El Bonillo, 31 Oct. 2012.
The blood red eye in the sky, almost like the eye of God, watching my endeavours trying to keep this bike in motion and getting closer to the coast every day, trying harder even to ignore my Soledad, the ever growing sense of loneliness which by now, nearly four weeks of cycling , though I have to admit I have lost track of time, one day gliding into the next, is becoming synonimous with the stygian depths of self chosen hell...
I don´t remember from previous cycle trips, long hikes in forgotten forests and sea kayaking, sleeping on solidary sandy beaches somewhere on Asian beaches under an opaque moon after wolfing down tons of food, feeling these oppresive clouds of loneliness attacking me with such an overwelming ethereal reality...
My pitiful atrphied human spirit, my frenetic soul, willing my body to keep pushing the pedals of my bike, inwardly counting down the days to the end of this trip but completely out of sync with time, trying hard to conclude this disparate purpose of being alone, away from the hustle and bustle of good old Mokum but longing for the entertainment of Pattaya where I never can possibly be alone, never possibly could be suffering from this omni-presence of utter mental desolation...
Trying to create entertainment for myself evening after evening in front of my tent, drawing countless nude Hot Mommas in the flickering lights of my small camp fire, moels who could have been there in the flesh if I had been more intelligent and bought that ticket to Krung Thep, as the Thais call their sweltering capital, and got myself on that local bus straight from Bankok´s new airport Suvarnibhumi, ninety minutes of easy transportation to that male paradise called Pattaya...
But no...I had to create a totally different sort of entertainment, but a Kross bicycle and test myself one more time, physically as well as mentally, to my very limits...cycling every darned day in the very midst of nowhere...
Still the coast is getting closer and with it Barcelona, my bus back to Amsterdam and a cheap ticket back to my second home called The Land Of Smiles...
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
Curious young village boys
Piedrabuena, 29 Oct. 2012.
Just another small dusty hamlet in the midlle of nowhere, scores of kilometers south of the Spanish capital, where my underwear from the day before hanging from the handlebars of my Kross bicycle as well as my spair couple of socks - I wash them in the sink of the toilets of the bars where I have my morning Cafe Con Leche and then tie them to my bike´s handlebars so they can dry in the wind for use of yet another day - is attracting unwelcome attention by the village soccer playing youngsters, hurrying over to have a serious look-see at this crazy Gringo who must be so poor he travels the world on a muddy Bicicleta...I strech out the rain soaked pair of knickers just to amuse them, have after all been young and curious myself once long ago, before entering yet another local bar for much needed early morning coffee, leaving a bunch of highly entertained village Niños behind, probably more entertainment as they normally get all week.
Dark latino eyes belonging to mostly elderly men drinking copious amounts of red wine judging by the number of empty Vino bottles strewn around tables and lean-tos, maybe Spain is being hit hard by the European crisis but that is hardly noticable here where rural social life is still inside the bar and not back home in front of the telly watching Rajoy trying deperately to explain the country´s latest round of austerity´s measures....and anyway, every bar in these god forsaken Pueblos seem to sport at least one big flatscreen TV. Like I said crisis or not!!!
Nobody paying me much attention compared to the young Barca Aficionados outside, the way is should be, an ancient computer in a dark corner perfect for reaching access to the internet again, slow as it might be...
Back outside my newly found Barca friends are still admiring my Kross and all the crap tied on top of it, probably wondering what that huge load of garbage contains...my tent, my blanket falling to pieces, bicycle repair stuff and dirty spare clothes...I will tell them when I get back out of this dirty, empty sugarbags strewn and wine invested boozers bar...
Just another small dusty hamlet in the midlle of nowhere, scores of kilometers south of the Spanish capital, where my underwear from the day before hanging from the handlebars of my Kross bicycle as well as my spair couple of socks - I wash them in the sink of the toilets of the bars where I have my morning Cafe Con Leche and then tie them to my bike´s handlebars so they can dry in the wind for use of yet another day - is attracting unwelcome attention by the village soccer playing youngsters, hurrying over to have a serious look-see at this crazy Gringo who must be so poor he travels the world on a muddy Bicicleta...I strech out the rain soaked pair of knickers just to amuse them, have after all been young and curious myself once long ago, before entering yet another local bar for much needed early morning coffee, leaving a bunch of highly entertained village Niños behind, probably more entertainment as they normally get all week.
Dark latino eyes belonging to mostly elderly men drinking copious amounts of red wine judging by the number of empty Vino bottles strewn around tables and lean-tos, maybe Spain is being hit hard by the European crisis but that is hardly noticable here where rural social life is still inside the bar and not back home in front of the telly watching Rajoy trying deperately to explain the country´s latest round of austerity´s measures....and anyway, every bar in these god forsaken Pueblos seem to sport at least one big flatscreen TV. Like I said crisis or not!!!
Nobody paying me much attention compared to the young Barca Aficionados outside, the way is should be, an ancient computer in a dark corner perfect for reaching access to the internet again, slow as it might be...
Back outside my newly found Barca friends are still admiring my Kross and all the crap tied on top of it, probably wondering what that huge load of garbage contains...my tent, my blanket falling to pieces, bicycle repair stuff and dirty spare clothes...I will tell them when I get back out of this dirty, empty sugarbags strewn and wine invested boozers bar...
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
The logic of Spanish thirsty Zorros
Plasencia, 23 Okt. 2012.
No idea what I am doing here in the kingdom of the former Conquistadores who had high hopes of getting rich in what is now considered Latino America, Central America and the Mexican homeland of the Peones, trying to check on my E-mail in bars where the computer is slower as my poor legs can do the job on my bike going uphill and strong wind in the face, darker hellholes than the backside of a black rat, the ground covered in empty sugar bags and sigarette buts, locals getting drunk on Damm beer and Estrella brew, strong Espresso cafe in the morning followed by red wine to start a easy day... well not for me, uphill and wind in the face it will be again for another day, unwashed underwear covering my Gringo ass and sweaty socks sumping in my sneakers all day.
Sleeping at night in the forest with local Zorros checking out my empty beer cans for possible nutricious contents, or else they too just wanna get smashing drunk - Borracho as they call it here - before retiring to their burrows come morning, probably wondering what in the name of the Zorro species´ equivalent of God a human being is doing here, enduring the hardship of Spain´s enterior instead of enjoying the loving administrations of Thai Hot Mommas...
No cheap contacts with those Isan ladies of the notorious Thai nightlife but rain and, or burning sun pestering my existence here on my Kross bicycle while I struggle up steep hills, trying to survive chilly nights wrapped in a thin blanket that tends to fall apart more every night I enroll it on top of my sleeping mat, also falling to pieces more every passing day, , just the way I feel like falling apart each morning waking up in my little tent, shit...seriously wonder if this dirty blanket will continue serving me more or less well untill the end of this month, never mind the other two weeks into november before hitting the Catalaunya capital...
Every minute of my cycling hours damning myself to burning hell and beyond for having chosen this nutcase hardship...yeah, these nighttime visitors to my tent, Spanish Zorros attracting by the strong stale smell of Damm beer are right....I am a human being living in the not so rich West where comfort and an easy life are still a serious option, where one does not to endure the harsh reality of the outside life the way they have!!!
The logic of Spanish Zorros is irrefutable!!!
No idea what I am doing here in the kingdom of the former Conquistadores who had high hopes of getting rich in what is now considered Latino America, Central America and the Mexican homeland of the Peones, trying to check on my E-mail in bars where the computer is slower as my poor legs can do the job on my bike going uphill and strong wind in the face, darker hellholes than the backside of a black rat, the ground covered in empty sugar bags and sigarette buts, locals getting drunk on Damm beer and Estrella brew, strong Espresso cafe in the morning followed by red wine to start a easy day... well not for me, uphill and wind in the face it will be again for another day, unwashed underwear covering my Gringo ass and sweaty socks sumping in my sneakers all day.
Sleeping at night in the forest with local Zorros checking out my empty beer cans for possible nutricious contents, or else they too just wanna get smashing drunk - Borracho as they call it here - before retiring to their burrows come morning, probably wondering what in the name of the Zorro species´ equivalent of God a human being is doing here, enduring the hardship of Spain´s enterior instead of enjoying the loving administrations of Thai Hot Mommas...
No cheap contacts with those Isan ladies of the notorious Thai nightlife but rain and, or burning sun pestering my existence here on my Kross bicycle while I struggle up steep hills, trying to survive chilly nights wrapped in a thin blanket that tends to fall apart more every night I enroll it on top of my sleeping mat, also falling to pieces more every passing day, , just the way I feel like falling apart each morning waking up in my little tent, shit...seriously wonder if this dirty blanket will continue serving me more or less well untill the end of this month, never mind the other two weeks into november before hitting the Catalaunya capital...
Every minute of my cycling hours damning myself to burning hell and beyond for having chosen this nutcase hardship...yeah, these nighttime visitors to my tent, Spanish Zorros attracting by the strong stale smell of Damm beer are right....I am a human being living in the not so rich West where comfort and an easy life are still a serious option, where one does not to endure the harsh reality of the outside life the way they have!!!
The logic of Spanish Zorros is irrefutable!!!
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Paranoid Africans
Amsterdam, 07 Sept. 2012.
I have a strong suspicion this will be a very empty bus seeing all these African would be passengers making a hasty half paranoid retreat, dragging heaps of luggage behind them with one dark skinned hand while the other is holding their cell phone, talking excitedly no doubt about these plain clothes officials giving everybody the Can I See Your ID, What Is In Your Bag treatment...
I have a strong suspicion this will be a very empty bus seeing all these African would be passengers making a hasty half paranoid retreat, dragging heaps of luggage behind them with one dark skinned hand while the other is holding their cell phone, talking excitedly no doubt about these plain clothes officials giving everybody the Can I See Your ID, What Is In Your Bag treatment...
I remember
the Eurolines bus Amstel Station stop from twenty odd years ago
transporting loads of alternatives across all of Europe, rastahaired
chicks and second hand clothed boyfriends hastily skinning up their last
coffee shop bought treasures before it would turn into illegal
substances upon crossing the international borders...
Nowadays with airline companies slashing it out among each other with bargain tickets the Euroline company has become a haven for the illegal immigrants, open borders and the Schengen Accord an easy way to visit relatives and friends down south...
What should have been a half bus at least turns into a comfortable four passengers trip to Belique...
Nowadays with airline companies slashing it out among each other with bargain tickets the Euroline company has become a haven for the illegal immigrants, open borders and the Schengen Accord an easy way to visit relatives and friends down south...
What should have been a half bus at least turns into a comfortable four passengers trip to Belique...
Friday, October 5, 2012
Last minute preparations.
Amsterdam, 06 Sept. 2012.
0700. h. up and drinking coffee, last minutes preparations, heavy rain outside a bad message of what is ahead of me???
Walking to the railweaystation for my bus to Barcelona with heavenly piss on top of me.
0700. h. up and drinking coffee, last minutes preparations, heavy rain outside a bad message of what is ahead of me???
Walking to the railweaystation for my bus to Barcelona with heavenly piss on top of me.
Painting in my house
A theree and a half minutes videos of me painting in my house in Amsterdam on www.youtube.com, made by my friend Susanne from Germany
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ui6JMKzuHqU&feature=plcp
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ui6JMKzuHqU&feature=plcp
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
My own version of the Vuelta
Amsterdam, 03 Oct. 2012.
The days of hardship and self choosen isolation are drawing close, a twenty-four hour bus trip to the Catalunya capital in a Eurolines bus full with ilegal immigrants has got to be survived first and a number one test to my endurance...
Hard physical excersize trying my own version of the Vuelta , up and down Sierras and Cordilleras testing my determination to the max, spending my nights in long ago abandoned barns and Pueblos Abandonados where my neighbors will be curious mice and nosy rats always checking out my food reserves at the midnight hourn after I have knocked myself out with sweet to the tougue Spanish red wine...
Maybe a barn owl ridding me off my not so cozy co-inhabitants...
An early morning Cafe Con Leche in small Bares in a country where every village even when it only has two houses, will have bar. The locals will probably eye me with a certain suspicion while I wolf down Bocadillos De Queso and watch the morning talk shows on telly...
Bares where I will hopefully return after 14.00 h. to enjoy that typical Spanish Menu Del Dia served with a bottle of Vino Tinto, lets get heavy on the food and easy on the red wine...
It is all there for me come soon and be prepared, mentally mostly and get my Gringo ass on that Eurolines bus saturday morning 09.00 h. check inn time thirty minutes before departure...
Hard physical excersize trying my own version of the Vuelta , up and down Sierras and Cordilleras testing my determination to the max, spending my nights in long ago abandoned barns and Pueblos Abandonados where my neighbors will be curious mice and nosy rats always checking out my food reserves at the midnight hourn after I have knocked myself out with sweet to the tougue Spanish red wine...
Maybe a barn owl ridding me off my not so cozy co-inhabitants...
An early morning Cafe Con Leche in small Bares in a country where every village even when it only has two houses, will have bar. The locals will probably eye me with a certain suspicion while I wolf down Bocadillos De Queso and watch the morning talk shows on telly...
Bares where I will hopefully return after 14.00 h. to enjoy that typical Spanish Menu Del Dia served with a bottle of Vino Tinto, lets get heavy on the food and easy on the red wine...
It is all there for me come soon and be prepared, mentally mostly and get my Gringo ass on that Eurolines bus saturday morning 09.00 h. check inn time thirty minutes before departure...
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Preparing for Spain
Amsterdam, 02 Oct. 2012.
Back on the way home, ready to engage myself with the isolation of my jars of paint, sweaty all over after working my Giant ATB all moring preparing myself for six weeks of cycling in Spain, the Sierras and cordilleras of the Spain interior are awaiting me and I don't feel like having to put with their hindsight sarcasm about my fitness...
Life is like a kind of living theater, a kind of Tableau Vivant that will get the better of me if I start my cycle tour unfit, the crazy weather gods like Thor and his allmighty hammer Mjölnir laughing their heads off while I struggle up steep Sierras that are no match for even the highest category in Le Tour De France...
Better get fit and struggle daily head first against the strong autumn winds pestring the Dutch capital before my long and arduous bus trip to Barcelona come saturday morning nine o'clock
Back on the way home, ready to engage myself with the isolation of my jars of paint, sweaty all over after working my Giant ATB all moring preparing myself for six weeks of cycling in Spain, the Sierras and cordilleras of the Spain interior are awaiting me and I don't feel like having to put with their hindsight sarcasm about my fitness...
Life is like a kind of living theater, a kind of Tableau Vivant that will get the better of me if I start my cycle tour unfit, the crazy weather gods like Thor and his allmighty hammer Mjölnir laughing their heads off while I struggle up steep Sierras that are no match for even the highest category in Le Tour De France...
Monday, October 1, 2012
The forest of the Guezen
Amsterdam, 01 oct. 2012.
With fresh country wind blowing in my face, emptying my mind of the constant conflict in my head, the mad scribblings I so often try to write down here, I cycle the 12 km. out of Amsterdam West to Het Guezenbos, The Forest of the Guezen, Le Bois De Guex, a small wed land nature reserve populated with stray Scottish cattle and equally stray Islandic ponies...
A cycle trip I try to make every autumn, enjoying the sight of animals that have once again found freedom after centuries of mankind's abombinable's animal slavery...
And yes, I am lucky spotting a whole herd of Scottish cattle and a stallion with three mares.
A cycle trip I try to make every autumn, enjoying the sight of animals that have once again found freedom after centuries of mankind's abombinable's animal slavery...
And yes, I am lucky spotting a whole herd of Scottish cattle and a stallion with three mares.
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