English foreword:
Lost with translation,
some, but not all. The biggest pity is that my English is less then basic, so I have no idea how to translate slang, dialect, local specialties.
I hope that the result is st least digestible.
You have to believe me that original is better, but one must be local to catch the catch.

It was not a pice of cake at all.
I tried with Ai but stupid machine doesn't know slang, dialect, local spices.
Look what ChatGPT wrote to me: The text is now more fluid, but still retains its raw, personal tone. If you want any additional corrections or changes, let me know! 😊

No I don't want additional correction. My writing is raw and personal. Not only that. Also vulgar, easy, plain, raw, a little bit of unbridled.
Like I am!

Some chapters, mostly with tots, there is quite a mess.
Also the original is like that.
As I am not a professional writer and translator, I left them being messy. If you don't have a nerves, just skip it.

00 INSTEAD OF AN INTRODUCTION

Those were different times, not only in the sense that when we were young, everything was different, also, but more in the sense of today's achievements of science, when it is self-evident, but at that time it was not yet indicated, at least not on our horizons, if some secret agents were already assembling an almighty tracking device, today called a mobile phone, we had no idea.

 Yes, there were times when there was no internet, no Google, but we dreamed, so sometimes I feel like we didn't dream more and better. After all, without Garmin you get lost and see more than expected, and that's the good thing about traveling, because everything that is known and expected, everyone knows today.

 

And then.

I wrote in sections, although the sections should be intertwined. At least in terms of time, if not content.

Why?

Because ....

I've read a few books 2 or more times and...

    Because it is a common practice that stories are intertwined, some can get so complicated that sometimes you don't understand it throughout the entire book. This is rare, but not unusual. Usually one story is super good (really the best possible good), and the other or the others are not, so that you are tempted to read that one again, but not, because it is sometimes really hard to follow. What makes me quite angry. If only they would at least use a different font, if they can't mark the chapters.

 

And that's why it's a collection of village specials, not in chronological order, whatever came to mind first came first.

    Then there's the plot that got me started writing in the first place, a kitschy love story, but only for reading, not everything else.

    In between, there are thoughts between this and that, marked with a second typeface, if the first one is too much for you, you can skip all the others and immerse yourself in the charms, as they are, you just have to read on if you want to find out.

 

And so.

---

02 HANA

" Under other circumstances you would have heard other story, but right now I have all my access and exits sealed. I have to rethink everything. If you wouldn't smell so intoxicating, I would have sent you to three beautiful places* a long time ago. In fact, nothing would have developed. Well, I don't know what happened now, but certainly not more than that.

In other circumstances, I'd rather not think about it."

 

We were sitting on a rock above the small harbor, watching the sunset, here it is almost real, it hides behind the horizon, but it also immediately peeks out, and even when it is not there, you can see the scorched sky in the north. Somewhere in the north, west meets north and quite close to east.

 

We were silent for quite a long time. You would think I would have said something like that, you know, girls can complicate things out of nowhere, well, at least not understandably, or at least not expectedly.

But I had nothing to add here. I'm hardly important anyway. A little bit present, and I don't know if she's mistaken and talking about someone else.

 

" But you have to, under mandatory, give me your address so I can contact you when we get around. Then we'll see if you're still cool, and I'll be back on normal basis, and then, oh what the heck.

Fear the Viking girls!"

three beautiful places *
Original: Tri krasne. Is polite usage of 3 p. m. , vhat is rud way to express and in direct transition sound: 3 pizde materine and it means thre mother pusies.

---

03 Narvik

We were quite a bit scared of getting off the train that takes you over the mountains between Sweden and Norway. The landscape in Sweden rises little by little, but it all reaches 2000m above sea level, and then there is the border that you can't see. They don't stop anything, let alone to go through the control. If there was a border, it was up there between high hills and deep lakes, where there are only a few bushes, reminiscent of the forest line in our country, when there is only a bushes, but ours is relatively short, this is relatively endless, from here to the horizon. There is no forest either, but it is kind of lowbushes, there is no forests up there anymore. Well, and somewhere there, between two lakes, between the bushes, stood a wooden red house, neither small nor large, but with quite a few extensions, which suggests that it was still being used, and above all, adapted, to various situations. Maybe it was once even a customs office or just a border control. Or maybe I'm completely wrong and Gunar, or Erik, or Hogar, or whoever, had a rather vivid imagination and just remodeled and added to it and now it looked quite something, but not much. I wouldn't even mention it, because a few, smaller ones, but in a way very similar, had been seen before.

 

Vendar.

 

At that time I leaned out the window, the light was, as only in Scandinavia can be, in short, highcontrasting and crystal clear air, so you can't help but take a picture, although maybe it's all similar. But it's so nice that you occasionally giggle, although some people look back, which is supposed to mean some kind of criticism, in a northern way and there's no one to send you to your mother's,

" If you don't close the window right now, I'll kiss your mommy!*"

Nothing like that, I'm also a bit of a freshman, I've only been wandering for 14 days and if you get that far, it's not like I was just hanging out the window and taking pictures at that moment when we drove past the building described above.

 

I'll kiss your mommy!*
Original: Mamu ti poljubim. Is polite usage of I'll kiss yor mom! , vhat is rud way to express and indirect transition sound: jebemti mater and it means fuck your mom.

They are made here of logs, in the south it is made of boards. They have a rather flat roof, about 20 degrees of slope, like you would cover with a roof tile here. They make it from bark, I think birch, I was taught about this many years after this trip, and on this bark they put poles, no thicker than 5 cm, so from a distance, if you don't look closely, it even looks like a roof tile, a corrugated iron. Not that I'm doing any advertising now.

 

Okay. Never mind.

But it does, and that's why I'm spreading it so widely, because there were two of them sunbathing on the roof of one of the many outbuildings. One completely in an Adam's costume*, the other just a brasles. Hey, my eyes lit up. I even raised my hand in greeting, which I got a response to.

Wave.

*
Of course she wasn't in Adam's costume, but Eve's, it must be a joke, for those uneducated, in my youth we of course used vulgar words (used dirty words), but only in closed societies, for the public we pretended to be well-behaved, well, at least behaved, well, not completely wild and of course I couldn't write that she was naked. Well, I could, but it loses its magic.
In my youth we didn't have sex education in school and these and other matters were treated in a semi-mystical way. Oh, what was not dreamed of.
and topless, the word brasles is more ticklish.
Am I stupid?
I am, but it's cool.

Of course, I forgot to take a picture, although I had the camera in exactly that position. In reality, I should have just triggered it, but it shocked me so much that I even looked back for a moment to see if anyone was watching, but apparently no one was watching at the time, probably already in the Norwegian nature, if that was once the customs.

 

The railway then soon starts down the hill and makes bigger and bigger bends. In reality, they are getting smaller, but increasingly sharper and from this point of view bigger. Because we started to descend into the fjord. It's all so big that at first you don't even realize that it's a special valley. In reality, we saw the sea towards the end of the descent when the train also gains speed again, because that slalom up there, you just have to drive on the slip road. Otherwise, not like with a car and a handbrake, it's just too long, but if we only had two carriages, it would be weird in my opinion, at least in a cartoon.

 

At the bottom of the fjord, where there are peaks of 2000 m and more on both sides, there are mountains once higher, how, theres 2 thousand and something else, but it starts from the sea, the Triglav starts from the valley, which is already high (1000m), when the valley slowly opens, it never opens, at least not during my wandering down there. It would probably take another 100 km to the open, 50 for sure, but it's already so wide that Narvik parked on the shore of the sea. If vik is a fjord, and there are so many of them, then Nar, I don't know what it would be under by chance. We Dolenci* also used nar, but as part of a word, it's here too. She often told my grandmother:

"Narraj bi te okol uh*."

Dolenci*
South east of my valley. From my mother side I am from there too.

Narraj bi te okol uh*
In south-east dialect: I would like to slap you around your ear.

 

Like Jesenice. By concentrating here on coal and Narvik supposedly supplied Germany with coal throughout the Second World War.

 

The town is not one of those endlessly cute, kitschy, sugary red-painted, white-framed, wooden settlements that make us all excited about Scandinavia, and some even in love with it, I didn't know it at the time, but it was starting to happen with great strides.

 

It's not bad either. After all, these are Norwegians and even those who are not sugar-coated, they pretend that you like it. If you come from socialism, it's also shiny and airy and you would feel comfortable all the time:

I traveled almost the entire trip more or less alone, so all that was left was a dropped jaw.

 

 

My friends and I had an argument in Venice. That somewhere in Switzerland we stopped talking, we sat in different compartments, that was the JŽ train.(Yugoslav_Railways) and we sat down nicely, 6 in a compartment, and then in Paris we each walked off in our own directions, without saying goodbye.

 

There were 6 of us at the beginning. Actually, more. I don't know if it's 30 Interrail enthusiasts and finally a few of them who really started. Because it's been talked about for a while. What you can't see, and especially what happens like this on the way around.

I finally decided on my own because I was very suspicious of some fairy tale stories, but in reality, none with an unhappy ending.

"Do you know that the train ran over someone?"

Or.

"Is Francl from the Eiffel Tower falling?

No, really, don't give him shit, I just met him last month."

Nothing like that.

What bothered me more was that 100 Swedish women raped the narrator, or at least someone he knew or heard from.

 

So then, out of all that huge crowd, 6 of us actually set off on our journey. Even 2 girls, but occupied, so from that point of view, nothing happened.

Two of them were late just before leaving, they still have something urgent to do, they'll come next week after us and that's it.

 

As you know, I spent the first two weeks enjoying the charms of a new tourist and more or less, first of all, visiting all the tourist spots that everyone who ventures beyond Gorizia for the first time must see.

I say nothing, it was shiny and airy and I mostly marveled at many things with my jaw deep below the surface.

 

And then again, when you're rambling like this, not just rambling, but visiting half the west, which I've heard about for years, what not, it seems to you that everything is completely shallow and that if you really wanted to get to know Narvik, you would need to process it for at least a week, if not a month or a year.

 

I was sitting there on a huge rock, not so much high as long, in the middle of Narvik, well, a little bit to the side but still there, watching the sunset, wellat least in fact, I watched kids playing football at 2 am, which is only called that, but otherwise it was a bright sunny time, if it wasn't already day and I thought the above. I looked into the distance and decided that this was stupid, that from now on I would go slowly with an feeling, where I would like to stop and enjoy it while I can, and continue when something entices me to go further, not according to a schedule and a map.

 

Otherwise, you can't just go somewhere, and you don't know where, so I set out for Barcelona, ​​but only in terms of direction, not destination, we'll see what happens along the way. Above all, let yourself be in the moment, space, time and that.

 

 

I've been sitting on the bus for half an hour. Aren't you on an Interrail? I'm missing about 300 km of the route and therefore the bus to Bodo. Not empty but not full either, mostly travelers, backpackers, of course some without, but those must be some dandies. Narvik is also a high-mountain ski resort, quite popular, although I didn't imagine it from this side, because it's Juhanus,Midsomer or whatever the name is, for the longest day. There are actually more of them, I don't know if it's a whole week when the sun doesn't set at all and if someone claims to have watched the sunset, it's not in the west, but in the north, because at the same moment it's supposed to set, it also starts to rise and there's sunrise at the same time. If it's about 5 cm short of the horizon, I think it's more, especially if you want to measure it there on the horizon, but in my opinion it's the same trick as with the rainbow and the treasure. I know from my own experience, you never get it right. I don't know if it has anything to do with the treasure, but everyone is totally into it, for tourists it's more appetizing with the program and dancing, but I imagine that in the old days, without tourists, they also started dancing, if there were any speeches, I can't imagine, probably a lot of teasing, about anything, probably about the mayor and the good old folks. They supposedly took care of the population on that day, which I can imagine quite well, with horns on their heads.

OK so, when Hogar met Helga she had a wreath of flowers on her head, it could have been nice, but I'm not sure about Hogar that he took off his helmet, he was in such a hurry, hence the horns. In those times and geographical heights, a completely different meaning.

 

Okay, never mind.

I sit with my nose against the window and wait for the bus to leave, watching the people at the station, waiting for another bus, not just one going south, and all sorts of undefined nonsense runs through my head.

The driver starts the engine, the thing shakes, then he fumbles with some papers, who know, what drivers have to fill out before they set off. He looks in the mirrors, adjusts his sun visor, you can't believe it, but it's really important, the sun at night, or whatever it's called, is extremely strong and low, and it's more than important to have eye protection. He looks around to see if there's anything behind the bus, and just as he's about to reverse, the scouts fly up with a huge flag. Well, not so huge as high, I don't know if it's 5 meters, maybe 4, but definitely more than 2.5 meters on it, nor a big triangle and some kind of emblem, it looked like a tree to me, but it could also have been a blueberry, who knows. Of course they're messing around with that pole, but it turns out that it folds into three parts, they rush onto the bus, looking curiously for free seats. At first it was quite full, but towards the end it got less and less, so there's a empty next to me, as well as a seat on the other side of the aisle.

 

Despite the sacred vow that everything will be different now and it will no longer matter where I go, but how it is, now here, this is theory, but practice still, I don't dare to just sit down with someone. Who know what kind of crazy people are walking around the world these days, some of them are really a bit strange, although I didn't think of anyone as special, rather as boring as me, but that's just a disguise, but in reality he is a crazy person.

I'm telling you, fool.

 

They sit in front of me, next to me, and behind me. There are 10 of them, all girls. Some are older, probably the guides, some are plump, but not in the American way, some are expressionless, and one is super, the best possible, but she walks past me as if I'm not there.

Then she comes back, not a superhero, but an expressionless one:

"Is it ocupaed?"

How does she know I'm not Norwegian and she immediately starts speaking English. Maybe because I don't have horns or so.

 

There weren't any on the road either, but they were rare, and they're American tourists. Some even go to Lapland with real antlers, not souvenirs, and shoot moose, they're not salmon*. That's a fish, but those are huge deer, as I know, very slow, so you can be extra clumsy to miss one and in general, miss it quite a bit as far as a hunting safari is concerned. It's already silly that the hounds chase you in front of the pheasant bush, and yet you can miss it by a kilometer, they're so fast and small.

*
In my valley the word for moose and solomon is almost identical.

The bus carefully reverses, the girls are chatting like crazy, if I understand anything, but I'm thinking that they must be making a fool of me.

Nobody knows?

 

Through a town no bigger than Mengeš, let's say Domžale, we quickly join the coastal road, which then winds along fjords, hills, rivers and lakes for 4 to 5 hours to Bodo. As many curves as you want, and another three in between, not for sensitive stomachs, but it's beautiful that you can't think. I would happily be a Norwegian in the summer, but I have a hard time imagining what it's like in the winter.

 Yes, you end up quite quickly, an avalanche hits you, a bear eats you, ice hits you, or you sit down for a while from exhaustion and it's the end in the bitter wind and cold at -100 degrees. But apparently there's not much of that, so the population is increasing, albeit slowly, but still, so I really don't understand how and what.

 

After about half an hour of driving, the laughter calms down, the girls stop grinding constantly, only in pairs. Even across the hall there is just something quick, like do you have chewing gum, I have no idea what they are talking.

I thought my neighbor even looked at me at first, but I'm not sure, they were much too playful to dare to talk about contact.

 

The bends slowly grind us down as your eyes close, but at least I tried to follow the phenomenally beautiful nature as much as possible. Really, super nice, it's hard to find better, but on the other side of the hill there is another fjord, a raging river and an absolutely beautiful lake. And that goes through the bends. But it's not like seeing one has seen them all. Not everyone is beautiful in their own way, but there are so many that you start thinking about something else, not to mention pulling your ears if someone has already used an English word.

And so.

 

My nsighbor to.

Doze, she wakes up, her head falls, she gets up as if she's awake, but it's the same at the next bend, so after about an hour she's already lying on my shoulder.

Awkward.

They wake her up, they joke around, but it only lasts about 15 minutes and then there she is again, on my shoulder, head in a sling and mouth wide open, occasional snoring. It was funny to me too, but they were still doing the general rattling.

After a while, one of them stands up in front of me, kneeling on her chair, and says:

"Don't be afraid, she does this to everyone, a little for real, a lot for fun, and we always have a good time when we get a tourist in our clutches. Where are you from?

Jugoslavija."

Uh, there was a shouting.

Even mine woke up.

U, Tito, Nasser, Nehru, non-aligned, self-government, that's cool. They were arguing, who knows, and what's so cool. They all stand up around me, a superwoman sits on the back of the seat on the other side of the aisle, her knees touch mine, they push behind them to at least hear, if not see, everything.

But I'm embarrassed.

 

But only at the beginning, in fact, only when the first one started, and then, the more they came, the more I liked it. Yes, of course I didn't start getting excited, I've never been able to do that in a crowd, yes, acting, but this isn't getting excited, but here are the girls themselves, I didn't even try, but I tried really hard to follow, but I didn't even succeed, so I mostly nodded and agreed with everything and everyone, and besides, I didn't even know much about the above. Yes, I've heard it before, because it couldn't be done without it, but to be interested in any way, except in general, what my mother had already said and what they said in the news and such, but in the meantime I was thinking about basketball, or something else, so it went from one note to the other, yes, oh, what else.

 

They noticed that I wasn't building on their enthusiasm, probably decided that they were being too direct, and slowly let me chatter with neighbour.

 

It turned out that she wasn't expressionless at all. In a way, quite the opposite. Yes, she wasn't anything like the one in the back, but she's from the magazines anyway, they take pictures like that when they show girls from Norway, she was a perfect metaphor and as such, you see, but half of everything else is already there. This one of mine, I guess, did that kink, especially the one with the mouth open, because it's really funny, even to me, it was just so experienced that I was convinced that it was genuine. Well, there was also something genuine in between, but I guess they like to joke about that topic, but the ringleader is mine.

 

I dragged myself out, others listened, but the only thing I can say is that I'm not interested in politics, that I'm much more attracted to rock, and I wanted to talk about it, but it immediately turned back to self-government.

Down there, only politicians and apparatchiks are interested in this, while the people have no idea about non-aligned people, let alone self-government. In general, the climate is that it is not even worth studying, because a automechanic earns better than a professor at a university, and the sooner you retire, the less the rest. Yes, you make up an illness, then you look for excuses for so long that they put you on the commission, and they generously give hospitalisation. If not real pensions, then at least spas as often as possible. I think there is a whole class of people who work just for this. But to talk about productivity, only the five-year plan is important, and we achieve this if we work or if we read the newspaper. Many of them go to get a salad during working hours so that they can be home at 2 o'clock.

 

She just looked at me sideways and couldn't believe it. Here, in Scandinavia, not only in Norway, self-government, people are thinking about it, and socialist youth organize courses and excursions to Yugoslavia to see for themselves how great it is, not only the idea, but also the practice. So that my speech reminds her of the People's Party, which makes similar statements, but also that it is full of hungry people and therefore emigrates wherever they can, most likely to Germany, so that they have debates in parliament about whether to let the Yugoslavs in. Some would invite everyone, like I did until half an hour ago, while others wouldn't invite anyone, but they have had similar ideas for ages, although history teaches us that the more we close ourselves off, the worse things are for us and vice versa. Well, mostly. It's not that simple, but still, if I simplify it.

 

 

We're going down soon.

Aren't you going to Bodo for a train ride?

Yes, but it's a half-hour drive to Bodo, and then a half-hour back to the same station, where we'll be soon.

I was just staring blankly.

Come with us, we're going to the pub in an hour and a half, we have vouchers and we'll smuggle them in, because no one will find out.

I looked even more stupid.

Oh, come on, I can't do it all night without your shoulder, get up, it'll be over soon.

And we get out in ....

In fact, it's not much more than a bus and train station and buffet. Where there are no tourists, they don't bother at all and there is only the bare minimum, and even that isn't very charming, you know, red houses with white window frames.

 

Now, that's it.

As I write this, it's been 40 years, but that's okay, and at least on Google Maps the place looks different, maybe I didn't pay enough attention to the area and only saw both stations and the nearby buffet, which is a bit understandable.

Understandable?

Because someone else would only look at girls, not places, and such a green beginner at all. I remember, many years later, I had an Indian colleague and he was all excited explaining why he was the only one at a bachelorette party in a sauna. Mine didn't have a sauna, but I haven't worked abroad yet and it was the most that can happen to you. There aren't 100 Swedish women, but there are 10 Norwegian women and at least one doesn't turn me down, who knows how it will develop, man, we'll see.

 

During dinner, it is still quite a bit, but perhaps the differences between those present were evident. Some are more excited, others less, that is always and everywhere the case, because it cannot be otherwise. Some are moderators, others moderated. Some are happy, others are happy. Theoretically it is easy, but practically it is not so easy.

My Hana didn't have a day, as she calls it, otherwise she would be the loudest and the moderator, if not the first then the second voice, but at that time she was more or less quite calm. Yes, what a remark that everyone heard, but some also looked at her quite poisonously. Well, poisonously, I couldn't have known that, but then I found out on the drink that not everything is so rosy, although they are just women.

 

To me, an outside observer, who doesn't care and everything, or most of it, in capitalism is shiny, and in the company of self-governing enthusiastic campers, it's a kind of heaven. Then on the train, there was more space and we divided into groups. Hana on my shoulder, she was quite happy that I supported her, not to mention that I examined her in detail at dinner and found that she was a great cat. Not for newspapers, or at least not for the cover, but in half on some political topic is no problem, maybe even across the whole page.

We chatted more or less most of the night, which, the closer we got to the south, only seemed, albeit shyly, to be one short night, while you drive around three hills, and after the fourth, the sun rises over the fjord.

 

She explained to me that she had some pirate ancestors, because there is almost nothing that can upset the cold Scandinavians, who are not upset by such a mess. But she explodes, not at first, but at third, and then she can't say anything, now the relationship is quite tense. They were last week in a coastal fishing village, where they had a little fun with the local gang. A few drinks and a little dancing, a lot of laughing, but that's it. In short, normal. But what if some locals felt superior and started to go after the girls. It's not unusual, it happens a lot, but it usually ends before there is a crisis, if not a little raised tones, but these are Scandinavians and there is no crisis. They went after almost everyone, but when they got together with one quiet little mouse, who didn't know how to defend herself or dared to, he pulled away from me and I surrounded the ringleader by the ears, but when he didn't stop, I also hit him in the balls, then he showed me the knife, and the others stood around, as if defending him, I hit him with a bottle, and finally the police stepped in between. He almost didn't even care. He saw everything, so there was no debate, but I think he was cheering for the boys a bit, I guess we city girls are too spoiled. There were enough witnesses, so there were no problems here either.

"This is a happy ending, but I have to be careful what I say.

Fuck off!"

This is just the beginning.

We head towards the next fjord the next morning and our runs begin. We are three strong, loud and happy, three tense and tense, and three who don't know how or what, in short, a normal scene.

And the trotting starts, if they weren't so loud, they would leave us alone, but I beat up the young ox, and you can see how aggressive I am and it's really all my fault.

Hey, I thought I was going to make some more goats, but they stopped me, so now I'm a little cranky and moody, and you're like a lifeline to me, so we can deal with something else besides ourselves.

 

I completely forgot about the beautiful landscape and focused only on Hana and her view of the world, and on me. We looked at each other for a while. I didn't understand at all, she explained that she had a serious boyfriend and they had been together for two years, but it was in such a hurry, but it was also calming down and there was no longer that initial fire, so it was a bit like a fish out of water here, life seemed like a stew rather than a harmony of harmonious, delicious flavors.

 

 

I don't know which one settlement, or town, there was a village, one sounds familiar to me on Google Maps, and the bay is visible, but it's significantly too big, and the other one doesn't sound familiar, but it's also significantly more beautiful than what I noticed.

Now.

Of course, I didn't pay much attention to the surroundings, so it could be one or the other. They kept convincing me to join them, they would be in the scout hut for a few days and there was enough space, the caretaker wouldn't mind either, since he would be the only man.

What could I do, oh my God, to resist, I'm not saying, complexes as much as you want and at this salary, no problem, thanks, but I'm in a hurry to Oslo, and on the other hand, I'd rather be a little bit more active and so on.

 

We walk from the station across the fields, it's getting pretty crowded, after a whole day, well 8  hour of riding a cart, a little walking. Not only grazing, it turned out that I put on my shoes and ran across those fields, so that Hana was the only one to catch up with me, the others were in no hurry at all, but I really enjoyed putting a little strain on my legs. I'm not a keen mountaineer, but it's nice to have a little noise on the hill. There were no hills here, so I changed my pace and we reached the shelter, or what is this called up there, about half an hour before most people.

Hana quickly explained the situation to a hippie, but really, just like a hippies worked, it wasn't a fad but an original. At that time, Marley hadn't yet invaded my horizon, but he would have.

 

And so we sit on that rock by the lake, was it a fjord, we stare north, and the sunset is so kitschy that it couldn't be more, but super, the best possible, he hugs me and we hug and, and, and.

 

Nothing else.

 

You already know the rest.

---

04 Peter

 

Talking about stereotypes is a bit of a stretch.

In truth, it is very much a mime (passing), if not a shot in the face, but today's story is characterized by exactly that. I created an image in my head of a typical Englishman, just according to the general perception. A little from movies, a little from the air, in reality I don't even know where it came from, it just came together.

But certainly not this one.

Even if this Englishman is an airplane.

But it turned out to be a Jumbo jet.

Oh, I missed.

 

Peter already looked like an outsider, maybe because he's a southerner, but not twice as hot, because they also have a way of staying.

Maybe he could be an Italian, or even better, a Provençal. Those guys are neither bird nor mouse, you type Frenchmen either, they say they are descendants of Roman soldiers. Yes, ancient Rome gave them land after they served those 30 years, but since they were in the army, and apparently they made good use of it in Provence.

Now.

Considering that he served in the Roman army, what else, there is no direct connection with the southerners here either.

That's what Peter was like.

If he hadn't been so shy, everything would still be fine, considering his appearance, well, almost, but otherwise it doesn't matter that much.

 

I noticed him at the previous stop, yesterday in ... there was also a train waiting, an older one, a little older than most of the kids in the carriages, travelers from here to there, without big plans but in anticipation of something big. What it is, you never know, but it must be great.

Like that.

A little lost, but quite excited.

At first, I was fascinated by almost everything. You know, when after many years of stories and daydreams you go further from Trieste, in my case Gorizia, and it gets brighter, bigger, wider.

"Uh, they have a bigger apples, we don't have those here.

Yes, yes.

Well soon.

Everything else is cetain.

Don't do shit."

 

Then after a week, that is, Paris and London, I kind of relaxed a little. No, not only that, I even started to notice that it wasn't all milk and honey and some gods and devils had sucked quite a bit. But at the time I explained it to myself that they were just people with two left arms, and legs too. I'm not sure about the ass. You can't see her, but she's from one end or the other.

 

I've already sat up wrong up in Norway. Yes, if all, or the vast majority of the fjords are on the right, and I'm sitting on the left, you can't even see much for half of those two days of driving. Well, it was nice on our side too, but there were really only a few fjords. Even if they built the bridge to shorten the drive around the fjords, some of them are true, but it's as long as a Monday and as a result, you could still see some of it on our side.

 

So yes, I got up a lot and looked over people, and a couple of times I even forced myself to take pictures. There was also some bad mood, well at least not enthusiasm, but mostly it was the opposite and then I just kept picking around, where, how, from where, etc. Which has already been described.

 

Peter sat down on his own. That's how he sometimes turns.

"Is it occupied?"

So then we just said whatever, but not in the way you chat, but in the way that only the English know how to do. There were a lot of pauses here. Ugh, it took a while before we started, despite the initial more than nice look and where, how, from where, introduction.

We were half watching the landscape that was raging past. In some places, it drove really fast, so that on some slopes he could slowly climb up with a sigh.

 

We barely mentioned Yalta, quickly covered the allies and the not so famous episode, immediately after the war, and then we skipped to self-government and non-aligned, apparently with a lot of promise.

 

Peter is an architecture student in ...., no, not London or Glasgow, two world-famous schools. They are supposedly only for the elite and tourists, which theirs has never been.

Father can barely remember, apparently he still had some leftovers from his sailing trips or drinking parties when he was on vacation. His mother died in the spring and soon after the funeral, he had to organize a sale. The kind where you pile everything that could be sold in front of the house and then the neighbors buy what is still usable for a small fee. The rest goes to the dump. Of course, they lived in a rented terraced house, like the vast majority of English people. Such sales are nothing unusual, rather the rule rather than the exception.

It's sad, but that's not debatable. Losing the last connection to the place you grew up in, but that's how life goes and he was more surprised by my attitude that all this was foreign to me.

 

Yes, there are tenants here too, but in the minority. We all have a lot, or at least a lot of nobility, and for you not to return to your hometown is quite unusual.

You are born on a street and it was here during your grandfathers' time, and it will be here during your grandchildren's time, in short, once is always.

There are rare cases of it breaking up, only in movies or books, when they went to America.

Many of them go to Germany, but all with the idea of ​​sending money home. And when they come back after a few years, they get a new car in a few years, and a house in the same village, town, or even street.

 

He said he'd move to the South after graduation because we have such a high standard. He himself had never thought about his own house. Maybe a car, but that depends on where he'll work. Only the rich have cars or those who spend their days in traffic jams and get nothing out of life.

 

Since he moved away from home when he went to college, he's been doing odd jobs. At first in warehouses, then in shops, and now in the evenings in a pub. Now he'll probably also work in architects offices, but they don't take everyone there, it's quite difficult to get in.

 

He goes to dance lessons in classical dances. There were a few girls, but no real ones, that's not so easy in English cities, but it's still easier than in the countryside, when dad stands with his pitchfork nearby. But to get involved in the alternative scene and look for girls there, not even by chance, you never know what you'll find. Rock and roll is still okay, some old songs. Only a few rock songs, but otherwise they're too loud for him. Classical music is too long, so only classical dances remain. He likes almost everything there. If he gets a bouncy dancer, he's almost lucky.

 

No, English houses are not insulated, at least not much, but they have hairier chests, and it works out.

 In architecture, he's most attracted to the use of wood, so he went to Scandinavia. He is a little disappointed, because there are still a lot of old barns, at least in the countryside, in modern cities, but the use of wood is more the exception than the rule. I would rather say concrete in 100 and one ways.

He dreams of one day building a wooden church in the middle of a lake, so that the surface of water will be reflected on the ceiling.

 

"Uh, is it the station yet?

I'll get off here.  I'm going to watch ...

Nice talking to you.

Good luck."

---

05 Greta

 

Greta was a nurse. She completed her secondary medical education in a town on the main island and at the same time worked as an assistant in various institutions. From a health center to a retirement home, and additionally in various hospitals and senatorial districts.

In the fall, she is going to Copenhagen to study. Before she gets a job, she will get married, apparently everything has already changed and they are very much in love, but she went on a trip alone to see what it is like outside the established paths. So far, nothing major has happened to her. Occasionally, some are a bit difficult, but not anymore, because she doesn't go to suspicious places at night. She has already seen all of Europe.

All of it?

Well, a lot. The vast majority of the western part.

Before returning, she will stop in the Eastern Bloc, if there are no major disturbances at the borders.

From Venice, she goes to Vienna, Budapest, Prague, Berlin and home.

"Won't you melt in Ljubljana?

Where is that?

That's Yugoslavia, Slovenia.

Is there anything to see?

Not much, really, but I'm from there, so I can tell you something.

From where?

From Ljubljana.

How?

That's it.

Are you a communist?

No. Does it matter?

Of course, everything is strange in the Eastern Bloc. But you don't even look like you're from there. I can't believe it.

Do you think communists have horns?

No, but they certainly do, if they're that bad.

How bad?

It's obvious you don't live in a democracy. They feed you propaganda there, but we know exactly what you're capable of.

Come on, don't be a jerk. What are we capable of?"

It was half-silent.

We watched the multitude of bodies rushing in all directions, at the time when everyone comes home from work, it's significantly busier, but it wasn't empty before. At these big stations, Ljubljana is really small, cities, provinces, countries, and even continents meet and it's never boring here. Just watching people can distract you, and with such talent, everything else.

 

I was waiting for a connection in Paris.

"But why didn't I go for a walk?"

If you just come from a walk and that walk was all day and then you find out on the platform that the train you had seen left half an hour ago, and when you check it, it wasn't them who made the mistake, but yourself, which also takes away your time from the board, the timetable, and so on, after you see that the next one leaves in two hours, and it's even faster, it'll probably catch the one that missed it, then you just can't go for a walk.

You go downstairs and keep your eyes on the tracks, and watch for some cool ones.

 

 I noticed quite soon that when you pick up your luggage, probably from the local station, they have to sign something or fill out something, or something just happens. This is what happens at the locomotive. Meanwhile, in that river of people also leaving the platform, some, probably organized, are pushing 2 or 3 suitcases out of that luggage train. I quickly concluded that it was just Samsonite. They already know why. Mine could have been left in the middle of the station, it's so dirty that no one dares to pick it up, and they wouldn't have taken it away.

 

Same here.

A group of travelers, backpackers, backpackers. Well, not everyone missed the train. Some just arrive early. It's a sure thing. I'm like that myself, but not two hours too quick. 15 minutes, the train doesn't wait, let's say 30, but certainly not more, except in the situations already described.

 

I wanted to sit a little further, I've never seen them before, but before I sat down on the chair, she fumbled in the air, a gesture that tells you to come closer, which I immediately understood and approached. She thought I was theirs, but even when she did, she didn't change her tone, so we started chatting right away.

 

Yes, up there.

Whose is she, where is she from, where is she going, what did she do, what will happen next, and then she gapes like a calf at the new door because a communist is sitting next to her, who looks really friendly.

 

After about 34 people passed us, when we fell silent for a while due to cultural differences, 34 in 'rush our' which is not much, you could say a few moments, maybe a minute but short, she asked:

"What is there to see in Yugoslavia?"

I don't know about the south, because if you mean from Venice to Vienna, you will be driving through Ljubljana. It is actually in Yugoslavia, but parts of Yugoslavia are so different that it would be hard to say that she was in the South if she drove through Ljubljana. The southernmost Republic of Macedonia is more like Bulgaria or even Greece than Slovenia, so let's focus on Slovenia.

There's not much that's interesting.

An Englishman said:

"It's not as high as Switzerland and not as warm as Venice, the taste of Szeged is different, but all of that is on a smaller scale."

Ljubljana, my city, has nothing to do with Vienna, but it was the same kingdom for 500 years and you can see a little bit of Vienna, a little bit of Budapest and a little bit of Trieste here too.

What about Trieste?

A little bit of Venice, right on the border. If you're going to Vienna, you'll also pass through Trieste, a seaside port.

Sounds interesting.

If you ever get in touch, I can show you some of the local beauties.

I'll be married by then.

No problem, just get a nice one.

The best one. I miss him so much.

Why isn't he with you?

First, he has a job, second, it's okay that we're not together all the time, and third, there are things that need to be tried out, and traveling on your own is exactly that. It teaches you independence."

 

The next 34 passersby.

 

"Tell me what it's like with communists, we're just afraid of them here."

There's really nothing to say. There are no communists. At least the ones we learned about in school. They're just scumbags. The minority is at the bottom, but it's apparently the same everywhere. Some call themselves communists, and elsewhere they call themselves socialists or even democrats. But it's always the elite. Here it's so elitist that we young people don't care much about anything on the list as far as the system is concerned. And that's why we're much more into the Rolling Stones and, lately, ZZ Top.

"Who?"

Some Americans, they play great rock and roll and blues.

I prefer calm tunes. Similar to Frank Sinatra or Tony Benet, but in a Danish way, which you have probably never heard of.

 

What is in my century, at least what I am aware of, has never been communism, even if you turn all Westerners upside down, but socialism with a vision of communism. and then still remembered the non-aligned and is currently a global hit. The Norwegians were thrilled when they met one live from self-government. I'm still too green, inexperienced, I don't really care, but since they've already invaded, I thought it was all pretty cool.

Up until now, only us kids have admired everything, or most of what came from the West, and now even some from the West think it's cool here.

Yes, Norwegians are weird.

And you say that nothing like that will happen to me if I get off the train in Ljubljana.

Nothing to do with communism. If you're extra unlucky, maybe something from socialism, but you have to be extra talented for that, and they can steal your rusak in a completely capitalist way, but they can do that here too, so you're sitting on it.

We were half laughing a little.

 

It slowly became clear to me that Greta didn't belong to the group we were sitting next to. It was a cluster of mostly individuals, waiting for the same train. They were going in a similar direction, well, the direction is the same but the distance doesn't have to be.

 

The train was quite crowded, so we sat in different carriages.

---

06 Seia

 

She didn't look like us at all.

If we are travelers, backpackers, youth from all winds and worlds. You couldn't tell about the winds at first glance, but you could tell about the worlds. Not directly, but certainly not ours.

But it turned out quite differently.

 

So at first glance, or in the local first impression, I would say that she was a secretary, because she was wearing a jacket, or a sporty or safari style,  when we were mostly in jeans. Well, the girl also appeared in a skirt, but a long one, and above all she gave the impression that she was a hippie, or at least that everything according to the list was the same to her.

But this one was the exact opposite.

It was already clear from afar that she had a refined taste, as I said, she liked secretaries, or some department heads, but more on the casual side. Some department heads can be really nice and friendly people, but that's rare, more in the sense of, but I don't know, or the exception and the rule and such.

 

So a little tight but not too much. The flap is not at all out of place. Yes, a scarf. It was summer and it wasn't a scarf, but a scarf and I don't know if it's silk, or at least a close relative. The bodice was nicely tight, as it says in old books, so I was even afraid, such people can have quite a few problems at the stations.

And why?

Well, if she's sexy at first glance, and if she's nice, it's rare that she gets through without being given some coment or at least whistled at.

 

The session was held at one of the stations, which you don't register because there are so many of them, and you go from here to there yourself, and what's more, you don't have time for every hole that comes by. And I don't know if it was a Duplek, maybe even a small town, but not one of those with a head station where you mostly get off, or at least get a feel for how long it takes to hook up those three wagons that will accompany us to the next larger town or intersection. When some go south, many of them go east, and some go all the way west. Then the stops are longer there and you ask, why do they keep telling you that we have to wait so long. From which an explanation of the place immediately follows, usually with three more to go. In short, a debate develops on local specialties.

 

Uh, she smelled.

It's not my scent, but it must be something noble, so I just squinted to the right. We had to travel quite a few kilometers, because she had to stop at the beginning, and she were reading a book and didn't care about the locals, and she seemed to be somewhat restless, so she soon pulled out a thermos with probably tea, then she started reading a little again, but the readings were far too short for me to believe her and that it wasn't just a pose. After she took a mirror out of her bag and did some work around her eyes, I was already convinced that she needed to talk.

 

I sat by the window, so she occasionally craned her neck to see what was going on outside. I suggested that we switch seats, but she politely declined.

After a few readings and moving things in and out of her purse or suitcase, she softened up and to my:

"where are you traveling?"

She replied that she was probably going to ...

Where is probably the right place? They have a specific goal, not to mention the time divided into minutes, but not probably. Maybe. We'll see. But it doesn't matter at all. But do it, do it, not you. I thought to myself and nodded intently and added.

To go from .... to ...., but I don't know where it will turn out.

Yes, that's what I like best too.

"She's from Helsinki."

 

Oh, my jaw dropped.

She travels around Europe, she sleeps mostly in hotels, or at least 'bed and breakfast', she visits museums and galleries and she saw in Paris ....

 No, she doesn't travel alone. She has a friend who is much happier, but she's not alone at all and she takes such things very seriously.

What kind?

Yesterday they were at a party at a third friend's house, who lives in Paris, and the second friend fell so in love that she stayed another day, and they're meeting on the Cote d'Azur.

And at three o'clock at the station in Saint-Tropez?

No, she doesn't know yet, but she calls home every night and then her parents tell her friend's parents, and when they hear from them, they'll make arrangements.

 

"Have you seen cows?

Where?

We're driving by.

Yes, really.

Are you interested in cows?

I'm studying animal husbandry in my first year, and French cows are bigger than Finnish.

Oh, go ahead, go ahead."

 

Then followed a rather extensive explanation of the cow population here and there, and even in Algeria. Supposedly they are quite small, but they have the Atlas and there is snow up there and under the snow, below the snow line there are pastures that are the size of Switzerland and the cows could also be bigger, but that is a political decision.

And so on.

 

We even changed our seats before the cow tract so she could look in more detail at the pastures, fences, apparently there is a whole science about fences, outbuildings, stables, there weren't many of those, at least where we were driving at the time, and there were no haystacks, and I wouldn't know what to do with them either.

 It also suited me to change positions so that I didn't have to squint and could stare quite directly at the flying cow, but over the fragrant beauty in the foreground, and she had two buttons on her blouse undone, so it was quite cute.

 

"Where am I going?"

Towards Avignon, we'll see what happens in between.  I've heard so much before about how it's super, the best possible thing.

"Am I interested in theater?"

Neither. I'm not particularly crazy about it, I'm more attracted to the atmosphere and energy in the city, which during the festival is full of ideas.

That I'll go to study journalism in the fall.

"How old are you?"

Almost 18 and three quarters.

Excuse me?

Where are you from?

From the Slovenija.

 

And than fell silent.

She fastened both buttons, adjusted her scarf, which was hanging loosely from her shoulders, occasionally smiled sourly, but mostly she seemed to be reading a book and doing all the tricks from the beginning.

---

07 Momi

 

Momi and Andreas acted as if nothing in the world mattered to them except their smiles, to each other, not to others.

I know people like that.

Most of the time they really don't care and are deaf and blind to their surroundings, except at a sunset or breakfast in bed.

Oh, it's a nice cliché.

That's what you live for.

"Since when do you live for clichés, you idiot!"

I agree, in general, clichés are similar to complexes and..., otherwise they are all generally present, but rarely anyone admits it. For others, they are, but I don't give a damn about complexes, and I despise clichés.

Yes, but they are nice and mostly bad. Well, not nice, if not desperate. Here too, an analysis could be made from to, but I won't complicate it to the end.

 

Let's move on from, I know people like that.

These two would be happy in their own world. Great. Many of them behave similarly, but it's often a form. Nothing seen, nothing heard, nothing said. It's a kind of shield that doesn't hurt the least in relation to external situations. At home, in the evening, when we brush our teeth, we think, oh my God, whatever happened. Some stories are really bad. I prefer to turn away myself, but how do you deal with a drunk, a drugged unfortunate woman and the like. If you get involved, you mostly follow what you don't know. Sometimes you can barely get out of someone else's misfortune. Well, it's good if it's an acquaintance or even a friend who took the wrong path and didn't work out. Then at least at the beginning you try to help. But to get involved somewhere in cruel cold capitalism, you also like to be talented.

Okay.

I understand this way of writing to me, although I sometimes get a little serious about what this world is like. But I've known for a long time that it's always been like this and always will be, it has nothing to do with the system or culture. The differences are only in intensity. Some are quite serious, others a little less so, or even almost nothing. As I said, you never know what you're thinking in the evening.

 

There are also those who just pose, but in reality they would be fine with relaxed communication. But what if it's inappropriate? Yes, you can't talk to a stranger without a reason. Let alone confess your affection for them, maybe just based on first impressions.

 

Yet there are some people in the crowd who, when you see them, smile at you.

But why?

Short, irrelevant, but still very important.

What?

Yes, a smile, a kind soul is the essence of life. Yes, and other things, but I wouldn't talk about existentialism, or even about charms and limbs. There are many nice things in this world.

 

You've been riding with us for a couple of hours.

Well, with us.

Yes, yes. I'm not saying there were civilians, that is, local travelers, but it was already clear from afar that he was a ' rower', ' wonderer', a traveler, because he only goes to work, or to his grandmother in the country to get potatoes, or something else.

 

She acted as if we weren't there and enjoyed the trickery of smiles, looks, touches, and so on, so as not to be too sugary, but everyone knows that this is a really nice situation, which is not in itself natural.

 

U, there needs to be a basis for this. It seems like the default state, but it's not. Not everyone. Some people complicate things from the beginning, so they don't even notice the beauty of the situation. Some people are so gentle, and you know I have nothing against horses, I even like them, but here they use it as a metaphor for insensitivity to nuances.

Because.

Because nuances are what make life so unbearable, it's so good. This is when you can fall like a spiky curse, not just a storm with wind, completely soaked, but hugged and oh, how nice it is to kiss, for example, lips and so on.

 

However.

When you wander like this, it has you. It has you in many places, but I wanted to talk about a specific moment. Yes, time is very important, but sometimes it sits down and it has you. I sat down, I sat on the other side of the aisle, when two pensioners sat down in front of me, well probably, but very pensioner-like, if any of them were still working, when the two neighbors just happened to have free seats next to them and:

"Where?

Just a little around, where it's interesting, go down and have a look."

She said, and he looked out the window, while holding her hand.

"Where are you going?

Same.

Then we can go together. Momi and Andras."

He turned, smiled, shook my hand and spoke in English, when you don't know if it has anything to do with reality or if it's just another sentence, for fun.

"Pleased to meet you!"

We were half chatting. Well, Momi mostly spoke, but Andreas just added a word here and there.

 

That they study at the Academy of Fine Arts in Helsinki. Andreas is a Swede from Stockholm. Momi is from the Faroe.

Where?

Faroe Islands.

Where is this?

These are islands between Scotland and Iceland, with wide autonomy, but otherwise they are Denmark.

 

The weather is always bad, when it's not raining it's so foggy that even birds walk on the ground. On the two nice days of the year, they take all the photos to get tourists. Then the young people go to Tórshavn, the capital, to the pier to watch the tourists who can't see anything and it's the biggest party on the islands, except for the drinks, but I guess that's the same everywhere.

 

Momi had a much more complicated name, I didn't even try to remember it, something along the lines of Sjóvinnubakin. This one is actually one from  Wikipedia, but it sounded similar. Momi thinks the Finns are a bit of a twat, but the professor at the university is great and then there's no crisis because she's not interested in anything else but her studies anyway. Sometimes they go out in the evening and get an additional opinion. Andreas doesn't have one, it's politically incorrect.

"How."

Finland was part of Sweden for 500 years, and now it's not appropriate, what on this side, if he came to study at theirs.

He's very interested in avant-garde films and is world-famously enthusiastic about a Serbian director, whom I've forgotten, although he was also known to me, but he's not Kusturica because he made a conceptual film that I left the theater alone, but Andreas enjoyed it.

Were there any cool cats, or southern feints, they can be really fun?

None of that. Quite the opposite.

What about the partisans?

Not that, but even less, the Swedes are not enthusiastic about the NOB.

What about half?

One shitted (did it) on a plate on the table and that is the height of conceptualism.

 

These Swedes are crazy, Asterix would say.

---

08 Cristin

 

Kristin (Christine) is an intern at a law firm, studying economics because she enjoys numbers, she goes to visit a boyfriend who serves in the civilian army, as a helper for everyone at the embassy. She'll probably just stay there, because she already knows what it's like in the army and with men, and the French are also popular.

"French women too!"

She lowered her gaze, but the corners of her lips showed that she wasn't out of place.

 

Yes, she knows Yugo. They were on the coast last year because they had to hide. Her hairdresser mother doesn't approve of Damjan's profession, studying computer science. That's not a profession for a man. Let him go and learn something concrete, not wiring. He's not a switchboard operator yet. The train driver doesn't get along, whatever you choose, that's how you'll have it, just don't go home crying.

The parents haven't changed their stance yet, except that they don't have to hide, so they'll now slowly warm up the field so that the parents can meet. Which is still quite a problem. Damjan's are teachers in the countryside, while my two are from the suburbs of Paris, but only in the city. So it will take quite a bit of tactic.

 

Kristina doesn't drink because she likes everyone and Damjan doesn't like that. That's why she sings and they get along well. They both came from choirs and are now in the choir together. They joined an unknown choir so that the differences wouldn't show when some people know you and you're treated differently because of it. She has it all, because she's a girl, and it's easier for girls, but Damjan keeps up with her because he's quite popular with the female section of the choir. She doesn't mind that at all, she even thinks it's great that she has such a popular boyfriend.

 

French is difficult, it has a lot of different rules, but just as many exceptions, and it's not easy for foreigners. Even the French themselves don't master it perfectly, only really educated people. The French on the street is completely different, and there are dialects and local peculiarities in the regions, so sometimes an interpreter is needed if you two older people get together and want to talk.

 She does speak English, but only just, because she plans to work for foreign companies, or at least for locals who work for foreign countries. In general, the French feel that French is equal and respond to English in French, and then they are even mean if someone doesn't speak French.

What about going to France?

 

She was reading a book when she sat down next to me, but I had a guidebook and she asked pretty soon where I was from, and then a burst of excitement followed, not to mention more.

---

09 Hansina

 

Hansina in Per

They were sitting in another carriage. They happened to meet Momi and Andreas. No, they don't know Momi, although they are both from the Faroe Islands, but neither of them lives in Torshavn. They are both from different villages on different islands, but Hansina's mother used to go to the island to get her hair done, where there was a hairdresser. Per took over this hairdresser's, and Hansina came one hell of a windy day, when the roofs were flying around, went in and asked:

"Is it open?"

She was the only one on the street, they mostly went to the basements, because that had happened before, too, that it wasn't just the roof, sometimes, very rarely, because they talk about it for years on all the islands, in the summer there would be another house, so the basement. Since modern houses, that is, those that are not half dugouts, it just happens. Yes, roofs, cars, and sometimes a house in the summer. In the old days, these problems didn't exist, because they lived in houses three-quarters in the ground, with only a roof above, and that was covered with earth and grass over it. This was so true that they even found a cow crawling on the roof, and sheep were normal.

 

Hansina is one of those typical Scandinavians, not that she's like Helga Hogar, on the outside she's absolutely nothing, but in her soul there's no debate. You don't say anything unless you're asked. You don't say anything unless you have to, and that's only when the water is on anyway. But if you do, then that's true. It's impossible to say anything on the topic, it seemed to me, I thought that, maybe, probably, almost, mostly, etc. She doesn't use that vocabulary.

"Only yes, or no!"

There is no other.

Like that fateful day when she slammed the door.

"How can she walk around like that?

Did the house get blown away?

No.

Well, then.

Please be brief."

 

She had a boy's haircut before, Per explained, so he even thought for a moment, but he knew what kind of person had come, no, Hansina, there's nothing special about her. They're like that. You could say real men, but what if there are many girls like that, so real Faroese.

Most except Per.

Per has as many opinions as he has clients. Although there are quite a few of them on the island. All the surrounding islands go. Mostly ladies, you rarely meet gentlemen, mostly they get their hair cut at home with scissors. They're not exactly the latest fashion, but they're traditional. Since the sheep arrived, and that was pretty much the beginning, they invented scissors and that's how the haircut is.

 

When he introduced himself, when he shook hands, he said:

"Per, gay.

Excuse me?

I have a boyfriend, don't worry, Hansina has me on a leash and we're going to Avignon for the festival.

Oh, it's great here."

 

Hansina apparently fell in love with Per during that haircut, the complete opposite of herself. Per sometimes goes his own way but always comes back. No, they don't live together. Each in their own village, well, except for Hansa's current postgraduate work at the art academy in Hki, where she met Momi, oh my, and Andreas in the package.

Sometimes they do something together, like this trip, but only the direction is the same, and the destination is the same, but there is a whole month of events and they could easily miss each other, but they constantly meet, they are just interested in similar destinations at similar times, so there is always something.

 

She will no longer go home, except for visits to take over the farm, not even under various circumstances, if she does not succeed inTórshavn stays in Copenhagen.         When her mother escorted her to the ship, she told her that it was a different world there and that she should be careful, and walk on the grass, not the road. There are no sidewalks on her island, a few cart tracks are paved, but many of them, and cars are really rare, and if they do come, they of course step on the grass, but who knows what kind of crazy people are running wild around these days. This is just a theory and everyone knows everything and it is known where their car is and where their car is.

 

Yes, they really do slaughter whales and Europe is disgusted and shows on television what barbarians they are.

First of all, this has been a tradition since the world began. Second, these are small whales, not some deep-sea monsters at all. It's like a dolphin getting fat, well, two dolphins, but they are that much bigger.

The third ones have never been protected at all, partly thanks to Faroese tradition. They also reproduce so much that they never run out.

The fourth one is not industrial hunting at all, but preserved traditions. Every year they swim into the Faroese bays and the only festival is held in only one bay, a rather shallow one. Each fisherman can only catch what he can catch with his hands. He only has a knife and that's why it looks so cruel, because the surfers are throwing themselves in the shallows there after the whales. He has to hit him in the right place to finish him off, otherwise he'll blow it away if he just bites him in the face.

Then those animals are cut up there on the shore and each participant loads his or her own animal, more than three have never happened before, and even that has been talked about for years, how lucky he was.

Of course, it's a festival and rarely does anyone stay sober, well, on their feet, apparently there has never been a sober person. It's more a question of whether it lies down there or rests a little on a bend when it tries to get home.

 

The fat is called a spik, because of which they are hunted. Sometimes they survived long winters because of this. Today, it is no longer necessary, fishing has advanced so much, they go fishing for several days, and sometimes they just go by oars. Sails are useless in a storm or fog.

 

But there is constant fog unless there is a storm. There are fewer of the latter. They only know the sun from postcards that were taken on the only day of the year when there is no fog or storm.

 

And then, Hansin's father, he's driving a full truck, a van with a luggage compartment in the back, all the way to the top and over a loaded car full of junk on a winding road, towards the pier where you go to their island, you know, it's not so easy to drive after the festival if you're barely standing. In front of him are tourists, driving for snails, because it was so foggy that birds were still walking on the ground. He notices them at the last moment and brakes with all his might. Although he didn't crash, more than half of the load went onto the car in front, a shiny new white borrowed Honda, and even covered it with a slippery and, above all, bloody mixture. The Japanese didn't even want to get out of the car.

 

Getting to the Faroe Islands is a very expensive thing to do. The fastest way is by plane from Copenhagen, but if the ticket is double, you have to take a return ticket for one way, because there's a 50% chance that they'll land. It doesn't work in storms, and it's not much better in fog.

A ship is more reliable, but you have to leave Scotland and the voyage takes a whole week, because you bypass all the Scottish islands that are worth staying, but at least they mostly arrive.

 

The Faroese are said to be descendants of Vikings, which is probably true, but the official records don't mention that among the 50% of blond, blue-eyed people, there are also 50% of all shades from Guineans to Arabs, and it's nothing special that he looks like an Italian or Greek, but he's the original. The official records don't say anything about the hideout for pirates, who hid here for years, just how long the English fleet had been offering a reward for pirate so-and-so. Then they sailed away, leaving behind a lot of semen.

 

That's why Hansina is inlove with Per because she's like some Italian.

 

Maybe.

I think, I think so, maybe, probably, almost, mostly and so on.

 

---

10 Lena

 

Lena is a ceramicist. She makes vases, hangers and sculptures. She has sold some vases quite well, but otherwise it is not very promising, her studio is so full that she doesn't know what to do anymore. She is not psychologically ready to throw things in the trash because there is no more space. Yes, she throws away what she doesn't like, she has always done so and more or less regularly, but there are also a lot of good pieces.

    They got her fired through the Finnish Ceramics Association, but she doesn't know how, because there are so many good ones in the country, but apparently there is something about them wanting someone else, not constantly exhibiting the same ones that have been around for the last 50 years, which are otherwise world-famous.

    And again among the new generation, where everyone is included, even though the lady is middle-aged, there are quite a few very good ones, and especially with the new generation, global trends in the development of ceramics are felt and this is probably the reason, because she herself is trying to continue the tradition of Finnish design of the crazy 60s, when they achieved timelessness.

    Not that she wants to be timeless, well, quietly too, but that's not talked about, but she tries to look for inspiration in the same places as she was then, in structures in nature.

"I think I know Tapio Virkala's glasses?"

I just nodded, but I've never heard of them, but it sounded super cool, and I'll of course study something more about Finnish design when I get the chance. Until now, it was Scandinavian design, I didn't make any distinctions at all, but it seems to be very important among the locals.

    Well, there's something to that. It's like saying that Plečnik is a Balkan architect. For a while he was Yugoslav, and even then among the chosen ones, because they didn't want to be seen with him, but if anyone was going to insist, then yes, Yugoslav. But he was always just Slovenian. Well, a little Czech, but we don't admit that either.

 

They invited her to the World Ceramics Exhibition in Nara, paid for her airfare and a week's stay, and each person organizes the transport of up to 25 kg of objects themselves. She hesitated for a long time, the offer is super attractive, she has always wanted to see the Japanese background, if she still knew anything about the spiers and saw them in museums and galleries around Europe. But it's completely different when you see a city, a village, a street, a house, a yard, and last but not least a ceramic dump, because there you can see how much waste there is, whether it's thrown away because it doesn't sell and there's no more space, or if it's really just garbage and they take it away before it cools down. Apparently some Japanese people are so good at selling things in advance, not yet made. Well, it's different with them, they have a few of them, world-famous, as national treasures, and they probably only throw candy wrappers in the trash.

 

After much thought, because transport there is not cheap, it turned out to be quite bearable, which is only theoretically possible between Finland and Japan if you send it by sea. So she paid 0.0025 tons, which is a pittance. Ship freight is calculated in tons. She made a good crate, carefully wrapped and lined all the pieces she thought could be there, and put them in a warehouse on the coast. The cargo will definitely be there in three months. When, with whom, and where depends on the situation on the ships and connections. It is almost impossible for one ship to go from Helsinki to Tokyo. But not from Hamburg. If she still has to go somewhere, she's still in the game, but three months is no problem.

 

If there's no interest, she'll display it and donate it, but if that's not possible, she'll throw it in the trash.

She has hangers waiting for her at home. When nothing works, she tackles them. Otherwise, they're not her thing at all. It started when she had nowhere to hang things. Of course, you go to Ikea and you do. But she made them out of ceramics instead. After that, the studio visitors were all excited and, for some reason, they even spread the word, so they even published them in the newspaper. She sold them to a company that now mass-produces them, but it's different when they're handmade, each one is different and the shape they take depends on the weather, the moon, the stars and politics.

 

Yes, sometimes some news makes her so angry that she's like a wild beast for a few days and if she has to fulfill the order right then, then really interesting pieces come out.

 

She was so nervous at home, ever since everything was ready for the exhibition, that she was constantly walking from room to room, turning on the TV and radio, showering 5 times a day, and most of all, constantly checking to see if there was anything new in the refrigerator, that she decided, Lena my love, because you're nervous you're going to gain 20 kg, and then the plane won't be able to fly and I'm done with the train to Avignon.

"And here I am!

Now tell me something."

I haven't talked so much in my entire life. It's really strange, it seems like it's been building up and is now coming out. I just don't understand why right now, why not yesterday or tomorrow, last week or next week, I understand in a month. I don't know if there's something like that here, some special energy?

    Then she fell silent, looked at me sideways, in fact she moved her gaze and head, even sat down, as if she was looking somewhere else, sat down again, looked at me again and asked:

"Could it be you? You're just listening to the old woman complain, because she could be your mother, of course, if she'd started her reproductive cycle a little earlier.

No, I don't need nobody anymore. Men are a lot of bastards."

She sat down again, as if she had nothing to do with me. Well, she really doesn't, but it was funny.

    Then she sighed a little, at least that's what it seemed like when you try to understand what's going on in the person you're talking to, but you only see the back, well, the head and the hair that falls over the right shoulder, while the left reveals the neck and twitches, at least that's what you think.

    What did I want? I was quiet. Why should such a mule bother the mind of an experienced lady who has already had world exhibitions, first of all, but still.

 

She stood up, looked at me in quite detail again, took her suitcase, stuffed her jacket into it and walked into another carriage.

---

11 Janika

 

Janika will be a lawyer if she passes her first year.

Yes, first year of law school. She failed her first, thought, in the sense of, what do I need this for, and ran away from home.

After two days, she called, but only to avoid sending the police after her, first she beat up her mother, then her father, so that they wouldn't even investigate her if they wanted her to ever come back.

 

She always did everything on the first deadline. At school, in the local community, at the club, and at home. She was always an excellent student, but she dreamed of a stranger who would seduce her, apparently since the 5th grade of elementary school.

 

"Why a stranger?"

Because everything about my life had reason since I was born. Everything, absolutely everything. From toys, clothes, friends, places and times, to marriage, house and sailboat. Because I was so willing to follow the guidelines, family, society and system, there was no possibility of experiences that were not organized by my mother or aunt, or club, or anyone from the family circle.

 

So I only dreamed of sin, and it wasn't the neighbor's butcher, but a stranger, so I could be an innocent victim in the hairy hands of a stranger, and even in my dreams I was good. Now. What can I do if he was such a brute. Nothing. But it was nice.

 

The basis for rebellion simmered for years, but on the outside I remained a obedient, manageable, predictable puppet in the hands of my family. Last year I had a fight with a professor of Roman law, it doesn't matter why, but the result is that he threw me out. Although the whole clan around our family organized how they would put pressure, in all areas, to have the professor fired because he dared to throw someone from such an important and famous family.

They are not at all interested in the dispute, its content, but only the consequences and, worse, the future.

 

"Famous families?

Yes, it's not easy."

Our great-grandfather was a co-founder of the state, a minister in the first government. We were already a rich and prominent family before, but mostly because of the officers from the family. Back then, it was a big deal. Marrying an officer was the dream of every bourgeois girl. And it's not just famous history. Even now, they're everywhere, at all levels, everyone is forcing themselves to become a member of the clan, because then it will be easier for them in life. There's something to that, but if you're in it, it's not easy at all. It's true that I've never lacked anything in terms of material things, except for the odd ones you think of, and a few more that you can't even think of.

Everything has been arranged for my wedding, but I'm not ready yet. And at my age, my ancestors were already married and had children, in short, they had already played their part.

I've known my groom since kindergarten, when we were runing naked through the summer grass. He's actually a really nice guy, but there was never any chemistry between us. An acquaintance, an occasional friend, but nothing more. It's clear to him too that it will only be a sacrifice, family expectations, an increase in the power of the clan. In short, a marriage without substance.

 

That's why I left.

Now I call almost every day, not every day, to keep them on a leash, but now we can even talk and they listen and hear what I say, so there's a kind of reserved friendly relationship.

 

I just nodded and was amazed, I had never even imagined such a story, let alone heard it, so I could only add:

"Zeah, you're are realy poor!

Don't fuck around!"

By the way, I'm amazed, why am I even telling you this?

Because I'm nobody, not important at all, or...,

I'm a foreigner though, not hairy and muscular, but it's not all about the outside when you get to know me better, and what about you know.

"I would really like to see that."

 

We sat on the stone fence of the river and watched the nearby iron bridge, still quite busy but far from the crowds. The city produced all those sounds that stick in your memory. Yes, there's no debate, smells too, but in those years, I wasn't yet sensitive to smells. Well, in general. If there's a smell, yes, a smell, especially strong regardless of the sign, plus or minus, stinks or smells, of course I register it. The nuances are still foreign to me. I occasionally notice them but I'm not yet aware of the meanings. So I was confused as to why I wanted to be so close all the time. It smelled phenomenal, but there were smells when you get off the train after a day or two and it's, who knows, a traveler's smell, if there even is one.

 

"Do you dare go under the bridge?"

Where are you going to leave the bag?

Along the stone fence that slowly rose towards the bridge, there's a drip edge, but what is that, when you want to get rid of water, you do it on the facade, in this case a retaining wall, the edge and the water that crawls along the surface during the rain from the drip edge falls into the depths and as a result the wall down here is dry, well not so wet, climbing towards the metal support in the wall where the bridge was attached. The support, at least two human figures high, maybe more, had a rather wide shelf there. There she tied the ruzak and, leaning her back against the carrier, slowly and carefully walked sideways towards the middle of the river.

 

"Fucking shit! She's really crazy!"

I said to myself as I followed her. Yes, because I had to protect her, what if she fell into the water, and also because my girlfriend would lead me into trouble, when I was always the leader of the rabble, and that's not it, and I'm shaking there, on the carrier, as we teased each other as far from the shore as possible.

 

Somewhere around the first quarter, where the beam was attached transversely, there were huge bolts, or their butts, which consequently means nuts, bigger than the palm of your hand, but you could wedge them in pretty well, so you got the feeling that if I don't let go, nothing will happen to me.

There we sat down, with our legs dangling over the water, because the cargo ships were slowly sailing by. Not exactly ships, tugboats, like a small train, except that each carriage was about 20 m long, so it wasn't a small one either.

 

"You are completely insane!"

It's not fenced.

Of course not, because there's no idiot in this world who would think of something like that.

She interrupted my fear with a passionate and long kiss, so long that I even squinted in between, what was happening, because it really couldn't be, but it was and I surrendered to the pleasure of the moment.

 

 

P.s. :.

It was nothing to do with Janika.

I surrendered to the pleasure of the moment is just a stylistic derivation.

Yes, I can't write that I almost fell over, choked, scared, that's the most, it has nothing to do with being in the middle of the river, well, a third of the way, under the bridge, we did some other major stupid things, but for someone to put their tongue in your mouth, and I wasn't ready for that at all.

 

Of course I knew about it, not that I didn't, because it was still visible when I rode my bike there along the Trnovo pier and the lovers were rejoicing in life, and some of them were sailing into the fire of passion and it didn't remain hidden from me either.

Most of all in films, but I didn't take that for granted, it's called artistic freedom, whatever that might mean.  In American films, it goes really fast, but that's probably because they only have a budget for an hour and a half, if they waited, as I imagined, for  it to happen, completely naturally, without any rushing, it would be a trilogy, or even a 'never ending story'.

 There are so many of them. They say that girls are more bouncy there, but then again, there are quite a few films on this very topic, when the gal is tied up to the neck, not only actually but also symbolically, and half of it is set off by a cute girl to other horizons, more horizontal. There probably aren't that many of them anymore, but they don't make movies about people who don't let go, or even never fight, but what would a movie look like in which nothing happens, and come on, it's not a movie. The movie is action, so you just hint that he waited for 3 hours, but in reality it's a 30-second sequence, and you don't know if it's some kind of philosophical film and if such a long shot means something else, for example the loss of systemic solutions.

 

If I'am not stupid, than I don't know if there is one!

---

12 Tomi

 

Tomi, Tuomas is from an island in the Baltic Sea, somewhere in the middle between Öland and Bornholm.

"Where?"

A small island, if you compare it to the two mentioned, but with more villages, fields and of course fishing. In the old days, cod was dried en masse.

"Who?"

You don't know a thing!

Cod is a rock-hard dried fish.

They should be called stone fish, not cod.

But you don't get that, because where are you from?

Tomas the Swede from Stockholm.

 

So cod is the main catch in the season. Then they clean it and air-dry it. They become hard as a rock, so you have to soak them in water for a couple of hours before you cook them.

The glorious times of strategic food, apparently the Vikings came to America precisely because they carried cod with them, if their oar broke, they just used cod. They don't spoil, they're probably too hard for bacteria and then they're all happy and toothless jumping around. What about bacteria?

Rye bread with blood is also from those times.

"Ka?"

Dark, almost dark black bread, but that's the only thing he misses from home. Cod in soup, black bread with blood and vodka. He'll come back to the island for that sometime, because the tastes are quite different from in the city.

 Otherwise, I have no one left to cheer me on there. I have so messed up my life and others' lives that many people would rather see this day if I don't come than to rekindle old grudges.

 There is still some kinship, but everyone rejects him because he brings them shame, his mother died when he was born, his father was taken away a couple of years ago, even though he had the best liver on the island. I think no one has ever carried him as much as he has.

 If it weren't for his grandmother and aunt, he would have had a hard time as a child of a drunkard, but he got away with it cheaply, because during his father's breakdown he was with his grandmother or aunt. But when his father sobered up, he was as good as bread. Unfortunately, he had quite a few drinking buddies and his sober periods were getting shorter and shorter.

 

Whether it was because of the circumstances described or his genes, it will never be clear why he went down the wrong path. Why is his brother the complete opposite of him, but he doesn't want to see him anymore because he's ashamed of him.

 

But it wasn't anything like that. Normal kids in a fishing village grow up and explore the limits of where they can go. I managed to go further and that's why there are such consequences.

In the beginning it wasn't a problem at all, because everyone was jinxing him. Well, most of them. A lot of them, for sure.

 

I did a secondary school in woodworking on the mainland, I've always enjoyed working with wood, and building boats fascinates me, but now there are no more wooden boats, so I'm going to make one before I die.  There's still an eternity to go, so there's time to stay.

 

I mostly visited my home village for the summer and Christmas holidays.  We had a religious education class in the nearby town, where I became quite friendly with the pastor's wife. The pastor also thought it was nice that I was at least listening to someone.

So she sometimes invited me for tea and the obligatory conversation. Of course, I had to agree with everything, because you know what women are like. But she also listened to me, when I described my crosses and problems, and sometimes even defended me when I said something stupid.

 

Oh, nothing like that. Just what a little girl does when she grows up. It's true that I was there for every stupid thing, and for most of them I was the instigator, but I think that's normal. That we tease the kids, and the older ones try to steer them to the safe side.

So sometimes I really missed her voice, her thoughts that always found the right answer, her cookies and golden hair. Oh, she's beautiful. She probably still is. I don't know if she's 10 years older.

 

So.....

She made me cry. Of course, when I was in trouble, but I've never cried in front of anyone before, in the evening there's no problem in the barn, but never in front of others.

We boys don't cry. And especially not with such a handsome man.

She teased me, so that afterwards we both cried, held hands and breathed.

I didn't even realize it, but all of a sudden she was on me. At that moment the pastor came, but immediately left. I ran through the fields to the barn. So with my pants on my knees I jumped over the garden fence and ran as far as my legs would allow.

 

I knew even then that this was my last stupidity, just not in this world or somewhere else.

 

I hid among the rocks on the coast for a couple of days, but it was quite windy and cold at that time, and I would have frozen to death if I had slept.

When I returned after a few days, they didn't accept me anywhere, so I packed my bags and went to the mainland.

 

Now I'm going to let them calm down for a year or so. By then I'll be at college and I'll only be going to my home island as a tourist, for black bread, codfish and vodka.

"They are good."

 

Are you from Norway?

The Norwegians are crazy.

Do you know the one?

Johanson is standing at the end of the fjord, with his pants on his knees.

Peterson is asked:

" What the hell are you doing?

I'm waiting for the Danish porn wave!"

 

The Finns are even worse.

Do you know what?

A local radio journalist comes to interview a national hero who just returned from Winter War.

"Oh my God, national hero, what was the first thing you did when you returned to the safe house?

I took my wife.

Hmm, hmm, yes, yes, but what was the first thing you did when you returned home after many years of cruel war?

Once again I did it.

And so on 6 times.

I tried one last time, already desperate.

Then, there must have been something heroic on the way back.

I utide my skis, and I did it again."

 

Do you know Hamburg? I'll show you.

---

13 Hanzi

 

Girls are like bicicles.

It's really awkward at first,

but once you get the hang of it,

it just happens on its own and

it's the greatest happiness possible.

 

 

We were sitting in a not-so-crowded market, I don't know if that's what you call itPlaca del sol (or something like that) in Madrid around 5pm. At that time the locals are just finishing their siesta, so we were just stupid, boiled tourists in the afternoon sun. I came from Prado and it was so pleasantly cold, but I didn't realize that at 5pm it was still scorching hot, so I took a position right behind the ice cream seller, on a bench in the shade of a plane tree, with a view of the events in the square.

 On the bench he was sleeping, sitting up not lying down, the way your head dangles in a sign with your mouth open. At that time, all the grandfathers were a little older. This one had, as it turned out, about 50 of them, which he himself said he had between 50 and 60 and it didn't matter at all, but how you feel. Some young, others not so old.

So.

He's a Swiss from a town outside Geneva and collects National Geographic, he has a whole cellar of them, as well as foto slides, because he goes to see what they publish. Mostly in Europe, but he's also been to America, and Asia is still waiting for him, if ever. In the collectors' association they sell old issues, if he finds one and already has it, or someone else is looking for it. Then there were a few issues, the most desirable ones, but I can't repeat them now. Not even the most famous event or place, no, obscure places and times, no one is interested in that and therefore there is little sales, and consequently higher demand when it becomes a dusty copy in a second-hand bookshop.

 "Why do you look so miserable, at your age I used to hop wherever I went?"

 I met the first and only, the best possible one, and she gave me a boot, even before it really started and that I almost died of sadness in Barcelona yesterday.

 

 

Girls are like bicicles.

A little scary at first, but attractive, and if everyone rides cicles.

Then you try.

It's really awkward. It's making you lean, you're trying to balance, you fall a couple of times.

Oh, it burns and stings, but you don't give up.

After you get the hang of it, you think you're this big jack.

And you get back on it.

Oh, it hurts, stings, you lick your wounds, but you pretend it's nothing.

You try again.

It goes a little better, although you're significantly more careful than the first time you fell. So much so that you even start to like it. You accelerate, but it's a cobblestone and you flip over even worse.

You damage the bike and yourself, your soul hurts and you feel sorry for yourself.

 

Then it depends on what you don't do.

 

Some people just pick up the bike, straighten the balance, install the chain. Otherwise scratched and bloody, with grease all over your face because mosquitoes came from somewhere and you beat them while pinching yourself with the chain.

 

Others give up, these are just a sample.

 

Thirds involve their mother, doctor, mechanic, and whatnot.

 

But that's a milestone when you finally get it, when you finally like being on a bike.

Yes, two people are better, there's no debate. After you master riding without hands, you can even hold her hand as you push towards new experiences together.

 

Wounds are forgotten.

Yes, some memories come back and you have to be very careful not to get hurt again.

But overall, it just goes.

Yes, there are ups and it takes effort, but there are also valleys and there is enjoyment with the wind in your hair, looking into the depths of trusting eyes.

Is there anything else in this world?

 

Another ice cream.

 

---

14 OPA

Oslo – Paris – Avinjon

---

15 Oslo

 

"va te faire foutre"

   (fuck you)

 

From the station I walked down the floor, at such stations you don't even know where the ground floor is, because everything is built up and there is no difference in light, because there is no natural light at all, but there are shops with lights, people sit on benches among the potted plants, drinking whatever they want, their problem, it's more about the atmosphere, at that moment it's even calm, but maybe you come out as dazed as a horse, but that's another story, the feeling is just chewed up, like a beaten burek*, the fence is turned, but we're in no hurry, hence the previous one. Yes, I'm sure I'm hurrying, but it's not 'rush our' and there are no crowds running around in all directions. So I walk slowly down the hall. It's actually a corridor, but it's two-story, at least most of it, in between are the passages to the upper gallery on the other side. Some are quite long, which suggests that the floor upstairs, and in one of the longer ones, maybe even a passage under the tracks or a street, if we are really a floor lower. The intensity of people also varies depending on the individual parts. Maybe where there is more light, more, I don't know, but at that time I was walking on one, a little darker, maybe it just seemed to me, given the following events.

burek*
Someone describe his state with:
I feel like a burek, run over by a car, turned around.
History doesn't now why turned around, if history know haw one fill like burek run over.
From that time, we use that sentence when one is really in deep sheet.

 

They used to stand there, some played musical instruments, you see, in Paris I used to ride the metro, not from here to there, but all over the place, because in winter these are warm areas of Paris and they are filled with a lot of music. They can be wholeensembles. Well, more chamber ensembles, or just a couple of them practicing, and then some franc falls, uh,I enjoyed it.. That's one of the main reasons I immediately fell in love with Paris.

But where is that?

 

She was standing by the sports shoe display, quite bright, so it was a bit distracting because the surroundings weren't that bright, and her face wasn't clearly visible. Yes, if the background is too bright, then you can't see everything in the foreground.

She startled me from afar, because as I approached, she slowly crept from the wall towards me with her arm outstretched.

I was just scared. Not that I don't know how scary she looked. Not even Helga, 2.5 m tall, covering half the horizon.

She was actually 1.5 m. Not much more, a tiny chick, to even dare to be a wire, but who knows what fates roll through our lives and of course, I walked past her without even looking at her.

 I did. As I was approaching, I was quite focused on her, and when we met, I was completely dazed, pretending to look past her.

It wasn't very clear, but I had the feeling that her eyes were filled with tears, which is hard to see in people like that.

At that time, there were no punks in our valley. In London, I used to watch them from the other side of the street, and when they left, I also let out a loud sigh of relief, because they really looked like terrible, but it was the main street, people were staying, so it would hardly be a crowd, but still, I was quite tired, or as I like to call it, my stomach was working.

 

It was similar with chick. She wasn't a punk. Today they probably call her a dark girl, but it was very new to me at the time. Yes, I saw them in foreign magazines, but they weren't in Ljubljana yet, at least not in my circle of work. and also thought to myself, what kind of decadent capitalists are these and in the next moment forgot.

 

This one has my hand under my nose.

You know I went on.

I just thought that it wasn't as bad as it looked, and the little girl screams:

"Va te faire foutre!"

I stopped about 15 meters from her and looked at what was happening, and the girl continued:

"Fuck you!"

and shows the middle finger,

it seemed to me that everyone was looking at me, not even the chick, who provokes the peaceful passersby.

 

 

The city fascinated me. There are a few that stuck out to me. I can't say why. It must have been something with the stars, although maybe the sun was shining. It was raining and blowing here, so from this end there should have been exactly the opposite reaction. But as I said, there must be something else, some hidden force, that touches you, and there is no rational explanation, one but not the other, but by all criteria it should.

 

I enjoyed it as much as possible when you're so tired from a night ride, but still...

I kept dreaming her. What happened to her that she barks so aggressively at passersby in the morning? This happens in the evening, and even more so at night, when some people are too happy and run out of money from one pub to another, and then they do a little bit of cable in between, because they have no appetite to watch, but the cable car's result is a bit lousy, but they're half angry and they're like a fool to me.

 

But not in the morning.

She must have had a bad night. And since she's old, I used to watch the ducks in the harbor, an activity that often made me happy. Even before, while eating a hamburger, I would stare out the window at the street, which was pretty crowded at the time, in all directions, and that often amused me, but I also kept thinking about the little chick.

 

She can't be there anymore, I thought, as I walked in the opposite direction at night towards the station and the train to Sweden.

 

She wasn't there.

 

 

 

 

---

16 Jetebori

(Göteborg)

 

Fils de pute!

    (son of a bitch)

 

There was no night train to Gothenburg, which I wanted to see, so I jumped on the train at 6pm and was in the city by 10am. What now? This is going to be a pretty exhausting night. Where should I look for hostels now? They usually don't even open after 10pm. But to afford a hotel in these geographical latitudes is mission impossible, or rather rob a bank. So I sat there for a while on the platform where I fell off the train.

 

It is felt that there shouldn't be any big problems on the platform, because there is constant traffic, or something when there are no passengers. The station is a lifeline in most settlements. Yes, some avoid it, but it is really below the surface. I'm not saying anything, you have to adapt, but you can find some special features or village and city originals there. So, if you survive, because the stories can be quite violent and not so rarely have a happy ending, this is often the most interesting end of the city.

 

So I headed towards the center. I don't really remember how I ended up in Gothenburg, the locals pronounce it JetebOri. That big O is supposed to represent a singing voice. For example, JeteboOori, as only Swedes and Dolenci can sing while speaking.

 In reality, this way of speaking is disappearing, only in the north does anyone still sing, it is a bit reminiscent of Dolenci and Ljubljana. The latter is cruelly suppressing indigenous singing while speaking. But it's similar up there. In reality, only the cook at Mapet show speaks Swedish. Well, and the Norwegians.

For someone unfamiliar with both, it's very similar, but I believe there are noticeable differences if a Norwegian or a Swede sings, but you'd have to ask an aborigine about that.

 

It's about 3 km from the station to the historic center. You mean 300m. Yes, if you turn right, but some of us are talented, and we go around the ass to the pocket.

"You're a the right one."

Hey, what can I do, that's how I am.

Now.

I don't know if I should say it, I clicked. I got scared and then panicked and wandered through the wrong door and it took a while for the direction to be wrong and I saw a part that not every tourist sees.

 

So.

As I said, the station is not even that crowded in the evening. It's not that it's empty at all, but you can still feel it calming down. There aren't many people who would panic because they were waiting on the wrong platform, and half of them are flying like their asses are on fire.

Some people are chasing something, but this is a local prank, they don't feel like going home yet, and they're still doing a little bit of mischief at the station. The cleaning lady look at them with pity, because they will definitely have to sweep them again when the guards, who are still in the buffet, finally don't attack them and they will work overtime.

Half.

Half, if you want, towards the exit, I walked very, but soooooooooooo slowly, because I had a sleepless night ahead of me and everything gets really crowded at the exit, the stalls are still open, and the buffet is full anyway, there in that crowd, well, she smiled at me. The same one from yesterday. Only she wasn't alone, but three. Before she even came to me and held out her hand in anticipation of change, I quickly shoved her to the other end of the hall with the exits, which you already know about. Behind me I heard shouting:

"Fils de pute!"

And another three, because they seemed to help her, but whatever, I didn't even look back, just went out into the still quite bright night. It's already really dark here, at least there around 11pm.

 

I walked to some, it was quite crowded, but also cute, but if you've seen Paris and London before, then Oslo and Stockholm are a bit too much, let alone one like Jetebooori. But all cute. Luckily they have a relatively large park, where there were no benches to sit on. Do these people ever sit in the park? At that time, there were only a few. I chose a benchview of the defensive ditch,Jetebooori has the shape of a little Palmanovo, but it's just a defensive moat, if they ever had walls they demolished them, so on the other side there are not very big palaces.

 

It took about 5 minutes and the policemen approached. They don't even look like policemen, if it wasn't for the word POLITI written on their backs I would have thought they were electricians. They immediately started speaking in English, it seems Swedes don't go to the park, or at least not at that time. In addition to wanting a passport, they were also interested in how and what.

That I messed up the train, that I don't have a hotel, and it's too late for a hostel, but I'm on an Interrail.

They did give me an address where I could sleep cheaply, but I would need a taxi and it was clear that mission impossible.

 Before they said good night to me, they demanded that I leave before six o'clock because they were keeping an eye on me. But I didn't notice any cameras anywhere. That was back then, only in movies.

Oh, surveillance cameras. If television was carrying them around, they hadn't been new for a long time. Some fat, sloppy American had one too, but they weren't hanging everywhere like they are today, but that was another century, not to mention a whole millennium.

 

 

 

 

---

17 Helsinbori

(Helsingborg)

 

 

"Tu me gonfles!"

    (you're pissing me off)

 

It's a 2 and a half hour drive between Gothenburg and Helsingborg, and the train runs every hour, so I got on it at 8am and got off at half past ten. I even had a nap on the train and the ride really flew by, while I just closed my eyes for a bit.

 

As I usually say on such occasions, I felt like a run-over burek turned upside down as I looked for the exit from the station, which is one of the

 

complicated. They probably aren't, if you read the captions, which didn't even occur to me at the time. Unless they can handle logical spaces, what can I do with them if they're stupid and I'd probably still be wandering through the labyrinths of the Jeteborc station to this day, but it seemed to me that I was being attacked by the same thing as I had been for the last two days.

 

No, really.

In that crowd, there really wasn't any, but as you approach the exit, there are even smaller stations, but not this one that seems like it will never end, the traffic thickens and, and, and flows towards me. At first, it just seemed to me that I was already fading from the little one, because even on the smoke I dream, what the hell, in short, even if I don't want to, I'm constantly thinking about her. If not about her, then indirectly about the shit she produces.

 So I stood there like a stone, because she was already about 20 m from me, she also stopped, because there was a dirty little backpak standing, or rather lying, against the wall, which she grabbed, she patted on the back, she waved at me and, laughing, as she left, she called out:

"Tu me gonfles!"

and the obligatory middle finger.

 

I thought she was already messing with me and it wasn't just a bad dream and I was really deep in shit, but luckily she ran away and at least I didn't see her again that day. So that I wouldn't have to check first where I was going to stop, if it wasn't there, because I would have spun on my heel and walked to the other side. Hey, I don't want to deal with people like that. Come on, come on, you're going to be paying for this shit for a year. It's just a question of whether it doesn't drag you to the bottom and you're fried forever.

 

I can't even say that I know people like that, because I don't. Yes, from movies and books, even stories, but he would have met him or her in person for the first time, and probably didn't know anything about her and created a very negative image based on quite a few unfortunate encounters.

Well, you know what kind of story she has. I allow it, I allow nothing, I just want her to look stiff and it's just a pose and in reality, at least deep down, she's a nice person.

Well, I guess that's everyone, but some never figure it out and go all the way, even when she runs him over in reverse.

"What, who??"

Yes, a run-over pie (burek) turned around, and then in reverse.

 

 

 

 

---

18 Malmo

(Malmö)

 

 

"Je m'en fou!"

    (I don't give a shit)

 

It's an hour's drive between Gothenburg and Malmo, and the train is supposedly every half hour.

I thought it would go straight to Copenhagen, but the name appealed to me. Malmo, what does it mean? I'll have to look it up.

 

I really enjoyed so-called Scandinavia. I was already sorry in Oslo that I didn't jump off the train somewhere else, just like that, because it looks nice everywhere.

Yes, the perspective needs to be changed drastically. Of course, you can find shit here too, but with a little sense of tactical maneuvering, you can also wander around quite nicely. Ok, if it weren't so damn expensive it would be better, but then again. The perspective here is the same. A liter of milk and half a kilo of bread in the morning, it's not even that expensive. Then how much you shit during the day.

Shit?

Yeah, if you get stuck in some fabulously expensive museum there, well they're not that expensive, although they're not cheap, but the galleries can be a real pain. Because in a museum you can use your student card as an excuse, but if that doesn't help, then sometimes it also ignites that I live behind the Iron Curtain, but there can also be completely different reactions.

But rarely.

But this also happened. I didn't expect anyone to send me to 3. P. M. just because I'm from the South. Well, a hundred people a hundred wonders. Fortunately, it's only happened once so far.

Yes, in Scandinavia, I don't count Paris, but he was also an emigrant, so our man and doesn't count either.

 

Just like Jetebori was a bit of a slob, but not bad at all, just not that kitschy, in this case the kitsch is positive, then on the other hand Malmo is just a piece of cake. It's not because it's an industrial city, but I didn't deal with that part, and therefore all the more with the historical core. Uh, this one is, if I weren't so complex, in the sense that if you're on an Interrail you have to move on, then I'd stay there for at least a couple of days, if not forever.

 Yes, it's magical in the summer on sunny days, but when the icy wind blows here for half the year, it's not so cute. That's why they invented Swedish vodka, for those half years, so that they can get drunk at all. When you think about it like this, it becomes clear why they even went as far as Constantinople and America. Hey, when you're pouring vodka there, what an idea comes to mind:

"Guys, let's wonder a little bit!"

Since they've been to the range many times, it's no wonder they suggest America. They supposedly called it Vinlandia, which is associated with wine, and I totally understand them.

Zdej.

" What will Helga say?

Who am I afraid of, because I am a man, and not just any man, but Hogar.

Who care about the wife, let's go guys!"

And so.

 

Full of energy, I treated myself to a hostel in Helsingborg. After three days, I washed up and went to sleep. This is just theoretical, I really don't know what people get out of leaving at 6am, and then having to come back to the room 100 times because he forgot everything, and not only that, he wakes me up and asks if I know where his water bottle is?

What water bottle, who, where, I don't even know where I am, and he's supposed to be dealing with other people's water bottles in the middle of the night.

Oh, is the sun really that strong? Yes, it's not that bad, in short, I got up there in the middle of the night, but the sun was shining so brightly that I could whistle and jump, but I was so tired that I could barely get to the toilet.

But it was fine.

 

We're going again full of energy. Uh, cute, almost everything. Not nearly. There comes a day when everything seems fine to you, but what's not, you don't even register, let alone deal with it, you just look away and move on to the next, fine, but fine.

And speaking of which.

 

I'm going to the queue for the modern gallery, which was in the castle, in the middle of the city. ThisThe castle is surrounded by a defensive wall, not a wall, but a house, but it has a defensive moat, and the surrounding area is a park, the trees bend over the water, over the park's view on land and on the water's surface.

Aaaaaaapsoooooolutly roooooomantc.

Okay, never mind.

Like many places, very kitschy but super nice. A nice warm day, people are lying in the grass. That's just what they say. Because lying in the grass means that the grass is tall enough to block your view and half of it can be really cute in the grass, especially with some soft and fragrant.

 There was a brush of grass here, and everyone was very polite, at least as far as the continuation was concerned, the one in the tall grass is because it smells. So read a book, talk, but nothing very close, or even whisper something in your ear. Well, because they might even whisper but the person you're talking to could read lips, which of course I didn't know and I'm just commenting on this topic.

 

Anyway, the overall positive energy and I got in line, it was just like that, well about 10 people were not letting us in, I just didn't understand why they treated us like that. The thing is not big at all, even though it is in a castle, but the castle is not like Versailles. Well, in terms of size, it could be the size of a third of the Versailles greenhouse, so it is not small at all.

Ok. never mind.

I was already in the middle, it was moving, and the same thing is happening.

What?

It's a ghost that has been following and scaring me for the last few days.

She stands in front of me, as if we know each other and she just went to the bathroom, and I bought the tickets myself and now I'm holding the line.

I didn't say anything, she completely surprised me again, but when she looked at me after a while, I nodded my head that this wasn't going to work, and how do you do that? You raise your eyebrows, you turn your head, which should indicate that you're going to get off, but she just said:

"Je m'en fou!"

I didn't know what it meant, and my jaw was hanging deep below the surface, to which he turns again and whispers:

"I don't give a shit!"

We were already halfway inside.

I was so shocked that I almost don't remember what we were looking at. She disappeared immediately, but I looked around at each exhibit to see more of her, but she wasn't in my line of sight, or she had completely different things to do than look at the exhibition.

 Well, that wasn't my secret plan either, and the exhibition was over, well, also, but also to the restrooms, wash up, get drunk (water), rest, etc.

I don't know if she had the same idea, she wasn't on the men's side, and also that she would pay the entrance fee just for that and then stand in line, but it was a bit of a joke.

 

Now.

I saw her up close for the first time, about a meter and a half away. Not only did she not look scary, as I had formed an impression the other day and then only supplemented it, as she scared me even more.

No.

Now it becomes clear to me why she was deeply imprinted in my brain from the first day. Not at all because she is scary and I was afraid of her. Well, also, but that is not to be admitted, but her eyes.

She did not have black ones at all, as I was sure, considering all that black makeup (make up despair).

Extremely beautiful eyes, a few wrinkles around them, those wrinkles that indicate that the owner laughs a lot and heartily, which witches don't do, so I was sure that if it wasn't just a mask, at least one part of it was really cute. But that part was just a theory or my delusions again.

When you think something is half true, it's almost true.

 

 

 

 

---

19 Kebenhavn

København

 

 

"j'en ai ral le cul!"

 (I'm so fucking fed up)

 

Copenhagen was already sitting on my lap, so now I was walking around like a local.

Almost.

But there were fearful glances up and down the street, and that was just for the sake of it. Yes, as cautious as you want. Caution is never a bad thing, but not to be afraid to go there, not even a little with the expectation of some adventure, or at least something unusual.

 

Of course, I was still attracted to the tourist spots, but it also dawned on me that they had reached a better end, where locals gather and, for example, listen to an open-air concert, or attend a theater, or whatever.

No, I understood almost nothing, but it's not all about the language. Energy is what brings together the most diverse matters, the most diverse feathers, in one place.

When a whole flock of the same feathers gathers together, it becomes a bit boring to me, and in nationalistic connotations, it is also superfluous or even creepy.

 

I'm not a fan of romanticism, well, romantic classical music, I'm much more into baroque, but there they were whining, a string concert, ....

Otherwise, it's super nice, but I don't know if it's because of the sun, the shadows under the trees, the people in the grass, this one is also on the brush and the very special sound effects, namely not even far away, some quite close, they made usseagulls flew by, which we know do not have a melodious call, like a nightingale or a tern. I don't know if the occasional cry of a seagull suited that sweet music better, so even I liked it.

 

Now.

You'll never guess.

 

They were about 200 m away, but she spotted me and after a while came to me and sat next to me in the grass, listened to the concert for a while and after a while asked:

"Do you have any smoke?"

At that time, I preferred red Marlboro, or green Dunhill, the latter was rarely available anywhere, I don't know if it was only at duty free. But at that moment, I ran out of Marlboro and dug through my bag to see if there were any more cigarettes. It took a while, but I had to give out a few things from my bag, which was quite amusing. I found some crumpled 57s, there were 4 more, and I straightened one for her, it was carelessly bent, and so was my own, and lit it for her. The moment you light up a cigarette for your companion, you usually look into each other's eyes. Wow, movies have been made out of these stories.

We didn't make a movie, but after the initial coughing, she just continued:

"Whar the hell is this?"

Sorry, but that's all I have left.

They're not that bad, but I hwen't smoked cigarettes like that in a long time. Miners smoke those back home.

"Where?

Merde, mais tu es un flic?

Sorry.

j'en ai ral le cul!

What does it matter?"

Then another three on this topic.

She sat for a while, flicked the cigarette butt, and left.

 

 

 

 

---

20 Hamburg

 

"t'es rien qu'un petit connard"

(you really are an asshole)

 

I don't know what it is, but Hamburg hasn't been a good fit for me, I gave it another chance, maybe it will work the second time, but it wasn't any better.

I can't say it's bad at all. The so-called underground scene is probably interesting, but you'd have to know the locals for something like that.

It's different elsewhere too, if you know about hidden corners and events that tourists don't go to.

At least not often.

It's probably also the weather, the smell, yes, that's increasingly important, the energy and I don't know what else. I don't know if it's something to do with the stars.

 

"What does it mean :

t'es rien qu'un petit connard?"

I ask a fellow sufferer, I hear a French man sitting quite close, on that fence by the canal, apparently it was the only point where you didn't have to pay and there were like sparrows on a wire, on a spring day on a June Sunday.

"Oh, you got them on your nose?"

Damjen asks, leaning towards me. I don't know if there was half a meter between us, we were sitting so close together.

"Why?

One says that When want to fight.

Oh, you're kidding me, really?

Yes and what does it mean?

You really are an asshole!"

Well, I got all dressed up and dragged myself out, pretending that I heard someone say that, but it wasn't me, but in the same sentence I turned around and admitted that someone had said that to me, and I just laughed.

There was a lot of fun, but I didn't understand it, it was among the French people sitting nearby, maybe it was because he was Swiss, or even Belgian, he wasn't African, he would have been seen, well, by most of them. I didn't even try to understand, because I ran out of space there on that fence, yes, only in the presence of mind, because my mind floated into unsuspected expanses and heights, but where do you go on such occasions when you are and are not at the same time.

 

Now.

Given that I'm already a bit fed up with small chick, a little description and explanation will be needed.

 

First of all, it must be said that she both repelled and attracted me, that the result was a minestra or even some ratatouille. Repelled on the rational side, attracted, I can't say yet, but as I turned, I sooner or later thought of something related to her. No, nothing concrete, well, sometimes too, but more and more daydreams, although ....

 

As I said, it constantly surprises me that I don't mention screem, as many times as there were opportunities, in those 3 meetings.

Yes, indeed, how many times did you really meet her? No, we don't count daydreams.

And, indeed.

Oslo, she just sent me somewhere there.

Jetebori, she was already concretely bad there.

Helsinborg, there was a finger, a curse but also a smile.

Malmo, I already thought that it was something concrete.

Copenhagen, she did insult but also sat down.

She's not here today.

Well, not yet, but you know how she turns, but only physically, in spirit she is more than present.

 

So, what scared me so much?

At first, I wasn't ready for such an aggressive approach.

I didn't understand all the sending, I don't know what else, and I didn't understand three quarters of it at all. What three quarters, 99%, I'd rather say.

Yes, if we slowly, with a desire, by chance, or maybe by chance, we get involved, then I'm all for it, not only that, I'm still dreaming about this topic. Uh, situations as much as you want.

Real?

Who cares about realities?

There's no such thing, but it's very concrete, and somewhere in the stratosphere, or somewhere, when you look, you never know what will happen. Similar to the Northern Lights, I haven't actually seen it yet, but I have on TV and it's already very concrete, but much more mystical.

 

Secondly, its appearance.

I haven't seen any darkers at home, let alone punks. Yes, fashion girls used to wear black and make up to look appetizing, but they were just village girls who were a bit of a punk, and didn't know how to dress, maybe they studied at the fashion department, but that's not my style.

I'm not defined by style. Well, back in socialism we were hippies or not. Some were hippies, others weren't. In reality, most of them were, no. Whatever you can get in Nama* for a little money. Okay, not super ugly, but nothing more.

Nama*
First deparment store in my valley.

 Whatever came along, that was it.

I remember when sneakers came out, we all had them. Hippies, lipsticks, those with taste, those without. If he didn't have them, he didn't exist at all, as if the air was moving around.

But then the wave of enthusiasm passes and there is undefined boredom again.

And so.

 

This one was first painted as some kind of monster.

Now I don't know if she was really crying the first time, as I thought, or if that was also a visual effect, but it was very influential for me and I was just thinking about it at the time;

Go away, if you get involved with something like that, you won't get out alive, these are problems, and if there aren't any, they're just made up.

And this timing is half the battle.

Come on, I'll allow for the possibility that it's possible, but it's even more strange, and even more impossible.

So that it looks odd as if she's stalking me. And again, such undefined meetings, but then we all meet, and it's also something with the stars, I guess, or something.

 

I hiccuped out loud. That thing when you think about a thing and even get a little bit excited.

 

What if it's not an angel?

And that's black.

Wow, what does that mean?

 

I even thought about not going home.

But if it's fate, then it can still come down, so this won't solve anything, we'll have to look for a solution right here, on the way.

 

If I ever meet her again.

As much as I fear her, she's already completely entangled me and I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't have my thoughts on a leash.

 

You know what?

This is already too much.

    What are you even loading?

 

      Come on.

 

          You're a complete idiot.

 

 

 

 

---

21 Amsterdam

 

“Plus chiant que toi, tu pourras pas en trouver”

    (It’s not possible to find someone more annoying than you)

 

The drive to Amsterdam has invigorated me mentally, but physically I'm somehow getting used to always being sleepy, half-present in the morning, only coming to life towards the evening and wanting action.

Oh, action.

Well, that's just the way it is, but at least I'm not looking at the ground.

Not all the time, but it depends on the situation, and if it looks like there will be problems, it's best to do a little fiu-fiu, most people can't deal with that.

 And so I take in the fresh air in the morning when I step onto the platform. You mean fog, smog, oil fumes and even a bit of floating port waste, they have a very specific smell.

Well, not to go into detail.

It's a feeling and it was quite on the positive side, and I happily walk down the platform towards new experiences.

 

For the first time, Amsterdam was really nice. I didn't stay long enough, and I don't know what I expected. All these stories, and half of them are nothing. But it's so great, the best way to rambling nearcanals, among the trees, boats and bicycles, and as many flowers as you want, as if happy people lived here, but I didn't really imagine it.

There aren't many of them early on, and they don't look friendly either. That will depend on the weather, when the sun shines, the faces will also brighten and everything will be as it should be.

 

It wasn't much different.

When I eat breakfast, I always eat half a kilo of bread and a liter of milk, but on days like this, jam is also good and that's a kind of happiness.

The half-open houses, the ships are nice, some of them live there. It can be quite attractive in the summer, but they probably move into some finely insulated blocks when the winter winds blow.

But who would bother with winter when the sun is shining so brightly.

 

I'm sitting by the canal, yeah, you can't believe it, sometimes I get a little bit of cultured too, at the table, I've had a coffee and a croissant, as if it weren't me, I smoke cigarette, I squint at the sun with pleasure and say;

"Can you buy me a coffee?"

Of course, of course, you're welcome.

What's your name?

I haven't told you yet, but what the hell do you care, fuck, that's it.

Out of pure kindness, if you don't want to say the name, just think of one, but from now on, if we ever meet again, we'll use names."

There was a whole lot of swearing, but she ended it all with Sandrine.

Not only that, she also offered me her hand, which was completely unexpected, considering that we've had a genuine platonic relationship up until now.

So I even held hers a little, looking her straight in the eye.

We know that moments in life, handshakes, don't last long, but long enough to history changes.

I thought it was a good show, although it has a strange way of expressing emotions, you know, the one, sing at 3 p.m., and the other 16, because we're going to skip the details, so as not to say that I didn't understand three quarters of it anyway, because it was in French.

 

If there had been any ice, It would have been broken, but there wasn't, just bright sunshine. Not really. Pure luck, I hoped somewhere deep in my soul, when I cautiously asked if I could go with her, after she had drunk her coffee, smoked her cigarette, thanked her and said, "See you later, I'm going for a walk."

She did let out a burst of swear words, but she also nodded her head, meaning, "If you're going to be a bit of a troublemaker."

And off we went.

 

"Do I want to see anything special?"

Not today.

I've been here before, and I'll come again, I really like it.

Are you always high?

No, not at all. I just tried it and then quit. Not that I don't like it, but you need to have a good supply of money, which I don't have, so I stick to conventional parties. I don't really like wine or beer, except with pizza, but if it's a big party, then some schnapps.

 

"What about you?"

She snapped again, she let out a burst of curses and continued;

"WTF me?"

What do you care about this kid and things?

Why you can't just say something, then I'll be there for you. Why do you always have to ask something, you idiot?

“Plus chiant que toi, tu pourras pas en trouver”

 

I looked at her profile, but it's not a strange profile, if it's in front it's a fas, it's a side profile, what about the back?

She's actually quite cute, if you forget all the swearing and that I'm not allowed to ask her anything directly. Maybe there's something to it, who knows. I always asked if I was interested when she wasn't wandering around, so that I don't say that at home we say how are you, if we meet someone and it means, hi, how glad I am to see you, but not an invasion of privacy.

 

She mostly looked into the distance while drinking coffee, only a few brief glances at me, but I observed her in detail. She's actually quite cute, I don't know if she's even pretty. If I would comb her, erase all that blackness around her eyes and lips.

What do I know?

 

Although she hasn't indicated that we'll see each other again, I don't know if that's a pose either, I have a feeling that she's on the positive side.

 

Well, let's see.

 

"I've had enough of you now!

Are you going there, okay, but I'm going here.."

And she walks over the bridge.

I look after her, I look at the canal, I see people rushing around on bicycles, they ride really fast, they get smaller, yes in perspective, but they make a noise when they cross the street.

Where are they?

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I run after her, I catch her quickly, she wasn't in a hurry, I take her hand and turn her around.

 No, she didn't kiss me, that's only in the movies.

She jumps up and starts to howl, out there among so many people, it seemed to me that everyone was looking at me. She fires off a burst of French, but in between a few translations and starts to laugh, because I was just crawling along.

 There were a few moments, apparently as long as eternity, the whole surroundings disappeared and it seemed that we were alone in the world, I don't know if there was something wrong with the angels.

He giggles, I sink into the worst misfortune and I gasp in pure agony, but it couldn't be worse, well, if a brick had fallen on my head at that moment, or even a piano and I gasp:

"Will I ever see you again?

The day after tomorrow afternoon at Orsay."

And she walked away, as if everything was in order and it wasn't an excess.

So I stood there for a long time as she slowly walked away, observing the shop windows and even once looking back, with a mischievous look, but she saw that I was still gaping and so she immediately continued, as if she wasn't interested.

 

Why the day after tomorrow, where is she going in between, what the hack, I wondered on the street in the evening with my nose pressed against the glass, as the city lights roared past.

 

 

 

 

---

22 Paris

 

 

“T’es con comme une valise sans poignet”

    “You’re as stupid as a suitcase without a handle”

 

What a divine feeling it is to walk around the city and know it and it knows you and everything is as it should be.

The luggage is at the station, locked in a locker, and I have my hands in my pockets and am walking down the IleSaint Louis, Freshly showered like this, I'm not embarrassed to go to the Arab Institute, a newly opened thing, all in the latest achievements of science.

I once visited the Pompidou Center, for its time also the latest in technology and everyone else too. Yes, with the French, you have to adapt, but mostly that, a miracle not seen, really, is a white road, where else have you seen something like that, then over the years it turns out that they were just a while ago and then that miracle spread to all corners of the world, in the sense of just like, but that is already an interpretation anda little past. The more of them there are, the more you shoot into the void.

 

Next in Latin quarter, u, this one is also very close to my heart, slowly passing all those bookstores, galleries, buffets, antique shops towards the Orsay Museum.

The museum was made from a former railwaytrain station. The central hall got three stores, the upper store, which is still spacious, so you can see all those iron finishes from Art Nouveau, I don't know if it wasn't a construction from the same time as the Eiffel Tower. If not from the same, then a little before it, you can see their relationship.

From the main platform, there are three more side stores. I don't really know how many, but two for sure, maybe more. On one side they have the Expressionists, I always go to see them when I'm in Paris, and half of them are still around. On Mondays I'm at the Louvre, then the entrance is free.

 

I was 99% sure that she meant the Orsay Museum (Musée d'Orsay), not the suburbs. 1% is possible and you might miss it, but it is also necessary to risk a little, whoever risks, profits and so far luck has accompanied me more than abundantly.

At least a hint of it, if it is luck, we will see, not only that, but even whether anything will come of it, or just sending it to all possible ends up being nothing.

 

And so.

I'm sitting on that highest platform, there are colored streaks, stained glass windows that used to be above the station. They have nothing to do with the stained glass windows of Notre Dame (Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris), except that they are both colored glass in lead frames. Well, here they are also supported by a steel structure, but I won't talk about the details now, but about the feelings when you see all those people walking among the sculptures, they have a little Rodin here, and others too, more for the taste. For example, Rodin's (Auguste Rodin)museum is ahead and left.

Oh, one super best possible nice scene. Can you enjoy it even more? Sure, because in a completely different, but for me it was the highlight, I don't know if it wasn't life.

 

Also because you were expecting her?

Well, yes, no debate, but again with very mixed feelings, what if she doesn't come, or if she comes, then she sends me away at 3 p. m. and storms off and such dramas one after another, just according to your imagination.

 

I see one over there laughing at me, but I don't register it, because I'm waiting for mine.

She comes closer, I think she's laughing even more.

She stands in front of me and says:

“T’es con comme une valise sans poignée”

    (You’re as stupid as a suitcase without a handle)

 

I wanted to push her away, so as not to accidentally miss my expectations, but I think I recognize those eyes.

anyway.

Oh, I gaped. My jaw was hanging far below the level of acceptance.

Something like that.

It took my breath away.

Indeed, there in front of me stood Sandra, not same, with black, disheveled hair, black-rimmed eyes, even worse than those of skeletons, black lips thickly lined with black paint, dressed in black, torn, dirty, unrecognizable shapes and cuts, no buttons, no razors, no ....

 

To cut it short.

The exact opposite of the above.

Little, cute, all sugar, she just didn't hug me, but that would have been enough.

and she did that typical French greeting, when she takes you by the shoulder with one hand, leans on one cheek, then the other, and I took the third one myself and kissed her on the cheek and hugged her, as is done in our valley.

She looked at me very surprised, but she could see that she was not out of place, she looked around the hall, as if someone was watching her and asked:

"Is there anything else I need to see in the museum, unless he suggests we take a walk along the Seine.."

Oh, what it could be better, I thought, and at the same time I pretended that my heart wasn't beating 100 times an hour, so I cooked it, like on a hot summer day, well, it was, up in the gallery of the Orsay Museum, they weren't having the best ventilation either, so I was sure I was as red as a boiled crab, and off we went.

 

Down by the Seine, by the coast, they have another one thereterrace, there are boat moorings there, these were probably unloading places in the past, but today they are used for those kitschyphotos of lovers on the riverbank.

Kitchy, but really cool nice, but if you're still involved, then super cool.

Now, involved.

Well, let's wait and see, it looks good for once, but otherwise you don't know.

 

There was no need to complicate anything, if I wasn't allowed to ask, which was also softening. Still plenty of swearing, but about half as much, as well as angry outbursts if I said something wrong. But I didn't, and she changed the concept drastically.

 

They arethree, I meet them because they are in the package, if I think I'll mess with her

They grew up and developed together all through high school. Then she lived alone for a year with a guy 10 years older than her and it looked like something out of a sugary movie. It was too perfect to last. Juliet and Cristin warned me from that dating wasn't for me, but I was deaf and blind to the advice. When I discovered that he had more than one, that he would admit it and that it was so nice that we all loved each other, I left him and went to date in Scandinavia.

"Trip?"

Yes, it's an old concept, they pretty much listened to the older ones. Old women go to Greece, and young women go to Scandinavia. They then find an innocent beauty there, jump on him and move on. It is much safer in terms of sexually transmitted diseases, but the concept is purely empty.

She hides with one in a corner, they make out, and before he unbuttons his shirt, he comes. She has a completely different concept of sex. She has to lead, she has to be gentle, and most of all she has to take her time. Just like with dancing.

Man looks stupid on his own, but when he leads her, they can be the height of perfection and harmony.

But he can beat her up, like he did towards the end of the previous one, and he can read the newspaper in the meantime, because she doesn't care, except that I'm his girlfriend and that's the norm.

"What a kid, usually, at 3 pm and so on."

So then I waited for the other two, one is insatiable and so I preferred to go somewhere else, it was much more interesting, but occasionally she got a bit annoyed, which I already know.

 

From Amsterdam she went to her parents, in a town near Bruges. Her father, a Walloon, didn't want to go to the mine, like all his ancestors, and went on a fishing boat, where he met her mother, a Flemish teacher. Well, not on a boat, but on the shore. Father sneaked up with a sailor on an ocean liner years ago. He doesn't have much at home, but he brings rich gifts and when it comes to money, they're fine. They're not rich, but they're free, because that's the most important thing.

 

They probably had the whole of Yugoslavia in high school. Maybe not just Slovenian, but everyone else. So he knows a thing or two about swearing, jebote*.

The accent is wrong, but it's not all about the accents.

jebote*
So common that it is not recognised anymore like a bad behaving. Direct translation is still very much vulgar: (Fuck you)

 

There were a lot of frictions and fights, and brawls, so the girls had to take a very elaborate stance and stick together, so there aren't many problems on this topic. There were only problems in Oslo, but they are completely irrational there, and it's hard to get to the bottom of things with them, so it's better to run away.

She had a crisis there and wanted to send everyone on the list to the orphanage, but you showed up, an inexperienced scoundrel like that, and she got the pleasure of scaring you.

 

Which worked out quite well for her, so she even got the feeling that she still needed friends. Well, of course she needs them, but apparently not for every detail, like this one now.

 

She showed me a Polaroid photo from Amsterdam. They saw me, but then I continued on my own, which you already know. Look, my back and your profile on the couch. Yes, secret agents are everywhere. We watched you in Hamburg, you were sitting with your friends on the canal fence, they were trying to get me to tease you, but you took pity on me and I gave you a break, well, I was scared that you wouldn't run away from me, but maybe I was just a little bit of a prick.

You can see today's photo, when we meet the goats.

 

Now tell me something, I completely crushed you, I thought you were more of a troublemaker. You don't look like a hooligan, but you already saw in Oslo that you have your own unique perspective, if you're just building a concept.

 

Uh, I thought it was cool.

I quickly tell her how I perceived her, of course I keep quiet about the fact that I think of her constantly and everywhere, but I let her know that she's on my positive side and it would be nice, whatever happens.

That I'd like to go to Avignon for the festival.

Uh, great, let's go there too.

I know a band that performs there and they have a rented house and there's definitely a corner somewhere to put you up.

"Come here, I'll show you."

 

 

 

 

 

 

---

23 Avinjon

Avignon

 

“Tu sais que j’aime bien chez toi ? Ben… rien du tout.”

    “You know what I like about you? Well…nothing at all”

 

The train to Avignon left a little after midnight. We waited in Lyon for an hour and a half, but it seemed like at least another hour and arrived in Avignon at about 10 am. No, it wasn't a TGV. It was cutely slow, like in the old days. Not only that, it even had compartments, which wasn't present in Scandinavia, so that you could at least separate sounds and sometimes smells, but that depends on the atmosphere anyway, and as long as there's a party, the doors are always open, so it's always because. If there's nothing concrete, at least:

"What are you doing?"

or even just:

"Eeeeeaaaaueee,"

he's hanging around the door, not knowing where he is, whether anyone knows him, or just some, it just depends on the joker.

 

There were 4 of us in the compartment, we also took up the remaining space with luggage, unless someone had a reservation, a pretty comfortable trip. Juliet and Cristin immediately went to see if there was any promising material, and we went.

 

Already there by the Seine, when our shoulders were touching, when we were sitting on the edge of the plateau and, with our feet dangling over the water, watching the passing ships, not just the ships, but the things that float on the Seine, you can't imagine, she whispered to me:

"So that you don't accidentally imagine something!"

I don't want to get tied down even by accident. As long as I don't screw up, nothing serious.

Yeah, it's okay to look at the eyes a little.

"Will you be able to do it?"

She's looking at me pleadingly.

If not, let's go our separate ways, even if you're so nice.

"Of course, what is this, says the man of steel,"

I would have promised her anything, just to stay.

 

Walking down by Quarter Latin (Quartier latin), We laugh, we reminisce, we make plans. We even pretend a little bit if we would meet in different circumstances, well the circumstances aren't bad, but the timing is pure mime. Contact me in a year or two, and we'll see, you won't get me down anyway, but for you it would be essential to learn the language first, not to mention how to continue your education with your certificates, I don't understand at all if we Belgians still have problems in France and Switzerland, even if we speak French as our mother tongue.

 

We Belgians are the stupid ones in this society.

You know, two Belgians are hammering nails and one is hitting the nail that is turned around, which of course doesn't want to go into the wall.

And the other one says, don't be a fool, you Belgian, but can't you see that this nail is for the opposite wall?

 

"Why don't you laugh if all the French and a third of the Swiss do?"

 

    Back home in Belgium, everyone is at odds with everyone else, of course it's the other person's fault, and half of it is with the French and some of the Swiss. I'm telling you, it's not easy if you let yourself go. Otherwise, you build a shield and pretend that you're not afraid of anyone and it mostly works out. Yes, sometimes you get them by the screeching, but the latter has nothing to do with nationality. Life brings ups and downs, and then it depends on the individual how much you suffer. Some people screw up almost nothing, some even get a whole lot, but nothing like that has ever happened.

 

On Bulevard San Michael we met up with Julijet and Cristin and staged a hug and jump as if we had known each other forever.

Didn't we?

We know everything about you, from Oslo onwards Sandrin was so experienced that we were thrilled, but we didn't even know who she was talking about.

Before that, she was just in a moment of despair and was just looking for a way to escape. They don't have the Eiffel Tower, but everything a little higher is guarded in 100 ways. She didn't want to go into the water because she swims too well and she certainly wouldn't make it. Cars in the center drive very slowly, so there was only a train left, but she was too worried about how it would look. We consoled her that it couldn't get much worse, since it was already low down.

 If you hadn't shown up, she would have probably done something really stupid, but you see her as if you'd met the messiah, she was just floating around in the air asking where someone was going, and we just happened to bump into you. It's more luck than intelligence that you had similar interests at similar times, so we then watched you. Sandrine on purpose, but the bear's out of pure spite, he's not a good guy. Nothing personal. It wasn't even about guys. There must have been something, I don't know what, that changed her. I don't know if she's like a lifesaver for an ant in water. She falls in love with that plant, and it doesn't matter whether it's a nettle or has thorns.

  Juliet has a polaroid camera and even a little talent, and sometimes she manages to capture some really interesting ones. Here you are today in Orsay. Without a telephoto lens, I don't even know if polaroids have any lenses, but the composition is pretty good, the atmosphere is like in a painting by some expressionist.

 

And so, while we were picking, we took our seats on the night train. Julka returned an hour later and pretended to be asleep, and we met Cristin when we were in Lyon waiting for a connection.

 

And we did.

Oh, how cute it was.

She sat me by the window, facing the direction of travel, which I always tried to do, if possible, in the daytime you can see something, otherwise it disappears before you even realize it was there. There wasn't much to see at night, after the train leaves the city it goes quite fast and you can only see the lights that are far enough away, otherwise just lines of light flickering like crazy, which I also enjoyed watching, but that's at other times when you're daydreaming, what not, and that flickering lulls you into unimaginable distances and vastness, sometimes even heights and depths, it just depends on the daydreaming, but yes, you have to be a bit lunatick, which has never been a problem for me.

 

Now.

She was lying on the remaining seats with her head in my lap. We would whisper from time to time so as not to wake Julia, but there were also quite long pauses in between, so that it even seemed that she was sleeping. She claimed she wasn't, but sometimes I could tell from her breathing that she was at least somewhere else, if not in a dream.

I had to have my hand on her stomach, under her belly button, under her shirt, because she was on her period and it hurt and the heat was really nice,

"Don't imagine anything!"

She opened her eyes wide, as if she was looking at me sternly, but from that perspective it wasn't even possible for her to be stern, so I just watched her with interest and smiled blissfully (stupidly).

 If she can't see that I'm in love, then she's a total hack, I thought for a moment, but I immediately apologized in my mind, saying that I didn't mean anything so rude, and that she's an angel, she's so beautiful.

Indeed, the more I looked at her, the more beautiful she became. Probably, love flows in on one side and rational perception flows out on the other.

 

In Avignon, she won't be able to be with just me all the time, because she owes her friend a longer conversation. It's a little bit that he's been into it for years, even though he's older, but he has another big problem.

In this same theater group where we're about to stop, her older sister worked, or was a member, or something else, and she hasn't seen her for a few years. The aforementioned friend was also into it, in fact, he was into it first and he and her joined the group, but when his sister started shitting on him, when his world was falling apart, I consoled him a little, and then he was into it.

 We didn't make anything of it, because it was just help in need, but we still love and respect each other, so we have to talk. It's only fitting to take the time, between those parties and shows, to talk in peace.

 I hope he knows something about my sister lately. She's been living in the south of France with an African, without any documents, for quite a few years. Lately, they've been in Marseilles and smuggling whatever can be smuggled. Drugs lured her down, then weapons, people, anything that goes into money. There's a lot of that in Marseilles, and they're not big fish, but the possibility that someone will sew them up is huge. They can only resent the big ones and end up in the trash.

 

When she talked about her sister, she started breathing faster, turned around, tossed from left to right, hugged me so that I got really hot, but she also calmed down, I stroked her stomach so that she even fell asleep a little.

After 15 or 20 minutes, she woke up, hugged me and said;

"Do you know that you are really cool?"

But there is still something left.

Just not too far.

 

------

 

Avignon was hot. But the wind in the air and the shade of the huge plane trees on the boulevard give you a sense of pleasure, even on such a hot day, as we slowlymarched towards the center.

"It's quite close."

It wasn't really, but considering the more or less dark night, just before the center of the city, in an alley on the left, a couple of houses and a drinking fountain.

 Everyone was still asleep, so the indestructible Cristin, who really has the energy to stay, opened the unlocked door and we shuffled into a pleasantly cold hallway, or what was that supposed to be? Just a long room with a wooden staircase on the right, and around and around just as many doors as you wanted. All the doors are open, and behind some of them, snoring can be heard.

 Cristin shouts, good morning, is anyone home, while making her way towards the kitchen, among all sorts of props.

From the next room you can hear cursing, to which Sandrine jumps up, oh Floron, and flies into his embrace.

 We slowly gather in the huge kitchen overlooking the not-so-small yard. Okay, well. Considering it's the city center, then the yard is 6 x 10 m, not small.

"Why are you waking us up in the middle of the night, we just went to bed!"

Someone is coming down from the top floor. They are greeting each other, hugging, kissing, whispering something or even shouting, because you have to greet three at once, even if you heard, you wouldn't understand, but the whole world was here. Japanese, Americans, and others, but they all spoke French.

In that confusion of people, Sandrin approaches, hugs me and calls out:

"He is under my protection so that nothing happens to him. Floran, you understand.?"

We all wave, greet me, teases fly, they get into a fight, Sandrin jumps in:

"Don't kid yourself, this is serious."

More hints, shaking hands, some people kiss me, but French, no, you don't. Of course not a French kiss, as we interpret it at home. That one, a touch of cheeks and a handshake. Mostly one, a few double ones, even a real hug, I think it was Cristin, but in that crowd I didn't pay attention to individuals. I've always had trouble with crowds. Not even by chance, to remember anyone.

Well, Florentin, the only one, what do they have? Is there anything else decisive and so on.

 

It turns out that there are quite a few guests, from all over the world, who are slowly creeping towards the kitchen. We get to know each other, have breakfast around noon, when the last ones show up.

"You'll take a shower in the afternoon, we can't get to the bathroom now."

There are two of them, one on the ground floor one upstairs, luckily they are separated, if they were together, they would never be arranged.

 I still perform the drama. Namely, after most of them have gone off to new experiences, for coffee, a walk, a visit, a rehearsal, an afternoon performance, the line for the bathroom passes.

"What are you waiting for, hurry up if you don't want the next one to overtake you.

But Juliet is in the bath."

Here comes Cristin from the kitchen, I'll come too, threesome is better.

Sandrin grins, kisses me and pushes me into the bathroom:

"Two at a time, otherwise it never ends."

The water is lukewarm. Well, not very cold. I rub the soap and it doesn't lather at all.

"Shall I rub your back?"

I'm staring, looking at the floor, or the wall, while you blow-dry your hair, yes in a robe, but how, soul broken. No, there was nothing on that side. Pure functionalism.

It's a shame it didn't work out with Sandrin.

 

I spend the afternoon with Juliet. We walk the streets, joke around, she's quite lively and mischievous, she constantly invites me to do some mischief.

Some of them dance to music. She pulls me over and we dance together. I never learned to dance properly, what is that anyway, but I trained in folklore and drumming, so I still have a sense of rhythm. I have always liked to dress up in many ways, for example, imitating various performers and I followed the dance quite well there, so that Juliet then explained at length that I danced very well, but maybe I just dressed up in a theme and that I was the main star.

 

In the evening we sit down in the back, at a performance by local actors, we missed it, when there are so many interesting things, the Avinjon Festival is truly, in itself the highlight of anything. In my case, life, in which others, a party, again other performances, performances, costume design, set design, music of this or that.

 I'm just thinking, if I'll ever see Sandrin again, she pushes herself between us, there were benches, hugs me, kisses me, again on the lips and sits on my lap, so we also clapped, although I didn't understand anything, but I participated in the audience's enthusiasm, and contributed a lot to the atmosphere, namely, you can also clap in syncope, not to mention that you can perform any other rhythm, for which I was again praised by Juliet. I don't know if she wasn't winning me over, but I think she was just teasing Sandrin, because I didn't catch her eye on the Boulevard Sant Michael, I was immediately noticed, just another one, like so many of them.

 

After the show, we went to the after-show party with a feast that they didn't bother with, mostly wine, local varieties, nothing famous, so good that it can't be described. A few cheeses, even fewer salamis. I don't know if I was the only one who went crazy for salamis, I didn't see any with salami, some with a piece of cheese, others with bread, which is also fabulous, and mostly just wine.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself!"

Sandrin says, when she comes to hug me from time to time, while she's making the rounds, I don't know if she didn't know everyone, at least that's how it was perceived, but there were, I don't know if it wasn't 100 people, a lot but it's all like that.

 Some leave, the initial decibels drop. The debates become more defined. From the initial general jokes and general chatter, groups are formed, and then more intimate ensembles or whole couples remain.

 We walk the streets, some dark, others quite lit. Some smiling, others sleepy, but we like them all, not only that, we find them all magical. We don't talk much, but we hold hands all the time. Yes, of course, if it's a lonely, sleepy, darkened, deserted street, it squeezes me even more when kiss. In some smiling street, even forget, but rarely, at least a hug if not anything else.

 

The steps of the Pope's Palace are quite busy, the square is also quite lively, and the clock is ticking to get there.

"We're not going to the Pont Nouf."

 There are only stupid tourists there, during the spring snow melts high in the Jura, when the water rises and overflows the banks, but it is magical to stand there at the end, when the white foam hisses, when the water crashes into the last pillar of the bridge, but it is unforgettable there, it makes you want to jump, but not in the sense of the end, but the beginning, to be a drop of this infinite force and travel all the way to the sea and finally calm down in the sea, merging with the infinity of nature.

 

"Am I stupid?"

On the contrary, I would like to be a drop myself, but I would hold hands and sail away together to new experiences at sea.

"Don't fuck around.!"

No, really. If I can't say it as beautifully as you, if I can't express my feelings, it doesn't mean that I don't want to think the same way. Otherwise, it's completely new to me, and I have to get used to thinking like that first.

I walk a lot in the hills. Up there at the top, I also sit and stare into the distance. Yes, it can be seen from afar, it's beautiful, but it's not just that. Just like you, the infinite beauty of nature takes hold of me and carries me away into thoughts that I wonder about, but I've never felt like throwing myself down, not in the sense of the end, but of merging with the wind and the distance. I have a too rational head, but I really like your metaphor, and from now on I'll also dream of illogical things.

"You really have a head with corners!"

She giggle and kisses me.

 

"Come, I'll show you my secret, I hope it's still there."

 

The city is slowly calming down. Still far from peace, it's probably only towards morning. Music as much as you want, all sorts of things, live, recorded, but above all experienced and desired. Some even have private performances, in cheerful company, repeating a successful performance or improvising a new one.

 

Locals from the center leave their houses for a month, moving to the countryside, the sea, the mountains, to relatives in other cities. Many of their houses are rented out, just like ours, but apparently this one is rented out all year round, room by room. They mostly rent out part of the house, maybe an upper floor, or the ground floor, as they see fit, because during the festival, it's impossible to sleep at night unless you have nerves of steel, which we know the French can't boast about.

 

At home, well, in the house where I was received, there are quite a few of them. There is a large table in the yard and the party is lively, not playful, the peak is probably over, but still far from dying down. It is similar in the rooms, only to a lesser extent. Some point with a finger to their lips, it looks like someone has already fallen asleep, or is so tired that there is no strength in the world to raise their head from the comfortable pillow. If there is one, sometimes even someone on the ground, in those times, years, not periods, it is not a problem.

 Up narrow stairs, behind a door that I would never say is there at all, it is part of the wallpaper and skirting boards, but this is a French specialty, we make our way through the cobwebs to the attic. Sandrin leads and pulls cobwebs from her face, she doesn't swear, she hasn't been there all evening, yes she meets someone, then shit quickly gets involved, but not with me, I'm surprised, as if she's not the same person, apparently she doesn't have such problems. What the hack, you're complicated to the core, I'm thinking, I'm getting angry at myself, instead of enjoying the moment, it's quite dark, only occasionally you can sense that something is up.

"Watch out, lift your leg!"

and then through the attic until you see the exit to the terrace, I don't know if it's 2 x 3 m. The fence is only still on the roof, the rest probably collapsed during the Second World War. It used to be an attic apartment, when the house was still inhabited regularly and the maid probably hung out her laundry here.

The terrace faces the street, so the playful sounds from the yard only appear occasionally due to the party below or the wind blowing lightly.

 We sit with our legs dangling in the depths, shoulder to shoulder, and look over the roofs into the distance. The moon was out, but I don't know where, it wasn't one of those bright nights, so you could even see a few stars. The atmosphere is also a bit misty, it seems to be raining.

 A warm breeze ruffled her hair and teased her by blowing strands across her face. She seemed nervous, but it was actually in anticipation of something big, she tried to control the naughty breeze with head movements. She didn't succeed, but it didn't matter anymore, because our faces were already completely close and...

 She hugs me, kisses me, I roll her over onto her back, I kiss her, she kisses me back. We stop, we look at each other, our noses keep getting stuck. She pushes me away, waits, squeezes me even more, kisses me even more.

 We lie down, each to her own, watching the sky, listening to the sounds of the happy city, looking at each other, our fingers touch, our palms clasp, she rides me and lies on me, kisses me, I massage her back. We lie down.

 I put her down, I get up and carefully carry her that meter towards the door, it is safer, at least less dangerous, even then I can't do without realism.

 We sit leaning on the door, our shoulders touch, she takes my hand, looks, doesn't reach for a kiss, so she climbs into my arms, calms down and cries.

 What's the matter?, did I say something like that, since I've been silent for almost an hour, maybe a wrong move, nothing that could offend her.

 Her warm breath on my neck. I kiss her tears. We unite in an endless kiss. Our bodies intertwine and pulse in a steady rhythm.

 We fall asleep.

 

 

I wake up in a flash, completely soaked, the sun is already beating down with all its might, it's a good thing I didn't cook.

She's not here.

I probably overslept and she went to breakfast. What time is it? I don't know if it's noon.

I head into the kitchen a little before eleven. Juliet rushed to the bathroom, just run away, no questions about how or what, no kisses, like so far it's always been

Cristin gets up from the table and wants to leave, but I stop her by asking where Sandrin is?

"She went to Marseille!"

The answer is etched deep into my brain.

"How did she leave??"

About an hour ago, she said she never wants to see you again. She was crying like rain, what did you do to her?

 

I run for the suitcase, of course everything is scattered. I don't look at what's mine, what's not, I just grab it because it was around and jump into the street. I run through the hot streets, how come they got so hot all of a sudden, when they were warm for two days before, but pleasantly warm. I guess it's just fate punishing me, because it really wasn't real, like an illusion.

But I don't understand anything.

 

At the station I'm flying from platform to platform, luckily there are only three of them, to the waiting room, back to the entrance. She hasn't left yet, and without saying goodbye. The timetable says she'll be leaving in half an hour. I fly to the platform, running next to the standing train. Passengers are slowly getting on, the train occasionally blows steam, it wasn't steam, it was diesel, but trains have something between the carriages, and sometimes the steam blows, mostly towards the ground, a very characteristic sound.

While running I jump to see into the carriages.

She hits the glass when she sees me. She's leaning against the glass, crying. He cheers me up for a moment, but then immediately bows his head.

Now I hit the glass myself and wave for him to come out.

 

 We are sitting on a bench on the platform, the heat is getting worse, there are more and more people, some are running.

 

 “My sister is lost, I'm going to see if there's anything else I can do, at least to see her, but who knows where she might end up, maybe goodbye.“

 

Silence.

 

 “I really enjoyed being with you, but it wasn't meant to be for us and I wanted it to be just a nice memory, but I see you're not capable of a normal farewell. I see that nothing is clear to you and it's necessary to say goodbye in a tough way.“

 

Silence.

 

 Then there was a whole repertoire of swear words, but I won't repeat them here, I'll just add that she jumped onto the departing train in tears, held on to the door and screamed:

“Tu sais que j’aime bien chez toi ? Ben… rien du tout.”

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24 Barcelona

 

I sat at the station until evening, when the train to Barcelona left.

As you know, on the train I was comforted by the scariest Portuguese man in the history of horror movies with his schnapps, so I arrived in Barcelona quite happy. Well, at least I didn't cry, if I wasn't jumping for joy.

It was scorching hot there, so more than parc I didn't see it at the station. It wasn't just the heat. After I was left alone, my legs were shaking from the sheer misery., so I spent the whole day in the park and more or less mourned. We boys don't cry, It would have been nice, but I didn't afford it, which I still regret to this day.

Nobody knows you, I'm not saying in Ljubljana, but here.

But I didn't find the courage to cry openly. I kept it inside.

 I knew it was a hopeless situation, but I still felt sorry. I also imagined all sorts of situations, what ifs, but they all got quite rational answers, which Sandrine already gave.

 

 In Madrid it was a bit better, I at least walked around a bit, even visited Prado, I don't know if it was because of the air conditioning, it was unbearably hot outside.

 

 Paris revived me, It was raining, that's fitting after such intense feelings, I couldn't bear another optimistic day. So I walked reverently along the bank where we had walked, watching the couples who, despite the rain, had rendezvous on the shore, what's happening to them. There must be some others with a hopeless future somewhere. Oh, as many stories as you want. Yes, I also stood there and stared into emptines, but no one noticed, so there was no crisis.

 

 In Milan, I missed the train to Rome because I endlessly wanted a domestic scene, where everything is predictable.

 

 In Sežana, I was already thinking that no one would believe what was happening to me, so it would be much easier with 100 Swedish women.

 They won't believe that there are 100 of them, but there's no debate about them being jumpy.

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25 Moral (lesson)

 Maybe I'll finish it sometime.

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