Courage and Apprehension

All these worries

Are but a learning

Cause really

I'm living in 

the hands of the Gods.

All this is meant to be.

And so it went. About a month before I planned to leave a quite but unsetteling feeling of apprehension crept over me, about what exactly it was I was going to be doing, what I was giving up and how it would all unroll. I felt cornered by my own desire to travel, without a real clear vieuw as to where, how, what. But as I carefully packed my gear, said goodby to those in my inner circle, my shiatsu buddies and collegues, flashes of future adventures kept me going together with the deep longing for the wild, the open and the Jungle.

And so I left, on the 17th of June 2016 my dear mother offered to drop me off at the nearest petrol station towards the south. I can only start to imagine how hard it must have been to push the one you love so much into an uncertain world, knowing you will not likely see him again soon, and still to stay with it, smiling, from the inside. That to me, is a sign of pure devotion and strong will I deeply admire.

To plukkrijp it was, a community I'd been coming back to for the last six years, seeing it evolve and grow from a happy woofing farm to something bordering on a commune with sect like qualities. If that sounds extreme, that's how it felt, this time. I did not feel as welcome as I have been in the past, although Martine and Frank were as open as ever. There was a circle that afternoon where a native colombian couple of the Kogi tribe shared their philosophy and way of life, which was very touching and interesting. For some five days I worked there, trying to understand the group dynamics, but feeling somewhat excluded because I did not wish to share in their Tantric vision of self deployment. There was abundance as ever though, and after sorting through boxes and boxes of mouldy fruits, I made my way to Gent. Ghosh I do like Ghent and that night there was a Boombal in the centrale. A kind of folkdancing night in perhaps my favourite venue ever. The high, high glass ceiling supported by green iron shod metal rafters, gracious walls of coloured brick, and space enough to dance for more that 300! Well, so you'd think, but after the inicial introduction more and more beautiful people kept joining in until even this dance floor seemed to small. Hours we jumped and whirled, intimately shuffeled and bathed ourselves in sweat untill at last I found place to hide from the advancing daylight in a room with three jolly student girls, where we all made our own beds. The sun admonished morning saw me making me hitching a ride to Paris, Two rides in fact, before I checked in at Rojwan and Lory's place on the lower slopes of Mont Martre. They made me a warm welcome in their tiny appartment and showed me around town next day with paris's great Velib Bike system, where, if your clever, switch bikes avary half hour, and so travel cheap. For a few days I hung about this ancient Town, staying some days at one of their friends house in a more casual part of town, with african cafe's lining the streets and a familliar ghetto like feel reminding me of my own home. Home......No longer My home.....But A home non the less. What is it like, to live without a home? Let's find out (again?) As Rojwan went to Amsterdam the weekend I was in Paris he brought me back some handy supplies from the home front (what! I'd only been away for a week and already.....? Yes, My backpack was falling apart rapidly......and ofcourse, I had way to much stuff..... You only really start to realize the truth of what that means, of what really IS essential gear, when you have to lodge it on your back over hill and mountain days on end. )  Paris got to me though, like any big city does, and so as soon a s I could I let the big black road carry me southward, to the summits of the puy the Dome. This is a string of extinct vulcanoes covered in thick woods surroundes by lovely french country side. You didn't know there was vulcanoes in Fance? Well, neither did I untill some two years ago, when I passed them by car and told myself that if ever I had a chance, I should go and hike them. So now was that time, and great was my appitite for nature. Stocking up in the town of Riom, I set of along a beautifull path up, up and up again. A lot of climbing is what lingers in my mind about that time. Some gorgeous wild craters filled with wildflowers, buzzing insects and tall grass. Walking along a ridge from peak to peak one gets a lovely vieuw of the old beasts and the lands beyond. A patchwork of yellowing fields and forrests, with cosy herds of brown cows here and there. The tallest Puy in the chain was known to the Romans too who built a huge temple devoted to mercury on the top, mad people, absolutely mad. The remaind are still clearly visible. Huge blocks of black stone, which they (or rather, their slaves) towed up the hill by man and donkey! Covered in clouds as high hills tend to be I did get a chance to observe how the clouds play with the mountains, mixing and stretching, a lovely sight indeed.

Making it a habit to bath every day after hiking I camped by a clear blue lake that night, protected from the chill of the wind by a grove of tall pines and my loyal rain poncho. More hiking and lovely landscape ensued, bringing me to the puy the Sancy area where bleak and open roling hill got me feeling in scotland, or wandering through the forlorn landscapes of westeros, only a few knights were lacking, albeit not in my Imagination....

That night, it was the fourth after leaving paris, I hit the road again and by sheer wonder and great friendliness made it to Le bellet in seven (magic, yesss) rides in under two hours. Le bellet is a set of three cottages and a largish barn on the wodded slopes of the Dordogne river in southern France. Thay have been inhabited by two good friends of mine, Karel and Kristien, who'm I have knows since my early wooffing days in Belgium. Kristien works with kids and pony's and Karel always has something or other to build, fix, along with growing vegatables in one of their three lovely gardens. So for a week I stayed with them, helping where I could, sweeping, playing horse, pulling weeds, mixing cement, cooking, you know, the usual kind of stuff. They recieve a lot of guests over the summer who come and rent the cottages and so aside from the daily work I took this as a chance to practice some Shiatsu, and make some people happy. Le bellet is truely a lovely place, at some 300 meter above the dordogne on a side stream, they have their own waterfall, 4 natural springs, 6 goats, acres of super wild forrest, and a natural swiming pool. Because all this was not enough we also went kayaking on the clear and virulenty delicious water of the Dordogne river one day, after the cosy market at Argentat. All the houses in this region seem to have been torn out of a fearytale with brown rough walls, chunky slate roofs and flowery creepers up every wall. After a week of delicious food, homemade pizza, sun and lots of laughter I packed myself again, and went south further still.
Toulouse way my inicial destination, than Lourdes, which, again by wonder, I reached that same afternoon. But what was more. The kindly man who took me also offered me to stay in his house, and join the barbecue with his fammily. How lucky am I again!!? What kindness all about me. He even dropped me of in the center of town so I could wonder around a bit between all the fervent Catholics in the chaos of this holy shrine. I could only marvel at it all. Especcialy the social side, with openair sermons near the place where Bernadette is said to have seen the Virgin, and water sprouted from the rocks ever forth. It had it's beauty, I must confess, yet I feel more attracted by the temples of Nature, the sacred groves, the lofty abodes on the barren peaks of mountains, that I was about to enter. In the morning the kind family even drove me a distance into the right direction, as they were going for a pick-nick there anyway, and so I started walking from the town of Luz-St. Saveur.
A deep sharp valley I climbed as I set out, past the thermal springs, past the bridge with the bungee jumping folks, past Noortje, a girl I know from years back in Amsterdam that I bizarrely just met there, on the road with her boyfriend, in the mountains, yes of course....
Trying to walk in the GR routes, I quickly became frustrated with their leisurely ways. Not seeming to care how much useless climbing and descending one must do to advance only a little. So I chose for the road down in the bottom of the valley, even though there was cars, it was a great improvement. At times the river pushed itself through deep cuts in the gray rock, so deep that it disappeared all together from sight. Green walls rose up on either side at just 44% percent angle to prevent rocks from choosing for the abyss, and I went higher. Choosing the protective cover of a concrete bus stand seemed to have been the right choice that night as my sleep was disturbed by the rolling thunder and white lightning echoing off the surrounding peaks.

Sun on the mountain

Light in my Heart

I'm up for the walk now

So let's make a start

Let's make a start

Let us begin

Open your Eyes

Let the light in

Morning was clear though and soon I found myself in Gavernie, marveling at the power of nature there displayed. Over the simple roofs of the small town rose up the Cirque de Gavernie. A full, or even more than semi-circle of towering rock capped in the late winter snows, adorned by no less that 20 separate waterfalls dropping their white content hundreds of meters through thin air before exploding upon the green and weathered valley below. The majestic of this whole spectacle must truly be personally beheld, but I can say I was deeply impressed, and marveled for a good while as the clouds from the valley tried to catch me until I finally left them behind.
 Than over green and juicey pastures of the high valleys I passed, walking there where once glaciers had their ways and creeping between stones and boulders of house size or more. For the Pass I made, quieted by the purity and sauvage of the place. Deserted caves and barren rock all around, none but me for a human to be seen. But overhead, two different eagles circled, one brown spotted, the other black and white, gracious at every turn, observing, hovering, seeing. Seeing the marmots that I was seeing too I'm sure, with their silly cute walking fashion and flappy fat tails. Trunching trunching, carrying the weight of that which I deem essential om my back, I joined my mind with Nature, and was. The surrounding stone opened me, tore my to pieces, unified my mind. There is such awsome power in the simplicity if those savage mountains, their perplexing folds, and obvious ancientness, that when I decended from the windyness of the pass, and reached the welcoming cover of the first trees, it felt as a true home. Having to choose beside the secrity of a refuge building, there, on the open mountain, or the cover of a green beech grove by a stream, I chose the latter, and tied my hammock in the crown of an woody elder of the trees. The clouds decided otherwise though and sent their full wetness against my plan, making me retreat to the refuge anyway. Much sleep I did not get that night though, walls of stone or nay, but rats I had plenty of, and they tried to nibble my toes and hair. Happily the morning was good and clear and once again by that delicious creek her water was irresistable, and I bathed in it's amazing clarity. Oh pretty rocks, of lovely water, how do I appriciate your song, the music you play without end, or effort. As a child I lingered there a bit, in full emersioun of the moment, the trees, the water. Than down again, to the valley, where this water joined more water, just as pure, effortless, without any resistance the two became one, and I followed. A beautiful rushing bubbeling white and blue river it was, flanked by the most amazing green woods, the subtle sunlight filtered through infinite moss covered branches and foliage, fallen truncs and giand marbles surely forgotten by some giant or other. The good water came from every side it seemed. The valley was a deep gorge flanked on both sides by majistic walls of stone. And on every latch and in every crevice there was some or other life growing, trying to hold on. As the day advanced, so did I, and there the first town came in sight. It was Torla. Really I had not the slightest incling that the pyrenees contained anything this wild. Three days without suplies got me biting into some amazingly juicy fruits right away. Ola! Ah si... I was in Spain.

I spent a last night in those mountains, camped by a cherry grove, and than made for Pamplona. Well, actually I didn't make specifically for anywhere but west, but Pamplona is where I ended up. And I wasn't alone in that respect. As soon as we hit the center ( my hitching driver and me) it seemed that red and white were the only colors acceptable to wear. I had to check this out, so I stayed on, and ended up right in the middle of the festival of San Fermin. Little did I know what that meant, and so much the wiser have I become ever since. Madness!  Imagine Kingsday in Holland, but than for days on end, all red and white! It was great. I just walked around all night in this rather beautiful city, soaking up the vibe, meeting some funny people and in the end ending up on a bench in the park with two whole pizzas in my posession. That was after the most amazingly spectacular fireworks show I've ever witnessed, as I sat among thousands near the Citadel, After seeing a mock bull full of fireworks charging through a dense crowd spouting sparks all over the place ( you would never, I repeat never, get away with that in Holland) But before seeing the devestation in the streets next morning, the tipsy tired amnesiacs still awake and making for the Bull running. In fact, the bulls, when released with a bang and a whip seemed relatively calm. The bells on their necks ringing mildly as they stampeded through the mass of men assembled (in red and white ofcourse) newspaper in hand. They seemed quite unconcerned that everybody was making such a fuss of this. That they had ten timed the size of the humans in front of them, and were armed with large horns did not seemed to bother them, they were just running, like any cow would do in a hurd when others start running. It was mad, it was over very quickly, and that was that.
Yesterday I hitched here, to Oviedo, well, almost, Bused the last bit. and am now getting ready for the walk....

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It feels strange sometimes, that with every step on this journey I take myself further away from those that I care about, and those that love me, from security and comfort. Yet I haven't felt so alive for years! It does'nt feel like a courages thing I'm doing, this voyage, But I admire the courage of those that are willing to let me go. Those two years in the city, the maze, feel like a bad dream I`m waking up from now, as I go deeper and deeper, into the internal universe. Sure it wasn't all bad, actually it was wonderfull in it's own way. But leading me so astray from what I feel to be the core of my being. Only now, sleeping in the mountains, waking up under a tree in the park of Oviedo do I feel I have the time and peace to do, and not do, those things I feel are important to me, to life.
Thank you, Thank you all....

Wanderer

Not all those who wander are lost. And even those who wander not, might still be lost. Sure I do not deny, that the city has it's benifits, and that it can be a great place to live in. At times I have enjoyed the vibrancy of the town, the strange anonimity it brings, and the great pool of possibilities at any one time to be enjoyed. Often I feel quite jealous, of those around me who seem to be able to effortlesly flow within the city vibe, go to just the right parties, and mix with all those curious and eccentric individuals that one does find wandering within the labyrinth of stone. 

Yet I feel a cannot. Am somehow not able to hit the right frequency, do the right thing, have the right mind to blend into that scene unnoticed, or well noticed, whatever is preferable at that specific moment.

So do I escape? Is that wisdom? Is that what I should do, need, and what will feed me most?

Where will this impending journey leed me, internaly? Surely it will not fix my city life, will not enforce the feeble bonds I've been forging here in the past few years. 

Oh and I do feel a mental tremor as the reality of my departure starts to loom overhead more and more. And I will miss the life I live, I'm sure. The fourth sally to the great round world will not always be easy, comfortable, warm, satisfying or rewarding. I think I can grasp that. Maybe not enough, but it's there. 

Recently I was reminded of the value of a Home. That that was one of the main causes for my latest landing here. The ability to be in a house, all alone, with a roof and a stove and the right to call it your space, and dicide all that goes on there. The peace of knowing that no one may bother you there, and that you don't owe anyone anything for being there (wow that's an illusion, as all is so connected, but never mind) really means much to me. 

And now I'm about to give it all up again. While I do feel al lot of love (whatever that means) for the nearest and extended fammily around me. And I really do enjoy the work I do right now. 

It will be weird no doubt, the day I walk away from it all, not knowing when I will return. 

It shall be stange a good days after too, as I see the paralel lives of my resident companions veering away. 

A deep sigh. A contemplative silence, and a blessing, from the late afternoon summer sun casting through the window of this funny old house. Only now do I really start to apriciate it again, for it's quirky ancientness. And perhaps that's exactly the motive for travel. 

A new and widened Perspective, on Life.

Looking Up

Images of the future coming in, moving back through time and mixing in my awareness of the moment. As the days before my departure dwindle, the more I start to recall the Life I used to live before I moved back into the city. How good it was and how often I used to smile and say what an awsome life I lived. Now I shake my head when I again see images of the woods and mountains I left behind in the wild. What madness, to choose this over them, the whole beautifull world is out there, why would I want to be here? The urge for a home must have been so strong.
That belief in the relation, the farm, the fammily, that drew me here, and made me stay. But I heve never felt like the city would harbour me. Do not feel there is ground to manifest myself. I feel like I keep trying to make a life here, but am unable to take root in the city stone. I feel turned back, like a child who, with genuine entousiasm, is told that his ideas are foolish and his dreams invain.

Eventhough this is the town I was born in, and I know it better than any other, I do not feel at home here. Perhaps traveling is a bit like time travel, one constantly has the oppertunity to re-vieuw ones conditionings. One has to learn, has to grow, and thus changes faster, without actually getting much older. Last summer, when I was on the road again to eastern europe. In just those two months, I gathered so many memmories, those warm days live withing me still, with such vigor, and inspire me daily. That seems like my real life, like the real me. Pictures of that time show me so much more alive and centered. And of those ten months since than? Feels like hardly anything happened.
In the mirror I see a empty shell, a white ghost of my former self, drained by the stress and monotomy of the city life.

Now that the temperatures have risen again, and I can sleep with the garden doors open I find myself thinking; 'Ahh, finally normal wheather again'! It always feels like I need to fight the winter, struggle, eventhough winters have become so mild these days. It's the light, the light intensity, the green life and relaxation of not having to worry about the teperature when going out.
Whereas some folks might feel estranged when traveling to other countries, I feel that that's where my life is. I noticed that I do not connect to the Dutch proverb of "Een te ver van m'n bed show". Nothing seems too strange to me, other than the willingness to permanently live in this crazy little over developed and cultured river delta called Holland.

Nomad Born

The City is dead to me. A growling hungry beast of dust and dimness. Life turned to stone in the eyes of freedom. Freedom truely is a great treasure. As is health, Freedom within the body. The world seems to invite me. There is a lively itching in my feat to wander. There is nothing I need to do. It is a matter of choise. This is the first day of the life where I will no longer do things because I have to. It is an illusion. Why do we do those things, that don't feel right? For fammily? For fear or Glory? For gain of unnessesary material gain? All my life, I was aspiring. Reaching for a goal, trying to prove myself worthy, able, good. Yet life is not about that. My father would rather plant Roses, and that is as good a porpose as any.

Iye do not consider myself a religious person, but deeply spiritual. Spiritual in the sense that I believe/feel/see a universal inteligent spirit that unites all beings, all things. I feel like a leaf on a tree. As soon as it gets separated from the tree, it starts to wither. The leaf cannot live without the Spirit. When life ends, some part of the spirit does not live on somwhere else. All that we recognise as spirit are just different manifestations of the same soul. Like tentacles stretching out. For a tree it must be so obvious that is it an integral part of the soil. Yet for us, as mobile organisms, we tend to forget that we are just as attached to the earth as the greens. The moment that we are separated from the planet, we start to wither too. We need constant nourishment in different forms like food, air, water, support, warmth. So I feel cradled, in the womb of Pacha Mama. A womb, that actually, have never left.
And so I wish to live where I can feel her precence most strongly. Surounded by her beauty. That is where I belong, and that is where Iye flourish.

There is nothing I need to do

Iye have this strange sensation. Moving on now no longer a question. Going south seems a repetition, looking for something that has Changed. Moving East feels like ambition and learning. The fullfilment of duties, yet looking West..... It fills me with an open feeling of freedom and uncertainty. Space to develope, to expand my Self, into the unknown, into true adventure. A great relaxation befalls me when I feel there's nothing I need to do, nothing to achieve. Within me has re-kindled that spirit of travel soley for the expirience, to see, that I deemed lost for years. 'America' I whisper to myself, the word itself an entrancing Magic. The oh so amazing Nature of the New world, the open spaces, the Dessert and mountainous woods. Oh you call me, and I must answer.