Eastwards
Door: Gilles
Blijf op de hoogte en volg Gilles
18 Juli 2011 | Tsjechische Republiek, Česká Lípa
Eastwards
They say that it is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all. But they’re wrong. Love is not lost. It changes shape. I’m writing this in the first train I took this trip. Comming from a beautiful house, headed to a nice festival. I am in motion, liberated from my responsibilities. Except for one. Making up my mind.
It is not even two days ago that I painfully left home, accompanied till the bus stop by Alejandro, whom I waved goodbye before I walked to the highway. Drumstick gone. Forgot it at home? No, it’s lying on the road, a short way back. Start again. My second, long awaited hitch hike took me north instead of east. A road trip with a Chech friend brought me to Hamburg. The U-bahn gave me an escape from the crowded city. Ausmuhle. On to the first place to sleep.
But lying alone in a tent on a place you don’t know is not easy. I had forgot how every little sound can pulse a little shot of suspicious adrenaline through my veins, pushing me back up to a higher level of being awake. The only way to check the area is by leaving the tent. I’m not going to do that… Even though I know that there is no event thinkable worth to be afraid for, I have to sleeplessly admit to myself that I am not used to this lifestyle anymore. But with the deepening of the night sounds fade and al that stands between me and sleep is the cold, steadily creeping into my bones.
I leave early. The highway is close, so I reach Berlin before noon. It takes a bit more time to get to the highway to Dresden. But I do. The sun is hot, so I take place in the shade and get out my map. A blond, small but strongly built guy leaves the shop. Sunglasses and a goatee, a red t-shirt and short pants with gym shoes. I show him the CZ sign.
“Ceska Lipa.”
I have no clue what he said, so I give him the map and he shows me a point in the north west of Chech Republic.
“Gut” I say, and I point to myself and to him trying to facially express a question mark.
“Ja” Chill, he’ll take me. He seems to think I am funny.
He takes of his shoes and puts them at the side of the door to my seat, then points at my shoes, and at the same side of the door. Ok, he wants me to take off my shoes in the truck. I take off my shoes and put them there. Then I walk away, because he leaves in twenty minutes. He tries to let me know that I can put my shoes back on outside if I want to. A pleasant laugh follows when I don’t.
The truck is big and white. It says magic above the window on the front.
“Magic” I say
“Magic, ja".
The inner compartment is black. There is a not entirely burnt insence on the desk in front of me. In front of him a picture of the Joker by Heath Ledger. It reminds me of a playing card I once found in the desert in Peru.
Zirzy speaks a few words of German and he has a Chech German dictionary in the truck. It helps in some occasions. A wave of the hand in the air to expres an “oh what the hell…?” also does the trick. I find that the hardest thing to express without words is: “ I understand what you mean” . But then again, what the hell?
Zirzies truck is provided with food and beer. He can not drink, but I can, so he gives me the first Chech beers of my trip. He notices I am tired, so he tells me to sleep. I do. The road takes us from the highway into the forests of his homeland. Incredible seas of pine colour well with the clear blue sky.
Cookies.
“Mutter?” I ask.
He turns his head away and looks at me with a light out of the corner of his eye.
“Ja, mutter.” A smile with his answer.
“Dobra”
Leaving Zirzies truck is just like when we met. We don’t understand what the other is saying, but there is a strangely familiar feeling that it is good this way. Yet the joy of meeting makes place for a sadness of departure. He was cool. But well. The journey goes on.
Half of the beer he gave me for the road spreads over the street. For a moment I feel ungrateful. But I hope the earth likes it in my place. I tell her hi from Zirzy.
Packed, I walk to the other side of the village in about half an hour. I look at the sun, and see that instead of six on Zirzies clock, it should be nine by now. Damn. Okay, well, I’ll never reach Brno tonight. Let’s just try to get a bit further and set camp. It’s a nice place here anyway. While I just stand there, holding up my Praha/Brno sign, I think about the laws of hitch hiking. A car stops faster than I’d hoped.
“Dobre vecer”
The driver starts talking to me in Chech. He seems energized, because he doesn't stop. I have no clue what he’s saying. I try to tell him in Chech that I don’t speak Chech, but I don’t speak Chech, so I fail. I try it in English. Works better than I’d hoped.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise that you don’t speak Chech.”
I get in the car.
“You’re fucking lucky, we’re going to Brno”
Our three hour trip is filled with conversation. I will enjoy the warm safety of a very friendly hearted and beautiful couple tonight.
They say that it is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all. But they’re wrong. Love is not lost. It changes shape. I’m writing this in the first train I took this trip. Comming from a beautiful house, headed to a nice festival. I am in motion, liberated from my responsibilities. Except for one. Making up my mind.
It is not even two days ago that I painfully left home, accompanied till the bus stop by Alejandro, whom I waved goodbye before I walked to the highway. Drumstick gone. Forgot it at home? No, it’s lying on the road, a short way back. Start again. My second, long awaited hitch hike took me north instead of east. A road trip with a Chech friend brought me to Hamburg. The U-bahn gave me an escape from the crowded city. Ausmuhle. On to the first place to sleep.
But lying alone in a tent on a place you don’t know is not easy. I had forgot how every little sound can pulse a little shot of suspicious adrenaline through my veins, pushing me back up to a higher level of being awake. The only way to check the area is by leaving the tent. I’m not going to do that… Even though I know that there is no event thinkable worth to be afraid for, I have to sleeplessly admit to myself that I am not used to this lifestyle anymore. But with the deepening of the night sounds fade and al that stands between me and sleep is the cold, steadily creeping into my bones.
I leave early. The highway is close, so I reach Berlin before noon. It takes a bit more time to get to the highway to Dresden. But I do. The sun is hot, so I take place in the shade and get out my map. A blond, small but strongly built guy leaves the shop. Sunglasses and a goatee, a red t-shirt and short pants with gym shoes. I show him the CZ sign.
“Ceska Lipa.”
I have no clue what he said, so I give him the map and he shows me a point in the north west of Chech Republic.
“Gut” I say, and I point to myself and to him trying to facially express a question mark.
“Ja” Chill, he’ll take me. He seems to think I am funny.
He takes of his shoes and puts them at the side of the door to my seat, then points at my shoes, and at the same side of the door. Ok, he wants me to take off my shoes in the truck. I take off my shoes and put them there. Then I walk away, because he leaves in twenty minutes. He tries to let me know that I can put my shoes back on outside if I want to. A pleasant laugh follows when I don’t.
The truck is big and white. It says magic above the window on the front.
“Magic” I say
“Magic, ja".
The inner compartment is black. There is a not entirely burnt insence on the desk in front of me. In front of him a picture of the Joker by Heath Ledger. It reminds me of a playing card I once found in the desert in Peru.
Zirzy speaks a few words of German and he has a Chech German dictionary in the truck. It helps in some occasions. A wave of the hand in the air to expres an “oh what the hell…?” also does the trick. I find that the hardest thing to express without words is: “ I understand what you mean” . But then again, what the hell?
Zirzies truck is provided with food and beer. He can not drink, but I can, so he gives me the first Chech beers of my trip. He notices I am tired, so he tells me to sleep. I do. The road takes us from the highway into the forests of his homeland. Incredible seas of pine colour well with the clear blue sky.
Cookies.
“Mutter?” I ask.
He turns his head away and looks at me with a light out of the corner of his eye.
“Ja, mutter.” A smile with his answer.
“Dobra”
Leaving Zirzies truck is just like when we met. We don’t understand what the other is saying, but there is a strangely familiar feeling that it is good this way. Yet the joy of meeting makes place for a sadness of departure. He was cool. But well. The journey goes on.
Half of the beer he gave me for the road spreads over the street. For a moment I feel ungrateful. But I hope the earth likes it in my place. I tell her hi from Zirzy.
Packed, I walk to the other side of the village in about half an hour. I look at the sun, and see that instead of six on Zirzies clock, it should be nine by now. Damn. Okay, well, I’ll never reach Brno tonight. Let’s just try to get a bit further and set camp. It’s a nice place here anyway. While I just stand there, holding up my Praha/Brno sign, I think about the laws of hitch hiking. A car stops faster than I’d hoped.
“Dobre vecer”
The driver starts talking to me in Chech. He seems energized, because he doesn't stop. I have no clue what he’s saying. I try to tell him in Chech that I don’t speak Chech, but I don’t speak Chech, so I fail. I try it in English. Works better than I’d hoped.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise that you don’t speak Chech.”
I get in the car.
“You’re fucking lucky, we’re going to Brno”
Our three hour trip is filled with conversation. I will enjoy the warm safety of a very friendly hearted and beautiful couple tonight.
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18 Juli 2011 - 12:05
Anne:
Mooi! Waar ben je nu? Liefs!
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Je kunt nu ook Smileys gebruiken. Via de toolbar, toetsenbord of door eerst : te typen en dan een woord bijvoorbeeld :smiley
