We're working for food and acomodation. No money. Some people would say that we're crazy. Angela couldn't afford to hire workers and we couldn't afford to pay for accomodation in such a lovely place. So why shouldn't we help each other? We are cutting down all the dead branches in the orchard and store the wood for winter. In exchange for couple of hours of work per day we have a lot of good food, big bed, own bathroom, beautiful mountain views and nice chats all the time. Angela's place is in the mountains, about 30 minutes drive from nearest village. Solar panels are catching sunlight while a little windmill is changing mechanic power of the wind to electricity. How nice! Of course it is an investment to make. At the beginning this is not a free energy at all, but no bills, no electric wires above the head and no energy salesmen in the end is very much convincing. Sun and wind - perfect weather for electricity-making. Everything that eyes can see here are mountains, almond trees and big sky. Ears, for most of the time, will hear nothing. And for the nose, there is a lot of pine-tree scent. It is a place where the weather is an entertainment - it changes so often that you can't be bored. There are grey mists jumping from the mountain peaks behind the house or gently lying in the valley below, while here the sun is shining like gold. There are storms and strong winds going through or around the place. There are big clouds carrying heavy rain and cutting sky in half with dark blue colors... D.
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5 days ago we left Clavieres. Two roman gypsies took us from a car parking on a highway. Then a driver from Paris, two young guys in a fancy Ford, a couple who wanted to leave us on an entrance to the highway, so they added 11 more kilometers to their route. From the middle of nowhere we hitched a ride with amazingly caring older couple. They've asked the people from another car if they could take us further. And that's how we appeard on Hector's and Marta's couch. The Barathon. Hector is the first person I know, who can get up in the morning with a smile on his face. Impossible to do for me. He's living in Montauban with Marta - beautiful blonde girl from Poland. Just after our arrival we got beers, huge sandwich with french sausage and went to see a 'Barathon' (a bar marathon). Montauban, which is usually a calm and peaceful place, became a capital of beer and music. Both were everywhere and both were goooood. Dawid´s first try of a typical Spanish jamon. The next day in the morning Hector gave us a lift to the highway with his shiny blue van. From Montauban one toulousian took us - his wife would have killed him for that - so shhhhh... Then a catalan chef, a Sirian man and a young English couple helped us to get to Barcelona. Cheers to all of them! D. Barcelona welcomes us with a clear sky, all the rain clouds are blown away by the mountain wind, Tramontane (Tramuntana). We get a warm welcome from an old friend, Minuit, who is a multi-talented person if it comes to music, jokes and imitating different languages. He can turn in a second from a French vampire, through a Louisiana African-American lady and a German soldier to a Russian Borys, who eats a lot of ikra... With Dawid they make a good match in music it seems and the two-day work resulted in a great music number, called 'Tak, tak' (Polish: 'Yes, yes', hopefully avaliable somewhere soon). In the meantime I was walking around the city to unexpectedly experience a choir concert in the Cathedral, a typical Catalonian demonstration and all the wonders of subway... Pledge to the subway. You feel it with all your senses. The smell of it, the sound od wheels on tracks, of people passing by, of breaks squeeking. The sensation of wind flow in the corridors. The feeling of movement without the sight of movement. The surprise of getting on the surface in a totally different place than where you went underground. Paris. The white, rectangular tiles. London. The trains round as the tunnels. Barcelona. The heat underground almost the same as the heat above. Dortmund. High platforms and trains going sometimes under, sometimes above ground, just like in Antwerp. Hundreds of colorful people. Different age, gender, races, clothes and activities performed in order not to get bored. Tourists and locals, football supporters, street dancers, retired persons, tired housewives, businesmen, schoolkids, nuns, beautiful girls... Just buy yourself a day ticket and explore. Not only for the sake of movement, but for the sake of authentic subway experience. J.
That's us and Frodo. Frodo is Basia's dog. Basia is Julia's sister. Their father, Mr. Ludwik, was our 39th driver. That's how we arrived to Clavieres. But before... Frodo and us in the home of Boris in Eindhoven. New food: sea-salt or english mustard flavored potato chips, sodas with real fruit juice, a lot of strange sweets and horse meat ham. And strange meaty croquettes. Holland seems so different than anything else. The language that sounds like softened Geman, the houses made of dark red bricks with white curtains in huge windows. Eindhoven is being called the City of Light, but the name was not stolen from Paris, it just memorizes the giant Philips light bulbs factory... From there we easily got to Antwerp with one car, in which we surprisingly met a young Polish nurse and her German boyfriend. The road from Antwerp to Lille, even though not so long, was incomparably longer. But - as usually - full of adventures. And Julia lost her beautiful red hat... A future shepherd, now biting and licking everything. Four hours... We spent two days in Lille and Wavrin. Two great days. Thanks to Victoria, Paul, their Mom and Kieran - the Irish Pirate. First day - in Lille. Dumplings, of course and Belgian beer with them. I've chosen this one, which Mieke recommended me in Antwerp - Kastelbier. Amazing. Beer in northern France is being sold in 1,5 liter bottles or packages of more than 20 bottles of 33cl. Later that day in Capsule, which is on the 29th place on the list of best beer bars in the world. I've tried strong, dark and bitter Norwegian beer. - Excuse me... - asked a friend - what kind of beer are you drinking? - Norwegian. - Norwegian?! You should try some local one! - Come on! - I said - This is France! Shouldn't you drink wine here? - No. Not in the North! Their culture seems more Belgian than French. Like political borders didn't matter. All beer that we've tried in a cut-hand city are avaliable in Lille. The difference is in naming: not bier, but biere. Fantastic experiences in Lille. Meet Victoria. She's a very crazy girl! Next day: breakfast in the Park for 14 euros for four persons. Couple of hours later a first petanque game in my life. Amateurs vs. professionals - 12:13. Amazing how interesting that game could be. For a new player like me, it was just throwing steel balls at the begining. After an hour, the game became a complicated, strategic contest. Cheers to my teammate, Kieran the Irish Pirate. You know why Dublin is so big? |
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