felt.

Yesterday, gripped by blues, of endless desert wandering, of the loss of the ability to be inside my own skin, of you and without you, of time and distance...always laughing at me! and all kinds of other nonesense that I haven't been able to laugh with as of yet..we were cycling out into the sunset. Felt as if the sun would swallow me whole, pouring into my pretend skin, orange juice fresh down my throat from the sky, down into the heart.
We were cycling down by the canals, into Christiana.
Suddenly I screeched to a halt.
Along the wall of the canal were four figures.
Small sculptures of man, all sitting on the ground. Huge heads, noses, hands. Three facing forward to us, one meditating with a bowl looking out to the water. They are so ridiculous, profound, out of place beside the large yaughts and people strolling by.
They make me so joyful.

 he said :
you already have wings.
I cannot give you wings.
but I have lost them,
I say.
Are you crazy? 
he says,
they are hanging right beside you!
So low they drag behind you, that they've become
the earth and leaves you tread.
Oh.
Ohhhhh.

the iron nights go on.
in norway, this is what they call their winter nights, so cold that you can't even walk outside without being gripped by the savage grip of the air.
not those kind of nights, but they penetrate and laugh at me just the same. 
Last night, with a bottle of wine by the river, the red grapes drank me and not I them, which was fine with me because things inside of me needed to be drank, anyway.

then at sunset, again, Venus gradually
changes into the moon and the whole nightsky
[Rumi]

A conversation with a ride from last month, on the way to sofia, bulgaria that seemed to be almost shouting at me, exploding as I participated in it.
-
'Everyone gets a little lost sometimes, don't waste your thoughts on that. You will always be founf because you adore the search as much as what lies at the end. Paths will always come to you but often you'll miss them because you're looking too far ahead.'
He looks at me, grinning.
'If this is true, that she's all you tell me, then this, what you share is something that comes within the substance of shooting stars, it is what almost no one can touch, for they appear just for an instant, momentarily and to keep pace with them..it is the truly the extraordinary. And action will always be more powerful than thoughts, always! Tell her how you feel or those thoughts..feelings will rot and die inside of you. All that is alive will be harder to touch..go..be foolish..be ridiculous for your passions or burn out, silently. It's up to you to choose, or let it choose you and pass you by'.
After this, I give everything and even with defeat, I am full, absolutely, leaving kingdoms abandoned in the dust for things that are greater than kingdoms [Rumi]. 

Don't talk too long to sceptics, for they have no knowledge of what is beyond this world.
Ah, fireflies, I call your name! Come back, come back, don't desert me! I keep making elephants out of flies, help me! 
But you can only help yourself, in these moments.
Oh.
Lift those wings on some crooked night, for this madness is true health.

If I didn't know what's goin'on in that pic…RT @AnnekeAnnique: @dvntownsend Hi Devin! Did you see this great pic? http://yfrog.com/3d57zj # RT @tribily:Thinking to organise expert-invite-experts word-o'-mouth invite only event here in KL.High quality,high level talks/networking.. # RT @tribily: Nice! Gdocs without the G, but with all the other foo: http://etherpad.org/ # Just took my [...]

Palataas tähän aiemman artikkelin seksuaalivähemmistöasiaan sittenkin vielä. Olen pitkään ollut erityisen kiinnostunut ihmisoikeustilanteen seuraamisesta maailmalla ja toisaalta meillä Suomessa.

Suomalaisten uusnatsien uusin tempaus ja aiempi kaasuisku Helsinki Prideen on herättänyt poliitikot kommentoimaan asiaa. Olen todella iloinen, että Suomessa oikeiston näkyvä edustaja ottaa selkeästi kantaa seksuaalivähemmistöjen puolesta. Stubb myös toimi Helsinki Priden suojelijana ja piti mm. avajaispuheen. Myös Helsingin pormestari oli näkyvästi tapahtumassa mukana ja kaupungintalon saloissa liuhuivat sateenkaariliput. 70-luvulta alkaen Suomessa on otettu valtava askel lähes keskiaikaisesta ilmapiiristä. Todella jees! Ei tapahdu ihan joka kolkassa maailmaa.

En ole varma onko tämä uusi taktiikka vai ei, mutta muutamat poliitikot ovat antaneet ymmärtää hyväksyvänsä ko. vähemmistöt sinänsä, mutta toivovansa etteivät he pitäisi meteliä oikeuksistaan. Homo siis saa olla, kunhan siitä vaikenee ja pysyy piilossa.

Räsänen (KD) ilmaisee olevansa huolissaan nykyisestä, sallivampaan suuntaan kulkevasta kehityksestä:

Voiko Pride-kulkuetta vastaan tehdyn typerän hyökkäyksen tulkita myös vastareaktioksi poliittisen eliitin voimakkaalle arvoliberalistiselle kehitykselle?

Todellinen, Kristillisdemokraattinen rimanalitus sattui kuitenkin Jyväskyläläiseltä Asmo Maanselältä (KD) tänään Keskisuomalaisessa. Pride-paraati on myös provokaatio:

Jos vähemmistö sopeutuu, niin tällöin valtaväestön edustajan ei tarvitse hyväksyä vieraan uskonnon tai oudon seksuaalisen elämäntavan arvoja, mutta ei niitä silloin tarvitse vihamielisesti vastustaakaan. Ne eivät silloin uhkaa ketään.

Maanselkä siis hyväksyy uusnatsien tekemät iskut – on ihan ok vastustaa vähemmistöä vihamielisesti?

Haluaisinkin kuulla mitä mieltä Maanselkä olisi kristinuskoa rajoittavista laeista maissa, joissa kristinusko on “vähemmistön outo ja vieras elämäntapa”. Haloo: jos vähemmistö sopeutuu, tarkoittaa se ko. arvojen häviämistä ja oikeuksien menetystä. Nämä vähemmistöt pitävät meteliä oikeuksistaan, joita heille ei Suomessa ole suotu – toisin kuin monissa muissa EU-valtioissa. Sitä kutsutaan yleensä ihmisoikeuksien puolustamiseksi, ei väkivaltaan provosoinniksi.

Maanselkä on kovin, kovin peloissaan:

Marginaali ei saa tuhota perinteistä suomalaista avioliittoa, uskonnonopetusta, suvivirttä, joululauluja vaan meillä on tehtävänä säilyttää uskonnollisperusteinen perinne sekä instituutiot elinvoimaisena tuleville sukupolville.

Millä tavoin vaikkapa homoavioliitto “tuhoaa” perinteisen avioliiton? Eivät seksuaalivähemmistöt mitään homovaltakuntaa ole perustamassa. Maanselkä saisi edelleenkin pysyä uskossaan ja naimisissa vaimonsa kanssa joululauluja laulellen.

Portti Ukrainaan -blogissa Arawn käy mielipidekirjoituksen läpi hieman perusteellisemmin, mm.:

Avuksi tosiaan olisi, jos vähemmistö kunnioittaisi enemmistön arvoja – mutta toisaalta se ei voi tarkoittaa sitä, etteikö vähemmistö saisi tavoitella tasa-arvoista asemaa enemmistön jäsenten kanssa. Erivapaudet ja -oikeudet ovat sitten asia aivan erikseen ja useimmitenhan maahanmuuttajien vaatimukset koskevat sellaisia asioita eivätkä sitä, että he saisivat toteuttaa itseään tasa-arvoisesti enemmistön edustajien kanssa. Omaa uimahallivuoroa ei oikein voi verrata avioliittoon, sillä jälkimmäisessä seksuaalivähemmistö vain hakee samaa oikeutta, joka enemmistöllä jo on, kun taas uimahallivuoron kohdalla muslimit hakevat itselleen etua enemmistöön nähden eli jotain sellaista, mitä enemmistölläkään ei ole.

Aiemmin linkkaamassani Sofi Oksasen kolumnissa Oksanen viittaa Liettuassa noin vuosi sitten voimaantulleeseen lakiin, joka käytännössä kieltää homouden esittämisen ja siitä kertomisen mediassa. Laissa on kyse tismalleen samoista peloista, jotka tällä hetkellä ohjaavat Kristillisdemokraatteja. En ihmettelisi, vaikka sieltäkin löytyisi kannatusta “perinteisiä perhearvoja” “suojeleville” laeille.

Oksasen kolumnin ainoa vika minusta on, että se vähättelee Suomen iskuja sillä perusteella, että jossain asiat ovat huomattavasti huonommin. Kyllä, perspektiivi on hyvä säilyttää, mutta Suomen erityisen salliva ilmapiiri tekee iskuista sitäkin vakavempia. Suomenkaltaisissa maissa väkivaltaiset iskut Pride-kulkueita kohtaan ovat harvinaisia.

Nettikeskusteluissa nyt näkee vaikka mitä. “Homofobia on biologista”-tyylisiä kommentteja on kuitenkin hälyttävän paljon. Ei ole, se tulee kasvatuksesta ja kulttuurista. Ei ihminen mikään erityinen poikkeama luonnosta ole, jossa muillakin nisäkkäillä esiintyy homoutta ja seksiä muussa kuin lisääntymismielessä.

Samaan aikaan Islannissa muutes mentiin naimisiin; Islannin pääministeri naimisiin ensimmäisten homoparien joukossa.

Kuva Helsinki Pride 2010 pressikuva

to be guided by fragrance

For some time, I was convinced that the words 
& and the tigers come for me,
and I don't care.
Let them take me,
had become me.

Everywhere I went, these words stung me.
And after some time, the tigers became time, the tigers became distance and I began to doubt the instinct, the illogical that had guided me these last months. Everything became a symbol of what the tigers were doing to me, and how willingly I invited their claws, despite how joyful certain events had made me. 

One day I became separated from myself. No blood roared. I stood in crowds in copenhagen, served food in a folk kitchen and felt the claws dig in. Felt my face ripped off, felt no closeness to anything. 
Then, I was cycling, later, back to the floating city and a car passes me with a tiger inside the backseat.
Laughter breaks out from my chest. Jimmit surely thinks he is cycling with a madman (real value comes from madness)
The tigers soften and that night I hear from you for the first time in (my inner) years. O' clockhands! 
That night, a man from bulgaria looks at me and in turn begins to laugh. One for the tigers, one for me.
He says my name and tells me of you.
I'm so shocked that I seem to fall out of my body. Tears fill my eyes in my astonishment. He tells me of Greg, who I stayed with in Sofia, of how he tried to persuade you to stay and travel up to Denmark with me. 
'But, I was sure I would meet you, anyway', he says.

I peer at him and somehow, no matter how lost you are, you are always found. Always.

Meinasin kirjoittaa jotain Liettuassa vähän aikaa sitten järjestetystä Baltic Pridestä. Kulkue loputa järjestettiin, mutta tunnelma oli aivan eri kuin vaikkapa Suomen tapahtumassa. Kulkue sai luvan vasta viime hetkellä.

Sofi Oksanen kuitenkin summaa kolumnissaan kaiken niin hyvin yhteen, ettei minun tarvitse kuin linkittää.

En aiemmin tätä ymmärtänyt, mutta matkailtuani olen oppinut kuinka suuria eroavaisuuksia kulttuurissa ja asenteissa voi olla maan sisällä. Tavallaanhan näin on Suomessakin. Pohjoinen ja etelä ovat melko eri maailmoja, samoin itä ja länsi. Saksa ei ole jakaantunut pelkästään itään ja länteen, vaan pienempiin selkeästi oman identiteettinsä omaaviin osavaltioihin.

Vietin keväällä viikon Espanjassa ja hämmentävintä oli huomata, kuinka jokaisesta itsehallintoalueeseesta tuntuu löytyvän ihmisiä jotka toivovat alueensa itsenäisyyttä. Baskimaa ei olekaan ainoa. Kaikkialla näkyi anarkistisia itsenäisyyttä kannattavia graffiteja.

Matkasin Madridista yli kolme tuntia bussilla Zamoraan luoteis-Espanjaan. Pysähdyttiin pienessä Tordesillas nimisessä paikassa tauolla. Bussiaseman seinässä lukee iso musta spreijaus “Castilla libre” ja “Castilla no España SCR”.

Ilmeisesti maassa on lakeja ja byrokratiaa, joka vaikeuttavat alueelta toiselle muuttamista – eikä sillä ettäkö ihmiset niin paljoa edes haluaisivat liikkuakaan. Yksityiskohtia en tunne.

Liftaaminen Espanjassa on muutes ihan ok. Ainakin lyhyen (Salamanca-Ávila) kokeilun perusteella. Kylttiä kannattaa käyttää, kuten kaikissa maissa joissa liftaaminen on hieman hankalampaa. Usein Portugalissa ja Espanjassa liftaamista parjataan mahdottomaksi. Odotan mielenkiinnolla tarinoita elokuun Euroopan liftarimiitistä Portugalissa! Paikaksi on valikoitunut Sines.

Espanjassa nauroivat kun kerroin, että Suomessa yökerhot sulkevat neljään mennessä.

Tämän systeemin haluaisin Suomeenkin!

Tässä lähellä on iso ostoskeskus (Panorama, 9 Saltoniškių gatvė) ja se on sinänsä aika tylsä, mutta siellä on yksi kiva paikka. Nimittäin automaatti, josta saa kahdella litalla (~50 senttiä) litran maitoa “suoraan tuottajilta” ja tuoreena.

Tuosta vasemmasta laatikosta ensin tyhjä pullo koneeseen putken alle, kolikko sisään ja lorilori.

Aika jees homma!

Whenever you see a polish car ask for a ride: warsaw alle usually works. This time we got a magic lift from hanover to belgium w a family going to Birmingham!

Roskilde to the ferry to germany: 3 women in 3 rides. A Language teacher, a social worker, a teen ager psychologist. Welcome to scandinavian parity!

Getting out of Roskilde festival. 800 km to go before sleeping in a real bed! Valentina

Pete and I have arranged to meet Roger The Mexican in Huedin. A car pulls up and a wonderfully eclectic assortment of people topple out. Here we have Roger himself; a quiet yet delightfully quirky French WWOOFer named Matilde; a Couchsurfing Californian named Nick and a girl who’s just leaving, on her way to the train station. They’ve come to town to help some neighbours who’ve gone away. This area has been badly flooded and the waters rose into their garden on the day they left. What a nice surprise to come home and find the pixies have cleaned it up for you. It sounds like it will be bad, but actually there’s very little damage. The lettuces have survived, and despite part of the garden still being submerged, the part that has drained seems fine. We spend a couple of hours raking up debris that the river left behind and leave it in a neat heap; bang a few fence-posts in and we’re done.

We have lunch in town at the Pizzeria. To Roger’s bemusement, I show the waiter my Vegan Passport. Actually, despite being helpful on this occasion, the passport isn’t half as useful in Romania as the magical sentence “mancare de post” (“food suitable for religious fasting”). According to Wikitravel, “Because Romanians are in their large majority Eastern Orthodox Christians, fasting involves removing of all the animal products from their meals (meat, dairy products or eggs). Even though Lent seasons only cover a small part of the year, you can find fasting food throughout the year”.

Suitably stuffed full of food, we set of back to the village, stopping for a beer on the way home. We drive back up the mountain in tandem, somehow aquiring a third, little green car in the process. It’s a Belgian couple who decide to stay for the night, though how that happened is beyond me. I think Roger knows the man’s brother. We arrive at the house and are given a guided tour by Roger. Since when I asked to come couchsurfing I mentioned I would also like to help out, Roger asks what my interests are. I haven’t really done any formal WWOOFing, and despite having helped grow food back in Brighton and helped with construction work while traveling, I haven’t properly figured out where my skills and interests are. All I know is, I can cook. I tell Roger I can help out with whatever he likes and he tells me I’m welcome to cook any time.

A fire is lit outside. I offer to cook dinner. Pete and I are each given a welcome Palinka by Roger, as well as more beer. “When in Rome..ania”, says Pete, who doesn’t usually drink. Groan.

I sleep beautifully in Kinga, my little tent, leaving Pete alone in the van for the night as he was palnning to leave already to have a few days to himself. I awake to find picnic blankets spread on the grass outside the house. A plank of wood with a small pile of bowls and cutlery with some bread, jams and cereal is set to one side. An extension lead runs from the house to the picnic spot, where a toaster is plugged in. I think I’m going to like it here.

After breakfast we lie around for a good long while digesting before tidying the house and beginning work. Since Roger has had Nick and Matilde here for a couple of weeks already, there’s not much that needs doing. He decides to outsource Matilde and I to help the neighbours. He sends us to help the old woman down the track flip her hay, giving us a brief workshop in effective raking and flipping techniques before we go. We find the woman, who seems delighted and surprised to see us, but refuses our help. We begin anyway, copying her motions as best we can, which is not that simple, despite Rogers workshop. A couple of times the woman sees we’re not doing so well and tells us to leave it, but we persevere and eventually develop a knack. Lift and flip, lift and flip, lift, little shake, flip… When we’ve done one side of the house we sit down and wait for the man, the woman’s husband, to cut more of the grass with his scythe. While waiting, the woman tells Matilde that she has lived here her whole life. She’s had five children, all moved away. We try to imagine doing this every year, your whole life, seeing this view every day. The man has scythed some more of the grass and indicates that we can get on with spreading it out. Lift, shake, flip… While flipping, the woman notices a black flag flying, further down the mountain. She yells down there in Romanian, “Oy! Who’s died? Who’s died?” Somebody’s son apparently.

Matilde and I return to Roger’s for lunch: a fresh green salad from the garden, which we all sit around the table to eat. The old man requested that after lunch we come back with Roger, so after a brief siesta Roger, Nick, Matilde and I all return as requested. This time we (the women) are raking the hay into a big pile in front of the barn. The men are lifting it and throwing it in. This is apparently very gendered work. When there is already a lot of hay in the barn it needs stamping down to compress it and make more room. Matilde and I jump in and throw ourselves around for a while. Dried grass is very itchy, but it’s still lots of fun. When the hay we’ve raked is all in the barn, we sit down on the grass for a homemade Palinka and bilberry syrup break. The Palinka is served in rather large glasses and one sip knocks your socks off. Matilde, who somehow speaks better Romanian than Roger, translates for me what is being said. Todor, the old man is particularly bewildered by my nose-ring and her trousers, which are the kind that join together from the knees up. What an odd bunch we must look to them.

Now it’s time to do the grass on the other side of the house. More Palinka follows. Nick, who said yes every time he was offered another, is now practically falling over. Our little bunch head back to the Casa for a siesta,

leaving Anna and Todor to finish the last little bits as they say we’re now just in the way. This has been the most fun I’ve had in months. Roger says he’s never seen Anna, the old woman, laugh so much.

It’s a perfect evening for a film and popcorn. We watch Persepolis. It’s the first time I’ve seen this film, which is surprising as I have a slight fixation with Iran at the moment. It’s very good and I like the animation style a lot, but it’s definitely not a feel-good film!

Saturday is usually a work-day, but since Nick’s leaving, Roger’s given Matilde and I the day off to walk with him down to the village and visit the waterfall. It’s a long, beautiful walk to the village, but an unexpected torrential rain hits us. All we can do is drink a beer in the bar and wait for it to ease. Matilde and I accompany Nick to the end of the village where he will hitch into town and get a train. He’s now en route to Istanbul.

Now Nick’s gone I’m offered the little house to sleep in. Apparently Matilde is quite happy in the main house. I am delighted. I wish I didn’t always make such tight plans for myself as I would love to stay here longer, even for a few weeks. I’m having such a good time and my new little room is lovely.

Sunday is a day off anyway and I can’t help thinking I’ve got off lightly here. I’m leaving tomorrow and the only work I’ve done turned out to be fantastically good fun. I set about doing some laundry by hand, which is always more therapeutic and satisfying than I give it credit for. Rolling around on my yellow mat in the morning (yoga), I notice a familiar plant. It’s shepherds purse! This in itself is not as amazing as what it signifies:  I have finally begun to recognise plants! Already I have noticed yarrow growing, now shepherds purse. I am inspired and email a friend quickly asking how to make tinctures. Then I find some plantain and some St John’s wort. I’m on a roll…

Pete returns for my last night at the Casa, giving the perfect excuse for another film and popcorn night. The following day we say goodbye to Casa Mexicano and leave Roger and Mathilde plastering the wall of the bedroom-come-lounge where Roger sleeps, the next part of his planned home improvements. I feel a bit guilty for not being around to help after all his hospitality and I’m very sad to leave. Next time I will come for longer, if there can be a next time.

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Minähän en ole kovin mukavuudenhaluinen, olen osoittanut itselleni kaikenlaisilla jännilla seikkailuilla. Pidän valtavasti laiskottelusta, mutta kun vaaditaan sitkeyttä, olen siinä ihan hyvä. Urheilussa en koskaan pärjännyt joukkuelajeissa tai lyhyissä spurteissa, mutta pitkään kestävissä yksinsuorituksissa olin ihan ältsin hyvä, ihan paras.

Kuinka näppärästi siirtyminen Liettuaan Vilnaan onkaan käynyt, yhtä pientä vastoinkäymistä lukuunottamatta, joka sekin oli ihan oma vika. Siitäkin koitui toisaalta vain seikkailua.

Kämpän löysin vuorokaudessa, tosi kivalta alueelta, liettualaisittainkin edullisella vuokralla, hyvän ystävän kämpästä. Tarvitsen työpöydän – kappas vain toisella kaverilla on moinen myynnissä. Tarvitsen näytön – oho kolmannella kaverilla lojuu nurkissa ylimääräinen.

Kun sitten lähdin Tampereelta liftaamaan ja pääsinkin yhdellä kyydillä Helsinkiin, ajattelin että kyllä tässä vielä ehtii johonkin matkalle jumiinkin jäädä. Lautta lähti juuri sopivasti heti kun Helsinkiin pääsin. Tallinnassa vain kävelin hyvään liftipaikkaan kuskaavan bussin pysäkille ja oho siinähän se.

Ensimmäinen kyyti viidessä minuutissa, vain 10km, mutta kuski ei sitä osannut lähtiessä ilmaista koska puhui vain turkkia. Iloinen veikko. Seuraavaksi pysähtyy rekka, jei! Jaahas, ei puhu tämäkään viroa, suomea tai englantia, mutta venäjää. Oho, kyyti Panevėžysiin Liettuaan! Käytännössä lähes koko matka Tampereelta Vilnaan siis kahdella kyydillä.

Matkalla soi venäläinen klubimusaa soittava radiokanava, joka oli vähän niinkuin Latvian tiet. Huonolaatuista ja aika vauhdikasta meininkiä. Sekä tiet että radio pitävät hereillä pitkälle yöhön ajaessa. Haaveilen seikkailuista: Virossa bussipysäkkiä koristaa graffiti “vamos a Madrid”.

Hahmottelin aikatauluja aluksi siten, että pääsisin illaksi Riikaan, josta voisin jatkaa su-aamulla Vilnaan. Kyyti oli kuitenkin menossa vain reilun 100km päähän Vilnasta, eihän tätä voi missata! Mutta oho. Kello oli yli kaksi yöllä, kun kuski jätti minut kaupungin toiselle laidalle motarinalkuun, kuten toivoinkin. Säkkipimeys. Onneksi on taskulamppu ja heijastimia rinkassa. Olisi siinä hotellikin ollut, mutta jos jatkaisin auringon noustua, ei olisi mieltä maksaa ~50 euroa muutaman tunnin unista, kun Vilnassa odottaisi oma suihku ja peti.

Pimeydessä ei voi liftata, mutta kappas tuossahan onkin bussikatos! Ei mitkään makoisimmat yöunet siinä penkillä makuupussi peittona kaikki kledjut päällä, mutta kyllä siinä ihan oikeasti lämpimän kesäyön tavallaan mielellään vietti. Vähän kuin laavussa. Niin ei täällä sillä tavalla pelota, kun sitä mietitte kuitenkin.

Heräsin aamulla auringonnousuun ja kukonlauluun. Mummo pellolla lehmää lypsi, peltiämpäriin. Vain 700km Tampereelta, Euroopan Unionissa.

Kavereiden kanssa liikkeellä ajattelen muiden sietokykyä ja mukavuutta, enkä tuollaiseen yöliftistunttiin olisi lähtenytkään. Mähän olenkin sitkeä. Eihän tossa mitään. Aamulla liftionni tosin kääntyi lähes tyhjällä motarilla ja yli kolmen tunnin aamuliftauksen jälkeen hyppäsin parintunnin välein kulkevaan paikallisbussiin (joka tuli 5min siitä kun asiaa ajattelin) ja matkasin 7km Panevėžysin keskustan linja-autoasemalle. Siellä kun kyselin aikatauluista, lähti seuraava bussi Vilnaan 10min päästä.

Nyt olen odotellut koko päivän kaupungissa rinkan kanssa, jotta saisin avaimeni ihmiseltä joka tuleekin vasta illalla kaupunkiin. Ystäväni, jolta kämpän vuokrasin, on reissussa Ukrainassa ja avain on kaverillaan.

Vähän tällaista, välillä todella näppärää ja välillä ei ihan suju kuten suunnitteli, mutta mikäs tässä!

Viimeisin sutjakka tapaus oli kun kyselin CouchSurfing -nettisivulla ihmisten mielipiteitä halvoista prepaid-kännyliittymistä. Tunnin päästä yhdeltä sitten löytyikin yksi ylimääräinen ja samantien hainkin sen itselleni. Samalla pääsin näppärästi suihkuun ja tutustumaan tulevaan asuinalueeseenkin. Itävaltalais-liettualaiselta homopariskunnalta tuli loistavia vinkkejä kaupungissa elelyyn, joista ensimmäisenä pitänee testata mm. farmers market. Näistä lisää vielä.

Jee!

Nyt sataa vettä aivan kaatamalla. Kaikki rautatieasemalla säikähti salaman paukahdusta ja nauroi sitten. Onneksi ystävällä oli sateenvarjo, sillä sade seurasi meitä trollikkaan.

Lopuksi vielä fiilistelyä Latviasta:

There's hidden sweetness in the stomach's emptiness.
We are lutes, no more, no less
Rumi

Lost myself several thousand times in this lifetime, but this time has had a hollow like never before.
This is not far enough. You must go on. You must. Thought the travel would clear me out but it just returned, harder when we arrived here. But slowly finding little threads to hang onto. First shift tomorrow out of three. The festival life is not a bad one at all and collecting bottles has made me significantly a richer man. A single beer jug brought 3 euros. Boban Markovic and Shantel Orchestra will be wonderful.
What have I ever lost by dying? asks Rumi.
Begin, again and again and again!
But first, could they let me get some sleep without pissing at my feet?
Tak.
 

In Varkala (South India), where we lived for half a year, communication with people was not always easy. Women rarely spoke English, and not all the men knew this language. Even if we were having a dialog with someone who speaks English, it did not mean that what we hear is what he means, and vice versa.

Here are several somewhat funny conversations we had in India.

Courier I

A courier is delivering a package for us. I call him:

Courier: “Sir, where are you?”
Me: “I am in front of Vachar Mukku welding workshop, where are you?”
Courier: “Vachar Mukku welding workshop.”
Me: “I am standing there and I do not see you.”
Courier: “Ok, I will come to Vachar Mukku welding workshop and I will call you.”
Me: “Ok.”

When he arrives and delivers the package, he asks: “Do you want to send any letter?”

Courier II

Me: “When? What time will you come?”
Courier: “Yes, I will come.”

In a small shop

Worker: “Where are you from?”
Me: “Lithuania”
Worker: “Where do you stay? Which hotel?”
Me: “Not a hotel. We stay here nearby in Vachar Mukku, we rent a house.”
Worker: “How much do you pay for your house?”
Me: “Hm… too personal question…”
Worker: …….[pause]
Me: …….[pause]
Worker: “I am just trying to be friendly.”
Me: “That’s ok, but we do not want to answer questions related to money, any other questions are welcome.”

Riksha

Taksometer on the riksha (tuk-tuk) shows 16 rupees. This is what I have to pay. I give the driver two banknotes of 10 rupees.

Riksha guy says: “Ok!”
I say: “No – give me change.”
He gives me 2 rupees and says “Ok.”
I say: “No, give me 2 rupees more.”
He says: “I have no change – do you have change?” and gives my 10 rupees back.
I give him 5 rupees (which totals to 15) and I say “OK!?”
He says “Nooo.”
So I give him 1 rupee more.

In the queue at prepaid riksha office

In some stations and airports there is always a prepaid riksha office, where you first get a ticket for your destination with a price written on it, and then you get an authorized riksha. While waiting in the queue to buy a ticket, an unauthorized riksha driver approaches me.

Driver: “Where do you go?”
Me: “Whydoyouwant to know?”
Driver: “Wajuwa?”
Me: “Why do you want to know?”
Driver: “A! YMCA?”
Me: “No Why you need to know where I am going?”

The guy finally understood me and just swang his head, in a way how Indians are expressing “Ok”…

Children

Child: “Hello, how are you?”
Me: “Hello I am fine, and how are you?”
Child: “Yes ”

Our tailor Chandran

During our last day in India Katja calls our friend tailor Chandran in order to pick up a dress he made for her. His tailor-shop is in Varkala, and his real home is in Trivandrum (70 km away).

Tailor: “I am at home.”
Katja: “You are at home? In Trivandrum? So you are not in the tailor-shop?”
Tailor: “You are in Varkala now?”
Katja: “Yes, we are. So, are you in the tailor-shop?”
Tailor: “Yes, I am.”
Katja: “Ok, so we come in about 2 hours.”
Tailor: “Ok, see you.”

…and Chandran was not there, of course. The dress (see photo) was handed in by his colleague.

This Year 2010 is very special for us. Every other year we have lived was,  of course, also special to us However, 2010 is more special than others We have got much into spirituality and by this – another perspective of life.

We would like to share with you some of the sources of our inspirations and awareness.

Inspiring movies, videos, books and audiobooks

• The Freedom Movie 2 – our favorite spiritual awakening movie (on Youtube).
• The Global Brain – about All Us humans being the brain of the Earth as a living organism (on Youtube).
• Video seminars with Bashar – biggest inspiration for Augustas. Spiritual messages and teachings by the ones who live in pure love, harmony, synchronization and positive energy. Some video excerpts can be found on Youtube. Some of the core concepts of Bashar can be found here.
• The Love Police (also known as “Everything is OK”) – blog and videos – Charlie takes a megaphone, goes to the streets, exposes the matrix, spreads awakening messages and love.
• Conversations with God – an audiobook and a movie (based on the same titled book). Answers to everyday questions by the Higher Self, in other words God. An explanation about how people misunderstood the idea of God, and what it is exactly. (audiobook torrent or find torrents on demonoid)
• Raw Food Family and their The Raw Inspiration TV show on Youtube – a family of soon 4 children sharing their raw food recipes and secrets of life full of love and harmony.
• Spiritual Reality journey within – detailed explanation what meditation is and how does it work (on Youtube and torrent).
• Fundamentals of Qigong – once in a while Katja practices Qigong – moving meditation (foundation of many martial arts).
• The Shift (Ambition to Meaning) – about “the shift” everyone of us could choose to make (rapidshare download or search internet).
• Tuning In – spirit channelers in America. Movie about the art of channeling and interviews with the channeled extraterrestrial beings (on Youtube).
• Power Healing – book by Dr. Zhi Gang Sha. Clear and practical path to learning the secrets of self-healing (on Amazon).
• Audiobook “The Power of Now” and book “Practicing The Power of Now” – by Eckhart Tolle. About letting go of the past, not thinking about the future, and concentrating all the energy on living and enjoying the current moment - Now! (audiobook torrent).
• Divided Mind the epidemic of mindbody disorders – book by John E. Sarno. An explanation about how most of the pain and diseases we experience are actually caused by repressed emotions (on Amazon, review, we also have a PDF version if anyone is interested in this book).
• The Green Beautiful (La Belle Vert, 1996) – French movie about human’s perfect harmony with nature and an opposite of it (on Youtube, Google Video, IMDB, download links #1, #2).

Hollywood movies with inspiring stories and messages

• Antwone Fisher
• Freedom Writers
• August Rush
• Believe In Me
• Charlie Bartlett
• Knights of the South Bronx
• Lars and the Real Girl
• K-Pax
• The Matrix

Some of the web blogs we are following

Augustas

• we must know – collection of conspiracy and spiritual articles and videos.
• Green Smoothies Blog – about green smoothies, raw food, and health.
• Leodini’s Magic – blog by a professional magician in Philippines.

Katja

• Radical Unschooling – blog by Dayna Martin – an advocate of unschooling.
• Aphrodite Speaks – a female perspective on spirituality.

Hitching to Roskilde. 6 hrs to Lubeck. Stuck for 3hrs. reaching Rostock at 12. Following the flow of roads and ferries. Va.ss

Romania. Mountain villages, cracked and bumpy roads, churches like wedding cakes and vibrant colourful houses, old ladies in headscarves, haystacks like silhouettes of giant lumpy people, horses, carts and packs of stray dogs, mountains, mountains and mountains…

Everyone is staring at us. I have to remember Serbia – how everyone stared at Sam and I when we cycled into it, how warm, friendly and hospitable they turned out to be. I love entering a new country, love watching my own mixed emotions of curiosity, excitement and fear. Fear of being misunderstood, of not understanding, making mistakes and social faux pas. Not knowing the right words to explain myself.

We find internet quickly and I write down a few key phrases, my lips unsure of how they sound. We get currency and work out the exchange rate (just over 4 Lei to a Euro). All this we do in Oradea, the first city over the border. Here we also drink coffee in a smokey locals bar, not so much for the coffee as to get a feel for the place and the people in it. The girl behind the bar is young and skinny with a yellow t-shirt and badly painted eyebrows. She carefully counts out my change in English, pausing after each number to check she got it right. I ask the Romanian word for “thankyou”. She tells me “mulţumesc”, as well as “Köszönöm”, the Hungarian word I already knew. I’m reminded of how often borders shift around. Not so long ago this whole region was part of Hungary and there’s still a large Hungarian minority within it - entire Hungarian villages throughout Transilvania.

We pick up a hitch-hiker on our way out of town – our second in almost ten months traveling, although Pete picked up a couple while traveling solo. Our hitcher is a young guy from Aleşd, on his way home from job hunting in the city. We decide to take him home before parking up for the night. While driving I get a Romanian language lesson, going through each of the letters to try to discover how it sounds. Maybe he thinks I’m trying to give him a lesson, as he keeps telling me the English names for the letters, but anyway I get an idea of how to pronounce some words. We drop our hitcher in Aleşd. He offers us money, the custom in Romania, but of course we refuse it and thank him for the lesson.

A search for a parking place takes us through village after village along winding roads. Eventually we stop. It’s not a perfect sleeping spot, but the view is amazing and a thick quilt of mist hangs over the mountains in the morning.

Huedin has one small internet cafe – not the big posh one with “cyber cafe” in big letters, where you need your own laptop, but a smaller backstreet one beside a bar, where the woman ignores the hours she has posted on the door and comes and goes as she likes. If you sit in the bar long enough, she’ll probably turn up sooner or later.

I have an email from Ebay Man. My laptop has miraculously appeared in Budapest and must be colleced by Monday. This should be fantastic news, but my first reaction is to groan. It took three days to drive here. Although we drive notoriously slowly and I already plan to hitch back alone and get it to save time and money, it will still take me a day in each direction and means again delaying plans.

The already much delayed plan is to visit a Mexican named Roger living in a village 40km South of Huedin. He has some land and he’s growing food permaculturally. I decide to visit Roger for at least a couple of days before trecking back to Budapest. He’s already been waiting two weeks while I waited for the laptop.

We follow the directions I copied from his email. In the village Răchiţele (“Rruh-kits-elle”) we are to ask in the bar for “Casa Mexi-ca-nolue”. Actually there are three bars. The first has never heard of him. The second has, but the woman doesn’t speak English. She points up the mountain and makes a gesture indicating a right turn. Hmm, ok. We get back in and drive to the end of the village very slowly, feeling every pothole and crack in the road. My directions say “Good road til centre then hard road to top of hill. Hike up 45km or drive around” 45km? – that can’t be right. I must have copied it down wrong. Perhaps I missed out a decimal point? We drive up, up, up, but Princess is getting tired. We park her in a layby and continue walking up, up, up… It’s getting dark. There’s no phone reception and of the few cars that pass and the fewer that will stop for us, none have heard of a Mexican man on a farm up here. We reach the top and the road starts to head back down on the other side. No good, we’ve passed it somehow. We admit defeat and go back down to Princess, sleep in her where she’s parked.

——————————————————–

My writing is interrupted by a young bemuscled border guard wanting to see my passport. He’s confused as the front says ‘United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland’, but some of the gold lettering is starting to fade. He asks me if Ireland is in the EU. Then he asks how I got here. I reply that I got the train from Hungary, which he seems to accept. I wonder why he couldn’t figure that out himself when I’m sitting here on a train right in front of him at the Hungarian border. No matter, I’m back in Romania now.

I still haven’t made it to Rogers. I decided to just get things over and done with and hitch back to Budapest. I waited 5 minutes opposite the petrol station where Pete dropped me, got a lift all the way to Budapest with a cheery Hungarian trucker. I even made it to the post office 10 minutes before it closed and brandishing my Great Big Box made it to Tuzrakter just in time for a disscussion about Irish worker’s struggles. It was late that night by the time I nervously opened The Box and booted up the laptop. One of the batteries isn’t working, but the other seems fine and the laptop works – which is the main thing. It is a bit bigger and heavier than I expected, but other than that, it’s great. I just hope it’s not too heavy to travel with. We’ll see.

Today hasn’t gone so well. It’s been bad luck, good luck, bad luck, good luck… I got told off by police for walking on the road (impossible for cars to see me on the pavement) and shouted at by drivers, but then given money by a cyclist who was very sweet and told me which bus and metro to catch to get to a better spot. I made it to the airport as directed, but still didn’t get picked up. It was 34° and not a tree in sight. The only car that stopped replied “sex” when I asked where he was going. It’s little things like this that can destroy a hitchers morale. I went to the train station behind me, just to ask, then somehow jumped on a train without any money. Fortunately I managed to jump off and back on at a station and made it to a cash point. I’m exhausted, but I’m on a train! I love trains.

At Huedin station I ask a man how to get to the centre and he offers me a lift round the corner in his car. Oh, the irony. I meet Pete in the bar by the internet cafe where he’s chatting away to the woman who works there. “Aha, here she is!” he says as I fall through the door. I relay my adventures over a beer, then it’s back to Princess for the night. Tomorrow I might finally meet The Mexican. Pete already met him. A knock on the van door last night turned out to be him. Princess does stick out a bit with her scuffs, scrapes, GB numberplate and wrong-side steering – not to mention the chimney. He asked, “are you by any chance an activist?” Must have been quite odd.

Just took my 30th mugshot! http://www.dailymugshot.com/main/show/48441 # RT @BPGlobalPR: Make them pay please! – Retweet this & @Bing will donate $10 to @CNN's Gulf Telethon up to $100K. #BingforGulf #cnnhelpgulf # Me, me, me! RT @ditesh: So, who's heading to MSC Malaysia Open Source Conference next week? #osdc2010 # Just took my 31st mugshot! http://www.dailymugshot.com/main/show/48441 [...]

Short story in German, more following later. Ein kurzer Bericht vom erfolgreichen non-stop trampen von Hörstel nach Glodeni (Moldawien). 7 Uhr Donnerstagmorgen in Hörstel los, Deutschland supereasy, mit Russen, Azerbaidschanen, Kasachen und Polen bis Krakow getrampt, war gegen 10 Uhr abends 15km vor Krakow. Dann nen dummen Anfängerfehler begangen und nen Lift genommen, der Typ [...]

Liettuan Vilna on hieno kaupunki ja siellä asuu upeita ihmisiä. Sikäli kun Euroopassa nyt kunnon kulttuurieroja edes on, poikkeaa liettualainen kulttuuri kuitenkin selkeästi suomalaisesta. Hintataso on alhainen ja maan politiikka inhottaa paikallisiakin, mutta poliisiin voi jotakuinkin luottaa. Infrastruktuuri toimii. Bussit kulkevat ajallaan ja ovat pääosin uusia.

Kaunasiin, Liettuan toiseksi suurimpaan kaupunkiin lentää tunnissa Tampereelta. Kaunasista liettuaan bussi tai juna maksaa muutaman euron. Bussi, lautta ja juna -kombolla Vilnasta Tampereelle pääsee 20 tunnissa, mutta se maksaa hieman lentämistä enemmän. Baltiassa liftaaminen on äärimmäisen helppoa.

Vilnan vanha keskusta on hieman kiillotettu turisteille, mutta ei kuitenkaan ole mikään Praha-tyylinen rahankeruu-turistikrääsä-paratiisi, vaan keskustan arki ja normaali elämä ovat selkeästi nähtävissä. Nuhjuisuus on siedettävää ja oikeastaan ihan mukavaakin. Ai tuossa on vähän katukivetys rikki – no se unohtuu nopeasti kun tapaa ne lutuiset marjoja kadulla myyvät mummelit.

Itä-Eurooppalaisessa kulttuurissa perheet, sukulaiset ja ystävät ovat aivan eri tavalla läheisiä kuin pohjoismaalaisessa. Lievä melankolisuus, joka suomessa usein koetaan menneen ns. överiksi, kuuluu myös Liettualaiseen mielenlaatuun. Asenteet ovat kuitenkin, kuten kaikkialla, kovenemaan päin. Keväällä järjestetty seksuaalivähemmistöjen tukimarssi lähestulkoon kiellettiin kaupungin johdon toimesta ja maassa on säädetty kohtalaisen kovia lakeja sateenkaari-ihmisiä vastaan. Homouden tai muun erilaisuuden esittäminen mediassa kiellettiin vuosi sitten, mutta laista puhutaan paljon.

Kävin pari viikkoa sitten jälleen Vilnan liftariklubin kesämiitissä. Tälläkin kertaa paikka oli suurinpiirtein keskellä ei mitään, maaseudulla pienten mutkittelevien teiden päässä. Liftasin melkein perille asti, Kaunasista (jonne lensin), mutta viimeisen puolituntisen jouduin kävelemään peltojen halki vievää hiekkatietä, joka tietysti oli upea maisemakokemus.

Tapahtuma järjestettin Yurta Backbackers Hostellissa. Liettualainen reissaaja muutti maaseudulle, pisti takapihalleen pystyyn jurtta-teltan (sellainen iso mongolialainen asumus) ja ylläpitää kotonaan hostellia. Sinne on hyvä tehdä vaikkapa pyöräretki Vilnasta, matkaa on vain hieman päälle 30km.

Oi mutta innoissani olen! Keksin huisin hauskan idean kesäksi.

Olen vähän pohtinut Liettuaan kesäksi muuttamista. Kuulin että ystäväni kolmiosta olisi yksi huone vuokralla, eikä tarvittu montaa tuntia pohdintaa haluaisinko vuokrata sen. Katselin myös muita kämppiä yhden illan ennenkuin ystäväni varmisti myöhemmin, että huone vielä tosiaan on vapaana. Keskihinta Vilnan keskustasta pyöri jossain 500 litassa (144 €) ja huoneeni vuokra, 300 litaa (86 €), on liettualaisittainkin halpa. Liettuassa, kuten ilmeisesti suurimmassa osaa muutakin Eurooppaa, on lähes kaikissa vuokrakämpissä huonekalut valmiina. Vastakohtana tulee mieleen Saksa, jossa vuokralainen ottaa suurinpiirtein oman keittiönkin mukaansa!

Halvin kämppä olisi ollut keskustan ulkopuolelta 20e/kk – jaettu vessa ja puulämmitys! Idylistä…

Kesän mittaan luvassa siis Liettualaiseen kulttuuriin ja Vilnassa asumiseen syväluotaavia blogiartikkeleita. Labas!

Before the retreat I ordered a laptop to be sent to Budapest – an attempt to take writing more seriously and stop relying on couchsurfers and internet cafes to write my blog and other work. The idea was for it to arrive at Number 47 (our friend’s house, where we usually stay) before I returned. To collect it and leave after a couple of days.

Back in Budapest. No laptop. No package at all in fact, including the one I asked friends back home to send with a new sim card and second-hand phone. I anxiously make phone calls. Has it all gone missing? Been stolen? No. It just hasn’t been sent. The phone went missing in the post before it even got to the friends to send it to me. The man from Ebay who sold me the laptop says he didn’t send it yet as I mentioned I was traveling and he thought he’d wait for me to get back. So we have to stick around and wait – three to four days he tells me. I wanted to leave for Romania on Tuesday, but now have to wait til Friday. Ok, ok. Budapest is a nice city. Let’s wait.

Strangely, Pete’s parents have arrived. They’re also traveling Europe, in a different style. They take us to dinner, first in my favourite vegan restaurant, next in a hotel Pete’s Dad chooses. It’s the first time they’ve seen Pete since he gave me a lift to France ten months ago. I met his dad before, when we went to pick up his passport from London, but not his mum. She’s a lovely Polish lady, obviously worried about her son. She orders food she doesn’t want and coerces him to eat it. She’s trying to fatten him up by stealth, it’s sweet.

While waiting we are tourists. We go to the Buda Labyrinth (not worth it, don’t bother) with Pete’s parents, a couple of museums and Széchenyi Baths with people from the retreat. Budapest is trying to market itself as “The City of Spas”and despite this being my third visit, this is the first spa I’ve been to. It’s pricey, but worth it to stay all day. Szechenyi has a huge number of saunas, steam rooms and thermal pools, all different temperatures. We spend a good three hours going from one to the next, but are beaten by the final sauna which is so hot it’s impossible to walk on the floor with bare feet.

The Infoshop is a small room in Tuzrakter. Counter to what the website says, it’s not currently open to the public, but the collective who run it (most of whom live at Number 47) regularly hold info events and film screenings. Tonight is an event about surveillance, Fortress Europe and the crackdown on “illegal” migration. There’s also some hackers present, talking about internet surveillance and tracking. Some of it I ‘ve heard before, but it’s good to be part of a political discussion after playing tourist for a few days. Some new (to me) information: about a detention facility on a remote Italian island named Lampedusa.

Somehow we find ourselves doing an interview about the situation in Calais for a radio station with JD, one of the Infoshop collective. Neither of us has been there since September, but we give an account of what we’ve seen and learned and some background information.  After the interview is over, conversation turns to migrant rights in general, and then to Roma. While I’ve been traveling around Eastern Europe I’ve been hearing a lot of anti-gypsy statements, even from other activists. People talk about “The Gypsys”, like they’re all one person. Like they know them all. Like they can’t possibly be any way other than “the way they are”, because they are gypsys, and what more could we expect? It’s worse than we thought. JD tells us about forced deportations, coercive sterilisations of women and various other state repressions around Europe. Apparently there’s a Roma Rights Centre here in Budapest. I hope to visit before leaving.

Saturday is Dumpster Day and we all go diving at two of the indoor markets. This is mostly for Kaszino, the recently-opened-and-sadly-soon-to-close social centre which currently has a small number of homeless guys living there. It’s also for us and for whoever else helps out. One person waits outside with the bike trailer while the rest of us walk round, look in bins and ask people if we can take what they throw away. This is sometimes degrading and the stall-holders aren’t too impressed with us. Very few give us anything and some guard their bins from us. Pete’s told off by a security guard while picking cauliflowers out of a bin, but still, we manage to get two trailers full of fruit and veg, which is cycled back to Caszino for sorting and dividing between us. A woman walks past while we’re loading the trailer, and mistaking us for a grocery stall, offers to buy some food. Daniel tells her she can have it for free. She’s ushered away quickly by the man she’s with. For free? – disgusting! But she comes back some minutes later and asks some questions in Hungarian. Daniel politely explains to her that we get this food, which is perfectly good, to save it from the rubbish. Eventually she gets over her snobbery, and much to the embarrasement of her companion, gets down on her knees and starts picking things out.

Still no laptop. I really did want to be in Romania by now. I need to leave this place, this city. I need to see trees and flowers. Why is it we always seem to get stuck places?

Laure has appeared, the one I met at Tramschule in Germany. It’s nice to have a friend from somewhere else. We have a walk about town, catch up our adventures, then go to a gig with Pete – a Balkan Beats night in a club called Gödör and the perfect music for dancing insanely for hours. I really miss dancing. I must do more of it.

The next day Laure gets a bus to Bratislava. I’m hoping Pete and I can get away too, at least for the weekend. There’s no post on Sunday. I email Christyanne and Balázs, the two CS hosts Sam stayed with on her cycle tour, before she met me in Budapest. They say yes, we can visit them – a chance to get out of the city! Hopefully my laptop will arrive by the time we return.

Christyanne and Balázs live in a small village called Kesztölc, two hours drive from Budapest. I like them immediately. They have a small, simple house in the village where Balázs grew up. They offer us sleeping space in their kitchen-lounge, but it seems to make more sense to sleep in our own bed in the van, parked in the driveway. Our own space AND couchsurfing-what luxury! Soon after arriving we all go mushroom hunting, but a storm is soon upon us and we have to walk back drenched to the bone, a mere 3 mushrooms collected between us all. Later they take us to the family wine cellar, built by Balázs’ great-great-great-great-grandfather and full of barrels of wine made by his father. There’s Palinka too and we all leave quite tipsy.

It rains for days. There’s not much to do but sit around chatting, sewing, making my mum’s birthday card, watching films and copying recipes from Christyanne’s books. She’s vegan too and a real foody like me. We are quite spoiled by her delicious food, so much so that we stay til Tuesday. Surely the laptop will be there by now?

Back to Budapest. Still no laptop. Now there’s more people staying at Number 47 and not much space for us. We stay one night, then find a new host from the Last Minute Couch Budapest Group. Our new host is friendly, hospitable and very kind to take us at such short notice, but we just don’t have much in common. He is very talkative.

In a Budapest Timeout magazine we find an article about a Treehouse Village. A treehouse village? In Hungary?!? Our Hungarian friends are equally mystified. I manage to get in touch with a guy who lives there and meet him in a crowded pub on a World Cup night (not recommended). Sadly, it’s mostly a commercial project, but he has some good ideas and is obviously commited to maintaining the integrity of the forest. He doesn’t invite me to visit, presumably for that reason – he wants to keep the location quiet.

The European Roma Rights Centre is in a huge glass building on the Buda side of town. After being given a little guest card to get through security, we make our way to the second floor to where a group of people are smoking in the hall. At first they don’t understand why we’re here, but I explain we’re activists, we’ve been traveling Eastern Europe, we’ve noticed this problem, want to get involved somehow, yadda yadda… We’re led into an office and introduced to two men, one of whom, Stanislav, explains a bit about the organisation, the Roma situation and some specific cases they have worked on. We decide to keep in touch. Romania is apparently the perfect place to be going if we want to get involved in this issue.

It really feels time to leave the city now. I’m emailing the laptop guy and calling Parcel Farce repeatedly, but they say they won’t talk to me, only the sender. After two weeks waiting the Ebay guy says he’s filing a claim and we might as well stop waiting around for it. So that’s it - it’s lost. What a waste of time and money! So we’re leaving Budapest – for the fourth time. It seems sudden, despite all the waiting. Romania, here we come…

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The time: mid April, I’m hitching from Texas to Chicago to meet my Czech friend, Roman. We’ll be hitchhiking together through the Midwest to the west coast, San Francisco to be specific, where we’ll split.

A week later.
Morning, Roman and I are trying to get to Colorado. We’ve spent last night camping under a bridge, in a small town in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming. Now we’re trying to get the hell out of there.

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